Archive of Our Own

James intends to marry Miss Cowper.

He’s very satisfied with that for a plan. It’s the logical product of a lifetime of careful research, on his part. Other chaps tend to daydream of marrying their soulmate, but not James Fife. He has been determined not to marry his soulmate since the very day his mother left his father, when James himself was but nine years old. That was the moment he realised he must be destined to make his soulmate unhappy, if he did marry her - that she must be destined to break his heart in turn, even - so he decided there and then that he couldn’t possibly marry his soulmate.

If he’s destined to make his wife wretched, he must marry someone who deserves to be wretched. That follows logically, doesn’t it? So he intends to marry Miss Cowper, because his investigations have revealed her as most deserving of misery, out of all the young ladies currently on the marriage market. She has a reputation for being excessively unkind to the other ladies, he understands. He’s had his chums with sisters - chaps like Bridgerton and Barnell - look into the matter very thoroughly for him.

Now, at last, their investigations have borne fruit and he has reached this logical conclusion.

It’s not a moment too soon, either. He has been procrastinating over going to town to seek a wife for years. He lingered in Oxford as long as he could, then made a tour of Europe as long as his father would fund him, and now he’s aware that the future can be put off no longer. His father means to insist upon him going up to town to find a wife and produce an heir, it seems.

James is ready for it, now he has a plan. He’s as ready as he’ll ever be.

He had much better marry Miss Cowper rather than marrying his soulmate. Truly - he’s very content with it for a plan. Honestly, he is. It’ll be a relief. He understands she’s ambitious enough to likely agree to the scheme, too. She’ll likely marry him for the sake of the dukedom he stands to inherit from his father.

It’s a much better idea than marrying his soulmate.

Everything about the idea of marrying his soulmate makes his skin crawl, frankly - especially that skin across the breadth of his shoulders where her name is written in those bold, looping letters. Constance Cho. It’s a pretty name, perhaps, but it can’t be helped. And she’s from a good family - he understands she’s the sister of that Charles Cho he was at school with, who was a decent sort.

He was a decent sort - and a fair cricketer, by the by - but James was always determined not to get too close, to keep his distance from his soulmate.

He’s determined to stand by his opinion that soulbonds cause nothing but trouble. His own parents are a perfect example of that, he always thinks. His mother even has his father’s name written all across her forehead, and James was always uncomfortable about that even before his family fell apart. In a world where the location of a person’s soulmark has meaning - or at least, it’s commonly thought that it does - he can’t imagine anything more sickening than a man’s name actually being written on a woman’s forehead. It’s like branding a beast as a mark of ownership - that’s how he has always seen it. He knows it’s fashionable amongst some gentlemen to boast of how proudly a wife wears her soulmark - and he know his father is such a man, of course - and so it is that he’s always thought his mother's must be a fair contender for the worst beast-brand in all the ton.

He won’t do that. He won’t. He won’t make a wife wretched, and he won’t countenance the idea of publicly owning a woman like that. He knows he can’t help where his soulmate’s soulmark might appear, of course - they show up wherever they will - but he can at least not endorse it. He can at least not take part in that wretched charade of misery.

Jolly good.

That’s that settled.

He’ll marry Miss Cowper - and has he mentioned that he’s entirely satisfied with that for a plan?

The only difficulty now is how on earth to go about introducing such a plan to his rather old-fashioned father, who has just this moment cornered him in the library for a conversation of substance about the upcoming season.

“We’ll leave for town on Tuesday, son. I’ve decided that Tuesday is a fair day for travelling.”

“Ahm - we will, will we?” James asks, puzzled. “You never travel if you can help it.”

“But I must go to town with you to help you find your soulmate. I’ve told you time and again that you must take a wife this season. A chap had much better help his son with such a delicate task as that. I shan't interrupt your mother’s privacy, to be sure - you know how she does like her privacy - but I must be there in town to help you find your soulmate. That’s the proper way to arrange things.”

“Ahm -”

“You shall like to find your soulmate - your Constance. I always said Constance was a good name for a soulmate, son. You’ve done well. Her being Constance implies she won’t leave you, doesn’t it?”

“Pa -”

“A shame about the scrawl. That’s how I always see it - we’re fortunate that you’ve a soulmate called Constance, but it’s a crying shame she writes with such a scrawl. I might have wished my son’s wife would have neater writing.”

“I like it.” James argues instinctively, even though he has no intention of marrying her, to be sure. All the same, he does like the loopy letters, likes the long, lingering penstrokes. He does enjoy the way her name embraces the whole breadth of his shoulders, even as it makes his skin crawl, too. It's an odd, contradictory sort of feeling - daft business, he supposes his father would call it.

He thinks his soulmate's writing is just the sort of writing a fond and warm and constant wife ought to have, in short.

Thinking such things always sets him to considering his own writing in turn, though. He always fears it’s terribly sharp and scribbly, that it must look awful on his poor soulmate’s skin.

Yes. Well.

It’s likely not the worst thing about being soulbonded to James George Fife.

“You’ve never seen it, boy - not properly. Don’t be daft. It’s on your shoulders, and you’ve only ever seen it sideways in a mirror.” His father reminds him, meanwhile. “I must be the best placed to judge the state of your soulmate’s writing, and I tell you - it’s a terrible scrawl. There can be no need to run on so long between letters as she is wont to do. But all the same - I’m inclined to call it a good soulmark, on balance, as you well know. Her being called Constance and her being so fond of your shoulders does bode well, I think. It’s a promising way of getting along. I daresay you’ll enjoy going to town and meeting her.”

“Ahm - Pa - if I might -”

“You’ll enjoy meeting her very well - and she’ll like your shoulders, of course - and I daresay it’ll all be settled happily. I can’t see why you’ve put it off so long, frankly. You always say you’re not yet ready, but I can’t credit it. A chap had much better get on and marry his soulmate. I hope she hasn’t grown bored waiting for you.”

James hopes that she has, in fact.

He hopes that she has grown bored waiting for him. He hopes that more than anything - that she’s grown bored and ended up settling for a perfectly companionable and unremarkable marriage with some other chap in the meantime. That would be such a relief.

He gathers his courage - gathers all the courage he can muster, honestly - and tries to tell his father a little about all that.

“I might not mind if she has married some other chap, Pa. I - ahm - I’m never quite sure how to say this to you, but I would prefer not to marry my soulmate. I’ve considered it at length, and decided that - that to have a romantic marriage to my soulmate makes me feel squiffy, and I think I shall never be ready for such a thing - and so I prefer to marry some other lady, if you please.”

“Nonsense. Utter nonsense.” His father snaps at him, because of course he does. “I never heard such daft nonsense in all my life. You’ll feel perfectly ready to marry your soulmate just as soon as you meet her. A soulmate has a way of steering a chap right. You see - this is why I must come to town with you, although I don’t like to travel and your mother does like her privacy. I must see to it that you’ve your Pa by your side if you come up with any daft notions like that - or if that squiffiness should strike you down.”

James doesn’t know what to say to that.

He’s supposed to be grateful - he knows he is. His father would expect a certain gratitude in exchange for his notice and concern. But honestly, James would rather the man had actually listened to him, instead, rather than riding roughshod over his concerns and insisting on ploughing on regardless.

He tries, just one last time, to make his father see it his way.

“You truly think a soulmate always steers a chap right, Pa? You - ahm - you think a chap is always happier married to his soulmate? It’s only - pardon me - but you and Ma are not - you know. You’re not exactly the picture of marital felicity.”

His father looks at him as if he has utterly lost his mind, for that. “You’re surely not suggesting that I did wrong in marrying your mother? What daft nonsense. She’s my soulmate. There’s not a day goes by when I’m not glad I married her.”

Hmm.

That’s one way of looking at it, perhaps.

James rather presumes that his mother’s way of looking at it would be a very different one - but of course he can’t ask her, because she’s not here.

…….

His father fusses about his squiffiness a great deal in the carriage on Tuesday.

It’s an odd business. It’s as if his father has entirely failed to understand the cause of the squiffiness, but is determined to be an attentive Pa and fret over the symptoms.

“You’re not feeling unsettled this morning, I hope? You’re not feeling squiffy from the carriage or from that business about seeking a wife? I’ve not forgot what you said on Friday. You must just tell me if you’re on the point of taking ill. I know a bit of travel or the search for a wife can make a chap feel uneasy.”

“I’m fine, Pa.” James lies through his teeth, thinks determinedly of marrying Miss Cowper.

“Jolly good. You must just say if you’re not, son. You must just give the word if you’d have us stop at the next inn. You’ll feel better once we find your soulmate - just you wait and see.”

“I might prefer not to marry her.” He tries, just to remind him.

“Daft business, that - very daft business indeed. You’ll feel better just as soon as we find her. I promise you will. Why - back in the day, I felt a tad uneasy on the marriage market before I met your mother. And then I was introduced to her at last, and suddenly it was as if the whole world made sense. I never felt so peaceful as that in all my life before. It’ll be just the same for you - you mark my words.”

“I think perhaps -”

“I’ve taken the liberty of making a few enquiries about your Miss Constance Cho. I had a letter back from town just yesterday, in fact - from your uncle Keswick, it was - to tell me that she’s certainly not married and she is indeed one of the sisters of that Viscount Cho. I don’t mean to rush things, to be sure - we must let nature take its course and have you meet her at a ball or soiree or whatnot - but I’m glad to have put my mind at rest just a little before our arrival.”

“You shouldn’t have done that without my asking you, Pa.”

“What a daft thing to say. You’re my son. A chap had much better take good care of his son’s marriage prospects. Now then - will you want to stop at the next inn? You’re not feeling sickly, I hope?”

“I’m fine.”

“We’ll stop here all the same. A chap had much better err on the side of caution in such a situation. I’ll not have you arriving in town a nervous wreck. Why - you’ve a young lady to woo.”

James admits defeat, nods a vague sort of nod, and takes his gaze out of the window.

Sometimes, in his experience, his father is simply not worth arguing with.

…….

They arrive in town to find Argyll House much as it ever was.

The curtains are exceptionally tasteful, and James listens to his father loudly remark upon it. The house is decorated with his mother’s sewing and floral arrangements and so on, and sure enough, his father sees fit to make a few observations on that theme, too.

Worst of all, his mother is wearing her hair in her habitual style - with it all pinned clear of her forehead, so that her soulmark is clearly visible - and James rather wants to throw up at the sight of it.

It’s a damn unfortunate affliction, feeling nauseous whenever he sees his own mother’s forehead. It’s only convenient that he spends time with her too rarely for it to present much of a practical problem.

All the same, he’s seeing her now, and he’s gritting his teeth as his father tumbles through a comment or two on that theme, as well.

“You’re in good looks, wife. You look very fetching indeed - and I’m glad to see you still styling your hair like that. It always suits you very well, to my mind.”

“How charming.”

“I always fear that this style will go out of fashion between one of my visits and the next, since I’m here so rarely - since I understand that you require your privacy, of course - but I’m glad to see that it hasn’t yet become outmoded.”

“It has never been fashionable, Pa. The fashion is for curls around the face and forehead. Ma only wears her hair like that because you like her to wear her hair like that.” James actually tells him, short and gruff.

“Come now, son - you’re being daft. If she only wore it like that for my sake, she’d only wear it that way during my visits, and I have it on good authority from your uncle Keswick that she wears it the same every day. Now then, wife - shall we have a pot of tea and discuss our son’s prospects, hmm? Shall we sit a while and discuss all this business of him seeking his soulmate?”

“As you like.”

“Much obliged. You are a good lass. I tell you - I’m glad of such a warm welcome after that journey. Now then - come along. Are you joining us, son?”

James can’t imagine anything worse than fighting down nausea whilst listening to his father prattle on about his supposed soulmate prospects.

He shakes his head and flees upstairs without further ado.

…….

The days between his arrival in town and the first ball of the season are odd, awkward, waiting days.

James doesn’t feel altogether well, he finds. He’s confronted by the sight of his mother’s soulmark so very often that he’s in a state of near-perpetual squiffiness. But then he does find himself feeling oddly confused and unsettled, too, because his parents seem inclined to spend a good deal of time together, and he can’t at all account for it. He can’t at all make sense of all their teatimes together in the drawing room.

Perhaps it’s just that his father likes to command his wife’s presence for tea, and she’s too polite or shy to say no. Perhaps it’s as simple as that.

James tries to be at home as little as possible. He tries to spend a good deal of time at his fencing - but all this tension and squiffiness are not good for his sporting performance, it turns out. He tries to go to the bookseller, but he hasn’t the concentration to read. He tries to ride in Hyde Park, but acquaintances keep stopping him to ask whether he’s in town for the season, whether he’s searching for his soulmate at last.

That plan to marry Miss Cowper is the only thread stitching him to sanity, he fears. It’s the only thing he has left to cling to, in this odd, unsettling week.

He’ll meet Miss Cowper next week, court her quickly, marry her as soon as may be.

Jolly good. That’s a sensible plan amongst all this confusion.

…….

Meeting Miss Cowper is everything he hoped it would be, in fact.

He easily secures an introduction. His chum Bridgerton does the honours, and understands all too well why James wants to meet the lady. Bridgerton himself is determined not to marry his soulmate on account of his father dying young, you see - so the two of them understand one another perfectly, are determined to be in league together for the avoidance of love matches.

As for Miss Cowper, his first impression of her is exactly as he expected it to be. She’s overly interested in his title. She’s snide about the other young ladies’ gowns. She wants to know exactly how much of Scotland his father owns - wants details down to the very number of sheep, it seems to James - and then after he has danced a set with her, she wants another set, and wants to parade him in front of her parents to crow about her success in dancing with him, too.

He’s less fond of that part - less fond of the idea of meeting her parents at such an early stage - so he reserves the last set of the evening on her dance card, then bolts for the door to the terrace.

A bit of fresh air will see him right and no mistake. He’s a chap who always feels better out of doors, who deals well with the sky above and the smell of the big wide world in his lungs. And it’s not that he’s feeling so very awful just now - he’s happy enough with that first meeting with Miss Cowper - but it’s awfully hot inside and he might like a few moments to put his social niceties in order before he accepts any more introductions or decides what to do between here and the last set of the evening.

He’s half way to the door when his father grasps him by the elbow.

“There you are, son. I thought I’d lost you, for a moment. I saw you dancing with that tall blonde lass, and then I must have lost track of you when you left the floor. Why were you dancing with her, then? Who is she, anyway? She can’t possibly be your Miss Constance Cho, for the Chos are one of those new families.” His father somehow manages to whisper-yell in the crowded ballroom.

“Pa. I haven’t a clue what to say to that. I think you had best not speak of the Chos in such terms - it sounds terribly old-fashioned, you know. And - ahm - I know she’s not a Miss Cho. She’s Miss Cowper, and I think I might like to marry her.”

“Daft business. You’re only saying that because you haven’t met your soulmate yet. Come along - we must see to it with all haste before you come out with any other daft notions of marrying the wrong lass. Your Miss Constance Cho is here, as it happens. I’ve been asking after her. Your mother has gone to look for her mother - she tells me they are just slightly acquainted - so when we find your mother, we’re sure to find the young lady.”

Ah.

That’s a damn sight closer than James thought this moment might be. He never realised his parents might try to introduce him to the lady so soon. He thought he had more time to evade their plans and make excuses.

He can’t meet her. He simply can’t. This is sure to be that much more unpleasant if he meets her.

So -

“Excuse me, Pa - I must just take the air for a moment. I’ll be back soon. I’ll meet the lady later, perhaps.”

He bolts for the door without looking back.

He fully runs, in fact. Although he’s in a ballroom, and he risks folks finding him odd, he actually breaks into a run as he flees towards the terrace.

He’s outside, now. He’s aiming for that balustrade, just there. He’ll lean over the balustrade - or perhaps collapse onto it - and he’ll look out at the garden in the moonlight until he -

He’s falling.

He’s falling, catching himself on the balustrade, spinning around to wonder what the devil just happened.

There, scrambling to her feet, is a young lady with a flustered air and a notably prominent bosom - one which is hidden, for some reason, beneath a layer of muslin placed over her décolleté.

It’s an odd fashion choice. It’s so odd he thinks it noteworthy, honestly. A bosom like that should be more proudly displayed to the world.

He’s thinking on that more than he’s wondering why the devil she’s scrambling to her feet, what in heaven’s name she was doing on the floor in the first place.

“I beg your pardon.” She tells him, with a hurried little curtsey. “I ought to have learnt by now not to get underfoot.”

“Ahm - terribly sorry. I’m sure I should be the one apologising. I do like to apologise when I have made a muddle. I fell over your legs, I suppose?”

“You did - and they ought not have been in the way, so I insist that I should apologise.” She argues.

He waves an airy hand. “I’m sure it doesn’t signify. No harm done. That is - I am quite unharmed. Your legs suffered no lasting damage?”

“Oh - none at all. I am glad you’re unhurt. As I say - I ought to have learnt by now not to get underfoot when I am examining a specimen in public.”

“A specimen?” He asks, for it seems an interesting choice of word.

“Here - Lady Danbury has a particularly fine hosta, just here.” She tells him, pointing at a plant in a large, low pot. “I expect she doesn’t know how exciting it is that she owns such a thing. They are quite difficult to get hold of in Europe. I own three.”

“How fascinating.” He says, and means it. “You’re a collector of rare plants, then? There’s a fine interest. I dabble in rare books, from time to time, but I could never truly call myself a collector. There’s no rhyme or reason to it - I only like to own them, and buy what takes my fancy.”

“Oh - I’m much the same, for the most part. But I must admit I have recently found myself more deliberately seeking out hostas.”

“So you should. I - ahm - I don’t know anything about plants, to be sure. I am not a collector of rare specimens. But even I can see that this is a pretty plant. Even I can understand why a person might like to own hostas - especially if they are rare in Europe.” He offers.

She laughs, as if he has said something terribly clever or witty. He can’t at all understand why, he finds - he’s convinced he hasn’t said anything clever or witty in the slightest - but perhaps she’s simply one of those good-humoured folks who does laugh quite easily.

Then she says something particularly interesting.

“It is good of you to take such an interest in this hosta, sir. Why - I have accosted you in the cruellest manner by tripping you over, and yet you’ve the manners to stay and make conversation about plants with me.”

“It’s no hardship. I’m relieved to have a conversation which is about something, frankly - or rather, one which is about the collection of interesting items, not about the scale of my father’s wealth or my prospects on the marriage market.”

“Oh - is it bad in there tonight?” She asks, in a tone of considerable sympathy.

“I hardly know. It’s my first night out in town. I’ve been avoiding the season for years. So - I don’t know whether tonight is bad by any sensible measure of awfulness, or whether I only think it bad because I am unaccustomed to the horror of it all.”

“Ah. An interesting question. I have strongly mixed feelings about the season, for my part. I like to meet new people and see interesting sights and so on. But I must admit that I find all the marriage market gossip rather tiresome.”

“Yes - exactly so.” He says with feeling. “I’m presently hiding from my soulmate, as it happens - or from my father’s attempts to introduce me to my soulmate. It’s all terribly bothersome. I have already told him I cannot possibly marry the lady, and he insists he must secure us an introduction regardless, and - and so I must admit I simply fled out here to the terrace.”

He finds himself telling her all that - then takes a step back, almost, and looks at the situation.

He ought not have told a perfect stranger that much about his personal business, perhaps. But it was so very easy to do. She seems to invite confidences, somehow. She told him all that about her plants, and now he’s told her a bit about his own life, and that’s simply how it is. Perhaps it’s because she has fled the ballroom, too. There’s perhaps a sort of kinship which comes with this shared ground.

She doesn’t seem to take it amiss. She doesn’t object to his excessive openness. She only nods, and frowns lightly, and nods a bit more.

“So you’re hiding from your soulmate?” She summarises, now.

“I think I’m hiding from my father’s insistence that I meet my soulmate, specifically. Ahm - who are you hiding from? Anyone in particular?”

“Oh - no one specific. I don’t think I am hiding. It’s as I said - I simply find the marriage market rather tiresome, and I’d rather spend my time looking at this fine hosta.”

“Yes. I do see that.” 

She nods. He nods.

Silence falls, but it’s not uncomfortable. Again - there’s still that common ground of a preference for standing around outside, at least, and that ease which comes with openness.

He turns to that balustrade he came out here to lean on - or half-turns to it, slumps an elbow easily onto it as he keeps his eyes on his new acquaintance.

Hmm. It’s a real shame she has that muslin over her bosom like that. Why - low necklines are fashionable for a reason.

Yes. Well.

Enough of that.

“I’m Lord Fife.” He thinks to tell her now. “Or - perhaps just James, honestly, while we’re looking at hostas and hiding out here. I’m quite sick and tired of my title already tonight. I am determined to meet people and be sociable - I do mean to go back inside and try for a few more introductions - but if one more person comments on the vastness of my father’s estates, I think I will cast up my accounts on their shoes.”

She laughs very loudly indeed at that. “Oh - you must, My Lord. You must actually do it. That’d teach them a lesson and no mistake.”

He grins, chuckles lightly.

And then -

“I’m one of the many endless Smythe-Smith sisters.” She tells him, stretches a hand out towards him to shake. “I’m Clara, specifically, but I don’t suppose it matters.”

“I think it does matter to me.” He tells her, thoughtful, shaking her hand all the while. “I would rather meet a Clara than all those hundreds of Miss So-and-So or Lady-Whatnot in that ballroom. Good God - I’m terrible at this.”

“No - I don’t think so. I was much the same in my first season. We don’t often talk about gentlemen having a first season, but perhaps we should.”

“This isn’t your first, then?” He asks.

She laughs. “No. Certainly not my first. It’s my eighth, in fact. But I have decided it’s to be my best one yet. I mean to find as many hostas as possible - and befriend an occasional James on the terrace - and get up to all manner of mischief like that.”

“Jolly good. I might join you in that from time to time, if you’ll not think it odd.”

“I make it a rule never to think anyone odd, in fact.”

“I like that for a rule.”

Silence falls again, now.

James supposes he should return inside sooner or later. He’s glad to have made an unpretentious friend, but he can’t be standing around all day. He does need to smooth things over with his father, presumably, and then later he’ll have to dance that second set with Miss Cowper. After all - he does mean to marry her.

He does briefly find himself wondering whether he could marry Miss Clara Smythe-Smith instead, but then thinks better of it. No - marrying an unpretentious new friend would be no better than marrying his soulmate, in a way. Clara doesn’t deserve to be wretched. She’s a good sort who doesn’t think anyone odd, and who is terribly understanding of his clumsy manners.

He must marry Miss Cowper, who deserves no better.

He takes a careful breath, tastes the fresh air, wonders whether he’s ready to go inside again. Perhaps another breath or two - or perhaps three or four - or even a couple of whole entire minutes still to -

“James?”

“Mmm?”

“Might I ask you why you’re hiding from your father’s attempts to introduce you to your soulmate? I know I’m being terribly forward in asking such a thing, but I promise not to think you odd, no matter what you say.”

He chuckles stiffly at that, wonders how to answer the question - wonders whether to answer it, even.

Yes. He thinks he can answer it. He thinks the common ground of fleeing for the terrace must help him with that.

“I can’t possibly marry her, so I have decided it’s better to avoid the introduction altogether. I expect that’ll be easier for everyone.”

“Oh - you’re one of those gentlemen who doesn’t entirely believe in soulmates?”

“Good God - no. Not that. Quite the opposite. I should rather say that I believe in them too much. My parents are soulmates, and it never did them any good. It simply made them capable of breaking one another’s hearts that much more thoroughly. My father certainly has a talent for ruining his soulmate’s life, and I do rather take after him. So I have been resolved since my childhood to avoid my soulmate entirely - to avoid her for her own good. She’ll do better without me.”

“Don’t you think she might prefer to make that choice for herself?”

“No. I know what I am about.” He tells her, with a single, firm nod. "I have considered the matter rationally - and at great length, over the years - so that's that."

Silence falls again.

He must go inside. He truly, truly must. He can’t be standing around out here with his new friend Clara all night. He’s to marry Miss Cowper, so he must spend his time with Miss Cowper - that stands to reason. It’s simply good, plain logic.

All the same -

“It has been a pleasure to meet you, Clara.” He offers.

“You, too, James. Truly - a pleasure. You may fall over my feet any time.”

He grins. “I’ll look for you by the nearest hosta next time I’m feeling awkward in a ballroom, perhaps?”

She laughs, grins right back at him. “I look forward to it.”

He nods to her one last time, then takes himself back inside the ballroom at last.

…….

His father never does manage to introduce him to Miss Constance Cho that night, in the end.

By the time James returns to the ballroom, his father and his mother are actually dancing together. He’s a little taken aback by that, but he certainly thinks it must be more good news than not. Then later on, his mother can’t find Lady Cho, and then James insists on being introduced to Lord Bridgerton’s younger sister, and then fetching Miss Cowper for their second set, and before he knows it the evening is over - and it hasn’t been very much effort to thwart his father at all.

At this rate, he hopes he will be able to evade the introduction to his soulmate all season - or at least until after he has sealed an engagement with Miss Cowper.

He’s beginning to understand his intended quite well already, he thinks. She does seem to be under considerable pressure from her parents to marry well. He’s quite sorry for her, from that point of view.

He’s almost beginning to see it as an excuse for her unkind words about the other ladies’ gowns - almost. Why, he himself is often clumsy with his manners when he's feeling aggrieved at his father.

He’s still musing on that, after the ball, when his father insists upon sitting up a while with him for a nightcap and suddenly takes the bull by the horns.

“It seems to me that you deliberately avoided meeting your soulmate tonight, son.” His father accuses him outright.

“Yes. I did.” James agrees, mild.

His father slaps the table, hard. “That’s the daftest thing I ever heard. I simply don’t understand what’s the matter with you. We’re in town to find you a wife, and a chap had much better marry his soulmate, so we must secure an introduction to your soulmate. It’s as simple as that. You like your logical arguments, so I can’t for the life of me understand why you don’t like this.”

“Because I can’t marry her.” James cries out loud. “I said before that I thought I might not, and now I must tell you plainly that I’ve no intention of marrying her. You had much better desist with this scheme of having us introduced. I simply can’t marry my soulmate, Pa. She deserves better than to have me ruin her life.”

“Ruin her life? What the devil do you mean?”

“Just look at you and Ma. How can I possibly believe that a chap should marry his soulmate when I have seen that? Marriage to you made her utterly miserable, and I won’t inflict that upon my soulmate in turn.”

“Nonsense, son. That’s utter nonsense. Your mother is still glad that I am her husband.”

James thinks that must be the most delusional thing he ever heard.

“Glad? Glad? You think she is happy to be married to you? She left you, Pa. We were both there. I daresay we both remember it in perfect detail.”

“I recall it perfectly well, thank you very much.” His father snaps at him. “Nasty business - I don’t deny that. But your mother is still content with her lot in life. She’d not wear her soulmark for all to see if she regretted marrying me, would she?”

“She might if she thought she had no choice - if she felt obliged to make the best of her situation.”

“You're daft, son. Your mother requires her privacy, but she’s not unhappy. She styles her hair to show her soulmark, and she writes me a very careful letter whenever she wants a bit of advice about the roof here in town or about a matter with the staff or what have you. We do visit from time to time, as you well know - and evidently we even dance at balls when I’m in town to see to your courtship. I know what I am about when I tell you she’d rather have me - her soulmate - for her husband and the father of her child than share a name and a title and a set of properties with some other chap.”

James doesn’t believe him.

He simply does not believe him.

He doesn’t see how he could. His mother left them both. She hasn’t been home to the big house since. He doesn’t understand how those can be the actions of a woman who’s content with her lot in life - or specifically, the actions of a woman who’s content with her choice of husband.

He won’t inflict the same fate on his wife, and that’s final.

…….

The second ball of the season follows much the same pattern as the first.

James dances a set with Miss Cowper, then flees outside and makes conversation with Clara about the interesting plants hereabouts, then returns to the ballroom for a few more dances before closing the evening with Miss Cowper once again.

There’s just one notable difference, tonight. His father doesn’t try to steer him towards his soulmate.

In fact, after the last set of the evening - just as folks are beginning to queue for their carriages - his father even asks how he feels about the matter.

“It’s not too late for us to sort out an introduction to your Miss Constance Cho, if you like, son. I know the dancing is over, but I daresay your mother could find her mother in the crush for the carriages if you are struck by a sudden wish to meet her at the last minute.”

“Indeed.” His mother even says, with a nod.

“Ahm - thank you, but I prefer to go home.” James tries.

“Jolly good. I think you’re daft to prefer that, as it happens. A chap had much better -”

“George.” His mother whispers, pointed.

“Right you are. You prefer not to meet her, and that’s how it is. Ahm - let us know if you change your mind, though, son?”

“We’re here to help you however we may.” His mother says - a whole entire sentence.

“Thank you.” James mutters, self-conscious.

His mother pats him on the arm for that and everything.

…….

He perhaps settles into the season a little better, at that. He does feel more at ease for knowing his parents mean to support his choice - even if his father is supporting it so grudgingly.

He feels more at ease now he is finding his feet in the season, too. Knowing that Miss Cowper will always be glad to dance with him does help. He’s grateful for Clara’s constant companionship on the terraces of the ton, too, and grateful for Bridgerton’s friendship, as well. He does have a circle of folks making the season more bearable, as well as his parents.

He finds himself more able to read and fence and pass his time with the chaps at White’s, as he becomes more settled and comfortable. He’s more able to concentrate on his usual pursuits like that.

It does perhaps help that his parents are getting along companionably, that he hasn’t seen his mother weep all visit. There’s a steadiness with having his parents on an even keel which he hasn’t known in years - if ever at all.

There’s one afternoon, for example - one afternoon in about the second week of the season - when he walks into the drawing room and finds his parents sitting eight feet away from one another in perfect silence, and yet both looking happier than he has seen them in years.

His father is smiling behind his newspaper. His mother has a bit of colour in her cheeks. There’s a pot of tea on the table between them which is still steaming lightly.

So -

“I didn’t realise I missed a summons to a family tea.” He tries joking stiffly.

“Goodness, darling - I’m sure we meant no offence.” His mother rushes to say.

“He’s pulling your leg, pet. Our son is a good-humoured chap. He gets that from you, no doubt. I can see why he was so well-liked at Oxford.”

“I wasn’t especially well-liked at Oxford.” James argues. He had chums, yes, but he was hardly the leading light of the social scene.

“You could sit with us a while if you like, son. This isn’t a private occasion. Your mother has a pretty bit of sewing at present - there - aren’t the colours lovely? And I’ve the latest racing news from Newmarket. In fact - I’d be much obliged if you might sit with me for a chat about the racing news, for your mother isn’t overly fond of sport, and I shouldn’t like to bore her.”

“I’m sure I wouldn’t be bored. It’s pleasant to have company.”

For a moment - for just that brief second - James wonders.

He wonders about his father’s delusions of his mother’s contentment - whether they are entirely delusional after all. He wonders for just a heartbeat or so whether, perhaps, she might still harbour some fondness for the grouchy old sod in the depths of her soul.

But then -

“Daft business, that. You don’t like sport. It’s no business for a lady. I won’t trouble you with it - not while James is at hand. You had much better see to your sewing.”

“As you like.”

Yes. As you like. As he thought.

Delusion all the way.

…….

When his parents corner him for another family tea in the drawing room, the following week, he thinks nothing of it. This is simply what the Fife family does now - they have unexpectedly become a family who take tea together from time to time.

Or - he thinks nothing of it, until his father begins to speak.

“We’ve something important to tell you, son. Your mother has learned something of interest. We know you don’t mean to marry your soulmate, but we can’t leave it unsaid.”

“It was weighing terribly on my conscience, so I mentioned it to your father.”

“And we decided we had much better discuss the matter with you. It’s like this - your mother happened to be speaking to some other ladies at the Harris ball, and Lady Cho was amongst them. You know - Lady Cho, mother to that Lord Cho who was at Eton with you, and consequently to your Miss Constance Cho.”

“Goodness, darling - it was ever so sad. She happened to mention your soulmate in passing - just briefly. And she said that your Constance is bookish like you. An odd duck and a bluestocking - that’s what her own mother called her. I thought you had better know that before you decide absolutely that you don’t intend to marry her.”

“We thought you had better know that your soulmate is bookish.” His father concludes, once and for all.

James swallows hard, wonders whether the drawing room is moving or whether that’s only his squiffy stomach.

This isn’t news. It can’t be news. Obviously his soulmate likes learning - otherwise she’d be an unlikely soulmate for him, wouldn’t she? There are a good many ladies in the ton these days who do read - there’s Clara, for one thing, and that younger sister of Bridgerton’s - so it shouldn’t be such a surprise that his own soulmate is a bookish sort, too.

It’s perhaps noteworthy that the lady’s own mother goes around speaking of her in such terms as to call her an odd duck and a bluestocking, as if she despairs ever of getting her married off - but all the same, it’s not quite news.

It’s not news, and yet it does hit him in the stomach all the same.

“I can’t say I’m surprised.” He mutters, awkward. “She was always likely to be a good match for me. She is my soulmate, after all. I hope that perhaps she’ll find contentment with a well-to-do vicar, or else a young fellow of one of the universities.”

“James, darling -”

“I’m fine. Fine. I’ve no intention of marrying my soulmate, and I wish her well with some other chap who wants a wife of sense.”

He bolts from the room without another word, without even excusing himself to his parents. He’s a grown man - he can withstand a little disappointment from his father on the topic of his manners.

He bolts from the room, and then realises he has nowhere much to bolt to.

There’s no terrace here, is there? He has no chance of bumping into his dependable friend Clara for a bit of cheery conversation about a hosta or a palm. He could perhaps go and seek out Bridgerton, since they two do understand one another well on the subject of soulmates - but he wouldn’t say that they’re such close friends as for him to go travelling around town for the purpose of telling him about a bit of squiffiness.

He resigns himself to a brisk afternoon ride, in the end. It’s not the ideal time of day for it - the parks will be over-full of folks out promenading - but it has to be better than nothing.

…….

As the season lengthens, James grows into his confidence in his plan.

He’s doing jolly well at avoiding his soulmate, if he does say so himself. He has evaded all thought of introductions to the Cho family at every possible opportunity. There’s one occasion, for example, when his old chum Dorset begs him to do him a favour and swap dances, and James handles it flawlessly.

“Why d’you want to swap dances? You like to dance. You’re a sociable sort.” James points out.

“I told Cho I would dance with his sister - the eldest one, the spinster - but I want to dance with Miss Hartigan as well, and she only has this one set free.”

“I can’t do that.” James says at once, for he thinks he is coming to understand that the eldest Miss Cho must be his odd duck soulmate. “And besides - you ought to speak of Lord Cho’s sisters more kindly. I’m convinced I’ve heard it said that the eldest is an interesting and learned sort. She might make a fair wife for a chap such as you who likes travel and architecture and so on.”

“I meant no disrespect. It’s only that I’d like to dance with Miss Hartigan more.”

“Jolly good.”

“So you won’t help me?”

“No. I think you had much better dance with Miss Cho as you promised you would. A chap had much better keep his word to a lady where dancing is concerned.”

James takes himself off to dance with Miss Cowper, then, as a serious suitor should.

…….

The season is perhaps a month old when James has a most particular conversation with his intended.

“I do hate to see Miss Penelope Featherington make such a fool of herself over her soulmate.” She tells him - but in a tone which rather suggests she takes gleeful delight in the other lady’s misfortune, instead.

“I don’t find her overly foolish.” James argues. A lady has every right to want her soulmate’s attention, as far as he is concerned.

“Truly? I thought you’d likely agree with me. It’s well known that you are cynical about soulmates.”

“I wouldn’t say I’m a cynic, as such. Just because I am determined not to marry my soulmate doesn’t mean I’ve no compassion for those that do.”

“Hmm.”

“Come now, my dear Miss Cowper - I’m sure there’s no need for that tone. My understanding others’ love for their soulmates doesn’t make me any less keen to dance with you now.”

She nods, smiles a smile which doesn’t at all reach her eyes.

And then -

“Do you have one?” She asks outright, for the first time in all their acquaintance.

“What?”

“Do you have a soulmate? All these weeks you have said you’ve no intention of going courting according to soulmate expectations. Does that mean you have one, and you are choosing to ignore the matter?”

“I’m not ignoring her. I’m choosing to dance with you instead.” He points out, petulant.

“So you do have one. You have a soulmate - and I would guess she’s someone you know of, someone you can protest that you’re not ignoring - and you’re choosing to dance with me regardless.” She concludes.

“Yes. That’s about the long and short of it.”

“Ah.”

“Whatever’s the matter, my dear Miss Cowper?”

“I hoped that you simply didn’t have one - or that she had died in some horrific accident, frankly. That would have made it simpler. For I don’t have one, and I’m forever hoping that I’ll meet a gentleman who doesn’t have one either.”

He blinks at her, stunned, for fully three seconds while they dance.

“You don’t have one?” He manages to echo, at length.

“I don’t have one.”

“That must be awfully unsettling. That must be why your parents fret so much about your marriage prospects.” He realises, says it out loud - and then realises it’s clumsy to say such a thing so plainly.

Sure enough, Miss Cowper is wincing.

He feels suddenly rather uncomfortable, he finds. He presumed she was like him - every bit as much as she evidently hoped that he was like her. He presumed that she had a soulmate and was making a conscious choice to marry for status instead.

Now he knows better, and it makes him feel a good deal worse.

He feels like he’s taking advantage of her. That’s how it suddenly seems to him. She has no soulmate, and she’s under considerable pressure from her parents to marry well, and the whole situation must conspire to make her throw herself desperately at any man within arm’s length - and must make her feel that much more inclined to tear the other ladies down, too.

Good God - she must be truly desperate, truly frightened. He can’t knowingly trap such a woman into an unhappy marriage. That would be too cruel for words.

Hell and damnation.

Evidently he can’t marry Miss Cowper after all.

…….

He dreams about Clara that night.

It’s an intimate dream, to be clear - all bare skin and her bosom quivering with laughter. It’s an awkward business and no mistake. He’s a hot-blooded young chap, yes, and he does have dreams about intimacy from time to time - but he has never before had an intimate dream about a respectable young lady he considers a friend.

He hopes it isn’t anything to do with his deciding not to marry Miss Cowper. That’d be daft, for it certainly stands to reason that he can’t marry Clara Smythe-Smith. It’d be no better for him to marry Clara than to marry his soulmate, would it? They’re both ladies who deserve a fair chance at happiness.

He’s beginning to wonder how he’ll ever marry anyone, frankly, at this rate.

He finds himself rather unsettled, in the wake of that dream. He feels all flushed and guilty right through until morning, when he rises at last, all grouchy and ill-rested, to face the day.

So it is that he’s in a sour mood when his father presents him with an idea at the breakfast table, this morning of all mornings.

“I’ve been thinking, son, and I’ve had an idea. We must promenade more often to give you more opportunities for courtship. We should walk in Hyde Park at the fashionable hour - that is the way to arrange things. Your mother and I used to promenade quite often, in our courting days.”

“No. I can't think of any idea worse.” James tells him in no uncertain terms.

“I think I must insist, son. It’s certainly the best way to proceed. And perhaps you’ll be able to meet a few more young ladies without the expectation to dance with them and so on. It’ll be a much better idea than you simply marrying that Miss Cowper. Daft business, that. You don’t like her at all. I know you feel squiffy about soulmates - I know it, even if I don’t understand it - but you can’t marry someone you dislike.”

“I don’t intend to marry Miss Cowper, in fact.”

“Jolly good. That’s something, then. Ahm - when did that happen, might I ask? When did you change your mind about the lady?”

“Now we’re a little better acquainted, I have decided that she’s not what I’m looking for.” James says - the honest truth, in fact.

“Jolly good. That’s the best news I’ve heard all month, son. I was sorely worried you might marry the lady even though you’ve no particular fondness for her, and that would be a waste. If a chap won’t marry his soulmate, he must at least marry a lass he likes well enough.”

“As you say.”

“It’s not too late for us to have you introduced to your Miss Constance Cho, son. It’s not too late at all.”

“I think she goes by Miss Cho, actually. I think I have come to understand that she’s the eldest Miss Cho.”

“Well - she is that, and I could have told you as much. But I like to remember that she’s Constance, too. I like to think of my son having a constant soulmate. Bookish and constant - that’s what you need. She’d see you right and no mistake.”

“I’m not marrying her, Pa.”

“I knew you’d say that. All the same - a chap can try. I’m glad to hear that you’ve decided against that Miss Cowper, at least. I’d have you happily settled with a lass you like.”

“Jolly good.”

“Here - will you pass me that plum jam? The plum jam is always so much better here at your mother’s place than at the big house.”

“It tastes exactly the same, Pa. You’re only saying that because you miss her.”

“Daft business, that. I might ask her if she can spare a jar or two for us to take home at the end of the season. Or - well - for me to take home, of course, since you’ll be married by then. Will you honeymoon on our Scottish lands, do you think?”

“Ahm - whatever you think best.” He hedges.

“Jolly good. Here - taste that. Best plum jam I ever had.”

“As you say, Pa.”

…….

He spends a bit more time on the terrace, for the next few weeks, now he has decided against Miss Cowper.

Or - he spends more time on the metaphorical terrace, now he has decided not to take advantage of a desperate lady without a soulmate. Sometimes at a ball there is no terrace, and he’s forced to find Clara in the corner behind a potted plant, or sometimes even lurking at the edges of the card room.

“Do you play?” He even asks her, when she’s watching whist at the Trowbridge ball.

“A little, when I must. I’m more interested in the wallpaper. Here - do you see the pomegranates?”

“Very pretty.” He tells her, with a cheery little nod.

“Do you enjoy cards?” She asks him, now, in turn.

“Mmm - very much so. I’ve heard people say I’m a rakish sort before now. I like a bit of easy company with the other chaps over a drink, and I do like cards very much. I like to be able to think of the tactics and calculate the odds and so on. A chap can give a bit more thought to a game of cards than simply sitting with a drink.”

“Oh - that does make a good deal of sense, in fact.” She tells him, because she’s terribly encouraging like that.

“I perhaps enjoy billiards more. I like a game of accuracy more than anything.”

“I think it a shame we’ve never played cricket together. I expect we’d make quite the team.”

“Perhaps one of these days we’ll play cricket on the lawn outside the most dazzling ball of the season.” He jokes, dry.

She laughs a loud laugh at that, as he knew she would, and he watches her bosom shake with the sound.

Or at least - he watches that muslin she wears over her décolleté shift as if her bosom is shaking. It’s much the same thing, perhaps.

Either way, it’s a source of great fascination to him - almost as much as her laugh.

……..

He asks her about it, in the end. He asks her to explain the whole matter to him - not the matter of her laugh, but the matter of her always dressing her bosom so strangely. He thinks their friendship is such as to allow such an impertinent question, by this stage.

“Clara - I’ve a question for you tonight, if I may.” He tells her, one evening, while they are lurking on the edges of the Barnell ball.

“How intriguing. Please do ask away.”

“I wonder if I might ask why you always wear that muslin at your neckline? Not to be indelicate, but it seems a shame when you’ve such a fine figure.”

“Oh - that. It’s on account of my soulmark. I have my soulmark right across - pardon me - across the top of my bosom. My soulmate has his name written across my décolleté. You - you take my point.” She concludes, with a brave, awkward smile.

He nods, catches on at once. “I can well understand that, I think. It’s good of you to keep it covered up. It’s always awkward when a person has a visible soulmark. My mother has hers on her forehead, and she wears it for all the world to see - it makes me feel squiffy as anything.”

“Yes. I suppose I have chosen discretion.”

“And I call it very wise of you. Why - your soulmate must be a lucky chap, what with your wisdom and… you know. He must be lucky if he’s so very fond of your bosom as to have his name all over it.” He tries joking. He thinks they are the sort of close friends who might joke about such things.

He thinks wrong, it turns out.

He realises that when Clara quirks a weak little smile which doesn’t at all reach her eyes.

“Clara?” He asks her, concerned.

“I happen to know he has no intention ever of marrying me or even meeting me, if he can help it.” She explains now. “My brother looked into it when I was younger and found out that he doesn’t intend to marry his soulmate.”

“Ah - it’s like that.” James says, with a nod. “Some chaps are like that for their own personal reasons, like me and my chum Bridgerton.”

“Yes. I suppose it’s just exactly like that.”

For a moment, he wonders whether the lucky chap even is Bridgerton. He never asked Bridgerton his soulmate’s name, and it’s not impossible that it might be Clara Smythe-Smith. James finds that it's a thought which makes him more envious than he has any right to be.

He pushes on in a more useful direction, instead.

“Ahm - while we’re on the subject of soulmates - there is something I’ve been meaning to ask you. I’ve been wondering for a little while if you might know a Miss Constance Cho?” He asks.

She nods slightly. “I’m a little acquainted with her.”

“Jolly good. I thought you might be. I understand your mothers know each other, at least. So - ahm - she’s my soulmate. And - and I daresay this is an awkward thing to ask, but you’ve never yet minded my awkwardness, so I wonder if I might ask you to tell me a bit about her?”

“Oh - heavens - I wouldn’t say I know her well. As you say - our mothers get along, and we do occasionally take tea together. She goes by Connie, as it happens, not Constance. She has a reputation as something of an odd duck, I believe - an original and bookish sort.”

“She sounds ideal.” James says with feeling. “Every time I hear someone call her an odd duck, I know they mean it as something of an insult, and yet with each and every time I find myself more and more convinced that she sounds ideal.”

Clara laughs her wonderful laugh at that. “It’s funny you should say that, James. Just as soon as you mentioned her I found myself thinking that you and she would likely get along rather well.”

“You think so?” He asks, too quickly for a chap who has no intention of marrying the lady. “You think she’d like me? Or - well - I know she must be inclined to like me, as she’s my soulmate - but whenever I hear about her, I think that we do evidently have a good few things in common.”

“You’ve similar manners, too.” Clara tells him rapidly. “That’s what strikes me. She’s quite talkative and high-spirited as you can be.”

“She sounds perfect.”

He says it quite without thinking about it, says it all solemn and serious and firm.

It sets Clara to laughing her usual warm laugh, and then to saying something interesting.

“Perhaps I’ll tell her that, one of these days. Perhaps next time our mothers bring us together for tea I’ll happen to mention that her soulmate thinks she sounds perfect.”

“Please do.” James bids her at once. “Could I ask you please to tell her that? If it’s not too odd, could I ask you to pass on a little message that I think she sounds perfect and I wish her all the best? And that it’s no reflection on her that I’ve been so desperate to avoid meeting her - quite the opposite. I’m keeping my distance to protect her. I mustn’t ruin her life how my father ruined my mother’s.”

“I’ll tell her all that.” Clara agrees, with a firm nod. “I expect she’ll find it… helpful to hear it.”

He wonders, just for a moment, whether there is something amiss in his friend’s tone - whether all this talk of soulmates and messages is making her think of her own absent soulmate, perhaps.

No. He doesn’t think so. He’s no expert in tone, as a rule, but he thinks Clara is too robust a sort to be overly muddled by him speaking of his soulmate.

He therefore presses on with the topic at hand. “I hope she’ll find it helpful. I am grateful for the chance to get a message of some sort through to her. I fear I’ve condemned her to poverty and spinsterhood - but that’s better than ruining her life entirely.”

“The way I see it, she has made her choice every bit as much as you have. She’s the daughter of a viscount. She might have had a match arranged for her if she wanted one, no matter how odd she is.”

“Mmm. I do hope so. I hope she’s not too unhappy. And - better off a bit unhappy than utterly wretched like my mother.”

“You don’t ever wonder whether the lady herself might prefer to make that choice, rather than have you make it for her?”

“No. I know what I’m about. And frankly - if she’s so ideal as she sounds - I fear I wouldn’t survive meeting her with my equanimity intact.” He admits, flushing, scratching a bit at his ear for sheer awkwardness.

Clara laughs at that, as a good, easy friend should. “I might perhaps tell her you said that, too.”

“I’d take a message for your soulmate, if you like.” He thinks to offer now. “If your soulmate is amongst my acquaintances, I’d gladly take a message for you in turn.”

“Oh - how kind. Thank you - but I prefer that you don’t. He is indeed a gentleman of the ton and - and I think it’s different for the lady in these situations. The lady must sit back and allow the gentleman to decide whether to pursue her or not.”

“Your tone as you say that makes me think that you’d rather your soulmate did pursue you.” He notes, frowning.

“Yes. I would.”

Hmm.

That’s all a bit bothersome, he finds. Why - he’s instinctively quite angry with the chap for leaving her high and dry, but then he thinks of the wider situation and remembers that the gentleman in question likely has his own personal reasons for avoiding the lady, just like himself and Bridgerton. It’s all a bit of a moral quagmire.

He doesn’t like it. He liked Oxford, where he was miles away from London, and where a decision to save his soulmate from a life of heartache was an easy one to abide by.

So -

“Please do tell my Constance that I wish her the very best.” He mutters, hoarse, eyes on the darkened garden.

“She goes by Connie.” Clara snaps, as if offended for the lady, perhaps.

“Yes - of course. Connie. Please do tell the lady that she’s in my thoughts and prayers.”

“I expect she’d rather be in your heart and household, James, with all due respect. But I’ll take the message all the same.”

It’s the most ill-tempered he has ever heard Clara sound in all the weeks of their acquaintance. Why - she’s typically a very even-tempered and dependable sort. He doesn’t at all know what to make of it. Presumably this talk of soulmates has touched a nerve.

He’s still wondering what to say when she simply spins on her heels and returns to the ballroom.

He stands there without her a while, wondering at her unaccustomed behaviour. He thinks perhaps her soulmate is a particular chum of his - perhaps even Lord Bridgerton himself. That would make logical sense. He might try mentioning the Smythe-Smith ladies to his friend and see whether there’s any reaction.

Hmm.

He’s not thrilled at the idea of one of his good friends disappointing another so sorely.

He had better go and see if there’s anything he can do to cheer Clara up, he decides. She has been such a constant companion to him this season that he must owe her a bit of supportive loyalty in turn if she’s in a tizzy about her soulmate not wanting her. He doesn’t like to think of her upset, so to help her along must be what a good, earnest friend would do.

Jolly good. That’s that settled.

He goes back into the ballroom without further ado.

It’s an odd business, looking for Clara deliberately inside a ballroom. This is not the usual arena for their friendship. But he’s determined not to waver now, when he has a sense that she needs him. He wouldn’t like to let her down.

He finds her at last on one of the long sides of the ballroom, half-heartedly fighting through the crowd towards the nearest corner.

“There you are. I’ve been looking for you.” He tells her, as he takes her arm. “I’m concerned that you seem unhappy. Are you unhappy?”

“Oh - hello.” She says, which is not exactly the response he was hoping for.

He’s just wondering what the devil to do about it when Miss Cowper appears, as if sprung from the very earth, and seizes hold of his other arm in a proprietary grasp.

“Lord Fife. How pleasant to bump into you. Tell me - will we be dancing together this evening?” Miss Cowper asks.

“Ahm - not just now, if you please. I’ve a delicate matter at hand.” He tries.

“Of course. A delicate matter.” Miss Cowper echoes, with a smile that does not reach her eyes in the slightest.

And then?

Then James watches in utter disbelief as Miss Cowper pours her lemonade all over Clara’s gown.

“Dear me - how clumsy.” She says, in a tone of perfect insincerity. “I do apologise, Miss Cho. I’ll go and find a napkin.”

James ignores her utterly and gives his full intention to the disaster before him.

“What did she just call you?” He asks, too loud for a ballroom. He half-roars it, frankly, in a voice which sounds even to his own ears rather like his father in a storm of temper.

He doesn’t need an answer, he finds. He doesn’t need to hear her speak at all. For the lemonade is already doing its work, soaking through the muslin which covers her décolleté. He can see the familiar letters of his signature peeking through - can already pick out the Fife of James G. Fife, as it happens. He can already see his scribble on her skin, marring the perfection of her eye-catching bosom.

He stands there a moment, silent, utterly absorbed by horror as he stares at her soaked chest. The lemonade spreads, little by little, and as it spreads the situation grows predictably worse.

Yes.

James Fife. He can perhaps manage a bit of the G., too, but it appears to be hiding in her cleavage.

That’s more detail than he likely should be remarking upon, under the circumstances.

He clears his throat, tries to restore a little sense to proceedings.

“Constance -”

“I go by Connie.”

“Connie - how could you?  How could you deceive me so grievously? You - you knew. All this time you knew and you never said a word.” That part’s not a question. It doesn’t need to be a question. Suddenly the whole situation makes perfect, sickening sense.

He’s going to cast up his accounts right here over her perfect, traitorous breasts.

“I don’t regret a moment.” She tells him, stubborn, chin raised high. “I knew how it would be if you found out, so I took my chance. I knew this was the only way I could ever know you at all, and I don’t regret a thing.”

“You traitorous liar. I trusted you. I thought we were friends, and yet you’re nothing but a liar. You knew how I felt and you - you…” He trails off, helpless, swallows down a half-retch which stings at his throat.

“I take it you don’t mean to change your mind about marrying your soulmate now you know it’s me?” She actually asks him. “I think I must just ask that outright before I walk away. I’ve no intention of begging - I won’t have you break my dignity as well as my heart - but I’d never forgive myself if I didn’t even ask.”

She must read his answer in his eyes.

She’s the one who walks away - for the second time this evening, no less. She leaves him, just as his mother left his father.

I won’t have you break my dignity as well as my heart.

He retches for a second time, realises the urgency of the situation.

He sets out for the door at a run. That has become something of a habit this season, too - only this time, he knows he won’t find an easy friend outside.

He must make it to the door. He simply must. He’d never survive the indignity of casting up his accounts right here inside the ballroom. Can you imagine the shame of that? Can you imagine what folks would say, if he spewed up his guts into some flower pot or punch bowl?

He makes it with scarcely a second to spare. He’s falling to his knees on the terrace, throwing up all over the pretty paving stones.

It’s the single most wretched moment of his entire existence. It’s even worse than the morning his mother left home, in fact.

He kneels there a long while, throws up several more times, until there’s nothing left in his stomach to cast out. It’s easier to think of throwing up than to think of the real horror of the evening, he finds. It’s easier to think of how very poorly he feels than to notice that he has been falling in love with his soulmate quite unwittingly for the entire season, to hear in his mind her accuse him of breaking her heart.

It’s easier to think of squiffiness than of her lying to him.

She doesn’t regret a moment. That part keeps sticking with him, somehow, even despite the distraction of his illness. He doesn’t know what to make of that. He doesn’t know how to feel about her being so unrepentant at lying to him - or about her being so stubbornly set on knowing him despite his determination to avoid her at all costs.

He should have known there was something afoot. He should have sensed who she truly was. When folks kept calling his soulmate an odd duck, he should have realised that they meant she was the sort of person who might crawl around a terrace to look at a hosta during a high society ball.

He should have noticed that his friendship with the woman he knew as Clara meant something rather than being only a friendship.

He’s wiping his mouth half-heartedly on his handkerchief when his father appears on the terrace.

“Whatever’s the matter, son? What the devil has happened? You surely haven’t had so much punch as all that? I never saw you drink a drop.”

“It’s not drink.” James mutters, surveys the mess he has made with a dispassionate eye.

“Then you’re ailing. You’ve had a bit of bad seafood, perhaps - although I can’t see how. Your mother would never have anything questionable served under her roof. But it is what it is. We must get you home and get a bit of weak tea in you. That’ll see you right. Here, now - lean on my arm.”

“I’ve not taken sick, Pa.” James explains, gets shakily to his feet. “I - ahm - I only had a bit of a shock. I just lately met my soulmate - or just lately realised that my soulmate is a certain lady I got acquainted with earlier in the season. She gave me a false name, and then we became friends of a sort and now - now I’ve just lately learnt the awful truth. So - ahm - I found myself a bit unsettled.”

“Hmm. I’m not altogether sure I believe you, son. A chap doesn’t cast up his accounts because he’s feeling a bit unsettled. I should rather say you must have had the shock of your life.”

“Ahm - yes. Perhaps that.”

“So you’ve known her all season under a false name, have you?”

“Yes. She’s been lying to me all the while - and she knows exactly how I feel about soulmates. Fool that I am, I even discussed my own situation with her in some detail. I spoke at length with her about herself. It is in every way insupportable.”

“Nasty business, that.”

James only groans quietly and wonders whether he ought to somehow clean up this mess.

“What’s she like?” His father asks, in an unusually quiet sort of tone.

“She’s perfect.” James says, and means it. “She’s my favourite person I ever met. I should certainly have realised sooner that she must be my soulmate. She’s simply the most ideal lady I can imagine.”

“Nasty business.”

“You’re not going to tell me you were right? You’re not going to crow that you told me she’d be perfect, and then insist upon my marrying her?” James asks, sour.

“Not presently, no. I think I’d best not press the matter while you’re feeling under the weather. In such a situation I think a chap had better stand by his son a while and see to his health, rather than making unhelpful pronouncements about marriage.”

“Thank you, Pa. Thank you.”

“Well, now - I’m sure there’s no need for all that. Here. You’ll be needing another handkerchief, son. That one’s doing you no good.”

James accepts the new handkerchief, wipes it over his clammy forehead, and wonders whether perhaps tonight has just been an exceptionally bad dream.

No. It has the ring of truth about it. He truly should have seen this coming sooner.

“I can’t marry her.” James mutters now, even though his father is evidently resolved not to mention it.

“There there, son.”

“I can’t. I simply can’t. Just - just look at you and Ma. You’ve lived apart for years and - and your favourite thing about her is her damn forehead.”

His father scoffs at that. “You’ve not understood that part, son. You’ve not understood it at all. To be sure, she does have a fine forehead. I do have a fondness for her pretty forehead. Folks will insist upon saying that she and your aunt Keswick are identical, but for my part, I am convinced that my Bella has a much more delicate forehead - but - ahm - I’ve always been convinced that her soulmark is there for her mind, just so you know.”

“For her mind?”

“Certainly. She’s simply the most serene and cheerful and companionable person on this earth - and that’s all a product of her mind, isn’t it? She’s ever so patient with me, and she has such a clever head for arrangements and whatnot. That must be why her soulmark is where it is. I’m rather attached to her mind.”

“I didn’t know that.”

“You never asked.” His father points out, short.

James nods, swallows hard, tastes horror.

He considers how this new information fits with his view of things - and decides that it makes it even worse.

“Now you’ve said that, I’m all the more convinced that Connie and I could never work out.” He muses. “I’ve her name on my shoulders, and mine is on - on -” He breaks off, swallows hard. “It’s on her tits, Pa. My soulmate has her soulmark all over her bosom. That can’t possibly be a stable foundation for a respectful marriage - if she likes me for my shoulders alone, and if my favourite thing about her is destined to be her damn tits.”

“Well, now - there are different schools of thought about soulmarks. Your mother likes to learn about such things, since hers is - you know - it’s quite a visible one. She’s given it a bit of thought over the years. So I happen to know that some folks believe a soulmark is not the soulmate’s most beloved feature, but simply the first noticed. I recall that I certainly noticed your mother’s mind and manners before ought else. I was in quite the tizzy when I was introduced to her, and she was ever so patient and encouraging with me.”

For a moment, James thinks of noticing Connie’s figure before he had any clue who she was and feels almost - almost - like the situation might be in some way salvageable.

No. That’s an odd, errant burst of optimism which he manages to shake as his father rambles on.

“So your Miss Constance Cho having such a soulmark needn’t mean that you’re obsessed with her tits, or only interested in her tits. It might mean that you first noticed her figure, but you’ll come to love the rest of her in time. Or even if it does have some basis in importance, rather than only timing, it might mean that you’re most attached to her feminine wiles more generally, I suppose. Perhaps she’s a high-spirited and flirtatious sort? That was never my preference in a lady, to be sure, but chaps like what they will.”

James thinks on it a moment. Connie is certainly not flirtatious in the typical sense - she’s not one to bat her eyelids or flutter her fan - but he can perhaps see a kernel of truth in the idea. There’s something like that in her flattering laugh, in the way her bosom shakes when she’s amused at something he has said, in the way her smile always seems to draw him in.

Good God - he certainly likes more than her tits.

And then -

“You’re awfully quiet, son.”

James wonders if perhaps the apocalypse is nigh. He has never known his father comment on another person’s quietness - not in all his entire life.

“Yes.” He agrees, mild. “I just met my exceptionally perfect soulmate - whose only flaw is that she has been methodically lying to me for the entire season.”

“Nasty business, that.”

“I think I should go home. Or - I should clean up this mess, and then go home.”

“Don’t you fret about the mess, son. I’ll find a servant to handle it quietly. We must get the carriage for you. You’ll not mind waiting in the carriage while I have someone see to this mess and I find your mother?”

“Thank you, Pa.”

“Daft business, thanking me. So a chap should look after his son while he’s in dire straits. I’ll just go and see to that, then - your mother, and someone to see to the mess. It’s a shame to take your mother home when she does like a ball - we were to dance the supper set together, as it happens - but she’ll want to be with you while you’re feeling under the weather.”

James considers the situation, swiftly reaches a logical conclusion. “You had much better stay and dance with Ma, I think. I should hate to come between you when I know the two of you rarely go out and about together. And… I think perhaps a little time quietly by myself at home could do me some good.”

“I don’t like the sound of that. We must come home with you, son - it’s as simple as that.”

“Please, Pa. Please stay and have a pleasant time with Ma. I’d like a quiet evening at home. I’d like to think of you two enjoying your evening and - and frankly, I think I’m likely to weep a little just as soon as the worst of the shock passes, and I’d be mortified if I had an audience.”

“Ah.”

“So you’ll permit me to go home without you?”

“Certainly I will. You’re a grown man. If you know your own mind, I’ll not stop you. Ahm - chin up, son. You take care, hmm? You’ve had a nasty evening, but you’re made of stern stuff.”

James smiles a tired smile. “Thank you, Pa.”

“Come along, then. Come along. Let’s get you to the carriage - and don’t you fret about the mess. I’ll have it seen to. You need only get yourself home and rest. And - ahm - don’t be embarrassed if you do get a bit upset, hmm? It’s only natural when a chap is fretting about difficulties with his soulmate. Why - I was ever so muddled when your mother first moved out. Do you recall it?”

“I recall it.” James says, because of course he does. That’s more or less what landed them here, isn’t it?

“Nasty business, that. Come along, then. Come along. Through this way - that’ll be a quieter route to the carriage.”

His father steers him the whole way with a hand between his shoulder blades.

That is - his Pa steers him with a hand atop his soulmark.

…….

James does indeed weep a while, that night, while he lies abed and stares at the ceiling. It seems the thing to do. 

He feels so very muddled that he scarcely knows which way is up. He still feels shocked, too. He knows he oughtn’t feel shocked - he knows it is obvious, in retrospect, that Clara and Connie were always one and the same - but somehow, he’s still reeling from it.

His one consolation is that his parents have stayed out without him to have a dance together. That’s a bit of good news, at least.

He wonders how Connie is faring. He simply hasn’t a clue how she’ll be feeling tonight. He hasn’t a clue how he wants her to be feeling, either. He’s angry with her for misleading him, but he’s horrified at having upset her so deeply and spoken to her in such an angry tone, too.

I won’t have you break my dignity as well as my heart. She said that to him, and now he can't stop hearing it.

He wishes he’d never come to town at all.

Or - no. He doesn’t. He does not wish that. He thinks he understands, now, why she said she didn’t regret her subterfuge in the slightest, why she was proud to stand by her actions. Because actually, despite everything, he is still glad that he had the chance to know her. He is still glad that he met and befriended Miss Constance Cho, the most fetching amateur horticulturalist in all the ton.

It’s on that exact thought that sleep claims him at last.

…….

He goes downstairs the following morning to find his parents sitting together at the breakfast table.

It’s such an unaccustomed sight that he almost gasps out loud in shock. He hasn’t seen them eat breakfast together in years. They seem deliberately to avoid it, even on their occasional visits as a family. He certainly hasn’t seen them together at breakfast so far this season, for example.

He knows at once that something is afoot.

“Pa? Ma?”

“Have a seat, son. Have a seat and try a bit of breakfast. You must get something inside you after last night. And then we’ve a serious conversation to have, if you can manage it. Your mother and I have considered your situation and discussed it at length - we’ve reflected upon everything that happened last night and in recent weeks - and we’ve decided that we must help you consider whether you might marry your Miss Constance Cho after all.”

“You told her? You told Ma everything I told you in confidence last night? How could you?” James asks, horrified. Indeed, he’s horrified more specifically by that than he is by his father taking up that old theme of marrying his soulmate, he finds.

“Buck up, lad." His father barks at him. "Of course I told her. She’s my wife.”

“George, darling - I think James only means to say that he’s surprised you passed on what he told his Pa in confidence.” His mother says, in a soothing sort of tone. “Truly, James - I do understand. I know that you and your father are close. But I mean to be helpful in your present circumstances, if I can.”

“You both think I should choose her.” James realises. “That is why you are ambushing me at breakfast - you mean to sit here and try to convince me to attempt to marry her. You think that I should see if she’ll have me for a husband even after I made such a muddle with her last night.”

“We think you’d do better to try to marry her, if possible.” His mother agrees, quiet but firm.

“Certainly we do.” His father adds, rather louder. “Daft business, spurning your soulmate. I won’t let you do it, son. I won’t let you ruin your life like I ruined all ours. I won’t let you. I won’t stand idly by and watch you break your soulmate’s heart. A chap owes his soulmate his loyalty, and - and he owes her everything in his power to see to her happiness, no matter what it takes. That’s how it is. I learned that lesson too late, and I won’t let you make the same mistake.”

“A love like that is always worth pursuing, even if it’s sometimes difficult.” His mother actually adds.

So - that’s something. That’s an interesting development. That’s his father yelling at breakfast, which is not unusual - but all those reflections on mistakes are new, and his mother speaking up in favour of soulmate marriages out loud certainly feels worthy of note.

Other folks might think her hairstyle speaks louder, but James sets more store by her words, he decides.

“You truly both think I should do it? You think I’d be making an awful mistake if I didn’t? You - you are both convinced of that, even though soulmate marriages are not always plain sailing?”

“I am entirely convinced you should at least try.” His mother tells him, looks him right in the eye and everything.

“You must at least give the lass a chance. You must make your overtures to her and let her choose what she will.” His father adds.

James swallows hard. His mouth tastes less like shock and horror and squiffiness this morning, at least.

His parents think he should try courting Connie. They both think that - even though they’ve been living out a cautionary tale of soulmates gone wrong for the last two decades or more.

He swallows again - more a gulp, frankly - and reaches for a slice of dry toast.

“Perhaps I’ll try.” He hedges. “Perhaps I should at least discuss the matter with her. I - I still fear soulmate matches are a recipe for misery - I’m still convinced she’d be better off without me - but - ahm - perhaps I should at least discuss the matter rationally with her.”

“Well done, darling.” His mother says, and pats at his hand.

“That’s the way to do it. You must at least have a go at winning her hand.” His father says - which is perhaps not quite what he said, but it’s closer than than their thoughts often run, at least.

“I think I might invite the Chos for dinner. I am a little acquainted with Lady Cho - just very slightly.” His mother offers.

“Or we might promenade together as a family and see if we can catch them. We could go out this morning and see what’s what. A promenade is just the thing for a courtship.”

“But you must try for a slice or two of toast first, James, darling. You must get something in your stomach.”

“Jolly good.” He mutters, takes a bite of that dry toast.

Evidently he just agreed to make some sort of attempt to be reacquainted with his soulmate, and he hasn’t the first clue how to feel about it. He doesn’t know whether he’s more excited at the prospect of seeing her again or horrified at the prospect of re-hashing that horrid conversation they had last night.

Ah well. Perhaps he’s destined to stay muddled all the rest of the season. Perhaps that’s simply how it goes when soulmates are involved.

At least this slice of toast tastes appetising. At least his stomach has settled far enough for hunger to bite.

At least there’s that.

…….

Sure enough, they do see Connie out on their promenade that morning.

It occurs to James that he could likely have learned the truth several weeks earlier, if only he had taken up the habit of promenading at the start of the season. In fact - his father did suggest something like that, if he recalls correctly.

Yes. Well. Nothing to be done now but to make the best of it.

“That’s her.” He tells his parents, gestures in her direction.

He’s trying to catch her eye, in fact, but Connie seems set on ignoring him.

“Yes - I do recognise Lady Cho, now you mention it.” His mother agrees.

“Jolly good.”

“Well - go on, then, son.” His father tells him, presses a hand between his shoulder blades to urge him forward - a little like the way he helped him with walking last night, perhaps.

James hesitates a moment. He dithers, wonders what he would say if he did actually go over there.

Then Connie looks up, and he waves at last as an inept soulmate might - and she pointedly takes her gaze back to the ground, rather than acknowledging him at all.

Ah.

That’s… rather horrible, actually.

That’s really quite horrifically upsetting.

She’s his soulmate, and he waved at her, and she refused to greet him, and now he thinks perhaps - just perhaps - his heart might be breaking.

He can’t let that cut be the story of the whole of the rest of his life. He simply can’t. Indeed - he won’t. He vows that, now. This is the exact moment he realises he must do everything in his power to marry her after all - and then to keep her happy all the days of his life. He will simply have to learn how to be an acceptable husband, not to be the lousy one he always expected to be.

There’s no other option than that. He can’t let a moment like this happen, not ever, ever again.

Hmm. 

He supposes this might be a little like she felt when he insisted upon not knowing her, for all those weeks and months and years.

So -

“Excuse me, Pa, Ma. There’s something I think I had better go and do.”

He sets to running across Hyde Park to his soulmate.

There’s no other option, is there? He must catch her for a word as soon as ever he may. He must set right this muddle he has made with all haste. He must explain how sorry he is, how desperately attached to her he is already, and how determined he is to be an acceptable suitor and one day husband, if only she will give him the chance.

She looks up at the sound of him running, as well she might. She’s watching him, eyes wide with an expression he cannot even begin to identify, as he stumbles to a halt just before her.

“I owe you a most thorough apology.” He simply informs her by way of beginning. “I hope you don’t mind me accosting you thusly, but I simply can’t let another moment go by without telling you how terribly sorry I am for my rudeness last night. I - ahm - I’ve thought about matters considerably, overnight and this morning - and - I - I mean to do right by you, if you’ll allow it. I think I must prepare myself to learn the art of being an acceptable husband after all, if you’re willing to give me the time of day after I lost my temper so horribly last night.”

“My Lord - if you’re saying all this because you feel guilty that I was so discomposed last night, you needn’t. I assure you that I have myself under better regulation this morning.” She tells him primly.

Ah.

That’s not an encouraging reception, is it?

“It’s not that - not that at all.” He rushes to explain. “It’s rather that I had a good long think about things after the shock of last night - and then I discussed the matter with my parents, and thought on it a bit longer - and then I saw you here this morning and - and I’d like a second chance to get acquainted with you, if you’ve any interest in the notion. I'd like a do-over and a chance to court you properly. Or - well - it does depend upon what you would like, of course - I’m determined to want just exactly whatever you want, after all the bother I’ve caused you - but I do hope you might want to get acquainted with me.”

“Oh.” She says, eyes wider than ever, lips pursed.

Hell and damnation. She doesn’t seem her usual self at all.

He wonders whether she has been feeling squiffy since last night, too.

He’s wondering what he ought to say to make it better when there’s a pointed cough, close by his elbow, from the lady who must presumably be her mother.

“Excuse me, sir - have we been introduced?” The lady asks pointedly.

“I - ahm - well, now…” James mutters, all in a fluster. He’s not at all sure whether Connie would want him to let on that he’s her soulmate, at this stage, while they’re so badly at odds.

He dares to meet her eye, finds her nodding a slight nod.

Jolly good. That’s a considerable relief, he decides. That suggests she’s willing to know him, at least.

So -

“Hello. You must be Lady Cho. I do apologise for the impropriety of introducing myself to your acquaintance in this shabby fashion. I - ahm - I’m Lord Fife, as it happens. Lord James George Fife.”

“I see.” Lady Cho says, her eyes darting between him and Connie as if searching for clues.

James rather knows how she feels.

His parents have caught up, now, thank goodness. Indeed - he has rarely been so glad to see them in all his life.

“I believe you know my mother a little, Lady Cho? And here’s my father. The Duke of Argyll. Pa - here’s Lady Cho. And - ahm - Miss Cho, might I introduce you to both my parents?”

“It’s such a joy to meet you, darling.” His mother actually half-squeals it at Connie, steps forward to take her hand and everything.

“Your Grace - how kind of you to say so.”

“Well said, wife. Well said indeed. We’ve been looking forward to meeting you for a good many years, Miss Cho. What a happy day this is, hmm? What a happy day indeed.”

James is accustomed to finding his father insensitive in social situations. He has often thought that the man must be immune to the mood of a room. But this? This rather takes the biscuit. He’s puzzled as to how anyone could look at Connie’s stunned face and his awkward, fidgeting limbs and call it a happy day indeed.

And yet somehow - by some miracle - it does seem to help a little. Connie is quirking a smile which doesn’t reach her eyes. Lady Cho is nodding slightly. The other Cho siblings have stopped hiding behind their fans and are wandering over the other side of the path a little, as if giving events space to unfold.

James wonders what happens next.

Just as he’s wondering that, Lady Cho speaks up.

“I’m sure it’s lovely to meet you but this is all very sudden. I hardly know what to say.”

“We feel much the same, Lady Cho. It’s awfully unsettling to watch one’s children go courting, isn’t it?” His mother offers, with her most careful smile.

“I ought to be accustomed to it by now. I’ve enough children to have had practice.”

“We’ve only the one - just our James.”

Well, now. That’s an awkward moment and no mistake.

Silence falls. James sneaks another glance at Connie, finds her staring at the ground again. He looks shiftily around, sees her sisters frowning at him, looks back at her again - and finds that she still has her eyes on the floor.

Hmm.

He seems to have made rather a hash of things, here.

“Ahm - perhaps we ought to leave you to your promenade.” He even suggests. “I’m sure we’d hate to interrupt. And Miss Cho might perhaps like her privacy. My father is forever reminding me that a lady likes her privacy.”

Connie does look up at that - she’s frowning, yes, but at least she’s looking right at him.

And then -

“I am sorry for causing a scene, Mama. I know you do hate a scene. It’s only that Lord Fife and I had a bit of a falling out last night. I suppose you’d call it a tiff - and now we seem set on acting awkwardly in Hyde Park.” Connie says, with the stiffest little chuckle he ever heard.

He has never been so glad to hear her laugh in all his life, though.

“It’s just exactly that.” He rushes to agree. “I said several very daft things to Miss Cho last night, and I’m determined to apologise properly - and then to get better acquainted with her, if she’ll permit it - and - and that is where we are.”

“Well, now - that makes a very great deal of sense. Would you like to walk with the gentleman for a while this morning, Connie, dear? Or perhaps you might like us to go home and he could call on you another day when you’ve both calmed down a little?”

“Oh - well - I’d like to walk with him now, if that suits everyone.”

“It certainly suits me as long as you are happy.” Her mother says.

“It suits me.” James rushes to offer. “It suits me very well indeed. I - ahm - I’ve no other plans today besides wandering around Hyde Park looking for you, and wondering whether we might set right our tiff, as you called it.”

“Then we’d best set to it, My Lord. The day is passing us by.”

He nods - too fast and eager, most likely - and then offers her his arm as swiftly as ever he may.

The next few seconds are awkward. They’re perhaps not so awkward as the first few moments after he ran over here, but they’re awkward to a certain extent all the same. The party must reorganise itself around them. There’s the matter of the two of them trying to place themselves out of earshot of most of her family.

He hears one of her sisters whisper soulmate a few times, as they pass, and he winces each and every time.

Suddenly, all at once, they’re essentially alone and Connie is taking the bull by the horns.

“It would appear you’ve changed your tune, My Lord.” She says, shapes it half way to a question.

“Yes. I have, rather.”

“Could you explain that to me, please?”

“I fear it might be quite a long explanation. There have been several muddled thoughts in my head since last night. I expect yours is the same?”

She nods, quiet.

“I’ve been worried about you. I still am worried about you.” He feels the need to tell her. “I spent a long while last night wondering how you were getting along. When I thought of not marrying my soulmate, before last night, it was a very abstract sort of thought, if you take my meaning? It wasn’t personal. I didn’t know it would be you I would be upsetting. Or - well - I did know your name, of course, but I didn’t know the truth of you as a person. So… that is part of it, I think. I’m still half-convinced I’d make you an inadequate husband, but I can’t possibly stand idly by and not even try. I - I watched your heart break last night, Connie. I watched myself break it. You said your heart broke, and I’m rather inclined to believe you. I have remembered that part most specifically. I’d rather find a way to stop doing that, if I can.”

She nods, still silent.

Good God. He’s very worried about her indeed.

“Then there’s the matter of breakfast this morning. My parents joined forces to speak to me at breakfast in an effort to convince me to court you. There wasn’t much of substance to their words which I hadn’t already thought of, but the mere fact of them teaming up like that certainly swayed me. My mother was actually quite vocal about how firmly she believes a soulmate marriage is always worthwhile.”

Another silent nod. He takes a risk, presses at her hand to see if it will help.

He’s not at all sure it does.

“And then - more than anything - I suppose the moment I saw you just now is the moment I knew for certain. When I saw you across the park and you acted as if you didn’t know me - and I realised how utterly hurtful it must have been to have me try to act that way towards you… we can’t be like that, Connie. I am determined to do better. If even my mother thinks a soulmate marriage is always worthwhile then - then I am resolved to believe her.”

“So - what? What exactly are you saying you intend to do?”

“I intend to court you, if you’ll have me.”

“Just like that? Not sixteen hours after you swore you would never change your mind?”

“Yes. Or - well - unless you don’t want me to, of course. It’s possible that you’ve changed your mind since -”

“I haven’t.” She tells him, short and unhappy.

It’s… not quite how he hoped a conversation about courtship would go.

“You haven’t?” He asks, tries to check that he has understand.

“I haven’t changed my mind. I would still rather have you court me and marry me than not. I just - excuse me - I’m just a little overwhelmed.”

Her voice shakes as she says it. Her voice shakes something awful, in fact, all trembling and quiet, not at all like her usual self.

He feels even more a cad than ever, in this moment.

He clears his throat, tries desperately to say something useful. “I can well understand that. We could speak of something else a while, if you prefer. Or - or perhaps I should say that you’re welcome to be overwhelmed just however and whenever you please, and I’m determined to oblige you if there’s anything I can do to help.”

She laughs at that - not her usual laugh, but a ghost of it, perhaps.

“I expect I’ll recover my spirits presently. I’m usually a robust sort.”

“I know. You’re usually found traipsing around terraces and investigating patios in the cold night air.” He reminds her, fond.

She laughs a little closer to her usual laugh, at that.

“Is there anything I can do?” He dares to ask now.

“No, thank you. It is sweet of you to ask. I’ll be well soon enough. I didn’t sleep a great deal, which hardly helps, of course. And I couldn’t face breakfast - but then I had to pretend to have a roll or my mother would have caught on. Cordie covered for me. She’s an excellent sister.”

“I am glad that you have excellent sisters.”

“How are you faring?” She actually asks him now. “You haven’t any sisters to lean on. It sounds as if you’ve had quite the unpleasant night?”

“I’m fine.” He lies through his teeth. “It’s you I’m concerned for. I was rather unsettled last night, I suppose, but my father helped me along, and -”

“You threw up four times on the terrace.” She tells him baldly.

He turns to gape at her.

“What - you thought I wouldn’t know?” She asks, brows raised. “Cordie realised something was up and went in search of us. She found four… accidents, and a handful of servants en route to deal with them. It wasn’t hard to understand what had happened.”

“I threw up five times, actually. Two were in much the same spot.” He mutters.

“Oh - truly? It was even worse than we realised? I am sorry.”

“No - I am the one who meant to apologise this morning.” He argues.

“Come, now - this is as bad as that time you fell over my feet.” She even teases.

That sorts them out - or sorts them out part way, at least. That has them both chuckling a moment, gives him the courage to pat a few more times at her hand.

And then -

“You’re serious about courting me? You don’t intend to change your mind again?” She asks, quiet.

“I’m serious about marrying you, sooner or later, and I certainly don’t intend to change my mind.”

“Very well. Then… let’s try that. Let’s see how we get along as Lord Fife and Miss Cho, rather than James and Clara.” She offers, with a sad little smile.

“Thank you. I shall do my level best to make it worth your while. I’m not at all sure how we’ll get along - I don’t expect to be much good at courting you. I never expected to do it until this morning.”

“I expect you’ll do wonderfully just as long as you have a little faith in yourself.”

“Hmm. I’m worried about it, frankly, Connie. I - I don’t know how to fall in love.” He tells her, in the most pathetic little broken voice - for all the world like a nine-year-old boy watching his mother leave home.

“I’m not sure I do, either.” Connie tells him, about as quiet. “All these years I’ve been convinced I never could. I was twelve years old when I found out you intended never to meet me. This season I told myself it was enough simply to know you a little. So I don’t know how we’ll do this, either - but I’m with you. I agree that we must at least try.”

“Thank you. Thank you. I’m determined to do right by you.”

“Yes. You’ve made that quite clear.”

“Perhaps you might give me a bit of advice for how to sweep you off your feet? Will you want me to pay calls and bring you gifts - perhaps a few more plants for your collection? You must tell me if you’ve any particular requests, or if there’s anything you would have daydreamed between the age of twelve and twenty-something that your soulmate might do for you, if only your daft soulmate hadn't cut short your daydreams.”

“Oh - I hardly know. I haven’t a clue, frankly. I only ever daydreamed of you wanting me - and that was a great indignity, for I was always determined to be an independent sort.”

She only ever daydreamed of him wanting her.

Hell and damnation. He’s made such a thorough catastrophic muddle, here. He’s ruined her life without even marrying her, by the sounds of it, and he’s not at all sure he’s equal to the task of unruining it.

How did he never logic his way through this, hmm? How did he never realise that rejecting his soulmate unseen might be even more ruinous than marrying her and being a bit inept?

Was he truly so scared of heartbreak that it seemed the better option?

He glances over at her, tries to read her face. He can see both affection in resentment in her eyes, both at once - or at least, he thinks he can. It’s possible he’s only putting them there because that’s what he would feel, in her place.

He fishes desperately for something useful to say.

“I’ll begin with a hosta, I think. First thing tomorrow morning, I’ll call on you at home with a hosta for a courtship gift.”

“I’m sure you needn’t give me a hosta just because we have different thoughts on the matter of soulmates.”

“We don’t. We have just exactly the same thought. As of this morning, I too think that soulmates should always be together.”

She looks at him as if she doesn’t believe him, and he doesn’t blame her.

Or - perhaps she doesn’t believe that soulmates should always be together, not any more. Perhaps he saw to that.

He clears his throat, tries again. “Perhaps it should be a fern. I know you do prefer ferns, as a general rule, but I thought a hosta might be appropriate as a tribute to the night we met.”

“Yes. I understood what you meant by it.”

Hell and damnation.

Only then -

“I don’t need another plant, James. I own plants. I - I just want you and I to enjoy being friends again. I want that more than anything. I was so convinced we were getting along splendidly -”

“We were. We do. You’re quite my favourite company in the world, honestly. That’s why I’m here this morning making such a hash of trying to put things to rights. There’s nothing I want more than for us to pick up that friendship again. Why - our friendship has been my obsession this season even before I knew who you truly were. I’ve spent the last month or so tempted to try to court you anyway, and yet sticking to that daft obsession I had with not marrying for affection.”

“Oh.” She says.

She says it in an entirely different tone than the tone she has used all morning. She says it as a proper Connie oh, all bright and curious and interested.

So - he keeps going.

“I mean it, Connie - every word. Terribly sorry - I should perhaps have made that clearer to begin with. I’m not explaining myself at all well. The reason I’m making such a fuss over this is not because I feel guilty or because my parents have suddenly inspired me with enthusiasm for soulmate marriages. More than anything, it’s you. It’s because I’ve become very fond of you very swiftly - because you’re my favourite company in all the world - and now I understand why.”

“Well - that’s something, then. That’s ideal, frankly, for I rather like your company too. So - please could we just spend some time together tomorrow or the next day, and see how we get along?”

“Yes please.”

“You needn’t bring a plant for that. It’s not that I dislike ferns or hostas - I’m very fond of them, to be sure - but I should like us to get reacquainted as ourselves and simply have a pleasant time together more than anything.”

“Connie?”

“Yes?”

“I intend to bring you a plant anyway.”

She laughs at that. She laughs her proper, full, Connie laugh, and even squeezes a little at his arm as she goes.

“You needn’t do that, James. I mean it - you needn’t. But I do like the idea of a morning call, if it suits you.”

“Jolly good.”

“Shall we try for a bit of cheerful conversation now? Do you think we could manage that? I fear you must still feel squiffy - and I’m certainly still tired - but it seems such a waste not to even try to enjoy one another’s company on such a morning as this. I feel I should be jumping for joy that you’ve shown up and decided you’d like to court me, but I’m too exhausted to manage it - and perhaps still a bit taken aback.”

“Come along, then. We must just try for a normal conversation as best we are able. If that is what you would like, I am determined to oblige you. Ahm - what do you make of that tree, then? We’ve never walked in a park together before, and it strikes me as a shame, because there are a good many trees hereabouts which I may ask you to explain to me.”

“Oh - thank you, James.”

He feels rather bemused by that. He’s not convinced he has done anything worthy of thanks.

But she’s telling him all about beech trees, now, so he lets it go.

…….

He does take her a hosta the next morning. Obviously he does. He has been an incompetent soulmate in a great many ways, so far, but he is at least capable of taking her a plant in memory of their first meeting, when he pays his first morning call.

And then -

“You did bring a hosta. I knew you would.” She tells him, bright, her smile more or less reaching her eyes.

“I expect I’ll bring you another tomorrow, as well.”

“You expect to be able to find two hostas in two days in London? What magic is this, sir?” She asks playfully.

“Ahm - you know how it is. Money is money, and my father has quite a bit of it.” He mutters, scratching at his ear.

“There’s the money - and then there are the many hours you must have spent sourcing this fine specimen.” She says, holding it aloft to admire it.

“It wasn’t so bad as all that. I woke just before dawn, went to my fencing, and took care of this on the way home.”

“James - it’s midday.”

“Yes. Well. Worth every minute. You look a good deal happier with me this morning.” He dares to note.

“That’s not about the plant. I must insist that it has more to do with your warm manners than this pretty plant.” She tells him, firm.

“Jolly good.”

“How are you this morning - aside from having spent half the day already traipsing around town in search of hostas?”

“I’m all the better for seeing you. And I come with good news - my parents have invited all your family for dinner at Argyll House tomorrow. My mother told me that I must ask you most particularly what your favourite dishes are, so that she might have them served, and my father suggested that I ask what colour gown you’ll wear so that I can dress to complement you.”

“Hmm. Do they not realise you’re my soulmate? Has it not occurred to them that I’m already inclined towards you without them fussing over dishes and colours?”

“I think they only know better than anyone not to take a soulmate for granted.” He mutters.

“Oh - good heavens - of course. I am sorry. That must have sounded terribly insensitive - I didn’t -”

“Connie?”

“Yes?”

“Please don’t fret about it for so much as a second. I only think we should just allow them to fuss as they will, hmm?”

“As you say. Oh - here - will you sit with me a while? Have you time to sit and drink tea with me for a few minutes?”

“I was hoping I might stay quite a long while, if it suits you.” He admits, scratches again at his ear.

“Yes. Yes please.”

“Jolly good.”

He’s getting better at this soulmate lark, if he does say so himself.

……..

They promenade quite often that week, too - and for the most part James likes it very well. He does enjoy being out and about with Connie on his arm. He is glad to spend time with her, and it comes with an implicit opportunity to proclaim their courtship to all the world, as he sees it. He likes the idea that other folks are noticing them promenading together and noting their courtship.

That doesn’t make him the same as his father, doesn’t make him a chap who likes his women beast-branded with his name. It doesn’t.

At least - he hopes it doesn’t.

So -

“Could we wander over towards Lord Barnell, do we think?” He asks Connie, one morning. “Could we intercept him - you see, there, where he’s walking with his sisters? I haven’t seen him in some few days and I’d like him to know that we are courting.”

“I expect he already knows we are courting, James. I believe most of London must know by now. Did you not happen to see that we made an appearance in the society pages on Wednesday?”

“Jolly good. I didn’t know that, but I call it very cheery news.” He declares.

“You do? Now I feel I ought to have mentioned it sooner. Only - well - I didn’t expect that you would like to be an object of gossip.”

“It’s not that - not quite. It’s more that I like to know that folks in general know we are courting. I’m glad about it and I want to share that with the world, perhaps.”

“That’s terribly sweet, James. You only changed your mind about soulmates last week and already you like to stake a claim to me publicly.” She says, and squeezes at his arm.

He’s rather horrified at that, he finds.

“No - I’m not claiming you.” He tells her, instinctive.

“Oh. I see.” She mutters, and he thinks she looks suddenly unhappy with him.

“Jolly good.” He says, although it isn’t.

“You mean to say that you would rather people didn’t know that we’re soulmates? That they only hear that we’re courting, perhaps?”

“No. It’s not that either. I -”

He breaks off, scratches a while at his ear, and wonders how the devil a chap is supposed to undertake a courtship successfully. Why - sometimes he feels that he’s nothing but a walking disaster.

Perhaps Connie would have been better off without him after all.

No. Not that. A chap should stand by his soulmate, no matter what. A soulmate love is a love worth seeking, even when it’s hard.

He clears his throat, tries desperately to muddle through the truth.

“I don’t like to think of it as claiming. I find it terribly distasteful how some chaps like my father seem to think of their soulmate as - as property they have a right to own, and the lady’s soulmark as almost a brand on a beast. So I prefer not to think of claiming you, if you please - but I do like the idea of proclaiming to all the world that we’re soulmates and you have been so good as to welcome my suit.”

“Oh - thank you. It’s terribly helpful of you to explain that.” She says, her brighter tone suddenly restored. “And - if I might ask, James - you truly think that? You’re truly that delighted about our courtship?”

“Yes.” He tells her, plain and simple.

“That’s ideal, then - for I’m delighted with it, too.”

“Jolly good.”

“Shall we wander over to Lord Barnell, then? Shall we go and see him so he can marvel at our shared joy?” She asks.

She doesn’t ask it as if she’s teasing. She asks it as if she understands, more or less. And yet still, somehow, he’s convinced he can see just a little trace of that sadness in her eyes which he saw on the morning last week when he first approached her in this very park.

Well, then. He must keep working on that. He must keep bringing her hostas and telling her how he feels.

He only hopes it’s enough to have her wholly happy with him one day, too.

…….

They do better, as the season lengthens - or at least, he thinks they do.

He still wouldn’t say he’s convinced that Connie is wholly happy with him or with their circumstances. He does occasionally catch a certain sadness in her eyes when she looks at him, still - that affection mingled with resentment which he first noticed.

He tries very hard not to dwell on it, tries only to press on with wooing her and enjoying their deepening acquaintance. He will simply propose to her as soon as that sadness and resentment disappears, he decides - as soon as he has gone a week without seeing it, perhaps. That strikes him as a sensible rule to work by.

In the meantime, he thinks the two of them are getting along fairly well. They have their visits and their promenades, and they share a good deal of laughter along the way.

The best part of courtship is the chance to dance with Connie in ballrooms, rather than only hiding with her outside them. He decides that rather rapidly, since he suddenly enjoys a high society ball much more than he ever did before.

It’s not until several weeks into their courtship, at the Ambrose ball, that it occurs to him he had better tell her that.

“I like balls a good deal better now we are in the habit of dancing two sets together every time.” He tells her plainly, as their first set of the evening begins.

“That’s awfully reassuring.” She tells him, her eyes alight with fun - and also with fondness, he thinks, if he has understood her correctly.

“I thought I had better mention it. I like you to know I’m enjoying our courtship.”

“I’m enjoying it, too. You’re certainly a good deal more pleasant to dance with than any of those gentlemen my brother used to throw at me from amongst his friends.”

“Hmm. I must become closer with your brother now we are courting. I always thought him a good chap - he’s a fair cricketer, isn’t he?”

“I’m better.”

“Yes. I expect you are. We must play all together, one day. Perhaps we’ll have the chance to visit and do things like that over the summer? Perhaps you might come out to stay with us a while at my father’s estate?”

“I’d like that. You could introduce me to all those horses you and he like to keep.” She suggests.

“Jolly good.”

It’s a pretty daydream, he decides - yet not quite as pretty as the real woman dancing before him.

He wonders whether it would help to tell her that, too.

“You look very lovely.” He tells her - then bites his lip, and wonders whether there’s any way to pay such a forthright compliment without it sounding abrupt.

She laughs. “You needn’t flatter me so - I’m already your soulmate.”

“It’s not flattery. I mean it.”

“Well, then - I already have your name written in a certain location to remind me that you are not immune to my charms, such as they are.” She offers, still dry.

“No, Connie - will you listen a moment, please? It’s not about your soulmark. It’s - for heaven’s sake, Connie - it’s not about your tits.”

He cries that last part far, far too loudly - then half-freezes, a moment, as he considers the aftermath.

Huh.

Perhaps there is no harm done after all.

No one nearby seems to be pointing or tutting or whispering. And the effect on Connie is very pleasing indeed, he decides - she’s laughing a little, but she’s also squeezing his hand very hard indeed.

“Understood, James. It’s not about my tits.” She echoes, with an admirably straight face.

“It’s not.” He insists, stubborn - and yet perhaps beginning to chuckle at himself, too. “There are all sorts of theories about soulmarks. I like to think that I noticed your - pardon me - your bosom first, but that your whole entire person and most especially your character then took over.”

“I hate to argue with such a sweet sentiment as that, but surely you noticed my feet, first, given the manner of our introduction?”

His turn to laugh very loud, now, and to squeeze her hand harder than ever.

And then -

“Where’s yours?” She asks, perfectly matter of fact.

“My soulmark?” He checks, although he can’t see what else she would mean.

She nods. “Ever since we met I have been wondering where it might be. I’d have thought it might be somewhere visible, since I fear I’m always rather obvious in my admiration for you - but it evidently isn’t anywhere easily visible, for I’ve never seen it nor noticed you covering it. Then I wondered whether perhaps it might be on your foot or ankle, since we met by me tripping you that night. Or - sometimes I think perhaps your hands, but I’m sure I would have remarked upon that by now.”

“How fascinating. All those guesses are wrong.” He tells her, thoughtful. “I can scarcely credit it - you’re typically so clever at working me out.”

“I’m less clever about our soulbond than about a good many other things, I would say.” She offers, dry.

“Come along, now - there’s no need for that. I didn’t mean to offend you. I only think it’s interesting that you haven’t worked it out.”

“Will you put me out of my misery and tell me?” She asks.

He’s sorely tempted to tell her she’ll have to wait for their wedding night, that she’s not to know until she undresses him of every stitch of clothing - yet he fears that might be rather presumptuous on his part, that it’s a joke which might not make her laugh.

He clears his throat. “It’s on my shoulders. Or - it’s written all across my shoulders, in fact, since you have such long and loopy writing. I’ve always liked it very much. I think you’ve a pretty name, and then you sign it very prettily, and I like to have it stretching all across the breadth of my shoulders - as if you were wrapping an arm right around me or enveloping me in a blanket, perhaps.”

She blinks silently at him a moment, as if wondering what to do with all that.

“Connie? I hope you don’t find that odd - I don’t mean to make you uncomfortable. It’s just that my soulmark always makes me think of the two of us cuddling quietly on a sofa at home, or something of that sort.”

“You must stop saying such sweet things, James. You’re sure to make me melt entirely right here in this ballroom.”

“Terribly sorry.” He says, because of course he does.

She laughs, reaches again to squeeze at his hand.

And then -

“Truly? It’s on your shoulders?” She asks, and he thinks she sounds incredulous.

“Yes.”

“How fascinating. I suppose I am fond of your shoulders. You do have very fine shoulders. And perhaps - they are perhaps what a lady first notices. When you walk into a room, the shoulders do make an impression - but then again, so does the smile. So do the limbs.” She muses.

“The limbs.” He echoes, a chuckle in his throat. “The limbs make an impression.”

“Oh - hush, you. You’re embarrassing me.” She tells him fondly, utterly without heat. “I only think it odd that your soulmark is on your shoulders. Or - do we think perhaps it could be a metaphor? Something like Atlas bearing the heavens on his shoulders?”

“I think you’re overcomplicating it, Connie. I think there’s a much more simple and logical explanation. Your name is written across my shoulders because that’s the only place your pretty, looping signature would fit. Or perhaps it’s because the fates knew I would like it - I would like to have it there, and would like the way it looks, and would like to think of it as an embrace.”

“Oh - now there is a fine idea. Perhaps a soulmark is placed not to be significant to the signer, but to the wearer. Perhaps my name is on your shoulders because you like it there. Perhaps your name is on my bosom because some part of me - despite my independent tendencies - always wanted a passionate love, always wanted a gentleman to be attracted to me as a woman and so on. Perhaps it’s because I wanted a gentleman to see his name on my bosom and - and not claim me, because you don’t like it in those terms, but proclaim our courtship for all the world. Perhaps your name is on my tits for me.”

“I like this for a theory. I think it makes a great deal of logical sense.” He decides, once and for all.

“Of course it does. You first came up with it.” She tells him, smiling all the while.

He smiles back at her, squeezes her hand, and hopes his eyes do tell her a bit about her success in finding that passion she lately spoke of. He hopes that she can read in his gaze that he’s all hot under the collar for her.

And then, for the next few seconds, he thinks.

That theory about the location of soulmarks could work out very neatly in many ways. It’s certainly a good fit for the two of them. It works well for his father, too - a man whose soulmark is on his chest, right over his heart. James always thought that rather ironic, since his mother left him, so she presumably didn’t think much of the loyalty of her soulmate’s heart.

But he knows his father - his Pa - prides himself on being a deeply loving man - even if he’s also a chap of a certain generation with odd manners, who doesn’t always manage to love anybody as usefully as the object of that love might like.

There’s just one sticking point, isn’t there? His mother’s soulmark can’t possibly be on her forehead for her. She can’t possibly like that. The only person who is gratified by that soulmark is his father, and that’s final.

Ah well. There’s a bit of progress, at least. That theory he and Connie lately cooked up works in three cases out of four. It makes him feel better about his own soulbond, if nothing else. It helps him to feel confident that he and Connie have a firm foundation for happiness, rather than him only lusting after her tits.

Although - he does lust after her tits rather a lot, as it happens.

If ever she consents to marry him, he intends to be the sort of husband who is very open indeed about that.

…….

His parents decide that they will host all the members of the Cho family who are out in society for an extensive visit to Buckinghamshire that summer.

James is glad of that - even more glad than he must naturally be, in fact, because the end of the season is fast drawing close. He’s looking forward to seeing Connie for a good long visit over the summer, because he’s suddenly realising that he won’t be able to see her in town for the season very much longer at all. He feels regretful at that, he finds. Why - if he’d had the sense to simply court Connie from the very first, they could have been married by now.

If he’d come to town to court her years ago, they could have had a full nursery at home, too.

He knows he’s being daft in regretting that. He truly doesn’t see how he could have done differently. Soulmates always made him squiffy, and in fact, they still do - at least a little bit. It’s only that Connie outbalances that in every way. He’s so very attached to her that it seems worth persevering in the face of squiffiness. She’s so very good for him that she helps him to feel less squiffy, too.

She deserves every happiness, and she makes him want to be the sort of chap who can give that to her.

All the same, he’s frustrated with himself, as the season draws to a close. He’s thinking of what might have been, even though he knows it couldn’t have been.

He even decides to torment himself by mentioning it to his father, at one point.

“You were hoping I’d be married by the end of the season.” He points out, when he happens to find his father in the study which also serves as a small library, here in the townhouse.

“Well, now, son - there’s no sense in dwelling on that. I was hoping more than anything that you’d be happily married - that you’d be happy with your soulmate - and although you’re not yet married, I think you and your Miss Constance Cho are happy together presently?”

“She goes by Connie, Pa - or by Miss Cho. Either decide that she is on informal terms with all the family, since she’s my soulmate, and call her Connie, or decide that you prefer to mind your manners and call her Miss Cho.” James argues, all fondly exasperated.

“Now then, son - I like to call her Miss Constance Cho, and she doesn’t mind it. I asked her myself, I did, when we dined with the family last week. So I’ll call her that, thank you very much. She’s to be my son’s wife one day, and I’ll call her what she has told me I’m welcome to call her.”

“We’re not engaged, Pa. That’s why I’m in a snit and fretting that you wanted me married this season.”

“Come along - there’s no need for all that. As I say - you and she are happy, and that’s what matters. The rest will come in time.”

“I am happy. I’m not at all sure she is happy. I often think I can see a bit of sadness or resentment in her eyes when she looks at me.”

“That’s nonsense, son. I never heard such nonsense in all my life. She’s ever so fond of you - anyone can see that - and I never saw her look resentfully at you at all.”

James ignores that. His father is famously bad at noticing when a lady looks resentful, isn’t he? He has managed a lifetime of failing to act upon such signs.

He nods a bit, turns towards the door. He thinks he might as well walk away and spend the morning at his sport. He certainly hasn’t found what he was seeking here - although he doesn’t altogether know what he was seeking, now he thinks of it.

He’s just on the threshold when his father speaks up once more.

“You must try not to fret about it so very much, son.” His father tells him, firm. “Sometimes a chap makes even more of a muddle when he’s fretting about the muddles he has already made. Why - your mother and I are getting along very pleasantly this season, and I’m convinced it’s in large part because I’ve made a point of setting aside my worries about her privacy and so on and to think only and entirely of being here for your courtship.”

James turns slowly - very slowly - to face his father, to look him dead in the eye.

“How, Pa? How the devil do I do that?”

“Well, now - I don’t suppose I can help with that part. For myself, I find it easy enough to feel less fretful whenever I look upon your mother’s forehead. But I suppose that won’t be at all helpful for you.”

James nods, considers the matter a moment. “I would like to fret less. I see why chaps marry their soulmates now - Connie makes me ever so happy, and - and it simply feels right to be with her, as if we fit together. But I do worry that it seems selfish - that I can’t possibly make her so happy as she makes me - and that she must still be upset with me for spurning her at first.”

“Well, now - you must simply try not to worry about that. I don’t know how to stop you from fretting, to be sure, but I think I had best suggest that you try, at least.”

James smiles a rueful smile. “Thank you, Pa. I think… that is perhaps a little helpful. It’s helpful at least to hear that you don’t think I should be fretting.”

“Jolly good.”

“You truly think I needn’t worry?”

“I think your Miss Constance Cho is very pleased with you indeed. In fact - to be frank, son - I do think that this business about her looking resentful might only be your own demons deceiving you.”

“Hmm. Perhaps.”

“Jolly good, then, son. Perhaps you’ll think on that.”

…….

On the very last night the Cho family is to spend in town before moving back to Surrey for the summer, James and his parents are invited to dine with them.

He’s glad of that. He’s grateful for one last opportunity to spend a whole entire evening with his soulmate before they’re to be apart for such a long time. It’s to be six weeks before she arrives for that visit to Buckinghamshire, then just a couple of weeks spent together before they must spend several long months apart.

He’s not entirely sure how he’s to survive that part.

This last evening together is an odd one. It is in some ways one of their very best - he and Connie are in a fair way to being very well-acquainted indeed, these days, so they understand one another instinctively as they chatter away and chuckle together. Then, too, James is perhaps beginning to grow in confidence that there’s not over-much resentment in her eyes any more.

But it’s a wretched evening in other ways, too. Every time he hears her laugh, he wonders whether that might be the last time he’ll hear it in several long weeks. When her mother nudges her to exhibit at the pianoforte after supper, it strikes him that he won’t hear her singing voice until later in the summer, now.

He’s not overly fond of her singing voice, as it happens. He knows she would say herself that she’s a better player than singer. But all the same, he’s fond of hearing her sing, because he’s fond of her, and even though he might choose a conversation with her rather than an evening listening to her sing, he still finds that he’s suddenly bereft at the idea that her singing won’t even be an option, for the next six weeks of his life.

When she walks away from the pianoforte to return to a seat at his side, he tries saying a little about that.

“I keep thinking of all the lasts which come with saying goodbye.” He tells her, solemn. “That must be the last time I shall hear you sing until we are all at the big house in six weeks time - so that’s six entire weeks without listening to your music. And then I get to thinking that the game of charades we lately played will be our last, too - and then, in fact, I realise that tonight must be the last time you’ll beg me not to pass you the carrots, or the last time you’ll protest that you can serve your own potatoes and need no help of mine - thinks like that.”

“You do realise it will only be the last for six weeks, not the last forever?” She asks, in a tone of real concern.

“It suddenly feels a very long time. I - ahm - I know I have missed certain opportunities in our courtship, this season, and - and… you know.”

She nods, as if she does know.

And then -

“I don’t think I asked you not to pass the carrots in the previous six weeks, either.” She muses. “Although we have occasionally discussed carrots before now, I think that this was a single occurrence, and not a habit to be missed.”

He grins at her. “You might be onto something, there.”

“I’m sure we’ll endure six weeks apart. We managed entire decades without one another before this season.” She says.

She says it like she’s rather less attached to him than he is to her, he frets.

All the same, he does his best. He moves the conversation away from such dreary matters, tries asking her a bit about the pieces of music she lately played and sang. He knows very little about music, as it happens - the fact that Connie much prefers playing the pianoforte to singing is one of the few things he does know about the art - but he perseveres with the conversation regardless. He does want her to be pleased with him.

At last, the moment can be put off no longer. It’s very late in the evening indeed. Miss Clarissa has mentioned several times that they all have an early start in the morning. Lady Cho has hushed her on every occasion, has reminded her not to be impatient while her sister has her soulmate visiting.

It’s when James’ own mother suggests that they oughtn’t overstay their welcome - that is when he knows it’s time to leave at last.

It’s time to say goodbye to Connie, to see her for the last time in six long weeks.

She walks all the way down to the front door to bid him farewell, her hand tucked in at his elbow where it belongs. She’s trying for a bit of light conversation - trying to ask what he thinks of the wallpaper, in fact - but he’s in a poor state for a conversation.

He can feel an actual physical pain in the pit of his belly at the thought of saying goodbye - not squiffiness, but something equal and opposite to that, perhaps. The gnawing, aching sensation of grief.

He’s a little worried that they’ll never sort themselves out, now she’s leaving town unengaged at the end of the season.

They arrive at the front door. A footman steps forwards with his hat. James ignores the fellow a moment, turns to give Connie his full attention.

“Goodbye. I wish you all the best for your health and happiness these next six weeks. You must have your brother write to me if you’ve any substantial news - and especially if there’s anything pertaining to your health.”

She reaches out and pats at his hand a moment. “I’ve no intention of taking sick in these few weeks, James. It’ll be the height of summer and we’ll be living quietly in the country. I expect to be in perfect health - although missing you, of course.”

“Jolly good.”

“You’re in quite a twist about saying goodbye, I think? I hope I have understood that correctly?” She asks.

He nods, sticky, silent.

“Oh - well then - I think I must reassure you that there’s no reason to get yourself upset. Or - to be sure - I expect we’ll miss one another a great deal, but I think that’s normal in the way of things. I expect to count down the days until we visit you - but to remain in perfect health all the while, you see?”

He nods again, swallows hard.

He’s going to miss her more than she’s going to miss him. That’s what it boils down to, he realises.

He clears his throat, tries for a few words of sense. “I expect to miss you something awful, and - and - I suppose this parting has made me think of how deeply I regret not pressing on with our courtship earlier in the season.”

“Spend your thoughts on planning what fun we’ll have together during my visit, instead.” She bids him.

He nods, tries for a smile. “Jolly good. A cheery visit - there’s a pleasant thought. I’ll spend my efforts on counting our cricket balls instead.”

“Oh - please do. I shall expect us to play a great deal of cricket.”

Silence falls. He nods a bit more, notices his neck starting to feel funny - perhaps from nodding, perhaps from grief, perhaps from the two all tangled together.

He clears his throat again.

“Goodbye, Connie.”

“Goodbye, James. You take care, please. I’ll see you in six weeks, yes? I’m looking forward to it ever so much.” She tells him, with her brightest, most buoyant smile.

He hesitates a moment. He dithers, there in the hallway of her home, still ignoring that footman with his hat.

Sod it all.

He embraces her. He simply reaches out, wraps his arms right around her, presses his cheek against her hair a moment.

She holds him tight in turn, too. She has one arm wrapped snug around his waist, has her other hand stroking over his shoulders - as if tracing his soulmark through his coat, perhaps.

“Could you remember one thing for me while we’re apart, please, James? Could you remember that I’m very sincerely attached to you? Could you do that for me, please?”

He laughs a damp laugh, hides a few errant tears against the crown of her head. “I’ll do my best. And - ahm - if you happen to see my soulmate, could you perhaps take a little message for me? Could you perhaps tell her that she’s perfect - the most ideal woman on this earth, certainly - and that she has my devotion, such as it is?”

“I’ll see to it that she bears in mind just exactly that. Indeed - I’m confident that she’d say much the same back to you, too.”

“Jolly good. Ahm - here. I should let you go. I should leave.”

“Just one moment, please.”

She squeezes him a little tighter, pats at his shoulder once more - strokes her hand just over the Con of Constance, as far as he can tell.

Then she’s gone. She’s stepping back from his embrace, smiling at him bright as anything.

“I’ll see you in six weeks, and we’ll have the best time.” She informs him - firm, confident, not to be argued with.

“Jolly good. The best time. I’ll look forward to it.”

He takes his hat and walks to the door at last.

…….

James and his father go home to Buckinghamshire two days later.

They go just the two of them, without his mother, because of course they do. She doesn’t live with them, does she? That’s exactly why James has made such a goddamn mess of courting his soulmate.

It ought to be quite a sad day, he thinks, as he and his father leave town, and yet somehow it isn’t.

There’s the manner of his parents’ leavetaking, for one thing. The two of them actually spend a while chatting quietly on the front steps and then kiss one another goodbye, as if they were the affectionately attached sort of soulmates, not only resentful and heartbroken ones. Then his father spends most of the first half-hour or so of the journey on recounting what a pleasant season they’ve had in town - as if James might not have observed that it was pleasant, as if he wasn’t even there, perhaps.

“I tell you - I never enjoyed a season in town so much as this in all my life. It is good to see you getting along so happily with your Miss Constance Cho, son.”

“Jolly good.”

“I expect you’re looking forward to her visit? A chap should always look forward to seeing his soulmate - that’s the way it seems to me. It is good of your mother to say she’ll come out to the big house and be hostess while your soulmate is visiting.”

“Yes. I expect you’ll like to have a visit with her into the bargain.” James dares to observe.

“Well, now - I’ll not deny that. I am looking forward to seeing her. And we’ve had such a pleasant time living all together this season, haven’t we? I never had such a pleasant season in all my life. Why - we must have had a hundred family dinners or thereabouts. A chap can never have too many family dinners - that’s what I always say.”

“I found it unexpectedly pleasant to have us all living in the same household. It wasn’t as awkward as I thought it might be.”

“Daft business, that. I always thought it’d be awkward too - and as you say, it was scarcely awkward at all. We should have tried it years ago, son. We should have gone up to town to live a few months with your mother and look for your soulmate - but better late than never. I say - I’m even discovering a fondness for balls in my old age. Or - well - perhaps I am remembering that I like to dance with your mother, and all this business of seeing you through your courtship has made me more tolerant of the rest of the bother at a ball.”

“It was good of you to take care of me that time I - ahm - took ill.”

“Well, now - that’s what a Pa is for. I’m glad it’s all come good now, son.”

“I wouldn’t say it has come good yet.” James hedges.

“Don’t you fret about it. Why - we all saw the way your Miss Constance Cho clung to you two nights since. That’s a proper attachment if I do say so myself.”

James grins a cautious grin. “I hope so.”

“It certainly is - you mark my words. I’m never mistaken about these things. I am glad your mother helped me to talk some sense into you. She’s very wise, your mother. Ever so clever with her arrangements and her family matters and whatnot.”

“Yes. You’ve mentioned that before. Do you ever mention it to her, Pa?”

“I might have mentioned it a time or two this season.” His father offers now, and he’s even grinning slightly. “It went over quite well, I’d say. Why - your mother has had tea with me ever so often, and I like that very much. And then there’s the matter of the jam - did I tell you about the jam, son?”

“You didn’t tell me about the jam.”

“Come along, then - you must let me tell you about the jam. You know how your mother’s cook in town makes better jam than the jam at the big house?”

“I know that you are forever saying the jam tastes better. I wouldn’t say I know that it is better.” James clarifies, for he thinks details are important - and to be clear, the jam is no better.

“Well, now - I certainly prefer it. I’m convinced your mother is simply better at managing the staff, and that’s final. So I’ve mentioned it once or twice this season while we’ve been visiting.”

“You’ve mentioned it every time you’ve eaten jam.”

“Are you teasing me, son?”

“Yes.”

His father actually cracks a rusty, under-used chuckle at that.

“Well, now, son - you’ll tease me more than ever when you hear what’s next. For your mother has sent us home with an entire crate of her cook’s jam. There must be two or three dozen jars in that crate - plum jam, and strawberry jam, and even a bit of whisky marmalade. I saw that when she presented me with the crate and told me to open it - whisky marmalade, can you believe it?”

“I think it a very logical choice, on her part. You like whisky, and you’re obsessed with the supposed superiority of her household’s preserves. Naturally she has sent you home with a crate which contains whisky marmalade.”

“And a good deal of plum jam besides. We’ll be able to think of her every time we have breakfast this summer. Or - to be sure - I do think of her when I eat breakfast anyway. She’s my wife. But - ahm - I expect I’ll be able to think more often of happy breakfast times together this season, and of her sending us home with all that jam, rather than thinking of the morning she left all those years ago.”

“Do you still think of that at breakfast very often, Pa?” James asks, curious.

“I still think of it every damn morning. I can’t taste an egg without thinking of your mother leaving.” His father mutters, curt. “But that’s how it is, I suppose. That’s how it is when a chap has trouble with his soulmate. Come along, now - that’s quite enough of that. I’m resolved to think of the jam much more often in future.”

“I’m glad Ma is coming to visit.”

“Not half so glad as I am, son. Not half so glad as I am.”

Yes. Well.

Perhaps that’s even true.

…….

The first few weeks off the summer are far, far too quiet.

James spends a bit of time at his sport and a bit at his reading. He spends a little more time with his father than he did last summer, too - they go out together to their sport on a few occasions, and his father makes a point of having proper formal meals served and eaten together a bit more often than he usually would, seeing as it’s just the two of them.

They happen to have jam sandwiches together in the drawing room for a light tea several times a week, and that part always makes James smile.

So - it’s not that those early weeks are unpleasant. They’re actually very pleasant indeed. But they’re quiet, and he misses Connie, and no amount of gentle contentment about jam sandwiches or his closeness with his Pa can possibly outweigh missing her.

He misses her so much he actually aches with it, whenever he stops to notice.

He does wonder how he lived all those years in the world without knowing her. Now he knows how much more sense he makes as a person with her by his side - now he knows how much more balanced and whole he is, with the other half of his soul - he does wonder how he existed without her.

He admits defeat, a little over three weeks in, and sends Lord Cho a letter. He hopes that might be acceptable, since he is a little acquainted with the chap, and set on becoming a closer friend in time, all being well.

It’s not an interesting letter. James is all out of interest, at this stage, now he hasn’t seen Connie in twenty-seven days. He simply sends Lord Cho a few polite enquiries after the weather and the health of his family, and asks the chap to pass Connie the message that James sends his very best wishes and misses her terribly.

He hopes she’ll find that more romantic and sweet than pathetic.

…….

Two days later, at breakfast, James finds his father smiling broadly at a jar of whisky marmalade.

He considers the situation for a moment, as he helps himself to breakfast and sits down. His father does like that marmalade, but he’s not typically one to smile at the breakfast table. Indeed - he’s not typically one to smile at anything much, if he can help it.

James can’t decide whether all this smiling is on account of how very pleased his father is with the marmalade - whether it’s such exceptionally cheery marmalade as all that - or whether something else is afoot.

He’s just thinking he might try to ask about it when his father sees fit to tell him first.

“Your mother will be here on Tuesday.” His father simply announces, then goes back to spreading marmalade generously on his toast.

James frowns at him in confused silence a moment, then gathers his wits. “On Tuesday?”

“Yes - this coming Tuesday, all being well. It’s not an overly long journey, so I’m in high hopes that she’ll manage it without difficulty. To be sure, I’ve told her she mustn’t fret about us if she does have any difficulty - she must take her time, and we’ll not take it amiss if she’s here on Wednesday instead - but all being well, she should be with us in plenty of time for dinner on this coming Tuesday.”

“My mother is coming here this coming Tuesday? She’s to be in this house within the week?” James asks, for the situation seems very odd indeed, from where he’s sitting.

“Yes. You know how it is - she wants plenty of time to be ready for your Miss Constance Cho’s arrival, I suppose.”

“We’re not expecting the Chos for almost three weeks.”

“Well, now - she’ll want plenty of time to get comfortable holding the reins of this household again, won’t she? She hasn’t worked directly with our housekeeper or cook for a great many years and she’ll want everything to be perfect for your soulmate’s visit.”

“Pardon me, Pa - I think you’re wrong. I think that’s not why Ma is arriving on Tuesday at all. I think she’s hoping to spend a pleasant summer visit here before our guests arrive.”

“I - ahm - I did wonder that myself, as it happens.” His Pa says, scratching lightly at his ear. “I am determined not to get myself over-excited - I’m determined not to fuss over her, since she does often require her privacy, as you well know. But - ahm - she did mention the thought of seeing us, in her letter. When she wrote to tell me she would be here on Tuesday, she did say she’d like to see us both. She said she liked to have us living all together last season. Or - well - strictly speaking, she did ask if she might come on Tuesday. Daft business, that - we can’t have her thinking she needs permission to spend a bit of time with us. I’ve already written a reply to tell her there’s no need to ask such daft questions in future.”

“Of course you have.”

“So - there you have it. Your mother is to come for a visit, since she liked to have us all under one roof last season. Isn’t that the most excellent news you ever heard?”

James decides there’s only one possible answer to that. He stands up, walks around the breakfast table, actually wraps his arms around his Pa for an embrace.

“It’s wonderful news, Pa.” He tells him all the while. “I might say it’s not the most excellent news I ever heard - I must put Connie accepting my courtship there - but it’s very good news indeed. Just think - it’ll be ever so ironic if Ma decides she likes to have us living all together, and chooses to spend a bit more time in this household, just as I should be trying to take a wife and think of setting up my own establishment.”

“I did give that a bit of thought, in fact. It occurred to me that we might have to consider our arrangements, when you and your Miss Constance Cho tie the knot. I think we’ll find you a pleasant little manor house an easy distance from here, perhaps - and then your mother could still see us both in one visit, if she likes to - and then we might all use the townhouse whenever any of us are in town. I can’t imagine we’ll spend so much time there in future as to trouble your mother’s privacy. You and your Miss Constance Cho like to be out at your sport too much.”

“You’ve already planned where we’re all to live, although the lady has not yet accepted my hand - and although Ma hasn’t yet made her first visit here in decades.” James notes, dry.

“Ahm - yes. I suppose I have, rather. A chap must have something cheery to think of from time to time.”

“You must have received that letter from Ma this morning, and you’ve already thought as far ahead as all that.”

“Well, now - I’m an early riser, as you well know. It’s over an hour now since I’ve had her letter to think of. I was determined to write her a thorough and swift reply.”

Of course. Naturally. Obviously his Pa has rushed to deal with this letter as efficiently as ever he may.

In moments like this, James does wonder how that marriage ever went so far awry.

…….

Sure enough, his mother does arrive on Tuesday. She arrives quite early in the afternoon, in fact, as if she set out early that morning and was eager to make good progress.

The business of welcoming her is quite cheery business, all in all. She hugs James and his father several times each, says out loud in plain words that she’s glad to see them both.

“Not half so glad as we are to see you.” His father says, firm.

“I must dispute that, George, darling. Town suddenly felt ever so quiet without you both. I do hope I’m not imposing by inviting myself here early.”

“Daft business - you couldn’t possibly be an imposition, pet. I’m ever so glad to see you. Now, then - will you want a pot of tea? Or perhaps you’ll want to refresh yourself or get reacquainted with the household staff? Or perhaps you’ll be needing a late luncheon - I haven’t a clue whether you ate on the journey - or perhaps you’ll want -”

“Pa?”

“Mmm?”

“I’m sure there’s no need to fuss like that. Let Ma catch her breath and decide for herself what she’d like, hmm?”

For a moment, James wonders whether he has made a muddle. His father looks terribly awkward and uncomfortable. His mother always looks uncomfortable, in his experience - or perhaps he’s only two decades out of practice at reading her face.

But then, suddenly, his mother is laughing out loud and wrapping her arms around both of them at once.

“It’s so very good to see you. Look at you both - my two best boys, hmm? Good heavens - it’s been far too long since I was last here. I ought to have mustered my courage and attempted it years ago.”

“You must try not to fret about that, pet. It’s just as I’m always saying to our James - sometimes things can be tricky with a soulmate, but there’s nothing to be gained by fretting about what’s already done.”

James wonders when his Pa will take his own advice, frankly.

Meanwhile -

“What a fine sentiment, George. Well - I think I have decided how you might welcome me, if you’ll not think it a daft request. Might you lend me your arm for the walk into the house? I - goodness - I suddenly find that I’m a little daunted by the sight of it.”

“Daft business, that. We can’t have you feeling daunted. You must just say whenever you want my arm.”

His parents set out up the steps together, then, and James grins a little at the sight of them.

Jolly good.

He’d best see to his mother’s luggage, in that case. She seems rather too occupied with her soulmate to think of such things as that.

…….

There’s a bit more good news which comes with his mother’s visit, it turns out - a very specific bit of good news hidden in her reticule, which she passes him while the three of them sit in the drawing room with a pot of tea that afternoon.

“Here, darling - a little note from Miss Cho. It’s not much, I’m afraid, but I hope you’ll find it better than not hearing from her at all. Her mother wrote me a letter enclosing it, and explained that she’d read it and thought it not improper, and that she was happy for me to pass it onto you if I approved of the scheme too.”

“Thank you, Ma. A letter from her? That’s such a happy surprise.” James says, and means it.

In fact, he thinks he can feel his smile splitting his face as he says it.

His mother smiles warmer at that than he has seen her smile in years. “I’m glad to see that you’re pleased with the scheme. Lady Cho and I have decided that we might pass the occasional note back and forth between you this summer, if you like the idea - so long as it’s nothing improper, mind you.”

“I shall begin practising my not-improper courtship correspondence at once.” James offers.

His mother smiles a bit more - and yet tuts at him, too, all fondly exasperated as a Ma who is often in her son’s life should be.

“I think we’ll likely find that my standards for impropriety are rather lower than Lady Cho’s. I’m so very excited to see you enjoying your courtship that I fear I’d turn a blind eye to almost anything. But we mustn’t take advantage of Lady Cho’s willingness to indulge the two of you.”

“Indeed. I’m determined to be on my best behaviour.” James says, turning that precious little note in his hands all the while.

It looks like such a fine note. It has his name on the front of it - Lord Fife, not quite her soulmark, but close enough. It’s still a damn sight better than having no note at all. And he’s determined to think only of how glad he is to hear from her, not of the oddness of having both their mothers read these few words.

He does wonder what on earth she has managed to write inside that her mother has approved as not improper to pass between a courting couple. He’s all eagerness to read it at once - and yet he doesn’t want his mother to think him rude for attending to his correspondence during this first teatime together in weeks.

He’s just wondering how to navigate that when his father solves the problem for him.

“You needn’t stand on ceremony around us, son - we’re family. I’ll not take it amiss if you decide to run to the library or the study to read your young lady’s note in private - and I doubt your mother will either.”

“Indeed.” His mother agrees. “Your father and I can catch up on news for a little while and see you later, perhaps?”

Well, now. If his mother wants to spend time privately with his father, then he certainly won’t demur over reading Connie’s letter any longer.

He excuses himself and bolts to the library at once.

The library seems the proper place to go. He often thinks of Connie, here, and he’s looking forward to introducing her to the place in person during her visit. He all but grew up here, he sometimes thinks, considering how many hours he spent in this room quite alone when his father was at his lowest ebb.

He is very deliberate about making himself comfortable, when he arrives. He chooses his favourite chair, arranges cushions on it perfectly. He thinks about sending for a drink, then decides against it, and simply takes his shoes off to rest his feet on a footstool.

He is perhaps procrastinating over reading this letter, just a little. He somehow finds that the anticipation of having a letter from his soulmate is better than what he expects the content to be. He fears he’ll be underwhelmed when he opens it and finds that she’s still not wholeheartedly happy with him, finds that resentment in her eyes bleeding through onto the words on the page.

At last he’s sitting comfortably, and his eagerness wins out over his reservations.

He unfolds it and sets to reading.

Dear James

Mama has said that she will pass on this letter so long as I write nothing improper, but as I am not sure what she will think improper, I find that I haven’t a clue what to write. I can only hope that she has not already fed it to the fire on account of my using your given name. You will see that I have filled the back of this sheet with an extract from Mill which is currently amongst my favourites. I am confident that Mama cannot possibly object to Mill - unless she objects to liberalism itself, I suppose - and I know how you like our literary discussions. Perhaps we might discuss this extract when I see you next month.

I hope you are well. I certainly should have started there. I have never tried to write a letter to a suitor before and I am doing it all out of order. I’m all muddled - that’s what you would call it. I hope you are well, and I hope that you are missing me perhaps half as much as I am missing you, for I think I’d be put out if it should turn out that you’re not missing me in the slightest.

I have been giving a good deal of thought to our upcoming visit. I am trying to decide which books I will bring, since I expect we will often want to sit together with our books in an evening, but I know you do have a well-stocked library and will insist on being generous with it. I can’t decide whether to bring my own cricket bat and so on, or whether you have spare to lend, and I’ll be grateful if you can have your mother pass a little note about cricket bats at least in reply. Charles is ever so concerned with how many evening dresses I will pack and whether you will like my new summer bonnet, and he won’t listen to reason whenever I try to remind him that you have never yet cared what I wear on my head in the slightest. Why - he has never been a brother who cares for bonnets, nor for his sisters’ taste in gowns, so I am trying to find it more amusing than infuriating that he has decided to take this lively interest now.

I wonder how you have been passing the time since I last saw you. I like to think of you spending most of your time at your sport and your books, but then dining with your father often as well. I am intrigued to find out what the Fife family is like at home when I visit you soon. I pass my time here quite predictably, with a book or a trowel or a cricket bat to hand almost every waking hour, and with the company of my sisters whenever I can convince them to join me. Cordie sends her best regards and has decided that you are her favourite of any of our sisters’ suitors. When she told me that, I felt the need to explain to her that you are my favourite of the suitors who have ever come calling on any of the Misses Cho, too, and she seemed to think that was quite the wittiest thing I ever said.

I close with a reminder that I’m fond of you, and with all those sentiments which a soulmate must naturally express in such a letter: I miss you, I wish you all the best, and I am counting down the days until my visit. I hope reading about such things doesn’t have you feeling too squiffy on this occasion.

Your devoted soulmate,

Constance Cho

He decides at once that it is the best letter ever written.

It simply is. That must be an objective fact. No one in the history of letter-writing can ever have produced such an excellent piece as this.

Ah. Perhaps he understands how his father gets as he does about the jam, now.

All the same - he thinks it is quite the most perfect letter. It’s simply Connie on a page, the most glorious light-hearted collection of comments and observations and thoughts. He likes to think of her thinking of him in turn, he finds, and he especially likes to read about her deciding what to pack for their upcoming visit.

He reads that extract of Mill, too, before he sets to penning a reply. It’d be a shame not to include a few thoughts about Mill when he writes her back.

He does think it daft that she asked for a short note about cricket bats. He could never reply to such a masterpiece as this with only a few lines about cricket bats, could he?

Just as soon as he has a few coherent and considered thoughts about Mill, he gets on with writing his response with all haste. He begins with Mill, as she did, then reassures her that she needn’t bring anything in particular when she comes to visit, but that she’s welcome to bring whatever she would like. She can bring her own cricket bat or borrow one, as suits her best. She may have just exactly whichever preference she pleases.

He goes on a more muddled ramble, then, through his assorted recent news - even though he has very little of it. He tells her about his mother’s visit, his father’s taste in whisky marmalade, the health of his favourite horses. He trusts that she’ll read it all, that she’ll take an interest in every bit of it alike. That’s just the sort of thoughtful person his soulmate is.

He closes his letter much as she concluded hers - with a reminder that he is sincerely attached to her, a little confession that he has been thinking of that embrace near-constantly since he last saw her, and a few heartfelt words about how very much he likes to own a letter from her, now, which is signed from Constance Cho. He likes to have a letter where she has signed her name just as it is signed across his shoulders.

So he signs his own, likewise, of course. He signs it James G. Fife, her devoted soulmate, and then folds it carefully for their mothers to check and pass along via the post.

He always thought his mother an admirable woman who deserved a happier life than fate had dealt her. It’s somehow only this last four months or so that he has learnt she’s a damn good friend to have, too.

…….

There’s only time to exchange a couple more letters in similar vein before it’s time for the much-anticipated summer visit itself.

James is relieved about that, honestly. He’s not at all sure he’s good at letter-writing. Connie does express herself pleased with his efforts, but he thinks that might only be because she’s fond of him, not because he truly writes anything interesting.

Yes. Well. The day of her arrival is here at last, and he’s spared having to worry about his own letter-writing ineptitudes for at least a fortnight.

He’s all over-excited, as her carriage rolls down the drive. He’s so over-excited that he might perhaps be tipping over into anxiety, that he might be beginning to fret about whether this fortnight will go to plan - whether she’ll find the house acceptable as a prospective future home, whether she’ll find him acceptable as a prospective future husband. Just huge overwhelming worries like that.

Then the carriage draws to a halt, and Connie jumps down from it, quite without waiting for the footman to see to the step.

James finds that she’s in his arms before he has consciously caught up with his thoughts.

He couldn’t rightly say who reaches for the other first. The two of them simply do end up embracing, there on the drive, very like the way they took their leave of one another in town.

“I’m so very glad to see you.” Connie murmurs against his chest.

“And I you. I must say, though - I don’t see how you can say you are glad to see me, when you have hidden your face so soon after arriving. I’m convinced that I could have grown an extra ear and you wouldn’t yet have noticed, since you dived into my arms so swiftly.”

She laughs her fabulous laugh at that, and he finds that it tickles against his neck.

“I’m glad to hear you, too. Your letters are my favourite letters I ever received, but they’re still no substitute for your company. You’re so much more frank and spontaneous in conversation.” She tells him.

“Yes. When I’m writing you a letter, I have time to fret that what I was about to write makes me sound odd and decide not to write it after all.”

She laughs again. “Don’t. Please - for the rest of the summer, I would have you write every thought which enters your head.”

“That sounds dangerous. You’re aware that your soulmark is on your bosom, yes? I can’t imagine your mother agreeing to pass on a note which contains my every thought about that.”

Good God. She has scarcely stopped laughing since the moment she arrived - or so it seems. He wonders whether the whole entire visit is to be this good-humoured, or whether it’s only a bit of sudden joy about their reunion on her part.

He finds he’s feeling something different. He’d say it’s more that he’s feeling suddenly calm, at peace, as if all is now right in his world. That anxious overexcitement he felt when he saw her carriage on the drive has fled and been replaced by only warm, easy contentment - and a willingness to say just exactly whatever is on his mind.

He pulls back from the embrace at last, now, to look her up and down.

“You look very well.” He tells her simply.

“You, too.”

“I lately heard a rumour that your brother had been fussing over your wardrobe, so we may tell him that I wholeheartedly approve, if you think it’ll help.”

She laughs again, squeezes his arm. “Thank you, James. Oh - it’s such a joy to be here.”

“Have I mentioned that I’m glad to see you?” He tries, all light and ironic.

They’re both standing there, arm in arm, laughing at nothing and beaming bright as the sun for no good reason, when at last his mother interrupts and brings a little sense to proceedings.

“Perhaps you might like to take Miss Cho for a tour of the gardens, James? I know you were keen to introduce them to her notice during this visit, and that way you might spend some time catching up on news together while the rest of the party deals with the luggage and so on.”

“Oh - I mustn’t shirk responsibility for my luggage.” Connie says, as if collecting herself and remembering such practicalities.

“Please don’t think on it a moment longer. It’s my pleasure to see to such things while you spend a few minutes with my son. Go on, the pair of you. Perhaps we’ll see you inside for tea in a quarter-hour or so when everyone has sorted themselves out?”

“Thank you, Ma.”

“My pleasure. Go on - enjoy yourselves. I’ll have one of the maids chaperone from the gate, I think. Don’t cause any trouble, now.”

James and Connie actually set to running at that. It simply seems the thing to do. They’re both high-spirited types who like a bit of time spent outdoors. The gardens are just a little way around the other side of the house, and they’ve only a quarter-hour for a cursory tour.

There are all those logical justifications in James’ mind - and then there’s simply the fact that he’s full of joy and energy, and it seems a fair morning for running around the gardens in boyish glee.

…….

There follow the very best days of James’ life to date.

He and Connie take a long ride, the next morning, with her brother and his father following a fair way behind for the sake of propriety - and evidently getting on well enough to continue a conversation about their respective estates over tea, too. James is glad to see his Pa gaining a few more friends and connections in recent months.

It’s an excellent long ride, in James’ considered opinion. It does help that the weather is so very hot as to have him riding in rolled-up shirtsleeves, and that Connie keeps shamelessly inspecting his arms along the way. He does like to know that she finds him attractive - although it must be obvious that she does, since he’s her soulmate and all.

All the same, it’s reassuring to witness it with his own eyes.

They play a good deal of cricket, the next day. The whole party plays something resembling a match in the morning, and then James and Connie are the only ones to keep at it in the afternoon - just the two of them practising bowling and batting respectively, and chatting quietly all the while. It’s an excellent informal way to spend a bit of time courting, since the rest of the party is loosely chaperoning them from the terrace or the gardens, but they have perfect privacy as to their conversation.

They spend that perfect privacy on the finer points of cricket, as it happens, rather than anything improper. They do both like cricket, and it’s a joy to be able to chatter away about it for hours without any thought of self-consciousness.

James is in the midst of an anecdote about a particularly fine bit of bowling in his Oxford days when Connie interrupts him with a wave and a few words.

“Pardon me, James - I am all eagerness to hear how you bested Balliol in eight overs, to be sure - but your mother appears to require our attention. She’s walking this way with a purposeful look.”

“With a purposeful look? Are you quite certain? I wasn’t aware that she had such a look. I find her quite inscrutable.”

“I believe it’s a purposeful look. I agree that she’s not so obvious as to her feelings as some folks, but I do think she looks purposeful.”

“Well - wonders never cease. I shall have to ask you to interpret her for me more often.”

Connie laughs at that, as if he’s fooling around - but honestly, he’s more than half serious.

All the same, he does now turn to observe his mother, and sure enough, she is walking towards them.

“Is all well, Ma?”

“I’m only worried about the sun, darling. You know how I worry about you and your father burning in the sun.”

James pulls a face at that. Indeed, he feels himself doing it - feels himself wincing like a petulant child - and yet he goes on doing it anyway.

“You needn’t fuss, Ma. I don’t burn so badly as Pa does, and you know it.”

“Yes. That’s why I’ve had him sitting under the pergola with me these last three hours. But you can’t be out here forever. Why - you’ll be embarrassed to go courting if you’re pink as a rose, and we certainly mustn’t have you burn so badly as to take any harm from it.”

“Oh - there’s a real difficulty.” Connie says now, thoughtful. “I was determined to say that I wouldn’t take it amiss if you were to get a bit pink - I’m convinced I’d be fond of you anyway - but we mustn’t have any harm come to you.”

“I’m not pink in the slightest.” James argues, rather put-out - although he must admit he feels his face flush as he says it.

That’s not on account of the sun, though. It’s just on account of his soulmate and his mother fussing over his health.

“I think we should retire to the library and break out our cricket bats again tomorrow.” Connie decides now. “We mustn’t risk you burning, and we haven’t yet sampled the library at length. It’d be shame if your library felt underappreciated.”

“Thank you, Miss Cho. I knew I could depend upon you to bring a bit of sense to proceedings.” His mother actually says.

“Oh - what a lovely compliment. I do like your mother, James. She thinks I bring sense to proceedings.”

He shakes his head at the two of them, all fondly exasperated - and then reaches out an open hand towards Connie for her cricket bat.

“What’s all this?” She asks, poking him playfully in the palm with a finger.

“Your bat, if you please. I’m packing away the cricket things to hide in the library from the sun - isn’t that what you just lately suggested?”

“I’m sure I can put my own bat away, if only you’ll show me where it belongs.”

“I’m trying to be a gentlemanly soulmate and take care of it for you.” He argues cheerfully.

“And I’m sure I could swoon at your thoughtfulness - but all the same, I’ll put away my own bat.”

They’re both chuckling quietly together, as they take their leave of his mother and set out on a joint expedition to pack away the cricketing things.

James wonders whether any Thursday in high summer was ever so perfect as this.

…….

The perfection continues, as the days pass by.

Connie is impressed with the stables, so naturally she has to try out almost every good riding horse they own. She’s impressed with the gardens, so naturally she has to inspect every last leaf. She’s impressed with cricket, too - but then again, she’s always impressed with cricket. That doesn’t seem to be anything unique to this estate.

James even grows into his confidence that she might be wholeheartedly impressed with him, that week.

There’s something very comfortable about simply existing quietly with her at home, getting up to such small adventures rather than navigating all the expectations and rigmarole of a London season. He finds that he infinitely prefers an informal week in his rolled-up shirtsleeves, with Connie’s eyes on his arms and her laugh permanently ringing in his ears.

He finds himself much less self-conscious and fretful than usual. It’s perhaps because this week proves that the two of them can get along very peacefully and easily in this everyday fashion, and that seems like a fair basis to marry her without ruining her life, one day.

He hopes to manage it next season. That’s what he decides. This courtship is progressing well and he feels peaceful in Connie’s company, and he might realistically try to marry her next season.

Jolly good. That’s a comfortable conclusion, he hopes.

…….

Perhaps he gets too comfortable. Perhaps that’s why it all goes awry.

He’s sitting with Connie in the drawing room when it happens. The two of them are sipping tea and occasionally joining in the general conversation, but more often chatting between themselves about the books they have open on their laps and are half-reading.

Then James thinks to make a suggestion.

“You must just say if you’d like to do something more exciting tomorrow. It just now occurred to me that we have scarcely ridden beyond the estate. Perhaps you’d like to take a carriage or a ride further afield to see the wider area, or perhaps you’d like a trip to the nearest market town?”

“No, thank you - or I wouldn’t like those things unless you would. I don’t feel any need to go further afield unless you are bored of staying close to home.”

“I’m not bored in the slightest. I only hope that you are not.”

“Oh - in that case, you needn’t worry. I’ve never been less bored in all my days. I have decided that there’s nothing I like better than to spend time quietly at home with you or exploring the estate with you. Why - it’s a good deal like I used to imagine marriage to my soulmate would be.”

He panics.

He panics utterly and completely.

She thinks this is like being married to her soulmate? She thinks they are as good as married? Has he truly found himself in such deep water here, entirely without realising it?

It sounds as if she’s already in a fair way to thinking of this estate as her home, too.

She must realise she has panicked him. She’s trying to get his attention, now, all soft and eager.

“James? I’m sorry - did I presume too far?”

“Ahm - excuse me. I beg your pardon.”

He bolts from the room without another word.

He simply gets up and leaves - leaves her sitting there without him, because he has an hereditary tendency to making a soulmate miserable, doesn’t he? So he flees, leaves her behind him for the sin of saying she liked to live quietly at home with him.

He runs down the main stairs, out of the front door of the house. He doesn’t think he’s actually going to throw up five times today - he does feel squiffy, yes, but he feels something else, too. It’s not quite the same as that night he had the shock of his life and threw up all over the terrace.

He heads instinctively for the stables. That’s always the place to go. A chap can take a horse from the stables to flee a bit further and let off more steam, if need be, or he can simply spend a few minutes with creatures who don’t speak of soulmates or marriage.

He has been there perhaps twenty seconds when he realises his mistake.

He has done what his father would do. He has done exactly as his Pa would do in a moment of panic or confusion or heartache, right down to choosing the exact same destination. His Pa would run out here and hide with his horses or go for a long ride. In fact, James recalls the man doing just exactly that on many occasions, in those rocky years just before his family failed altogether.

James oughtn’t be here. He oughtn’t act like that. He wanted to do better than his father, did he not? He wanted to make his soulmate happier, wanted to live a more peaceful life.

He wanted to be the sort of chap who stays by his soulmate’s side and puts right whatever is wrong, not the sort of chap who gives up altogether at the first sign of difficulty.

He wanted to learn to do better.

Well, then. He must go back to Connie and offer her a thorough apology for running out on her like that. He must see what he might do to put it right, must reassure her as best he can of his devotion and keep pressing on with his mission to learn how to do better, how to be a more adequate husband one day. He must see what progress he might make towards that dream of marrying her next season.

He’s just setting out towards the house when he sees his mother walking this way - and she’s wearing that expression he now recognises as a purposeful one, he thinks.

Either that, or he has just deduced by simple logic that she must have a particular purpose in being here. His mother is rarely in the stableyard, in his experience.

So -

“Hello, Ma?” He tries.

“Hello. I hoped I would find you here. Your father thought I might be best placed to come looking for you, on this occasion. He thinks you’re still fretting about you and Miss Cho turning out like us.”

“Ahm - something like that.” He hedges, for it seems rude to tell her that there’s nothing he fears more.

“Indeed. He tells me you do sometimes speak of a particular fear of ruining her life - he says you always put it in those terms.”

“Mmm.” James agrees, and wonders whether other chaps speak to their mothers about such things often enough for it not to be this awkward.

No. He thinks likely not, on balance. Even in families which never had a rift, he thinks an adult son talking to his Ma about marriage difficulties must be awkward. 

All the same, though, he’s inclined to persevere. He never had any chance at all for emotional conversations with his Ma throughout his adolescence, so he’s hardly going to turn one down now.

Sure enough, she continues in much the same direction.

“How exactly do you think your father ruined my life?” She asks outright.

“Well, now - I’m sure - I - ahm - I couldn’t possibly -”

“Truly, James - I should like to understand. I know we’ve never spoken of it, and evidently it’s past time we should - for I think we’ve a misunderstanding or two to clear up.”

He gathers his courage, tries to speak plainly. “I always looked at it in those terms - saw him ruining your life - since you were so very upset when we used to live all together, and then you left him. So it stands to reason that he ruined your life. That’s how I’ve always understood it.”

“Ah.”

Silence sits a moment, and James tries very hard not to find it awkward. His mother is often a quiet lady. There’s no sense in fretting that he’s said something wrong.

Although - he has said something rather bold, there, and something very dangerous indeed.

And yet -

“He certainly didn’t ruin my life, James. If anything, I have always credited him with making it rather better than it would have been without him.”

“You have?”

“Yes. I mean - there are the obvious things, like the wonderful son I share with him, or like the comfortable home I’ll have until the end of my days thanks to him. But that’s not even the half of it. Thanks to your father, I’ve had the chance to live a life outside of my sister’s shadow. All my childhood I was the paler, shyer, more sickly twin. My parents were convinced that the Duke of Argyll couldn’t possibly want me, even with his name written across my forehead, and I’m grateful to this day that he proved them wrong.”

“So you’re grateful that he married you, but you still left him.” James tries to understand.

His mother smiles a sad smile. “Yes. I suppose I did.”

“He was ill-tempered, and he was difficult about the matter of childbearing, so you left him - but some part of you is still grateful that he married you in the first place.”

“No. I’ve evidently not made myself clear.” She shakes her head firmly. “It’s not that, James. It’s not a lingering gratitude which softens a bad blow. I didn’t leave because he was ill-tempered and would speak without thinking. I knew that was his way even when I married him, and I chose him with my eyes wide open to his flaws and all - just as he chose me. I left because the situation was insupportable, not because I had fallen out of love with your father. Do you recall how very poorly I was at the time? And - yes, to be sure - I must admit that the dark corners of our marriage were making it worse. But I left to see to my health and to recover quietly in my own time and space, not because your father had suddenly ceased to be my soulmate.”

“Ah.”

“I’ve always wished we were better at understanding one another in this family. Your father never understood the circumstances of my leaving, either - and I never knew how to help him understand - and next thing I knew, we were set to live apart for ever and ever - or so it seemed until this last season.”

“It’s good to have you here this summer.” He offers.

She smiles rather widely at that. “It is, isn’t it? It’s even better to be here. Your father will insist upon sitting to have tea with me all the time, and I like it very well.”

“You’re truly quite fond of him.” James notes, wonders whether perhaps he is catching onto her point at last.

“I love him. We’ve had more than our fair share of disagreements and difficulties - I don’t deny that. But if I lived a hundred lives, I’d choose him in every single one of them.”

“Truly?”

“I’m entirely in earnest, James. Good heavens - getting you to understand this is even harder than getting the message through to your father, it seems to me.” She shakes her head at him, reaches out to pat a little at his hand. “I wish you could see the whole story the way I see it. I know you’d likely still call me a shy person, on balance, but I was all but a ghost when I first met your father. I truly wouldn’t have said boo to a goose. I certainly thought I had no claim to any great attractions or talents. And now he’s spent these three decades insisting that I’m quite the most beautiful woman he ever saw and the cleverest housekeeper in the land, and that I do the prettiest sewing on this earth or - or have the best taste in curtains, even - and I do believe I’m at last beginning to believe him. It’s as if he’s made it his life’s work to make a more confident and settled sort of lady out of me.”

James nods a moment, tries to digest that. He has never thought of that separate households business as a sign of his mother being confident and settled - but perhaps he should. Even at her lowest ebb, she knew his father would want the best for her, would respect her choices and her independence. Isn’t that what she is saying, more than anything?

He clears his throat, tries to make sense of it, once and for all. “You’re saying that your life is a good deal better, on balance, married to him than it would be without him? You’re saying that you’re utterly confident of it, even considering all the nasty difficulties the two of you have had?”

“That’s exactly what I’m saying. I think… it’s not at all easy to be a woman in this world. We make the best choices we can in our circumstances. So when a woman chooses her soulmate with her eyes wide open - with perfect awareness of his flaws and foibles - I think her soulmate should do her the honour of respecting her choice.”

He nods, wraps his mind carefully around her words.

And then -

“I was going inside before you got here, you know. Even before you said that, I’d already understood that I should go back inside and speak to Connie rather than fleeing her.” He mumbles, awkward.

“Well done, darling.”

“I - I don’t know what to do with all you lately said. I do understand why you told me it, but it’s… it’s big.”

“It’s rather enormous, I expect, since you and your father have always been convinced that my leaving was such a straightforward thing.”

“Mmm.”

“Come on, darling. Come on in. You needn’t suddenly settle things with Connie now. But she’s worried sick, and so is your father, so I think at the very least we should get you inside and show them both that you’re in one piece.”

“They’ll be worrying about the state of the terrace. They’ll be worrying that I’ve thrown up again.” He tries joking.

“They’re not worried about the state of the terrace. They’re worried about the state of you.” She tells him, firm.

Hmm. Perhaps his mother is indeed less meek than he recalls in his very earliest childhood memories. Perhaps she has learnt a little more confidence and courage over the years.

He always thought she learnt that in spite of his father, not because of him.

Then again, he could be wrong.

…….

He’s more or less breathing normally, by the time he arrives in the drawing room.

He is greeted by an odd sight. Lady Cho and Lord Cho and all the younger Cho sisters are pointedly reading or sewing and looking politely uninterested in his absence. But his father is fully pacing lengths of the room, and Connie is frowning hard enough to crack glass.

“Afternoon, all.” James tries for his best cheery tone, as he wanders back into the room with his mother on his arm.

The people who matter most to him are the least convinced by his tone, he finds. Connie bolts to her feet and dashes towards him. His father stands perhaps four feet away, eyes narrowed, searching his face.

“I’m fine. You needn’t send anyone out to clean the terrace.” He tells them both.

“Thank heavens for that.” Connie says with feeling.

“You’re not fine, son. Anyone can see you’re not fine. You look pale as anything - which isn’t like you, in hot weather.”

“Honestly, Pa, I’m not squiffy. I’d tell you if I was. And - ahm - I’d like to invite Connie for a little walk in the gardens, if she’ll agree to such a scheme.”

Connie agrees to the scheme very swiftly indeed, and so it is that the two of them set out again directly - and James begins to wonder what the devil he will actually say to her.

They’re still nowhere near the gardens - still walking down the staircase, in fact - when she sets to speaking.

“I’m ever so sorry for upsetting you, James. I ought to know better than to speak of certain topics - and while we’re beneath the same roof as your parents, too - and I must have sounded ever so presumptuous, not to mention -”

“Connie?”

“Mmm?”

“You needn’t apologise for anything. I’m the one who ought to be sorry - I never intended to run off so rudely in the midst of a conversation. That must have been terribly unpleasant for you. So - ahm - I hope I might remind you that I’m your devoted soulmate, and that I’m delighted we’re earnestly courting, and - and that I do mean to learn how to speak of marriage, in time.”

“Oh.”

“I agree with you, as it happens. I’ve enjoyed spending all this time quietly at home with you. And - ahm - I suppose I never gave myself permission to dream of what it might be like to be quietly at home together if I married my soulmate, but now you mention it, I think you have it correct. I hope it would be a good deal like this week.”

“I think it would.”

“I’m terribly sorry for giving you a shock. I am resolved never to run off like that again. The moment I arrived outside at the stableyard I realised I had much better come back and try for a conversation of sense with you.” He explains.

She smiles, squeezes his arm. “Come, now - that’s quite enough apologising for one afternoon. I think.”

“I’m not at all sure.” He says darkly.

“I am. I think we had much better get back to practising the art of being comfortable at home together.”

“I like that for an idea.” He says at once. “That’s why I invited you out for a walk to discuss it, I think - so that we might stay out walking in the gardens once we’re back to rights.”

“And what if I declare us back to rights now, and tell you I had much rather inspect this herbaceous border and discuss the quality of the agapanthus? What then?”

He smiles at her rather warmly for that. “Then I’d do everything in my power to oblige you, of course.”

“I knew you’d say that.” She tells him, and squeezes at his arm more firmly still.

“Jolly good. Well, then - tell me why this agapanthus is of such interest to you?” He bids her.

She does as he asks without further ado. She’s the most ideal soulmate, so of course she does.

…….

That night is the night he first begins seriously to plan a proposal.

He’ll ask her at a ball next season, he decides. He’ll dance the first set with her, and then he’ll invite her to walk on the terrace with him a while and spot hostas for old time’s sake. And by then he’ll have grown into his confidence that he’ll make her an acceptable husband - he’ll be feeling entirely comfortable - so he’ll be well-disposed to say a great many words about the depths of his admiration and his excitement at the prospect of a future with her.

He’ll be able to talk about love. He can just imagine that, in his mind’s eye. At a ball in the middle of next season, he’ll steer Connie onto the terrace and speak of love.

Jolly good.

He likes the sound of that.

…….

The following morning, bright and early, he and Connie go out for a ride like so many other rides they have lately taken together.

The day is already hot. James is in a shirt, the sleeves rolled up to tease his soulmate. Connie is wearing a fetching little riding habit which rather emphasises her figure. So it is that the two of them have their eyes on each other rather more than the track ahead of them.

That must be why he falls.

It’s the daftest riding accident he ever had in all his life. His horse spooks at a pheasant, and his mind is more on Connie than on his riding, so he slips straight out of the saddle sideways.

It’s mortifying, honestly. Or - it would be mortifying if he weren’t so worried about Connie’s worrying, if there weren’t a great deal of general fretfulness in the air.

“Dear God - James - are you hurt? Please tell me you’re not hurt.” She cries, leaping from her horse and dashing towards him.

He is sitting on the ground, at this point, trying to check that all his limbs are still serving him.

“‘M right.” He mutters, embarrassed and concerned for her.

“You are hurt. Why - that’s a nasty tear in your shirt - and you’re bleeding.”

“I’m bleeding?” He asks vaguely.

“You’re bleeding.” She agrees. “Here - your shoulder.”

He feels her pulling aside the torn sections of his shirt, as if to inspect the damage.

He does wonder how he’s bleeding. There must have been some gravel underfoot, perhaps, and that will have scraped through his shirt and into his shoulder beneath. Funny how a chap often doesn’t notice such an injury in the heat of the moment. The damage is on the very point of his shoulder, he’d say - on that side part, where it’s really more an arm, not on his upper back.

He’s wondering whether he ought to get up and catch his horse and get on with his morning when it happens.

“Oh.” She says, but in a different tone from her usual oh.

“Connie?”

“It’s just - your soulmark. I can see the corner of your soulmark.”

“It doesn’t have corners. Your writing is far too round for corners. You must be closest to the C of Constance.”

“Yes. Yes - that’s just exactly what I can see.” She says, in the most breathy little voice he ever heard her use.

He reaches out for her, finds her hand resting just atop his shoulder, safely away from the minor damage of his fall. He tangles his fingers together with hers and holds on, tight.

“All well back there?” He asks her softly.

“Oh - yes - I do beg your pardon. I oughtn’t stay crouched here all day. It’s only - I’ve never seen it before, of course - but it is what it is. I ought to be thinking of your injury. We must get you back to the house and apply a poultice.”

“It’s a very minor sort of scrape, Connie.” He argues.

“Nevertheless, we can’t be too careful. I must insist on having it properly seen to. Do you think I might be allowed to have use of the stillroom and make you something for it?”

“I’m sure you may do as you like. Here, then - shall I catch the horses?”

There’s a moment of perfect, poised silence - as if she’s considering the situation, still, or perhaps taking one final look at his soulmark.

And then -

“Yes. Thank you. We had better get going.”

He stands up off the ground at last and sets to retrieving his horse.

…….

She certainly is allowed to make use of the stillroom, when the two of them arrive back at the house. Indeed - their mothers jointly suggest that they might both go down to the stillroom, that Connie might simply apply the remedy herself once it is ready, and that they might dispense with all thought of a chaperone so long as the door is left open.

James is honestly beginning to wonder whether there’s a conspiracy afoot, here. He does think that their mothers seem very over-keen on the two of them spending private time together indeed.

All the same, he’s not complaining. He wanders along to the stillroom arm-in-arm with Connie and tries not to think of the fact that his little injury is now stinging quite badly. A scrape often does sting, in his experience, and it certainly doesn’t mean anything. He refuses to call it a serious wound. And he certainly won’t tell her it’s stinging, for he knows she’d only fuss over him if he did.

Although - he mightn’t mind a certain sort of fussing. He mightn’t mind if she fussed with her bare hands on his skin and that soft light in her eyes.

Yes. Well.

She’s his soulmate, and he’s rather partial to her.

She decides that she’ll clean the wound and then apply an ointment, in the end. So they sit together and chat lightly while she makes the ointment. She tells him all about her love of herbal remedies, how it ties together with her love of plants, while he enjoys listening to her voice and asking the occasional question.

His shoulder is stinging a good deal less now he’s sitting quietly in a cool stillroom with her, as it happens.

At last her ointment is ready, and she declares herself ready to tend to his injury.

In fact -

“Could you take your shirt off, please?” She actually asks him.

He blinks at her, stunned. “Could I take my shirt off?”

“I’d rather not get fragments of linen embedded in your wound. I do realise it’s a decidedly improper suggestion, to be sure, but I don’t suppose it’ll matter. Our families seem set on granting us privacy and you’ve always been the perfect gentleman, even when we’ve placed ourselves in questionable circumstances. So I think we’ve nothing to lose if you simply take your shirt off so I can treat your wound better.”

“Jolly good.” He mutters, sets to untucking his shirt and pulling it over his head.

Only then -

“Is this just a ruse to get my shirt off?” He thinks to ask her, teasing, when he has the task underway.

She laughs. “I certainly won’t complain about that part. But I truly am worried about your shirt sticking to your graze.”

“Yes. You’re the very picture of altruistic concern.” He agrees, dry.

She’s still laughing when he pulls the shirt off at last, when he winces just a little at it sticking to that scrape on the way.

Then all of a sudden, she’s not laughing, because she’s gasping a loud gasp instead.

“Heavens - it is all across your shoulders, isn’t it?”

“You’ve long, loopy writing.” He says, for he knows exactly what she means.

“It’s a good deal bigger than mine.”

“Mmm. Perhaps one day folks will study soulmarks in great detail and write books about such things. Personally I think it’s a sign that I’m destined to be more attached to you than you to me.” He says.

He tries to say it lightly, as if teasing, but in fact he’s largely serious.

“No - I don’t think that can be true. Oh - it is so very odd to see my name signed across your skin. It’s beautiful, to be sure, but it’s odd too.”

“Is it like you expected it to be?” He asks, curious.

“No. It’s a good deal larger. I thought perhaps it would be life-sized, and I couldn’t see how it would cover all your shoulders as you said it did. But it’s huge.”

“Yes. I’m quite attached to you. It’s proportionate.” He tries.

She laughs, squeezes his uninjured shoulder - and sets to wiping the injured one clean at last.

It stings again, as she cleans it. But that’s fine. He can cope with a little stinging. He sits there, notices the sting, thinks a while about her reaction to his soulmark.

Something occurs to him that he’d like to say.

“Thank you. I mean it, Connie - that’s quite the sweetest reaction to seeing it for the first time. That awe and flustered air and then you saying you think it beautiful. That’s -” He clears his throat, tries again. “It’s perfect, frankly. It puts me in mind of how badly I reacted the night I first saw yours. I was in ever such a muddle that night, and I think it a terrible shame, for I’m convinced I ought to have found it beautiful instead.”

“As you say - you were muddled. It is what it is.”

“Hmm.” He’s not altogether convinced about that, he finds.

She’s moving onto the ointment, now. She’s spreading ointment on his injury, and it stings more sharply, but it’s good, too. It’s that reassuring sort of sting which comes with healing.

It’s a bit like the ins and outs of courting a soulmate and constantly feeling he ought to be apologising to her, perhaps.

She speaks up again, now.

“You could see it if you like.”

“Mmm?”

“My soulmark. You’re welcome to look at it now you’re not muddled, if you like. I’d show it to you any time you’re interested. I hope that doesn’t sound odd or presumptuous - I do realise it’s on my bosom - but as it’s your name, I’d happily show it to you whenever you want to see it.”

“Yes, please.” He manages, hoarse.

“Oh - now?”

He nods, swallows a sticky swallow.

Dear God, but he wants to see it more than he has ever wanted anything in his life, he thinks.

She doesn’t waste a moment. She’s setting down that ointment, tugging the muslin at her neckline aside. She’s being all Connie about it - brave and warm and curious, ready to set out on this unexpected adventure with him.

It’s a bit awkward to see it while she’s still half-wearing her muslin, but it’s perfect, too.

James G. Fife

That’s been his name forever, of course. He’s been signing off letters that way for as long as he has been writing. But it’s as if he’s seeing it for the very first time, this morning, now she shows him it deliberately rather than a bit of lemonade making it half-visible.

He clears his throat, tries desperately to say something useful.

“It’s a good deal prettier than I expected. I never liked my writing - I always feared it must look scribbly and ugly and ruin your skin - but instead I find that your bosom is lending it a bit of beauty.”

She laughs at him, reaches out to stroke a hand through his hair. “I should have known you’d say that.”

“It’s only the truth.” He protests.

She hums a little, ignores him, keeps stroking his hair. He leans into her touch, wonders whether she might keep on petting at him all day, if he sits quietly and causes no trouble.

He wonders if she might wrap an arm around his shoulders, might embrace him over the place where she has her name signed on his skin.

It’s pleasant. Peaceful. Domestic. It’s everything the two of them have learned to share, over the last week.

It’s everything he wants forever. He just wants forever with her.

So -

“I think we should marry.” He tells her.

Only it comes out all wrong. It comes out like a sigh of defeat, not a cry of victory. It comes out quiet and unsure and yet somehow blunt and sudden, too.

Her answer is even worse.

“As you wish.” She says, uncharacteristically meek.

“I think it’s a good idea.” He protests, defensive. “I think we should set a date next season - the very start of the season, perhaps. I know we’re still not entirely at peace together - I know I do sometimes flee outside when I ought to stay and speak sensibly with you - but I think we should press on and do it. My mind is quite made up. Unless - that is - unless yours is not. Unless you have decided you don’t want to marry me after all. I will understand if you don’t.”

“No - it’s not that. I certainly do.” Her turn to sound defensive, now.

“You’re sure?” He asks, for she doesn’t seem at all sure.

“I am sure. I just… I wonder what you truly want from your life, James. I still feel that I haven’t a clue. I don’t understand why you’re suddenly speaking of marriage when I don’t know what you require in a wife or what you want for your future. Why - it’s only yesterday that we began to discuss our dreams of spending time quietly at home together for the first time. I simply don’t yet know what you’re looking for.”

“You. I want you. I just want you.” He half-shouts it at her, sudden and loud as anything. “I’m terribly sorry, in a way - I know I don’t deserve to want that in the slightest - but with every passing moment all I can think, more and more, is that I simply want you. I want you in my life until the end of my days.”

She brightens at once. He’s convinced that’s odd, but it happens all the same.

“You just want me?” She echoes back at him.

“I just want you.” He tells her, lets his eyes dip to her soulmark once more.

That’s a mistake. He’s staring at her tits - staring at his name on her tits - when he ought to be meeting her eyes and trying desperately to convince her to marry him.

Only - that part suddenly seems less problematic.

“In that case, we must marry whenever it suits you.” She says in a tone of genuine enthusiasm. “I - oh - I never realised you felt quite exactly that way, James.”

“You never realised that I wanted you in my life more than anything? You never realised that I looked at the future and thought only Connie, please?”

“No. How could I?” She asks.

She asks it without heat, though, and with her hand combing through his hair once more.

He presses a kiss to her wrist, follows it with an important question. “What about you? What do you want for your future? I’m determined to oblige you as best I can. I’ve only thought as far as not wanting you to have the life my mother had - but now she tells me it’s not so awful - but I mean to do better, anyway.” He concludes, in a muddled sort of way.

“That’s easy. I just want to feel that I belong.” She tells him at once. “I want that, and it’s exactly what I always find with you. All my life people have called me an odd duck, and I have tried my best to wear it as a badge of pride… but to have my soulmate choose me, to make a point of belonging with me, to start our own household and family, to simply be ourselves together? That sounds heavenly.”

“It does, rather.” He agrees, presses another kiss to her wrist.

“You’re in earnest? You’ve truly made up your mind to marry me next season?”

“Yes. Or - since you lately said what you did about belonging and setting up a household and so on, I think perhaps I have changed my mind to before next season. Perhaps we might marry just before the start of the season so that we can be newlyweds who belong together if we take part in the season itself, rather than an engaged couple lingering on the terrace?” He asks, brows raised.

She laughs a loud laugh, and then embraces him very tightly indeed.

He embraces her in turn, steers her onto his lap, too. If a newly-engaged couple are to share a shirtless cuddle, they had much better make it a good one. So he holds her tight, hums in contentment as she runs her hands over his shoulders. He is feeling content, too, he finds. Now that it’s all settled, and now that she’s speaking with such enthusiasm about the idea of marrying him, he suddenly finds himself feeling very happy indeed.

Then he eases away from her just far enough to try for a chaste, careful little kiss on the lips.

He’s determined to leave it there, to be a gentlemanly sort and not press her for more before the wedding. Why - he intends to be good and gentle towards her all the rest of his days.

He does wonder what happens next. He wonders whether they might sit here cuddled together and enjoying the moment for a little longer, or whether they should rush to share the good news with their families as soon as possible.

He’s just wondering that, when Connie evidently decides that there is something more to say.

“I’m so very glad that it’s you who is my soulmate, James. It occurred to me that I’d never told you that and I think I should. It’s as if… I’m not marrying you because you’re my soulmate - rather, you’re my soulmate because you’re the person I’d be happiest to spend my entire life with. And it’s not only that I enjoy your company. I’m convinced that I simply couldn’t ask for a better man. I always feel that I am incredibly lucky that fate chose to match me with you. I know you do still feel badly about your initial reluctance to marry me, but on balance, I must call you the kindest gentleman in the ton, and the most thoughtful, and you’ve such a way of taking all the troubles of the world on your shoulders which I have decided is more endearing than exasperating.”

He finds himself smiling rather widely at that, finds a proper rush of engagement joy breaking over him at last. “I’m delighted it’s you, too. There’s not a minute goes by when I don’t think of how lucky I am that it’s you who is my soulmate. You have the biggest heart of anyone I’ve ever met, I think, and you’re so endlessly, constantly encouraging and interesting and uplifting.”

“You truly think that?” She asks, as if she finds it unfathomable.

“I truly do. I’m only taken aback that you say such similar things about me.”

“Oh - we’re to be married.” She half-squeals it, then kisses him robustly on the cheek.

“We’re to be married. I’m marrying my soulmate, and I’m so very glad that my soulmate is you.”

“I’m gladder that my soulmate is you.” She argues cheerfully.

He doesn’t believe that can possibly be true - but he doesn’t like to argue with her over-much when she has made him so very happy as this.

……..

There follows the best afternoon of his life - even better than any other afternoon this week, to be clear.

All suddenly seems well in the world, somehow. The pieces of the puzzle seem to have fallen into their perfect places at last. Connie looks so purely joyful that he could shout for joy in turn - all trace of that resentment he used to think he could see has vanished, and that’s doing him a world of good, too.

If the last week has been comfortable and easy, this is simply the most delicious perfection he has ever known.

Connie sits next to him for a light luncheon on the terrace, smiling all the while, squeezing his hand so often it’s impractical to eat. Both their families seem to have relaxed, too, at the news that their engagement is finally settled.

As for James himself, he must admit that he feels like a new man. He has been engaged for all of two hours when he first adopts the habit of referring to Connie as my soulmate whenever he must mention her in conversation to another, and he likes it very well indeed.

He does spend a little time apart from her that afternoon. His father wants to begin looking at the finances and the paperwork as soon as possible. He thinks that he and James should draw up a letter to the family lawyers in town to see to a marriage settlement, and James isn’t inclined to argue with him on such a happy day as this.

So it is that father and son spend a good long while in the study together, in the mid-afternoon.

James enjoys that, more or less. He enjoys sitting with his Pa and collaborating over a happy project, thinking the arrangements that must be made before the wedding. He enjoys most of all accepting his Pa’s congratulations, periodically accepting a half-hug around the shoulders or a hearty handshake for no apparent reason.

Well - no reason besides happiness, that is.

But when at last the letter is drafted, he finds that he’s not inclined to dawdle here all afternoon.

“If we’re finished here, might I go back to the drawing room?” He simply asks.

“Ah. You’ll be wanting to see your Miss Constance Cho again, I expect.”

“Well - you know how it is.” James hedges, chuckling at himself a little, feeling his face flush all the while.

“I do. As it happens, I do know how it is.” His Pa agrees. “Come along, then. Come along. I’ll come with you, I think. I might as well see whether your mother is in the drawing room with the other ladies. We might have a pot of tea.”

“She likes to have tea with you. We were speaking of it only yesterday.”

“Not half as well as I like to have tea with her, I expect. I do hope she hasn’t been called away to supervise anything in particular in the kitchens or the scullery or whatnot.” His father grumbles, wandering towards the study door.

“And what if she has, Pa, hmm? What if she has gone down to the kitchens - perhaps to teach the cook here to make jam as good as the jam in town? Do you think you could perhaps gather the courage to go looking for her and suggest that pot of tea just the same?”

“Daft business, that. I can’t be bothering her while she’s seeing to her household matters.”

So it goes, most of the way down the hall. James speaks a little about his happiness. His father chunters on about tea and daftness, both at once.

They arrive in the drawing room to find both of their soulmates inside, thank heavens. There’s no need for any daft business about the kitchens at all.

So -

“Hello, Connie.” James simply gets on and says. “I thought I’d pop by just to remind you that I’m glad to have you for my soulmate and future wife.”

She smiles very broadly indeed at that.

“Oh - that’s ever so sweet, James. I thought you and your father had letters of business to write on account of our engagement?”

“We did, but then we finished our letters, and I thought I had better come back to tell you what I just did tell you.” He concludes, wanders a little closer to her chair.

“And then - Bella, pet - I decided I had best come and tell you that I am glad to have you for a soulmate and wife. I can’t be outdone by our son, now, can I?”

“Goodness - how charming.”

“Heaven preserve us from a whole household of Argyll gentlemen gone courting.” Lord Cho says, dry, grinning from behind his newspaper.

James laughs at that. He will like to have Lord Cho for a brother.

Connie throws her brother a sharp look, and that makes James laugh all the more.

At last all the daft greetings have been said, though, and he simply finds himself standing by Connie’s chair, peering down at the book in her lap.

“Did you only come to pop by in between business with your father? Or when you said that your letters were finished, did you mean all of them?” She asks, frowning.

“We’ve attended to everything we wanted to handle immediately.” He explains. “Why d’you ask?”

“When you said you popped by to say those few sweet words, I wondered if I might twist your arm into staying three hours and saying a few more.” She tells him, eyes all bright with fun and warmth - and yes, likely also with love.

He grins at her. “I could be convinced to stay three hours - or perhaps even four. I’m not sure when we’ll have dinner. I don’t promise to produce many sweet words - I don’t consider myself an expert in the production of sweet words - but I’ll do my level best if you’re inclined to enjoy my company.”

“Yes, please.”

“Come along, then. There’s no sense in being newly engaged and sitting on separate chairs. We’ll share that sofa, thank you very much.” He tells her, and points at one a convenient few feet away.

She laughs. “Or perhaps we might abandon all thought of furniture and go for a long ride into the late afternoon?”

“I could like that for a scheme. I could like any sort of scheme at all, frankly, so long as it involves a few more hours in your company and you looking so pleased with me as this.”

“Oh - I expect to look very pleased with you indeed for the next few days at least. You did lately ask me to marry you.”

“Funny - my memory is a little different. The way I recall it, I told you that I thought we should marry, and you agreed with my way of seeing it. Now I wonder whether that counts as a proper proposal at all. Should I do it again, do we think? While we’re out riding should I find some very picturesque spot and ask you the question with all ceremony?”

She laughs very loudly indeed and hugs his arm close to her side. “I’m quite engaged enough, thank you. There’s no need to go and arrange the matter again. Although - now I come to think on it - I’m sure I would marry you twice, if that were an option. I would simply keep saying yes every time you asked.”

He thinks of his Ma, of her saying she’d choose her soulmate in a hundred lives, if she could.

Yes. He suddenly finds he can understand that.

“You want to be careful with promises like that, Connie. I’ll ask you a thousand times if you don’t watch your tongue. Come along - we had best go out for this ride before I expire from sheer joy right here in the drawing room.”

“Oh - do you expect to be less joyful when we leave the drawing room? If you don’t like the idea of going out, I am determined to stay here and run the risk of your expiring.” She offers, lips twitching.

“Now you’re being deliberately foolish.” He accuses her, smiling so hard his cheeks hurt.

“Yes. I’m feeling a tad giddy, my spirits are so high.”

“Mmm. An unfortunate side effect of being happily engaged. Now - come on.”

He takes her hand, sets out towards the door without further ado. He throws a few half-explanations at his family as he goes - and she does the same, more or less - so between them he does hope that they offer a full explanation of their plans to the assembled company in the drawing room.

He’s far too happy to stand around and manage whole entire coherent sentences, though.

It’s as she said - he’s far too giddy with joy for that.

…….

That week becomes the new best week of his life, replaces the last in his list of such things. It’s funny how comfortably he settles into that, now that he and Connie have got themselves sorted out at last.

Or - now that he has mustered his courage to make things right between them. He does realise that he himself was the sticking point, there - or at least his own fears were the sticking point.

He’s damn glad he managed to raise the matter of marriage in that moment of spontaneity while she tended to his shoulder. For having the matter settled has certainly settled him - that’s how he’d explain it. Now that the decision is absolutely made, there’s nothing to do but to enjoy it, to learn to live comfortably with it and find it easier than he ever expected it to be.

Connie just fits him. That ought to be obvious, perhaps. She is after all the other half of his soul.

But all the same, he’s surprised by just how seamlessly she does fit him, this week. She’ll start laughing before he has even finished saying anything witty, more often than not. She’ll pass him a dish or platter at table before he has actually asked for it, so perfectly does she understand his habits.

Best of all, she’ll often suggest a plan for the day which is just exactly the plan he himself would have made.

“You’ve a few letters of business about our marriage settlement to look at this morning with your father, I understand?” She’ll say at the breakfast table.

“Yes. I’m sorry about that, in a way, since it must take me away from you - but I suppose it’ll be worth it when we marry smoothly just before the season.”

“I can certainly agree with that. I only fear that you’ll be tired of reading and sitting indoors and so on when you’ve done that. We’ll require a good fast ride to blow away the cobwebs afterwards, I expect.”

“Mmm. That does sound perfect.” He agrees.

“Then perhaps cricket, later in the afternoon. It’s too long since we played cricket.”

“We last played cricket yesterday, Connie.”

“Exactly. So by four o’clock this afternoon it will be far too long since we last played.”

He chuckles at that, reaches out to squeeze her hand where it sits next to a plate of crumpets.

He does wonder how his parents ever made such a muddle of breakfast, frankly. Why - he and Connie seem to manage it very well indeed.

…….

He doesn’t tell her he loves her, during that summer visit.

It’s the one and only fly in the ointment, as far as James can see - quite unlike the ointment Connie applies to his shoulder periodically, which is utterly free of flies and helping his sorry scrape to heal perfectly.

He thinks she’s overdoing it on the salve, personally. He thinks she is just over-fond of having an excuse to take his shirt off.

Yes. Well.

He rather likes how much she likes him, as it happens.

All the same, he hasn’t yet managed to say anything about love. It’s something he finds intensely difficult to wrap his head or his tongue around, he finds. Even though he has seen his way clear to marrying her, he still feels a little out of step with himself. He still has in mind that he’ll feel more comfortably settled into this soulmates business next season - even though the two of them are to be married by next season. He still feels rushed along by the world, somehow, in a way he can’t quite put his finger on.

He’s blissfully happy, to be clear - but he’s still not quite comfortable or confident, perhaps.

He might try mentioning it to his Ma if it drags on much longer, if he reaches the eve of the season and of his wedding still not feeling confident about love. She knows a thing or two about improved confidence - he has understood that, now. So he thinks she might have a little advice to offer, if he finds himself unable to solve the problem for himself.

For now, though, he’s trying not to fret about it. He’s trying to take his Pa’s advice and not fret overly, just keep his mind on being there in the moment with the people he cares about the most.

This summer that means Connie, of course, but it also means both of his parents. He’s enjoying seeing the best in them and borrowing the best of them both, too, in recent months.

He tries mentioning a little something about that to his soulmate, the evening before she’s due to leave his home for the end of her visit.

“I think this must be perfect happiness.” He tells her, while they sit close together on a drawing room sofa. “Or at least - it’s the happiest I have ever been. You and I are to marry, my parents are on good form, and I have certainly grown closer with them lately.”

“Yes - I did notice that. I am glad to see you grown so comfortable with them lately. The situation seems very different from what I recall when I first found you on that terrace last season.”

He smiles a bit at that, nods eagerly. “I said to my Pa a little over a month ago that it would be ironic and a shame if my Ma should decide to live here more often just as I am looking to set up my own establishment with my wife.”

“We needn’t move far away, if you don’t like the idea.” Connie tells him, patting at his leg. “We could even stay in this household, if it’s important to you.”

“No - I wouldn’t do that.” He chuckles an awkward little chuckle at the sheer idea of it. “I do want you and I to have our privacy and our own family where we belong perfectly, exactly as the two of us want it - just exactly as you said it when we agreed to marry. But… perhaps we might settle very close?”

“We may settle exactly where you’d like. I do enjoy how much your parents fuss over making me welcome. It strikes me as quite the opposite of growing up in such a large family as I did - I am an odd duck even to my own mother, although I know she does love me. To have your parents now think me a uniquely excellent future daughter matters more to me than I ever realised it would. So we must settle just exactly as close to them as you’d like.”

“Jolly good.”

He pats at her leg a while in turn, wonders whether he might be able to embrace her right here in the drawing room.

Likely not. He hasn’t the excuse of saying goodbye, not until the morning.

And then -

“My father’s good at that, you know.” He finds himself saying. “He has a talent for making folks feel uniquely special. Or - seeing folks as uniquely special, even. It’s not something he puts on. He genuinely does think you are the most perfect wife for his son, every bit as much as he thinks my mother the most perfect duchess in all the world or me the finest son any chap ever had.”

“I think you have it right, now you’ve mentioned it. I see it now you’ve brought it to my attention.” She agrees, with a thoughtful nod.

“I didn’t always see that he was like that. He didn’t always say it well, perhaps. But I do think that’s an excellent quality he has as a father - and even as a man. It is good that he is always determined to think the people who matter to him unique and perfect.”

“Mmm. You’re onto something there. He sets that tone, and your mother likes that about this family, so she follows suit. She’s more one for seeing the best in everyone and every situation. So then the two of them combine to make me feel the most welcome daughter-in-law in all the land.”

“That’s as it should be. You’re rather perfect - have I ever mentioned that?” He asks her, all bright and playful.

“I tell you, James, it is difficult to go so much as a minute lately without being struck by how grateful I am to have you for my soulmate.”

“Yes. I rather know the feeling. I fear I’m obsessed with you.” He admits, brushes his hand lightly against her cheek.

Or - he means it to be a gentle brush, but the next thing he knows she’s leaning in, pressing a kiss to his palm, right there in the drawing room.

He almost says it. He almost tells her that this must be love, which - obviously it muust.

Somehow the words still stick in his throat.

Instead -

“Your devoted soulmate, James G. Fife.” He whispers to her. “I intend to write that to you quite often all the rest of the summer, just to be clear.”

“Your devoted soulmate, Constance Cho.” She echoes, snuggles her cheek into his hand.

Jolly good.

That sounds close enough for now, he decides - and certainly closer than he ever expected, six months or so ago.

……..

They say goodbye with an embrace the next morning, and even with a sneaky kiss on the cheek or two, as well. James is beginning to believe that their parents would let it pass if he simply began removing her muslin right here on the front steps, frankly - but he won’t do that, of course, for he’s determined to be a gentlemanly sort and a respectful soulmate.

He’s determined to be on his best behaviour, every day of the rest of his life.

All the same, he does kiss her cheek, and she does likewise, and he rather likes it for a way of getting along.

“You’re to have a very happy summer, d’you hear me? I must insist upon your being happy and keeping good health.” He tells her, before they part ways.

“You too, soulmate.”

He finds himself flushing right down to his toes at that. He likes it ever so much, to hear her refer to him plainly in those terms.

So -

“Safe journey, soulmate. Take care, soulmate.”

“Be happy, soulmate, if you please.”

They’re both laughing quietly together, now, and her hand is somehow still resting on his shoulder, right over the C of Cho, if he had to guess.

“I intend to write very often and with as little self-consciousness as I can manage, now we are engaged.” He informs her.

“I intend to do likewise.”

“Jolly good. Well, then - I’ll see you in town. I’ll see you the week before our wedding, hmm?”

She actually squeals with joy at that, throws herself back into his arms again, lets out a few little exclamations of happiness.

Huh.

Evidently he hasn’t ruined her life too much this week, at least.

…….

He begins writing his first letter to her that same afternoon.

It seems the thing to do. He’s missing her already. They’re engaged to be married, and she’s his soulmate, as well. She won’t take it amiss if he should be so needy as to write to her on the very day they parted.

Besides - she did encourage him to write just whatever comes into his head without self-consciousness, so that is what he had better do.

He writes a generous paragraph about his ride that morning, about how much he felt her absence when he found himself wondering about a particular tree on his route. He’ll have to show her that tree next time and ask for her thoughts on it, he tells her, because he thinks it a different variety from the other trees nearby and he thinks that might make it a feature of interest for her.

Then he adds just a few more lines about his anticipation of returning to his fencing training in earnest, now that he hasn’t the distraction of company. He liked to see her but his fencing will be a fine silver lining in her absence - that’s what he explains to her.

He leaves it there for the day, spends a little time that evening with his parents. Then the next day he adds a short section about the weather and a longer section about the stables, and the next day a bit about how the gardens are coping with the heat.

So it goes for the next four days or so, until he has written two sheets clean through, and he decides it’s past time he sent them.

He hopes it meets with her approval as a letter. He’s quietly confident that it will, he finds - quietly confident in a way he never was, before their engagement. But she’s fond of him, and she said she’d like a few letters which were more like a conversation with him, and he flatters himself that this rambling assortment of thoughts on his daily pursuits must be exactly like a conversation with him.

Jolly good.

He signs it your devoted soulmate, James G. Fife, and then puts it on the tray for posting.

…….

He and Connie - he and his soulmate - do quite well with their letter-writing that summer, if he does say so himself.

He continues to write to her in much the same style as he did that first week, with a few lines each day about his mundane pursuits, and she writes back to him in much the same vein with all sorts of details about her plants or her cricket.

They write out extracts of their books for one another quite often, too, and discuss what they have read, and share little bits of family news as any does happen.

James enjoys their correspondence even more than he expected to. Although he misses her, he finds that there’s even a sort of space and serenity which comes with spending a few months without her, yet reminded all the while of her devotion through their letters. It affords him a while to catch up with himself, perhaps, to come to terms with marrying his soulmate at last and grow into his confidence.

He remembers hoping that he might suddenly feel a conviction that all was in order, next season - and now, thanks to this enforced bit of time and space, he even thinks that he will. He feels a damn sight more settled than he ever did before.

Missing Connie is a steep price to pay for all this space to think and reflect and set his future straight in his head, but he’s determined to look on the bright side, here, and be grateful that he has himself more or less in order at last.

He wonders from time to time whether this is how it was for his Ma, when she left home - at least a little bit. He knows the situations are very different, of course - she was ailing badly and properly addled, if he has understood correctly, whereas he would only call himself a bit squiffy and unsettled about soulmate marriage - but all the same, he thinks the comparison might be useful. He thinks it might be noteworthy that he’s half-her, too, for all he has been accustomed to think of himself more often as his father’s son.

He decides to speak with her about it, in the end. He catches her in the drawing room while she’s waiting to have tea with her soulmate.

Hmm. That appears to have become a daily afternoon ritual in these parts, lately.

James clears his throat, wonders how to begin such a conversation.

“Might I sit with you a moment, Ma?”

“You may sit as long as you like, darling. You’re always welcome to sit with me.”

“Jolly good.”

He sits, and finds that he still doesn’t know what to say.

Only - perhaps that doesn’t matter. Perhaps he may be at a loss and plough on anyway. This is his own mother, not some stranger to judge his odd manners. To be sure, she was half a stranger most of his adolescence, but she is certainly not that any more.

So -

“I wondered if I might speak with you about something awkward.” He tries.

“Goodness - you’re welcome to speak of whatever you will.”

“Thank you. So - ahm - I’ve noticed something odd, lately. Or - well - I fear it’s odd, but it feels… natural, too. I’ve been noticing myself growing more confident about marrying Connie while she’s not here. It’s as if I’ve a bit of space to think on it and feel less squiffy while we’re apart. But then - I miss her terribly, of course - and I think it’s a good thing that I am feeling more settled about the idea of soulmate marriage, but I do sometimes fret that it’s a bad sign I am growing more settled while she’s not here, and then - then I thought of you and Pa, so I thought I’d ask you about it.”

His Ma smiles a bit, nods, sits quietly as if considering the matter.

He tries not to rush her. She’s still not a great talker, unless she has something to say, even if she’s not half so quiet as she used to be.

And then -

“I think the important part is simply that you feel more settled, darling. And there’s nothing wrong with you for occasionally finding your equanimity when you and your soulmate are apart. Why - love is a wonderful thing, but it can cloud the head, too. Sometimes a person simply needs time and space to make sense of things.”

He nods. “That’s much how I have come to feel about the matter. But - ahm - does it bode poorly, do you think? Will I suddenly find myself needing time and space even after we are married? That’d be a shame, for I’m rather excessively attached to my soulmate.”

“I’m afraid I can’t tell the future.” She smiles a wry smile. “But I don’t think it needs to bode poorly. And - I think a person can have a little time and space without spending twenty years apart. The way you watched me take my time and space is not the only way to do it, I believe. This summer I have tried to take my time and space in my little yellow sitting room, not all the way over in town.”

He nods earnestly. “Yes. I see that, I think. I could take time and space with my fencing if I get squiffy once we’re married. I didn’t attend to my fencing while my soulmate was visiting - because I was all eagerness to see her - but perhaps in future I might remember that it’s good for me to spend a bit of time with my fencing anyway.”

“Exactly so. I think that's a very sound conclusion, darling.”

“Jolly good.”

The two of them sit there in silence a moment, and it’s comfortable.

It’s a good deal more comfortable than James ever knew time spent at home with his mother could be - that’s for certain sure.

At length, he decides that there’s something more on his mind - and that his Ma seems the right person to tell it to.

“I feel so very much more settled now, and so confident that marrying Connie is the right thing to do - but I’m still fretful about upsetting her. I’m still anxious about whether we’ll have smooth sailing. I think… I’m beginning to think that won’t ever go away. I’m beginning to think that I am a person who will always have just a little fretfulness about love.”

“I think everyone has that, James. I think the people who tell you that love is easy and they always feel confident in their path through life are lying.” She tells him, dry.

He laughs a little at that. He only lately learnt that his Ma has a dry sense of humour, and he likes it very well.

She presses on. “I think the way to be content in life is simply to embrace that the sailing will not be smooth, and then to make the best of it. I was a good deal more content once I stopped trying for perfection and allowed myself a bit of space to recover from what had gone awry.”

“Mmm. Pa likes to tell me something very like that when he tells me not to fret unduly about what’s already happened.”

“He’s rather wise, on occasion, your father.” She says, with an incongruously bright little smile. “I’m ever so proud of you, James - truly. I’m so very proud of the man you’ve become and the choices you’ve made.”

“Jolly good.” He mutters, feels himself all choked with emotion.

She must realise that’s a bit much, he decides. She stops saying all those sentimental things about pride, lets the conversation about his fretfulness and his soulmate drop.

The two of them sit there in silence a while, and it’s comfortable.

Then suddenly, all at once, it’s as if she’s dropping a lightning bolt on him.

“Might I ask your advice about something, James? I do beg your pardon - I know a mother ought not make her troubles any business of her son’s - but I don’t know who else to -”

“Ma. It’s fine. Ask what you will.”

“I - goodness - I’m wondering about going to see my sister for two weeks. So - so I wonder whether you think that would be an acceptable idea.”

“You’re asking me because you’re nervous of how Pa will react to it.” He realises.

“Yes. Exactly that. I - good heavens - it’s - it’s what we lately said about time and space, I suppose. I find that I’m not altogether comfortable living under this roof all the time - and yet I do like to have our family all together. I certainly don’t want to flee to town on my own again, and I’m determined not to upset your father when we’ve been so very happy this summer. I will not have us spending twenty years apart again. So - I wondered whether visiting my sister might be a logical suggestion. I do often spend a few weeks with her in the summer. I hope that perhaps you and your father wouldn’t take it amiss if I spent just a short visit with my sister?”

“I certainly won’t take it amiss. As for Pa - I think he’ll accept the situation perfectly well just so long as he understands what it means and what it doesn’t. He likes to have a bit of meaning to cling to. All those years you lived apart, he would always insist that you were still glad to have him for a soulmate, because of the way you wear your hair - and I always thought he was deluded - but I see now that it was true, more or less, and that was simply one clear thing he could cling to. He understood what it meant.”

“So if I simply tell him the truth - and if I make a point of taking very little luggage and leaving some sewing half-done in the drawing room - he’ll be perfectly confident that I’m coming back.”

“Yes. I think that should turn out fine.”

……..

It does turn out fine, in the end. It turns out very well indeed - so well that James finds it uncanny, that he’s almost waiting for disaster to strike.

“You must just say if you’d like to take anything with you to your sister, pet - perhaps a brace of pheasant or a bottle or two of good wine from the cellar.” His father offers, over breakfast the next morning.

“Goodness, George - how thoughtful. But I’m sure she won’t expect me to take anything, since it’s only a short informal visit to family.”

“Daft business, that. You had much better take her something with my good wishes.”

“Perhaps I’ll take a bottle at your recommendation for her husband - I recall that you and he were quite close, when you were younger.”

“Jolly good. That’s the thing to do. You must take a good bottle for Lord Keswick with my compliments.” His father decides, still shoveling down breakfast in perfect contentment.

“Might we look at the curtains in the drawing room together before I leave, do you think?” His mother asks now. “I have been thinking these last few weeks that those drawing room curtains are looking a bit faded. Perhaps if you and I can take a look at them this morning, George, and form some opinions, then I might pop into Aylesbury and order new. They’d likely arrive just as I get back from seeing my sister.”

“As you like, pet. As you like. I’m determined to agree to whichever style and colour of curtain you think best. You’ve a much sharper eye for such things than I have. But - ahm - I might come into Aylesbury with you to see to the ordering, if it suits you. I think a chap had better take an interest in such things when he can.”

“Goodness - what a sweet thought. You mustn’t feel obliged to join me, since I know you prefer to stay at home.”

“I prefer to spend a bit of time with you, if it’ll not trouble you.”

“It’s no trouble at all, darling. I do like it when you take an interest in my pursuits.”

“Jolly good.”

James slips quietly from the room, a bit of ham in a bread roll in his hand. That’ll serve him perfectly well for breakfast, today, and he’d much rather leave his parents to their own devices while they’re in such a fond mood to one another.

Hmm. He might read Connie’s latest letter once again while he’s eating his ham roll.

Why - it’s evidently a morning for soulmates to share breakfast.

…….

His mother goes on her visit and then returns again with very little drama or discomfort, in the end - and with a rather large embroidered table-cloth laid out unfinished in the drawing room while she’s away. That’s deliberate on her part, presumably. She’s not typically a careless lady. So James presumes it’s a purposeful act of leaving some sewing ostensibly in progress so his father will be reminded several times a day that she means to return shortly.

It seems to be a success. James finds that his father starts every other sentence with something along the lines of when your mother comes home, during those few weeks.

The two of them go to view a few houses, while she is away. His father is determined that the newlyweds will have a pleasant property at a convenient distance from the big house. So they try out a few nearby manor houses, and his father frets that each of them seems too small. In one the attics won’t accommodate sufficient servants for his idea of the heir to a dukedom living in style. In another the nursery will only admit perhaps half a dozen children at most, and he wouldn’t like his son and daughter-in-law to feel limited in their familial ambitions. In another, the front lawn isn’t big enough to serve even as a makeshift cricket pitch, for there’s scarcely even room for the length of a wicket.

James tells him in no uncertain terms that he’s being daft, then chooses the property closest to home and with the supposedly small attics. It seems the logical thing to do.

It’s not long before his mother’s return and the beginning of autumn setting in. James and Connie are to be married just before the London season gets underway, so there are a few more weeks yet before that happy, happy day.

It’s fine. Fine. He’s only missing one half of his soul. He does at least have frequent letters for a consolation, but that silver lining of growing confident whilst he and Connie are apart is wearing rather thin, now.

He doesn’t need more confidence. He’s feeling very settled with his plans indeed, at this stage, very ready to grow into his happiness. In fact - he’s growing rather impatient for his wedding day.

He has never been an overly patient man anyway, and now he’s impatient for his wedding day, and then comes the final nail in the coffin of his patience.

Then comes a dreary spell of wet weather.

He’s awful at wet weather - hopeless. He likes to be out and about too much, likes to feel the fresh air on his face. He’s all too aware that he is always at his worst when he’s trapped indoors by the weather.

This autumn, that feeling is worse than usual. He’s trapped inside and he’s missing his soulmate and he’s impatient to be married.

There’s one wet Wednesday afternoon when it hits him worse than ever before. He’s so very restless he could crawl out of his own skin. He tried to read a new book from town - one his Pa sent for especially to entertain him in the dreary weather - but he’s too restless to concentrate on thinking about a new book, and he misses Connie, and his legs feel too fresh, and he’s missing Connie, and the season is weeks away, and he’s missing -

Ah.

He should perhaps try to get a grip.

He paces a few lengths of the library, wonders what the devil to do about it.

He should read something he doesn’t have to concentrate on, perhaps. He should read a familiar old favourite which will bring him a bit of comfort. He should read something he needs only half his mind to read, since the other half is obviously wandering restlessly in the rain somewhere between here and Surrey.

Jolly good.

He likes that for a logical plan of action.

He settles on a favourite volume of Plato, pulls up a chair near to the window so he may at least look at the outdoors, even if the ground is too wet underfoot for him to take a horse and belt about it.

He opens the book, and a leaf falls out.

It takes him a moment to understand the situation. It takes him a second or two to realise that this leaf is a fern leaf, that it has been carefully pressed between the pages of his favourite familiar book.

The moment he puts those pieces together, he understands that he has Connie to thank, of course.

It’s her work. It simply must be. Ferns are her favourite, just as this book is his favourite, and she has left a fern leaf pressed in his favourite book deliberately for him to find. Indeed - she must have set this up for a careful plan, understanding that he might often reach for his favourite book at a low ebb, and thinking to offer him a bit of comfort in a moment like this.

She is, in his considered opinion, quite the most perfect soulmate any man ever had.

It’s a humbling sort of situation, he finds. He has never done anything like this for her. He has never arranged a sweet little surprise to brighten her day. He has only done the conventional courtship gestures - dances and morning calls, the occasional courtship gift, a sneaky kiss on the cheek while their chaperones are looking the other way. But this feels different. It feels personal. It feels like something a wife would do.

It feels like the sort of thing he wants to do when he’s a husband, too.

For the first time in his entire adult life, that’s a thought which doesn’t make him feel squiffy. For the first time, her outdoing him in the art of being a soulmate doesn’t make him feel that he has failed her.

It makes him feel that he has growing room, and that he’s equal to the task. It makes him feel that he’s determined to be such an excellent soulmate to her as he she is to him, and that he trusts himself not to fail her.

Jolly good. He quite likes that for a solution.

He bolts from his chair without further ado.

Paper. He must find paper. He must run to the study, must find paper and a pen, and must write at once a few heartfelt words to his soulmate.

He finds the study deserted, thank goodness. He’s ever so close with his Pa, but he’d rather not explain himself now.

He snatches up a sheet of paper and sets to writing the words which want to flow from his pen.

My dearest Connie

I love you.

I think it’s long past time I said that, frankly. I realise I’m not saying it now, but as I strive for a conversational style in our letters, I hope it will be acceptable to you. I look forward to saying it out loud when next I see you shortly before our wedding day.

I love you with all my heart and all my soul, as it happens. I think it’s worth my spending a little time on explaining that to you. I never understood it as a phrase before I fell in love with you, but I truly do think that loving you has revealed some hidden capacity to my heart and soul which I never realised I had before, like a false bottom for a hidden compartment in a trunk. I fear that’s not a very flattering analogy - I am perhaps saying you are a false drawer, or at best a hidden key - but I know you like me to write as I think without self-consciousness, so I trust you won’t take offence at it.

Loving you makes me that much more interested in the works of the great philosophers and on pondering the nature of thought and love itself and so on. Before I met you, I thought love was one specific skill, and that it was one I would prove incapable of - much like the way I can’t tell the difference between a note sung in tune and a note which is not. Thank you for teaching me that love is a good deal more like bowling, and that a chap might get better at it with practice, one over after the next.

I found your fern leaf in my Plato today. I loved you before I found it, but I find myself suddenly more capable of mentioning it to you now. Your leaving that leaf for me to find must be the single most breathtakingly kind and loving gesture I have ever witnessed. I haven’t a clue how I shall match it. But you mark my words, Constance Cho - I’ll get you back. I’ll spend every day of the rest of my life striving to equal that deed. We shall have to make a lifelong friendly competition of it, like batting and bowling together purely in fun.

I’ve another letter half-written for you presently, by the by. I’ve my usual letter about the pheasants I shot yesterday and the horse I’ll ride tomorrow waiting in my desk. But I think I’ll not moderate the tone of this flood of love by including it here. You deserve a daft letter which is entirely about my adoration, once in a while.

Your devoted soulmate,

James G. Fife

He’s satisfied with the letter when he is finished, he finds. He - who always used to be so self-conscious about writing to Connie - is utterly and wholeheartedly content.

He has it sent to her express without further ado.

…….

She writes him back in a similar tone with flattering swiftness, and he actually laughs out loud from sheer giddiness while he reads it. 

Truly - it’s the perfect mirror of his letter to her, just as they’re two halves of a whole, just as his name on her front matches her name on his back. It’s a flood of warm words, a few musings about the nature of love, and a promise to compete with him over out-loving him all the days of their lives.

He likes it very well, and he means to carry it in his waistcoat pocket for the foreseeable future, he decides.

Connie loves him, and he’s delighted about it. Constance Cho loves him, the woman whose name is written on his skin. The woman whose name he has been side-eying in the mirror all his life - and now, today, she loves him and he loves her.

He walks into the drawing room and announces it to his parents, in the end. He feels a bit of a fool for making such a fuss about telling them, but it simply seems the thing to do. His falling in love has been a matter for the whole family, in a way, hasn’t it?

So -

“I - ahm - I just had a letter of interest from Connie. I thought you might both like to know.” He tells them, smiling so wide his cheeks hurt, flushing with giddy joy and just the slightest hint of awkwardness.

“How lovely, darling.” His Ma says, and of course she doesn’t press him for details - she leaves him to say what he will.

“Come along, then. Come along and tell us what’s what. A letter of interest, you say?” His Pa asks, and of course he does press for details. Some Pas simply do show their love and loyalty by treading the edges of rudeness, don’t they?

James smiles somehow wider still and sets to it. “We’ve been practising writing a little about - about love - and… you know. We’ve been practising saying a bit about our sentiments, although I was such an awkward soulmate at first. So - ahm - she loves me. She loves me, and I love her, and now we’re accustomed to mention it from time to time.”

“Jolly good. That’s as it should be, son. So a chap should love his wife - especially since she’s your soulmate, of course. That’s for the best.”

“Well done. Well done - both of you.”

“Thank you.” He tells them both, stands there and nods an awkward, pleased nod.

“Shall we have a bit of champagne, then? Shall we open a bottle from the cellar? I think perhaps we should - a bottle of champagne in honour of love and soulmates and whatnot?” His Pa suggests, now.

“Goodness, George - I’m sure that’s terribly sweet, but it does seem unnecessary.” His Ma hedges.

“Daft business, that. It’s always necessary to celebrate such things. Why - I didn’t always celebrate our marriage well enough when we were younger, and I must teach our son better habits.”

“I think you can teach me to celebrate love without opening a bottle of champagne at two o’clock on a Friday, Pa.” James offers, dry.

He hears Connie laugh in his head as he says it. She’d laugh at that - he knows she would. He’s coming to predict such things quite accurately, these days.

Meanwhile -

“Daft business. I’ll fuss over my son and my wife however and whenever I like.” His Pa argues.

“Hmm. What if I told you I’d rather have you fuss differently, Pa? What if I wanted you to fuss by - I don’t know - perhaps by us playing a game of charades or cards or something as a family? And then having an afternoon tea under the pergola and not minding the rain?”

“We’ve never played a parlour game or a hand of cards as a family before.” His Pa says, as if the very notion is unthinkable.

“Yes. That’s why I’m suggesting it.” James offers.

Yet again, in his heart, Connie is laughing.

“I think it might be a pleasant idea for a change. I do like a little game of charades - and I think it could be an easy game for us to play, just the three of us. It could be a sensible choice.” His Ma pipes up now.

That settles it, of course.

If Arabella Fife thinks it’s a sensible choice, then it must be the best idea on this earth.

…….

Connie sends him another interesting letter, the following week, and James finds himself thinking it’s likely connected to all those love confessions they lately learnt to share.

She writes that she might like to stop covering her soulmark. She has been giving it some consideration, and she might like to stop wearing her muslins across her décolleté. She decided she had better discuss it with him, because she knows visible soulmarks can make him squiffy, and in conclusion, although she would on balance like to start having it visible to the world, she will entirely understand if he finds that an uncomfortable suggestion and prefers that she not do it.

So - that’s a letter which requires an immediate response sent express, he finds.

He tells her in no uncertain terms that she must do just exactly as she pleases. He has no intention of being the sort of husband to tell her what to wear, and her preference must take precedence over any thought of his. As it happens, he doesn’t get overly squiffy about visible soulmarks these days - he has grown very much accustomed to seeing his Ma’s - and he thinks Connie’s very beautiful indeed. If she does want to wear it visibly, he’s convinced he’ll suffer no ill effects.

He does privately think that he might find other people’s visible soulmarks a bit shocking or abrupt on occasion, still, but it doesn’t seem useful to mention that just now. It doesn’t seem useful to mention that he’s still testing out whether his newfound confidence applies only to his own soulmate and immediate family, or whether it’s a more wide-ranging thing. At the very least, he certainly has no intention of being taken aback or feeling squiffy at Connie’s soulmark, not ever, ever again.

In fact - he hopes she’ll start going without those muslins. He hopes it not because he wants to show off his name on her bosom to all the world, but because he knows deep in his heart that it’s what she wants - what she has always wanted, perhaps. He knows she’s raising it because she wants to get on and live a life without concealing the truth of their attachment.

He wants that for her, too. 

He wants her to walk through the world dressed just exactly as she likes.

…….

He and Connie both drag their families back to town five days before the wedding. They were due all to take up residence three days before the wedding, but the bride and groom felt impatient, and evidently their families love them enough to be easily steered to an earlier reunion.

James is pleased about that - more pleased than he ought to be, perhaps. He never thought of his parents as such indulgent ones when he was younger, and he’s glad to have them fussing over his happiness now.

The three of them are expected to dine with the Chos, that very first evening. It’s just to be quite an informal family dinner and a chance for him to see Connie after all these months, without the distraction of wider company or social expectations.

He’s so very excited he could squeal with glee - and knowing Connie as he does, he expects that she likely will.

He’s waiting at the front door, ready to leave for this dinner, almost as soon as he has arrived at Argyll House in the first place. His Ma is tutting fondly, suggesting that he might like to unpack his trunk first. His Pa is muttering about how daft he’s being - and yet leaving him to be daft as he will, making no attempt to talk him out of standing around whatsoever.

At last, his parents catch up with him - or perhaps finish their sensible tasks like unpacking their trunks - and the three of them set out for this much-anticipated reunion.

James is actually squirming, in the carriage. He’s all wriggly and fidgety, looking out of the window and wondering how soon they might arrive.

At last it’s time. They’re here. He’s jumping from the carriage before the step has been set, charging up the stairs almost before the footman has opened the door. He knows he’s being a fraction rude, in fact, but he has never been a chap of polished manners and today hardly seems the day to change that.

He finds Connie standing in the hallway, her hands clasped neatly in front of her, her eyes on the door. She’s evidently waiting for him every bit as much as he’s running towards her.

She’s not wearing a muslin over her soulmark.

He notices that at once, drinks in the sight of her. He knew she had decided not to wear her muslin so often, of course, and he knew in his rational mind what would be visible underneath.

But he didn’t know how it would feel. He didn’t know how the sight of his name on her skin would take his breath away.

He didn’t know that she would make his awkward scribble look so damn beautiful.

James G. Fife

He simply can’t get enough of the sight of his name on her bosom. The G. is hardly legible because it’s right in the valley of her tits, and he finds that he likes that detail very much. He likes the way her figure is obscuring the ghosts of his Pa’s worse qualities, all those insecurities he first met her with.

Mostly he just likes the sight of her.

He’s not like his Pa - he’s not - or at least, not in many of the unpleasant ways. He could swear he’s not the sort of chap who gets off on his name written all over his soulmate’s skin as if she were his branded property.

But - dear God - the sight of Connie with her soulmark uncovered might just be the single most erotic sight he has ever seen.

He leaps at her, lips-first. He kisses her very enthusiastically and very publicly - the first full lip-kiss of their entire acquaintance - and she kisses him back at least as eagerly in turn.

It’s quite a long kiss. It’s a rather enjoyable one, too. She has one hand on his shoulder - right over the C of Constance - and another on his lower back, pulling him close. He’s holding her by the waist, pointedly avoiding her soulmark so as not to anticipate his marriage vows entirely.

He’s quite certain that if he went for his name, now, he’d simply keep going.

She kisses as he always knew she would, all spirit and curiosity and passion. She’s making the sweetest little noise as she kisses him - perhaps somewhere between a hum of contentment and a moan of ardour - and he’s -

Ah.

That’s a pointed cough, some few feet behind them.

That’s one of their chaperones reminding them what’s what, presumably.

The two of them pull apart, and reluctantly so. James can still feel Connie’s hand over her name, in fact, as if she’s determined to hold on tight.

And then -

“I love you.” He whispers for her ears alone.

“I love you.” She echoes, smiling bright as the sun.

Hmm.

He expects that this might well be the best dinner of his life.

He leans away just a little more - just enough to catch her mother’s eye and offer the lady a tentative smile.

“Ahm - evening, Lady Cho. Good evening. It is cheery to see you after all these months. I feel I should apologise for the manner of my greeting Connie but - ahm - you know how it is. I’m rather attached to her and I haven’t seen her in quite some time.”

He’s less than half-done with that speech by the time Connie starts laughing very loudly indeed, hiding her face against his neck.

Good God. He could like that very well for a way of getting along, in future. He could like a married life where she’s often hiding her laughter against his neck.

All the same, he tries to give her mother at least a bit of attention, as he thinks a good, dutiful son-in-law should.

Lady Cho seems to find the whole situation more amusing than scandalous, too, thank goodness.

“I’m sure there’s no need to apologise, Lord Fife. I’m only glad to see my daughter so happily settled. I believe this is just exactly what every parent wants for their child, is it not?”

“Well, now - it’s certainly what we wanted for our James. It’s just exactly what we always hoped for, isn’t it, pet? We hoped he’d be happily matched with his Miss Constance Cho. We hoped that right from when he was a tiny boy.” His Pa offers, because of course he does.

“Mmm. We hoped he’d be happy, and evidently he is.” His Ma agrees.

“Indeed - I’d say my Connie seems quite happy with her circumstances, too.” Lady Cho offers, dry.

Connie is still laughing against his neck, as it happens. James can’t help but notice that. He hopes she never stops, frankly - only he fears that might not be practical.

They do manage to leave the entrance hall, at that stage. Lady Cho suggests a few moments in the drawing room until dinner is served. Connie suggests that she and James might go on a great expedition around the gardens alone together during that time, and is met with a full set of frowns from all the parents and brothers in attendance.

James finds it quite funny, much as he might have liked a bit of privacy in the gardens to follow after that kiss.

So -

“I thought that was a good idea, soulmate.” He whispers to her as they wander into the drawing room.

“Oh - thank you. Have I ever mentioned that you are wonderfully encouraging? You’re ever so good for me.”

“I do try.”

“It’s a shame we’re not to be allowed outside. I have been dreaming for some weeks of showing you my latest progress with the garden and perhaps sneaking in a little kissing practice.”

“We can make that a dream for after the wedding, perhaps. Next week, no one will be able to stop us from sneaking into the garden alone together. Indeed - we’ll have a garden which is entirely our own.”

“I’m ever so excited for that part.”

“Will you need any help packing the plants you’re to take with us? I haven’t a clue how a person would transport a hosta. Will you need my assistance?”

“That’s ever so kind of you, soulmate, but I think I’ll do better off without you.” She tells him, lips twitching. “To be sure, I prefer to be with you for at least nine tasks out of ten, but I think the delicate potting and packaging of hostas is perhaps a task best attended to alone, by an expert, and without distractions.”

“Mmm. You likely have it right.” He agrees, not greatly concerned. He might occasionally fence alone, and she might occasionally pot alone, and it doesn’t make their soulbond any weaker - if anything, the opposite is true. He understands that, now.

She hums a little, pats at his knee, leans into his side.

It occurs to him that there’s something he’d like to say. “I like that for a dream - that dream you lately mentioned of showing me the gardens and kissing practice along the way. I’ve been having a good many dreams like that lately. I think I’d call them small dreams or everyday dreams, perhaps - not dreams about how many children we’ll have or whether my father will buy us a townhouse or exactly what we’ll do to celebrate new year, but little thoughts about… about being quietly at home together, I suppose. Scenes like the ones we shared when you visited in the summer. My favourite small daydream presently is that we might try to do a bit of batting and bowling practice even in the winter, and occasionally snow might stop play.”

“Oh - I think that sounds like the best dream I ever heard.” She tells him with feeling, squeezes a little more firmly at his leg. “I have those sorts of dreams all the time, too. I lately thought of how much fun it might be to choose books for one another, rather than ourselves, the first time we go shopping for books.”

“I like that. And breakfast - we must give some consideration to breakfast. I’d like to plate your breakfast from time to time. It seems to me that breakfast is something a married soulmate couple can do either very well indeed or very poorly.”

“Mmm. Your parents are like that?”

“Yes. They were always hopeless at breakfast until the middle of last season.”

“I expect we’ll get along with breakfast very well indeed. We always do in my daydreams, you know. In my daydreams you develop a taste for crumpets simply to flatter me because I like them so well.”

He laughs. “That does sound like something I would do.”

“I dream of the marriage bed, too.” She tells him now, utterly matter of fact.

He coughs on his own shock - but he’s still half-laughing, too - and it comes out as the oddest splutter. “The marriage bed?”

“Yes. I’ve read a little about such things, so I do sometimes have little everyday dreams about fragments of the marital act, I suppose. But… mostly I dream of how we’ll be, not what we’ll do. I dream about how encouraging and kind you’ll be while I’m new to the act, and then I dream of how confident and curious I’ll be when I have the hang of it.”

“You’ll be a proficient within days, I expect.”

“There’s one specific thing I dream of for… after.” She tells him now, shoots him a shy smile. “I know it’s odd - but ever since I first saw your soulmark, I have been thinking of how it would be if I embraced you, my front to your back. I recall that conversation we had once upon a time about your soulmark being like me wrapping an arm around your shoulders, but I don’t think that’s sufficient, James. I think I must practice the art of giving you a proper cuddle from behind so that our soulmarks touch, my chest to your shoulders.”

It’s possible he melts at that.

It’s possible that he simply does melt, like an overheated cherry ice on a warm summer’s day.

He’s simply never heard anything so sweet in all his life. And as he hears it, he thinks of her name across his shoulders, thinks of the way he often has felt it as a sort of embrace, before now, and finally - finally, at long last - he thinks he understands the situation completely. He thoroughly and absolutely comprehends why his soulmark is how it is, and why hers is how it is, and why Constance Cho is the only possible wife in the world for him.

In fact - he’s perhaps wilting in relief, as much as he’s melting at her sweet words. He suddenly feels all soft and content like a sleepy barn cat, rather than a lion with his hackles up.

He simply reaches his arms around her, there in her mother’s drawing room, for a swift, exuberant cuddle.

“You - Constance Cho - are the most perfect… the most perfect person on this earth, and I love you.” He whispers, warm, chuckling at his own daft enthusiasm.

She’s giggling, squeezing him playfully with an arm around those shoulders she evidently likes so well.

“I must object, there, James G. Fife. I truly think I must. For I must insist that you are the most perfect person on this earth, and that I love you a good deal more.” She informs him, mock-solemn.

“We’ll never agree about that.”

“Mmm. Perhaps we should spend the rest of our lives trying to reach an objective answer.”

“There’s a good scheme.” He agrees at once. “We shall have to marry and spend all our lives together in order to seek the truth.”

“Oh - what an excellent plan. I rather wonder that I didn’t think of it myself first. Here - how about next Tuesday? What if we meet at Grosvenor Chapel at eleven? Will that suit?”

“How convenient. I am by some remarkable coincidence available to marry you at Grosvenor Chapel at eleven next Tuesday.” He agrees brightly.

“I can’t wait.”

“Me neither, soulmate. Me neither.”

…….

James wakes on the morning of his wedding day in very high spirits indeed.

He intends to marry Miss Constance Connie Cho, and it makes perfect sense to him. He was never so satisfied with a plan in all his life. It’s the logical product of a lifetime of careful reflection, of personal progress on his part, of considered conversation with the people who matter most to him. Indeed - nothing has ever felt so logical and obvious to him in all his life before. He loves her, and by some miracle she loves him. By helpful coincidence, they’re even soulmates - but he has in mind on his wedding day, more than ever before, that he did begin to fall in love with her first. He did decide she was the most ideal woman long before he realised she was his soulmate.

He intends to make her very happy. He thinks he likely is equal to that task, but if he finds that he is not, he will simply have to learn and grow and do better. A chap is often capable of making progress even with things which make him fretful or squiffy, if only he perseveres and asks for help when he must. Why - he knows his parents will help him along if he needs them.

He knows Connie will help him along, just so long as he tells her the honest truth, if ever he finds himself in a muddle.

He knows they’ll find their way together. They always, always do.

That’s what he’s thinking, as he stands by the altar and waits for the bride. He has heard it said that a chap often feels nervous on his wedding day, but he’s feeling nothing of the sort. He never felt so confident and settled in all his life.

He’s simply so excited about the future he could squeal with glee.

He has his father standing up with him this morning. It’s his father who stands by his side at the front of the church, minding the rings and waiting for the bridal party to appear. He knows that’s an unusual choice, but he’s a good deal closer with his Pa than with any of his chums his own age. His Pa is the one who pushed him to marry Connie from the very first, too.

He does feel a little badly about keeping his Pa and his Ma apart, even for a few minutes, on this happy day. But his Ma seems perfectly bright and content where she’s owning the family pew all by herself in her own right, for now, and they’ve arranged things so that his Pa will go to sit with her just as soon as his duty is done.

He turns to address his Pa with a thoughtful question, now.

“Do you suppose Connie will arrive on time? Brides are said often to be late on their wedding day, but I can’t imagine Connie being late to anything. Why - I am much more prone to lateness than she is, and I’ve been here a quarter-hour already.”

“She’ll be here prompt as anything, son. Just you wait and see. Your Miss Constance Cho is far too fond of you to spend a minute longer unmarried to you than she must. I’m surprised that the two of you have managed to wait for today, frankly. I said to your mother that I wouldn’t have been at all surprised if the pair of you had eloped at the tail-end of last week.”

James laughs at that. “Truly? You thought we might do that? Surely you understood it was important to both of us to have our families here today?”

“Well, now - I understood that perfectly, but I still thought you might run off to Scotland. You two are daft over each other, if you ask me - and that’s just as it should be. A chap should be a bit daft over loving his soulmate. Why - I’m daft about your mother all the time. And just yesterday, she - ahm - yes. I’d best stop there. That bit of music must bid me stop there. That’ll be the bride.”

Today, this morning, for the first time in his entire life, James witnesses his father falling silent by choice, evidently realising that there is something more interesting and important afoot.

Wonders never cease.

So -

“Thank you, Pa.” He whispers, squeezes him on the shoulder.

Then he steps forward to meet his fate. He steps a little closer to the altar, to the dreamy future which waits beyond. He steps closer to Connie, entering the church at the other end of the aisle, with a smile splitting her cheeks and his name written across her bosom.

Constance Cho. His soulmate. The most ideal woman on this earth - and soon to go by Lady Connie Fife.