Year After Year (Hathaway/Wallflower Next Generation)
Title: Year After Year
Characters: Simon Hunt, Annabelle Hunt, Harry Rutledge, Claire St. Vincent, Miranda Crowley, Byron Crowley, Argus McKay, Phoebe McKay, Jeremy Hunt, Isabelle Gaultier, Nicholas Hunt, Brenna Merripen, Win Merripen, Gabriel St. Vincent
Rating: pg
Word Count: 2,271
Summary: You put your arms around me and I'm home...
Disclaimer: All television shows, movies, books, and other copyrighted material referred to in this work, and the characters, settings, and events thereof, are the properties of their respective owners. As this work is an interpretation of the original material and not for-profit, it constitutes fair use. Reference to real persons, places, or events are made in a fictional context, and are not intended to be libelous, defamatory, or in any way factual.
Author's Note: Random cuts from my 2011 NaNo, Next Generation fic for Lisa Kleypas's Wallflower & Hathaway series. Not all will be posted, but if you have any certain character you would like to see, let me know and I will see what I have (or perhaps write something new in this universe). This is all set about 20 years after the Hathaway series. For your convenience, cast of characters listed here.
“Come in, come in, I welcome you to my home, my lord, my lord, and my lord,” Simon Hunt was grinning like a cheshire cat as he greeted Leo, Lord Ramsay and Kevin, Lord Cavan. Ramsay smiled back amicably and Cavan quickly turned up the corners of his stern mouth. He was not known for being overly jovial or warm. Next up was Christopher, Lord Riverton, who nodded at him with military formality and Cam Rohan doing his best to appear at ease, and Simon hoped that there would be mostly peace in his home that night. And then, last up, the shining star on Simon’s night, was Harry Rutledge with his beautiful wife, Poppy, and their three daughters.
“Mrs. Rutledge,” Simon said, extending a hand to help her over the tiny step into the front door. Rutledge glowered at him from behind her. Simon recognized the murderous glare and understood - he had a rather beautiful wife himself and he hated any other man’s hands on her, for any reason, even if it was entirely proper and respectful. The man was just too easy to irritate.
“Poppy!” Annabelle had pushed forward from behind him and threw her arms around Mrs. Rutledge’s waist, and the two embraced easily, as old friends. They probably would have been very good friends if Simon and Harry would ever manage to act civilized around one another. She shot Simon a look as she led Poppy and the girls into the house, taking the eldest, Elizabeth by the hand. She was a pretty young thing, looking very much so like her mother, Simon noted. He glanced back at Rutledge. You poor bastard, he thought. He did remember what it was like to have a beautiful daughter at that age.
“Hunt,” Rutledge said, by way of greeting.
“Rutledge,” Simon returned with a grin.
Rutledge grimaced in response. “Thank you for inviting us to your home this evening. I’m sure it will be a pleasant experience for us all.”
“Oh, I’m sure it will be,” Simon couldn’t help snorting out a chuckle. He clapped Rutledge on the back in a familiar manner, and felt the man tense under his hand. This was going to be entirely too much fun.
*
“Did you see the big one?” Claire St. Vincent whispered in a high-pitched giggle behind her hand to her sister Lady Miranda who was trying to quietly sit and not be sick to her stomach in the corner. She was in the very early stages of her first pregnancy (nobody knew but her sisters, her parents and her husband, of course) and so far, it had been a less than glowing experience.
Miranda tried to glance over, without being conspicuous. Even that slightest motion made her nauseous. “They’re all quite large, dear. Which one are you talking about?”
“That one,” Claire pointed, not caring about being conspicuous in the slightest. Miranda squinted. She should have known. Claire was pointing at the two large young men who were clearly from the Roma side of the family. “That one,” Claire pointed again, for emphasis, this time leaning a bit more towards the young man on the left, with a slightly sterner countenance and sitting a bit taller. “He’s the Irish viscount, isn’t he?”
“I don’t know,” Miranda said, letting out a bit of a moan. Goodness, but sometimes it was almost too much to speak. “Byron?” she called softly, and almost immediately, her handsome, dark-haired husband, Dr. Byron Crowley, was at her side, kneeling beside her.
“What is it, sweetheart?” The firelight glinted off of his gold-rimmed spectacles, and Miranda smiled as she felt the pressure of his warm surgeon’s hand at the base of her spine.
She leaned close to him. “The two Roma boys, which is Mr. Rye Rohan?” Mr. Rohan’s father and their own papa were close, old friends, and their mama had known him even longer. Miranda had met Rye when she was a little girl, but it had been a very long time ago.
“The one on the right,” he answered, and Claire raised a delicate eyebrow in surprise.
“I didn’t know you spent much time at Jenner’s, brother,” Claire smiled teasingly at her serious brother-in-law.
He shrugged lightly, a nonchalant gesture that was so out of character with his usual doctor’s formality. “I don’t mind a game of chance once in a while.” But he smiled down at his ‘little sister’. Claire had been a gangly and precocious twelve-year-old when he had first met her and they had gotten along as fast friends right from the beginning. “Is that the sound of a marriage hunter I hear in your tone?”
Claire shrugged herself, and Miranda could see her cross her legs at her knees under the voluminous layers of her blue water-silk gown. “I would like to have as many options as possible,” she said airily, and the good doctor Crowley and his loving wife exchanged an amused glance. They had never seen anyone enjoy a season - two seasons, at that - as much as their dear Claire. “Besides, I think I would do very well as the wife of an earl - he’s set to inherit, you know.”
“In Ireland,” Miranda moaned, perished at the thought.
“It’s lovely, I hear!” Claire laughed merrily. “Besides Miranda, it isn’t like you to be so snobbish.”
“I’m not, you know I’m not,” Miranda said. She turned to Byron. “Darling, will you get me something?”
“Anything.”
She smiled softly. “Just some ice chips, dear. No need to move heaven and earth tonight.” He patted her cheek tenderly before he went off in the general direction of the kitchen, and Miranda turned back to Claire. “I just can not bear to have another sister so far away.” Claire’s smile turned thoughtful. They did both dearly miss their oldest sibling, Phoebe, up in Scotland with her husband, Argus, the loud, red-haired marquess with his big hands and bigger smile.
As if hearing their whispered conversation, the devils themselves materialized from around the corner, with their eighteen-month-old daughter, Fiona, who was just starting to walk and already had plenty of practice with screeching at the top of her lungs, heralding their arrival. At first glimpse of her aunties, Fiona ran over as fast as her shaky little legs would allow and Claire laughed and caught her up, heedless of the baby’s tiny, sticky hands on her fine gown. “Well, there is my monkey, I had missed you,” Claire cooed, cuddling Fiona close and kissing the top of her head.
“Who are we discussing now, ladies?” Argus roared, dragging one parlor chair over in each hand for himself and his wife. He had one volume, and he was a shameless gossip.
“The Romas, of course,” Phoebe answered. “Claire would only set her sights on-”
“The handsomest man of the season, of course,” the baby of the family answered. “And why shouldn’t I? Who wouldn’t want me?” All were still laughing when Byron hurried back with ice chips for his wife.
*
“Shame on you, petit frere,” Jeremy didn’t turn as he heard his sister’s soft laughter behind him as she joined him at the top of the staircase, watching the large gathering in their formal parlor, which was nearly the size of a ballroom. Their mother had said many years ago, when their father was having this house built for them, that she didn’t want to only be able to dance in one room of their home, and Simon had planned the layout with that in mind. “You invited half the town to our home and you leave your poor guests to our parents and their friends? Exactly where did you learn your manners?”
Jeremy smiled but did not give any more of a response. He could not take his eyes off of her. It had been nearly a month since the ball at the Rutledge, nearly a month since he’d been to see Rye Rohan and the Hathaway cousins at Jenner’s, and for nearly a month, Jeremy had done hardly anything other than think, dream, and fantasize about Elizabeth Rutledge. He had wondered if he had perhaps built her up too mythically in his mind - she could not be that beautiful, that inviting, she could not possibly have the hold on him that he imagined she had.
He was wrong. It was far worse.
And now that she was here, in his family’s home, playing exactly into his designs the way he had wanted her to, he found that he could not move his feet from the floor. All he could do was look at her.
“So, that’s her, eh? Not bad, brother,” Nicky joined his siblings on Jeremy’s other side. He had been his main confident these past few long weeks, and there was no need to pretend there was anything else on his mind.
“She’s really something, very beautiful, Jeremy,” Isabelle said seriously. She glanced to her side, and saw that her brother gave no indication that he had heard her. She nudged him gently. “But you won’t get very far if you are hiding up here all night. Are you ever going to go downstairs and greet her properly?”
“I will,” Jeremy answered from very far away. Isabelle and Nicky exchanged a look, surprised at the lack of certainty in their confident brother’s voice. “In just a moment,” he finished.
*
“...And this is my youngest, Brenna,” her mama held her by the shoulders in front of her, and Brenna drew back shyly. Mama’s voice was gentle above her head. “Brenna, can’t you say hello to Mrs. Hunt?”
Brenna gulped. “Good evening, Mrs. Hunt.” Her voice was so quiet and tiny. She had never seen a gown like the one this beautiful lady wore, with bare arms. Her Auntie Poppy also had very pretty clothes, but she usually covered a bit more of herself. Brenna reached out a hand to the fine fabric with its intricate beadwork, but then pulled it back sharply before she touched it.
Mrs. Hunt laughed and leaned down to Brenna’s eye level. “Oh, she’s a dear, Win,” Mrs. Hunt’s eyes were a lovely, bright shade of blue. Mirela and Jado also had blue eyes, but they were darker. Brenna had never seen eyes such a shade of blue. Mrs. Hunt reached out and took Brenna’s little hand in her own gloved one. “How old are you, dear?”
“I will be seven on the twentieth of July, Mrs. Hunt,” Brenna answered politely, and the beautiful lady laughed again, seemingly delighted.
“How marvelous. I shall write that down so I can remember to send you a birthday gift,” Mrs. Hunt said, standing up again, and turning back to Brenna’s mama, who looked down at her with a wink. “Win, don’t you just wish they could stay this age forever?”
Mama sighed in agreement and Brenna looked up to see her mother staring across the room, and she followed her gaze to Mirela, sitting in the corner, with Anna. Mirela was so sad these days Brenna thought it might have been because she missed West. She decided that she would paint a picture of him for her tomorrow. Maybe that would help.
Her mama and Mrs. Hunt had led all of the families into one of the largest dining rooms Brenna had ever seen- she had never been to a party with so many people before, even when their whole village in Fairwall at a county dance and they both accompanied Brenna over to a very elegantly set table, set a bit behind a curtain, away from six larger tables set more centrally in front of the floor to ceiling windows that looked out over the Hunts magnificent moonlit gardens. “Here is your place, dear,” Mrs. Hunt patted her shoulders as she set her in front of one of the chairs. Brenna could see a little place card that read Lady Brenna Cole. ‘Cole’ was their gadjo name, her most proper name and it made Brenna feel very serious and important when she saw it. To the left of her place, the card read Miss Adelaide Hathaway and Miss Caroline Rutledge to the right. Brenna felt a little rush of excitement. It was enough that she was sitting with her big cousins, but to be treated like such a little lady.
Her brothers, Tamas and Mihai, were following in from the other room, talking about rounders with the Duke of Kingston’s young son, Gabriel, and Tali and Rebecca whispering and giggling behind them. She had heard the Duchess introduce them earlier when they had first arrived. “Come now children,” the Duchess herself followed all of the children to the table. “I’m sure we can all trust you to behave like little ladies and gentlemen,” she said with a kind smile, before deftly closing the curtain off, giving the children the freedom of informality.
Brenna moved over to the chair with her lovely name card on it, and felt someone pull the chair back for her. She looked over her shoulder and it was Gabriel, the golden haired, ten-year-old viscount. “My lady,” he said seriously, but smiled at her full of mischief and Brenna beamed back.
<<<333
Characters: Simon Hunt, Annabelle Hunt, Harry Rutledge, Claire St. Vincent, Miranda Crowley, Byron Crowley, Argus McKay, Phoebe McKay, Jeremy Hunt, Isabelle Gaultier, Nicholas Hunt, Brenna Merripen, Win Merripen, Gabriel St. Vincent
Rating: pg
Word Count: 2,271
Summary: You put your arms around me and I'm home...
Disclaimer: All television shows, movies, books, and other copyrighted material referred to in this work, and the characters, settings, and events thereof, are the properties of their respective owners. As this work is an interpretation of the original material and not for-profit, it constitutes fair use. Reference to real persons, places, or events are made in a fictional context, and are not intended to be libelous, defamatory, or in any way factual.
Author's Note: Random cuts from my 2011 NaNo, Next Generation fic for Lisa Kleypas's Wallflower & Hathaway series. Not all will be posted, but if you have any certain character you would like to see, let me know and I will see what I have (or perhaps write something new in this universe). This is all set about 20 years after the Hathaway series. For your convenience, cast of characters listed here.
“Come in, come in, I welcome you to my home, my lord, my lord, and my lord,” Simon Hunt was grinning like a cheshire cat as he greeted Leo, Lord Ramsay and Kevin, Lord Cavan. Ramsay smiled back amicably and Cavan quickly turned up the corners of his stern mouth. He was not known for being overly jovial or warm. Next up was Christopher, Lord Riverton, who nodded at him with military formality and Cam Rohan doing his best to appear at ease, and Simon hoped that there would be mostly peace in his home that night. And then, last up, the shining star on Simon’s night, was Harry Rutledge with his beautiful wife, Poppy, and their three daughters.
“Mrs. Rutledge,” Simon said, extending a hand to help her over the tiny step into the front door. Rutledge glowered at him from behind her. Simon recognized the murderous glare and understood - he had a rather beautiful wife himself and he hated any other man’s hands on her, for any reason, even if it was entirely proper and respectful. The man was just too easy to irritate.
“Poppy!” Annabelle had pushed forward from behind him and threw her arms around Mrs. Rutledge’s waist, and the two embraced easily, as old friends. They probably would have been very good friends if Simon and Harry would ever manage to act civilized around one another. She shot Simon a look as she led Poppy and the girls into the house, taking the eldest, Elizabeth by the hand. She was a pretty young thing, looking very much so like her mother, Simon noted. He glanced back at Rutledge. You poor bastard, he thought. He did remember what it was like to have a beautiful daughter at that age.
“Hunt,” Rutledge said, by way of greeting.
“Rutledge,” Simon returned with a grin.
Rutledge grimaced in response. “Thank you for inviting us to your home this evening. I’m sure it will be a pleasant experience for us all.”
“Oh, I’m sure it will be,” Simon couldn’t help snorting out a chuckle. He clapped Rutledge on the back in a familiar manner, and felt the man tense under his hand. This was going to be entirely too much fun.
*
“Did you see the big one?” Claire St. Vincent whispered in a high-pitched giggle behind her hand to her sister Lady Miranda who was trying to quietly sit and not be sick to her stomach in the corner. She was in the very early stages of her first pregnancy (nobody knew but her sisters, her parents and her husband, of course) and so far, it had been a less than glowing experience.
Miranda tried to glance over, without being conspicuous. Even that slightest motion made her nauseous. “They’re all quite large, dear. Which one are you talking about?”
“That one,” Claire pointed, not caring about being conspicuous in the slightest. Miranda squinted. She should have known. Claire was pointing at the two large young men who were clearly from the Roma side of the family. “That one,” Claire pointed again, for emphasis, this time leaning a bit more towards the young man on the left, with a slightly sterner countenance and sitting a bit taller. “He’s the Irish viscount, isn’t he?”
“I don’t know,” Miranda said, letting out a bit of a moan. Goodness, but sometimes it was almost too much to speak. “Byron?” she called softly, and almost immediately, her handsome, dark-haired husband, Dr. Byron Crowley, was at her side, kneeling beside her.
“What is it, sweetheart?” The firelight glinted off of his gold-rimmed spectacles, and Miranda smiled as she felt the pressure of his warm surgeon’s hand at the base of her spine.
She leaned close to him. “The two Roma boys, which is Mr. Rye Rohan?” Mr. Rohan’s father and their own papa were close, old friends, and their mama had known him even longer. Miranda had met Rye when she was a little girl, but it had been a very long time ago.
“The one on the right,” he answered, and Claire raised a delicate eyebrow in surprise.
“I didn’t know you spent much time at Jenner’s, brother,” Claire smiled teasingly at her serious brother-in-law.
He shrugged lightly, a nonchalant gesture that was so out of character with his usual doctor’s formality. “I don’t mind a game of chance once in a while.” But he smiled down at his ‘little sister’. Claire had been a gangly and precocious twelve-year-old when he had first met her and they had gotten along as fast friends right from the beginning. “Is that the sound of a marriage hunter I hear in your tone?”
Claire shrugged herself, and Miranda could see her cross her legs at her knees under the voluminous layers of her blue water-silk gown. “I would like to have as many options as possible,” she said airily, and the good doctor Crowley and his loving wife exchanged an amused glance. They had never seen anyone enjoy a season - two seasons, at that - as much as their dear Claire. “Besides, I think I would do very well as the wife of an earl - he’s set to inherit, you know.”
“In Ireland,” Miranda moaned, perished at the thought.
“It’s lovely, I hear!” Claire laughed merrily. “Besides Miranda, it isn’t like you to be so snobbish.”
“I’m not, you know I’m not,” Miranda said. She turned to Byron. “Darling, will you get me something?”
“Anything.”
She smiled softly. “Just some ice chips, dear. No need to move heaven and earth tonight.” He patted her cheek tenderly before he went off in the general direction of the kitchen, and Miranda turned back to Claire. “I just can not bear to have another sister so far away.” Claire’s smile turned thoughtful. They did both dearly miss their oldest sibling, Phoebe, up in Scotland with her husband, Argus, the loud, red-haired marquess with his big hands and bigger smile.
As if hearing their whispered conversation, the devils themselves materialized from around the corner, with their eighteen-month-old daughter, Fiona, who was just starting to walk and already had plenty of practice with screeching at the top of her lungs, heralding their arrival. At first glimpse of her aunties, Fiona ran over as fast as her shaky little legs would allow and Claire laughed and caught her up, heedless of the baby’s tiny, sticky hands on her fine gown. “Well, there is my monkey, I had missed you,” Claire cooed, cuddling Fiona close and kissing the top of her head.
“Who are we discussing now, ladies?” Argus roared, dragging one parlor chair over in each hand for himself and his wife. He had one volume, and he was a shameless gossip.
“The Romas, of course,” Phoebe answered. “Claire would only set her sights on-”
“The handsomest man of the season, of course,” the baby of the family answered. “And why shouldn’t I? Who wouldn’t want me?” All were still laughing when Byron hurried back with ice chips for his wife.
*
“Shame on you, petit frere,” Jeremy didn’t turn as he heard his sister’s soft laughter behind him as she joined him at the top of the staircase, watching the large gathering in their formal parlor, which was nearly the size of a ballroom. Their mother had said many years ago, when their father was having this house built for them, that she didn’t want to only be able to dance in one room of their home, and Simon had planned the layout with that in mind. “You invited half the town to our home and you leave your poor guests to our parents and their friends? Exactly where did you learn your manners?”
Jeremy smiled but did not give any more of a response. He could not take his eyes off of her. It had been nearly a month since the ball at the Rutledge, nearly a month since he’d been to see Rye Rohan and the Hathaway cousins at Jenner’s, and for nearly a month, Jeremy had done hardly anything other than think, dream, and fantasize about Elizabeth Rutledge. He had wondered if he had perhaps built her up too mythically in his mind - she could not be that beautiful, that inviting, she could not possibly have the hold on him that he imagined she had.
He was wrong. It was far worse.
And now that she was here, in his family’s home, playing exactly into his designs the way he had wanted her to, he found that he could not move his feet from the floor. All he could do was look at her.
“So, that’s her, eh? Not bad, brother,” Nicky joined his siblings on Jeremy’s other side. He had been his main confident these past few long weeks, and there was no need to pretend there was anything else on his mind.
“She’s really something, very beautiful, Jeremy,” Isabelle said seriously. She glanced to her side, and saw that her brother gave no indication that he had heard her. She nudged him gently. “But you won’t get very far if you are hiding up here all night. Are you ever going to go downstairs and greet her properly?”
“I will,” Jeremy answered from very far away. Isabelle and Nicky exchanged a look, surprised at the lack of certainty in their confident brother’s voice. “In just a moment,” he finished.
*
“...And this is my youngest, Brenna,” her mama held her by the shoulders in front of her, and Brenna drew back shyly. Mama’s voice was gentle above her head. “Brenna, can’t you say hello to Mrs. Hunt?”
Brenna gulped. “Good evening, Mrs. Hunt.” Her voice was so quiet and tiny. She had never seen a gown like the one this beautiful lady wore, with bare arms. Her Auntie Poppy also had very pretty clothes, but she usually covered a bit more of herself. Brenna reached out a hand to the fine fabric with its intricate beadwork, but then pulled it back sharply before she touched it.
Mrs. Hunt laughed and leaned down to Brenna’s eye level. “Oh, she’s a dear, Win,” Mrs. Hunt’s eyes were a lovely, bright shade of blue. Mirela and Jado also had blue eyes, but they were darker. Brenna had never seen eyes such a shade of blue. Mrs. Hunt reached out and took Brenna’s little hand in her own gloved one. “How old are you, dear?”
“I will be seven on the twentieth of July, Mrs. Hunt,” Brenna answered politely, and the beautiful lady laughed again, seemingly delighted.
“How marvelous. I shall write that down so I can remember to send you a birthday gift,” Mrs. Hunt said, standing up again, and turning back to Brenna’s mama, who looked down at her with a wink. “Win, don’t you just wish they could stay this age forever?”
Mama sighed in agreement and Brenna looked up to see her mother staring across the room, and she followed her gaze to Mirela, sitting in the corner, with Anna. Mirela was so sad these days Brenna thought it might have been because she missed West. She decided that she would paint a picture of him for her tomorrow. Maybe that would help.
Her mama and Mrs. Hunt had led all of the families into one of the largest dining rooms Brenna had ever seen- she had never been to a party with so many people before, even when their whole village in Fairwall at a county dance and they both accompanied Brenna over to a very elegantly set table, set a bit behind a curtain, away from six larger tables set more centrally in front of the floor to ceiling windows that looked out over the Hunts magnificent moonlit gardens. “Here is your place, dear,” Mrs. Hunt patted her shoulders as she set her in front of one of the chairs. Brenna could see a little place card that read Lady Brenna Cole. ‘Cole’ was their gadjo name, her most proper name and it made Brenna feel very serious and important when she saw it. To the left of her place, the card read Miss Adelaide Hathaway and Miss Caroline Rutledge to the right. Brenna felt a little rush of excitement. It was enough that she was sitting with her big cousins, but to be treated like such a little lady.
Her brothers, Tamas and Mihai, were following in from the other room, talking about rounders with the Duke of Kingston’s young son, Gabriel, and Tali and Rebecca whispering and giggling behind them. She had heard the Duchess introduce them earlier when they had first arrived. “Come now children,” the Duchess herself followed all of the children to the table. “I’m sure we can all trust you to behave like little ladies and gentlemen,” she said with a kind smile, before deftly closing the curtain off, giving the children the freedom of informality.
Brenna moved over to the chair with her lovely name card on it, and felt someone pull the chair back for her. She looked over her shoulder and it was Gabriel, the golden haired, ten-year-old viscount. “My lady,” he said seriously, but smiled at her full of mischief and Brenna beamed back.
<<<333