With Jemma's social standing in Sheffield, it took her very little effort to seek out the beautiful, mysterious Miss Johnson and invite her to dinner. Skye Johnson – an unusual name, to be sure, although Jemma found herself liking it considerably – was the natural daughter of somebody. Jemma couldn't help but notice the girl's strikingly beautiful features and surmise that she was surely of genteel descent.

The two of them became friends faster than Jemma could have predicted, much to the surprise of their immediate social circle, including Mr. Fitz. And so Skye Johnson's intimacy at Redmire was soon a settled thing. Quick and decided in her ways, Jemma lost no time in inviting, encouraging, and telling her to come very often; and as their acquaintance increased, so did their satisfaction in each other.

It was strange, Jemma thought. As known as she was throughout Sheffield, Jemma rarely found a companion - of the gentler sex or otherwise - with whom she could spend hours of the day, and then eagerly await the time when they could be reunited. Not since she had befriended Mr. Fitz had she enjoyed someone's company so much, which was odd given the fact that the two shared very few interests. Most days they spent in the laboratory, Skye peppering Jemma periodically with questions about what she was doing. Sometimes Jemma found it a challenge to explain in terms Skye could understand, but she did her best, often with the help of her partner. She also found that while Skye's education was woefully incomplete, her intelligence resided in other areas. (She was exceptionally good with a needle and thread, and seemed to always know which popular romance novels were in season.)

Perhaps above all this, Jemma valued the way Skye naturally integrated into life at Redmire, with both her father and her dearest friend in the world. She was secretly (or not-so-secretly) pleased that Skye had managed to find herself in Mr. Fitz's good graces, which was no simple feat. Mr. Fitz, while a perfect gentleman, often kept to himself.

It was a few weeks into their friendship when Jemma decided to broach the subject of her curiosity. "And what kind of people are your parents, Miss Johnson?" she asked as they made their way from town back to Redmire.

Skye lowered her gaze to the path. "I don't know," she admitted in a quiet voice. Jemma immediately regretted bringing up what were sure to be painful memories, but Skye gave her a smile. "I've always wondered who they were, why they left me in the care of someone else. I think Mr. Coulson knows the truth, but no matter how many times I ask him, he's never told me."

Jemma was about to reply when she caught glimpse of a wiry woman coming towards them. "Oh, goodness, we'd better hurry along," Jemma murmured to Skye, nudging the younger girl's elbow so that they were partially hidden by two vendors. "It's Miss Hutchins coming. As it is Tuesday, she will surely have a letter from her niece Barbara Morse, and she will want to read us every word about her."

Skye appeared to be equal parts confused and intrigued. "Oh, I have not heard of Barbara Morse!"

Jemma held in the long sigh she had at the ready. "There's not much to be said for her, really," she replied, even though Jemma hadn't actually been properly introduced to Miss Morse either. She opened her parasol, thereby obstructing her and Skye from view, just as Miss Hutchins passed them. "When pressed, I say she is elegant."

Later, whilst picking apples in an orchard near her estate, Jemma broached the other subject that had been on her mind. "Have you given any thought to the gentlemen of Sheffield?"

Skye nearly burst into laughter. "I assume you're asking if I intend to marry soon?"

"No, of course not!" Jemma argued, but Skye gave her a look that told Jemma she knew the truth. "All right, I was only curious."

"It's perfectly fine, Miss Simmons," Skye assured her. "Honestly, I've only met a few people here in town so far. Besides you, Mr. Fitz, and Mr. Coulson, the only others I know here are the Tripletts over at Jones Farm. Did you know that they have eight cows? And Mr. Triplett cuts fresh flowers for the house every day."

Jemma smiled, placing a few apples in her basket. "How lucky for Mrs. Triplett to have such an agreeable husband."

Skye stopped in surprise. "Oh, Miss Simmons, Mr. Triplett is not her husband. He is her son!"

"Ah, I see," Jemma replied, unsure if she liked where the conversation was heading. "Then he is…unmarried?"

"Yes, but I don't really understand why," Skye said. "He's very charming, and kind as well. When he discovered I liked those little candies at the grocer's, he went out of his way to get them for me, even though he says they're dreadful for my health."

"That was kind of him."

"Exactly!" Skye exclaimed, seemingly oblivious to Jemma's hesitancy. She spun around with a bright smile. "Do you know the Tripletts?"

Jemma chose her words carefully. "I know of the Tripletts, to be sure, though I can't say I've been properly acquainted. As they are farmers, I've never really had cause to. Those families don't tend to frequent dinner parties, and I can hardly be of any use to them."

Skye seemed puzzled. "Is Sheffield not farming country?"

Before Jemma could reply, Skye let out a small gasp. "Miss Simmons! There he is now, just up the road!" She turned to Jemma and tried to unsuccessfully pin back a loose curl. It stubbornly remained framing the left side her face. "How do I look?"

"You look just fine, Skye," Jemma said uncertainly, wondering why Skye would fuss over her appearance for a farmer. (Skye actually looked stunningly gorgeous, with the sunlight glinting off of her dark hair and her lavender dress accentuating her features and her cheeks rosy from being outside all day. But Jemma didn't think Skye needed such encouragement at the moment.) "Good enough, I'm sure, for Mr. Triplett."

"Good day, Miss Johnson," Mr. Triplett greeted them with a wide grin. His smile was so bright and infectious that Jemma found her lips starting to curl upwards as well. "What is the chance that I would happen upon you on my way home from town?"

Jemma knew very well that Jones Farm was exactly two miles due west of their location, decidedly not on the way from town, but she kept her knowledge to herself.

"Good day, Mr. Triplett," Skye replied, her smile stretching from ear to ear. She paused for a moment before she seemed to remember the other person in their vicinity. "Miss Simmons, may I present Mr. Triplett?" She gestured towards Jemma. "This is Miss Simmons."

"Pleased to make your acquaintance, Miss Simmons."

Despite her misgivings, Jemma's answer was genuine. "Likewise."

"I thought you said that you didn't eat any unhealthy foods."

Jemma just now realized that Mr. Triplett was holding a paper bag, from which he was eating a piece of chocolate. In his other hand was a small bouquet of daisies. He laughed as he closed the top of the bag. "I had the day to myself, so I thought I might find something with which to celebrate." Mr. Triplett held out the bag and the bouquet. "Forgive me for taking one or two. But they are actually for you."

The rosy color in Skye's cheeks deepened as she hesitantly accepted the gifts. "Mr. Triplett, I hardly know what to say," she smiled. "Thank you very much."

"It was nothing," Mr. Triplett shrugged, the very picture of sincerity. "Would you like to guess what I intend to do with the rest of my short holiday?"

"Let me think," Skye said, resting a fingertip on her chin in a gesture of mock contemplation. "Only exercising for one hour instead of three?"

Mr. Triplett laughed, another infectious display. "A worthy guess, but incorrect. No, I've finally managed to find a copy of The Romance of the Forest."

"Oh, did you really?" Skye asked in excitement. "You will thoroughly enjoy reading it, I promise, and I believe you might be able to solve the mystery before you reach the ending."

"Will you at least give me a hint?"

"Well, I don't want to give the entire book away, Mr. Triplett," Skye admonished him. "But I will say that the story centers around a girl with mysterious origins –" She stopped talking abruptly, looking around the path for something. "Oh, no…I think I left my basket in the last row." She set the bag of chocolate and flowers next to Jemma's apple basket and hurried off down the row. "I'll just be a minute!"

There was a bit of an uncomfortable silence before Mr. Triplett spoke. "Have you known Miss Johnson for some time, Miss Simmons? She speaks very highly of you."

Jemma smiled, thankful that Mr. Triplett wasn't one to make situations awkward. "I can't say that I have, actually," she admitted. "We only just met a few weeks ago, and we have very little in common." The oddness of it all surprised Jemma. "We really couldn't be more different."

And it was true. The two girls were nearly polar opposites. Jemma had excelled in her studies, whereas Skye's education left more than a bit to be desired. Jemma abided strictly by the rules of society; Skye often deviated from what was considered proper. Sheffield had always been Jemma's home, a world in which she knew how things were run and how they should continue to run, but Skye had no idea where she'd truly come from. It was striking, the differences between them.

"But now you cannot imagine your life without her in it."

Jemma, whose gaze had gone unfocused in her thoughts, looked up at Mr. Triplett in shock. It'd been a simple statement, and yet spoke the truth she hadn't realized until that very moment.

"Yes," she whispered softly.

"Sometimes people can take you by surprise." Mr. Triplett was still smiling, although something in his eyes told Jemma that his words held a deeper meaning.

When Skye returned moments later, breathless and attempting to keep the apples from falling out of her basket, the three of them began heading towards the road, where they would branch off for their intended destinations. It only took a heartbeat for Skye and Mr. Triplett to fall into conversation once more, so Jemma let them walk a few paces ahead of her, all the while turning over the thoughts in her head.

Like Skye, Mr. Triplett had indeed taken her by surprise. In both manner and intelligence, he had more than surpassed the expectations she'd previously formed for someone of his station. And so Jemma watched the two of them with sadness, knowing that as happy as the pair were now in each other's company, their relationship would not – and could not – progress any further.

If only he had not been a farmer.


"Miss Simmons!"

Jemma looked up from the manuscript she was drafting – a report detailing a study she and Mr. Fitz were conducting on the properties of certain snake venoms – in a daze of confusion. The sun had only just risen high enough to stream through the curtains in the drawing room, yet Skye was already at the door, forgoing any sense of propriety by rapping the thick mahogany repeatedly.

"Miss Simmons!" she shouted again. Jemma quickly rose from the desk and hurried to open the door, afraid that something terrible had happened.

Skye tumbled into the hall as soon as Jemma had given her enough room to do so, speaking so quickly that Jemma could scarcely understand a word she was saying.

"- and I was just at breakfast like every normal morning except this morning Mr. Coulson came in and said I'd gotten a letter in the post and I've never received a letter, not even one, so you can imagine how exciting it was to open it and then it was this kind of letter and –"

"Miss Johnson!" Jemma finally exclaimed. Skye closed her mouth abruptly and glanced over at Jemma, bits of hair coming out of place and her cheeks flushed from the exercise. The excitement she'd radiated just moments before seemed to deflate a bit as she realized how she must have appeared.

Jemma took a deep breath to stay calm. "What is all this about now?"

Skye nodded, as if to remind herself to remain intelligible. Her smile returned, more subdued now. "He wants to marry me."

Jemma was stunned. What on earth could she be talking about? Jemma had been waiting for the opportune moment to bring Mr. Milton up in conversation, but there hadn't been time after Mr. Triplett had happened upon them in the orchard…

It was then that Jemma realized to whom Skye was actually referring.

"Do you mean…" Jemma began, waiting for Skye to finish the thought for her.

Skye nodded, utterly beaming. "Mr. Triplett has asked me to marry him."

Jemma was thankful that Skye immediately handed her the letter in question, if nothing so that she could try to mask the discomfort that was surely written on her face. It took a few seconds for Jemma's eyes to focus, so distressed was she by the sudden turn of events, that she'd scarcely read a word before Skye was already asking for her opinion.

"What do you think?" Her voice was quiet, yet eager. "Is it a good letter, or…I don't know, is it too…short?"

"It is a good letter," Jemma murmured, quickly scanning the words. It was, in fact, an excellent letter, particularly from a farmer's hand. "He must have had someone help him, but the language is sufficient and his penmanship is quite remarkable, actually." She tore her gaze away from the paper and gently handed it back to Skye. "You should answer him immediately. It's best to give him his disappointment now, rather than make him wait any longer for it."

Skye's smile faded, her eyes traveling from the letter back to Jemma. "Then you think I should refuse him."

Jemma tried not to appear too shocked. "Did you plan to give him a favorable answer?"

"No…that is…um…" Skye stammered, her cheeks reddening for a different reason now. "Well, I mean, I suppose…not."

It was in that particular moment that Jemma became acutely aware of Skye's former isolation from society.

"Miss Johnson," Jemma started, before she decided the situation called for more familiarity. "Skye." Skye was staring at the letter in silence, but she glanced up when prompted, and allowed Jemma to take her hand. Jemma tried to ignore the tears Skye blinked away as she led her to a sofa.

"I know you've taken a liking to Mr. Triplett, Skye," Jemma prefaced. Skye stared dutifully at her lap. "And under different circumstances, I'm sure he would make a perfectly agreeable husband." She took a breath. "But unfortunately, as women, we have to be careful about whom we choose to marry. We must think about what would become of our place in society should we marry below our station."

Jemma squeezed Skye's fingertips, hoping she would understand. "I cannot tell you what to decide in this matter. Your choice is yours and yours alone – it would hardly be my place to intrude! If you prefer Mr. Triplett to every other person you know or may ever know, if you think him the most agreeable man you have ever been or ever will be in company with, if you believe in your heart that he can provide you and your future children with a good home and prosperous future, then why should you hesitate?" She paused before continuing.

"If, however, you are unsure in any aspect I've mentioned, then I urge you to think heavily on the matter before accepting. As your friend, that's all I can say."

Skye appeared to be on the verge of tears, but she nodded to herself as she carefully folded the letter.

"I just want you to be safe, Skye," Jemma murmured. "To live the life you've always dreamed of having. You know that, don't you?"

"I do," Skye replied, a small tremor in her voice. She managed to give Jemma a fleeting smile. "Thank you, Miss Simmons."

"Please, Skye," said Jemma as she reached over to fix one of Skye's stray curls. "I think you may call me Jemma now."

That seemed to cheer Skye up a bit.

"You know," Jemma said brightly as they headed to the dining room for tea. "You've only just arrived in Sheffield, so you probably aren't even aware of all the suitable gentlemen here. Heavens, you still haven't attended your first party! We will have to remedy that soon, but I hope you're not too disappointed today. My dear, your prospects are far from limited."

Skye politely nodded, but she remained quiet; Jemma decided that the moment was opportune enough.

"In fact," she announced, setting down her teacup as if she had just remembered. "Mr. Milton said something very kind about you the other day."

Skye glanced up from her cup, eyebrows raised. "The vicar?" she asked in confusion.

"To be sure! And as Mr. Milton is a gentleman, his opinion is not only well-respected, but also has a wide audience."

The way Skye was studying her face conveyed her skepticism, but Jemma was thankful that her curiosity overcame her hesitancy. "Can…you not tell me what it was?"

"Oh," Jemma scoffed. "It's not my place to intrude upon personal matters, Skye." And then, before Skye's interest could fade, "But as your friend, I could make an exception, if you wanted me to."

She smiled as Skye leaned in closer, as if to hear a secret.

"Well. I heard him say that…"


Jemma cursed as her arrow hit the far right of the target.

"Careful, now," Mr. Fitz teased. "Are those words that I should be hearing from a gentlewoman?"

"Oh please, Mr. Fitz," replied Jemma in exasperation as she nocked another arrow. It was a beautiful autumn day on the grounds of Redmire, and Mr. Fitz had brought his two dogs, Lincoln and Cosmo, to join Jemma in an afternoon of archery. "There's hardly anyone else around to hear me."

"Oh, I made sure of that," Mr. Fitz said solemnly, gesturing to the contraption she was holding. "When you have a bow and arrow, it's best to ensure there are no potential targets about."

"That is not fair, and you know it," Jemma protested. "I am improving!" As if to prove her point, she released another arrow, this one landing a few inches closer to the middle.

Instead of acknowledging her superiority, Mr. Fitz simply withdrew and fired his own arrow. "If you say so," he smirked, his arrow lodged cleanly in the center of the target.

Jemma sighed before retaliating. "And when were we going to continue our swimming lessons, did you say?"

The smirk quickly disappeared. It was well known between the two of them how much Mr. Fitz detested swimming. "You just cannot stand to be inferior in any capacity, can you?"

She didn't answer his question, but retrieved another arrow with her own grin. "I thought so."

After Mr. Fitz had shaken his head at her stubbornness, they continued practicing in comfortable silence. When they'd collected their arrows for another round, Jemma spoke. "What do you think of Skye Johnson?"

Mr. Fitz paused, surprise flitting across his face. "Why do you ask?"

"I was simply wondering," Jemma shrugged. "She's become a new fixture at Redmire, and you've been gracious enough to her in the laboratory and at dinner. But I don't believe you've ever told me your opinion on the matter."

Mr. Fitz let loose another arrow before answering. "To be perfectly honest, I didn't think she and you would become such fast friends," he admitted. "But I've enjoyed her company, I suppose. And I think she's perfectly agreeable, even if…"

"She doesn't always understand what we're saying?" Jemma finished with a laugh.

"Yes. Exactly."

"Well, I'm glad," Jemma told him honestly. She didn't think she could be a close friend with someone of whom Mr. Fitz didn't have a high opinion. "I just hope you're not the only man to have noticed."

"I'm not," Mr. Fitz replied. Jemma was so surprised by his response that her hands slipped and dropped the arrow she'd been in the process of nocking. "I believe our friend will soon hear something to her advantage."

The bow and arrow long forgotten, Jemma turned to face Mr. Fitz. "Who makes you his confidant?" Mr. Fitz had very few friends she was not personally acquainted with, and none she could think of would be responsible for this piece of gossip.

Mr. Fitz's arrow hit the target center once more. "I have reason to believe Skye Johnson will receive an offer of marriage to a man desperately in love with her," he said, before noticing Jemma's confusion. "Antoine Triplett."

Jemma felt her stomach drop, and busied herself with nocking an arrow so as not to look at Mr. Fitz while he continued.

"He's a tenant of mine, you know, since Jones Farm is technically a part of my father's estate. But he's also a friend. He came to me at the Abbey a few evenings ago to ask my opinion – can you imagine? He wanted to know what I thought on the matter. Since you and I regard Miss Johnson so highly, I told him he could not do better."

"No, indeed, he could not," Jemma said with a tight smile. She lifted the bow to aim the next shot. "But you presume correctly. Mr. Triplett did write to Skye, but he was refused."

The arrow pierced the left side of the target this time. Jemma didn't look at Mr. Fitz.

"I'm…not sure I understand," he murmured quietly.

"He asked her to marry him; she refused."

A longer pause followed, and though she knew Mr. Fitz was staring at the side of her face, Jemma readied her next arrow.

"This makes no sense at all, Jemma."

"Oh, of course," Jemma scoffed. "Because the most incomprehensible thing in the world to a man is a woman who rejects his offer of marriage."

The arrow hit the bottom left corner of the target, glancing off the wood to land in the grass beneath it.

"No," Mr. Fitz argued. "I have plenty of reason to believe that Antoine Triplett's feelings for Skye Johnson were not unrequited. Whatever gossip you think you've heard is most likely false, Jemma."

"Nonsense. I saw her answer myself."

"You…saw her answer?"

Jemma hesitated, apparently giving Mr. Fitz the confirmation he'd needed.

"You wrote her answer, didn't you, Jemma?" He inhaled sharply after seeing the guilt on her face. "Oh, by G –"

"And why, may I ask, was this so wrong of me to do?" Jemma's previous guilt had quickly transformed into stubborn pride. "He is not Skye's equal."

"How can you make such a claim?" Fitz asked angrily, stepping towards her. "What do you know of Skye Johnson's birth or education which make her higher than Antoine Triplett? She is the daughter of nobody-knows-who. The advantage of the match was entirely on her side."

"What?" Jemma exclaimed, nearly dropping her bow. "A farmer? She is a gentleman's daughter –"

"Proven by no one –"

"With a status high enough to –"

"To adequately support your outrageous actions –"

"Promote a more suitable match."

Jemma could not bear to see the look on Mr. Fitz's face anymore, or confront the fact that it was there because of her, so she went back to her former activity.

"It simply did not make sense, Mr. Fitz," she finished calmly. Her heart thrummed loudly in her chest, making her fingers slip.

It was a moment before Mr. Fitz responded. He was so quiet she almost didn't hear him. "Better be without sense than misapply it as you do, Jemma."

Tears prickled the edge of her vision - for no explainable reason whatsoever - and her arrow missed the target entirely, grazing past an oak tree behind it. At the sudden movement, Cosmo dodged out of the way.

Mr. Fitz began heading back towards the house, but not before leaving Jemma with one last comment.

"Try not to kill my dogs."