Title:

Title: An Acceptable Arrangement

Author: Christi (daisycm83@gmail.com)

Rating: PG-13, but um, not really at all.

Timeline: If you think this falls somewhere in the show’s actual timeline, I would check the expiration date on your medication. It’s obviously not working properly.

Category: Austen!verse (Which is very, very AU.)

Pairing: Shep/Weir UST. And seriously, look at that U there. Do not read this story if it’s going to bother you. I don’t want rageful emails at the end bemoaning the lack of closure. Don’t say I didn’t give you fair warning, because this is me, giving you warning. Also, a tiny little bit of established Sam/Jack and Vala/Cameron.

Disclaimer: Did the high boots and petticoats give me away? Yeah, I thought so.

Author’s Note: Okay, I’m not really certain how much of the Sam/Jack fandom from SG-1 overlaps with the Shep/Weir fandom. I figure it’s probably a good bit, but just in case, I’m going to go through a quick explanation here. Basically, awhile back I wrote this really bizarre AU where the characters of SG-1 were all sort of transposed into a bad Jane Austen knock-off situation. Anyway, it sort of spun into this series thing, and of course the Atlantis people had to get in on the action. (Well, my brain dictated that it was necessary, anyway.)

You don’t really have to read the previous stories in Austen!verse to understand this fic. (Though if you would like to, they can be found at my website, http://literatiwannabe.the-family-archives.com) I mean, events will be kind of referred to, but not really anything essential. Just…go with the silliness, accept it as it is, and you’ll be fine. (Oh, and any historical/political stuff? Total crap. Completely made it up. Just…don’t pay attention to the girl behind the curtain.)

As always, I have to thank my beta readers, thekatebeyond, caroly_214, and raisintorte. Without raisintorte, Austen!verse never would have happened. Without thekatebeyond, I never would have gotten the guts to post it. Without caroly_214, Austen!verse (and really life in general) would just suck. So, thank you. Also, thank you to the many, many, many people who I have ranted and raved and rambled at, who have plotted with me and listened to me bitch and whine and moan. (jennukes? aj? karma_aster? I’m looking at you, here.)

“Evil to some is always good to others.”

~Emma

Despite Gateshire’s undeniably convenient proximity to the Atlantic, the small country town had never been considered as a prospective home for any of the many naval enterprises that British society expected as a matter of routine. The exact reason for this oversight could only be speculated upon, but as it is particularly difficult to miss what you have never had, no one bothered.

Of course, this all changed when John Sheppard arrived in Gateshire.

Being the second (and his parents might claim, lesser) son of a barely landed country gentleman, John had from his birth been expected to make his own way in the world. As he had no particular religious inclination and a tendency to stumble through speeches rather than imbue them with any kind of import, the military seemed to be the most logical (and frankly, the last) recourse left to him.

His life would have been entirely spent soldiering had it not been for the simple fact that, for as long as he could recall, John Sheppard had possessed a remarkable proficiency with numbers. As a single man with no financial obligations, his pay stipend often exceeded what he required for day-to-day living. With this residual income, John was known to make frequent and, as it turned out, often exceptionally prosperous investments.

As a result, John found himself the unlikely holder of vast financial resources, much to his chagrin. As he saw no sense in continuing to garner a salary he had no use for, he resigned from the military, planning to indulge himself in the life of leisure he had unexpectedly earned.

Not two weeks after this decision, John forced himself to reevaluate. As it turned out, idleness (however leisurely it may be) did not suit him. So instead, he set about finding some use for his unanticipated windfall.

He quickly dismissed the idea of resuming his education. Becoming a barrister seemed too dreary, becoming a doctor too gory, and he certainly did not have the temperament to become a politician. No, a business venture was clearly what he needed, something entertaining and new and preferably profitable for other employees.

So Atlantis Trading and Shipping was created, born of equal parts boredom and excess wealth. John had slowly been building what he believed to be an unparalleled staff of ship captains, sailors, scientists turned shipwrights - a winning team when combined with his own financial prowess. However, as was clearly evidenced by the letter he currently held in his hand, there was one crucial component of his company missing – a diplomatic element.

“How can they claim we don’t have a permit?” he wondered aloud. “I obtained one when we began to build the boats a few months ago.”

“Ships,” muttered Rodney McKay from across the room. “They’re called ships.”

John had known that, of course – he just enjoyed Rodney’s exasperation. “Those little puddle jumpers? They hardly seem big enough.”

“That’s the point now, isn’t it? Small, but fast. Efficient. Get the goods quicker in order to stand a chance against the monolithic East India Trading Company,” Rodney retorted. “And I swear to God, if you name them all ‘Puddle Jumper 1’, ‘Puddle Jumper 2’ and so on, I’m quitting right now.”

Seeing as Rodney made similar declarations at least once a day, John foresaw no immediate threat. “That’s reason enough,” he replied cheerily, just to bait him.

“Gentlemen,” Cameron Mitchell interrupted, “Can we get back to the issue at hand?”

Turning his attention back to the letter that had just arrived in the post, John felt a distinct sense of frustration. “Yes, right. So what are we going to do about this?”

Rodney just looked at him blankly while Cameron shrugged. “I’ve no idea. I think a trip to London is required.”

John had been dreading that inevitable suggestion. “I hate London. I don’t suppose you’d be interested?”

Cameron raised his hands, a smug grin on his face. “Do I really have to point out who the owner of this company is? Besides, I’m a newlywed yet. Tearing me away from my new wife and her many charms right now would just be…cruel.”

Somehow, John suspected that six months from now, after spending weeks in close quarters at sea with his newly won spouse, Cameron would be singing a different tune. But no matter.

“I’ll go!” Rodney volunteered. “I love London. Why, the food alone….”

As happy as John would have been to pass the odious duty of hobnobbing with the privileged and repellent to someone (anyone) else, the idea of sending McKay to sort out diplomatic matters could be nothing but disastrous. “No, I’ll go. I suppose it’s my office as the head of this company. Besides, I want to see if I can find someone to take care of this sort of thing fulltime – dealing with contracts, easing the way with foreign dignitaries, opening trade possibilities in other regions. Lord knows none of us will be any good at it.”

“You could hire Jackson,” Cameron suggested. “He certainly talks enough.”

“That he does,” John admitted with a grin. “But unfortunately, I already offered the post to Mr. Jackson. He’s refused, incapable of imagining himself away from his studies so regularly. He did say if we ever need a traveling dignitary he might consider a trip or two, though. For all the good that does me now.”

“What about his protégé?” Rodney suggested. “You know, the annoyingly cheerful one.”

“Jonas Quinn. I considered it, but although he’s undeniably bright, he’s a bit on the inexperienced side, don’t you think?”

Their silence was answer enough. “No, someone new is our only recourse, though I fear it may take me at least a fortnight to sort out this whole mess.”

“It’ll take at least that long to install the rest of the new improvements on all the ships,” Rodney assured him. “Possibly longer, so there’s no hurry.”

John curbed the impulse to laugh. “Anxious to get rid of me, Rodney?”

Seeing as Rodney had never been one to bother with the charade of good manners, John should have expected his reply.

“Is it that obvious?”

While John Sheppard was packing for his reluctant trip to the city, Elizabeth Weir was swallowing a bitter pill of her own – the finalization of her wedding arrangements.

Ideally, such an event was supposed to be heralded by something other than a vague sense of dread, but Elizabeth Weir had learned long ago that reality was rarely ideal. Her impending nuptials were neither her choice nor her desire, but rather her duty – a state of affairs that she had become more than accustomed to over the years.

After the untimely death of her mother more than a decade previous, Elizabeth had been left to serve as the mistress of her father’s house – no small task for a normal household, let alone one that centered around the mercurial political world of Parliament. Thus from an early age, Elizabeth had gotten a curious insight into a world normally dominated by men and their so-called superior political minds. She had learned five languages, could manage to be seated with both a Frenchman and a Spaniard and keep things civil, and was able to gracefully navigate the steps of seventeen foreign dances in an attempt to make visiting foreign dignitaries feel friendlier towards their strained English allies. Above all, she had learned that politics had a hand in everything.

So really, it shouldn’t have surprised her when her father arranged her marriage with the same calculating eye that he had used for every previous undertaking regarding his daughter. She knew better than anyone that every move he made was a political one, and having a daughter married to the promising young Mr. Simon Narim was sure to be a beneficial arrangement for both men.

Obviously, the idea of consulting Elizabeth had never really occurred to either of them.

Still, despite her lack of involvement in the situation, she found herself curiously unemotional about the idea. Mr. Narim did not seem to be a bad sort of man – merely ambitious, an attitude to which she was accustomed. At the very least, marrying him would allow her to continue flourishing in a familiar situation, exerting what little influence she had in an attempt to guide political matters in a way few other women had the means or interest in doing. So while part of her naturally wished that she had some stronger emotion for her husband-to-be, the larger, more practical part accepted her marriage with all the grace she could manage.

If some small, romantic part of her rebelled at the idea of such a calculated union, then no one need know about it. She had long ago learned to keep her own counsel about such matters.

Still, as she laid out her dress, Elizabeth found herself curiously uninvolved. It was a beautiful gown, though simple in design, with an elaborate lace veil (a gift from her fiancé) and new white boots. The neckline, however, demanded some kind of decoration.

“That strand of pearls you have would look lovely just there, Miss,” pointed out her lady’s maid, Miss Simpson.

The thought had occurred to her, but for some reason, Elizabeth hesitated. “The pearls were my mother’s.”

“And lovely they are. The necklace is just the thing.” Simpson fetched to pearls from Elizabeth’s scantily populated jewel box, laying it against the simple neckline of the dress.

Elizabeth ran her hands over them thoughtfully. “Perhaps.” Something about the thought of wearing her mother’s pearls for this hollow ritual touched on her too often quelled sensibilities. “Come, I need to get dressed.”

With Simpson’s help, Elizabeth dressed methodically, pinning up the long dark curls of her hair and arranging the delicate veil and smoothing every wrinkle of the fine ivory satin. But when she arrived at the church and took her father’s hand for the long walk down the aisle, her neck was curiously bare of adornment.

“...from politics, it was an easy step to silence.”

~Northanger Abbey

Surprisingly, Elizabeth grew easily accustomed to married life. Most of her duties as a wife were tasks she had already been in the habit of doing for her father’s household – save for those few conjugal rights that her husband occasionally demanded. What was more, Simon had decided against the upheaval of a honeymoon trip, seeing as their wedding had just happened to correspond with the beginning of the season. As such, the nights were filled with parties and balls, where Elizabeth flourished in her new freedom as a properly wed woman. It was not long before she was quickly gaining a reputation as a promising young leader in London society, known for being beautiful, charming, and particularly intelligent.

Simon was gaining a reputation, too – though it was doubtful that being most widely renowned as Elizabeth Narim’s husband suited his lofty political ambitions.

Wisely, Elizabeth refrained from comment on this matter.

Instead, she focused on pushing whatever political agenda Simon seemed involved in this week, bantering her way to floor vote successes and smiling faces. It was a rare day that they spent at home, instead dining with politicians, lobbying interested (and most often well-funded) parties, and smoothing the way with the occasional aristocrat.

On this particular afternoon, she was on the way to witness a vote in the Lower House. Despite nearly continuous campaigning since her wedding, the direction the vote would swing was a mystery to everyone. As such, she was in a particular hurry to be on time and perhaps not paying as much attention to her surroundings as would be normally required.

Distracted as she was, Elizabeth was nearly halfway across the cobbled street before she noticed anything was amiss. When the loud sound of hooves broke her concentration, Elizabeth looked up to find herself directly in the path of an oncoming carriage that seemed to have no intention of stopping. As horrendously cliché as it was, she found herself dreadfully unable to move.

If not for the quick reflexes of a passing stranger, she had no idea what would have become of her. But as things happened, a man saw the commotion and darted in to pull her to safety. All she could recall was the echoing of furious hooves against stone and the warmth of a hand clasped around her arm.

Luckily, Elizabeth had always been quick to gather her wits. Flushed with both thanks and embarrassment, she looked at her rescuer for the first time. “I thank you,” she said quietly. “I was careless.”

Seemingly still a bit winded, the man waved his hand in dismissal. “Nonsense, the carriages are driven entirely too quickly on these side streets. It is a hazard.”

“Perhaps,” Elizabeth agreed with a smile. “But thank you all the same.”

The stranger shot a devastatingly charming smile in her direction. “I assure you, it was my pleasure,” he replied. “But now, I fear I’m going to be tardy for a meeting with the Magistrate, so if you’ll excuse me….”

At that she frowned, eyeing him with a neutral eye before deciding to speak cautiously. “If you’ll pardon my intrusion…do you mean Magistrate Everett?”

The inquiry caught his attention and he hesitated. “As a matter of fact, yes, I do. I have a business matter of some significance I’ve been told he may be able to advise me on. How did you know?”

She shrugged at that. “He’s the only magistrate with offices near here.” Still considering whether or not she should say what she was contemplating, she eyed him again. His hair was haphazard, though whether it had been that way before the commotion on the street, she could not tell. Either way, his jacket was at least two seasons old, though in good repair. But his shoes…no, it would not do. “Forgive me,” she said by way of apology, “but as you’ve been so helpful to me, I mean to return the favor.”

He raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “By all means, though we’ll have to find a carriage first. Should I jump in front of it, or would you rather push me?”

“Nothing so drastic as that,” she assured him. “I was merely going to suggest you reschedule your appointment for later in the day and change your apparel.” At his somewhat dumbfounded expression, she couldn’t help but laugh a little. “I apologize about the way that sounds, but you see, Magistrate Everett is well known for being something of a dandy. Impeccably shined shoes, the latest in tailored jackets, perfectly coiffed hair….”

Inevitably, his hand rose to his hair, as though checking to ascertain whether the chaotic mess was still in place. “I’m uncertain what you’re getting at,” he admitted after being properly reassured as to its presence.

“Just that he appreciates the same attention to appearance in others. He’ll be much more likely to help you if he…approves…of you.”

“Ah,” the man said, understanding dawning. “And here I thought those attitudes had died out with the coming new century.”

“In London?” Elizabeth retorted, amused. “Highly unlikely.”

“Yes…I do hate this city,” he sighed, following it with a bow. “Thank you for the advice, though.”

At that, she couldn’t help but laugh while she curtsied. “My pleasure.”

They each headed off in their own respective directions, and Elizabeth gave no more immediate thought to the encounter – after all, she was now ten minutes late for the vote.

It had been nearly a week since John had arrived in London, and the only thing he had managed to ascertain for certain was that he had been right to dread this trip from the first. Days of being bounced from one business official to another and the only piece of helpful advice he had gotten to date was from an unknown woman on the street, who had basically told him to comb his hair.

Thankfully, he had listened to her unique counsel, even going so far as to buy a new suit jacket – the meeting with Magistrate Everett hadn’t exactly been enlightening, but the perfectly coiffed official (as the mystery woman had put it) had managed to finagle John an invitation to the dinner party he was now milling through, a congregation of businessmen who would supposedly be able to help him with his permit problem.

Unfortunately, the only thing John had managed to accomplish thus far was seeming invisible to those men of any use at all. Everyone seemed to be worked up over some new bill that had been introduced on the Parliament floor that afternoon, something he knew absolutely nothing about. And if he did manage to find a group that weren’t discussing the new bill, then they were invariably discussing the outcome of the vote that had occurred just previous to the bill’s proposal – yet another subject for which he was ill-equipped.

Taking his place for dinner, he found himself exiled to the far corner of the long table, a placement reserved for the less desirable elements of any party – wives, retired and bored stockholders, and those with scandalously liberal opinions. Chagrined, John prepared himself for a quick and boring meal to be followed by another disappointing evening.

That is until he looked across the table to find the woman from the street this morning looking back at him.

Seemingly just as surprised as he was, she smiled. “Well, if it isn’t my street-side savior. I didn’t realize that heroes did anything so prosaic as attend dinner parties.”

“Tonight is an unfortunate exception, I assure you,” he retorted wryly. “I much prefer saving ladies from speeding carriages.”

She smiled, amused. “Of that, I have little doubt. Regrettably, you might find such heroics hard to come upon in a gathering like this.”

Seeing as the party fell short in both ladies and in speeding carriages, John couldn’t help but agree. “Very regrettable indeed,” he replied solemnly. As they both shared a smile over their own joke, he offered, “I am John Sheppard.”

She bowed her head in a small gesture of acknowledgement before countering with “Mrs. Elizabeth Narim.”

“It is nice to formally meet you, Mrs. Narim,” he said sincerely as everyone began to sit for the meal.

“The pleasure is mine, Mr. Sheppard,” she responded by what he suspected was a matter of habit as the first course was brought out. However, a spot of mischief sparkled in her eyes. “Excuse me for inquiring, but is that a new jacket?”

John fingered the fabric, sharing a smile. “As a matter of fact, it is.”

“It’s very nice,” she approved. When her eyes trailed up to his hair, however, they contained only mirth.

Compulsively, he began to reach toward it. “Well, I did try.”

She was genteel enough to at least attempt to hide her smile. “Yes, I’m sure.”

Thankfully, he was then distracted from their discussion as he eyed the plate put down in front of him, more than a little disturbed by its contents. This was the London food over which McKay had been raving?

Hearing a barely stifled snicker, John looked up to see yet another amused look on Mrs. Narim’s face. “Escargot,” she said by way of explanation. “It’s a French delicacy, and seeing as Monsieur Chirac is French….”

Monsieur Chirac was, of course, seated in the prime center of the table, surrounded by loudly disagreeing businessmen passionately arguing the new bill once again. At least one plus of being exiled from the main party and served glorified slugs was that his present state of ill information would not be exposed.

Or so he thought, until Mrs. Narim asked kindly in an attempt to begin conversation, “So, do you have an opinion on the Hayes Bill, Mr. Sheppard?”

His eyes snapped towards her, trying to judge her motives. Surprisingly, she met his gaze squarely, and he realized that she was actually trying to help him rather than embarrass him. So, rather tentatively, he replied, “You mean the…tax…plan?”

“The tax increase on merchants and landed gentry, yes,” she affirmed, seeming relieved that he had played into her question.

John couldn’t help but feel distinctly relieved himself. “Right. Well, I honestly don’t see why a mere….”

“Two percent,” she offered helpfully.

“Yes, a mere two percent increase is causing all this fuss.”

Her smile was warm and approving, though her next words were spoken in jest. “Shocking words from a businessman such as yourself.”

John merely shrugged, unrepentant. “Well, at this point I’m merely a retired military Major with business aspirations.”

She looked curious at his correction. “Are you having problems with financing then?” she inquired.

“Actually, no. Financing is the one area I seem to be able to manage with ease,” he said, unable to keep some tinge of chagrin out of his tone.

His attitude seemed to confuse her. “By no means a small feat.”

Still, he remained dismissive. “All the money in the world does me no good if I can’t figure out how to obtain the correct paperwork. And I’ve never been much for paperwork.”

She laughed. “May I inquire what area your hopeful enterprise is in?”

“Trade,” he supplied readily. “I’ve financed a small fleet of ships, employed several crews. But the dock master refuses to let them leave harbor without the correct permit – which I thought I had.”

“Hmm. Sounds like a simple problem with the Oversight Committee.”

This observation prompted some immediate and probably rather startling arm-waving from John, his frustrations now reaching their boiling point. “That’s exactly what everyone keeps telling me! Unfortunately, no one seems to be willing to part with further information.”

Her sympathy was immediate and genuine. “That’s not to be unexpected. The Oversight Committee can be a delicate subject for most business owners.”

He stabbed a snail vehemently; annoyed with political and social rules he didn’t have a hope of understanding. Before he became too enraged however, she further expanded on her first remark. “Luckily, I am not a business owner.”

When he looked back up at her, she was smiling again. “You can help me?”

“Mmm, most likely. However, I don’t really think this is an appropriate place.” She glanced down the table. “As exiled as we seem, talk spreads quickly and talk of the Oversight Committee makes these types of men very jumpy. I try to take a daily walk in Hyde Park when the weather is fine, usually just before tea time. If you would care to meet me tomorrow, I can try to explain then.”

An overwhelming sense of reprieve filled him. “I would be most grateful.”

“Think nothing of it,” she reassured him.

So because she seemed to wish it, he dropped the subject, falling into an easy and companionable silence while returning to his dubious appetizer.

“Nobody minds having what is too good for them.”

~Mansfield Park

The next afternoon was pleasant, and so Elizabeth was true to her word and set out for a walk in Hyde Park. It wasn’t long before she caught sight of Mr. Sheppard – though admittedly, his position came as a bit of a surprise.

Picking her way through the damp grass, Elizabeth was forced to hike up her skirts in order to reach his prone position on a distant slope. Gazing at his relaxed posture, she almost hated to disturb him.

Almost.

“Enjoying yourself?” she couldn’t help but tease gently.

He cracked open one eye in reply, eyeing her woefully. “I was. But now you’re blocking my light.”

Feigning an immediate contriteness, Elizabeth purposely moved further into it, completely shadowing his face. “I am sorry. Is this better?”

Luckily, his sense of humor remained constant and he just grinned at her antics. “I suppose that is your not-so-subtle way of telling me to get up?”

“Well, it’s not that I object to ambling in the grass, exactly, but I did wear my good boots. It seems a bit wasteful to ruin them simply because you object to clearly marked pathways.”

Mr. Sheppard stood obligingly, leading the way back to the cobblestone walkway. “Do you mean to say that this little visit with me was noteworthy enough to require your best footwear? I’m honored.”

She flashed a grin in his direction. “Don’t be. I have tea with the wives of several prominent Members of Parliament after our walk.”

“Ah. Sounds…dreadful,” Mr. Sheppard replied.

“You become accustomed to it,” she assured him. “Like most of London society. Speaking of which, let us talk of your predicament now.”

“Please,” he said eagerly, taking her arm in his as they strolled easily down the wooded lane.

Elizabeth was silent for a few moments, trying to sort out how to begin her explanation. “I’m rather afraid you’ll think you’ve spent the last few weeks in vain once I explain things to you. It’s simply a quirk of London bureaucracy that you’ve run into, and not at all difficult to navigate when you know it exists.”

“That’s hardly reassuring. I’m sure you’ve noticed that my talents, while easily stretched to matters like saving damsels, are not exactly suited for matters requiring a lot of…finesse.”

It would have been rude to laugh, so Elizabeth did her best to curb the impulse. “Really?”

He glared at her. “Oh, just get on with it.”

Laughing, she complied. “The Oversight Committee was originally created as a check for merchants – namely, the East India Trading Company. Certain individuals have long been concerned about the near monopoly they have on much of our trade, so a set of laws were passed that allowed a small circle of men to have intimate access to all of their private files.”

“But what does that have to do with shipping permits?”

Elizabeth smiled. “Well, how do you think they force compliance? Besides, the original role of the Committee has expanded in the last few years. Now, they have a hand in most business arenas based in London’s economic center. If you had chosen to license your business venture through Cornwall, you would have been saved much of your trouble. Then again, the problems from being based in Wales would likely prove more difficult.”

By this point, Mr. Sheppard had a pained look on his face that clearly expressed his doubt of that statement. “So, how do I clear all these charming bureaucratic hurdles?”

“Oh, it’ll be easier than you think. You see, the members of the Oversight Committee are supposed to be confidential, to avoid corruption within the system. But my father has long been friends with a man I know to be an influential member of the Committee, and I have been fortunate enough to have that friendship extend to me as well. If you like, I shall call upon him and arrange a meeting for you.”

Even through her glove, she could feel the heat of his palm as he squeezed her hand. “I would be in your debt.”

She shrugged, uncomfortable with the praise. “It is nothing.”

“I beg to differ.” After passing one more tense moment, he seemed to sense her discomfort and smiled. “And who is the man I am supposed to be meeting?”

“He is a Mr. Woolsey of the North End, but his offices are just outside of Parliament. He has long been in the King’s employ as an accounting official. He seems a bit cold at first, but as long as you have everything in compliance, he’ll be fair. Certainly more so than some of the other members of the Oversight Committee.”

“Do you mean to say that their idealistic plans of an unswerving system of checks and balances haven’t turned out exactly as they envisioned it?” Mr. Sheppard asked dryly.

Elizabeth smiled in turn. “Well, that was really the only predictable result, don’t you think?”

His laughter made her smile and though their business was now concluded, they continued their easy walk through the park, arm in arm.

The next morning, John received a note in the Post informing him that he had an appointment early that afternoon with Mr. Woolsey, should the time suit him. Seeing as John’s sole desire was to get the whole mess straightened out as soon as possible, he hurried to ready himself.

More than once on his way to the meeting, he found himself blessing the hazard of runaway horses. After all, without them he would never have formed an acquaintance with Elizabeth, and he had many a reason to be thankful for the connection.

Now waiting patiently outside of Mr. Woolsey’s offices, John found himself too nervous to sit quite still. At some point in the hassle, Atlantis Trading and Shipping had stopped being an idle pursuit and become something important to him – if it all fell apart now due to his own incompetence, he was not entirely certain that he would recover from the blow.

As such, it made perfect sense to pass the time with aimless pacing.

Idly, he wondered why there was such a delay – from every account Elizabeth had given him about Mr. Woolsey, he seemed to be the sort of man to run exactly on time. So when he began to hear the echoes of raised voices coming from within the offices, it was only natural that he listen in. Perhaps it was not quite ethical, but natural nonetheless.

He couldn’t catch every word that was being said, but the general source of discord seemed to be money, which was hardly surprising considering Mr. Woolsey’s occupation. It seemed that his visitor had made a habit of living rather outside of his means, hardly a new or particularly interesting story.

It was when the doors were flung open to reveal a livid Simon Narim that John’s interest stopped being merely idle curiosity and morphed into true alarm.

“Really, Woolsey, you must reconsider!” Mr. Narim demanded in a voice that seemed to carry a strange level of condescension for a man in his position.

“I’m afraid that I cannot. I have given you all the latitude I possibly can,” a little bespectacled man replied calmly from the door. “I would suggest that you begin to make arrangements as soon as possible for your retrenchment.”

At this pronouncement, Mr. Narim flushed a peculiar shade of red and stormed off, yelling at anyone who dared cross his path.

For his part, John was still reeling from this new and unwelcome piece of information. He did not have a chance to reel long, however, for Mr. Woolsey merely smoothed his vest down and turned to him. “I am sorry for the scene. I am afraid that Mr. Narim has always lacked a certain sense of…decorum…in private and economic matters. Do come in. I apologize for the wait.”

John followed the little man into his office and amidst talk of permits and national standards and shipping practices, the scene was pushed to the back of his mind.

“If there is anything disagreeable going on, men are always sure to get out of it.”

~Persuasion

It was nearly a week before Elizabeth’s path crossed once more with John Sheppard’s, at a local ball where she was decidedly out of spirits and he was obviously uncomfortable, though she highly doubted that one thing was related to the other.

For her part, she was still stinging from an unpleasant scene a few afternoons previous, when her normally distant husband had felt it necessary to chasten her at length over her association with John Sheppard in the park earlier in the week. While it was perhaps regrettable that her meeting with John had sparked enough interest that the gossip had reached Simon’s ears, she still thought that it was a strange thing for him to take objection to, as she often walked with his business and political allies at Simon’s request. But then, during the course of their short marriage, Elizabeth had found her husband to be a rather unpredictable man – there was never any telling what mood he’d be in on a given day.

Still, she had to admit that she’d resented the rebuke. During the course of his rant, Simon had said many unpleasant things, all of which revealed a rather disparaging view of her person as a whole. The revelation that despite her best hopes, she did not much care for her husband had not been a welcome one for her.

Nevertheless, she was here to be charming and spotting Mr. Sheppard, who she had come to think of as a good friend, was helping her mood considerably. “Good heavens, Mr. Sheppard,” she exclaimed by way of greeting, “You look positively miserable.”

He smiled a little, bowing to her. “Am I that obvious? I apologize.”

“It’s all right. But whatever is the matter? Did the meeting with Mr. Woolsey not go well? I was certain that he would be able to help you in your predicament.”

“No, he was very helpful. In fact, the matter has been completely resolved. I am preoccupied by…other matters.”

“Do you require help with them as well? For if I am to solve all of your business worries, I feel I might go into business myself,” she teased, trying to ease the decidedly stormy look off of his face.

Luckily, he did seem to find her company diverting, at least, diverting enough to cheer some. “Perhaps. I have two chief concerns right now that are keeping me in the city, and if you magically resolve these as well, I have no earthly idea how I shall ever be able to repay you.”

“Nonsense,” she insisted. “Please, share your concerns with me.”

He hesitated for a moment. “Well, firstly, I am having a good deal of trouble finding someone to hire for a chief position in my newly licensed company.”

Matters when dealing with employment were always tricky; they required a certain harmony of personalities that was often difficult to predict. “What sort of position is it?”

“Diplomatic, mainly. I need a partner who has talents with the personal sphere rather than the business. Communication, networking, trade negotiations. I’ve interviewed a few prospects, but found them all distinctly…displeasing.”

She laughed. “You mean they were too much like everyday, ambitious politicians.”

At least he had the grace to look chagrined, at which she laughed once again. “And what is the second matter concerning you?”

There was once again a long hesitation from him, and just when she felt that he might say something serious, he deviated. “I fear that I am not very good at dancing.”

While she was a bit disappointed in the statement because Elizabeth was certain that it was not was he was going to say, she shrugged it off. “Well, I believe I am able to help with both of those predicaments.”

His smile was warm. “I suspected as much. What do you suggest?”

Because she knew that he would not think her forward or inappropriate, she merely took his arm. “That you dance with me while I consider a few potential candidates for this job of yours. I’ve been told that I can make the most inept dancer seem agile.”

Obediantly, he followed her lead. “Somehow, I have no doubt of that.”

She hadn’t exaggerated her talents, and John found that dancing with Elizabeth was much like carrying on a conversation with her – she effortlessly led you exactly where she wanted you and somehow could make you believe that it had been your idea in the first place.

It was a unique talent to be sure, and it made him feel no better about keeping silent. John knew that he was somewhat socially inept, but even he knew enough of social gaffes to realize that he had no place in telling Elizabeth of her husband’s financial burdens if her husband felt that they were not of her concern.

Still, keeping it from her seemed duplicitous, somehow – she had been such help to him already that allowing her to continue in ignorance seemed the worst sort of slight he could visit upon her. Moreover, he felt confident that if Elizabeth had been privy to her husband’s financial problems from the start, there never would have been a problem.

“You’re making that face again,” she said lightly as they danced.

“Just concentrating,” he lied.

Really, he was not even privy to enough details to be of any use to her anyway. Telling Elizabeth would only bring her worry without an avenue with which to resolve it. John felt certain that leaving it alone was the best course of action.

But if that was the case, why did it feel so dreadfully wrong?

The dance finished and John looked at his partner, resolved to at least attempt some kind of revelation. “Mrs. Narim, might I ask you a personal question?”

While she looked mildly surprised at the sudden formality between them, she merely smiled. “Of course, Mr. Sheppard.”

He gathered his courage. “How long have you and your esteemed husband been married?”

Judging by the little frown on her face, she found his question a bit puzzling. “Not a month,” she finally answered, and with her response, his good intentions were dismissed.

Even John Sheppard knew that to disturb the happy content of newlyweds with news such as this was a nearly unforgivable sin. While he was completely of the belief that Elizabeth was entirely too good for her husband, there was no way he could tell her that, and it aggrieved him deeply.

“Ah,” he said hollowly. “My belated congratulations go to you, then.”

For his part, Simon Narim slipped out of the ball early, knowing that his annoyingly capable wife could find her own way home. He could not be bothered with such trivialities right now, not when everything he had worked for so many years to obtain was slipping away from him.

Really, he didn’t believe he could be blamed. Was it his fault that popularity in British politics often held a correlation to wealth? He had been raised with all the appearance of wealth without the actual possession of it, and had attempted to continue his life in this manner. Unfortunately, he seemed to be particularly unlucky in financial matters. His few modest investments were failures. His attempts at gambling for a living backfired tenfold. He chose the wrong creditors.

So now, in the face of complete economic ruin, he felt the need for a little comfort. With the last bit of money he had in his pocket, he made his way to the home of a woman he knew very well. While her reputation was certainly questionable at very best, he had always found her company particularly soothing.

Sure enough, Madame Anise welcomed him with a wide smile and always open…palms. But what did it matter now what he spent his last bit of money on?

As always, her company was pleasurable enough, and Simon Narim spent his night quite contentedly. In the morning, he dawdled over breakfast, unwilling to emerge from this brief respite into the world where he was about to fall so spectacularly from the grace of London society.

Besides, Madame Anise had just finished a fresh batch of muffins and he did enjoy a good muffin.

It was when his second muffin lodged in his throat, completely cutting off all air supply, that Simon Narim finally gave a passing thought to his wife, no doubt waiting at home.

Well, he thought as the world turned grey, she could deal with the financial problems, just as she did everything else.

He then proceeded to choke to death.

“I cannot speak well enough to be unintelligible.”

~Northanger Abbey

Simon Narim’s funeral was a perfect farce, ridiculous in its dual earnestness and scathing. Even Elizabeth could not truly profess grief in the face of her late husband’s death, having been only acquainted with him in passing and having little tender feelings for what she did know. Still, she had long been the student of convention, so a plain black dress was bought and worn faithfully while she tried to sort out what was turning out to be quite the mess her spouse had left in his wake.

At first, Elizabeth had been under the impression that her biggest social hurdle would be overcoming the stigma of the simultaneously scandalous and ludicrous way Simon had died. However, as she sorted through the many stacks of papers in her husband’s previously undisturbed study, it was becoming ever clearer that the manner of Simon’s death was the least of her worries.

In fact, as it turned out, the most praiseworthy thing that could be said of him was that he had caused her less worry in life than he was promising to do in death, and that was more due to the general state of ignorance he had kept her in than anything else. Eyeing the stack of outstanding bills that she had piled before her, Elizabeth found herself at a loss.

Just then, a gentle knock sounded on the door. When she looked up, she was surprised to see Richard Woolsey standing there. “Forgive my intrusion,” he said politely. “There was no one to introduce me, and I need to speak with you about a matter of some urgency.”

Ever courteous, she stood in greeting before motioning for him to take a seat. “I suppose these might be the cause of some of your concern?” she asked, indicating the stack of parchment in front of her.

At the very least, Mr. Woolsey had the good grace to look chagrined. “So you’ve found out then.”

“Please don’t say better late than never,” Elizabeth replied wryly.

“No,” Mr. Woolsey agreed. “This was a case where you should have been enlightened as to the state of things long ago. Several men in my circle have been trying to contrive a way to tell you for some time, but to go over a man’s head and report his financial concerns to his wife is not exactly a common practice, you know. We had little idea how to begin.”

While rationally, Elizabeth understood their predicament, it still grated upon her already frayed nerves. Wisely, she chose to gather herself before responding. “I suppose since Simon’s untimely death, the financial burden of all of this falls to me?”

Woolsey grimaced. “Yes, I am afraid so. I will hold off the creditors as long as I can, but your husband had already tried their patience considerably and even widows can use up their much abused goodwill. Is it possible that your father will be able to help at all?”

At that, Elizabeth had to laugh. “My father lives in service of the King, Mr. Woolsey. He lives well due to the advantages of position, not wealth.”

“I feared as much. Well, do let me know if there’s something I can do to help. Otherwise, I shall leave you to your mourning.”

Mourning, indeed. There was little that was mournful about how Elizabeth was feeling at the current moment. Wrathful was a much more appropriate term. If Simon had still been alive at that moment, she would have thrown every muffin she could find at him, dignity be damned.

When John had heard the news of Simon Narim’s untimely – and unusual – demise, he had known immediately that something must be done. It was deciding what exactly, that had taken him an entire fortnight, feeling a little guiltier with every day that passed in which he did nothing. Now, standing in Elizabeth’s foyer waiting to be announced, he wondered if this was really as brilliant of an idea as he had believed when it had occurred to him at three a.m. the previous evening.

But when she came to meet him with eyes slightly tinged with red, worry lines creasing her face, and no smile in sight, he was certain it was. Because he had no smooth words of consolation, he stuck with the basics while greeting her. “I’m so sorry.”

He thought it wise not to mention specifically what he was sorry for, as he seriously doubted Simon’s death would have made the list.

She took his hand easily, seeming glad to see him. “You didn’t have to come.”

“Yes, I did,” he replied. “Can we…?” he gestured to the study and she nodded.

“Of course, come in. Would you like anything to drink?”

“You don’t have to entertain me, Elizabeth. I didn’t come here to subject you to endless small talk and platitudes.”

She smiled, albeit wanly. “I know. But serious conversation is just as serious over tea.”

With that established and the assurance from the soon-to-be-unemployed butler that tea was on its way, they settled back, Elizabeth waiting patiently for John to reveal the purpose of his visit.

Unfortunately, he didn’t know quite where to start. After a lengthy silence, he explained, “I can’t think of a way to begin that isn’t horribly rude.”

Strangely, she found this amusing. “At this point, as long as you’re saying it to me rather than about me, I don’t care a bit.”

It was a sobering statement, and John once again found himself cursing the callous man she had married. “I am wondering exactly how bad your financial situation is.”

Her face took on a peculiar expression. “I didn’t realize that my late husband’s financial difficulties were such public knowledge.”

“Oh, they aren’t! As far as I know anyway, which isn’t saying much at all. But you see, the day you arranged that meeting for me, I overheard a conversation that led me to believe that things might in fact be very…serious. I wanted to tell you, but I had no details and despite appearances, we’ve only known each other a very little while.”

She seemed more amused by his lengthy speech than angry, a fact that John felt distinct relief over. “It’s quite all right, Mr. Sheppard. It was not your office to inform me of my husband’s many…indiscretions. And to answer your question, things are quite bad indeed. It seems that Simon’s only talent with money was spending it.”

Somehow, it was almost a relief to know that John’s mind had not overblown the situation. It meant that his worry – and the resulting solution – had not been for nothing. “I thought it might be. That is why I have come with a…proposition…for you.”

One delicate eyebrow rose, lending her face an endearing, quixotic quality. “How intriguing.”

“That is, I mean, if you do not have a plan already at your disposal,” John said, suddenly realizing that that might in fact be the case. If there was one thing he had learned over the course of their short acquaintance, it was that Elizabeth was a brilliantly resourceful woman. It was entirely possible that she didn’t require saving at all.

John refused to admit, even to himself, that he would be distinctly disappointed if that were the case.

For her part, Elizabeth just shook her head. “The last two weeks seem a blur of trying to come up with a solution to this mess, all to no avail. So as much as I hate to admit it, I’m very open to any ‘propositions’ you might have.”

Taking a deep breath, John tried to begin as simply as possible. “You know about my recent search for a partner in Atlantis Trading and Shipping.”

“Of course, did any of the names I gave you turn out well?”

He waved his hand dismissively. “There were a few that might have worked, but none as well as…you.”

At this, she seemed to be shocked into silence for a good long moment. Conveniently, that was when the butler knocked, wheeling in a tea cart laden with steaming tea and scones. John took initiative and served them both, and by the time they were both sipping at their teacups,