#and then there’s capt james | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

holdmytesseract · 2 years ago

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Ahhhh, omg @smolvenger ! What a chapter! 😱 I HAVE SO MANY FEELINGS! 😱

“Sir, you are proposing marriage to me,” you said directly.

“Yes, I am.”

Yuck! 😖 I mean... I saw it coming, but... Ahh nooo, please nooo! 😖

Then it came to the marital act. You were taught about what happened by your mother, your friends, and the farm animals. Could you see yourself wanting to bed this man? Could you… do these sorts of things to this man? Let him do all sorts of things to you? Could you crawl into the same bed as Lyons nightly? See his naked body? Let him see yours? Feel him on you? In you? Wake up next to his face every morning? You could push him away, but not for long. And what if you got pregnant? Would you want to carry this man’s child? Make more of him into the world?

Oh gods, noooo! 🤢 Alone the image, I can't! 😖

“No.”

YESSS! THANK GOD! 🥳 Ngl, I was so afraid that she was going to say yes!

“Hmph…some fellow…I don’t know how he found out, but he did. Grabbed Lyons by his suit- big, tall man. Slammed him on the wall! Yellin’ ‘What were your intentions with Miss Narracott?’ and Lyons couldn’t answer. The man was ready to box him with his cup, he was, if the others hadn’t pulled him off. Right before he could get a good box on ‘im. All the men pulled ‘em apart, they did. Old Jonesy ran to ‘em. Scoldin’ about how he doesn’t like rows in his pub. Pulled ‘em apart and told to go home, sober up. Hmmm, good to know… didn’t think Devon was that small…but…interesting, isn’t it? At least he got him, so I didn’t have to!”

JAMES??? 😱

He reached into the left front pocket of his uniform. And pulled out your long missing glove.

I gasped. I LITERALLY gasped!

You dropped your jaw and let out a gasp despite yourself, yet you felt yourself smile. You gaped at the glove then at him then the glove then him again. He offered you your glove and you felt it but didn’t remove it from his hand. Your heart raced, again trying to believe this was real. Everything- these words. This-this was real. If he was real.

There we go, there we go, there we gooooo! 😍

"It was not one day. It was every small day, every small hour I spent with you. Each time, the more I met you, the more I knew you, the easier it became. The more I felt for you. And every corner you turn, every time you turn away and leave…I pray for one more minute. One more chance. One more instance, only to see you, only one glance. To hear you say only one word. I cannot keep it a secret anymore-I love you, Miss Narracott. I adore you. I worship you. And I want you, more than I ever wanted anything…”

*screams* YEEEEEEESSSS! FINALLY! FINALLYYYYY! 😭😍😍🥳🥳

” I lost control and…and I grabbed him onto the wall. I raised my voice at him. I threatened him if he did something. But…I did it because…I was frightened for you, and I didn’t want you hurt…” he finished.

Knew it, ehehe! 😏

As you leaned over, the words were right on the tip of your tongue. “I’m in love!! I’m in love and he loves me too! He finally told me yesterday! He’s going to talk to my father! And this means that-“

YESSSS! GO MARRY HIM! MARRY HIM! YES! 😍😍

But the end of the chapter... 😱 Ahhh! Now I'm REAAAAAALLY afraid again... 🥺😫 Pls tell me that James and Y/N are going to have their happy ending? Pls tell me that they are going to marry and have a wonderful life. 😭🥺

Miss Narracott and The Captain Part Five (Cpn. James Nicholls x fem! Reader miniseries)

Fandom: War Horse

Word Count: 6K

Chapter Warnings: Angst and fluff. Pining. Drunkenness. Mentions of sex but no smut. Inspiration from Jane Austen and Little Women. Attempts at historic accuracy. I choose violence at the end.

Series Summary: It is 1912-1914. You are Y/N Narracott, the older sister of Albert Narracott. You must do what you can so your family can keep their farm. And so your brother can keep his beloved horse. Under financial struggles, you never expect romance to come into your life...until you have a chance encounter with James Nicholls- a Captain with a knack for drawing. But the threat of war lingers in the air...

Part One//Part Two//Part Three//Part Four//Part Five//Part Six Coming Soon!

A03//My Ko-Fi//My Etsy Shop//Masterlist//Wattpad

A/N: Comments, Reblogs, DMs, and Asks about my work are always appreciated! I always love doing period pieces like this! Feel free to ask to be tagged in this and/or my other stuff! Thank you!

Taglist: @evelyn-kingsley @jennyggggrrr @five-miles-over @fictive-sl0th @ladycamillewrites @villainousshakespeare @holdmytesseract

@eleniblue @twhxhck @lokisgoodgirl @lovelysizzlingbluebird @raqnarokr @holymultiplefandomsbatman @michelleleewise @wolfsmom1 @infinitystoner @12-pm-510

He offered you to sit down at the table. Once you had, he took the place across from you.

“Why do you wish to speak to me alone, Mr. Lyons?" you asked.

He rubbed his hands together. Then he began.

"Miss Narracott, I have taken notice of you these past two years. Despite the low station of your family, you impressed me. Your sweet nature, work ethic, good sense, and pretty face. All admirable. However, your father is unable to provide for his own family. Or afford his own farm. You are trapped by a family that cannot provide for themselves, or you. But…there is a solution a compromise, if you will."

You folded your hands on the table. Looking right at him. Trying to see if your heart would stop in its place. You could attest truth in some of his words. Right now, bad luck took away your cash crop. Ruined crops meant no rent. The eggs, the milk, and your wages could only cover so much. You could sell the animals as a last resort. Though not Joey, it would break your brother's heart too much.

You knew where this was headed.

He looked around at this place. Though your family rented it, it was truly he who owned it. He owned the stone walls. The staircase. The windows you looked out so many times. The sink. The doors. He even tried to own Joey. And now you were only more thing he was trying to add to his collection of ownership.

But this house! So familiar and safe to you! It was filled with so many things that made it a home. Your embroidery with flowers and sentences sewed in hung on the walls. On the fireplace mantle was a clock Dad loved to polish. Mum’s pans hung over your head in the kitchen. The seats and fireplace could make a cold winter's night cozy. At this very table, you would gather to eat, read, sew, have cups of tea, and live. And now, all of that had to be packed up and squished to move to your uncles. Or sold one by one to make ends meet. To buy time for the plants to grow. Or until you all had to beg.

It was dark inside. It was the late shine of afternoon becoming evening, but still bright. But the stone walls blocked the sunlight.

It was summer after all. And it mocked you in its sunshine and youthful joy outside. You heard the chickens clucking and Joey's hooves trotting about without a care in the world. Unlike you.

“Sir, you are proposing marriage to me,” you said directly.

“Yes, I am.”

Panic made parts of you see stars. But your vision came to normal. You looked down at the table, to regather yourself, then back at him. You swallowed. Keeping it down. You would not give into “hysterics.” Not yet.

If only there could be a distraction. A bird at the window. A thundercloud. Albert's owl whistle. Joey poking his head through the window for a snack from the kitchen, even! No, there was none. Only this. You put your hands on the table, fingers curled up. Everything in you sensed danger though you were at home and very still.

Part of you knew this would always happen. That it was only a matter of time. And now here was the moment. But why did you feel so horrible?

You wished you could run away. You wished you could run out the door and never speak to him again. To catch a cab out of the city to never deal with this! But…you forced yourself not to. Even if you didn’t want to be here, you knew it would come eventually. You would not flee. You would face him. You would stay here and deal with it.

Father used to fight in the Bower wars. He was brave then. Mum's brave. Albert's brave. I can be brave too, you thought.

He leaned a little closer to you. You felt yourself flinch back. He then put a cold, soft hand over yours. He showed no nervousness, usual for some suitors. His eyes were sharp on you. Lyons cleared his throat with his other hand. He began speaking.

“Miss Narracott… you have been the greatest surprise about this farm. About this family. And through these past two years, I have grown more and more affectionate with you. I think of all ladies here in town, you have my utmost opinion of superiority. Though I understand your family’s situation and standing more than anyone else, I can be a forgiving man. I can be a tender man beneath all this.”

He gestured to his overdressed striped waistcoat. He looked like an English zebra. If only Albert were with you. Then you both would bite your lips. Then flee to a corner and laugh at him. Then the next sentence hit you like a slap.

“And I will forgive your family's rent if you consent to be my wife.”

You heard the clock on the mantle tick.

“That was what you were discussing with my father?” you asked.

“Yes.”

“What did he say?”

“He said if you said yes, it was alright by him.”

You forced your breaths to slow. Your hand shook beneath his and your belly boiled. Was this a trap? An idea struck you.

“You are a businessman, not a charity man, Mr. Lyons. Said so yourself, I recall. You cannot seriously mean you would forgive my parent's rent all the time. You need income from your tenants,” you reasoned.

“You are correct. I could extend the forgiveness for a year at most.”

A year without rent. More than enough to recover the loss of crops. It was too good to be true. Was it?

“You say that you like me. What will my life be like after I marry you?” you queried.

Lyons smiled.

“You will live with me in my house. All my servants shall call you mistress. You won’t have to feed chickens for the rest of your life…You will have anything you could want- you have my word! Anything is yours!” he elaborated.

“Breakfast in bed delivered by maids every morning?” you asked.

“Of course, you can, I don’t see why not. It will be a comfortable, glamorous life. That is what I offer you.”

It seemed like the life of being a Wealthy Lady was finally in your grasp. Just like the ones in the catalogs.

“I-I…I don’t know what to say…this is a lot…” you babbled.

Tears were welling up in your eyes, slowly falling. One drop curled in a minuscule puddle on the tablecloth. You got out your handkerchief.

“I’m sorry,” you mumbled.

"It's natural for women to cry with joy when they are proposed to! Especially like this!” he commented.

But you were crying for a different reason. The pure overwhelm of everything.

"Let me ask again-Would you like to be my wife, live a life of ease, and easily have your family keep their farm? I will make you happier more than any man here in town could."

He even from his pocket got out a velvet box with a ring inside. It was encrusted with a diamond that glittered when the sun hit it. You must admit, it was beautiful and right up your alley. Costly, too. But it felt tight on your finger as if preparing it to be chopped off by a knife by squeezing the life out of it.

"That is what I have to offer you- whatever you want. Anything you wish for is yours, Miss Narracott.”

"Like gloves?" you asked.

"Your pick of them!"

"I have one that's missing...where is my glove?”

He tilted his head.

“Your what?” he asked.

“My cream-colored glove! One’s been missing for a year now! Did you take it? I thought you stole it out of fondness for me. I’d like it back, please,” you explained.

He blinked, shaking his head.

“I never took your glove!” he confirmed.

“Oh…I was mistaken….” You sighed.

Your head was spinning. Breakfast in bed every morning. Motorcars. Fancy hats and all the dresses you craved at last. Servants. Never having to do a minute of work for the rest of your life. Afternoons spent lifting your feet up like a queen in town. Knowing your family’s house was safe. They had time to recover the lost crops. That they had stability…

“Miss, you try my patience. I do expect an answer- immediately,” he said.

But all while married to Lyons.

You looked up at him. You did not feel an ounce of attraction. You knew several older men who were far more handsome than he. His ridiculous red mustache! Could you kiss those whiskers on your wedding day? Would they tickle? Would they make you sneeze or even laugh when you kissed him- not from joy but from how silly they looked on him? Could you sit with him and talk with him every day? Spend every meal with him? Could you attend every Sunday service beside him? Could you call David your stepson?

He wasn’t old enough to die soon. And you doubt you could get away with murder. Or file a divorce.

Perhaps you could learn to love him. Even if he wasn’t a handsome man in your eyes, what about his character? Men didn’t have to be handsome to be kind, gentle, respectful husbands who treated their wives well.

Thinking back, you recalled every interaction. How he scoffed at rabbits as “vermin.” His behavior toward your family when they desperately tried to get the field plowed. He harassed your father and mother. Taunting their worries. Speaking with cruelty and superiority. Not even a whisper of sympathy for their situation. And not only to people beneath his power but to the people he wanted as in-laws!

He hadn’t changed a bit.

Was that a man you wanted to marry?

You thought of the field. The storm. The brokenness on your father’s face. The relief on it if you walked out, flashed the ring on your finger, and said, “The rent is forgiven for a year, Dad!”

Then you remembered your mother’s words. About being a woman. About self-sacrifice. About happiness.

How much you gave and sacrificed already for your family. If you made this one sacrifice; If you married this man, it would be no different than plunging a blade into yourself. Or tearing at each part of yourself until barely anything was left. An empty husk from your wedding day until death did you part. An empty, unhappy shell all your days.

That wasn't worth it.

You looked up into Lyon's eyes and said one word.

“No.”

He blinked. His smile was unfazed.

“What did you say?”

“I said no,” you clarified.

“No breakfast in bed?”

You took off the ring and placed it in the box. You slid it back to him. You stood up. Trying to feel taller than him as he sat.

“No to your offer. I cannot and will not accept,” you said.

“Your families rent! This is quite an incredible opportunity. Think of my generosity. Think of it!” he argued.

“You’re not proposing to me. You’re extorting me,” you accused.

You began to shake even more, tears poured out of your eyes. Yet you kept speaking.

“You’re not a nice man. And you wouldn’t be a good husband to me. So, do you hear me? My answer is no!”

You dipped your head down. You wiped the tears off with your sleeves, then looked back up. He got up as well, putting the box in his pocket.

“You will be our landlord. But no more. And you will respect that boundary. Or we will live somewhere else…” you told him.

“Very well then…My business here today is done. I’ll leave,” he replied.

You walked over and opened the door. Mr. Lyons stepped right outside, tipping his hat with a solemn look. His face frowning.

“You lost quite an opportunity, Miss Narracott,” he said.

You heard a familiar honk. A smile returned to you at the sound.

“We have no servants here. Harold will see you out,” you announced.

Harold charged onto Lyons. Wings flapping and feathers flying. Lyons struggled to run out. The goose bit his leg. Lyons let out an “Agh!” in pain. He lost any dignity he had left shaking away the offensive gander. The landlord couldn’t take a step without dealing with Harold’s nipping beak. He retreated to the door of the gate pursued by the goose.

Your parents had been sitting on the large rock near the bottom field. They jumped up and ran over to watch. Harold kept honking and flapping his wings at the threshold when your hopeless suitor got out. Off Lyons ran to his motorcar, his servant driving him far away. Harold let out a few final, triumphant honks at the gate. Then shook his head and waddled away like a parade of victory.

You heard Albert yelling out and his running footsteps.

“Y/N! Y/N! Don’t you worry, I’m right-“

Albert burst forth to the front yard. You saw he had a pitchfork in hand.

“Albie!” you said.

He looked around you, getting your shoulders with his free hand.

“Are you alright? I heard no screaming, but lots of raised voices, I did! He didn’t…didn’t hurt you, did he?” he asked.

“You…. you were going to attack him…to protect me?” you asked.

“Yes, like I promised you! Always will!”

You clutched him and cried. Finally releasing the urge to sob for the past hour. Dropping the pitchfork, he hugged you back. You heard your parents from behind.

“He made you an offer, didn’t he?” Mum asked.

Letting go of the hug, you turned to them and nodded.

“He said he’d forgive the rent for a year if I did. And I refused him,” you explained.

You began crying to your parents, wiping off a tear with your sleeve like a child who broke a teacup.

‘I’m so sorry…I know that…I know how much it would…it would have saved us…” you babbled to your parents.

You dreaded seeing two disappointed faces. Hearing disappointed words. But instead, your mother stepped forward.

“You’ve no reason to be sorry, come here, darling, come here…” she consoled.

She wrapped you into a hug. You dug into her purple blouse, crying into it. She rocked you as you stood, letting you cry. Then you peeked your head up at your father. Releasing the hug, you approached him.

“Dad I’m…I’m so sorry…I failed you; I know…I could have saved us, saved you and…and I didn’t!” you cried.

“Are you mad at me, girl? That’s what I’m worried about…” he asked.

You shook your head.

“No…you could have forced me, but you didn’t…you…you gave me a choice…you let me choose!” you answered.

He squeezed your arm. Then all three of them hugged you. A circle of warmth and love, safe to cry, safe to release.

“We’ll figure something out…Shhh, it’ll be alright…” Mum consoled you.

Releasing the hug, you saw Albert’s eyes light up with an idea.

“We have an uncle. We’ll ask him to hire us!” Albert suggested.

You then looked up at your stone house. The farm that had been your whole life. The farm that you refused them to keep at the price of your happiness.

“Where will we live, mum?” you asked.

“I’ll tell you. We’ll live together,” she answered.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

You were grateful for the chores on the weekend and work on Monday. You were relieved to see customers, organize items, and hear your co-worker’s chatter. Anything to not obsess over what happened. They were a welcome distraction. When you returned from work, Albert was all a-chatter. When you walked through the gate, he approached you and jumped subjects like a squirrel jumped through trees.

“Dover’s fair’s coming up and Joey’s got to win a prize again! He has to! And oh! Captain Nicholls stopped by to draw Joey today! Oh- and Andrew! Andrew’s winnin’ all the bees at school! Right clever, he is! And Dad says we got some eggs hatched up! Not too many washed up in the storm! And Mum’s making beef and gravy for dinner! It’s already making my mouth water thinking about it! And there’s some fuss goin’ on in Austria-I heard this fellow was in his car and-“

When he saw the look on your face, he shut his mouth. Then looked at you.

“How’re you today? Sad about Lyons?”

“Some. But it’s better,” you replied.

“I’m glad you said no, Y/N. Don’t want him as my brother-in-law, I don’t!” Albert confessed.

You let out a small laugh at the words and he gave you another hug.

Dad did what he always did when times were tough- go out to the pub. He left after dinner. No one said a peep when he walked out. All knew it was worthless to stop him.

That night, sleep was not easy to achieve. Your mind reeled about the confrontation with Lyons. Thinking through and playing each moment over and over, troubling and tormenting you. Unable to sleep, you got out of bed. You gathered a shawl and went downstairs to the fireplace, starting a fire. Curled up on a chair, you stared at it, the sound comforting you.

Then there was a knock on the door. Answering it, you saw Si Easton with your father’s arm over his shoulders.

“Bloody sloshed, he is! But got him home safe!”

“Si, thank you so much. Be careful getting back home,” you said.

Si tipped his hat and then left. Stumbling in his steps, you led dad to a chair, he was mumbling, humming a song.

“Here… Just relax now…I’ll get you a blanket and some water…” you comforted him.

Leaving, you fetched an old quilt and put it over him. Dad looked at you, his cheeks red and eyes glazed. You were lucky Dad was never a violent drunk. Only a happy, chatty one.

“Hmm…. you’re something of a princess, Y/N…” he slurred.

“I wish I actually was,” you commented.

“There was a row at the pub over you,” Dad continued.

You turned your head. Were these drunken ramblings over nothing? Or did this really happen?

“What do you mean?” you pressed further.

You sat down on the floor and held his hand as he rambled on.

The fireplace crackled. You fetched him a cup of water. But it stood on the table near the chair, untouched.

“Did you talk about the proposal? Who fought Lyons?” you asked.

“Don’t remember, no…Hmmm…didn’t see nothin’ who he was…” he murmured.

He lowered his head, closed his eyes, and soon snored.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

The next day, work was welcome again. Perhaps at break or at lunch, you would recount to your friends what happened. But when the thought occurred, the bell over the door rang. In walked Sarah Corbyn again. Back on her trail. Her dress was in a yellowish hue so that she shone like gold in that brown shop. She approached you.

“Can I help you?” you asked.

“I hear there are some new books that have arrived. I’d like to see them, please,” she requested.

“They’re over there,” you pointed, guiding her to the books.

She looked at two, then turned over to you with a smile of concern. But this time, you did not smile back. Maybe the rejection had emboldened you. You stiffened your body as if preparing for a fight with knives rather than the sugary cruelty of her words. You would not tolerate her viciousness anymore.

“I hope you are well!” she chirruped.

“I am,” you answered.

“How is work, Miss Narracott?”

“Good, as always, Miss Corbyn.”

She leaned in closer with a smile. But this time, you folded your hands in front of you. Not smiling back.

“Though, I must tell you, as I have before- as you are a friend of mine. About Captain Nicholls…

You looked into her eyes.

“Miss Corbyn, I do not like to discuss one’s personal matters at work. I have many things to do. I like to be productive with my time. Please do not discuss such things with me in the middle of my shift.”

She blinked her eyes. Her nose scrunched in disbelief. Then she shrugged. She turned to the books, purchased two, and left.

Once work ended and you left the shop, you saw her. She waited for you like a spider waiting for a fly to enter its web. But you were not going to be prey this time. Not without a fight.

She walked over to you with that same smile.

“Oh, how glad I am your shift is over!” she said.

You turned over and folded your arms, glaring into her eyes.

“Work is done, so let me speak frankly. Miss Corbyn, you can at least be honest with me.” You began.

She only smiled, with a slight tilt of her head.

“I am always honest with you!” she shrugged.

You stepped forward.

“Miss Corbyn- I do not want to hear your boasts about Captain Nicholls. I understand what you are doing and why it’s to me. I am tired of hearing it! I’m tired of your attacks and insults! Don’t think I don’t understand what you’re doing! I heard about your soap comment-it’s only because my family and I work hard! It’s not funny and it’s not right! I want you to stop. If you do this one more time, I’ll tell Nicholls himself- I doubt he would think you more admirable! If you think tormenting and bullying me will make you look better for your fiancée, you’re wrong!”

“Fiancée!?” she repeated.

“Is he your fiancée? He’s a respectable man! Not the type to leave a woman hanging! I thought he should be by now! Is he?” you asked.

She took a step back. She had a frown. Then she took off her gloves and showed her hands-no rings.

“We’re not engaged. I wish we were,” she said.

With that, she put her gloves back on. She turned on her heels and left.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

That Sunday, once church was over, you went up to Captain Nicholls.

“Good morning, Miss, what did you think of-“

“May we please talk outside?” you interrupted.

He blinked. He gave a glance at Major Stewart. Stewart tightened his lips.

“Of course, we can,” Nicholls answered.

Joining the filtering congregation, both of you walk out to the street. A few feet from the church crowd.

“Are you in love with Miss Corbyn?” you asked directly.

He dropped his jaw, and his face became pink.

“What- no! She’s mad for me, but not I for her!” he cried.

“I ask because…I see her with you. All around you! Dancing with you!” you elaborated.

“Her father is a Lieutenant in the army. It’s impossible to say no to him when he invites me over. And so, it��s been impossible to avoid her,” Nicholls explained.

“You dance with her twice per social!” you argued.

A few heads turned, then they walked away. You stopped caring who overheard. You had to get the truth out of him.

“I made one promise in winter so she would not be partnerless at her first dance. Then in spring, I told her only one! She frowned but relented.”

Shame made a rock in your stomach. You realized you turned away from the two dances that spring out of spite. Not even looking. Had you turned back then, you would have seen only one dance between them. Not two. Flustered, you kept speaking.

“You’re always smiling at her!”

“I’m nothing if not polite, Miss Narracott!” he reasoned.

You stepped forward, your hands curled into fists on your sides.

“Did you lead her on?”

He held your gaze.

“I thought she was jolly, pleasant company at first. Then I dined with her family at their house. I saw her with her servants...and I confess, her behavior shocked me. Always demanding, never grateful. Her lack of…she seems to lack consideration of any person’s feelings but her own. I do not wish to speak ill of anyone, but it is the truth. I still owe her decent treatment, like any person. Especially a lady. No more, no less,” Nicholls finished.

You took a step back, bowing your head. Shame washing down on you. Were you no better than a jealous, clingy hen?

“Oh…I’m sorry, I just…if she was who you wanted, that was fine…I just…”

You took a step back. Then looked away. He walked around to see you, stopping in your tracks.

“I accept your apology. And Miss…your farm is still open for me to draw there; I’d like to visit today. If it won’t bother your duties …” he suggested.

“No, you may…you may visit,” you permitted.

Sure enough, around teatime, he did. Though he did not drink a drop of tea or eat a bite of his biscuit. But got his chair and sketchbook and set to work. You were in the laundry area to hang up wet clothes. Your father went down to the bottom fields. Mum stayed inside to scrub the floors. Albert went up to chat with the captain as Joey pranced about the grass. He took a deep breath. Surrounded on that lovely summer day, the sun shining and a light breeze blowing through.

“Joey’s quite wild today! Excited for the fair, he is! He’s got to run, sir! Too much spirit! Sorry for that!”

“You can ride him out, Albert. I can draw the chickens or Harold instead,” Nicholls permitted.

With that, Albert swung his leg over the horse and galloped off. But once he was gone, Nicholls approached you.

“But Miss…are you alright?” he asked, softening his voice.

“You mean about Miss Corbyn?”

“No, Mr. Lyons…” he clarified.

You stopped pinning up laundry, setting the shirt down on the basket.

“You heard?” you asked.

He nodded.

“Albert told me…how do you feel now?”

You let out a deep breath.

“I feel…I feel relieved. And worried. But…I feel free…” you confessed.

“And you’re safe? He has not…bothered you since then?” he continued.

You shook your head.

“No. Never brought it up again,” you said.

“That’s good…”

He stayed there. You hung up the wet shirt to dry. Then you took down and folded some dried socks in a separate basket. Nicholls looked away to the field but stayed still. He began to fidget with his hands. He then walked out but did not return to his chair and sketchbook. He paced a little about the yard. You then paused and took a step towards him.

“Sir, is something the matter? Are you feeling well?” you asked.

“Miss Narracott…could you come here, please?” he asked.

You took a few steps closer. Out into the sunshine where birds carried their songs, the breeze was gentle, and summer was in bloom. His hands kept fidgeting, though he took a deep breath.

“May I be frank?” he asked.

“Of course…”

“I’m so sorry for this misunderstanding about her…I wish you confronted me sooner…” he confided.

“It’s all done now! I know you’re heartbroken because you were in love with Miss Corbyn!” you assured him.

He looked into your eyes with gentleness.

“I never loved Miss Corbyn. I’m not in love with Miss Corbyn.” he confessed.

“What do you mean?” you asked.

He reached into the left front pocket of his uniform. And pulled out your long missing glove.

He then looked at you with eyes wide.

"You...you took my glove...you had it for a year..." you wondered.

"You lost it at church. It was a hot day. You took your gloves off and kept them in your hand. As you left, this one fell on the pew. I kept meaning to return it...but...I...I wanted a reminder. Always there. To think of you...remember you..."

"Captain Nicholls…” you gasped, wondering if your mind could form words now.

“Can I speak more?” he asked.

You nodded. He took a step closer, placing a hand over yours. Warm, calloused, and gentle to touch.

"Miss Narracott, I've admired you. You’re a lovely woman. Your kindness, your loyalty, your heart...how much you cared for your family. How strong you always were. How gentle you were with all the animals-even Harold! And I..."

You looked at him. His eyes began to brim with a few tears.

Such words were not easily recovered from. Nothing else registered. Only him. He blushed, then glanced down at your hand. He gave you the glove and let go.

"So, tell me and relieve my torment...do you feel the same? If not, I will never set foot on this farm again and bother you again," he said.

You took one step forward and placed a hand on his. Holding it and looking him in the eyes.

"James...James, I feel the same..." you answered.

It was the first time you ever said his first name. His shoulders relaxed. He broke into a beautiful, adoring smile at you.

"I was...was never sure...and... The day Albert told me you were proposed to, I knew I had to gather the courage to tell you. That some gentleman with money would arrive and swoop you away. Then I'd have to stifle my feelings and let it die. I worried in that moment...I would lose you forever...not that I didn't want you to be happy. I only... I worried in your situation; you would marry out of desperation. That I had rivals I never expected..." he continued.

You placed the glove in his hand and put your second hand in his. You recalled your father’s drunken recollection.

“Albert told you about Lyons and Dad said there was a row at the pub. Did you-?”

“I had only one sip too many that night. I was tipsy, but I wasn’t drunk. And Lyons said something about being alone with you- it struck me. If he…took advantage of you …then you would be forced to marry him. Out of reputation.”

Nicholls lowered his head, then looked back at you.

He looked down, blushing red.

“I’m not proud of it. I’m not usually like this…I’m so sorry,” he apologized.

You shook your head, giving him a smile.

“But you did this because you worried about me. You cared for my well-being. You wanted me safe. How could I think less of you knowing that? It’s no matter,” you cooed.

He was breathing heavily.

"But the matter Is I love you, Y/N."

He finally said your first name. You could have glowed from happiness. You looked up and smiled. There were tears in your eyes- this time from joy.

"I love you too, James."

Suddenly there was the sound of clucks and a honk. Both of you jumped as Harold chased a bunch of chickens through the yard, Captain of his own charge. Both of you let out a laugh as you stepped aside, then reclasped hands. In the distance, you heard a familiar "neigh!"

"But James your intentions are honorable, are they?” you asked.

“Yes.”

“This means...you will talk to my father, yes?" you asked.

His smile widened.

"Happily."

Your heart stopped in your chest, and you felt giddy.

"I never thought you’d feel towards me...never believed I was worthy of you..." you confessed.

"You are, oh, sweet Y/N, you are!" he whispered.

There again was the sound of hooves. Albert’s brown head in the far distance.

"Albert will be soon...may I kiss your hand?" he asked.

"Yes."

He took a brief glance down at it, feeling your palm and enjoying the touch.

"Y/N... darling..."

He smiled; eyes bright as he brought it up to kiss it. It was short, but his lips were soft. He breathed in as he kissed you, savoring each bit of you. And you savored the second you felt his lips on your hand. Then he released. Much too soon, you let go.

You took returned to the laundry room, to fold and sort clothes Nicholls went back to his chair near the stable field. Albert galloped back in on Joey.

"Woah! Easy-boy! Aren't we a team, Captain!" Albert bragged atop the stallion.

"Indeed, you are!" James- for now, he was not only Nicholls but James! – replied.

Albert got off Joey and began to brush off the dirt on the horse.

"Nice and handsome- isn't he?"

"Yes, very. Do you agree, Miss Narracott?" James asked, turning towards you.

Both of you shared a smile at each other.

"He definitely is,” you answered.

Though after a few minutes of drawing, you saw out of the corner of your eye that James set his pencil down and closed the book. He got out of his chair and with a determined expression. He then looked over at you with a nod. You clutched the drying bed sheet you were getting off its line. James turned it over to your brother. Though you turned innocently to the laundry, your ears focused on them.

“Albert…where is your father now?”

“He’s down in the bottom field putting in seeds. Do you need him, sir?” Albert asked.

“I just want to speak to him.”

“Whatever for, sir?”

But before he could give the boy an answer, the gate swung open. Harold honked with an alert at a guest. You turned and saw Major Stewart rushing in.

“Jim! Jim! We’re needed immediately! Headquarters!” cried Major Stewart.

He turned his head.

“I need to go now, goodbye,” he wished Albert.

Albert dipped his head in farewell. Nicholls went over to you. Major Stewart at his heels.

“Goodbye Y/N, I’m sorry…”

“Nothing to be sorry for.”

He leaned forward, giving you a whisper. Stewart stood back with folded arms and a raised eyebrow. His lips tried not to smile.

“Don’t worry…the minute I am free...”

“All the time you need, James.” You replied.

He put on his hat and tipped it at you. Saying his last goodbyes to his hosts, he left with Stewart.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

You were smiling brightly the next day. You put on the nicest of your white blouses and darker-colored skirts for work. But you took extra time that morning on your appearance- in case James entered! And you saw him! You even found yourself grinning and humming as you restocked items throughout work.

“Why, someone’s cheery today! You were all doom and gloom last week, Y/N!” Alice commented as you both swept up some leftover dirt on the floor.

You leaned against the brush.

“Alice…can I confide in you?” you whispered.

“Oh, of course!” she said.

You softened your voice, the thought bubbling inside you like a hundred butterflies.

“Something…wonderful has happened. And something even better is about to happen…” you began.

“Ooo, don’t leave me in suspense! Tell me!” she urged in excitement, with a toothy grin.

But instead, there was the sound of a loud engine and yelling. Muffled over crowds of people bursting into loud talk right outside the shop. The church bells were ringing, and they never rung outside of services.

“What’s all the fuss? Stay here girls- I’ll be back!” Mrs. Snow offered, opening the door.

All of you peeked outside. People were handing over newspapers. Some gathered around one gentleman in a motorcar with a brown mustache. And no one looked happy.

When Mrs. Snow returned, her face looked like a ghost.

“Ladies…we are at war with Germany.”

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