Chapter Text
Letter, Arthur Holmwood to Dr. John Seward and Quincey Morris (c/o Dr. John Seward)
My dear Jack and Quincey,
Won't you join me at my London townhouse tomorrow evening? I bear messages which will make both your ears tingle.
ART.
* * *
Quincey wasn't sure what to expect when he'd gotten Arthur's telegram— but whatever it was, it certainly wasn't this. The moment seemed to have frozen in time: Arthur lounging on the sofa with his eyes sparkling, Quincey and Jack on chairs drawn up to the fire, both of them staring at him. Jack's mouth was hanging open and he didn't blink.
"You've got to be joking," Quincey said, his voice hoarse. This was a dream, he was sure of it.
"I promise that I'm in earnest," Arthur said. He was grinning and grinning, bouncing his leg slightly as if he couldn't keep still. "Lucy and I have discussed this at length, multiple times, and I am certain that she is speaking in good faith. She has no objection to the three of us."
That alone was enough to make Quincey feel like the world had turned upside-down, but the other assertion Arthur had made was still spinning through his head, dizzying him. "And she said… that we could woo her, too?"
"She is very amenable to the idea, though she blushes when she speaks of it. She wishes for me to convey her willingness for either or both of you to approach her with amorous intent." His face was going to split, grinning like that.
Quincey's eyes flicked to Jack: he looked like he had simply stopped working, like a clock that needed to be wound. Well, he could worry about him later. He tried to sort through his own feelings— shock and disbelief and worry that somehow this would go wrong, but under all of it, a bubbling, welling-up hope…
"Art, can I kiss you?" he found himself saying.
Arthur nearly jumped to his feet. Quincey stood too, and pulled him close. Man alive, he had missed kissing him, and it had only been a couple weeks! A tangle of grief that had gripped his chest the past several days begin to unravel, and he felt that he could breathe again. He sighed into Arthur's mouth, and felt his arms around him, and buried his fingers in those lovely curls.
When they broke apart, they both looked at Jack. He was staring at them, but his face was completely motionless, with no discernible expression on it.
"You okay, Jack?" Quincey asked.
Slowly, Jack stood. He kissed Arthur once on the lips as Quincey still held him. Then he muttered, "I must think some things over," and left without even grabbing his hat.
Arthur let go of Quincey to try to follow him, but Quincey stopped him with a hand on his arm. "I'll go with him," he said. "I've got plenty to mull over, too, and we rode over the same carriage. You'll have to tell me the whole story later."
"I will," Arthur said, then kissed him again. Quincey drank in the kiss like water in the desert, then ruffled Arthur's hair one last time, grabbed Jack's hat and hurried out after him.
He found Jack staring blankly at the carriage. Quincey took his arm and they both got in side by side, and the driver started off. Jack sat stock-still, barely even jostling with the movement of the carriage.
Quincey knew that pressing Jack was no way to get a real answer, so he just sat in silence; he could practically hear the cogs in Jack's head grinding forward. And Quincey was wavering between utter joy and serious planning for how he might approach romancing Lucy as a lover but not a husband. No matter what, though, Art was back in his life in a way that he never thought was possible, and that was enough.
Jack was still staring at nothing and probably ten minutes had passed, so Quincey reached over and gently took his hand.
Jack blurted out the sentence as if Quincey had pulled a gag off his mouth. "How is it possible to know what one really wants in life, when one has given up hope on one avenue and then finds it suddenly open again, but in a very different direction? How can one truly know one's own heart, when one feels that there are layers upon layers that hide one's true thoughts even from oneself?…"
Quincey let him ramble for a while, listening to all these hypothetical problems that "one" might run into. At last, though, after Jack had philosophized for several minutes, Quincey gently put in, "So you're having second thoughts about Lucy, huh?"
Jack abruptly fell silent, and now he stared out the window, though he didn't let go of Quincey's hand. He spoke with a choked voice. "I don't know if I even love her— you know, really, truly love her. When I proposed, I did so because I wanted someone to brighten my dark days, and to cheer me and be my companion. I wanted a wife— or perhaps the idea of a wife. How do I know whether I love her at all?"
"Love's an action, not just a feeling," Quincey started, but Jack clearly wasn't listening as he slumped forward on the bench, letting go of Quincey's hand so he could cradle his own head.
"I am selfish," Jack moaned. "Selfish and rotten to the core!"
Quincey sighed, pulling Jack to lean against his shoulder. "Maybe you were selfish, but what good is it to you or to her to wallow in it? Regret's only good if it makes you act different. So what're you gonna do differently?"
Jack said nothing, but Quincey could hear the cogs turning in his head again. Quincey squeezed his hand, knowing that Jack would have to figure it out for himself, eventually.
In the meantime, Quincey had a second proposal to plan.
*
Diary entry, Lucy Westenra
I have decided that I must have a diary where I may speak my thoughts plainly, for I am so happy but at the same time holding so many secrets that I feel I might burst! Really, there is just one secret— two if you count my knowledge of Arthur's relationship with Dr. Seward and Quincey (I may call him Quincey now!)— but it still feels like so much! I must tell it all from the beginning so I can read it again and again.
Quincey came to visit me this morning, quite unexpectedly. I do think Mama was suspicious of him, for she kept hanging about and very pointedly discussing my upcoming wedding. Quincey, of course, was an absolute gentleman, and when Mama had tired herself out with talking at him, she at last took a nap and Quincey was able to steal a moment alone with me in the garden. Unlike his last proposal, he did not joke at all, but just spoke with true sincerity. He said— oh, now that it is come to it, I am too embarrassed to write what he said! It was all so beautiful and so sincere (and with nary a reference to horses, I might add; I believe he learned his lesson last time!), that he wished to be my friend but that he would be honored to romance me as well. It was all so strange, like a wonderful dream, and I was so happy I cried. But dear Quincey dried my tears, and when we were certain no one was watching, we kissed, but this time I did not feel so embarrassed about it, and I very much wished that we could kiss some more! He said some very cheeky things to me then, which I shall not repeat here, and I am afraid that I was grinning like some maniac when he said goodbye. He plans to move to Ring when Arthur and I are married, and it will be like the three of us are married all to each other! I am nearly squealing with delight even as I write this.
I have not heard a word from Dr. Seward. Arthur says that he takes time to think over things, and I know that I mustn't be so vain as to assume that he still wishes to see me. Still, I hope that he is happy with Arthur and Quincey. I confess that I am envious of the three of them, for they are able to slip away without suspicion whenever they like, whereas Arthur and I scarcely can find a moment to ourselves. We do make good opportunity of these moments, though, and I am not ashamed to say so; we will be married soon, after all! Married to him and married in spirit to Quincey! I am the luckiest girl in the whole world, and I thank God for bringing these kind, wonderful, worthy men into my life.
*
"Miss, Dr. Seward has come to call," one of the maids told her. Lucy looked up in surprise, quickly shutting her diary, which she had been rereading all afternoon. Her heart gave a tremendous leap, but she reminded herself that he might be calling for any reason, and even if he was here to address her bold proposition, he might give any answer. She hurried down to the parlor, grateful that her mother was out to tea a neighbor and so, regardless of his reason for calling, they would be alone.
She had never in her life seen Dr. Seward look so grave. He stood rather than sitting, grasping his hat firmly in both hands as if determined to not lose track of it, which had the pleasant side effect of keeping him from fidgeting with his lancet. "Miss Westenra," he blurted out as soon as she entered, "I must offer you my sincerest congratulations."
Lucy laughed awkwardly, unsure how to react to his severe demeanor. She remembered all their playful conversations at parties, where they would stare into each other's eyes and she would dare him to read her thoughts. It had all been so fun before it had become serious. "Thank you, Dr. Seward."
"May I sit down?"
"Of course," she said, quickly sitting on the couch. Hat firmly in both hands, he sat on the chair across from her, ramrod straight.
"I was wondering," he said, "if I might speak to you."
Lucy almost laughed, but he sounded so sincere that she simply nodded. Now she was reading his face, trying to see through the expressionless exterior.
"When I proposed to you," he said, and his voice wavered before he pushed on with more conviction, "I was thinking only of myself. I thought of what you could do for me, how you might brighten my life, without considering you beyond someone to fit into the box that I had created." Lucy started to protest, but he pressed on. "I do not wish to make the same mistake again." He drew a deep breath. "Art has told me that you—" His voice faltered, but he pressed on. "—have shown romantic interest in me, though not as a future husband."
Lucy instinctively looked around to make sure they were completely alone. "That is correct," she said, trying to be as businesslike as he was.
"I would ask that you allow me to be in your life in any way you choose," he said, running the words together quickly. "If we were to pursue such a romance, I would only be able to see you infrequently, since my duties at the asylum require my attention, but I would offer you what devotion I could, if you would accept it."
"Oh, Dr. Seward, I would!"
He cleared his throat, and the smallest smile touched his lips. "Perhaps you should call me John, at least in private."
"Or Jack?" she asked, and was ridiculously pleased with herself to get a blush from him.
"Whatever you wish," he mumbled, then seemed to collect himself and said, "I have one additional question." When Lucy nodded, he continued while looking steadily at her: "This romance, would it involve sexual relations?"
Lucy nearly choked on her own tongue. Arthur never spoke directly of such things even as they engaged in them, and Quincey had used some very coy double-entendres, but neither had even spoken so frankly. It was embarrassing, but also refreshing. She need not tell him all her daydreams, so she simply said, "I had hoped it would. You are very handsome."
He was turning a most delightful shade of pink, though it was obvious he was desperately trying to stay composed. "In that case, may I kiss you?" His voice grew hoarse on the last two words, and Lucy hadn't realized until that moment how much she had wanted him to ask.
"I would be delighted," she said, and he shifted to sit beside her on the couch. She was prepared for a quick peck on the lips, but he cupped her face in both hands and kissed her with so much passion that it shocked her. Daydreaming was certainly nothing compared to this.
They kissed for as long as they dared, then broke apart, both laughing nervously and blushing and tripping over their words, but later, when a servant brought them tea and they just sat and talked, it felt like the old days. When he left, he even remembered his hat.