Lights burst into his house, more relieved than ever to have the sudden rush of noise that was his sons launching themselves at him. He wrapped his arms around them, lifting them up and spinning them around the parlor while Mavis laughed and Nana barked. The few puppies left set up a yapping that he found far too endearing, and he picked one up to cuddle. The commotion quickly drew the attention of their mother though, Sylvie coming out with their newest in her arms. He smiled, coming over to brush his fingers over the wispy brown hair on the baby's head. "And how is my little girl?"

"Growing like a weed." Sylvie replied, her lips tilted up in a smile.

Lights reached over, tilting her chin up more. "And how is my best girl?"

"Glad that you're home." She spoke softly, her breath whispering against his cheek as he leaned down to kiss her. He never tired of kissing her, of feeling her soft lips and burying his hands on her hair to hold her just right. The way she would move her lips against his, how she curled herself around him, it was enough to drive him to madness. It took all he had not to groan when she pulled back, looking to their children. "Boys, I'm going to put Doreen and Mavis down for a nap. Why don't you go play outside with Nana and the puppies? I'm sure they would like to run around."

They were quick to head out, and Lights was quick to follow his wife upstairs, Mavis in his arms. Sylvie quickly took her from him, settling her down. She looked over her shoulder, "Sit down and rock her, she likes it."

"Of course, she does." He chuckled and collected his youngest, sitting in the rocking chair kept in the nursery. "When has any child of ours not enjoyed being rocked?" He set the chair to rocking, singing some nonsense song about a seabird to her as he did. She appeared rapt as he described a gull flying out with a ship and becoming the crew's pet, although as he made up words about the dark and calm night at sea, her eyes slowly slid shut.

Sylvie gently lifted her from him, settling her into a crib. "I always love how quickly you can get them to go to sleep."

"Our girls have enough sense to find all my stories boring." He whispered as they gently closed the nursery door.

Sylvie smirked, taking his hand and leading him to their bedroom. "And our boys?"

"There I failed, they seem to find them far too exciting." He shrugged, taking a moment to look at his wife. Her dark curls that fell around her, that impish smile on her lips, the way she stood slightly cockeyed because of her foot, there was nothing more beautiful. He did start when she reached for his trousers though, stepping back. "Sylvie, you just had Doreen!"

"It's been eight months." She shook her head, "I wouldn't want you if I wasn't ready."

He still hesitated, "Are you sure? I don't want to hurt you."

"I'm quite sure, I was ready months ago but you weren't here." She pursed her lips, "Now, will you let me?"

He snorted, "As if I would ever refuse you."

"You just did."

"I never said no," Lights let his hands wander to her waist, pulling her shirtwaist from her skirt. "I just didn't want to hurt you."

Sylvie yanked his trousers down, worming her hands into his undergarment to take him in hand. "Oh just be quiet and fuck me."

"Aye, ma'am." He teased, gasping when she squeezed him in the way that he liked. He was glad the boys were outside and the girls asleep for he had no desire to explain things. In fact, he took a moment to lock the door before collecting his wife in his arms and laying her on the bed. She gave a delighted sigh as he stripped her shirtwaist off, unfastened her skirt and tugged it down. He let his hands wander her legs, tracing over every inch of her skin lovingly.

The first time they had been together she had been rather embarrassed about her foot, and he had responded by covering it in kisses. He did the same now, tickling her other foot and making her giggle. She had told him she thought her foot ugly, the way it twisted, but he had told her that every inch of her was beautiful.

Even after four children she was still the most beautiful woman, her breasts full and lush. He pressed kisses to them, licking his way up to her neck. She always clutched him tighter when he gently bit her neck, and he surged against her when she did. He wanted her, he would always want her. Nights as Captain Lightoller meant little when he wasn't around her, he would much rather be Bertie than Captain.

Sylvie was clearly growing impatient, twisting her leg over his waist to pull him to her. Lights was already hard, and her hand slipped between them to stroke him until he was throbbing. He could hardly stand it, rearing back to push her legs apart. She was glad for it, her hips lifting up and a hand guiding him forward.

Lights groaned and cursed under his breath as he sunk into her, embraced by her warmth. She was so soft, so wet, and it made him want to thrust at her like some animal. But he was a man, and more than that, he knew she had given birth only a few months ago, so he controlled that instinct. He moved slow, hand moving down to tease her in that spot she loved so much. She gasped, rocking her hips against his.

He knew his wife well, how she liked to be stroked and teased, how she would arch her neck when she wanted his lips on it, and he knew when she was close to her end. Sylvie gasped, groaned, and twisted as he drew her on. He knew he wouldn't last much longer than her, and when she suddenly started, quiet before releasing all her breath in a deep groan, he lost himself.

They lay there panting on the bed, covered in sweat and smiling. He pulled Sylvie to lay her head on his chest, curling his arms around her. She pressed a kiss to his skin, "How long do we have?"

"Until we have to let the boys in?" He shrugged, "I can always go call Anna to take them away for a day and we can stay here."

"She has Oscar with her right now, his sister had her baby so they're planning on celebrating tonight." Her hand came up to grasp his, "You know what I mean."

Lights sighed, "A week, it's all I could get." There was a reason he had requested this particular week for his leave, Sylvie always preferred him to be home when the anniversary of the sinking came around. He preferred it as well, for when he was wrapped in her arms he didn't think about the cold.

"Bertie," She propped herself up, "Any time with you home is a blessing." Sylvie leaned down, kissing him and he pulled her tight to him. He didn't want to leave the bed, let alone the house. He wanted to stay with them, help his boys grow into men, see his daughter's grow and speak and learn. He wanted to be here, with his family.

But war didn't wait.

I had sent Mr. Collins back to his wife, and Rowan out to the garage after dinner. He had enjoyed sitting around and drinking with Oscar and I, but Rowan had no idea why I was hitting the wine so hard tonight. Oscar did, and was doing his best to distract me. "James said in his letter that Sophie had twins, two boys."

I took a sip of my wine, thoughtfully brought by Oscar from London when I had invited him to join me tonight, mostly to try and keep me from thinking about the sinking. Four years and a cold breeze could still send me back. But with someone around, talking about anything but that, it made it easier. "Did he say what she named them?"

"Wilhelm and Frederich." He rolled his eyes, "I have no doubt that Henry and Zachary influenced her choices."

I smirked, "I don't suppose he's seen them."

"No, we shall have to wait for confirmation that they're not Zachary's." He chuckled, then reached in his coat. "But look at my little nephew here, isn't Richy just darling?"

I peered at the picture, a quick snapshot of a very tired Liz holding a large bundle of white cloth with a blurry head and a beaming James behind the both of them. "He's adorable. They named him for your father, I assume."

"Liz offered to name him for James's and he refused." Oscar shrugged, "Liz says he got roaring drunk throughout the labor then bawled when he was presented with Richy."

"And then he got drunk again." I laughed, "In fact, that sounds like a fine plan for tonight."

"We're already well on our way there." Oscar looked to the multiple empty wine bottles on the table. "At least I am."

I drained my glass, pouring another. "Oh I am as well, I should just be glad I didn't get drunk when I was telling Campbell about our efforts."

"He must have been furious that there wasn't anything."

"About as furious as you were when I told you what Flashman did." I giggled. "It was just a kiss, Oscar, and you're not even my husband. I have no doubt Will will understand."

Oscar frowned, "I'm well aware that I'm not your husband, Anastasia."

"Oh, I didn't mean to upset you." I reached over, placing a hand on his arm.

He glanced down to my hand, covering it with his own. "I've always loved you Anastasia, you know that. And I'll always wonder what it would have been like, if Zachary hadn't made you pull away." I could smell the wine on his breath, and I had no doubt mine smelled the same. I hadn't gotten drunk with Oscar before, his openness was not something I had expected.

I waved my hand, trying to laugh it off. "Oh Oscar, you know any girl in New York would be happy to have you." I got up to take some of the bottles away, my steps unsteady. But Oscar followed, catching me by my waist

"But I don't want any girl, I want you. I've always wanted you." He brushed his fingers against my cheek, tipping my head back. "I lied when I said I was sorry for kissing you, I've dreamed about that since I left for Cambridge. I've wanted you, for years. Anastasia, think about what life would have been for us." Looking up into his brown eyes, I found myself wondering too. If I had married him, we never would have gotten on Titanic.

I never would have met Will and he probably would have died that night. Father would still be alive, and he'd have walked me down the aisle instead of Abe. I wouldn't be stranded here, in Southampton, by the war. I'd still be just a society girl, and have had achieved everything one of those is supposed to. A good marriage to a wealthy family, I'd even have had a husband who loved me. Mr. Reichster wouldn't have come at me twice, not with a Vanderbilt at my side. I might even have had a baby. I'd come home every night to a rich table, a loving husband, and the knowledge that I would never have to worry about anything.

But I wouldn't have Will.

Liz wouldn't have James. I wouldn't know Charles and Sylvie, I wouldn't have learned how to sail a ship through a storm and receive wireless messages. I wouldn't have this little house, with Mr. Collins upstairs in the office and Rigel curled up on the rug by Oscar's sofa. I wouldn't be counting the days until Will got leave and could come home. I wouldn't know the way he touched me when he saw me after so long away. I wouldn't know the love that he assured me was in him with every letter.

My life would have been easier, if I had married Oscar, but emptier. Titanic had taken much from me, but I had gained so much in the aftermath.

I reached up, taking his hand away. "You need to get some sleep, Oscar." He was still staring though, his eyes desperate. "You should look at other girls Oscar, you've been alone for too long."

"I've been alone because I only had eyes for you." He blinked, his voice deep. "Have, I only have eyes for you, Anastasia, and God forbid, if something happens to Will, I don't want you to be alone for the rest of your life."

"You're alone because you're hoping that I get widowed and you can sweep in?"

"No!" He took my hands, squeezing them tightly. "No, I would never want that. It would hurt you, and that's the last thing I want. I never want to see you in pain, Anastasia, it kills me."

I chewed my lip, thinking. "You said had, Oscar, you only had eyes for me. Is there someone else?"

"Yes, maybe," He glanced away, "I don't know, I have feelings, but I don't want to leave you behind."

"Is it Penelope?"

"Yes."

"She's pretty."

"She is, and she's smart and strong." He sighed, his face falling. "But feeling that way about someone else, it scares me. And how can I be sure that my feelings are returned?"

"Oscar," I cradled his hands, "You're a wonderful man, and I'm quite sure she has feelings for you. When I saw her, she'd obviously done herself up to try and impress you. A lady only does that if she has eyes on someone."

"But I've screwed up with this before," He pulled me closer. "I thought that you returned my feelings, but you found someone else."

Oscar continued, his voice harsh. "Just tell me something Anastasia, let me know that I'm not seeing things that aren't there. I know you feel something, that you love me, or you did once." He leaned down, and for a moment I thought he was going to kiss me. But he only stared, gripping my hands. "I love you Anastasia, so much that it hurts. When I thought you had died on the Lusitania, I collapsed. I couldn't stand, I was sick on the floor. I wept, like a baby. And I cried even harder when I heard you were alive." He rested his forehead against mine, "Just tell me that you feel something, give me some hope. That you love me, that I'm not some lovesick fool for no reason."

His lips were right there in front of me, and I closed my eyes, begged for Will's forgiveness, and kissed them. Once, I had loved him. Once, I had wanted nothing more than this man who now crushed me to him, his hand dipping below my waist to grip my rear tightly, and let me slip my tongue in his mouth. Once, I had pictured being the new leading lady of New York society, with my handsome and loving husband, in a world where war and tragedy had never touched us and wouldn't ever come near.

But that was not now. I pulled back, bringing a hand up to clasp his cheek. "Oscar, I did. And in another life, I would have been very happy with you." He gave a groan at that, his hands tightening around me. "But our lives are far different than what I once wanted, and I wouldn't trade that. I know you wouldn't trade that either, not with how happy your sister is." I pressed a kiss to his cheek, "You will always be my first love, Oscar, and I hate to see you in pain. You think you're standing some noble vigil, but all you're doing is hurting yourself. Oscar, your feelings aren't wrong. You're not acting stupid. If you have feelings for Penelope, then forget me and go for her."

"I will never forget you." His lip trembled, "I will never stop loving you, Anastasia."

"Then how can you have feelings for her?"

"Because I believe it's possible to love more than one person," Oscar smiled a bit. "You still love me, you said and I know you love Will. Why can't I pursue her and still love you?"

"I do still love you, Oscar." I slipped my hands around his, disentangling them from my waist. "You're my closest friend, my greatest friend, and I know I wouldn't be here today without you."

His fingers were tight around mine, "God, Anastasia, our lives could have been so different." His voice broke at that, but he let my hand go. "We could have been different."

"We could have, but we have to live the life we have now." I turned from him, hoping that he wouldn't see the tears pricking at my eyes as I climbed the stairs to the bedroom. "I want you to go after Penelope, Oscar. I want to see you happy."

I wept through the night, mourning what could have been. I could have been Mrs. Vanderbilt, I could have had a devoted husband who wouldn't have left me to fight a war. I could have been content and happy and not crying in a cold bed while my husband was hundreds of miles away. Sometimes that life seemed so appealing, but I knew it could never be. I had no doubt when I came down for breakfast my eyes were still red, taking in Oscar curled over a mug of coffee.

He looked up, took in my appearance, and looked back down. "Anastasia, last night, I never should have said any of that."

"You shouldn't have," I agreed, sitting down across from him. "But you did."

"I'll leave, immediately. I won't call you anymore, I won't write."

I gently touched his hand, feeling the warmth of the mug that had seeped into his skin. "Don't do that." I gave him a small smile as his gaze lifted to mine. "I still need you in my life, Oscar, but in the role of a friend, not a lover." I squeezed his fingers, "You are one of my greatest friends, Oscar, I can't lose that."

He nodded, obviously speaking around a lump in his throat. "Thank you."

"Go after Penelope, Oscar, I know you can."

Oscar was finding that applying himself to deliberately wooing a woman was harder than he expected. When he had returned to London, he had sat down and tried to figure out how best to approach Penelope. Every lady liked to be told she was pretty, so he would compliment her appearance. He knew she was proud of her intelligence, and she had good reason to be. He would flatter her until he was certain that she felt something for him, then he would ask her out.

But when he had appeared at the offices, Penelope had flatly refused to speak to him.

No matter what he said, she simply kept writing, kept reading, kept doing anything but talking to him, let alone looking at him. She treated him as if he was simply a rather annoying lamp, and Oscar left dejected. Had he done something to turn her against him? Had something happened while he was gone?

He watched her as they worked, doing his best to look like he wasn't. She would speak to her father easily enough, and Nigel never seemed to notice that his daughter refused to speak to Oscar directly. Sometimes Oscar felt like he could see her watching him, but her eyes always moved away quickly.

When he arrived one morning, he found her cradling a stack of papers. He glanced at them, seeing that it wasn't their coding work. Penelope's elegant handwriting was scrawled in the margins of the typed pages, and Oscar realized what he was looking at. "Is that your research?"

She jumped and the papers scattered, she must not have heard him come in. "Look what you did!"

Oscar was immediately on his knees, helping collect everything. "I'm sorry, I was just curious. You rarely speak of it."

He could see her worrying a lip, clearly deciding if she should speak to him or continue shunning him. "It is my research, I haven't worked on it since the war started."

Oscar collected more pages, "You should, it's something you're clearly passionate about."

"No one else is," She muttered, "The university professors won't give me the time of day."

"There's an easy way to solve that." He grinned at her expression of confusion, glad that she was speaking again. He wanted to prod her a little, get her fighting back. "Oh come on Penny, you've probably got a line of beaux waiting around the block. If you want people to take your research seriously, just marry one and get it over with."

She frowned, "There it is."

Oscar furrowed his brow, "What?"

"What you think I'm truly capable of." Penelope stood and turned away. "You don't think I'm able to do it on my own. I'm not Penelope the historian. Not Penelope the author. Penny the wife."

Oscar knew he had stepped in it, but this was the most she had talked to him in a week. "Penny-"

"Don't!"

"Penelope," He tried, "I only meant that people look favorably on married lady researchers. It would get your paper taken more seriously, you'd be taken more seriously."

She whirled, and Oscar stumbled back with a burning cheek. "You don't take me seriously! You're just like every other man! Well, I can do this Mr. Vanderbilt, and I don't need you or any other man to do it!"

Her hair was askew, her eyes were bright and her lips were pink and pouting and Oscar surged forward. One hand around her waist, one cupping the back of her head, and his lips to hers. It was all so simple, and she melted against him, for a moment. Then she shoved him away, his other cheek burning as she slapped him again. "How dare you!"

"You have no idea how beautiful you are with your blood up, Miss Featherstone." He chuckled, rubbing his face. "And of course I take you seriously, Penelope."

"And you wanted to show that by kissing me?" She was blushing now, "Treating me like some featherheaded socialite who will faint and allow you to take her to bed?"

"That was not my intention!"

"Then what is your intention?"

Oscar drew himself up, "I would like to take you book shopping tomorrow, and to lunch. I can ask your father for his permission if you require it."

Her mouth gaped like a fish. "You, this is some joke."

"No joke, Penelope." He bowed, "If you require me to court you seriously, then I shall."

He watched as Penelope's jaw suddenly shut, her eyes flickering around the room. "Do you mean that?"

"I do."

"What about Anastasia? I saw the way you looked at her."

He hesitated, choosing his words carefully. "I spent some time reflecting on things, and I have moved on. I greatly admire you, Penelope, and I miss the way things were between us. I hope that my feelings aren't misplaced."

She curled her arms around herself, pressing her research tightly to her chest. "Tomorrow, at noon. I'll tell Father I'm having lunch with a friend." She turned on her heel, fleeing quickly. Oscar grinned after her, feeling lighter than he had in a long time.

The next day, Oscar had spent a solid ten minutes in the florist considering flowers. He didn't want to give her roses, too forward, but neither did he wants to give her friendly daisies. He had instead selected a bouquet of wildflowers, which he held out to her with a bow. "Miss Featherstone, thank you for agreeing to accompany me."

Penelope, in a conservative dress and hat, stood frozen in the door of her father's house. "Oscar, what are those?"

"Flowers," He grinned, "I thought you might like them."

"Wait a moment, I want to put them in water." She took them from him carefully, as if she was afraid of her gloved fingers touching his. She returned in a moment, "I did not tell my father I am going with you. But I did tell him if I didn't return by evening to call the police."

"I shall return you in plenty of time," Oscar held out his arm, smoothly placing it back at his side when she started off without taking it. "I've heard excellent things about this bookseller."

"Hmph," She sniffed, but she did follow when he gently pointed out the turn to take. "I'll be the judge of that."

"I think you'll be pleasantly surprised." He grinned, simply enjoying their walk until they ended up outside the antiquarian bookseller he had found. He opened the door, "After you." She stepped past him hesitantly, but relaxed once she saw there were other patrons inside. He did his best not to loom behind her. "Anything in particular you'd like to find?"

She was rather stiff, "Perhaps a history."

"Tudor?"

"Is there any other kind?"

"Well, American for one." Oscar raised a brow, watching as she began to walk away. "I was joking, Penelope, of course we can find you a Tudor history." It turned out it was going to take both of them to find it, for the store's organization was absolutely deplorable. As the taller of the two, Oscar was quickly enlisted to sort through the upper shelves, which often meant dislodging a large quantity of dust. Penelope gave an utterly adorable sneeze as he pulled one book out, and he quickly held out a handkerchief. "Here."

She didn't try and avoid accidentally touching his fingers, "Thank you."

"You might like this one," Oscar said, flipping open the books. "All about Elizabeth and Shakespeare."

"Oh, yes." She reached for it, only to realize that she had reached with the hand holding his handkerchief. She blushed, "Oh, I'm sorry."

"Not a problem," Oscar swiftly had the two swapped. "Here."

Penelope immediately flipped open the book, her fingers careful with the pages as she read through as quickly as she could. A small smile appeared on her face, "There's an entire chapter about A Midsummer Night's Dream."

Oscar groaned, placing an affected hand against his forehead. "Please don't tell the owner."

"Oh come now," Penelope stepped a little closer. "Maybe he likes asses." Oscar stayed close to her as they made their way through more of the bookstore, unwilling to lose what little progress he had made. He could listen to her go on about the books she found for hours, and it felt rather like he did. It was while she was talking about the subject of her research, Anne Boleyn, that Oscar risked reaching out with a pinky towards her hand. He had expected her to stiffen or pull away, but she barely seemed to notice. If anything, she pulled him farther in until she was actually holding his hand.

She only noticed when he removed his hand to reach for his wallet and pay, wrapping her arms around herself. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have-"

"Penelope," He gently chided as the books were wrapped up, "It's fine, if anything it was rather nice to hold your hand." He turned briefly to the owner to request having the books sent to the Professor's house, then offered his arm to Penelope. "Care for some lunch?"

She glanced at his arm, "Where?"

"I thought you might like the Ritz." He grinned, fully smiling when she delicately placed a hand on his arm. "If that's fine with you."

"Yes." She nodded, falling quiet as they stepped out and he hailed a cab. She was silent during the drive, and Oscar let her be until they reached the Ritz and he helped her out.

He took in her pale face as she stared up at the hotel, the uniformed doormen helping them in and the staff that whisked them to a table. Oscar reached across the table and took her hand, "Penelope, it's alright."

"I'm not supposed to be here." She muttered, but she didn't withdraw her hand. "We can just go home."

"After you eat something." He gave her hand a squeeze. "Now, do you see that lady over there?"

"The one with the two men at her table?"

"Yes, now, don't you think she's just the perfect little German spy?" Oscar joked, making Penelope giggle. The lady in question was quite elderly and was more than likely meeting with her son and lawyer. Oscar liked seeing her laugh, and kept up a stream of running commentary as their food arrived. The Ritz must have had some contacts on the black market, for there was no rationing here. Tea with cream and sugar, cookies and cakes, fresh meat and bread, Oscar knew she hadn't eaten this well in months.

Penelope appeared rather sleepy after lunch, and she yawned. "Do you think we could walk back home? Otherwise I fear I'm going to fall asleep in the cab."

"Gladly," He stifled his own yawn, offering his arm again. Their steps were slow as they left the hotel, but he didn't mind. It meant more time to have her by him, hear her relating little historical tidbits about the places they passed. In fact, it was a wonderful afternoon, until Penelope froze as they neared her home.

Her lips trembled, "Oh, no."

"What is it?"

"Father's friend, Professor Flint." She glanced around, "Come on, into the alley." She tugged on his hand, pulling him after her. Oscar had barely opened his mouth before she slapped her hand over his lips. "He's terribly conservative and the last thing I want is him to go tell Father about us."

Oscar moved her behind him, turning to look over his shoulder. If the word curmudgeon had been able to take physical form, it would have been Professor Flint. Short, balding, old and with a permanent glare for anything around him. Oscar glanced back to Penelope, "Your father is friends with that?"

"Not really, he just knows him from the university." She was almost shaking. "He comes over for tea sometimes." Her fingers tightened in his lapels, "He's looking!" She jerked him forward, and Oscar almost fell onto her. But then her hands were on his cheeks, her lips were on his and Oscar lost all thoughts of Professor Flint.

All he cared about was holding Penelope, angling himself so that he could kiss her and hide her at the same time, but he found himself unable to move his hands. They were on her waist, but he felt that if he moved them to her back she would pull away and that was the last thing he wanted. He felt her hands moving though, wrapping around his shoulders and pressing him closer to her.

He bit back a groan when she pulled away slightly, her voice breathless. "I think he's gone."

"Does he have to be?" He muttered, but Penelope held his hand as they resumed their walk. When they reached her father's house, he stood below the steps. "I shouldn't have done that, back in the alley."

She blushed, but stepped forward. "Oscar, you stupid man. Kiss me again." He smirked, leaning down to plant one on her. When he moved his hands to her back, she didn't pull away. If anything, her hands went to his bum and pulled him tighter to her.

All in all, it was a good day.

When Oscar had asked her to lunch, Penelope had almost immediately regretted her decision. She had spent most of the night string at her ceiling, turning over everything they had said to each other. Why couldn't he have just left her alone after she had refused to speak to him? He should have been smart enough to take the hint, but he had kept at it, just more quietly. Penelope didn't want to look at him, let alone speak to him, not after how he had pushed her aside so quickly. But then he had asked her about her research, and she had remembered how she used to enjoy their conversations.

She had missed that.

And then he had kissed her, and all of her anger had melted away. For a moment, but then she had felt it come back with a fury. But no matter how many accusations she threw at him, he refused to rise to the bait. Instead, he had been utterly honest and sincere and it had infuriated her. He thought he could have her so soon after rushing off to Mrs. Murdoch's defense?

Penelope had fully expected the date to be an utter disaster, but Oscar had been been a perfect gentleman. She had worried that he would insist that after book shopping they go out dancing, or to the cinema, but he had took her to a sedate lunch. He had helped put her at ease in the dining room, and had saved her from the scrutiny of the odious Professor Flint.

And now Oscar was on her step again, flowers in his hand. "For you, Pen."

She took them, trying to think if she even had another vase. His first bouquet had barely begun to wilt. "You know I much prefer books to flowers."

"I do," He reached into his pocket, pulling out a thin leatherbound book. "Which is why I brought this."

Penelope turned it over in her hands, letting her fingers run over the smooth leather. "Thank you, Oscar." She glanced up, "But why are you here?"

He straightened up, walking beside her as they headed for the kitchen. "I want to do things right, Penelope, and that includes asking your father to allow me to court you." He stopped, taking her hand. "So long as that would be fine with you."

Her fingers squeezed his. "I would."

"Good," He let out a relieved breath, "Is he upstairs?" At her nod, he started up and she was left alone. She had barely gotten the flowers into a glass of water when there was yet another knock at the door and she rushed to answer it.

A messenger boy quickly handed over a grubby piece of paper, and she quickly looked at it. It was addressed to her father, but he never cared if she read his messages.

Grand Fleet moving out of Scapa Flow tonight, High Seas fleet in North Sea soon. Engagement imminent.

She looked towards the stairs, knowing what she should do. She should interrupt Oscar and present the message to her father, they should discuss what information they had that was relevant and make decisions of what to do. But if she did that, then her father would forget about everything Oscar was saying and he might not get another chance.

For once, Penelope allowed herself to be selfish.

It wouldn't matter in the grand scheme of things if her father learned of the fleet's movement now or in half an hour. They likely couldn't do anything to help the fleet or affect the outcome of the battle. But there was another man up there who would be concerned over the deployment, but for the sake of another.

It galled her, but Penelope was going to do something kind for Mrs. Murdoch, if only to keep Oscar from rushing off to her again. He did say she loved her husband, she should know what was going on.

She picked up the phone, asked for a connection to Southampton and then to the Murdoch house. Penelope waited until the line connected, "Mrs. Murdoch?"

"Yes, who is this?"

"Penelope Featherstone," She paused, looking down to the paper in her hands. "I received a message for my father, he's currently occupied but it is something that concerns you."

Anastasia's voice was flat, "What is it?"

"The Grand Fleet, the whole fleet, is putting out to sea. The Germans are coming, there's going to be a naval battle soon."

"I understand," The speaker could barely capture her voice it was so soft. "I will head to Scotland immediately, that's where the news will come."

"I will pray for your husband, Mrs. Murdoch." Penelope worried her lip, "I hope that everything will come out all right."

"Thank you, Penelope." She replied, "I would like to ask something of you, if you will allow it."

"Oh?"

The speaker was quiet for a moment. "Please be kind to Oscar, he truly does care for you and he deserves a bit of happiness. I can only hope that you care for him like he cares for you."

Penelope was quiet for a long time. "I will, Mrs. Murdoch."

"Thank you."

She was still standing by the phone, the line dead in her hand when Oscar found her. He was grinning widely, "He's agreed to it!"

Penelope turned, trying to match his enthusiasm. "That's wonderful."

Oscar glanced at the paper in her hand, "What's that?"

"A message for Father, the fleet is heading to battle." She watched as Oscar glanced to the phone, his hand flexing. "I already called her, I thought she should know. She said she's headed to Scotland to wait for news."

He stepped closer, taking her hand. "Thank you, that's where she should be right now."

Penelope glanced up through her lashes at him. "And where do you belong?"

"Right here," He leaned closer, pressing a soft kiss to her lips. "Your father agreed to us seeing each other, however he insists that he act as a chaperone."

Penelope rested her head on his shoulder, "I'm glad he agreed, I so wanted him to."

"I'll just be sneaking kisses then."

"You won't have a hard time getting them."