Chapter Text
There’s been something odd going on with Siegfried Farnon since Christmas.
Even for himself, he’s been scattered, quiet, jumping whenever she enters the room, it seems like. Tristan keeps rolling his eyes, so she’s not the only one who’s noticed.
It’s like he’s hiding something, and she’s waiting for the right moment to probe - some quiet moment, just the two of them so he doesn’t get defensive and blustery. But he keeps walking out of rooms when it’s just the two of them - not that he’s being rude - more that he’s nervous. Which is unlike him.
She’d thought, perhaps, that it was having the extra bodies in the house, him being on his best behaviour for her family. He had made a nice speech at Christmas lunch about them. But Edward and Betty and Mary were back in Sunderland the day after Boxing Day. It’ll be New Year’s Eve tomorrow, and he’s still acting odd.
Despite his oddness, it’s a quiet Saturday evening, and she settles on the couch with a book she’s been looking forward to starting.
Tristan and Seigfried are hissing at each other in the hallway, but it seems more silly than serious - something about how Tristan’s voice booms, how Seigfreid’s not raising his voice to match. This is like dogs play fighting, this kind of argument.
“Mrs Hall!” Tristan calls, marching into the sitting room. Siegfried scuttles after him, looking furious.
“Yes, love?” She closes her book - it’ll keep another night.
“Could I please impress upon you to entertain my brother for the evening?”
“You have to do no such thing,” Siegfried tells her, “I was thinking of having an early night, actually.”
“Oh, but I insist! He can’t be going to bed this early, a man of his age! If I didn’t have a date with Charlotte, I would keep him company, but as I do, I must make this demand on you, Mrs H.” He’s nodding significantly at his brother, who sighs.
“What is happening?” she asks, quite genuinely confused.
“Nothing!” Siegfried says.
“My brother had an important question to ask you,” Tristan is backing out of the room. “Make sure he asks it!”
Siegfried stares at her, something like panicked.
She raises her eyebrows. “A question?”
“Care for a game?” Siegfried says, a championship avoider.
“I don’t think that were it,” she tells him.
“No,” he admits. “Perhaps I should - sit down.”
It is serious, she thinks. She watches him settle into his armchair, fussing with his collar.
“Is this about Edward and Betty coming over for Christmas?”
“What? No - well. Sort of. Slightly.”
“Right.” She waits.
He swallows. “Edward - on Christmas, he was asking about my - he was asking whether I - he asked me about my - plans.” Like an engine out of oil, he stalls.
“Your plans?” She’s not sure what he means.
“And he - he talked to Tristan as well. And Tristan started to ask me about - those plans.”
She nods, still confused.
“He - look, Tris and Edward. They want to know what I’m - how I’m planning to - keep you.”
“Keep me - at Skeldale?”
“Well - yes. But - no. You see - Edward seemed to think,” he swallows again. “He said he thought we had asked him up so I could seek his permission to marry you.”
“Oh!” That explains rather a lot. Seigfreid’s been embarrassed. “I never told him that you were - I’d never said that we were courting, I never…”
“No, he - he didn’t think that we were.” Seigfreid leans forward, elbows on his knees. “But that - perhaps - we should.”
“Did he?” she says, already planning on calling him, or perhaps riding the train to the coast to ask him what the bloody hell he thought he was about, telling Seigfried Farnon such a thing.
“And Tris - Edward told him, and once he had a hold of it - you know what he’s like. He started asking why I’d never - never considered - courting, marriage, and you see, I had - I have.” He gazes at her, eyebrows drawn together, beseeching.
“Considered,” Audrey feels as though she’s had two or three large whiskeys very quickly, “me?”
“Yes. But - you’re too - you’re too,” he clutches at the air, frustrated. Too homely, she thinks. Too uneducated. Too much a housekeeper to be a veterinarian’s wife. “You’re too important to me. You’re the most important woman in the world, to me. I’ve lost you once, and it was,” he shakes his head, starts again. “To lose you that way, to drive you away with unwanted advances. It would ruin me, Audrey.”
“Oh,” she says, and chastises herself for thinking unkindly of him a moment ago.
“But when Tris started pestering me - I told him that, and he said I was being stupid. That - to hold back because of fear made me a coward. He said the only reason you’d stuck around so long, that you’d come back in the first place must have been some kind of affection. That I should at least, ah - ask.” He sinks back in his chair. “And if you’re not interested, please tell me now, so I can begin pretending this never happened. Your employment, I should hasten to add, is safe regardless of your answer. If this has made you uncomfortable at all, I shall - I’ll remove myself. To the Drovers. For the foreseeable.”
She looks at him. His face is drawn, but his eyes intent. His hair is beginning to curl.
Audrey has become, over the years, very good at not letting herself think of him that way: as a man, as a prospect.
But he is a man. A slightly mad, very untidy, often rude, frequently generous, brilliant, handsome and good man. A man who never hurts people on purpose. A man who cares for everyone under his roof.
She reaches a hand out. He takes it, holds her fingers in his. They have been a comfort to each other, and she begins to realise why Edward said what he did - she’d told him that. She’d told him how Seigfreid had supported her - through the divorce petition and becoming a warden and thinking he was lost and all - how she’d been unable to go with Gerald as much for Seigfreid as for Helen. Perhaps Edward had seen what she hadn’t meant to show him.
He’s begun to smile.
“Ask me properly, Seigfreid,” she tells him.
Seigfreid Farnon gets on one knee in his sitting room, still holding her hand, still smiling. “Audrey Hall. You are kind, and stubborn, and fair, and clever. You have a beauty that makes me wish I were a poet, and a mind that has made me a better man. I would offer to share my life with you, but I already do. Audrey, would you marry me?”
She kisses him.
He’s so warm, so lovely - his free hand finds her knee, curves his fingers in behind it, firm and gentle in the soft fold of her leg, against her stocking - it’s almost enough to make her cry.
Seigfreid breaks the kiss, looks up at her, beaming. “Is that a yes?”
“I only meant you to ask if I were interested,” she admits, and he blinks. She can’t help but laugh. “Yes - you daft thing - I am - I will, yes, Seigfreid, now will you get off the floor before you do yourself an injury?”
“Oh, right,” he says, and climbs to his feet. “May I?” He gestures to the sofa.
“Of course!”
Siegfried sits directly next to her, so close she can feel the warmth of him pressing against her side. His hand finds hers, interlinking their fingers. He presses his thumb to her first knuckle, and sighs.
“There’s a ring upstairs,” he says. “I should have had it on me, but I’ve been rather - distracted.”
“I had noticed,” she concurs, tucking her face against his shoulder.
“It’s a sapphire,” he says, “belonged to my father’s mother. Little carvings of foxgloves on either side.”
“That’s - oh, Tristan was talking about the family jewels the other day, how there were a few rings. I thought he was talking about for Charlotte,” she says, dreamily.
He puts his mouth against her forehead, presses a few kisses to it. “I suppose I should be grateful to him.”
“I imagine you have plenty to thank him for.” She lifts her chin, kisses him properly. He makes an expressive noise, raises his hand to cup her cheek. Their knees knock together, as they turn toward each other.
She almost wants to climb into his lap, cover his body with her body - but she knows that’s mad. After a long, delicious moment that makes her feel shivery all over, she draws away, makes some space between them, touches a hand to her hair - a little loosened by Siegfried’s fingers. "We tell the rector first thing in the morning, he can put it in the bans tomorrow.”
“Of course,” he says, and clears his throat, puts his hands on his knees. “Three weeks. Three Sundays.”
“Three weeks?” she asks, because engagements that short are normally indicative of a bun in the oven.
“Did you want to wait any longer?” he says, looking surprised. Of course he is - the man has such a strange concept of propriety. He probably figures they’ve been courting all year.
“S’pose not,” she says. She already lives in the house they’ll share, so she won’t need much in the way of a trousseau.
“Did you want to elope? Gretna Green is only a few hours away,” he’s smiling now, arms encircling her waist again.
“No, you ridiculous creature,” she smacks his chest. “We’ll be married as properly as I can manage, and throw a party for all our family and friends.” She raises an eyebrow. “Unless you’re ashamed of me?”
“Audrey - never!” He’s horrified, bless him. “Any one who suggests as much will answer to me!”
“Siegfried,” she says, touching below his ear, palm smoothing his beard.
“You’re joking,” he realises. She nods. “We’ll talk to the vicar first thing,” he says, and kisses her forehead again.
“Should probably tell Tristan over breakfast.”
“Oh, he’ll come and bother me as soon as he’s home. To tell me off if I hadn’t asked.”
“P’raps I should be thanking him.”
“I wish you wouldn’t,” he murmurs, and finds her mouth again.
Several minutes later, the phone rings.
He takes a deep breath, sits up. “I regret ever having that line installed.”
“Could be worse,” Audrey says. If nothing had interrupted them, she can’t imagine what else might have made them stop. She hasn’t decided whether or not that’s good. “Could be someone at the door.”
“Good lord,” Siegfried stands, strides awkwardly to the hallway - Audrey watches him go.
***
A few hours later, the kitchen is the only warm room downstairs. Audrey sits with a lavender tea and notebook, putting together a budget for this wedding they’re suddenly having.
She hears Tristan’s car rumble up the drive. They hadn’t exactly agreed on what to tell him, she realises. She turns over a page of her notebook, starts a grocery list.
“Mrs Hall!” He clatters in, puts a hand on her shoulder, stops. “Where’s Seigfried?”
“Slavens called. Fox attack.”
“Ah,” he deflates. “Was that - early in the night?”
“Not long after you left,” she says, vaguely. It’s not a lie. Siegfried’s whole confused proposal only took about three minutes. “Lavender tea?”
“Can’t say no,” he pulls out a chair. “Have I told you recently that you’re the best woman in the world?”
“I won’t tell your fancy lass you said so.” She pours for Tristan, refills the pot from the kettle. “How is she?”
“Remarkable. She’s so smart, and nice, and an utter, utter toff.”
“You are a bit of a toff, though.”
“A bit of one,” he agrees, “but she’s proper toff. Posh as anything. Her family has about six houses, and twelve cars, and a million horses. Don’t tell anyone, but I’m a little out of my depth.”
She catches his eye. “You think all that - being posh or not - has owt to do with love?”
He grins at her. “Best woman in the world, you are.”
“Drink your tea before it gets cold,” she tells him. “Can’t imagine what it must be like, on the Dales.”
“Better Seigfreid than me. Don’t tell him I said this, but he is a brave man.” Tristan looks up. “Have you noticed how odd he’s been, this week?”
“Hard to miss.”
“You should talk to him about it,” Tristan says, the cheeky bugger. “You know he listens to you, values your views. He told me the other day that when he can’t bring a problem to you, he feels lost.”
“Did he?”
“I know he’s a pest - he’s ridiculous, we both know it - but he is a good person, under all that. And he cares for you. Maybe even more than I do.”
Another, quieter, car rumbles up the drive.
“Thank you,” she tells him, patting his hand.
“What for?” Tristan asks, as though he’s not been making her life better for ten years.
Siegfried walks in, bringing a gust of cold. He stops, looks at them both. “Why do you look like you’ve been conspiring?”
“Conspiring over a warm drink,” she says, standing, “care for a cup?”
“God, yes,” he goes and hovers by the stove. “Putting stitches in a sheep in midwinter is a recipe for frostbite.”
She fetches another mug, fills it at the table. She winks at Tristan, then she hands it to Seigfreid, who smiles at her like she’s the dawning sun. She stands beside him, pressed against his side.
“Best drink that down, then straight to bed. We’ve an early morning, remember?”
“Doing what?” Tristan asks, fascinated.
Siegfried watches her, waits for her nod, takes her hand in his - his fingers are chilly, but she doesn’t mind. She’ll warm them for him. “We’re going to the vicar. To put a notice in the bans.”