Chapter Two - Recoveries
Breakfast was being served, and Spock had arrived to the kitchens late. Number One turned as he came through the door. "Where have you been?" she asked in hushed alarm.
Spock opened his mouth to reply, but the summoning voice of the Viscount from above them called his name, instilling further urgency in his preparations to deliver some items for their breakfast table. He hurried towards the table where Natasha was slicing the freshly baked bread. He had something important to tell her.
On the way, he passed Natasha's almost twelve-year-old son, who was busily washing the apples from the orchard. "I hate him," the child mumbled as he began to viciously scrub the dirt from the fruit. "I hate his voice, I hate his clothes, I hate his face, I hate everything about him." He tossed the clean apple into the large bowl to his right. "Him and his stupid daughters."
Ordinarily, Spock would have spoken to the boy to lower his voice or to say nothing at all. And if he didn't say it, then Natasha certainly would. But not today. Spock squeezed Pavel Chekov-Pike's shoulder sympathetically as he passed the child on his way to speak quietly with Natasha. "Look at this," he said, taking out the small pouch of credits and setting it between them on the table.
Natasha looked at it for a moment, then took it and emptied it onto the worktable. She gasped. Until that moment, Spock did not even know how much the small bag had contained. At the sound of the credits hitting the table, Pavel abandoned his duty and came over to see. Mother and son exchanged a look before she turned to Spock. "Where did you get this?"
Spock did not dare tell them it had been the prince. He'd only received this bag to stay silent. So, instead he omitted his identity precisely, and chose a vaguer descriptor. "A forgiving young man." He quickly took a mental count of the bag's value, amazed that it approximately totaled near two thousand credits. It would be more than enough. "And I know to what use I can put it."
Natasha was overwhelmed in emotion, but Pavel found his voice first. "Dad?" Spock nodded. She spoke then, and it was only her husband's name.
"If the Viscount can sell him to pay his debts—"
"He said it was my father's debts," Pavel corrected.
Spock looked at the boy. "To pay a debt, to whomever it belonged, then these credits should cover that cost, and restore him to us."
Pavel's eyes grew wide. "Dad can come home?"
Natasha's dimmed in contrast to her son's hope. "Spock, you know what happened to everyone else when the Viscount did this. Chris is most likely bound for Kronos."
Spock shook his head. He refused to accept that fate for Christopher Pike. "I will not allow it for him. I will not."
"We are waiting, Spock!" shouted the Viscount from the dining room.
Natasha swept the credits back into the little pouch, and handed it to her son, who stared at it cluelessly. He had no idea what he was supposed to do with it. "You'd better get up there, lordling," she said to Spock. "Before he comes down and finds these credits." She shoved the plate of bread, a bowl of cinnamon butter, and a platter of eggs at Spock, who took them all easily, balancing them with practiced skill. A moment later, he turned and headed to the kitchen to greet his stepfamily.
Natasha looked down at Pavel still holding the bag. "What are you waiting for, child? Put that away if we ever want to see your father again." Pavel scurried to the corner of the room, where several crates of vegetables waited for him to clean. He shoved the crates aside just enough to reach the small stone in the very corner. With deft familiarity, Pavel lifted the stone away, slid the pouch in the hollow space beneath the stone, then slid the flooring back into place, disturbing the dirt of the floor over it again. He slid the crates back over the hiding place. When he turned around, an accomplished smile on his face, Natasha was there to pat his clothing down of the loose dirt and dust. "Now, wash your hands. You're still working with food."
Pavel frowned. He didn't know why he had to bother washing his hands if he was dealing with dirty food anyway, but he did what his mother said.
~X~X~X~X~X~
"Good morning, Viscount, Janice, Carol," Spock greeted as he set the food he carried onto the table. He did not fail to notice that, of the three of them, Carol had been the only one to bid him good morning in return. He met her gaze and saw kindness in her eyes that never quite managed to show in Janice's or the Viscount's eyes. He poured the coffee for Viscount Marcus first, moving second to fill Janice's cranberry juice, and lastly, as always, to Carol for her water.
"What kept you so long?" the Viscount asked.
Spock already had an answer in mind long before he'd arrived back to the house, knowing the Viscount would pose the question. "One of the horses bolted from the stables today. I had to fetch her back."
The Viscount nodded as he dropped a sugar cube into his coffee. Even though he always refused the milk in his coffee, he still insisted on it being on the serving tray. It was only proper. Spock made sure it did not go to waste. He usually gave it to Pavel, who either drank it himself or brought it to the neighboring manor for Sulu's cat. Spock suspected the little feline liked Pavel better than Sulu for that simple treat. Though on a rare occasion when both the Viscount and Janice were elsewhere and left Carol behind, she would come down to make a milk and fruit smoothie from the leftover milk. She'd even share it with Spock, but that was even rarer. She never said a word.
Janice, however, couldn't seem to shut up. "You fell asleep in front of the fire again, didn't you? Reading your boring book again?" The way she smiled already told Spock that she knew very well that he had been reading the Vulcan poetry book.
The Viscount meticulously sliced his sausages. "Perhaps it is the only thing he can read, Janice, my dearest."
"And look how dirty he is, Father," Janice continued, crinkling her nose just so in offense. "It's not surprising, really, considering he's just a dirty half-breed mutt." It was an insult he had heard endlessly for twelve years, but it was one of the very few that still stung. As a child, he had been proud to be of a diverse heritage, to be unique. But, now, that pride had dwindled into a quiet shame. Perhaps Janice's scorn was correct.
He turned away from the table, intending to take away the coffee serving tray, but was stopped by the Viscount's terse voice. "Spock, come here, boy. You do seem to have—" he trailed off as he looked him over head to toe before deciding on the phrase, "—offensively let your appearance go. What sort of temptation would induce you to put a little more effort into yourself?"
He had grown used to Janice's barbs, but in the times that his stepfather accused him of similar faults – dirtiness, laziness, unintelligence – it always broke his emotional control a little more. "I do not mean to offend you, sir."
"Well, you do a good job of it," Janice interjected.
The Viscount ignored her, and thus did not correct her behavior. Instead, he turned back to his meal, reached for his cup and sipped his sweetened black coffee.
Spock sighed to himself. Should he ask it of the Viscount? The other alternative was to simply take the matter into his own hands as he had told Natasha and Pavel. But if – on the very slim chance – that the Viscount agreed to his request, it would mean all of those credits could stay with them for a time when they might need them again. He nodded to himself, decision made. It was worth the try. "Perhaps, if Christopher were to return, we would not—"
The Viscount whirled to face him, furious. "Out of the question! Ever since our needs have exceeded the income of this sad little manor, I've had no choice but to dismiss the majority of the staff so all of us wouldn't starve. I've only been able to afford to keep Pike, Natasha, and their little brat. I've kept you out of the memory of your mother. And ever since Pike got himself almost crippled, his value to me and this house has almost disappeared. We as a family have to survive. It was a difficult choice, but I made it. All I ask of you is to help this manor survive so that we all can as well, and that you do so in silence. Is that too difficult for you?"
"No, Viscount," Spock whispered, barely trusting his own voice. Janice smiled at her father's words and Spock's timid reply. Carol swallowed uncomfortably in her seat. She felt her own frown of disapproval beginning to show. Not wanting to let her sister or father see it, she picked up her water glass and drank from it until her expression returned to the blankness her father preferred of her.
"I will not hear another word of useless staff members returning to this house from you again. Am I understood?"
"You are, Viscount."
"Get out," Viscount Marcus dismissed Spock curtly.
Spock turned and tried to keep his emotions under control as he went back to the kitchens with the coffee tray. Of all of the things he disagreed with his stepfather most about Christopher Pike, it was that he had no value. Spock valued him, and he knew that his wife and son did as well. He may not be as physically capable as he had been, but he had helped to raise Spock. Spock loved the man. Having known what it was like to grow up without his real father, Spock refused to allow this to happen to Pavel. He would have to continue with his original idea, and he would not allow himself to fail his family.
~X~X~X~X~X~
He hadn't encountered another person until it nearly reached midday. And when he finally did, it was an entire group of people. After only observing it for a moment he realized what the situation actually entailed. The gypsy-pirates were attacking this small group of individuals. The leader of the besieged people was a distressed man, older than himself, and begging the gypsies to leave him, his boys, and his luggage alone. His pleas did nothing. Not even his final, most desperate one: "Not that! You can take anythin' but that!"
One of them, a female with bright red hair and beautiful green skin, an Orion, spun to face his direction. How had she seen or heard him? He'd halted his horse. She gave a quick and high-pitched cry to her followers, and then snapped a single command. There were obviously those in her troop that did not speak Orion as the call in several languages was shouted among themselves. He finally heard one that he understood. "The Royal Guard!" What? He was alone.
Then he heard it, the thundering of many horses. He turned, already knowing what he would see pursuing him on the same trail. He sighed in frustration before spurring his horse forward, urging her to gallop. He couldn't believe they'd found him already! He would've put a better distance between them had it not been for the incident with the servant boy in the stables. His flight was delayed as the frantic man went right up to his horse, blocking the way. "Please, sir! He's getting away with it!"
He felt for the man, truly, but if he were to go after the thief and return here, he would be recovered by his father's men. He did not want that. "They will assist you, but I can't."
"Please!" wailed the man. He grabbed his horse's reins and stopped them again. "It's everything to me. It's my life!"
The guards had nearly reached them. How long could he keep this up? He'd already stolen a horse! And he would have to steal passage on a space vessel if he could even manage to get near one without being recognized. He was already a thief, same as the man who stole whatever had so desperately upset this man. He realized that he was no different than the thief who helped sack this man's baggage. He was no thief; he was a prince. The Royal Guard would have caught him sooner or later anyway. He sighed, then kicked his horse in pursuit of the man who stole whatever was so valuable.
It did not take him long to catch up to him. Within minutes he rode alongside the fleeing gypsy. "Give me that!" he shouted at the vagrant. But the gypsy just laughed and turned sharply, forcing him to stop, turn slower, and work his mount back to a full gallop. That cost him both time and distance. He reached out and grabbed the strap of the bag the gypsy had slung across his chest. With a firm yank, both bag and gypsy tumbled from the back of the horse.
Unfortunately, it also pulled him from his as well. They both tumbled on the rough terrain of the forest until he managed to wrestle the bag off of the gypsy's body. He had one moment of triumph before he was on the ground again, the other man having tripped him. As the stranger reached again for the bag, he received a solid kick to his chest, sending him backwards and away from both bag and prince. The gypsy, even with the wind kicked from him, managed to get to his feet first. "Keep it!" he wheezed. "Not worth dying for!"
He had no idea why he let the gypsy go. He'd explain the encounter differently later if someone asked about it. Right then, all he wanted to do was catch his breath.
~X~X~X~X~X~
"Has your logic left you?" Hikaru Sulu lamented as he turned from the window. Spock was his oldest friend, and he'd been there as they'd experimented with hybrid plants, and had been there after his mother's death, and every day since. They'd come up with strange ideas together, but never would Sulu have thought that Spock would believe something like this would be a good plan. "You know what they'll do to you if you're discovered – if they figure out you're only a servant."
Spock did know but that didn't stop him from stripping his plain, well-worn clothing with the intention of replacing it with that of Viscount Marcus's fine clothing. "But I cannot let them take Christopher, not there." Sulu turned away from his friend to give him a little privacy as he changed. He may not agree with Spock's plan, may try to persuade him that the entire thing is folly, but he knew the futility in trying to stop him. "If I were in his position, you would be taking my actions."
That made Sulu turn back to Spock. "I would not!" Neither of them acknowledged Spock's state of undress. The discussion was too important for such immaturities. "Because I would have no idea how to act or talk or anything! That's why pretenders are so obvious to the real nobles – they're easy to spot!"
Spock just barely smiled. "Easy if they're actually searching for a pretender."
Sulu knew he was running out of time to make his point to his friend, and he knew he was losing. Spock was stubborn, one of the most stubborn people he'd ever known. "Neither of us have been to court."
Spock shook his head, reaching for the shirt, the first of many layers he would need to don. "I will not be recognized, Sulu." He would not be – at least not by name.
Sulu scoffed. "You have pointed ears. That's very recognizable."
It was times like this where Spock cursed his Vulcan heritage. "There must be other Vulcan lords and ladies in the court. After all, isn't the Royal Family seeking an alliance with Vulcan? I will simply pass myself as a lord."
Sulu shook his head, that bad feeling growing worse in his stomach. "Terrible idea, Spock." He helped him into the second layer of the Viscount's finery.
"Yet you are still assisting me in carrying it through," Spock pointed out to Sulu.
He sighed. "No one will believe you, no matter how lordly you look."
Spock gave him the long coat and turned so that Sulu could help him get his arms through the sleeves smoothly. "It is either go to court as a servant with these credits, be refused entrance, and accused – potentially arrested – for theft, or I arrive with the credits in a manner that would draw the least attention, and that would result in the least likelihood of failure or imprisonment. I have chosen the scenario that contains the higher percentage of success in the liberation and return of Christopher Pike to this estate."
It was clear in that moment that Spock's mind had been firmly decided. "And what have you chosen to tell the Viscount?"
Sulu saw the hesitation, the doubt, in Spock's eyes. "That I have gone to pick wildflowers for Janice's rooms."
He nodded, knowing that Spock would never have that time to do it with where he planned to be today. "I'll handle it while you're gone. Where are they all now?"
"Spending more credits than he has. Probably purchasing something for Janice. She is the leading reason why Viscount Marcus has amassed so much debt and dismissed the staff. He hopes to wed her to someone richer than himself."
Sulu snorted through his smile. "Which is almost everyone." They shared a smile. It was true. Thanks to the debt Viscount Marcus had affixed to his name and the estate, nearly every other noble household – both higher and below him in station – contained more wealth.
Spock broke the jovial mood first, straightening his clothing, fussing with it self-consciously. "They are due to return in approximately four hours. I have plenty of time to complete my task."
Sulu came forward and straightened his collar for him. "Be sure you take horses."
"Of course." He shifted his weight experimentally. "I cannot wear these boots without risk of falling."
He stepped back to look his friend over from head to foot. He looked wonderful. "No one will notice, Spock, believe me. Wear your own boots. Just make sure the overcoat stays closed so they can't be seen too much." Spock nodded, removed the Viscount's and then slipped his feet back into his own footwear. When he stood straight again, he kept his gaze lowered, a habit conditioned into him from years of servitude. This would not do. "No. Head up." Spock lifted his head obediently. Sulu walked to his friend slowly, keeping eye contact. He wanted this to truly sink in with Spock. "You are proud of who you are. You are Spock Grayson, son of Sarek, and no one can take that from you." He planted his hands on Spock's shoulders supportively. "You owe nothing to no one." He knew he'd gotten through to him when Spock's eyes shone with gratitude. "Now, come with me," Sulu said, turning and walking away. "Number One's the only one who'd know around here what a Vulcan lord's hair would look like."
~X~X~X~X~X~
He had to face reality eventually. Once he recovered his breath, he found his – admittedly now, stolen – horse, climbed back onto the animal and headed back to where he'd encountered the desperate man for whom he'd recovered this…whatever happened to be inside the bag. He was tired from running and riding all night and half of the day. But that didn't wear him out nearly as much as the last ten minutes. He came over the hill and was greeted by a very enthusiastic and loud, "Thank you!" long before he reached the disheveled man. He gave him back the bag without a word.
A rider came up beside him, the horse huffing as much as the man astride it. "Jim, you promised you'd stop this shit! I'm too old to keep running after you whenever you have a bit of a panic spree!"
He grimaced as he felt and heard his back crack as he dismounted, mostly to get away from the other rider's accusing finger pointed at his face. "I lied, Bones! I thought that, as the second son, I wouldn't be tied to Terra. That I could do other things, go to the stars."
"You only got as far as the woods, laddie," said the man for whom he'd rescued the bag and its mystery item. He was removing it from the bag now, probably intending to check that whatever it was remained unbroken.
Jim ignored the man's rudeness, never mind his lack of proper address to a prince. "I realized I probably wouldn't make it past a spaceport, and never make it to a ship." He instead found himself too curious about what had been concealed in that bag to avoid walking over to the man. "It's difficult when your family owns all of them."
It was a datapad. The other man activated its power and quickly navigated his way to a very specific and buried file location. "What's so important on there?" Jim found himself asking, his curiosity now overwhelming. "You said it was your life."
The other man smiled at him indulgingly before he opened a file of very complex and complicated-looking mathematics that Jim found completely fascinating. "What you love," said the apparent mathematician, "is your life, Sire."
"What is all that?"
"A sort of transport equation that I've tried to tweak a bit to make it do a wee bit more than it does now."
He was intrigued. "Do more in what way?"
The other man looked at him conspiratorially. "To make shuttlecraft obsolete, for starters."
Then, he understood that this man was someone for whom he'd been waiting his entire life – a true visionary! In his excitement of the realization, Jim grabbed both of the man's shoulders and declared, "You're the answer! I can skip the spacesports completely and go right to a ship!"
That was when his annoyed keeper decided to speak up. He could handle Jim's temper, he could handle Jim's sparring, but he could not handle his scheming and implausible re-writing of reality in which he lived. "Now, wait a minute, Prince Jimbo!" he interrupted. "If he beams your ass into space, I'd have to arrest Mister Scott for treason or something. Now, how would I explain to the King that his invited guest is currently living in a cell below his castle?"
The prince heard nothing past the man's name. He stared at the disheveled genius that stood before him. "Montgomery Scott?" he asked unnecessarily, since he already knew it was the renowned Scotsman. "I've read most of your theories." If he couldn't use the man's scientific ideas to escape his family and his position, then perhaps there was an alternative route. And this man might be its key. "You are the embodiment of progress. If you have my father's ear then maybe he'll listen to you about the necessity of ditching archaic practices that serve no logical purpose in this day and age!"
Montgomery Scott stared at Prince James like he was a rabid animal. "Prince, laddie, I don't understand, I—" he stopped as he looked to the rider pleadingly, "—Captain McCoy, translate that ramblin' mess."
McCoy shifted on the horse, disliking that the Scotsman he'd been ordered to escort to the palace put him on the spot. It was only coincidence that he came across both the engineer and Jim in the same place. He'd been expecting a much longer day of prince-hunting. When Jim then turned to him, an expectant expression on his face, he decided that he would enjoy himself for the time being. The brat had him up and about since the middle of last night. The prince owed him a good jab at his expense. "Prince James, here, has Arranged Marriage Syndrome, among other things like an impressive list of allergies."
The Scotsman burst out laughing. Jim glared at them both.
~X~X~X~X~X~
With reluctance and a little bit of sheepishness, Prince James and Captain McCoy led their strange entourage through the main gates to the manor from which he'd stolen his horse earlier that day. He tried to convince Bones to have some of the Royal Guard return it, but McCoy wouldn't have it any other way but to detour to the scene of the crime personally. At least McCoy rode beside him and he didn't make him trot all the way to the house on his own like a small boy being punished. They had, however, left the Scotsman and his small party on the main road while they completed their errand.
They hadn't even fully arrived in front of the house before its master emerged from the door. "Your Highness," the man welcomed them, bowing deeply to them. "What a pleasant yet unexpected visit. What brought you to honor my home with your presence, if I may ask?"
Jim managed a sheepish smile. "Actually, Viscount, the return of your horse."
"I see," Marcus said in a tone indicating that he most definitely did not see. "It escaped then?" He vaguely recalled Spock mentioning something about a horse bolting this morning. As he tried to recall whether or not the half-breed mentioned anything about their prince being involved, Jim summoned one of the guards forward. The man led the stolen – borrowed – horse by the reins. The prince quickly told him where the stables were located and to ensure the horse was properly secured inside. By the time, the prince resumed speaking to Marcus, he concluded that Spock most assuredly did not mention encountering the prince to them during breakfast.
"Not exactly escaped. I was in need of a horse this morning. When I took it I alarmed one of your servants."
"Oh?" He already suspected Spock. What he could not figure out was the boy's reason to conceal this. Spock had always been honest. Why now would he cease to be?
"A man with…" Jim trailed off, trying to quickly determine what he should say. He didn't want the servant boy to end up in serious trouble. He'd already forgiven him, considering he was only protecting the home and his charges. Jim had also cloaked himself, so it wasn't as though the boy could have easily seen that he was assaulting his prince. He admired the boy's loyalty to his master and the estate. Finally, he settled on a phrase. "…a very protective enthusiasm for your home."
"I see," Marcus replied emptily. This definitely sounded like Spock.
The prince began to laugh to himself. "He was quite fierce, actually."
Marcus felt his expression harden involuntarily. "I will have a word with him as soon as possible, Your Highness." Jim, for a reason he could not explain, worried for the boy. It seemed that his choice of words would get him into trouble after all. He frowned at the realization. "Just be assured," the Viscount continued, "that you are welcome to anything my estate can offer you whenever you have need of it."
Jim barely heard his words. He was too distracted by the commotion behind the Viscount as two young ladies came rushing down the stairs and practically exploding out of the door. "Ah, my dears," Marcus said, a little too loudly. McCoy thought he tried to talk over the sound of the girls trampling down the stairs, and couldn't have done a worse job at making it more obvious. "You've finally arrived."
Marcus glanced at his daughters. They had taken long enough to get out here. He didn't know if he would have been able to delay the prince's departure for much longer, which would have left him without the knowledge that he had a beautiful, fertile, and perfect daughter who was currently unattached to anyone and thus available for the prince's taking. And Janice indeed looked gorgeous and serene! Her dress was tasteful, yet low-cut enough to give a clear idea of her full and pushed-up breasts, her slim waistline, and her ideal child-bearing hips. It revealed precisely what it needed to on an eligible lady. Carol had obviously done her part and helped her sister get dressed and ready to appear before the prince. His younger daughter still wore the plain and simple dress that she'd worn while they'd been on their excursion earlier. It hid her figure enough except to make it obvious that she was a woman. There was dust on the hem from their walking about the market, and – ever shy – she'd stubbornly kept her breasts concealed. As long as she never dared to upstage Janice, the Viscount didn't care. Carol wasn't likely to attract a decent match anyway.
He watched as they both murmured, "Your Highness," and followed it with a curtsy, Janice bending a little forward to better showcase her breasts, yet doing so with fluid grace. Carol, on the other hand, nearly lost her balance.
McCoy looked toward Jim uncomfortably. He hoped he was not the only one who felt the overwhelming and sudden urge to leave this place as soon as humanly possible. To his relief, Jim looked a little uneasy on his horse. But, thanks to his many years of training to endure things he disliked, Jim hid it much better. McCoy had seen enough lords and ladies shove their available children at the prince over the years. He knew that Jim always found it awkward to endure, but he tried to deal with it as politely as possible. Perhaps this arranged marriage was not such a terrible idea after all. It would discourage all of this...promotion towards Jim, the strange sacrifice of a child for an improved social standing maneuver. He always counted himself lucky he hadn't been born royal. No one ever tried to throw their daughters – or even their sons – at him in the hopes that he would marry them.
"Your Highness," the Viscount announced grandly, gesturing to his daughters, "may I present Lady Janice Lestra Patricia of the House of Marcus…and Carol." Janice stared sultrily at Jim, while Carol mustered up a sweet smile, though it looked pained more than pleased to McCoy. Poor girl, he thought. Her own father didn't even introduce her properly. Was something wrong with her?
"Ladies, your beauty is unrivaled," Jim said as diplomatically as possible. He really just wanted to leave. He'd only come back here to return the horse, not to be propositioned by its owner.
Marcus grew bold and approached the prince's horse, lowering his voice so the remainder of the prince's guards would not overhear him. "We are all looking forward to celebrating the crowned prince's engagement to his Vulcan lady."
Jim sighed. Right. People didn't know yet about his brother. Now that he was returning home to get chained to his duty, he decided to face the reality of his situation. They would know soon enough anyway. "Yes, well, there have been some new circumstances regarding the Vulcan engagement." He stopped as he saw the Viscount's daughters slowly come to join their father beside his horse. He felt surrounded, and more uncomfortable than before. He looked down to work out how he would maneuver his horse so that he could leave, but when he did all that he saw was Janice's chest practically falling out of her dress. He knew the kind of expression he wore as he reeled back a little on his mount. "Janice, that…" Don't' say anything about her breasts, he begged himself. "…dress is stunning." He just barely managed to hold back a sigh of relief that he was able to say dress in that instant, but he still wondered what on Terra was he saying?
She brought her hand just to the edge of her neckline, which only further emphasized her chest as she breathed with exaggerated flattery. "You are too kind, Your Highness."
Jim, determined to look anywhere else but in the girls' direction, stared at his horse's mane. Because of this, he completely missed Carol adjusting her own dress's neckline to futilely reveal a portion of her own breasts, shifting her posture to press her upper body forward in an attempt to draw attention to it. After only a moment of no reaction from the prince, she sighed silently to herself and gave up, righting her clothing in the manner that she clearly preferred. McCoy, however, saw the whole thing from start to finish. He desperately tried to contain his amusement at the girl's action, but at the same time feeling sympathy for her. Clearly Janice was the daughter the Viscount concerned himself with – even if their manner of dress was the only thing McCoy based that judgment. The second was how he'd introduced Carol, no title, no other names, nothing but her first name. He watched as Carol's expression was transformed by sadness or hopelessness. She glanced at Janice, but there was no jealousy there in her gaze. Lastly, she dropped her eyes to the ground.
"These circumstances are for the better, I'm sure," the Viscount assured the prince.
"I hope so." Strangely enough, he did. Jim suddenly realized that the conversation had come to an end and now would be the perfect time to escape. He leapt on the opportunity. "Good day, ladies, Viscount," he farewelled them. Janice continued to gaze seductively at Jim. Carol's eyes rose and she presented him with a saddened half-smile as she shyly waved goodbye. Jim turned his horse and began back toward his waiting party. McCoy followed, but before he trotted after Jim he made sure to meet Carol's eyes and nod farewell to her. When she realized that he'd only paid her that attention, Carol's stunned blue eyes shined.
McCoy rode to join Jim with a smile on his face. Carol was pretty, modest, and seemed a sweet young lady. In his opinion, someone with those descriptors should not be so sad.
End Note: Hope everyone is enjoying this. Thank you for reading. ~ RK
