#shakespearean

to practically run an island and loving all of the residents was one thing. to accept a visitor with open arms was another.

you tried to avoid the man when you found out that a mr hill had visited, and despite the two days since then, he had not left. which was odd.

visitors were rare. those who chose to stay were one of a kind.

when arthur had heard of the island, well, he had little to no time to think before he was on a boat.

after his return from spain, his mother ensured that he stayed couped up in london for at least a fortnight. so as soon as those fourteen long days ended, he was sailing across the ocean.

it was only around an hour and a half before the boat slowed and the island approached rapidly. he was here.

as soon as he could reach, he climbed out of the boat, ready to stretch his limbs and explore the island. the first man he met was a fisherman.

"ah, mr hill. i heard word of your interest, we assumed you would not follow through. welcome to our island, though."

"thank you, sir. i must ask why this island is so undesirable for visitors..?"

"well, frankly, i am shocked that you're here. well, nobody can find us, we have no island name yet. but also the island is bankrupt, the tennants hate you nobles and the manor is quite frankly crumbling into the sea. i wish you luck."

arthur bit his lip as the man spoke. there was a lot that was wrong here, and surely there was not an easy resolution.

breaking him from his thoughts was you, approaching him with rapid speed. he tried to offer you a polite smile as he noticed your angry frown, hoping to soften whatever blow him or someone else was about to receive.

"you should leave, mr hill."

the polite smile turned ever so slightly into a smirk. "well, i disagree. so good day, miss."

you scoffed as he walked away.

he didn't end up leaving. he probably should have.

instead, he explored the island further. he spent an hour wandering. along the manmade pathways, along the sandy beach made by nature, and all the way to where he next found civilisation close enough to overhear but far away to hide from.

you, and another woman.

"he's gullible. an imbecile, in my opinion."

"so his chances of finding out about the smuggling are..?"

"extremely slim. do not worry. he has about as much sense as the boats themselves."

the pair exchanged a laugh at that, causing arthur to frown ever so slightly.

smuggling. they were smuggling drugs. no wonder arthur hadn't found any other source of income on the island. he hadn't even considered that. how else would they be able to afford food?

but arthur had one thing on his mind. he had to end the smuggling and find a better way for the island to make money. but could he?

surely, if there was an easy way, the residents would have already found one.

he started wandering again, practically pacing along the sand.

"you again." you announced, walking towards the back of him. "i thought you had left already, perhaps i was too hopeful."

"no." he sighed, visibly bracing himself for something. "how is it that your island is so advanced? i notice that there is little to no visible evidence of profit."

"fishing." you replied, far too quickly as if you had prepared yourself for this exact conversation. "the fish in the area are very expensive for those in italy and toward wales."

"and the smuggling?"

"excuse me?"

"the smuggling that you spoke of earlier." when his words only left silence, he spoke again. "is that why you were so desperate for me to leave? you wanted to leave your business uncovered?"

"you tell a soul, and the residents of this island shall drop like flies. that very smuggling feeds us. if you have no empathy, then very well, do what your sick heart must. but i recommend you leave and pretend to forget."

"i want to stop it. i want to work out how this island can profit otherwise and i want to make an island that can survive in far more ethical ways."

"any ideas, then?" you yelled, exasperated at his nerve. "i am telling you, if there were a single alternative for our wrongdoings, then our wrongdoings would be no more. do not arrive on our island and speak of us as if we are imbeciles, we have tried everything. this was never our first choice."

"you called me an imbecile."

"because that is what you are for believing in us."

he didn't reply. he just smiled ever so slightly, causing your eyebrows to furrow in annoyance.

he enjoyed your temper, your boldness. it was so rare in london to find a woman who would insult a man with such fire and no hesitation whatsoever.

"what?" you questioned after five seconds of that stupid smile.

"it's wonderful to meet you, miss..?"

"miss reader." you replied hesitantly. still annoyed, yet polite in a way that didn't match your previous volume.

and then you both left it at that.

you returned to your small shack that you shared with a few other island residents.

all while arthur stayed on the beach.

he just paced again and again even when people began to stare. why was the odd man that arrived recently pacing along the beach so menancingly?

perhaps out of kindness, or even out of fear, they just left him to it.

── ⋆⋅𖤓⋅⋆ ──

a/n: god bless my thoughts at midnight, this might become my favourite series of the whole au. so long as i actually write this exactly how i visioned it at 2am

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chris had always been very observant. it came to him naturally while he was trying to perfect the arts of being a perfect husband at just age nine.

so it was only three hours of waking up from his sleep, or lack of considering he stayed very awake, that he noticed that you were acting ever so slightly differently to usual.

your door had not opened once since he had left his own room, and chris had found you nowhere in the house, so he could tell that you were hiding away.

it was approaching noon, and by now you would have visited your boys at least four times to check that they were feeling well - you were always fussy like that - but you hadn't.

the only company the boys had today were one anothers, their governesses, and also chris popping his head round the door once or twice to check for their mother, offering them forced smiles once the boys caught him.

you laid in your bed, that funny feeling of guilt that you knew you didn't deserve to feel pooling in your stomach as the blankets layered on top of your body.

you had no appetite, no desire to sleep despite being so exhausted.

you had truly believed that your husband was as faithful as you had. truly questioned just how he could have caught the plague when he barely ever left the house.

but maybe that could describe the way he was more tired than he should have been during the day. you pinned it to bad sleep rather than him waking up in the night because he loved another.

perhaps he deserved to die. perhaps you were cruel for thinking such a thing, for adultery did not equate to death. just measly public humilation. something that, in your opinion, was not punishment enough.

perhaps your reaction to this entire situation was futile. lingering in your chamber would not make your husband faithful and alive, it would make you feel worse.

you just needed a stroll in the garden. with the tulips and roses that you had grown yourself.

and yet you stayed in your bed for longer than you had imagined.

it did not take chris as long to pack as he would have imagined. he had shoved everything with such rapid speed that the clouds had barely moved, the majority of the ones he noticed before he began still lingering.

he tried not to feel much pain as he approached the front door. he believed that he had destroyed your household, and therefore he had no right to be here.

and then he heard small footsteps. and then the small voice of oliver.

"will you come back..?"

the sentimental words caused chris to pause for a moment. he didn't even have time to reply before oliver continued.

"i'm scared for our mother. she isn't well, mr dixon.."

and then chris knew he'd have to stay. just one more day.

the garden was appealing to him, filled to the brim with roses and tulips that you mentioned growing yourself.

the warm sun beamed against his back, such a beautiful feeling after being couped up in a house that was not his own due to a rainstorm which prolonged his stay.

if he had been able to leave, you could have stayed ignorant to your husband's wrongdoings.

but, you would have found out eventually, and then who would be there when you did? your sons? how cruel.

at least you knew that chris was there. someone would understand you if you broke down into tears.

and what a coincidence it was that as he began to slow whilst approaching a particularly beautiful bed of white roses, you walked out into the gardens too, your procrastination of leaving your bed finally halting.

"chris!" you called out as you sped up to approach him, bunching up your skirts so they would not drag along the muddy floor.

he turned to face you, expression that of a worried man, but he didn't usher you with words when you stopped in front of him and let out a heavy breath. he just waited until you spoke again.

"you brought me pain, but not dishonour. never dishonour, not like my late husband did. i think i have lived enough years upon falsehood."

the silence that followed was awkward and heavy, the kind where neither person knew what to say after something significant and heartwarming had been said.

knowing he would have nothing to say, you spoke again.

"stay."

── ⋆⋅𖤓⋅⋆ ──

a year had passed.

oliver still loved chris. henry had changed his mind on him. and it wasn't long after chris proposed to you that they stopped calling him mr dixon and instead just chris.

your husband was gone, but chris was now apart of your family.

and for your two month wedding anniversary, well, a family portrait was a no brainer. despite the fact that the twins were not as insistent upon it as you and chris.

"i'm bored." henry whined, sick of standing in the same place for so long.

"i can always tell the painter to make oliver look far cooler than you do." chris replied sarcastically, causing oliver to giggle slightly.

"yea, do that!" oliver said obnoxiously loudly despite your forced (not that anybody was disappointed though) proximity.

henry couldn't fight a little smile at chris' comment. "fiiine."

── ⋆⋅𖤓⋅⋆ ──

you and chris stared up at the large portrait hanging above your fireplace.

"it's not very accurate." he began, fighting a smirk. "and the hands make us all look like dolls. but it's nice. we look like a right little family."

"we are family, chris."

"mm, right. i keep forgetting we're married, somehow. it's too good to be true."

you smiled at that. "what a shame that the skull in the back isn't cracked or something. it has more respect than it deserves in this portrait."

"we can always have another done. if you wanted."

"our boys would not be impressed."

he didn't even flinch at the way you used 'ours' so casually. the month and a bit that you had been married had changed so much in his life.

"we can just give the artist the portrait, tell them to remake it and draw the skull being stepped on or something."

"mm. good plan."

"thank you. i'll get on that for you."

── ⋆⋅𖤓⋅⋆ ──

a/n: awe i can't believe this little series is already over! it was actually so much fun to write, and oliver being so sweet just made me cry while writing it.. and i felt so happy writing henry and chris actually getting along well because he 10000 percent has that effect on people that no matter what, they eventually like him no matter what. i hope you guys enjoyed the series too!

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one thing you had worked out over the very many years you had lived hear is that your neighbour was always watching.

it used to be the two of them, but as they approached their elderly years, mrs baker had passed away, leaving mr baker all on his own.

even before her death, they enjoyed people watching. they enjoyed walks originally, but as their legs began to grow tired, they spent their days in the window overlooking theirs and your front garden.

and now, with nobody left to move him (he had fired every maid at the loss of his wife), he stayed in that window every minute of every day.

except for sundays or special occasions. where he instead met the priest.

you hadn't told chris of your neighbours yet. you were too caught up in the loss of your husband to mention the loss of mr baker's wife and the nosy trait that was left behind.

this meant that chris was met with a very pleasant surprise on the day that your governess fell ill.

he opened the door wide, his movement becoming sloppy as he realised who it was that stood in front of him. he would have accidentally slammed the door into the wall if the hallway was any more narrow.

"father." he addressed with a curt nod that was still polite. a juxtaposition, perhaps even a talent.

"benedicte. good day, sir. i've received reports from a resident about your arrival."

"oh, father, it is no big deal. we are constantly chaperoned. i am a distant relative of her lost husband," a lie, "and i am here for good deeds only. to look after her and her sons. her governess is currently ill, and i couldn't possibly leave the care of the twins in someone physically or emotionally ill as of now."

"ah." the priest nodded, lips pressed into a thin line. he was deliberating. but the very small upturn of his lips, quite a welcoming sight, told chris that perhaps he had gotten away with it. "very well. i hope to see you around, mr..?"

"mr dixon. and you too, father."

── ⋆⋅𖤓⋅⋆ ──

the rainstorm was slowing. it was very clear chris would only have to stay for two more days, perhaps even one. but he wasn't quite prepared to let the bed of the guest room gather dust yet. not when you seemed so.. unwell.

it was the drawing room, lit only by a sad candle, chaperoned by nobody, that you spoke deeply.

"your letters." you began. "they kept me emotionally alive. to know that someone was receiving my letters and caring to read them.. that was very kind of you, mr dixon."

he shifted slightly in his seat. "i enjoyed your responses too. and, please, call me chris." you muttered his name under your breath, a quiet correction of your previous words. "but i have spent years writing. to family, to friends, and sometimes to nobody. and i know that few have cared to receive my correspondence, because i was constantly writing just so i had something that i could do." he sighed then, a lingering moment of queit filling the air. "i hope we can continue our correspondence once i must leave."

"don't leave." you said, far too quickly. "i know the rain is passing, but i- i don't want you to leave yet. if that is okay with you.. chris."

"that's.." he hummed, almost silently. his words were close to whispers, intimate in a gentlemanly manner. "that's fine. i shall stay, then."

"are you sure..? if your family will be concerned, then.."

"they.. they don't matter. they can have answers later. you matter more at the moment. i care about you."

if somebody told you that you would regret this moment, you still wouldn't spare a second thought.

except, maybe you would.

because before you had noticed, your faces had moved closer together. you could almost swear that you hadn't moved, yet there was barely any space left between his thighs and your own.

and then you accidentaly spared a second thought, and then you were blurting the words before you could think about them.

"my husband trusted you more than any other man."

the words placed obvious distance between you both, physically and emotionally. because soon, where there were millimetres, there were now inches, and soon you were just friends once again.

a sigh, perfectly in sync, played from you both. and then chris shifted again. you didn't care to check whether it was closer or further away. but he cleared his throat before speaking again, and then you knew you had to look again.

"is there anything else i can do around the house tomorrow?"

you exhaled. "if it's not too much of an ask, i believe my husband's study was left dishevelled. could you potentially tidy it?"

── ⋆⋅𖤓⋅⋆ ──

he said yes. of course he said yes. he couldn't say no.

he hummed to himself as he dusted the desk, straightened piles of paper, organised books by author (he was very specific like that, as you had come to learn) and then he was rummaging the drawers to figure out what to do next.

letters. perfect.

they were already organised into tall piles with elegantly tied ribbons, a bold shade of red. except for two piles, one with green ribbon, the other with purple.

he assumed the red was for normal correspondence. green perhaps for business and financing. but purple? he could think of no association in his mind.

he stared at the handwriting at the top, the address. it was scruffy in a way that told chris that this was no work of a member of the higher class, but delicate, perhaps in a female manner?

but as his eyes skimmed over the barely legible letters, further and further down the page, he found more and more things that he did not believe he should have read.

had you wrote this? no, your handwriting was neater. he remembered your handwriting, of course he did.

"if your heart remains mine, then why must i always remain hidden? of course i know the answer. i hate the words."

"i rather enjoyed last evening - your company was far pleasanter than the sermons i have endured these past months."

"i beg that you take more care. the weaver's husband watches from the window, and the innkeeper nearby has the ears of a fox. if you wish to keep your wife and you assets, i pray you take the more discreet route that i have told you of multiple times."

"come if you wish. stay away if you must. though i value myself higher than you may value me, so if you do not turn up over the next three days, then i shall move before you can find me again."

"your troublesome servant, anne."

love letters.

your husband had been sending love letters.

chris had found them.

── ⋆⋅𖤓⋅⋆ ──

a/n: sorry if anything is historically inaccurate once again

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it had been the longest fortnight of your life.

waiting for chris' response, that never came.

you were very clearly too eager, when you had asked your butler if you had received any mail just one day after sending your letter.

but after nine days? you were a lot more expectant. anytime soon..

after fourteen days, you felt like an utter fool. chris would not want to marry you. chris would not want to come to the countryside.

he had probably moved on already. courted a woman that he knew the appearance of in london.

and then he came.

── ⋆⋅𖤓⋅⋆ ──

when the carriage came to a stop in front of your home, chris looked up at the clouds. grey. very grey.

he climed out without the aid of the butler, walking towards the large doors and knocking.

a woman and two boys answered.

he knew almost instantly that the woman wasn't you. he knew your husband, knew that he had money, knew that you would have inherited enough to wear slightly more elegant dresses.

he assumed that she was a governess.

and, unlike the unfortunate rugged interior of the home, she seemed well-kept. her dress seemed expensive enough to show good care, she seemed as if she ate healthily, and she had a wide smile on her face that suggested that however she was treated here, she was rather fond of it.

"may i help you?" she asked, tilting her head slightly towards him, slightly shifting to stop the boys from seemingly attacking him.. your sons.

"oh, yes, i'm, uh, i'm looking for miss reader?"

"are you mr chris dixon?"

oh. you had told her of him. "i am."

"oh, do come in. she is in the drawing room, the second door to the left. she has been rather eager in her wait for your arrival, or response."

"thank you." oh. you had been eager to see him?

you didn't even know what he looked like.

he didn't even know what you looked like.

and now you would.

when he walked through the door, you stood quickly.

"mr dixon?"

"miss reader."

"oh, i am glad to see you! i am so sorry, if i knew you were coming, i would of prepared further. oh!" you turned towards the closest maid. "could we have some tea, please? perhaps some sandwiches too."

"of course, my lady." the maid replied, rather loudly. uncommon in a high-class household.

chris admired you. you treated your staff very well.

"no worries. i should have warned you of my arrival beforehand. forgive me."

"oh, truly, it is no bother. you must stay for supper. perhaps even the night, if you have nothing urgent coming up?"

"that would be lovely."

── ⋆⋅𖤓⋅⋆ ──

chris hated this all of a sudden.

your sons had been glaring at him.

and as you all headed to the dining room, and he noticed that the table was round and there was no obvious seat to avoid, he just sat down in the seat next to you.

or, at least, he tried to.

you don't stop him.

but one of your sons, henry, did.

"sit elsewhere, mr dixon." he announced, rather coldly for someone so young. "that was our father's seat."

"henry, be polite.." you murmured, though you were unheard.

"oh!" chris replied awkwardly. "my apologies." he shuffled along into the seat to his right, now stranded with nobody to his left or right apart from a potential aggravated ghost.

he shifted, trying to calm himself down. it couldn't get worse than this.

and then you spoke.

"my husband always laughed most at this social hour. our family altogether brought us all a wonderful joy." you said with a sad smile.

"what a wonderful outlook." chris choked out. "it is truly beautiful how remembered your husband is."

christ. he shouldn't feel so guilty for showing up. you had invited him.

except he did. he felt so guilty.

and your sons weren't helping.

they were glaring daggers now, deep into his soul.

and then something sounded. it thudded against the windows.

rain.

just as chris had predicted.

how was he going to go home tonight in this weather? it would be unsafe, uncomfortable, and it would take far longer than it should.

"oh, mr dixon." you began as you stared out of the window. "you must stay the night now! it would be truly awful of me to let you return home in such bad weather."

"if you insist. thank you."

── ⋆⋅𖤓⋅⋆ ──

he was meant to stay one night.

but one night changed to two nights to one week to three weeks.

he hadn't been intrusive. had done nothing improper.

he just helped around the estate. fixed practical problems. he even joined in on your sons' philosophy lessons, much to henry's disapproval.

but your other son, oliver, cared far less. in fact, he seemed to be growing fonder and fonder of chris as the days went along.

and so had you. at first it was politeness, taking in his features, hopefully glad that it was him who she had wanted to marry rather than disappointed.

but now you seemed genuinely happy that he was there. he looked after the household when you could not, and that felt special to you.

he wasn't trying to replace your husband, he wasn't trying to fill the hole that was left, but instead he was working around what was taken from you. he was being genuinely helpful when you needed it most.

if you had not nine months left before your expected period of grieving were to end, then you would be willing to accept any marriage proposal.

instead, you counted down the days.

two hundred and seventy one.

── ⋆⋅𖤓⋅⋆ ──

a/n: oliver is just gonna be the sweetest kid ever trust me! im so excited to actually write the rest of thisss theres definitely ups and downs let's say but yes!

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