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James doesn’t love winter house parties.
That’s odd, perhaps, because a house party is typically amongst his favourite things in all the world. He likes to have a couple of weeks of convenient, easy company and cheery conversation. And he ought to be glad that the Chos have invited him to this one in the depths of winter, for Christmas and new year are typically quite lonely in such a small family as his, so it’s a joy to be sharing the season with other folks instead of only his grouchy father.
The problem with this winter house party, though, is the weather. It was icy yesterday, icy the day before, and now it has gone and snowed heavily. James doesn’t get on at all well with being cooped up inside and unable to get out for a ride or a brisk walk or any other sport whatsoever. He struggles to keep his social niceties in order when he’s trapped inside an elegant household with a wide circle of company and no chance to blow off steam.
He tries not to think of that, tries not to notice his skin crawling with that need to be out in the fresh air. He tries instead to think of how much he likes a house party, typically, how much he enjoys the company of Lord Cho and Lord Bridgerton and all their chums, how kind it is of Cho’s mother to host this occasion.
And he thinks a little - just a very little bit - of the eldest Miss Cho, of her eye-catching figure and warm, loud laugh.
It’s not that he has taken much notice of her figure or her laugh, to be clear. He’s only very slightly acquainted with her - only as much as it is proper for a chap to be acquainted with his good chum’s sister - and he’s set on living the life of a carefree bachelor for as long as possible, thank you very much.
Besides - Miss Cho is always in the library, hiding away with a book, and James is always in the drawing room, being sociable as he should, so he couldn’t take notice of her figure or her laugh very often even if he wanted to.
Yes. Well.
That’s that settled.
He doesn’t love winter house parties, but he’s grateful for the invitation, glad of the company - and he certainly doesn’t think too often of Miss Cho’s over-loud laugh.
…….
By that evening, escape is his only option.
He’s going entirely mad from feeling cooped up, but he can hardly go out for a ride in such snowy weather - that would risk the health of his host’s horses - and he fears it’s not socially acceptable for him to run a lap or two of the lawn by day.
So he’s going to do it by night, instead. He’s going to wait until his hosts are asleep, and then he’s going to sneak out to run a few laps of the lawn, or walk briskly for an hour or so by moonlight - something like that. He calls it a good, logical and practical plan - even if it’s also an odd one.
When the party breaks up that evening, he goes to his room as normal. He sits up and reads a while, until the house is dead quiet all around him.
Then he takes himself out into the snow.
He feels better at once. The air outside always has a different quality from the stuffy air within a drawing room, somehow. It feels fresher and lighter, makes him feel fresher and lighter in turn. He strides a while through the flowerbeds, wonders whether he might try a lap of the lawn or whether that would attract unwanted attention.
In the corner of the lawn - just hidden by the shadows of the surrounding flowerbeds - he sees someone else there ahead of him.
It’s Miss Cho. He recognises her at once - by her figure, yes, but also by plain simple logic. Considering all the guests at this house party, probability must point to the original spinster with the over-loud laugh being the most likely person to be found frolicking on the lawn at midnight.
He’s glad she’s here, in fact. He feels a good deal less self-conscious about his own odd behaviour now he knows he’s not being odd alone. That’s perhaps counter-intuitive - he perhaps ought to feel more self-conscious that she will inevitably spot him momentarily - but the comfort of feeling less alone wins the day.
He calls out to her, low and quiet, a voice meant not to carry even half-way to the house.
“Miss Cho? Are you taking the air too?”
“Oh - hello, Lord Fife.” She scarcely even looks surprised to see him, he thinks. “I wouldn’t say I’m taking the air. I took a brisk walk in the moonlight and now I’m up to mischief.”
“Jolly good. I’m out for a brisk walk, too.” He says, in case it will help.
“Great minds think alike.”
“What manner of mischief?” He thinks to ask. “Is is interesting mischief? Might you need any assistance with it?”
Ah. Now he has her attention. Now she’s turning to fully face him, looking entirely in his direction.
Hmm. There seems to be a rather large pile of snow on the ground behind her.
“I think it’s mischief which the majority of my brother’s rakish friends would not call interesting. I suppose I can’t presume that you will find it uninteresting. If you’re the sort of gentleman who likes a brisk walk at midnight, you might share my taste in mischief.”
“I might.” He agrees. In fact - he thinks it’s likely he would. He’s suddenly convinced of that.
“I’m building a snowman. Someone should. It’s simply impossible to let such an excellent snowfall as this go to waste. But my mother has decreed that even the youngest of my siblings is now too old for such childishness, so I have decided I must step into the breach.”
“Very wise.” James agrees, with a hearty nod. “I don’t much like snow, as it happens - I like to be out and about too much to be glad when it’s getting in the way - but I must say its best quality is its capacity for childlike fun. Snowmen and snowballs and so on are essential in such weather as this.”
“Oh - I couldn’t agree more.” She tells him, with considerable enthusiasm. “If we are to be trapped at home by the weather, we must at least make the best of it by playing about in the snow.”
“Well said.”
Silence falls between them, at that. He stands there, and she stands there, and neither of them says anything for perhaps a second or two.
James wonders whether that’s his fault - whether he has done something wrong, in this conversation he thought was going quite well - or whether silence is simply something which does happen, from time to time. He always takes it as something of a personal failure - a sign of boredom or awkwardness or his having made a muddle - but he thinks that might not be what has happened, here.
Just as he’s truly beginning to fret about it, she speaks up again.
“Well, then - will you help me?”
“Ahm - yes. To be sure. Sorry.” He mumbles.
“Why are you sorry if you’re willing to help me?” She asks, as well she might.
“Habit. I don’t think I truly am sorry - but I have made a habit of apologising when I fear I’ve made a muddle. I’ve never tried to help a lady with a snowman before now, so I’m not at all sure how to proceed.”
“I don’t think there’s any great mystery to it. That is - you do know how to build a snowman? You do have some experience of that part?”
“Certainly I do. Is this to be a three-ball or two-ball snowman?” He asks, thinking to demonstrate to her that he’s not entirely inept, that he does have some awareness of the basic design principles of snowman construction.
“I had a two-ball in mind at first, but now I have your assistance, perhaps I will try for a three-ball. Or perhaps - I hate to get ahead of myself - but perhaps we might finish this two-ball snowman for now, and consider a three-ball snowman tomorrow night if the snow lasts?”
“Jolly good.”
He thinks that’s quite exciting, as invitations go. He hasn’t even helped her finish this first snowman and already she thinks he might be a useful snowman-companion to have on hand tomorrow night, too.
He sets to rolling that large heap of snow into a more coherent ball without further ado.
“Do you not have gloves?” She asks, in a tone of some concern.
“I shall be quite alright.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
“I have no gloves, because I left the house intending to take a brisk walk, not build a snowman. But I don’t mind not having gloves - truly. I’m accustomed to playing with snow. Ahm - not so much as to be odd, I hope, in light of my age - but this is not the first time I have built a snowman without gloves.”
“As you like.”
Silence falls again, and he’s not surprised. He’d fall silent, too, if he were in conversation with someone speaking so stupidly as he lately did.
Only then -
“So you don’t like to be inside either?” She asks, as if genuinely interested, whilst she begins work on forming that second snowball.
“I like it well enough when the time is right. I like to have a balance of both. To my mind, the perfect day has a bit of time spent outdoors, a bit of hard sport, and then a few hours in the afternoon or evening reading by the fireside in the library.” He muses, still patting his share of snow into shape.
“Oh - I quite agree. I couldn’t agree more. Only - I must say - it’s odd to hear you speak so, when I’ve never yet seen you in the library at this house during your visits. You’re always being sociable with the other gentlemen in the drawing room or the billiards room. I never realised you liked to read in the library.”
“Ahm - you know how it is. When a chap is invited to a house party, he must do what is expected. It’d be terribly odd if I absented myself from the general company to hide in the library. And - well - you are always in the library, aren’t you? Your brother would think it even odder if I always followed his sister around the library. And besides - I do like company - I do like to have friends - and I’m convinced no one would ever invite me anywhere if I spent several hours of each day avoiding the chap who invited me.” He concludes.
He realises he has rattled on too long, then, and bites his lip a moment while he rolls his snow.
Miss Cho speaks up, into the silence. “It’s fascinating to hear you speak of it like that. I suppose perhaps it’s easier for me to hide, as you put it, since it is my home. My family can only have so many expectations of me at once - and fewer with every passing year, in fact. But I believe my brother is a decent sort who wouldn’t take it amiss if one of his guests wanted sometimes to be sociable but sometimes to read quietly. He understands that it is my way sometimes to be in high spirits with my sisters but sometimes to sit with a book, for example.”
“I’ll think on it.” James decides at once. “Thank you - it’s very good of you to set my mind at rest.”
“Oh - don’t mention it. Truly - it’s a pleasure. I never realised my brother had bookish friends, or I’d have made a point of seeking your company sooner.” She tells him, with the most breathtaking smile.
Ah.
It’s possible he has made a tactical error, here.
It’s possible that he ought not be out in a moonlit garden with his good chum’s most fetching sister - and certainly not if she’s to smile at him like that, to tell him that she thinks his company worth seeking.
He’s still stuck on thinking of that - still stuck on gazing at her welcoming smile - when she suddenly places a large ball of snow atop his hands.
He jumps a little from shock.
“Oh - sorry. Heavens - I did think you might move your hands. I’m putting the second snowball on, see?”
“I do see that.” He agrees, draws his hands out of the way at last.
She pats a little at the snowman, evidently trying to bond the head to the body.
And then -
“Oh - come here. You must be freezing.” She tells him, and catches his hands between her own.
He’s not overly freezing, as it happens. He meant what he said earlier - he’s perfectly capable of building a snowman without gloves - but he certainly doesn’t mean to object to the fetching Miss Cho pressing his bare hands between her own gloved ones a while.
“I’m quite alright.” He tells her, when he thinks he has enjoyed the moment longer than he should.
“You’re certain?”
“Yes.”
She pulls away at last, and he misses her at once - and then reminds himself that he’s a carefree bachelor, and can’t go missing the properly gloved hands of his chum’s spinster sister.
She busies herself with the snowman again, now. She has a few bits and pieces in an inverted hat - coal for eyes and nose and mouth, splintered slats of wood for arms. She puts the hat itself on the snowman’s head, finally, and steps back as if to admire her finished handiwork.
James is struck at once by an uncanny image.
“He looks like the vicar.” He offers, frowning thoughtfully at the snowman. “It’s the hat, I think. He looks uncannily like that local vicar your brother introduced me to yesterday with that hat which is visibly too small for the size of his head. The unbalanced proportion of his head to his hat is what does it - here, do you see?”
Ah. He’s rattled on too long, there. He need only have said that the hat reminded him of the vicar.
Miss Cho doesn’t seem to mind, though. She’s frowning as if trying to see what he sees, too - and now he’s holding out his hands to frame the head and the hat of that snowman for her, thinking to help her see it.
She has to lean close to his arms to look through his hands. He should have thought of that before he started out that way - or perhaps he did think of it, and was only ever looking for an excuse to be close to her.
It’s possible he’s losing his mind.
And yet -
“I see it.” She tells him now, firm. “I do see it. The failure of proportions between head and hat makes him look like Mr Collins.”
“Collins - that was his name.” James recalls as she says it.
“Hush - don’t say it too loudly.” She warns him, in a fierce whisper.
Ah. Yes. He ought not attract attention.
“Sorry.” He mumbles, as he always will when he makes a muddle.
“Not to worry.” She tells him, with a wave of the hand. “I only think it would be funny if all this business about Mr Collins should be the cause of anyone noticing us and coming out here to apprehend us. He tried to marry me to his son once upon a time, you know. I can’t ever hear his name or see his face without wincing and trying not to laugh, both at once.”
“Mr Collins did that?” James tries to clarify.
“Yes.”
“Mr Collins, the vicar we are discussing, once tried to marry you to his son?”
“Yes.”
“Mr Collins, the country rector with the ill-fitting hat, once tried to marry you, the daughter of a viscount, to his son?”
“His son does have marginally better taste in hats.” Miss Cho offers, lips twitching. “The son is not an unkind gentleman, either, and I’ve been known as an original sort all my life. I think he thought my parents might be glad to have me married off. Needless to say, I disliked the idea, and my mother stood by me, and the rest is history.”
“And - if I might just clarify - the son’s taste in hats and his not being actively unkind are his very best qualities, or…?”
“I believe they are amongst his best qualities. The lady who did marry him has never yet called him an excellent husband in public.” Miss Cho muses, thoughtful.
“Good God. You had a lucky escape there.” James offers, heartfelt - more heartfelt than he likely should be, in a conversation about marriage prospects with a near-stranger.
“Mmm.”
Silence falls, and this time, James is determined not to find it awkward.
He thinks it can’t be awkward, in fact. He’s typically not so awkward with Miss Cho as he is with some other folks - he’s already beginning to decide that for a rule - and besides, he doesn’t think she would have told him all that about her marriage prospects if she wasn’t at least somewhat comfortable around him.
Something occurs to him to say, now.
“So if our snowman-Collins were to suddenly spring to life as the real Mr Collins, he’d be even more scandalised than your typical vicar, to see us playing around in the snow together by night.” He muses. That’s only logical, he thinks, under the circumstances.
“Oh - very much so. I expect he’d be the most scandalised vicar in all Surrey at least.”
“Miss Cho? A scandal!” James whisper-cries, in his best impression of the vicar’s voice.
“Compromise! Compromise!” Miss Cho joins in.
“Don’t worry, Reverend Mr Snowman, I’ll do right by her. You can do the honours.” James adds, in his own voice.
Miss Cho turns immediately to him with wide eyes.
He presumes it’s a look of horror, scrambles immediately to repair the situation.
“A joke - just a joke.” He explains hurriedly. “And perhaps not a good one. I just - ahm - you know. You said compromise. He’s a vicar. It was a joke just there for the making.”
She nods, wipes her face clean of that odd expression. “As you say.”
“I am terribly sorry for making you feel uncomfortable.”
“Oh - not to worry. I wouldn’t say you did, not truly. I’m only wondering whether you have adequately marriageable taste in hats.” She jokes right back at him.
That resolves the awkward moment and no mistake. That has the two of them chuckling together, laughing quietly in the snow.
James is happy tonight.
It’s a realisation which hits him quite suddenly, rather unexpectedly. He’s not always the happiest chap, as a general rule. He’s good-humoured and sociable, to be sure, and he does enjoy his sporting pursuits - but he’s not often happy on a deeper, more personal level than that. He doesn’t often feel comfortable and content and genuinely joyful. He’s forever worrying about his broken family and his awkward manners and whether there’s anything in his future much worth looking forward to.
But here and now, tonight, he’s enjoying spending a bit of time laughing with an acquaintance who makes him feel more comfortable than awkward.
So -
“Thank you, Miss Cho. This is just the winter excursion I needed.” He tells her plainly.
“You’re ever so welcome. Indeed - I ought to thank you. A snowman is much more easily built with two.”
“Perhaps we’ll try for that three-ball tomorrow if the snow lasts?” He reminds her.
“Certainly we must. It has been a pleasure.”
“A pleasure.” He echoes, reaches out to shake her hand as if sealing a deal with a gentleman.
She shakes right back, her gloved hand in his bare one all the while.
…….
The following morning at breakfast, there is a good deal of general chatter around the table about the snowman which has appeared mysteriously on the lawn overnight.
“Who do you think might have built it, Charles?” One of the younger Misses Cho is asking Lord Cho.
“Haven’t the foggiest.” Lord Cho says, in the tone of one who does not greatly care.
“I think it was likely a servant.” Lady Cho says. “I can’t see who else would be up at that time of night while we were all asleep.”
“Certainly - a servant. We’ve a stable hand at my father’s estate who is forever setting up such japes.” James offers, carefully light.
There are a few agreeing noises around the table, at that, and James is relieved to hear them.
Miss Cho, meanwhile, seems set on looking straight through him as if he doesn’t even exist. She’s sitting at the far end of the table, asking her sister to share the jam, and whenever her eyes pass over him there’s not so much as a blink of recognition.
That bothers him more than it should, he finds. He ought to be grateful that she’s so adept at guarding her own reputation and his carefree bachelor life.
Instead he’s wondering what happened to last night’s happiness, whether it has melted like snow in the spring.
Perhaps it’s like one of those short-lived Easter snow showers which does occasionally happen. Perhaps his happiness never settled at all.
He tries not to think on it any longer. He works methodically through a generous breakfast, makes conversation with Bridgerton by his side about a new hunter the other chap lately purchased. When his plate is clear, he serves himself a few more eggs, just to be on the safe side. A chap had much better keep up his strength if a confusing young lady with an excellent laugh is to unsettle him by looking straight through him.
Little by little, the conversation turns towards plans for the day. Most of the gentlemen are to play billiards. The ladies are to sit in the drawing room with their sewing. The party might occasionally come together to play at cards.
At that point, Miss Cho speaks up.
“I mean to take a walk while you are all sitting with your needlework. The lanes will be pretty from the snow and safe enough for an intrepid walker, I believe.”
“If there’s to be a party out walking, I should like to join in.” James says at once. “I understand Miss Cho does not like to be cooped up by wintry weather, and I feel much the same.”
“I expect Connie didn’t mean for there to be a party, My Lord. My sister is often accustomed to go out on rambles by herself." One of the younger Misses Cho tells him.
"I pray you won’t think the worse of me for indulging such behaviour, while we are at home on our estate.” Lady Cho rushes to add.
“Ahm - not at all. Terribly sorry. I thought the lady meant that there might be a walking party. I didn’t realise she meant to take a solitary ramble.” He tries, all rushed and confused.
“I’m sure Connie would welcome your company if you’re inclined to walk with her.” Lord Cho decides now. “I know you don’t deal well with days on end spent indoors, Fife. There’s no need to stand on ceremony around us - you must simply say if you’d rather join my sister on her walk. We have our fair share of intrepid maids in this family, since my sisters are as they are. Someone could certainly be found to chaperone you.”
“I shouldn’t like to impose on the young lady’s privacy.” James hedges.
“I shouldn’t like to be rude and insist on going alone.” Miss Cho herself says now - but in a tone he cannot even begin to understand.
He doesn’t know what to do. He simply does not know. He evidently likes the lady more than she likes him - evidently made more of their adventures last night than she did - and now she says she’s willing to have his company for a walk, but he can’t help but feel her brother likes the idea more than she does.
He’s still in a muddle about it when Bridgerton makes the decision for him, in the end.
“You must go, Fife. We’ll have an even number for cards or billiards without you. I know what a horror you are when you’re bored indoors in the rain or snow and then you must sit out of a game as the odd number. You had much better go and stretch your legs, then take a turn at the tables when you return.”
He says it kindly, James thinks. He hopes. He hopes that’s the fond exasperation of friendship, not a damning indictment of his worse flaws.
All the same, he takes the hint.
“I’d be delighted to walk out with you, Miss Cho, if you’re sure it’s no trouble.”
“Of course. We’ll leave directly after breakfast.”
“Jolly good.”
She nods, goes back to studying her jam.
…….
James is convinced that something is still wrong as the two of them set off from the house together, with a maid trailing a respectable distance behind. He’s trying not to think too hard about Miss Cho’s mood - trying not to turn it over and over in his mind, as he can sometimes be tempted to do - but he’s convinced that there’s something odd in her manner towards him this morning.
He tries to ignore that oddness and make cheerful conversation, instead.
“Will this be a long walk?” He asks, as they wander down the drive.
“I expect so. My walks often are.”
“Jolly good. You said that the lanes might be pretty in the snow?”
“I hope they will be.”
“And you like lanes, in general?” He tries desperately.
“They are a practical sort of road, I believe.” She answers, brows raised at him as if in confusion.
He doesn’t blame her, honestly. Even by his usual standards, that was an awkward thing to ask.
He clears his throat, tries again. “You said you often take long walks?”
“Yes.”
“Do you have any… preferences? Do you prefer to set out in a particular direction, or do you have a favourite sort of terrain for walking?”
“Oh - what a thoughtful question.” She tells him, suddenly seeming rather more like her usual self. “I like to take botanical expeditions, in fact. I have enjoyed them ever since I was small. I take the longest and most adventurous walk I can, and I look for interesting plants all the while, and - hell and damnation - is Jenny out of earshot, do we think?” She asks, throwing a look over her shoulder.
“Jenny is the maid?” He checks, just to be certain.
Miss Cho nods.
“Jolly good. Then I think she is likely out of earshot, but it depends how loudly we speak.” He reasons carefully.
“Mmm. I think you have it right. Well, then - I am determined to whisper all the rest of the morning, just to be on the safe side.”
“It is important to you that the maid is out of earshot?” He asks, trying to sort through the situation logically, trying to understand her concern about the whereabouts of the maid alongside the sudden brightening of her character.
“Very much so. Jenny is particularly close with my mother, you see. She has been chosen for this mission deliberately. I can tell that there is something afoot this week - my mother has been watching me far too closely, and my brother keeps looking for little opportunities to recommend you to me. Did you notice that we were steered together for tea in the drawing room two days ago?”
“I am noticing it now you say it.” He realises, nods cautiously.
“So - there you have it. The last thing we need is for Jenny to catch wind that we were up to mischief together last night. My mother would have the banns read within the hour. I am determined to do everything within my power to protect you from my family’s expectations.” She concludes in a tone of finality.
“Ahm.” He manages, scratches awkwardly at his ear.
Hmm. That doesn’t work at all well with a hat and gloves in the way for the weather, in fact.
He clears his throat, tries again.
“I’m sure it’s good of you to want to protect me from your family’s expectations, but you needn’t fret overly. I’m no stranger to expectations. Mothers do try to throw their daughters at me quite often, even when the daughters don’t wish to have me catch them. I stand to inherit a dukedom.” He explains.
“I am very aware of the dukedom.” She tells him at once. “My brother has mentioned it three times this week at least.”
“Jolly good.” He mutters, feels his face flush hot. “And - ahm - pardon me - you’re keen to avoid expectations even though you are very aware of the dukedom - and yet you’re still willing to walk out with me? You’re still not averse to the occasional bit of mischief? I have understood that correctly?”
“I’m not averse to mischief at all. I do hope we’re still building that second snowman tonight. I only think that we must be very careful not to get up to mischief in front of my family or my mother’s closest housemaid.”
He nods, takes a moment to digest all that, to think it over carefully.
She doesn’t want to throw herself at him for the sake of the dukedom, but she likes spending time walking with him and getting up to mischief with him. That’s the only logical way to interpret all this, he realises. She enjoys his company but isn’t out hunting his title for the sake of it. She cares for his friendship more than her own marriage prospects, even.
He never heard such good news in all his life.
So -
“I shall behave with circumspection as best I am able.” He reassures her now. “I’ve heard it said that we Fifes are not a very subtle family, but I shall try to ensure there’s no sign of our mischief together in front of your mother or brother or maids.”
“Thank you.”
“Much obliged.”
“I wouldn’t say we Chos are subtle, either. We’re quite a high-spirited bunch - perhaps you have noticed that?” She asks, lips twitching.
He grins at her. “Perhaps I have.”
She laughs, throws him a warm look.
Huh. He hopes that the maid isn’t just out of earshot, but is rather short-sighted, too. That’s the only way he thinks they can go around looking at each other like that without encouraging her mother to plot and plan.
He’s wondering about warning her when she turns the conversation in an interesting direction.
“We must do a collection of snowmen. I’ve decided it’s a shame to have only Mr Collins.”
“Very wise. But it would be dangerous to base them all on real people, I think. We might offend someone or risk folks guessing about our mischief.”
“Yes. I think we should make them types, not specific people. We should do types like a jockey or a jester or a naturalist on expedition.”
“Hmm. Yes - a vicar in an ill-proportioned hat is a famously well-known type.” He teases.
She laughs again at that, and he enjoys the sound of it far too much.
“Tell me more about your botanical expeditions.” He bids her now. “I think it noteworthy that you want to make a snow-naturalist. Is that inspired by your own work, perhaps?”
“You truly want to hear about it? You’re in earnest?” She asks, eyes wide.
“Very much so. Please - tell me what you will. We have a long walk to pass, after all.”
She smiles at him for that, and sets to telling him all manner of interesting things about the flora of Surrey.
Hmm. Evidently that odd mood at breakfast has been resolved once and for all, now they’re out of earshot of the world at last.
…….
He sneaks out again that night, because obviously he does. He wouldn’t let Miss Cho down, not when she’s expecting him for snowman-related mischief.
They build two that night, in fact - a three-ball which they dress as a footman, and a snowwoman wearing a housemaid’s apron. They’re a very convincing pair of snowfolk if he does say so himself.
Miss Cho wanted to make a naturalist snowperson, but feared it would give the game away, feared the whole family would know at once it was her behind the scheme. James finds himself feeling rather sympathetic to that thwarted hope, so he stands around out there with her quite a while, encourages her to speak a bit more about what a naturalist snowperson would look like.
He’s wearing gloves tonight. He’s disappointed about that each and every time she passes close by him, each and every time she passes him a lump of coal or a ball of snow.
He’s disappointed about it, but he knows it’s for the best. He’d likely do something incredibly daft if he spent too much time around her with bare hands - something there would be no hope of concealing from her family whatsoever.
…….
They continue in much the same vein for the next couple of days. They build snowmen together by night, and then at the breakfast table they pretend to be scarcely acquainted, while everyone around them tries to guess who built the snowmen and what the mysterious mischief-makers might build next.
Sometimes Miss Cho goes out for a walk, and James makes a show of nonchalance as he invites himself along. Sometimes in the drawing room her brother happens to manoeuvre the two of them together for tea, and James makes a show of indifference but accepts the teacup all the same.
Those moments are always the most awkward. It’s impossible to get out of earshot in a crowded drawing room, isn’t it? So tea with Miss Cho is always an odd, stilted affair, where the two of them chatter lightly and stiffly about the weather a while, and where James pretends not to stare at her bosom.
By and large, though, he’d say those days are quite successful ones. He’s not as grouchy and ill-mannered as he would typically be in winter weather, since he does spend a fair bit of time out of doors with walking and snowmen. He doesn’t think that Miss Cho’s family have caught on that she and he are quite well acquainted - her brother does keep throwing them together with little elementary introductory comments about each other’s likes and dislikes and interests.
He misses her, when they’re together in the drawing room or at the dinner table by day. That’s an odd thought, perhaps, but it’s the solemn truth. He misses the more genuine friendship they enjoy in private.
Ah well. It can’t be helped.
She’s not interested in going after the dukedom, and that’s simply how it is.
…….
There’s a fresh snowfall, later in the week, and it makes the world beyond the breakfast room window look very pretty and tempting indeed.
James can just imagine what fun he and Miss Cho will get up to tonight. They’ll have to build a veritable army of snowmen out of this bounty. Such an excellent snowfall as this can’t be allowed to go to waste.
He’s just musing on that - just schooling himself not to look longingly at either the world outside or the young lady inside - when suddenly she speaks up.
“Brother - I have a suggestion to put to you.” She announces to the table at large, and to Lord Cho in particular. “If we had guests in summer, we would play cricket with them. I think we must do something similar but more suitable for the season. We must have our share of competition and sport. I suggest a snowball fight - a large one, with teams and tactics. That must be the obvious substitute for cricket in these conditions.”
“Come now, Connie - that’s not the proper thing. We can’t have a childish snowball fight in company.”
“We are a small party of friends - I’m certain none of your gentleman chums will take it amiss. And besides, they may sit out if they prefer not to join in.”
“I certainly wouldn’t take it amiss.” James rushes to offer. “I shall always join in any morning spent in any way competitive or sporting, as you well know.”
“I shan’t call the scheme childish. I like to play all manner of games at home with my siblings.” Lord Bridgerton adds now.
“You see, brother? Your friends would like a snowball fight.” Miss Cho concludes.
“Very well. Then you will have your snowball fight. What do you propose by way of teams and tactics then, hmm? What are the rules?”
“Two teams. Each team should have some time to build their home base - their fortifications - and prepare snowballs. We’ll need a scoring system.”
“We could score by hits, like in fencing.” James offers.
“Yes - a fine idea, Lord Fife. Thank you. We’ll score by hits, like in fencing.”
“I’ll keep score.” Lady Cho even goes and volunteers, as if she likes the scheme. “What about teams, Connie? How do you mean to divide up the party? Perhaps I might suggest that you captain one team, and Charles captains the other, as we always do for cricket - and then perhaps you could have Lord Fife for your second in command, and Charles could take Lord Bridgerton for his team, since those two gentlemen were the first to support your plan?”
“I like that for an idea.” Miss Cho decides.
“I like it too.” James offers, although no one asked him.
He realises he has perhaps made an error, there. He has perhaps made it too obvious that he and Miss Cho are in a fair way to getting well-acquainted, has perhaps let slip that he rather enjoys her company.
No one passes comment on it, though. Her mother seems much occupied with her toast. Her brother seems to be discussing something about tactics with Lord Bridgerton.
James risks a warm smile at her, then returns his attention to his breakfast.
This promises to be an excellent snowball fight and no mistake.
…….
Their team gets off to a winning start, if James does say so himself. He feels very pleased indeed with the home fortifications he and Miss Cho build, and her sister Miss Cordelia takes charge of their ammunition, rolling snowballs at great speed. Then her close-younger brother Mr Christopher Cho does very little of use, in all honesty, but he’s at least a game and cheerful sort, and James doesn’t overly resent having him for a teammate.
He tells Miss Cho he feels good about their chances, as the two of them put the finishing touches to their main front wall.
“I think this a good height for a snowball fortification.” He tells her, patting robustly at the top of it.
“I can certainly agree with that. Here - have you remembered to wear your gloves today?” She asks, even though she must be able to see them on his hands.
“I never forget to wear gloves.” He argues cheerfully. “Sometimes I only decide that they are unnecessary.”
“Hmm. Do I believe that?”
“You should. Here, now - I’m concerned about your gloves. Those little ladylike kid gloves don’t seem at all suitable for a serious snowball fight. Don’t you own robust winter riding gloves?”
“I do. My mother has banned me from wearing any mannish sporting attire while there are eligible gentlemen in the house. You know how it is.”
“Good God - how awful. Here - should I lend you these?”
“I think that would make our eligible gentlemen problem worse, My Lord.” She argues, lips twitching. “And besides - then you would have no gloves, and we’d be no better off as a team.”
“Jolly good. Well reasoned. Ahm - is this finished, do we think?” He asks, with a final pat at their snow wall.
“Perfectly finished, I’d say. Shall we help Cordie with the snowballs until we begin?”
He nods, kneels in the snow by her side and sets to rolling snowballs.
It’s quite a companionable way to spend a few minutes, he decides. She chats lightly about what the snow must be doing to the gardens. He sometimes interjects with a few comments about sporting tactics. It’s not a conventionally coherent conversation, perhaps, but he likes it very well, likes the sound of her laugh rising over the snowy lawn every so often.
She seems more at ease within earshot of this subset of her siblings than she is in front of the family at large, he decides. She doesn’t seem at all concerned if Miss Cordelia, for example, should observe that she and he are well-acquainted.
At last it’s time for the great snowball battle to begin. Lady Cho counts them down, then stands to one side of the lawn counting hits. Snow begins to fly, and James finds it rather easy to enter into the spirit of the thing.
The sound of Miss Cho’s laugh does help with that, most likely.
Mr Christopher Cho is the first of their team to go down, to no one’s surprise. After perhaps ten minutes, he takes a snowball to the side of the neck and decides that he’d like to go inside for a dry shirt.
Miss Cordelia turns out much more stubbornly resilient. James is quite impressed with her, honestly. If he’d had sisters - if his parents had managed to have daughters - he likes to think that they might have turned out like her.
He tells her that, at one point, and hopes it doesn’t sound odd.
“You seem like a capital sister.” He informs her, when she throws a particularly good shot at Lord Bridgerton’s chest. “That is - I can see why your sister thinks that you are a capital sister. I think you’d be a capital sister to have. I hope that makes sense.”
She laughs, and it sounds a little like her sister’s laugh, and yet not. “Come now, My Lord. You’re already courting Connie perfectly well without flattering her siblings too. I daresay I’d like you very well as a brother, but you needn’t lean on that when you’re already doing so well at -”
“Cordie.” Miss Cho snaps, makes a violent shushing motion with her hand.
“What?” Miss Cordelia asks, all feigned innocence. “I do think he would make a good brother. He’s much more interesting than Lord Eastwick.”
“I’ll tell Charity you said that.”
“Ahm - ladies - do you think we should perhaps keep our minds on our game?” James dares to ask.
He doesn’t entirely understand what’s happened. He only knows that the two of them seem to be squabbling over whether he’s courting Miss Cho, whether he’s likely to become Miss Cordelia’s brother any time soon - and as he knows Miss Cho has not set her cap at his title, it seems wise to move the conversation onwards.
The ladies must be distracted. That’s the only explanation for why Miss Cordelia goes down with a twisted ankle on her next brave dash to the left. Why - she has been playing perfectly competently for some half-hour or so now, and James rather regrets ever saying anything about sisters, if that is what has distracted her.
James and Miss Cho are outnumbered, once they lose Miss Cordelia. The other team still has Lord Cho, Miss Clarissa and Lord Bridgerton - although it must be said that Miss Clarissa does not seem to be contributing a great deal.
As if reading his mind, Miss Cho speaks up.
“We can still win this, My Lord. I’m confident. We must be well ahead on points. Your aim is excellent.”
“Ahm - thank you.”
“You must be a good bowler, I think. Why has Charles never invited you to visit during cricket season, hmm?”
“I’m a fair bowler. I wouldn’t say I’m good.” He hedges. “Ahm - that is - I am better than any of your brothers, in fact. I’m better than any of our close chums. But I wasn’t the first choice bowler when I was a lad at Eton or in my Oxford days. Mr Ambrose is considerably better - you know, the younger brother of Lord Ambrose. He gambles rather less and practises his sport rather more than his elder brother.”
“So you’re the second-best bowler of your acquaintance, and you call yourself fair?” She echoes, lips twitching.
“I’m not a clear second-best. There are other chaps who give me a run for my money.” He protests, feels his cheeks heating.
She laughs - and he thinks it’s a fond laugh - then chucks another snowball over the barricade.
Ah. Yes.
They’re here to win a snowball fight, not for him to show off about his bowling.
All the same -
“I took a hat-trick in my first match playing with the older lads at Eton. That was the day I became a close chum of your brother’s, I believe - we were the only two tiny fifteen-year-old lads playing on the school’s first team, and I went and took a hat-trick. I’m convinced that remains one of the greatest moments of my entire life.” He offers, with a self-deprecating little chuckle.
It has a bit more competition these days, perhaps. He was happier out in the snow with Miss Cho last night building an entire team of snow-horses, in fact. And it would be fair to say he’s happier now, throwing snow about for no good reason, listening to her flattery and her laughter going to his head.
“How am I supposed to keep my mind on the game when you keep distracting me with talk of cricket?” She asks, throws him a grin.
“Ahm - apologies?” He tries.
“We must spend a good half-hour or so comparing great cricket stories tonight. I’ll hear no excuses. You must tell me about that hat-trick in perfect detail, and I shall recount every century I’ve ever scored.”
“I look forward to it.” He tells her, and means it.
“Come on - we must try for a bit of interest, here. Clarissa has been cowering behind the barricade all match. What if we run right? We could make for that tree, there, and take their flank.”
“Jolly good. Tree, flank, right.” He summarises. “Ahm - let’s go.”
He sets out running, tries to bend low to the ground as he goes. She does likewise, sensibly hides herself in his shadow. He takes one snowball to the elbow as he goes, but no harm done.
They’re almost home and dry - almost safely behind that tree - when it happens.
There’s a root underfoot, hidden by the snow. He stumbles a little as he runs, knocks into her, sends them both slightly off balance.
Then there’s a snowball directly on his shoulder - a firm one, with a whoop from her brother to send it on its way - and he’s tumbling clean over, crashing right into her.
He falls first, pushes her down with him. They’re both sprawling on the ground, now, him atop her, his chest pressing up against that bosom he so often finds distracting.
Ah. Her lips are very close indeed. He can all but taste her laughter.
Her nose is cold, and it’s pressing against his. He can actually feel her nose, bare skin to bare skin, and her lips just a fraction further from -
“James?” She whispers - that hiss-whisper he recognises from their nighttime mischief.
“Connie.” He manages, hoarse.
“We should…”
“Ahm - yes. Terribly sorry. So we should.” He agrees, and sets to climbing off her.
She clutches at him a little as he goes. There’s just the very slightest cling - her right hand clasping his upper arm a fraction too long, her left brushing over his back and shoulders as he goes. There’s just that slightest bit of touching, as if she’s reluctant to let him go.
He rather knows how she feels. He’d stay there all day, frankly. And he feels awkward as sin now the moment has passed, now he’s wondering what her family will make of it.
He reaches out a properly-gloved hand to help her up, very carefully does it at arm’s length.
“Thank you, My Lord.” She says, all prim, as she accepts his help and gets to her feet.
“I’m terribly sorry for the mishap, Miss Cho.” He offers in turn.
“Not to worry. No harm done.”
“Are you sure? I wouldn’t like you to be injured.”
“We had best stop there.” Her brother says, now jogging over towards them. “We can’t possibly continue now you two have had such a nasty fall.”
“I quite agree.” Her mother adds, catching up. “We must call an end to it. Your team has won comfortably anyway, so you should stand down and go inside to warm up. We can have tea served in the drawing room, perhaps.”
“When you say we won comfortably, what do you mean?” Miss Cho asks at once, because of course she does.
James jumps in. “Well said, Miss Cho. We must be clear on the scores and all the particulars.”
Lady Cho only laughs - another, different, Cho family laugh - and points towards the house. “Later, you two. Later. Go on - warm up and take your wet coats off. I must insist upon a pot of hot tea.”
“You two will need to sit together in the hallway to drink your tea, though, and then go and change into dry things. We can’t have you dripping snow all over the house.” Lord Cho decides.
Ah. How convenient. What fabulous serendipity, that the two of them - and only the two of them - are judged to be so soaked through that they must sit together in the hallway with their tea.
James could almost believe Lord Cho set that tree root underfoot himself, in fact, for the sole purpose of arranging things this way.
…….
James and Miss Cho continue their midnight mischief all the next few nights, too, right through until the snow begins to thaw.
Or - he and Connie. He must admit that he’s thinking of her in those informal terms, since that memorable morning when he was sprawled so close atop her, when she grasped at his arm as he pulled away.
He uses her given name when they’re chatting out together at midnight, too, and she does likewise. That’s a habit they seem to have adopted since that moment as well. There’s simply no sense in standing on ceremony while they’re spending their time shaping snow and brewing scandal.
It’s in one of their informal midnight moments together that she unleashes the bad news.
“I think it’s beginning to thaw.” She offers, with a frown.
“Mmm. I thought that this afternoon, in fact - but it has grown colder again since sunset.”
“It won’t last, though. It’ll thaw further tomorrow. We won’t be able to build snowmen every remaining night of your visit after all.”
“I expect we’ll endure. We’ll have more chance of riding or walking further or even playing a bit of unseasonal cricket if it does thaw.”
“Perhaps. It might be very wet after all this snow, I fear. The ground might be muddy or even flooded. It’s often like that around here after a heavy snowfall.”
“I expect we’ll manage to make our own fun regardless. That is always our way.” He says, finds himself feeling a certain easy confidence about the fact.
“Oh - I couldn’t agree more. That’s very well said.” She tells him, with that bright smile which has lately become so familiar to him.
“Come on. We’d best make the most of it while it lasts. Does this snow-huntsman need a snowdog?” He suggests, looking thoughtfully at their creation.
“I should rather say he needs two.”
“Jolly good. Two it is - or perhaps a third for luck.”
She laughs, as he knew she would. She’s terribly obliging like that.
…….
The next morning, the thaw is definitely upon them. The roads are already clearing and there is talk of the whole party taking a carriage ride to look out at the last of the snow.
“I expect Lord Fife and I would prefer to walk.” Connie announces, when the party at large is discussing the scheme.
“I’ll certainly walk with the young lady if she likes the idea.” James offers, in his best only somewhat acquainted tone.
“I’m sure no one will insist upon a carriage ride if you two prefer to walk.” Her mother agrees.
Jolly good. That’s that settled, then.
…….
Much later that afternoon, when everyone is back in the house - walkers and carriage-riders alike - James takes a leaf out of Connie’s book, and decides that he might as well claim her company by day. It went over perfectly well, this morning, when she simply declared to her family that she and he would prefer to walk together rather than following what the party at large had decided to do.
So it is that, when the card tables are laid this afternoon, James simply approaches Lord Cho with a request.
“I say, Cho, old chum - would anyone take it amiss if I were to opt out of playing at cards this afternoon? I think I might like to take a book and read in the library a while rather than being sociable. D’you think anyone would take that amiss?”
“Certainly not. Or - well - I suppose Connie might remark upon it. She’s accustomed to have the library to herself. But I doubt she’ll actually take it amiss.”
“Oh - of course - your sister.” James offers, a sort of staged forgetfulness that she exists and will be there.
“I’m sure she can mind her manners and accept a bit of company for one afternoon. You and she get along well enough, don’t you?”
“Mmm. I suppose so. Ahm - will we want a chaperone, would you say? Perhaps that maid Jenny who has often walked with us?”
“I’m sure that won’t be necessary while you’re in such a crowded house as this. Just leave the door open, won’t you?”
“Jolly good. Well, then - I’ll be going. I’m terribly grateful for the use of your library.”
James dashes away before the chap can make any more remarks about his sister. A risky conversation like that is best when it’s a short conversation, he thinks.
He arrives at the library and finds the place in a good sort of state - curtains drawn, fire roaring, a clutch of comfy chairs pulled close around the hearth.
Best of all, he finds Connie already there, curled up on a sofa, with her feet tucked up at her side and her book balanced on the arm of the sofa.
He tries to enter quietly, without disturbing her at her reading, but she looks up and notices him all the same.
“Hello, you.” She says, all warm and fond, as if she was half-expecting him.
“Hello. I hope you won’t mind if I join you?”
“Certainly I won’t. You’re most welcome. Make yourself at home.” She bids him, waves at all the assorted chairs.
“Ahm - is that place available?” He dares to ask, points at the other end of her sofa.
“Oh - very much so. It’s certainly available if you are the person asking. And are you happy with that book, or will you want to borrow one?”
“I’m happy with this one, thank you. Locke.” He offers, and waves the spine in her general direction as he sits down.
“An excellent choice.” She tells him, approving.
It’s a bit of a to-do, sitting down, on this occasion. He decides to remove his shoes and sit all curled up on the sofa as she is doing, but then he’s left to wonder if he’s doing it wrong, if he’s making the situation awkward.
He ends up more or less the mirror image of her, but with his legs perhaps placed slightly differently. Her toes are poking into his shins, his resting softly against her thigh - or against the layers of her skirts which must come between them, of course.
Just as soon as he stops fretting that he might be doing sitting wrong, he decides that he likes it very much. He always likes her company, and there’s something very soothing about having her legs so close to his, the warmth of her foot against his calf. It’s a uniquely domestic sort of intimacy such as he has never shared with a whore, and he’s very pleased with it indeed.
He’s just thinking on that when she speaks up.
“Did you come to the library in search of quiet time with your book, or were you hoping we might share some conversation?” She asks plainly.
“Ahm - both, I think. I hope we might mix together the two. I’m more inclined towards a quiet afternoon than a game of cards in full company, but I always like to spend time speaking with you.”
“How kind.” She offers, and pokes lightly at his shin with her toes.
“It’s only the truth. I’d think it a waste to spend the entire afternoon in your company and say not a word - especially as your brother has decided we may do without Jenny this afternoon, so long as that door stays open. I think we must make the most of an afternoon without the need to pretend to your family that we scarcely know one another.”
She laughs her lovely laugh, then, and shoots him a fond sort of look. “I can’t understand why we never got better acquainted before, you and I. The more I think on it, the more I find it unfathomable that we didn’t strike up a close acquaintance until this week.”
“No - I think it makes perfect sense. Indeed, I think there’s nothing in the world more logical.” He argues instinctively. “You would not have sought out a closer acquaintance with me, because you feared appearing to go after the dukedom. I refused to seek a closer acquaintance with you, because the thought of courtship always makes me squiffy - or it did, until this last week or so. So I had you very clearly fixed in my mind as the most interesting and fetching of my chum Lord Cho’s sisters, and as a person I must therefore avoid becoming closely acquainted with at all costs. I was very clear on that from the moment he introduced us, I believe.”
“Mmm. Now you put it like that, I believe I can agree with you. I was determined not to make myself ridiculous by appearing to seek out the heir to a dukedom - even if I had noticed your manners and your shoulders from the very first.”
His manners and his shoulders? How very fascinating. What an interesting pair of attributes she has picked out, there.
Before he can make mention of that, she’s pressing on. “I hope you don’t think I’m seeking out your company for the sake of the dukedom, this week?”
“Good God - not at all. You have made your feelings on the dukedom very clear indeed. And - ahm - it doesn’t make me so squiffy, these days, as it happens. I mean - ahm - courtship.”
“Oh.” She says, just that.
He risks a smile, finds her smiling right back at him.
In fact -
“There’s a happy thought.” She even says, and reaches out for his hand.
He clasps her fingers in turn. He’s not a complete and utter fool. He has been rather inept at staging a winter courtship of his good chum’s sister - all the more inept for not making it a conventional courtship during the London season some seven years ago, frankly - but he’s not so much a fool that he won’t catch her hand when she reaches out for him.
She’s not wearing gloves, today, for a quiet afternoon in her family home. He happened not to wear any to come and read with her, either - not necessarily because he hoped something like this might happen, but he had perhaps given a little thought to how it would feel if it did.
Yes. Well.
He’s not wearing gloves, and neither is she, and he’s very pleased with that, for a state of affairs.
He runs his thumb softly over her bare knuckles, wonders whether this is how it feels to fall in love. He wonders very specifically whether that physical sensation of skin-against-skin has something to do with it, whether love is the tangle of that feeling alongside making mischief at midnight in the snow.
“Thank you for making me your co-conspirator in the snow this week.” He tells her quietly, still clasping her hand all the while.
“Thank you for wandering around the lawn at midnight. It’s an excellent quality in a gentleman, to my mind.”
His turn to laugh at her words, now - and hers to play with his hand a moment, to take her thumb stroking over his bare skin in turn.
“I oughtn’t distract you from Locke.” She offers, sudden, as if self-conscious.
“I don’t mind.” He tells her, clings stubbornly to her hand. “Could you tell me a bit about your book, perhaps?”
“Oh - well, now - if you insist.”
“I do insist.” He decides, mock-solemn, grinning at her in fun all the while.
She laughs and sets to telling him all about her book, at that. It’s a volume about the flora of the Amazon, and she’s never been to the Amazon, but she does dream of going on expedition there, one day.
He wonders whether he might take a wife on honeymoon to the Amazon, if he had one - or whether that’s a bit excessive even for the heir to a dukedom.
…….
They build a snowman that night knowing it is likely their last. In fact - it’s not so much a snowman as a heap of slushy ice, at this stage, which seeps through James’ gloves however hard he tries to avoid handling it.
And then -
“I’m taking these off.” He informs Connie, begins pulling them from his hands. “They’re not serving the purpose at all. They’re soaked through.”
“What a crying shame.” She tells him, all bright and ironic - and then pulls off her own gloves in turn.
They abandon their snowman then - their sorry final attempt at a snowman - and instead spend a half-hour or so walking hand-in-hand around the lawn.
He’s happy tonight, too. It’s funny how often that keeps happening lately.
In fact -
“I’m happy, here, like this - not squiffy at all. I thought you should know.” He tells her plainly.
She squeezes his hand very hard indeed, at that. “Me, too.”
“Jolly good. We’re happy tonight. That’s how it is.” He concludes.
He concludes that, and then goes on walking. They had better take another lap of the lawn while they can.
…….
They take their usual walk together the following morning and find the thaw complete. There’s no snow anywhere - only mud and birdsong and the heady joy of falling in love.
She tells him a bit about the plants they see as they pass, half-drowned from the recent melted snowfall. He tells her a bit about philosophy and a bit about his broken family, anything and everything that comes to mind.
They don’t talk about yesterday afternoon in the library, don’t talk about the early hours of this morning. They don’t talk about clasped hands or courtship or what it is to feel less squiffy.
They don’t need to. That’s the way it seems to James, at least. They’ve established that this is a courtship, and she even sat next to him at the breakfast table this morning, right in front of her mother’s eyes.
So there’s no need to labour the point. There’s no need to fuss and make themselves uncomfortable.
This morning is a morning to be at ease and enjoy the thaw.
…….
That afternoon, Lord Cho declares that there’s a bit of the back lawn which is dry enough for a fencing tournament between the gentlemen of the party.
“Are you sure?” James asks, mild. “I expect it’s still very wet underfoot out there this afternoon. It was muddy out while we were walking, wasn’t it, Miss Cho?”
“Very muddy indeed.” She agrees with a nod. “I don’t mind the mud, but I understand it’s no good for fencing.”
“There you have it, Cho - the ground is no good for fencing. We could try it indoors, if you’ve a suitable barn or if your mother doesn’t mind us fencing in the ballroom.”
“She minds.” Cho says, short and firm. “And besides - I can’t see why you are complaining about the mud. You’d win even if we fenced in a pond.”
“You certainly shouldn’t be fencing in a pond at this time of year. You’d all take a chill.” Connie offers, because she’s ever so thoughtful like that.
“We won’t be fencing in a pond. We’ll be fencing on the back lawn, and we’ll be fine.” Her brother concludes.
“I’ll not say no to a spot of fencing - you know I’d never turn down such a thing - but I do think it will be muddy.” James points out, just for good measure.
“You’ve mentioned that.” Cho agrees, with a nod.
“I’m in, mud or no mud.” Bridgerton decides.
“Could I learn?” Connie asks now, sudden and bright.
“What?” Her brother asks.
“Could I learn how to fence? I’m sure Lord Fife would teach me. I mean to come out and watch you all at your sport, at the very least, but I should much prefer to learn how to fence, if you’ll indulge me.”
“Certainly. I’d gladly teach you.” James decides, tries not to sound too pleased with the scheme.
“Certainly not.” Her brother snaps, by contrast. “I don’t mind you walking or riding or playing a spot of cricket, sister - but fencing? With blades? It’s unladylike and no mistake. We certainly can’t have you dabbling in such an improper pursuit while there are eligible gentlemen in the house.”
“Perhaps I’ll teach you another time when there are fewer eligible gentlemen about.” James offers, all bright and ironic.
“Fife.” Cho snaps at him, as well he might. “Don’t encourage her.”
“Please do.” Connie counters. “I like it when you’re encouraging.”
“Jolly good. In that case - I shall certainly teach you the sport sooner or later, just as soon as your brother relents or as soon as there are no eligible gentlemen in the house - whichever happens first.”
“Fife - you are one of the eligible gentlemen.” Cho points out, as well he might.
“Am I? I’m sure I never noticed. I’m convinced I can’t be so eligible as all that. It’s not as if I have a title or anything to think of. I’m certain I’ve no dukedom in my future or any such thing. Miss Cho would surely have remarked upon it if I had.”
She laughs very loudly indeed at that, and throws him a look which warms him right down to his toes.
And then -
“Come on.” She tells him, actually threads a confident hand through his elbow. “Let’s see about this fencing tournament. Even if my brother won’t let me learn the sport, I am determined to watch every moment.”
“Jolly good. Ahm - you’ll cheer for me a bit, I hope?”
“Oh - certainly I shall. Who else would I cheer for?”
Huh.
He rather likes the sound of that.
…….
She’s as good as her word, in the end. She watches every single moment, cheers for him almost constantly. She has a book in her hands she’s not even pretending to read, as she shamelessly watches him at his sport.
There’s something awfully affirming about that, he decides. He likes to have her admiring him and wanting him to do well and so on. It’s a very encouraging way to carry on a courtship - that’s for certain sure.
The best parts of all are the in-between times, though. That’s what he treasures most. Every little passing moment when one of the other chaps asks for a breather and a drink, and he wanders over to lean on the back of her bench and chat quietly with her. Every snatched second when he’s just scored a point and looks up and meets her eye. Every pause between matches when she offers to hold his gloves, if he likes, while he takes a quick gulp of tea or fixes his hair falling in his eyes.
There’s a particularly pleasing moment, just before the final, when she loses patience with his falling hair and sees to it herself.
“Oh - come here.” She bids him, all fond and exasperated, reaching up to comb it back off his forehead with her fingers.
“Sorry - I’m a bit warm.” He mumbles, self-conscious.
“I’m not complaining.” She tells him, traces her fingertips down his forehead and over one brow.
“I shall certainly have to teach you how to fence, one day.” He decides, once and for all.
“Please do. You’ll have to teach me personally, mind you. I shall require a great number of expert demonstrations.”
“Mmm. I expect you’ll require me to roll my sleeves up and take my gloves off, too. I see how it is. Likely my hair will require your attention, as well, and -”
“James.”
“Shall I stop?” He asks, utterly unrepentant.
She gives way to laughter, then - and now somehow her hand is just resting on his upper arm, rather than actually stroking at his hair.
Ah well. He likes this, too, so it’s no great loss. He’s hardly inclined to object.
“My brother seems very determined to stand far away from us and not look this way.” Connie notes now, throwing a look over at the other side of their makeshift piste.
“Yes. I noticed that earlier. Perhaps he doesn’t like to watch us getting acquainted. Perhaps courtship makes him squiffy.” James offers.
She laughs a bit more at that, and he soaks up the sound.
And then -
“I’d better go.” He decides now. “I’d better get on with beating Bridgerton in this final. The sooner I do that, the sooner we can hide in the library a while.”
“Oh - yes, please. I’d like that.”
“Jolly good. I daresay I’d like it more.”
It’s simply impossible that she could like it as much as he will, impossible that she could be even half so attached to him as he is to her. There can’t possibly be that much love in all the world. If there were, he’s quite sure the sun would collapse, or something excessive like that.
…….
He goes out that night even though there’s no chance of a snowman.
It simply seems the thing to do. It’s midnight, and he’s in love, and he hopes that Connie will be wandering the lawns tonight as usual.
Sure enough, he finds her at their accustomed meeting place, picking lumps of coal out of the muddy grass.
“I should have known you’d be picking up the coal.” He tells her fondly.
“I should have known you’d come out to help me pick it up.” She counters, at least as fond.
Sure enough, he crouches down by her side, sets to picking up lumps of coal that were once the features of a fine collection of snowmen.
“I find it remarkable that no one ever named us as the culprits.” She muses now, scrutinising a carrot in her fingers.
“Clearly you’ve a talent for snowman-based subterfuge.” He offers.
She laughs, throws him a smile, as if that’s terribly witty and a great compliment, both at once.
He chuckles along with her for the sake of good humour a little while, and then he picks up a slat of snowman-arm wood as carefully as he can. He wouldn’t like to get splinters. He may perhaps have chosen to come out without gloves tonight, just on the off-chance that such a decision should serve him.
He gets too comfortable. That must be it. He’s crouching there by her side, chuckling softly, and the only thought of caution in his mind is that he’d rather not get splinters from that slat of wood.
Then suddenly, all at once, there’s a third person standing before them. Or - no. There’s a third person running towards them, from the direction of the village, then stumbling to a halt when he sees them.
James stands up, finds himself face to face with Mr Collins the vicar - who is, of course, wearing an ill-proportioned hat.
Ah.
This is… not an ideal turn of events.
“Mr Collins?” He tries, in case it will help.
It does not help.
“Lord Fife? Miss Cho? Merciful Lord in Heaven - what a scandal. How very shocking. Compromise! Compromise!”
It’s even worse than James thought it would be, frankly. He hasn’t given a great deal of thought to how it would be if someone caught him and Connie on one of their midnight walks, because he has been far too busy falling in love. But when he has thought of it, he certainly hasn’t thought of being caught by a breathless vicar who would spout utter nonsense.
“I’m sure there’s no need for all that racket, Mr Collins.” He tries.
“Compromise! Compromise!” Mr Collins cries again.
“Excuse me, Mr Collins - I assure you it’s nothing of the sort.” Connie says, with every appearance of calm. “He means to do right by me. We’ve been courting a little while.”
“He means to marry you?” Mr Collins asks, with perhaps a fraction more sense.
“I do. Certainly I do." James rushes to agree, since it seems the logical thing to do. "In fact - that’s why we’re out here. We’re just discussing matters and then we mean to go and ask her brother for his blessing, once and for all. That is - her brother does know we are courting, and he has certainly encouraged it. I daresay we might marry in your church, if you like the idea. Miss Cho’s mother is very enthusiastic about banns, so I expect she’ll have them read shortly.”
“Lord Fife means to do right by me, and we’ll settle matters with my brother momentarily.” Connie concludes, all neat and calm and proper.
That seems to help. Mr Collins has deflated somewhat, now. His hat is still too small for his head, to be sure, but at least he’s less puffed up with indignation than he lately was.
Something occurs to James.
“Excuse me, Mr Collins - why are you here?”
“Ah - quite so. Flooding in the village - very serious flooding. I came to ask Lord Cho to send men to help.”
“Jolly good. So - we all have business with Lord Cho, then. Shall we all go up to the house and see him?”
Mr Collins ploughs on ahead of them, evidently recalling the urgency of his mission. He runs on with quite some speed, actually.
James follows a little more slowly, with Connie’s arm looped through his, and decides that he had better check a few of the finer details of the last two minutes with her.
“Are you sure this is what you want?” He asks her, plain and simple. “I know Mr Collins might be difficult to hush up, but I’m sure you do have other options if you’d prefer not to marry me. I’m sure your brother and I could see to it, if you dislike the idea.”
“I don’t dislike it in the slightest.” She tells him at once. “Unless - of course - would you prefer that I release you from any obligation to me?”
“No. Certainly not. I’ll be only too happy to marry you.”
“That’s ideal, then - for there’s nothing I’d like more.”
“Truly? There’s nothing you’d like more?” He dares to check. “I - ahm - as it happens, I feel about the same, but I don’t like to presume that -”
“James?”
“Mmm?”
“I’m very sincerely attached to you. I realise we only lately began to spend so much time together, and we might have liked a longer courtship, but I’m certainly not unhappy with our present circumstances.”
“Jolly good. I’m very much attached to you too, just so we’re clear.”
She squeezes his arm very hard indeed, at that.
They arrive at the house. There’s a bit of a to-do, honestly - servants running this way and that, footmen running to help with the flooding in the village, maids coming and going with coats and boots and whatnot.
Into the midst of all this walks Lord Cho, one arm half-in his coat, a cautious smile on his face.
“I hear you two have something to tell me?” He offers, brows raised.
“Ahm - yes. I should rather say that we do.” James agrees. “Shall we go up to your study and discuss it properly?”
“We haven’t time. I must go and see what I can do in the village. But the answer’s yes, to be sure - of course I’ll give you my blessing to marry. I wish you both every happiness in the world. I’m only glad that you saw sense and decided to press on with it.”
“Jolly good. Perhaps we might discuss the particulars in the morning…?”
“As you like.”
“Might we come and help you in the village?” Connie asks now. “We’re both intrepid sorts, and wide awake - and I hate to think of anything going undone which we might do while our neighbours are in difficulty.”
Lord Cho claps a hand on each of their shoulders, at that, meets both of them head-on.
“Out of the question, Connie. Out of the question. You can’t possibly spend the first night of your engagement wading through floodwaters with me - not to mention the danger of something happening to either of you. I’d never forgive myself if anything went awry with your happiness now. No - you two had much better sit up in my study and direct the rescue effort from there. It’s possible that there won’t be much directing left to do, by the time I leave, and you’ll simply have to enjoy each other’s company a while. But I can’t see anything wrong with that so long as you leave the door open. Oh - and if you must have a celebratory kiss or two, please do keep your hands to yourselves. I might turn a blind eye to the occasional indiscretion but we know Mother never will.”
That fine speech has all of them chuckling despite the seriousness of the situation. Perhaps that’s how it goes in life, James decides - a chap sometimes falls in love amidst snow and squiffiness and the ghosts of his parent’s marriage, then sometimes seals an engagement amidst a flood. That’s simply the way of the world.
It doesn’t make love any less beautiful, doesn’t make him any less happy tonight.
So -
“Come on, Connie. You heard your brother. I’m sure we wouldn’t like to trouble him now. We had better go and sit up in his study a while.”
“Certainly - and no mischief.” She agrees, mock-solemn.
“No mischief.” James echoes, his tone no more convincing than hers.
“No mischief.” Lord Cho adds, rather firmer than either of them.
They’re still chuckling as they scamper upstairs, in fact.