It isn't until Peggy is getting ready for bed, that she realizes a big problem.
Her corset.
She groans internally, twisting in the mirror and trying in vain to untie the blasted thing on her own. She's always had Angie for this. And it isn't just a standard bow she can untie. It's laced and triple knotted to ensure it would stay during the ceremony and through the dancing at the reception.
She tries for over 30 minutes, until the muscles in her arms burn and ache from being stretched awkwardly behind her.
Her eyes trail to the door, and she frowns. No other bride has had this issue because they've probably taken their farce of a husband to bed the first night, having a partner to undress them.
He's out there, and she pictures his long handsome fingers undoing the laces. Freeing her from this prison of a piece of clothing.
Blasted hell.
No.
She throws her nightgown over her corset and flops down on the bed, falling asleep miserable.
—
Steve wakes up the next morning a bit sore. He stretches his back and arms and sits up. He stokes the fire and gets it back going. It's not necessarily too cold in the house, but he prefers the warmth. He cleans up his bed, carefully folding the blankets he'd searched for the night before. He changes into his too tight clothing and looks around a little lost as of what to do.
He walks to the bedroom and knocks gently, not wanting to wake her if she was still asleep.
But she's away and she sounds angry. "What."
"I'm making breakfast, would you like some?"
"I can cook for myself!" She snaps. He recoils slightly from her tone, she sounds miserable and he almost asks if she's okay.
"I'm happy to make something." He says softly, "I don't mind—-"
"I don't want your food." She responds harshly, "now or ever. So you can stop offering."
He steps back from the door and walks slowly to the kitchen.
He makes a bowl of oatmeal, hash browns, slices up fresh fruit, makes a cup of coffee that he cleans up quickly so the aroma doesn't pervade the house, and then eats in silence.
Once he's finished, he sits there and ponders what else to do.
But he looks at his empty plates and realizes he's still hungry. So he starts to make another round of food.
—-
Peggy lies miserably on the bed. Her back aches from the boning of the corset and her lungs ache for a full breath of air.
She sits up and stares at her reflection in the full length mirror. Dark circles hug her under eyes and her hair hangs limply.
And it's with a dreaded realization that she won't even be able to bathe without removing this damn corset.
She takes a deep steadying breath and tries again vainly to get it untied. She even searches her room for a pair of shears, ready to cut the blasted thing off, but no such luck.
"God help you, Margaret Carter." She growls at her reflection, "just ask him to help. It's the only thing you'll ever need from him."
She brushes her hair, braiding it and looks at herself. Thankfully she has a shift under the corset, so even when she's free she'll be covered. But it will be the barest she'll have ever been in front of a man since she was a little girl and she and Michael used to bathe in the same tub.
She steels her shoulders and walks out of the room.
If she wasn't so annoyed at her situation, she might have smiled at the way he saw her and immediately turned to face the opposite wall.
"Steven." She says crisply. "I require your assistance." Then she relents just a smidge, "if you're willing."
He doesn't look at her, still staring at the wall, his throat is a little hoarse as he responds, "what do you need help with?"
"I can't seem to undo the stays of this corset on my own and it's rather uncomfortable to remain in. Would you…" she hesitates, her hands clench at the thin shift, "would you be willing to untie it?"
His head shifts towards her, giving her a view of his striking profile even though his eyes never so much as even wander towards her, "were you in that thing all night?"
"Yes."
"That must have been miserable!" He says, genuine concern in his voice, "why didn't you ask earlier?"
She frowns, "so eager to remove my clothes?"
Even from this distance she can see his face turn a bright red and she has to remind herself she's asking him to do her a favor.
"N-no—" he stammers, "That's not what I meant, I—"
"Steven, please just help me out of this blasted thing."
He nods and turns, his eyes held steadily on hers as she approaches him. She spins, revealing the complicated lacing on her back. "Do you know how?"
She senses him nod and she can feel the pressure of his fingers at her back. He makes quick work of the tied knot, and then gently pulls at the straps that criss cross, his fingers just barely brush against her back as he does so and she shivers involuntarily.
His hands freeze and she hears a soft, "sorry" before the last ties are pulled and loosened and it starts to slip down.
His hands disappear and she turns around to find him already facing the other way.
The sun creates a glow around the soft strands of his hair and the shadow of his shoulders.
"Thank you." She breathes, relishing in a full breath of air for the first time in almost 28 hours.
He nods, and she slips back to her room.
—
Steve doesn't move for a few minutes. Calming his breathing and trying to ignore the way the skin of her neck had enticed him to touch it (although he'd withheld) and the way she'd shivered under his touch. He takes in a shaky breath and closes his eyes, the scent of her lavender and vanilla perfume still present in his memory.
He hears her door close and he practically runs out the door to clear his head.
—-
Her mother would have thrown a fit, but she refuses to wear a corset for the rest of the days she is trapped here. There was no way she is going to ask Steven to tie and untie her everyday. No way in hell, especially after her humiliating shiver under his touch. She blushes just thinking about it, and then admonishes herself. She's 19! She should be able to handle this better. She's an adult.
So, her torso feeling more bare than she's used to, she walks out to make herself breakfast.
Steven is blessedly not present.
—
The next few days pass in the same manner. Steve wakes up, cleans up his bed and makes copious amounts of food for himself. Even with his increased portion sizes, there's plenty of food and the grocery delivery restocks the house with so much that the pantry and ice box are bursting.
Steve's never had access to so many wonderful things and he takes advantage, making foods and pastries he's seen in his ma's recipe box, but never had the ingredients to make.
Even after her outburst of not wanting his food. He always leaves the leftovers from his recent bake in the kitchen, easily accessible if she would like. Her cooking doesn't improve and there's the vague scent of burnt toast in the kitchen after her every meal.
On the fourth day, he notices that one of the large muffins is missing and something about it makes him smile.
—
She can't put her finger on it, and she'll admit that she only sees him in passing, but she begins to think her eyes are deceiving her.
He's… different.
Almost every time she sees him (which is maybe a glance or two each day) he's changed.
She just can't quite say how.
—
On the evening of the day they are finally supposed to leave, Peggy packs morosely. She wishes she was going home. Not to whatever hellish backwater village Acirema is. She stuffs her suitcase and buckles it. Steve only had one, since his things would have been packed and moved to the house while they were here. She'd brought most of her belongings with her to the wedding, and anything too large will have arrived by the time they get to their… she swallows down her emotion, her new home.
She shudders at the thought and vows to work harder to ensure her freedom.
—
Steve neatly packs up his clothing. He itches at his skin and shifts. He feels warm. Too warm and he wonders idly if he's falling ill.
He hasn't really been sick since almost two years ago, so he wouldn't be surprised if… if he did get sick. He just hopes it's something minor. He's been taking his new health for granted. He'll need to take Bucky's advice and slow down a bit.
—
The carriage arrives and the driver loads up their belongings and they ride the day's long journey in silence.
—
She can't help but roll her eyes as Steven starts to get antsy as they approach their destination.
They finally pass into the village and he has his eyes out the windows, staring at the buildings. It's very late at night and she sees only a few lights on in the windows. Barely able to see the town as they pass through.
They take a long road back out of the village and she notices Steven visibly sigh and sit back, eyes downcast.
And it occurs to her that he didn't ask to be married either.
Well. She can fix that.
—
Steve steps out of the carriage in front of the large home. He gapes at it.
"Wha—-" He starts, looking around for some explanation.
"Thought you might like something a bit fancier for your new bride." A voice says, coming from the porch.
Steve lurches forward, "Howard!"
"Hello, Steve, did you have an exciting trip?" His eyebrow is arched in amusement but Steve feels his own frown and Howard frowns in response, "yikes, that bad?"
Steve glances back to the carriage where Margaret still was. "Let's just say, neither of us are very happy about this arrangement."
Howard nods and skips down the steps, "well, I hope the house will help."
"Help?" Steve says vaguely, eyes roving, "Howard, this is double in size! How did you manage?"
Howard pulls at his mustache, "minute I heard your name got called? I hired some contractors and set out to make this a proper place worthy of you and your new missus. Least I can do afte—"
"Howard." Steve says sharply, "we've been over this! Please, it's already too much."
"Steve, you sa—"
"It's nothing, Howard." He says quickly, "but thank you. I appreciate it, and I… hope she will too."
"I looked her up." Howard responds quietly, "she's got some real pedigree, so I made sure she's got her creature comforts. Maria likes 'em too, so she had some advice."
"It's too much, but thank you."
Howard nods and straightens as Margaret walks towards them.
"Margaret," Steve says calmly, "this is Howard, you may remember he and his wife and their young son at the wedding."
"I do not." Margaret says primly, making Steve wince.
"Well, he's done some work on this house for us."
"Hmm." Is all she says and Howard raises an eyebrow at Steve who just shrugs helplessly.
"Well" Howard says awkwardly, "Nice to meet you again, Margaret, I'll be around. If you two need anything just holler. We're the closest house, about 3 miles that way." He points, "the Stark residence will always be open to you two." He tips his head and is gone.
Steve catches Margaret's eyes widen, "wait… Stark? As in… Howard Stark?"
Steve's brow pulls down, "yeah."
"He's—" she seems for the first time, unsure of what to say, "he's—" He waits for her to say something rude, or focus on how insanely rich he is, but she just purses her lips and looks at Steve, "why would he work on our house?"
Steve scrubs at the back of his neck, "no reason." He says quickly and he walks away, hauling his suitcase up the porch steps and into the massive mansion.
—
Margaret can't help the wide eyes and surprise she feels at the house as she walks in. The fireplaces are lit and… it's magnificent. Dark mahogany wood and dark green velvet chairs fill the first sitting room. Beautifully crafted fixtures and a bookshelf that takes up the entire wall.
The hallways are richly carpeted with rugs so thick she could sleep on them. The kitchen is shiny with copper appliances and running water. She gasps at the size of the icebox, even bigger than the one she has at home.
She notices that Steve is still standing in the foyer, holding his suitcase in one hand, and top hat in the other. He's gaping at the giant crystal chandelier hanging in the entrance and she knows he's never seen something like it before… and if she were truthful, neither has she.
She walks through to a dining room, 12 magnificent chairs, with cushioned seats and backs in the softest red velvet under her touch. Giant cases of silver sit in the butler's pantry and she can glimpse the massive candelabras through the glass. Another more intimate sitting room, with overstuffed and comfortable chairs, lamps and mini tables throughout. Again, the carpeting is rich and soft to her step.
She comes round, having made a sort of square trail to find Steve staring at the wall. She curiously stands behind him and takes in the two portraits with a gasp.
On the left is her family. A portrait done maybe two years ago. She and Michael stand with smiles behind their parents who stare regally at the artist. The colors are rich and deep and it brings an ache of homesickness.
Her eyes trip to the right, where a much older portrait hangs, and she realizes it's a photo that has been converted into a larger painting. A young couple stands next to each other. The woman, blonde and fair, Peggy recognizes her instantly from the wedding, Steve's mother. A man, tall and sandy haired, has an arm around the woman's waist, pulling her tightly against him and looking at her like she's his whole world, while she smiles at the camera. And on his shoulders, is a very young, and very thin Steve.
His chin is resting on his father's head and his eyes are looking down at his parents with a small smile on his lips. Their clothes are plain and they all look like they need to eat several large meals, but they are happy.
And when she glances at Steve, she turns away quickly. Trying to ignore the misty eyed stare he's giving the portrait.
—-
Steve stares at the portrait for too long. Vaguely aware of Margaret's appearance and subsequent absence. But he still stays, seeing in much bigger form the only picture he's ever had of his father. He'd been 4 when the man died, hardly able to form a picture in his mind of him.
He'll have to truly thank Howard for this treasure. He can't wait to show his ma.
He finally drags himself away from the wall and tours the house, eyes widening as he takes in the increasingly luxurious surroundings. He walks into a small ballroom, fit for an elegant party and he sighs at the moonlight that streams in through the floor to ceiling windows. He can't wait to paint those soon.
The grand stairs are silent as he walks up them, hands trailing on the smooth railing. He notices the myriad of rooms and tries to determine which one Margaret has taken so he can avoid it. He eventually hears her in what he thinks is the master bedroom and he happily settles in one of the guest rooms. The square footage of that room alone, including its adjoining bathroom, is bigger than he and Bucky's home in total.
He unpacks quickly and sighs at the clothes. He knows they'll get their monthly stipend soon and he'll have to ask Margaret if she's okay with him getting new clothes. His barely fit anymore, and he can't hide in his large jacket anymore.
He washes his face and hands quickly, drying them on the thick towels and looks at the clear mirror. His face is… different. Wider or… he's not sure, but it's a little disconcerting to look at your own face and not recognize it.
He wonders if it's not as severe as he thinks since Howard didn't mention anything, but they'd been in the dark, so… he'll have to see what Bucky says.
—
She sleeps in total comfort and is in a good mood when she awakes. She smells something heavenly and wraps a robe around her as she descends the stairs.
She makes it to the kitchen and stops at the door. Steve's back is to her and she can hear him humming something softly as he pulls something out of the large ovens.
He suddenly turns towards her, eyes wide and she stares back.
They stand there awkwardly for a moment and he winces, "sorry."
She wishes she knew what he was apologizing for, because she would use it against him, but she doesn't so she asks, "why are you apologizing?"
He points to the pot on the thick wooden kitchen bench, "I try to have it out of the kitchen before you wake."
It takes her a moment to realize the smell that had dragged her down from her room was partly the pastries he was baking and half the coffee he's made.
"Oh." She says, and for some reason, the look on his face makes her unable to make a barb, "it's alright. It's your house too."
He sighs in relief and offers her what she can now see are pastries filled with some sort of preserve. "Would you like one? There's plenty."
She considers it for a moment and hears her stomach rumble. She thinks it's quiet but a small smile appears on her lips and she suddenly realizes it would be foolish to say no. "Alright, thank you."
He plates one and places it gently in front of her, pulling some cold thickened cream out of the ice box. "It's delicious with this if you'd like." Then he's gone, giving her space.
She stares at the pastry and realizes she may be in deep trouble.
—-
Steve can't get her slightly disheveled sleepy look out of his mind. The way her robe wrapped around her and the way her hair looked soft to the touch.
But her acceptance of his food is the thing that fills his chest with a warmth for the rest of the day.
—
On the third day, the customary tradition of guests and presents begins.
His ma is the first to arrive and Steve hugs her tightly, she returns his embrace but when he pulls away there's something in her eyes.
"Ma? What is it?"
"You're—" She starts, eyes on his face and shoulders and then holding his hands, studying them, "you're—"
Steve winces, "I know… It's not stopping."
She just nods and pats his arm, "I'm sure it will be fine."
Steve introduces her to Margaret again and this time Margaret seems to pay better attention and even smiles once.
He takes the gift from his ma's hands and says, "you shouldn't have."
"My only son is married." She admonishes, "I think I can afford to give him a gift."
—-
Peggy attempts not to overhear their conversation, but she does, and she learns that the Rogers do not come from any sort of wealth. She could have guessed that, by the way Steve had gaped at the house for the first two days, but now she has it confirmed. Although his manners and actions inform her that he's been properly raised.
As is customary, Steven and she open the gift together and a beautiful copper french press is unveiled along with two matching elegantly painted cups.
"Ma!" Steven says, "this is too much!" His face is a bit panicked and Peggy feels about to state the same, knowing a gift like this would be pricey to anyone who wasn't in the aristocracy, when the woman in question raises her hands.
"I only bought the french press. And with help, I might add, from a very insistent benefactor." She gives Steve a look that makes him grimace, which Peggy can't fathom at the moment, "and the cups are from my own stores. Used in my first house with your father. So I spent very little if it makes you feel better."
Steve nods and hugs his mother again. Peggy thanks her kindly and Steve offers to give her a tour which she accepts. Peggy stays in the sitting room.
A knock sounds and she rises to greet her new guest.
The handsome dark haired man and the redhead.
"Hello," she says crisply, "welcome, Steven will be round any moment. Would you care to come in?"
They nod and she leads them into the sitting room.
She takes their coats and hangs them in the foyer.
When she returns, they're staring at the room.
"I'm afraid I don't remember your names." She admits, "the wedding was quite the blur."
The dark haired man speaks, "I'm James Barnes, this is my fiance, Natasha Romanoff, we're close friends of Steve's."
Peggy, "hmms" and they stare at her. She tries to not let the disappointment, that she can't use the redhead against Steve, show. "Yes, well, like I said he'll be—"
"Bucky!" She hears Steve call, "Nat!" He rushes past her and envelopes his friends in a warm hug that they return in equal measure.
"Steve!" Natasha says, her eyes wide, "you're—"
"I know." Steve says harshly. "I know. Please. Can everyone just stop."
They nod but Peggy feels her brow furrow. "So." James says, "did you two enjoy the honeymoon?" He receives a swift elbow to the ribs from his fiancé and Peggy watches as Steve turns red.
Peggy sighs loudly and stands. "I'm afraid both Steven and I agree that this sham of a marriage is just that. A sham. So no need to act married when we truthfully aren't. Any other questions?"
The honest admission has them sitting in silence for a moment and Peggy is glad when the doorbell is rung.
She nods curtly and goes to answer the door.
—
Steve looks awkwardly at the floor as Margaret disappears to get the door.
"You both agreed?" Bucky asks, "what the hell does that mean?"
Steve feels his face flush, "Buck. Neither of us wants to be married. You think I would force myself on her?"
"What! No, I just-"
"You thought we'd fall in love in 10 days or that I'm that type of man who would sleep with a woman who's practically a stranger?"
"Steve, I—"
"Just." Steve says sharply, "I'm in this marriage because I have to be. It's not a marriage of love or even convenience, it's a legal and political thing. She's angry and upset that she's been sold off, as have I, for the 'betterment' of the two villages. So, no. We did not enjoy our honeymoon and I'll thank you for not bringing up the fact that I'll never get to have a real marriage or honeymoon or life. Thank you very much."
And if the words surprise anyone the most, it's Steve. His eyes widen at his admission and he chokes out an 'excuse me' before he bolts from the room.
—
Peggy stands just outside, and her fingers clutch the gift that someone she didn't recognize had just dropped off.
She's heard Steve's outburst: I'll never get to have a real marriage or honeymoon or life.
And suddenly she realizes that he's as upset as she is.
She walks in to the redhead, Natasha, whispering harshly to the shame-faced man.
They stand as she enters and they bid their farewells. Peggy watches as the man stares forlornly at the direction Steven had disappeared. "Tell him…" he says, "tell him, I'm sorry would you?"
"For what?"
"He'll know."
"I'll tell him."
"Thank you."
—
And for the next three days, that's how it goes. People bring all sorts of gifts and trinkets and she learns countless names and she watches as everyone looks at Steve with a certain fondness that she gets curiouser and curiouser about.
But she can't very well ask, 'why does everyone seem to love you so much?' now can she?
Lastly, the Starks arrive and a young boy, maybe about 6, bounds up to Steve and shouts, "Uncle Steve!"
Steve smiles so widely it makes Peggy's cheeks hurt, "ANTHONY!" He shouts in return, "you're so big!"
"I go by Tony now." The boy says fiercely, "and so are you."
"Oh, it's Tony now is it?" Steve says with a laugh.
Peggy watches the two parents shrug their shoulders and chuckle at their son's antics.
"Our gift—" Howard starts when Steve cuts him off.
"Howard, your gift was this house!" He gestures, "it's lovely by the way, thank you both."
"Our gift—" Howard continues on ignoring Steve's protests, "is upstairs."
Both Steven and Peggy look at each other in uncertainty. Howard laughs, "did you notice the two locked doors on that hallway that faces the back of the property?"
Both shake their heads and Howard huffs, "have you not even explored the whole house?"
Steve scrunches his nose in a way that Peggy wants to describe as adorable but refuses too. "Howard, it's very large."
The man sighs and gestures them up the stairs.
"Carry me, Uncle Steve!"
"You got it, kiddo." Steve bends down and the kid leaps into his arms and he groans, pretending the kid is too heavy, staggering under his weight. The boy giggles and pokes at Steve's collarbone.
"You're so silly, Uncle Steve."
Steven smiles and Peggy has to look away and think about things that annoy her.
—-
The two doors are next to each other on the hallway and Howard procures two large brass keys. He hands one to Steve and one to her.
"Now." He starts, "I know Steve's poison, but I don't yet know yours, so once I do, I'll fix it right up." He gestures for them, pointing out whose door is whose.
They both insert the keys and push the doors open.
—
Steve takes in a sharp breath at the giant floor to ceiling windows that fill the room with warm autumn light. Easels and a sketching desk, along with stuffed chairs, artist benches, and shelves and shelves of supplies line the walls and fill the room. Empty frames hang where, presumably, Steve is meant to hang his finished art and rolls and rolls of parchment and canvas fill one whole wall.
"Howard." He says weakly, "this— I can't accept this."
"You can." The man says firmly "and you will. I'm going to be commissioning pieces from you for a very long time. And I expect top-quality work, so I need you to have a top quality studio." He gestures to the supplies, "if there's anything you're ever missing, you have to inform me immediately."
Steve tries to control the emotion that's welling in his throat. Small hands touch the sides of his face.
"Why are you sad, Uncle Steve?"
"Oh, I'm not." Steve says softly, voice wavering, "I'm very very happy."
—-
Peggy pushes her door open and her eyes widen at the beautiful room before her. Huge windows with luxurious drapes take up the whole wall across from her, but other than that it's empty.
"I didn't know your hobbies." Howard's voice says behind her. "I coulda guessed, but I hate being wrong." She glances back. The man stands in the doorway leaning against the frame. "It can be a library, or an art room, or a music room, or sewing, or science, or whatever you like to spend your time doing. You tell me and I'll get it fixed up."
She takes in the beauty of the woodwork lining the ceiling and she looks back at the man.
"Why?" She asks, genuinely curious, "why do all this for us?"
Howard stares at her and tilts his head, "it's not really for you." He says kindly, "but Steve's all about fairness and I knew he wouldn't accept anything from me unless I framed it as a wedding gift for both of you. Hence the house. Hence the rooms."
"Why Steve?" She asks, genuinely curious, and Howard's eyebrow raises in surprise.
"He hasn't told—" he huffs, "'course he hasn't." He's about to speak again when Steve and the young boy's voice reappear in the hallway.
"Uncle Steve said he's gonna paint me one of these days!" The voice crows. Peggy watches as Howard laughs and turns from her, joking with the others as they walk away from the rooms.
Peggy stares at the empty room and has to shove down the desire to fill it with things she loves.
Because she won't be here long.
She has to go home.
—