#which is funny to think about tbh ksdjskdjs

[possiblypeachy]

tea & schemes. (10)

―; summary: An unexpected face pops up while Florence and Jacob are out and about; she should really expect these things to happen at this point.

―; pairing: jacob frye x ofc

―; word count: 5k (ooh, she’s a biggun)

―; warnings: light swearing.

―; A/N: okay so maybe this took me like a month to chip through but life gets hectic sometime im--

nevertheless!! i love them!! and this!! i’m finally getting into the writing habit again so hopefully you can expect to see this more regularly?? don’t quote me on that, though /: 

please tell me what you think bc i’m in constant need of pointers and reassurance!! plus i love talking about this so :))

―; tags: @vamprose (ily <3) (p.s. do ask if you’d like to be tagged in the future!)

―; part: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11

― ❊ ―

Suddenly, it seemed like the pub wasn’t so important anymore and, what with that Benjamin bloke still glaring daggers at the pair of them a few tables from the bar, the couple decided to shimmy their way out of the establishment and wander the streets for a small while. At the horizon, the sun was setting, painting a strip of pinkish-orange across the early evening sky. There was a chill in the air-- a reminder of autumn settling in-- that made Florence tuck her shawl more closely into her shoulders and encouraged Jacob to walk that little bit closer to her. Well, that required very little encouragement, truly.

There was this strange sense of joy lingering between them; it was the happiness borne from a returned confession mixed with the sudden fear that it had perhaps all been a mistake or some kind of terrible joke. However, the way that his thumb brushed over the back of their hands as they zigzagged their way down the backstreets made Florence feel a little better at least. Jacob found enough comfort in the memory of her smile back in the pub; he was almost certain emotion like that couldn’t be faked-- not even by a world-class actor.

“Jacob,” Florence spoke after a brief period of quiet between them. They’d been speaking idly of things, skirting over the surface of the kiss that had happened earlier and overall quite content with that. However, one might call Florence a cat and curiosity had killed her, “when we kissed…”

She paused to ponder her next words for a few moments but, before she could finish her own sentence, Jacob interjected with that cocky little smile of his and a quirk of his brow. “-- it was magical and you’ll often dream of doing it again?” She gave him an exasperated look but grinned regardless. “Well, dear lady,” Jacob bowed almost crookedly, as if to lower his face down to hers while they were walking, “I am always available.”

She hit his arm and scowled but the light in her eyes told of amusement. “You’re terrible; I’m trying to ask you something serious.” His demeanour softened and he dipped his head to the side slightly, as if to say “go ahead”, straightening his posture. Florence gave his arm a small squeeze in an effort to comfort him-- ensuring that she wasn’t actually bothered by his incessant jesting-- and, as her hand lowered again, he caught it in his own. A little curl came to her lips, gaze caught on the sight of their intertwined hands for a few moments; Thomas Langhorne had never made her heart do that.

Eyes, almost golden in the early evening sunlight, dragged up to his face once again. “What are we?” At this, Jacob’s face scrunched with confusion and Florence pursed her lips momentarily before she rephrased: “Are we doing some kind of… courting now?”

Her eyes glazed slightly at that dreaded word— so did Jacob’s. He opened his mouth briefly, only to close it again and hum, pondering. “Well, labels don’t have to be applied, do they?” Florence frowned, to which Jacob’s heart dropped suddenly, worried that he might’ve disappointed her. “Not those fancy labels, anyhow—“

“It’s just that I might worry about—“

“— because I’d definitely get bullied by Evie if I told her—“

“— exclusivity and the idea of sharing you because I think I—“

“— that I was ‘courting a lady’ but I wouldn’t mind it, if you wanted to call it that, since I—“

“— really like you.”

“— really like you.”

They looked at each other as those same words spilt clumsily from both of their mouths. There was a moment of quiet between them, then Florence made a ridiculous little snorting noise in the back of her throat and they both began to laugh. She admittedly felt like one of those flustered ladies in those hopelessly romantic books she always read but, for the first time in her life, Florence didn’t loathe that thought so much— in fact, it barely bothered her at all. It simply felt… nice to know that Jacob was experiencing the same things. Well, she assumed, anyhow, what with the gentle pinkness to his smiling cheeks.

Their eyes locked for a few moments as their laughter died down, honey melting into hazel, and Florence’s lips caught in a content, little smile— one that made Jacob feel, for a moment, like all was right with the world. Her gaze broke away from his and she shook her head, huffing out something that sounded like a chuckle through her nose. “My brother is going to keel over and die if he finds out.”

“So we won’t tell him.” Jacob replied, a small squeeze coming to Florence’s hand. “Not yet, anyway.” A certain amusement lit up his features, the kind that she’d come to realise always came before one of his remarks. “Besides, I’d only have you to bully if Freddy’s chucked out of the picture.”

“I’m the one who does the bullying here, thank you very much.” Proudness adorned Florence’s face, nose upturned in a way that made Jacob do a strange, back-of-the-throat chortle. “I learnt from the best—”

“-- me--”

“-- my sister, Emily.” Her expression deadpanned beside the tiny quirk to her lips that proclaimed humour. “I will… allow you to be just as proficient at bullying as me.”

“You’ll allow me?” His eyebrows raised in disbelief, open mouth threatening to break into a grin.

She giggled, nodding. “Yes, I’ll allow you--”

“You’ll allow me, eh? Will you?” One of his hands came up to poke at her ribs, breathing out impish laughter at Florence’s sudden squeal. She half-expected to barely feel his prodding fingers through her many layers but the sudden jab to her side was very much there and it definitely made her jolt to one side. Unfortunately for everyone in the immediate vicinity, Florence began that god-awful snorting of hers. Jacob continued with his assault, repeating his words through laughter, until she was wiping tears away from her eyes, cheeks hurting from smiling far too much.

Disaster came when she wiped the cloudiness away from her eyes and her vision met with a familiar crown of golden hair. She spat something that sounded like a horrible mixture of “shit!” and “damn!”, which froze Jacob up as he tried to search for whatever had so suddenly changed Florence’s demeanour. However, she had already decided to relinquish any control he might’ve had on the situation by bundling them both off into a nearby alleyway, the home of a few-- now visibly worried-- urchins.

Jacob’s brows furrowed and his mouth opened, ready to hurriedly ask her what had gotten her in a twist. Florence stopped him before he could speak with a thin finger smushed against his lips. She muttered a “Willard” and, against her front, she felt Jacob tense, though his face showed no real difference.

“Why is that such a problem?” He whispered back, perhaps a little too loudly for Florence’s liking, using his hand to lower her finger from his lips.

A myriad of emotions flickered across her expression-- all of which made Jacob frown-- and, in a moment of catharsis, she sighed. “You know why it’s a problem--”

“If he sees us, so be it. Maybe he’ll finally leave you be.”

“And, what? Proceed to kill my brother?” Florence spoke through gritted teeth, gesturing pointedly back to the street they had just been on-- the street where Willard was. “I’m supposed to be going to that… dinner party to entertain the idea of him and I being a couple; I doubt it’d still be going on if he saw me being friendly with you, Jacob.”

Jacob pinched the bridge of his nose, jaw clenched despite him trying his best not to seem angry with her. “How long will that go on for, hm? Until you’re both married? When will Florence Molyneux-Herbert’s first child be born, I wonder--”

“Don’t be such a prick, Jacob.” There was something in her eyes that screamed a strange sense of annoyance. “I’ll do what I have to; I need to find solid enough evidence of his plots to get him arrested.”

There was a pause in which the pair stared at each other-- a challenge. Then, Jacob sighed and nodded. “Fine.” Florence released a breath she was unaware she’d been holding, placing her hands on her hips and turning herself away from him, as if she was about to peek back into the street. “I’ll come with you to the dinner.”

“What? No, Jacob--”

“Listen to me.” He gave her a look, all too aware of Florence’s tendency to interject when she was particularly… passionate about a subject. She opened her mouth like she was about to disregard him, then her expression softened and she gestured for him to go ahead. “This Willard bloke-- he thinks I work for your family, yes?”

“I assume so.”

Jacob’s little smile counteracted her confused frown. In a way, his mere energy had formed this kind of… conniving, scheming hope in the pit of her stomach. “Exactly. I am Jacob Frye, your butler and bodyguard, rolled into one. I presume it’s cheaper that way.” He shrugged and Florence gave a laugh, stifled by the back of her hand; it was a shame that he couldn’t see her dimple. “I’ll accompany you and Freddy to his estate and, while you look all pretty and have a munch on whatever little entrées he serves you, I’ll have a nosey about his house--”

“He’ll have guards.”

Jacob deadpanned at her, then gestured-- to make a point-- to all the various weapons strewn about his person. With a nod, a hum, and a laugh breathed out through the nose, she conceded. He muttered something like a “thank you” before continuing on with what he would no doubt tout a ‘nefarious plan’. “-- and collect any scraps of ill-intent he might have lying about. Who knows? Perhaps I’ll even stumble across a secret room with drawings of your brother and little knife marks--”

“You really do test me, Jacob Frye.”

He let out a gleeful little laugh, loud enough for Florence to poke him in the ribs-- or was she serving comeuppance for his incessant jesting? Only God would know, one supposed.

With a small peek around the corner, Florence grimaced when she saw that Willard was still window-browsing at that poncey jewellery shop, rubbing his chin in a way reminiscent of some kind of statue of Adonis. God, why was he so pretty? Her eyes raked up and down the bluish ensemble he was wearing today and--

Jacob pushed her slightly, straight out into the open street and Willard’s attention. The blond turned, intrigued by the little ‘woop!’ and scuffle of shoes, and his expression shifted to one of surprised delight. “Darling Florence! What a gift God has given me for such a beauty to stumble back into my day.”

She stopped herself from frowning at this and wanted more than anything to throw a look over her shoulder towards Jacob; it would’ve either been a plea for help or a reassurance that she did, in fact, dislike being complimented like this. Well, complimented like this by him.

He all but swept over to her, the little cane at his side no doubt merely decorative-- a show of absurd wealth and status that made Florence feel inferior. As always. “What brings you here? Doing a bit of light shopping, are we? If you’d like, we could--”

“Ah, Miss Abberline, there you are! These backstreets are just nightmares to follow someone down-- oh.” Jacob, now having shown himself from the alleyway, drew close to her side, though not so close as to draw any attention. Hazel eyes met with Willard’s green and he bowed his head; Florence knew that, in his heart, Jacob was mocking the man but Willard seemed none the wiser. “Willard, is it? How lovely it is that you and my mistress have run into each other today.”

Florence had to stop herself from laughing at his formalities, lips twisting upward despite her best efforts to remain stoic. She could sense that Jacob felt the same way, no doubt having realised that he would certainly be made fun of later on for this.

It was even more difficult to fight back the desire to turn and look at Jacob’s face when Willard corrected him, a light sense of disgust in his voice, with “Mister Molyneux-Herbert.”

What a prick.

“It is, indeed, a lovely coincidence that our paths have crossed again today. In fact, I was just offering to peruse the shops with the lady--” A green gaze caught Florence’s and he smiled somewhat; that terrible, conflicting feeling began in her soul again, “-- so I suppose you might go home, Mister Frye.”

Jacob kissed his teeth, shrugging. “No can do, I’m afraid; Miss Abberline is due for a dress-fitting later today so we’re on a tight schedule. The dinner party you plan to host would be a far better opportunity to catch up.”

Willard, seemingly disregarding just about everything Jacob had said, took a step toward her, to which she shuffled backwards into Jacob’s arm. He briefly placed a hand on her lower back, though truthfully it did very little to calm her, before clasping his hands together behind his back. “I could perhaps help you pick out a necklace or brooch to compliment your dress for the dinner--”

“Flor-- Miss Abberline can’t--”

Florence’s hand brushed against Jacob’s stomach lightly, as if to ask him to back down so that she could handle the situation. Hopefully, the gesture went unnoticed by Willard. “It pains me to say this, but Mister Frye is doing what’s in my best interests. If there’s one thing you should know about me, it’s that I get far too emotional when under tight time constraints; I get it from my mother.”

Willard made a little ‘ah’ noise and huffed out a small laugh. He looked to Jacob, gesturing to Florence, and joked: “Such a typical woman, eh?” Behind his back, one of Jacob’s fists clenched but his face told nothing of his annoyance-- rather his mouth shaped a grin, head nodding in agreement. Willard met her gaze again and took a few steps to the side, as if to let them both pass him on the narrow street. “Well, it was lovely seeing you twice today, dear Florence. I look forward to your presence this weekend.” Jacob was already walking past him when he held out a hand for Florence to place hers in. She did so, as she was expected, and he placed his usual kiss to the back of it, to which she began to feel almost guilty; leading a double life wasn’t for Florence, she had concluded.

Now released from the grasp of Willard, she hurried after Jacob, who’s tense shoulders told of frustration. When he heard the tip-tapping of her footsteps on stone beside him, he half-turned, a mocking smile painted across his expression. “Such a typical woman, eh?” The laugh he released was so hideous and fake that it made her begin her own horrendous giggling. Then, he shook his head, a very obvious frown pulling his lips downwards. “What a prick. Who raised him to be like that?”

Florence upturned her nose so she could achieve an appropriately posh accent. “The Earl of Carnarvon.”

“That would explain it then.” He sighed, rolling his eyes somewhat. “Well, at least you know you can catch the eye of-- what?-- nobility?”

“Oh, I doubt he would’ve even gone within a few feet of me if it weren’t for his murderous intent for my brother.”

Jacob did that kind of hum one does when they’re unsure of something-- the kind that changes pitch as easily as a cat flicks its tail. “I’m not sure if it’s just your brother.” Florence frowned and he elaborated. “To him, I am inconsequential-- a tiny little cog in a sequence that barely even affects him. I met him briefly once however long ago--”

“In the library, yes. He did give you a peculiar look.”

“Exactly. At the time, I assumed it was just because I was an inconvenience to him-- which, admittedly, I still am--” Florence huffed out a laugh and Jacob paused to smile, “-- but he still remembered me today. Bit strange, isn’t it?”

“You are overwhelming clad in weapons all the time and you have a tendency to gnaw at one’s mind.”

“Are you sure the latter wasn’t just you?”

Florence rolled her eyes but a grin broke her exasperated expression. “My point still stands, Jacob: you’re a memorable character.”

There was a pause. Then, he sighed. “Fine. I might be overthinking it. But, maybe my concerns are in the right place too. There’s always another side to the coin.”

“That was a lovely metaphor, Jacob. Have you been reading Evie’s books?”

His shoulder pushed hers and she stumbled to the side, laughing and trying to keep her dress from being trodden underneath her own feet. If she had fallen, he would’ve been dragged down with her regardless, what with how tightly her hand had taken to gripping onto his arm.

“You’re a bully, Florence Abberline.”

“Did I not tell you this earlier?”

He huffed out a laugh, shaking his head at her incessancy, but said nothing more; she had certainly proved her point from before, he supposed.

---

They had walked for a small while longer, trying their best to distract from Willard and his decidedly strange aura, before Florence decided it would be best for her to get back home, lest she have a small legion of police on the lookout for her. The way in which she’d mentioned this seemed specific but she denied Jacob any further details. Regardless, the thought of Florence having to evade police officers to stay out into the evening made him chuckle; she was a nightmare of a woman but he considered it one of her many charms.

They came to the red door of her home and, seeing that the curtains had been pulled closed, she gave him a chaste parting kiss, holding his face in her hands like she’d been doing it for her whole life. As usual, that little flush came to both of them: Florence’s ears tinged red and a pinkish hue gracing his cheeks. She could only hope that her brother wasn’t peeking between a gap in the curtains; she’d have a lot of explaining to do, if so.

“I’ll visit you again soon?” His voice was quiet-- as though he wanted to maintain a sense of intimacy despite the passersby-- and a hand lingered over her waist, testing to see if that was too much for her.

Florence didn’t object, instead reciprocating with a palm pressed to his chest. His hold on her became more definite and the feeling that rose in her chest made her smile. “The dinner is this Saturday--”

“I meant beforehand, Flor. Need to make sure that you’re not bending yourself over backwards to appease Willard, son of the Earl of Carnarvon.”

The dimple bore into Florence’s cheek-- a beautiful sight-- and she shook her head in that way of hers. “I won’t be; I already know what dress I’ll wear and all I need to do is consult Freddy about it.” Her hand moved from his chest to his bicep, squeezing it in reassurance. “I’ll be fine, Jacob. Don’t get all soppy with me.” She poked him now, little fingernail jabbing into skin, and he groaned, “You’ll remind me of Willard.”

“Don’t say that--”

“I should get inside. Goodbye, Jacob.” There was that cheeky smirk upon her lips as she trailed away, fingers dancing down the length of his arm and she took steps backwards.

However, his hand caught hers just before it left him and he pulled her back in for a delightful little peck. When they parted, it was almost as though her expression had moved from her face to his. “Just look after yourself, love.”

“I’ll try.” With that, she finally left him, sliding herself through the door, but not without looking back over her shoulder and shooting him a smile. As always, Jacob was stuck simply staring at the closed door for a while but that terrible missing feeling wasn’t there like it usually was. God, Evie was going to bully him when she found out.

The smell of chicken immediately overwhelmed Florence as she hung her shawl up. Cutlery clattered a room over and there was a muffled shout of “Hello, dear!” from Lissie. The older woman’s head poked around the corner, a smile on her face despite the napkins in her mouth, and said something that sounded like “Tea’s almost ready” but Florence couldn’t be sure. Nevertheless, she gave a little nod, mind already refocusing on the task of telling Freddy about their dinner plans for the weekend.

“Freddy?” She shouted in that way of hers. From the dining room, there was shuffling and stifled laughter from Lissie. “Fredd--”

“Florrie! Can you not bellow everything you say like a town crier?” He emerged from the dining room, hands tucked into the little pockets sewn into his waistcoat. He looked tired-- and eventful day at work, she assumed-- but he, despite his chiding, greeted her with a lopsided smile. “What is it?” With a hand, he beckoned her toward the table, shifting past Lissie, who was diligently trying to plate up their food.

Florence made her way to a seat-- across from her brother as always-- and clasped her hands together before her, careful not to keep her elbows on the table in an effort to appease Lissie. “Willard--”

“Oh, yes, you were due to meet him today, weren’t you?”

“Yes, I was--”

“Though I’ve also heard that, by the grace of God, you bumped into him another time-- by the jewellers.” Freddy leant back in his chair, thick eyebrows raised to the heavens. Florence pursed her lips. “I also heard that you were there with a man about my height, bit of stubble, flat cap, that had the same flighty disposition as a certain Jacob Frye--”

“Perhaps I was but that isn’t what I need to tell you.” Florence placed a hand on the table between them-- as if she was trying to calm a slowly angering beast. Much to her surprise, Freddy gave a little nod that asked her to continue, though the look in his eyes said that that conversation wasn’t over yet. “He has apparently heard rumours of his own ill-intentions toward you and wants to prove he doesn’t share the same will as his brother--”

“-- the doctor that was particularly nasty to his patients?”

Florence did a disgusted little nod, a sudden discomfort rocketing across her body knowing that such a monster’s brother could have similar intentions for her own family. “-- so he’s graciously invited us to dinner this coming Saturday.” She, mirroring her brother, slouched back in her chair, quite obviously at unease with the whole prospect.

Freddy hummed, nodding a thanks to Lissie as she placed a gravy boat in front of him, a little frown tugging at his lips. “Maybe we misunderstood him?”

With such certainty in her movements that Freddy fully believed her for a second, Florence shook her head. “He’s likely covering up; he lost that little note of his and now he has act particularly saintly lest I ruin all his plans.” She twirled her fork between her fingers then poked a breast of chicken. “Besides, Jacob thinks that he’s up to more than no good and, quite frankly, I trust his intuition.”

At the mention of the Frye, Freddy sighed. Florence went to speak before he could but he held up a hand to stop her. “Attending the dinner will be fine, if only to help us ease any worries we have. I have yet to meet the bloody bloke so maybe I’ll be able to draw some of my own conclusions about him.” A moment of quiet passed over them both, a thick cloud of questions travelling with it. Then, Freddy gave her a certain look-- the kind that desired a level of sincerity. “What were you doing with Jacob today?”

Florence pushed a roast potato about on the plate, slathering it in gravy, then took a careful bite out of it. It was almost like she was trying to avoid the question. Sometimes, Florence Abberline was a foolish woman.

“We ran into each other and--”

“Do not--” He paused, sucking a breath through his teeth, “-- lie to me, Florrie. I won’t be angry.” Florence looked unconvinced-- worried. Freddy’s expression softened; she was his little sister and he should be kinder. “I promise.”

She rolled her lips inwards and tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear in that nervous way of hers. “Fine. The truth is that I might, perhaps, in theory--”

“Florence.”

“I like him. A little bit.” They both stared at each other for a few moments and she groaned. “Alright, a lot more than I expected.”

Much to her surprise, Freddy simply smiled. It was one of those strange, unreadable smiles but a smile, nonetheless. “That’s… alright. He’s been doing good work for me recently and, despite his incessant joking and insistence on calling me anything but my name, I trust him to not go out of his way to manipulate you. He’s too dopey, the poor lad.”

Florence had the kind of expression one would adopt if they were told they were the Queen’s long-lost sister. “What? Why are you-- hold on--”

Lissie moseyed on over to take the emptied gravy boat, a scheming little grin plastered across her dastardly face. “I told you that your brother would be okay, didn’t I?”

Puzzle pieces visibly clicked together in Florence’s mind and she uttered a furious “You”, finger pointing accusingly toward the housemaid. “You told him, didn’t you? Oh, you are such a--”

“-- treasure to society? Helpful friend?” Lissie pulled the towel from her apron and slapped Florence with it. “I am the mastermind behind this whole ordeal and, without me--”

“-- without her, I would likely not be as accepting of your choice in men, dear sister.” Freddy finished, hoping to quell any potential bickering between the two women. “She mentioned how torn up you were about telling me-- and him for that matter-- and it made me realise that I’m perhaps too harsh on you; your carelessness is one of your many charms, I suppose.”

“I also asked him if he’d ever govern Emily the way he does you, to which he begrudgingly replied ‘No’.” Lissie raised a brow at Freddy and, despite this being a jab at him, he huffed out a small laugh, shaking his head.

“Jacob Frye is not the worst choice in husband, I suppose. I think mum would prefer that you marry for love too; it’s not like the Abberlines have any immediate desire to become nobility.” Freddy dipped his head to the side in the way that one does when they decide to allow something, eyes lost in some distant vision of the chaos that an Abberline-Frye wedding would involve.

Florence huffed out something that sounded like a laugh. “I still have no immediate intentions to marry the bloke; calm down.” She cut into a slice of carrot with her fork, refusing to look her brother in the eyes while discussing marriage. “Jacob is just a… nice fellow that I wouldn’t mind spending more time with.” For a moment, it seemed like Lissie was about to say something horribly filthy so Florence quickly interjected to keep the conversation focused, “So… you’re okay with Jacob and I?”

“Yes, so long as he doesn’t become too forward and at least tries to follow the proper rules of courting--”

“Because we kissed today and--”

“Damn it, Florrie! Can you do anything normally?” Despite his words and the hands that rubbed across his face, she could tell that he was fighting back a smile.

Lissie erupted into satisfied giggling, clapping her hands together like she’d just watched a world-class play at the theatre. “That’s my girl! How was it? Was it as romantic as we’d discussed?”

“Well, there wasn’t any rain or flowers involved but--”

“Right, I’m off to bed.” Freddy rose from his seat, rubbing the corners of his mouth with a napkin. Florence smiled in that impish way of hers, dimple boring into her cheek when Freddy gestured between the two women. “I’m okay with the idea of you and Jacob being together but, I beg of you, I need no details; you should reserve those for letters to our sister.”

Florence and Lissie broke out into laughter, watching Freddy walk dejectedly up the stairs. Lissie collected up her skirts and plonked herself down beside Florence, grabbing the opened wine bottle from across the table and pouring some for herself and Florence. “Well, you have to tell me all about it now. I might die if not.”

A slap came to the maid’s arm. “Don’t be so melodramatic.” Then, there was a pause during which Lissie stared at Florence, swirling the wine in her glass. Florence looked just about ready to burst, a sudden grin splitting her face. “God, it was lovely-- he was lovely. Right, we were at the pub and we’d gotten our drinks when--”

Lissie listened to Florence’s babbling, a warmth in her chest that proclaimed pride, smiling at this tale of budding love. It was a wonder how, only a month or so ago, this same girl loathed the idea of romance; he had cracked her well and fully, much to both of their joy, it seemed. A gentle flush grew on Florence’s face, that little dimple of hers never disappearing, as she explained the events of the day.

Call it a psychic inclination or just a gut feeling but Lissie knew that he would be good for her. It was only a matter of time before she’d be making wedding preparations. Oh, the thought alone made her giddy.