wanderers

He mulled over Vitoria’s choice before deciding on them. Leather gloves would be better for the Irish climate, but they didn’t look as pretty as the others. He’d only ever shopped for his mothers, and even then he’d known their tastes. There was still time to learn Leonoras. “I promise I am trying to get to know my future wife." He smiled. “But we can’t all be as thoughtful as your husband. How is he? I've seen his brother in the House of Lords, but only occasionally?" 

He’d seen a successful, loving partnership in his mothers’ marriage. Neither of them wanted to steal the shine from each other. They reminded him of the sun and moon. One more gentle than the other, and neither allowing their light to diminish the other's. When one set, the other rose, making room for each other’s light. “I’d hope not,” he said, blushing a little. “I want a true partnership. One where we can share the light equally.” Leonora would be the sun to his moon. Both of them take turns carrying the burdens of the skies, trusting each other to keep darkness or reality and the burden of duty at bay. That was the hope at least.

At the mention of Nathaniel she could not help the way her smile dimpled as it took over her face once more. Let the world call her lovestruck, she did not mind the slightest. “He has been well, as has Nicholas. The estate keeps them both busy, I suspect that is why Nicholas are not often in Parliament. Their young sister is also off age to debut, we will have to start thinking of matches as well.”

Not that they had much dowry to offer, with all of Vitoria’s past locked away. Perhaps she could muster her courage should Nita find someone she wished to marry. Though what a horrid thing to reappear from the grave only to beg for what was rightfully hers. No, she did not know if she could do such a thing to her family. They deserved better of her homecoming.

“I hope that you can become that for each other. It is a good thing to go into a marriage with such a wish. It will put you on equal footing. It is hard to begrudge someone who wishes partnership rather than servitude.”

The words tasted bitter. Too many men sought the cloth not to surrender themselves before their maker, but to elevate themselves above others. It had always struck him as curious, the ease with which a man might don a collar and imagine himself thereby absolved of the ordinary appetites of cruelty, as though the cassock were a kind of alchemy, transmuting malice into ministry. He had known such men in the Vatican, soft-handed and sonorous of voice, who wielded their supposed holiness as other men wielded blades, certain that any wound they inflicted was sanctified by the hand that dealt it. It was, he thought, the oldest and most comfortable of lies: that to be chosen was to be exempted, that righteousness might be worn as armor rather than earned as virtue.

“My mother…” Niccolò’s words faded into thought, his gaze lingering upon Vittoria’s face.

The candles breathed around her, their wavering light softening the sharp edges of grief until she resembled the saints immortalized in old chapels, gilding the line of her cheek until she might have sat for a painter’s Madonna, the Blessed Virgin herself; not untouched by sorrow, but sanctified through it. There was something profoundly maternal in the quiet sadness she carried, the sort that seemed capable of forgiving every son who had wandered too far into darkness. Mothers gathered sins into their own hearts, hoping love alone could redeem what justice never would. Even after death, they remained the first sanctuary a broken soul longed to return to. 

Could she see he was hurting? Were they harboring the same ache?

“I hope you’re right, my lady,” he whispered. “I truly do.”

His brow lifted as she lowered her gaze, slender fingers tightening around the rosary until the beads pressed white against her skin. A wound, then. An old one, perhaps, still tender beneath the scar.

He could have asked, although he stopped himself. There was little difference between curiosity and cruelty when one pressed too firmly upon another’s grief. Scars only masqueraded as healed until an unwelcome hand split them open again.

“Portugal?” Niccolò smiled instead, resting his cheek against his knuckles as he leaned forward. “I’ve met many sailors from there. They always carried the sea into every tavern they entered.”

His tone remained light, as though nothing heavier had passed between them.

“Are both of your parents still living?” he asked. “They must be very proud to have raised such a devoted daughter. Have they no desire to come to England as well?”

He could not suppress a laugh at her reply—clever woman, to parry so neatly. “My apologies,” he said. “I fear I sounded rather ominous.”

The truth was, he scarcely knew which desire spoke louder within him.

He wanted to drag them to Venice, his boot pressed to the base of their spines until they bowed and begged his mother’s forgiveness in the dirt where she was buried. He wanted to open their throats and be damned for it gladly.

“My mother rests in Venice, it was always where she wished to sleep.”

Niccolò shrugged, as though the question required no great weight of consideration. 

“I merely intend to take them there. They never had the opportunity to bid her farewell.”

Nor to hear them beg pardon in whatever purgatory awaited before the flames took them entirely. 

“How can you be certain, my lady?” Niccolò asked with playful disbelief, tapping his fingers upon the pew until his rings clicked softly against the old wood. “For all either of us knows, you may yet prove to be my long-lost sister.”

His smile lingered.

“Only Heaven keeps such records.”

“You mourn her still. I understand what that is like.” To this day she could not go near the water without thinking of her crew, of the people she lost who had done everything for her. All their names were carved into her mind, into her heart. “Certainly she appreciated it. How could a mother not? Not when a son’s love shines so clearly on his face.”

Thinking of the sea made her sick even as thinking of hope filled her with longing. She wanted so badly to see the shores of her country again, to explore the hills and the quiet palaces, to see the mist and fog in the morning. Her heart ached with it. It felt wholly unachievable. There was no way home that did not cross water. “They always do. Not all of Portugal touches water, but all of Portugal knows its touch.”

Vitoria used to dream of seeing Venice one day. Yet another dream the sea and its pirates had stolen from her.

“Perhaps, but I know my parents. Neither would have broken their vows in such a way. Of this, I am certain.”

Her parents were many things, but they would not dishonor their families or their countries with bastards. Nor would they jeopardize the line of succession. Benedit, his children, Vitoria, Ines, and then Philippe. There were no others. Unless Ines had married by now too, and Vitoria had no knowledge of her children. That thought hurt. She had always hoped she would see her sister married, hold Ines’s babies. Was that, too, out of reach?

"But perhaps we could become friends, since we are not relatives." She did not trust him as far as she could throw him, but she did not want him left on his own.

It was so good to be back with her family. She was very close to her twi brother, of course, but Ajana and Tim were such good friends to the family as well. It was hard being away for so long, even with the letters sent back and forth.

With the fair in town, Aera was looking forward to seeing all that it had to offer. She had heard there would be animals from around the world, and that was something she was very curious to see- and she knew Tim would be too. So she was pleased to see that there were beautifully colored birds, she knew how much he liked birds.

"Timmy look at that! Can you believe it? The colors are stunning!" Aera gasped, clinging to Timothy's arm as she marveled at the parrot.

At first Tim couldn’t believe the parrot was real. Nothing so colorful or magnificent had ever been seen in the States. Not even cardinals or hummingbirds had plumage that fabulous. Not even peacocks!

“Is it real? Oh what a creature!” Tim marveled as the bird swiveled its head around to look at him, ruffling its feathers. The man holding it was speaking to them but Tim could hardly focus. What a beauty! He had never seen anything like it. “Look at its beak! And those long trailing tail feathers! Oh, oh it’s so gorgeous! Aera, do you think we have room in the aviary? Would Dottie and Milo hate me?”

Every word she listened to so carefully and took it all in, letting it all conjure a faceless picture of the woman and smiling at how much love was given to the words, warming her and thinking how lucky it would be to be so loved by someone. “I can tell how much you love her by how you speak of her and how your face changes. If her family were bakers, did she teach you or Hannah any skills? I wish I could but I’m afraid I’m not a good cook or baker. 

“It matters not how long they’ve been on it but that they are. If they are the rulers then they should be able to help you.”

Oskar couldn’t imagine what about his small, normal life would interest someone like Kaira who had clearly seen so much. If she wanted stories he would happily give them to her. All the better if Hannah got to hear them as well. “Until Hannah came along, Ava was the best part of my life. I wasn’t the best student, but she managed to teach me how to make simple breads.

“I’m not sure if I could manage it now, though. It’s would ask quite a bit of my shoulder.” Oskar rubbed at his shoulder absently as he spoke. If he’d had the poppy that got him into this mess then he would’ve been able to try it at least. Now he didn’t trust himself.

“If it were that simple, every country would be happy. I have found it is never that simple.”

The Fair, right. He had completely forgotten about the Fair. Certainly he would be followed there as well, close eyes on himself and the princess both. As if he would be so rash as to show up freshly high on poppy to a crowded event. No matter. Sophia had asked, so he would attend. “It would be our honor. I imagine she will delight in the whole event.”

"that's how people should, right?" He asked. "They might be children, but they aren't stupid." He hummed. It was easy to do so- to treat a child more like an equal. They understand a lot more than what adults give them credit for. He then paused and thought for a moment. “Oskar, do you see us as friends?” He asked even if he felt a little stupid for asking. He was never good at keeping friends- or just keeping people around in general.

“Are we,” he faltered and gave Bertie an uncertain look, trying to read the man’s face, “Are we not friends? We spend time together, and I trust you. Have I misjudged? My apologies, I shouldn’t have assumed.”

Immediately Aera nodded. "I'll be right back." She promised, going to order them both some drinks. Whiskey for Oskar and a pot of chamomile tea for her. Well, also perhaps for him if he was willing. She assumed it would perhaps help him to relax. Soon she came back over with the drinks and a soft, easy smile. She liked taking care of people, showing love to those who maybe didn't get it often. It was perhaps the purest thing in the world.

"Hmm, I just needed somewhere quiet to go, Sir. The streets can be so busy and loud." She chuckled softly as she poured herself some tea. "And you? Are you seeking refuge from something?" She asked softly. Since her arrival to Mayfair, Aera managed to avoid reading Whistledown. She wanted to avoid it for as long as possible, remembering all the chaos that the paper caused.

“Only from my own mistakes, and their consequences.” He said, voice rueful. It was lucky he could manage things well enough with his left hand in addition to his right. Spilling beer all over himself would have been just his luck. “I don’t believe I’ve seen you around. Are you new to town?”

“Do you want to be in this employment forever?” Dominic asked, nursing his drink. Some of the liquid hit his tongue and it took everything in him not to gag at the taste. It was too much to ask for a decent drink, but he’d make do for now. Oskar was a strong man, clever enough to avoid real punishment. A man like that shouldn’t be hidden away by the royal family.

Did he want to remain in the Royal employ forever? Oskar had not thought of it in truth. As much as he could think ahead for others, he rarely did so for himself. “They have not yet given me many reasons to look elsewhere.” He said honestly. “And they allow me to keep my daughter in the palace.”

Curiously, he looks at Tim when the hesitation is spotted and where he’d normally fill the silence with some quip or flirtatious remark. This time he stayed quiet and listened, still. Every word rang so true and deep in him with more understanding that nobody knew. “You don’t forget a love like that and you should have been allowed to see it through or continue it. I’m sorry, Tim. I really am.” Tim had such a light about him that he didn’t deserve to be a secret hidden away. 

“That doesn’t give him the right to make your decisions for you and force you away from who you wanted to be with. Would you actually go to prison if you returned home? I hate the man but Lord Thorne has influence and could do something.”

“It had been good. It had been really, truly wonderful.” Tim said into the quiet room. He could still remember Jonathan’s laugh, and his smile, the way his eyes always lit up when he saw Tim arriving. He had spent so long pushing it all away, so long keeping even the explosive end of it all a secret.

For a moment he pressed his face into the skin of Tobias’s shoulder, lying with his eyes closed as he breathed. If a tear or two leaked out that was neither here nor there.

“I assaulted a sitting United States senator. Punched him right in his stupid face in the middle of a crowded street. If given the chance, I would do it again. He deserved it. Yes, I would go to jail. Your father’s influence stretches unfortunately far, but I don’t think it’s reached New York.”

Ceara laughed and explained, "That was Queen Elizabeth I. She was locked in the Tower of London by her father, Henry VIII. Mary, Queen of Scots, was imprisoned after her husband's death, for which she was accused. The two were cousins." History was not exactly her strongsuit, but she did enjoy the story of the two queens and their complicated relationship.

When his lips brushed her hand, her cheeks pinkened. "Of course. Running away from you was the last thing I should have done, even if I was startled. I forgive you, wholeheartedly." Leaning forward, Ceara pressed a fleeting kiss to his cheek, lingering until she pulled back to offer a gentle smile. She knew from Edgar that he harbored no ill feelings towards her, but hearing it from word of mouth meant everything and more. "I want nothing to jeopardize our companionship."

Was this how she felt when he had kissed her hand? Did she feel the same? He couldn’t tell. Dominic was an unsolved mystery at the back of his mind. What would she allow him? He had gone distinctly pink in a way that had nothing at all to do with the weather. Whatever she wanted from him was hers for the taking. What did she want? What were they doing? He didn’t want her to run away again.

“Of course.” He said as his senses finally returned to him. They were friends. Perhaps more, perhaps somewhere in between courtship and rejection. “Neither do I. Your company is dear to me.”

open starter for anyone in THETONHQ! // THE BARTHOLOMEW FAIR

It was only her second event out since her wedding. Nathaniel and his brother had gone to the games of chance. She could see Oskar Ludeker hovering close to the Princess, far away enough for propriety but close enough to keep her safe. Vit had opted to spend time with the Princess, having missed her friend dearly.

Vitoria had never seen any animals such as these, not even when dignitaries had visited the palace back home. The odd long rabbit with powerful legs had truly nothing that could compare. They had assured her it was called a 'kangaroo' from Australia, which was far to the south. But the cat... Oh the cat frightened her greatly! With its large paws and its haunting eyes, Vitoria felt certain it would kill them all if given a chance.

"What happened?" he asked. "You have some tenderness in your arm, it must've been a recent accident or incident if it were. Judging from your attire, you have some kind of occupation of a guard or soldier. Just an observation."

“Well, a bayonet blade to the collarbone does tend to do that to a man, I’ve found.” It was simply luck and poor aim that it didn’t hit anything but bone and flesh. Carefully, very carefully, he tugged at his cravat so he could give the man a glance at the twisted scar running across his shoulder and collarbone. That ought to shut him up. “Just an observation.”

“I am not entirely guiltless here.” He reminded her though he didn’t quite want to. If she was going to be an effective leader she ought to consider all sides. Even and especially the inconvenient ones. “I was the one who lied. Perhaps if I had not hid it things would have played out differently. But we are here now.”

At the mention of his daughter, he could not help the shame that rose in his throat. As much as he hated anything that smacked of charity, how could he deny his daughter anything that smacked of womanly influence? She had never taken to her tutors the way she took to the Princess, or Miss Thanvi. “She would be honored, truly. She thinks very highly of you. I am certain she will think of something she needs, if only so you may provide it.”

But she came to once more when he asked about the book, causing her to perk up. "The History of Scotland During the Reigns of Queen Mary and of King James VI by William Robertson," she explained. "Oh, nonsense. I have more books than I need. I have the first volume, and I believe Harrington's has the secondary one. But then again, that was mere months ago. Perhaps, we can check together sometime for it."

The brief flash of her smile faded as she sat with her feelings for a moment. "Tim, I am truly sorry for what happened between us. I know we are to put it behind us, but I...I still want to apologize with less distractions and gems." She reached out to place a hand on his knee, her guilt clearer than any other feelings she presented to him, so far.

Histories were not often his favorite but the thought of learning more about Scotland intrigued him deeply. Besides, he was fairly certain that Queen Mary had been rather dramatic hadn’t she? “Oh, isn’t she the one that was locked in a tower? I distinctly remember learning someone was locked in a tower.”

Tim’s eyes softened and his heart squeezed. Lord what were they doing? This almost came close to talking about it all. He had thought that out of bounds.

Picking up her hand he brought it to his lips for a gentle kiss. “You are long since forgiven, Ceara.” He said. “Will you forgive me as well, for startling you so terribly in the first place?”

So many people wanted a love match. They’d all fantasised about it, but Dominic wanted something practical. Love was a fine thing, but it wasn’t reliable. Feelings altered and changed with time and stress. This match wouldn’t be that, or so he’d hoped. “She’s not long returned from France; I’m sure she’d like more friends.” Now, Dominic felt like he’d become an obstacle for Leonora in this. He’d met with plenty of ladies in the hopes of a match, but he’d accepted her uncle’s offer. “She’s clever,” Dominic smiled, “Maybe too clever for me, but I don’t mind that.” A person with a strong mind was always something Dominic was drawn to. He’d want his wife to have the same, a mind of her own and a strong one to become his marchioness.

Vitoria focused on the gloves, thinking of what little she knew of Leonora and her tastes. Nothing too frilly or impractical, something that would look nice but serve the purpose. “These, I think, would suit her nicely.” She picked up a simple but elegant pair of soft leather riding gloves, the type she had seen many ladies in London wear in the cold months. “She does not strike me as the sort of woman overly fond of lace.”

As Dominic spoke, Vitoria considered him. Perhaps she had been too harsh in her initial assessments of the man. There were glimpses of a real person beneath all that steel and hard edges. She imagined he and her brothers would get along quite well, if they were to meet. Perhaps what he had done to Frederic and Mary had come from a place of caring, in his own stoic way. “Most men would rather their wives not outshine them. You are unique, Lord O’Connor.”

“Though I have moved to guarding the Princess instead.” It was neither a demotion nor a punishment, but lord did Sophia make sure he worked for his pay. At least at this exact moment he was almost completely sure he knew where she was while he was off duty. "It has been... certainly a change of pace."

Some part of her suspected, or knew, that her father was embroiled in some secret scandal and it was the reason why he moved from the shop in Mayfair to a quieter town when she was younger. Before she inherited the shop, she’d never seen it and only heard of it from her fathers stories and it was clear how much he loved the place. 

The concern and love he had for her was touching. Amidst all the scandal, that was clear and she noted to herself that he didn’t talk about how it affected solely him. Only her or the both of them and even then it was in relation to his daughter. “What was her mother like?” Kaira asks, softly spoken and with a reassuring but gentle look on her face. How good it was to hear the Queen and Princess had supported Oskar. He deserved people in his corner from what she knew of him. “Anything you say will stay in these walls, I’ll not repeat it to anyone. It is good and a relief that you have two of the most influential people on your side. This will pass. With the Queen and Princess speaking your favour, what could the Dowager do? Is she not just a figurehead now?”

Thinking of Ava made his face go soft and he could see from the tilt of Hannah’s head that she had heard mention of her mother. Always eager for more stories, his daughter.

“She was the kindest woman I have ever known. I met her when I was stationed near the palace in Germany. Her family ran a bakery the King favored. She was forever giving me a discount on sweet buns. Hannah has her eyes, and her smile. We had hoped for children before I was deployed. Every time she wrote me of Hannah, I could tell how much she loved her.”

That seemed to satisfy his daughter, who moved further into the shop to avoid hearing of the Dowager Queen. The woman had never taken to Hannah and he knew it bothered the child.

“The King and his wife have not been long on the throne. The Dowager Queen is an important advisor. She has much wisdom and still holds sway in Parliament and among the people.”