Archive of Our Own ^beta

The rain had eased sometime in the night, leaving the morning wrapped in a cool, silvery hush. Sunlight filtered gently through tall, mullioned windows, casting soft reflections on the polished tableware. A modest fire crackled in the hearth, more for comfort than necessity.
Annabel sat at her usual place, hands folded neatly around her teacup, pink eyes gleaming despite the sleep still lingering at the corners. At the head of the table, Lenore—dressed again as ever-dashing—sat with the poise of someone doing their best not to rub their temples too obviously. A dull throb behind her eyes reminded her of the brandy, but mercifully, the night had been kind. Or perhaps Annabel had been a stronger cure than any tonic.
Across from Annabel , Ira Whitlock nursed a cup of black coffee like it held the secrets of the universe. His cravat was slightly askew, and his skin had taken on the ashen hue of a man who’d lost an invisible battle.
“I’ll say this much,” he declared hoarsely, stabbing at a buttered kipper with the clumsy grace of a man pretending not to be hungover, “you, my boy, have a liver blessed by the heavens.”
Lenore offered a modest smile, spooning sugar into her tea. “I have… a good constitution.”
“Oh, don’t be modest!” Ira laughed—then winced, clutching his temples. “The entire pub was practically ready to toast you as king by the end of the night. Charming, eloquent, not a drop spilled. The barkeep looked ready to marry you himself.”
Lenore paused with her teacup halfway to her lips, one brow lifting. A sly smile curved across her mouth.
“Oh?” she murmured. “How queer.”
Annabel let out a soft, strangled cough into her napkin, shoulders trembling as she tried to hide a grin. Lenore glanced her way, eyes glittering.
“Did I say something amusing, Love?” Lenore asked, the picture of innocence.
Annabel composed herself just enough to lean forward with a smile. “Only that you seem rather well-versed in charming barkeeps. I’ll have to watch you more closely.”
“Careful,” Lenore replied, her voice low and teasing. “You’ll talk yourself into a trap.”
“Oh?” Annabel said, lifting her teacup in mimicry. “And what if I like the trap?”
Lenore smirked. “Then I suppose it was well laid.”
Ira, missing entirely the exchange beneath the surface, grinned at them both. “That’s the spirit! You’re already finishing each other’s thoughts.”
Annabel smirked, lifting her teacup with deliberate grace. “We do have our moments, Father. Leo’s wit is as sharp as his charm.”
Lenore inclined her head with a mock-serious air. “And don’t forget the endurance. After last night, I think Leo’s the last man standing.”
Annabel’s eyes sparkled with amusement. “I daresay, it was a close contest. But Leo has a knack for surprising even the most seasoned of Whitlocks.”
Ira chuckled, tapping his fingers on the table. “I’ll give you that. Few men could hold their own against me, let alone outdrink me. The family might need to brace for a new champion.”
Lenore smiled slyly, brushing a stray crumb from her jacket sleeve. “I’m honored to take the title. Perhaps I should prepare a victory speech—something suitably charming, of course.”
Annabel leaned closer, voice low. “Just don’t let it go to your head, Mr. Vandernatch. The Whitlock pride is a heavy crown to wear.”
Lenore’s eyes gleamed with mirth. “Oh, I intend to wear it well—and maybe steal a few hearts along the way.”
Annabel’s soft laugh was the only reply, but the warmth between them was unmistakable, a silent promise threaded beneath the polite surface of the morning.
Ira chuckled heartily, though the motion brought a faint wince. He reached for his black coffee and took a slow sip, then set it down with a deliberate thud. “Ha! Well, I must say, I’m quite relieved to hear Leo’s holding his own. It’s a comfort knowing my daughter’s choice can keep pace with the Whitlock temper.”
He glanced between them, eyes softening with a fond, if slightly bleary, gaze. “You two have a rare sort of… understanding. It’s clear she’s found someone who complements her—who brings out the best in her. That’s all a father could hope for.”
Annabel’s smile deepened, but she gave Lenore a small, meaningful look, a silent thank you for the unspoken trust between them.
Lenore inclined her head with quiet respect. “Thank you, Mr. Whitlock. That means more than you know.”
Ira’s eyes twinkled with amusement as he leaned in slightly. “My boy—call me Father, well, while we’re just together as family.”
Lenore’s lips twitched into a soft smile, the warmth of the moment settling between them.
Ira gave a short, approving nod. “Come now, I expect you both to carry on like this for many years. Though maybe with a little less brandy at future gatherings.”
The two exchanged amused glances, sharing a brief, conspiratorial smile as Ira’s eyes drooped again, exhaustion settling in.
Ira stretched and rubbed his temples, the remnants of last night still tugging at him but overshadowed by purpose. “Well, I ought to be off. There’s plenty to organize for the wedding— arrangements to confirm, and a hundred little details that will no doubt keep me busy all day.”
Lenore rose gracefully, though a slight stiffness in her hip was visible. “I’ll need to settle the estate books this morning. The ledgers don’t keep themselves, unfortunately.”
Ira gave a knowing smile, his eyes warm. “Ever the diligent one, Leo. I must say, it’s reassuring to know the estate is in such capable hands. You’ve worked harder than most I’ve known.”
Annabel returned his smile, pride flickering in her gaze as she glanced toward Lenore.
Ira’s glance shifted between them once more, a fondness in his voice. “Carry on, then. I’ll leave you to do your duties. Just don’t work too hard, can’t have you sluggish on the big day!”
Lenore inclined her head respectfully. “I’ll manage, Father.”
Annabel’s lips twitched with quiet amusement as Ira excused himself, leaving the two to share a look heavy with unspoken promises and the gentle certainty of their shared world.
A faint crackle of the hearth and the delicate clink of porcelain on porcelain. For a breath, neither spoke—both watching the space he’d occupied as though the very air was different now that it was just them.
Annabel set her teacup down with deliberate care, her pink eyes lingering on Lenore’s face. “You’ve won him over completely,” she murmured. “Do you realize that?”
Lenore allowed herself a quiet laugh, low and rough at the edges. “If only winning over the father were the hardest part.”
“Mm.” Annabel leaned in slightly, the corners of her mouth curving with mischief. “And what’s the hardest part, pray tell? The ledgers? The liver? Or surviving me?”
Lenore smirked, though there was a tenderness in the way her gaze lingered. She reached in, brushing the back of Annabel’s hand with her fingertips. “You. Always you.”
Annabel’s lips parted as though to retort, but the words dissolved into a smile. She tilted her head, just enough to let a curl fall against her cheek. “Then I’m glad you’ve the endurance for it, pet.”
Lenore pushed her chair back in with a faint scrape, balancing carefully on her cane as she began to depart to the office. “I ought to get to the ledgers before the day runs away with me. If I don’t, they’ll multiply like weeds by afternoon.”
Annabel’s hand shot out, catching at her sleeve before she could step away. “Must it be the ledgers first thing? The morning is too fine to waste, shut up with numbers.”
Lenore glanced toward the mullioned windows, where sunlight had broken fully through the clouds, setting the damp gardens aglow with silver drops. “It is a fair morning,” she conceded softly.
Annabel stood as well, curls spilling over her shoulder as she came to her side. “A stroll—just once around the gardens. Ten minutes, no more. Surely the books won’t riot in your absence.”
Lenore arched a brow, though the corners of her mouth twitched in amusement. “You’re very confident in your power to sway me.”
Annabel leaned close, lowering her voice until it was a silken thread. “That’s because I know you, pet. You’ll pretend to resist, but you want to be stolen away.”
Her words drew a reluctant, helpless smile from Lenore. “You make a dangerous advocate.”
“Only for what matters,” Annabel replied, looping her arm through Lenore’s before she could protest further. “Besides, I like to think the gardens look different when you walk them with me.”
Lenore sighed in mock defeat as Annabel’s grip tightened. “Very well. Ten minutes. But if the accounts revolt, I’ll blame you.”
Annabel beamed, tugging her gently toward the door. “I’ll shoulder the blame with grace. And perhaps, if you’re very lucky, I’ll even distract you from your ledgers a little longer.”
Lenore arched a brow, her smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth as she let herself be led. “Behave, Miss Whitlock—or I’ll march straight back to the ledgers. And if you’re this eager to distract me…” She leaned just close enough for her words to brush Annabel’s ear, low and teasing. “…I’ll have to start suspecting ulterior motives.”
Annabel gasped softly, hand to her chest in feigned scandal, though the cunning smile tugging at her lips betrayed her. “Ulterior motives? Why, pet, I’d never dream of such wickedness.” She tilted her head just so, eyes glittering. “Though… if I did dream it, I’d hope you wouldn’t be so quick to send yourself back to the ledgers, or you would let me come with you and,... help with them.”
Lenore shook her head with mock severity, though the smirk never quite left her lips. “Dangerous woman. I’ll have to keep a closer watch on you.”
“Then I’ve already won,” Annabel replied, her laughter soft and triumphant as she tugged Lenore through the door.