"You can't be serious," Caroline laughed, a sound that echoed through the lush gardens, the ache in her side a testament to the joy of the moment. It had been two hours since she and her newfound companion, Rebekah, had slipped away from the stifling atmosphere of the party to explore the sprawling grounds. As the sun dipped lower in the sky, casting a warm glow over the manicured hedges, the faint strains of a string quartet drifted through the air, creating a serene backdrop to their spirited conversation.
With laughter still bubbling between them, Caroline shook her head, a smile dancing on her lips. She had not anticipated such delight in the company of someone she had only just met, yet Rebekah possessed an effortless charm that drew her in. Perhaps it was the way she spoke with abandon, disregarding the rigid decorum that governed their world. Or maybe it was the knowing glint in her eye, suggesting an understanding of Caroline's own struggles that few could grasp.
"I assure you, I am quite serious," Rebekah replied, her lips curling into a playful grin that made Caroline wonder how someone so refined could retain such a sense of whimsy. The fine silk of her gown spoke of a family that could afford the most rigorous of tutors, yet here she was, unshackled by the expectations of society. Was it only Elizabeth Forbes who dreamed of marrying her daughter off to the highest bidder?
"Marriage is a trap, and I refuse to be caught in it," Rebekah declared as-matter-of-factly, spinning dramatically before collapsing onto a stone bench, feigning despair.
Caroline arched a delicate brow, struggling to suppress her amusement. "You make it sound like a fate worse than death."
"Because it is!" Rebekah exclaimed, her voice rising with conviction. "I have watched my brothers revel in their freedom, while women are condemned to play the dutiful wives, birthing heirs and turning a blind eye to their husbands' indiscretions. I would sooner flee to a cottage in the countryside, raising horses and sipping French wine, than be chained to some pompous lord who values me only for my dowry."
Settling beside her, Caroline felt her lips twitching into a smile. "That sounds quite divine, actually." She tilted her head back, savoring the last warmth of the day, soon to be replaced by the soft embrace of an English night and the effervescence of champagne.
"It does, doesn't it?" Rebekah sighed, her expression turning contemplative. "And what of you? Do you yearn for the perfect marriage with a dashing suitor?"
Caroline exhaled slowly, her gaze drifting to the darkening sky, the weight of expectation pressing down on her spirit. "I want love," she confessed, her voice tinged with wistfulness. "Not the kind my mother speaks of, where a good name and financial security suffice. I desire a true love match, something beyond mere suitability… but I'm not sure it exists. I've never witnessed it—not in my parents, nor anyone else. Just arrangements, duty, and expectation."
Rebekah regarded her with a look of understanding, a silent camaraderie passing between them. "Then we are kindred spirits, Caroline Forbes. We are not meant for cages, not even gilded ones."
Caroline let the words resonate within her, her heart thudding in agreement. A slow, delighted smile spread across her face. "Well then," she said, raising her glass in a mock toast, "to our inevitable scandal."
Rebekah grinned, clinking her glass against Caroline's. "To a life that is ours to claim."
And in that moment, a friendship was forged—not out of convenience or obligation, but from a shared understanding of their desires and dreams.
The rest of the night unfurled like a silken tapestry as the pair continued their venture through the moonlit estate, their laughter mingling with the gentle rustle of leaves as they avoided conversations with suitors and mothers alike. The champagne flowed as freely as their conversation, a delightful escape from the stifling norms of London society. They spoke of cherished books, whispered dreams, and distant lands that beckoned beyond the rigid confines of their world.
Rebekah, her gaze distant and dreamy, painted vivid pictures of a glimmering and dewy Paris at dusk in the summer months. "Imagine the streets," she said, her voice a soft melody, "the poets and musicians weaving tales along the Seine. If you could go anywhere, where would it be?"
Caroline pondered, her heart fluttering at the thought. "Venice, perhaps," she replied, a wistful sigh escaping her once paint-stained lips as she allowed her heart's desires to wander. "I've read that the water sparkles like stained glass in the sunlight, and the masquerades—oh, can you imagine? A night where no one knows who you are, where you can be anyone that you wish?"
Her companion's eyes once again glinted with mischief, as if behind them were the secrets to lifetimes of secret knowledge, "We should go."
"You make it sound so simple," Caroline chuckled softly, the sound infused with the light and airy bubbles of the champagne that had indulged their small jaunt of rebellion.
"Because it is," Rebekah replied with a shrug of her slight shoulders, as if they had never known the immeasurable weight of her family's expectations, "All it takes is the will to leave."
The heft of that truth pressed against Caroline's heart, a bittersweet reminder of the glittering chains that bound her to London. That bound her to her duty as the only child of the Forbes name. Before she could voice her thoughts, a voice echoed through the night, breaking their reverie.
"There you are, sister. I was beginning to think you'd abandoned the party altogether."
Caroline turned with a jolt of surprise, the small bottle of drink that they had squirreled away nearly slipping from between her gloveless fingers if not for Rebekah's surprisingly quick reflexes, and her breath catching as her gaze fell upon him.
The newcomer who approached was striking, commanding attention, despite being without the polished veneer of the gentlemen inside the ballroom. His presence was effortless, as if he personified the quiet certainty of a storm on the horizon—beautiful yet laced with an undeniable edge of danger. His unruly golden-brown hair framed a face that held an intriguing allure, and his blue eyes, reminiscent of a restless sea, regarded her with an open, almost expectant, curiosity.
"Klaus," Rebekah said, her tone a mix of exasperation and affection with an underlying hint of something that almost sounded like a warning. "Must you always be lurking about? You nearly gave my dear friend a fright."
It seemed a crime to call the gesture that painted across his lips a smirk as no other grin had seemed to speak of things as full of promise as this - a look tossed in her direction so effortlessly that she could practically hear her mother's scandalized chastisement beginning inside her mind. "I prefer to call it making an entrance," this stranger - Klaus - replied smoothly as his gaze flickered back to Caroline, his curiosity piqued, "and who might your charming companion be?"
Rebekah huffed but relented, her smile returning with a roll of blue eyes. She moved to place the nearly empty bottle of Champagne on the nearby ledge of a raised flower bed before reaching out to clasp Caroline's hands with her own in a show of their new closeness. "Caroline Forbes, meet my dear brother, Niklaus Mikaelson."
Caroline dipped into a polite curtsy, praying that the unexpected sound of her heart racing was dulled by the polite revelry of the party that surrounded them. "A pleasure, sir."
"The pleasure," Klaus murmured, his lips curving into a knowing smile as he extended his hand toward hers, "is entirely mine."
As his fingers brushed against her own, a thrill surged through her—not of fear, nor of unease, but of something far more intoxicating. Something that whispered of possibility. Something that felt like fate.