A/N: Shout-out to my wonderful betas thegladelf and mryddinwilt. A little note on the local geography: Arendell cottage is located in the village of Misthaven in Devonshire county. Storybrooke is a market town near Misthaven (like Meryton in P&P).
Emma set off on a walk the following morning on one of the trails Ruby had suggested. She trekked up a winding path, which led to a small elevation set with a pretty little Grecian pavilion. There was mist rising everywhere, so she could only catch glimpses of the valley below on one side and the ocean on the other. The occasional bird-call pierced the relentless crashing of the waves against the cliff-face. Misthaven was certainly beautiful. Emma stood in silent contemplation for a little while and started back, taking an approach with a more gradual descent down to Arendell. There was a fast-flowing brook swollen from recent rains and she followed it to the pond it fed into.
The surface of the pond was glimmering in the sunlight. There was a family of swans on the shore—two adult birds and hatch of cygnets. Emma stood admiring them from a distance, knowing better than to approach too closely. As she watched, one of the babies suddenly vanished down a hole in the ground mid-waddle. The mother-swan, quite agitated, started honking at the lip of the hole. Emma stood paralyzed for a few moments, then she stepped carefully towards the birds. At her approach, the adult swans turned and hissed at her warningly. She untied her bonnet and continued to approach closer speaking at the birds in a soothing tone. "It's okay, I only want to help."
As she stepped closer, the male bird flapped its wings and herded the rest of its brood back to the pond, continuing to snort at her in warning. By slow degrees, Emma got closer to the trapped cygnet and its mother. The baby bird seemed safe enough, but the hole was too deep for it to crawl out of, and too narrow for the mother-bird to help it up. The mother withdrew a little at Emma's approach, but when she knelt down and tried to reach down into the hole, it ran up and gave her sleeve a little peck.
"I'm only trying to get your baby out!" Emma sighed as she tried to ward off the mother-swan with her bonnet in one hand, while attempting to reach the baby with her other hand, and also keeping a wary eye out for the father. The clip-clop of a horse heralded the approach of someone. Emma turned to see if they were close enough to call out for help. But the rider was already slowing down his horse with a "Whoa! Whoa!"
"Miss Emma! What are you doing?" said Captain Jones—for it was he—as he dismounted and approached.
The mother-swan, disliking the addition of more creatures threatening her offspring, ran forward a little, honking loudly at them. The male-swan was hovering close to the shore, hissing and guarding the rest of the brood.
"Get your horse away from here, Captain Jones!" Emma exclaimed a little breathless, as she attempted to take advantage of the bird's preoccupation with the new arrivals to reach further down into the hole. "A cygnet fell down…but the mother won't let me…"
To his credit, Captain Jones did as he was told. He quickly tied his horse to a tree further from the shore. When he came back, he held a blanket.
"You go ahead, Miss Emma, I'll distract the mother," he said, waving the blanket at the bird.
Sure enough, the swan rushed at him once more, snorting and wings flapping. Quick as lightning, Captain Jones flipped the blanket up and brought it down neatly on the bird. He brought his arms down in an arch around the trapped bird, leveraging it up, and wound the blanket around its torso. He then folded-back the blanket over the swan's head to give it room to breathe. The bird stayed quiet.
Emma gave a triumphant cry as she extricated the baby from the hole and cradled it in her palm. She took one look at the blanket-wrapped bundle on the ground by Captain Jones. "How did you do that?" she asked, her mouth falling open in surprise.
Captain Jones laughed. "Let's get the mother and the little cygnet back to their family, eh?" He picked up the bundle carefully from the ground and walked to the edge of the pond.
Emma followed the captain, holding the chirping baby bird in her palms. She planted a tiny kiss on the cygnet's head and set it down close to the edge of the water. It immediately slipped into the water and swam off to join its family. The male-bird was still fluffing its wings threateningly at Emma and Killian.
"Get back!" Captain Jones commanded. He set the swaddled bird down by the edge of the pond and slowly loosened the blanket by gentle tugging at it back and forth. Soon, the folds were loose enough for the swan to wriggle out. It stood frozen for a moment, and then, flapping its wings, it glided into the water and swam out to join its family.
Emma let out a relieved sigh and thanked Captain Jones for his help.
"You're welcome, Miss Emma," he said, his eyes dancing in mirth. "It appears we make quite the team."
The way Captain Jones was looking at her, with a mixture of amusement and admiration, flustered Emma. She turned away, a delicate blush tinting her cheeks, and kicked dirt over the hole to fill it in.
"May I escort you home?" Captain Jones asked, walking up to his stallion.
"No, thank you, Captain," said Emma. Glancing at the horse with interest, she added, "He's gorgeous. What is his name?"
"Poseidon," Captain Jones replied. Seeing the expression on Emma's face, he grinned. "My brother tended to be grandiose at times. But I always call him Bill."
Emma burst out laughing. "Did the horse belong to your brother?"
"Yes. He was very annoyed when this one would only answer to 'Bill'." Captain Jones gently scratched the horse's back. Bill nickered in response and snuggled up to him. Turning to Emma, Captain Jones asked, "Would you like to pet him?"
"I would like that very much," she said, her eyes brightening.
Emma approached Bill and softly stroked his neck.
Captain Jones rooted through his saddle bag and pulled out an apple. "Here, give him the apple."
Bill snorted once and graciously accepted the proffered apple. Giving the horse one final pat Emma stepped back, smiling. She thanked the captain for his help once more and started back home.
The next day, Emma and Mary Margaret took Ingrid's donkey cart to Storybrooke, the principal town in the area, to restock supplies for their work basket. On returning home, Emma found that Captain Jones had stopped by to drop off some music sheets for her. As she attempted the pieces on her pianoforte, Emma's thoughts frequently strayed to the captain. She had been pleasantly surprised at how quickly he had joined her quest to rescue the baby bird and was flattered that he had brought her the sheet music. She half-expected him to call again within the week, but the next thing she heard of Captain Jones was that he had left for London, and despite Mrs. Lucas continuing to tease her about him whenever they met, he slowly faded into the background of her mind.
Emma and Mary Margaret soon settled into the pattern of their new life. Ingrid was well-read and well-informed, and as kind to them as she had been on the day of their arrival. Apart from a few long-standing acquaintances in the neighborhood, she did not mingle much in society, and so the young women's social engagements were fewer than before. Neither Emma nor Mary Margaret minded the comparative scarcity of dining engagements or the absence of balls as they still grieved for their parents and missed their erstwhile home. But the sorrow ebbed and flowed—sharp and bitter on some days, a mellow ache in their hearts on others.
One day, about a month after her arrival at the cottage, Emma was feeling particularly restless and cooped-up. She had mostly kept to her resolution of walking out in the countryside every day, Mary Margaret accompanying her most of the time. However, it had been raining heavily during the past two days and Emma had not been able to step outside even once. There wasn't enough light to sew or read without using more candles than she felt justified in daylight hours, and she was not in the mood to play anything on the pianoforte. Therefore she had nothing better to do but stare out the window, hoping for the rain to let up.
The minute it stopped raining, Emma set off on her usual walk, ignoring Leroy's pessimistic prognostications of further rain, and Ingrid's cautions about mud. Within a few minutes, the damp had seeped through her shoes and into her stockings. Emma felt silly, but she stubbornly kept walking. Fat droplets of rain fell on her shortly after, and it started pouring again. She could hear Mary Margaret calling for her from the direction of the cottage. The rain was coming down so thickly now, she could barely see her nose. With a sigh, Emma decided to stop being a fool and turned back. Lightning forked across the sky and silhouetted the form of a horse just in front of her. Startled by the clap of thunder that followed, the animal whinnied and reared up, its forelegs far too close to Emma's face. With a scream, Emma stumbled backward, tripped, and fell to the ground. She lay sprawled, her heart thudding as she tried to collect her bearings.
A man had dismounted from the horse and was talking to it soothingly. Emma pressed her weight on an elbow and attempted to get off the ground, only for her ankle to twinge in agonizing pain. She gave an involuntary shout and fell back down. The man hurried to her side. She could barely distinguish his countenance through the streaming rivulets of water running down her face.
"Ma'am, are you alright?"
Emma bit off a sharp retort and said instead, "I think I twisted my ankle."
"Please, allow me to be of assistance," he said, offering her his hand. "Where do you reside?"
"Over there," said Emma pointing, she hoped, in the direction of the cottage and grabbed the stranger's hand. She attempted to get up once more, only to fall back again with another yelp of pain. Emma closed her eyes as blackness swam before her eyelids. The next moment, she was being gently lifted up and seated on the horse, which had quieted down by then. The gentleman held her steady until she found her bearings and led the horse to the cottage.
"As Pan bears responsibility for startling you and causing your fall, he may as well make amends by carrying you home," he said.
Emma supposed the name of the horse was Pan, but was too embarrassed to reply. Once they neared the cottage, Ingrid and Mary Margaret ran up to them in concern. Briefly explaining what had occurred, Emma's benefactor lifted her from her mount and carried her indoors, depositing her in one of the sofas in the drawing room under Ingrid's directions, on which Mary Margaret hastened to pile several rugs. Ingrid examined the troublesome ankle to check if it was broken, much to Emma's embarrassment. Ingrid having ascertained it to be but a sprain, the stranger was too much of a gentleman to stay beyond being thanked. He left after obtaining permission to visit on the morrow to inquire after the state of the patient.
Mary Margaret and Ingrid fussed over Emma and helped her change out of her wet clothes. Ingrid made hot cocoa, having discovered that it was her favorite beverage some days previous. Emma protested, stressing that the cocoa was too precious to be wasted over a mere sprain, but Ingrid brooked no denial. Once Emma was settled in tolerable comfort with her hot beverage and pillows to elevate her feet, Mary Margaret started in on her.
"Cousin Ingrid, you didn't tell us it rained knights-errant in these parts," said Mary Margaret, turning to Ingrid. "I thought corsairs were the specialty of Misthaven."
"He's the reason I fell in the first place!" protested Emma, blushing.
"And yet you let him carry you home," said Ingrid.
"His horse carried me," said Emma, then blushed once more upon seeing the twinkle in the older woman's eyes.
"He is quite handsome," said Mary Margaret.
"I'll take your word for it, sister. I barely saw his face."
"You'll get an opportunity to make your own judgment ere long. He's promised to come visit in the morning to inquire on your prognosis," put in Ingrid.
"There," her sister declared in triumph, while Emma turned her face to hide another blush. Turning to Ingrid, Mary Margaret asked, "Do you know him, cousin? Is he an acquaintance of yours?"
Emma's interest was piqued, even if her embarrassment over the ignominious fall almost overcame her curiosity to see her rescuer.
"Only a slight one. His name is Cassidy. He's a connection of Mrs. Gould's and visits her occasionally."
"He doesn't live here?" asked Emma, her face falling a little.
"No," replied Ingrid, unable to help a smile, "But he is just a county over—his seat is in Somersetshire."
The morrow brought Mr. Cassidy bright and early to the cottage, and Emma got the opportunity to make her own judgment about her "knight-errant", as Mary Margaret had put it. Neal Cassidy was a gentlemanly young man with a boyish smile and a pleasant countenance. While his clothing was well-cut and neatly tailored, it was neither ostentatious nor in the first style of fashion. There was an air of casual elegance in his turnout that was rather attractive in its simplicity. He presented Emma with a nosegay of sweetly-scented wildflowers and sat by her and talked with such engaging cheerfulness that Emma almost forgot her hurting ankle. Before the morning's visit was concluded, Mr. Cassidy had charmed the occupants of the cottage with his agreeable manners and conversation. When he left, it was with a promise that he would visit again on the following day.
Neal Cassidy soon became a regular fixture of their mornings. He and Emma would sit talking for hours or Emma would play music and bask in his admiration. When her ankle was sufficiently mended, he accompanied her on short walks outside, offering his arm for support. When the excuse of Emma's ankle no longer applied, he continued to visit almost every day. The days of his absence were days of wretchedness to her, and she moped around the cottage much to Ingrid's and Mary Margaret's fond exasperation and amusement.
Emma was not the only one to fall under Neal's spell. He earned Mary Margaret's eternal gratitude when he helped her set up an archery station away from the wind, and out of sight of the roads. The young people had a delightful afternoon painting targets on boards with an old tin of paint Emma scrounged up from the shed, much to Leroy's disgust. Neal gratified Ingrid by waxing poetic on the merits of cottages, and would heed no complaints regarding narrow passageways and smoky chimneys.
Neal was moderately well known in the neighborhood and seemed to be generally well-liked. He was frequently invited to dine at Lucas Park along with the Blanchards, especially once Mrs. Lucas heard the saga of the sprained ankle. The older woman was delighted at the prospect of promoting a match between the single and eligible Neal Cassidy and Emma. Captain Jones was being quite uncooperative as a prospective suitor for the girls, as he had not yet returned from London. Besides, there were two young women to be disposed of in holy matrimony, and the eldest Miss Blanchard would do quite as well for the captain.
Only one person among all their acquaintance could be said to resist Neal Cassidy's charm: Captain Jones.
Captain Jones returned to Misthaven in mid-September as promised. He called at Arendell one morning soon after his return and invited the ladies to a tour of Misthaven Abbey followed by a picnic luncheon on the grounds.
"Oh, how kind of you, Captain!" said Ingrid, smiling. With a quick glance at Emma and Mary Margaret, she added, "Thank you for your invitation. We would all be very happy to come!"
"Good." Captain Jones gave a satisfied smile. "Does the twenty-second suit you?"
"Yes, that will do very well. We do not have any prior engagements on that day," said Ingrid.
Emma had sent Captain Jones a note of thanks shortly after he had left the sheet music for her at the cottage, but she now took the opportunity to thank him in person.
"You're very welcome, Miss Emma," he replied. "How did you find the music?"
"An excellent set of pieces, some of which I had not heard before. But I fear you over-estimated my capabilities, Captain—some of them are quite complex."
"I very much doubt they are beyond your capacity," he returned with a smile. "I would be honored to hear you play them."
"Thank you, I would be glad to. And I will be sure to copy the music and return the originals to you soon."
"Do not trouble yourself," said Captain Jones, with a dismissive wave. "They're merely gathering dust at the Abbey. You're very welcome to keep them."
"I couldn't possibly do that," Emma demurred.
"Please—I insist," said Captain Jones, the intense look back in his eyes.
It was at this juncture that Ashley ushered Neal Cassidy into the room. He stopped short on seeing Captain Jones. Acknowledging the other man's presence with the nod, Neal greeted the ladies and pulled up a chair next to Emma and sat down.
"I did not expect to find you at Misthaven, Mr. Cassidy," Captain Jones said, his eyes taking-in Neal's close proximity to Emma.
"Really?"
"Isn't October your usual time of visiting Mrs. Gould?"
Neal raised his brow. "You seem to take an extraordinary amount of interest on how I arrange my social life, Captain," he said.
"I can't say I've given half a minute's thought to it," Captain Jones replied, with a shrug.
There was a terse silence as the men glared at each other. Emma exchanged a look with Mary Margaret.
The seconds ticked on in the clock on the mantelpiece.
"Do you plan to remain at the Abbey for some time, Captain?" asked Ingrid, perhaps anxious to break the odd tension in the room in her role of hostess.
"Yes, I have no immediate plans of returning to town," he replied. His shoulders relaxed.
When the gentlemen had left, Emma could not help wondering over the strange hostility between Captain Jones and Neal Cassidy. She had not forgotten her initial attraction to the naval captain. Indeed, she still felt his charm. However, there was a quality of hardness about him—perhaps a product of a battle-worn life—that made it hard for her to trust him and only served as a reminder of the difference in age and experience between herself and the captain. He was over a decade her senior, and between his sojourn in the West Indies and experiences in the French Wars, had seen and done things Emma could only dream of. She was not so foolish as to lose her head over a man whose character and motivations she could not begin to fathom. His countenance did not reveal the inner workings of his heart the way Neal's did. Neal's casual charm and open temper inspired more confidence than the air of calculated reserve that hung about Captain Jones. She had very much wanted to visit the Abbey since the day of her arrival at Misthaven. In the aftermath of the scene she had witnessed, however, she hardly expected Captain Jones to include Neal in his invitation. Emma wasn't sure if she would be able to fully enjoy her visit without Neal being one of the party.
On the morning of the day of the proposed tour however, a note arrived from Captain Jones canceling the engagement, with apologies that he had to leave Misthaven on urgent, unavoidable business. To take her mind off her disappointment, Emma sat at her pianoforte with the sheet of music she had been working on for the past few days. It was one of the more complex pieces in the set Captain Jones had given her, and there was one particular section that was proving to be bit of a challenge. She was so engrossed that she didn't realize that there was a visitor until the drawing room door opened to admit Neal.
"I heard that your visit to the Abbey had been put off," he said, advancing into the room, "and came to see how you were holding up under the disappointment."
"How kind of you!" said Emma, and gave a pleased smile. "I've been taking my mind off it with music."
"What are you playing?" Neal came and stood behind her and peered over her shoulder. "Isn't this the same one you've been working on for two days now?"
Emma turned to look at him. "There's this one part I can't seem to get just right."
Neal wrinkled his nose. "Then, why are you wasting so much time on it? It's a beautiful day outside. Let's go for a walk."
Emma hesitated for a moment, but then agreed to his suggestion.
They set off on a long walk up the hill and rested under a tree on the summit at Emma's favorite spot. It commanded an excellent view of the ocean below. The sound of the waves crashing against the cliff-side made a pleasant backdrop to the noise of sea-birds crying out as their circled overhead and occasionally dived into the water to catch a fish. A cool breeze ruffled Emma's bonnet and made the hot afternoon sunshine seem less severe than it was.
"I'm sorry for your sake that you weren't able to visit the Abbey today. I know how much you wanted to see it," said Neal, leaning back against the tree-trunk and gazing into the middle-distance. "But that's so typical of Jones. He's not reliable."
"How do you know?" asked Emma, frowning. "Have you had any dealings with him in the past that went badly?"
Neal threw her a sideways glance. Instead of answering her directly, he said, "You probably noticed that he wasn't too happy to see me at Misthaven the other day?"
Emma couldn't help a tiny smile. "I could hardly have failed to notice that."
Neal huffed out a laugh. "True enough," he said.
Emma was bursting with curiosity, but she tried to remain patient and wait for her companion to share his thoughts with her in his own time.
"Jones and I have a complicated history," said Neal, at last. He sat up a little straighter and proceeded with his tale. "It has a lot to do with his dealings with the late owner of Misthaven Abbey, Robert Gould. You know Mrs. Gould—Belle—was his second wife?"
Emma shook her head. "I didn't know that. But then, my sister and I haven't been here for long."
"His first wife, Milah, was seduced and abandoned by a young naval lieutenant." Neal gave her a pointed look.
"Good god! You don't mean…" Emma pressed a hand to her chest, horrified.
"Jones successfully wears the mask of the war hero and squire now, what with his injury at Trafalgar and his succession to Misthaven Abbey. But he was a blackguard and a villain who never got his comeuppance." Neal's lips twisted into a sneer. He continued, "Milah took to laudanum to palliate her broken heart. One day, she took too much. Gould never knew if that had been an accident or if she had done it on purpose."
Emma was silent for a few moments as she contemplated his words. She said at last. "How do you know of it, then? Were you on intimate terms with the late Mr. Gould or did you get the information through the present Mrs. Gould?"
"Robert Gould was my real father," Neal stated baldly.
"You mean…oh."
Neal nodded. "I was never an openly acknowledged son—I'm formally a Cassidy. My mother was a widow in the village where my father used to live. When he got her into trouble, he paid to get her married to a tradesman before I was born. But he genuinely cared for me, and took me in as his ward. Growing up, I used to stay at the Abbey often and he later purchased an estate for me in Somersetshire. I'm sure it's generally known around these parts what the actual nature of my relationship to Robert Gould was."
"Was he married when your mother…that is, when you were born?"
"No. He married Milah when I was seven years old, and after he'd inherited the Abbey. Two successive heirs had become casualties of the French and American wars, so his succession to the estate was completely unexpected." Neal smiled bitterly. "I used to wonder if he'd have married my mother, even though she was not genteel by birth, if he'd known that she would've given him his only heir."
Emma made commiserating sound. "How old were you when the first Mrs. Gould died? Did you know what had happened at the time?"
Neal shook his head. "I was away at Eton. It wasn't until I was older that my father told me the whole story, wanting me to know the truth before he died."
"What was the first Mrs. Gould like? Do you remember much of her?"
"She was affectionate at first," said Neal, staring at the horizon. "As I grew older, she turned more distant. She and my father were always at each other's throats by the I left for boarding school. I can see now that neither of them were happy. I suppose that's why Milah strayed."
"How is all this not generally known? Captain Jones seems well respected in these parts."
"My papa couldn't bear the scandal of it getting out, and the disgrace it would bring upon the family name. So he suppressed the truth." Neal shrugged. "Can anyone blame him for wanting to preserve the family honor, even if it was but a veneer?"
"I do understand why Mr. Gould wanted to suppress the truth about his first wife's death," Emma said after a pause, "but it makes me sorry to think that Captain Jones never faced any sort of justice for his part, even if he only bears moral responsibility for it."
"That's the unfairness of our world," said Neal. "I was sick with disgust when the Abbey passed to him. If I'd been Gould's legitimate son, the Abbey would have come to me."
Emma laid a hand over his in sympathy. After all, she knew what it felt like to be cut off from one's home and heritage by the machinations of English entailment laws. Robert Gould could not have left Misthaven Abbey to his son, however much he may have wished to. Neal smiled gratefully at her and squeezed her hand gently before releasing it. Emma's heart fluttered.
Neal continued, "As soon as he took possession, he started making 'improvements' and alterations to the property. I confronted him over it."
"Did you?" asked Emma, her eyes shining. She admired him for his forthrightness.
Neal nodded. "Perhaps it was foolish of me—I'd just turned twenty-one, and was still naive in some ways. I accused him of disrespecting my father's memory after the role he'd played in Milah's death." He scowled, recollecting the scene. "Jones laughed in my face and told me that I had no idea of how the 'real world' worked."
"How despicable!"
"Ever since then, he's done everything in his power to keep me from the Abbey, as though I was going to beg for an invitation. It would give me no pleasure to see him sit and preside where my father used to. He even demanded that I needed to get his permission to shoot in the manor. Do you know how that felt?" said Neal, his eyes narrowing in displeasure. "Jones inherited my birthright and now he treats me as if I'm no better than a common poacher. "
Emma was indignant. How unjust that Neal should have lost the Abbey to such an undeserving man as Captain Jones! Struck by another thought, she asked, "Does Mrs. Gould—I mean, Mrs. Belle Gould—know of Captain Jones's history with her husband? She seems to be on quite friendly terms with the captain."
"I don't know." Neal shrugged. "I've never had the courage to ask her. However, she does know that I was Robert Gould's son. I was fifteen when she married my father, and we've always gotten along quite well."
Emma sat in silent contemplation of everything she had been told. She was now beyond thankful that she had not let herself get carried away by her initial attraction to Captain Jones. She had been right in mistrusting his reserve. She was also brought to mind of Mrs. Lucas's speculation that Captain Jones might have fathered an illegitimate child. She had hardly credited its plausibility at the time, dismissing it as the mere result of a desire for scandal and sensation in the older woman, but now, she wondered if there was truth to it. Was it so outrageous a conjecture regarding a man who had pursued a married woman and later callously abandoned her? Emma was not so naive as to be unaware of the sordid side of life—the newspapers were filled with the notorious escapades of the Prince Regent's set and their ilk. However, those sorts of occurrences had not touched the country circle the Blanchards had moved in. Emma found herself confronted with things she had never experienced firsthand, or even secondhand before.
To be sure, Emma hardly imagined Captain Jones to have any dishonorable intentions towards herself, whatever his past conduct may have been. However, there was no denying that he had seemed interested in getting better acquainted with her. Had it not been for the fortuitous circumstance of her meeting with Neal, there was no saying what may have transpired. Neal's father, perhaps, had been no paragon of virtue himself. But Emma did not mean to judge the son on the father's merits or demerits, as the case may be. She could not help but be flattered that Neal had trusted her so much as to share the truth about the nature of his relationship with the late Mr. Gould and his history with Captain Jones. These matters may perhaps be considered as indelicate topics of conversation between a single lady and a gentleman, but Emma could not help being grateful for Neal's frankness. Emma would a thousand times trust a person of warm feelings who sometimes acted in a manner not quite proper over someone who was cautious in all their utterances and used their reserve as a mask to hide their true nature. It could not have been easy for Neal to share the truth of his parentage with her. It showed how much he valued her. That thought filled Emma's chest with a warm flutter and made her realize that her feelings for Neal were blossoming into something much more precious than friendship or simple attraction.
Bill's name evolved from a fun discussion on the Discord chat. And yes-it is a nod to Sam's beloved pony from LotR. :-)
I would love to hear your thoughts.