Chapter Text
Perseus Jackson has found himself in a bit of a predicament. He supposes he has steadily been winding himself into such a predicament since the first moment he met Miss Chase while riding their horses through the forest, since before he ever knew her name. He supposes he has failed at the task of convincing himself that he could ever put said predicament to rest without incident.
He supposes that he may be fast approaching complete and utter catastrophe. He supposes he should care a bit more about his impending doom.
It's only—it's just that—
“You must never find yourself alone with a young unmarried woman,” Miss Chase explains as they walk through the park once more, her lady's maid giving them much more privacy than her stepmother had. “You must always, always ensure that there is a chaperone present, even if you wish to speak privately.”
Percy knits his eyebrows, trying not to think about how badly he wishes he could find himself alone with her. “What if it's only for a second?”
“That matters not. It only takes a moment to ruin a young lady's reputation, and to seal your own fate.”
“I don't understand.”
She sighs through her nose impatiently. “Must I spell everything out for you?”
“Isn't that the whole point of these lessons?”
Miss Chase sends him a sideways glance that tells him he's won this round, and he does his best to keep his pleased smirk to himself; the look on her face tells him that he has not succeeded in his endeavors.
“If someone happens upon an unmarried man and woman alone, and the young lady is thought to be ruined, and all of her previous prospects are lost. Her family is all but shunned from society, and if she has any sisters then their hopes of finding a match will be dashed as well. Her life is ruined just as much as her reputation.”
Percy's eyes nearly pop out of his head. “What?” he demands. “All because of what could just be a misunderstanding?”
“Mm,” Miss Chase hums, sounding displeased.
“Well, what happens to the man? Surely something just as bad.”
She scoffs. “Hardly. If the lady's closest male relative would like to restore some semblance of their family's honor, then he may duel the rake. If the man has any honor at all himself, then he may marry her—which is the preferred option, of course.”
Percy chokes on air. “Excuse me?” he coughs. “Both of those sound a little extreme, don't you think?”
“That is the way of society,” she says simply.
He gapes at her impassive expression. “It's barbaric.”
“Perhaps. But these are the rules which govern our social fabric. Mostly I think they're meant to frighten young ladies into never putting a single toe out of line while young men are allowed to gallivant as they please, but there is nothing else for it.”
“That is insane,” he insists. “You know it's insane, don't you?”
“I am aware that it is rather ridiculous, yes.”
“What happens if the man refuses to do either of those things?” Percy asks. "What if he just ignores the rules and moves on with his life?”
“Then he loses some respect and reputation and his affairs may suffer slightly. Or, he goes away for a short time until the scandal is forgotten and returns unscathed, while the young lady never recovers.”
“More of that Great British Hypocrisy, huh?”
“Does such hypocrisy not exist in the Americas?”
Percy mulls that thought over for a few moments. “I suppose it does. Maybe it doesn't manifest in quite the same way, but it's there alright.”
Miss Chase raises her eyebrows as if to say, well, there you are, and he lets his eyes linger on the slope of her nose, the curve of her lip, the jut of her sharp chin for a moment too long.
“Is it worse for people who aren't titled?” he asks. “Say it happened to a regular nobleman instead of a Baron or Earl—would it be worse for the man if he didn't have a rank to fall back on?”
“Undoubtedly so,” Miss Chase says without a moment's hesitation. “Though I should think most of life's misfortunes disproportionately affect those less privileged than ourselves, no?”
Percy cannot argue that. He hums in agreement.
“Does it make you long for New York?” she asks suddenly, and Percy turns his head to look at her. She glances at him quickly before she clears her throat and looks forward again. “The imbalance? The unfairness of it all?”
He thinks of crowded tenements filled with rats and rot, the lavish homes built less than a mile down the road belonging to businessmen whose money comes from the exploitation of those they employ.
“There is imbalance and unfairness everywhere,” Percy says. “That's one thing that always stays the same, I suppose.”
Miss Chase watches him for a moment, her grey eyes scouring his more deeply than they have since before he told her he planned to move back home.
“On that, we can agree,” she eventually mutters before she looks forward once more.
They walk in a silence that is not entirely uncomfortable, Percy chewing on his cheek thoughtfully. He has something to say, but he does not know how to say it.
“So, listen—”
“I have to—”
They cut themselves off after having spoken over one another, and Percy gestures for Miss Chase to speak first.
“There is something I should like to request of you,” she says, her tone uncharacteristically shy. “Something regarding our…agreement.”
Percy suddenly feels a bit ill. “Sure.”
If he did not know any better, he would think her cheeks were starting to tint pink. She clears her throat, straightening her shoulders, and staunchly avoids his gaze.
“The rules of courtship are understated and subtle,” she begins, and Percy nods, hoping against hope that she is not about to cut him loose. “If a couple dances more than twice in a row at a ball, for example, they are considered as good as engaged. Gentlemen call upon the ladies they wish to court; it is why my sitting room has been rather full since we began our little ruse.”
Percy nods. “I’m not really hearing a request in there anywhere.”
Miss Chase shoots him a mildly irritated look. “I am getting to it.” She sighs and smoothes down the front of her dress, a habit of hers he has noticed after the short time they’ve spent together. “It is only—my stepmother continues to harp on the fact that you are apparently courting me, but have not called, and indeed have not even sent flowers.”
“Oh,” Percy says, the tense pull of his shoulders relaxing. He grins at her. “Oh. You want me to send you flowers?”
“If only to shut her up for a day, yes. Please.”
“I'll shut her up for a week and get you a whole garden,” he says, and she snorts, then flushes as she clears her throat. Percy grins broadly. “What's your favorite flower?”
“I do not have one,” she answers quickly.
A bit too quickly, in Percy’s opinion.
He narrows his eyes at her. “You don’t have a favorite flower,” he repeats slowly. Disbelieving.
“That is correct,” she says, smoothing down her dress once more.
A tell if he’s ever seen one.
Percy stops walking altogether just to observe her more closely, and she doesn't notice until she's two paces ahead. She stops short and turns around to face him with a confused crinkle between her brows.
“What is the matter with—?”
“I did not take you for a liar, Miss Chase,” Percy says, and her eyes flash dangerously.
“Do not accuse me of dishonesty.”
“You don’t have a favoriteflower?” he says incredulously. “And I don’t have a left foot.”
Her nostrils flare in irritation. “You will not have a head if you continue to speak in such a manner.”
Percy stares at her for a moment before he bursts into surprised laughter, clutching at his stomach as he nearly doubles over. Miss Chase looks positively mortified, but the longer he laughs the less horrified her expression becomes. Soon, she’s giggling right along with him, and it’s all he can do not to drop to one knee and propose to her right here and now.
How he wishes he could bottle the sound of her laughter and keep it with him for all time. Listen to it in moments when everything feels wretched and wrong just to make his days bright once more.
“That wasintense,” Percy says, still laughing a bit. “You would behead me for irritating you?”
“You were driving memad,” she giggles. “You speak entirely too much.”
“Me?” he exclaims in delighted shock. “You’re the one who’s always going on about what’s polite and what isn’t. I couldn’t shut you up if I tried.”
Miss Chase rolls her eyes and turns to begin walking again.
“An instructor mustinstruct, must she not?” she says.
Percy grins as he strides to catch up with her, jostling her shoulder with his gently. She startles at the movement and stares up at him with wide eyes, and he sends her a smirk as devious as he’ll allow himself in such a public place, moving back from her just enough to be decent.
“You should instruct me on your favorite flower so that I can send you 500 and blow the ton away.”
Miss Chase giggles again. “If you sent me 500 flowers the Queen herself would marry us off in a second.”
“Hmm, imagine that,” he muses, tucking his hands behind his back as they come upon a turn in the path before them. “Us at the altar, the royal court watching while you threaten to behead me. How scandalous.”
Miss Chase’s amused smile spreads so wide the apples of her cheeks threaten to engulf her gorgeous grey eyes.
She is so beautiful ithurts.
“If you frustrate me less I shall have no need to behead you.”
“You have no ideas all the ways I am capable of frustrating you, Miss Chase.”
He does not intend for the heat that seeps into his tone, for the quiet way he mutters the words to her. Her gaze catches on his as her cheeks take on that lovely, lovely flush, and dear lord—maybe he did mean it.
She clears her throat suddenly and stops walking, and he realizes that they have reached the front of the park again.
How many times now have they circled it? How long have they been talking?
He does not know. He does not want to know. He only wants to hold her closely and kiss her until she can’t remember her own name.
Christ, but he’s lost his head.
“You may send me whatever flowers you see fit,” she tells him quietly as her lady’s maid moves forward to stand next to her.
Percy tries to catch her gaze, but she will not meet his eyes. He needs her to listen, though. He needs her full attention before she leaves to entertain some other man who does not deserve her.
“My mother loves flowers,” he says quickly, stopping her in her tracks, and she looks at him in surprise. He offers her a small smile, hoping that she will read between the lines of what he’s saying. “She taught me the meanings of many of them, things most people do not consider any longer.”
Miss Chase eyes him curiously, nodding once. “Then I am sure you will choose each one very carefully, will you not?”
“I am always careful, Miss Chase.”
He cannot help but send her a little grin at that, only just stopping himself from winking at her. The ton would probably call him a scoundrel for the rest of eternity for something so innocuous.
He cannot even flirt with a beautiful woman in peace. For shame.
Miss Chase leaves him with one last roll of her eyes, and he does his best to gather himself before he rejoins his mother on the grass beside Lady Crane. Both women send him smug smirks that could probably be seen from the moon, and he ignores them as best he can.
“Who do I speak to about sending flowers in this town?” he asks them, and their eyebrows raise to their hairlines.
“There is an extremely talented florist just across the road from my seamstress. One Miss Katherine Gardner,” Lady Crane says, then grins at his mother. “Ironic, is it not?”
“Very,” Sally says, but she seems distracted watching Percy’s expression.
“Will she allow me to curate the bouquet? I have a very particular message I’d like to send,” Percy says.
Lady Crane grins broadly, and Percy returns her smile.
Things might be on the up and up after all.
* ~ * ~ *
“Oh my,” Percy's mother exhales as Miss Gardner allows them access to the garden behind her shop.
Percy struggles to find words himself as he stares at the assortment of flowers before him. There are those that are commonplace, roses and lilies and the like, there are those that are slightly more rare, and there are some Percy could not name if he tried. He is overwhelmed, spoiled for choice, and he knows that he will have to send Lady Crane her own special bouquet as thanks for introducing him to the florist.
As Miss Gardner walks them through rows upon rows of sweet-smelling flowers, Percy does his best to recall the meaning of each species they pass, composing a message to Miss Chase in his head.
Acacia, for their budding friendship.
Flower-of-an-hour, for her gentle and unwavering beauty.
Hollyhock, for her dreams of becoming something more than a mother and a wife.
Amethyst, for how ardently he admires her.
French Willow, for her bravery in seeking out companionship.
Jasmine, for amiability—though he thinks the sarcasm that comes with that meaning may not translate very well without an accompanying smirk.
Lychnis, for her quick wit.
(His, too, if he may say so himself.)
Hundred-leaved rose, for her undeniable, and at times unbearable, pride.
Laburnum, for that beauty which is pensive. For that which is forbidden to him. For that which belongs solely to her.
“I'd like to finish it with snowdrops,” Percy says after he's listed off the flowers he was able to take note of.
His mother catches his gaze, and he clears his throat as he looks back at Miss Gardner. The florist is already watching his face carefully.
“There is nothing wrong with having hope,” she says gently, as if she can read his mind. “Nor with reminding others of its importance.”
Just then, the door to her shop bursts open, and with it enters a man a few inches shorter than Percy. His brown curls have not been styled, and he wears nothing but a pressed white shirt and britches. He is heaving for breath as if he's run here, his eyes frantic as he searches the storefront.
He does not settle until his gaze lands on Miss Gardner, who is staring at him as though he may be a ghost.
“I will give it up,” he declares as he staggers forward into the shop.
Percy almost expects the man to attack the woman, and he reaches out a hand to stop the stranger. Miss Gardner is not afraid, however—instead of stepping back, she moves forward, within reach of the madman.
“You cannot—”
“I can and I will,” he tells her. “I should have done it years ago. I should not have wasted so much time. This—you are more important to me than any title. You will work, and I will support you, and we will do this together. Katie—” Percy's eyes widen at the use of a nickname in the company of others, and Sally grabs Percy's arm to guide him away from the scene unfolding before them— “Katherine Gardner, I am in love with you. I have loved you since we were children. I will love you until the day I die.” He drops down to one knee, and Miss Gardner covers her mouth with her hands, tears streaming down her face. “Marry me, my love. Let us be together once and for all.”
Percy assumes the kiss they share means she has accepted, and he averts his gaze to give them privacy. His eyes fall upon his mother, who is wiping her cheeks delicately as she turns her back on the embracing couple.
“Ma,” he says quietly, touching her shoulder.
She shakes her head and offers him a weak smile as she dabs at her cheeks. “I am quite alright.”
“You're crying.”
Sally inhales a shaky breath before she straightens and rolls back her shoulders. She reaches out to hold his face in her hand, her thumb brushing his cheekbone gently.
“Young love is a marvelous thing, is it not?”
He swallows hard. “I wouldn't know.”
Sally only moves her hand to his lapel, smoothing it down. “Someday soon, you may lose your head as thoroughly as the man behind us.”
“God help me,” he mutters, though he thinks he may be halfway there already.
“We are engaged!”
Sally and Percy turn around in unison to find the happy couple beaming at them, their faces wet with tears of joy. Percy cannot help but grin in return, his chest warm for these strangers who have let him be a part of their happiness, for however short a moment.
“Congratulations," Percy says, offering the man his hand to shake, and nodding genially at Miss Gardner.
Sally surges forward to hug the florist, who begins crying again in earnest once in Sally's embrace.
“Thank you very much,” the man says, half-laughing. “I am so sorry to have interrupted—”
“Please, flowers mean nothing in the face of grand romantic gestures.”
The man laughs fully, then, and Percy grins. “I am not sure we've met before. I am Lord Stoll—well, not anymore, I suppose.” He laughs again, shaking his head. "I am Travis. Travis Stoll.”
“Perseus Jackson,” Percy greets. “Congratulations are in order for more than just the engagement, I suppose.” Travis tilts his head curiously. “You have shed yourself of a title. I think I might need to throw you a party.”
Travis laughs brightly. “You know what it is to be weighed down by such a frivolous thing?”
Percy swallows and nods once. “One day soon I hope to be free of it.”
“Do it sooner rather than later, is my only advice,” Travis says, gazing fondly at Miss Gardner. “Time is too precious a thing to waste.”
“Wise words from a man who ran through town in his undergarments.”
Travis laughs something deep and guttural, shoving Percy playfully, as if he's known him his entire life.
“You are uninvited to the wedding for insulting me so thoroughly,” Travis laughs.
Percy grins. “I suppose I'll have to show up unannounced, then.”
Travis sobers for a moment. “Nobody will come,” he says quietly. “My brother, and her family, of course, but—nobody else will attend the wedding of a man who chose to leave their society behind.”
Percy's eyebrows stitch together as he holds onto the man's shoulder firmly, finally meeting his gaze. “I will be there,” Percy promises. “I will be there, and so will my mother, I'm sure. You may find us, if you need anything at all, in Grosvenor Square. The most ostentatious home I've ever seen is just across the way; ours is much more tasteful. You can't miss it.”
Travis laughs a bit even as he nods his thanks, holding fast onto Percy's forearm. “Thank you, Mr. Jackson.” He pauses, eyeing Percy warily. “Though I worry I might be insulting your rank in my addresses.”
“If I could have everyone I meet call me Percy, I'd be the happiest idiot alive.”
Travis sends him an assessing look, nodding as he seems to have come to a satisfactory conclusion.
“Very well then, Percy.”
It feels very much as though Percy has just made a lifelong friend.
His mother reaches out to take his hand, still holding fast to Miss Gardner's beside her, and Percy finds himself overcome with a warmth he has not felt so strongly since his best friend's wedding in New York. Travis wraps his arm around Miss Gardner's waist as she beams at him, and she turns her attention to Percy for a moment just to mouth the word snowdrops at him with a knowing little grin. Percy's smile threatens to become permanently etched on his face.
Nothing wrong with a sprig of hope, after all. He has the proof of it right in front of him.
