Chapter Text
Daisy called at the side entrance to the great house, where tradesmen came, and servants from other houses. She knew this was the convention of the day and it didn’t bother her. Well, some conventions of the day did bother her, really, but she simply smiled and let them flow around her. There was no sense in being outraged by the things she had, in a sense, volunteered for; and so much satisfaction in playing her part to perfection, knowing she had powers beyond what anyone she encountered could comprehend. Such as the cook, who looked at her askance on the doorstep and barely deigned to take the card from her, which proved she had an appointment with His Lordship. Daisy just smiled, and entered the kitchen when bid.
She took off her hat but left her gloves on, and the little coat that covered her otherwise fashionably low neckline. A maid escorted her silently through a grand hall, which Daisy gazed up at without shame. She could live like this whenever she wanted; but she liked a bit of adventure now and then. Sometimes it was necessary to catch the quarry she wanted most.
The maid rapped on a door and was allowed to enter, leading Daisy into a grand library stretching two stories tall. The books buzzed and hummed in her perception, filling her with energy and, admittedly, a certain amount of greed. She wanted to gobble them all down, stuff herself with them and suck them dry. The imagery amused her and she found herself smiling pleasantly as she faced the man behind the huge desk at the center of the room, even though he was obviously a very serious man who didn’t hold with the frivolity of smiling.
“Your Grace,” she greeted, and curtsied somewhat.
He glanced up at her, then did a double-take—something few people probably had the privilege of witnessing—then frowned even more than he already had been. “Margaret Fortescue?” he asked sharply.
“Yes, Your Grace,” she confirmed. “I go by Daisy.”
He shook his head and took a breath as though he didn’t know what the world was coming to, then went back to the letter he’d been writing. Daisy waited patiently, her eyes roaming the shelves of books, alighting on various titles eagerly. After a moment the Duke signed his letter with a flourish that Daisy felt she was meant to notice. He shook sand over the ink to dry it, then dumped this off into a tray and folded the heavy paper. He dripped red wax from a candle onto it and sealed it with the heavy signet ring he wore. This important and dignified business concluded, he looked back up at Daisy.
“These are orders to the Governor of Sydney,” he told her solemnly, “authorizing that my godson be appointed Deputy Commissioner.”
“You have great faith in his abilities, Your Grace,” Daisy commented politely.
“Yes,” he agreed, though with slight reluctance. “He’s a very intelligent lad, well-educated, honorable. Perhaps… not the most sensible all the time,” he admitted. “Hasn’t seen much of the world.”
“You supply the voyage, Your Grace,” Daisy replied knowingly, “and I will supply the sense.”
The Duke nodded, gazing at her assessingly. Daisy was unperturbed. “You come very highly recommended,” he noted. “You’re not quite what I was expecting.”
Daisy smiled, understanding what he meant. It was a tactful way to put it. “Granted, I stand out somewhat,” she conceded, with her dark skin and hair. “It does not impede my work.”
“You’ve been on ships before?” he quizzed.
“Yes, I accompanied Lady Parkhurst’s daughter to India,” Daisy informed him. “I’ve also been to the American colonies and many points around the Mediterranean.”
“Never Australia?”
“No. I look forward to it.”
The Duke was silent for a moment, then frowned. “Didn’t realize Lady Parkhurst had a daughter,” he commented.
“I beg your pardon, she is Lady Bathgate now.” Daisy let this sink in as he realized that Cynthia Parkhurst, now Lady Bathgate, was not much younger than he was, and long ago it was that she was an unmarried girl sailing to India. Then he nodded slowly.
“Shall we discuss the particulars?” he asked in a business-like tone, leaning forward.
This change, from skepticism to belief, was always a gratifying one. But Daisy was not ready to sign the contract yet. “I would like to meet him first,” she stated. “I must see if I am comfortable with him.”
“I’ve told you, he’s a fine, upstanding young man—“
Daisy did not interrupt the Duke, but let him stop himself when he saw her expression. “Nonetheless, I must judge for myself whether to take the commission.” She was not a lowly merchant grateful for whatever scrap a nobleman might throw her way. She could pick and choose her jobs. Of course she had no intention of letting this job slip past her, but the Duke didn’t need to know that.
He seemed to find this acceptable in any case. “He’s out in the garden. I’ll have a servant—“ He reached for a bellpull and Daisy put up a hand to stop him.
“If you please, Your Grace, I would rather encounter him on my own.” The Duke made a gesture of allowance, and Daisy curtsied again, took two steps back, then turned and left the library, her heart panging to be away from all the books. She would be back among them soon enough. Now, as she approached the back door, her heart beat faster, but for a different reason.
She removed her gloves and coat, leaving them on a table. They would find their way back to her. Then she stepped out into the bright sunlight of the garden, threading her way through the cool hedges until she saw him.
Tall, of course. Hair slightly gingery in color. He walked with his hands behind his back and spine ramrod straight, as a proper gentleman should. His back was to her, but she knew he would be young, by certain standards—young to be a Deputy Commissioner, anyway. But he was upper-class and had lived a sheltered life, surrounded only by his own kind, which would make him seem younger as well.
Daisy slipped down the path on the other side of the hedge from him and came out ahead of him, slowing her walk to the pace of one also out enjoying the garden. She didn’t look at him, seemed not to notice him in fact, but made sure he was able to observe her fully. Then she wobbled and fainted, or pretended to.
His response was gratifyingly immediate. “Miss? Miss!” She struggled not to react to his voice; it felt like a lifetime since she’d heard it last.
A shadow fell over her as he knelt in the grass beside her. “Miss?” He brushed a strand of hair out of her face but otherwise didn’t touch her—that would hardly be proper. “Brookings!” he shouted instead.
There was always a servant within shouting distance of a wealthy person. “Yes, sir?” said the butler, popping up.
Now that they were no longer alone, it was alright to touch her, given the urgent nature of the situation. “The lady has fainted,” he told the servant, carefully scooping Daisy up in his arms. “Fetch smelling salts and a brandy.”
“But sir—“
“Brookings! Now!”
The servant had not failed to note that this ‘lady’ was rather unusual in appearance, but the young master carried her purposefully anyway, commanding others with the arrogance of one who had always been obeyed. Daisy tried to stay limp in his arms—he obviously had little experience carrying women about, which was probably good overall, but her head wobbled at an uncomfortable angle. If she had really fainted she supposed it wouldn’t matter to her. After a moment shade passed over her face and she was set down on a hard surface—possibly a bench in the nearby gazebo.
Now what would he do? She would be rather disappointed if he used this moment to cop a feel, as they would one day say—it wouldn’t stop her from taking his commission, she’d just have to be sterner with him. But no, he was dabbing her face with a damp cloth, going no lower than the top of her throat. Daisy decided it was time to open her eyes.
His eyes blazed blue above her. “Don’t try to move,” he told her. “Just lie still. You must’ve been overcome by the heat.”
It was not really that hot. But why else would a lady faint? “Thank you,” Daisy told him. “You’re very kind.”
There was no spark of recognition in his eyes, which worried her. “Are you alright?” he wanted to know. “Did you hit your head?”
“I think I’m alright,” Daisy assured him. She started to sit up and he moved to help her, a strong arm behind her back and a large hand on hers.
Brookings reappeared with a small vial and a glass of brandy. “Sir—“ he began hesitantly, but the young man lifted the brandy from his hand and pressed it on Daisy.
“Here, drink this quickly,” he insisted. “It will help.”
Well, brandy always helped, didn’t it? Daisy downed the glass, remembering to cough and sputter a bit afterwards as if she wasn’t used to it. The butler had brought her the cheap kind anyway, and narrowed his eyes at her as if he found her a charlatan. “Thank you,” Daisy repeated, wiping at her eyes.
He handed her his handkerchief. “Edmund Talbot,” he introduced, dismissing the butler with a wave of his hand.
“Daisy Fortescue,” she told him, letting him take her fingers briefly.
Her eyes roamed over his fine clothes—he had never known life without them, or without a servant who came and went at his whim. It could be a hard voyage for him, and Australia was hardly developed either. She tactfully ignored his eyes roaming over her, making his own assessment.
“Do you, er, work here, Miss Fortescue?” he asked her delicately.
“No,” she replied with a smile. “Do you, Mr. Talbot?”
Surprise crossed his face, and a smidge of offense, but he gallantly batted it away. “No, I’m here visiting my godfather.”
Daisy sat up a little more so she could face him better. “I’m also here visiting your godfather,” she revealed to him, keeping the slight smile on her face. “I know who you are, Edmund Talbot. And I know you’re going on a long journey soon.”
Daisy did not really try to be mysterious. Okay, maybe a little bit. The secret, she found, was not riddles or spooky voices, but a confident air and a smile no one knew the reason for. “Yes, I’m going to Australia,” Edmund answered slowly, as if wondering how she could possibly have known.
“Your godfather has asked me to go with you,” Daisy informed him, watching his eyes widen. “As your servant, and bodyguard.”
“Oh. Really,” he answered with polite skepticism. Then he frowned. “Are you a—“
“We don’t like to say the word aloud,” Daisy warned him, which was a bit of nonsense.
“Oh. I beg your pardon,” he apologized politely. “But you can… perform magic?” Clearly he’d heard this rumored about society, but likely never met someone like Daisy before. Despite how people liked to talk, those with her abilities were extremely rare, and did not hire themselves out lightly.
“I can.” Daisy knew he wanted a demonstration—everyone always did, and she couldn’t really blame him, she seemed to this society someone who should be especially weak and powerless, barely above a child. She held out her hand for his, which he gave readily. “You stubbed your toe this morning,” she diagnosed with some amusement. “On a book that you fell asleep reading, which fell to the floor.” She could sense the stubbornness in him, the determination to keep reading even though his eyes were drooping shut.
“Mightn’t you have learned that from the servants?” Edmund asked delicately.
This did not offend Daisy. “You did swear in a rather loud, ungentlemanly fashion,” she reminded him with a smile. “I’ll fix it for you.”
People in this age just got used to living with aches and pains, even those considered young and healthy, and Daisy could tell the moment that he registered the lack of soreness in his foot. He blinked rapidly and his toes flexed in his stiff boot. Then he smiled at Daisy.
“Well, that is remarkable,” he commented pleasantly. He was not exactly impressed though. “Perhaps it was getting better on its own, though.” That was good breeding—to be excruciatingly tactful even when doubting her.
“Perhaps,” Daisy allowed. “Look down.”
Edmund did, and then wobbled in a very undignified way, long limbs flailing as he realized they were floating considerably above the seats in the gazebo. Daisy held tight to his hand and reached for the other one. “Calm yourself,” she advised in a soothing tone. “Put your feet down, like you’re standing.”
He did so, and could just barely brush the floor if he pointed his toes. Then he tucked his knees up experimentally, looking like he’d been caught in mid-jump. “Well that is most remarkable,” he repeated, with upper-class understatement, but Daisy thought he got her point.
“Stand up,” she said, and lowered him onto his feet. It took her rather longer to reach the ground herself.
“Servant and bodyguard,” he repeated, now convinced she had the skills for it. “My godfather is most generous.”
Daisy let go of his hands. “Well, he hasn’t heard my terms yet,” she remarked lightly. “He may not agree.” Didn’t hurt to remind people that she was in charge of her own destiny here. “You may not agree, Mr. Talbot,” she added, with one of those smiles for no reason. With that she nodded her head at him and left him standing there in the gazebo—she was a servant, yes, but one who came and went at her own whim, not anyone else’s.
Back inside she put her coat on again, knowing the Duke preferred modesty, but left her hands uncovered, the better to assess the situation. She could intuit many things just by ‘looking’ but touch could help sharpen the picture. She reentered the Duke’s library and this time he acknowledged her more quickly.
“You spoke to him, then.”
She imagined the butler had already been in tattling on her. “Yes, he is all that you promised,” she assured him. “Intelligent and honorable, but perhaps a bit naïve.” The Duke could hardly deny that. “I will take the commission.”
“Excellent,” he replied levelly, as if he hadn’t doubted this outcome for a moment. Of course not; he was a duke, and almost always got what he wanted. “What are your terms?”
From her wristlet Daisy pulled a contract which really should not have fit in there and presented it to him. “I will see him safely to Australia, and I reserve the right to stay with him longer, by mutual consent,” she explained in a businesslike tone. She somehow didn’t think the Duke would like the plan she had in mind for his godson, no, not at all, but maybe in Australia they would have a little more breathing room. “He will not be permanently harmed or disfigured by any injury, illness, or deprivation, though there may be some suffering, especially if he is stubborn,” she added dryly.
“Builds character,” the Duke snorted without concern, squinting at the contract. “How much?”
He meant money. “No cash,” Daisy said, which made him glance up in surprise. “I would like to look around your library,” she told him speculatively, “and have as my own such books as we might agree upon.”
“Yes, I heard you liked books,” the Duke replied, as if he found this rather peculiar. He was sitting in a magnificent library of his own, but it was possible the collection was more about monetary value, or prestige, than the pursuit of knowledge and enjoyment. Daisy was confident she could make an advantageous deal in that environment.
“One other point,” she noted. “I will need to be part of his household for at least a week prior to departure, to acclimate to his habits. There is also the matter of sealing the contract.”
The Duke raised an eyebrow. He was no fool and had researched the matter thoroughly. “Blood exchange? Bit barbaric, isn’t it?”
Daisy smiled at him. “Well personally I prefer the… intimate relations method,” she explained delicately. “Only if he is amenable, of course. I would not want to start our relationship with any coercion.”
The Duke snorted again, unable to imagine how a young woman would coerce a man into being intimate with her against his will. It was like being afraid you would outrace your horse on foot.
“I doubt he’ll object,” he replied succinctly. This was an era in which young men were expected to sow a few wild oats—with women of lower social standing, and some discretion—before settling down with an appropriately chaste and suitably well-born young woman. Yet naturally, no one thought very highly of the women they had such flings with. As far as the society’s gender politics went, Daisy found this one of the less odious rules, which told you something right there. She actively positioned herself as outside the usual categories—like the alcohol a teetotaler sipped for medicinal purposes.
“Good,” Daisy replied simply. She gazed purposefully around the library. “Shall we begin?”
**
Later that evening, Edmund slipped into his godfather’s study, as the Duke knew he would. He was too intelligent not to have questions. “Your Grace,” he began after being acknowledged and engaging in the usual pleasantries, “I met a curious young woman in the garden today.”
“I suppose that’s one word for her,” the Duke replied, allowing him to sit. “Did she explain herself?”
Edmund was remembering hovering several feet above the ground, and also how normal his black-and-blue toe looked when he’d checked. “She said she was to be my servant and bodyguard on the voyage,” he described. “Due to her… magical abilities.”
“Exactly,” the Duke agreed. “Her kind are rare and hard to persuade. But no one’s ever been lost when they were attended on a voyage by one of them.”
“You are most generous to arrange it,” Edmund told him quickly, which the Duke acknowledged. “But, sir, is it really entirely… proper?”
The Duke raised an eyebrow. “How so?”
As a gentleman, Edmund danced around the subject. “I understand quarters aboard the ship can be rather close,” he said leadingly. “And she is a rather young girl…”
The Duke snorted. “She only looks like a young girl. And a dark one at that,” he replied bluntly. “But she’s been around long enough to see more than you or I have got, that’s for certain.” He waved this concern off. “Others may look askance, ‘tis true, though as you say on a ship quarters are close and people learn to mind their own business.” The Duke was an old hand at ships, though his godson was a novice.
Edmund nodded dutifully, though the Duke could see he was not entirely at ease with the idea. He was confident this Daisy would prove her worth once they got underway, however, between the treacherous seas and the hostilities with the French. “She’ll be joining your household staff next week, to get used to things,” the Duke added. “And the contract has to be sealed, to bind her to you for its duration.”
The way he said this made Edmund sit up more alertly. “Sealed, sir?”
“These pagan magical folk have their customs,” the Duke said dismissively, as if it was a mere trifle. “When she joins your household you should take her to bed.”
He was amused by the slight widening of Edmund’s eyes, which he tried to conceal. “Sir?”
“Come, you’ve bedded a lass before, haven’t you?” the Duke admonished lightly.
“Yes, sir.”
“And this one is pretty enough, despite her color, don’t you think?”
Edmund thought back to her deep brown eyes, angelic features, skin an exotic chocolate shade he’d rarely seen and never up close. There was a distinct pause before he remembered he was supposed to answer a question. “Yes, sir.”
The Duke, being a man of the world, did not fail to notice his reaction or its meaning and smirked a bit, conspiratorially. “Then it will hardly be a chore for you,” he concluded. “And it will seal the contract. Which is necessary,” he added sternly. He decided not to mention that there were alternative methods.
“Yes, sir,” Edmund replied quickly, obediently. “Will it be required just the once, or…?” he inquired slowly.
The Duke rolled his eyes, thinking he’d made this point already. “Once to seal the contract, and then afterwards as you like,” he replied gruffly. What was so difficult about this concept? In his younger days no saucy serving wench had been safe from the Duke, and he didn’t even get magical protection from it—just the opposite, in fact. “Consider it a bonus.” Edmund nodded quickly, sensing his displeasure. “You’d be wise to listen to her advice as well,” the Duke went on. “On seafaring matters and so forth. It may be galling but she does have considerably greater experience in those matters. You’d be a fool to ignore her.” Though he expected his godson to survive the voyage no matter what—that was in the contract.
“Yes, sir.”
“Alright, you may go,” the Duke dismissed, and Edmund left his library quickly. Somehow the grand old man always made him feel like a child, who could do nothing but bob his head and answer ‘yes, sir’ to everything. It was appropriately respectful, he supposed as he made his way to his chamber, but hardly indicative of the strength of character necessary for a Deputy Commissioner, making difficult decisions, commanding others to carry them out.
This was an unusual relationship his godfather had set up for him, and he just wanted to know more about what was expected—was she Daisy, or Miss Fortescue? ‘Miss Fortescue’ did seem a bit formal if they were supposed to be intimate. Edmund was no stranger to a tumble with a dairy maid or a governess of lax morals (pity her charges!), but Daisy seemed like a different creature altogether. And he’d never had an… ongoing arrangement with anyone before. Some of his friends could be a little cruel, he sometimes felt, charming girls with lies and laughing at them later—it didn’t really seem proper. But then there were a lot of things that one authority said was bad, and another authority said was fine—drinking, fornicating, dueling, and using magic all came to mind rather quickly, for example. So it was difficult to know how to behave as a gentleman should, even though you’d think after all these years, and so many excellent tutors and role models, he would have perfected it.
To be honest Edmund had some anxieties about this voyage, and the post he was traveling to. He was certain this was not gentlemanly, and alternatively tried to stuff them away and reason himself out of them. Neither approach worked completely. And now he would have one more confusing factor to deal with, who was supposed to be a help. Edmund sighed and reached for his book, reminding himself firmly to be less of a worrier.
**
In another part of town, after dark, Daisy moved through the streets in a large cloak that concealed her from curious eyes. She was in one of the rougher parts of town, with an alehouse on every corner and drunks and ruffians loitering in the shadows. She wasn’t afraid, though; why should she be? No one would bother her. And no one did.
She ducked into a small alehouse, the air warm and slightly sour, and threaded her way through the crowd to the back, as though she was gliding through water and emerging still dry. Sometimes she didn’t know how ordinary people could stand to live in this world, without her abilities—and of course, many didn’t. Half the people in this room would be dead in five years’ time.
The man at the corner table was unlikely to be one of them, though. He looked up as he sensed her approach, then caught the eye of a serving girl and ordered another mug of ale and a bowl of stew. Slightly different from the fare they’d been preparing in the Duke’s kitchen.
They did not need to greet each other. “Did you get the contract?” John asked, as if there was any doubt.
“Yes,” Daisy assured him. “And some very good books as well. The Duke is not much of a reader.”
“And did you see him?”
Daisy sampled her stew, automatically converting it to something nutritious and tasty, which it was not originally. “I did,” she promised John. She would not leave him begging for details, when he had waited so long. “He didn’t recognize me.”
“You’re sure?” He didn’t really doubt her; there had to be some reason Edmund Talbot hadn’t found them on his own. “He’s not too young, is he?”
Daisy shook her head. “My guess would be childhood head injury,” she assessed.
“G-d, not again.”
Daisy shrugged; the world was a brutal place, even for those of privilege. “He is polite and honorable, though also naïve and a bit stubborn,” she added thoughtfully.
John frowned. “Really?” That didn’t sound like the person he was expecting.
Daisy smirked slightly. “Oh, the arrogance is still there,” she assured him, and this made John relax. “To the manor born. But definitely a kinder, gentler Magnus this time around.”
“Well that should be interesting,” John commented, knocking back his ale.
“I assume you got your commission?”
“Oh yes. Chief surgeon aboard the Dauntless,” he reported. “Seems their previous fellow just up and deserted.”
“How unfortunate.” Of course, fortune had nothing to do with it; they had carefully planned every detail. “I’m to join his household soon and seal the contract.”
Daisy said this matter-of-factly, but still noted the pang that crossed John’s face. This was not a society amenable to same-sex relations, and if Magnus wasn’t there to remember him, Edmund Talbot would certainly be opposed to the very notion. So Daisy would get to keep him close—that would be unconventional enough for this society—and John would have to watch from afar. Well, John Watson or Bay, depending on how you looked at it; Bay had more experience separating love from lust when it came to Magnus, but John had been living with forbidden longings for a while now, most of his mortal existence on this round.
After a moment he shrugged and drained the rest of his ale, and gave Daisy a rueful smile. “It’s all set, then,” he pronounced, with some satisfaction.
“Yes,” she agreed. “But it will be a difficult voyage. He may not be easy to manage.”
“Wouldn’t have it any other way,” John claimed.
**