Chapter Text
Letter, Quincey Morris to Dr. John Seward, 18th May
Dear Jack,
I'm heading to London for the next three weeks to visit Arthur, staying at Ring as usual. Art tells me you're frightful busy with your newfangled job, but I expect you can find some time to stop by and cavort with us like old times. Say you'll come or I'll have to go to Purfleet myself and kidnap you! Write me at Ring.
Yours,
Quincey
*
Letter, Dr. John Seward to Quincey Morris, 19th May
Dear Quincey,
You have dreadful timing— I am away at a conference in Oxford all next week. I shall be back soon and have arranged to take off the 24th through 26th so I may spend a few days at Ring uninterrupted. Will telegram details later.
Sincerely,
Jack
*
Letter, Mina Harker to Lucy Westenra, 21st May
Dearest Lucy,
I'm sorry I've been remiss in writing to you— married life is busier than I would have expected, especially since I am helping Jonathan with much of his work as he recovers from the illness he incurred on his trip! Even Mr. Hawkins has asked Jonathan to stop taking on so much work, but I am glad to be able to use my skills with shorthand and type-writing, as they have come in as handily as I expected. Please send me a letter and tell me everything you have been doing. You have not told me anything for a long time. I hear rumours, and especially of a tall, handsome, curly-haired man???
Your loving
Mina
*
Telegram, Dr. John Seward to Quincey Morris, evening of 23rd May
Have business tomorrow morning. Will see you at luncheon at Ring.
* * *
Jack's nerve had almost failed him, but sending the telegraph to his dear friend gave him courage. He had told Quincey he had business, and therefore he must go through with his plan.
He had the short train ride to get himself worked into an anxious fervor, but at last the waiting over and he was in a coach, almost to his destination. He fiddled with his lancet, juggling it through his fingers and snapping and unsnapping it, going over every word he was going to say.
The coach pulled up to the house of the Westenra family.
Jack's heart quailed, but then he pulled himself together and stepped out, holding his hat in one hand and his lancet in the other.
He had met Lucy Westenra the previous autumn, at Arthur's introduction, and had visited a few times as well as running into her at various social occasions. He found her beautiful, as he did most women, but what had baffled him about her was that she seemed to show interest in him as well. In a group conversation at one of the Godalming parties, Jack noticed how Lucy often turned to him and asked him for his opinion, drawing him into the conversation that he had been standing outside of. She had a coyness about her— he had told her once that she made a fascinating psychological study, and she had primly replied that she knew so, which had kindled an unexpected fire in his breast. They'd even exchanged a few letters. She was the first woman outside his family he'd ever really talked to— he had always sort of gloomily assumed that he would end up marrying a sullen woman who needed the money or the social standing his position as a doctor could offer, but more and more he'd been thinking about what it would be like to have such a beautiful young woman as matron of the asylum. He imagined reading side by side in the evenings by the fire, or eating dinner together, or attending the theater.
What had tipped Jack over the edge was getting a letter from Arthur saying that he had fallen in love with a girl and hoped Jack would come to meet her soon. That was all the details Jack had— Arthur was never one for wordy letters— but the prospect of meeting Arthur's love interest had made Jack look around him and consider what was missing from his life.
He had followed the path laid out for him to the letter: good at school, good at university, well-traveled, and now fully established in his career with his new appointment as asylum director. He could easily connect the dots to the next step: wife, children, and family legacy.
And, well, Lucy was the only woman he had even really talked to recently. He must try.
He removed his hat, rang the bell and was admitted by a servant, who informed him that Miss Westenra was in the parlor. He thanked his good fortune that he had caught her alone, and walked to the door the maid showed him.
He hesitated, his hand trembling, and knocked.
"Come in," came Lucy's sweet voice, and when he opened the door, her face lit up with genuine delight. "Dr. Seward!" she exclaimed, jumping to her feet. "To what do I owe this pleasure?"
The warmth that she exuded washed over him, softening his nerves a little bit. "I was in town to visit Holmwood," he said, making sure his voice was calm and even. "I hoped I might speak with you, for I have something very important to discuss." He dropped his hat on the seat next to him and, emboldened, crossed the room and took her hand, giving it a courtly kiss. She smiled at this, but her face grew serious as she heard his tone.
"Please, sit down."
Jack started to sit down in a chair and almost squashed his hat. This threw him off for a moment, and he held his hat awkwardly in one hand and the lancet in another for a moment before setting the hat down on the end table. Lucy sat on a chair next to him, her hands folded and her back straight. He couldn't for the life of him read her expression.
"Miss Westenra," he began thickly, then tried again. "Lucy. I will be plain, and not obfuscate with metaphor. You have become very dear to me, though I know you little, and as of late I cannot help but think what light and joy you would bring to my life were we to—" He stuttered slightly, unable to quite get the words out under her unblinking stare. He tried again. "I imagine life with you by my side to help and cheer me, and I have come here in hopes that you care for me, too." These last words came out in a rush, and he fidgeted with his lancet in his pocket, his knuckles white.
Lucy had begun crying. Oh dear, oh dear! He felt like a loose bearing had slipped into his brain, making all the gears clank and clatter against each other as she pulled out her handkerchief and dabbed away her tears. Jack shot to his feet, feeling a blush on his face, a huge wave of regret crashing down on him. "Miss Westenra, I'm so sorry. I'm a brute."
"No, please, don't be sorry," Lucy said between tears. She looked up at him, even prettier for the sparkling tears in her eyes. "I am dreadfully sorry that I can't return your affections."
Jack had heard some men say that women often turned down a proposal in order to be coy, and that it was only a matter of pressing them until they agreed, but Lucy looked so sincere that Jack couldn't imagine her doing this. Still, he felt a last little spark of hope, that perhaps it was because they didn't know each other very well. "Is there… is there any chance that you might learn to love me in time?"
Lucy hesitated, and for a moment hope soared in him like a bird.
Then she shook her head miserably, her hands trembling as she dabbed her handkerchief to her face.
Jack felt his hope plummeting toward the earth, but he couldn't die just yet, not when there was a chance, any chance, of salvaging the situation. "Forgive me for pressing you," he said, frustrated that his voice was getting hoarse, "and I do not wish to wring your confidence from you, but I have a selfish desire to know. Do you—" He stuttered. "Do you care for anyone else?"
Lucy looked up at him, brown eyes wide and still brimming with tears.
Jack felt faint under the kindness of her gaze, and he murmured, with his last tiny spark of optimism, "If a woman's heart is free, a man may have hope."
Lucy sobbed once, so hard it sounded like a choke, and Jack felt cruel for having asked the question. What right did he have to know, anyway?
"My heart is not free, I'm afraid. There is someone."
His hope crashed to earth. A lid slammed over it, and he felt as if darkness had crashed upon in as a tangible force. For a brief moment he was so hurt he couldn't speak, wondering why Lucy had been so kind to him if she had no designs for marriage to him.
The next instant, though, he felt a tremendous wave of guilt for even thinking such a thing. Lucy was a sweet creature, a dear friend, and if he didn't act correctly in the next few seconds, he was in danger of losing her.
He tried to force a smile, though he got the sense that it came out wrong, so he let it fade from his face and settled on a grave expression instead, trying to convey all his sincerity. With a bold movement he reached out and took both her hands, helping her to her feet, and looked straight into her eyes as he said: "I hope from the bottom of my heart that you will be happy with him you have chosen. And if you ever want a friend, I hope you will count me one of your best."
"I will," she whispered.
Jack was suddenly conscious of how close they were standing, the warmth of her hands in his, the perfect girlish beauty of her face. He realized, with a terrifying detachment, that he was leaning his head toward her as if to kiss her, and for a moment through a trick of the light or the rattling of his unstable mind he thought that her face was rising to meet him, too.
His common sense snapped back into place in an instant, and he squeezed her hands, bowed slightly, and said, "Goodbye, then."
"Goodbye."
He held her hands a moment longer, then released them, and turned and strode out of the parlor with a resolute step.
He shut the door behind him and stood in the hallway, feeling as if a thousand emotions were assailing him from all sides.
The door behind him opened, and he jumped as he turned around.
"You— er— you forgot your hat," Lucy said, holding it out and blushing.
"Thank you!" he said, taking the hat and turning red himself. They both stood there, faces a matching rose color, and then he said, "Good day!" and turned and speed-walked down the hall, out into the mocking sunshine, and over to the coach.
Once inside the coach, he buried his face in his hands, though what he was trying to hide, he couldn't say. He was both dreading and comforted by his impending lunch with Quincey.
* * *
"And then she said that there was someone," Jack said, slumping onto the table over his soup with his voice shaking with emotion. "And so I knew I must not press her further. I promised to be a dear friend all her life, and then I walked out with as much dignity as I could muster. What a fool I am, what a fool!"
Quincey sat across from Jack in his hotel room, eating a sandwich and wearing his best poker face. His heart ached for Jack, of course, but the conversation's unexpected turn was so shocking that his own head was reeling.
He and Miss Lucy had seen each other quite a bit the past week he'd been here, after having met briefly last autumn. She was a fair girl, intelligent but unpretentious, and he had made no effort to rein in his flirtatious nature around her. He believed she'd been flirting back— their walk along the seaside last week had felt downright romantic to him— though it was hard to tell with these English people.
But, for all that, he hadn't been blind to the way she looked at Arthur. So if she told Jack there was someone, it was either him or Arthur.
He needed to find out.
As they cleaned up lunch, Quincey gave Jack's shoulder a reassuring squeeze and then led him to the couch, laying him down and stroking his hand through his hair affectionately. "Take a rest before you give yourself a headache," he said. "I've got to run an errand, and I'll be right back."
* * *
Lucy had not been expecting to be proposed to today, and certainly not expecting to be proposed to twice. When Quincey Morris had come calling she was excited to see him, always enjoying his company and the way he tried to make her laugh, and then she had felt a growing dread as she realized what his intentions were and that, for the second time that day, she was forced to break another dear friend's heart.
She was still reeling from Dr. Seward's proposal. Of course he had promised to be a friend, but their goodbye had felt so final, she was certain he was passing out of her life forever, and the feeling lay in her breast like a painful net that squeezed at her heart. She liked him, genuinely liked him, and despite how unnerving he sometimes was, she liked the sensation of his unbroken gaze, his attention to detail (he could remember the tiniest thing about every conversation they'd had), and of course, his handsome if stern countenance. She blushed as she thought about how last year she'd written Mina teasingly suggesting Dr. Seward as a prospect for her friend— and she wondered if she had been grasping at straws, trying to think of a way to keep Dr. Seward in her life even if she could not marry him. It was ridiculous, ridiculous.
And now Quincey Morris was at her feet baring his soul to her, and she could not bear it, bursting into tears for the second time that day. And for the second time that day, she found herself being asked the same question: "Is there anyone else that you care for?"
"Yes," she said, her tears starting afresh, "there is someone I love." She looked into his soft, warm brown eyes, and for a moment forgot that he was a suitor and simply confided to him as a friend. "Though he has not told me yet that he even loves me!" For a moment the horrifying thought occurred to her that Arthur did not care for her in that way at all, that she had misread the situation, and that she had broken two hearts for nothing. It was a terrifying fear, and instinctively she reached for both of Quincey's hands, which he took in a gentle but firm grip.
They had held hands before, which Lucy had justified to herself by reminding herself that he was an American, and the customs were different over there. Now that she looked back on their interactions, she wondered if she had come across as a horrible flirt. There was just something so disarming about him, something that brought out her playful side and made her forget about etiquette and social conventions.
"That's my brave girl," Quincey said with a hearty smile, pulling her out of her thoughts. These words gave her a warm glow, and she held her head a bit higher. "It's better worth being late for a chance of winning you than being in time for any other girl in the world."
This made fresh tears run down her face; no one had ever said anything so romantic before in her life.
"Don't cry, my dear," he said brightly. "If it's for me, I'm a hard nut to crack; and I take it standing up. If that other fellow doesn't know his happiness, well, he'd better look for it soon, or he'll have to deal with me."
She laughed a little at this, squeezing his hands.
"Little girl, your honesty and pluck have made me a friend, and that's rarer than a lover; it's more unselfish anyhow. My dear, I'm going to have a pretty lonely walk between this and Kingdom Come. Won't you give me one kiss? It'll be something to keep off the darkness now and then. You can, you know, if you like, for that other good fellow— he must be a good fellow, my dear, and a fine fellow, or you could not love him— hasn't spoken yet."
He needn't have tried to convince her— the moment he asked for a kiss she was already willing to give it to him, though etiquette held her back. He looked beautiful and young kneeling before her, and as she leaned in she tried to savor every sensation. It had been well over a year since she had kissed a man— the last being a casual childhood sweetheart who was now married to someone else— and she had forgotten how good it felt to have another's lips on hers, warm and masculine and sweet-tasting, his short beard prickling her chin.
The kiss was longer than she intended, and she felt deeply ashamed at how much she wanted to continue. With a rush of embarrassment she drew back, flooded with guilt for being such a flirt, but Quincey's warm smile melted her fears away. He stood up, still holding both her hands, and said, "Little girl, I hold your hand, and you've kissed me, and if these things don't make us friends nothing ever will. Thank you for your sweet honesty to me, and goodbye." He squeezed her hand and strode straight out, hat in hand.
As soon as he was gone, Lucy broke down crying again. Now she was wishing she had kissed Dr. Seward, too, and perhaps sent him away less heartbroken. She wondered if she had just made the most horrible mistake of her life, and if she would die an old maid forever weeping over the two beautiful, worthy men whom she had rejected.
She wished Mina were here, rather than off in Exeter taking care of Jonathan. She wished she didn't feel so alone. It was silly, to wish that Arthur would come bursting through the door that minute, declaring his love for her, but she wished it anyway.
She sat down in front of the mirror, looking at her tearstained face. Line by line, she smoothed it out, dried her tears, tried to look pretty and content. She must keep her composure. But she didn't think she'd ever recover from saying no to two such good, lovely, courteous men.
* * *
"Mr. Morris here to see you," the servant said at Arthur's door.
Arthur looked up brightly as he was pulling on his best everyday jacket. "Quincey!" he said, not waiting for his friend to answer as he walked in. "I was just going to telegram you and ask you to bring Jack over to say hello. He's in town today, isn't he?"
Quincey grabbed his shoulder and turned him to face him, so roughly that Arthur was shocked. The American's brown eyes were blazing with such fire that Arthur took an involuntary step back— a useless gesture, as Quincey had his fist clenched into Arthur's shirt.
"What are your designs on Lucy Westenra?" Quincey asked, his voice on edge.
Arthur blinked at him, feeling a blush creep onto his cheeks. "Why do you ask?"
"I've just been to see her," Quincey said, "and so has Jack."
Arthur's mind raced for a minute, putting together the pieces. There was no way Quincey would be this angry if it had been a normal social call.
"Both of you?" was all he could manage.
"Well?"
Arthur touched his hand, making his fist unclench a little. "Quincey, to tell the truth, I've been trying to get her alone for well over a week now. Her mother is keen on me for her, you see, but I'm afraid if I propose in front of her, Lucy will feel pressured to say yes even if her heart isn't in it. I have to catch her alone, but it feels impossible!"
"Well, Jack and I both managed," Quincey said, releasing his shirt at last.
Arthur stared. "She turned you down?"
"Both of us."
"She turned you down?"
"Well, she seemed heartbroken about it, and gave me a right good kiss, but yes, she did."
Arthur felt a flood of relief and happiness. "Oh, you lucky devil, to get a kiss before I had the courage!"
"Well, you'd better get up the courage, or I promised Lucy you'd have me to deal with."
Arthur paled. "You didn't tell her—"
"I played dumb, but of course I knew she was talking about you." Quincey sighed, leaning his cowboy hat back. "You'd better get over there and propose before I punch your lights out."
Arthur laughed, and out of habit he threw his arm around Quincey's neck and kissed him on the lips. Quincey uncharacteristically tensed, and Arthur broke the kiss immediately, backing up hastily.
"Oh, ah, I suppose we'll have to stop doing that," he said, blushing slightly.
Quincey gave him a bittersweet smile. "I suppose so."
For a moment, Arthur thought about the implications of promising his life and love to only one person, and he felt a small chill of anxiety. But then Quincey grinned at him, and shoved him, and said, "Now git a-goin' before she marries someone else, you ninny!"
Arthur grinned and ran out the door, his heart so full of love and excitement that he could barely contain himself.
* * *
By the time Arthur Holmwood came to propose, Lucy had already cried twice.
He nearly burst through the door, his poise broken by his excitement to have caught her without her ever-present mother there, his handsome face flushed and his unruly blond curls already starting to come undone from his carefully-slicked back hairstyle.
Lucy sat primly on the chair, wringing her handkerchief in her hand and feeling her breath caught in her throat. He was so handsome and so good, his eyes bright as he bowed and wished her good day.
"Miss Westenra…" he said, not wasting a single moment, and drew her to her feet, kneeling before her with his hand in his pocket.
She wished that she could be as happy in this moment as she wanted to be— she had longed for this for weeks now, and it was finally happening, but all she could think about right now were, to her guilt, two other men: the two she had turned down in favor of the man kneeling before her.
Arthur's hand was trembling in hers, his eyes wide and blue and beautiful, and he only gasped out, "Will you—" before Lucy answered, "Yes. I will."
He jumped to his feet and kissed her. He was nearly a foot taller than her, having to lean down to meet her lips, but his arms were warm around her, and she found herself crying this time, but for joy.
She knew she had made the right choice— she did. And yet she was haunted by the intense longing in Dr. Seward's brown eyes, and the sweet passion in Quincey Morris's kiss.
But she had to choose, didn't she? And she could not regret choosing Arthur. He was sunshine personified. He made her feel as if life were endless and kind and beautiful. His arms were warm and strong around her, and as she thought about what it would be like to be embraced by those arms every day for the rest of her life, she felt such a surge of joy that she couldn't help but kiss him harder.
"I'm so happy," Arthur said, releasing her lips for a moment to just hug her. "Thank you, dearest, thank you."
He wiped away the tears from her eyes, then his face grew concerned. "Are you all right?"
Lucy looked up at him wide-eyed, but was unable to speak. She tried so hard to keep her face immovable as stone, to not let anyone know what she was thinking, and yet the pain of having to reject two wonderful men was leaking out the edges.
"This morning was… distressing," she managed. "But let us not talk about it."
"What happened?" Arthur asked, sitting her on the couch and sitting down beside her. His eyes were open and full of worry.
"I— I can't tell you," she said.
"But if we're to be married, you can tell me anything."
"Please, darling, not yet. I'll tell you later."
Arthur looked concerned, but he respected her choice. "In that case, can I kiss you again?"
Lucy leaned up to kiss him, letting the warmth of his lips chase away her doubts. She had to choose, and so Arthur it was. She just wasn't sure how she was going to tell him about the other proposals.