A/N: I wanted to add a quick note to say this story is not solely focussed on Captain Swan. There will be a lot of focus on Emma-Mary Margaret and on Snowing. But if you are patient, I promise you there is plenty of CS coming up. Do check out the awesome pic-set made by captainswanandclintasha for Chapters 3 & 4.
It was a quiet morning. Ingrid and Mary Margaret were in the parlor. Ingrid was reading Maria Edgeworth's novel, Patronage, while Mary Margaret was embroidering a fine lace shawl. Emma and Neal were in the drawing room, the former nominally engaged in practicing her music. From the bursts of laughter that drifted down, she wasn't making much progress.
Ingrid set down her book, and turning to Mary Margaret, said, "Your sister is rather in love with Mr. Cassidy, isn't she?"
Startled, Mary Margaret looked up. "Yes. I suppose she is."
"And he seems quite fond of her as well."
At that moment, a peal of laughter rang out from the other room. Mary Margaret smiled and said, "They do seem very much in love."
"I hope he will declare himself soon."
Mary Margaret was astonished. "My dear cousin! They've only known each other for a month!"
"That may well be, my dear," said Ingrid with a shrug. "However, his behavior to Emma has been quite pointed, as at Lucas Park the other night. People notice such things."
Mary Margaret bent her head down to her work to cover her vexation. She knew to what evening Ingrid was alluding. Emma and Neal had sat by each other during dinner and had scarcely spoken to anyone else. After dinner, when the ladies had withdrawn to the drawing room, Neal had followed soon after, and he and Emma had sat at the grand piano, whispering together. In the card game that followed, he had finessed, maneuvered, and cheated everyone to get Emma a winning hand. Mary Margaret had felt the impoliteness of their behavior, but had not the heart to reproach her sister. Emma had not looked so cheerful in months.
The next day brought an even more pointed remark from Ingrid. Emma disappeared along with Neal in the morning, and was not home until dinner time. Emma looked a little defensive on her return, as though she was expecting to be chastised by her relations, but volunteered no explanations, despite Mary Margaret's questioning looks and Ingrid's grim expression.
After dinner, once the ladies had withdrawn to the parlor, Ingrid broke the apparent embargo on the subject by remarking, "My dear Emma. Leroy said that you and Mr. Cassidy were seen riding in the direction of Rougemont Castle today. Is that true?"
"Leroy has nothing better to do than gossip and ought to learn to mind his own concerns," Emma retorted, her cheeks flushing with embarrassment and anger.
"Ah, so you did go, then. I had hoped he was misinformed."
"Why should you, cousin? There was nothing improper in Neal taking me there."
Ingrid did not fail to notice Emma's informal use of his Christian name, which only increased her concern. "You believe there was no impropriety in going for a ride of ten miles to see a castle in an open carriage with no companion but Mr. Cassidy?"
Emma blushed a little at that. "We didn't mean to go as far," she elaborated. "We were just driving about the countryside when Neal noticed that we were close to the road that led to Rougemont Castle, and so we decided to go there on the spur of the moment. And it was well worth the visit. The castle is quite a delightful, and we had a very enjoyable time."
"I'm afraid," replied Ingrid dryly, "that the pleasure derived from an activity is no true measure of its propriety."
Mary Margaret had remained silent throughout the exchange. At this point, she stepped in. "If Emma had known that it was improper, she would not have done it."
"My dear Mary Margaret," said Ingrid, turning to her, "if your sister had really believed her conduct to have been proper, she would have told us of her visit the moment she came home."
Mary Margaret squirmed uncomfortably and glanced at Emma, who was resolutely studying her teacup and did not look up.
Later that night, Mary Margaret advised her sister against repeating the day's performance. "As mother used to say, Emma, if something one wishes to do feels wrong, that indicates the likelihood of its being wrong."
"I am not sensible of having done anything wrong."
Mary Margaret gave her sister a look.
Emma blushed.
"At the very least," said Mary Margaret, "we need to be careful that Cousin Ingrid is not placed in an awkward position on our account."
Emma looked a little chastened by her sister's statement. It was evident that she had not considered the situation in that light. Mary Margaret wondered if Ingrid had been right after all in hoping that Neal would propose marriage to Emma soon. He seemed to be leading her sister into questionable conduct, which would cease to be improper if they were to be married. However, Mary Margaret could make allowances for them. Neal and Emma were much too young and too much in love to observe proper etiquette all the time. Mary Margaret could not find it in herself to make a stronger protest, even as she felt slightly uneasy. After all, she herself struggled against the temptation of writing to David Spencer—a definite impropriety, as they were not blood-related. She wondered if he had met with the inimitable Abigail Midas and sighed disconsolately at the thought.
Despite Ingrid's reservations about the behavior of her young protégée and her admirer, she was invariably warm and pleasant in her manner to Neal and made no objections to his long morning calls. Perhaps as a result of her sister's advice, Emma did not further test their cousin's forbearance by sneaking off unannounced, and Neal dined at the Cottage whenever he was free from other engagements. Which happened to be about twice or thrice a week.
Ingrid and Mary Margaret left Emma by herself at Arendell one morning and went to pay some calls. Emma had declined to accompany them in a manner filled with suppressed excitement that plainly indicated that she was expecting a visit from Neal; the other two women were fully prepared to be greeted with the news of their engagement when they returned. However, when they got back to the cottage, they were faced with an entirely different scenario—Emma was in a state of great agitation, while Neal looked distressed and embarrassed.
Ingrid was concerned, and Neal's evident discomfort sent alarm bells ringing inside her head. Mary Margaret had immediately rushed to her sister's side to make sure that she was not unwell (the sisters' deep affection for each other touched Ingrid's heart and reminded her with a pang of the bond she herself had shared with her sister Helga). As neither Emma nor Neal seemed capable of saying a single word unprompted, Ingrid was about to institute a cautious inquiry into the state of things, when Neal abruptly stood up and announced his departure.
"My dear Mr. Cassidy," said Ingrid, growing more alarmed by the minute. "Do have tea with us before you leave."
"No, ma'am. I'm afraid I need to be off right away and I cannot delay even for another minute. I would not have left the county without taking leave of you personally and thanking you for the kindness…"
At this, Emma uttered a choked cry, and fled the room. Neal looked as though he had received a physical blow, and stopped speaking.
"Leaving the county!" cried Mary Margaret. "Isn't this rather sudden?"
"Well, yes—perhaps. But it's unavoidable, I'm afraid," he said, unable to meet her eyes. "Mrs. Gould received urgent summons from her solicitor this morning regarding a long-standing business matter, and needs me to undertake the business on her behalf."
"I see," said Ingrid, feeling a little relieved. "Mrs. Gould must be obliged, of course, though we will all miss you very much while you are gone."
Neal mumbled something indiscernible in reply.
"When will you return?" asked Mary Margaret.
"As to that, I'm afraid I do not know. The time it might take to finalize the business is uncertain, and I do not know what Mrs. Gould's plans are for the winter."
"You know you will always be welcome to stay with us," said Ingrid, warmly.
"Thank you. You're so kind," he replied, looking both touched and troubled at her invitation. "Once the nature of my winter engagements are settled…but now, I must take my leave of you. I will not prolong my distress by staying one more minute among people I'm truly loath to leave."
And saying thus, Neal practically ran out of the room. Ingrid and Mary Margaret exchanged troubled glances. The latter went to check on Emma, and returned shortly after saying that Emma had wanted to be alone for a while.
"Poor Emma!" said Mary Margaret. "And poor Neal! To be at the beck and call of a relation cannot be pleasant for a young man in his situation."
Ingrid suppressed a retort at Mary Margaret's assumption about Belle Gould. She was a young woman and a widow, and the sad reality of their world was that women could get their business dispatched more promptly when it was undertaken by a man. Of course, any person who was responsible for separating lovers, even unintentionally, would seem like a villain to the parties concerned and those that cared for them.
However, Neal's behavior at the time of his departure concerned Ingrid much more than the fact of his departure. All her doubts and fears regarding his conduct were now heightened ten-fold. Why had he been so ambiguous about his return to their neighborhood? Why the reluctance to accept her invitation to stay at the Cottage? Was he only now considering the practical disadvantages of a marital connection with a portionless woman?
Neal's private means were not abundant. He owned a small estate, worth at most six or seven hundred a year. His style of living—his frequent visits to watering places, the number of hunters he kept, and so forth, suggested that he lived close to his income. Ingrid suspected that Mrs. Gould made Cassidy an allowance from her own income after her husband's death. Ingrid did not know the woman very well, but Belle had never seemed like a person who gave peremptory orders—not even to a dependent relation. Neal's departure may have been precipitated by Mrs. Gould's business, but the manner of his leave-taking suggested additional motives.
Would a young man in Neal's position choose to marry an impoverished gentlewoman, or would he try to make a financially more advantageous connection? A gentleman would consider himself honor-bound to marry a woman whom he had been courting so openly, but Neal had already raised her concerns with his imprudent behavior. It suddenly became imperative to know whether or not he and Emma were engaged. She conveyed some of her thoughts and fears to Mary Margaret.
Mary Margaret was indignant. "You cannot seriously believe that Neal Cassidy left intending to abandon Emma! He looked absolutely shattered at having to part with her—at having to part with us all! We both have seen how much he and Emma are in love—"
"The whole neighborhood has seen that," interjected Ingrid dryly.
Mary Margaret ignored Ingrid's interruption. "If they're not already engaged, it is very likely that they will be once Mr. Cassidy returns."
"We don't know when—or if—he will return, let alone whether or not he will ask Emma to marry him." Mary Margaret made a noise of protest, but Ingrid held up her hand and said, "My dear Mary Margaret. I'm very fond of Mr. Cassidy, but I would be happier if I knew the terms under which he parted with your sister. I've seen too much inconsistent behavior and a lack of fidelity in close human relationships over the course of my life to be certain of a positive outcome in such cases. If, in a fortnight, Emma doesn't receive any letters from him, you have to ask her whether or not she is engaged to him. I am not your mother, and I do not have the right to insist, but this is what I believe your mother would have done. I feel I made an error of judgment in not keeping a closer watch on Mr. Cassidy's courtship of your sister."
Two weeks went by without Emma getting any letters from Neal, but Mary Margaret put off the dreaded inquiry. In spite of everything, she felt that Ingrid's suspicions were overblown. Emma clearly missed Neal, but she did not in any way seem desperate—she did not behave as though he had left her without some affirmation of his regard. While the sisters had read poems and stories about broken hearts, and had occasionally heard of broken engagements among their circle of acquaintances, romantic heartbreak had never touched their own lives. Their parents had been deeply in love, and whatever their opinion of their sister-in-law, Robin and Regina did seem very attached to each other. Mary Margaret was of a generally hopeful turn of mind, and her own hopes and wishes regarding David led her to be more optimistic about Emma's situation than Ingrid's jaded worldview had perhaps suggested.
Mary Margaret was still young enough to believe in love.
Mary Margaret and Emma left to pay a charitable visit that morning. Their parents had been very active in helping the poor and needy in their neighborhood, and had instilled the same values in their children. Even though their means were now straitened, the sisters were determined to continue on the path their parents had set for them in as far as they were capable of doing so. The family requiring their current assistance was that of a local woodcutter's family. The woodcutter, Michael Zimmer, had taken a bad fall and broken his leg, and was therefore unable to work. Zimmer had two children: Ava, a girl of twelve, and Nicholas, a boy of ten, who were trying to help out by doing odd jobs here and there. But, of course, they could not earn enough to feed three mouths.
The woodcutter's cabin was set on the edge of the woods. It was little bigger than a hovel, and was enclosed by a small yard with a goat and some chickens. Ava and Nicholas were tending to the animals. As Emma and Mary Margaret got closer to the dwelling, the children stopped their errand and peered at them curiously.
After introducing themselves, Emma and Mary Margaret handed over a basket of food that Mrs. Patmore had kindly apportioned for the visit, and a bundle containing some clean linen and a few household provisions. The children gratefully accepted the items and went inside the cabin to put them away. A minute later, Ava came out, gave a quick little curtsy, and said, "Miss, papa says that if you would please to step inside."
One by one, the party entered the dwelling. The room encompassed the length of the cabin. The furnishings were plain but neat. There was a wooden table with four chairs at one end and a cot at the other. A door was set on the far wall, which lead to another smaller room. Zimmer was sitting on the cot, with one leg propped up on a pillow. A wooden splint was tied to the broken leg with scraps of cloth. Michael Zimmer was a stout, hardy man with a deeply tan complexion—a result of his outdoor labors. His eyes crinkled kindly when he smiled, and he attempted to stand on seeing the Miss Blanchards.
"Please don't get up, Mr. Zimmer," Mary Margaret was quick to reassure him. "We shall not take it amiss if you do not rise to welcome us."
They all sat down. Zimmer thanked Emma and Mary Margaret for their kindness. At a look from their father, the children ran outside, chattering excitedly. Zimmer gazed fondly after his children, and said, "They're good kids. Nicholas takes after his poor mother, while Ava is more like me."
Emma and Mary Margaret smiled.
A few minutes later, the children came back inside, Ava carefully balancing a jug full of milk in his hand. Nicholas fetched some clean bowls, and everyone was treated to deliciously fresh goat's milk. After chatting for some time longer, Emma and Mary Margaret left.
"What a loving family! And such sweet children!" Mary Margaret remarked on the walk back to their cottage.
"I wish we could do more to help them," said Emma. "However hard these people work, it's a daily struggle for them to keep the wolf from the door."
Mary Margaret hummed in agreement. "They never make enough to save up when something like this happens."
"Whose land are they on? Shouldn't the landowner take some responsibility for the care of his poorer tenants?"
"These woods belong to Sir Arthur Garrigan, I believe, but they are not tenants of his," said Mary Margaret. "That's what Mr. Booth told me."
"They're squatters?" asked Emma, grimacing.
Her sister replied in the affirmative.
Emma said wryly, "That makes our own lot seem bountiful in comparison, does it not?"
Mary Margaret nodded. Six months ago, neither of them could have foreseen that they would be living in a country cottage far from their childhood home. Her thoughts flew from Locksley to David. It had been three months since she and Emma had left Locksley and moved to Devonshire. In all that time, they had not had much news of David. Robin had written to them twice after their departure from Locksley. In his first letter, he had mentioned that David had left for Bath. In his most recent one, Robin had written that David had left Bath to pay a visit to a former tutor in Cornwall. That, at the very least, reassured Mary Margaret that nothing had come of the great match planned for David by his mother and sister.
Mary Margaret was jolted back to the present with a start by Emma tugging urgently at her sleeve.
"It's Neal! He's back. I knew he'd be back ere long!" she trilled.
Mary Margaret looked to where Emma was pointing, and saw two horsemen clomping down the narrow lane leading to their cottage—a gentleman and his servant by the look of it. She looked harder, and her heart gave a leap of joy. For as they came closer, it was evident that the gentleman was not Neal Cassidy, but David Spencer.