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Chapter Text

Paul Blofis sighed, and leaned back in his chair. It creaked dangerously. He stretched his neck, hearing it crack ominously, and then rolled his poor shoulders. He removed his pocket watch, a gift from his grandfather, and quite possibly the most expensive single item he owned, from his waistcoat, and checked the time. Another hour here, and then it would rushing to a private tutoring session for…who was it again…Lord Kenilworth’s son?...He’d have to check his datebook. He might have time to grab a pasty from a bakery to keep his stomach from growling too much. 

He rubbed his eyes, and bent down over the next manuscript.

It was late when Paul returned to the small flat he rented in the city. He was tired, and his eyes hurt. There were two letters and a bill from his tailor in the mail that the landlady had held for him. He sighed. The bill would need to be dealt with soon. Hopefully Lord Keniworth paid his bills on time, or Paul would have to draw on with his savings to settle it. He trimmed a single candle and set it next to the chair, while he lit a spirit stove to boil water for tea. It was cold, as was natural, in December, but he only lit a small fire. He horded his coal, and used blankets whenever he could stand it, to save a few extra schillings. The fire was not very warm, but it did take some of the chill off, and he set the bedwarmer on to warm. He did, however, spread the blanket across his lap when he had poured his tea and taken a seat in his chair. 

His flat was small. It was all he could really afford on the little income he had from his grandfather. Grandfather had been able to put him through Oxford, but not much else, and his parents had little else to share with him, who needed every penny for his sisters’ doweries. He had a modest savings in the bank, a legacy from his cousin John, who he had grown up with, and had become an Army captain and died during the campaign to capture Martinique in 1794 from the Yellow Fever. He tried to leave that be as much as he could and live off the interest whenever possible. 

He had worked as a lecturer at a private school for a while, but the work had been frustrating, and he needed a break. And he had wanted to try his hand at writing. But moving back to London might have been a mistake. His parents had retired to a cottage in the countryside, now that his sisters were married, so he hadn’t had a home to go back to in order to save on rent. And now he was even busier than he had been teaching, what with editing manuscripts for the publishing company and with tutoring on the side just to put a few more shillings in his pockets. He had been thinking about looking for another teaching position. Perhaps somewhere with a living included, somewhere in the quiet countryside, where he could focus on his book. 

But he would miss the city. There was just something about London. 

He reached into his satchel and drew out the manuscript he had been working on today. He’d not finished reading it when he was done for the day, and he’d found it so compelling he could not put it down. So he’d slipped it into his satchel and brought it home. No one would miss it overnight anyway. 

The fire had nearly gone out, the candle had burned nearly all the way down, and his tea was cold when he finally looked up from the manuscript when he had finished. It was wonderful. So beautiful and heart breaking. About an orphaned woman and the men who mistreated her. One as a lover and one as a husband, how she overcame it, and raised her son. And it was a horrible shame he was going to have to suggest some large revisions to the end or turn it down. 

But the story ends with her unmarried, and supporting herself. And though he knew it was often the way of things, it just would not be ok with any seller. She’d need to marry again at the end of the story. 

Or die. But he’d hate for that to happen. 

But he’d always have this story. Tomorrow he would correspond with the author. The manuscript had come in with a letter from S. Jackson, and gave a return address in Cheapside. He tucked it carefully back into his bag, downed his tea, cold as it was, and then rose from the chair. He shivered. It had gotten colder. He rubbed his hands to warm them, and then checked his watch. It was near to 11, well past the time he should have been in bed. He hurriedly readied himself for bed, taking out an extra blanket, and nestled the bedwarmer between them. 

Tomorrow was another day.

It was three days before he could arrange a meeting with the mysterious S. Jackson. He had sent a note asking for the meeting the previous day, and a return letter had arrived with apologies saying it would not be possible to meet right away. He would be meeting Mr. Jackson  today. 

The publisher’s office had a small room that could be used for meeting with clients, and Paul waited, looking over yet another manuscript, when there was a knock at the door. “Come in,” he called.

A woman strode in the room. He was immediately struck by her confidence and self-assuredness. She was older, but still quite handsome, though her face showed evidence of lines of strain. Her dress was not of the latest fashion, and showed signs of use, but it had been updated with lace and ribbons, which he knew were cheap and made a goodly show for sixpence. Clearly a women who knew how to stretch a farthing. There was just something about her. 

“Are you Mr. Blofis?” she asked.

Startled, Paul realized he had been staring, and he jerked to his feet. “Why…yes,” he stammered. “I’m sorry, are you looking for me?” he asked. “I’m waiting for…”

“Me,” she said, offering her hand. “I’m Sally Jackson.”

S. Jackson. 

“I…erm, why, yes, of course. I…I’m sorry…” he stammered, shaking her hand. “I had…no...idea.”

“No, of course,” Sally Jackson replied. “I find that people don’t take my work seriously if I sign my name at first.”

Paul supposed she had a point. It’s likely that her manuscript would not have even reached his desk under those circumstances. 

“Won’t you…won’t you sit down Miss…erm…Mrs…?” 

“Mrs. Jackson will do,” she said, taking the chair provided.

“Mrs. Jackson, then. I…wished to talk to you about your manuscript,” he said, mentally readjusting to the task at hand. “I will be quite honest, I quite enjoyed it. But it will need some modifications before it can be published?”

“Modifications? Like what?” she asked.

“Well,” Paul took a breath. Why did this seem so much harder now? “The ending. It will have to be changed.”

“Why?” she asked him. Her tone was level, but Paul could tell, somehow that she knew what he was going to say, and was just waiting for him to say it.

“Well…I don’t think the Company will publish it as it stands,” he admitted.

She sighed. “That…doesn’t entirely surprise me,” she said. “Yours is not the first firm that I approached Mr. Blofis.” She stirred as if preparing to leave.

“I am…sorry,” he said, and meant it. He was struck by the sudden and inexplicable conviction that the story felt real because it was real. This woman, here in front of him, had poured all of her heart and soul and experience into the story. 

“What did you think, Mr. Blofis?” she asked directly.

He paused. “I thought it was excellent,” he said. “I couldn’t put it down. It was compelling and it spoke directly to my heart. If it were up to me, I’d publish it exactly as it is.” 

Mrs. Jackson’s head came up in surprise, and she met his eyes. Her eyes were very blue, he noted. “Would you?” she asked, curiously.

“Yes,” he said firmly. “I would.”

“I see.” She sighed. “Well, thank you for your honesty Mr. Blofis.” She rose. “I have no intention of changing the ending, Mr. Blofis. So if that’s what it will take, then I’m afraid I will have to look elsewhere. I don’t suppose I can have my manuscript back? Copying it out again is very painstaking.”

Paul was aware of an acute disappointment that he would not see this remarkable woman ever again after she walked out the door. “I…” He took a breath. “Mrs. Jackson. I would like to try. May I have one week to see if I can convince my employers to publish the work as is? If I can’t, I will return it to you.”

Mrs. Jackson looked at him in surprise. “Do you really think you can?” she asked.

“I don’t know,” he admitted. “But I think it is worth trying,” he said earnestly. 

She gave him an odd smile. “Very well, Mr. Blofis. Please let me know how you fare.”

“Of course,” he said. “Good day to you, Mrs. Jackson.” He gave her a bow.

She dipped a small curtsey in return. “And to you, Mr. Blofis.” And then she was gone.

After a week, Paul felt nothing but disappointment and despair. He had tried, he really had. He’d shared the manuscript with his superior, encouraged him to read it. And he had, and while he’d agreed that it was well done, he had told him. “We can’t publish something like this, Blofis. I agree it’s excellent, but the ending has to go. There’s no moral in it.” 

“What’s wrong with the ending?” Paul had asked.

“You know we can’t publish something like this, Blofis,” the man shook his head. “What would society say? It would be a scandal. No, I’m sorry. She’s either got to find redemption through a new marriage, or die as punishment for her sins.”

“Why?” Paul protested. “There are women like this all over London, all over the country, I’m sure.”

“Of course there are! And their lot is unfortunate, but we can’t be setting a bad example for everyone. Now, let it go,” the man said sternly. “It’s either got to change, or we will have nothing to do with it.”

After that, Paul got a bit more desperate. He showed it to a friend who worked for another publisher. He also returned it with regret. “It’s no go, Paul,” his friend said regretfully. “A bastard child and a failed marriage? We wouldn’t go near it with a pair of tongs.”

He’d told neither his superior or his friend that S. Jackson was a woman, of course, or they never would have even looked at it. 

It was with a heavy heart then, that Paul waited for the return of Mrs. Jackson. It was odd, that he felt he’d come to know her through her book, felt her pain and her determination. He felt as though he had failed her. 

She arrived through the door much the same way she had the first time they met, and his face must have given it away, for she gave him that sad sort of smile he had seen when she left last week. 

“It’s alright, Mr. Blofis,” she began without preamble, and before he could speak. “I did not expect miracles. But I appreciate that you tried.”

He gestured to a chair. “Won’t you at least sit a moment?” he asked. “It is a long journey from Cheapside.”

“I actually wanted to speak with you, if you have the time,” she said, unfastening her cloak, and shaking a few drops of moisture from it. It had snowed the day before. 

“By all means,” he said, retaking his chair, and sliding her manuscript across the desk toward her.

“I have been all over London these past two months, Mr. Blofis,” she said. “And you are the first person who hasn’t either thrown me out, or tried to talk down to me about my work the moment they realized I was a woman,” she said. “I’ve managed to have meetings with three different publishers aside from you, and none of them has shown the slightest interest in my work as it is, except for you.”

Paul shook his head ruefully. “Unfortunately, my opinion does not count for much, Mrs. Jackson.”

“Still,” she continued. “I intended to pursue publication independently, Mr. Blofis, and I would like you to help me.”

Paul was taken aback. “Me?”

“Yes,” she said, with determination. “I know it needs an editor before I can publish it, and if you’re willing, I would like to work with you.”

“Mrs. Jackson,” Paul stammered. “I…”

“I am afraid I cannot pay you up front, but I am willing to offer you a percentage of the sales in exchange for your assistance,” she said. 

“Well, I…” Paul was flustered, he did not know how to respond to this. “I am certainly honored to assist you, madame,” he said. "But perhaps, if you are insistent, I should speak to your husband about the financial questions…?"

"My husband is dead," she replied. It was not said with any emotion that Paul could detect, and it was this flat delivery that took him aback more than anything. 

"Oh," he replied. "I'm sorry…?" It came out like a question.

"I am not," she answered. "But no, Mr. Blofis. I have not husband to manage me, nor male relatives…well, none close enough to be concerned with. I am entirely my own person. Save for my son."

"I see,” he said. “How old is your son?”

“He is fourteen. My husband - my second husband, that is, was his stepfather,” Mrs. Blofis explained. 

There was an odd jump there, a strange emphasis on the ‘second’ in her speech, Paul noted, but he went on. “Well, I would certainly be interested in your offer, Mrs. Jackson. But it is not something I should discuss here, on my employer's time. Perhaps we could meet somewhere and discuss this.” He paused awkwardly, trying to come up with an appropriate place to meet. His usual pub was right out, of course. It was no place for a lady. Where did one go to meet a lady for a business meeting? The weather had turned cold and foul, or he might suggest the Park. Open air, lots of people around, nothing improper.  

She seemed amused by the expressions on his face. “You could come by my boarding house and we could meet in the sitting room. My borders are in and out, and the servants. It would be entirely proper.”

“You own a boarding house?” That perhaps explained her ability to consider funding the independent publishing of her book. 

“The best thing my husband, my second husband,” there it was again, the quickly added second, “ever did was die and leave me his boarding house.” 

“I see, and do you have rooms open?” He wasn’t sure why he was asking her. If it was nicer then the one he currently stayed at, he probably couldn’t afford it. And if it was cheaper then the one he currently stayed at, he’d probably freeze. 

“You’re welcome to come and have a look, Mr. Blofis, any time,” she said. “And we can discuss the terms of our arrangement.”

“I…look forward to it, Mrs. Jackson, perhaps this Saturday?”

“I will be at home all day,” she confirmed. “My cook is off on Saturday afternoons, so I prepare dinner for the borders on Saturday, but I am free prior to luncheon.” She took a calling card out of her handbag. “Do you have a pen?”

“Yes, of course,” Paul said, and handed across a pen from the midst of his papers. 

She wrote her address on the card, and handed it to him with his pen. “I will see you Saturday, then, Mr. Blofis. A good day to you.”

“And to you, madame,” he said as they rose. She nodded, and put on her cloak, and turned and left, leaving him a bit flustered and strangely eager for Saturday.

It was one of those cold, but bright winter mornings in London, with blue sky visible between the chimneys of the houses above his head, and his breath puffing out in little clouds of steam as he walked to the Cheapside address he’d given her.  He found the house without too much trouble. And older stone building, perhaps from the reign of George I, but neat and cared for, if a little warn. 

He was shown in by a girl, probably an undermaid, and found the inside warm and pleasant. Everything was a little slap-dash, clearly put together for comfort and integrity, not style, but it was inviting just the same. There was a warm and friendly fire burning in the grate, and he took advantage of it to warm his frozen hands. 

He turned when the door opened, and was met with Mrs. Jackson, who wore a look of mild surprise. 

“Mr. Blofis, welcome,” she said. “I will admit I was not quite sure if you would come after all.”

Paul could understand that, actually. If even half of what she had written in her book was from her own experience, she had been badly treated by the men in her life. 

“Will you bring us some tea, Polly?” Mrs. Blofis asked her maid.

“Yes, Mrs. Jackson,” the maid replied. 

“Won’t you sit down, Mr. Blofis?” she asked, gesturing to the comfortable looking chairs.

“Certainly.” They both sat down. 

“I am very glad you decided to come, Mr. Blofis. It is…gratifying to find someone who believes in my work.”

“It is remarkable,” Paul gushed. “I’ve rarely read something so compelling.”

Her cheeks colored, rather prettily, Paul thought. “I know it needs some editing,” she insisted.

“Well,” Paul allowed. “There were a few places. I’ve started to make some notes.” He withdrew some papers from his satchel.

They began to talk. About her book. About topics that came up along the way. Before he knew it, several hours had passed, and he had to ask to excuse himself to use the necessary. When he returned, she looked troubled. 

“Is everything all right?” he asked, catching the look on her face.

“Oh, yes,” she said, forcing a smile. “Quite all right thank you. Just…other things on my mind.” She glanced at the clock. “Oh, dear, I really do need to start dinner.”

“I will not detain you,” he said, beginning to gather his papers. She rose.

“Thank you, Mr. Blofis, for a delightful afternoon. I will begin to work on these edits right away.”

“I will look at the next section,” he promised. “Next Saturday?” he asked.

“Yes, that should be fine. I will…look forward to it.”

“As will I,” he replied. He gave her a bow, and she nodded, and showed him out.

Chapter Text

“Good afternoon, Mr. Blofis,” the young lordling said with a bow.

“Good afternoon, Lord Saltire,” Paul replied, returning the bow. “Are you ready for your lesson today?”

“Yes, sir,” he replied, sitting down and pulling out his materials.

His tutoring sessions had become easier since he’d relocated to Mrs. Jackson’s boarding house in Cheapside. It was more affordable, more comfortable, the company was better, and Mrs. Jackson let him use the sitting room for his tutoring in the afternoon. 

Her book was coming along nicely, in fact, they were nearly finished with the editing process. They would need to start looking for someone to publish it soon. 

“Mr. Blofis, I’m not sure I follow this passage,” Lord Saltire said, holding out his book. 

“Well, let’s take a look,” Paul said, looking at his own copy. “What’s the line number?” he asked.

They were working on The Odyssey, as young Lord Saltire needed some remedial Greek before heading off to University. It was a particular favorite of his. Classics had been one of his best subjects at Oxford, and several of his professors had encouraged him to consider a career in the classics. It was certainly his favorite subject to teach. He could while away many hours with Homer, or Virgil, or Ovid, and be perfectly content. 

As Paul looked down at his text, he caught a movement at the door. It was Percy, Mrs. Jackson’s son. He had only just returned from a trip over the Christmastide. He had looked very worn since returning, and he had developed a strange white streak in his hair. 

“Hello, Percy,” he said. “Will you come join us for a moment?” Paul nodded. “Percy, this is Lord Saltire. We’re working on The Odyssey today, and I know you’ve also been reading that. Perhaps you could work together for a few minutes. Lord Saltire, Percy’s mother is my landlady.” 

The Lordling nodded cordially. Paul had noted that the boy had very good manners, didn’t put on airs, and treated Paul and the house staff very kindly for someone of his station, or he never would have suggested it. Lord Saltire’s father, the Duke of Holderness, had a reputation about the Ton for being down to earth. 

“Good day, my lord,” Percy said with a bow. And it didn’t hurt that Percy also had very good manners. “Which passage?” he asked.

“We are in Chapter Nine,” Paul said. “And the adventure with…

“Polyphemus,” Percy finished. 

“Yes. Would you like to take a stab at a translation…?” Paul handed Percy his book. 

Percy hesitated, and then opened up to the chapter. He glanced at Lord Saltire, and then began to read. 

Paul had heard a lot of Greek read aloud in university, much of it by learned professors, but he had never heard any of it read quite as well as Percy did just then. His pronunciations were perfect, inflections flawless. He read it so clearly, Paul could understand it, in Greek, perfectly. Lord Saltire stared, open mouthed. Percy then shifted to English, translating what he’d just read. When he finished, he looked at Paul nervously. 

“Did I do it wrong?” he asked. 

Paul shook himself. “No!” Paul said. “No, not at all, Percy, that was wonderful. I had no idea that you could read Greek so well.”

“It’s…something I got from my father’s family,” he admitted. He looked around. “I...have to go,” he said. He gave a quick bow to Lord Saltire. “It was good to meet you, my lord.” He turned and fled the room.

Paul returned to his lesson, but his mind lingered on young Percy Jackson for a long time.

It was one of those rare, early spring days in London when Paul realized he was well and truly lost. There was a warm breeze coming up the Thames as he walked back to Cheapside from his office. He’d been living there for over three months now, and he could not see himself anywhere else anymore.

He had never known a woman like Sally. When Paul had been growing up, most of the women his own age were more interested in making matches with older men, which was normal, but he’d found that flirting with the younger women who he would be expected to marry was dull, and their minds empty and vapid. Paul knew he was being an intellectual snob, but he’d always wanted a companion for a while, not an ornament. And then as he had gotten a bit older, after finishing university, marriage had always seemed pointless. He had little enough money for himself, let alone a wife and children. 

But that had changed. Sally was intelligent and fierce, and was no simpering, vapid ornament. Paul could talk with her for hours on end, and they often did, when their work hours permitted. And Paul liked her son, Percy. He was a bit odd, and apparently spent large parts of the year visiting relatives of his father’s, but he was quite polite, and extremely protective of his mother.

Sally had told him that Percy’s father had been her first husband, and that he had died when Percy was very young. She’d then remarried the man who had owned this boarding house, Mr. Ugliano, which was her true name. But when he had vanished and Sally had petitioned the court to declare him dead so she could take over his accounts before she had been evicted. 

She had resumed using ‘Jackson’ as her name after that. She did not like to talk about her second husband very much, but it was obvious to Paul that the man had been a brute of the worst sort, and that the world, and Sally Jackson in particular, was better off without him. 

Paul was also a bit suspicious, based on the pattern of Sally’s flinches, and how closed she was about some parts of her past, that she wasn’t being quite honest with him about everything. But he found he didn’t care. If she had more in common with the protagonist of her book than she wanted to admit right now, so be it. It didn’t change her, and it didn’t change his enjoyment of her company. 

And so Paul had found himself considering the question of marriage seriously for the first time in his life. It was true, Sally was a year older than he. But children were not his concern. He almost felt guilty considering the question. Far from bringing something into the match, her income from the boardinghouse was more than his own, she would be supporting him. But with their combined income, perhaps they would be able to afford another servant, to help with things, and take some work off her plate. 

When Paul entered the front door, he was met by Polly, the day maid, who took his coat. Voices floated in from the parlor, and Paul looked in to see Percy, working on a school lesson with Annabeth. 

Annabeth’s presence was hardly a surprise on any given day, as she tended to be around more often than not, but Paul could still not quite understand why she was here. He’d been introduced to her as Miss Chase, and he’d learned that her father was a professor from Cambridge, and her uncle was the Earl of Mercia. By all rights, she had no business being in a Cheapside boarding house, unchaperoned, with a boy about whom there were certainly questions that could be raised. Unchaperoned might have been uncharitable, as they always were either in the parlor or the kitchen, with Sally, and never alone in a private space. But still. 

“Good afternoon,” Paul called. Both young people looked up. 

“Good afternoon, Mr. Blofis,” Annabeth replied with a wave. “We were just working on some Ovid. Would you care to join us?” 

“Latin today, is it?” Paul asked, stepping into the parlor.

“Yes,” Percy replied. “It’s more frustrating than Greek, though.” 

Both young people had exceptional Greek, the reason for which Paul could neither explain nor understand, but either of them far outstripped his own talents in that direction, and he’d had years of study. 

“Which part of Ovid?” Paul asked.

“Orpheus and Eurydice,” Percy replied. His tone of voice was bitter.

“You don’t care for it?” Paul asked.

Percy made a face. “No. Not really.” Percy glanced sideways at Annabeth, who gave him a sympathetic look. “It’s a little…personal for me. I don’t like the ending.”

Paul gave the boy an odd look, but shook his head. “Well, the moral is that you can’t cheat death or the fates, I suppose.”

The two young people exchanged a very unhappy look at that. 

“Oh, Paul, you’re back,” Sally’s voice came from the doorway. “I was going to offer Percy and Annabeth tea, would you like some?”

“Certainly,” Paul replied. “That would be lovely.”

“Would you like some help, Sally?” Annabeth asked.

“No, dear, you’re fine. But I would like Percy to get some more coal for the stove.”

Percy sighed and rose. “Of course, Ma.” She gave him a smile as they both departed for the kitchen, leaving Paul to settle into the parlor with Annabeth.

“How are you today, Miss Chase?” he asked.

“I’m fine, Mr. Blofis. And you?” She slid her work away from her and turned to give him her full attention.

“Tolerable,” he allowed. “And how are your lessons?” 

Annabeth made a face. “I enjoy the Greek, and the Latin most of the time. And I do like to spend time with father discussing history and natural philosophy. But my stepmother does insist on religious instruction, and decorum. Which I find quite taxing,” she admitted.

Annabeth was indeed an odd sort of young lady, Paul had discovered. She was just as likely to slip into the kitchen in a dirty serving girl’s dress as she was to arrive in a carriage. Her father might be in line for an Earldom, but she was just as interested in Sally’s lessons in how to make food as she was in Paul’s conversations in Greek. And her avowed passion was design and architecture, about which she could discourse for hours if allowed. Percy was perfectly happy to let her go on, smiling the whole time, which Paul found amusing in a sad kind of way. The boy was so very clearly in love with her. 

A pity it could never be. A match with a boy like Percy would be impossible. Which was a shame because it was clear that Percy was hopelessly devoted to the girl in a way that Paul had rarely seen. It seemed the stuff of the great romances of a past era. 

At times she seemed to be trying to hold Percy at arm’s length, other times, she appeared to be just as devoted to him as he was to her. Perhaps she recognized the impossibility better than he did. 

“And did you read any good books today?” Annabeth asked.

“No,” Paul said ruefully. “There was one book of poems that started out well, but after the first several the quality declined sharply.”

Annabeth shrugged. “Poetry is not something I know much of. I leave that to…” she stopped herself suddenly. “Others.” She finished quickly.  “Unless it’s in Greek, then it might be useful.”

Paul hesitated and then asked a question that had been on his mind for a while. He thought perhaps he knew Annabeth well enough now to ask. “Miss Chase, if I may ask…does your father know how much time you spend here?”

“Oh, I’m sure he knows some,” she replied, unconcerned.

“He doesn’t object?” 

She shook her head. “My step-mother sometimes makes a fuss, but he tells her not to worry. He’s taken my side since I came home the last time,” she explained, as if that should have answered his question. Which it did, but it brought up more questions that she seemed to think he already had the answers to. 

“I see,” he said. “And what about Percy?”

“What about him?” she asked.

Paul cocked an eyebrow at her. She turned away from his glance. “He is…a dear friend,” she said, color blooming in her cheeks.

“Of course,” Paul soothed, question answered anyway.

Percy returned from fetching coal, and the young people resumed their studies, gently bickering over translations. Paul leaned back in his chair and shook his head. 

By the time Percy had returned from his visit to his relatives that summer, Paul had made up his mind. He would ask Sally for marriage. He hoped that she trusted him enough to know that the offer was made from a place of affection, and not any financial consideration. The truth was that living here at the boarding house had made it possible for Paul to begin saving again, and he had put aside some savings, though he would never have considered marrying on so little ten years ago. 

Percy had been pleased with the idea, when Paul had cautiously broached it with him on the day of his birthday. Paul had planned to approach the topic with Sally at the next opportunity but then everything had changed.

The appearance of Percy’s father was something that had been completely unexpected. The stricken look Sally had given him in the parlor had nearly broken Paul’s heart. A mixture of horror, and despair, and chagrin at having been caught in a lie. 

It had been a very strange evening, between the strange visit of Percy’s father, and the curious appearance of the young Count di Angelo, who did not seem like any noble Paul had ever met. Sally though, had taken a shine to the young waif, though this was hardly a surprise, one of the many things Paul found so endearing about Sally was her ability to extend her heart to anyone. She had made up a spare bed in an extra room, and packed all the boys off to bed just a few moments ago. When Paul had made only a half-hearted move to retire, Sally had given him a trepidatious look, and offered another cup of tea.

He hesitated a moment, but only a moment, before saying that perhaps one more before retiring would be nice. He followed her into the kitchen, for she had long made him welcome there, and they often had conversations into the evening while she tidied up after the staff had retired.

She did not say anything while she set the kettle on the stove. Finally, she turned, wiping her hands down her skirts.

“I am sorry I lied to you,” she said. “I…I have gotten so used to the lies, and I didn’t know…didn’t know how to…” she turned away, and Paul was startled to see tears in the corner of her eyes. “I didn’t know how to correct it.” She shook her head. “What was it that Shakespeare wrote in MacBeth? Stepped in so far that should I wade no more, Returning were as tedious as go o'er?”

“That is the line, yes,” Paul agreed. 

“I am sorry, Paul. I…owed you the truth more than anyone I have known,” she said. 

“You owe no one the truth, if you do not want it known,” Paul told her.

“And I would not have it known, if I could. And I used to say, not for my sake, but for Percy’s. He has…enough difficulties without adding the stigma of bastard to his name,” she said.

“Used to say?” he asked.

She brought her eye back around to him. “I…”

But whatever she was going to say was lost by the whistling of the kettle, which startled both of them. She said nothing further as she poured the tea, making it just as he preferred, and setting the cup in front of him, before taking her seat across from him. 

She kept her eyes down on her cup, and after a long moment, she said. “I discovered I did not wish to lose your good opinion, Paul.” She brought her eyes up to him again. They were dry once more, and steady, but there was something in her posture that was braced, as if for a blow.

Paul wetted his lips with his tea, mostly to stall for time. She watched him, and she seemed to deflate a little, eyes drooping. That won’t do, he decided. He set his cup down.

“Sally,” he began. “I…have long suspected that your writing came from a deep well of experience,” he said. “And I long ago decided it didn’t matter.” Her eyes came up again, and a spark of hope bloomed there. “What happened to you…in the past, does not change my feelings toward you. I…understand why you would keep it as secret as you could, but it does not affect my regard for you.”

Sally let out a long breath. “You are, perhaps, too good for this world, Paul Blofis,” she said. Paul felt his cheeks warm. “I do not know what good providence led my manuscript to land on your desk, but I give thanks for it.”

“Thank you,” he managed. He swallowed. “I…There was…something else, I had hoped to discuss with you,” he got out, finally.

“Oh?” Sally looked curious.

“I…I am afraid that I do not know…” he began. And then he laughed in spite, or perhaps, at himself. “The truth is, Sally, even before tonight, I had made up my mind to ask for your hand in marriage.” She stared at him. “Yes, I even asked young Percy for his blessing,” he added. “He thinks it’s a fine idea.” Paul shook his head. “But I am a poor match for you, I bring nothing of value, really. Your income is greater than mine, and I…” 

But Paul stopped short, because Sally had risen from her chair and come around the table. She took his face in her hands, and kissed him soundly. 

“I have wanted to do that for weeks,” she admitted, when she pulled away. “And yes, I will marry you.” She shook her head. “I do not care what you bring to a match, save for yourself alone. You are enough,” she said fiercely.

Paul inhaled, all breath having previously left his body. “Well, then,” he said. “We shall apply for a license as soon as may be arranged,” he said. 

“Yes,” Sally agreed. And then she kissed him again. 

It did not take very long to arrange things. Paul wrote to his family, and he received several surprised replies, but no real objections. He did not expect any. His inheritance was small enough, after his sisters’ marriages, that the prospect of him marrying a woman who owned a boarding house was actually considered moving up in the world. He said she had a son, but from a previous marriage. Sally’s secrets were not his to divulge, even had he a desire to. 

What Paul found quite interesting was that his relationship with Sally hadn’t seemed to change at all…well, there was the kissing, which Paul found quite delightful, but aside from that…they still talked and worked on their writing together for whatever hours they could spare each other in their busy days. Paul realized that it seemed he had gotten married without even noticing. 

Two days before the wedding was scheduled at church, the seemingly interminable time for the banns to be read out finally coming to an end, Paul returned home to find Percy and Sally waiting for him.

Sally looked nervous, and so did Percy. They seemed to have the parlor to themselves for the moment. The day maid had already gone home for the day. 

“Paul,” Sally said. “There is…something else I…we, I suppose, should explain. Before…before,” she finished.

Paul looked at her curiously, wondering what on earth she could mean, but gestured for her to go ahead. Sally took a breath, like she was preparing to say something, but Percy cut her off.

“My father is more than just a gentleman,” he said. “He is the Greek god of the sea, Poseidon.”

Paul stared at him for a long moment, waiting for him to say more, or to say…anything, really. Because surely there must be something to follow…

“I know it sounds quite impossible,” Sally finally added. “But it is the truth. I met him on the seashore. I knew then who, or rather what, he was, but then I was always a girl with an open mind and imagination,” she explained.

“But…” Paul interrupted. “Surely you cannot be serious!” he protested. “That is…” Ridiculous was the word that came to mind, but that didn’t seem like the sort of thing one should say to the women one was supposed to be marrying in two days time.

“Impossible?” Percy asked. “That’s what I said when I found out,” he said, a bitter edge creeping into his voice. “But you’d be surprised.”

“The Greek gods and goddesses are very much real,” Sally assured him. “They still walk among us, and act much as they did in the stories. Interfering with mortals’ lives, seducing the unsuspecting, and causing trouble. They do exert control over the elements, particularly those in their sphere.”

“I can talk to sea creatures,” Percy offered. “Something I got from my father.”

Paul was beginning to feel as though he’d walked into a surreal dream, from the matter of fact way they talked about this. “I don’t…” he stammered.

“Percy,” Sally spoke. “Paul looks like he could use a glass of water.”

Paul thought for a moment this was a ploy to remove the boy from the room for some reason, but Percy looked at his mother as if to say ‘are you sure’ and she nodded. Percy sighed, and waved a hand at the pitcher of water next to him on the table.

If Paul had not already been sitting down, he surely would have fallen. For a stream of water rose from the pitcher, and poured directly into empty glass next to Paul, halfway around the room. 

Paul stared at the glass, mouth hanging open. The room was completely silent as he stared at glass. “But,” he finally managed weakly. “How…?” He could not find words.

His mind reeled. 

He thought of all of the times he’d read Ovid, read about the way the gods dallied with mortals. If one could accept the idea that they were real, he could certainly believe they would act that way in the here and now. But their existence was absurd. The religion of the Greeks was pagan nonsense. Good for stories, and literature, but nothing else…

…surely?

And yet he had just watched something that should by all rights have been impossible.

He picked up the glass, stared a bit more, then looked back at Percy. Then to Sally.

“It’s…You’re…it’s real.”

She nodded. 

“The Greek gods. They are real.” 

“Unfortunately,” Percy muttered. 

Paul was not what you might consider the most devout follower of the Church of England. His upbringing had not been strict, and in fact now that his parents had moved to the country, they attended a nonconformist chapel. Paul had attended the Church of England as was necessary for his degree at Oxford, but while he wasn’t religious, he certainly would have called himself a believer. Suddenly though, that was all upended. 

It explained why Sally almost never went to church on Sunday morning, though. He has assumed she was a nonconformist, or maybe that she just needed the extra breathing space after working all week.

Something occurred to him.

“Wait.” He sat up. “Percy’s father was here. I met him.”

Sally nodded. “Yes. Poseidon.”

“ The Poseidon. A god. I met a god.” 

“Not what you’d expected?” Percy asked. “I know the feeling.”

“Percy, hush,” Sally said. “Your father has been better to you than most.”

Percy sighed. “Well, that’s true. At least I didn’t get turned into a tree. And Zeus never tried to kill you .” Percy shook his head. 

Abruptly, Paul realized something else. “There are others?” he asked. “Like…like you?” he asked.

Sally nodded. “Do you remember young Count di Angelo?” Paul nodded. “His father is Hades.”

Paul felt a chill run up his spine. “The god of the dead.” 

Percy nodded. “Nico is not a bad sort. And I do feel bad for his dad, a little. And Zeus did kill his mother.” 

“Oh,” Paul said faintly.

“And, of course, there’s Annabeth,” Sally said.

Annabeth. Annabeth’s father was an Earl, surely she could not be… Something of his confusion must have been evident on his face, for Sally continued. “Her mother is the goddess Athena.”

“Athena, but how is that possible?” Paul blurted the first thing that came to mind. “Athena is a maiden.”

“She is a brain child,” Percy explained. “Born from thoughts, the same way she was born of Zeus’s head.”

Paul began to fear for his sanity, because that explanation made sense. If you believed the myths. Paul knew that Annabeth’s father was a Cambridge professor, supposedly a very good one, for a Cambridge man. It would make sense that such a man might presumably attract the attention of the goddess of wisdom. 

“Why is this all so secret?” he asked. “If the Greek gods are real, why do we not still know about them, follow them?”

Sally sighed. “Because the Romans,” she said. “Were so effective at making everyone Christian. Surely you know what happened.”

Paul did know. When the Romans under Constantine adopted Christianity, there had been much persecution of the old ways. In Paul’s experience, that was not called persecution, rather, ‘conversion’ of the heathens. But it amounted to the same thing. He nodded. “I see. But…do they walk among us today, here in England? Why are they not in Greece?”

Percy took a breath, and began to explain. 

By the time Percy had finished, Sally had risen to light the lamps, it had gotten so dark. Paul’s head was swimming. 

It was all so incredible. It should have been impossible.

But the thing was, Paul wanted to believe. He had always wanted to believe there was more to his own mundane existence. And this…even if he was only a small part, looking in on a much larger world he would never truly be a part of…this was amazing. It was like stepping through a door you thought led to a closet, and discovering an amazing vista on the other side. 

He sat for a moment, staring off toward the window, the dark streets of London beyond. 

“And so now you know,” Sally’s voice interrupted. “All the secrets, Paul. There aren’t any left. Do you still want to go through with it?”

He did not hesitate. “Yes.”

They were married two days later, at the Bow Church in Cheapside. His parents had come up from the Country for the ceremony, and his sisters and their husbands as well. Sally had no relatives to attend, save for Percy, who had invited Miss Annabeth Chase, his half-brother Tyson, who Paul was shocked to learn was a Cyclops, though he could not tell himself, and another friend, Grover, who was a satyr, apparently. Paul’s life had become very different indeed. But the wedding went off without a hitch, and they hosted a breakfast at the boarding house for all the guests.

They did not have the time or the money to take a wedding trip, but it didn’t matter. They were happy, and together, and that was all that mattered. 

“Sally, have you seen…?” Paul stopped short on entering the kitchen. Sally was not there, but there was a red-haired girl standing over the stove, stirring the stewpot. He did not recognize her, and was not aware they had hired a new maid. She looked to be about Percy’s age, and her clothing was an odd accumulation of what appeared to be castoffs. The sleeves of her dress were covered in paint splatters and ink splotches. “Good afternoon,” he said politely.

“Oh!” The girl started, and she turned to dip a curtsey. “Good afternoon, you must be Mr. Blofis. I’m Rachel.”

“It is nice to meet you, Rachel.” Her accent didn’t match her clothing, she sounded like she belonged in Mayfair. 

“Mrs. Blofis went to the grocers,” she said. “She said she would be back shortly,” Rachel explained. 

“I see,” Paul said. “Well, It’s good to meet you Rachel.”

“Thank you, sir,” she said. 

Percy came in just then. “Oh, hullo Paul.”

“Percy,” Paul acknowledged. “Have you seen my satchel for tutoring?”

“The last time I saw it was in the parlor,” Percy replied. 

“Thank you,” Paul said. He turned to go, and saw Rachel glancing at Percy over her shoulder. 

“How are you today, Percy?” she asked.

Percy did not seem surprised to see her there, which meant that this couldn’t have been the first time she had been here. “I’m fine, Rachel. Learning to make stew today?”

“Yes, I quite enjoy it.”

“Have you done any new drawings lately?” he asked. 

“I’m working on a sketch, but I need new charcoals,” Rachel answered. “Your mother offered me a shilling for helping in the kitchen, so I can buy new ones on my way home today.”

Percy was chuckling as Paul left the room.

Later on, that evening, Paul asked Sally about it. “I met Rachel today,” he said. 

“Oh, did you? That’s good. She’s a nice girl,” Sally replied.

“You’re teaching her cooking?” 

“Yes, well, she hasn’t had a lot of practical education, and she is interested in learning. She’s also been doing some laundry. You don’t mind, do you?”

“Of course not,” Paul said. “I was just curious. Is she from the neighborhood? I haven’t seen her around.”

“She knows Percy,” Sally explained. “And she doesn’t care for home very much, so it works out.’

She knows Percy. That meant she was probably a demigod. That explained some. Paul hesitated. “I…erm, I’m not sure how to ask this, but I noticed she looked like she was quite interested in Percy…”

Sally smiled. “Oh, I’m sure. But he doesn’t notice.”

“Will that, well, be a problem? For Percy? If Annabeth…Well, I suppose, sooner or later her father will want her to make a better match, so I suppose…”

Sally laughed. “Oh, I don’t know about that,” she said. “But I do imagine poor Percy will have his hands full for a while.” She kissed his cheek. “But that’s his problem, not yours, so leave be,” she said gently. “In the meantime, I will teach Rachel whatever she wants to learn. You never know what skills will come in handy. And she could use the pocket money.”

Over the next few weeks, Paul saw more of Rachel, and less of Annabeth. When questioned, Percy said that her family had gone to visit relatives of her step-mother, and would not be back in London right away. When Percy explained this, Paul noted the boy looked like he didn’t quite know how to feel about it. 

Rachel could be found mostly below stairs, cooking, doing laundry, or other chores. When she wasn’t, she was creating art, doing sketches at the kitchen table, or watercolors in the kitchen garden. And Percy usually wasn’t far away whenever she was around. They seemed to be quite close.

Paul found Percy in the parlor one day, alone, reading a letter. “Percy,” he nodded.

“Good afternoon, Paul,” Percy replied, setting aside the letter. 

“Letter from Annabeth?” Paul asked.

“Yes,” he sighed. 

Paul raised an eyebrow. “Is she well?”

“Yes…I suppose,” he said. 

“What is that supposed to mean?” Paul asked.

“Oh, it’s just this business with Luke,” Percy said. “We…don’t agree about it.”

Percy had tried to explain the whole situation with Kronos, and while Paul understood some, Percy’s explanations had seemed to have large gaps, or things he hadn’t wanted to talk about, so Paul wasn’t sure he had the full story. Luke, he knew, was a son of Hermes, who had sides with Kronos…or turned into Kronos. The story was a bit unclear. What was clear was that Percy was incredibly jealous. 

Paul didn’t know if this Luke could be a better match for Annabeth or not, though he was just as much a bastard as Percy, clearly. And the time would come that Percy would have to understand what was going to happen in the end. Paul felt bad for him, certainly, but what could be done?

“And how is Rachel today?” Paul asked. It couldn’t hurt to drop a few hints. Rachel was someone more of Percy’s own class, and she clearly liked him, and he must like her at least a little to be spending so much time with her. 

“Oh, she’s well,” Percy brightened a little. 

“She seems like a very nice girl,” Paul pointed out. “And your mother seems to like her,” he hinted.

“Oh, yes. Ma loves everyone,” Percy agreed, which Paul had to admit was true. “And Rachel could use someone who cares about her. She doesn’t get a lot of attention at home.” 

“I think she’s a bit sweet on you,” Paul added, giving Percy a significant look.

Percy's eyes went wide, and he turned a bright shade of red. “I…erm…you think so?” 

Was the boy that oblivious? Paul wondered. “It certainly seems that way to me.” 

“O….oh,” Percy stammered. He stared a moment longer, and then glanced down at the letter in his hand…”Is that why….?” he muttered.

“What?” Paul asked.

“Nothing,” Percy said, rising suddenly. “I…I need to go. I will see you later on,” he said quickly, and left the room. 

Paul shook his head with a smile.

Percy left abruptly for camp a few days later, but Rachel still came to the house to see Sally and to continue her lessons in domestic service. Paul would see her in the afternoons after he returned home from work, and often she joined them for dinner before going home. Paul quite liked her. She was eager to learn, and seemed to enjoy having company. He wondered at her home life, that she had so completely attached herself to their family.

One afternoon about a week after Percy had left, Paul was in the hall when there was a knock at the door. Polly was helping Sally clean one of the rooms for a tenant who had just moved out, and Rachel was in the kitchen chopping vegetables, so Paul answered the door. 

On the step was a uniformed footman, with a green brocade jacket and buttons polished so much they gleamed. A gleaming black coach with a pair of gorgeous chestnuts stood at the curb, and Paul could see a coat of arms on the door, though he couldn’t make it out. A woman was inside that he could see.  “Can I help you?” Paul asked, hesitantly. 

The footman gave him a supercilious look that made him bristle, but then, Paul realized, the man probably thought he was also a servant, instead of answering his own door.

“The Duke of Bristol requires Lady Rachel to return home immediately,” the man said. “If you could please send her out.”

Paul opened his mouth to protest that they had no such person here and that there had to have been some mistake but he froze. The Lady… Rachel? “Erm. Yes. Quite. One moment,” he stammered, and turned, leaving the man on the stoop.

He practically fled up the stairs. He found Sally and Rachel, they were laughing at something as Rachel helped Sally stretch a sheet onto the bed. They turned to look at him, surprised, as he stood there a moment panting.

“My…Lady,” he stammered, breathless.  “Your father has sent a coach for you.”

Lady Rachel put on a disgusted face. “Bother my father,” she said. “I’m not going.”

“My Lady,” Paul protested.

“Rachel,” Sally said firmly. 

Lady Rachel sighed heavily, and slumped her shoulders. “Fine,” she grumbled. She turned to Sally. “I will miss you while we’re gone,” she said. 

“You’re always welcome to come back, my dear,” Sally replied. 

Lady Rachel embraced Sally warmly. “I’ve enjoyed my time here so much,” she said, muffled in Sally’s dress. “It’s so nice when people care.” 

“Of course, dear. Travel safely now.”

“I will,” Lady Rachel replied. She smiled at Paul. "Have a lovely day, Mr. Blofis."

"Thank you, my Lady," he said, giving her a bow. She rolled her eyes a bit, and headed down the stairs. Paul followed, watching her go. Her posture became straighter as she approached the door, and the look she gave the footman would have melted stone. She became even more annoyed at the carriage, exchanging sharp words that Paul could not hear with the woman inside. The door closed, the footman mounted and the carriage pulled away. 

Sally came up next to him in the doorway. “The Duke of Bristol?” Paul asked faintly. The Duke of Bristol was the richest man in London, possibly in the entire country. He was known to own thousands of acres of land, not just here, but in Ireland, India, and the Caribbean, where his sugar plantations produced wealth like they were minting coin, and hundreds if not thousands were held in chains. 

If pressed on the question, Paul probably would have said he preferred abolition, but he generally tried to avoid thinking about it otherwise. The Duke of Bristol on the other hand, was known for spending his money trying to quash such talk, and was known to have the ear of many powerful men in government. 

The idea that his daughter had been in Paul’s house, learning to cook, and clean, and launder the past few months was nearly beyond comprehension. And he would not have believed it to be true if he had not experienced it. 

“I am sorry, I thought it had come up,” Sally apologized, though she did not sound quite as contrite as Paul might have preferred. 

“It had not,” Paul said, “Why…how?” He still did not understand.

“She can see gods and monsters and met Percy on a quest,” Sally explained. She turned, but gestured for Paul to follow her. They walked out to the kitchen. Sally turned over a large bowl, setting bread dough on the table and rolled up her sleeves. 

“That was not my question,” Paul said.

“What was your question, dear?” She seemed a bit amused.

The truth was, her question was excellent. Paul had so many questions. Why was the Duke of Bristol’s daughter doing chores for pocket money in a respectable but shabby boarding house? Why was she so interested in learning domestic skills? It made no sense to him. But he supposed that the most important question was this: “Has Percy? Our Percy, really attracted the…attention of both the Earl of Mercia’s niece and the Duke of Bristol’s daughter?”

Sally laughed, “I rather think he has. To say nothing of the young count.”

Paul frowned “Count…Count di Angelo, you mean, no, I meant the…affection, I suppose, the romantic affection.”

Sally paused the dough she was kneading and looked at him for a moment, before giving him a smile that he suspected was more than a little patronizing, “I see. Yes, well, our Percy is a charming young man, I think. And a gentleman in the making. It isn’t so surprising, not when you consider that all those people have also seen him in all manner of heroic action.”

But Paul’s attention had been caught on that word she’d used ‘our.’ He’d used it too. Our Percy, his Percy. It was…well, he knew, of course, that by all the laws of the Church when a couple married, they became one, and as such, family was connected in the same ways. But Percy’s age had always been at the forefront of Paul’s mind, to say nothing of the revelation about his father, and the Greek gods. He’s been resistant, from the beginning, to place too much ownership onto Percy Jackson. 

But then, here he was, thinking of the boy, so close to manhood, as his. 

He wasn’t sure when it had happened. But he found he didn’t mind.

Except when he somehow managed to enspell the daughters of some of the wealthiest nobles in the land. And possibly an Italian count, if he now understood Sally correctly, but he rather wished he didn’t. 

“But…what are we to do?” Paul asked. 

“Do?” Sally asked, confused. “There is nothing to do, Paul. Percy will need to sort things out for himself.” She shook her head. “I do hope things come out right in the end, but one worries. Greek heroes do not often get happy endings.” She sighed in worry.

“I meant about Lady Rachel coming here to learn to cook and clean,” he said. “We can’t have that, can we?”

Sally pursed her lips. “That girl is starving for attention and affection,” she said. “And not from the useless lordlings her father is already starting to parade in front of her. Do you know she has already refused two marriage arrangements?” Sally shook her head. “Her father has refused to buy her more art supplies because of the fuss she made about the last one. That’s why she was so eager to learn some useful skills.”

“But…but…” Paul protested. 

“Rachel will always be welcome under my roof,” she said firmly. “That girl needs a good influence in her life.” Sally punctuated this statement by slamming the bread dough on the table. 

“Of course, dear.” Paul allowed. He paused. “Count di Angelo?” he asked after a moment.

Sally pursed her lips. “I know nothing definite, mind. But a woman can tell these things sometimes, you know. Of course he would never say anything, and Percy wouldn’t know it unless you hit him on the head, but he’s blind to those things, man or woman, it seems. But a woman knows,” she said. 

“But…it’s against the law,” he said.

“It’s against the law to act on it,” Sally pointed out. “The law cannot control how one feels.”

Paul cocked his head to one side. “I suppose that’s true,” he allowed. He hesitated. “Is Percy…?”

“Oh, heavens, no,” Sally shook her head. “No matter what he may say right now, or how things seem to stand at the moment, Percy has only ever had eyes for Annabeth. I don’t think the gods themselves could separate them, in the end. It’s part of why I feel bad for Rachel. I don’t think Percy ever saw her as anything more than a friend.” 

“I…see.” Paul took a breath. “Well, time will tell, I suppose.”

“Yes, it will,” Sally agreed firmly. She glanced toward the cabinet. “Be a dear and fetch down the bread pan,” she ordered. “And find the lard to grease it up.”

“Yes, dear.”

Chapter Text

A distant part of Paul was surprised at how devastated he was. He had not ever thought to have children, but inheriting Percy when he married Sally had been something that became very special. Paul genuinely liked the boy, and though their time together had been relatively brief, they had developed a positive relationship. 

The news that he had disappeared from his Cabin at Camp without a trace had arrived like a thunderbolt. After all the chaos of the previous summer, perhaps they had let their guard down. 

It was Annabeth who had delivered the news, slipping into the kitchen via the back entrance, and dressed for riding. She had come up from Camp aboard Percy’s pegasus, Black Jack, specifically to deliver the news in person. Her eyes were red, and tears stained her young face. She swore they would find him, swore that whoever was responsible would pay. Sally held her, and they both cried, and Paul found himself deeply affected. 

Annabeth had returned to camp to begin searching for Percy, and it was a fortnight before they’d heard anything further.  She came back to tell them of the strange new demigods who had arrived at camp, and their quest. And the existence of Jason, a Roman demigod, and their belief that Percy was now with the Romans, potentially without his memories, and that they were all facing their most dangerous quest yet.

Sally took the news in stride, and put on a brave face for Annabeth, but when she had gone, she cried again with Paul. 

“I’m so scared for him. More scared than I think I’ve ever been, Paul. I wish I could just…talk to him,” Sally told him.

“I know,” he said. “But we have to trust he’ll be alright. He is a great warrior,” he reminded her.

“But what if…what if he doesn’t remember?” Sally asked. “What if he doesn’t remember Annabeth? What if he doesn’t remember us?” 

The prospect was terrifying for Paul, but he didn’t want to tell Sally that. Having him come back and have no memory of those people he loved would almost be worse than him dying, Paul thought. To watch him look at you and not know who you are. He could barely consider the idea. 

“It will be alright,” he assured her, though he felt nothing of the kind, but he knew he needed to say it. “It will be alright.”

The days came and went. Annabeth visited nearly every day that she was in London, though she was gone for long stretches at Camp, helping to supervise the construction of a great flying ship that would take them on their quest. Annabeth would sometimes come to the door, dressed for calling, but most times she slipped in the kitchen door, to take a spot at the kitchen table. Paul saw less of her than Sally, of course, with Paul working at his office, but she was there frequently enough. Sometimes she would be talkative on these visits. Other times, she would be silent, staring at nothing at all, but seemingly comforted by the presence of Sally.

One evening, Paul was in the kitchen alone, when the door clicked open, and Annabeth slipped in. She started, seeing him there. The girl held an old bonnet in her hand, and she had clearly been crying. 

“Oh, I’m sorry,” she said. “I…I was looking for…”

“My sister invited Mrs. Blofis to a concert,” Paul explained. “She’s not here. Though I expect her soon. It was not to be a late evening.”

“Oh.” The girl looked crestfallen. 

Paul gestured to a chair, awkwardly. “Can I get you a cup of tea?”

She hesitated, then nodded. She took her seat. “Yes, please, thank you.”

Paul stirred up the stove, set the kettle on and prepared the tea things. Paul bit his lip, wondering how to start a conversation. The truth was he’d spent little time alone with Annabeth, despite her frequent visits. And something like ‘are you well?’ was pointless. The tracks of tears on her face spoke volumes. 

His dilemma was solved for him when Annabeth began to speak. “Leo messaged today to say there has been another delay with the construction,” she said. “And of course he messaged when I was with my step-mother. She gets furious about it. She’s so unreasonable, and ignorant, and I just want to…ugh!” Annabeth spat out. “I can’t stand her. Father scolded her for yelling, and that was fine, but…she doesn’t understand! And after she pretended like nothing had happened, and she told me she wants me to have a Season, and I know what she’s thinking and I want no part of it.” Annabeth rolled on, like a river broke loose from a dam. “I don’t need a husband, I have Percy.” She said fiercely. And then her breath caught and she sobbed. “We’ll find him, I know we will. He has to be safe. He just has to.”

Sat down next to her, still feeling awkward and out of place. He patted her shoulder gently. “I’m sure you will, my dear,” he said.

She turned suddenly, and buried her face in his chest, sobbing. 

Paul froze, unsure what to do. He was certainly not accustomed to women of any age sobbing in his arms. Though since their wedding, Sally had done her fair share, especially recently. 

But Annabeth was not his wife, though she was young enough to be his daughter. And, Paul supposed, that if Percy was found alive, she was likely to be married to Paul’s son. Though he still could not quite believe that. 

That thought gave Paul an idea. Perhaps he could distract her. There were so many things he wanted to know, maybe asking her a few questions would give her something to think about other than her worries.

“Miss..erm…Annabeth,” he began. 

She looked up.

“I’ve always meant to ask,” he said. “Does…your father…I mean, he knows who your mother is, obviously, and…”

She sat back, and sniffed a little. “My father paid a poor German churchman to fabricate some records in a small church in Saxony, near Wittenberg, as he was studying at the University there at the time,” she explained. “Nobody has seriously questioned it.”

Paul nodded. That at least made some sense. “And your step mother?”

“Father told her the truth before they were married. But I’m not sure she ever really truly understood. Believed, yes, she had to, given the circumstances. I attracted a lot of monsters as a child. But understood?” Annabeth shook her head. “No. I think she still expects me to suddenly transform into a proper young lady, and it will just never be,” she said.

“You aren’t?”

Annabeth looked at her. “Surely Percy must have told you I spent several years living on the streets of London as a child? After I ran away from home?”

In point of fact, neither Percy nor Sally had shared that bit of information with him. Aside from being an absolutely stunning fact, it explained quite a bit. “No,” he managed.

“I learned many things in my time away from home. ‘Proper lady’ was not one of them.” She gave an almost smile. “And then living at Camp did not help matters. Camp life is much different from Society. Though we do try to teach demigods how to function in it. It’s much like acting.”

“Oh,” Paul said. “I am sorry you had to go through that.”

She shrugged. “There is but one certainty in the life of a demigod, and that is that life is difficult,” she said, philosophically.

“So, you do not ever see yourself taking a role in society?”

Annabeth looked surprised at this. “Why should I?”

“Your father might be the next Earl of Mercia,” Paul pointed out.

Annabeth shook her head. “That means nothing to me.” She shrugged. “For sure, he will have more money, and a new house…several, I suppose. But I don’t care for any of it.”

“What do you care for?” he asked.

“Percy,” she replied simply. 

“Oh.” 

“We will get him back,” she vowed. “And I will never let him out of my sight again.”

“I think that’s a bit far,” Paul said, unable to smother a small grin.

She gave a small shrug. “Perhaps. But I will never not know where he is again.” She paused. “I find I do not like sleeping alone.”

Paul choked on his tea. “What?”

“It is much more pleasant to have someone with you in the bed,” Annabeth continued, conversationally. “Much warmer in the wintertime, don’t you think?”

Paul stared at the young women in absolute astonishment. He opened his mouth but could find nothing to say.

It was that moment that the door opened and Sally entered. 

“Oh, good evening, Annabeth dear,” she cried, sounding quite pleased to see her. “And Paul, you’re looking…” Sally trailed off, at the look on his face. She sighed and turned to Annabeth. “My dear, have you been scandalizing my poor husband?”

Annabeth looked confused. “I was merely commenting on how nice it is to have someone to share a bed with,” she said. 

Sally rolled her eyes skyward in exasperation. “My dear, as true as it is, it’s not the sort of thing one shares out loud, except in very intimate circles. And poor Paul is not used to such comments from young ladies. Especially when the one they are sharing the bed with happens to be his stepson.”

“Oh,” Annabeth said contritely. “I’m sorry, Mr. Blofis,” she continued. “These social rules are very complicated sometimes, and very silly. I have trouble keeping track.”

“Will you put the kettle back on for me, Paul?” Sally asked, hanging her shawl on the hook by the door. “I would love a cup of tea as well.”

“Certainly,” Paul said mechanically, glad of a reason to abandon the field to Sally. 

Paul busied himself making tea, while Sally probed Annabeth on her visit, and her confrontation with her stepmother. He excused himself after delivering his wife her tea, and then retired to the rooms he and Sally shared. His excuse was he wanted to review some material for a tutoring session he had coming up, but mostly he wanted to flee from any more awkward revelations. He could get no work done, however, contemplating Annabeth’s words. 

It was late when Sally finally joined him. He heard the rustle of her skirts as she came up behind him and put her arms around him. “My poor Paul,” she said. “Annabeth did not mean to trouble you. She…does not always know where society’s rules fall. The problem when you live so much of your life outside it, I’m afraid.”

Paul nodded. “So, it is true then? That she and Percy…?”

“Oh, yes, quite true. And for some time, though I’m not precisely certain,” Sally sighed. 

“And you are…not angry?”

“With Annabeth? Or Percy?” Sally snorted. “I could smack Percy on the side of the head, but what good would it do?” she asked rhetorically. “It does require the participation of two people, and Annabeth is more than capable of stopping anyone from doing anything to her that she disapproves of. Clearly, whatever has happened has happened because both want to do so. I’m disappointed only in that I would think Percy would know what kind of a life it is for a woman who has a child out of wedlock. Though, to be fair to Percy, if such a circumstance were to happen, I’m certain he would have Black Jack fly them both to Gretna Green upon the instant.” 

“But…what about Annabeth? It would certainly be such a scandal!” The Earl of Mercia was as ancient a title as there was in England, dating back to when Mercia was an independent kingdom under the Saxons. And Annabeth’s father was almost certain to inherit the title at some point.  “Should we be concerned that her father might call Percy out?”

Sally laughed. “Heavens, no,” she cried. “For one thing, Professor Chase certainly knows that Percy would beat him in a duel. And I’ve spoken with the man several times off and on. He knows who his daughter is, and what she is capable of. And I rather think he likes Percy.”

“But…surely he could hope to make a better match, someone more…financially secure for his daughter,” Paul said. Certainly, if he had a daughter, he would want that. 

“Perhaps,” Sally sighed. “But we don’t always get what we want for our children. And I think Professor Chase knows that if it came to a choice between her father and Percy, Annabeth would choose Percy and not regret the decision for a moment. Percy is, after all, the reason Annabeth went home at all. She lived at Camp year round for many years as a child. And Professor Chase knows that whatever relationship he has with his daughter is thanks to Percy. So that is a factor.”

“Oh,” Paul said. 

It wasn’t so much that Sally kept secrets from him, so much as there was just so much that he didn’t know yet. And it’s not as if he knew what to ask. But clearly there was much more about Percy’s relationship with Annabeth that he just simply…did not know. He supposed he should have been more curious, or asked more questions, but Paul was ashamed to admit, even to himself, that at first he had not been as invested in Percy as he could or should have been. And as time went on, asking about things he should have known about already felt foolish.

Paul sighed. “Sally, my love, one of these days, you will have to sit down and explain all these things to me,” he admitted. “For I am afraid I am still sadly ill informed on many of these things.”

“Oh, my dear Paul,” Sally said softly, holding him tenderly. “Of course. And I’m sorry. There’s just so much…I don’t even know where to begin sometimes.”

Paul turned, giving her a soft smile. “I always find at the beginning is the best place to start.”

Sally gave a laugh. “You should talk to Percy when he returns then. He is always threatening that he will write his story someday, though it is hard to tell if he is serious or not.” She nodded. “But you are correct, of course.” She sighed. “But not…just right now. For now, let’s go to bed. It’s been a long day, and poor Annabeth, love her though I do, is exhausting when she is in this mood.”

Paul nodded. “I have no doubt,” he said, rising. “Let us to bed then.”

Annabeth left for Camp, and their flying ship, later that week. She wrote every day, however, even if it was just a short note. She insisted on keeping Sally informed. And she sent one of the magic rainbow messages the day after she’d finally seen Percy in a dream, speaking to Sally in person, and crying tears of relief. 

“He recognized me, Sally. He knew who I was!” she cried. “I’m going to get him back!” she declared fiercely. 

Sally had cried too, when Annabeth had ended the connection, relieved that there was proof he was alive, and that he was regaining his memory. 

The letters kept arriving, right up until Annabeth and her new friends embarked on their flying ship to Wales. Sally was fine at first, but the lack of news seemed to drag her down. The months of stress and uncertainty for Percy had left Sally looking haggard and tired. She tried to keep her spirits up, but Paul knew how much she worried. How many nights she lay awake with worry. But it seemed even more so, now. Paul was beginning to worry about her health. He was hesitant to suggest a doctor, because after all, how would they explain it? 

Sally was busy with things when Paul had arrived home, so they did not speak beyond greetings until they sat down to a late dinner. Sally looked especially tired today.

“My dear, are you feeling well today?” Paul asked, hesitantly. “I know things are hard, but you seem…more, today.”

Sally bit her lip. “Paul…I have something to tell you,” she said. “But I don’t know how to…oh, Paul, I’m so scared. What if…what if this is the gods’ way of telling me…” she was beginning to babble, voice rising in pitch and speed. “What if this is my replacement? What if this means Percy is going to die, or already dead?”

“Sally,” Paul said gently, but firmly. “Please. Breathe.”

Sally stopped, and took a deep breath. “I am with child,” she said.

Paul stopped breathing himself.

Children were not something he had considered. If he was honest with himself, he married Sally because he truly loved her. But the thought that she’d had one child, nearly grown, and capable of making his own way in the world, and was now nearly thirty, the chances of having another seemed slim. And that was something Paul was fine with. The reality was that one reason he had been reluctant to pursue marriage was his skittishness around family. They had little enough money as it was, though they were a bit more financially settled now. Still, the statement had the effect of taking his breath away.

“Oh,” he finally managed.

Sally looked at him, and there were tears in her eyes. “I’m scared Paul. I’m scared this is a sign. That I’ve lost Percy.”

Paul had no idea how to respond to that, but he set down his food and went around the table. Sally buried her face in his chest and wept, clinging to his jacket. “I am sorry,” she said when she had stopped. “I should be happy. This is such a joyous occasion for us.” She looked at him, as if noticing him for the first time. “Aren’t you…happy?”

“I…” Truthfully, he did not know what to say. And he decided honesty was the best policy. “I am surprised,” he admitted. “I…I did not think,” he said. Finally he managed. “I did not expect we would be blessed this way.”

Sally looked apprehensive. “Are you…upset?” she asked. “I thought you’d be pleased.”

“I am not upset,” Paul said firmly. “Not at all. Please, put that out of your mind,” he said. He took the chair next to her, pulling it close. 

“But you’re not happy,” Sally pointed out. 

Paul took a deep breath, and considered his words. He bit down on the terror which threatened to rise up in his throat, the secret fears which had haunted him for so long. “You know I am the youngest of my siblings,” he said.

“Yes, I know your sisters,” Sally said, looking at him, eyes turning curious.

Paul took a breath. In his ears, he heard the terrified cries, but also the utter and complete silences of his house. “It’s not entirely true,” he admitted. Sally didn’t say anything. “Twice, when I was a boy, my mother was with child.” He closed his eyes. “The first time, I was four. The next time I was seven. Both times…”

Sally reached out and squeezed his hand. “The first time, I only remember impressions,” he said. “But I remember the fear. The babe…I don’t even know if it was a boy or girl, it did not survive of course, but mother was in sickbed for almost a month, and most of it on the edge of death. A hard thing for a boy of four. I was older the next time, so I remember more. The doctors had warned my mother against another child, I think. I was only seven, but as the youngest, I was rather good at listening at keyholes, and making myself unnoticeable to be overlooked when adults began to discuss difficult subjects. My mother wanted another babe so badly, she ignored the doctor’s advice. Called him a fool. But my sisters were scared, and that bled off onto me, I think.”

He took another breath. “I was there, in the room, the day she fainted. My sister screamed, and sent me running for the doctor. There was…blood…everywhere, it seemed.” 

Paul swallowed. “She came quite close to death. She did not rise from her sickbed for nearly three months. The babe was a boy, my parents named it Henry, so it could be baptized and buried at the Church.”

“But all I can remember is being so…so very scared, that my mother was going to die. I’m afraid it quite put me off the idea of ever having children of my own.”

“Oh, Paul,” Sally sighed. “I am so sorry.” She stroked his arm.  

Paul took her hand in his. “So please forgive me, my love, for not….it’s just…” Paul swallowed. “I am so very scared.”

“Oh, Paul. My darling Paul,” she said. “It’s all right to be scared. But everything will be alright,” she assured him. 

“There’s also the question of money,” Paul admitted. 

“We’ll manage,”  she promised. “I’ve made do with less than I have now, when I had Percy.”

Paul immediately felt guilty for his feelings. After all, Sally had done all this before. And alone. What did he have to be concerned with? “I’m sorry,” he said immediately.

“No, no,” she soothed. “It’s fine. You can be scared and nervous too. But I am glad I have you this time around.” 

Paul shook his head. “I am being selfish,” he admitted. “All of my worries, and I’ve not addressed yours. You do not really believe that your being with child now has anything to do with Percy, do you?”

Sally sighed. “I don’t know what to think, Paul. It…is probably absurd. I’m just so worried for him, and for Annabeth. I’m probably exaggerating and imagining things. It’s just…” She looked at him. “I had wanted a child with you. I suppose I never asked if you wanted one. I just assumed. I…am sorry, Paul.”

“You have nothing to be sorry about, Sally,” Paul assured her. “As I said, I am not upset, or angry. Scared, perhaps, but never angry.”

Sally gave him a smile. “We shall be scared together then.”

“That is why we have each other,” he replied, putting his arm around her. “To share these things.”

“Yes, indeed,” she agreed, leaning into him.

Chapter Text

Percy and Annabeth’s safe return was a joy to be celebrated by all. Sally had held him in her arms and wept openly for long minutes when he’d first arrived home, and then while holding Annabeth. Both young people looked worn, and ill. Percy was pale and gaunt, and Annabeth’s cheeks seemed hollow, like she had had a wasting illness. 

Neither youth wanted to discuss their trials very much, as if the memories were still a raw wound that caused them pain to touch. They did speak of the loss of their friend, Leo, and Paul and Sally mourned with them, though they had not met the boy. 

They sat next to each other on the settee, always touching, as if they expected the other to be snatched away at any moment. Their obvious intimacy made Paul vaguely uncomfortable, but Sally seemed to take it in stride. They took turns telling their tale, one picking up when the other trailed off, clasping hands tightly through difficult portions. Their story made Paul’s hair stand on end, and made him forget about their impropriety. 

When they had finished their tale, and seemed about to drop, Sally hurried to prepare them both a meal. Annabeth offered to assist Sally in the kitchen, and the two went off, leaving Paul and Percy in the parlor. Paul watched as Percy’s eyes followed Annabeth out of the room, hungrily, as if feared she might vanish if out of his sight. His eyes caught Paul watching him, and he gave a tired grin. 

“Has she been to her father’s house yet?” Paul asked.

Percy shook his head. “I will call her a carriage after Ma feeds her,” he said. “Ma won't be satisfied until she has.”

Paul nodded. “That is true,” he agreed. 

Paul hesitated. He wasn’t sure he knew how or if to ask Percy what they intended to do now. If what Percy and Annabeth had said about their journey was even half true, it would not be kind to pile more worry on top of it. And besides, did he really want to hear… we travel to Gretna Green on the morrow? Would he then be honor bound to warn Professor Chase? Probably not, but I’d still feel guilty about it . 

They joined Sally and Annabeth in the kitchen a few moments later. The two women worked smoothly in the kitchen together, a product of all the time Annabeth had spent there while Percy had been missing. Percy seemed to relax a bit, being in the same room as Annabeth, and she likewise had tension that appeared to ease in the presence of Percy. 

They ate ravenously of the cold meal that Sally prepared, as if they both were starving, and given their gauntness, it would not have surprised him. When they finished eating, Paul volunteered to go fetch a carriage for Annabeth, rather than send Percy out. He found one easily enough, and returned to the house. Stepping through the front door, he found Annabeth and Percy, who broke apart hurriedly, but had clearly been in the act of a passionate kiss. Paul felt his cheeks heat with embarrassment and cleared his throat. “I have a carriage for you,” Paul said.

“Thank you, Mr. Blofis,” she said.

“I’ll show you out,” Percy said, offering her his arm in a rather more demure manner than they had been previously. 

Paul watched them go out, and Sally joined him in the hall. She put his arm around his waist and leaned into him.  “It’s so good to have him home,” she said. “Safe.”

“Yes,” Paul agreed. 

“And Annabeth too,” she added. “Percy would not be the same without her.”

Paul hesitated. “Yes,” he agreed. “Do you think they will marry soon, then?”

Sally took a breath. “Possibly. Though I think they are both still concerned about how to handle the matter with her father.”

“I assumed she would not care about that,” Paul said.

Sally hmm’d. “I’d say she cares, but not overmuch. If he came out and forbid it, for example, she would turn her back on him in an instant. However…I think she would prefer it if he approved. She craves his approval, but will not sacrifice Percy to get it. And I think they will do what they can to see that he does approve. In some way. And there's money to consider.” 

Percy had nothing to settle on, and Paul and Sally could give him nothing. Perhaps that would not be a problem in general, but for a Earl’s niece?

“Annabeth does have a dowry that would set them up nicely,” Sally said, “if her father inherits, it would be larger, but as it stands, her fortune is ten thousand.” 

Given what Paul knew of the holdings of Mercia, it was not such a surprise that a second son’s daughter could have such a thing. But it would be quite a fortune indeed, particularly on the scale Percy might be used to. 

Invested well, that might get them 500 a year. Considerably more than Paul and Sally lived on now. A bit more than Paul’s mother and father lived on, even. 

It would not have been the style Miss Chase grew up in, but it would be a comfortable life. Wood in the winter, meat at table, and a few servants to keep a household running without burdening Mr. or Mrs. Jackson. Not enough for a valet or a lady’s maid, but a butler and a few housemaids. 

But only if Professor Chase consented. 

Sally nodded, as Paul spoke his thoughts allowed, “I can only assume they’ve discussed it. As Annabeth likes to say, ‘Athena always has a plan’.” 

Paul shook his head. “As you say, dear. I hope that you are correct.” 

She nodded. “Annabeth will not be the issue. I fear the biggest obstacle I fear is Percy,” she said.

“Percy?” Paul was surprised.

“I rather think his own feelings of inadequacy will make him hesitate to try for marriage until he is more settled. He will feel compelled to provide for her. Percy remembers what it was like for us before we achieved a degree of comfort with our finances. He will not wish to inflict that on Annabeth.” 

Paul nodded, perhaps Percy was wiser than he had suspected. Poverty was hard on everyone. 

Percy returned to the house, and Sally mothered him off to bed. They spoke no further of marriages, hypothetical or otherwise that evening, and Paul held Sally as he wept tears of relief. When she had finally cried herself out, and was calmed again, Paul asked. “When will you tell him about the baby?” 

“Tomorrow,” she said. “After a night’s rest, and another good meal. I would wait until Annabeth is here too. The babe will be as much her sibling as Percy’s.” 

Paul nodded, though he still wasn’t sure. All of Sally’s confidence aside, he still wasn’t sure. After all, if Annabeth’s father would be an Earl, there would surely be many suitors for her, wealthier, with titles. He could surely find a more suitable match, and insist on it. Though if they ran off to Scotland…that would be a tremendous scandal though. They would probably have to leave the country. And what kind of life would that be for them?

The next day, Annabeth did indeed arrive in the early afternoon. She came bearing news, however. Her father had invited them all to dine the following evening. Annabeth said that he had wanted to have them over that very evening, but her stepmother had told him it was impolite not to give a lady a full day’s notice to prepare to dine out, and he had acquiesced. Paul was glad for the notice, for it gave him a chance to air out his best coat. 

At tea, when it was just the four of them again in the parlor, Sally glazed at Paul, then spoke. “I have some news to share with you both,” she said, setting down her teacup. 

“Oh?” Percy looked up.

“You are going to be an older brother, Percy,” she said, resting her hands on her midsection. “Sometime after the first of the year.”

Annabeth gasped delightedly, and Percy stared for a moment, then grinned. “Congratulations! That is wonderful news!”

“Yes,” Annabeth agreed. “How delightful, I’m so pleased for you.” She shot Percy a look that he missed, and Paul raised his eyebrows at the implication. “Do you think it will be a girl or a boy?” she asked.

“I rather hope it’s a girl,” Sally said. “Though that is selfish of me. I know Paul would like a boy to be his heir.” She smiled at him.

That was not the only reason Paul was hoping for a boy, but he would not say that to Sally. A girl would require a dowry, a dowry they could not hope to have for her. It was not that were not comfortable with the boarding house. But they were able to save so little. A boy would grow up to make his own fortune in the world. A girl would be dependent on a husband, and that could be a chancy proposition, as Sally herself well knew, and would admit from time to time. 

“So long as the babe is healthy, and that you do not suffer too badly, mother, I shall be happy regardless,” Percy said. “It will be nice to have a half-sibling on this side of the family,” he chuckled. “Aside from Tyson, all my other half siblings I’ve met have been…quite trying. Though I have never met Rhode. Perhaps someday.” Annabeth patted his arm. They still sat quite close to one another, at least here in private. 

“And what are your plans?” Sally asked, cutting right to the point that Paul had avoided the previous day. 

“We are….” Percy glanced at Annabeth, who looked back steadily. “Still discussing them.”

“And what are you still discussing?” Sally continued shrewdly.

Annabeth sighed. “Percy wants to wait until he has established himself a bit more before approaching my father. I am not…enamored of the idea, but, I see it has sense. It would be…easier for all, to have father’s acquiescence. The possibility of having my dowry withheld is galling, but what can be done?” she asked rhetorically. “And we cannot deny they dowry money would be useful. 

Paul nodded. Percy had put some thought into it after all, Paul was pleased. 

“That being said, I would leave for Scotland this very moment, by preference,” Annabeth continued. “And society be damned.” Paul winced. 

Percy patted her hand. “It will come right, my love,” he assured her. “Trust me.”

“I trust you implicitly,” she said fondly. “I’ve no doubt your plan will succeed. I just don’t like that it will take so long.” She was almost whining. 

“What is your plan?” Sally had been about to drink her tea, but set it down again, voice wary. She clearly didn’t like where this might be going.

Percy glanced at Annabeth, then Paul and finally looked at Sally before taking a breath.  “I will join the Navy, and make my fortune as an officer.” 

Paul blinked in surprise. It actually seemed a sound plan to him. Of course, as the son of the god of the sea, Percy would have enormous advantages over the others in the service. He could clearly see Percy as able to do things others could not do. Normally a sea career would require a great deal of luck to be successful. Percy would be able to make his own luck. 

“Oh, Percy,” Sally groaned. “Truly? But you’ve just returned home. How long would you be away?”

Percy shook his head. “I do not know. I could be an officer in three, and I know I could make lieutenant on the first try. I will need a bit of luck in the first few stages, to find the right men, make the right connections. But I’m sure father would nudge things along. I could probably be a Post Captain within six years or so.”

Annabeth made an unhappy sound.  Percy patted her hand. “But then I would be respectable, and have some prize money put away, and a few other things besides. Then I would be an appropriate match for Lady Annabeth.” 

“I am only Miss Chase now,” Annabeth pointed out. “It would not be nearly as much of a scandal if we ran away now as it would be if I am a lady by then,” she pointed out. Percy gave her a look, and she sighed and gave way, as if this was an argument they had already had. 

Sally sighed as well. “I think I like this plan as much as Annabeth does, Percy. I will not like you being so far away.”

“I will be safer in the Navy than I have been on quests,” he said.

“Your ability to breathe underwater, or make a ship respond to your every whim will not prevent you from being blown apart by a French cannonball,” Annabeth pointed out peevishly. “And I swear to you, Percy Jackson, if this idea of yours gets you killed, I will come straight down to the Underworld so I can murder you all over again.”

“I know, love, you’ve told me.”

“Does your father know?” Sally asked.

Percy and Annabeth exchanged a glance. “No,” Annabeth said finally. 

“Are you going to tell him?” 

“We’ve…discussed it,” Percy said. “We aren’t sure. I think it might be better to wait until after I’ve made something of myself.”

“I’m not sure either,” Annabeth said. “We agree on that much at least.”

Paul thought that might be best as well. He did not know Doctor Chase, but what man would be pleased that his daughter wanted to marry the son of a boarding house keeper? Especially since the man must know the boy is a bastard. To be fair, Annabeth was as well, but that had been hushed up, clearly. He would not want any additional scandal, for fear others might ask questions. “Waiting, I think, is the wise path,” he said, adding his voice to the discussion. “Especially if you don’t know how he will react.”

Percy nodded. “I am inclined to agree with you.” 

Annabeth sighed. “Let us not talk more of it today,” she asked. “It is difficult to think about right now. How are you feeling?” she asked Sally, changing the subject back to the happier topic of the baby.

“I am doing quite well, actually,” Sally admitted. “I’ve not had some of the discomforts I had with Percy. Perhaps that is my reward for raising so noble a hero,” she smiled at him.

Percy rolled his eyes in embarrassment.

Paul had only rarely visited neighborhoods like Hanover Square. He understood that Professor Chase had chosen it because of its proximity to the house his brother kept in Grovsnor’s Square, which was even more fashionable, as befitted an Earl. 

He handed Sally down from the carriage, and offered her his arm as they ascended the front steps. They were met by a servant in uniform coat, who nodded a grave welcome and showed them into the parlor. There they found Professor Chase, and his wife, who greeted them with every courtesy, though Paul thought he detected a certain coolness from Mrs. Chase. 

“It is good to meet you, Blofis,” Professor Chase shook his hand warmly. “Annabeth tells me you tutor Greek and Latin when you’re not working for that publishing firm.”

“Yes, Professor,” Paul replied. 

“Annabeth speaks very highly of your skills, and you know that means a lot coming from her, eh?” the Professor chuckled. “It is good to have you both here.” 

“Thank you for inviting us, Professor,” Sally told him.

“Of course, of course! We have great cause to celebrate, don’t we? Our children are home and safe, praise be,” he said.

Paul glanced over at Percy and Annabeth, who stood a respectable distance from each other, but their facial expressions and twitches of their hands spoke of a desire for a great deal more closeness. They were apparently more circumspect in Annabeth’s home than Percy’s, but that was to be expected. Even still, the Professor looked at them and smiled knowingly. Perhaps the man knew more than he let on.

They were ushered in to dinner, a grander dinner than Paul had had in many a year. Professor Chase kept up an excellent conversation. He and Paul soon fell into a discussion of Herodotus, with occasional interjections from Annabeth or Percy. Mrs. Chase remained mostly quiet, but did speak with Sally about the struggles of managing a house. 

After dinner, Paul, Percy and Professor Chase withdrew to his study, in which Paul found himself in the basest state of envy over the packed shelves, leather furniture and academic luxury. 

The port was an excellent vintage, and Paul savored each sip as he and Professor Chase continued their conversations from dinner. Percy looked on, occasionally contributing, but remaining largely silent. Professor Chase had made him a flattering offer of port, given his age, but Percy had politely declined. None of them were smokers, it seemed. 

Professor Chase kept giving Percy little glances each time the subject changed, as if he expected Percy to speak, or take the conversation, but he never did. For the briefest of moments, Paul thought that perhaps Professor Chase expected Percy to bring up the question of marriage, but dismissed the thought. It was true that the Professor seemed to like Percy well enough, but he could not possibly think that Percy was fit match for Annabeth. 

They rejoined the ladies shortly thereafter in the parlor again. Paul was able to catch the moment where Sally looked questioningly at the Professor, who gave a quick shake of his head, which was followed by Sally’s resigned shrug.

They returned home some time later, but Percy said little on the carriage ride home, nor did he say very much that evening. 

It wasn’t until the next day that he approached Sally and Paul in the kitchen. “I am going to leave for Portsmouth tomorrow,” he announced. 

Sally shook her head. “You aren’t going anywhere until you are healthy,” she said. “You are skin and bone, Percy. You are no shape to go to sea right now.”

“But…” Percy protested.

“No buts,” Sally said firmly. “You may be nearly a man, Perseus Jackson, but I am still your mother. And you are not going anywhere in that state.” 

Percy’s eyes fell to floor. “Yes, Ma.”

“After that…we’ll see,” she said. “Are you sure this is necessary, Percy? Have you or Annabeth talked with Professor Chase about it?”

Percy shook his head. “I couldn’t, mother,” Percy said. “I sat there in his study last night, around all those books, and that furniture…what kind of match would I make for Annabeth now?” he asked rhetorically, and pleadingly. “No. When I have made my fortune, and I am able to support her. Then I will ask for her hand.”

“I think you’re selling yourself short, Percy,” Sally warned. 

Percy shook his head. “I know you’re worried, mother, but I will be fine,” he reassured her. “This is for the best. Annabeth and I discussed it last night, and we’ve agreed. Once I make my fortune, her father will not be able to object.”

That seemed a curious thing to say, since Paul could not remember seeing Annabeth and Percy speak at all last night, actually. 

Sally sighed. “If you’re certain, Percy, I will support you, when you are healthy again. If you believe this is what you think best for you and Annabeth, then you have my blessing. But you will not be leaving until you are well again. And besides,” she touched her stomach, still hidden by the cut of her dress. “Don’t you want to meet your sibling? You can at least wait until next spring.

Percy sighed, and nodded. “Of course I do. So yes, I’ll wait. What’s a few months more?”

“And it will give you time to think about if this is all really necessary,” Sally pointed out. 

“Yes, Ma,” Percy said ruefully.

“Now, sit down. I’ll make you breakfast,” she said.

Chapter Text

Paul and Sally were preparing for bed when the light shimmered, and Percy appeared. It was still light out, wherever he was, judging by the light filtering in the cabin windows behind him. He was grinning from ear to ear, and looked as pleased as Paul could remember seeing him. 

“Percy, what a surprise!” Sally said, delighted. 

“I don’t have long,” he said, without preamble. “I need to message Annabeth. But I’ve been promoted to midshipman.”

“Percy, how wonderful!” Sally gushed.

“Give you joy of it, Percy,” Paul added.

“We took a nice fat prize,” he said. “I’ll send some money home when I can,” he said. “But I will need some for my uniform.” 

“You do what you need to do, Percy,” Sally assured him. “We’re fine.” It was true. They had a steadier income now these days. Sally’s first book had sold quite well, enough to justify a second printing. And to hire some extra part time help, so she had more time for her writing. And Paul had had his own windfall since Percy had left as well. A former pupil of his from his teaching days, Lord Arundel, who had inherited his estate young, had died suddenly of a fever before having any children. Being without heirs, he’d left portions of his estate to a variety of people, including a legacy of 1,500 pounds to Paul in a trust. It earned a modest 4% yearly, but an extra 60 pounds a year was no insubstantial income. Especially given the need to save for Estelle’s dowry. 

Percy shook his head. “Let me do this for you, mother, you and Estelle.” 

“You have other things to be concerned with, Percy,” Sally reminded him.  

Percy’s grin became downright predatory. “Don’t worry mother. There will be more where this came from.” He glanced at something outside their view. “I need to go. I love you,” he said.

“I love you too, Percy,” Sally replied. 

He nodded, and swiped his hand through the image. 

Sally sighed and sat down on the edge of the bed. Paul sat next to her, put his arm around her. She leaned into him. “I know he knows what he’s doing,” Sally said. “But I still worry.”

“Of course, my dear, it’s only right,” he said. 

“I just hope he’s careful,” she said.

“I’m sure he will be,” Paul assured her. 

Percy did send some money home, only about 20 pounds, but they did bank it away for Estelle. It would accrue interest. 

It was a long time before he sent any more prize money, though. He served for a while aboard a ship called the Implacable. He sounded unhappy there, but he tried hard to make the best of it. He seemed to like the first lieutenant, though, a man named Jenkins. 

It wasn’t until after Jenkins had been given a ship, and taken Percy with him that any more prize money began to arrive. They cruised the Spanish coast, and took several rich prizes. Percy banked most of that money for himself, but he sent over 300 pounds to Sally, most of which Sally put aside for Estelle, but some they used to pay for some things around the boarding house. 

After that, the money home started to turn into a more steady trickle. It seemed like every few months a messenger would arrive from Percy’s prize agent, with a draft for Sally. They banked most of it, maybe two-thirds of it, for Estelle, and used the rest for this and that around the boarding house, at least at first. When it seemed as though they didn’t need anything in particular, they would add the money to the investments Paul had from his cousin and from Lord Arundel. It wasn’t a lot, not at first, but it did increase their annual income a little. 

And then Percy got command of the Fawn outright. He’d gotten a big share of the not insubstantial prize money for capturing the Spanish frigate, but he’d said he planned to keep most of that for himself, to fund the things he would need as a Captain: stores, powder, uniforms.

His first big mission was to the Indian Ocean, to the Mauritius. He kept them informed regularly on how things were going, but unlike early in his career, said little about prizes and such. It was almost a year before they heard from Percy’s prize agent again, but when they did…

The man brought a bank draft for 2,000 pounds. 

Paul was stunned, and so was Sally. When Percy had next messaged, Sally questioned him intently. 

“I put most of it away for Annabeth,” Percy explained. “But I’ve got nearly 10,000 pounds put away now. I can help more now,” he said.

Sally insisted they didn’t need it. But Percy had refused to take it back.

They gave half to Estelle, and put the rest in with the investment. Then Sally hired an extra day maid to do linens for the boarding house.

When he got back, he’d been sent first to America with Grover, then to courier duty in the Baltic, and picked up several more prizes, mostly blockade runners. But they’d been loaded with valuable cargoes. Another check had arrived. And important news.

“I will be in England for a few weeks,” Percy announced. “ Fawn will be undergoing dockyard maintenance, and I should be able to get up London for a visit.”

Sally was overjoyed. “Oh, Percy! That’s wonderful!” she said. “We all can’t wait to see you! Isn’t that right, Estelle?”

Estelle, now five years old, bounced excitedly. She’d only ever seen her brother in Iris Messages or on Leo Valdez’s special scrolls. She didn’t remember seeing him in person as a babe, but his frequent messages had created a bond nonetheless. Though Paul wasn’t sure how much of it was because Estelle was absolutely devoted to Annabeth, who visited almost daily, or how much was genuine feeling for Percy. 

Sadly, Annabeth would not be able to join them for Percy’s arrival, as the Chase’s had gone to Bath to visit her stepmother’s relatives, but she would return before he had to return to his ship. 

There was much preparation in the house to get ready for Percy’s arrival. Sally cleaned and aired out Percy’s room. She had offered to let him use one of the vacant guest rooms, but he had brushed it off, saying that his cabin at sea wasn’t much larger than his room at home, and it would do fine for him. 

He sent a message when he arrived in Portsmouth, so they knew when to expect him. The morning Post-Chaise would not arrive until evening, so Paul would be home from work before Percy arrived. 

When he arrived home, Sally and Estelle were dressed in their best to greet him, but Sally could not sit still. She would sit, and then leap up to dust a speck off a tabletop, or make a minute adjustment to a picture frame.

Finally, they heard a carriage in the street, and then the bell. Sally seemed to force herself to walk to the door, holding Estelle’s hand, behind her. Paul waited in the hall. 

Sally opened the door, and gave a soft cry, and threw her arms around Percy’s neck. Paul could not see much of him, save his gold trimmed hat, and his blue uniform arms around his mother, while Estelle bounced excitedly. After a moment, he pulled away from Sally, but only to scoop up Estelle. “Hello there, little fish,” he said, lifting her up. She giggled wildly. “You’re so big! The last time I picked you up, I could have done it with one hand.” She laughed and hugged his neck. 

Percy held out his free hand to Paul. “Good to see you,” he said, as they shook warmly. He set Estelle down and doffed his hat, stepping into the hall. 

“You are looking extremely well,” Paul said. He seemed to have gotten taller in the time he’d been gone. And he looked very good in his uniform, gold buttons shined, crisp new stockings, and shined shoes. Annabeth would be delighted to see him in it, Paul imagined. 

“And this is Leveritt,” Percy said.

They all turned, having not noticed the other man on the step, carrying baggage. 

He was thin, and older, older than Paul by a few years, and showed signs of hard living. That being said, his blue coat was as neat as Percy’s, and his gray hair was pulled back into a long queue, in sailor fashion. The man nodded. “Which it is nice to make your acquaintance, sir, ma’am,” he said. He had a curious, old fashion manner. “If ye could tell me where to put the Captain’s bags, I’d be obliged to ye.” 

“Of course, Mr. Leveritt,” Sally said. “Estelle,” she said. “Show Mr. Leveritt Percy’s room please.”

“Yes, Mama,” she said. She looked curiously at the new man, and gestured for him to follow.

When they were both out of ear shot, Percy said. “I told him it wasn’t necessary to come, but he insisted. I’m sorry I didn’t get a chance to warn you, but I didn’t know he was coming until we left from Portsmouth this morning.” 

Percy had told them about Leveritt, the son of Mercury who had assumed the role of Percy’s steward. Paul had had a valet once, when he’d first moved to London, but his financial situation had forced him to let the man go, and he’d been required to shift for himself. It was hard to picture Percy with a servant. Percy had been the one to fetch and carry coal, to wash down the sidewalk, to carry heavy loads, and do all kinds of unpleasant work around the house for as long as Paul had known him. To have him suddenly appear, as a gentlemen would, with a valet in tow to carry the baggage…

It was oddly disconcerting.

“Don’t worry about it, dear,” Sally told him. “We’ve got a place to put him up.” Percy nodded, but he didn’t look convinced it would be okay. 

They drifted into the parlor, and Sally sat with Percy on the couch, hand on his shoulder, as if to reassure herself that was real and physically present, and not an Iris Message. “It is good to be home, if only for a bit,” he said. “I do miss London.”

“But you love the sea,” Sally said. “Perhaps when the time comes, you will move to the seaside,” she suggested.

“Perhaps. I will leave some of those decisions to Annabeth,” Percy said with a grin.

“Will you speak with her father before you leave?” Sally asked.

“I…might,” Percy allowed. “I had hoped to wait until I had been made Post, and I wanted a bit more saved before hand, but…we shall see. Annabeth and I will speak about it when she returns to London.” Sally nodded, satisfied with the answer for the moment. 

“How was the journey from Portsmouth?” Paul asked.

“Tolerable,” Percy allowed. “The horses told me the roads were in better shape than usual for this time of year, which I suppose is something. At least the weather was fair, if cold.” He grinned. “Better than some of the weather we had in the Channel this past fall.”

“Rachel and Piper did visit here after they’d seen you. They enjoyed seeing your ship,” Sally told him. 

“It was a surprise to see them,” Percy admitted. “I’d no idea they would be there, and that blasted gale had us pinned inside the bar. If I’d known how much time I was going to lose by putting in there, I would have chanced the storm. Only the fact that my record has been otherwise impeccable helped me avoid a bottle for being tardy with those dispatches. I should have sent them by post overland from Dover. They would have gotten there faster.” He sighed. 

“You couldn’t do anything about it?” Paul asked.

Percy shook his head. “That storm had come in from the north,” he explained. “I had less influence over it than others.”

“You mean, it was Norse in origin?” Paul asked.

“Aye,” Percy nodded. “I could feel it was different. And it was resistant to any efforts I made to try and change it. I could, little by little, but it was not easy.”

Estelle bounced in, followed by Leveritt who stood by the door. “Can I get ye anything, Captain?” he asked.

“No, thank you, Leveritt,” Percy said. “You can…”

“Which I will see to the kitchen then,” Leveritt stated before Percy could finished. “With yer permission, ma’am,” he looked at Sally.

“Oh, I…yes, certainly,” she said. “The cook, Annie, is there,” she said.

“Aye, ma’am,” Leveritt nodded, and went out.

“I offered Annie something extra to stay and help with dinner tonight,” Sally explained to Percy. “I wanted it to be special for you.”

“You didn’t need to do that, Ma,” Percy said. “Just being home with you is special.” 

“Thank you, dear, but I didn’t want to have to worry about that on top of everything else, either,” she added.

“I’m sure it will be wonderful,” Percy assured her. 

“Do you eat well on board?” Sally wanted to know.

“Tolerably well,” Percy allowed. “Leveritt is an excellent cook, and does well with the ingredients he has. But I have not had fresh bread in weeks, so I look forward to that, at least,” he added. 

Estelle climbed up in his lap, and he took her willingly. “And how old are you now?” he asked.

“Five!” she announced happily. “Are you a real pirate?” 

“A pirate?” Percy laughed. “No, little fish. What gave you that idea?”

“You steal money from the French,” Estelle explained, but looked confused.

“Oh!” Percy laughed. “No, Estelle, I don’t steal money. I capture their ships and we sell them.”

“Isn’t that stealing?” Estelle asked.

“No,” Percy shook his head and pulled on her pigtail. “We’re at war with the French. It’s the Navy’s job to capture the French ships. There’s a difference.”

“Oh.” She paused. “Do you have a big ship? Like the ones I see on the river?” 

“Bigger than some, not quite as big as others,” Percy allowed. “Someday, I’ll have a bigger one.”

“How big?” she asked.

“Big and fast enough to catch a fortune,” he proclaimed.

“And then you can marry Annabeth!” Estelle nodded proudly. 

“And then I can marry Annabeth,” Percy agreed. “Do you like Annabeth?” he asked.

“I love Annabeth,” Estelle said. “She said we’re sisters. But not really. But we can be, and we will be, when she marries you.”

“Yes, little fish, that’s right,” Percy grinned, hugging his sister warmly. “I’m glad you love her. I do too,” he said.

“Why isn’t your friend staying here with us?” Estelle wanted to know.

“My…oh, you mean Mr. Leveritt?” Percy asked.

“Yes.” She nodded. “Him. Why did he carry the bags? Why did he go to the kitchen?”

“Well, erm, Mr. Leveritt, he’s like Annie, or Polly, except he works for me,” Percy explained, awkwardly.

Estelle’s eyes went wide. “He’s a servant? You have a servant?”

“In the Navy, we call it a steward,” Percy explained. “He cooks for me, and helps keep my uniforms clean, and looks after my supplies. He’s been very helpful to me since I took command of Fawn .” 

Estelle looked very impressed at this explanation. “Annabeth says she has servants at her house that try to help her get dressed,” she said. “But she says that’s because her Papa is rich. And she doesn’t like it, but her stepmother insists. I didn’t know that boys could be servants.”

Percy laughed. “There are a lot of men who are servants, little fish,” he said. “Annabeth’s father has a butler, and footmen, and a valet, I’m sure. Lots of people do.”

“Oh," she said, apparently digesting this. She turned to Paul. "Papa, why don't you have a steward?"

“I…erm,” Paul stammered. 

Percy looked embarrassed. “Estelle, the Navy makes it Mr. Leveritt’s job to look after me. Stewards cost money, they have to be paid,” Percy explained. “And that’s not something Mama and Papa choose to spend money on. I probably wouldn’t, if the Navy wasn’t paying Mr. Leveritt for me.”

“Oh,” Estelle nodded, apparently satisfied with the explanation. “Have you met any mermaids at sea?” she asked, changing the subject quickly.

Percy laughed.

They chatted and laughed about Percy’s adventures, but Sally glanced at the clock, and Paul could see she was about to rise to see to dinner, when Leveritt appeared in the door. 

“Dinner is served, Captain,” he said. “Ma’am,” he nodded to Sally.

“Oh!” Sally exclaimed, and she rose uncertainly. “Thank you, Mr. Leveritt.” 

He nodded at her again, and gestured. 

Normally, they ate as a family at the big rough wood table in the kitchen, leaving the dining room for the boardinghouse’s guests, but today, with Percy home, Sally had claimed it for the celebration. The dining service had been laid, but there was no food on the table that Paul could see. Sally hesitated, but Percy held out her chair, and she settled herself, and they all took their seats. Estelle looked confused, but before she could vocalize her questions, Leveritt appeared from the kitchen, bearing food. 

Leveritt began serving out the food, setting down plates already ready with food, and pouring drinks. Estelle looked absolutely charmed to be thus served, Paul was fairly certain she’d never been so before. 

“Is there anything else I can get for you, ma’am?” Leveritt asked, when all was set.

“No, thank you,” Sally said faintly. 

“Very good,” the man replied, and then stepped back to stand by the kitchen door, as if he would fade into the woodwork.

Percy seemed to notice Sally’s discomfort, and gamely tried a distraction by telling a story about something that had happened at sea with one of his midshipmen. It was successful with Estelle, though Paul and Sally exchanged a glance quickly when they first tasted their wine. It was a remarkably better vintage than any they had on hand. Sally glanced at Percy and gestured with her glass. Percy gave a half smile and shrugged, which explained little, but at least he seemed to be aware that some kind of switch must have taken place.  And then he resumed his story,  and for a time, it worked, as they all ate and smiled, and laughed with him. But when Paul set his nearly empty glass down, Leveritt was there at his elbow, topping it up expertly, it caused Estelle to stare. 

“How come Mr. Leveritt isn’t eating with the rest of us?” she asked.

There was an awkward silence for a moment, and then, Leveritt answered. “Which I will get mine later, with the cook, young Mistress,” he said evenly, and continued pouring Paul’s wine.

“Thank you,” Paul said, when Leveritt had stopped. The man nodded and withdrew back to his position by the wall. Paul watched. Percy seemed to barely take notice when Leveritt served him, but did notice Paul and Sally’s awkwardness when he served them. Percy has become used to it , Paul realized. Leveritt had been training Percy as much as Percy was providing Leveritt with a source of income. 

Paul glanced at Leveritt and caught the man looking back at him. Leveritt didn’t do anything so suggestive as a wink, but the slight incline of his head seemed to acknowledge everything Paul had been thinking. Paul nodded back.

Perhaps this gambit of Percy’s would indeed make him the gentleman worthy of an Earl’s daughter after all. 

Percy had been home four days when he finally convinced Leveritt to visit friends in Wales, and other than Estelle, everyone was relieved. The first morning Percy had been home, Leveritt had been awake before everyone, and had served Percy breakfast in his room, and then served the rest of the family at table. Estelle was fascinated, if confused about the sudden emergency of formality. But he’d taken full control of the kitchen, and while his relationship with the other servants was fine (no one had threatened to quit, to Paul’s knowledge), he clearly had ideas of ‘how things should be done’, and that most certainly did not include the Mistress of the House cooking her own meals. To be fair, Leveritt’s cooking was excellent, and there was no doubt that the quality of ingredients improved while he was there, and there had been no corresponding rise in grocery bills, which Percy attributed to Leveritt’s noted ability to stretch a farthing. 

“He always manages to find things here and there,” Percy said with a shrug. “I do not inquire too closely,” he added with a knowing grin. “Son of Mercury and all.”

It probably should have bothered Paul more, Percy’s implication that the source of their improved groceries might have been less than legitimate, but for some reason it didn’t. He found Leveritt charming, if a bit particular about how belowstairs should be run. And he had clearly done much work to accustom Percy to a higher station in life. 

Annabeth arrived two days after Leveritt left for Wales. She had returned home with her mother and stepsiblings, while her father had gone to Cambridge to give a lecture. Percy seemed equal parts disappointed and relieved that he wasn’t in London for him to discuss marrying Annabeth with. 

“Ten thousand was the absolute minimum I wanted to have in the bank,” he told Paul one evening after dinner. “I was rather hoping for more. Or at least to be Post Captain.”

“What are your prospects?” Paul asked, swirling the port in his glass. The bottle was one that Percy had brought home with him, and was truly excellent, though Percy always drank his heavily watered. Privately, Paul thought it a crime, but he also understood why. 

“Good, if I can find the right opportunity. If only I could catch a French frigate, or the like. Something really impressive,” he said. “I can sail circles around the French, and I don’t even need to do anything magic,” he scoffed. He sighed. “I am looking forward to getting back,” he admitted. “I can’t win prize money sitting around London.”

“Day after tomorrow you head back?” 

Percy nodded. “Aye. And then off again. I wonder where they will send me this time. I hope it’s not the Med.” He shivered. “Too many complications there. I wouldn’t mind going back to the West Indies, or perhaps India. Spain would be wonderful, as long as it’s the Atlantic side.”

When the time came for goodbyes, Sally was emotional, and so was Estelle, who had become quite attached to him in the time he was home. She knew him, saw him in his Iris Messages, but having him physically present was something else entirely. 

Annabeth bore up rather better, at least it seemed so to Paul, but he rather suspected that they had exchanged more private farewells sometime prior to Percy loading his trunk onto the Post Chaise. 

Paul shook his hand firmly. “Good luck, Percy.” 

“Thank you, Paul,” he said, nodding and smiling. He looked fresh and sharp, in his dress uniform again. “I hope I’m back soon.”

“As do we,” Paul said. “Best of luck out there, and be safe, for your mother’s sake, and Annabeth’s.”

Percy grinned roguishly. “Annabeth has left me in no doubt of the fate that will befall me if something happens, don’t you worry.” He turned to Sally, took both her hands in his. “Goodbye, Ma.” He said. “I’ll write, of course.”

“You’d better,” she told him,

“Farewell, little fish,” Percy bent down to Estelle, turned out in her finest ribbons and bonnet. “I’ll be home soon.”

Her lip stuck out bravely, and she hugged him. “Be safe, Percy,” she said, trying to be brave and not cry again. 

“Of course.”

He turned finally to Annabeth, and they gripped hands so tightly that Paul saw their knuckles whiten, but spoke no words. 

Then he climbed into the carriage, and he was off. 

“The next time he returns,” Annabeth said into the silence. “He will be Captain. And we will be married.”

Chapter Text

Percy reported soon after that his orders were to take him to Malta. Annabeth was very concerned for him, and said as much to Sally. She reported his progress, and often provided details that Percy himself failed to disclose in their own conversations with him. 

Count di Angelo arrived in London shortly after Percy left, accompanied by the Irish doctor, Will Solace. The Count was often a guest at their rooms in London, and Paul knew he paid to hold a room open on a permanent basis. But this was the first time Paul had met Dr. Solace. A son of Apollo, he’d heard stories of the man’s remarkable skill at healing. And he was a charming and happy guest, having that Irish gift for conversation. During his visit to town, he spent some time at St. Bart’s, apparently doing some study, but also giving some lectures on battlefield treatment to army doctors. Count di Angelo would spend the day making calls, but also attending to some business interests, before both men would return to have a good meal and spend the evening by the fire in the parlour. Sometimes they would go on the Ton, to the theatre. Dr. Solace in particular enjoyed music, cajoling Count di Angelo to accompany him to hear concerts. 

Naturally, no one ever said anything, but it was clear to Paul that the two men were… more… than close friends. Sally had hinted at such before Dr. Solace’s arrival, and Paul had been concerned that such a thing might bother him. But in the event, he found that it did not bother him. It was, after all, none of his business. 

One day, Paul came home from work to find Annabeth in the parlour with Count di Angelo and Dr. Solace. 

“You must go,” she was saying. “Have you seen him? He looks terrible. He’s not sleeping.”

“It will not be any safer for us,” Count di Angelo said.

“He’s going to be on Malta within a day or two,” Annabeth countered. “It’s probably as safe as it gets there.”

“‘Tis true,” Dr. Solace agreed. 

Count di Angelo gave the Doctor a betrayed look. He sighed. “If we go, we’ll need to take some things with us.”

“I’ve already contacted Leo,” Annabeth said. “And Hazel. They’ve agreed to help.”

“We’ll need to go to Camp,” the Count said. “I’d rather do this with Mrs. O’Leary. She is good to have around, especially if we run into something nasty.”

“And it’s better for you,” Dr. Solace pointed out. “Not that I don’t think this is important, but Mrs. O’Leary doesn’t mind, and can handle it better than you.”

The Count nodded. “We’ll start out first thing tomorrow,” he said. “Tell the others that if there’s anything they need to send along, we’ll meet them at Camp.”

“Thank you,” Annabeth said warmly. “Both of you.”

“Yes, well…” the Count looked embarrassed.

“‘Tis but a nothin,” the Doctor said. “I’ve been meaning to do some traveling anyroad. And I’m sure I can find some nice things to add to my bag o’tricks while visiting the ancient sea. Maybe I can even convince Mrs. O’Leary to take us through North Africa on the way home. There are some very interesting plans that I found reference to in some of the books I got from New Rome.” 

And so the two men left the next day. Percy reported their arrival in Malta shortly thereafter. Percy apparently slept the better part of two days, and Paul could see in his message a marked improvement on his mental and physical state. 

And it certainly must have been effective, for on Percy’s next cruise, he went out and scooped up seven more prizes. Rich ones, too. But Paul was still shocked when Percy’s prize agent soon appeared with a check for 5,000 pounds.  

“It wasn’t all mortal prize money, not really,” Percy admitted via Iris Message, sheepishly. “I ran into my half-brother again one night, that scrub Chrysaor. His pirates wanted nothing to do with me, and abandoned him and he decided to run instead of fight. I helped myself to some of the treasures he and his crew had plundered and added them to our haul from the next vessel we took. His ship was technically a legal prize, according to the Navy’s rules, and I thought it just compensation for all the strange things the crew had to endure on my behalf, even if they don’t remember it.”

“Percy!” Sally protested. “What are we going to do with this money?”

“Give it to Estelle. She will have a dowry to match Annabeth’s someday,” Percy smiled.

“But, Percy!”  He wasn’t listening. His head was cocked to one side, and they could distantly hear voices from outside the cabin.

“I have to go,” he announced, and swiped his hand through the rainbow while shrugging on his uniform jacket.

Estelle’s prospects were certainly growing. When she had been born, Paul had been terrified that they wouldn’t be able to provide her with much of anything. But now, with a savings in the bank of over 6,000 pounds, not including money they planned to use for her education, Estelle was well positioned to attract a good, solid match: a lawyer, or a doctor, or even, if Percy added more like he promised, a country squire, a true gentleman with land and income. 

Still, it rankled a little that Paul was not the one who was providing for his daughter in this way. He was not so prideful that he would refuse Percy’s money. Percy loved his sister as deeply as Paul loved her, and he was as concerned for her future as anyone. But it did prick at his pride a bit. Sally assured him that it wasn’t a reflection on him, and on some level, Paul knew that. Percy had skills and talents Paul could never hope to have, and was in a much different profession. And it wasn’t as if Paul didn’t have some prospects. His own book was coming along nicely, and he hoped to look at publishing soon, though Sally’s next book would probably reach print first.

Life was a deal more comfortable now, than it had been when they’d first married, though. They had enough income to hire servants to do nearly all the menial work around the boarding house. Sally didn’t launder bedding anymore, or clean the fireplaces. She still would cook, but only when she desired to, and usually only for the family as opposed to all the borders. They had even talked about hiring a butler/valet for Paul. He hadn’t had one of those since just after leaving university, when he still believed he could support himself as a gentleman. That fantasy had dispelled itself quickly. But now, perhaps they could afford it. A valet to brush his coat and shine his boots would give him that much more time to focus on his writing. 

“I hope everything is all right,” Sally said, staring at the space where Percy’s face had been, worrying a bit at her lip.

“I’m sure it’s fine,” Paul assured her. “You know he often has to end these messages quickly if he thinks he will be interrupted.”

“That’s true,” Sally allowed. “I just worry.”

It was unusual for Percy to call twice in a day, so they were surprised to see him very late that evening. It was dark, but Paul could definitely see that Percy’s cabin had suffered damage of some kind. He could see a large section of the windows behind him had been boarded over. Percy looked tired, but triumphant.

“A pretty little action,” he declared. “And an important one, unless I’m very much off the mark.” 

“Oh?” Paul asked.

Percy nodded. “We met a group of three French brigs. They meant to take us prize, but we turned the tables on them. I was able to take two of them and sent the third limping back off to port. Only the need to secure the first two prevented me from going after her,” Percy explained.

“That’s good news,” Paul said. “You think this will secure your promotion?” 

Percy nodded. “I’m nearly certain of it,” he replied.

“Were many people hurt?” Sally asked.

Percy sobered. “Four killed outright, three more might not last the night, we’ll see. I wish I had a real healer like Will. One man will lose an arm. The rest will recover with time.” 

“How long till you reach Portsmouth?” 

Percy shrugged. “I would have said tomorrow, but we’ve not been able to get much way onto one of the prizes, we shot away her mast, and we’ve had to rig a spar. We’re not making much more than 5 knots right now, so we could be late. But I still hope to make port before the ball.” He hesitated. “I’ve asked Annabeth to see if her father will come down. If this goes as I hope, then I will speak with him, finally.”

Sally put a hand to her mouth. “Oh! Percy, that’s wonderful news.”

Paul knew that Percy and Annabeth had been planning to meet up for this year’s Trafalgar Day celebrations once it became clear that he would be back in England for the event. She would ostensibly be visiting their friends in Portsmouth, Colonel Zhang and his wife, who maintained a house in Portsmouth. Now, Percy wanted Annabeth’s father to go as well. If all went well, they would finally be wed.

“Best of luck, then Percy,” Paul added. “Not that you’ll need it.”

Percy grinned weakly. “We’ll see.”

Distantly, a bell rang. “Leveritt will be in with my dinner directly, and I must see to the prizes. Be well, everyone.”

“You as well, Percy,” Sally replied.

“Does this mean Percy and Annabeth will finally be married?” Estelle asked.

“I hope so, dear, I hope so,” Sally said, scooping Estelle up into her lap.

The news that followed from Portsmouth later in the week was mixed, though. The first part was quite as anticipated. Percy was indeed promoted to Post Captain, and the news of his great victory was all over the land. Paul went to the newsagent on the corner and purchased two copies of every paper that featured the story. His name was all over the Ton. And Percy reported that he’d been given command of his old ship, Naiad. 

The sudden fame had taken Paul’s family quite by surprise. He had not exactly advertised that a steady stream of prize money income had been coming in the last few years. They were certainly aware that Percy had joined the Navy. Sally had become, well, if not close, then at least very friendly with both Elinor and Marianne, and they would meet regularly. Their conversations had apparently not included many details of Percy’s career either. But it was difficult. Like everything with Percy, the conversations about him were difficult, because there were the inevitable resounding silences where details should be.

Elinor and Marianne called on them the Saturday after the story had come out, to share their congratulations.

“We had no idea your son was such a hero,” Elinor exclaimed. “Such a great victory!”

“Yes,” Marianne agreed. “I heard from Mrs. Wentworth, who was at a ball with Viscount Arlington. His brother served with Captain Jackson, and speaks very highly of him.”

“Yes, he has written about Captain Jenkins,” Sally said. “They are quite good friends.”

“One of the reports I read said that he’s been quite successful capturing French ships already,” Elinor probed gently. “It hinted that he’d made quite a bit of prize money.”

“Do they really make a lot?” Marianne asked.

“As Captain, Percy is entitled to two-eights of the proceeds from any ship he captures. Three-eighths if he isn’t serving in a squadron at the time, but that’s only happened a few times,” Sally explained.

“Isn’t that a bit, I don’t know… piratical? ” 

“That might be a concern to bring to the lord admirals.” Paul said, the censure clear in his voice.

But Sally let out a laugh, “As you say,” she said, “but piracy has been a part of naval warfare since ancient times. My son is engaging in an ancient tradition for King and country. And who could fault him for that?”

Paul and his sisters all looked at her, and Paul did not suppress his smile. His wife had a way with words, and his sisters looked properly embarrassed. 

“But Paul is right,” Sally added. “It is a concern for the Lord Admirals. Percy tells me the Navy is always short of hands, and prize money is the way they encourage men to serve, because the pay is otherwise miserly.”

“Oh.” This brought Elinor up short. She was always the quicker of the two of his sisters. “That does put a rather different light on it.” 

Sally nodded. “A common sailor can make as much from a rich prize as he would make in several years of service. It is a powerful motivator. And it isn’t as if conditions in food and supply are attractive either. Percy has used some of his prize money to improve the living conditions aboard his ships. He says it makes the good sailors want to serve with his ship.”

“That seems quite practical,” Marianne agreed. “But it does seem a shame that it’s necessary.”

“Indeed,” Paul agreed.

“You must be very proud,” Elinor added. “And his improved prospects must be quite exciting.”

Sally glanced at Paul with an amused look. “We shall see,” she said.

The second part of the news from Portsmouth was not so well. Annabeth was not able to convince her father to go with her to Portsmouth. She’d not quite been able to bring herself to tell him why she wanted him to go with her, and as a result, he had remained behind in London. Percy had wanted to go up to London, and he would have, but his orders had not allowed it. The ship to take him to South America was only waiting on favorable winds, he could not leave Portsmouth. 

Still, despite the disappointment, Percy was pleased. Even the prospect of service in a backwater station like South America had not dampened his enthusiasm. 

“Soon, I will be able to make some real money,” he said with a grin. 

“How much have you saved for yourself so far?” Paul asked. Percy had sent nearly 10,000 pounds over the years to them. Most of it they had banked for Estelle’s education and her dowry, but their lifestyle had improved considerably, as had the conditions at the boardinghouse. 

Percy shrugged. “Something in the neighborhood of 15,000,” he said. “But I am not done yet.”

“Just be safe,” Sally urged.

“Always, Ma,” he promised.

Things were quiet after that for a while. Percy provided them with regular updates, but South America was a sleepy, out of the way kind of place, at least at this stage. That was until the American War broke out.

Percy actually had heard of it before they had, since the declaration of war from the Americans had less distance to travel to reach him in Brazil. He messaged them the night he heard the news. “I plan to get among their shipping in the Pacific as quickly as I’m able,” he announced, grinning predatorily. “I will be a fox among the hens.” 

“Just please be careful,” Sally begged.

“Don’t worry,” he said. “When this is over, I plan to come home and retire. I will have enough by then, and I shall never leave home again,” he pledged. 

“Don’t make promises you cannot keep,” Sally warned. “And besides, you and Annabeth may want to travel someday.”

“That is true,” Percy allowed. “But I won’t be traveling without her again.” 

“That’s reasonable,” Sally allowed. 

Percy sighed, and scrubbed his face in his hands. “I have to go. Poor Mackenzie will need some supporting. He’s been coming along nicely, but this will be very different from the work we’ve done before.” 

“Be safe, Percy.”

He smiled. “Of course, Ma.”

Paul did not know it then, Percy was about to turn all their lives upside down. 

It began within the week, when Percy reported the capture of an American ship homeward bound from China, and laden with luxury goods. 

By the end of the next month, he’d captured four more ships, including another homebound Chinaman. 

Paul attempted, over the course of Percy’s journey across the Pacific, to keep a running tally of all the ships Percy captured, and his estimates of their approximate value. Percy was entitled to a two-eights share of any captured ships, with another eighth going to Admiral Peterson in Rio, while the rest was divided among the rest of Percy’s officers and crew. 

By the time Percy had reached Canton, Percy had captured, by Paul’s count, 24 ships. Three  he’d sent back into the Rio at the start of their journey, and four more had been paroled with prisoners and sent back to America. A twenty-fifth ship, the Peruvian privateer, had been burned. 

By Percy’s own accounting, the value of the ships and their cargoes was approaching a million pounds, which Paul simply could not comprehend. With nearly 250,000 pounds to his name, Percy would morph into one of the richest men in London. 

And suddenly, everything had become backwards. Now, instead of questioning whether Percy would be an appropriate match for Annabeth, the question would be if Annabeth, the same age as Percy, would be a socially appropriate match for Percy. Granted, there would always be questions about Percy’s parentage, but every ambitious man in the country might be throwing their daughters at Percy’s feet.

And just the thought of Percy as a…a…gentleman of means, made Paul’s mind twist inside out. Not that Paul begrudged him at all. It was just what he had earned. But Percy’s vault into the top levels of Society would take some getting used to. He had always known Percy would become comfortable from his career in the Navy, but now it appeared he would have a fortune to rival all but the most powerful lords in the kingdom. Annabeth, and other friends who visited, such as Dr. Solace and Count di Angelo, speculated that Percy might be knighted, or granted a baronetcy, or even more.

“They made Nelson a Viscount,” Count di Angelo pointed out.

“Nelson won two great battles,” Annabeth pointed out. “I think a baronetcy is more realistic.” 

“Will he be coming back to England after he returns to South America?” Dr. Solace asked.

“I pray to all the gods every day for that,” Annabeth admitted. “But he doesn’t know.”

Percy’s journey from Canton was not as fruitful, since the Indian Ocean had long since been swept clear of American shipping, but at least the journey was uneventful. After his stop in Cape Town, he was eager to share about his discovery of the young Roman demigod, Arthur Taylor. Paul saw him once, in an Iris Message. He had a kind of dignity about him, though his uniform looked like it didn’t quite fit. Sally was able to draw him out a bit, which was only natural, she was so good at it.

Annabeth visited regularly. It seemed that there would be soon evidence provided of her Uncle’s death, and the prospect of becoming a Countess had driven her stepmother into a kind of social frenzy from which Annabeth needed a frequent escape. Her father must have felt the same, for he spent much of that year visiting Cambridge to give lectures. 

And so it was that Annabeth was there at the house, when Percy sent an Iris Message around dinner time one day. Paul could immediately see that a battle of some kind had taken place. The damage to his cabin did not seem to be as extensive as it had been after the battle with the brigs, but Percy’s face betrayed more exhaustion, despite his tired smile. 

“Percy!” Annabeth exclaimed, concerned. “What has happened?”

“I am well,” he said. “Unharmed. And young Taylor is safe as well,” he said. “But it was a hot day, and I’ve much to attend to, so I cannot speak long. We have taken a Yankee frigate, Borneo , which they took from us eight months ago.”

“That is wonderful news,” Annabeth said. “A crown to your voyage.”

“Indeed,” he said with a tired grin. “I cannot wait to see old Peterson’s face when we return to Rio.” 

“You need something to drink,” Sally observed. “You look parched.”

“I will get something shortly. It is quite warm in these latitudes.” He looked away at something they couldn’t see. “Yes, I’m coming Leveritt,” he called. “I must go. Much to do. But I wished to let you know I was safe.”

“Thank you, love,” Annabeth said. 

“I imagine this will take up much of the rest of my day. I will speak with you all tomorrow.”

“I will hold you to that,” Annabeth warned him.

He smiled and waved his hand through the mist, dissolving the rainbow. 

“This is excellent news,” Annabeth said. “A great victory like that will be a sensation. He’s almost certain to be made a knight for it, if not a baronetcy. The news from this war has been uniformly bad, from the Navy’s point of view. They will want to have some good news.”

“Perhaps you are right,” Sally agreed. “We shall see.”

Percy reported his arrival in Rio about a week later. He recounted with amusement his efforts to dodge attending the ball thrown in his honor, and his rather neat avoidance of the Admiral’s niece.

“I was nervous that Peterson would be offended,” he told Sally. “But he doesn’t seem to like her very much, so it was all fine.”

“Well, that’s good,” Sally said. “I would hate it to go badly between you and the Admiral.” 

“How much longer will you be away?” Paul asked.

Percy frowned. “Peterson told me he has orders to send us to reinforce the blockading squadrons off the American coast. But we have been in commission for almost two years now, I’m hoping to be paid off soon.” He sighed. “It may have to wait until after this American business has been finished.”

“Well, I will pray that it finishes quickly then,” Sally agreed. 

“We miss you!” Estelle added.

“I miss you, little fish,” Percy grinned. “How are your lessons going?” he asked.

“All right,” she sighed. “But some of it is boring.”

Percy laughed. “I recall thinking my lessons were boring, too. But I can’t tell you how many times in the last few years where some distantly recalled fact from my lessons has helped me.”

Estelle pouted. 

“You work hard and do well,” Percy told her. 

“Annabeth says that my lessons are useless,” she protested. “Annabeth’s been teaching me some Greek and telling me how to design buildings.”

Percy laughed and shook his head. “That is a very Annabeth thing to do. But despite what she thinks, she isn’t always right, little fish. You make sure you listen to your lessons as well, for me?”

She pouted. “Fine.”

“That’s a good girl,” he said, chuckling. “All is well, then?” 

“Yes, Percy,” Sally assured him. “But we miss you.”

“Soon, I hope,” he replied fervently. “Soon.”

Paul was walking home from work when he heard the newsboy. “Great victory over the Americans! Captain Jackson avenges the Borneo!”  

He hurried over, bought a paper, quickly scanning the pages, while moving out of the way of others. Two tightly packed columns of text recounted Percy’s victory over Borneo , as well as summarizing his long cruise. The article ended with a speculation about his prize money, a number that Paul estimated would actually be low, when it all shook out. 

He hurried the rest of the way home, running across two other newsboys selling rival papers that also carried the story. 

When he arrived at home, Estelle greeted him with the news that letters from Percy had arrived. Of course they contained details that he’d already passed along but they often contained little anecdotes that he didn’t have time to share during his short Iris Messages. And given the length of time since his last letter, this one promised to be quite entertaining. 

The other news had also preceded him home, for Annabeth was there, along with Lady Rachel, and Miss McLean. The three women were ensconced in the parlour, with Lady Annabeth sharing tidbits from her own letters from Percy. 

“Are the reports in the paper about his prize money accurate?” Miss McLean was asking as Paul walked in. 

“No,” Annabeth said. “It’s rather more.” 

“Good afternoon, ladies,” Paul said, with a bow. 

They all rose in a rustle of skirts. “Good afternoon, Mr. Blofis,” Miss McLean replied. “Quite a day, isn’t it?”

“Oh, yes,” Paul agreed. “Quite a day.”

“Oh, Paul, I’m glad you’re here,” Sally said, entering the room. “Did you get a copy of the Times?” 

“Right here,” he replied, handing over the newspapers. 

“Thank you,” she said with a smile. “The Gazette won’t be out until tomorrow, and that will have Percy’s full report, so we’ll want to make sure we get a copy of that,” she said. 

“I’ll get two,” he promised, “one for you to put in your journal, and one for the general sharing.” 

“Thank you,” she smiled, and patted his arm.

There was a knock at the door, and a moment later Polly appeared with a calling card, and announced Countess Aeitheles and Mr. Lester. 

The Countess had become an increasingly frequent visitor to the house since she’d settled in London after leaving Camp Halfblood. Mr. Lester, despite no longer being her official guardian, frequently accompanied her as her chaperone. Paul tried to pretend that Mr. Lester was not in fact the god Apollo. He rather liked Mr. Lester, who had vastly improved his knowledge and understanding of the mortal world in the years since his adventure away from Olympus. And he spent nearly as much time in London as above it these days. He had indicated to Paul, obliquely, that he found the company preferable. Annabeth had told him that she rather liked this new Apollo, and that he was near the top of her list of favored Olympians, near to Hestia and Artemis.

He also seemed happy to save the Blofis’ money on a music master. And a piano, having seemingly conjured one out of thin air one Saturday evening when he wished to play and found them lacking in any kind of instruments. He hadn’t taken it back, and it really added something to the parlor.

Estelle was already finding herself quite proficient on it, and honestly, while most of the time Paul found it easy to forget that Mr. Lester was a god, it was impossible when he sat down to play. More than once, Paul had been moved to tears by his skill on the instrument. 

“Good afternoon, Meg,” Sally greeted her by clasping her hand.  She dipped curtsey to Mr. Lester. “Good afternoon.”

“Good afternoon, Mrs. Blofis, Mr. Blofis.” He bowed gracefully and smiled. “Thank you for having me in your home.” He never failed to say that, and despite it being several years now, his gratitude never seemed to lessen. 

“Welcome, please,” Paul said, gesturing to chairs in the parlor. 

“My butler brought me the paper,” the Countess said, diving into the conversation. “It’s very exciting that it’s all public now.”

Like all the demigods, the Countess knew the full extent of Percy’s journey, the information having been passed from Annabeth to the others by their own methods. And Mr. Lester knew…well, everything, Paul supposed.

“Percy’s father is quite transported with delight,” Mr. Lester said. “Father is…quite nettled on the other hand, which I find very enjoyable.” He grinned. “I paid my respects to Poseidon just a week ago, to congratulate him. He was very gracious.”

“Have you told your father yet?” the Countess wanted to know. “That you will be married?”

Annabeth pursed her lips. “No, I know Percy wants to ask him properly. And we can’t be married before he returns to England regardless, so I don’t mind letting him have this.”

“How soon will he be returning?” Miss McLean asked. 

Annabeth sighed. “He fears it won’t be before this American business is wrapped up. And he’s quite annoyed by it. But I don’t think any of us really know how long this could go on.”

“My father says that Parliament wishes it would all just go away,” Lady Rachel said. “Lord Liverpool said the war was a bloody mistake to begin with, and it’s made Lord Wellington’s campaign in Spain that much more difficult. We used to buy a lot of grain from America, apparently.”

“The war was a mistake,” Annabeth said, “Papa and I were talking about it last night, and the battle plans are embarrassing. It's as though with Wellington in Spain, all the rest of the army’s wits have deserted them. And that's to say nothing about the Navy. I do not know why it took Percy ten years to get this far, if this is the way people are behaving. They should have given him command from the first. He understands strategy.” She held up the paper which featured the headline, “clearly.”

“It has seemed to be going badly for the Navy, beyond Percy’s exploits,” Countess Aeitheles commented.

“I can only hope that everyone comes to their senses sooner rather than later,” Annabeth said. “Because we both have had quite enough waiting. After all, I’m not getting any younger, and we both want a large family.”

The younger women giggled over this, while Sally smiled indulgently, as Paul was sure she was visioning grandchildren to fawn over. Paul cleared his throat uncomfortably. Mr. Lester gave him a knowing grin and shook his head. 

Conversations drifted on to other topics, like the subject of what Percy would do with all his earnings. “You can’t tell me you haven’t already had your eye on a estate somewhere,” Miss McLean said. “Somewhere by the sea.”

“We’re unsure,” Annabeth said, “we’ve only just decided that we would get an estate.”

Paul looked up, shocked, “You weren’t sure you were going to get an estate?”

It was the marking of a true gentility, and he could not imagine Annabeth not wanting that, to say nothing of Percy. 

“We always intended to spend a great deal of our time in London,” Annabeth said, “And we’re not children of Demeter or Dionysius. Agriculture holds no appeal to either of us. Percy had, before he set out on his journey, about 20 thousand saved. Enough for marriage, and some opportunity to make more. But he could not have predicted the American war, and I think he only thought he might make another 20 thousand or so. That would not have been enough to buy an estate and have anything left over.” She shrugged. 

“The estate would make money.” Lady Rachel pointed out.

“We’re not farmers,” Annabeth pointed out again, “And it's not as though running an estate is something either of us trained for. And it's so much harder to extract things like dowries out of land. It never seemed like it would be a priority.” 

“But you’ve changed your mind?” Sally asked.

“With 250 thousand I don’t think we have a choice,” Annabeth said. “It is so very much money. And with it, we will not be reliant on an estate, we’ll be able to find someone capable to manage it. And visit when we need the time.” 

“So you don’t have your eye on anything yet?” Miss McLean asked again.

“Not specifically.” Annabeth explained, “But I have been looking at what area we might like. I'm currently thinking about the South Downs. Somewhere between here and Camp, and convenient to the Portsmouth road. Percy says he would like to be able to go to sea from time to time, and with this much money, he wants to buy a ship of some kind. And I would like to go with him the next time he goes to sea.”

“Will you take a house in London?” Sally wanted to know. “Or are you going to buy one?” 

“I’ve found a few, for when he gets back” Annabeth said. “I want to get married, and then find a perfect place. And I suspect we’ll decide on where we want it based on how my father reacts to all of this in the end.”

“You will be rich enough now to make even father sit up and take notice, now,” Lady Rachel commented. “Not that he will be happy about it. He will grumble with his cronies about all this ‘new money’, forgetting perfectly well that his own title is only a few years older than me. I’m sure your father will have no objections.”

“The Earldom of Mercia is a good many years older than the dukedom of Bristol,” Miss McLean pointed out. 

“You think that Professor Chase will have a problem?” Paul asked her. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Sally shake her head. But he wasn’t sure why. 

“It will not matter.” Miss McLean said, “true love will win in the end.” 

“It is foreseen ,” Lady Rachel intoned, which set the young women laughing riotously. 

The next day, when Paul went to work, he was bombarded with questions from his colleagues. Paul had talked about Percy’s service enough that they all knew him by name, and everyone was deeply interested in what Paul thought of it all. Paul had to be careful not to let slip any information that he should not have actually known, though in this case, he could honestly say that Percy had written, since his letters had arrived concurrently with the news of his victories. 

“I say, Blofis,” Charrington said. “What will your stepson do with all that money?” he asked.

“I’ve no idea,” Paul said, not quite honestly. 

“Will he set you up with some of it then? For his mother’s sake?” one of the others asked.

Paul shrugged. “I’m sure he will provide something for his mother, but it will not be for me to touch, surely. He will want to make sure she’s amply provided for if something happens to me. And his sister, presumably.”

“Sounds like a responsible lad,” his manager agreed. “But surely you’ll get something.” 

Sally had told him just the night before that depending on how much Percy decided to foist off on the that they would hire a valet. Paul was quite pleased with that. On the other hand, she pointed out that depending on how much Percy did give them, they might actually consider moving. A boardinghouse in Cheapside was not exactly an address for a family with more than ten thousand in the bank. Though she fully intended to continue to run the boardinghouse. It had, in the last several years, partly due to her ability to be selective with her clients, moved away from being a common boarding house to being one of the chief landing spots for the demigod community in London. 

It was something to think about though. But also not for speculating among colleagues. Soon to be ex-colleagues, Paul rather hoped. And then they could both focus on their writing more.

Just as Paul was about to leave that day, a uniformed footman appeared. “Mr. Paul Blofis?” 

“I am he,” Paul said.

“The Duke of Bristol begs a moment of your time,” he said. “He is waiting out front.” 

It was more a command than a request, but Paul wasn’t about to refuse it. His mind whirled with confusion as he went out to the street and found a gleaming black carriage pulled by four white horses, and the Duke’s coat of arms painted on the side. The footman held the door for him and he climbed up in. 

“My lord,” Paul said, ducking his head in as close approximation of a bow that the circumstances would allow.

The Duke of Bristol looked up from what appeared to be a business folder. Paul had never met, nor seen Lady Rachel’s father before, but he was not at all what Paul had imagined him to be. Instead of short, plump and balding, as he had always imagined, the man was tall, with hair that had mostly gone iron grey, but still had flecks of faded red. He had a hawklike nose, upon which a pair of spectacles perched as he read his folio. He looked up, removed his eyewear and stared for a moment at Paul. 

“So you are the famous Mr. Blofis,” he said finally, in a deep voice that betrayed traces of the Anglo-Irish accent that he had been born with, for Paul knew that before the Duke had made his fortune in the colonies and elsewhere, his family’s ancestral home had been outside Dublin, where they had been since Cromwell’s days.

“You do me honor, sir,” Paul said.

The Duke snorted. “My daughter is quite taken with you, and your wife.”

“Lady Rachel has always been welcome in our home,” Paul replied, for lack of something else to say.

“Yes.” The Duke drew out the word. There was a silence.

Outside the carriage, the nearby church tower chimed quarter to five. It seemed to rouse the Duke, for he said brusquely. “I’m a busy man. I’m dining with the Prime Minister tonight, so I’ll come to the point.”

“My Lord?” 

“Your stepson does not intend to offer marriage to my daughter, does he?”

Paul blinked. “No,” he blurted immediately.

The Duke leaned back in his seat a bit. “That’s…good.” He seemed unsure. Paul didn’t know how to take this…he supposed he should be offended on Percy’s behalf, but knowing what he did about Lady Rachel…which her father clearly did not …only made him want to laugh. Finally the Duke cleared his throat, as if finally realizing he should probably explain himself. “Your stepson has had a great good fortune, and I wish him joy of it. And I had worried, when they were younger, that there was perhaps a connection there. But it would never do, I’m sure you understand, Blofis. There are just too many whispers about his background for my daughter.”

The fact that the Duke didn’t sound exactly sincere about that belief made the situation even more absurd. 

“Well, your lordship, I can assure you that Percy has no intention of asking for Lady Rachel’s hand in marriage. You have my word on that,” Paul said, trying desperately to hold a straight face. 

The Duke nodded. “I thought I would come to you, and settle the question. I’ve been uneasy in my mind about it since Lord Mellvile told me about his great cruise,” he added, casually speaking about the First Lord of the Admiralty. “I thought we could speak about it like gentlemen.” 

“Of course, my lord.” Paul cleared his throat. “Forgive me, my lord,” he said. “A small touch of a cold.” 

The Duke waved this away. “Well, I won’t keep you, Blofis. Good to meet you at last. And I give you joy of your family’s great success. Reynolds!” The Duke called, and banged on the side of the carriage. 

The door opened, and Paul ducked his head again. “It’s been an honor, my lord,” Paul said.

The Duke waved casually as Paul stepped down from the carriage. The footman shut the door behind him, and mounted immediately, as Paul heard the Duke call to the driver. The carriage went into motion immediately, leaving Paul standing on the curb watching it go. 

He couldn’t help himself. He doubled over with laughter.