A/N: Alright, so I want to give a little bit of a disclaimer. I've talked about how there are some portions of this story that I wrote without regard to whether it was historically accurate, and another such portion is started in this chapter.

Chapter 10: Decem

July 16, 1806
Addington Cottage

Nikolai crumpled the coded note in his hand, rage flooding through him. For a moment, he stood, silent and still, fighting for control. It was a battle he lost with a fierce snarl, throwing the letter into the fire in his bedroom, turning to kick out at one of the chairs positioned in front of the fireplace.

The sound of snapping wood did not quite cover the rustle of fabric or the click of a door closing and Nikolai spun to face Seamus, the taller man's shoulders heaving, hands clenching, body trembling with the effort it was taking him to keep any semblance of control.

Seamus' eyes darted over Nikolai's form, mouth twitching into a grimace. "He has not been caught, then?" Seamus asked quietly.

With another snarl, Nikolai knocked over a delicate vase of flowers on the mantle. "He has not been caught because he has not been seen! The rat hides in his nest, in the muck, and in the shadows, and though he leaves broken girls and ruined hopes in an endless trail behind him, my sister's best spies still cannot find him!"

Nikolai swept up a large book from the low table between the remaining chair and the fireplace. Before he could throw it, however, a broad hand wrapped around his wrist and halted him.

Seamus didn't even flinch at the fury in Nikolai's eyes as the prince turned to look at him.

Ever since that fateful day when they had met, Seamus had dedicated his life to Nikolai's service. The two of them were well matched, with similar opinions on art, literature, fashion, politics. And Seamus managed to effortlessly do the one thing no one else had been able to do for Nikolai since Sophie had been called back to Russia.

He helped him keep moving, keep breathing. Nikolai wouldn't call what he was doing as living, not until his sister's attacker and his mother's murderers were gutted like the cowardly filth they were, but Seamus had kept him alive. Surviving.

In Seamus' position as valet, he was the closest person to Nikolai at all times. Their close proximity and growing friendship over the months had manifested a sense of loyalty quite unfamiliar to either of them when it was directed at anyone who was not blood-related to them. Seamus had taken in stride all of the slowly revealed details about the Ephrussi duty as spies for the tsar and had long since vowed his silence on the matter.

Because while yes, technically it could be framed as treason to help a foreign spy gather information in the country you lived in, the Ephrussi's had done much more to earn loyalty and admiration than England ever had, in Seamus' personal opinion.

And besides. Most of the information gathering was directed towards helping Jewish communities in Europe, or protecting the abused servant class, or protecting friends and family from harm. All of this was something Seamus heartily approved of, and wouldn't have imagined trying to stop.

There was something else, as well, something that neither of them dared think about even in the darkest hours of the night when they were completely and totally alone.

Something about the way that Seamus' hands smoothed out any wrinkles in Nikolai's clothing, sweeping broad, firm passes down the straight, broad back. Or perhaps it was in the manner that Nikolai only ever seemed to truly feel able to smile when Seamus did, wanting to echo that bright and clear grin even in his own dark and maudlin thoughts.

Eyes lingered on hands, on shoulders, on shadows and reflections in mirrors. Nothing was said because nothing could be said. Not even in the privacy of their own minds had it ever been given a name or direction.

"Destroying your family's cottage will not help you find Wickham," Seamus said softly, his soft brown eyes staring unerringly into Nikolai's. His hand tightened slightly on Nikolai's wrist, his thumb grazing the warm, thin, fragile skin over the vulnerable veins on the underside of the joint. Taking a deep breath, knowing how angry he was about to make the man who was his friend long before he would ever be a master, "Nor will it bring Sophie back to England."

Nikolai's pale, piercing eyes went dark, and he attacked without thinking. He lunged at Seamus, tackling the man to the floor. Blow after blow he attempted to rain upon his friend's body, and each time was caught and disarmed as they struggled across the floor, knocking into the fine furnishings of the room. Their muffled curses and pained grunts were a cacophony in the otherwise quiet room, rising in volume as Nikolai began to hurl cruel words in Hebrew and Russian, until finally, Seamus had enough.

With a deft move Seamus had learned from training and sparring with Nikolai, Seamus flipped the two of them so that he had pinned Nikolai's taller, lankier body beneath his own. Golden firelight cast warm paths down the handsome, furious face beneath him. Nikolai tried to rise back up, spitting curses, and Seamus had no choice but to take Nikolai's wrists and slam him back down against the ground, hands high above his head.

"Enough!" he shouted into Nikolai's face, stunning the man into silence.

The two of them stayed there, panting, glaring at one another.

Seamus leaned a hair closer to Nikolai, undaunted by the pale-gazed rage. "That is enough. I will not let you do this to yourself."

"Do what?!" Nikolai growled.

"Try to drive away anyone who could ever conceivably care about you," Seamus shouted. "That's why you left Meryton even though the Season's not over yet. I know that you miss Sophie, and I know that you are hurting but you cannot get through this alone, and I will not let you feel that you are alone! I will not let you succumb to your anger and your loneliness, not while I yet draw breath."

Again Nikolai tried to get up, and again Seamus kept him pinned.

With a glare, Nikolai hissed, words like a weapon, "I am alone!"

"You are not!" Seamus cried, pain lancing through his chest, voice breaking as he continued in a much softer voice, "You have me, and I will not leave you."

Nikolai lay there, breathing hard, staring up into those dark brown eyes, emotions warring inside of him. Loneliness and loss, yes, made worse by the fact that he could no longer deny what was in front of him.

"How can you tell me that you will not leave me," he said, his voice thick with pain and resignation, "when you are not mine."

Seamus' breath froze in his lungs. Never, not even in his most selfish and saddest moments, had he ever let himself wonder what it would be like to be wanted by someone he desired. Carefully, he released his grip on Nikolai's wrists, his hands moving to gently cup Nikolai's face.

His heart pounded but he could not stop himself from answering the growing hope in Nikolai's eyes that was blotting out the despair and loneliness. "I am yours," he promised lowly, roughly, "I am yours in every way you will have me."

One of Nikolai's hands wove through bright red waves, and Seamus' breath hitched at the touch. The prince gently brought the other man's head down until their foreheads were touching.

A single tear escaped from the corner of one of his eyes as he released a shaky breath. "And I am yours, Seamus. Always yours."

They lay there on the floor for a long time, taking and giving comfort, neither quite having the proper words to follow up such barings of their souls.

Every so often, there was a quiet, careful brush of lips.

Eventually, Seamus sighed against the beard shadowed skin of Nikolai's cheek. "We will find Wickham. I promise you that."

Nikolai nodded, his hands still holding Seamus close. he didn't want to think about anything else other than finally sharing space with the man he had been unable to get out of his mind, had been unable to truly give himself hope for. They fell asleep in front of the dying fire amidst the splintered furniture and broken decor. Though they were sore for it in the morning, neither regretted it.

July 28, 1806
Longbourn

Now that Jane was out in Meryton society, on occasion she found herself with little to do. There were still studies Great Aunt Phoebe made sure she was given tutors for, and she also spent time with her sisters, performed the duties of Mistress of Longbourn, as well as her embroidery. Yet, some days, none of these things filled her days.

Jane sighed as she walked the trail through Longbourn lands. The strong late summer sun was welcome after last week's unseasonable cold and rain, and yet Jane could not find it within herself to truly enjoy it or the beauty of the nature around her.

The Season was coming to a close. Weddings had been announced and celebrated, honeymonths begun, for friends and acquaintances alike. And yet, Jane's own hopes for such felicity had not come to fruition.

Yes, she knew that the Lieutenant had only been following the advice Noah and Nikolai had given him so as to give Jane the space to enjoy the first (and what would likely be the only) courtship she'd ever welcomed. The summer was almost over now, though, and still, there had been no offer of official courtship or engagement.

They had talked, oh, they had talked. Whenever they could find a spare moment of hidden privacy in a crowded ballroom or a packed parlor, they had held conversations that ranged from thoughts on modern literature to art, geography, and fashion to even politics, agriculture, and estate management.

In some small part of her heart, Jane kept those conversations dear. The way that the Lieutenant's eyes would soften only when he looked at her, the special smile he only ever directed to her, the sweet words that haunted her heart and made her hope.

And yet.

No offers had been given.

Though she hoped, though she dreamed, though she longed, there was no certainty in Jane's heart. Not even Lizzy's determined assurances or Mary's clear-headed observations could give her that. The war, the one topic they never discussed, raged on across the sea and she knew the time they had left was nearly out.

What if he did not offer?

Her heart clenched in her chest, and Jane immediately felt ashamed at the sting behind her eyes. Silly, to cry like this, but she couldn't help herself.

So distracted with her self-rebuttal, Jane did not hear the approaching hoofbeats, not until a large brown beast of a horse burst forth from the treeline.

Letting out a small cry of surprise and panic, Jane fell back onto the grass, knocking her bonnet askew and completely dropping the basket of blankets she'd been taking to Mrs. Vonse, the wife of one of the tenant farmers. The great beast whinnied sharply, the sound threatening to Jane's already frightened state of mind.

But then, a man swung down from the saddle, standing between Jane and the panting animal.

"Miss Bennet?"

Jane briefly closed her eyes, tears of relief slipping down her cheeks as a wave of relief swept through her. She knew that rumbling burr like stones rolling over one another on a mountainside. The tall, broad-shouldered figure wearing a familiar blue coat with dark hair that glittered like copper in the sunlight and the warmest, truest brown eyes she'd ever known.

"Jane, m'eudail," the voice said, the Lieutenant that had not left her thoughts even once these past weeks. "I did not see you on the path, are you alright?"

He extended a hand, which Jane shakily took, allowing him to help her stand. She felt shaky on her feet, and let herself use that as a subconscious excuse for standing closer to him than propriety would ever allow, leaving one hand in his and the other resting upon his strong chest.

Lieutenant Ross paid no mind to the proper directions of propriety either, concern and protective instinct swelling high when he saw the tear tracks glittering on her cheeks. "My Jane," he crooned, lifting one gloved hand to gently brush away a tear. "Why do you cry? I did not mean to frighten you, I swear it."

She shook her head, grateful when he did not take the action as an encouragement to step away from her. "It is not just that, though you know I have never been fond of horses."

Jane glanced up at him, attempting a smile.

Lieutenant Ross returned it, eyes softening and warming, leaning impossibly closer. "Then what is it, mo ghràdh?"

She shivered even in the strong sunshine, the low and musical lilt of the language he held closest to his heart settling her, with words she knew were lovely and kind, even if she did not know their meaning.

Yet.

A faint hope tickled in her chest, that she might yet have the opportunity to learn.

His hand was still gently clearing traces of her tears from her cheeks, and she let herself lean into the touch.

"I am afraid that I was thinking of you, Lieutenant," Jane finally answered.

Lieutenant Ross moved even closer, his breath feeling much too thin, his heart pounding in his chest. "What have I done that causes you such pain?"

"Pain?" Jane asked, blinking her eyes open in confusion, realization finally blowing them wide, her hands curling tighter around his hand and on his fine blue coat. "Oh, no! No, sir, you have not caused me pain, I only..."

She trailed off, remembering her manners and the sheer insolence of what she had been about to say. Her cheeks flushed, and she tried to duck her head down.

He didn't let her, though his touch was gentle as he lifted her face towards his own. "You need not fear any censure from me," he murmured.

That tight and uncertain feeling she'd been carrying around in her shoulders and in the spaces closest to her heart that had only grown and strengthened as the days of the summer passed finally began to ease. She knew he wouldn't censure her, he was a straightforward man who had never played the games that so many other suitors seemed to want to play with her.

The lieutenant was everything an officer was supposed to be. Tall, handsome, brave. He was a quiet man, not easily given to long speeches. Unless he was talking to Jane. Then, and only then, Jane had been pleased to note that he eased and spoke soft, sweet words only to her.

She knew that she could tell him the truth about what was troubling her. And so she did. "You have not...offered for me," she finally said.

He paused, surprise bleeding into his expression for a moment. And then, like a breaking dawn, hope. His hand on her cheek was trembling. "I was not sure I would be welcomed," he said, his voice slightly strained, "we have only known each other a single summer, and I have not nearly spent the time courting you I would have preferred."

Her heart sank. "Oh," she said softly. "So you do not-"

"No!" he cried, then made a short, angry noise. "That is not -" He closed his eyes, letting out a long, slow breath, shaking his head as a wry smile flickered over his face.

Jane's breath caught in her lungs as he opened his eyes, unwilling to hope she could name the emotion she saw in that brown gaze.

"I fear," he chuckled, his fingers tracing the curve of her cheek, "that in my eagerness to confirm your hopes I have instead dashed them."

She could feel the way her eyes widened as they searched his, couldn't stop the way her hands tightened again.

"Jane," he said, his voice velvet soft, "had I the time, I would have spent every moment of this summer courting you. I knew from the moment I met you that you were the only woman I could ever give my heart to."

He had to take a breath, a broad, adoring smile spreading over his face. "Your beauty comes from your kindness, your brilliance that makes you shine like the sun, and I love you for that. You have my heart and my soul. You deserve nothing less than the very stars, though all I can offer you is the hand of a soldier who will love you and protect you all the days of my life. Marry me, Jane."

The words were everything she had ever hoped to hear and more. A laugh bubbled its way free, happy tears clouding her gaze. "I do not need the stars," she said, "I need only you, to be your wife."

Propriety had no place between them then.

The lieutenant, her lieutenant, her Andrew, wrapped her up into his arms and pulled her in close, kissing her slowly, gently. She melted into his embrace, joy threatening to spill free from her lips.

They stayed on the trail for a few moments longer, smiling and laughing, sharing their joy in the sunshine, trading soft expressions of love, soothing all concerns.

Eventually, they made their way back to Longbourn, eager to gain Mr. Bennet's consent.

The entire walk, Jane was not bothered by her love's horse, seeing only Andrew's hair glinting copper in the sun, his eyes soft and warm as they never left her. She didn't hear the call of birds or the sounds of the forest, heard only Andrew's sweet words and his low, happy laugh.

Andrew could not believe his luck. He had not dreamed that she would say yes when he asked for her hand. She was the daughter of a prominent landowner, she was educated and talented and the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. She was everything soft and strong, and he had not dared believe she could love him in return.

Yet, she did.

Multiple times along their path back to Longbourn, he stopped her to press a kiss to her cheek, her forehead, her nose, her lips.

And every time, Jane would laugh, free and happy.

In her happiness, Jane forgot one important thing.

"Jane cannot marry a soldier!" Mrs. Bennet shrieked, the noise piercing Jane's ears and heart even through the heavy wooden door separating Jane from the argument happening in Mr. Bennet's study.

Mr. Bennet did not look up from where he was leafing through a large book of maps. "And whyever not, my dear?"

Andrew did not speak, hands clenched tight behind his back. He could plainly see the disinterest and discomfort in Mr. Bennet's posture, and it took great strength to keep from shouting at the man to wake up. To pay attention. The warning he'd received from Noah and Nikolai had really not done enough to prepare him for the elder Bennet's selfish behavior.

Mrs. Bennet glared at Andrew, blue eyes narrow, dagger-like. "She is promised to another!"

For a moment, Andrew's heart seized in his chest. Then, he shoved the emotion down deep behind his facade of tranquility. "To whom is she promised?"

"To our dear family friend Prince Nikolai," Mrs. Bennet seethed. "How dare you intrude into my home and attempt to steal my dearest Jane from me, and from the man who loves her so dearly-"

"I would be very careful," Andrew interrupted, voice pitched low and dangerous enough to make Jane's breath quicken, "insinuating that there is more to the relationship between Miss Bennet and my friend."

Mrs. Bennet sputtered, unable to rightly express her rage.

Turning to Mr. Bennet, Andrew once again said, "I have offered for her hand. She has accepted. We need only your consent for the marriage."

A loud crash came from the corner of the study. Both men turned and froze when they saw that Mrs. Bennet had knocked over a small table that had been littered with books, and was now holding two of them over the fire.

An echo of the burning flames was in Mrs. Bennet's eyes. "I have had enough of this," she hissed, snake-like, "and I will tolerate no more. You listen to me, Mr. Bennet, and you listen well."

Mr. Bennet was frozen, half out of his comfortable chair behind his battered desk, panic in his eyes.

Andrew could not move, and Jane, behind the door, whispered softly, "No..."

Sensing she finally had everyone's complete attention, Mrs. Bennet smiled, slightly manic. "If you let them get married," she told Mr. Bennet, "then you will not know another moment's peace for the rest of your days. I will never be silenced about it."

Jane pressed her forehead to the dark wood, and couldn't even take comfort from her sister's hands as they smoothed over her back.

Andrew's chest tightened as he studied Mr. Bennet's face. No father could be this impassive about his daughter's happiness. He could not believe the detachment when they were talking about his daughter, about sweet, lovely Jane. The man had shown infinite more concern over the damn books!

Mr. Bennet settled back into his chair, turning twinkling blue eyes back to Andrew. "Unfortunately, Lieutenant, I can give you no consent for your marriage. Jane will stay here, at home." He waved a careless hand, already turning back to his book. "Go find a wife among those silly creatures that seek marriage to soldiers in places like Brighton."

Andrew could not move. He could not believe what he had just heard. "Sir," he began, taking a step forward.

"You have heard my husband!" Mrs. Bennet cried shrilly, triumphantly. "Be gone with you! Get out of this house and never return!"

Jane turned, sobbing, and fled to her room.

Stumbling back, Andrew gave one last desperate look to Mr. Bennet, but the man did not look up. He did not even flinch.

Anger rose like a tidal wave, and Andrew had to leave before he did or said something he could not take back.

Jane was not waiting for him on the other side of the study room door, and the loss was too sharp, too sudden. There would be no wedding, no coming home to his beautiful, kind wife. He did not even get to look at her one last time.

Instead there was only little Miss Lydia left in the hallway, looking at him with a sad expression much too understanding for her young age.

Numbly, Andrew allowed the butler Mr. Hill to lead him towards the front door. It was only once he was back inside his guest room at Lucas Lodge, having dodged John's worried questions, that he allowed himself to sink down against the wall, and let go.

Jane lay on the bed she shared with Lizzy and cried for hours, unable to stop even when Mrs. Bennet had burst in to scream at her for entertaining such a 'lowborn' man when she 'should have been catching a prince'.

Lydia had come in then, whining in that voice she used when pretending to be a brat, distracting their mother with tales of ribbons and lace. Mary and Kitty crawled into bed with her once Mr. and Mrs. Bennet had gone to bed, Lizzy and Lydia following soon after.

Despite her despair, Jane managed to fall asleep.

Hours later, just after the sun had peeked over the horizon when three of the sisters had left their eldest's bed, a small hand gently shook her awake.

"Andrew...?" Jane asked blearily, still halfway in her dream where she'd been walking hand in hand with her soldier through an endless green wood.

The small hand paused on her shoulder. "Janie...wake up."

Jane blinked awake, taking a moment to be able to clearly see Lydia's face. She forced herself to ignore the hurt when she remembered the events of the day before, the felicity that would never be. "Lyddie?" she asked. "What is it?"

"I saw John Lucas on my ride this morning," Lydia said softly, eyes darting over to where Lizzy was rising from the bed, frowning at them in concern. "Janie...Lieutenant Ross received his orders yesterday while he was at Longbourn."

"His orders?" Jane gasped. Her chest was so tight she felt as if she were being crushed. "No, tell me he is not-"

Lizzy's arms wrapped around her, and Lydia climbed back into the bed to give Jane what comfort she could.

Turning back to the pillows, Jane sobbed, "He cannot be gone, not now...we did not even say goodbye!"

Though they tried to comfort her, Jane's pain was too great, and they could not reach her. The door of Lizzy and Jane's bedroom opened, and Mary and Kitty slipped inside. When they saw Jane's sobbing form, they also climbed onto the bed.

Lizzy's eyes were wet as she looked over at her youngest sister. "Is there time for her to meet him? They could elope."

It was improper, wildly so, and the scandal would reach farther than just Jane or even just the sisters, but Lizzy could not stand seeing Jane like this, and she knew just by looking at her sisters that none of them would object.

She would move heaven and earth if it would fix this, but she could not move Mrs. Bennet and she had not truly spoken to her father since Lydia's broken leg.

Lydia shook her head sadly. "No. John told me that he is already gone, but..." Lydia pulled a slim, folded note from her pocket. "He gave me this to give to Jane."

Immediately, Jane sat up, taking the note and unfolding it with shaking hands. She read it, her eyes tracing the words written by a strong, masculine hand.

Know that I love you. Look to the stars, mo ghràdh. I will find a way to give them to you one day.

There was no signature, but she did not need one. She held the note to her chest, right above her heart where it beat beneath her skin.

"He will be back," Mary said softly. "I know it."

Jane shook her head mournfully. "Mrs. Bennet will never allow it to come to pass. It was foolish to try-"

"You are not foolish, Janie," Kitty said firmly. "You are...you are wonderful. Lizzy is right. He will be back. You just have to believe that."

She wanted to, oh how she wanted to. "I do not know if I have the strength."

Lizzy ducked her head, her fierce eyes locking onto Jane's. "You do."

A beam of sunlight filtered in through the window, and Jane remembered that first day at Lucas Lodge. Sunlight making his hair glint copper, warming the tree bark brown of his eyes.

A rough, strong hand brushing hers.

A low, rumbling voice like rocks on a mountainside calling her beautiful things.

"Yes," she said softly, feeling that same steel she had felt once before in this very room when Lyddie had been so small and broken and Jane had felt so angry. "I know I do."

Her sisters smiled.

Jane sat a little taller, pressing the note with words of love closer to her skin. "I will be here when he does. I will not lose hope and I will not lose faith."

Lydia giggled, pride shining in her eyes. "That's our Janie."

Nodding, eyes still wet, Lizzy said, "Always reminding us that she is the best among us."

A/N: Sooooo some of you actually guessed that Jane and Andrew wouldn't be able to have such an easy time of things. There's no need to fear, we haven't seen the last of the dear Lieutenant, but there was just no way that Mrs. Bennet was going to allow Jane to marry so 'low' when she thinks that Jane is one more Season away from snagging Nikolai. Of course, now we all know why that would never happen.

Marrying Without Permission in Regency: Technically this was something that could have been done after the woman in question reacher her majority of 21, but it still was considered very scandalous. Jane is not yet 21, so she didn't even have that option yet.
Homosexuality in Regency: I am really not trying to be historically accurate when it comes to how the LGBTQ+ community was forced to live in the Regency, it's just too depressing. You may believe whatever you believe, but please remember that it is fact that LGBTQ+ people have existed all throughout history. Any homophobic comments will be unrepentantly deleted.
The Reason The Ross Brothers Left Scotland: In case it wasn't quite clear in the earlier chapter, the reason the Ross brothers left Scotland was definitely because of the rumors about Seamus being gay. Seamus was not interested in marrying a woman, he couldn't even stand the idea of subjecting someone to his complete disinterest in them and thus dooming any of their hopes for felicity in marriage. He'd rejected a girl widely considered to be the prime debutant in their area. Even rumors about homosexuality could be vicious and life-threatening, so Andrew took his little brother to England. Because Andrew is a great guy who didn't want to abandon his brother.
M'eudail: Scottis Gealic for 'my darling'.
Mo Ghràdh: Scottish Gaelic for 'my love'.