A penniless dock worker inherits a title and his family’s destitute estate. In order to save the house and grounds, he puts an ad in the paper for a wealthy wife from the United States. The damaged Emma Swan is desperate for a new start anywhere but New York. Together, will they save Kentledge Hall?
Awash in several glasses of Champagne, eighteen year-old Emma
Swan had been easily tantalized into the Conservatory at the Vanderbilt Mansion
during a New Year’s celebration, ringing in the promises of 1916. Despite the December
chill, there was a lingering warmth in the Conservatory.
The young society darling and her date were surrounded by
all manner of exotic plants and flowers, blooming in the moonlight. She,
herself, was the most colorful thing in the room; she wore a gown of gold and
black, covered with a wine-tinted gauze and cinched at the waist with a
decorative band of gilded embroidery and mother-of-pearl. Her moonlit hair was
tucked into a pile of curls, secured with a large gilded comb bedecked with
Neal Cassidy, a young, handsome attorney from Delaware, was
her tuxedoed date for the evening’s festivities and they had just managed to
ditch Emma’s tipsy aunt Regina Mills back in the ballroom downstairs.
Emma giggled with delight as Neal swung her around the tiled
floor of the room, his arm wrapped around her back. They were dancing much
closer than they would have been allowed at the party. She closed her eyes as
Neal bowed his head to place kisses along the side of her neck, a smile
spreading over her lips.
“Mmm,” Emma moaned softly, sliding her fingers between his.
“You really shouldn’t do that, you know.”
Neal chuckled and let his lips find hers. He walked her
backward until her calves came to a stop against the end of a chaise longue.
“Why shouldn’t I?” He asked against her lips. “I’m going to marry you, Emma, my
The idea made her giddy. A grand wedding with all sorts of
fanfare and a milky-white gown of everything in the finest, her best friends
all with large bouquets of white roses and lily-of-the-valley…it was everything
Emma wanted. And Neal was such an entertainment to her over the past few
months. Lavish dinners, ferry rides, and even a day at Luna Park in Brooklyn
where he had won her a small pink porcelain figurine. He really knew how to woo
a girl. He grasped her by the waist and carefully laid her back onto the
chaise, taking a seat dangerously close to her.
“Neal,” Emma whispered, blushing profusely, “no, stop that…someone
will see you and think the worst.”
“With me, it will hardly be the worst, darling. Don’t you
want me, Emma?” He asked. The music downstairs grew louder, and Emma knew they
must be nearing midnight.
“After we marry, of course,” she insisted, moving her hands
to his shoulders to push gently.
I’m Going To Hold This Over Your Head For A Very Long Time
A/N: Just a little something light and fluffy to fill the cracks in your broken heart after that season finale.
They sit on the couch together, arms wrapped around each other. The room is dark save for the light of the tv. Tissues litter the floor around their feet and empty mugs of various sizes sit empty on the coffee table.
“Shall I make you more tea?” Killian asks, his eyes concerned as Emma sneezes, hand clutching her chest, feeling it in her lungs.
“I’m fairly certain there is more tea in my body then blood,” Emma says, her voice thick with sickness.
The end credits begin to role and David sighs dramatically from upstairs.
“That is the seventh time today!” he exclaims. “Thank God that’s over.”
Emma snuggles her head against Killian’s chest, holding on tight to him as her body shakes. One arm around her shoulders he’s pulls the blanket up over her lap with his free hand.
“Can you hit play again?” she asks softly.
Killian could practically quote the movie back to her now, possibly even do a one man show. But he nods, pressing his lips against her burning hot forehead, and picking up the remote to replay the movie.
“Please, no!” David cries. “It is three o’clock in the morning!”
“Remember that time-”
“That you stabbed me in the back and killed me?!”
“It was a different reality! Let it go!”
“Oh my gosh!”
Killian hits the button and the opening music blares downstairs.
“Buttercup was raised on a small farm in the country of Florin.”
Killian had taken to Netflix as he had with almost everything in the realm without magic; hesitantly at first and then with an unexpected vehemence. He was one of the few inhabitants of Storybrooke with only one set of memories, memories which did not include details on the ins and outs of the realm and its modern technology. As such, he sought out anything which could make him more familiar with the world he now called home. While his research into this realm’s customs often found him watching the strange moving pictures alone, he much preferred it when Emma joined him. Even though, perhaps especially because, they rarely made it through an entire film before they became engaged in much more pleasurable activities.