Never thought I'd meet you here
It could be love
We could be the way forward
And I know I'll pay for it

September, 1889 — Morrigan's House

This was not the first of these meetings; Brooks did not have to attend all of them, but Morrigan did. Theirs was to be a smallish wedding, because Brooks' family didn't speak with him and Mor's was all spread out and bereft of many members, but somehow there were still several pieces of planning involved. They were to marry at the Sanditon Resort, which seemed expensive to Morrigan, but she was her father's only daughter. Now that they had the location, and she had a dress, all of the details seemed — silly.

But Brooks came regularly for meetings like this, where they talked about the wedding. Mostly Morrigan thought they were trying to wait out her stepmother, so that they could kiss in her parlor when no one was watching them. But her stepmother had not left them yet.

"What do you think my floral arrangement should mean?" Morrigan asked; her lips quirked upwards in the right corner, a faint smile, as she met Brooks' eyes. "I need to submit my request to The Florist Potts soon. And I've been told that pale flowers may be unbecoming."

Brooks Watson Daffodil Grimstone

  

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set by Bee

Brooks was not the kind to dither over things like place settings and flowers, but if it was important to Mor, he could fake enthusiasm for a little while. He knew little to nothing about flowers, but as she asked for his opinion, Brooks debated. He was sitting casually in an armchair, only half-participating, half-reading, but put a marker in his book and set it aside.

"I've always thought purple a lovely color for you," he smiled slowly, warmly, something reserved only for her. "Seems appropriate for the season as well." He shrugged, only guessing a little. As the autumn moved into winter, the darker colors were more in fashion, yes? Brooks had always stuck to darker colors himself, but neutrals, like green and blue and grey. He passed Morrigan a look, one eyebrow raised as he nodded to her stepmother who was looking through some sort of leaflet; he hoped she would find something else to do soon.

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Purple did look good on her, but she was privately worried about it clashing with the blues of her dress — but it was bad luck to show one's fiancé the dress before the wedding. She didn't need any more bad luck. And Mor was pleased with his smile, the one he only did when he looked at her, and which meant that they would surely get into some shenanigans once her stepmother left.

"You can work with purples, yes?" Mor asked, turning to her stepmother. The woman, perhaps knowing what Mor wanted, quirked an eyebrow. "And Mama has decided on the food — I said we'd be happy with anything."

  

Of the opinion that the florist would probably be able to work with just about anything, Brooks only shrugged helplessly. "Whatever you think is best," he concluded about the flowers. Surely it would look nice whatever was decided. Frankly he would have forgone the entire charade if given the opportunity, it wasn't as if he had many people who were coming. His surrogate family and a few friends, that was it. At least it was something. This was more for Mor, or for her family, whoever had deemed it more important. He would do anything she asked of him.

"I'm sure it will be delicious, I've always liked your cook." Brooks said of the food. He had never had a bad meal with Mor's family, so he assumed that they would know what to go for. Mor was right, they would be happy with whatever. Food was often an afterthought for Brooks and he frequented the Cauldron or other establishments for sustenance. It was mostly just for survival, not quite for anything else.

He didn't know quite what to do in order to get Mor's stepmother from the room, so he just looked at his fiancée hoping she would know what to do.

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Mor nodded at Brooks' comment. She looked at him, and then back at her stepmother. "Mama," Morrigan said, meeting the other woman's eyes. "Do you think you could get some samples, from cook?"

Her stepmother, who perhaps knew what Morrigan was up to but also had inherited Newland's tendency of indulging his daughter, smiled, nodded, said something simple, and then left to do just that.

Mor moved to settle in next to Brooks on his couch, and twined her arms around his neck. "Hello," Mor said, with a soft smile.

  

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set by Bee

Whether she knew what they were up to, or she was too distracted to care, Brooks waved Mor's stepmother off as she made her way from the room. He sighed heavily and leaned back onto the couch as Mor joined him. "Hello," he returned with a sly smile, leaning down to press a kiss right below her jaw in a better greeting. "You know I will just say yes to whatever you want, right?" He murmured against her skin, one hand finding it's way to her side, pressing against her, pulling her a little closer.

The wedding was just the next logical step and while he knew women were known to daydream about their big day, he had never quite envisioned Mor to be one of them. Still, he did mean it; whatever she wanted, all he really needed to do was put on a suit and show up. It was after that he was looking forward to most.

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Mor laughed, light and airy, as she slid closer to Brooks. "I know that," she said, and pressed a kiss to Brooks' cheek. She kept her arms around his neck, keeping him close. "It's one of your many charms."

She angled herself in front of him, pressing herself closer. She had half a thought of climbing onto his lap, but then it would be harder to feign innocence later, when someone came back to find them.

They wouldn't have privacy for another few weeks, but she was excited for it when they did have it — even though she had not yet told Brooks that she did not want children. (Not until she'd done her ritual, at least.)

  

Brooks snorted gently; he had no charms and she knew it. He inhaled her perfume with a sigh against her skin. In just a few short week's time, nobody could have anything to say about them getting handsy on the sofa. Once they were in their own place, in the little house he'd bought for them, just waiting for them to move in, nobody would be around to bother them much anyway.

"Won't be long until we no longer have to wait for your stepmother to leave the room," he added with a chuckle, pressing a soft kiss to her lips. "I'm looking forward to it." Truly, it would be nice. Brooks was looking forward to starting a little family of his own. He wanted to be surrounded by those who loved him, no matter what, starting with Morrigan.

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Morrigan kissed him back, harder than he had. She was looking forward to marriage, and to its accompaniments — Drusilla had told her that intimacy was fun, and since Brooks was far more interesting than Albert Pettigrew, Morrigan thought that her experience would be even better.

This was what she told herself, when she was afraid.

"And then I'll have you all to myself," Mor said. "Tell me more about the house?"

  

"It's not much," he mumbled between kisses. "But it's newer, neat.  A little garden outside. Lots of bookshelves." The both of them were avid readers, Brooks mostly for information, but sometimes for pleasure. She had aways had an interest and so it had been what had sold him on that particular property. "A nice master bedroom," he paused, waiting on her expression. They hadn't been shy in their minimal private time, but he'd by lying if he said it wasn't a struggle sometimes, to keep it reasonable.

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Mor was going to say something enthusiastic about the bookshelves, but then he mentioned master bedroom and her eyebrows shot up. "Oh?" she asked, leaning towards him. She whispered: "I suppose you may think I'm unladylike if I told you I'm interested to see it."

  

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set by Bee

"Does it make me uncouth if I want to show you?" He kissed her slowly just thinking about the possibilities. Engaged now, it wouldn't be too impertinent to make the most of their alone time, but Brooks was not about to do push for anything she was uncomfortable with. He could wait patiently. Once they were married there would be no such restrictions or worries. He pulled her closer, shifting his position and his weight to take advantage now of their free time. His hands wandered aimlessly, her back, her sides, pressing into the soft fabric of her dress, itching to have skin under his fingertips.

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He wanted to show her. Mor felt a rush of feeling in her veins — sometimes she got nervous, about the marriage, but she was often able to push those thoughts aside if she focused on Brooks. She leaned into his kisses and ran her hands across his clothed chest, trying to feel his heartbeat through his shirt.

  

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set by Bee

Brooks could be a patient man, but in the solitude of the moment, he felt the heat pooling in his chest, right beneath her hand. It wouldn't be long before they wouldn't have to wait on anyone or anything, he kept telling himself that.

His hands had wandered up her waist, thumb brushing against the neckline of her dress. He wanted nothing more than to indulge in more, but a noise in the hallway startled him and he leaned back, annoyed and amused. "Not soon enough," he mumbled and reluctantly pulled his hands off his fiancée.

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Mor settled back against the sofa, and brushed a stray curl behind her ear. Hopefully she did not look so disheveled as to make their activities obvious; not that anyone would really mind. Her father was lenient with her, and she was already engaged, anyways.

"Patience, Brooks," she said, as if the reminder wasn't just as much for her. "What's that saying about good things and waiting?"

  

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set by Bee

Brooks let out a derisive noise of reluctant agreement. Good things indeed, nobody had come in yet, so he ran one more indulgent hand over her leg before moving away to a more respectable space between them

When the maid and her mother did return from the kitchen with something to sample, obviously just a few quick things, Brooks was at least relieved he could satiate one type of hunger. "I'm sure it's going to be delicious." He agreed, still thinking about what he'd rather have his mouth on.

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