Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

            Love is not defined by permanence. It cannot be predicted or rushed. It exists outside of our control. Sometimes it surges forward without concern like a carriage in a race; all but the finish line, lost in a blur. Love can grow as slowly and softly as dough left to rise. Its progress so easily missed if you are not paying attention.

            And still for others, Love can be as fast and furious as a roaring river after a storm. The rain having washed away yesterday and offered an undetermined tomorrow. Regardless of how one falls in love, they must be willing to fight for it, no matter the risks. Be it family, friends, or nature itself, Love will be the greatest reward.

            There is something unique about the atmosphere of a stable. From the warm rustle of hay as it shifts along with the wind to the firm, resolute sound of a horse’s hooves clopping against the ground as it huffs and sighs in anticipation of the day. Many would think that the stench of the horses’ manure would keep people away, but instead, the scent of freshly laid hay and feed drifted through the stable. The wooden supports and stalls shone in the sunlight, having been polished to give not only the horses a wonderous home, but to appeal to their riders as well.

            For Owen, all of those scents and sensations were what defined the morning.

            Perhaps that was because he often found himself waking up in the stables of his family’s estate. The earthy ambiance was always preferred to his quiet, albeit comfortable, bedroom. No matter how much he tried, he always found himself laying on a pile of hay rather than the bed that many would have dreamed of sleeping on. However, for Owen, being around the creatures he saw as his closest friends was much more preferrable than waking up to the sounds of servants traipsing through the halls at all hours and the squabbling of his family.

            Owen stirred and stretched, brushing away the hay that was so rudely poking him in the face. He could feel more pieces of straw jabbing into his side, but he was used to waking up like this: covered in hay and reeking of the horses he loved. Sitting up from the pile that he’d been sleeping on, Owen blearily looked around the barn until he spotted Letty. “You’re not supposed to be here on Sundays.” 

            Letty Ortiz had been a welcome addition to the staff of the Shaw estate. Owen appreciated her skill and the fact that she cared about the family’s horses almost as much as he did. Because he was so particular about his pets, Owen never allowed his mother to hire a stable hand without his input. So, when Letty had come to them about the advertisement for supervising the animals, Owen had made her jump through several hoops before he approved of her application. And how thankful he was for that decision.

            Letty smiled at him as she leaned against the entrance to the stall that had been playfully dubbed as his. She was wearing breeches and a flowing, white shirt, which would have gotten her ridiculed in town. But with working in the stables, it was acceptable to toss aside social norms. “I’m just finishing up some work from last night, then I’m heading home.”

            Owen groaned and stretched as he stood, feeling an odd soreness in his neck. Maybe he should let Klaus move his mattress into the stables. “Dom doesn’t deserve you. I will never stop saying it.”

            Flipkart, Owen’s personal horse, nickered at the sight of his owner and bobbed his head demanding attention. The large horse’s stall was straight across from the one Owen normally inhabited, with the door of the stall having been reinforced since the large animal sometimes wanted to join Owen in the much smaller stall. A smile found its way onto Owen’s face as he examined the beast’s long snout and admired the white star that sat between his shining eyes. Owen had been ecstatic when Flipkart’s newest foal had been born with the same marking.

            “Good morning, Love.” Owen murmured, walking over to greet the creature. He was one of the only ones who Flipkart would allow close enough to touch him. With anyone else, the horse was quite ornery and wouldn’t hold back from nipping. There had been several stable hands that had quit simply because of Flipkart. Which of course meant that Owen was usually the one in charge of grooming and caring for the creature, but he didn’t mind that. He liked being an exception and receiving the animal’s unconditional love. “Are you rested and ready for our next outing?”

            "That horse is ready for anything," Letty said, and Owen could hear the smile in her voice. She might complain about the horse’s temper, but Owen knew she snuck him an extra sugar cube or two when nobody was looking. “He’s been pawing at his stall all night for you to take him out.”

            Chuckling, Owen opened the stall and slipped inside as Flipkart shoved his head towards him and nearly knocked Owen into the wall. Smiling and laughing at the beast’s antics, he pet the large head that rested in his hands. After a few moments of affection, Owen carefully checked Flipkart’s flank for any pesty insects. He took a moment longer to check the bottoms of Flipkart's hooves and add some fresh hay to his stall before turning to leave.

            Out of the corner of his eye, Owen noticed Letty preparing to toss the remains of a wooden cart into the corner assigned for kindling.

            “I’ll still be needing that.”

            Letty laughed and looked over her shoulder. The weight of the cart not even registering in her relaxed posture. “This pile of scraps isn’t going to go any faster now that it only has one wheel.”

            Owen smiled and shook his head. “Letty, with a little patience—something you seem to lack—just about anything can be improved.”

            “You know what doesn’t get better with patience?” Letty brushed any remaining splinters from her hands before resting them on her hips and looking up at Owen. “A hot bath. Vegh was kind enough to draw you one, and if you keep dragging your feet it’s going to get cold.”

            Owen gave a theatrical sigh. “What’s the point of having servants if they don’t keep your bathwater warm?”

            “Careful, you’re beginning to sound like your sister.” Letty warned.

            “Well maybe Hattie’s onto something. At least when it comes to baths, that is.”

            The morning sun had only just begun to kiss the earth with the first warm beams of daylight, not yet erasing the slight chill that greeted Owen when he emerged from the stables. The cold nipped at his skin and urged him onward toward the Shaw estate. A comfortable manor that was large enough for a family to efficiently entertain, but not so large that neighboring households would expect such activities. As the family matriarch, Magdalene “Queenie” Shaw never liked it when people assumed hospitality, and she made a great effort to ensure her family was never held captive by such expectations.

            Instead, when the manor had been constructed before Owen was born, Queenie had made the decision to have it built smaller than what was normal for their status. When Owen had gotten older, he understood why: their mother hated entertaining others. She rarely suffered fools, so it was understandable that she wouldn’t allow them inside her own home for extended periods of time. Especially not when she had to play the ever-gracious host. No, Queenie instead enjoyed going over to the homes of others and collecting information. One couldn’t keep their own secrets if they let their neighbors inside their home so frequently, after all.

            Owen absently tugged at the ivy climbing the exterior of the building as he passed through the entrance. The minute he was inside, he was greeted by the familiar sound of his sister’s shouting. He let Hattie’s voice guide him like the north star all the way to the dining room. The hallways were pristine like they always were—his mother does not expect less than perfection from their staff when it came to the cleanliness of their home. Perhaps that was another reason he enjoyed sleeping in the stables—dirt was allowed there.

            “I don’t see how that’s fair!”

            “Life doesn’t have to be fair, Hatts. Fairness doesn’t fill our bellies or keep the candles burning. I don’t trade in fairness.”

            Hattie and their mother were in their usual position: arguing across whatever meal was on their plates at the time. Shaw sat at the head of the table, calmly eating the quiche and sausages that had been served for breakfast. Occasionally, she would sip at her tea, but not once did she bother to raise her head to acknowledge Hattie’s whining. Meanwhile, Hattie had pushed her chair back, her breakfast left untouched.

            For their part, mother and daughter couldn’t have looked more different if Hattie had tried. Their mother was dressed in a classy outfit, one that anyone would be envious of, and could tell just how expensive it was by the white lace and purple embroidery. On the other hand, Hattie was dressed in a style much more similar to Letty’s outfit. She was wearing a well-fitting shirt and waistcoat, along with tailored trousers. If she hadn’t been wearing her hair down and a bit of makeup on her face, Owen could have mistaken her for a gentleman from far away. No doubt she wouldn’t be allowed to leave the grounds until she changed.

            Hattie used her fork to point at their mother accusingly. “No, you trade in gossip.”

            “I trade is secrets, Hattie.” Queenie didn’t even look up from her meal. “If you had any you might understand their value.”

            Hattie snarled and stabbed her fork into the sausage on her plate. Her rage twisted her face fiercely as she shoved herself into her chair, prepared to launch into yet another tirade. Knowing the fit his sister was about to unleash, Owen took that as his opportunity to grab something to eat.

            “Morning.” Owen said, not waiting for a response as he strolled through the room and snatched up a pair of apples from the table on his way. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Jeffery, the head butler among other things, keeping his eyes trained on Hattie. No doubt the man was ready to jump in if the youngest Shaw attempted anything too scandalous. Swiftly turning on his heel with his prize in hand, Owen left the large dining room in favor of heading upstairs to their bedrooms.

            Hattie’s angry shouts echoed off the hallways and followed Owen until he reached the second floor. From there, the carpet under his feet softened his tread as Owen passed several rooms on his way to his own. Every part of the manor was flooded in the morning light, with a few servants cleaning in a few of the rooms. However, a closed door gave him pause, and after a moment Owen turned and entered the room.

            Light crept past Owen’s shoulder and cast shadows into the darkness that greeted him as he opened the door. Unperturbed, he moved through the dark, effortlessly avoiding the unseen furniture that filled the space. He had spent plenty of time within the room to know where everything was, and he easily reached the east wall. Smoothly pulling the curtain open and letting the sun finally reach the room so often shut away from its warmth, Owen called out in a sing-song voice.

            “Good morning, my dearest brother!” He smiled widely and turned, only to roll his eyes as he saw that Deckard slept with his back to the light, completely undisturbed. Receiving no answer from the still body on the bed, a stranger might have mistaken him for a corpse, but Owen knew better. Ever since his return from the war, Deckard slept like a stone and wouldn’t wake unless it was an emergency. However, his newly forged habits were no match for tried-and-true brotherhood. Or, as Deckard would put it: Owen being an annoying pest.

            Pulling Deckard hissed and rolled over, glaring at his brother as Owen continued to approach the bed. Even from the other side of the room, Owen could see the dark marks under Deckard’s eyes. How could he sleep so late and still look so tired?

            “Wasn’t sure you’d be here this morning.” Owen said casually, taking a bite out of his own apple as he continued walking toward the bed. “Word around the street is Sidney kept you on your toes longer than you’d anticipated.” 

            Deckard grumbled something unintelligible but most assuredly unkind, and not suitable for his status, as he rubbed his back. “Did those rumors mention that sooner or later, all my dance partners spend the rest of the night on their backs?”

            Owen rolled his eyes. “If that were true then there’d be no sport in betting on the outcomes of your little night dalliances, now would there?”

            “Piss off.” Deckard sighed before rolling over again, away from the light, and pulled the blankets back over himself.

            But his brother had slept enough. Owen reached the bed and shook Deckard’s shoulder until the older Shaw groaned and pushed himself into a sitting position.

            “Get up. Mum’s nearly done with breakfast.”

            “I don’t suppose you’re actually going to join me on my errands today?” Deckard asked, rubbing the remaining sleep from his eyes and cracked a large yawn.

            “Can’t, I’m afraid.” Owen answered, taking another bite of apple and smirking gleefully at his brother, who narrowed his eyes. “I already have plans.”

            “These plans don’t happen to be you wandering around town looking for trouble, do they?” Deckard’s voice was mildly playful, but Owen could hear the weary concern hiding underneath. It was a tone that accompanied Deckard for as long as Owen could remember.

            Owen shrugged. “I’m only ever searching for fun. Trouble just seems to always find me.”

            “Trouble and fun go hand in hand with you.” Deckard sighed and rose from the bed, wincing and rubbing a shoulder. “Can’t have one without the other.”

            “The difference between us being, I look for fun and you look for trouble. And yet, both of us still end up in the same place.”

            Deckard was silent. But sometimes silence was as close to an admission as you got with him. Owen silently declared himself the winner of that little tête-à-tête as he watched Deckard’s jaw tighten and his fists bunched up at his side. Looked like he had woken up on the wrong side of the bed. Not needing any more berating, Owen chucked the rest of his apple at Deckard’s chest and laughed when the distracted man fumbled to catch it.

            “See you downstairs, brother.” He said, nodding at Deckard before departing the room and leaving the doors wide open, forcing Deckard to close them after him.

            When Owen finally reached his room, the bathwater had only the barest hint of warmth left to it. He didn’t care—he just wanted to scrub clean the sweat and grime of yesterday. Vegh, one of the only housekeepers Owen ever approved of, had been kind enough to leave the large windows open in his bathroom. Leaning back in the tub for a moment, Owen smiled at the lush trees outside and the family of birds singing cheerfully. He could feel deep inside himself that today would a perfect day for a bit of mischief, no matter the medium it chose to reveal itself.

            By the time Owen reemerged, dressed in clothes that could only be described as ‘common,’ Deckard was closing his own bedroom door. Their appearances couldn’t have been more different. More often than not, Deckard’s wardrobe matched that of their mother’s. A striking, dark blue jacket with silver filigree on the cuffs and a spotless starched collar made him look like he was ready for a family portrait, not a day of running errands. Owen wouldn’t be caught dead wearing those kinds of clothes on a daily basis. He preferred mobility and didn’t want to have to worry about dirtying his wardrobe the minute he stepped out the door. However, that never seemed to be an issue for the older Shaw—Deckard always managed to look pristine, no matter the activities he got up to.

            Deckard glanced at Owen’s more functional clothing and snorted. “Playing Oliver Twist again, are we?”

            Instead of answering, Owen smiled and asked, “Playing lapdog for mother dearest again, are we?”

            He received a good-natured shove from Deckard for that one as the two of them descending the staircase. The fight between Hattie and their mother was still ongoing. Owen wondered if other households had such mornings. Probably not. All the other families in this town were far too repressed to voice what they were feeling so vocally. Thank god the Shaws had no such hesitations. They could admit to having emotions, even the uglier ones that other people wouldn’t dare show in public, let alone behind closed doors.

            As they entered the dining room, Owen could see that Jeffery had disappeared, no doubt to take care of something that was of the utmost importance. On the table, several more platters of food had been brought out for them. Hattie had seemed to actually eat some of her breakfast during the time that Owen was upstairs.

            At the sight of her brothers, Hattie’s anger seemed to burn hotter. Waving her utensil in their direction, she demanded, “Why must I be expected to play the lady of the house, when Deckard and Owen are free to continue their little hobbies?”

            “You know why, Hatts.” Queenie shook her head. “Besides, our neighbors expect Owen’s antics at this point, and no one’s even picked up on Dex’s yet.”

            Hattie rounded on Deckard, smiling wryly and reaching out and tugged at the stiff collar around his neck. “That’s because he doesn’t let anyone get close enough to notice.”

            Deckard swatted her away and readjusted his wardrobe and ignoring her comment. “Maybe it’s because, unlike the two of you, I understand the value of subtly.”

            "Besides that—Owen sleeps in the damn stables!” Hattie surged onward, ignoring Deckard’s comment. “He’s literally acting, and you expect me to constantly behave like a perfect little woman?!”

            “Because he is an animal.” Deckard mumbled under his breath. But once again, his words went ignored by his sister; but not by Owen, who didn’t hesitate to throw a roll at him.

            “Animals can be trained into behaving, dear.” Queenie sipped her tea. “But women are expected to emerge fully formed and prepared to face the lions of high society. And if you can’t manage, you get gobbled up. We’re Shaws, Hattie. We are never the ones being devoured. Never have been, never shall be, and that will not change with you.”

            Queenie Shaw’s words were sharp, intended to sting and to broker no further arguments. Her tone was known to wilt even the most composed of souls, but her children were raised by that voice, and therefore had developed a tolerance for it. Hattie balled her hands into fists again, her ears beginning to turn red with how angry she was. Owen sighed quietly at the sight and knew she was about to explode.

            “I’m heading out.” Deckard raised his voice enough so Queenie could hear.

            This was always how fights between Hattie and their mother went. Both were equally strong-willed women, neither willing to back down. Which usually meant it fell to Deckard to deescalate things. No matter how tense the conversation, his diplomacy never failed to halt the argument, even if only for a brief reprieve. Owen never envied the position his older brother had been put in, and at certain times, he even pitied how much Deckard had to shoulder within their family.

            In a last-ditch effort, Hattie gestured at Owen’s wardrobe. The quick motion making the sleeves of her own billowy shirt flap about like impotent wings. “Mum, you want me to wear dresses in the privacy of our own home. While at the same time, you’re really going to let Owen galivant around like a vagrant, entertaining himself with Letty and her friends?”

             Their mother rolled her eyes.

            “Certainly not.” She turned her gaze to Owen sharply. “Oh, if I hear you’ve been messing around with those shoemakers—”

            “— Carriage builders.” He interjected, used to the routine.

            “— Doesn’t matter.” Queenie continued, waving his comment away with a flick of her wrist. “I will make sure you will not leave this house for several fortnights. If Hattie must take after me, then you should pattern yourself after your brother. He’s a model gentleman who doesn’t get into any trouble.”

            Owen couldn’t help but scoff. “Model gentleman? What about his —?”

            “— He keeps that under the rug.” Queenie snapped her teacup back into its saucer, the fine china threatening to break, and effectively cutting off Owen’s argument. “Unlike you, not one rumor is going around town about what he gets up to!” 

            “So, I’m to give up my leisures just because Hattie doesn’t know how to be a lady?” Owen demanded. His question earning him a punch to the shoulder from his sister.

            Their mother massaged her temples, clearly annoyed at having to manage the scruples of two of her children at the same time. “You’re not listening to me, dearie. I’m not asking you to stop. I’m asking you not to get caught.”

            “Subtly.” Deckard whispered under his breath, a smug smile tugging at the corner of his mouth as he bit into a grape.

            “Dex.” Queenie called out, as if admonishing her son for antagonizing his brother. “Be sure to stop by the post office first thing. If I have any messages, I want to respond to them before the end of the day.”

            Sensing the unspoken dismissal, Deckard nodded his head and turned to leave. Owen followed, not interest in forging his own exit. Before the front door of the estate could close, he heard the argument between Hattie and their mother pick up again.

            “Need a ride into town?” Deckard asked when they finally reached the peaceful quiet of the outdoors.

            That was one of the things Owen loved most about his family; they could be at each other’s throats one minute, and then offering an olive branch the next. The Shaws had long memories, but their vendettas and grudges did not extend to family. Regardless of whatever qualms were currently brewing under their roof, the Shaws always had each other’s backs.

            Owen smiled at Deckard, that familial understanding wordlessly passing between them. He shook his head. “It wouldn’t be very vagrant-like of me to ride in a carriage, now would it?”

            With that, he turned and began his trek. He could hear Deckard’s footsteps behind him as he headed towards the stables, no doubt to hitch up McClaren and Aston to the Shaws’ smaller carriage. Owen knew Deckard would quickly pass him once he’d got the horses ready, but he didn’t mind. These walks helped him decompress and look forward to the vibrant world that existed outside the bounds of high society.

            Taking a deep breath and leaning his head back to stare up at the foliage of the trees, he could see the sky poking through the leaves. There were few clouds as the sky slowly became the bright blue of the day. Smiling, Owen thought back to what Deckard had asked him earlier.

            Was he searching for trouble or fun today?

            Maybe a bit of both.

            It is a truth universally acknowledged, that the sun shines its light on Quartershire with more intimacy and care than all other provinces. One could not spend more than a few hours within the town before they experienced said phenomenon, and it was such light that Roman Pearce has missed during his absence. Growing up in Quartershire, he would play and work within the streets that were constantly bathed in that sunshine.

            He had almost forgotten how good it felt to be woken up by that warm caress of sunlight. Why had he stayed away for so long? Besides avoiding some heat from a slight mix up with Baron Verone, that is.

            It wasn’t his fault really. He hadn’t meant to take that trunk of valuables! They had simply been laying there. Completely unguarded with an incredibly weak lock. Inside Verone’s bedroom, while said Baron had been away on business. The only accident that Roman would admit to was trusting Brian and Mia to keep a look out. Those two lovebirds could distract each other so easily. Roman should have known Brian wouldn’t have been as attentive that night.

            But now, with Verone overseas and leaving his estate to another family to look after, it was finally safe to come home. After living under false identities and taking the odd jobs when they came, Roman felt a huge weight fall from his shoulders when he got to town, finally able to use his own name again after years on the road. And fortunately, since he had friends in Quartershire, he didn’t have to start from scratch. Which was good, since Roman was getting tired of sleeping in whatever barn he came across on his journeys. It was a relief to have not only a warm bed, but an honorable job at Dominic Toretto’s carriage shop.

            He just wished that ever-shining sun would give him a little longer to sleep. Burrowing deeper into his pillow, Roman tried to shield his face from the light that came through his curtainless window. Dom had kept his typical welcoming yet stoic composure when he’d shown Roman the room above the garage, stating that he would open the shop early tomorrow to show him the ropes. Even with that knowledge, Roman desperately tried to steal a few extra minutes of sleep. But a combination of sunlight and the outside ambiance refused to let him drift back to blissful unconsciousness.

            He could hear children yelling and shouting as they ran down the street, no doubt on their way to the small schoolhouse on the outskirts of the town. Their voices intermingled with the sounds of other shops opening for the day. A cacophony of ‘good mornings’ and ‘hellos’ greeted the customers that accompanied the rising sun. The loud clacking of horses and the wheels behind them normally would have lulled Roman to sleep, but there was a distinct voice, rising above the others, that seemed to demand attention.

            Knowing he wouldn’t be able to fall back to sleep, Roman yawned loudly as he threw off his blanket and stretched. A few joints popped as he did so, and he lamented having to spend so much time away from Quartershire. While it hadn’t been his birthplace, it was where his friends were, and that was enough for him to consider it home. When he fled Quartershire, he had escaped to his sister’s house in the middle of nowhere and stayed inside the small cabin for half of his time away.

            Now, sitting in the bright, yet simple room above the shop, Roman couldn’t have been happier. He was back where he belonged, and he couldn’t wait to get back into the groove of things. His favorite bar was only a short walk from the shop, although he had heard rumors of even better restaurants popping up that he wanted to visit immediately. Honestly, he was lucky that Dom had been convinced to give Roman the loft. Toretto apparently preferred sleeping there when Letty was away. Roman didn’t know which manor or rich family she was working under now, but from the sounds of it, she was being treated very well and was able to mainly work with their horses instead of dealing with any of the posh, stuck-up residents.

            Roman stood from his bed and walked the short distance to the window where he leaned against its frame and looked out at the street below.

            “Ah, Quartershire, you never change,” He sighed, and a small smile settled on his lips.

            Even though Roman had been gone for a few years, he couldn't be happier to find that nearly everything had stayed as he remembered it. Many of the same people he had known before his departure still ran through the streets, most of them in a hurry to get to their next appointment. And still others assumed a much more leisurely pace as they went about their day, either strolling down the street or perusing the occasional shop. Tracking individual people, Roman smirked as he identified some familiar faces.

            Luke Hobbs, an incredibly tall and broad man would have stood out in any crowd, let alone in the small population of Quartershire. Roman had only met him a handful of times, but even from those limited encounters, he knew just how seriously Hobbs took his job as a police officer. He had heard from Dom that Hobbs had recently been promoted, but he wasn’t in a hurry to learn just what that new role entailed. Beside the large man, was his daughter, Samantha Hobbs. She’d been barely a sprite when Roman had last seen her playing with the other children in Quartershire. Her transformation from toddling infant to coltish youth was yet another reminder of how long Roman had been gone. She looked more like her father every day as she grew. However, while Hobbs had a much more severe expression, Samantha had a constant smile that would make any hardened soul melt.

            Rushing in the opposite direction was a beautiful woman darting through the crowd, looking slightly panicked. Roman hadn’t been well-acquainted with Ramsey before he left town, but he knew she was meant for more than being a waitress. Although it was quite an accomplishment to acquire a job at one of the restaurants meant for the upper-class establishment, Roman knew the staff was hardly treated with kindness. He only hoped she would be able to move on to a better job that allowed her to use all her skills soon.

            Spotting an unfortunately familiar face, Roman couldn’t help but look on in disgust as he saw Braga saunter down the street as if he owned the place. Everyone knew he was a sniveling footman to Lady Cipher, and he was willing to do just about anything for her. There were many despicable people in Quartershire, but in Roman’s opinion, Braga took the cake and ate it in one bite. The man could be spotted in every corner of the town, even the more unmentionable spots that Lady Cipher wouldn’t have dared to venture into and thus sent Braga to do her dirty deeds. As he was no doubt doing as he headed straight into the bakery across the street. Roman could only hope that didn’t owe Cipher too much money, or else Braga would make an example of him.

            Sighing, Roman let his eyes wander before they settled on two men having what looked to be a very energetic argument in the middle of the street. The older of the two was standing in front of a horse that looked like it was on its last legs as it labored in front of a too heavy cart. The other man was gesturing wildly to the horse and cart, nearly shoving his face into the older man’s. Squinting, Roman tried to identify both men. He knew the elder had worked under Lord Reyes for years, a man known to cut so many corners they ended up as circles. It wasn’t too much of a surprise that the lord didn’t want to pay for healthier horses.

            However, Roman couldn't place the second man. He was tall and broad, with strong looking shoulders. While his clothes hugged his body nicely, they also showed that he was of a lower status. It was easy enough to guess who someone was based solely on their attire, and Roman had a feeling this guy couldn’t afford to piss off one of Lord Reyes’ staff. Especially not when the older man’s face was reaching a near dangerous shade of red. But that didn’t stop the handsome man from continuing his tirade and even shoving at the older man. If someone didn’t step in, the argument would undoubtedly turn into fisty-cuffs.

            “Shit, he’s going to get himself killed!” Roman hissed. He didn’t know why he was so concerned over this stranger getting into trouble with one of the top families around, but the man had to be new around town not to know you don’t mess with Reyes’ men. Frantically grabbing his own trousers and a shirt, Roman rushed down the stairs into the shop, just barely buttoning up his shirt. Easily slipping his shoes on and barreling out of the shop, Roman absently heard Dom yelling behind him.

            “Where the hell are you going, Pearce?!”

            “Just getting started on those errands!” Roman shouted over his shoulder, hoping that by the time Dom realized those errands were a ruse, he’d be too far away to get yelled at. Dom could be a pretty scary guy when he wanted to be, and Roman wasn’t planning on getting on his bad side this early into his job. Especially since there weren’t many other people in Quartershire that were willing to house him at the moment.

Bursting out the front door, Roman’s eyes widened as he saw Reyes’ man pulling back his arm, the other man only smirking in response.

            “There you are, Darling!” Roman hollered. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you. We were supposed to meet for breakfast an hour ago!”

            Sliding up to the particularly handsome man, Roman slipped his arm around the man’s waist and hugged him close so they were touching hip to shoulder. He could feel the man go stiff in his grip, but Roman didn’t take offense to it since he most likely would have punched someone if they had done the same.

            “This man is being a complete arse to that poor creature—” The man tried to say, but Roman cut him off and began to bodily shift him around and away from the older man, who was eyeing them suspiciously.

            “Come on, Sweetheart. I know you’re hungry, but you can’t go around eyeballing other people’s horses. Besides, they taste terrible. Trust me,” Roman spoke rapidly as he finally turned the handsome man around. With him looking the other way, Roman gave Reyes' man a sympathetic smile and waved his finger in circles near his head. The older man gave an understanding nod before grabbing the reins of his horse and turning away. Keeping in step with the stranger in his grasp, Roman kept talking. After all, he always could talk himself out of any situation. He raised his voice, ensuring Reyes’ man could hear his final addition to the charade. “I know with your allergies you can be picky about where we go, but I think I’ve found the perfect place!”

            For his part, the man in his arms was quiet as he allowed himself to be lead down the busy street and around the corner. Once Roman was sure they were out of sight of Reyes’ lackey, he let the man go and breathed out a large sigh of relief. He could only hope that the stooge hadn’t recognized him because, let’s just say, Roman had a history with Lord Reyes similar to the one he had with Baron Verone. Glancing over at his impromptu companion, Roman flashed a smile at the curious expression on his face.

            “Sorry about that—”

            “Where are we going?”

            “I—what?” Roman blinked at the man, who was now staring at him expectantly, with one well-groomed eyebrow raised.

            “You said we were going to breakfast.” The man drawled, projecting an aura of patience as if he had to carefully explain things.

            “Uh…” Roman laughed weakly and cleared his throat. “How about I walk you to your horse or carriage?”

            “Don’t have one,” the man shrugged. “I just walked here.”

            “Just walked here?” Now it was Roman’s turn to raise an eyebrow. “You’re telling me you just arrived in town, and the first thing you did was pick a fight?”

            The man shrugged, as if this was a common occurrence for him. And thinking about it, Roman didn’t even know the man’s name, so maybe this was a very common occurrence for him. They had just met and yet, his apparent easy nature made Roman unconsciously step closer as if pulled by gravity. “You know I didn’t catch your name.”

            “I didn’t give it.” The man stopped and turned to face Roman. At first, he thought he’d made a misstep, but then a smile tugged at the corner of the handsome stranger's mouth. “My name’s Owen.”

            Roman was so transfixed by that perfect smile that he almost missed the introduction. Stuttering, he tested the name. “Owen.”

            “Is that your name as well, or are you just in the habit of repeating what others say?” The teasing lilt in Owen’s voice kicked Roman’s mind back into its usual canter. If there was one thing he was good at, it was talking.

            “Well, the name sounded so sweet, .” He said, offering one of his most charming smiles.

            Owen scoffed and rolled his eyes, but that smirk remained. “You’ve only said it once though.”

            Sensing the playful challenge, Roman stepped closer into his companion’s personal space. Leaning in, he said, “Owen.” Making sure the name was clearly savored.

            Owen’s smirk turned into a full smile. He let his own name hang in the air for a moment before saying, “It’s rude to keep all the fun for yourself. When do I get a taste?”

            It wasn’t until that moment that Roman realized he hadn’t introduced himself. “I’m Roman.”

            “Roman.” Owen elongated the first syllable, as if testing out how it felt on his tongue. Roman couldn’t help but watch his lips as he sounded it out.

            “Don’t wear it out, sweetheart,” He winked cheekily and enjoyed the soft snort of amusement that escaped Owen. They were still walking, without Roman really paying attention where they were going. He was simply too transfixed by the suave remarks Owen used with ease and the quick wit he used nearly instantaneously. Where had this man been his whole life? There was no way he wasn’t new to Quartershire, or else Roman surely would have known about him.

            “Roman.” Owen said again. Although this time it was shorter. A prompt that drew Roman’s attention back up to the man in front of him.

            Owen was watching him, waiting expectantly. When met with no response, he tilted his head in the direction of the building they’d stopped in front of. “Is this where we’re dining?”

            Roman’s brain stuttered to a stop. He forced himself to actually pay attention to their surroundings. Damn his feet for always leading him to the most expensive mistakes, especially when he noticed just where his feet had taken them. Glancing around, instead of seeing wooden buildings with chipped paint, a few beggars pleading anyone for a scrap of pity, and people in rougher clothes that didn’t always fit quite right, Roman saw the complete opposite.

            The street was beautifully cobbled, with not a stone out of place so as to not hurt anyone’s horses or carriages, while the long line of buildings looked as if they had been painted the day before with bright and pristine colors. However, it was the people themselves that really had Roman feeling out of place; the women were wearing long and billowing dresses with such complex embroidery, it was a wonder the seamstresses didn’t collapse from exhaustion once finishing. Meanwhile, the men were wearing starched suits in various colors that made them blend in perfectly with the women as the small crowds of people wandered leisurely up and down the street. There was no sense of urgency in their strides—not like the street Dom’s shop was.

            “Ah,” Roman started, when he felt Owen’s eyes on him, and cleared his throat as he stared up at the hand-painted wooden sign hanging above the entrance of the Eye of the Gods. It was one of the most well-established restaurants in town. Rumor has it the owner paid for a chef from Paris to travel to Quartershire and manage the kitchen. Roman reached down and took Owen’s hand like it was second nature. “We won’t be eating here. But if you like stew, I know the best pub a few —”

            “Why won’t we be eating here?” Owen tugged on his hand, halting their departure. His head was tilted to the side in confusion and Roman felt his heart constrict at the sight. How did this grown man manage to look like a puppy that had its supper stolen?

            Roman sighed. “You just arrived in town, so you don’t know. But you’ve gotta be somebody to get inside there. Hell, they don’t even let you through the door unless someone in your family has a street named after them. I tried to get my mom to change her name to South Avenue, but they still wouldn’t let us in. I hear the food is something else.”

            He turned to lead them towards the more affordable part of town, but Owen pulled him back once again. This time, the betrayed animal expression was gone from Owen’s face as the man looked almost put-upon by Roman’s refusals. His brow was furrowed, and mouth slightly twisted in irritation.

            “Why don’t we find out for ourselves?” Owen was deceptively strong for his stature. Against his will and better judgement, Roman found himself being dragged toward the entrance. Holding his breath, he felt his heart speeding up with every step they took closer and closer to the entrance of the restaurant. He could already hear the scolding they would be receiving.

            This was the exact opposite of staying out of trouble, Roman thought to himself. If he kept this up, he’d be on the run again just like Brian and Mia. And that notion sounded terribly unappealing, especially after meeting Owen. He wasn’t interested in leaving Quartershire anytime soon if he could help it. He had just gotten a job, and met a vastly interesting man that he didn’t want to let go of anytime soon, but he might just have to if this was the kind of trouble Owen wanted to get into after just walking into town.

            Roman weakly tried to pull their trajectory to a halt, but Owen wouldn’t relent and continued to pull him along. “Seriously, we could get in trouble by just—”

            But before he could finish, the other man has pushed open the white-painted entrance and dragged Roman through. He didn’t even use the door handle. Instead, Owen just pressed his bare hand against the glass, either too stupid or too reckless to care that he could tarnish the perfect exterior that silently informed the rest of the townsfolk that their dirty hands weren’t welcome.

            This was it, Roman thought, squeezing his eyes shut. Any second now they’d be met with shouts of outrage and, if they were very lucky, they’d only be ushered out and given a stern warning. But even that wouldn’t be without consequences. Gossip spread fast around Quartershire. It would only be a matter of time before Dom found out Roman ditched his work responsibilities and then got kicked out of one of the nicest restaurants in town. And with rumors like that running around, it was inevitable that one of the upper lords would hear about it and have Roman hunted down if they learned he was back in Quartershire. All because a stranger he had just met wanted to have breakfast at the Eye of the Gods.

            Only, that didn’t happen.

            “Good morning, sir. Shall I set a table for two, or will there be others joining you?”

            Roman snapped his eyes open and stared in confusion at the Maître d'. He was a stiff looking gentleman in a tuxedo jacket so starched, he was certain it could stand on its own when not worn. Even the small, pencil shaped mustache the man sported was over-waxed and made the man seem more statue than person.

            “What?” Roman whispered at the exact same time that Owen smiled at the host and said, “Thank you very much, but it will be just us today.”

            “Very good, sir. If you will come this way...” The Maître d’ nodded and gestured for them to follow him into the dining area.

            Head swiveling every which way as they walked through the dining room, Roman tried to take in every single little detail that entailed the Eye of the Gods. Everywhere Roman looked, he was faced with bleach-white tablecloths and shining silver accents. The only color seemingly allowed to intrude on the scene were the ocean-blue curtains pulled open from the windows and the dark wood of the chairs and tables. The bright porcelain of the plates nearly blended in with the tablecloths while the pure silver of the cutlery shone vividly in the morning sun as they were led past a dozen tables, half of which were already sitting other patrons. Roman kept his eyes firmly on Owen and the Maître d’, not wanting to make eye contact with any of the wrong people. He could already feel their eyes tracking him across the room.

            Roman could only follow in a stupor, waiting for the Maître d’ to come to his senses and chase them out of there.

            “Actually, could we get some coffee, I believe my friend needs something to jolt him awake.”

            Roman snapped his mouth shut and turned to stare at Owen. He knew the host’s name? Who was this guy? He had a million questions all fighting to be verbalized, but even after the Maître d’ had nodded and turned to fetch them coffee, all Roman could say was, “What?”

            Owen ran his hand over the pristine white tablecloth and smiled, ignoring the flabbergasted look on Roman’s face. “You know, my sister always manages to stain this every time she visits. I think she views it as a challenge of

            “What—?” Roman tried again. This time with a little more incredulity, if that was possible. Owen had been here before? When? How? His sister? What was going on?!

            But instead of responding to his shocked state, Owen merely looked up and smiled. “Magdalene.”

            “What?!” Roman felt him mind coming undone like a wheel from a damaged cart. His voice had pitched itself higher with every unanswered question, and Owen’s calm, unperturbed demeanor wasn’t helping. Owen kept a pleased and mischievous smile on his lips as he absentmindedly played with one of the many forks that had been set out on the table. Roman’s best guess was that it was specifically used for shrimp. He’s never had it after all, so who’s to say if you needed a special fork for them or not.

            “That’s the street named after my family. Well, my mother—. They asked her if she’d rather have them use her last name, but I don’t think she liked the thought of having to share the honor with the rest of her family.”

            Shaw. Now that name was familiar. He never had any personal dealings with them, but Brian mentioned the name enough while he’d still been an officer of the law that Roman knew the kind of power the Shaw family held. So much power in fact, Roman felt himself freezing in place as every word and gesture he had performed in front of Owen flashed through his mind. Had he done anything offensive that would cause the Shaw family to run him out of town?

            Oh, shit.

            Not only had Roman implied Owen ate horses, but he had also flirted with the man. If the matriarchal Shaw found out about this, Roman was sure he would be drawn and quartered by noon. Even though Brian had only spoken briefly about the Shaws, Roman had heard enough rumors about them to know that they were not people to be trifled with. Everyone feared someone, a

            Roman was screwed. Taking a deep breath, he weakly returned Owen’s smile and hoped the man would be distracted enough for him to escape. But, before he could, he would have to appease Owen as much as possible to avoid making yet another enemy that would force him to leave Quartershire. “She has a lovely name.”

            “I suppose,” Owen shrugged. “My mother prefers the name Queenie, but she didn’t want people assuming the street was named after , so she went with her birth name. I hear she’s even attempting to get a street named after my brother.”

            “Brother?” Roman choked, racking his brain for any crumb of information. How many Shaws were there?! Roman hated that he had information on all the other families in Quartershire, but when it came to the Shaws, he was practically clueless. They had always been the top of the top, never really stooping low enough for the masses to see them nor let others expose their dirty laundry. But to not even know the names of the Shaws, or that Queenie Shaw had three children? Personally, he blamed Brian for being too love-sick at the time to give him all the proper details.

Owen rolled his eyes and deftly picked up the cup of coffee in front of him. Jumping in shock, Roman’s eyes grew large. He hadn’t even noticed when their coffee had arrived, being so focused on Owen, and the Maître d’ being so silent and smooth with his motions. Any other establishment wouldn’t have bothered being so quiet, instead slamming down their order and demand they hurry up and eat. “I bet if I acted that stuck up, she’d want to have a street named after me as well.”

            “Do you want a street named after you?” Roman asked hesitantly. He wouldn’t mind walking down

            “No.” Owen sniffed. “That’d be far too ridiculous. Besides, unlike my siblings, my mother didn’t give me a unique enough name for it. Since birth, she’s been intent on screwing me over any chance she gets.”

            Roman nodded slowly, not sure how to respond. He was having a very complicated day and was trying hard to avoid saying anything that could either get him in trouble or make him sound stupid. He was sure that if he even breathed the wrong way would result in his utter humiliation and at worse, his second escape from Quartershire. So, keeping it simple, he gave a small, understanding smile. “I see.”

            Owen paused, his coffee cup touching his lips, and squinted at Roman. After a moment he brought the cup back down to its saucer with a sharp click. “Something's wrong.”

            “Huh?” Roman blinked. How had he managed to mess up after only speaking two words?! Heart beating in his throat, Roman rubbed his hands on his trouser legs and wanted to run away from the piercing stare Owen was sending him. The morning had started off so innocently and now he feared what this high standing aristocrat had in store for him.

            “You’ve stopped talking.” Owen explained, steepling his hands together on the table. “Which is unfortunate, since your mouth is definitely what I found most attractive.”

            Those words were like a slap to his face as Roman desperately tried to interpret what they could possibly mean. Surely, a Shaw couldn’t actually find him, a lowly worker, to be as attractive as he was saying. However, the words did wonders to soothe Roman’s fears; Owen was sending him a wicked smirk that allowed Roman to breathe easier. Banter and flirting were his talents, and Roman desperately tried to draw on his talents to find his footing once again.  

            “Found... Find...” Owen intentionally trailed off as he sipped his coffee, watching Roman over the rim of his cup. That intrigued, challenging glint in his eye was back. “As long as you don’t overthink it, we won’t have to worry about the tense.”

            And suddenly Roman was reminded that he wasn’t the only one that had been flirting.

            Owen Shaw could see who he was from the start, and he still engaged with him. Maybe he had been overthinking this and worrying over nothing.

            “Well...” Roman reached for his coffee, trying to shake off the nerves that latched onto him the minute they entered the restaurant. “My friends will happily tell you that I rarely think things through. So, you shouldn’t have to worry about me overthinking anything.”

            This was just a light, flirty conversation between two handsome men, no strings attached, and no threat of long-lasting consequences. Which sounded like exactly what Roman was looking for. Confidence coming back in waves, Roman flashed Owen his signature smile.

            “Are you ready to order then?”

            “Been ready as soon as we walked in.” Roman winked cheekily and couldn’t describe how much his heart flew when he saw the pure enjoyment on Owen’s face as they kept flirting back and forth. In high spirits, Roman smiled up at the server who had dutifully rushed over when Owen raised his hand gesturing for them. They were both handed a menu, and soon Roman’s earlier nervousness was rushing back. He hadn’t predicted having to actually read the menu and order—normally he already knew the food offered at his .

            Swallowing thickly, Roman scanned over the thin book and soon discovered that he couldn’t quite read anything on the pages. Now, Roman wasn’t illiterate, having gone to school during his earlier years, but he did have to admit he wasn’t used to such a different script or the words on the page. A few looked recognizable, but he wouldn’t have bet any money on being able to read anything aloud.

             “Anything catching your eye?” Owen spoke up after Roman had fallen silent for a few moments. Cheeks burning, Roman cleared his throat as he met the other man’s eyes and saw the same curiosity as before. Not knowing if this was a challenge, or an innocent question, Roman smiled weakly.

            “You know how it is,” he waved his hand in general. “So many choices, so little time.”

            “Mmhm,” Owen hummed and nodded in agreement. “Have you ever had escargots de Bourgogne?”

            “Uh, all the time,” Roman coughed into his fist. Fake it until you make it, he thought to himself. “Ma used to make it every Sunday.”

            “Your mother used to cook snails every Sunday?”

            “I—” Roman stuttered to a stop. It wasn’t until he noticed Owen’s lips curling upwards that he realized the man had been messing with him. Narrowing his eyes, Roman carefully closed the menu and spoke evenly. “This isn’t in English.”

            Owen’s face split into a wide smile as he chuckled, and even though Roman was a bit upset by the deception, he couldn’t help but admire the musical laughter the other had. “I’m constantly surrounded by people who can read and speak French, I forgot it wasn’t a common skill. I’ll just order us the house special.”

            With another raise of his hand, the server was back and nodded in understanding when Owen ordered. In what seemed to be mere moments later, their table was flooded with more savory delicacies than Roman knew what to do with. Which was quite the feat. Quail that melted off the bone, thinly sliced carrots cooked in hot butter and nutmeg, cinnamon bread pudding, and wild strawberries with sweet cream. It took quite a bit of effort for Roman not to dive into the food like he was starving, but he was able to act gentlemanly enough not to cause a scene as he began to load his plate. The first bite was like entering heaven as he moaned around the quail and vegetables. He hasn’t eaten this well since his little loan from Verone. Every bite more satisfying than the next, Roman couldn’t decide which he wanted to taste last because he knew he wouldn’t be eating this well any time soon.

            He held up a forkful of bread pudding and smiled wistfully at Owen. “I wish this had a mouth,

            Owen snorted around his own mouthful of food, but nonetheless swallowed and dabbed his mouth like a true gentleman. The rest of their meal went smoothly, with every moment putting Roman at ease and wishing their meal would never end. Owen ordered a sample of every dessert for Roman to taste, and that’s when he learned that almost all the Shaws had an affinity towards sweets, and chocolate in particular.

            “Well, not mum, but she allows us the indulgence as long as we do her errands for her. Poor Hatts, she hasn’t tasted any in so long.”

            Roman’s earlier hesitance and fear of being around an aristocrat such as Owen had flown out the window a long time ago as he effortlessly flirted with the incredibly handsome man. Roman had no doubt that he would be thinking about this morning adventure for the rest of his life. From the exquisite food to the pleasant company, he wasn’t sure how he could go back to his normal life after having such a taste.

            Cipher was dressed to the nines. With her dress flowing out behind her preternaturally, it was a miracle she wasn’t stepping on it. The whole outfit was covered in lace and small beads, the patterns so intricate and extending as high as the collar. Anyone could see how expensive the piece would be with only a cursory glance. Her hair was pinned expertly in large braids that seemed designed to inspire jealousy. She walked with the grace of a gazelle, and her back remained so effortlessly straight that Roman was tempted to make a crude joke about a stick and her posterior. However, he resisted as he glanced over at Owen.

            Who within the time that it took Roman to notice Cipher, had stood and was gesturing him to follow.

            “What?”

            “I think it’s time for us to leave,” Owen spoke quietly. Not objecting in the least, Roman stood and followed after the other man as they made their way through the restaurant. However, they weren’t heading towards the entrance they had come in through. In fact, if Roman had to guess, it was almost as if Owen himself was trying to avoid Cipher. But why would that be? Weren’t all the aristocrats on good terms with each other and united against the lower classes?

            Before he could voice any of these questions, Roman felt Owen’s strong hand embrace his and pull him along since apparently he wasn’t moving fast enough. They nearly burst out of the venue, with Owen informing a server to put their meal on the Shaw family tab and that his mother would settle it later. Blinking at the freedom to simply not pay for a meal, Roman could do little more than let himself be dragged down the street and out of sight of the restaurant. Panting slightly, he stared at Owen.

            “What was that?”

            “I didn’t want our breakfast interrupted,” Owen screwed his face up in disgust, but didn’t give any further explanation.

            “So, you cut our breakfast short and dragged us out here... so we wouldn’t be interrupted.” Roman said slowly.

            “Let’s just say, there’s unscrupulous people in all walks of life.”

            Roman nodded in understanding. It was public knowledge that Cipher had her fingers in all the worst pies around, and that she wasn’t afraid of using her recently changed economic status to her advantage. However, before he could comment on Owen openly admitting to something so scandalous about a fellow socialite, he realized something.

            They were once again holding hands.

            He licked his lips, staring down at their entwined fingers. “Are you planning on dragging me somewhere else?”

            Owen followed his gaze, then looked up at him and smiled. “Must I have a reason to hold your hand? I might remind you that you’re the one who started it.”

            This morning felt like a lifetime ago. Maybe that was because Owen felt like he belonged to another world entirely. Which in a way was true; their walks of like would never have intersected had it not been for Roman’s intervention. But, as long as they were on the same path...

            Roman returned the smile and squeezed Owen’s hand, adopting the man’s slightly posher accent. “And I’m so glad I did. Shall I walk you home, good sir?”

            Owen laughed as they began walking down the road. The crowds on the streets had picked up as people moved about their business for the day, with carriages rolling on the cobblestones noisily and people chatting as they walked in all kinds of directions. However, it could have all been happening a mile away for all Roman was concerned when he heard Owen’s laugh. He had never heard something so angelic. “It’s a long walk. Besides, I had a few errands to run before you distracted me. My mum will have my hide if I come home having done nothing but galivant all day long.”

            “Distracted you? I think ‘rescued’ was the word you were looking for.” Roman swung their clasped hands between them, liking the way it felt to tease the other man. And he especially liked how Owen fell in step with him so naturally. They were just about the same height, making their gaits match perfectly and made looking the man in the eye the easiest thing in the world.

            “If there’s one thing my family never needs, it’s rescuing.”

            “Everybody needs help once in a while. Problem is not everyone knows how to ask for— Look out!” Roman shouted. One of the many carriages that had been coming down the street towards them had picked up speed, barreling at them with the driver not yelling a warning of any sorts. 

            He had been too enraptured with Owen to notice the carriage until it was almost on top of them. Fortunately, his reflexes were just as fast as his mouth—by the time it took him to warn Owen, Roman had already pulled them both to safety. The carriage barreled past them without even slowing. Panting from the sudden spike of adrenaline, Roman held Owen to his chest and quickly looked him over before spinning his head around to stare at the carriage. It was one of the finest he had seen in his life, with polished wood and hints of gold on the trimmings. He would have bet all the money in his pocket that the curtains were made of silk.

            “Watch where you’re going!” Roman called after the vehicle and turned to Owen. “You alright?”

            He was expecting shock, maybe some anger toward the reckless driving. What Roman wasn’t expecting was thinly veiled amusement with only a hint of annoyance. Owen stood relaxed in his arms as he shook his head after the carriage that had nearly run both of them over.

            “I’m fine. More disgusted with his

            “His?” Roman looked from the fast-retreating cart, then back to Owen. “Did you know who that was?”

            “I’m a Shaw.” Owen shrugged. “We know everyone.”

            “Yeah, but—”

            “You have very quick reflexes. Do you fight?”

            It felt like Roman’s brain was doing somersaults in his head with how difficult it was to keep up with the conversation. “N-No?”

            Owen nodded and licked his lips, as if filing the fact away. “Pity. Do you race?”

            His questions were coming at a rapid pace and out of nowhere, leaving Roman grasping for answers. He readjusted his hold on Owen, only just now realizing he still had the other man wrapped in his arms. It was one of the hundred things that surprised him today. But what wasn’t surprising, was how much he loved the feeling of the other man’s body pressed up against his, chest to chest and faces only a few inches from each other.

            “Uh,” He stuttered, distracting himself by squeezing Owen’s biceps and admiring how firm he felt. Roman always thought aristocrats were soft and doughy. But maybe he’d been wrong. “I have friends that do. They actually build and repair carts on the si—”

            “Wait.” Owen pulled away and squinted at Roman. “You know Letty and Dom?”

            “Uh, yeah, I live with them. Wait how do you know them?” This day was taking some very unexpected turns. “Come to think of it, I should probably get back there soon, or else Dom will—”

            But before Roman could finish the thought, Owen was once again dragging him down the road. They were nearly in a full out sprint as they turned corners, avoided other pedestrians, and nearly got run over by a different carriage by how hazardously they dashed across the street. If Roman hadn’t wandered Quartershire so thoroughly in his youth, it would have taken him much longer to realize he was being dragged back to the shop. So, when he did, he dug his heals into the firmly packed earth.

            “Actually, now might not be the best time—”

            “Don’t be ridiculous,” Owen spoke over his shoulder, a large grin taking over his face. “There’s always time to see the competition’s carriages!”

            “Competition? What does that—”

            Roman didn’t have a chance to ask any more questions as they rounded the street where Toretto's shop laid, and he felt his heart jump into his throat when he spotted Dom standing outside of said establishment. Desperately pulling on Owen’s hand, they nearly went crashing to the ground as they skidded to a stop and allowing Roman to pull them into a side alley.

            “What?” Owen pouted and Roman already felt his resolve disappearing with that simple expression.

            “Look,” Roman rubbed the back of his head nervously. They were still holding hands and he feared Owen could feel how sweaty he felt. “Dom’s not going to be happy to know I’ve been out all morning, especially if he knew I went and had breakfast at The Eye of the Gods.”

            “Fine.” Owen rolled his eyes, but soon enough a mischievous smile appeared on his lips. “There’s a race coming up soon, how about we meet there? Surely, being one of Dom’s employees must mean you’ll be going.”

            “I, well, I suppose,” Roman nodded uncertainly.

            “Then it’s a date,” Owen purred. Before Roman knew what was happening, Owen was leaning forward and placing his lips gently against Roman’s. He could still taste the bread pudding Owen had indulged in as the other man pulled away, slipped his hand out of Roman’s, and disappeared out onto the street. Blinking, Roman could only stand there and try to figure out if Owen had even been real or if it’d all been a dream. Either way, Roman found himself genuinely looking forward to the next race. Because if today hadn’t been the most remarkable hallucination of Roman’s life, then he was going to spend another magical day with the other man. Life was certainly taking him down a new and unknown path.

            With a skip in his step, Roman was already imagining spending more time with Owen when he spotted Dom again. Freezing, he began to turn away and retreat the way he had come.

            “Pearce!”

            Roman winced at Dom’s unforgiving tone. Too late. He was spotted.

Chapter Text

            Magdalene “Queenie” Shaw hadn’t always lived in Quartershire, but she had spent a great of deal of time there, even raising all her children in town. She and her husband had moved before Deckard had been born, and they had made sure the town knew the name Shaw before his first birthday. Now, everyone had a healthy amount of respect and fear for their family, just as they should, in Queenie’s opinion. She and her children were not people to be trifled with.

            That didn’t mean she couldn’t mess with her own children, of course.

            Smirking, Queenie peaked out the silk curtains of their family carriage and saw Owen holding hands with another man. Both looked absolutely besotted with one another, making her raise an eyebrow. She hadn’t seen that kind of look on her younger son before, it was both a pleasant and worrisome change. Because there was always the chance that it would lead to the same trouble Deckard found himself in when he sported that same expression.

            “Jeffery?” Queenie called out.

            “Yes, madam?”

            “Please do your best to run my son over.”

            “Of course, madam.” She shook her heard at the flicker of glee in his voice as he responded, but still allowed herself an un-ladylike laugh as Owen was unceremoniously yanked out of harm's way by the man he had been walking with. They were moving too quickly for her to see the aftermath, but she was confident that Owen would be around the other man often enough for her to become somewhat acquainted. Once her son found something interesting, he rarely let it go until he had his fill and grew bored.

            Leaning back in the plush seat, Queenie let herself relax until she felt the carriage roll to a stop. Jeffery was a skilled carriage driver, but she still wished for the days where she could ride one of her horses into town. However, that was not what a Lady did in their society, therefore Queenie would not be seen doing something so unseemly. If only her daughter could understand that. Sighing, she could only hope Hattie figured out how to play the games of the upper class before something far too disastrous occurred that Queenie couldn’t prevent.

            She could still hear Hattie’s stubborn arguing from that morning’s conversation, and she knew her daughter needed help to assume her role in society. Queenie had to think of something, because it was becoming evident neither her nor Deckard’s advice was getting through to her. She was far too stubborn listen to family. It was truly unfortunate there wasn’t someone outside of their family that Hattie respected enough to listen to.

The carriage door opening startled Queenie out of her thoughts, sunshine spilling into the small space. Putting the matter aside, she allowed herself to be helped down and onto the cobbled street in front of The Eye of the Gods. The restaurant was often frequented by her family, with only Hattie complaining about the atmosphere while her brothers enjoyed the French cuisine. As she walked towards the door, she could hear Jeffery moving the carriage and horses and knew he would be inside shortly to keep an eye on her during her lunch appointment.

            Wrinkling her nose, Queenie wished she hadn’t accepted the invitation for this meeting.

            Especially when it involved talking with Lady Cipher.

            Queenie had purposely kept her distance from the other woman in the hopes that the newcomer would disappear to wherever she had come from. However, like any kind of insect left unsquashed, she had spun her web and established a nest in the town of Quartershire. It would take quite a bit of effort to get rid of her now, and Queenie wasn’t sure if she should be making plans for the woman’s demise or let her destroy herself with her own amoral dealings. To be completely fair, Queenie had her own dark trades, but she had the wisdom and experience to ensure she and her family remain uncorrupted.

            So, when Cipher had sent out her footman, Braga, to deliver the invitation for lunch, Queenie had cautiously agreed. She did not know what Cipher’s intentions were, but the policy to keep your enemies closer had yet to fail her. As long as Cipher didn’t encroach on her territory, Queenie couldn’t care less about what the woman did. But if she wanted to treat her to an extravagant lunch, then Queenie wasn’t one to decline.

            Head held high and back straight, Queenie smiled graciously at the maître ‘d who had opened the doors and gestured her inside.

            “Lady Shaw,” he spoke politely. “Will you be covering your son’s tab as well today?”

            “Of course.” She said after a beat. Queenie might have spoken with the effortless poise of a true aristocrat, but inside she was fuming. on him if he was planning on frequenting expensive establishments rather than relying on her to pay for him. How he could still act like a careless little boy was beyond her. Keeping those thoughts off her face, Queenie followed after the maître ‘d as he guided her to a small table outside on the veranda. Cipher was already seated and sipping a glass of champagne.

            “Lady Magdalene!” Cipher’s smile was expertly sweet as she stood to greet Queenie, who gave her a tight smile in response. Rarely did anyone call her by her birth name. “I was so happy to hear you accepted my invitation to meet.”

            “Of course,” Queenie nodded as the maître d’ pulled out the chair for her. He bowed to them before leaving swiftly which she frowned at; he should have asked if they wanted to see the menus. Shoving the thought away, she glanced over the overly lavish outfit Cipher was sporting.  “It’s about time I became officially acquainted with the newest face in Quartershire. And the newest money as well! What a spot of luck for you, I have no idea how you did it, darling.”

            Cipher’s smile stretched just wide enough to hint at artificialness. Neither of them were under the pretense that this was an entirely social call: they were businesswomen, and this was a transactional affair. But since they were women, they were expected to veil their business behind the feminine disguise of afternoon tea. And champagne. Apparently.

            “Are we celebrating something?” Queenie gestured toward the flutes of sparkling liquid.

             “Some might consider it a little premature,” Cipher said, sporting a smile that many would have perceived as bashful, but Queenie could see the smugness underneath. “But if all goes according to plan, we’ll both have something to celebrate. And I usually get what I want…”

            She slid the second flute toward Queenie, who smiled without it reaching her eyes. Ignoring the champagne, she instead proceeded to pour herself a cup of tea but as she glanced around the table for the cream, Cipher cut in. “Oh, did they forget something?”

            Without waiting for a response, Cipher raised a gloved hand and expertly waved down one of the wait staff. Queenie frowned, as she had never seen the girl before, and she made a habit of remembering faces.

            The newest employee was young with warm dark skin, her face showing off her youthfulness as she smiled pleasantly at them and curtsied. Her two, long braids only helped to make her seem much younger and inexperienced than she was; her posture gave away that she was not given this job by mistake. Queenie knew that the owner of the Eye of the Gods wouldn’t hire anyone subpar when it came to dealing with the wealthiest clientele. However, before the young woman could even open her mouth to ask what was wrong, Cipher cut her off with a dismissive wave of her hand.

            “One of you plebians failed to properly set this table, and now my friend is without cream for her tea.” Cipher said with a condescending smile. “What are you going to do about that?”

            “Uh,” The waitress hesitated, and yet her smiled barely dropped as her eyes darted to the spot on the table where the creamer usually rested. Never once had a table been set improperly in all of Queenie’s patronage. It was so obvious that Lady Cipher had most likely secreted it away to orchestrate this very moment. For what purpose, Queenie couldn’t possibly guess other than wanting to show off her power against the waitstaff. Instead, she watched and waited for the young employee to defend herself, perhaps even suggest that maybe it had been moved by one the ladies themselves.

            “My apologies ma’am. Let me get you a new one.” Without another word or a single complaint, she was off. Queenie tilted her head appreciatively. The Eye of the Gods had always been a place with good service, but even the best of the waitstaff had a healthy tendency to defend their competence. So, either this particular flower was too stupid to realize she was being used, or she was smart enough to know that arguing with a guest would only lead to more trouble. Queenie was willing to bet a hefty portion of her estate that it was latter.

            “Now, where were we?” Cipher’s voice drew her back to their table.

            Letting the tea warm her hand, Queenie settled into her chair. “I believe you were about to tell us what you were celebrating.”

            “Right.” Cipher moved the second flute of champagne forward once again, not obviously pushing it toward Queenie, but the suggestion was clear as day. Which Queenie just as clearly declined as she sipped at her tea. “Well, as you so eloquently pointed out before, myself and my sizeable wealth are new arrivals to Quartershire. That doesn’t bother me, in fact I consider it an advantage. People always gravitate toward the newest, shiniest thing.”

            Catching slight barb, Queenie hid her scoff by sipping from her white China teacup. And as if on cue, the waitress returned with a new mini pitcher of cream. Her smile hadn’t wavered at all, and while she had rushed off to accomplish her task, her uniform was equally unphased. But it was her quickness that surprised Queenie the most; the rest of the waitstaff would have conveniently forgotten their task until much later. All employees were fluent in passive aggressiveness, which was why she always advised her children to pay the closest attention to them. It was an artform that was, by nature, easily overlooked.

            “Is there anything else I can get you, ma’am?” She asked, clasping her hands in front of her.

            Cipher tapped her fingers on the table, staring at the metal pitcher, then looking up at the woman expectantly. “Now the cream doesn’t match the rest of the spread. We came here to dine, not to have a children’s tea party.”

            The other items on the table were white with blue accents, and in Queenie’s opinion, the pitcher matched the silver utensils perfectly. She exchanged a glance with the waitress. They both knew this had nothing to do with the creamer. However, the waitress didn’t miss a beat.

            Turning her attention back to Lady Cipher, the waitress’s expression appeared just contrite enough to be believable but offered the fainted suggestion of insincerity. “I’m very sorry, ma’am. Let me fetch you a so you can enjoy your tea before it grows cold.”

            Queenie considered cutting in. Possibly informing Lady Cipher that it was her objections that were leading to the tea getting cold. But playing that card would most certainly lead to lunch being drawn to a close, and she wanted to know why Cipher had requested this appointment.

            After the waitress departed in search of a different pitcher, Cipher turned her attention back to Queenie with a smile. “Anyway, as much as I don’t mind being the new name in town, I also understand the value of creating roots. And there’s no other family that is as respected and established as yours. So, between my money and your name, I think you’d agree that we would both benefit from forging an alliance.”

            “Here you go.” The waitress was back with a cream pitcher that matched the rest of the spread. She set it gently on the table, intentionally closer to Queenie, who smiled gratefully. “Is there anything else I can get you? Ma’am?”

            Cipher slowly looked up at the waitress and blinked slowly. “What do you think?”

            The professional smile on the young lady didn’t falter in the slightest, even as Cipher continued her assault.

            “We have been sitting in this restaurant for nearly a half an hour, and you have yet to offer us menus or any recommendations. I always commend an establishment for employing the downtrodden. But when it effects the quality of service I receive, I no longer consider it an act of charity. Instead, I see it for what it is: unprofessionalism and a direct attack on the societal tiers that maintain world order.”

            “Well, we can’t have that now, can we?” The waitress tilted her head, furrowing her brow sympathetically. “I can get you some menus. But if you’d accept my apology and offer a final chance for redemption, I will gladly recommend the cheese souffle.”

            Lady Cipher smiled thinly and squinted up at her. “Get the menus.”

            “Right away, ma’am.” With another smile and nod, their waitress departed once more.

            The whole conversation between Lady Cipher and the waitress set Queenie’s teeth on edge; it was not the job of a simple serving girl to fetch the menus of the establishment, as that was the maître d’s job. Why he hadn’t given the menus to them must have been yet another power-play Cipher was orchestrating, and Queenie was growing quite tired of her little bids at playing the tyrannical elite. If she wished to show off her influence, there were much better ways to do so.

            Queenie watched the young woman depart before turning to stir some cream into her tea. Due to the young woman’s efficiency, the tea was still warm. "An alliance, you say?”

            “A mutually beneficial one.” Cipher repeated calmly. “A chance for both of us to guarantee a prosperous future.”

            Queenie had begun to lose interest in the conversation the moment Lady Cipher opened her mouth. She thought far too much of herself for someone so unestablished in high society. However, it was never wise to reject a business venture so quickly. You never knew what kind of opportunities could arise. “And what kind of alliance are you proposing?”

            “Well, it’s funny you mention the word ‘proposal’...”

            Queenie paused stirring and flicked her gaze back up to Cipher. The woman was watching her, an expectant smile on her face.

            A moment passed. Then Queenie laughed, reaching out to pat her gloved hand. “Oh, my dear. I’m afraid you are just a little too young for me. Besides, I am quite through with marriage after what happened with my late husband.”

            Cipher’s smile thinned, her cold grey eyes revealing nothing. She leaned back, sliding her hand out from under Queenie’s reach. “I think there’s been a misunderstanding. I’m not interested in marrying you.”

            “I see.” Now it was Queenie’s turn to lean back, fighting the urge to sigh from boredom. She had hoped that wasn’t where this was going. “You think the best way to secure a partnership between our families is for you to marry one of my children.”

            “A union, by every definition of the word.” Cipher tilted her head and the ends of her mouth curled upwards. “We combine our resources and become the most powerful family in Quartershire.”

            Queenie scoffed. “The Shaws already are the most powerful family in Quartershire.”

            “Not officially.” Cipher pointed out all too quickly.

            “In the only way that matters.” How very much like New Money, Queenie inwardly thought. Cipher believed the only power worth having was the kind that everyone could see. No wonder she showed off her wealth in the very stitching of her clothes, so all could see and bask in her power and influence.

            Cipher leaned forward, her voice remaining low as her expression remained pleasant. “Your power lies in shadow and veiled threats. Easily scattered with a little light.”

            “And you think your name and reputation would change that?” Queenie smiled to herself when the woman stiffened. “Remind me again, Lady Cipher, how did you earn you fortune?”

            It was a well-kept secret, one that Queenie had unearthed with only minimal effort, that after the death of Lady Cipher’s husband, she’d inherited his plethora of illegal and very profitable business ventures that ranged anywhere from fighting rings to smuggling on trade ships. The woman had easily stepped into her husband’s shoes and had expanded his business to the point of wanting to bleed into that of regular society. Most likely what had brought her to Quartershire in the first place.

            “You see?” Queenie smiled. “You need me far more than I need you.”

            She looked around for the maître ‘d, planning to close her tab and make her exit. She had listened to Cipher’s proposition and found it lacking. There was no need to keep listening to the spewing’s of a mad woman.

            “I wouldn’t be so sure of that if I were you.”

            Queenie could hear the smile in Cipher’s honey-soaked voice without even looking at her. She turned back, squinting at the younger woman. “Is that so?”

            “Remind me again, Lady Shaw, how secure is your legacy?”

            Queenie considered just leaving. But that would seem rude to the surrounding staff and guests. And besides, you only gain secrets and information by listening. Even if Cipher was merely grasping at straws, there was always a chance her opinion reflected other members of their social circle as well. If something was so obvious to an outsider, then the issue must be addressed before it grew even bigger.

            “I have three healthy, intelligent children. There are families who can only pray for such security.”

            “Well, we both know that’s not quite true.”  Cipher sent her a pitying look. “Your family may present itself as a strong unit, but your legacy is far from secured.”

            Leaning back in her chair, Cipher retrieved her flute of champagne and lazily swirled the liquid in the glass as she continued.

            “Deckard was your best shot for sure, but he just hasn’t been the same since he returned from the war, and you know it. Unless your eldest makes a miraculous recovery from his melancholy, then he’ll never be fit enough to be the heir he once was. Owen, meanwhile, is far too reckless with himself and his business. Imagine what he would do if he oversaw your estate. Now Hattie... She has potential. But she’s completely squandering it because she knows her older siblings and yourself will get her out of whatever mess she creates. Same with Owen for that matter. Hattie could be quite the matriarch, but she just doesn’t have the necessary class, restraint, or foresight. Which means none of the other families will trust her to behave levelheadedly when it comes to business matters.”

            She sipped her champagne. “It’s true, my estate might not be as highly esteemed, but I have what your children lack. Sanity. Restraint. Ambition. Pair me with any of them, and I'll ensure that both our legacies outlive either of us.”

            “Here you are, ma’am.” The waitress returned, gently placing the menu cards on the table. She smiled at the two women, clasping her hands in front of her, which seemed to be her go to position when dealing with guests. Queenie smirked at the idea the young woman was forcefully keeping her hands still so as not to strangle anyone. “Let me know if you have any questions regarding any of our dishes.”

            Queenie often admonished her children for behaving rashly and without premeditation, which only ever led to messes that needed fixing. She had always blamed her husband’s side of the family for giving her children that trait. But privately, she gleefully admitted that her children all took after her. Because Queenie knew that, when handled with the appropriate amount of tact and experience, her self-restraint weakening just enough for her own brash nature to emerge. This was one of those moments.

            “What’s your name?” She asked, without further preamble, looking up at the waitress.

            Surprised by the unexpected interruption and sudden attention, the young woman’s smile truly faltered for the first time since Cipher had called her over. She quickly glanced around, as if Queenie was addressing someone else, before finally answering, almost timidly. “Ramsey, ma’am.”

            Queenie smiled without revealing any of her intentions. “Ramsey. How do you feel about leaving this torturous job and entering my employment? No matter what your salary is now, I promise I’ll triple it.”

            The young woman’s eyes grew large with shock as her mouth hung open the smallest bit. Across from her, Queenie could feel the burning gaze of Cipher, but she simply ignored it in favor of quietly chuckling at the stutter that left Ramsey as she tried to answer.

            “Of course, I am not forcing you,” Queenie told her truthfully. “However, I can see the utmost potential you hold inside yourself, and I simply wish to offer you the chance to flourish. Now, what do you say?”

            Queenie couldn’t help but glance at Cipher out the corner of her eye, reveling in the rage simmering behind those grey eyes and thinned lips. She was offering this waitress exactly what Lady Cipher had been seeking: tutorship, connections to a powerful family, and wealth with no conditions. All snatched from her fingers and offered freely to someone considered far below her own stature. Someone she had been bullying only a few short minutes ago, in fact.

            “I—right now, ma’am?” Ramsey finally choked out.

            “Yes, at this very moment. My carriage can be ready in an instant, so that we may head back to my estate immediately.”

            “That is a very gracious offer, my lady,” Ramsey spoke breathlessly, hesitating only a brief moment to glance at Cipher and the surrounding restaurant. “One that I think I can’t refuse.”

            Queenie smiled, admiring both the hesitation, which was already more than Hattie possessed, and the boldness of her choice as Ramsey reached to untie the apron around her waist. Her fingers were just barely shaking as she folded the garment expertly and glanced around at her fellow coworkers. They were already staring openly at what was proceeding at their table, even though they were positioned in the corner away from everyone else.

                “Lady Shaw, you cannot be serious.” Cipher half-seethed, half-whispered as she leaned forward with barred teeth. But Queenie was already dabbing her lips with a cloth napkin and signaling for the check. Ramsey dutifully stepped out of the way and bowed her head as the maître d’ came out of the woodworks. He barely sent her glance as he stepped up to the table.

            “We are both women of business, Lady Cipher.” Queenie sniffed dismissively, “surely you can recognize when a transaction has reached a natural conclusion.”

            Pausing for a moment, she leaned into Cipher’s personal space. “I do apologize for the waste of perfectly good champagne. But I fear neither of us could have fully satisfied the other. Besides,” And now Queenie straightened, so she was looking down at the younger woman. “My children don’t belong on a leash,

            Without further ado, she turned to leave.

            “You’re making a mistake.” Cipher’s voice rose behind her. Just loud enough to not be considered a threat, but enough to draw the attention of the surrounding patrons. “Has the Shaw name fallen so low that you’d rather surround yourself with commoners rather than those of your own class?”

            Queenie paused. Letting Cipher have the final word in a public venue would be a sign of weakness. Especially when it was such a clear attack on her family. People could only be left to assume that Cipher was right. And of course, there was the simple fact that she was Queenie Shaw, the head of her family, and the most influential person in Quartershire. She refused to have her reputation sullied by a new comer such as Cipher.

            She glanced back at Ramsey. The young girl had remained where she was standing and was watching her, looking for either leadership or reassurance, undoubtfully for both. They were both standing at a precipice that could not be un-jumped. Queenie smirked, then turned fully to stare Cipher down. Unlike others, she wasn’t afraid of taking leaps of faith.

            “If you’d practiced a bit more class yourself, you might have noticed what I did. Unfortunately, you only ever seem to seek opportunity. Whereas I understand the true value of potential.” 

            With that, Queenie pivoted and headed for the door. After a moment she heard the distinct sound of Ramsey’s less confident footsteps following after her.

            Yes, she thought to herself. She had made absolutely the right decision.

            Ramsey began to wonder if she’d made the absolutely wrong decision. The carriage door barely made a swift click as it shut, and yet it felt as if her fate had been sealed with that normally unobtrusive noise. Swallowing thickly, Ramsey gripped her skirts tightly in her lap as she stared straight ahead while Lady Shaw spoke candidly to her coachman.

            “Take us directly back to the manor, Jeffery.” As she gave the simple commands, the matriarch held a definitive authority in her voice and posture. Despite the evident confidence, Ramsey wondered if she had chosen the right side in the newly arisen feud between Lady Shaw and Lady Cipher. She wasn’t foolish enough to imagine herself as anything other than a pawn in their little game. The first piece to be sacrificed. And yet deep inside, Ramsey knew that she was the kind of strategist who valued every piece on the board. Lady Shaw was her best shot at a better life. “No dawdling. Dex will do the rest of my errands for the day. I wish to have Ramsey settled in as quickly as possible.”

            As said young woman in question, Ramsey bit her lip as she looked at the woman across from her, trying desperately not to fidget. While the air around Lady Shaw was quite different from that of Lady Cipher, her clothing and jewelry were just as exquisite and expensive. She wore much darker attire, but that didn’t take away from the beauty that she still held within her aging features. And if rumors were correct, her children were just as equally handsome.

            Ramsey hadn’t been born in Quartershire, rather having moved there after an incident in her birthplace, but that was neither here nor there. When she had moved to Quartershire, she had immediately learned everything there was to about the town; it was an unspoken code of the lower class to accumulate information on the elites. Either to simply stay clear of them, or to weasel one’s way into their good graces. It was always wise to know one’s surroundings. Ramsey had taken this very seriously and had sought employment at one of the richest establishments in the town. However, she never would have guessed that the most notorious Lady in Quartershire would ever speak to her, let alone offer her a job!

            So lost in her thoughts, she nearly screamed in fright when she felt a hand settle on top of her own clenched hands. Breathing quickly, Ramsey stared wide-eyed at Lady Shaw, who was smiling at her kindly.

            “Do not feel as if you’ve been taken prisoner, my dear,” she chuckled, and Ramsey could only smile back weakly. She might be able to keep her composer when facing customers, but this was an entirely different situation. Completely out of her element and without any aid to come to her side, Ramsey suddenly felt very alone. She had spent years wanting to step out from behind the veil of high society. Now she was here, or at the very least on its doorstep, and she had no idea what to do.

            “Of course, madam.” She spoke breathlessly, not wanting the Lady to know that she was terrified and regretted stepping inside the carriage. “One would have to be a fool not to take you up on the opportunity that you’ve offered.”

            “That is most certainly true,” Lady Shaw smiled graciously and finally withdrew her hand, leaving Ramsey feeling as if her heart had just now remembered to beat. “I am constantly surrounded by fools, and frankly it’s a breath of fresh air to have someone as smart as yourself in my presence.”

            Ramsey blinked and felt her cheeks burning slightly at the compliment. It was one thing to have the elites use her and others as pawns in their little games, but to receive such praise without an audience was something else entirely. Lady Shaw didn’t have to perform or act up her generosity towards a poor, young woman when they were alone in her carriage. In fact, she could have simply thrown her out on the street once they were out of sight of Lady Cipher and no one that mattered would think anything less of her.

            “Thank you, my Lady,” Ramsey mumbled gratefully, bowing her head. She was relieved when Lady Shaw only hummed in response and the carriage grew silent, except for the noise that came from the outside world. The wheels and click of the horses’ hooves were so quiet, she had to question how a carriage could ever be this smooth.

            Gradually, Ramsey could feel her heartbeat returning to its normal rate as she began to think over her new life. Glancing up at Lady Shaw, Ramsey could only wonder why the woman would want her as part of her household staff. She hadn’t heard anything scathing about the treatment of staff in the Shaw Manor, unlike those from the other households; apparently nobody left the Reyes estate without some form of injury. She could only hope that the absence of complaint meant that the Shaw family treated their staff well. However, there was always the chance that the estate was just better at keeping their secrets.

            Taking a deep breath, Ramsey raised her head and opened her mouth to speak when Lady Shaw was pulling back one of the curtains and scowled.

            “Jeffery!” She called out. “Slow us down so I may throw something at my son’s head.”

            Ramsey blinked hard. What?!

            Effortlessly, the carriage slowed enough for Lady Shaw to wind up her arm and chucked a jangling purse straight out of the window. Leaning forward, Ramsey stared wide-eyed as the purse flew at an incredible speed and struck a dark-haired man directly on the back of his head. He cursed loudly and made a frankly obscene gesture towards the carriage before they were quickly speeding away, leaving the man far in the dust, Lady Shaw’s laughter filling the carriage as they did so.

            Ramsey had long-since broken the habit of hanging her mouth open in shock. Her mother always said she looked like a codfish, and that it was unladylike. Instead, when faced with something awe-inspiring or horrific—Ramsey was still not sure which applied at the moment—Ramsey stared wide-eyed and unblinking at the older woman, who had a sincere smile on her face. Her laughter tangled with the fainter sound of the coachman’s own chuckles.

“Absolutely fabulous, Jeffery!” Lady Shaw cheered quietly. “Hopefully that’ll teach the bugger to not forget his purse!”

            Any calm Ramsey had gained had been jettisoned along with the purse as she stared at Lady Shaw. Nothing was making sense. Why had that happened? Did Lady Shaw really throw a purse at her own son? So caught up in her confusion, Ramsey didn’t catch herself in time to stop herself from blurting out:

            “What the hell was that?”

            Almost instantly, she gasped and covered her mouth with her hands as Lady Shaw’s eyes widened. Now she had done it! Not only had she cursed, but she had also spoken to her new employer in a way only equals should. Heart jumping into her throat, Ramsey waited for the woman to begin yelling, cursing, or even hit her for that kind of behavior. But, nothing came. Until—

            Lady Shaw began laughing again.

            “Oh, my dear! I apologize,” she giggled and covered her own mouth with a gloved hand. Her eyes twinkled with delight. “That was my second born. He can be very neglectful, even to the point of forgetting his purse when he goes out. I was simply sending a message that he shouldn’t forget it again.”

            Ramsey could only stare. It was only after another moment that she realized she’d let her mouth hang open in shock. She snapped it shut instinctively, sending a silent apology to her mum.

            “Don’t worry,” Lady Shaw’s laughter dissipated but a kind smile remained on her face. “You will soon learn of my and my family’s eccentricities.”

            “Of course, madam.” Ramsey shook herself from the remaining stupor and nodded.

            “And,” Lady Shaw’s smile turned the smallest bit sinister and the look in her eyes became much more mischievous. “It is not my son who I want you to focus on. In fact, I wish to inform you about my daughter and how you shall be dealing with her.”

            “Your... Daughter.” Ramsey repeated. She knew of the youngest Shaw. None of the comments made around town ever seemed complimentary, expect for her beauty of course. But it was such a difficult thing to admire since said woman often covered it with a snarl.        

            Swallowing thickly, Ramsey listened attentively as Lady Shaw began describing Hattie Shaw and all of the duties her job would entail. By the time they reached the Shaw Manor, Ramsey was certain she had, in fact, made a horrible decision.

            Hattie stomped through the foyer of their estate, kicking her shoes off and across the floor before she’d even reached the door. Her bare feet were immediately dirtied by mud and grass as she marched toward the garden, intentionally jamming her heels as deep into the earth as possible. The morning sunshine had already warmed the ground and she relished in the feeling of the mix of cool dirt mixing with the sun-warmed grass. Continuing on, she was met with rows and twisting flowerbeds that held impressive amounts of foliage.

            Normally the sight of their family garden would do wonders for her mood. Although she considered menial labor far beneath her, Hattie had some fond memories weeding the garden with Deckard. He’d discovered early that her destructive nature could be channeled into something more constructive. She could still clearly remember throwing tantrums, only to be pulled outside and a sunhat shoved onto her head before being firmly instructed to start weeding. Together, she and Deckard would fall to their knees and take care of the flowers for hours on end, only taking breaks when either of them grew far too overheated. However, many years had passed since then and so had been the times where Hattie had been able to spend that much time with Deckard. She almost wished she could drag him outside with her today and do what they had done when she had been a child.

            Except it wasn’t the right time of year for weeding, and the servants were careful to maintain the garden so it could bloom better than any of the other households in the town. So, Hattie was reduced to glaring at the roses bleeding from the raised garden boxes. Her fingers twitched reflexively, itching to tear out the flowers. It would upset her mother, which was what Hattie was hoping to achieve. But it would also disappoint Deckard, who had always prided himself on their garden and could be found there when his moods changed.

            Her fists relaxed, and instead her fingers tugged at the soft material around her wrists. Ever since her brother got back from the war, he’d been much quieter. Slower to laugh, and faster to melancholy. There was almost not a time he wasn’t wearing a frown or a haunted look in his eyes that spoke of what occurred when he was away.

            Hattie knew she was brash and quick to anger. It was a trait criticized by her mother, humored by Owen, and gently persuaded away by her oldest brother. She tried very hard to avoid doing anything that could upset Deckard. She could clearly remember when he had returned from war, and she had acted up for the first time since he had been back. He had looked at her with such devastation at the sight of the library wrecked, that she had frozen in place. After that, she was always conscious of how her actions would affect him. And tearing up the garden certainly would not bring a smile to his face.

            Fortunately, the estate was large and possessed a plethora of other ways to afflict their mother’s mood and not Deckard’s.

            Marching out of the garden and back to the house, Hattie entered through the kitchen door. It was customarily reserved for staff’s use, but she and her siblings often traveled through the more covert entrance. Snatching up an apple on her way, Hattie felt a childish glee bubble up inside her as her bare, muddy feet slapped against the freshly cleaned floor of the kitchen. Her mother would be able to follow her from here, through the foyer, all the way into the drawing room. Of course, the staff would bite their tongues and quickly clean it, but not until the matriarchal Shaw was able to find Hattie and chew her ears off.

            Hattie dropped into one of the deeply cushioned couched, purposely shoving her muddy feet onto a finely embroidered pillow, and bit into her apple. It was crisp and sweet to taste, and the juices dribbled down her chin and threatened to fall and stain the couch. Just the way Hattie liked it. She smiled, imagining the way her mother’s mouth would pull into a thin line of disapproval at the antics. Queenie Shaw didn’t like to reveal her emotions too often. She considered it a weakness. But Hattie and her siblings were well-adept at reading their mother’s tells. As she was with theirs.

            Taking another bite of the apple, Hattie surveyed the room. It had been redecorated recently. Most likely in anticipation of hosting some of the more important members of high society soon. Their mother hated organizing parties. She much preferred more quiet, intimate affairs. One where the spirits weren’t spread so thin, so the secrets could flow more freely into her awaiting arsenal to be used against the other elites.

            Hattie missed the previous wallpaper. The rich and royal purples had been replaced with a blueish teal that, admittedly, made the room feel more open. The new color still matched the gold accents, thank god.

            As she absentmindedly stared at the new décor and sneered at the way certain pieces of furniture had either been moved or replaced entirely, she could hear voices coming down the hall. It would have been impossible for her not to recognize her own mother’s voice as she had been hearing far too much of it recently. Even in her dreams she could hear the chiding tone of the older woman, as if Hattie’s dreams were unlady-like as well.

            “There she is,” Queenie Shaw appeared at the entrance of the drawing room with a young woman in tow. “Just like I said. If you ever lose her, simply follow the trail of muck, and you shall find the unfortunate source.”

            “Mother.” Hattie bit into the apple, making sure to tear away a much too large piece. When her jaw snapped shut, the juices sprayed down her shirt, barely missing the couch cushions. “Back so soon?”

            “Why? Did you miss me?” Queenie strolled further into the room, removing her gloves and smiling indulgently at her daughter’s rebellion. Her stride was as graceful as even, while the woman behind her was much more hesitant to enter the room, but her posture was just as stiff and straight at Queenie’s.

            “Of course.” Hattie slouched further into the couch. “I barely knew how to breathe by myself without your constant instruction.”

            “What perfect timing then.” Queenie’s smile tightened as she gestured for the unnamed woman to join them. “Because I have found a solution. Hattie, I’d like to introduce you to Ramsey. She is to be your personal companion, under my employment.”

            Hattie frowned and scrutinized the young woman more closely. Her large brown eyes reminded her of a rabbit facing down a fox. Her thick dark hair was pulled into a pair of braids pinned behind her head. Professional, but yearning for the suggestion of individuality. Then there was her attire. Her clothes looked clean, but self-mended. And they certainly didn’t look like clothes that belonged to anyone of This was who her mother had hired as a personal companion for her?

            “Ramsey, eh?” Hattie rose from her seat and approached her, keeping her posture relaxed and as unlady like as she could.

            “Is this your first time working as a companion?” The poor thing still hadn’t spoken a word. Her eyes kept darting from Hattie to the room around them. Taking yet another bite of her apple, Hattie let her jaw hang wide open as she spoke, her words becoming slightly muddled. She let her gaze settle purposefully on her clothes before looking back up at Ramsey. Swallowing, Hattie sneered. “Because you seem... new.”

            Even though Hattie could clearly see the intimidation in the other woman’s eyes, that didn’t disturb her posture one bit. Normally, Hattie would be able to get such doe-eyed servants to cower by a simple look alone, but this one was different. She knew of Hattie’s reputation and had enough sense to know what she was capable of. However, she also seemed to be in possession of a backbone. Hattie hadn’t met many servants willing to keep eye contact with her, only those that Owen had personally handpicked for their current staff. Instead, this one was able to recover in only a few seconds after taking a shaky breath.

            “Being new can be considered a virtue.” Ramsey spoke evenly with a hint of cheer. “Can’t be cowed by something when you haven’t been told to be afraid of it.”

            “Well,” She took another bite of apple to hide the fact her sneer was threatening to transform into a smirk. She had to hand it to her; she certainly wasn’t a coward. Not breaking eye contact, Hattie chewed with her mouth open. “Sometimes fear is a good thing. It keeps children from scorching flames, men from raging maelstroms, and sheep from the snapping jaws of wolves.”

            She stepped forward with a shrug. “But I suppose there’s no way to know whether or not you should be afraid of something until the moment has passed.”

            Hattie offered Ramsey the remains of her snack. “Apple?”

            “Enough, Hattie.” Queenie sighed and shook her head with all the disappointment only a mother could convey. “That’s exactly the kind of behavior Ramsey’s here to guide you away from.”

            Hattie turned her attention back to Queenie. Her face scrunching up in disgust. “An etiquette tutor, mother? Really? I’m not a child!”

            “You had me convinced.” Queenie shook her head disappointedly, then gestured at Ramsey. “This young lady demonstrated more class and restraint in the past hour than you have this entire year. I’m hoping that by her accompanying you, a little of that grace will rub off on you.”

            Hattie whipped her head around to glare at Ramsey. The young woman’s eyes had turned to saucers sometime during that exchange. But to her credit, she quickly regained her composure.        “You’re to teach me how to be a lady then?” She asked, circling Ramsey in obvious scrutiny. She didn’t hesitate to wipe her sticky fingers on the hem of the young woman’s dress and poking at a lose seam. Sneering, Hattie stopped in front of her, barely giving her room to breathe. “And where did you learn such manners?”

            “Service industry, mostly.” Ramsey said. Her tone easy and conversational, her face not giving any indication she was uncomfortable or upset by Hattie’s actions. “And some nannying before I moved to Quartershire. You pick up all kinds of skills when dealing with spoiled little brats.”

            Hattie narrowed her eyes at the subtle barb and opened her mouth to snap back, when her mother’s laughter interrupted them. Whipping her head around, Hattie didn’t bother hiding her snarl at her mother.

            “Oh, this is going to be fun.” She gleefully clasped her hands together before composing herself once more. “Hatts, please help Ramsey select a room close to yours. And please keep it in mind before you decide to cause any mischief, that she will be reporting back to me about what you two get up to during your days together.”

            Hattie chucked the remains of her apple across the room, landing squarely in the center of the already muddied pillow. “I don’t need a babysitter, mother!”

            Her mother followed the fruit’s trajectory until its final destination. Her eyes rested on the ruined material a moment before turning back to her daughter with a tight smile.

            “That reminds me, whenever you cause trouble for Ramsey, a portion of your allowance will be transferred to her instead.”

            Queenie was most certainly enjoying this. Which of course only made Hattie’s mood worse. She considered continuing to argue with her mother, but instead turned to Ramsey. With a growl, she reached out and grabbed the other woman’s wrist. It felt almost like she was grabbing a small bird; too thin of a limb and slightly shaking as she pulled harshly on the other woman.

            “Follow me.” Hattie gritted out before dragging Ramsey behind her out of the drawing room and away from her torturous mother. Even as they made their way down the halls of the Shaw Manor, Hattie swore she could feel her mother’s eyes following them, though her mother had stayed behind to no doubt have the drawing room cleaned. Hopefully, that would keep her busy and not sticking her nose further into Hattie’s business.

            Not once did Hattie slow her pace or release her grip on Ramsey. She could feel every time the woman tripped or stumbled behind her in an attempt to keep up. Hattie was not one for patience, and Ramsey’s clumsiness was slowing them down. She suspected it was because of her work shoes, and decided to change that. If this Ramsey character was going to be forced to follow her around, then she would be doing so on Hattie’s terms rather than Queenie’s. Even if it was her mother who was paying her.

            Storming up the stairs, Hattie glanced around to see which rooms were vacated. It seemed almost a waste to give one of their personal bedroom suites to a servant, but Hattie would make the situation work in her favor. As they finally approached her own rooms, she could faintly hear Ramsey panting behind her, but her wrist was limp in Hattie’s grip and not once had she tried to pull away from her. Good, at least she was obedient.

            Kicking open the double doors to her rooms, Hattie practically threw Ramsey inside before slamming the doors behind them. “If you’re going to be following me along like a ghoul, then you should at least look like a presentable one.”

            “I thought you were supposed to show me to my room.” Ramsey glanced around Hattie’s bedroom. A space obviously already lived in. There were clothes on the floor and abandoned books and dishes littering almost every flat surface. The bed was unmade with blankets and pillows of all sorts strewn around and falling to the floor. Hattie smirked at the flash of fear that appeared in Ramsey’s eyes when she spotted the assortment of throwing knives sticking out of a portrait of some ancient aristocrat. Her mother had had a fit over her using the painting as a target, but to be fair, the thing was absolutely hideous.

            “You’re room’s through there.” Hattie gestured with her chin to a nearby, inconspicuous door as she opened her wardrobe. She watched Ramsey out of the corner of her eye as the other woman opened the door and peaked inside. It led to the room directly next to hers that wasn’t as large as Hattie’s, but still spacious enough that it would satisfy any guest who stayed the night. Queenie usually barred her children from using them — or ruining them, as she would say — but this would be the perfect excuse for Hattie to have free reign over the neighboring room. Too bad it was being given to a simple servant rather than someone of importance.

            “What colors do you usually wear?” Hattie asked, glancing through the assortment of dresses her mother insisted on buying her and she insisted on not wearing even once. Then, deciding it was a stupid question since Ramsey probably didn’t have many dresses, she selected a beautiful violet dress. No doubt the piece was valuable, having been covered in glass beads that shown exquisitely in the afternoon sunlight. It was one Queenie had purchased for her, which meant that Hattie had never worn it.

            She pulled it from the wardrobe and held it out as far away from her as possible. “Put this on.”

            Ramsey turned from the doorway. Her eyes widen when they landed on the dress. “You want me to wear that?”

            Hattie rolled her eyes. “And keep it for all I care. It’s bad enough I’ll have you following me around like a nursemaid. I’d rather you weren’t dressed like a waiter, too.”

            She watched Ramsey’s hands flex before she reached out and ran a hand over the velvet material. Objectively it was a beautiful dress, and it would look wonderful on Ramsey, but Hattie couldn’t bring herself to wear it when she knew that’s what her mother wanted. At least this way it will finally have some use.

            Ramsey gently scooped the garment out of Hattie’s grasp and looked around the room. “Where should I get changed?”

            “Perhaps your own room?” Hattie responded dryly, raising her eyebrows toward the open doorway. “That is what it’s for.”

            Ramsey looked from Hattie to the doorway to her room, then back. Excitement danced in her eyes, although the feeling was shrouded by a veil of distrust as her fingers nervously rubbed against the dress’s material. Most likely rooted in whatever stories Hattie's mother had warned her about before their official introduction. Ramsey hadn’t been expecting to be treated with a gift during their first hour together. She was most likely anticipating growling and tantrums, perhaps even more extreme compared to what Hattie had shown back in the drawing room.

            Hattie was good at making a scene. But if Ramsey was going to be sticking around for a while, there was no point in playing all her cards during the first round. Besides, she could kill two birds with one stone this way. Get rid of the dress thus upsetting Queenie in the process, and exposing Ramsey as a poor choice of companion. There was no way the young woman would be able to last more than an afternoon with her.

            After one more glance between Hattie and the dress in her hands, Ramsey nodded excitedly and practically dashed to her newly appointed bedroom. Rolling her eyes, Hattie turned back to her own wardrobe and grabbed a pair of riding boots. Luckily, her mother encouraged her children's practice of horse riding and never denied Hattie most things connected to the activity. Putting her boots on, Hattie lounged across her unkept bed and waited for Ramsey to return.

             Finally hearing the door open, Hattie raised her head, about to berate Ramsey for taking so long, but instead she nearly choked on her own tongue. Standing in the doorway and trying to keep a large grin from taking over her face, stood Ramsey in her new dress.

            “How do I look?” Ramsey’s voice was bubbling with glee as she played with the long sleeves of the dress.

            Hattie could only stare.

            She had been correct in assuming the dress would look gorgeous on Ramsey, but she hadn’t realized how much the dress would draw out her natural beauty. The dress fit her nearly perfectly, with only a few measurements slightly off since it had been made to Hattie’s figure. However, the dress’s elegance hid those small flaws, with the glass beads sparkling across Ramsey’s figure and turning her into the night sky personified. Her smile shown just as brightly as the beads as she looked down to admire herself.

            “I cannot thank you enough for this, miss,” Ramsey spoke up, filling the silence. Blinking, Hattie clumsily stood from the bed, never once taking her eyes away from Ramsey.

            “Don’t mention it.” Hattie grunted and looked away to hide the small blush she knew was on her face. It seemed her mother certainly did have good taste in dresses. “Now come on, I want to introduce you to the horses.”

            Hattie kept a brisk pace as she led Ramsey through the manor again, not bothering to give her time to become more familiar with the layout. If her plans went accordingly, then Ramsey would only need to know not to accept her mother’s honey-soaked promises. Swiftly, they made their way to the stables and Hattie was relieved it was Sunday, so she didn’t have to deal with the prickly stable hands. Owen might enjoy Letty’s company, but Hattie despised the casual way the other woman would talk to their family and complained to their mother constantly about her disrespect. Safe to say, her mother ignored her, and Letty would continue being employed.

            Stepping into the stable, Hattie began pointing out the stalls.

            “That monstrosity is Flipkart, Owen’s horse,” she waved a hand at the large, black horse that whinnied at them and stomped its hoof almost disapprovingly. Hattie didn’t bother hiding her laughter as Ramsey jumped away from the large beast. “He’s known to bite, so I would steer clear of him.”

            Ramsey nodded with wide eyes as she gave the horse a wide berth.

            “Across from his stall is my brother’s.” Hattie once again waved a careless hand towards the smaller stall. She smirked at the throw pillow that was subtly poking out from a pile of straw.

            “You mean, where he keeps another horse?” Ramsey asked hesitantly.

She nearly burst into laughter again when she saw the deep confusion on Ramsey’s face. “My mother stopped discouraging him years ago, and now he sleeps many nights here with the other animals.”

            “May I ask why?”

            “Who knows.” Hattie rolled her eyes and shrugged. “To feel special? Or maybe he’s finally accepting that he has no place in polite society.”

            Ramsey nodded, but held back from asking more questions as Hattie led on.

            “Those stalls are meant for my other brother, Deckard’s, horses. McClaren and Aston are very sweet and enjoy carrots if you ever want to win their favor. Next to them we have my mother’s horses, Noble and Majesty. I wouldn’t bother them, or else mother will have your head. She can be very protective of them, even more so than her own children.”

            She said the last part with a sneer and barely glanced at the two horses as they approached the last stalls of the stables. They had a few horses that were used for farm work or taking the carriages out when their personal horses were tired. However, it was the last two that Hattie had her eyes set on. There were two small, white mares that were the children of McClaren that Hattie had claimed as her own.

            “And these beauties are mine. The older one is Jagger while her sister is Moon. They have been with me since their birth.” Smiling, Hattie stepped up to Jagger and began to caress her long snout. “They love to go out no matter the weather, even though they are a bit hard to see during the winters.”

            “They’re lovely,” Ramsey spoke with a hint of awe in her voice. However, as Hattie looked at the other woman over her shoulder, she saw Ramsey standing out of reach of the horses.

            “Don’t worry, Flipkart is the only one that bites. The others know how to behave.”

            “I’m sure they do.” Ramsey said, making no attempt to move closer to the animals.

            Hattie raised an eyebrow. “Then why don’t you come pet Moon?”

            “Oh no, I wouldn’t want to bother them.” Ramsey said far too quickly and shifted her weight from one foot to the other. If anything, she seemed to have stepped back a little.

            “They enjoy the attention.” Hattie pressed. She didn’t understand how someone could be skittish around horses when they were so integral to their way of life.

            “I—”

            “Come here.” Hattie was losing her patience and narrowed her eyes at Ramsey until she finally straightened her back and slowly approached the stall. Frowning, Hattie watched as Ramsey shakily held a hand out towards Jagger and bit her lip. “She’s not a dog, she won’t sniff your hand. Pet her, like this.”

            Grabbing Ramsey’s hand, Hattie gently guided it to lay on the middle of Jagger’s forehead.

            Ramsey gasped, and Hattie couldn’t decide if it was because of her, or from touching the horse. Regardless, it didn’t take long for Ramsey’s hand to stop shaking as it slid up the horse’s head, gently caressing the course snow-white fur.

            “Hello, Jagger.” She whispered, growing bolder with each passing second. “You’re not so bad, are you?”

            The horse pressed its head into Ramsey’s palm insistently, not once trying to nip at her delicate fingers. Hattie was surprised. Usually, Jagger and Moon were very territorial. They weren’t as aggressive as Flipkart, but they weren’t fans of strangers either. Owen said they inherited that trait from her.

            Hattie had hoped that Jagger would try to scare Ramsey. Instead, she treated her like a familiar friend. It was confusing to say the least.

            “Well, you two seem to be getting along so well, how about you take her out for a ride?”

            Ramsey’s recent burst of confidence all but evaporated. She quickly withdrew her hand and stared wide-eyed at Hattie. “What? No, I don’t ride.”

            “Well, I’m going to.” Hattie said, opening the stall doors. “So, if you have any hope to keep up with me you better learn fast.”

            Without further explanation, Hattie saddled up the two steeds and lead them out of the stables. Ramsey trailed behind, watching helplessly.

            “I can ride.” She spoke quietly. “I just haven’t in a while.

            “Oh, spare me!” Hattie rolled her eyes and interlaced her fingers together, created a makeshift step for Ramsey to use. “I’m not interested in hearing you whine about getting to ride a horse. People would kill for the chance to even be near one of McClaren’s children. So, are you coming or not?”

            Ramsey balled her fists anxiously, looking around for an excuse to stall. Eventually she looked down and whispered, “What about my dress?”

            Hattie’s gaze returned to the dress that made Ramsey look more like royalty than Hattie ever had. Elegance wore her well.

            She blinked after a moment and looked away, readjusting her stance and spoke briskly. “What about it?”

            “Won’t it be ruined if I wear it while riding?” Ramsey pressed. Her hand brushed against some of the glass beads that dangled from the fabric. It really was a beautiful dress.

            “Only if you fall off.” Hattie huffed, once again offering her hands as a step for the other woman.

            Sensing that Hattie would not be swayed, Ramsey gave one last mournful glance at her dress before sighing and approaching the horse. Thankfully, she was very light compared to Hattie’s brothers, who always teased her when she offered to help them onto their own horses. In no time at all, Ramsey was up on top of Jagger, even if she was clutching at the saddle with a white-knuckled grip and her legs dangling off one side of Jagger.

            Hattie snorted at the riding position she had chosen. “You’ll fall off for sure if you ride sidesaddle.”

            Ramsey looked down in confusion. “How else am I supposed to ride in this dress?”

            To her defense, the dress really was not intended to be worn while performing any recreational activity other than dancing. The skirt didn’t offer enough flexibility for one to sit astride a horse. At least, not without sacrificing some semblance of modesty, which Hattie was never one to shy away from.

            “Here.” Hattie said, pushing and nudging Ramsey’s position. She was once again quietly disappointed in Jagger. The horse never liked strangers, and certainly never let anyone besides Hattie or her family ride her. Hell, Jagger even attempted to nip Owen if she felt so inclined. She was letting Hattie down today by being far too docile, and was certainly not getting any sugar cubes later.

            “What are you doing?” Ramsey snapped when Hattie tried to push up her skirts and looked prepared to slap her hands away, but her hands stayed still and clenched. No doubt she didn’t want to be fired for laying a hand on one of Queenie Shaw’s children.

            “Calm down, I’m not trying to rob you of your virtue.” Hattie rolled her eyes. “But if you want any chance of staying on top of this horse then you’ve got to loosen up.”

            “Loosen up.” Ramsey repeated dryly. “Because relaxing is how successful people stay on top.”

            “Is that what you want then?” Hattie said, looking back down at the dress pointedly. “And you think my mother can help you get there?”

            “I think,” Ramsey spoke lightly. “That this morning I was nobody. And now I’m living and working with one of the most influential families in town. Who knows what tomorrow might bring.”

            Hattie set her jaw. She never understood people’s obsession with wealth and power—it didn’t do her any good. If anything, it’s only made Hattie’s life more bothersome. Her mother wouldn’t be constantly badgering her about acting like a lady if they didn’t have a family image to uphold. Nor, would her brothers have to play these meddlesome roles and make her look bad for not complying to their mother’s whims. There were times Hattie wished they had been born to a poor farmer rather than the wealthiest woman in Quartershire. At least then Hattie wouldn’t be chastised for tracking mud everywhere.

            “Wonderland isn’t all it’s made up to be, love.” Hattie said, looking up to meet Ramsey’s eyes. “And you’ll never know what happens tomorrow if you die falling from a horse today.”

            She felt Ramsey’s muscles relaxed, allowing Hattie to maneuver her legs into a more secure position. Despite her previous reassurances, she couldn’t help but admit to herself the intimacy of this act. Pushing up a dress skirt and revealing Ramsey’s old, mended stockings until she’d nearly reached where they ended at her upper thighs. Swallowing thickly, Hattie glanced away and felt a flash of heat in her cheeks.

            “There, see?” Hattie asked, awkwardly gesturing to Ramsey. “Doesn’t that feel better?”

            Ramsey looked down, apparently assessing herself. While she’d allowed Hattie to adjust her position, she still did not seem happy to be on top of a horse with her skirts halfway hitched up her legs.

            “A little.” She said, cautiously and slowly released her tight grip on Jagger’s saddle. So far, the horse had stood patiently while the two women had adjusted Ramsey’s seat, and only stamped a foot once it was clear her rider was ready. Rolling her eyes, Hattie knew that Jagger would bolt down her favorite path if they didn’t start riding soon.

            “Good,” Hattie nodded. “Hold onto her reigns and try not to fall off.”

            With those last words, she turned on her heel and gracefully pulled herself atop of Moon, who was just as equally eager as her sister. Hattie understood their excitement.

            The sound of hooves beating against the ground soothed Hattie’s frayed patience like nothing else. And she loved how the spring-scented air played with her hair.

            Riding had always been an escape for Hattie. Although she’d disliked having to share horses when she was younger, she was always excited to get atop the large beasts and feel the power they held within their bodies. When she had been old enough to have her own horse, she could be found outside racing every horse from dawn until dusk, only stopping when the horses needed a break.

            She could still remember the first time she had gone riding with Deckard on their own horses. The smile her brother had been sporting at the time had been one of the happiest ones she had ever seen on his face, and she could still hear his laughter in her ears when she raced ahead.

This memory and more rushed through her as she encouraged Moon into a gentle trot, then a brisker pace. Behind them, she could hear Jagger whining, demanding to catch up. Glancing behind her, Hattie rolled her eyes.

            Ramsey was holding Jagger’s reigns in a tight grip and barely allowing the horse to go faster than a slow walk.

            “Hurry up!” Hattie shouted. “Jagger needs her exercise!”

            Ramsey only stared at her wide-eyed, but Jagger seemed to get the message loud and clear.

            As soon as the words were out of her mouth, Jagger bolted with as much pent-up energy as she had and was ahead of Hattie in no time. Cursing under her breath, she nudged Moon into the same run and called for Jagger to come back. She silently admonished the horse. Jagger had lulled her into falsely believing she’d behave. In the stable she could control how much damage she could do to Ramsey. But out here, there was no telling just where Jagger was going.

            However, if Hattie was honest with herself, it wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world if Jagger was the one to chase Ramsey away. Her mother couldn’t be angry at Jagger—or Hattie for that matter—for doing what was in its nature.

            “Make it stop!”

            Hattie snorted at Ramsey’s pathetic cry for help. What did she expect Hattie to do? Jagger wasn’t a trained hound. She did what she wanted. It was the rider’s responsibility to keep her under control. At this point, Hattie was seriously doubting Ramsey had ever ridden a horse before in her life. Which was a thought that boggled Hattie to no end. How could someone not know how to ride a horse when they were one of the only ways to travel? Trains and bicycles were hard to come by. Horses were much more preferred.

            The fields surrounding the Shaw Manor flew by as Hattie chased after Ramsey and the rogue horse. The once gentle breeze was now whipping into her face while she could barely hear the other woman’s shouts of fear over the pounding of her own heart and Moon’s hooves. But despite the danger, her face had split into a large grin and laughter spilled from her lips as she gleefully spurred Moon on.

            In front of them, Hattie could see them approaching the pond, and more fond memories from her childhood pushed their way to the front of her mind. She missed spending long summer days playing in the shallow depths with Owen, who would always tell her stories of a monster made out of mud wanting to eat her. Heart heavy with nostalgia and eyes glazed with wistfulness, she almost didn’t notice the harsh way Ramsey was pulling on Jagger’s reigns.

            Ramsey and Jagger were next to the pond, the horse no doubt wanting to visit her own favorite spots, but they were too close to the water’s edge. Even from far away, Hattie could see Jagger’s hooves slipping on the muddy edge and the horse losing its footing. As Ramsey pulled even harder on the reigns to slow Jagger, the horse responded in kind by rearing up onto its hind legs and screaming. The soft ground underneath the large creature gave way, causing them to topple over. Both human and horse were squawking in shock as they went careening into the pond.

            “Jagger!” Hattie yelled, kicking at Moon to catch up to the pair.

            The dirty surface of the pond was awash in movement as Jagger groaned in distress and thrashed uncontrollably. Her white fur was soaked in mud, turning her nearly the same shade as Flipkart. However, with her wild movements, Hattie couldn’t see Ramsey in the commotion and had the irrational fear that the other woman had drowned. Which was ridiculous since the pond’s water barely came up to her knees at the deepest part. But Queenie would certainly have the justification to murder her. Pulling up to the pond, Hattie carefully kept Moon away from the soft ground so she wouldn’t fall in too. Throwing her leg over gracefully, Hattie was running into the water without a second thought to her clothes.

            “Shh, come here, Jagger. You’re ok. Everything’s fine, sweetheart.” She cooed at the large animal and was relieved to hear its groaning cease as Jagger finally found its footing in the water. “Come here, that’s it, good girl.”

            Grabbing the reigns, Hattie threaded her fingers through the horse’s now dirty mane, and she curled a lip in disgust when she pulled a slug out of the fine hair. Jagger was covered in streaks of mud, with bits of tall grass hanging off her flank, and Hattie didn’t even want to imagine the build up of gunk that was in her hooves. She sent a scolding look towards the horse as she gently guided her out of the pond and next to her sister. Jagger whinnied at her and stamped her foot as she carefully stayed away from the water’s edge.

            Rolling her eyes at the horse’s behavior, Hattie froze when she heard a sniffle.

            Slowly turning around, she finally saw Ramsey.

            “Shit,” Hattie hissed under her breath.

            Nearly laying in the pond, the other woman was soaked head to toe in mud. She was laying back with her arms holding her up behind her and half of her body hidden by the murky water. Panting harshly, tears ran down her face as the only thing cleaning her muck-covered cheeks. As for her dress, the once beautiful fabric was now thoroughly destroyed with many of the glass beads completely washed away and the careful embroidery ruined. It must have caught on Jagger’s saddle or a nearby bramble because there was a large rip up the long skirt and showed off far more of her legs than what would ever be appropriate.

            Hattie could only stare at the other woman and wait for some kind of reaction other than small sniffles. It wasn’t until Jagger let out a loud, impatient snort did Ramsey seem to come to her sense and desperately wipe at her face. Staying silent, Hattie could only watch was Ramsey took a shuddering breath, then clumsily tried to get her feet under her only to slip and fall even deeper into the pond. Water sprayed everywhere and continued to soak an already pathetic looking Ramsey. However, it was the soft whine of pain that made Hattie pause and sigh in exasperation.

            “You’re worse than a newborn colt!” Hattie scolded the young woman harshly and smirked at the harsh glare Ramsey sent her. Her face might be covered in odd patterns of mud, but that didn’t mean her eyes were any less expressive in their anger. Good, if the other woman expected to be able to keep up with her, she had better start showing her emotions and drop the whole prim-and-proper façade.

            “If your damn horse hadn’t thrown me off, I wouldn’t be like this!” Ramsey snarled, and for a moment, Hattie was impressed at her daringness to talk back to her superior.

            “Jagger wouldn’t have acted that way if you actually knew how to ride a horse,” Hattie sneered. “Now get out of there. We don’t have all day.”

            Once again trying to regain her footing, fresh tears ran down Ramsey’s face when she placed weight on one of her feet. Hattie narrowed her eyes—something wasn’t right. Storming up to her, Hattie roughly took her arm and pulled, intending to drag her out of the pond. In response, Ramsey shouted in pain and stumbled, forcing Hattie to catch her.

            “What’s wrong?” Hattie snapped.

            “My—” Ramsey gasped in pain. “My ankle.”

            “For the love of…”

            Growling under her breath, Hattie threw one of Ramsey’s arms over her shoulder and wrapped her own around her waist. Touching from hip to shoulder, Hattie carefully began to guide Ramsey out of the pond with neither of them uttering a word. Which Hattie was perfectly fine with. She didn’t want anyone to hear them and come across her helping a servant.

            Finally, they reached the bank of the pond and Hattie practically threw Ramsey onto the grass. With a soft grunt, Ramsey laid sprawled on the ground and stared despairingly at her utterly ruined dress and stockings. Under all the mud, Hattie could see a few cuts and bruises up and down her legs, but it was the swelling around her left ankle that made her worry.

            There was no way she could walk back to the manor.

            “You’re more trouble than you’re worth.”

            Ramsey blinked up at her before her lips thinned. “You’re the one who wanted to go riding.”      

            Hattie sneered but didn’t respond. She temporarily left Ramsey to sit in the sun and have the mud dry on her, and instead focused on Moon and Jagger. She would need to either bathe Jagger herself or let the horse stay dirty until Letty and the other stable hands returned the next morning. Thoroughly irritated, she tied Jagger’s reigns to Moon’s before turning back to Ramsey. The other was still staring down dejectedly at her dress, and for a brief moment, Hattie felt a pang of guilt.

            Yes, she had intended Ramsey to ruin the dress and upset her mother, but she hadn’t meant for the other woman to actually become attached to the piece of fabric. It was only a dress!

            “There’ll be time to sulk later.” Hattie stated bluntly. “Let’s get you onto Moon and return to the manor.”

            Still quiet, Ramsey nodded and stiffly accepted Hattie’s hand without complaint. She managed to stand with Hattie’s help and hobbled towards Moon. Hattie could feel the hesitation radiating off Ramsey as they approached the horses, but she ignored it and propelled the other closer. While Ramsey might not currently like the horses, they were necessary to get back to the manor in a quick fashion.

            “We’ll take Moon back,” Hattie mumbled.

            Ramsey simply nodded as they stepped up to Moon, seemingly too exhausted to fight against her when Hattie began to manhandle her. She nearly had to lift Ramsey onto Moon’s saddle while hissing at the horse to hold still. In the process of getting Ramsey up, Hattie’s clothes were equally dirtied, but she couldn’t care less. She had taken the shirt and trousers from Owen, so it would be on him to get them cleaned when she dumped them in his room later.

            Finally, Ramsey was seated on Moon’s saddle, looking even more unhappy than she had been when she had gotten on Jagger.

            “Keep pulling that face, and it’ll get stuck like that.” Hattie rolled her eyes when all Ramsey did was glare at her. With ease, she pulled herself up onto Moon as well, right behind Ramsey.

            “What are you doing?” Ramsey yelped and tried to move away from her, but there was no space to go.

            Hattie wrapped her free arm around Ramsey’s waist and tugged her back against her. “Unless you want to be thrown off another horse today, then I need to be the one guiding her.”

            “You can get off and guide it by the reins on foot.” She snapped back.

            Ramsey did have a point, and Hattie knew it. But despite how short their first ride had been, it was still a long walk home. One that Hattie would rather not travel from the ground.

            “That’s true.” She spoke. “But I won’t be able to keep you from falling if I’m leading the horses on foot.”

            She felt Ramsey tense again. After a moment’s hesitation, she whispered, “We’ll probably travel faster if we’re both riding anyway.”

            Hattie was glad that she was seated behind Ramsey. That way the other woman couldn’t see the smug smile that bloomed across her face and stayed there the entire ride back home.

            In fact, it only fell once Hattie heard Queenie's voice ringing across the yard as she was half-guiding, half-carrying Ramsey toward the house. They had left the horses in the barn, still completely filthy and waiting for the stable hands to clean them once they returned.

            “What in heaven’s name have you done?!”

            Hattie winced and tried to think of some explanation that wouldn’t get her into even more trouble. “We went riding.”

            “Did you ride into battle together? Why is Ramsey limping?” Queenie crossed her arms in disapproval, her face looking to be made out of stone by how severe of an expression she was sporting.

            Before Hattie had a chance to try and defend herself, Jeffery swooped in out of nowhere, and helped Ramsey the rest of the way inside the house. Hattie followed after them, if only to avoid being left alone with her mother.

            When Hattie was little, she’d been gifted a wooden doll. While she would have much preferred a wooden horse like her brother’s, the doll quickly became one of her favorite possessions. She liked that it was durable and could be dressed however she liked. There was a long scuff going down the staircase banister where Hattie had slid the doll down it hundreds of times. But one day she’d played with it a little too rough, and the doll lost an arm. The nanny had taken it away for mending. But she’d told Hattie she wouldn’t give it back until she proved she could take care of it.

            Hattie felt like she was that child once again as she trailed after Jeffery and Ramsey. She slowed to a stop as they continued on to the kitchen. It felt too pathetic to continue following them like a desperate puppy. It certainly wasn’t because Hattie felt guilty for putting Ramsey in a position where she could get hurt.

            “Well, you’ve certainly made a mess of things in short order.”

            Hattie could feel her mother’s eyes on her before she had even turned around. She turned, glaring. At some point Queenie had entered the house and was watching her with her usual even gaze, only glancing at the long trail of mud following the trio.

            “I’d only meant to scare her away.” She crossed her arms defensively.

            Queenie shook her head. “Yes, because you’ve always been one to recognize and respect boundaries.”

            “I didn’t want her to get hurt.” Hattie’s voice faltered and she averted her eyes. Their mother never failed to make one feel small. It was fun to watch it happen to other people, but absolutely miserable when you were her victim. Hattie expected Queenie to continue her crusade to make her feel miserable. Instead, her mother paused and tilted her head in interest.

              “That almost sounded like genuine regret. If I didn’t know better, I would say you’re concerned over Ramsey’s wellbeing,” Queenie remarked, not once taking her eyes off her daughter.

            Hattie felt her upper-lip twitch into a sneer. She hated the fact that their mother could read people so effortlessly. And sadistic enough that she feigned naivety so whoever had the misfortune of cowering under her gaze would have to be the one to admit weakness.

           But, to their mother’s repeated regret, her children were not the kind to admit weakness. And Hattie was certainly not going to change that now.

            “As I recall, mother,” Hattie spoke tersely. “You were the one who hired her to babysit me. It only makes sense I should worry about the parasite you’ve released into my life.”

            “Is that so?” Queenie’s lips curled into a knowing smile—the one Hattie dreaded as a child. That smile always spelled trouble for her. And not the kind she enjoyed. “How foolish of me to think you were trying to kill her.”

            “If I wanted her dead, she would already be six feet under.” Hattie sneered before turning on her heel and leaving her mother—and her annoying smile—behind. She had planned to storm to her room and brood until one of her brothers came back. They never failed to distract her when she was feeling down. However, that would require her to admit why she was upset. And admitting that she was truly sorry for hurting Ramsey was decidedly out of character for Hattie. It would be far too embarrassing.

            But she also found the thought of her room didn’t promise the same sense of peace that it had in the past. Hattie knew that if she locked herself away, she wouldn’t be able to think of anything other than Ramsey’s condition.

            With that thought, she found her feet traveling away from the staircase and toward the kitchen. If anyone questioned her, she would say that she was far too old to retreat to her bedroom to sulk. Not that anyone would ask.

            Hattie felt her resolve solidifying with every step. She would just peek into the kitchen to make sure Ramsey was alright, and then she would return to the stables and tend to the horses. It was the right thing to do, after all.

            As if reading Hattie’s mind, Queenie called after her. “Make sure Jeffrey uses plenty of ice on that ankle!”