Miss Natasha Romanov inwardly cursed her elegant skirts as she walked backwards, away from the Queen. As soon as it was proper, she turned and fled to a less-occupied hall of the palace, her legs weak from the intimidating acknowledgement of Her Majesty. Her father, Captain Michael Romanov of Her Majesty's Royal Navy, found her fanning herself and patting away unladylike strains of sweat with a cream embroidered handkerchief. "Father," Natasha curtsied.
He took her face in his hands and kissed her forehead fondly. "My darling, you are a credit to us."
"I am glad, for that was the most terrifying sight anyone should ever behold. Why, I feared I would tumble over my train and have to flee to the country for the rest of the season in shame," Natasha told him, taking his offered arm.
They strolled through the halls, Natasha's pulse returning to normal as she nodded in acknowledgement to the bows, friendly smiles, and curious glances of her fellow debutantes and the courtesans. Natasha was a late-bloomer, being outed at twenty when so many of her schoolgirl associates had come out in the last few seasons, but her teachers blamed her rough, Northern upbringing, with whispers of her Russian blood also taking the blame. Natasha was proud to be of the North, though, and her Slavic bloodlines ran far bluer than most of her teachers would ever care to guess, and took no notice of them. Debuting at seventeen or eighteen had seemed so… dull. So rushed. Why should she claim a husband when she had barely claimed her own mind? Her own mind which she knew well by now, and her teachers also had pitied any husband the imperious young woman might trick into wedding her.
Her father was of mixed emotions about his daughter's debut into society. He was, of course, pleased that she might marry well and be cared for all her days; even a decorated officer such as himself still faced the potential to go to war and leave his only child orphaned and struggling in the world. Yet she was the only link he had to his wife, who had died in childbirth with their stillborn son. Captain Romanov was loathe to give up his cherished daughter to another man.
Father and daughter spent the rest of the afternoon leisurely strolling through the palace grounds, discussing a book Natasha had been forced to cast off as the social season began. They were stopped at several turns to accept invitations to dinner parties, afternoon teas, and promised dances at Almack's the following Wednesday. Natasha wished passionately that she had some sort of social schedule to attend to, for she was certain she would forget everything before the afternoon was done. "Honestly, Father, the entire affair is so… preposterous. How am I to know if any of the persons at these events I would find to my liking?" She asked him as they turned back towards the palace.
"Well, my dear, you were the one who wanted to delay your presentation to society the most. You could have come out two seasons ago with the other girls at school, and known all attendants at such parties," Captain Romanov reminded her.
"Yes, and then I would have had to listen to Lydia and Sophia's dull stories again and again until the Lord took me as His own in His Mercy," Natasha said dryly.
Her father threw his head back and laughed. "Oh, my dearest one, I shall miss your pert tongue. You have no patience for fools, and life is full of too many of them. I often thank God Himself for blessing me with such a child to remind me."
"Father, don't speak of my marrying yet. The season has only begun; I couldn't bear it to be all we spoke of."
Natasha woke early the next morning, as she always did, in their modest Town house. With no living mother, she was hardly expected to have arranged any parties during the season. She had an Aunt Sampson in Belgravia who would undoubtedly be holding a party for her in the coming weeks, with more garden parties to follow where she would be expected to be on her best behavior. For the moment, she had a quiet morning to herself.
She dressed simply for the morning, putting her own hair up; she was unaccustomed to a servant helping her prepare for the day, though there were two girls in the house who had the skills required of a lady's maid. Natasha would need their assistance to prepare her suitably for the tea she would be attending at Mrs. Wickham's that afternoon, but it would be hours yet. She took breakfast alone-her father attending to some business or other according to Cook-and retreated into her father's study to take up her book again. Her father's ideas were spinning in her head from the day before, and she wanted to see how her own mixed with them.
She was not roused until one of the servants came to remind her of her engagement; startled, Natasha whirled to look at the handsome grandfather clock, which read half past noon. The young debutante cried out, and hurried away upstairs, calling her thanks. The serving girl chuckled; it was nice to know that the young Miss wasn't changing her ways with her new status as a member of society.
A carriage came for her at two, and along with it came her father. "You look lovely, my dear," he told her, for she did, in a suitable gown of blue trimmed in silver, her fiery hair twined elegantly around her head.
"And you, Father," she told him, for he did indeed look smart in his jacket and cravat. "Let us commence the parade of fools."
Natasha behaved herself at Mrs. Wickham's tea. She had learned early that not all of her commentary on social or political events was agreeable with those of her class. With her father occupied with the menfolk—oh, to be free of these silly social customs and join him! Perhaps she might have a decent conversation for once in her short life—Natasha found her attention wandering away from the conversation of last season's social highlights. While she was not the youngest debutante at the party, she was one of the few who were in their first season. Detailed accounts of parties she had not attended seemed to be more odious than being in attendance.
A servant came in as Natasha was counting the rosebuds at the window, startling her with the announcement of a late-coming guest. Mrs. Wickham stood, and welcomed the young man. "My dear! I had feared you would be called away by some pressing matter."
"You have my sincerest apologies on my lateness, Mrs. Wickham, business did have me away for longer than I anticipated. But I am here now, and have been starving myself in anticipation of some of your cook's tarts," the man, tall and fair, said with a flourishing bow and a kiss on the older woman's hand.
Natasha watched him with no small amount of curiosity. He was several years older than she, with a military precision to his steps, dress, and appearance. Mrs. Wickham introduced him to the young ladies in turn, and Natasha accepted the hand of Captain Stephen Rogers when her turn came. "Captain, this young lady is Miss Natasha Romanov, of York. Her father is Captain Michael Romanov, of Her Majesty's Royal Navy."
"York? My good lady, you're a long way from home," the captain remarked.
"It is quite a ways, yes, but we Northerners enjoy defrosting in the South on occasion," Natasha replied. "It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Captain. How do you find the army?"
The captain smiled. "You have a good eye."
"I have a father who has instructed his daughter in the differences of soldiers and sailors," she replied with a smile of her own.
"Of which there are many. For now, I find the army suitable, though with word of trouble in Crimea has many of us concerned. England might well keep her business out of it, but the Eastern Question remains troubling."
Natasha kept herself composed at the mention of her distant cousin. "Surely the sultan can keep the tsar's armies out of it while he settles his people. I know there has been much unrest in the Empire as of late, but unrest surely has yet to reach the military as well."
"The sultan is weak, and the tsar is taking advantage. It's clear which leader paid attention in his military lessons," the captain said. "The tsar has too much power as it is, which is what should concern Her Majesty."
"Her Majesty must be more concerned with the current state of affairs in Africa and the Far East than involving herself further with the Russians," she replied dubiously.
"Keeping the Mediterranean open for trade would be Her Majesty's largest concern," the captain said, and began to continue when Mrs. Wickham coughed delicately. "My dear, there are still a few introductions to make, and the conversation is most inappropriate for Miss Romanov."
Captain Rogers inclined his head to her. "As my lady wishes. Miss Romanov, perhaps we shall be seeing more of each other over the season."
Natasha nodded gracefully and he moved along to the next introduction, before joining the other men in the study. Lady Troughton leaned forward slightly. "It's astounding that Captain Rogers is yet unmarried at twenty-five. He's handsome and well-off, for a military officer."
"Men are less likely to have a clock on them, Lady Troughton," Natasha remarked. "Whereas we ladies are like eggs or milk, and can't be let to sit in the sun for too long or else we shrivel up."
There were several indignant gasps from the ladies present, but some of the younger girls tittered in amusement. Natasha inclined her head. "My apologies for my brashness, Lady Troughton."
The older woman sniffed. "It's clear why your social debut has come so late, Miss Romanov."
"Ladies, please," Mrs. Wickham interrupted. "This is a distasteful topic for such a fine afternoon. Miss Romanov has her reasons for doing things her way, as you do yours, Lady Troughton."
The conversation shifted back to more pleasant topics, and Natasha found her attention wandering again. How nice it had been to have a morsel of an intelligent conversation, if only for a moment!
Wednesday called her to Almack's for the debutante's ball. The famed society hall left her little impressed with its splendor and more impressed with how men and women seemed to mingle freely here. Her Aunt was acting as chaperone this evening, with her father claiming to have had enough of the smell of the hall to last him a lifetime. Natasha wrinkled her nose as they moved through the ballroom, admitting that perhaps her father was correct.
Natasha's dances were claimed, and she silently blessed her tutors for the hours of work they had put in on her ungainly feet to make her a passable dancer. Her dress, scarlet and gold tonight, whirled about her as she performed the steps she could complete in her sleep, leaving her mind free for discussion of lighthearted topics with her partners. Most of them seemed silly and shallow, though a few of the older gentlemen seemed to recognize her eagerness for conversation of more gain than the weather or fashion. She took two dances with a gentleman who allowed her to speculate on the recent years' drought on the Northern cotton manufacturers, with his own commentary adding to her knowledge. "My, my, one might think you'd grown up among the workers and the mills with all of this talk, Miss Romanov!" He said as she curtsied in thanks for the dance.
She chose not to scandalize him with tales of her childhood flitting in and out with the workers' children, leaving him instead with the impression that all Yorkshire girls were keepers of vast knowledge of the North. She joined her aunt at rest, enjoying her lemonade and the chance to catch her breath. "You're becoming quite popular, darling," Aunt Sampson said. "I don't know where we'll put everyone when your party comes, but we'll have a plan soon enough."
Natasha brought out her fan, cooling herself. "Aunt, please, one party at a time. I can barely keep this one straight, who I've danced with and who I shan't accept another from…"
"You keep avoiding the topic, dear, when else am I supposed to discuss it?" Aunt Sampson asked, a touch of exasperation in her voice.
Natasha kept in a sigh. "Tomorrow, Aunt, I promise. We'll plan the most spectacular coming out party this season."
Her aunt beamed. "That's the spirit, dear."
Sometime later, Natasha excused herself to walk. She said hello to acquaintances and a few old school friends who were in attendance with their fiancés. She was catching up with Miss Jane Foster when she heard a voice call her name. Natasha looked around and saw Captain Rogers striding towards them. She greeted him and made introductions. "We only met the other day at Mrs. Wickham's," Natasha explained to Jane.
"I must say I am surprised to see you here, Miss Romanov. If I may, you didn't seem enthralled with the company at Mrs. Wickham's," Captain Rogers offered.
"I find the company here to be more agreeable. A wider selection of people leads to more open minds than one might find at afternoon tea," she said.
"Natasha can be quite brash at times, Captain, I hope she doesn't offend," Jane said.
Natasha fought the urge to kick her friend. Captain Rogers chuckled. "It's refreshing, I admit, to find someone who readily speaks her mind. Society can be rather abrasive in its constraints, Miss Romanov, wouldn't you agree?"
"Readily, and often the first to say so," Natasha replied.
Jane gave her an amused look. Natasha knew the look well; it often came after she opened her mouth and said anything. Captain Rogers offered his hand with a bow. "I was hoping to claim a dance from Miss Romanov, if you can bear to be parted from your friends."
Jane waved her on. "Oh, go on then. We'll have you for tea this week, I'll send an invitation and we can catch up then."
The captain whirled her onto the dance floor. She was charmed to find that he picked up their conversation on the Eastern Question almost where they left off. The question of a second dance was hardly needed as conversation turned to a book they both had read. Natasha was truly sorry that polite society demanded she was ineligible for another dance with a man who was not her husband. She would have happily danced all night with the captain, who left her with a bow and a promise to call on her next week.
She hadn't thought she could wish for time to pass any quicker.
Thursday passed in a blur of plans for her coming out party, which would be held in two weeks. Natasha accepted tea at Jane's on Saturday, and patiently listened to wedding plans—Jane had been the kindest of her schoolmates, and Natasha felt it only proper to return the kindness, even over a topic she held little interest in. The captain's face would occasionally pop into her imagination as Jane described her wedding setting, and Natasha had to shake it off. They had spoken and danced only twice. It was hardly proper.
However, when his card came on Tuesday with an invitation for a walk in Hyde Park the next afternoon, she couldn't help but let the excitement course through her veins. She could hardly sleep in anticipation, and woke late in the morning for perhaps the first time in her life. She was hardly herself all morning. The serving girl even commented on it as she helped arrange Natasha's hair under a hat suitable for a walk on this day, with its weak sunlight filtering through the clouds. "I don't understand it myself, Maggie," Natasha said, tilting her head this way and that in the mirror to see the effect. "It's unusual."
"Perhaps its love, miss," Maggie, who was only two years younger than Natasha, said.
"Love? That's preposterous. I hardly know him. How can I love someone I've only just met?"
Maggie tucked an errant curl under a pin. "I don't understand it meself, miss, but them books ye learned me always talk of lovers and such like this."
Natasha turned, eyeing the younger girl with amusement. "I hardly think I taught you your letters so you might be reading such inappropriate material."
Maggie smiled impishly. "That's the better part of comin' from blood less grand than yer own, miss. We aren't having the same rules as ye."
Natasha waved her off and put on her jewelry. Captain Rogers arrived precisely at two-thirty and, with Maggie trailing behind as chaperone (her aunt was entertaining and her father had business), they set off round the park. Their conversation remained mild, until Natasha inquired about his childhood. Captain Rogers looked amused. "A very personal topic, Miss Romanov."
"My apologies, Captain, I didn't mean to offend. It's just that it's very boring to talk about the flowers and the weather, and I feel I hardly know you, aside from your military and academic knowledge," Natasha said, spinning her parasol as they walked.
"I am inclined to agree, though proper protocol would not."
"Oh, blast proper protocol, it's stifling!" Natasha cried. Maggie's giggle could be heard behind them. "For once, I should enjoy a proper conversation with someone, without dancing about a subject and praying I should not offend another party! How is it, I wonder, that anyone truly gets to know another person whilst chafing under the harness of society? We put our blinders on like a carriage horse and go where dictated by the reins, its maddening!"
"You feel quite strongly about this," the captain said.
"Is it any wonder I delayed my society debut two years for this?" She asked, agitated.
Captain Rogers cleared his throat. "Hardly, though I for one am grateful, as two years ago I was stationed in Uruguay and thought I might never return home."
Natasha looked down. The captain offered his arm as they came across a puddle. "Now, let me think… Have you ever heard of a great beast known as a woozleox?"
The young lady looked up at him, an eyebrow raised. Maggie was giggling again. "I can hardly say I have."
The captain smiled, and looked behind them. "And you, Miss Maggie, have you heard of them?"
Maggie shook her head. "Nay, sir, though bein' from the North an' all we might be havin' different creatures than ye."
Captain Rogers tutted. "Perhaps, but you may not have heard of them because I, being the grand and terrible expedition hunter that I am, vanquished all known woozleoxes in the land, when I was only seven years old."
Natasha began to laugh. Captain Rogers' smile turned into a grin. "Now, it was well known that the woozleox particularly enjoyed living in dens below the berry shrubs in the garden of my parents' country home in Sussex. A grand and terrible beast it was, with the ears of a fox, the teeth and manners of a badger, the speed of a rabbit, and the spines of a hedgehog."
"My, and how large was this grand and terrible woozleox?" Natasha asked, unable to keep the humor from her voice.
"Why, it was at least seven feet tall," Captain Rogers boasted.
"It were never that big!" Maggie gasped, taken with the captain as much as her mistress.
"Of course, the size varied if it was an adult or a child, but the grand and terrible expedition hunter Stephen G.H. Rogers would never consent to killing a young animal, he did have standards."
"Of course," Natasha granted.
"It took the entire summer, but when the leaves began to turn, we all were able to rest safely for the winter, knowing that the woozleoxes were no longer a threat. The trick to hunting the woozleox is to lay a trap of berries, for it is their favorite food, and once they're in the open make a great deal of noise and swing your weapon of choice about to shock them into submission."
"How then, Captain, were you able to reconcile your ethical dilemma with hunting the young?" Natasha asked.
"Oh, easily enough. A woozleox offspring reaches maturity in a mere four weeks," Captain Rogers explained.
"My, how convenient for you."
"Convenient nothing, my lady, but a mere fact of life and nature."
Natasha laughed again, and he with her. "All right, so now you have a story of my misspent youth in the country, may I inquire about yours?" He asked as they took another turn.
She thought for a moment about which story might scandalize him the least. She glanced behind her at Maggie, who gave a frank shrug of the shoulders. Natasha was inclined to agree. It might be best to give the whole of it at once. "I grew up in York, so hardly the country, though the family does have a country home that we used in the summer. I would play with the factory workers' children, until they were old enough to enter the factories themselves. Though, many of them were in and out of the factories before that, delivering lunches or relieving siblings who were too tired or ill to continue. Occasionally I went with them. I've done my fair share of work with the looms and gathering the cotton fluff."
She felt his intense gaze upon her and didn't look up. "Quite shocking, I know, but by the time my friends were fully able to work, I was becoming a young lady myself and my father sent me down to London for my education. I lived with my Aunt Sampson when school was out of session."
"Your father is in the Royal Navy, is he not?"
"Yes. When he was away for his duty, the housekeeper minded me, though being a Northerner herself she had different ideas of the classes mixing than a Southerner might," she explained. "Then I had Aunt looking after me. We often butted heads over propriety, we still do. North and South, we're quite stubborn in our ways."
The captain cleared his throat. "Well… that's certainly true."
"Does my past scandalize you, Captain?" Natasha asked, finally looking up at him.
"It's certainly different. You suffered no ill effects from it, I take it?"
"I had a cough for a while. Mrs. Hampton thought it might be fluff in my lungs, or that I'd have consumption from being around the working poor, but it went away after I came down to London."
"Smoke, then?"
"No, for its worse here. We make cloth in York, and we can't have fires anywhere near the factories. It would be a disaster for us all. Mrs. Hampton thinks the warm air here does wonders for my health."
Captain Rogers chuckled. "Odd to think that one might call London warm."
"I cordially invite you to spend the winter in York and see how you like London after," Natasha told him, which made him laugh again.
They took one more turn around the park before he escorted her home. In the front hall, he bowed and kissed the back of her hand. "Miss Romanov, it has been my pleasure."
"The pleasure was mine, Captain Rogers. Will you be at Almack's tonight?"
"Perhaps. I have some business to attend to first, and if that fails to run over I may find myself fit enough to attend," he said, and winked. "Though the promise of a dance may strengthen my will to conclude business faster."
Natasha inclined her head gracefully. "In that case, Captain Rogers, a promise you shall have."
"I look forward to it, Miss Romanov," Captain Rogers nodded towards Maggie. "Miss Maggie, a pleasure as well. Ladies, I bid you a good afternoon."
After he left, Maggie followed Natasha upstairs to change. "Beggin' a thousand pardons, miss, but I like 'im."
Natasha turned to allow her to undo the back of her dress. "I rather think I do too, Maggie."
The days passed in a blur of garden parties, concerts, and carriage rides through the parks—for Natasha gained several persistent suitors. Her aunt was both overjoyed at the popularity of her niece, and equally lamented the time lost to chaperoning when she could be preparing for her coming out party. Natasha found her mornings becoming busier with letter writing, declining and accepting invitations at turns, as well as keeping in touch with friends. She also kept a ledger of how often she declined invitations from her less desirable suitors, for one too many could be considered insulting. 'Never mind that it's insulting that they continue to pester me when I attempt to turn them down…' she thought darkly one morning, consulting her ledger and sighing at the revelation that she would have to accept a concert invitation after all.
At her coming out party, she hardly had time to savor the cooking with how often she was whisked into a waltz. She had to be very cautious as well with how often she spoke to each person in attendance, and her aunt had expressly forbidden her from giving more than one dance to anyone, lest she put anyone out. It was an entirely exhausting affair, and Natasha was glad to wave the last person out of the house well after midnight. She begged some scraps from the cook before giving in to her aunt's maid and changing for bed.
When she returned to her own home, there were dozens and dozens of flower arrangements to be looked after and notes to be written in thanks. Her father grumbled about allergies, and Natasha had to agree; her nose itched from all the pollen and she feared she would be red-eyed and puffy for several days to come.
She saw Captain Rogers less frequently than her heart wanted, though each time she tried to make it plain that she would like to keep his company more frequently. It wasn't until a grand picnic in Hyde Park in honor of Prince Leopold's christening that they had another chance to talk for a lengthy period of time. He found her walking with a friend among the roses. "Captain Rogers, it's been some time," Natasha greeted him warmly. "Miss Elizabeth Ross, this is Captain Stephen Rogers."
The captain bowed. "It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Miss Ross. Miss Romanoff, a pleasure to see you as well. I must offer my sincerest apologies for straying from your side for so long."
"I hope nothing is remiss, captain."
"Nothing that should worry you much," he said easily. "However, I must beg your particular friend's pardon, as I hoped to escort you around the park."
Natasha opened her fan fully, cooling herself with it in her right hand. Elizabeth stifled a sound that sounded like a giggle. "Well, let it never be said I dash the hopes of a soldier."
The captain's eyes lit with pleasure. Natasha hoped he understood her signals. "Elizabeth, I'll send a note to have you for tea this week, shall I?"
"Of course, Natasha, I look forward to it." From her tone, Natasha expected Elizabeth would want a full report of what happened next.
She and the captain took two turns around the park, admiring their fellow picnic-goers and chatting amicably about the goings on in their lives. As Natasha was about to suggest another go around, Captain Rogers turned to her abruptly. "Miss Romanoff, I have something I wish to speak to you about. I cannot bear to put it off any longer."
She blinked, and composed herself. "Of course, captain."
"I fear this may seem abrupt but… I feel we have a connection. We may not have seen much of each other, but… and forgive me for speaking so forwardly but I care for you, and I feel that you care for me as well. And I do apologize for keeping so little company with you these last few weeks, but Miss Romanov had I been the master of my own fate I would have wished to spend every moment of that time with you instead," the captain's face grew redder and redder as he spoke.
Natasha felt fairly flushed herself. 'Gracious is he about to…?' Captain Rogers cleared his throat. "And so, while I am fully aware of the proper protocol I am throwing carelessly into the wind, I must ask this of you." And here, the captain took one of her trembling hands in his, and knelt in the dirt before her. "Miss Romanov, I humbly ask for your hand in marriage. Will you marry me?"
Natasha's free hand flew to her mouth. She was surprised to feel tears forming in her eyes; she hadn't expected to be so emotional about something as silly as a proposal . She feared she would be unable to speak without crying, so she just started nodding her head vigorously; she felt her hat slip free of its pins, and fall to the earth as Captain Rogers stood and lifted her easily, twirling her in a circle. She laughed and sobbed all at once. "Yes, Captain Rogers, I will marry you," she managed, and their lips met for the first time.
A feeling like an electric shock zipped through her body, all the way down to her toes. When they parted, she was grasping his lapels. "And as for breaking protocols, I wouldn't have accepted a proposal that didn't," she teased, and he laughed. He took her hand again, and slipped his signet ring on her finger.
There was the matter of her father, and Captain Romanov was quite a force to be reckoned with when he discovered that his daughter had accepted a proposal without first having her fiancé consult her father. It took some time, but eventually he accepted it.
Captain Rogers spent quite a bit of his free time at the Romanovs' Town house after Captain Romanov's blessing. A week after the proposal, it was announced to the papers, and Natasha traded Captain Rogers' signet ring for his mother's refashioned engagement ring; it had been a bit large for her. The captain had also commissioned more stones added: already there were jade, sapphire, and ruby stones set in the gold band, but he had a moonstone, a polished piece of nephrite, and tanzanite added. "My parents' initials are here, Joseph and Sarah Rogers, but now you and your parents are here as well: Michael, Tatiana, and Natasha," he explained. She knew his parents had died in the cholera epidemic of '32, and accepted his mother's ring with great reverence.
Aunt Sampson was beside herself, barely recovered from planning Natasha's coming out party and now there was a wedding to plan. Natasha, as she had with the party, barely gave any input and let her aunt do as she wished. If it were up to her, she would be entirely French about the ordeal and elope. Her happy daydreams were dashed, however, when she had appointment after appointment with the drapers to design her bridal gown. Her debutant dresses had been more than enough torment, but this was an entirely different torture, topped off with more lace and fine embroidery than anyone should ever have to endure.
Captain Rogers and Natasha Romanov were married on September 18, in the small church in the village the captain had grown up in and housed his parents' graves. It was a cool day, and the rain that threatened to fall thankfully waited until they were safely housed in the inn for the night. The rain battering the windows was juxtaposed nicely against the crackling fire in the hearth, and proved a fitting backdrop for the consummation of their marriage.
In October, war broke out between the Ottomans and the Russians. Natasha saw both her husband and her father grow more concerned by this as the weeks went by. Around Christmas, they had another growth to distract them: Natasha was with child. On Christmas evening, after their return from services, Natasha was more than content to retire early with her husband, listening to him read aloud to her. "There will be three of us come next Christmas…" she murmured happily. Captain Rogers' hand covered her stomach easily, and her hand laid over his.
However, in March, orders came. England was preparing for war with Russia, and all hands were needed. Captain Romanov left first, his ships going to the Black Sea. Natasha didn't see her husband off, for she was practically under orders to return to her family's home in York. Mrs. Hampton would look after her there. She put up a fight, but it did her no good when even the servants were against her staying in London. "We're none of us any hand at babies, missus," Maggie, who had come with Natasha to her husband's modest home, argued with her privately one night. "Mrs. Hampton's been raising babes for years, and it'll do more good to have a friendly face about than all the fancy doctors in London."
"The war will be over in six weeks, and you all will have to listen to me fuss at you about repacking the house and moving back to London, mark my words," Natasha scowled.
But six weeks came and went, and the war marched on. Natasha wrote letters to her friends in London, and to her father and husband. The rest of the time she could be found storming around the manor, scowling and finding rooms to have redone and décor to be refinished, or doing the shopping for Mrs. Hampton. That only stopped in June, when a pain shot through her growing stomach and she thought she would give birth right there in the market; after that, the doctor recommended she stay home until the baby was born.
Being confined was infuriating; she knew her temper was only high because she had not had word from her husband or her father in several weeks and it worried her sick, but the staff was still cautious to give Mrs. Rogers a wide berth if she was about.
Then, near the end of July, Natasha woke one morning feeling like someone had laid a damp cloth over her entire body. She wondered if she was ill. She bathed, dressed, and took breakfast. When the footman came with the morning post, there was only one letter. The script on the envelope was formal, and something in her feared to open it. When she did, she let out a wail that brought Mrs. Hampton and half the kitchen staff to the dining room at a run.
Her father's ship had been sunk off the coast of Sevastopol. While many of the crew had been rescued, Captain Romanov had gone down with the ship.
Natasha retreated to her rooms for the rest of the day, praying fervently that her husband write to her soon, that the next letter to show up on her doorstep would not bring her the news that she was an orphan and a widow.
Her grief was cut short, a few days later, when her child announced it was time to enter the world. She raved for hours, calling for her husband; the doctor worried that childbed fever would set in, or eclampsia. Mrs. Hampton fretted herself into tears at the thought of losing her young mistress so soon after the captain. She did what she could to soothe the young woman, gripping her hand during the labor pains and bathing the sweat away, but nothing stopped the cries for Captain Rogers.
It was after midnight when the baby came, finally. Natasha, exhausted, cradled the girl-child. "Sarah Michelle…" she said quietly, naming her for her late grandmother and grandfather.
Natasha looked up from her correspondence as Maggie came in with little Sarah, chubby at five months, smiling and babbling away at the maid. "Here now, little miss, yer all a-twitter at yer mam now, when ye was fussing yer head into a fever not three minutes gone," the maid scolded.
"She must be hungry, it's about that time," Natasha said, looking over at the grandfather clock.
"She wants her mam's attention is all, missus. The wet nurse saw to it she were fed an' all before goin' to market."
Natasha cradled the infant to her chest, and capped her ink bottle. "I'll finish that later then, if she wants playing with. Thank you, Maggie, I'll take care of her from here."
It was near Christmas, but the mood in the York house was somber. Sarah grabbed at the jet buttons on her mother's mourning dress, babbling away. Sarah had her father's blonde hair and her mother's green eyes; Mrs. Hampton said she'd grow to be a beauty, just as her mother had. Natasha privately wished she wouldn't, and maybe she would be spared the heartbreak of a husband missing in a war.
Captain Rogers hadn't been heard from in months. None of her letters of inquiry had been answered. She didn't know if he was injured or captured or dead. She didn't even know if he knew about Sarah, that she was healthy, that Natasha had survived childbirth. For all she knew, her letters simply vanished into the ether as soon as they were sent; for she hoped against hope, and sent her letters anyway.
Snow was falling outside the window as Natasha played with her daughter. She tried to keep a happy, smiling face for the baby, but some days were harder than others. So distracted by their playtime was she that she didn't hear the bell signaling a visitor at the door. And so Natasha was startled when a wide-eyed Maggie came rushing into the room, saying, "Missus, ye won't believe it when I tell ye who were at the door—", followed by heavy footsteps storming into the room; Natasha leapt to her feet, clutching her baby to her chest as if someone might steal her, and looked at her husband for the first time in nearly a year. "Stephen?" She whispered, hardly daring to breathe.
One arm was in a sling, but otherwise he was whole. They came together in a rush, careful of Sarah between them, Natasha trying not to cry and Captain Rogers not bothering. "I've missed you so…" he murmured into her hair.
"You never wrote…"
"It's been a very difficult few months, love. There was a blockade that stopped supplies and post from coming through, and then I was injured… I received your letters in a bundle, it took some time to get through them all, and then when I read about your father, and then our daughter… For you to suffer so much, in so little time, love, I cannot begin to beg your forgiveness for being away."
Natasha found she could say nothing, only lean against him and draw strength from him. "You haven't been properly introduced," she said after a while, and straightened. "Captain Stephen Rogers, this is your daughter, Sarah Michelle Rogers. Sarah, this is your father."
Sarah scrunched up her face as she was passed to Captain Rogers for the first time. Natasha feared she was going to start crying, but then he was talking to her and Sarah calmed down immediately. There were more tears in her husband's eyes, and it was all she could do to keep her own tears in. She leaned against him again. "She takes after you," she said.
"No, she'll be as pretty as her mother. No, not even that, she'll be as intelligent as her mother. Our lovely, intelligent daughter. London society won't know what to do with her."
Natasha found she had nothing to say to that. Instead, she stretched herself up to kiss her husband. "I missed you."
"And I you. I'm just glad I made it home in time," he said.
She looked at him curiously. "In time?"
He smiled. "You did say there would be three of us for Christmas this year."
