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knitekatTitle: A Regency Romance
Author: knitekat
Word Count: 9865
Characters: James Lester, Tom Ryan, Christine Johnson, Danny Quinn, Lorraine Wickes, Henry Lester*, Edward Lester*, William Lockhart*, Emma Lockhart*, Lucy Johnson*, Percy Sedgewick*, Mr and Mrs Stanton*, Joshua Maitland*, Mrs Wickes* (* OCs)
Rating: 18
Disclaimer: Primeval belongs to Impossible Pictures. Certainly not me. Writing for fun and will replace.
A/N1: Secret Santa for fifi and her prompts: "This corset is too tight.", Red wine is safer, Winter opening hours and Cheese and pickles. Some are in here… admittedly a bit blink and you will miss them and one of your likes - period drama. Hope you enjoy it… not sure where it went but the muse had fun getting there.
A/N2: Thanks go to Fredbassett for the beta. Thank you, my dear. All remaining mistakes are mine.
A/N3: Happy Christmas to all. And Happy Boxing Day too.
“Bugger!” Captain James Lester threw the crumbled missive onto the fire. “Lieutenant Ryan!”
“Sir?” Ryan entered at the double.
“My father has summoned me to Town.” James scowled. The command was a blasted inconvenience given the need to arrange winter quarters for his crew; still he had little choice in the matter. “You are in charge in my absence. Have the crew check and double check Arcturus’ sails and tethers for damage.”
“Yes, sir. Do you know how long you’ll be gone?”
“No blasted idea, Lieutenant.”
“I’ll keep the crew from mischief, sir,” Ryan vowed. “And keep an eye on Arcturus for you.” He saluted, before turning back at James’ call, eyes widening at the pouch lobbed towards him. He fumbled for an instant looking further surprised at the heft. “Sir?”
“Monies for supplies and whatnots.” Without James’ presence the quartermaster could be difficult. “Spend any left over on the crew. They deserve a reward after our last skirmish.” James nodded thoughtfully before adding, “Make sure to give them their fair time off.”
“I will, sir.” Ryan threw a salute. “And I’ll make sure some will always be with Arcturus.”
“Do not forget your own time off, Lieutenant Ryan. Sebastian, was it?”
“Yes, sir. It was. Seems he found another while I was away, one who is not off fighting the French.”
“My sympathies, Lieutenant.” James murmured. “Still, it is his loss. Now, be that so, I still expect you to have time off, Arcturus does have two Lieutenants.”
“I shall, sir. I’ll take the opportunity to see my grand-mama.”
“Excellent. Now I must pack and be off.”
James sank into the corner seat of the carriage to Town, his captain’s greatcoat buttoned up against the cold, fur collar tugged tight around his throat. His thoughts first on why his father had summoned him, before turning to pleasanter pondering on Lieutenant Ryan. The young man was as skilled a crewman as any James had worked with. Only a few more years of seasoning would be required before James would suggest captaincy for him, once a suitable position opened. Oh James would miss Ryan’s gentle hand on Arcturus but he would not deny the teenager progression within the Corps.
Roused from his musings by the overly loud discussion opposite him, his soldier instincts kicking in at the sound of trouble, ebbing as the argument became intelligible, some gossip about an incident the previous night at a brothel. Long experience had him partially listening even as his thoughts turned back to their previous paths, mostly what his father wanted and how much the family home had changed since his last visit.
The gossip unconsciously overheard came back to him as James strolled, slower with every step, towards his father’s study. He shook himself, dawdling helped no-one and he’d soon find out what his father wanted. Realising he could tarry no longer without a tongue-lashing, if not worse, James’ steps quickened until he scratched on the study door. “Father?”
“Come in, James.”
His father sat behind his ornate desk. James saw an elderly gentleman in expensive clothes pulled tight over an expanding waistline, rheumy eyes peering at him over spectacles perched precariously on the end of his red nose. “Late as usual.”
“Yes, sir. I apologise for my tarriness,” James murmured respectfully. Even if his father’s missive had reached him but two hours past.
“Hmmm” James’ father scowled at his wayward son. “The Stanton’s are hosting a dinner party tonight. Edward was going but…” The Duke looked pained for a moment before shrugging. “They are good friends and I will not inconvenience them with odd numbers.” He threw a missive onto his desk. “I wrote them and explained Edward is inconvenienced and they will accept your presence to make up the numbers.”
Of course the Stanton’s had agreed, after all, second son of a Duke and spare at that, James was still the correct social status and would not require a redrawing to the seating plan or a hasty requirement for a replacement gentleman of suitable character. James’ own plans, however, were clearly not an issue. “Father?”
“I have made my mind clear. You will attend in Edward’s place.” The Duke fixed James with a stern eye. “Do try not to bring any more shame of the family.” Before adding, almost as an aside, “If only you were more like your brother.”
James swiftly bit his tongue before any truths emerged, ones his father would not appreciate. How did fighting the French bring shame? Except it was not the fighting which had James in his father’s black books so much that he was a captain in the Air Corps, last and least of the armed forces as far as his father was concerned. In James opinion, Edward brought more than enough shame on the family, or he would, if their father’s connections and power failed to silence everything except the wagging tongues of gossip. Gossip which had ‘Lord E’ – Edward unless James missed his guess – involved in a common brawl the previous night over a late night encounter in a brothel. Not that it had been the first time and would not be the last that Edward sprained the ankle of an Adventuress and failed to pay compensation to her Abbess.
“Father,” James began before falling silent as his father rose wobbly to his feet, his face growing red. Janes bowed his head. “Yes, father. What time is the dinner?” He said, knowing he had no say in the matter. James could only console himself that Mrs Stanton would have laid on a fine spread. That and hope the company would not be a terrible bore.
With several hours before the dinner, James took the opportunity to refamiliarise himself with the house and its staff, noting various staff absences – all maids of course. A retreat to the library would keep him away from both his father and older brother, perhaps his mother had added further fine books to their collection? Before he could make his escape, an abrasive bray came from the top of the stairs. “James! I say, James. Come here!”
James rolled his eyes, refrained the sudden impulse to bark like the pet dog Edward summoned in the same way and, resigned, took the steps two at a time.
“Must you always dash about so?” Edward grumbled.
James fought to stop a smile escaping his control when he glancing up at his brother. A black eye and cut lip told their own story about his encounter with the Adventuress, her Abbess or the men hired to teach Edward a lesson. Not that Edward had every been good at learning his lessons. What had James’ eyebrows almost meeting his hairline was the far thinner waist and bulkier chest than he remembered. He could not recall Edward being this thin… had Edward been on a diet? Exercised?
“You must aid me, James. This confounded thing, this blasted corset is too tight. I can barely breathe.”
Corset? Well, that explained things. The word why was on James’ tongue, before being swiftly swallowed. It was clear why, for a masculine, athletic, even Grecian form was admired and Edward had none of those. James had heard corsets were the fashion to achieve such a physique, but given Edward’s expansive girth, they brought their own problems.
“Now, brother. Do you want me to faint and swoon for your amusement?”
“Not at all,” James murmured. “I think maybe we should retire from public view.”
“Mmmm, excellent idea. Come, James, I must have this off.”
James was forcibly reminded of their childhood as he trailed after Edward into his brother’s rooms. The corset was tight, with purpling flesh bulging between the lacing which had James take out a knife. “I believe the only way out of this infernal contraption will be to cut it off.”
“Do so.” Edward affected a sway. “I can not breathe. Now, James, damn your eyes.”
He was impressed by the speech from someone professing a lack of breath, not that he mentioned it. Their father always would take Edward’s side. Still, a few careful cuts so as not to damage Edward’s skin, had the laces severed and Edward gasping much like a beached whale.
James beat a hasty exit before Edward could recover, and spent the several hours of morning left in the library, reading contentedly before preparing for the dinner party.
Darkness had fallen by the time James’ carriage reached the Stanton’s residence, dropping him off the prescribed quarter hour early. He scratched on the front door and waited for the butler to open it and allow him entry and take his greatcoat.
He joined the hosts and other guests in the drawing room, glancing around the room as he warmed himself before the roaring fire. He was not familiar with the plump and clearly monied Stantons, beyond Mr Stanton being involved in some business with his father. A tall, black-haired and well-dressed gentleman in the far corner turned and earned a brief nod from James. He recalled Mr William Lockhart from school, he’d been an amiable fellow, if indifferent student. The shorter and thinner black-haired younger woman beside Lockhart bore a family resemblance, soon confirmed when she was introduced as his younger sister, Miss Emma; recently presented to the Queen and attending her first Season of the Ton. James engaged in polite conversation before Mr Stanton introduced the other guests – a short and rather rounded, pale faced man by the name of Mr Percy Sedgewick and two ladies – Miss Lucy Johnson, a slender, waif-like blond, and her dark-haired cousin, Miss Christine Johnson. James wondered which was the most disappointed with Edward’s absence, quickly noting that Miss Christine seemed the least affected.
James listened politely to the small talk, adding a comment when appropriate, but he was unaware of the subtle changes in ranking whilst in France and he knew it. This dinner would be the perfect opportunity to learn who was rising - and whose star was falling - within the Ton, that and how many knew ‘Lord E’ was Edward and were willing to imply as such to James.
James smirked before sobering, the place card had clearly been swiftly altered to his, rather than Edward’s, name. Not in the slightest bothered, James took the seat of honour next to Mrs Stanton, both as the highest in status and the greatest stranger to most. The table swiftly filled, with Miss Emma to his right, then Mr Sedgewick, with Mr Stanton at the head of the table. To Mr Stanton’s right was Miss Lucy, than Lockhart and Miss Christine to the left of Mrs Stanton and across the table to James.
He engaged in small talk with both Mrs Stanton and Miss Emma before the soup was served, finding the ham and pea soup warming on this chilled evening, although he only toyed with the pease soup, knowing he would have to pace himself and honour his hosts by trying each course, swapping savoury with sweet to clean and tempt his palate. However, twelve courses proved his undoing and he admitted defeat. He took a number of toasts when requested, although too many years of fighting had taught him to moderate his drinking.
James was talking to Mrs Stanton when Mr Sedgewick leaned around Miss Emma to address him. He noticed Mrs Stanton’s well concealed wince at such a break in etiquette, the blasted fool reducing his chances of further invites with every brayed word. “This dinner does not appeal to you then, my Lord?”
Catching Mrs Stanton’s brief horrified look, James replied, “It is exquisite.” He glanced at Mrs Stanton for a heartbeat. “I pray your forgiveness, Mrs Stanton, I afraid my years at war have left me little time to indulge and I find my appetite less than it once was. Truly a disappointment when faced with such masterpieces of culinary expertise.” His words were greeted with a barely perceptible relaxation of tense shoulders.
Unfortunately, Mr Sedgewick didn’t take the hint and continued, “Oh? What do you Air Jockeys eat?”
James met Miss Christine’s gaze for a moment and he stifled a chuckle when she dramatically rolled her eyes, then swiftly turned his attention to Mr Sedgewick. “It depends where we are and what we are doing. On patrol, if I might use that as an example, one of my crew came up with a sandwich of cheese and piccalilli – tasty, filling, easy to carry and not liable to tumble from one’s hand.”
“Sounds dreadful,” Mr Sedgewick opined.
James chose to ignore him, turning back to his hostess. “As I was saying, Mrs Stanton, this is an exquisite spread. I do beg your forgiveness for being unable to enjoy more of it.”
“Think nothing of it, my Lord. However, I do hope you will have room for a little desert? I believe the lemon cheesecake is suitably light or we have ice-cream.”
“Both would be gladly accepted, Mrs Stanton.” James murmured in agreement, his gaze darting to the pineapple in the centre of the table. He could only hope Mr Sedgewick did not ask for some of that rented fruit. “Indeed, I believe we should all partake is such delicacies.”
Finally Mrs Stanton rose to lead the ladies from the room, and James half-wished he could depart with them when Mr Sedgewick began to pester him with questions about the Air Corps. The man clearly thought they were lower than even the Navy, although he was not of Army-blood. Manners had him keeping his calm when Mr Sedgewick made comments about the Air Corps stealing cows and other beasts from the hard-working poor, as if he really cared about them. The change of topic Mr Stanton introduced was welcome, even if Mr Sedgewick kept trying to ask more impertinent questions, whether about the Air Corps or his opinion on ‘that Lord E’. Indeed, James believed Mr Stanton cut the port drinking, cigar-smoking discussion short, almost indecently so, in the hope Mr Sedgewick would hold his tongue once they joined the ladies.
Lockhart stood by a table, a pack of cards in his hands. “Lord Lester, would you join me in a game of Whist. Emma, if you and…”
He looked around for a moment before Miss Emma quickly spoke up, “Miss Christine Johnson will join us. I’ll partner you, dear brother, if Miss Christine would agree?”
“Of course, Mr Lockhart,” Miss Christine agreed equally quickly.
It was clear to James they spoke up to keep Mr Sedgewick at bay. Still, the company – bar Mr Sedgewick who glowered in the corner, hoarding his port like a miser – was pleasant. They played several tricks of Whist, betting pennies, with each choosing a trump suit. They had short breaks between each trick, stopping for a quick snack of cheese, cold meat, bread and fruit from the sideboard, washed down with sherry and wine. James was prevailed upon to demonstrate the art of making a cheese and piccalilli sandwich, before Miss Christine Johnson made her own and pronounced it quite satisfying.
James found the evening to be a far more enjoyable occasion – on the whole – than he had expected. He also walked out with a pocket of pennies, for Miss Christine Johnson had proved to be a fine tactician and they were as gracious in their winnings as the Lockharts were in losing.
James returned to paid his respects to the Stantons a few days later, almost literally bumped into Miss Christine Johnson and her cousin, Lucy.
“My pardon, ladies,” James said with a bow.
Miss Christine curtsied, “Think nothing of it, my Lord.”
Miss Lucy almost jabbed her elbow into Miss Christine’s side. “Our fault, my Lord, I… we beg your forgiveness.”
“Only if you grant me yours.” James replied, noting how Miss Lucy blushed and looked away, while Miss Christine rolled her eyes at her cousin’s response.
“Of course, my Lord,” Miss Christine replied. “Are you returning to the war soon, my Lord?” Making it clear she, at least, had been paying attention during the dinner party and card game afterwards.
“Not for a few days, Miss Christine,” James replied.
Miss Christine nodded. “Will you be attending the ball tomorrow, my Lord?”
“Of course,” James replied, having received an invitation only that morning and strict instructions to attend in Edward’s place. “Will you be attending?” Although his words were directed at both ladies, he was only interested in the answer of one.
“Of course, my Lord,” Miss Christine said, a slight smile on her face. “I hope you will consider signing my dance card?”
“It would be my duty and pleasure to do so, Miss Christine.” He bowed and watched as Miss Lucy hustled Miss Christine away. A smile gracing his features as he heard Miss Lucy hiss, “Too forward, Chrissie, what would your father say? You’ll be the latest on dit.”
“It is only a dance, Lucy, don’t be so missish.”
James detested the balls during the Season, the falseness of them with everyone on their best behaviour. Where proud peacocks in all their finery strutting before white muslin-clad ethereal ghosts as each sought the best possible match to enhance their status. He was a realist, pragmatic even when it came to matters of the heart. His parents’ marriage was cold, he doubted they had ever loved each other. No, James did not believe he would marry for love, but he could hope for a shared mutual admiration and common interests.
He wrote his name on various dance cards, as expected for a member of the Ton, but the eyes of his partners glazed and dismissed him on learning he was a captain in the Air Corps, only showing interest in him in so much as he could introduce them to Edward, future 9th Duke of Suffolk. Indeed, the only one he actively looked for was Miss Christine and she was the only one whose eyes sharpened as she danced with him. Indeed, they had a conversation about the Corps with Miss Christine asking some very astute questions.
James felt his heart skip a beat as he looked into her eyes, seeing her own interest in him… and wondered for a fleeting moment if love could actually be true. But only for a moment before his pragmatic self squashed such fancies and carefully considered whether Miss Christine would be considered suitable as a match by his father.
For the first time in years James felt regret at returning to the war. It took a few weeks for him to settle in and ensure Arcturus was flight-ready before he found the time to write to Miss Christine – and her father, knowing he would read everything James wrote – asking that he might be allowed to continue to correspond with her.
Dear Miss Johnson,
I pray this missive finds you and your family well. I apologise for the delay in writing to you, and hope I am not too forward in doing so, but you quite took my heart when we met. In good countenance, I can remain silent no longer… Indeed, my good Sir, I must assure you of my honourable intentions towards your daughter. She has not encouraged me in any way, and I must commend you and your good wife for raising such a devoted and obedient daughter. I beg that you will agree that your daughter might reply to this missive and accept my own response.
Yours in hope,
Your humble servant
Lord James Lester,
Captain of Arcturus, Air Corps.
James felt hope flare in his heart when he received a missive, his hands shaking as he slit it open. He wondered if it was from Miss Christine Johnson and if he would be allowed to continue their correspondence. He staggered when he read, feeling Captain Quinn grab his arm and guide him to a chair.
“Well, sir?” Captain Quinn asked, eager as ever. “Is it from her?”
“Quinn, you are far too invested in others’ lives.”
“Maybe,” Quinn agreed.
James shook his head before returning to the letter, knowing Quinn was reading over his shoulder.
Dear Sir, my Lord James Lester,
Mother was quite dismayed to learn I had spent so long in your company, that of a ‘mere captain in the Air Corps’. Fret not, my good Sir, for she was pleased when I informed her of your name and that of your good father… Father and Mother have given their permission that you may write me and I you. I trust you are in good health, Sir.
Your humble servant, Miss Christine Johnson.
“Well, that’s disappointing,” Quinn muttered.
“Why do you say that, Quinn?” James inquired. “Any missive we write will be scrutinised by her family, to make sure nothing that would cause a scandal is said.”
Dear Miss Johnson,
It is with good cheer that I received your missive this day… I will not bore you with life in war, suffice to say I am well, as is my crew and Arcturus… I...
A ringing bell had James leap up and dash towards Arcturus, half his mind on the battle to come, half that he hoped he hadn’t smudged the ink in his half-written letter in his haste. He barely waited to tether on and check his crew were in position before he gave the order to ‘Gain sky’.
“Good show, old man.”
“Quinn? What… dear god man, stop opening my missives.” James almost snatched it from Quinn’s hand before remembering himself. “Well? What does it say.”
“That there is a ball her mother is holding on the 21st of February… I could drop you off?”
“That would be most welcome, my thanks, sir. Now, go and leave me in peace.”
“Yes, sir.” Quinn saluted him, whistling as he left the farmhouse.
My Dear Miss Christine Johnson,
I hope this missive sees you well, as well as your family… We engaged the French and were victorious. Arcturus has sustained sail damage and can not fly until it has mended. It would be my honour and privilege to attend your Mother’s ball….
Your humble servant,
Lord James Lester, Captain of Arcturus.
James sighed, the ball was as all balls, peacocks and ethereal ghosts. The only high point had been the two dances he was allowed by societal convention with Miss Christine. He danced with a few other ladies, but mostly loitered in the games room, playing Whist, partaking in the snacks and nursing a snifter of brandy.
The ball, as were their want, started to wind down in the early hours of the morning. He was tired and bored but wanted a moment ‘alone’ with Miss Christine. He sipped his nagus as he waited until he saw the ideal opening and stepped towards them. “My pardon, Miss Christine, Mr Johnson, I was considering taking a promenade around Hyde Park tomorrow. Would it be too presumptuous to ask you to accompany me?”
Miss Christine smiled, glanced at her father for his reaction. “I believe a stroll tomorrow would be most enjoyable. Shall we say five o’clock?”
James bowed and bid his hosts, and Miss Christine, a good night. He allowed a smile to grace his features as he climbed into the carriage. An excellent outcome to the night and he was even several pounds wealthier… He smiled, knowing he would use it to buy a few trinkets for Arcturus.
James checked his cravat for the umpteenth time, rolling his eyes at a grinning Quinn. “Remind me why I put up with you, Quinn?”
“You need me to give you a lift back to Arcturus?” Quinn shook his head and tugged James’ cravat free before expertly knotting it.
“Where did you learn to do that?”
“My old man used to be a valet. He expected me to follow his footsteps before I became a captain.”
James’ eyebrow rose at that news, it explained Quinn’s rather hodgepodge knowledge and skills. Quinn could drink with the lads while knowing how to eat with the officers. He scowled, knowing Quinn as he did, “Are you trying to distract me?”
“The thought had occurred to me,” Quinn shot back. “Blast it, Lester, I haven’t seen you sit upon thorns like this since...well, you were made captain of Arcturus.” He tilted his head. “I can tell you are rather smitten with this Miss Christine Johnson.” He grinned suddenly. “Does this mean Arcturus has competition for your affections?”
“Quinn!” James cried. “Tace! Stop your insufferable meddling.”
“I take that as a yes.” Quinn clapped James on the shoulder. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t”
James shook Quinn off, turning back as he reached the door. “That leaves me a great deal, Quinn.”
“Don’t be late,” Quinn called out.
James strolled towards Hyde Park, smiling as he caught sight of Miss Christine, while noting the presence of their chaperone, Miss Lucy Johnson. Polite greetings were exchanged before they began to stroll around the park. After some hour and a half, James offered to obtain tea if the ladies wished to sit on a bench.
He returned, followed by a waiter, just in time to see Miss Christine send that bugger, Mr Sedgewick, to the ground with a well-placed punch to the face before she ran to her cousin. “Lucy? Lucy, are you well?”
James’ eyes narrowed as he ordered the waiter to wait and strolled towards the commotion. “That was an excellent punch, my dear Miss Christine.”
“You mean for a woman?”
“I mean for anyone.” James glared at Mr Sedgewick. “I do hope this… this gentleman … has not been a nuisance?”
Mr Sedgewick spluttered as he regained his feet and glared at everyone. Before he could utter a word, Miss Christine turned to James, “Mr Sedgewick here tried to take liberties, he did not see me and thought dearest Lucy was alone.”
“Lies, all lies. She led...” Mr Sedgewick raised voice declared.
“Do be quiet.”
“I say…”
James swung towards Mr Sedgewick, pleased to see the man take a step back. “You tried to dishonour these ladies, sir. For that you will answer to me. Chose your seconds, sir.”
Mr Sedgewick paled before blustering, “Look here, sir.”
“You will duel me, sir.”
“I see I have… misread the situation,” Mr Sedgewick spoke formally. “I apologise for my behaviour.”
“And I will not accept.” James’ voice was unyielding, nothing less than a duel would remove the stain of dishonour from Miss Lucy’s character.
“I am no coward, sir. I will see you here at dawn,” Mr Sedgewick pledged before storming off.
“Blasted fool,” James muttered, not entirely sure if he was referring to himself or Mr Sedgewick.
“My Lord,” Miss Christine cried, seeming somewhat overcome although James quickly realised she was worried for him.
“Fear not, my lady,” James replied. “I shall be fine. Now, I must insist on escorting you home.”
“You are back early,” Quinn called out, his grin fading with one look at James. “What happened?”
“Bloody bugger by the name of Mr Percy Sedgewick.”
“From that dinner party? The one disrespectful to the Corps?”
“The very same. I went to buy the ladies tea, when I came back I saw Miss Christine land a facer that Gentleman Jackson himself would have been proud of. The shit-sack tried to kiss Miss Lucy Johnson, thinking she was alone.”
“You think he meant to force a marriage on her?” Quinn growled. “I’ll second you, but you will need another man… I believe Mr Maitland is around. Pistol or sword?”
“I expect pistol, for I doubt he has ever handled a sword in combat.”
“We should prepare both, just in case.”
The next morning dawned cold and clear, James’ breath misted as he waited, along with Quinn and Maitland. “He is late.”
“Maybe he thought better of duelling a Lord and Captain?” Mr Maitland opined.
“He would need sense to do so.” James glanced skyward. “You messaged Mr Ryan to keep Arcturus grounded?”
“Aye, sir,” Mr Maitland replied as a carriage drew up. “Mayhap this is him?”
“I think not,” James said, sighing as he noticed Miss Christine and Miss Lucy Johnson climb out from within. He started to walk over when Mr Sedgewick and his seconds arrived. “Blasted timing. Keep them out of harms way.”
“I will accept your apology,” Mr Sedgewick declared.
“I am the aggrieved party, sir,” James ground out. “We fight to first blood.”
“Afraid I would win?”
“No, but you have clearly forgotten that Lord Lester is a Captain in the Air Corps,” Quinn called out.
One of Mr Sedgewick’s Seconds looked skyward in a panic. “Air Corps? I say, Sedgewick, you never said…”
“First blood it is,” Mr Sedgewick cut his second off as he held a hand out for a shiny pistol. “As the challenged, I shoot first.”
“The challenger shoots first,” Quinn called out.
“Let him go first, Captain Quinn,” James spoke, his countenance dismissive as he turned to face Mr Sedgewick. “But aim to hit, sir, for I do not miss.” James removed his own elegant piece from its velvet lined case.
James waited calmly as Mr Sedgewick aimed his pistol, the barrel wavering slightly. Had the blasted man ever shot a pistol in anger or honour? James barely flinched at the retort and watched in dismay as Quinn jumped, had that prick miss-aimed that badly? James checked his pistol before raising it, his arm steady as he aimed and fired. Seeing Sedgewick flinch, yelp and clutch his arm as red blossomed on his sleeve. “We are done here, Mr Quinn, Mr Maitland.” He strolled over to Mr Sedgewick, his voice low and dangerous, “If you try to dishonour a lady again, Mr Sedgewick, I will be sure to bring Arcturus. Gentlemen.” He nodded at Mr Sedgewick’s somewhat pale Seconds, who clustered around him as if a flock of birds against a fox.
James turned and walked towards Miss Christine and Miss Lucy, his own Seconds flanking him. They bowed as one before James extended an arm to Miss Christine as Quinn did to Miss Lucy. “If we might escort you to your carriage, my ladies?”
“If you would be so kind, Sir,” Miss Christine replied, her eyes sparkling as she met James’ gaze.
While Miss Lucy had to be helped into the carriage as she wavered on her feet, overcome by events, Miss Christine took the opportunity to boldly grasp James’ hand and ask, “Are you hurt, my Lord?”
“Not at all, Miss Christine. That… gentleman could not hit a barn door. Are you well?” James gaze darted to Miss Lucy.
“Absolutely, my Lord. Although it has proven too much for Lucy and I believe I should take her home,” Miss Christine informed him. “I thank you once again for defending Lucy’s honour. I know not what she would do otherwise.”
“It was my pleasure and privilege.” James paused once he had helped her into the carriage. “Maybe we could attempt another promenade?” When Miss Christine did not reply, James cursed softly when he noticed those watching.
“This duel will be the latest on dit,” Miss Christine pointed out. “What will your father do?”
“I know not, but it was a needed duel. The alternative would be unthinkable.”
“James! You ungrateful bastard, are you trying to vex me? Duelling! Duelling!” His Grace, Henry, almost bellowed.
“Father,” James tried to explain. “It was an affair of honour. I could not allow Miss Lucy’s honour to be sullied.”
“Stuff and nonsense,” Henry declared. “Well, I will not have you tarnish our good name with these duels and other shenanigans. No, sir. You will leave at once for France, sir. Now, get out of my sight.”
“Yes, father,” James bowed as he turned and made to pack his belongings. He could not stay now he was in firmly in his father’s black books and would have to lodge with Quinn until they could depart. Still, it pained him to have to leave England and Miss Christine so abruptly. He would send a missive explaining his sudden return to France and the war.
Quinn scratched on the door before opening it with a yell of ‘Post, James.”
James looked up from his writing and took the missive Quinn held.
My dear Sir, My Lord,
I hope and pray this missive finds well. My Father sends his regards for you defending the family honour. Dear Cousin Lucy has talked of little else once she had recovered from her shock. Your heroics grow with each retelling. Not that they need dearest Lucy’s embellishments. Indeed, Sir, I can not thank you enough for demanding a duel for Lucy’s honour.
Your humble servant,
Miss Christine Johnson
His smile became a frown when Quinn held out a second missive, in Miss Christine’s hand, and he slowly straightened as he read the words she had written.
My dearest, my heart, I can not tell you how my heart almost stopped when you allowed that… that man to fire first. A rushed shot, I am thankful of, and one that had he pulled any further to the left would have struck your Second, Captain Quinn, I believe? Seeing you so calmly take that shot and aim true. The mark of a true Hero. I must say I was hoping to see you again, but I understand your Father has sent you to France. Still, if I am not too forward, I hope to see you again when you are next in Town. I find myself scared that you are once again at War. Now my heart is yours, I fear for your safety whenever you engage. I know you are a fine Captain and Arcturus would never see you fall, but I can not help feel fear. Be safe, my beloved, if I might be so bold.
“Quinn!”
“Lester?”
“What have you been up to?” James waved the second missive at Quinn, who took and read it with a grin. “I do not want to know.” He sighed before nodding, “Well, you can repeat it with this missive.”
My dearest, I am thankful that I have not written recently to your father about his obedient and dutiful daughter. Sending me a missive via Quinn? An excellent idea which I would not have dared use first, for fear of upsetting you. However, please do not listen to his rasher plans. Quinn is a good man, I will not have it said otherwise, but he defies convention. To put it bluntly, he is not a gentleman and does not understand Society or the Ton.
“Oi,” Quinn muttered before shrugging, “Not all of us are born with a silver spoon, my lord.”
James looked up with a grin. “And not all born with a silver spoon deserved it, Quinn.” He returned to his missive, knowing Quinn was looking over his shoulder.
It was my pleasure and privilege to defend Miss Lucy’s honour. Even more to put that… Mr Sedgewick in his place. I trust he is not causing any issues, if he does, remind him of Arcturus. I too wish to have spent more time in your company, but my Father ordered me out of England for duelling. As to your fears when I am in combat, all know what would happen if the Captain is wounded. It would take a madman to risk his and his crew’s safety. I am, at most, at risk of being taken a prisoner if Arcturus is boarded.
“How are you going to sign it, Lester?” Quinn asked, his voice quiet, eager even.
“How do you think?” James murmured before signing it.
Quinn read and clapped him on the shoulder. “I’ll take a wide patrol and drop it off.”
James was relaxing after a busy day when Quinn burst in waving a missive. “Damn it, man, can’t I find any peace in this benighted war?” He still took the missive Quinn thrust into his hand, although he found himself unable to open it.
“You can face the French down but fear what is written in a missive.” Quinn shook his head. “I saw her face when she read your words, Lester. Read it.”
James frowned, took the blade Quinn proffered and slit the missive open. His eyes darted across the words before he half collapsed.
Quinn snatched the missive from James’ weak grip, reading swiftly before letting out a whoop. “Excellent, old man. She called you by your first name and asked you do the same.” He paused, reaching into a bag and held out a book. “I meant to give you this.”
“What is it?”
“The book she mentions… ah, you didn’t read that bit. This Miss Johnson is a fine match, my dear Lester, a fine match. Congratulations.”
Before James could find his words, the bell rang sharply and loud. He looked up as Mr Maitland charged into the tent. “Sirs! Sorry, sirs! It is the French, Sir. They’ve broken through the lines and their Air Corps has been sighted.”
“To battle, men!” Quinn roared before slapping a somewhat stunned Lester on the shoulder once more. “Battle first, Lester.”
“Aye,” James agreed. “Mr Maitland, sound general quarters, sir.”
“Yes, sir.”
James grabbed his sword and belted it, quickly strolling towards Arcturus. “Get everyone aboard. Marines check your muskets and everyone tether on.” He moved in front of Arcturus before turning to meet the great golden eyes, their vertical black pupil dilated in excitement now combat was imminent. “Are you ready, my friend?”
Arcturus bent his great head down, gently nudging Lester with his snout. “I was born ready, my Captain.” He held his front leg bent and boosted James upwards between his shoulders, where James swiftly tethered himself.
“Anyone not tethered speak now.” James waited a few moments before leaning forwards and projecting his voice. “Arcturus, if you would be so kind, we need air beneath you.”
Arcturus roared, his wings beating in a powerful downstroke as his powerful hunches bunched and he sprang into the air. He tucked his legs against his body as his wings caught the air and he beat every skywards to the cheers of his crew.
“Mr Maitland, Mr Ryan, keep an eye open for the French,” James cried as he leaned forward, directing Arcturus in a wide sweep as the dragon twisted and turned as cannon shot whizzed past.
“Sir! Wings to starboard and high!”
James glanced in the direction called, cursing as he spotted the French dragons and directing Arcturus towards them, grinning when he spotted Quinn’s Velociter darting forward in Arcturus’ shadow.
“Watch your flank, Quinn!” James cried as the two groups rapidly closed. “Now, Arcturus!”
“With pleasure,” Arcturus rumbled before opening his wings to slow his forward speed, his body tilting more upright as he extended his talons and collided with a French dragon. Arcturus roared as his head snaked forward to snap at the enemy crew. Claws scraped loudly against scale and both crew yelled and swore, firing muskets which obscured all in a cloud of black, pungent smoke, cloying the throat and eyes.
James heard men scream and dangle from their tethers as shot ploughed into undefended flesh. He leaned forward, his aim steady as he picked off a French Marine about to take the death-defying leap from the French dragon onto Arcturus. But others made the jump, arms wind-milling before they tethered to Arcturus.
“Repel boarders!” Lieutenant Ryan bellowed, surging up to fight off a French boarder. “Look out, Captain!”
James ducked as a blade came perilously close to his ear. He drew his own blade and felt the impact in his arm as he crossed swords with his opponent, the man clearly meaning to kill him. “I am the Captain,” James bellowed as he struck low and leapt as far as his tether allowed. The Frenchman’s eyes gleamed as he swung at the tether line, meaning to server it. James clashed swords again but needed more space than the tether allowed. He slipped free of the tether, hearing Arcturus’ cry of fury as his dragon tore into the other, and began to duel in earnest. He needed to finish this fight and re-tether before Arcturus rolled and threw him to his death, so far below.
“Captain!” Mr Maitland cried as he fired a warning shot at James’ opponent. “Re-tether, Sir!”
James had long ago acquired his air-legs and stood easily upon Arcturus’ broad back. His sword held firmly yet lightly as he gauged his opponent’s mettle. The clash of swords, the thunder of muskets, the screams and shouts of men and roars of dragons fading as his world narrowed to his foe.
He didn’t waste breath to speak, to offer the Frenchman the opportunity to surrender, he just attacked, his blade darting here and there as he steadily drove his opponent back, nearer and nearer to a long plummet. He needed to end this now. His foot slipped and he cursed, knowing he had stepped in spilt blood and his defence was open as he tried to remain standing. The Frenchman took advantage of his distraction and lunged. The blade skidded across James’ side and he fell, gasping. He kicked out at his enemy’s legs as the blade swung for him, catching the descending sword on his own in a shower of sparks.
“Captain!” Mr Maitland cried and then he was there, untethered as he fought to force the Frenchman back, away from his Captain.
James gasped for a moment before surging to his feet, his breath catching as he watched a blade arch and plunge into Mr Maitland before he fell to his knees. James roared and charged, pulling up at the last instant to make a low cut. The Frenchman jumped sideways, into James’ reverse sweep and fell, blood gushing from his throat. “Get off my dragon!” James yelled as he kicked his dying opponent off Arcturus’ back, hearing the man’s panicked gurgle as he fell.
Arcturus shifted beneath him again and James dived for Mr Maitland, securing an arm around him as his questing fingers sought a tether line. He could feel Arcturus’ muscles tense and knew he had but moments and then he was sliding as Arcturus banked. A desperate lunge met only air. He was sliding, slipping towards oblivion. A strong hand gripped his wrist just as Arcturus banked and James swung away from his back as Arcturus turned and dived.
“Fly straight, Arcturus!” Lieutenant Ryan bellowed. “Your Captain is untethered.”
Arcturus screamed, fear clear in his voice as he levelled out. “Captain? Captain!”
James felt more hands grasp him and pull him across Arcturus’ back, he heard the click of the tether and then another as Mr Maitland was secured. He held the man in his arms, looking into his eyes as they dulled with pain.
“Arcturus! I’m fine,” James cried out. “Mr Maitland, Joshua, stay with me, man.”
“Sorry, Captain,” Mr Maitland gasped. “I do not think I can.” He cried out in pain, then spoke again, “Arcturus?”
“Yes, Mr Maitland?”
“Get one for me.”
“My pleasure.”
“Arcturus,” James began before being cut off by Arcturus’ scream.
“He tried to kill you! My Captain! He tried to kill you!” Arcturus screamed again. “They will pay for that.” Arcturus twisted in flight, his wings beating strongly as he headed for the French dragon he’d already attacked. His claws extended before he breathed fire on the dragon and its crew. A man screamed as the fire engulfed him and he leapt, a fireball plunging towards the ground. Arcturus’ claws ripped into the tethers of the other dragon, sharp talons cleaving through leather and scoring deep into scale. The French dragon screamed and twisted, shredding many of its tethers and screaming crew as it plunged, wings closed and heading for the sea.
When Arcturus turned to follow it down, James yelled, “Arcturus! Enough! We must get Mr Maitland to the surgeon.”
Arcturus slowed and turned his head to look at his back, at the blood covering Mr Maitland and his Captain too. His eyes widen before he cried out and flew at speed back to their camp. Trumpeting in distress as he back-winged to land, his voice a roar as he called for his ground-crew, called for the surgeons.
James paced as he waited for news, the young lad trying to check his wounds following in his steps, only stopping when Quinn stood in his way. “Let the surgeons do their work, James.” Quinn’s hand found Lester’s shoulder, squeezing, as he tugged James towards a chair. “Now, let young David look at you, James, or… or I’ll get Arcturus to sit on you.”
James blinked at Quinn, his mind slowing as adrenaline finally faded from his body, he would have fallen but for Quinn’s strong grip. “Arcturus is too big for that,” he managed, his hand shaking as Quinn forced a mug of brandy on him.
“Maybe I will have Velociter oblige instead,” Quinn murmured, his strong hands kneading tense shoulders and holding James still as he squirmed.
“Your hands are like ice, David.”
“Yes, sir,” the young teen replied. “Papa says it is a family trait. Cold hands, warm hearts and good medicine.” His hands were sure as he examined, cleaned and stitched James’ wound. “All done. Papa will check it later.”
“David?” Quinn sounded worried.
“I’m still learning, sir. Papa says I am a natural healer, though.”
“Good,” Quinn nodded before thrusting another mug at James. “Drink this and then you need to rest, to sleep.”
“What I need is to know how Mr Maitland is,” James protested and struggled to his feet. “He saved my life, Dan,” he managed before swaying and felt Quinn grasp him.
Light and warmth greeted James’ return to consciousness, before he hissed as coldness touch his wound. He blinked awake to find one of the surgeons poking him. “How is Mr Maitland,” he cough, gasping as it pulled on his wound, and gratefully sipped the water young David handed him. “Mr Owen?”
The surgeon looked pained before shaking his head. “We tried, sir, Mrs Owen and myself, but we could not stop the bleeding. Belly wound, sir.” He sighed softly. “At least young Abigail and Jack could stay with their father to the end.”
James closed his eyes for a moment before those cold hands had him flinching away.
“Steady now, sir, I just need to check my son’s work.”
“He takes after his parents, sir,” James managed. “A credit to you and Mrs Owen.”
“Thank you kindly, sir,” Mr Owen nodded. “Just rest and let yourself heal, sir. David? Time for my rounds.”
“Yes papa,” David replied, jumping to his feet as he followed his father out.
James frowned before glaring at Quinn, although it was as if water of a duck’s back. “You put laudanum in my brandy!”
“Aye, you would not rest without it,” Quinn said, unrepentant. “And you will rest now, or I will give you more, unless you would prefer Velociter to sit on you.”
James frowned, his gaze darting to his door as he half rose before Quinn pushed his back down. “Quinn?” Worry tinges his words. “Where is Arcturus?” When Quinn rubs the back of his neck and looks shifty for a moment, James goes to rise again. “Arcturus?”
“Easy, James,” Quinn spoke quickly. “Arcturus is fine. He is… well.. um.”
“Out with it, man,” James demands.
“Well, the French dragon, La Gloire, survived.”
“It did what!” James almost made it out of bed before Quinn shoved him down again, making James yelp as pain sparked through his side.
“Lie still or I will dose you.” Quinn growled, adding when Velociter stuck his head in window, “Not at the moment, Velo, I will call if I need you to sit on him.”
Velociter nodded, his voice quiet, “Do as my Captain says, Captain Lester. Arcturus will be unhappy if you hurt yourself.”
James subsided at that comment, his eyes fixing Quinn. “I assume there is more?”
“Yes…” Quinn hesitated for a moment before continuing, “She’s injured but will fly again. Arcturus aimed more for her crew than her. Her captain, one Capitaine Michel Palliere, is alive too and I took his parole. He is staying with her.”
“What are you not telling me?”
“That the men who boarded Arcturus were not members of the French Air Corp.” Quinn’s face darkened with anger. “That bloody bugger, Chef de Bataillon Joachim Gantier, got it in his head – kill the Captain and take the dragon. Thinks you can change Captains as easy as with naval ships. Blasted shit-sack.”
James shook his head, somewhat dazed. “He thinks what?”
“That his men would have been able to take Arcturus if they killed you.” Quinn shook his head. “Capitaine Palliere told Gantier he was a fool.” Fury took over countenance for a moment before Quinn made himself calm. “He took off most of La Gloire’s crew off, including the Capitaine’s son, Fabrice, and threatened them to gain his obedience.”
James opened and closed his mouth before managing, “That prick of a cocksucker did what?”
Quinn nodded, “Arcturus was most unhappy when he heard.” He grinned at James for a moment before adding, “He said threatening hatchlings was not on and that he owed a lady an apology.” At James’ quirked eyebrow, a grinning Quinn added, “He took one of the cows down to her.”
“Oh Jesse.”
“Maybe,” Quinn agreed. “Now, rest and read the book Miss Christine sent you.” He paused before grinning, “Or you could answer her missive.”
“Oh, get out, you blasted cupid.” James growled out, although he took up the paper and quill.
Quinn whistled as he arrived with a missive, one he dropped onto James’ lap as he lay in bed, on Mr Owens’ strict orders. “Something to while away your boredom.”
James glanced at the letter, an eyebrow quirking. “You have not read it?”
“I might have opened it,” Quinn agreed, before raising a hand, “I wanted to know if you should read it while injured.”
“Quinn?”
“A few gentlemen have been trying to interest Miss Christine and her father…” At James’ concerned expression, Quinn raised his hand again, “Fear not, the son of a duke, even second born, is a catch for her father, he will not consider another pursuit while you remain interested. Let me know when you have a reply.”
James sighed before slitting open the letter, cursing softly as he read.
My dearest James, my – if I may be so bold – my love.
I read you missive with great eagerness, the battle sounds terrifying but exhilarating. If you can and will, could you write me more about it?… Mama and Father are both well and are still happy with our open correspondence. They know not of what I write in these personal missives… which reminds me, Quinn looked uncommonly serious when he arrived, does he read these missives? Not that I care or not, unless there is something else… are you injured? Please respond quickly, for my heart grows fearful of your safety.
Yours, in hope and love, Christine.
James cursed softly before casting about for his writing set. There, at his desk, he could walk that far. He felt rather weak as he stood, a hand held out for balance and quickly, before he fell, made his way to the desk. He vision swam somewhat before settling. His mind whirling between what to tell Christine and what he would say to Quinn. Blasted man.
My dearest Christine,
Do not worry, my love, I took a slight hurt in our latest battle. Fear not, for I am healing well… As for Quinn, there is always that possibility but I find him a trustworthy man with his own honour, more than some in the Ton. I would not trust him to deliver these missives if I thought otherwise.
Yours, in hope and love, James.
James considered returning to his bed now the missive was written and sealed, but his gaze fell on the paperwork piling on his desk. Thoughts of tasks to be done – winter quarters for one – had him ignore his growing tiredness as he bent to his work.
“Bloody Jesse, James! What are you doing out of bed, Mr Owen will have an apoplexy if he sees you. Come on, back to bed.”
“I am perfectly fine, Daniel.”
“Are you? You are swaying as if you were ape-drunk, and I know you have not touched a drop.” Quinn said, grasping James with one hand whilst the other felt his forehead. “You are burning up. Back to bed and I will summon Mr Owen.”
James wanted to resist but found he could barely put one foot in front of the other. He was barely aware of being put to bed and the tuts of Mr Owen when he arrived or the cold hands that felt like heaven on his over-heated skin.
James lay restless, his sleep troubled by dreams and nightmares. Of Arcturus taken from him. Of falling so far, so so far away from Arcturus. He was no longer sure what was real and what was nightmare. He thought he cried out and then felt coolness against his skin. He heard murmurs but could understand not a word. He twisted and thrashed and cried out in haunted sleep.
He emerged, still feverish, still unaware but he thought he heard her voice. His own voice croaky as he murmured, “My angel, the sun rises to see your beauty,” before hearing her bid him rest. He groans softly as he feels cool cloths chase away the heat. He eagerly sips the water he is allowed, and the broth he is fed. The hours, days, perhaps even weeks passing in a blur.
The sun warming his skin woke James from his slumber, his limbs feeling so heavy he could barely move. He blinked, trying to recall why he felt quite so terrible.
“Ah, Lord Lester,”
A warm, unknown voice spoke and it took all of James’ strength to turn his head. He frowned at the stranger, before he remembered his manners. His voice raspy, he managed, “Good… morning, Mrs…?” He broke down into coughs which had his groaning as his side pulled. He frowned, his wound should not be that healed, it had only been gained the previous day.
“Mrs Wickes, Lord Lester,” The woman replied, her voice still cheery as she checked his bedding and helped him drink. “You’ve been asleep with fever for the past week and a half, sir.” She hand was on his forehead and she tutted softly. “You are still somewhat warm, sir. I’ll call Mr Owen to have a look see.” She turned her head and called over James’ head. “Lorraine! Lorraine dearest.”
A young girl appeared beside James, startling him and having him gasp as he moved wrong. “Sorry, sir,” she said.
“No harm done, Miss Lorraine,” James managed.
“Now, girl, run and find Mr Owen. Tells him that Lord Lester is awake but still a little warm.”
“Yes, grandmother,” the young girl smiled shyly at James before running off.
James frowned slightly before asking, “I apologise for my manners, Mrs Wickes, but how did you come here?”
“I came with Miss Christine, sir, she needed a chaperone, sir.”
“Chri… Miss Christine is here?” James cursed his slip, although from the knowing look in Mrs Wickes’ eyes, it was not a secret to her.
“Yes, I am, James.” Christine swept in, nodding at Mrs Wickes, “Thank you for caring for James, Mrs Wickes.”
“My pleasure, Miss Christine,” Mrs Wickes replied. “I will be in the corner mending.” She rose and moved to the corner, giving them the illusion of privacy yet keeping the correct propriety.
“Christine?” James began. “I thought you were in Town?”
“I worried and when no reply came of my missive, I contacted Captain Quinn,” Christine explained, sitting beside him and holding his hand. “He, after some procrastination, told me the truth. That you had taken with fever from your injury.” Christine scowled at him. “Really, James, you told me you were in no danger. That only a madman would attack a captain.”
“And a madman did, Christine. Chef de Bataillon Joachim Gantier, by name. He thinks he can steal a dragon by killing its Captain.”
“What?” Christine cried. “But I read…”
“Yes, the dragon would go berserk with grief, slaying whoever killed its Captain. It would never accept its Captain’s murderer.” James shook his head. “I know not if the man is a fool, mad or just desperate for more dragons.”
Christine looked alarmed. “Then every British dragon, all those allied with us, are at risk,” she exclaimed. “We have got to tell the Air Admiralty.”
“They have been, my dear heart,” James replied, smiling that Christine had caught on far faster than some of the officers. “All are aware and on watch for them.”
“Good,” Christine looked at him carefully. “Now you are to follow Mr Owen’s orders, sir, and get well. Mrs Wickes, Miss Lorraine and myself will remain until then.” She smiled at him before adding, “And then you can tell me if you really meant it.”
James frowned, his mind sluggish. “Meant what?”
“That I am your sun, your angel, that your heart only beats for me.”
James looked away, he must be blushing at her – his words. He felt her relax her grip on his hand and tightens his own. Licking dry lips before speaking, his voice earnest and low. “I meant every word, even if I would not have spoken them but for the fever.” He paused, looking deep into her eyes and continues, “Indeed, Christine, if I could rise from this bed I would get down on one knee and ask for your hand.”
“If you left this bed, sir, you would be on both.”
“True, my limbs tremble with fatigue with even the thought of moving,” James agreed. “But my moon and stars, when I can, I will go down on one knee…”
“James?” Christine asked, her free hand rising to rest on his forehead,
“I think I will need my writing set, and Quinn.”
“James? Should I call Mr Owen?”
“Hmm? Why, he has no dragon?”
“Why do you need your writing set and Quinn?” Christine asked, each word slow and clearly pronounced.
“Why, to write your father. I must ask his permission before I can ask you.” James shrugged helplessly. “But only if that is what you want.”
“It is, my lord,” Christine replies. “But you are still a little warm. I will not have it said you asked when ill or that I trapped you.”
James is crestfallen before he smiled. “Is that a yes?”
“You will find out when you are well, so rest, love, then you can ask me again.”
James nodded before starting. “Your father?”
“Knows we are here, James,” Christine replied. “He suggested Mrs Wickes came with me, for the sea air. Now, you need to rest, James.” Christine replied, iron in her voice. “Rest now, James, we can talk later.”
James settled down,, a smile on his face as he clasped Christine’s hand in his own, and he slipped into welcome, healing sleep.
Author: knitekat
Word Count: 9865
Characters: James Lester, Tom Ryan, Christine Johnson, Danny Quinn, Lorraine Wickes, Henry Lester*, Edward Lester*, William Lockhart*, Emma Lockhart*, Lucy Johnson*, Percy Sedgewick*, Mr and Mrs Stanton*, Joshua Maitland*, Mrs Wickes* (* OCs)
Rating: 18
Disclaimer: Primeval belongs to Impossible Pictures. Certainly not me. Writing for fun and will replace.
A/N1: Secret Santa for fifi and her prompts: "This corset is too tight.", Red wine is safer, Winter opening hours and Cheese and pickles. Some are in here… admittedly a bit blink and you will miss them and one of your likes - period drama. Hope you enjoy it… not sure where it went but the muse had fun getting there.
A/N2: Thanks go to Fredbassett for the beta. Thank you, my dear. All remaining mistakes are mine.
A/N3: Happy Christmas to all. And Happy Boxing Day too.
“Bugger!” Captain James Lester threw the crumbled missive onto the fire. “Lieutenant Ryan!”
“Sir?” Ryan entered at the double.
“My father has summoned me to Town.” James scowled. The command was a blasted inconvenience given the need to arrange winter quarters for his crew; still he had little choice in the matter. “You are in charge in my absence. Have the crew check and double check Arcturus’ sails and tethers for damage.”
“Yes, sir. Do you know how long you’ll be gone?”
“No blasted idea, Lieutenant.”
“I’ll keep the crew from mischief, sir,” Ryan vowed. “And keep an eye on Arcturus for you.” He saluted, before turning back at James’ call, eyes widening at the pouch lobbed towards him. He fumbled for an instant looking further surprised at the heft. “Sir?”
“Monies for supplies and whatnots.” Without James’ presence the quartermaster could be difficult. “Spend any left over on the crew. They deserve a reward after our last skirmish.” James nodded thoughtfully before adding, “Make sure to give them their fair time off.”
“I will, sir.” Ryan threw a salute. “And I’ll make sure some will always be with Arcturus.”
“Do not forget your own time off, Lieutenant Ryan. Sebastian, was it?”
“Yes, sir. It was. Seems he found another while I was away, one who is not off fighting the French.”
“My sympathies, Lieutenant.” James murmured. “Still, it is his loss. Now, be that so, I still expect you to have time off, Arcturus does have two Lieutenants.”
“I shall, sir. I’ll take the opportunity to see my grand-mama.”
“Excellent. Now I must pack and be off.”
***
James sank into the corner seat of the carriage to Town, his captain’s greatcoat buttoned up against the cold, fur collar tugged tight around his throat. His thoughts first on why his father had summoned him, before turning to pleasanter pondering on Lieutenant Ryan. The young man was as skilled a crewman as any James had worked with. Only a few more years of seasoning would be required before James would suggest captaincy for him, once a suitable position opened. Oh James would miss Ryan’s gentle hand on Arcturus but he would not deny the teenager progression within the Corps.
Roused from his musings by the overly loud discussion opposite him, his soldier instincts kicking in at the sound of trouble, ebbing as the argument became intelligible, some gossip about an incident the previous night at a brothel. Long experience had him partially listening even as his thoughts turned back to their previous paths, mostly what his father wanted and how much the family home had changed since his last visit.
***
The gossip unconsciously overheard came back to him as James strolled, slower with every step, towards his father’s study. He shook himself, dawdling helped no-one and he’d soon find out what his father wanted. Realising he could tarry no longer without a tongue-lashing, if not worse, James’ steps quickened until he scratched on the study door. “Father?”
“Come in, James.”
His father sat behind his ornate desk. James saw an elderly gentleman in expensive clothes pulled tight over an expanding waistline, rheumy eyes peering at him over spectacles perched precariously on the end of his red nose. “Late as usual.”
“Yes, sir. I apologise for my tarriness,” James murmured respectfully. Even if his father’s missive had reached him but two hours past.
“Hmmm” James’ father scowled at his wayward son. “The Stanton’s are hosting a dinner party tonight. Edward was going but…” The Duke looked pained for a moment before shrugging. “They are good friends and I will not inconvenience them with odd numbers.” He threw a missive onto his desk. “I wrote them and explained Edward is inconvenienced and they will accept your presence to make up the numbers.”
Of course the Stanton’s had agreed, after all, second son of a Duke and spare at that, James was still the correct social status and would not require a redrawing to the seating plan or a hasty requirement for a replacement gentleman of suitable character. James’ own plans, however, were clearly not an issue. “Father?”
“I have made my mind clear. You will attend in Edward’s place.” The Duke fixed James with a stern eye. “Do try not to bring any more shame of the family.” Before adding, almost as an aside, “If only you were more like your brother.”
James swiftly bit his tongue before any truths emerged, ones his father would not appreciate. How did fighting the French bring shame? Except it was not the fighting which had James in his father’s black books so much that he was a captain in the Air Corps, last and least of the armed forces as far as his father was concerned. In James opinion, Edward brought more than enough shame on the family, or he would, if their father’s connections and power failed to silence everything except the wagging tongues of gossip. Gossip which had ‘Lord E’ – Edward unless James missed his guess – involved in a common brawl the previous night over a late night encounter in a brothel. Not that it had been the first time and would not be the last that Edward sprained the ankle of an Adventuress and failed to pay compensation to her Abbess.
“Father,” James began before falling silent as his father rose wobbly to his feet, his face growing red. Janes bowed his head. “Yes, father. What time is the dinner?” He said, knowing he had no say in the matter. James could only console himself that Mrs Stanton would have laid on a fine spread. That and hope the company would not be a terrible bore.
***
With several hours before the dinner, James took the opportunity to refamiliarise himself with the house and its staff, noting various staff absences – all maids of course. A retreat to the library would keep him away from both his father and older brother, perhaps his mother had added further fine books to their collection? Before he could make his escape, an abrasive bray came from the top of the stairs. “James! I say, James. Come here!”
James rolled his eyes, refrained the sudden impulse to bark like the pet dog Edward summoned in the same way and, resigned, took the steps two at a time.
“Must you always dash about so?” Edward grumbled.
James fought to stop a smile escaping his control when he glancing up at his brother. A black eye and cut lip told their own story about his encounter with the Adventuress, her Abbess or the men hired to teach Edward a lesson. Not that Edward had every been good at learning his lessons. What had James’ eyebrows almost meeting his hairline was the far thinner waist and bulkier chest than he remembered. He could not recall Edward being this thin… had Edward been on a diet? Exercised?
“You must aid me, James. This confounded thing, this blasted corset is too tight. I can barely breathe.”
Corset? Well, that explained things. The word why was on James’ tongue, before being swiftly swallowed. It was clear why, for a masculine, athletic, even Grecian form was admired and Edward had none of those. James had heard corsets were the fashion to achieve such a physique, but given Edward’s expansive girth, they brought their own problems.
“Now, brother. Do you want me to faint and swoon for your amusement?”
“Not at all,” James murmured. “I think maybe we should retire from public view.”
“Mmmm, excellent idea. Come, James, I must have this off.”
James was forcibly reminded of their childhood as he trailed after Edward into his brother’s rooms. The corset was tight, with purpling flesh bulging between the lacing which had James take out a knife. “I believe the only way out of this infernal contraption will be to cut it off.”
“Do so.” Edward affected a sway. “I can not breathe. Now, James, damn your eyes.”
He was impressed by the speech from someone professing a lack of breath, not that he mentioned it. Their father always would take Edward’s side. Still, a few careful cuts so as not to damage Edward’s skin, had the laces severed and Edward gasping much like a beached whale.
James beat a hasty exit before Edward could recover, and spent the several hours of morning left in the library, reading contentedly before preparing for the dinner party.
***
Darkness had fallen by the time James’ carriage reached the Stanton’s residence, dropping him off the prescribed quarter hour early. He scratched on the front door and waited for the butler to open it and allow him entry and take his greatcoat.
He joined the hosts and other guests in the drawing room, glancing around the room as he warmed himself before the roaring fire. He was not familiar with the plump and clearly monied Stantons, beyond Mr Stanton being involved in some business with his father. A tall, black-haired and well-dressed gentleman in the far corner turned and earned a brief nod from James. He recalled Mr William Lockhart from school, he’d been an amiable fellow, if indifferent student. The shorter and thinner black-haired younger woman beside Lockhart bore a family resemblance, soon confirmed when she was introduced as his younger sister, Miss Emma; recently presented to the Queen and attending her first Season of the Ton. James engaged in polite conversation before Mr Stanton introduced the other guests – a short and rather rounded, pale faced man by the name of Mr Percy Sedgewick and two ladies – Miss Lucy Johnson, a slender, waif-like blond, and her dark-haired cousin, Miss Christine Johnson. James wondered which was the most disappointed with Edward’s absence, quickly noting that Miss Christine seemed the least affected.
James listened politely to the small talk, adding a comment when appropriate, but he was unaware of the subtle changes in ranking whilst in France and he knew it. This dinner would be the perfect opportunity to learn who was rising - and whose star was falling - within the Ton, that and how many knew ‘Lord E’ was Edward and were willing to imply as such to James.
***
James smirked before sobering, the place card had clearly been swiftly altered to his, rather than Edward’s, name. Not in the slightest bothered, James took the seat of honour next to Mrs Stanton, both as the highest in status and the greatest stranger to most. The table swiftly filled, with Miss Emma to his right, then Mr Sedgewick, with Mr Stanton at the head of the table. To Mr Stanton’s right was Miss Lucy, than Lockhart and Miss Christine to the left of Mrs Stanton and across the table to James.
He engaged in small talk with both Mrs Stanton and Miss Emma before the soup was served, finding the ham and pea soup warming on this chilled evening, although he only toyed with the pease soup, knowing he would have to pace himself and honour his hosts by trying each course, swapping savoury with sweet to clean and tempt his palate. However, twelve courses proved his undoing and he admitted defeat. He took a number of toasts when requested, although too many years of fighting had taught him to moderate his drinking.
James was talking to Mrs Stanton when Mr Sedgewick leaned around Miss Emma to address him. He noticed Mrs Stanton’s well concealed wince at such a break in etiquette, the blasted fool reducing his chances of further invites with every brayed word. “This dinner does not appeal to you then, my Lord?”
Catching Mrs Stanton’s brief horrified look, James replied, “It is exquisite.” He glanced at Mrs Stanton for a heartbeat. “I pray your forgiveness, Mrs Stanton, I afraid my years at war have left me little time to indulge and I find my appetite less than it once was. Truly a disappointment when faced with such masterpieces of culinary expertise.” His words were greeted with a barely perceptible relaxation of tense shoulders.
Unfortunately, Mr Sedgewick didn’t take the hint and continued, “Oh? What do you Air Jockeys eat?”
James met Miss Christine’s gaze for a moment and he stifled a chuckle when she dramatically rolled her eyes, then swiftly turned his attention to Mr Sedgewick. “It depends where we are and what we are doing. On patrol, if I might use that as an example, one of my crew came up with a sandwich of cheese and piccalilli – tasty, filling, easy to carry and not liable to tumble from one’s hand.”
“Sounds dreadful,” Mr Sedgewick opined.
James chose to ignore him, turning back to his hostess. “As I was saying, Mrs Stanton, this is an exquisite spread. I do beg your forgiveness for being unable to enjoy more of it.”
“Think nothing of it, my Lord. However, I do hope you will have room for a little desert? I believe the lemon cheesecake is suitably light or we have ice-cream.”
“Both would be gladly accepted, Mrs Stanton.” James murmured in agreement, his gaze darting to the pineapple in the centre of the table. He could only hope Mr Sedgewick did not ask for some of that rented fruit. “Indeed, I believe we should all partake is such delicacies.”
Finally Mrs Stanton rose to lead the ladies from the room, and James half-wished he could depart with them when Mr Sedgewick began to pester him with questions about the Air Corps. The man clearly thought they were lower than even the Navy, although he was not of Army-blood. Manners had him keeping his calm when Mr Sedgewick made comments about the Air Corps stealing cows and other beasts from the hard-working poor, as if he really cared about them. The change of topic Mr Stanton introduced was welcome, even if Mr Sedgewick kept trying to ask more impertinent questions, whether about the Air Corps or his opinion on ‘that Lord E’. Indeed, James believed Mr Stanton cut the port drinking, cigar-smoking discussion short, almost indecently so, in the hope Mr Sedgewick would hold his tongue once they joined the ladies.
Lockhart stood by a table, a pack of cards in his hands. “Lord Lester, would you join me in a game of Whist. Emma, if you and…”
He looked around for a moment before Miss Emma quickly spoke up, “Miss Christine Johnson will join us. I’ll partner you, dear brother, if Miss Christine would agree?”
“Of course, Mr Lockhart,” Miss Christine agreed equally quickly.
It was clear to James they spoke up to keep Mr Sedgewick at bay. Still, the company – bar Mr Sedgewick who glowered in the corner, hoarding his port like a miser – was pleasant. They played several tricks of Whist, betting pennies, with each choosing a trump suit. They had short breaks between each trick, stopping for a quick snack of cheese, cold meat, bread and fruit from the sideboard, washed down with sherry and wine. James was prevailed upon to demonstrate the art of making a cheese and piccalilli sandwich, before Miss Christine Johnson made her own and pronounced it quite satisfying.
James found the evening to be a far more enjoyable occasion – on the whole – than he had expected. He also walked out with a pocket of pennies, for Miss Christine Johnson had proved to be a fine tactician and they were as gracious in their winnings as the Lockharts were in losing.
***
James returned to paid his respects to the Stantons a few days later, almost literally bumped into Miss Christine Johnson and her cousin, Lucy.
“My pardon, ladies,” James said with a bow.
Miss Christine curtsied, “Think nothing of it, my Lord.”
Miss Lucy almost jabbed her elbow into Miss Christine’s side. “Our fault, my Lord, I… we beg your forgiveness.”
“Only if you grant me yours.” James replied, noting how Miss Lucy blushed and looked away, while Miss Christine rolled her eyes at her cousin’s response.
“Of course, my Lord,” Miss Christine replied. “Are you returning to the war soon, my Lord?” Making it clear she, at least, had been paying attention during the dinner party and card game afterwards.
“Not for a few days, Miss Christine,” James replied.
Miss Christine nodded. “Will you be attending the ball tomorrow, my Lord?”
“Of course,” James replied, having received an invitation only that morning and strict instructions to attend in Edward’s place. “Will you be attending?” Although his words were directed at both ladies, he was only interested in the answer of one.
“Of course, my Lord,” Miss Christine said, a slight smile on her face. “I hope you will consider signing my dance card?”
“It would be my duty and pleasure to do so, Miss Christine.” He bowed and watched as Miss Lucy hustled Miss Christine away. A smile gracing his features as he heard Miss Lucy hiss, “Too forward, Chrissie, what would your father say? You’ll be the latest on dit.”
“It is only a dance, Lucy, don’t be so missish.”
***
James detested the balls during the Season, the falseness of them with everyone on their best behaviour. Where proud peacocks in all their finery strutting before white muslin-clad ethereal ghosts as each sought the best possible match to enhance their status. He was a realist, pragmatic even when it came to matters of the heart. His parents’ marriage was cold, he doubted they had ever loved each other. No, James did not believe he would marry for love, but he could hope for a shared mutual admiration and common interests.
He wrote his name on various dance cards, as expected for a member of the Ton, but the eyes of his partners glazed and dismissed him on learning he was a captain in the Air Corps, only showing interest in him in so much as he could introduce them to Edward, future 9th Duke of Suffolk. Indeed, the only one he actively looked for was Miss Christine and she was the only one whose eyes sharpened as she danced with him. Indeed, they had a conversation about the Corps with Miss Christine asking some very astute questions.
James felt his heart skip a beat as he looked into her eyes, seeing her own interest in him… and wondered for a fleeting moment if love could actually be true. But only for a moment before his pragmatic self squashed such fancies and carefully considered whether Miss Christine would be considered suitable as a match by his father.
***
For the first time in years James felt regret at returning to the war. It took a few weeks for him to settle in and ensure Arcturus was flight-ready before he found the time to write to Miss Christine – and her father, knowing he would read everything James wrote – asking that he might be allowed to continue to correspond with her.
Dear Miss Johnson,
I pray this missive finds you and your family well. I apologise for the delay in writing to you, and hope I am not too forward in doing so, but you quite took my heart when we met. In good countenance, I can remain silent no longer… Indeed, my good Sir, I must assure you of my honourable intentions towards your daughter. She has not encouraged me in any way, and I must commend you and your good wife for raising such a devoted and obedient daughter. I beg that you will agree that your daughter might reply to this missive and accept my own response.
Yours in hope,
Your humble servant
Lord James Lester,
Captain of Arcturus, Air Corps.
***
James felt hope flare in his heart when he received a missive, his hands shaking as he slit it open. He wondered if it was from Miss Christine Johnson and if he would be allowed to continue their correspondence. He staggered when he read, feeling Captain Quinn grab his arm and guide him to a chair.
“Well, sir?” Captain Quinn asked, eager as ever. “Is it from her?”
“Quinn, you are far too invested in others’ lives.”
“Maybe,” Quinn agreed.
James shook his head before returning to the letter, knowing Quinn was reading over his shoulder.
Dear Sir, my Lord James Lester,
Mother was quite dismayed to learn I had spent so long in your company, that of a ‘mere captain in the Air Corps’. Fret not, my good Sir, for she was pleased when I informed her of your name and that of your good father… Father and Mother have given their permission that you may write me and I you. I trust you are in good health, Sir.
Your humble servant, Miss Christine Johnson.
“Well, that’s disappointing,” Quinn muttered.
“Why do you say that, Quinn?” James inquired. “Any missive we write will be scrutinised by her family, to make sure nothing that would cause a scandal is said.”
Dear Miss Johnson,
It is with good cheer that I received your missive this day… I will not bore you with life in war, suffice to say I am well, as is my crew and Arcturus… I...
A ringing bell had James leap up and dash towards Arcturus, half his mind on the battle to come, half that he hoped he hadn’t smudged the ink in his half-written letter in his haste. He barely waited to tether on and check his crew were in position before he gave the order to ‘Gain sky’.
***
“Good show, old man.”
“Quinn? What… dear god man, stop opening my missives.” James almost snatched it from Quinn’s hand before remembering himself. “Well? What does it say.”
“That there is a ball her mother is holding on the 21st of February… I could drop you off?”
“That would be most welcome, my thanks, sir. Now, go and leave me in peace.”
“Yes, sir.” Quinn saluted him, whistling as he left the farmhouse.
My Dear Miss Christine Johnson,
I hope this missive sees you well, as well as your family… We engaged the French and were victorious. Arcturus has sustained sail damage and can not fly until it has mended. It would be my honour and privilege to attend your Mother’s ball….
Your humble servant,
Lord James Lester, Captain of Arcturus.
***
James sighed, the ball was as all balls, peacocks and ethereal ghosts. The only high point had been the two dances he was allowed by societal convention with Miss Christine. He danced with a few other ladies, but mostly loitered in the games room, playing Whist, partaking in the snacks and nursing a snifter of brandy.
The ball, as were their want, started to wind down in the early hours of the morning. He was tired and bored but wanted a moment ‘alone’ with Miss Christine. He sipped his nagus as he waited until he saw the ideal opening and stepped towards them. “My pardon, Miss Christine, Mr Johnson, I was considering taking a promenade around Hyde Park tomorrow. Would it be too presumptuous to ask you to accompany me?”
Miss Christine smiled, glanced at her father for his reaction. “I believe a stroll tomorrow would be most enjoyable. Shall we say five o’clock?”
James bowed and bid his hosts, and Miss Christine, a good night. He allowed a smile to grace his features as he climbed into the carriage. An excellent outcome to the night and he was even several pounds wealthier… He smiled, knowing he would use it to buy a few trinkets for Arcturus.
***
James checked his cravat for the umpteenth time, rolling his eyes at a grinning Quinn. “Remind me why I put up with you, Quinn?”
“You need me to give you a lift back to Arcturus?” Quinn shook his head and tugged James’ cravat free before expertly knotting it.
“Where did you learn to do that?”
“My old man used to be a valet. He expected me to follow his footsteps before I became a captain.”
James’ eyebrow rose at that news, it explained Quinn’s rather hodgepodge knowledge and skills. Quinn could drink with the lads while knowing how to eat with the officers. He scowled, knowing Quinn as he did, “Are you trying to distract me?”
“The thought had occurred to me,” Quinn shot back. “Blast it, Lester, I haven’t seen you sit upon thorns like this since...well, you were made captain of Arcturus.” He tilted his head. “I can tell you are rather smitten with this Miss Christine Johnson.” He grinned suddenly. “Does this mean Arcturus has competition for your affections?”
“Quinn!” James cried. “Tace! Stop your insufferable meddling.”
“I take that as a yes.” Quinn clapped James on the shoulder. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t”
James shook Quinn off, turning back as he reached the door. “That leaves me a great deal, Quinn.”
“Don’t be late,” Quinn called out.
***
James strolled towards Hyde Park, smiling as he caught sight of Miss Christine, while noting the presence of their chaperone, Miss Lucy Johnson. Polite greetings were exchanged before they began to stroll around the park. After some hour and a half, James offered to obtain tea if the ladies wished to sit on a bench.
He returned, followed by a waiter, just in time to see Miss Christine send that bugger, Mr Sedgewick, to the ground with a well-placed punch to the face before she ran to her cousin. “Lucy? Lucy, are you well?”
James’ eyes narrowed as he ordered the waiter to wait and strolled towards the commotion. “That was an excellent punch, my dear Miss Christine.”
“You mean for a woman?”
“I mean for anyone.” James glared at Mr Sedgewick. “I do hope this… this gentleman … has not been a nuisance?”
Mr Sedgewick spluttered as he regained his feet and glared at everyone. Before he could utter a word, Miss Christine turned to James, “Mr Sedgewick here tried to take liberties, he did not see me and thought dearest Lucy was alone.”
“Lies, all lies. She led...” Mr Sedgewick raised voice declared.
“Do be quiet.”
“I say…”
James swung towards Mr Sedgewick, pleased to see the man take a step back. “You tried to dishonour these ladies, sir. For that you will answer to me. Chose your seconds, sir.”
Mr Sedgewick paled before blustering, “Look here, sir.”
“You will duel me, sir.”
“I see I have… misread the situation,” Mr Sedgewick spoke formally. “I apologise for my behaviour.”
“And I will not accept.” James’ voice was unyielding, nothing less than a duel would remove the stain of dishonour from Miss Lucy’s character.
“I am no coward, sir. I will see you here at dawn,” Mr Sedgewick pledged before storming off.
“Blasted fool,” James muttered, not entirely sure if he was referring to himself or Mr Sedgewick.
“My Lord,” Miss Christine cried, seeming somewhat overcome although James quickly realised she was worried for him.
“Fear not, my lady,” James replied. “I shall be fine. Now, I must insist on escorting you home.”
***
“You are back early,” Quinn called out, his grin fading with one look at James. “What happened?”
“Bloody bugger by the name of Mr Percy Sedgewick.”
“From that dinner party? The one disrespectful to the Corps?”
“The very same. I went to buy the ladies tea, when I came back I saw Miss Christine land a facer that Gentleman Jackson himself would have been proud of. The shit-sack tried to kiss Miss Lucy Johnson, thinking she was alone.”
“You think he meant to force a marriage on her?” Quinn growled. “I’ll second you, but you will need another man… I believe Mr Maitland is around. Pistol or sword?”
“I expect pistol, for I doubt he has ever handled a sword in combat.”
“We should prepare both, just in case.”
***
The next morning dawned cold and clear, James’ breath misted as he waited, along with Quinn and Maitland. “He is late.”
“Maybe he thought better of duelling a Lord and Captain?” Mr Maitland opined.
“He would need sense to do so.” James glanced skyward. “You messaged Mr Ryan to keep Arcturus grounded?”
“Aye, sir,” Mr Maitland replied as a carriage drew up. “Mayhap this is him?”
“I think not,” James said, sighing as he noticed Miss Christine and Miss Lucy Johnson climb out from within. He started to walk over when Mr Sedgewick and his seconds arrived. “Blasted timing. Keep them out of harms way.”
“I will accept your apology,” Mr Sedgewick declared.
“I am the aggrieved party, sir,” James ground out. “We fight to first blood.”
“Afraid I would win?”
“No, but you have clearly forgotten that Lord Lester is a Captain in the Air Corps,” Quinn called out.
One of Mr Sedgewick’s Seconds looked skyward in a panic. “Air Corps? I say, Sedgewick, you never said…”
“First blood it is,” Mr Sedgewick cut his second off as he held a hand out for a shiny pistol. “As the challenged, I shoot first.”
“The challenger shoots first,” Quinn called out.
“Let him go first, Captain Quinn,” James spoke, his countenance dismissive as he turned to face Mr Sedgewick. “But aim to hit, sir, for I do not miss.” James removed his own elegant piece from its velvet lined case.
James waited calmly as Mr Sedgewick aimed his pistol, the barrel wavering slightly. Had the blasted man ever shot a pistol in anger or honour? James barely flinched at the retort and watched in dismay as Quinn jumped, had that prick miss-aimed that badly? James checked his pistol before raising it, his arm steady as he aimed and fired. Seeing Sedgewick flinch, yelp and clutch his arm as red blossomed on his sleeve. “We are done here, Mr Quinn, Mr Maitland.” He strolled over to Mr Sedgewick, his voice low and dangerous, “If you try to dishonour a lady again, Mr Sedgewick, I will be sure to bring Arcturus. Gentlemen.” He nodded at Mr Sedgewick’s somewhat pale Seconds, who clustered around him as if a flock of birds against a fox.
James turned and walked towards Miss Christine and Miss Lucy, his own Seconds flanking him. They bowed as one before James extended an arm to Miss Christine as Quinn did to Miss Lucy. “If we might escort you to your carriage, my ladies?”
“If you would be so kind, Sir,” Miss Christine replied, her eyes sparkling as she met James’ gaze.
While Miss Lucy had to be helped into the carriage as she wavered on her feet, overcome by events, Miss Christine took the opportunity to boldly grasp James’ hand and ask, “Are you hurt, my Lord?”
“Not at all, Miss Christine. That… gentleman could not hit a barn door. Are you well?” James gaze darted to Miss Lucy.
“Absolutely, my Lord. Although it has proven too much for Lucy and I believe I should take her home,” Miss Christine informed him. “I thank you once again for defending Lucy’s honour. I know not what she would do otherwise.”
“It was my pleasure and privilege.” James paused once he had helped her into the carriage. “Maybe we could attempt another promenade?” When Miss Christine did not reply, James cursed softly when he noticed those watching.
“This duel will be the latest on dit,” Miss Christine pointed out. “What will your father do?”
“I know not, but it was a needed duel. The alternative would be unthinkable.”
***
“James! You ungrateful bastard, are you trying to vex me? Duelling! Duelling!” His Grace, Henry, almost bellowed.
“Father,” James tried to explain. “It was an affair of honour. I could not allow Miss Lucy’s honour to be sullied.”
“Stuff and nonsense,” Henry declared. “Well, I will not have you tarnish our good name with these duels and other shenanigans. No, sir. You will leave at once for France, sir. Now, get out of my sight.”
“Yes, father,” James bowed as he turned and made to pack his belongings. He could not stay now he was in firmly in his father’s black books and would have to lodge with Quinn until they could depart. Still, it pained him to have to leave England and Miss Christine so abruptly. He would send a missive explaining his sudden return to France and the war.
***
Quinn scratched on the door before opening it with a yell of ‘Post, James.”
James looked up from his writing and took the missive Quinn held.
My dear Sir, My Lord,
I hope and pray this missive finds well. My Father sends his regards for you defending the family honour. Dear Cousin Lucy has talked of little else once she had recovered from her shock. Your heroics grow with each retelling. Not that they need dearest Lucy’s embellishments. Indeed, Sir, I can not thank you enough for demanding a duel for Lucy’s honour.
Your humble servant,
Miss Christine Johnson
His smile became a frown when Quinn held out a second missive, in Miss Christine’s hand, and he slowly straightened as he read the words she had written.
My dearest, my heart, I can not tell you how my heart almost stopped when you allowed that… that man to fire first. A rushed shot, I am thankful of, and one that had he pulled any further to the left would have struck your Second, Captain Quinn, I believe? Seeing you so calmly take that shot and aim true. The mark of a true Hero. I must say I was hoping to see you again, but I understand your Father has sent you to France. Still, if I am not too forward, I hope to see you again when you are next in Town. I find myself scared that you are once again at War. Now my heart is yours, I fear for your safety whenever you engage. I know you are a fine Captain and Arcturus would never see you fall, but I can not help feel fear. Be safe, my beloved, if I might be so bold.
“Quinn!”
“Lester?”
“What have you been up to?” James waved the second missive at Quinn, who took and read it with a grin. “I do not want to know.” He sighed before nodding, “Well, you can repeat it with this missive.”
My dearest, I am thankful that I have not written recently to your father about his obedient and dutiful daughter. Sending me a missive via Quinn? An excellent idea which I would not have dared use first, for fear of upsetting you. However, please do not listen to his rasher plans. Quinn is a good man, I will not have it said otherwise, but he defies convention. To put it bluntly, he is not a gentleman and does not understand Society or the Ton.
“Oi,” Quinn muttered before shrugging, “Not all of us are born with a silver spoon, my lord.”
James looked up with a grin. “And not all born with a silver spoon deserved it, Quinn.” He returned to his missive, knowing Quinn was looking over his shoulder.
It was my pleasure and privilege to defend Miss Lucy’s honour. Even more to put that… Mr Sedgewick in his place. I trust he is not causing any issues, if he does, remind him of Arcturus. I too wish to have spent more time in your company, but my Father ordered me out of England for duelling. As to your fears when I am in combat, all know what would happen if the Captain is wounded. It would take a madman to risk his and his crew’s safety. I am, at most, at risk of being taken a prisoner if Arcturus is boarded.
“How are you going to sign it, Lester?” Quinn asked, his voice quiet, eager even.
“How do you think?” James murmured before signing it.
Quinn read and clapped him on the shoulder. “I’ll take a wide patrol and drop it off.”
***
James was relaxing after a busy day when Quinn burst in waving a missive. “Damn it, man, can’t I find any peace in this benighted war?” He still took the missive Quinn thrust into his hand, although he found himself unable to open it.
“You can face the French down but fear what is written in a missive.” Quinn shook his head. “I saw her face when she read your words, Lester. Read it.”
James frowned, took the blade Quinn proffered and slit the missive open. His eyes darted across the words before he half collapsed.
Quinn snatched the missive from James’ weak grip, reading swiftly before letting out a whoop. “Excellent, old man. She called you by your first name and asked you do the same.” He paused, reaching into a bag and held out a book. “I meant to give you this.”
“What is it?”
“The book she mentions… ah, you didn’t read that bit. This Miss Johnson is a fine match, my dear Lester, a fine match. Congratulations.”
Before James could find his words, the bell rang sharply and loud. He looked up as Mr Maitland charged into the tent. “Sirs! Sorry, sirs! It is the French, Sir. They’ve broken through the lines and their Air Corps has been sighted.”
“To battle, men!” Quinn roared before slapping a somewhat stunned Lester on the shoulder once more. “Battle first, Lester.”
“Aye,” James agreed. “Mr Maitland, sound general quarters, sir.”
“Yes, sir.”
James grabbed his sword and belted it, quickly strolling towards Arcturus. “Get everyone aboard. Marines check your muskets and everyone tether on.” He moved in front of Arcturus before turning to meet the great golden eyes, their vertical black pupil dilated in excitement now combat was imminent. “Are you ready, my friend?”
Arcturus bent his great head down, gently nudging Lester with his snout. “I was born ready, my Captain.” He held his front leg bent and boosted James upwards between his shoulders, where James swiftly tethered himself.
“Anyone not tethered speak now.” James waited a few moments before leaning forwards and projecting his voice. “Arcturus, if you would be so kind, we need air beneath you.”
Arcturus roared, his wings beating in a powerful downstroke as his powerful hunches bunched and he sprang into the air. He tucked his legs against his body as his wings caught the air and he beat every skywards to the cheers of his crew.
“Mr Maitland, Mr Ryan, keep an eye open for the French,” James cried as he leaned forward, directing Arcturus in a wide sweep as the dragon twisted and turned as cannon shot whizzed past.
“Sir! Wings to starboard and high!”
James glanced in the direction called, cursing as he spotted the French dragons and directing Arcturus towards them, grinning when he spotted Quinn’s Velociter darting forward in Arcturus’ shadow.
“Watch your flank, Quinn!” James cried as the two groups rapidly closed. “Now, Arcturus!”
“With pleasure,” Arcturus rumbled before opening his wings to slow his forward speed, his body tilting more upright as he extended his talons and collided with a French dragon. Arcturus roared as his head snaked forward to snap at the enemy crew. Claws scraped loudly against scale and both crew yelled and swore, firing muskets which obscured all in a cloud of black, pungent smoke, cloying the throat and eyes.
James heard men scream and dangle from their tethers as shot ploughed into undefended flesh. He leaned forward, his aim steady as he picked off a French Marine about to take the death-defying leap from the French dragon onto Arcturus. But others made the jump, arms wind-milling before they tethered to Arcturus.
“Repel boarders!” Lieutenant Ryan bellowed, surging up to fight off a French boarder. “Look out, Captain!”
James ducked as a blade came perilously close to his ear. He drew his own blade and felt the impact in his arm as he crossed swords with his opponent, the man clearly meaning to kill him. “I am the Captain,” James bellowed as he struck low and leapt as far as his tether allowed. The Frenchman’s eyes gleamed as he swung at the tether line, meaning to server it. James clashed swords again but needed more space than the tether allowed. He slipped free of the tether, hearing Arcturus’ cry of fury as his dragon tore into the other, and began to duel in earnest. He needed to finish this fight and re-tether before Arcturus rolled and threw him to his death, so far below.
“Captain!” Mr Maitland cried as he fired a warning shot at James’ opponent. “Re-tether, Sir!”
James had long ago acquired his air-legs and stood easily upon Arcturus’ broad back. His sword held firmly yet lightly as he gauged his opponent’s mettle. The clash of swords, the thunder of muskets, the screams and shouts of men and roars of dragons fading as his world narrowed to his foe.
He didn’t waste breath to speak, to offer the Frenchman the opportunity to surrender, he just attacked, his blade darting here and there as he steadily drove his opponent back, nearer and nearer to a long plummet. He needed to end this now. His foot slipped and he cursed, knowing he had stepped in spilt blood and his defence was open as he tried to remain standing. The Frenchman took advantage of his distraction and lunged. The blade skidded across James’ side and he fell, gasping. He kicked out at his enemy’s legs as the blade swung for him, catching the descending sword on his own in a shower of sparks.
“Captain!” Mr Maitland cried and then he was there, untethered as he fought to force the Frenchman back, away from his Captain.
James gasped for a moment before surging to his feet, his breath catching as he watched a blade arch and plunge into Mr Maitland before he fell to his knees. James roared and charged, pulling up at the last instant to make a low cut. The Frenchman jumped sideways, into James’ reverse sweep and fell, blood gushing from his throat. “Get off my dragon!” James yelled as he kicked his dying opponent off Arcturus’ back, hearing the man’s panicked gurgle as he fell.
Arcturus shifted beneath him again and James dived for Mr Maitland, securing an arm around him as his questing fingers sought a tether line. He could feel Arcturus’ muscles tense and knew he had but moments and then he was sliding as Arcturus banked. A desperate lunge met only air. He was sliding, slipping towards oblivion. A strong hand gripped his wrist just as Arcturus banked and James swung away from his back as Arcturus turned and dived.
“Fly straight, Arcturus!” Lieutenant Ryan bellowed. “Your Captain is untethered.”
Arcturus screamed, fear clear in his voice as he levelled out. “Captain? Captain!”
James felt more hands grasp him and pull him across Arcturus’ back, he heard the click of the tether and then another as Mr Maitland was secured. He held the man in his arms, looking into his eyes as they dulled with pain.
“Arcturus! I’m fine,” James cried out. “Mr Maitland, Joshua, stay with me, man.”
“Sorry, Captain,” Mr Maitland gasped. “I do not think I can.” He cried out in pain, then spoke again, “Arcturus?”
“Yes, Mr Maitland?”
“Get one for me.”
“My pleasure.”
“Arcturus,” James began before being cut off by Arcturus’ scream.
“He tried to kill you! My Captain! He tried to kill you!” Arcturus screamed again. “They will pay for that.” Arcturus twisted in flight, his wings beating strongly as he headed for the French dragon he’d already attacked. His claws extended before he breathed fire on the dragon and its crew. A man screamed as the fire engulfed him and he leapt, a fireball plunging towards the ground. Arcturus’ claws ripped into the tethers of the other dragon, sharp talons cleaving through leather and scoring deep into scale. The French dragon screamed and twisted, shredding many of its tethers and screaming crew as it plunged, wings closed and heading for the sea.
When Arcturus turned to follow it down, James yelled, “Arcturus! Enough! We must get Mr Maitland to the surgeon.”
Arcturus slowed and turned his head to look at his back, at the blood covering Mr Maitland and his Captain too. His eyes widen before he cried out and flew at speed back to their camp. Trumpeting in distress as he back-winged to land, his voice a roar as he called for his ground-crew, called for the surgeons.
***
James paced as he waited for news, the young lad trying to check his wounds following in his steps, only stopping when Quinn stood in his way. “Let the surgeons do their work, James.” Quinn’s hand found Lester’s shoulder, squeezing, as he tugged James towards a chair. “Now, let young David look at you, James, or… or I’ll get Arcturus to sit on you.”
James blinked at Quinn, his mind slowing as adrenaline finally faded from his body, he would have fallen but for Quinn’s strong grip. “Arcturus is too big for that,” he managed, his hand shaking as Quinn forced a mug of brandy on him.
“Maybe I will have Velociter oblige instead,” Quinn murmured, his strong hands kneading tense shoulders and holding James still as he squirmed.
“Your hands are like ice, David.”
“Yes, sir,” the young teen replied. “Papa says it is a family trait. Cold hands, warm hearts and good medicine.” His hands were sure as he examined, cleaned and stitched James’ wound. “All done. Papa will check it later.”
“David?” Quinn sounded worried.
“I’m still learning, sir. Papa says I am a natural healer, though.”
“Good,” Quinn nodded before thrusting another mug at James. “Drink this and then you need to rest, to sleep.”
“What I need is to know how Mr Maitland is,” James protested and struggled to his feet. “He saved my life, Dan,” he managed before swaying and felt Quinn grasp him.
***
Light and warmth greeted James’ return to consciousness, before he hissed as coldness touch his wound. He blinked awake to find one of the surgeons poking him. “How is Mr Maitland,” he cough, gasping as it pulled on his wound, and gratefully sipped the water young David handed him. “Mr Owen?”
The surgeon looked pained before shaking his head. “We tried, sir, Mrs Owen and myself, but we could not stop the bleeding. Belly wound, sir.” He sighed softly. “At least young Abigail and Jack could stay with their father to the end.”
James closed his eyes for a moment before those cold hands had him flinching away.
“Steady now, sir, I just need to check my son’s work.”
“He takes after his parents, sir,” James managed. “A credit to you and Mrs Owen.”
“Thank you kindly, sir,” Mr Owen nodded. “Just rest and let yourself heal, sir. David? Time for my rounds.”
“Yes papa,” David replied, jumping to his feet as he followed his father out.
James frowned before glaring at Quinn, although it was as if water of a duck’s back. “You put laudanum in my brandy!”
“Aye, you would not rest without it,” Quinn said, unrepentant. “And you will rest now, or I will give you more, unless you would prefer Velociter to sit on you.”
James frowned, his gaze darting to his door as he half rose before Quinn pushed his back down. “Quinn?” Worry tinges his words. “Where is Arcturus?” When Quinn rubs the back of his neck and looks shifty for a moment, James goes to rise again. “Arcturus?”
“Easy, James,” Quinn spoke quickly. “Arcturus is fine. He is… well.. um.”
“Out with it, man,” James demands.
“Well, the French dragon, La Gloire, survived.”
“It did what!” James almost made it out of bed before Quinn shoved him down again, making James yelp as pain sparked through his side.
“Lie still or I will dose you.” Quinn growled, adding when Velociter stuck his head in window, “Not at the moment, Velo, I will call if I need you to sit on him.”
Velociter nodded, his voice quiet, “Do as my Captain says, Captain Lester. Arcturus will be unhappy if you hurt yourself.”
James subsided at that comment, his eyes fixing Quinn. “I assume there is more?”
“Yes…” Quinn hesitated for a moment before continuing, “She’s injured but will fly again. Arcturus aimed more for her crew than her. Her captain, one Capitaine Michel Palliere, is alive too and I took his parole. He is staying with her.”
“What are you not telling me?”
“That the men who boarded Arcturus were not members of the French Air Corp.” Quinn’s face darkened with anger. “That bloody bugger, Chef de Bataillon Joachim Gantier, got it in his head – kill the Captain and take the dragon. Thinks you can change Captains as easy as with naval ships. Blasted shit-sack.”
James shook his head, somewhat dazed. “He thinks what?”
“That his men would have been able to take Arcturus if they killed you.” Quinn shook his head. “Capitaine Palliere told Gantier he was a fool.” Fury took over countenance for a moment before Quinn made himself calm. “He took off most of La Gloire’s crew off, including the Capitaine’s son, Fabrice, and threatened them to gain his obedience.”
James opened and closed his mouth before managing, “That prick of a cocksucker did what?”
Quinn nodded, “Arcturus was most unhappy when he heard.” He grinned at James for a moment before adding, “He said threatening hatchlings was not on and that he owed a lady an apology.” At James’ quirked eyebrow, a grinning Quinn added, “He took one of the cows down to her.”
“Oh Jesse.”
“Maybe,” Quinn agreed. “Now, rest and read the book Miss Christine sent you.” He paused before grinning, “Or you could answer her missive.”
“Oh, get out, you blasted cupid.” James growled out, although he took up the paper and quill.
***
Quinn whistled as he arrived with a missive, one he dropped onto James’ lap as he lay in bed, on Mr Owens’ strict orders. “Something to while away your boredom.”
James glanced at the letter, an eyebrow quirking. “You have not read it?”
“I might have opened it,” Quinn agreed, before raising a hand, “I wanted to know if you should read it while injured.”
“Quinn?”
“A few gentlemen have been trying to interest Miss Christine and her father…” At James’ concerned expression, Quinn raised his hand again, “Fear not, the son of a duke, even second born, is a catch for her father, he will not consider another pursuit while you remain interested. Let me know when you have a reply.”
James sighed before slitting open the letter, cursing softly as he read.
My dearest James, my – if I may be so bold – my love.
I read you missive with great eagerness, the battle sounds terrifying but exhilarating. If you can and will, could you write me more about it?… Mama and Father are both well and are still happy with our open correspondence. They know not of what I write in these personal missives… which reminds me, Quinn looked uncommonly serious when he arrived, does he read these missives? Not that I care or not, unless there is something else… are you injured? Please respond quickly, for my heart grows fearful of your safety.
Yours, in hope and love, Christine.
James cursed softly before casting about for his writing set. There, at his desk, he could walk that far. He felt rather weak as he stood, a hand held out for balance and quickly, before he fell, made his way to the desk. He vision swam somewhat before settling. His mind whirling between what to tell Christine and what he would say to Quinn. Blasted man.
My dearest Christine,
Do not worry, my love, I took a slight hurt in our latest battle. Fear not, for I am healing well… As for Quinn, there is always that possibility but I find him a trustworthy man with his own honour, more than some in the Ton. I would not trust him to deliver these missives if I thought otherwise.
Yours, in hope and love, James.
James considered returning to his bed now the missive was written and sealed, but his gaze fell on the paperwork piling on his desk. Thoughts of tasks to be done – winter quarters for one – had him ignore his growing tiredness as he bent to his work.
“Bloody Jesse, James! What are you doing out of bed, Mr Owen will have an apoplexy if he sees you. Come on, back to bed.”
“I am perfectly fine, Daniel.”
“Are you? You are swaying as if you were ape-drunk, and I know you have not touched a drop.” Quinn said, grasping James with one hand whilst the other felt his forehead. “You are burning up. Back to bed and I will summon Mr Owen.”
James wanted to resist but found he could barely put one foot in front of the other. He was barely aware of being put to bed and the tuts of Mr Owen when he arrived or the cold hands that felt like heaven on his over-heated skin.
***
James lay restless, his sleep troubled by dreams and nightmares. Of Arcturus taken from him. Of falling so far, so so far away from Arcturus. He was no longer sure what was real and what was nightmare. He thought he cried out and then felt coolness against his skin. He heard murmurs but could understand not a word. He twisted and thrashed and cried out in haunted sleep.
He emerged, still feverish, still unaware but he thought he heard her voice. His own voice croaky as he murmured, “My angel, the sun rises to see your beauty,” before hearing her bid him rest. He groans softly as he feels cool cloths chase away the heat. He eagerly sips the water he is allowed, and the broth he is fed. The hours, days, perhaps even weeks passing in a blur.
***
The sun warming his skin woke James from his slumber, his limbs feeling so heavy he could barely move. He blinked, trying to recall why he felt quite so terrible.
“Ah, Lord Lester,”
A warm, unknown voice spoke and it took all of James’ strength to turn his head. He frowned at the stranger, before he remembered his manners. His voice raspy, he managed, “Good… morning, Mrs…?” He broke down into coughs which had his groaning as his side pulled. He frowned, his wound should not be that healed, it had only been gained the previous day.
“Mrs Wickes, Lord Lester,” The woman replied, her voice still cheery as she checked his bedding and helped him drink. “You’ve been asleep with fever for the past week and a half, sir.” She hand was on his forehead and she tutted softly. “You are still somewhat warm, sir. I’ll call Mr Owen to have a look see.” She turned her head and called over James’ head. “Lorraine! Lorraine dearest.”
A young girl appeared beside James, startling him and having him gasp as he moved wrong. “Sorry, sir,” she said.
“No harm done, Miss Lorraine,” James managed.
“Now, girl, run and find Mr Owen. Tells him that Lord Lester is awake but still a little warm.”
“Yes, grandmother,” the young girl smiled shyly at James before running off.
James frowned slightly before asking, “I apologise for my manners, Mrs Wickes, but how did you come here?”
“I came with Miss Christine, sir, she needed a chaperone, sir.”
“Chri… Miss Christine is here?” James cursed his slip, although from the knowing look in Mrs Wickes’ eyes, it was not a secret to her.
“Yes, I am, James.” Christine swept in, nodding at Mrs Wickes, “Thank you for caring for James, Mrs Wickes.”
“My pleasure, Miss Christine,” Mrs Wickes replied. “I will be in the corner mending.” She rose and moved to the corner, giving them the illusion of privacy yet keeping the correct propriety.
“Christine?” James began. “I thought you were in Town?”
“I worried and when no reply came of my missive, I contacted Captain Quinn,” Christine explained, sitting beside him and holding his hand. “He, after some procrastination, told me the truth. That you had taken with fever from your injury.” Christine scowled at him. “Really, James, you told me you were in no danger. That only a madman would attack a captain.”
“And a madman did, Christine. Chef de Bataillon Joachim Gantier, by name. He thinks he can steal a dragon by killing its Captain.”
“What?” Christine cried. “But I read…”
“Yes, the dragon would go berserk with grief, slaying whoever killed its Captain. It would never accept its Captain’s murderer.” James shook his head. “I know not if the man is a fool, mad or just desperate for more dragons.”
Christine looked alarmed. “Then every British dragon, all those allied with us, are at risk,” she exclaimed. “We have got to tell the Air Admiralty.”
“They have been, my dear heart,” James replied, smiling that Christine had caught on far faster than some of the officers. “All are aware and on watch for them.”
“Good,” Christine looked at him carefully. “Now you are to follow Mr Owen’s orders, sir, and get well. Mrs Wickes, Miss Lorraine and myself will remain until then.” She smiled at him before adding, “And then you can tell me if you really meant it.”
James frowned, his mind sluggish. “Meant what?”
“That I am your sun, your angel, that your heart only beats for me.”
James looked away, he must be blushing at her – his words. He felt her relax her grip on his hand and tightens his own. Licking dry lips before speaking, his voice earnest and low. “I meant every word, even if I would not have spoken them but for the fever.” He paused, looking deep into her eyes and continues, “Indeed, Christine, if I could rise from this bed I would get down on one knee and ask for your hand.”
“If you left this bed, sir, you would be on both.”
“True, my limbs tremble with fatigue with even the thought of moving,” James agreed. “But my moon and stars, when I can, I will go down on one knee…”
“James?” Christine asked, her free hand rising to rest on his forehead,
“I think I will need my writing set, and Quinn.”
“James? Should I call Mr Owen?”
“Hmm? Why, he has no dragon?”
“Why do you need your writing set and Quinn?” Christine asked, each word slow and clearly pronounced.
“Why, to write your father. I must ask his permission before I can ask you.” James shrugged helplessly. “But only if that is what you want.”
“It is, my lord,” Christine replies. “But you are still a little warm. I will not have it said you asked when ill or that I trapped you.”
James is crestfallen before he smiled. “Is that a yes?”
“You will find out when you are well, so rest, love, then you can ask me again.”
James nodded before starting. “Your father?”
“Knows we are here, James,” Christine replied. “He suggested Mrs Wickes came with me, for the sea air. Now, you need to rest, James.” Christine replied, iron in her voice. “Rest now, James, we can talk later.”
James settled down,, a smile on his face as he clasped Christine’s hand in his own, and he slipped into welcome, healing sleep.
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Date: 2023-12-27 04:33 pm (UTC)Lester fits so well into this world, and Danny is a brilliant air corps captain, he was made for that role! *g*
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Date: 2023-12-28 01:14 pm (UTC)Good to know Lester fitted in and Danny would be a menace as an air corps captain (and very good at it too).
Thanks for reading.
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Date: 2023-12-27 05:04 pm (UTC)I loved the dragon twist - super.
And period pieces are definitely enjoyed any time.
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Date: 2023-12-28 01:16 pm (UTC)Had to have dragons in it.
I did get lost down the rabbit hole on the internet with this fic. I now know lots of things about the Regency period (not to mention reading several Sharpe fics which is never a bad thing).
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Date: 2023-12-28 11:43 pm (UTC)I adore all the period detail in this. It had a perfect Regency feel all the way through.
Great fic!
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Date: 2023-12-31 08:29 pm (UTC)*bows* Good to know the Regency details worked OK.
Thanks again for the beta and for reading.
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Date: 2023-12-30 11:52 am (UTC)Lovely fic.
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Date: 2023-12-31 08:58 pm (UTC)Glad you liked it and thanks for reading.
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Date: 2023-12-30 02:50 pm (UTC)The air battle with dragons was an incredible scene, well done!
Hee, I enjoyed them fighting the French. Though there was added intrigue and I loved that!
Lester and Danny and all the characters were brilliant. Fantastic!!!!
Thank you XXXXX
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Date: 2023-12-31 09:12 pm (UTC)The air battle was fun to write.
Had to be fighting the French in a Regency fic and glad you liked the added intrigue.
Danny crashed the fic more than expected so I'm glad you liked everyone.
Thanks for reading.
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Date: 2024-01-01 08:18 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2024-01-01 01:26 pm (UTC)*bows* Very happy to hear that.
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Date: 2024-01-02 07:28 pm (UTC)This was a rich AU, so many details and many old, but at the same time new characters. Lovely fic!
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Date: 2024-01-02 10:13 pm (UTC)Glad you liked it and thanks for reading.