half savage, hardy, and free.

. . . 𝒎𝒚 𝒓𝒂𝒈𝒆 𝒊𝒔 𝒂 𝒌𝒊𝒏𝒅 𝒐𝒇 𝒅𝒐𝒎𝒆𝒔𝒕𝒊𝒄 𝒓𝒂𝒈𝒆. 𝒊 𝒍𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒆𝒅 𝒊𝒕 𝒇𝒓𝒐𝒎 𝒎𝒚 𝒎𝒐𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓, 𝒘𝒉𝒐 𝒍𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒆𝒅 𝒊𝒕 𝒇𝒓𝒐𝒎 𝒉𝒆𝒓 𝒎𝒐𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓 𝒃𝒆𝒇𝒐𝒓𝒆 𝒉𝒆𝒓.

Goodness, MISS DELILAH ROYSTON  has arrived in London. SHE is TWENTY NINE, of the DORSETSHIRE ROYSTONS. Though they are RETURNED to the Season, we can only describe them as WITTY and WARM, dear reader. Accompanied by HER COUSIN AND HIS FAMILY, they have settled in and are accepting social calls. But be warned: they are known for their FEROCITY. ( Meggie, 28, She/Her, PST )

She did get her nap, and the journey was, in truth, uneventful, but upon arrival to her cousin’s house in London, the mood in the air was dark, and the cold fingers of foreboding and dread curled into the pit of her stomach as she entered the house. 

The conversation was brief –– a set of letters had arrived from Dorsetshire while she was away, and since she would be back in London in only a few days, they had not saw fit to send word to her. Instead, her cousin and his wife had set about packing up her things on her behalf, as surely, when she read the letter addressed to her, she would wish to leave at once with all due haste. Stunned and confused, Delilah sat down at her cousin’s desk in his study, sliced open the letter, and began to read. 

Its contents were brief, a scant handful of lines, and she had to read them six times before the words began to sink in. The message was thus: her mother had fallen gravely ill, suddenly and unexpectedly, and the doctor had informed her aunt that her mother was not long for this world. If she wished to say goodbye, or, more likely, pay her respects, she must depart for Dorsetshire with all due haste. 

Delilah thought, for a long moment, on all the hateful times in her childhood and adolescence and even her adult years that she had wished ill on her mother for all of the stupid, petty, spiteful things they said and did to one another. And then she thought of all the times her mother had held her, had sung lullabies to her, had taken care of her when she was sick, and she knew that she must go. 

In less than two hours since she had stepped from the carriage, she was back inside of it, this time with far more luggage, and departing for a far more permanent trip. As the horses began to move, the driver setting the course, she thought, for the briefest moment, of the people she would be leaving behind, and wondered if she should have taken a moment to pen a letter to someone, to explain her abrupt departure from this year’s season. Then she thought of her mother, ill and alone, and popped her head out of the window of the carriage, and urged the driver to make all possible haste. 

She did not look back at London as she left it. 

It was a testament to the academic heart of Delilah that she did not intend to spend the entirety of her time in Margate chasing down every possible pleasure the town had to offer. Granted, of course that was a big portion of it, but she’d also wanted to see the library, and had spent most of her first afternoon cloistered inside the building, thumbing through the ancient tomes they had available, and chatting softly with the librarian. This was how she found herself on the roof of the library, a large, half finished star chart spread out before her, scattered with small annotations she’d made. It was hard to see by the light of the moon and the stars, so she knew her notes were likely going to need to be copied onto a new set of pages, but still, she’d look through the telescope, spot a constellation, and then jot down another note. 

The party was bustling and bursting with life, a veritable riot of sound and laughter, with the heat of bodies pressing in against one another a little closer than propriety would usually allow. There were at least a dozen more people than there should have been in a room of this size, and while that might have made some claustrophobic, Delilah felt like she was in heaven. She downed a glass of whiskey, smiling at one of the waiters after she did so and setting the empty glass on his tray. He was handsome, if too young for her –– barely eighteen, fresh faced and bright eyed at all the hustle and bustle of the party –– and in another life she might have stayed and flirted with him, just to see if she could make him blush. 

Instead, Delilah slipped between the crowd like a fish between stalks of seaweed, moving with an ease that belied years of practice. She’d decided she wanted to dance, and since none of her usual partners were here –– that wasn’t true, actually, Sidney was definitely here, she was sure of it, but Delilah didn’t feel like trying to hunt him down –– she began to look around the room, searching the walls and the corners for her next target. It didn’t take her long. There were a fair many good looking people, men and women alike, but this gentleman put them all to shame. Tall, dark, handsome, he was like every description of the hero in her cousin’s favorite romance novels, waiting to whisk the heroine away into a happy marriage. Delilah, of course, wasn’t looking for anything of the sort, but his presence was magnetic enough that she was drawn to him from halfway across the room. 

“Do I know you from somewhere?” She asked, brows raised, head cocked to the side. It was only half a question –– Delilah was quite certain she didn’t, but suspected she’d seen him on one of the barges that had brought them from London. He certainly didn’t look like the type to live here at Margate, anyway. “I was hoping to persuade you into a dance.” 

Oh absolutely. Delilah looked at her virginity as a rather unfortunate obstacle to be dispensed with as soon as possible, and made it her mission when she was seventeen to find someone she could rid herself of this with. I imagine it was to some other member of the gentry, someone she couldn't imagine marrying but thought was attractive and tolerable enough to tumble with a few times, for practice's sake.

She’d been enjoying the quiet when it started. Her hat was long gone, unfortunately, but she’d found a shady corner of the boat to sit and read, her legs stretched out before her, a glass of lemonade beside her. The Odyssey had felt thematically appropriate, though she wished, for a moment, she had someone to share the joke with. Still, the day was lovely, the story was familiar and well loved, and she was, she realized, at peace. Relaxed.

So relaxed, in fact, that she’d completely ignored the commotion going on around her –– apparently life in a house with three small children meant that she’d gotten a little too good at drowning out noise when reading. 

Delilah looked up, raising an eyebrow, and saw that the three boats were nearly perfectly aligned, and people were leaning across the railings and shouting playfully at one another. On her right, a basket full of empty bottles of booze floated by, and she looked up to see at least three people (she didn’t have to squint to pick out Sidney, leading the pack) guzzling down liquid like they’d been abandoned in the desert for forty days and forty nights. She turned, glancing at her own boat’s populace, and realized, belatedly, as acting captain, she probably should have been paying more attention to what was going on. A race. They were trying to lighten the loads, trying to distract one another. Smiling a little to herself, Delilah decided that lightening the load was their best bet, and began to root through the nearby stash of liquor bottles. She’d intended to toss some bottles of wine over the side, assuming she’d find enough of the cheap stuff to do so, but ended up nearly gasping at a bottle of scotch; far too expensive to just toss. 

So she popped the cork, flicking it over the side with her thumb, and began to chug. She made it through nearly a third of the bottle before she had to stop, gasping for air and wiping her mouth with the back of her wrist. Pausing, Delilah turned, offering the bottle to the person beside her, her brow raised. “Lightening the load,” she explained, shrugging her shoulder. 

harry-cadogan​:

“Drink.” Harry said decisively, and then he did so with a grin. He spotted a face across the circle.

Dark eyes glinted, his cheeks rosy without the sun. Harry loved games.

“What is your favorite compliment?”

@dianabartlett​ @earlharcourt​ @eliza-bates​ @lordkerr​ @domesticrage​ @lcdyofcobham​ @jeremiahtheyankee​

It looked as though the second day of the Regatta would be as exciting as the first, though hopefully in different ways.  The game Jeremiah had suggested sounded like fun (though Diana enjoyed most games, in fairness), but she was sure it would get away from all of them soon enough, aided by alcohol.

Harry answered Jeremiah’s question, and when his eyes met hers, she dared not look away. His question gave her a light pause.  After a brief moment, it came to her.

“I’m kind.” Only then did her eyes leave Harry’s, and alighted on another in the circle’s. “Where would you travel, if you could go anywhere?”

@earlharcourt​ @eliza-bates​ @lordkerr​ @domesticrage​ @lcdyofcobham​ @jeremiahtheyankee​ @harry-cadogan​

The rules were simple –– a child’s game, really, and one she’d played herself as a child, and with her cousins sometimes in the summer when the weather was too nice for them to even possible entertain the idea of not being out of doors. Delilah knew a hundred of these kinds of games, and the appeal of kissing made it a hundred times more interesting. So she sat back, holding her drink in one hand and wrapping the other around her middle, and watched the group, studying everyone, and listening. 

It didn’t take long. I’m kind. She grinned, her eyes sparking as they met Diana’s –– so large and so impossibly blue ––across the circle. “Two words,” she said, nodding towards Harry as she did. “That’s a penalty!” 

Then she took a sip and leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees and thinking for a moment. “Everywhere,” she finally said, her eyes wistful. She bit down on her lip thoughtfully, pondering her own question, thinking of skillful ways to frame it. 

“What,” Delilah tossed out, turning to another in the circle, “is your most prized possession?” 

Do you mind?

“Right!” He said, which was not an answer, but he sprung back as though she were made of flame. Harry cleared his throat, and stepped to the side. “I was just–”

He remembered the trunk, suddenly, and the stack of racy cards inside of it. Had that been moments ago? He did not dare to look over his shoulder.

A nod, a courteous wave of his hand. “After you.”

—

the next morning.

Harry stretched, and beamed up at the thin sunlight. Beneath the shade of the canopy, even an early start felt permissible. His toes wriggled inside his loafers, his necktie loose enough to let the breeze trace along his neck.

“Ah, thank you–” Accepting the coffee, full of stiff cream, he stretched in his lounger as the boat took to water again. After a moment, he opened one eye, giving his companion a lazy once-over.

“Shouldn’t the captain be–” A ripple across his brow, the corner of his posy-red mouth turning up. “–captaining?”

But he did not mean it, for he lifted his coffee to hers in toast and took a sip. The malt liquor burned in a familiar, pleasant way. Not unlike morning sunlight at a too-early hour.

“If we are to be mandated awake,” Harry mused, the breeze rippling pleasantly. The river came into full view, blue and wide. “I should like it to be like th–”

With a gust, his hat whipped off and over his head – and disappeared.

“–is?”

.

The abruptness with which he left her did little for her self esteem, but Delilah resolved herself not to take things personally, and nodded graciously at him before stepping aside. 

The next morning.

She was, like most mornings, dreadfully hungover. Excess came naturally to Delilah Royston, and being away from constant work for the first time in nearly a month meant that she had perhaps said yes to one too many glasses of champagne the night before. Or maybe it was three too many, plus two whiskeys besides. But who was counting?

Certainly not her, as she emerged onto the deck with her hair lazily looped up and tucked into her hat and her shawl wrapped around her upper arms. The boat was no longer making her queasy –– she could thank only the hangover for that –– and it was early enough that the morning mist was still hanging over the Thames, the sunlight thin and weak, the world still and peaceful. If it weren’t for this pounding headache and vague sense of nausea in the back of her mouth, she might actually be enjoying this quiet morning. 

Then she smelled coffee, and noticed a gentleman stretching out in a chair, and she reassessed things. Heading straight for the coffee, she prepared two cups, pulling her flask out as she did and splashing each one with a bit of liquor –– Delilah’s personal preferred hangover remedy. With that done, she took a sip of her coffee as she headed for the gentleman, who, as she approached, realized was Harry. Smiling slightly to herself, she took the lounger next to him and handed him the coffee she had not claimed for herself. “’Morning,” she murmured, and then laughed at his quip, shaking her head. “Part of my duties,” she teased, lifting the mug towards him as if toasting him. 

The two relaxed for a moment, Delilah curling her legs up underneath her like a cat, sipping her coffee and watching the water. It was peaceful, everything colored soft from the morning sunlight, and their view of the river as they rejoined it properly was truly spectacular. She opened her mouth to agree with his statement when, suddenly, a gust of wind appeared, dispersing the remnants of the morning fog, and taking Harry’s hat with it. His mouth opened and then closed, comically, and without thinking, Delilah took her own off her head. The action sent all of her hair tumbling down loose around her shoulders, but she was more preoccupied with placing her sunhat on top of Harry’s head, as if to make up for the loss of his own. 

She was one of the last ones to blow out her candle, lasting long into the night pouring over one of the books she'd brought with her on the trip. Someone had yelled at her for it, half drunk and half asleep, tossing the remnants of their half eaten mint at her, and Delilah had done her best to smother her laughter as the aggrieved girl immediately rolled over and began to snore. Then she caught the eyes of another, visible only as two shining reflections of her candle's flame, and her smile widened. She winked, and glanced back at the snoring girl again for a fleeting moment.

“There! Don’t you see it?” 

Marjorie was torn between fleeing for the other side of the barge, safe and away from whatever the slippery snake-like creature was, and leaning in to get a closer look. Others crowded around, preventing an easy exit, and so she found herself satisfying curiosity over securing self-preservation. “I –” Her hand gripped more tightly to the railing as the thing jumped up out of the water. The sight of it startled a near-scream from her lips, one hand leaping up to cover her mouth in both horror and embarrassment when, rather than attacking them as she’d almost expected, it landed back in the water without so much as a splash. “What in heaven’s name…” 

She had heard all sorts of tales about monstrous creatures who lived over the water and she’d had just enough of the drink Sir Cadogan offered her to wonder if perhaps they truly existed. Whatever it was, it was certainly large and terrifying enough to behold that it fit with the stories. Thankfully someone else spoke up with a more sensible answer before she could voice her thoughts. “An eel?” Marjorie looked over at the other woman, a mixture of relief and barely-concealed concern evident in her features. “Are you quite sure? Should we alert the captain?”

.

Both women were breathing heavily, though this other woman seemed far less adept at hiding her shock than Delilah was. Still, Delilah could feel a slight tremor in her hands, and she wrapped her fist more tightly around her champagne and reached for the other woman with the other. She gently rubbed the other woman’s shoulder, giving her a quick, reassuring pat, and then wrapped her arm around her own midsection. “Quite sure. As long as you don’t stick your arm in there,” she amended, shuddering as she spoke. “They’ve rather large teeth. Not venomous,” Delilah reassured, seeing the queasy sense of horror on the other woman’s face, “just painful, and easily infected. But I daresay that one is far more scared of us than we are of it,” she finished, glancing back at the water with disgust. She shuddered again, her whole body wavering with the force of her revulsion. 

“I detest eels,” she confided, taking half a step away from the railing. “Something about the way they move in the water...” she trailed off, her throat thick with a sudden sensitivity in her gag reflex. Swallowing heavily, she shook her head, and gestured for the other woman to join her in sitting more towards the center of the boat. “I doubt the captain can do anything,” Delilah admitted, answering her other question. “The Thames is crawling with those things this time of year. Probably best to just stay away from the side for now.” She paused, glancing at her drink and then at the other woman again, and then held it out to her, brows raised. “You do look like you could use some fortifying,” she said quietly, and then pressed her free hand to her chest and forced a smile. “Delilah Royston, by the way.”

All Harry knew of water, he knew from land. Culford Park was home to several ponds and even a reasonably-sized river (and a bridge afforded a vista for grand gestures), but it was a marked distance from anything larger – or even open water.

It was all unfamiliar, in a relishing, delightful way. Making his way onto the boat, he greeted his companions with a dimpled smile and an effusive joy, offering flowers to the Bennettons and two of the ladies before stashing his satchel on one of the deck chairs. The boat was rather long and flat, and not what Harry imagined when he thought of boats, but it moved over the surface of the water amicably. 

“Now what do we have here?” He murmured to himself, lifting the lid of a wooden chest. Inside lay a coil of rope and several bottles of lemonade, frosted ice still curling against the glass. He pawed further, and found a flask, a pair of dice, and a series of cards. Harry grinned. 

A quick glance, left to right, he pulled the cards out. They were larger than playing cards, and painted more intricately, too. HIs jaw loosened as he stared, flipping one to the next – to the next – and stood up abruptly. My god.

He bent, quickly stashing them inside the trunk.

Perhaps his nerves got the better of Harry, for he skittered to the far end of the boat as though distance could wash away his sins. Teeth working over his lower lip, he tried to contain the fluster of his heartbeat as he stared at railing.

Whump!

It began and occurred and was done before he could give it a second thought, the frame of a woman canting sideways, close to the water’s edge, his arm reaching out to catch her, the pull of his hand against her waist to steady them both. Harry stared, dark eyes wide.

She did not look altogether different from the cards, though surely–

Good catch. 

He grinned. In another time – perhaps on land, or even on that bridge over the little river – he would have a clever retort. Easy when it’s beautiful, or happy to be of service. But his words – like his thoughts – dried under the summer sun, until he was as slow as the boat, bobbing down the river.

He relaxed his grip only slightly.

“I’m Harry.”

.

There was a slight delay between her words and his, long enough that for a moment, Delilah worried that he might be mute. Then again, the pose that the fall had caught them in was entirely inappropriate, and perhaps this gentleman had little experience with the body of a woman pressed against him, and the feeling had him in shock. Delilah eyed him for a moment and then decided no, there was no way that was possible. He was handsome, to be sure, but not just that –– he was beautiful, she decided. Something about his features was startlingly soft; maybe it was the way his nose turned upwards in a delightfully impish manner, or the way his hair curled in a way that ached to be mussed. Or maybe it was his eyes, large and dark, with thick lashes that stirred a bone deep envy inside of her. No, he was far too lovely to be that innocent. 

His grip on her barely slackened, and she should pull away, for propriety’s sake, and she knew that, but she was still breathless from her stumble. “Delilah,” she responded, her hand tightening slightly on his bicep for a moment as she tried to get her feet steady underneath her again. It took her two tries before she realized that there was water on the deck, making everything slippery beneath her shoes, and she sighed, directing the air up and blowing an errant strand of hair off her forehead. 

“Well, swift-armed Harry, do you mind...?” She started, nodding away from the railing, then glancing down at the puddle they stood in. “Not that I’m ungrateful for the rescue, mind you,” she started, her tone dry and teasing, “but...well, there’s always that nasty business of our reputations to consider.” Still, Delilah was grinning, her eyes back on his face, on those lovely dark eyes of his. 

harry-cadogan​:

“And then they said that the price of grain would decrease based on those efforts! What tosh!” Harry laughed and Arthur laughed and more champagne was had by both. Once the glass was refilled, he rather forgot what they were discussing. “Carry on, good chap.” A hand to Arthur’s shoulder, he trotted down the handful of stairs to the main deck just in time to hear a splash.

“What–”

Shoulders broadened, spine lengthened, and Harry peered around the four sides of the boat as though trying to detect–

“Jerry!” He was fast to the side, halfway to his knees to lean when he realized that Ackerley was not at all interested in the aid. He was instead–

Harry frowned, rose, dusted the invisible wrinkle upon his summer-linen trousers, and looked down at the person beside him. “Damned fool is swimming away!”

@eliza-bates​ @marjorieseymour​ @lordkerr​ @dianabartlett​ @domesticrage​

It was such a stunning day, and Diana could not have been more grateful for the good weather (one did not wish to be on a boat in a storm, or even a misting). There was nothing better than this, she decided. Nothing at all could ruin this mood for her. However, she must be more sociable. Just as the idea occurred to her, she heard a splash, and her feet moved more quickly than her brain.

She charged to the side of the boat where she had believed she heard the splash come from, and could just barely recognize the figure who seemed to be swimming away. “Jeremiah!” she shouted, the name torn from her throat without her realizing it.

She managed to slow her steps in time to stop herself from going overboard, but grabbed hold of the person next to her as if to steady herself, as she found her knees going rather weak. She did not realize who she had gripped, however, until the voice of the man registered in her ears, and she looked up directly into Harry’s face, bewildered. “Why on earth would he do something so foolish? Isn’t the current dangerous?”

@eliza-bates​ @marjorieseymour​ @lordkerr​ @domesticrage​ @jeremiahtheyankee​

Delilah was thoroughly enjoying herself so far –– the champagne was freely flowing, she’d managed to convince a small group to play cards with her, and she was not at all expected to do any work whatsoever. There was a child running about, mind you, but not one she was responsible for, and anyway, Owen (as she had quickly learned the lad was called) was shockingly well behaved compared to her own charges. The high pitched chatter of his voice combined with the softer tones of his mother, and further harmonized with some of the more inane chatter of the group on her boat, and while some might have been overstimulated, the sound resembled that of a party just enough that Delilah found it oddly soothing. The round of cards had ended, and she excused herself to swipe another glass of champagne. Internally, she told herself rather sternly that this would be the last glass of spirits she would have until they reached their destination, lest she float past ‘pleasantly lightweight’ and straight into ‘downright sloppy’. 

Then there was a shout, a splash, and more shouting. Swearing under her breath, Delilah set the glass back down, hiked her skirts up enough to move quickly, and took off towards the opposite side of the boat. Careful not to slide in the water that had slopped up onto the deck, she reached the railing nearly at the same time as a lovely brunette and the handsome Harry, albeit a few paces down from them. It took her a moment to get her bearings of the situation; one of the men from the group –– Jerry, Harry had shouted –– was in the water, yes, and the brunette was right, he was swimming in the opposite direction from the boat, because... Delilah looked up, the wide brim of her hat shielding her eyes, and saw it –– a woman, little more than an orange and white blur at this distance, was drowning. And the man who had jumped was swimming straight for her. “Good lad,” she murmured, one hand on the railing, the other reaching down to rap a knuckle twice against the wooden sideboard, wishing him luck. Then she turned, eyes seeking out the man at the helm. “Can you turn us around?!” She called, gesturing at the situation behind them. “Or at least –” Delilah hesitated, looking from her side of the railing towards the other, trying to orient herself. “Portside?” She asked, gesturing as she did. If they turned left, she reasoned, they might be able to create enough of a shelter from the current to aid the man in his return journey. 

She was in the middle of trying to decide if anyone would care –– or notice, really –– if she dug her flask out of her reticule and spiked her little glass of lemonade with it, when suddenly, she heard a sharp gasp from somewhere on her left. Startled, Delilah whipped her head towards the noise, keeping a firm hand on her drink as she did (she worked with children; she was very used to loud, unexpected noises). There! A lady called, and Delilah crossed to the railing in three long strides, nearly jogging in her haste, her midsection pressing hard against the railing as she stopped. Her drink sloshed slightly in its glass, a single drop falling into the water near where the woman indicated, and Delilah studied it, puzzled. “Wha––” she started to ask, and then, suddenly, there! There it was! A quick flash of something thin and dark, like a long ribbon that had been discarded and lost beneath the water. Then it moved, startlingly fast, wavering and weaving in the wave, getting larger with each second. 

“Does that look like––” Delilah began, only to cry out and leap back as the thing jumped up from the water, arcing through the air, and then landed back in the water with only the smallest of ripples. “Christ!” She gasped, pressing her free hand to her chest, and then turned to the other woman, shocked laughter erupting from her throat as she did. “Are you alright? It didn’t get you, did it?” Fucking eels –– Delilah hated the things, and the Thames seemed to be crawling with them these days. “Just an eel –– utterly harmless,” she reassured, though she wasn’t actually quite sure of that herself. She’d never been quite as good at natural sciences as she led on. 

The first hour was always the worst. Trying to find her sea legs, trying not to lose her breakfast over the side of the boat, trying to remember if she’d packed everything and hadn’t, in fact, left anything important behind at her cousin’s home. It all melded together and swirled up into a veritable storm of anxiety and nauseousness, and Delilah was ready for it all to be over. Once she’d had time to settle in, her nerves and her stomach would surely calm down –– they had to, or else this journey would feel a lot longer than eight hours. She tried taking a seat, hoping that remaining steady would help, but it seemed to make things worse, so she stood, pacing and rocking slightly with the movement of the water with each step. That was even worse than sitting, if possible, and she was sure it made her look rather ridiculous, so she headed for the edge and began to walk alongside the railing, taking deep and steady inhales of the fresh air as she did. That helped, at least. She knew she could flag down her gracious hosts for a ginger candy if needs be, but Delilah was...stubborn, to say the least, and was certain she could conquer this with her own wits and fortitude. 

Another few steps, then another, and yes, there, she was definitely starting to feel a little better. In fact, she was actually starting to feel excitement again, colored slightly blue with the slightest bit of regret that her charges could not attend. Not that she wanted to work, of course not, but still –– Emma loved the water, always had. Delilah was half convinced her young cousin was part fish, sometimes, and Emma and Adam loved to play little games where Adam was Odysseus on a ship home and Emma was one of the sirens trying to lure him astray. Granted, the effect was rather lost when they were playing in a bathtub, and it did complicate bath time a bit, but still. Thinking of them made her smile, and she was so caught up in the thought and still trying to find her sea legs that she was entirely unprepared for when a particularly sizable wave knocked against the side of the barge. Delilah pitched forward suddenly, the deck seeming to drop out from beneath her, leaving her floating for a moment before hurtling down, only to –– whump! 

She landed rather solidly against a gentleman with one arm full of flowers, and the other arm full of –– well, her. His arm wrapped around her waist instantly, his grip strong and his stance steady, and she reached up instinctively to steady his hat, which looked perilously close to flying off into the water below after having been knocked against her own. Delilah blinked once, twice, startled, and then said, without thinking: “Good catch.”