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In a small town like Mysticton, to engage in gossip about one’s neighbors was a sport of sorts. It meant that, much like fencing, no one was exempted from a sparring strike which could expose some truth about one’s disposition or reputation to the rest of the villagers. No one.
In fact, it was of little consequence to the surrounding residents as to what, or where, or about whom this sharing included so long as the topic was titillating, the person was some combination of scandalous or mysterious, and the discussion was breached artfully: with tact, with sophistication. Such a practice was allowed in trifles. It was encouraged, rather. But only so far as it did not tread upon anyone’s common decency.
After all, there was nothing more impudent to members of respectable society than rudeness or vulgarity.
Since the English valued propriety above all, therefore, it was an unspoken rule among them that gossip was to be whispered and never trumpeted. It was meant to be censored not flaunted. It mattered not whether folks were from the city or the country, or from what class or rank from which they hailed, but that they knew best how and when to be inconspicuous. And none in this world of manners, as it so happened, commandeered the art of whispering more effectively than the fairer sex.
Most of the time, anyway…
“Come now, Caroline,” Miss Pierce trilled from ‘round the edge of a wine goblet, her mouth cut in a minx-like expression. “You cannot deny the striking set of the gentleman’s features. He has that rough, angular jawline. Dimples for days. Dirty blond curls. And how about those eyes so blue and cavernous they could trap a girl in the dark forever? He’s quite delectable in a way. I dare say, he strikes one as a little—how shall I put it? Daring.”
The other young lady smoothed a loose blonde curl against her temple with a purse of her mouth, bristling. “I suppose that’s one way to describe him.”
“Oh? And how would you describe him instead?”
“I wouldn’t,” she said.
“Right. So, given your air of—blatant disdain, I take it you do not find him handsome then?”
It was the night of the Lockwood Ball.
Held on the family’s estate in a lofty, Georgian-style mansion, the ball was an annual event thrown in Mysticton every late September after the autumn equinox to welcome the harvest and kick off the country season.
Everyone in town was invited. That meant new acquaintances as well as old, with no exceptions. Such inclusion was customary in their friendly close knit neighborhood.
The two young women, who were both spry and appealing misses of marriageable age, were standing in a curtained recess on the periphery of a large ballroom that glimmered in soft yellow candlelight. Everything was aglow with warm autumnal tones and decor. Though both were fond of society and parties, not to mention popular, with a long list of suitors who were always eager to ask for the opportunity to stand up with them, there was a scarcity of gentlemen present this evening. Or at least of those who were inclined to dance.
As a result, many young ladies were left in want of a partner at various intervals. Including the two of them.
During one such interlude, Caroline and Katherine hovered a ways back from the refreshment table. Despite the array of delicacies that were spread before them from pumpkin punch to apple treacles, and from mulled wine to an assortment of cheeses, among other nibblings, they were eager to keep to themselves. They knew that full mouths and over-stuffed tummies could not temper this town’s hunger for fresh gossip for long, after all. Eyes were peeled. Noses were sniffing. And ears, they were always listening.
In an effort to be discreet, therefore, the young ladies had found a cozy little alcove in the corner by the bay window where it was quiet and they had enough privacy to talk freely. To tête-à-tête without fear of being overheard.
Miss Katherine Pierce, the elder of the two, albeit by only a few months, was beautiful and she knew it. Wielded it. She was the type who would always use looks and the art of seduction to her advantage, even if it meant exploiting them.
A brunette with a striking figure, she wore a fetching mauve number with thick skirts and a plunging frilly neckline that emphasized her bosom. She had an artful, provocative air about her that made her prone to coquetry as well as caprice, often making her the focal point of any group. The star. However, given the right incentive, or in this case, a trusted confidant, she could learn to step out of the light a little. Dim it in spades, when necessary.
She could be vindictive, though. Excruciatingly so. Hurt one of the few people in this world she esteemed, for instance, and she wouldn’t hesitate to skewer the poor bastard who was responsible through the innards. Leaving what remained for the carrions to eat.
In contrast, her friend, Miss Caroline Forbes, was pretty in an understated way because she was held in check by modesty. And by propriety. Sometimes even by low self-esteem. She was someone who people were keen to be near because she listened, because she cared. And that was all fine and dandy until those same people started taking everything she had to offer, but never giving.
Fair, blonde, and blue-eyed, she was the epitome of cheerful optimism, warmth, and amiability. These were all qualities which radiated from her like sunshine, like airy laughter. She had an infectious softness that had a way of seeping into those around her without her realizing, which is what made her approachable in the first place, not to mention magnetizing.
Though sweet-natured and gentle, Caroline was known to have a fiery personality. She was wiser and more astute than her seventeen years would imply at first sight.
That meant she knew how to turn a phrase, when to whip out the wit. It meant she wasn’t afraid to go toe-to-toe with someone who deserved a right ‘ole toppling from their pedestal. It meant she didn’t like to be bested or provoked, either. It also meant that she wasn’t one who cared to be ridiculed.
By anyone.
Ever.
Looking like a bluebell in spring this evening, she dazzled in a pale blue gown with swirling sapphire embellishments that shone from her fitted empire waist whilst her tongue was livelier than it had any right to be. At least so long as she was in public. Amid company.
“Handsome or not, Kat, a man like that who offers nothing but snarling personality at first sight holds no charms for me,” Caroline said, regal in air. “None.”
“Oh, I could think of a charm or two those Mikaelson boys possess…”
“Hardly.”
“Pardon me, Miss Prickly, but the Admiral is wickedly diverting, as you well know, and the Colonel…” Looking dazed, sounding tantalized, Katherine bit the edge of her thumb, simpering at the ceiling, “Why, he is just inscrutably delicious!”
“Fine, fine. I’ll concede you that. However, that other brother of theirs’ - whom we shall not name - is inconsequential. Not worth mentioning. Besides,” Caroline added whilst making a face like she’d smelled something foul, “I find his snobbery almost unendurable.”
“Unendurable? Really.”
“What?” she said as Miss Pierce appraised her curiously and bit back a feline grin. “Would you prefer I use a different adjective? Insupportable, perhaps? Or how about completely and utterly intolerable?”
Clearly bemused now, Katherine arched a brow, “Now, now, don’t cast him off so readily…”
“Why ever not?”
“You two are hardly acquainted,” she pointed out.
“So? You know how much stock I place on early impressions.”
“Yes, but there are other things to consider here…Firstly, he’s wealthy and titled. Secondly, he certainly knows how to strut in a pair of tailored breeches. (Don’t glower at me, I know you’ve noticed.) Thirdly, he owns the largest estate in Derbyshire and could use a wife to tame his miserable intolerable ways, thereby making him altogether more palatable to society—which, to be fair, would benefit everybody. And fourthly,” Katherine continued, reigning in her mockery a little as her companion snorted with contempt then rolled her eyes to the heavens, “not all of us are who we first appear to be, especially not among people we don’t know well.”
“Yes, yes, so you keep reminding me,” Caroline countered haughtily. Then waved her off.
“You should heed what I say then, darling. After all, though you’re loath to believe it,” she leaned in to pat her hand in a soothing gesture, “the gentleman in question may prove to be much more intriguing than you suspect at present.”
“Oh, please.” Playing coy, the brunette shrugged at this, a mischievous glint in her eye. “You cannot be serious, surely?”
“Ah, except I am.” Leaning back against the windowsill ledge, Katherine tapped her fingers along her glass stem to the rhythm of the current reel and sighed, taking another sip of her drink. Rapt but distracted, her expression soon clouded with some far away thought. “Did you ever consider that he may be socially withdrawn for good reason?” she asked.
“Pfft! Conceited, unsociable, and taciturn for no reason, you mean.”
“Why, Miss Forbes,” she clucked in mock reproach, “I don’t believe I’ve known you to chide anyone so disparagingly in my entire life! If I didn’t know better, I’d say this fellow has sunk his teeth beneath your skin to hit a discordant vein you find oddly compelling. You’re intrigued.” She cocked her head then, the corner of her mouth upturning, “You are, I can see it. He’s stoked a curiosity in you, hasn’t he?”
“Well, I never!” Caroline spat.
“Go on then. Admit it to me. Don’t bother lying,” she smiled. “I know you.”
“That’s—that’s absurd!”
“Is it now?”
“Yes!” Caroline sneered much louder than was necessary. It caused a few heads to turn their way before she colored, crossed her arms defensively, and lowered her voice to a hiss. “I’ll have you know I find Mr. Niklaus Mikaelson’s incense unforgivable, his derision an affront, and his irritable, unsociable nature entirely unbecoming. He’s not a gentleman in any sense of the word, and he never shall be. So there!”
“So nothing.” Katherine smirked then, waving her off with a trifling little waggle of her fingers. “My point still stands,” she said.
With her composure ruffled, her fists balling into her skirts, Caroline stomped her foot for emphasis, truly incredulous now, “But…but he’s insufferable!”
Miss Pierce leveled a look at her companion here, her lips compressed from want of laughter at this vehement outburst, knowing it was wholly out of character for Caroline to be so critical of someone with whom she was so little acquainted. She was almost always nauseatingly kind, after all. And patient to a fault. Even toward those who didn’t deserve it.
This was something Katherine knew to be true because she’d griped about it repeatedly over the course of many years, considering such virtues a waste of time and energy, never understanding how her friend managed to unearth good in someone when she shouldn’t have been looking for it in the first place.
“I wish he’d never come to Mysticton,” Caroline added with her nose turned up, her cheeks burning hot with indignation. “He’s a menace. Why—I can hardly stand the man!”
“Careful, love,” a lilting voice cut in suddenly. Then, without further adieu, a slender blond man in an evergreen waistcoat peeked out from behind the velvet draperies near them.“I’m afraid my temper’s flared for a lot less censure than that. Menace that I am, and all.”
“What—I—how dare you not make yourself known, sir!” Horrified, the color drained from her face as she whirled to face the same man she was just condemning, and stiffened. All the remaining dignity she had leaking out the soles of her shoes.
“And interrupt all the salacious gossip?” he said. “Why, that would have been rude.”
Mr. Mikaelson paused and allowed that to sink in before his mouth quirked at her tauntingly.
Then, with darkness collecting around him like a thundercloud, he moved. He pushed the lush green draperies aside with an arrogant, defiant flick and stepped out of the shadows.
He didn’t even bother to skirt around her. Instead, his large hands skimmed across her waist as he made to maneuver past her and head back toward the fray, but he lingered a moment too long, his proximity indecent, his touch a firebrand along her lower back. It made Caroline’s gooseflesh pimple.
He stood so close now it made her breath catch, and her pulse start to gallop away. She began to feel lightheaded, as if she might faint, which was insane because she was as sober and as stalwart as a lightpost. So why did feel as if she was a firecracker about to burst?
“Then what, pray tell, do you call eavesdropping? Gentleman-like behavior?” she parried in quick recovery, her lips snarling.
“I’d call it an accident, madam. A clever one, I think. The cleverest even. For who could resist the opportunity to listen in on a conversation with a lady as sharp-tongued and brazen as you are at the helm?”
“It’s called self-restraint,” she frowned.
“Never mastered that, I’m afraid.”
An intrigued-but-offended look came over Mr. Mikaelson’s features at the sound of her scoff, which she caught when she glowered up at him over her shoulder, because, for some reason, he still hadn’t removed his hands from her waist. Like a storm, he still loomed over her. He hadn’t moved away.
“I certainly couldn’t resist entering into a discourse with you seeing as you provided an opening so…what’s the word?” Smiling thinly, he scratched his chin here and waited. “Tempting,” he said at last. “Yes, tempting.”
Katherine, seemingly indifferent to this entire intrusion so far, snickered at that. Then she raised her glass in a toast of acknowledgment, or celebration, or who knows what, as he came to stand before them with his hands clasped behind his back, and said with alacrity, “Who indeed?”
“Still—I must caution you.” Mr. Mikaelson’s expression darkened as his gaze met Caroline’s again and clashed, held, sparking with an intrusive intensity that left her feeling uncomfortable for some reason, too exposed. So she shivered it off and hardened her glare in the process. “Best not enumerate any more of my faults until I depart from my perch,” he said.
“Why not? Afraid to know how many more there might be?” she laughed bitterly.
“Hardly.”
“Then what, pray? Astonish me. I dare you.”
Dimpling, appearing to be struck by this challenge, Mr. Mikaelson fixed her with a heady look. He took her in. She stood up straighter and waited, with hands on her hips, hanging onto his answer like the end of a trapeze, which of course he dragged out with excruciating slowness and conceit because he was nothing if not a fiend dressed in fine clothing who was here only to be a perpetual thorn in her side. To rob her of another pleasant evening, it seemed.
She was convinced of this as the roar in her ears held steady. Convinced. Almost as surely as she could breathe.
After all, what other excuse could the gentleman possibly have for such clandestine lurking? For having the gall to eavesdrop so boldly, so immodestly, and then, after revealing himself like the interloper he was, not even caring enough to feign remorse for his intrusion? What was he about? The audacity of the man!
Seriously.
(With no time or room in her head for hypocrisy, however, Caroline ignored her own conduct at present, which, truth be told, she knew, deep down, was morally questionable at best. Unsuitable to the extreme.)
Hands on her hips, foot tapping, her impatience was starting to run low now. “I’m waiting,” she said.
“All I meant to convey,” Mr. Mikaelson replied with a clearing of his throat and a twinkle in his expression which she found obnoxious, not to mention grating, “is that my immediate departure will only benefit you.”
“How?”
“Cataloguing the total sum of my ungentlemanly faults - as I imagine you’d call them - is not an easy feat. Moreover, it will only be feasible for you once I’m again in plain view. I require extensive observation, you see. Lots of time. Study. Focus. Analysis. Experiment. All of those other what have you’s…They’re essential to the accurate sketching of my character.”
Countering his sarcasm with condescension, she snorted. “I’m sure you’d like to think so.”
“Oh, I know so, sweetheart.”
Caroline was growing caustic now. Bitter. What kind of respectable man would talk to a lady this way?
“So please,” he encouraged with the slithering grace of a snake, his wit snapping back at her’s bit by bit to coil at something raw in her belly and make her feel unsteady, “do what you will. Feel free to observe me as much as you’d like. Study away—I insist. Truly, I do.”
If Mr. Mikaelson didn’t learn how and when to hold his tongue, she might scream. If he didn’t stop talking soon, if he didn’t wipe that expression off his mocking little mouth, she might resort to the kind of impropriety which she’d never known.
If he didn’t stop eyeing her like a country bumpkin with no breeding, with no manners, with no rank to speak of, she might stoop to lows she’d vowed to herself she’d never stoop because they were cruel and unkind, and she was neither one of those things. If he continued to provoke her, however, she might do something deranged and untoward and impetuous…
Like smack him.
Like trip him in the middle of a reel (which he’d more than likely be on the sidelines for, anyway).
Like throw him in the punch bowl. Like dunk his head under again and again, drowning him in spiked pumpkin juice in the middle of the room where the whole party could gather ‘round and see.
“If a proper sketch is what you’re after,” he continued, “then have at it. I’m all yours, Miss Forbes. All yours. After all,” his voice dipped dangerously, his gaze raked over her form with predatory glee, “I’d hate for you to misunderstand me.”
Then, after he gave a gallant bow which bordered on goading, he left her and Katherine to ruminate over his last remarks (which just so happened to be the most words he’d strung together at once before) to rejoin his family members who were perched beneath a large chandelier on the other side of the ballroom.
That heel of a man, that reptile, had just declared war whether he realized it or not.
Caroline glared daggers at his back the instant he sauntered away.
So she’d barely tolerable’d a near stranger with an indiscreet slip of the tongue. What about it? Was she expected to skulk to a nearby corner, her face blotched with color—aghast, humiliated, and regretful? Was she supposed to apologize for her uncouth remarks all because the indignant fool - a man who had refused to be properly acquainted with any of the ladies in town since he’d first arrived, by the way, herself included - decided to loiter in the shadows and listen in on a private conversation she had been conducting with her dear friend, Katherine, in a secluded corner of the ballroom? Ha. She wouldn’t stoop low enough to give him the satisfaction!
Besides, everything she’d said was the truth not gossip.
As far as she was concerned, he and that stormy countenance of his had earned spite from this entire house full of people, not to mention from the town of Mysticton at large. Deserved it, too!
Mr. Mikaelson had made no effort whatsoever to become a part of anything since he’d first arrived. If anything, he’d scorned their way of life any chance he got, always making derisive comments about country manners, traditions, or gatherings under his breath as if they were subpar. Beneath his “superior” standards.
What a pompous, miserable wretch!
Miss Pierce let out a puff of air. “Well, that was…”
“Inexcusable!” Caroline finished for her with barely repressed fury. “Can you believe the gall of that sneering Mr.—Mr. whatever his name is?”
“I don’t know, I found him refreshing.”
Giving Katherine a look, she swatted and kicked at the draperies he’d just vacated as if they were housing roaches. “Oh, please!”
“What?”
“He is so not a gentleman.”
“I’m well aware, dearest.” Grinning lasciviously, Miss Pierce ran her tongue along her teeth and simpered. “What’s your point?”
Nonplussed, Caroline sucked in a breath and pressed a gloved palm to her head, shaking it. She never understood how her friend could be so flippant about propriety, about good manners, about gentlemen who pushed the boundaries of decency.
Society had guidelines for a reason. It was only natural to be cautious or suspicious of unscrupulous behavior, regardless of the reason for it.
“Oh, don’t act so scandalized,” said Katherine with a roll of her eyes. “There are enough droll poppycocks among us in Hertfordshire as it is. We are not in want of another.”
“And that somehow makes a louse like him preferable company?”
“Well, I don’t know about preferable but it makes him interesting at least. An enigma. We haven’t had one of those in a while, that’s for certain.”
“Interesting?” Miss Forbes laughed dismissively. “Sorry, but I beg to differ.” Feeling peevish, she strode forward to pluck a morsel of cheese off the refreshment table and bit into it. “I think you and I have varying definitions of that word.”
Ignoring this, Miss Pierce tried another tack and slunk her elbow around her friend’s. With an impromptu yank, she cut them free of their temporary wallflower status to navigate them back through the undulating throngs of lace and tulle and coattails so they could perch on the edge of the dance floor where, she hoped, she could claw one of them, if not both, a spare dance partner.
She thought it time for them to dip back into the debauchery of the evening. Frivolity, gaiety, flirtation—they deserved a taste of such a many splendid thing.
“Just let go, Care, darling!” she encouraged. “Revel in the danger he poses, the intrigue.”
Then, with a bump of a her hip and a nod toward a dark-haired gentlemen who was adorned in militia red with brass buttons, she added in a breathy whisper, “Besides, where’s the fun in predictability? Who wants a gentleman tonight in the off chance you can dangle yourself from one of him instead?”
When she nodded in the direction of the officer, batting her eyes at him, Caroline groaned. “Are good looks, bad decisions, and dancing all that matter to you this evening?” she asked.
“Large fortune, too, of course. We mustn’t forget to factor in marriage prospects as well, dearest. I am advantageous in nature, you know.” She winked as the officer approached. “Even more so since these Moneybag Mikaelsons moved to town.”
Chuckling, “What nonsensical prattle you do speak, Kat!”
The officer offered his outstretched hand to Miss Pierce and she took it with feigned flattery, for in reality, she was eager and impatient to join the next reel. The man himself did not matter, only the opportunity to dance.
“Yes, yes, I’m incorrigible. Love me or hate me, if you dare,” she said with a trite little laugh. Then, after one more punctuated twirl and a flash of eyes, she disappeared into a sea of couples.
Caroline flourished her friend with a wave of adieu interspersed with a head-shaking smile before she moved to fetch herself a glass of wine. She decided to retire to a table in an adjacent room because her feet were in need of a rest, and so was her brain.
Relief flooded through her at the prospect of a few minutes alone. She hoped to observe a little, perhaps even admire the party’s splendor. She’d been too distracted by proximity to him earlier to do so. She’d never admit it, of course, but she needed time to recalibrate after everything that had occurred between them.
Personally, though she refrained from sharing this information out loud, especially at home in an effort to avoid her mother’s what will become of you hysterics, a part of her wished the entire Mikaelson family would deposit themselves and their moneybags back in London for good. Leaving their little country town with its quaint manners and civilities in peace.
It had been nothing but Moonstone Abbey has been let! Moonstone Abbey has been let at last! histrionics for weeks now. No one could seem to stop tittering about this blasted family.
Gossip about them seemed to be in everyone’s mouths, ears, minds, and hearts….there was no escaping it.
The truth was simple: the Mikaelsons' arrival had thrown the entire village into uproar. It had upturned everything.
For, not only was the family in possession of profound wealth, rank, and prestige, but one of them in particular was in ownership of Evermoore—one of the oldest, largest, most well-established estates in all of England. Besides that, four of the seven siblings - three gentleman and one lady - were single, of marriageable age, and, were either already established in esteemed professions, or, were set to inherit thousands of pounds. As a result of this, every last eligible suitor or coquette in the county schemed and clamored all over themselves for an opportunity to woo. To court. To admire. Some of them even resorted to flattery so absurd, so heinously insincere, that Caroline couldn’t help but baulk at their desperate, greedy displays.
It was disgraceful!
And all for what? The vain hope they could, perhaps, by some miraculous design of stupidity or frivolity, catch the attention of one of the single Mikaelsons? Procure themselves an advantageous marriage by sheer force of will? Be fortunate enough to live off those ample moneybags? What?
It was completely and absolutely insane! Asinine, really. She wanted no part in this courting circus. Not for her, and certainly not for her beloved town.
It was half past time for the Mikaelsons to leave, she’d decided—but not because she disliked them or anything. On the contrary.
In fact, amid a month’s worth of acquaintance, Caroline had found most of the family members to be engaging individuals. Stimulating even, at least when they had a mind to be.
Admiral Kol Mikaelson, for instance, the youngest son but one, boasted the most open temperament of all his siblings. He captivated society with his natural glee, with his mischievous good humor. His dark eyes were forever crinkled, drunk off amusement, and his conversation, which could be won with ease, was always as inviting and as pleasing as the proffered hand he had offered Miss Bonnie Bennett when he’d asked her to ‘teach [him] the steps of a country quadrille’ after a game of whist his first night there.
He was the idlest of the bunch, however, and chose to scour the seas for ports instead of for pirates. (The more clandestine and egregious the voyage the better.)
Fond of drink, gaiety, and women, he travelled the world with his ship’s sails raised in search of adventure and entertainment, teasing his way from land to land. He laughed heartily, danced readily, and drank heavily. Indulgence and spontaneity were the tenets he lived by—the pleasures of the world to be worn thin by his gluttony.
With a gambler’s spirit and and a swashbuckling soul, he infected those around him with a reckless flurry of activity they either gravitated toward or shunned completely. That’s simply how the dice of his life rolled. So all aboard!
Colonel Elijah Mikaelson, one of his elder brothers, stood in stark contrast to this, however. He held himself with an honorable grace that was befitting of a second-born son and gentleman. Instead of youthful exuberance, he had sagacity, courteousness, sophistication, and taste—which included an impeccable fashion sense.
Albeit, at times, in part because of his staunch military background, his stoicism could be a little intimidating to others. Imposing, rather. It was no secret that he didn’t laugh often. And his smiles, while not infrequent, did tend to be reserved or short-lived when they did appear at all. He also had a habit of peppering his dialogue with curt, arch remarks that tumbled wryly, frostily, from his mouth.
This caused some folks to label him wrongly as impassive, where in truth, he was simply guarded in expressions of sensibility. In fact, a compassionate warmth blazed behind his eyes if one knew where to look, softening him considerably. It made him handsomer than any man who was as accomplished and heroic as he had any right to be.
Although Colonel Mikaelson seemed less than inclined to partake in silliness of any sort, he had a shrewd mind which made him both approachable and engaging. He was worldly. He was well-spoken, educated, forbearing—all the qualities that made a respectable man, especially when put together with his musical skill which was as fine-tuned as a violinist’s strings.
Unlike her two brothers, Miss Rebekah Mikaelson, the youngest of the bunch save ten-year-old Henrik, was a bit more prickly around the edges. Mercurial in her way. Pampered as well.
She was not disagreeable in any regard, of course, but rather…she could be patronizing in a superficial way. It was as if she used her haughtiness as a shield when making new acquaintances in order to size up potential threats or allies, overexaggerating her snobbery for a purpose, for an effect. It was if she were issuing a test to everyone she met. Waiting to be convinced of their trustworthiness, of their sincerity. Wanting to uncover their nature to see who was or was not worth the effort.
Therefore, until strangers provided her with either a reason to smile or a cause to snarl, she treated them all with the same detached contempt. Letting only the deserving in to relish her playful attentions and amity later on.
Miss Rebekah was also favored with beauty. Comeliness. Glamour. This manifested in the form of long, smooth, white-blonde tresses of hair that were perfectly coiffed, as well a creamy complexion, an elegant figure, and freckles. Her look was topped off with blue eyes that coquetted almost as much as they puddled with insecurity, and a smile that could bring many a suitor to his knees, and often times did. The number of proposals she’d reportedly received and rejected was impressive.
She wore all the latest fashions as well, making her enviable in the eyes of every young lady in town. Rich, heavy silks swayed from her hips. Necklines were stitched in fragile lace. Skirts beaded with embellishments. Dazzling jewels were clasped around her wrists, her fingers, dangling from her earlobes, all of them purchased from merchants abroad in Rome, or Paris, or in any other number of exotic places.
Her heart, though—that was made of glass.
Still, she wore it outside of herself like an accessory that was much too easy to abscond. And absconded it was again and again. However, it was that quality which colored her affection in a full and ferocious kind of devotion that was endearing to anyone who was fortunate enough to receive it. She was not someone who loved by halves, truth be told, and she never would be.
All in all, Caroline had found the unattached siblings to be rather intriguing people. She might even be persuaded to say that she was honored to have met them, happy to know them little…
That attitude died a swift, sweet death when it came to him, of course. Mr. Niklaus Mikaelson. The pompous, irksome, unfortunately attractive middle son who rarely spoke but scrutinized everything and everyone around him by glaring, and by glaring incessantly.
Of all the Mikaelsons, he was the most uninviting. The most off-putting. Caroline had no cordial feelings toward him at all.
Hawkishly, he watched her from the darkest of corners of any room. His gaze was always moored, unrelenting in its perusal; his jaw ticking along with each new flaw he recognized in her person.
Ugh! Who gave him the right to be so disapproving?
She marveled at how he’d managed to survive in respectable society this long. Moreover, she puzzled over the allure he seemed to cast on others. Who could put up with his brooding? His miserable attitude?
She could not understand why young ladies like Miss Aurora and Miss Camille seemed more apt than not to swoon at his feet despite his clipped replies and blatant disregard for their fluttering eyelashes, coy smiles, squeaked threads of conversation, and contrived musical performances which were meant to impress him with their minimal accomplishments. His indifference rolled off him in rivets. Palpably.
Yet, still, they paddled before him like want-to-be swans who believed he was the key to them being able to fly out of their little duckling ponds someday. Only…
That would never happen.
Mr. Mikaelson took no note of them, no interest. The giddy fools would drown before he even noticed them splashing. He had more pressing concerns, apparently—his coffers.
After the first born male of the family, Finn, had devoted his life to the church, and Elijah had sworn his fealty to the military and the war effort shortly thereafter, Niklaus (or Klaus as he preferred to be addressed) had become heir of Evermoore. He had assumed control of the estate after his parents’ sudden and unexpected deaths eight years ago. Though it was suggested that their demise had taken place under suspicious circumstances, with the words “foul play” having been floated, nothing was proven. Nothing incriminating was found.
He was only nineteen years old at the time.
With the mantle of responsibility heavy on his shoulders, Mr. Mikaelson went to work. And he flourished.
Business doubled, tripled, and quadrupled under his management. The family name - which was already a staple throughout England - spread its influence all the way to India, China, and the Americas.
While it was commendable that he’d achieved much greater affluence for his family since the passing of his parents, rumors of a volatile father-son relationship, mood swings, and ruthless business practices clung to him like wisps of shadow. It seemed he was not a man to be trifled with in personal or professional endeavors. Couple that with his grumbling intensity as well as his refusal to mingle with any “common savages” since he’d come to Mysticton, and the man’s character shouldn’t have faired well under public opinion.
Shouldn’t have being the operative words.
The fact of the matter was this, however: Mr. Mikaelson was an eligible commodity. His wealth and status in the world made him one. Blinding everyone to his faults. It permitted them to be excused because of the exponential value of his deep pockets and prestige.
Still, behind his back, people everywhere tittered about his callous and formidable demeanor only to then flatter him in person with manufactured compliments, with fraudulent smiles. They powdered their noses for him, they performed quartets. They bowed, curtsied, waved, and sent over baked goods. They stood for hours by his side, feigning pride to be there, pretending as if they were having the most fascinating conversation of their lives while he deafened them with protracted silence or scorn. Never once saying a word.
It made Caroline sick to watch.
Every single one of them was nothing but a gawking hypocrite with thirty thousand a year! thirty thousand a year! spinning in their eyes and minds like a cash register.
While she supposed money and prestige held sway with a lot of people, particularly with single females in this town, it was disgraceful how many of them excused his defects entirely. Ignored them, really. It was appalling!
Did they not have any self-respect? Any dignity? Did they not understand that no woman on earth would ever be good enough for such a self-important gentleman? He could not be bothered to become acquainted with anyone in town, for heavens sake!
Clearly no one but her could comprehend that he was far too proud, far too supercilious, to care about anything except the well-bred capital lining his pockets. He had little to no regard for people at large.
Lost in these thoughts, Caroline watched as Miss Aurora and Miss Camille fluttered past her table. She overheard them formulating a plan to drop a handkerchief by Mr. Mikaelson’s feet, intent to trap him into asking one of them to dance, giggling in high-pitched decibels all the while, and she sighed.
Such a ploy would never sway a man like him. He was determined to be disagreeable. Why waste the time? The energy?
Truthfully, she pitied them that.
She promised herself right then and there she’d follow her own impeccable judgment where Mr. Mikaelson was concerned. Her eyes were open, her mind was made up:
He would never be worth her time or attention. Never!
“If you value your modesty,” Miss Rebekah humphed as she plopped down next to Caroline on a settee after an hour or two of mingling, “I’d advise you to scratch Mr. Damon Salvatore from your dance card indefinitely. He’s fond of dark corners. Far too fond. The lout has sly, wandering hands, and believe you me, it troubles him not to use them.”
A gasp. “He didn’t?”
“He certainly tried.”
“Are you okay?” Caroline asked as she leaned forward to look her over, concern creeping into her words.
Smoothing back her hair then her taffeta skirts, which were still ruffled and askew in places, the lady waved her off. “—No matter. I nearly stomped his foot clean off.”
“Glad to hear it.”
“Threat of more severe bodily harm should rein him in if our paths cross again in the future. He’ll either learn quick or regret that he didn’t.”
Caroline smiled at that. Then she offered her a cinnamon cookie as a form of recompense, as a show of her support. “He is the sort who could do would without a finger or three,” she said.
“Or limbs altogether.”
“I wouldn’t mind that, actually.”
Miss Rebekah smirked before nibbling the edge of her cookie. “Pity I did not remove his head for extra measure then.”
“You should have,” Caroline laughed, nearly tipping over her plate of crumbs. “It’s a pity, indeed, that you did not do us all a favor and stop his heartbeat.”
“Don’t tempt me. I’m still murderous enough that I might go back to remove a few choice body parts. My heeled slippers would be good for that. The perfect bludgeoning tool,” she said with a wiggle of her eyebrows as she slid one off her right foot and curled her fist around the stem, smiling darkly as she brandished it like the weapon it could be. “Well worth the blood spots that’d ruin my gown, don’t you think?”
“Absolutely,” Caroline agreed.
Miss Rebekah sobered then. Her grin disappearing. As she slipped the shoe back on her foot, she shifted in her seat and allowed her voice to take on a more serious edge. “In fairness, you did try to warn me about him.”
A nod. “I did.”
“Obstinate fool that I am, I ignored you. That was a mistake.” She sat up straighter and twirled a loose piece of hair around her finger, looking sheepish, “I apologize.”
“It’s okay.” Caroline shrugged and patted her companion’s hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze, trying to play it off as nothing even though she was oddly touched by the sentiment. “I’m sure you had your reasons.”
“Not really. Not any good ones, that is,” she said with a snort. “I simply assumed you meant to discourage me from welcoming his attentions so you could…ensnare him for yourself.”
“Good heavens, no! Why on earth would you think such a thing?”
The idea that she would seek any sort of approval or attention from Mr. Damon Salvatore was so unseemly, so preposterous, she couldn’t help but throw a gloved hand over her mouth to halt her full-bodied laugh in its tracks. He wasn’t well thought of in Mysticton. Handsome, perhaps, but his reputation was in tatters…through nobody’s fault but his own.
Miss Rebekah fidgeted next to her again. Crossing then uncrossing her ankles, she looked as if she were fighting something within herself. There seemed to be a thought lingering on her tongue that she was uncertain of expressing. After a moment, however, she seemed to shake off her hesitation.
“Pure intentions are rare. Among new acquaintances in particular, I’ve found. It’s made me cautious,” she explained. “Suspicious.”
Having grown up in a small town with neighbors who were known for their wagging tongues, and who invented salacious rumors to curtail boredom on any given day, Caroline knew all about those with questionable motives. She’d done plenty safeguarding of her own against that.
“As such, trust is—” Unable to make eye contact, Miss Rebekah blushed as she toyed with the silky lavender fabric of her skirt by rolling it between her thumb and forefinger. “Trust is not something I often extend to those who are outside of my family circle. I’ve had to be careful. Learned to be, you might say.”
“Wariness is not unknown to me, Miss Mikaelson. I understand. Believe me, I do.”
Caroline spoke feelingly here, for although she was surprised by this admission, she empathized more than she could say. Her heart warmed at the lady’s candor and vulnerability because she knew that could not have been easy for her to share.
“I, too, have been duped or disappointed by others in the past. It is not something I aim to repeat myself. Take care, though,” she said with an encouraging smile and another squeeze of her hand. “For I believe we are on the same page in that regard.”
A look of commiseration and understanding passed between them in the seconds that followed. Though neither said a word, it was as if an olive branch of friendship had been extended, with both of them inviting further intimacy and then accepting it without delay. In the space of a breath, they’d scooted closer together to link elbows and whisper. Gabbing more openly than they’d ever dared before.
“I was informed Miss Gilbert ended her courtship with Mr. Salvatore recently. Did you know?” Rebekah asked after suggesting they take a turn about the room. She reasoned they could immerse themselves in the atmosphere of the ball better on their feet than on their settees, with their voices covered by the hum of festivity around them. In addition, it was always nice to move after sitting so long in one altitude.
“I am aware, yes. It was big news prior to your family’s arrival in town.”
“I,” the lady gestured at herself with a grimace, “mistakenly took pity on him after I first heard about it. (Stupid, I know.) She’s engaged to his brother now, as I understand it, and he seemed rather heartbroken over the whole situation. I know what that’s like. I felt sorry for him.”
“He probably picked up on that,” Caroline said from a place from experience, and sighed. “Then used it to his advantage.”
“What a ghastly thing to do!”
“He’s known for that, unfortunately.”
Caroline shuddered as she recounted her own experience with him at a coming out ball a few seasons ago. She was only fifteen at the time, still new to society and just naive enough not to weed out excessive flatterers from her acquaintance. She had no idea then that charm and flattery could be powerful tools of seduction, or that seducers wore many different faces.
Mr. Salvatore had schooled her on that.
His advances to her had been sneaky and untoward, much as they were tonight with Miss Rebekah, and they’d only stopped because she had “accidentally” crashed him into a footman who was carrying a hot tea tray while they were in the middle of a Scotch reel. She'd given him a little shove into the tray as they spun. It had flipped on impact. Scalding him - head to foot, clothes through skin - in golden brown liquid.
Burn marks were still visible in a few places despite the passage of time. (Let’s just say there was a reason why he wore the lapels of his overcoat higher than was fashionable these days.)
Caroline had to admit she had no regrets on that score. Only unbridled satisfaction.
“What poor breeding!” gasped Miss Mikaelson after she’d finished relating the tale. “The foul fiend deserved what he got and more.”
Caroline shrugged, a triumphant thrill escaping her at the memory of his humiliation that night.“Mr. Salvatore has always been a bit of a rascal, in my opinion. I never could vouch for him.”
“You never will either, I expect.”
“Not in this century, ” she replied with a snicker, and meant it.
As they stopped before a large stone fireplace that featured two festive pumpkins which were resting atop a hay bale with tall corn stalks at either end, awareness prickled at the back of Caroline’s neck.
Suddenly, she knew they were being monitored. She could feel somebody behind her—watching, waiting, listening from the shadows. Hanging on her every word. Though she didn’t deign turn around to investigate, she knew who was there, who was looming. She could sense it. She could taste the unveiled repugnance in the air even before it descended.
Cringing in anticipation, she only had one thought: Not again.
“What an interesting assortment of individuals this one carriage town of yours boasts, Miss Forbes. I wonder how you manage them all,” came his drawling voice from the left.
She gritted her teeth. Scrunched her fists in her skirts.
“Now, now, don’t be unfair, Nik. Some in Mysticton are unpolished, to be sure, but I think most people here are agreeable enough,” she said with an incline of her head and a smile at Caroline. Then she widened their circle to include her brother, who was holding a glass of bourbon, looking bored and imperious.
“I’m merely making a point, sister.”
“About?”
He finished his drink in one large swig, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “About the sort of riffraff this town allows to run free.”
“And what sort is that exactly?” Caroline countered icily as she whipped to face him, her eyes narrowed and her wit sharper than a rapier.
“Best not get into it.”
“Why not?”
Though he paused to consider her here, those devilish lips of his were already quirked in estimation. “I’m afraid the details I'd relate would only upset you,” he said.
Stiffening at that, offended at the implication that most people in Mysticton were vermin, or something of the kind, she stepped forward with the intention of arguing the point. However, as she did so, she nearly smacked into his back because she found he was turned away from her, with his attention directed elsewhere—halfway across the room, to be exact.
Standing erect, looking mutinous, his hands were balled into fists and his brow was furrowed over something or someone she couldn’t see.
“So, tell me, shall I find a way to dispose of the eldest Salvatore’s lecherous carcass for you? I’ll do so inconspicuously, of course. Gladly.”
There was a pregnant pause.
“If you wish,” Mr. Mikaelson added as an afterthought after he glanced back over his shoulder and gauged by their expressions how dark and menacing he sounded.
“Not a wholly unappealing offer,” said Miss Rebekah as she considered it. She let it percolate a moment. “But unnecessary.”
“I am inclined to disagree…”
“Of course you are, brother.”
Her dismissiveness made him glower, but he seemed determined to appear reasonable. Measured. Which he was…but only on the surface, Caroline concluded. Underneath, he was boiling with the kind of venom and calculation that would fester for some time yet.
“I assure you it’d be my honor to eliminate such a scoundrel from our midst,” he tried again, softer this time. “Let me handle this.”
“No.”
“Rebekah—” he growled.
“—I said no.”
“He needs to be punished!”
Though visibly fuming now, Mr. Mikaelson’s temper seemed not to phase his sister. With a tiresome yawn and a roll of her eyes, she moved to adjust his cravat, which was crooked because he kept tugging at it. He’d almost ripped it from around his neck multiple times throughout this conversation.
“Calm yourself, Nik. He’s little more than a cockroach. A bug too lowly to avoid the crunch of retaliatory female feet at some point in the not too distant future. Besides, I trust Miss Caroline and I have laid much of the groundwork already.” She shot her companion a conspiratorial wink here. “We’ve stomped him down quite good in our own way, haven’t we?”
“I have the squash marks on my soles to prove it,” Caroline replied with a twinkle in her eye.
“See, Nik?” she chirped. “We’ve handled it.”
Frustration mounting, Mr. Mikaelson started to pace in front of them looking like a vigilante ready to duel. Not with pistols, either—but with a blunt broadsword. It was obvious he was ready to draw blood and roll heads on their behalf, which was honorable - gallant, rather - and had it been coming from any other person, Caroline would acknowledge it as such. She’d probably be touched by his protectiveness. Might even consider herself grateful to have him in their corner, supporting them, willing to go on the offensive to even the scales.
However, since she loathed the man and believed he was no gentleman, she was content to sneer at his behavior. To chalk it up to a territorial whim or a hero complex he had instead.
That made much more sense to her, at any rate.
“Neither one of you will be subjected to Mr. Salvatore’s lewd unpleasantness in the future. You have my word on that,” he promised.
“My, my, how chivalrous you are,” Caroline replied wryly.
Arms slung behind his back, he turned toward her with raised eyebrows. He had cooled down by about ten degrees after taking a moment to collect himself. “You say that like it’s a crime, love.”
“Not a crime, no, but I must say I find it singular you seem to prefer brawls to balls, Mr. Mikaelson. Tell me, cultured man that you are, righteous gentleman that you propose to be, why is that? I can’t help but wonder.”
“You have me pegged all wrong, you know,” he said with a shake of his head.
“Oh?”
“I happen to tolerate society just fine."
“Is that so?”
“Yes," he acknowledged with a terse smile.
“In what way?” she asked, genuinely curious now.
“I’m selective.”
“Hm, could’ve fooled me. I assumed you disliked most everyone you met.”
“No," he said flatly, his pupils dilating. "Not everyone.”
“Again, could’ve fooled me.” Fluttering her lashes, Caroline clasped her hands together daintily, tilted her head, and offered him a tight-lipped smile. Then she waited for him to embrace the challenge she’d just set at his feet, giving him ample opportunity to admit he was the brute-in-fancy-coattails they both knew him to be.
“Perhaps you should pay better attention then, love,” Mr. Mikaelson replied with a low bow, dimpling.
“To what?”
He smirked wider at her but said nothing.
The cad.
If he meant to disarm her composure by alluding to those uncensored comments she’d divulged to Katherine about him earlier, then he’d be sorely disappointed. Her stubbornness rose every time this imperious man attempted to make her look or feel foolish, and she regretted not a single word she’d let slip about him in disapproval.
Not.
One.
Roguishly attractive though he may be, she would set herself apart from her swooning peers. She’d show him precisely how little his money, his status, or his title, mattered. She’d douse him in the ugly truths he deserved, not in the pretty lies he often received.
“Oh, don’t let him rile you, Miss Forbes. I’m afraid my brother infinitely prefers fighting to flirting,” Rebekah supplied with an affectionate giggle. “Being in society for any length of time unsettles him. He dislikes it on the whole. Always has.”
“I suppose fighting gets his blood boiling in a way that dancing and small talk doesn’t,” said Caroline, though she knew she was projecting.
“The truth is Nik’s always been more adept at stomping offenders into the dirt than he has been at conversing with people in a ballroom.”
“Like I said,” her lips twitched as she flashed him a questioning look, “singular.”
After that, Miss Rebekah guided them around a cluster of occupied chairs and tables before passing beneath a vaulted archway which was framed in leafy garland. The reds, yellows, and oranges were a rich contrast to the flickering candlelight. It made the house feel snug and cozy, the people in it as familiar as a worn sweater.
Soon, the sound of piano grew louder. So did merriment and the cloying smell of perfume. Around another corner or two, and they had veered back into the room where the dancing was still in full swing.
Altering his posture slightly, Mr. Mikaelson’s gaze flicked to Caroline’s face with acuteness as they moved toward the twirling couples. His eyes, which were normally a cool detached blue, liquified into a more active hue when they looked upon her, curiosity and intensity rolling into them like a storm on a deep black sea. There was something assessing yet daring in the way he regarded her. Like she was the “x” of a complex equation he was trying to sketch in pencil.
Brushing up against her, he bent close to her ear and whispered, “I’ll take my being singular as a compliment, if you don’t mind.”
“You shouldn’t."
“But I will.”
“If you insist,” she said with a blithe sigh, raking him over with disapproval as their shoulders bumped and he turned the full force of his magnetism on her. “But what a mistake that would be.”
Before he could respond to this latest barb, which had landed like a blow and wiped the smirk clean off his mouth, the crowd parted to welcome Captain St. John and his newest recruit, Mr. Donovan. They came from the middle of the dance floor looking dashing in their navy blues. With a purposeful stride, a bow, and an affable demeanor, neither one of them minced their words, immediately making all the necessary pleasantries before they asked the ladies for the honor of the next two dances, which she and Miss Rebekah were more than happy to accept.
After all, it was always a favorable sign for gentlemen to be fond of dancing. Most females considered it to be a certain step towards falling in love.
Mr. Mikaelson disappeared back into another dark corner after that. To no one’s shock or surprise. Strangely, he seemed to be at home there. A wolfish statue who belonged to the shadowy outskirts of all pleasant society.
With his pride satisfactorily wounded, not for the first, but for the second time that evening, he refrained from speaking to anyone else for the rest of the night.
His eyes, however—they were active. They wandered. They followed Caroline through the rest of the ball with a fierce avidness and acuity that pricked at her composure, fiddling with her pulse as well as her peace of mind, making it possible to ignore, perhaps, but not forget, his presence.