A/N: This was written for The FitzSimmons Network's Romantic Comedy AU challenge.
Jemma Simmons, handsome, clever, and rich, with a comfortable home and happy disposition, seemed to unite some of the best blessings in existence; and had lived nearly twenty-five years in the world with very little to distress or vex her.
That was all bound to change, of course, the day that her governess married.
As the only child of a most affectionate, indulgent father, a scientist well known throughout the large and populous village of Sheffield – and even in quite a few academic circles throughout England - Jemma had been mistress of his house from a very early age. Her mother had died too long ago for her to have more than a small remembrance of her, and Jemma's upbringing had been provided by an excellent woman as governess. And despite the fact that her governess was not prone to show outward displays of affection, Jemma knew in her heart that Miss May loved her as if she would love her own daughter.
In fact, Jemma had grown so close to Miss May over the years that she considered her to be more of a dear friend than a governess.
"One of the most beautiful things in the world is a match well made," Jemma announced to the small circle gathered around her, feebly attempting to hold back the tears that threatened to spill out. "And a happy marriage to you both."
Miss May gently took the miniature globe from Jemma's hands, the beginnings of a smile on her lips. Upon the decoration were painted many of the people in Sheffield that had played an important part in their lives, including a drawing of the Simmons's estate of Redmire. Jemma had spent the better part of a week working on it in her spare time, in between dinner parties and her experiments, but she couldn't have said it'd been difficult. The difficult part was finding the strength to give the gift to Miss May, knowing that it meant goodbye.
But Miss May barely even glanced at the little world, choosing instead to grasp onto Jemma's hand. "Thank you, Jemma," she said quietly, with more emotion in her voice than Jemma had ever heard. Jemma nearly burst into tears right then and there.
Thankfully, Miss May released Jemma's hand and addressed her a bit more loudly, most likely for the benefit of the crowd around them than for any other reason. "Your painting grows more accomplished every day," she told her, finally inspecting the gift closely.
Jemma laughed, glad to be rid of a little tension. "You are very kind," she replied with a smirk that rivaled that of Miss May. "But it would be all the better if I had practiced my drawing more, as you urged me."
"We both know where your interests truly resided," said Miss May, but Jemma was fairly certain no one else had heard her.
"I should never take sides against you, Miss Simmons, but your friend is right. It is indeed a job well done."
Jemma spun around to see Mr. Milton, the village vicar, hovering near her with a drink in his hand. She was somewhat startled by his close proximity, but she managed to give him a smile as she took a miniscule step backward.
"The job well done, Mr. Milton, was yours in performing the ceremony," she offered him graciously.
Mr. Milton appeared a bit flustered by her comment, the tips of his ears turning red as he nodded to her in thanks. Jemma felt the spark of an idea weave its way through her mind, particularly as she watched him wander over to the refreshment area to stand by himself, but she filed the thought away to be dealt with at a later time.
Now that the crowd was dispersing throughout the wedding reception, Jemma and Miss May were free to speak more openly.
"We'll still be able to train, won't we?" Jemma asked, mortified at how high her voice sounded. She cringed and closed her eyes. "I'm so sorry. This is your wedding day. I shouldn't have –"
"Jemma," Miss May interrupted her softly. Jemma cautiously opened her eyes, only to see Miss May looking at her with loving amusement. "I'm not leaving the country. I'll barely be a half mile away."
Jemma sighed, casting her eyes down to stare at her clasped fingertips. "Yes, of course. I know that."
"As for your training," Miss May continued, surprising Jemma by gently placing her hands within her own. "You've done very well, Jemma. I don't believe there's anything more that I can teach you."
Jemma hardly thought it was likely that she'd learned all of what Miss May had to teach her. After all, it was uncommon for a young woman to train in the art of self-defense; so uncommon, in fact, that only one other person was aware of their arrangement, and he actually was out of the country. Not even Mr. Simmons knew of Jemma's early-morning exercises, as she and Miss May had trained before dawn, hours before it'd been time for Jemma's official morning lessons.
"Oh." Jemma felt a tremor in her chin and hated herself for it. She forced her lips into a tight smile, clearing her throat. "Well, I have to take father home now. I think he's starting to bother some of the guests with his talk of the physiology of digestion. He just received a book on gastric juices and will not stop talking about it. It is quite fascinating, of course, but –" Jemma's voice faltered as she glanced at Miss May and realized she'd been rambling. "But you'll still visit?" she asked softly.
"Of course."
And then Miss May did something that, in her entire life, Jemma could only remember having happened twice. She wrapped her arms around Jemma in a hug.
The moment passed quickly, but Jemma knew she would treasure it for years to come. "Dear Miss May," she began, before stopping herself. "Oh, no! You are dear Miss May no more. You are dear Mrs. Garner now!"
Mrs. Garner smiled, a rare and beautiful sight. She hesitated before speaking, almost as if she were trying to find the right parting words for the occasion.
"Have courage, Jemma," she said simply, lightly pressing Jemma's fingers again before walking off to join her husband. Jemma was left standing in the center of the party, alone with her thoughts and wondering what Mrs. Garner could have possibly meant.
It was on the eve of the wedding that Jemma truly began to feel the absence of her former governess. Jemma sat in the drawing room with her father, as she always did, reading a recent publication from the Royal Astronomical Society. She might have been able to forget the emptiness of the room, so engrossing was her chosen material, had it not been for her father's periodic comments.
"Poor Miss May," he sighed. "I wish she were here again. What a pity it is that Mr. Garner ever thought of her!"
Jemma glanced up from her papers. "Oh, father, you can't truly mean that," she said. "You know as well as I do how reserved Miss May is, and how long she's had to bear all of my odd humors. You would not have her live with us for ever, would you, when she might find happiness elsewhere?"
Mr. Simmons seemed to consider her words for a moment, and when he responded Jemma knew that despite her sense he was reluctant to let the matter settle. "Was she not happy here, with us?"
Jemma reached over to grasp her father's hand, desperately trying to keep the tears out of her voice. After the death of her mother so long ago, Miss May had become a fixture in their family, for Jemma as well as for Mr. Simmons. "Of course, father," she assured him, giving his hand a small squeeze. "She's only gone to further her happiness in another regard; you know Miss May has always wanted children. And Mr. Garner is such a good-humored, pleasant, excellent man. He'll be sure to treat Miss May with the kindness and respect she deserves."
Her father found the strength to smile, though it held sadness. "I still say poor Miss May. Why should she need a child of her own when she has you?"
Jemma laughed at her father's stubbornness, a trait she had undoubtedly inherited as well. "You are aware that I am grown now, aren't you, father?"
"I believe that still remains to be seen." A visitor appeared in the doorway, removing his hat as he entered the room. He took note of Jemma's slightly annoyed expression and broke into a grin. "As an old friend of the family, I had to ask as soon as I got back. Did anything wildly amusing happen at the wedding?"
"Perhaps if you had been in attendance, Mr. Fitz, you might have discovered that answer yourself," Jemma replied, only partly joking. She knew that he had just returned from Glasgow, where he had been visiting his ill mother.
He took her teasing in stride, though, for as long as the pair had known each other, they'd had a very close relationship and spoke with a familiarity that Jemma didn't even share with Miss May.
"And have to sit through another stimulating sermon from Mr. Milton?"
"It was a bit dry, I will admit," said Jemma. "Though it hardly mattered since everyone was so happy to see the marriage."
Mr. Fitz nodded to himself, the air of teasing leaving his expression. "You know I'm not one for parties, Jemma," he told her, his accent emphasizing his Scottish origin. "But I truly am sorry to have missed it."
"I know, Mr. Fitz," she said. His eyes met hers, and she knew that he would lament the loss almost as much as she did. Miss May was a dear friend to them both. "And how is your mother?"
Mr. Fitz smiled and took a seat on the sofa across from Jemma. "Much better, thank you. By the time I departed, she was well enough to scold me for the unruly appearance of my hair."
"It is getting a bit long," Jemma admitted. "And those curls –"
"Are you to mock my curls now?" Mr. Fitz asked with feigned offense. "I'll have you know that many a person would find me ruggedly handsome –"
Jemma let out a laugh. "I would never deign to do those curls such a disservice. You would hardly be the same Mr. Fitz without them."
The two of them fell into an easy conversation, and Mr. Fitz's eyes widened as his gaze fell upon the papers in front of Jemma. "Is that the new publication?" he asked in excitement. "The one with the proposals of Charles Babbage?"
"It is indeed," Jemma grinned as she handed the sheets to him. "It's quite a fascinating concept, really, with the idea of –"
"A difference engine," Mr. Fitz finished for her, a frequent habit of the both of them when in each other's company. "Theoretically it should be designed to tabulate polynomial functions, which could be applied to –"
"Numerous applications, to be sure. And I hardly need to mention the sheer amount of time it will save in the creation of mathematical and astronomical tables!"
"You always did love the stars," Mr. Simmons said wistfully, looking up from his own book. "Ever since you were a young girl."
"I still do, father," Jemma replied. "And with these new advancements, we're bound to learn more about them every day." She looked out the drawing room window, where the setting sun was giving the landscape enough darkness for the stars above to shine. "Some day we may even find something magnificent out there in space."
When she glanced back at Mr. Fitz, she was surprised to see him looking at her with something close to fondness. "Oh, who needs space?" he asked with a smile. "I have something magnificent right here."
Jemma found herself smiling as well, despite the fact that he was hardly being serious. Sure enough, Mr. Fitz gestured towards the publication in front of him.
"Charles Babbage," he finished, and Jemma could hear the amusement in his voice. "The man is a genius, by all accounts. I shall seek him out and buy him a drink."
The three of them continued to chatter away through the evening, inquiring about Mr. Fitz's travels, discussing the latest scientific discoveries (Mr. Fitz turned a bit green when Mr. Simmons and Jemma began talking of gastric endoscopies), and briefly touching on some of the more recent Sheffield gossip.
"No doubt you've already heard of the new arrivals in town," Mr. Fitz said dismissively as he poured them each a cup of tea. "A milliner and his daughter, I believe?"
"Really?" Jemma asked in surprise, nearly missing her cup as she added a splash of milk. "I haven't heard anything of the sort." She set down the small jar. "How is it that you've been away and still learned of this before I did?"
Mr. Fitz shrugged, but Jemma could tell he felt a bit smug to have one morsel of information that she did not. "You were probably preoccupied with the wedding. It must have been very exciting."
Jemma fought the urge to roll her eyes again. "Well?" she prompted. "Have you names for these new arrivals?"
"I was getting to that part," Mr. Fitz replied in mild annoyance. Jemma bit her tongue as he nearly emptied the small sugar bowl into his teacup. "A Mr. Coulson and a Miss Johnson, from what I gather. Mr. Coulson is to open his millinery shop next to the tailor's. Although I've also heard that for a hat-maker, hats don't really suit him very well."
"Mr. Coulson, you say?" Mr. Simmons asked, perking up slightly in his armchair. "Why, I believe he's an old friend of Miss May, isn't he?"
"Yes, I've heard her mention his name before," Jemma murmured. She felt her brow wrinkle in confusion, something not quite making sense. "Do Mr. Coulson and his daughter not share the same family name?"
Mr. Fitz shook his head, setting his spoon carefully down on the saucer. "She's his adopted daughter. Miss Johnson's family history is, as far as I'm aware, largely unknown, although her parents left her in the care of the Coulsons. As Mr. Coulson had no children of his own, the arrangement suited the both of them."
The thoughts in Jemma's mind were swirling at great speed, but with a gasp she realized what Mr. Fitz had implied. "The pair probably came to Sheffield as a way to bring Miss Johnson into society! Is she of the right age?"
Mr. Fitz shifted his gaze, appearing to mentally calculate something. "I…suppose she's around two- or three-and-twenty? I don't know; you've always been better at estimating that sort of thing."
Jemma could barely contain her surprised excitement. "You've seen her?"
"Yes," Mr. Fitz said, looking somewhat alarmed by her enthusiasm. "Did I not mention that?"
"No. You did not."
"Oh."
"Well?"
"Well…what, exactly?"
"How is she?"
"Er…" Mr. Fitz began, losing a bit of his composure. "Well, I didn't speak to her or anything, Jemma. I mainly just saw her in passing. But I suppose she's…got a pleasant-enough countenance." He eyed her warily as he spoke, as if he weren't sure what answer she was expecting.
At a skeptical glance from Jemma, Mr. Fitz corrected himself. "She's very…pretty."
Jemma stared at Mr. Fitz for a moment. He rarely gave his opinion on anyone's physical appearance, and when he did it was often not for the person's benefit. "Pretty?" she repeated.
"Beautiful, I'm sure many would say. And from what I gather, she's quite smart too, if a bit unrestrained in her manner."
"I must say, Mr. Fitz, I'm now very intrigued."
"Oh, come now, Jemma," Mr. Fitz pleaded, obviously displeased with the direction the conversation had taken. "You know as well as I do how a person's outward appearance can be deceiving."
"Most certainly," Jemma agreed, softening her gaze. Mr. Fitz's (and, indeed, her own) skill in the sciences was often underestimated due to his young age. "I'm only teasing you, Mr. Fitz."
He returned her smile. "I know, Jemma," he said softly, before the two of them turned slightly – as if drawn by the same thought – to look at the framed document hanging above the pianoforte. The yellowed paper was already quite faded, but printed near the center of the page, underneath the title of their study and "Oxford University Press," read a name as familiar to Jemma as her own.
When Mr. Fitz had moved to Sheffield nearly ten years ago, Carter Abbey – the largest and most prosperous estate in the area, even grander than Redmire – had remained largely uninhabited. Mr. Fitz had inherited the estate at the age of sixteen from his late father, despite the fact that he'd been absent for most of Mr. Fitz's life, and his social standing had profited considerably.
As a landowner and gentleman, Mr. Fitz didn't need to work, although his education and affinity for the sciences kept him in contact with the University of Glasgow. He often used this connection as an excuse to regularly visit his sickly mother, who was frequently unable to make the trip to Sheffield. From their many long conversations, Jemma knew that Mr. Fitz had initially abhorred the thought of leaving Glasgow and accepting an inheritance that he neither wanted nor cared for. But at the insistence of Mrs. Fitz, who undoubtedly wanted her son to prosper and pursue his passions (and find a wife), he had relented and made the transition, soon landing an apprenticeship with Mr. Simmons. It was through this connection that he'd first met Jemma.
Jemma often found herself amused by how strange their first encounters had been. Mr. Fitz, a quiet young gentleman not much older than herself (twenty-three days, to be exact), had barely said a word to her for the first few months of his apprenticeship, sometimes even going so far as to ignore her outright. It had been extremely frustrating for Jemma, since she too loved to learn in the laboratory with her father, but she took the opportunity to challenge him, often outsmarting him in doing so. Despite his initial hatred of her, the two of them had become fast friends soon afterwards. But to this day they always kept a bit of rivalry between them.
It wasn't long before the two of them surpassed Mr. Simmons in their knowledge of the ever-evolving sciences, to the point where they now worked in the comfort of their own private laboratory at Redmire. Mr. Fitz, often consulted by local universities, found that he and Jemma worked marvelously together, and always insisted they work together when conducting studies. In fact, when he published their first paper, he'd written "Fitz, Simmons" at the top of the page, only to find that in the official publication, which now adorned her drawing room wall, the two of them had been credited as "L. Fitzsimmons."
Mr. Fitz had immediately drafted a letter to the university in the hopes of correcting the error, but Jemma had stopped him. She knew that women were rarely – if ever – published, least of all in the sciences. So instead of going through the arduous process of fixing the mistake, knowing it probably wouldn't come to fruition and might have even discredited Mr. Fitz in the future, Jemma thought it fitting to use the new moniker as a pseudonym instead. It was an arrangement that suited them both, and Jemma actually quite liked the name too.
Jemma looked away from that first document and met Mr. Fitz's gaze. Perhaps it was the warmth of the tea in her hands, or perhaps it was the brilliant night sky outside of the window, or perhaps it was simply the memory of their long partnership. But Jemma thought to herself that at that moment, she was really very glad that Mr. Fitz was home.
Mr. Simmons sighed again, closing his book. "Poor Miss May. I suppose she's probably missing Redmire very much right now."
It was subtle, but Jemma heard Mr. Fitz choke slightly on his tea. "I'm sure she's just fine, sir," he said, sharing a smirk with Jemma. "And you shouldn't be too hard on her. It must be easier for her to have only one to please than two."
"Especially when one of those two is such a troublesome creature," Jemma replied, knowing Mr. Fitz would appreciate the humor.
But Mr. Simmons's spirits didn't seem to improve. "Yes, I am," he said sadly. "Most troublesome."
Jemma's eyes widened. "Dear father, I could never mean you!" she assured him. "I meant only myself. Mr. Fitz loves to find fault with me, you know. It's his idea of a joke."
"I am practically a brother to you, Jemma. Is it not a brother's job to find fault with his sister?"
Mr. Fitz was, in fact, one of the few people who could see faults in Jemma Simmons, and the only one who ever told her of them. And though this was not particularly agreeable to Jemma herself, she knew it would be much less so to her father, who couldn't fathom her not being thought perfect by everybody.
Despite this, Mr. Fitz's statement caught Jemma by surprise, although she hadn't the faintest idea why.
"In any case, Jemma knows I never flatter her," Mr. Fitz smiled, and Jemma momentarily forgot his previous declaration. "I simply meant Miss May will only have to look after Mr. Garner now, although something tells me that as pleasant as he is, she'll have her hands full with that one."
"Oh, hush," Jemma scolded him. "Mr. Garner is a perfectly agreeable match for Miss May, and you know that very well. After all, it was a match I made myself."
Mr. Fitz shook his head at her, but Jemma was relentless.
"You can't deny my part in the arrangement. It was plain to see from the very start how suited they were for each other. Miss May rarely smiles, and Mr. Garner makes her laugh! And have you seen the way he looks at her?"
"I do have a pair of eyes, Jemma," Fitz said briskly. "Of course I've seen it. But that's not to say I'm going to claim that I'm the reason Miss May is now married."
"That was just the start, though, Mr. Fitz," Jemma continued, adamant that he understand her reasoning. "I saw the initial attraction and knew that if perhaps they just spent some more time together, I could help ignite the spark between them, so to speak. People said Miss May would never marry, and what a success I've had!"
"Success!" Mr. Fitz exclaimed. "You made a lucky guess."
"It was an educated hypothesis based on my observations of the pair," Jemma said in a self-satisfied voice, knowing she had the upper hand. "Besides, have you never known a triumph from a lucky guess? Had I not promoted Mr. Garner's visits, and given encouragement where encouragement was needed, we might not have had a wedding today." Jemma took a sip from her tea. "It was just like one of our experiments in the laboratory."
"Then please, my dear," her father interjected, "keep your experiments in the laboratory. We can't have you marrying off everyone in our social circle."
"Just one more, father," Jemma replied with an air of mischief. "When I saw Mr. Milton at the ceremony today, he seemed awfully lonely. I must do him the same kindness I did Mr. Garner and find him a wife."
Mr. Fitz sighed heavily. "Invite the man over for dinner, Jemma. That is kindness enough. I'm sure Mr. Milton can take care of himself."
Jemma laughed. "Men can hardly be trusted to take care of themselves, Mr. Fitz. You should know that better than anyone." There was a comfortable silence, and then Jemma gasped. "Oh! Do you think the new Miss Johnson might take a liking to him?"
Mr. Fitz reached over to pour himself some more tea, looking like he wished for something a bit stronger in his cup. "Poor Miss May indeed," he muttered, shaking his head. "It's Mr. Milton and Miss Johnson that deserve our pity."
