Summary: Set in England in the early 1800s, this story is inspired by Jane Austen's Sense and Sensibility. Emma and Mary Margaret Blanchard are the lovely and beloved daughters of Leopold and Eva Blanchard. When unexpected tragedy strikes, orphaning them, the young sisters find themselves dependent on their half brother, Robin, and reluctant hostess of a sister-in-law, Regina. A burgeoning romance between Mary Margaret and Regina's stepbrother, David Spencer, is interrupted when the sisters decide to take up the offer of a distant cousin, Ingrid White, to make their home with her. There, the sisters meet a host of new acquaintances including the enigmatic landowner Captain Killian Jones and young charmer Neal Cassidy. The sisters hope to find their Happy Endings while navigating polite society on the fringes of genteel poverty. Warnings: Mentions of teen pregnancy.
A/N: I can't thank my betas thegladelf and mryddinwilt enough for all the time and effort they put into the fic. They helped make the story fifty times better than it was. Huge shout-out to onceuponawesteros for the hours we spent bouncing ideas on chat when I first planned out this fic more than two years ago Thank you, mearcats for digitally holding my hand whenever I felt discouraged about completing the story! captainswanandclintasha created a lovely banner and a number of gorgeous pic-sets and art for the story. Thank you for your patience through all the edits I made to the fic! Last but not least, a big shout-out to the Big Bang mods who have done an excellent job organizing and running this event and to the Discord chat crew for all the writing sprints and writing help. Fair warning: This fic is not very flattering to Regina or Neal.
And now, to the story...
It was a pleasant English July afternoon. Not a cloud was in sight. A gentle breeze ruffled the leaves on green trees and caused delicate ripples to form on the surface of the ornamental pond at Locksley, the family estate of the Blanchard family. The young people staying at the house were taking full advantage of the mild weather and were out of doors. Emma Blanchard, one of the aforementioned young inhabitants, was reading a novel seated in the shade of an elm tree, lazily scratching the ear of a terrier that was resting beside her. As she turned a page, she covertly observed her sister, Mary Margaret, and her companion, David Spencer, who were shooting arrows at a target a little further away on the lawn.
Thwack!
The arrow flew straight and true, hitting the bullseye.
"Well done, Miss Blanchard!" said David, throwing Mary Margaret an appreciative look.
A tiny smile of amusement bubbled up on Emma's face on seeing the obvious admiration on David's countenance. The sparkling eyes that accompanied Mary Margaret's answering smile caused Emma to temporarily forget the discomfiture of her and her sister's present living situation.
Emma and Mary Margaret Blanchard were the children of the late Leopold Blanchard by his second marriage to the beautiful and good-humored Eva White. The Blanchard girls had pretty features, lovely green eyes, pleasing figures, and smiling countenances that had seldom been dimmed in sorrow until lately. The sisters looked so much alike that people who didn't know them well might have been hard put to tell them apart, but for the fact that Mary Margaret had dark hair while Emma had blonde tresses. In addition to their pleasing appearance, the sisters had inherited their mother's kindness and their father's generosity of spirit—perhaps a more valuable legacy than beauty or material possessions.
The elder Blanchards died tragically in a freak accident in April of 1815, leaving the sisters orphaned and dependent on the goodwill of their half brother, Robin Blanchard, and his wife, Regina Blanchard née Mills. Robin was Leopold's son by his first marriage. He and Regina had two children—a boy of four named Roland and a baby girl, little Margot, who was not yet a year old. The Blanchard estate, Locksley, was entailed to male heirs and therefore passed to Robin in full. There was a provision of three thousand pounds for Emma and Mary Margaret through their mother's marriage settlement, supplemented by another three thousand pounds derived from unentailed assets of the Locksley holdings. Invested in five percent government bonds, it would yield a meager hundred and fifty pounds per annum apiece, an income that neither provided independence nor invited suitors. Not that the Blanchard sisters had given much thought to marriage until recently. Mary Margaret was but twenty-two years of age and Emma twenty. While they were as fond of dancing and music as any other young person of their age, with loving parents and a happy home, they had not met anyone in their sphere of acquaintance to induce serious thoughts on matrimony and tempt them into leaving the parental nest.
The new Mrs. Blanchard established herself as mistress of Locksley within a week of her in-laws' passing. Another fortnight had been enough to show Emma and Mary Margaret where their place lay under the new management. Their sister-in-law had not been overtly rude or discourteous, but, by subtle snubs and hints, had managed to convey to her sisters-in-law how superfluous she considered their presence in the family circle. And, with the excuse of modernizing the furnishings of Locksley, the sisters were moved from their bedrooms into smaller ones in a different wing of the house.
It was unclear to what extent Robin perceived his wife's dislike of his half sisters. He had been ten when Mary Margaret was born, and started his schooling at Eton two years later when Emma entered the world. From Eton, he had gone on to Cambridge, only coming home for the holidays. After his wedding, he and Regina had settled in London. Therefore, while Mary Margaret and Emma were devoted to each other, there had not been much opportunity for more than a superficial bond to develop between the half-siblings.
Why Regina felt the need to establish her superiority over her young sisters-in-law was perhaps rooted in the loyalty the servants displayed towards Mary Margaret and Emma over herself. The butler at Locksley was a stately old man who had been with the family since the days of Leopold Blanchard's bachelor days. The housekeeper had been upper housemaid in Eva White's family and had taken up the role of housekeeper at Locksley on Eva's marriage to Leopold. Regina grew sick of the butler's "But ma'am, that has never been the custom at Locksley," or the housekeeper's "I'll mention the matter to Miss Blanchard, ma'am. She'll know what had best be done," whenever she issued an order that contradicted some established household routine or arrangement. It had taken Robin's intervention and the threat of dismissal to finally get the servants to obey her instructions without question. Regina did not derive any comfort from the fact that Mary Margaret had never superseded her authority and gently charged the domestic staff to listen to their new mistress. From then on, one thing had built on another, and the offenses had piled on.
Not the least of Regina's private grievances against her sisters-in-law had been the discovery that they were reputed beauties in the neighborhood. Regina was by no means unhandsome. Her natural dark beauty was enhanced by the skill of her dresser (no mere lady's maid would do for her); her garments were bespoke and stitched of the finest cloth procured from the best warehouses in London. After all the effort and cost expended on her toilette and ensemble, it was perhaps natural for her to feel resentful of the easy admiration accorded to her sisters-in-law, whose manners and outfits were not of the fashionable world.
With the arrival of Regina's stepbrother, David Spencer, on a visit to Locksley in May, the subtle antagonism very nearly turned into outright hostility. For, after a couple of months of riding out together and sitting about in handy park-benches strewn about the grounds of Locksley, it appeared that David had become quite enamoured of Mary Margaret. It particularly confounded Regina that Mary Margaret had entrapped her brother while dressed in black bombazine and crepe, especially as the cut and quality of her sisters-in-law's mourning outfits were decidedly inferior to her own. She tightened her lips as the sound of laughter drifted in through the open French windows.
Regina had been sitting in the summer parlor for the past two hours, with just her children and their nursemaids for company. Her husband had left on estate business early that morning and had not yet returned, while her sisters-in-law and David had been out of doors. Regina cast a sour look at Mary Margaret as the latter entered the parlor through the French window, David and Emma in tow.
On seeing his uncle, little Roland ran up to him and thrust a book in his hand. "Uncle David! It's stowy-time," he said, jumping up and down in excitement.
David grinned and ruffled Roland's hair. "That's right, Ro. It's story-time now," he said, taking the book from his nephew and sitting down on a sofa.
On his arrival at Locksley, David had presented his nephew with Perrault's Stories or Tales from Times Past. It had become the custom for him to read aloud to Roland from the book every afternoon before dinner. Roland dragged Mary Margaret, who was another favorite with him, to sit in the sofa next to David, and snuggled down in her lap, preparing to listen to his uncle. Emma sat down beside Regina in a sofa across from them. She took her baby niece into her lap, crooning at her softly.
"Are you ready to hear the tale of," said David, flipping through the book to select a story he hadn't read to Roland before, "'The Sleeping Beauty in the Wood'?"
"Yeah!" said Roland, with an excited sequel.
David grinned and began his narration. He had excellent diction. His clear manner and animated delivery brought the tale to life and ensured a captive audience in the room. Soon, he got to the part of the story where the prince came upon the slumbering princess.
"'At last he came into a chamber all gilded with gold, where he saw, upon a bed, the curtains of which were all open, the finest sight ever beheld:'" read David, and flung out his hand dramatically, "'a Princess, whose bright and resplendent beauty had somewhat in it divine. He approached with trembling and admiration, and fell down before her upon his knees.'"
Roland leaned forward, mouth open.
"'And now, as the enchantment was at an end, the Princess awaked, and looking on him with eyes more tender than the first view might seem to admit of: "Is it you, my Prince," said she to him, "you have tarried long."
The Prince, charmed with these words, and much more with the manner in which they were spoken, knew not how to shew his joy and gratitude; he assured her, that he loved her better than he did himself…'"
Roland gave a little contented sigh, and leant back against his aunt's chest. David stopped reading. His eyes connected with Mary Margaret's over little Roland's head. Emma caught a look of stunned tenderness in them. She quickly averted her gaze, feeling as though she was intruding on a private moment. Her eyes automatically fell on Regina, who flushed red with suppressed fury. Emma's lips twitched.
The spell broke when baby Margot woke from her decidedly un-enchanted slumber and set off a piercing wail.
After dinner that evening, the women withdrew to the drawing room, leaving the men to their port wine and discussions of Napoleon's surrender. Coffee was set out, and the children fetched from their nurseries. Mary Margaret and Emma busied themselves with their work baskets.
Regina began, "I had a letter from my mother today. She and my brother Walsh have arrived at Bath. I'm thinking of urging David to join them."
Emma looked up from her work sharply.
Mary Margaret paused mid-way while threading a needle. "Isn't that rather earlier than expected?" she faltered.
"The Midases are to be in town soon, and my mother and I are wild for David to meet their daughter. Have I told you about Sir Alexander's eldest daughter, Miss Abigail, my dear?" continued Regina, particularly addressing Mary Margaret. "She is such a delightful creature, and the heiress of thirty-thousand pounds."
"Oh?" said Mary Margaret, warily.
"Robin and I would be loathe to lose his company, of course. But when it comes to my brother's happiness, I would make any number of sacrifices."
"Would you, indeed?" said Emma, looking nettled.
Regina turned to Emma. "Of course I would. You see, my mother and I—we're anxious to secure my brother's future. My mother is very generous and intends to settle a large sum of money on the occasion of his marriage, more than what was settled on me, I own, but as he is the eldest son of the family…." She shrugged. "However, she is not the kind to throw away a fortune on unsuitable alliances."
Mary Margaret bent her head to her work to hide her distress.
Emma said, "You would trust your brother's judgment, surely, as to what is considered suitable."
"My brother's friendly disposition causes him to be universally trusting to his detriment at times." Regina glanced at Mary Margaret with a sneer. "I would never forgive myself if he were to be entrapped into an unfortunate entanglement while he was staying with us."
"My dear sister," said Emma, with rising anger. "Won't it be better to speak plainly, and tell us exactly what you think?"
"I think I have made myself plain enough for some people's understanding," Regina retorted.
"You have," said Mary Margaret, a dull flush suffusing her neck, "nothing to fear in that regard, Regina."
"Good."
Emma was about to burst out with an angry retort, when Robin and David entered the room, stopping her short.
Roland immediately ran up to his papa, who promptly lifted him high in the air, much to the little boy's delight. David made his way to where Mary Margaret was at work and sat down by her.
Mary Margaret tensed slightly. She struggled to remain calm and maintain normal conversation. Regina kept directing meaningful looks at the pair throughout the rest of the evening, until both Emma and Mary Margaret had had enough and excused themselves to retire to bed early. The sisters parted outside their bed-chambers, Emma promising to join Mary Margaret shortly.
Emma hastily got out of her evening dress and washed her face. After putting on a comfortable nightgown, she went and knocked at the door of her sister's room.
Mary Margaret's faint "Come in!" filtered through, and Emma stepped inside, closing the door behind her.
Mary Margaret was sitting in front of the dressing table, brushing her hair.
"Insufferable woman!" exclaimed Emma, dramatically flopping down on her sister's bed. "I might have stabbed her with my needle if she'd said one more word about you entrapping David."
"But do you think it's true, Emma?" Mary Margaret asked anxiously, setting down the hair-brush and turning to look at her sister.
"That you entrapped David? Are you out of your senses?" Emma stared at her sister incredulously.
"No, of course not," replied Mary Margaret. "But…we are practically penniless, and David's family clearly wants him to make an advantageous marriage."
"But David doesn't want that. Surely you don't think him mercenary, Mary Margaret?"
"I don't think David is mercenary. But it may be that I have imagined the extent of his regard for me to be more than what it is. If that is so, I have no right to influence him into something that may be detrimental to his interest…"
"Nonsense! The man is madly in love with you. Even Regina can see that!"
Mary Margaret blushed. "I don't know if love is the word I'd use."
"Pray tell me what word you would use, then?" teased Emma.
"Respect. Affection. Perhaps, admiration…"
Emma threw her hands up in the air. "Respect? Affection? Could you find any words more banal?"
Mary Margaret laughed. "Perhaps I do not wish to unreasonably inflate my expectations."
"Ah, yes," nodded Emma sagely. "A Lady never lets herself feel anything for a man until he declares himself. And when he does, the object of his affection is so overwhelmed with gratitude that she immediately falls passionately in love with him, forswearing all others for the rest of her life."
"Emma!" Mary Margaret threw the hair-brush at her sister, who easily ducked to avoid it. They laughed. Mary Margaret tied her hair into a knot and came and sat down beside her sister, hugging a pillow to her chest. "I do like him, very much, indeed," she admitted, blushing gently. "And I think…I hope…that he feels the same."
Mary Margaret was naturally more diffident than her sister, and it had taken her some time to feel a measure of hope that her feelings for David were reciprocated. She was only surprised at how long it had taken Regina to warn her away from her stepbrother. Her expression sobering, Mary Margaret added, "Do you think Regina really means to send David away from Locksley? I'm certain he was intending to stay on until August for the shooting season."
"Regina may urge David to go to Bath," Emma laid a hand over her sister's, "but wild horses won't be able to drag David away from Locksley at this point."
"Perhaps. But I don't want to be seen as the kind of woman who selfishly pursues a man despite any disadvantages he may accrue."
Emma rolled her eyes. "Only a person with no sense like Regina would think you are 'pursuing' David, or that it will disadvantage him in any way."
"In any case, Regina doesn't want David and I to be housed under the same roof," said Mary Margaret with a shrug. "I'm sure she'd prefer it if she could send me away instead of her brother. But as she cannot, she will make sure that her brother leaves sooner than later."
"I wish we could leave Locksley and go live elsewhere," said Emma, kicking out her legs petulantly.
"Where would we go, Emma?" Mary Margaret asked in a tone that indicated that they had had this discussion before. "You know very well that we cannot set up our own establishment."
"Don't we have any poor relations who would be happy to live with us and chaperone us around to dinners and balls?" asked Emma, half-joking. "Some doddering old cousin or great-aunt?"
"Emma—we are the poor relations now."
"Goodness! So we are!" Emma laughed, and her sister joined in. Young, lively, and good-humored, the sisters were not so despondent as to fail to see humor in their situation and laugh at themselves on occasion.
"We could become governesses!" said Emma.
"And be separated?"
"School teachers, then."
"Emma…" said Mary Margaret, laying a gentle hand on her sister's arm.
"I know…" said Emma, and her shoulders slumped. "These are nonsensical thoughts anyway. Nobody would want me teaching their children to draw or paint."
"Or me to teach them to play the piano," Mary Margaret chimed in with a half-smile.
"And neither of us can speak a word of Italian to save our lives!" said Emma. They laughed again.
Her expression turning serious once more, Emma added, "That blessed entail has us living as unwelcome guests in our own home!"
"You know Papa was very much in favor of breaking the entail. Robin was agreeable until he got married," said Mary Margaret. "Regina may have convinced him that it would be unfair to their children."
Emma snorted. "He probably didn't need much convincing."
"We can hardly blame them for putting their own family first, I suppose," said Mary Margaret.
The Locksley estate yielded an annual income of about four thousand pounds, additionally supplemented with the interest from Regina's dowry. But any loss of capital to provide a larger portion to the daughters might be considered by some as infringing on the rights of a growing family.
"I can," grumbled Emma under her breath. She was prone to holding people to rigid standards of conduct, while Mary Margaret tended to make allowances for the effect of time and circumstance.
"Mary Margaret," said Emma hesitantly, "if Robin had been our own brother, do you think he would have cared more about breaking the entail?"
"I don't know. Mama was always kind to Robin, and he too seemed fond of her. But, perhaps he resented Papa getting married again."
"It wasn't as though he remarried quickly after Robin's mother died," said Emma.
Mary Margaret sighed. "We shall never know."
"I miss them so much, you know? Papa and Mama."
"I miss them too," said Mary Margaret, and suddenly burst into tears.
Emma quickly embraced her sister. She, too, was crying now. The sisters held on tight as they comforted each other.
The next day brought forth an unexpected development. After breakfast, Emma went down to the drawing room to practice on her pianoforte as usual, only to find it missing. Worried and confused, she rang for the butler, who regretfully informed her that the instrument had been moved to the second-best parlor on Mrs. Blanchard's orders.
Fuming, Emma barged into the morning room where Regina was sitting, demanding to know why her pianoforte had been moved without her say so.
Regina's lip curled. "Oh, didn't I tell you? My mother has commissioned a new grand piano for me from Broadwood—a housewarming present. That will be a much more suitable instrument for the drawing room, don't you think?"
Emma's eyes flashed. "If my instrument had to be moved to make way for your amazing new piano, I ought to have been there to make sure the servants did not damage it."
Regina rolled her eyes. "I'm sure your harpsichord wasn't scratched in the long journey from the drawing room to the parlor."
"It's not a harpsichord. It's a pianoforte, and it belonged to my mother," said Emma, breathing hard.
"Perhaps. But I'm the mistress of Locksley now, and I don't need to get your permission to move the furniture around," Regina retorted. "Now, run along dear. I'm busy."
Mary Margaret found Emma an hour later crying as though her heart would break, her head resting on the pianoforte. She rushed over to her sister and embraced her as the latter sobbed out the tale. Once Emma had calmed down, Mary Margaret extracted a letter from her pocket and unfolded it.
"This," said Mary Margaret, brandishing the letter at Emma, "is from our cousin, Ingrid. It arrived by post this morning, and I came to discuss it with you. Considering everything, I must say it's rather well-timed."
Emma raised a brow in silent question.
"Ingrid sends her condolences, and in addition, has made us a surprising offer," said Mary Margaret.
"What offer?"
"She has kindly extended an invitation for us to live with her at her cottage in Devonshire."
Ingrid White, one of three sisters, was a cousin of their mother's. Ingrid and her sister Helga had remained unmarried and had lived together, while the third sister, Gerda, had married a wealthy baronet and had two children. Eva kept up an intermittent correspondence with her cousins over the years, with occasional visits and presents during Christmas.
"What?" Emma asked incredulously. "That is so strange! We haven't seen her in years! Why, I hardly even remember how she looks."
"We were both children when she and cousin Helga came on a visit," said Mary Margaret. "I don't remember her very well either."
"Didn't poor Helga die last year?" asked Emma, wrinkling her forehead.
"Yes, and that is part of the reason for Cousin Ingrid's kind invitation. Here, let me read this section of her letter out to you: 'Ever since I received notice of your beloved parents' demise, I have been revolving a plan that might work out to the benefit of all of us. In consequence, I am writing to invite you and Emma to make your home with me. I have been very lonely ever since Helga died.' She and cousin Gerda haven't gotten along well, you know—
"'I would be very happy to have you bright, young people stay with me permanently—or rather,'" and there was blush in Mary Margaret's cheeks as she read this part, "'until one or both of you are carried away by your very own Prince Charmings.'"
Emma giggled.
Mary Margaret glared at her before proceeding. "'There is sufficient room at Arendell Cottage for the both of you to stay in comfort and security, although I must warn you that I live in a small neighborhood, and the tenor of my social life is rather subdued. Misthaven village is quite a distance away from what has been your home since childhood, but perhaps that may be a point in favor of a move.'"
Mary Margaret paused to take a breath.
"Rather insightful of her," commented Emma. "Pray, read on."
"'I would urge you and Emma, at the very least, to consider coming over on an extended visit before you make any final decision.' She finishes the letter with the usual compliments." Mary Margaret set the letter down on top of the pianoforte and turned to her sister.
"I must say that is a very kind offer," began Emma hesitantly, "but will it be any better to go from being dependent on the goodwill and charity of one set of people to being dependent on the goodwill and charity of someone else?"
"It won't be charity, Emma," said her sister, laying a hand on Emma's. "We will make sure that our cousin accepts monetary contribution to the running of the household. Besides, she does state that she is lonely…"
"We'd be leaving our home," said Emma, a catch in her voice.
"This hasn't really been our home since Papa and Mama died," said Mary Margaret, with a sad shake of her head.
Emma bit her lip. "Perhaps we should wait a few weeks before we make a decision."
"Staying on here and bearing Regina's snubs and insinuations every day is more than either of us can bear at this point," said Mary Margaret, gesturing at the pianoforte to emphasize her point. "You've always been the one wanting to leave Locksley. Why are you arguing against it now that we actually have a viable alternative to staying on?"
"I don't want to take you away from David."
"Oh, Emma," said Mary Margaret, and pressed her sister's hand affectionately. "David will most likely be forced to shorten his visit to Locksley, anyway. Besides, it's not as if David…won't be able to visit us in Devonshire. The familial connection will not make it improper for him to do so."
A slow smile dawned on Emma's face. She said, "That is an excellent point. After all, every fairy tale begins with Prince Charming riding on a horse to find his enchanted princess."
"Emma!" exclaimed Mary Margaret, blushing furiously and smiling despite herself.
In consequence of the sisters' resolution to quit Locksley and move to Devonshire, Mary Margaret dispatched a letter to Ingrid thanking her for her kindness and accepting her offer. When Regina entered the room a short while later, it was to receive the exceedingly satisfactory news that she would shortly be rid of her grasping sisters-in-law for good. The news of their departure was met with a show of concern by their brother. He said something to the effect of being very sorry to see his sisters leave, and how disappointed he was that they were to move such a distance from Locksley, but did nothing to persuade them to stay on. All professions of true regret belonged to David, who heard the news after dinner that evening.
He turned a stunned face to Mary Margaret. "So soon? In a fortnight?"
"Our cousin is eager to have us settled with her at an early date. Come August, the roads will be congested with people traveling from London to their country-estates," said Mary Margaret. "But this doesn't mean we won't see each other again. Ingrid has begged us to treat her house as our home, and we would be very happy to have you over for a visit once we have settled down." Turning to Regina, Mary Margaret added, "It goes without saying you and my brother are welcome to visit us at Misthaven as well."
Bravo, thought Emma, trying hard to repress a smile at Regina's scowl.
The next two weeks were spent in the bustle of packing, making travel arrangements, and the sad business of leave-taking from friends and servants. Regina's satisfaction at her sisters-in-law's departure was somewhat marred when she found that they were taking the fine breakfast china and a Japanese tea cabinet along with Emma's pianoforte. These items had belonged to their mother, and had subsequently been bequeathed to them. Regina considered these articles too grand for a mere cottage, but aside from grumbling over it, she could not do anything to prevent their removal. She did, however, use it as an argument to dissuade her husband from giving any sort of monetary gift to his sisters to assist them in their move.
One of the hardest partings was when Mary Margaret went to say goodbye to her faithful brown horse, Herc. Mary Margaret was an avid horse-woman, and would have loved to take Herc with her to Devonshire. However, they would not be able to afford to stable horses at Arendell, and so that was that. Mary Margaret lost track of the time as she stood whispering to the horse and stroking its back. She and Emma were to leave Locksley the next morning, and there was no saying when she might see Herc again. The sound of the stable door opening brought her out of her brown study. She turned around to find David standing behind her, looking a little embarrassed at having disturbed her.
"I'm sorry to have interrupted you in your leave-taking, Miss Blanchard," he said. "Your sister was looking for you. She wanted to consult you about the books you're to take to Devonshire, and I offered to fetch you."
"Oh, I'll be right over," said Mary Margaret, "I was just woolgathering."
"I can go tell Emma that you'll be back in a little while, if you wish…"
"No, no," said Mary Margaret, sighing and giving the horse a final pat. "Saying goodbye won't get any easier in thirty minutes. Better not to prolong my misery."
David gave a weak smile in return.
As they walked back to the house in silence, Mary Margaret could not help noticing that David seemed a hundred miles away. She hesitated for a few moments and then asked him if there was anything the matter.
David shook his head. "I was only thinking over what you'd said back at the stable."
"What I'd said?" Mary Margaret was puzzled. She didn't remember saying anything that could have put David in a contemplative mood.
"That there's no point in putting off unpleasant tasks."
"Oh?"
"I…sometimes do that. For instance, my father greatly desired me to go into politics. I was always interested in the church. But I felt that it would be disrespectful to his memory if I got ordained soon after his death. It's been five years since my father's death, but I'm yet to take that step."
"Do you feel guilty about not fulfilling your father's wishes?"
"At first, I did. But I know now for a surety that I'd never have suited the role of a politician."
"No," Mary Margaret replied with a smile. "Your countenance does not lend itself to prevarication."
David flushed. "You think too highly of me," he muttered.
Mary Margaret stopped. She laid a gentle hand on David's arm. "Is there something wrong? If there is anything I can do to help, even if only to lend a listening ear as a friend, I would be very happy to do so."
"You're too kind. Please believe me when I say that I value your friendship very highly, and if I could confide in you, I would." David looked pained. "But, I cannot…. That is to say, I'm not at liberty to speak plainly. Or to act," he added bitterly.
They had reached the house. Emma hailed Mary Margaret through an open window in the second storey. Before Mary Margaret could say anything further to David, he had excused himself with a muttered apology. She was extremely unsettled by her talk with David. Was he trying to make it clear that he had no intentions towards her? Or had he been alluding to some other, private worry? For the rest of the day, Mary Margaret kept puzzling over it, but she did not get any further opportunities of speaking to David alone that day. When they all met at breakfast the next morning, however, he seemed to have recovered from his odd humor of the day before, and upon Emma's insistence, promised to be one of their earliest visitors at Arendell Cottage.
Some tears were shed by the young Miss Blanchards when the carriage doors were shut on them at last, and they began the first leg of their journey to Misthaven. However, the sadness they felt at leaving their former life behind was intermixed with the relief of parting from their sister-in-law and an eagerness to see what their new home would be like. The hope of David's visiting them at Arendell ere long provided an additional measure of comfort.
Do check out captainswanandclintasha's lovely artwork for this story on tumblr. Hope you enjoyed the chapter. I would love to hear your thoughts. :-)