Splendid, More or Less Part 2/?

Author: Nefret24

Disclaimer n' notes, see part 1.

Feedback is greatly encouraged and appreciated. nefret21217@yahoo.com

For more A/N, see end of the chapter

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I was pacing the upper deck, chiding myself. How could I have been so indulgent as to resort to such a melodramatic gesture as this? I generally have more self-possession and I cannot say what made me act with such idiocy. Though, in my own defense, having a fiancé did tend to alter one's perspectives on things (in more ways than one).

I worried for Emerson's feelings (the male ego, I had already discovered, was a very fragile thing) not to mention what his reaction would be against the well-meaning Mr. Fletcher when they met in person. I pitied my solicitor, the only one of my previous suitors to propose with honesty, having been motivated not out of greed but of something else entirely. (I do not dare flatter myself that I had the charms to possess any man, even Emerson, but I think I can safely say that neither one of them were more captivated by my pocketbook than my personality.) Walter made claims to friendship, but whether or not Emerson enjoyed such a bond with Mr. Fletcher I had was not certain. Having considered their tempers, however, I assumed that Emerson would rather be beaten with sticks than indulge in pleasantries with such a mild-mannered individual with rather conservative political views.

It was a rather embarrassing little trap I had constructed for myself, I realized in those moments of reflection; after lecturing Mr. Fletcher so sternly about my lack of matrimonial ambitions, I traveled for a few months only to return engaged what else could the poor man think but that I made up my previously stalwart convictions in an elaborate ruse to let him down gently? If there is one thing I cannot stand, it's being false to one's principles.

And now, apparently, I had done so more than once. I contemplated the cool, dark water below me and vowed that if I should have an attack of the vapors to complete the night's humiliations, I might as well fling myself over the side in defiance of all proper Christian beliefs.

A delicate cough beside me brought my thoughts back to the present and I beheld Evelyn out of the corner of my eye.

"Amelia, I'm sorry," she said softly.

I laughed somewhat bitterly and shook my head. "Evelyn, you have nothing to be sorry for. Why the devil are you apologizing for my wretched behavior?"

Evelyn made a face at my language but I was in too foul a mood to maintain polite conversation. She replied, with that firmness that I tend to forget she possesses, "I pressed too far with my teasing, I realize that. But you are acting childish and it does you no credit. The men are thoroughly bewildered with you and I refuse to be the one to explain it to them."

I raised a skeptical eyebrow.

"Well, I refuse to explain it to the one who needs it most. Talk to Emerson, Amelia. Please? You two are hopeless for one another- it's a shame to see everything go to pieces because you're both too stubborn to just sit down and talk like ordinary people about ordinary things for once."

"We talk about ordinary things!" I protested rather feebly.

"No, I am quite sure that the majority of people in this world do not go round talking about pre-dynastic pottery or mummified remains or- or any of that on a daily basis. Or over the supper table."

I snorted derisively, belatedly realizing that Emerson's manners (or lack thereof) were beginning to rub off. I shot a glance at Evelyn and felt immediately reproved. I smiled weakly and shook my head, returning my gaze to the water.

"Do you feel as if you're the same person?" I blurted out.

"Pardon?"

"Do- do you- are you the same person you were a week ago, do you think?" I said awkwardly, feeling my cheeks get a bit warm.

"Of course I am! Well in most respects, I am," Evelyn replied kindly and reached over to squeeze my hand. I met her eyes and realized for the second time tonight I had underestimated her perception. "As are you."

"But I'm not," I retort with warmth. Scarcely taking a breath, I continued in a torrent of pent up frustration, "There seems to be a completely different aspect to me, a disgustingly sentimental side that I never possessed or cared to possess- suddenly I'm sensitive about things that under normal circumstances I wouldn't give a fig about and I don't know how to make it stop and be normal again."

I waited tensely for her reply but none was forthcoming. I glanced over to see her with a hand wrapped around her mouth and supposed she was crying. Fumbling for a handkerchief, I extended it to her, only to be shrugged off. Slowly lowering her hand, I belatedly saw she was softly chuckling.

"Well, I certainly don't see the humor in the situation," I sniffed, returning my handkerchief to its proper place.

"Amelia, you are a wonder. You take ambulating mummies in stride but get flustered over a little bit of everyday, normal human emotion! What's wrong with being sentimental?"

"Nothing, I suppose for some people," I replied defensively.

"There is a great difference from being a person of sensibility and being what was that you said? 'disgustingly sentimental.' Loving someone else, thinking about raising a family-- that doesn't make you a blithering idiot."

"It feels like it," I said sulkily.

"Amelia, you have more sense than anyone I know. You just need to put it to a good use," she said with a shudder. "I'm going back inside."

"I'll come in shortly. Evelyn," I called out to her retreating form. "Thank you."

She nodded in reply and shortly disappeared from sight. It was odd, confiding in someone, another woman about things. It was a novel experience; after being raised amongst men, the only female influence I had in my formative years being that of the nursemaid and the occasional servant (the governess hired for me did not last long, what with my brothers running through the house willy-nilly without respect for person or property). I had made only a handful of friends outside of my father's house and even fewer outside the confines of the British Museum and my tailor's. None of them had ever endeared themselves to me to the degree that Evelyn had in a span of a mere few days.

To unburden troubles on another had always seemed a futile and prideful act only indulged in by vaporous ladies craving attention that they could not receive otherwise and an attempt to gain sense that they did not possess through a sort of social assimilation. I have always had enough sense and purpose for two, and discussions of lace and balls had never held my attention. Evelyn's quiet prodding however was not courted; she offered it freely to me out of friendly consideration and in the end, I was the better for it.

I had come to Egypt for a change of scenery; what I had not expected was to change myself.

I will not pretend that I have always been the model Englishwoman. I was raised in a protective circle of books and brothers, with no one having any expectations for me to live up to. I simply was and most got along well enough if they left me to my own devices. I received few invitations to any social function before my beloved father's passing and I didn't mind. I had my own studies and a household to run which kept me busy enough. To be sure, it wasn't every young girl who spends the majority of her spare time perusing the library at the British museum but then I never was like my peers, like Evelyn. I had tried my hand at the so-called "women's arts" and failed. I liked archaeology and that's what I pursued, against all "proper" notions.

And Emerson, in a astonishing turn of generosity for his sex, seemed to respect me for those convictions and accept them wholeheartedly as traits becoming to his bride-to-be. He wasn't normal, either. Perhaps that was the problem- we neither of us fit into the mold we were supposed to. Thinking to act like Evelyn and Walter was folly; we were too old and sensible for outbursts such as these.

My dark mood had passed, as they often do once common sense is applied to the matter. Steeling myself, I walked determinedly to the drawing room. As I approached, I could hear Evelyn playing the piano, a delicate lilting piece of music, sweetly echoing along the deck.

Noiselessly, I entered the salon, taking note of Walter's position at her side as page turner and Emerson reclined in a dark corner, puffing on his pipe with a look of intense concentration on his face. Walter must have sensed my presence for his head inclined ever so slightly in my direction. I took up a straight-backed chair on the opposite side of the room and made a show of reading Samuel Birch.

Evelyn soon put her performance to a close and announced her intentions to take another stroll around the deck, with, I hardly need add, Walter offering to accompany her. We exchanged a conspiratorial look as she left the room and I rose to confront Emerson.

He did not move from his reclining position on the couch. Nor did he acknowledge my presence in any way. He just sat there, puffing steadily, staring off into space.

I cleared my throat, still receiving no response. This was going to be harder than I had thought.

"Emerson," I ventured.

Nothing. His lips moved an imperceptible amount, making large wisps of smoke emanate from the pipe and reassuring one that he was indeed alive and at the very least semi-animate.

"Emerson, I think you are due both an apology and an explanation, both of which you shall receive, if we may be persuaded to an agreement," I said hurriedly.

His head moved ever so slowly until his eyes came to focus on mine. After another contemplative puff, he narrowed his eyes and nodded his head.

"Mr. Fletcher has been my family solicitor since he became a partner at the law firm ten years ago. He is reliable and honest and very good at his job. And he did propose and I did decline that proposal with the equanimity in which it was given. I have no intention of finding alternative representation when I return to England."

A quiet grunt from Emerson's person was all the reply to my short speech.

"I realize that I have acted erm, rather childishly and in a manner all too prevalent in the majority of my gender and I shall promise," here I had to pause to clear my throat again, "never to do so in the future."

Emerson murmured something that sounded suspiciously like "thank god," even though he is not a religious man.

"But"

"I knew it! I knew it! What is it now, Peabody? How can you possibly rationalize this any further?" Emerson's voice rose to a dull roar.

"We must make an agreement- never to lie or, or keep things from one another. Common honesty is a virtue"

"That was it then?" Emerson interrupted, the roar growing louder by a few decibels. "You ruined my dessert course because you were embarrassed - that I'd think you were keeping things from me!" he laughed derisively. "Amelia, your face is an open book! I honestly will never understand the female illogic. And not even the inimitable Miss PEABODY is immune to it!"

"I cannot possibly understand how you can be so cool about this" I said angrily, stamping my foot.

"Amelia, this is a paltry affair blown to gargantuan proportions by your rampageous imagination and what I can only assume is some kind of feminine backlash from months of suppression"

"My imagination! You-"

"You-"

We both stopped for lack of breath and stared for a moment, considering one another.

I should have known that an alliance with an intelligence as formidable as my own would never work out. I was angry with myself for acting foolishly and the only way to remedy the situation was to lash out at the nearest object- namely the one person I couldn't afford to hurt. If we were ordinary, if we were like Walter and Evelyn, we could have kissed and made up by now. I was too tired to try and force something I wasn't sure fit anymore.

"Emerson, I told you this wouldn't work. We can't even come to a simple agreement about not deceiving one another!"

"I never said I didn't agree. If I hadn't of been interrupted time and time again"

"If you hadn't been insulting time and time again, there wouldn't have been a need. But then you do agree?"

I held my breath waiting for a response.

Emerson very slowly removed the pipe from his mouth and tapped it out vigorously, checking it twice before putting it in his pocket, which still bore the marks of his previous misadventure. He pursed his lips in an odd fashion and it wasn't until I leaned forward slightly that I saw in the dim light the hints of the grin beginning to form.

Twice in one night. Was there no one who could take things seriously anymore? Intolerable. "B----- h---," I muttered underneath my breath. Glaring at the man I had considered my beloved up until that moment, I demanded, "Well?"

Trying to maintain control over his writhing lips, Emerson replied in a suspiciously shaky voice, "Amelia, you didn't apologize."

"Really? How odd. I was sure I did," I replied abstractedly, crossing my arms and ostentatiously not looking directly at him.

"Amelia."

"Yes?"

"You're doing it again."

I stared back at him and shook my head wearily. "We are too alike for this to work. We shall make one another miserable."

"I can't imagine how. What's past is past. You can't possibly excavate without me and I need your money- so here we are. Stuck with one another."

"It isn't about that at all!" I protested.

"No? Well, adoring you might have something to do with it," he said, sitting back contentedly.

I snapped my mouth shut, my reproaches dying on my lips. Almost against my will, I found my features mirroring his smug grin. "Oh Emerson, you - I mean, about Mr. Fletcher"

He reached over and took my hand, tugging my arm and consequently the rest of me over towards the couch. "He's your solicitor and shall remain so unless" here he paused to kiss my hands in turn.

"Unless what?"

Emerson made an indefinable sound and somehow maneuvered me onto his lap. I began to suspect his attentions of having a distinctly alternative purpose rather than a display of affection.

"Unless what, Emerson?"

"Well, I cannot with honor allow another man admire my future wife, can I?" he drawled offensively, his lips slowly moving north.

"Oh for heavens sake, Emerson Emerson! It's it's just Mr. Fletcher!" I said in a shrill voice, slapping at his hands.

"Just Mr. Fletcher" he agreed and continued what he was doing. "And there are no other rejected suitors I should know about?"

"Well, I have had other proposals" I began, feeling Emerson immediately become more rigid. "But they weren't worth considering."

"No? Well then, I feel suitably reassured," he replied unconvincingly.

"Whatever happened to what's past is past?" I replied mockingly, poking him in the chest.

His eyes darkened by way of reply.

"Emerson, you know that you're the only man for me no matter how insufferable you are," I murmured to his shoulder.

"Harumph," he said, but I knew my words had some effect, for he unclenched his teeth and embraced me warmly.

"And you will not beat Mr. Fletcher into a bloody pulp when you are introduced?"

"Amelia, I am astonished that you would even considered that I would do such a thing! I, a man of consummate self-possession, as you no doubt have discerned and with a temper that could barely hurt a fly."

"Emerson, promise you will not physically harm Mr. Fletcher."

"Oh you silly foolish woman! I promise, I promise! Are you satisfied?" he growled, throwing up his hands.

"Yes," I replied quietly, and kissed him softly on the lips.

As I believe I have remarked on other occasions, a soft answer turneth away wrath, as the Scripture teaches us and so it was. Moments later found us sitting side by side on the divan, my head on his shoulder.

"Do you think we shall ever be like ordinary people, Emerson?"

"Peabody, why would you ever want to be like ordinary people?"

And when he put it like that, I confess, I could not come up with a persuasive answer.

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TBC