Honeysuckle
Jan. 7th, 2012 11:00 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
barefoot_bardTitle: Honeysuckle
Rating: K+ (Suitable for ages 13 and above)
Disclaimers: The character Gabriel Cotton belongs tosharpiefan. The character Maggie Cotton belongs to sans nom.
Original pen-date: 7 January 2012
Summary: Show the Colours; Cotton/Maggie. Cotton pretends to have forgotten something important.
Author's Note: Short bit of sweetness, for a prompt solicited from Sharpie. I hope I haven't gotten them too badly wrong. It's kind of haphazard too, due mostly to the fact I wrote this before letting myself have a tea break.
It was not easy to pretend ignorance. Especially not for nearly a week. But it was necessary. Not the least because Cotton couldn't very well admit that he almost had forgotten, busy as things about the house had been lately. Of course, he was not the only one to be hopelessly lost amidst the bustle. Missus Paisley, the cook, was even more temperamental and snappish than usual, which in turn made the poor scullery maids more nervous than usual. The footmen were constantly in and out, more often than not finding themselves underfoot and the targets of scathing rebukes from Missus Paisley.
In the middle of the activity, Cotton found that his ability to concentrate on the more important things was not always constant. He was needed frequently above-stairs and when he was able to escape to the servants' quarters, he found himself being called on to resolve this complaint or settle that squabble. Nothing was helped when Joe Newbury accidentally backed into one of the kitchenmaids while carrying a laden tray and tipped the entire thing onto the broad flagstones.
Somehow, though, Maggie held her composure. She was probably the only one. It was refreshing to see her wind through the hustle and bustle as if none of it was even happening. Cotton was endlessly glad for her steady temper, and indeed for her very presence. Her and the children. It always brightened his day to see them scampering around, usually with Maggie chasing them. That was made it so hard to act as though there was nothing else on his mind but the impending arrival of Colonel Vickery's mother to the house.
She would never be so crude as to drop hints, of course, but he was perfectly aware she was thinking of it. Part of him longed to give some sign that he knew as well, though he knew it would be better not to, until the time was right. Besides. This was the sort of occasion that needed something special. If only everyone was not so preoccupied making the whole house shining and spotless perfect.
Were not for young Robert, Cotton was sure he'd never have pulled it off. The boy was very keen to please and once Cotton had sworn him to secrecy, proved more than willing to do anything asked of him. None of the servants paid the lad any mind in his comings and goings, which was just the thing. The less risk of gossip and questions, the better. Only once did Cotton venture out to see how well Robert was getting on and was pleased by the progress. Then somebody called for him from the kitchens and he hurried indoors again.
The day was upon them before any of them felt ready. The arrival of the colonel's mother touched off a flurry of anxious activity that did not subside until late in the evening. It was much too late for Cotton to even consider revealing his secret plan, much to his private dismay. Maggie would surely know he'd forgotten now. But it couldn't be helped. There was too much else going on. Damn it.
His chance did not come for a further two days, after things had calmed down somewhat. It was just past luncheon when Cotton found himself at odd ends for more than a few minutes. With a blossoming sense of cheerfulness, he went in search of his wife. She was in the pantry, helping the cook sort through jars of jam.
"Maggie, sweeting," he called, unwilling even as the colonel's valet to intrude too far into Missus Paisley's territory. "D'you got a minute?"
She straightened up and dusted her hands off against her apron. "What is it?"
It was all he could not to glance toward the door leading outside. "Whyn't we go outside, like? Only it's a mite crowded in here."
With only a quick puzzled frown, she followed him outside. He hadn't been able to look around at Robert's handiwork before now, at least not since he'd done a couple days past, but all was, to his relief, as it had been then. Cotton walked a few paces beyond the door before turning about and reaching for her hand.
"It ain't a cottage," he admitted, his face colouring a little. "But it's the best I could do."
At first, she stared at him, not understanding his meaning. Then she too turned around to look at the servants' entrance. For a long moment, there was silence and he worried he had gotten it all wrong. The worry was dispelled when she laughed.
"Honeysuckle around the door! Oh heavens. Gable, it's lovely. How did you - ?"
He pulled her close for a quick kiss. "That'd be tellin'. Anyways, I'm sorry it weren't on the right day. It's all been a bit of a madhouse and I did want to show you 'fore now, but... there's more, sorta. Near the chicken coops."
They crossed the dirt courtyard toward the chicken coops, hands intertwined. This was perhaps the better part of his little surprise, Cotton thought. It was not a very impressive garden, as far as gardens went, but it was plenty enough. The most important thing was the roses Robert had carefully planted, with the gardener's advice.
"It ain't so much," he said. "Honeysuckle and roses, I mean. But..."
Maggie was beaming, her laughter light and delighted. "It's perfect! You remembered, too. I'd thought... I'd thought you'd forgotten."
The last of his nervousness dissipated. He grinned. "I'd never. It's only the Twenty-sixth, mind. Two days late, which I'm sorry for. How could I forget the day you an' me was married, though?"
It wasn't anything like official, but it was more than enough. So was this. Honeysuckle about the door and roses in the garden. A wonderful wife and children, too. Cotton wrapped her up in a hug, glad as he ever was to have her for his own.
Rating: K+ (Suitable for ages 13 and above)
Disclaimers: The character Gabriel Cotton belongs to
sharpiefan. The character Maggie Cotton belongs to sans nom.Original pen-date: 7 January 2012
Summary: Show the Colours; Cotton/Maggie. Cotton pretends to have forgotten something important.
Author's Note: Short bit of sweetness, for a prompt solicited from Sharpie. I hope I haven't gotten them too badly wrong. It's kind of haphazard too, due mostly to the fact I wrote this before letting myself have a tea break.
It was not easy to pretend ignorance. Especially not for nearly a week. But it was necessary. Not the least because Cotton couldn't very well admit that he almost had forgotten, busy as things about the house had been lately. Of course, he was not the only one to be hopelessly lost amidst the bustle. Missus Paisley, the cook, was even more temperamental and snappish than usual, which in turn made the poor scullery maids more nervous than usual. The footmen were constantly in and out, more often than not finding themselves underfoot and the targets of scathing rebukes from Missus Paisley.
In the middle of the activity, Cotton found that his ability to concentrate on the more important things was not always constant. He was needed frequently above-stairs and when he was able to escape to the servants' quarters, he found himself being called on to resolve this complaint or settle that squabble. Nothing was helped when Joe Newbury accidentally backed into one of the kitchenmaids while carrying a laden tray and tipped the entire thing onto the broad flagstones.
Somehow, though, Maggie held her composure. She was probably the only one. It was refreshing to see her wind through the hustle and bustle as if none of it was even happening. Cotton was endlessly glad for her steady temper, and indeed for her very presence. Her and the children. It always brightened his day to see them scampering around, usually with Maggie chasing them. That was made it so hard to act as though there was nothing else on his mind but the impending arrival of Colonel Vickery's mother to the house.
She would never be so crude as to drop hints, of course, but he was perfectly aware she was thinking of it. Part of him longed to give some sign that he knew as well, though he knew it would be better not to, until the time was right. Besides. This was the sort of occasion that needed something special. If only everyone was not so preoccupied making the whole house shining and spotless perfect.
Were not for young Robert, Cotton was sure he'd never have pulled it off. The boy was very keen to please and once Cotton had sworn him to secrecy, proved more than willing to do anything asked of him. None of the servants paid the lad any mind in his comings and goings, which was just the thing. The less risk of gossip and questions, the better. Only once did Cotton venture out to see how well Robert was getting on and was pleased by the progress. Then somebody called for him from the kitchens and he hurried indoors again.
The day was upon them before any of them felt ready. The arrival of the colonel's mother touched off a flurry of anxious activity that did not subside until late in the evening. It was much too late for Cotton to even consider revealing his secret plan, much to his private dismay. Maggie would surely know he'd forgotten now. But it couldn't be helped. There was too much else going on. Damn it.
His chance did not come for a further two days, after things had calmed down somewhat. It was just past luncheon when Cotton found himself at odd ends for more than a few minutes. With a blossoming sense of cheerfulness, he went in search of his wife. She was in the pantry, helping the cook sort through jars of jam.
"Maggie, sweeting," he called, unwilling even as the colonel's valet to intrude too far into Missus Paisley's territory. "D'you got a minute?"
She straightened up and dusted her hands off against her apron. "What is it?"
It was all he could not to glance toward the door leading outside. "Whyn't we go outside, like? Only it's a mite crowded in here."
With only a quick puzzled frown, she followed him outside. He hadn't been able to look around at Robert's handiwork before now, at least not since he'd done a couple days past, but all was, to his relief, as it had been then. Cotton walked a few paces beyond the door before turning about and reaching for her hand.
"It ain't a cottage," he admitted, his face colouring a little. "But it's the best I could do."
At first, she stared at him, not understanding his meaning. Then she too turned around to look at the servants' entrance. For a long moment, there was silence and he worried he had gotten it all wrong. The worry was dispelled when she laughed.
"Honeysuckle around the door! Oh heavens. Gable, it's lovely. How did you - ?"
He pulled her close for a quick kiss. "That'd be tellin'. Anyways, I'm sorry it weren't on the right day. It's all been a bit of a madhouse and I did want to show you 'fore now, but... there's more, sorta. Near the chicken coops."
They crossed the dirt courtyard toward the chicken coops, hands intertwined. This was perhaps the better part of his little surprise, Cotton thought. It was not a very impressive garden, as far as gardens went, but it was plenty enough. The most important thing was the roses Robert had carefully planted, with the gardener's advice.
"It ain't so much," he said. "Honeysuckle and roses, I mean. But..."
Maggie was beaming, her laughter light and delighted. "It's perfect! You remembered, too. I'd thought... I'd thought you'd forgotten."
The last of his nervousness dissipated. He grinned. "I'd never. It's only the Twenty-sixth, mind. Two days late, which I'm sorry for. How could I forget the day you an' me was married, though?"
It wasn't anything like official, but it was more than enough. So was this. Honeysuckle about the door and roses in the garden. A wonderful wife and children, too. Cotton wrapped her up in a hug, glad as he ever was to have her for his own.