houseofcards_rp | Surprises come in small packages

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Surprises come in small packages

Remember, Alexandrie Berthier used to say, you simply must make time for yourself. The fine spring day finds Sophie settled at a table overlooking the green taking her arrière-grand-mère's* advice to heart. She closes her eyes a moment and enjoys the sun warming her cheeks before pushing aside cup and teapot so she can admire her handiwork. That buttery yellow yarn she'd been saving knits rather nice, even if she does say so herself.

She picks up her needles and swiftly casts on stitches for the second tiny baby bootie, all the while humming a lullaby under her breath.

[*great grandmother]

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"Aye, but you'll do an old woman in, cariad, sittin' about with boots for the little'uns."

That, surely, is enough of an introduction before the old woman takes her own seat. There are far too many bags over her arms not to stop and have a sit, after all. Where better than across from a lovely young lady Roisin's got rather a soft spot for?

"And these are for, my clean and shining? Not keeping secrets from mam?"

Cadogan's mother has swiftly become one of her favorite people. It's no wonder Cadogan turned into the man he did once she met his mother. There's something familiar about her: the curve of her cheek, a smile seen more frequently than the rare one she knows so well, and a certain caring frankness that reminds her of her long-gone great-grandmother.

"Secrets?" Her welcoming smile grows confused. "Why would I--?" her gaze drops to the bootie and she understands. "Oh! Oh, goodness!" She laughs and shakes her head. "I am expecting, but a niece or nephew, not--" she shakes her head, "not me." She doesn't hear the wistful tone the last words take. Babies aren't in her future.

"Please say you'll join me for tea?"

Which is just as well. Roisin never raised a daughter, but if she had? She'd well have hoped the young woman would have Sophie's lovely red hair--and, more importantly, Sophie's wonderful personality.

There's a pleased little chuckle as she settles in better, carefully gives her wrists a bit of a massage. No question she's staying for tea.

"An' you keep it that way, fy merch. That handsome young man o' yours already has you raisin' his little babe." And Roisin clearly approved of the entire posse raising her 'first grandchild.' "No more until he's got you y graig."

{*my girl, *the rock}

Sophie understands the first little bit of Welsh, but the last escapes her utterly. "Oh, dear. I should know that, shouldn't I? The...what?"

She thanks Dani when she deposits another cup for her guest. Sophie stops here often enough that the waitress knows the drill. "Would you like a fresh pot? I'm afraid I take mine terribly strong. Are your hands bothering you? Arthritis?"

"Graig," she repeats a touch more slowly, shifting to hold up her left hand properly. Her own diamond is quite small, rather unassuming, but catches the light in a modest way. "An' it just mean 'rock,' dove."

Which surely is something they call an engagement ring in English still, right? Right.

"An' just a touch of it, now and then, m'love." Her fingers go back to a small knot of discomfort in her wrists. "When I forget myself, aye, an' think t' bring home too much for supper." Speaking of which. "You'll come t' help eat for St George's like a good girl?"

She blinks, blushes, then drops her gaze to her hands. "I...that won't be happening, ma mère." She lifts her chin and smiles stubbornly. "So no worries! And I'd love to. May I bring something?"

Oh, Sophie Berthier, if you think a mother's going to believe that smile completely, you've got another thing coming.

"You bring yourself an' some red roses for the boys, an' that'll be fine, fy merch." But that's not what the slight frown is about. "What's won't be happening, then?"

Sophie fiddles with her knitting. "Oh, um, y graig. Did I pronounce that right? I do love languages, but I find them so much more difficult to pick up now that I'm older." Better to talk about her attempts to learn Welsh than her relationship--whatever her relationship was--with Adrien.

"Y' 've been learnin' more than well since I got here, dear m' love." Her boy, bless him, had clearly done his best to communicate the sounds his own throat couldn't form. Not his fault the English--and, really, the French--did strange things with their letters.

But, well. Mothering Sense not avoided.

"An' you feel free t' tell me, cariad, if I'm bein' far too much an old-fashioned 'ooman, but is that na' a bit... disappointing t' think on?"

"Disappointing? I--" A sigh accompanies her smile, but she smiles nonetheless. "A...little? I'd expected to have an entire brood by this time in my life. Still," she smiles. "I'm happier than I would have been married to Peter. I just worry--" she presses her lips together and pours tea for her guest.

The smile is good. The sigh is fine. The words are what they are. The honesty is comforting.

There's a calm click of the older woman's tongue as she lifts a hand to smooth at her teacup's handle. "Tell mam what worries you, dove."

She studies her hands a long moment. "Adrien...is terrified of commitment--not like one of those idiots who won't settle down. Someone hurt him. So he protects himself." She thinks about her own defenses. "We all do, one way or the other, don't we?"

She has to smile. How can she not, seeing these two, seeing the family his son has scraped together for himself? Her now three beautiful children--all clinging where something had been cracked, desperately seeking a fit.

Her fingers are light as she reaches over to pat Sophie's wrist. "An' we do, luv. And it's more than good uv you t' look after him like this. But Lord in Heaven knows no one wants you t' make yourself the lamb o' sacrifice completely. If you had your druthers, cariad, how'd it be for you?"

Sophie briefly lays her hand atop Roisin's. "I don't believe I'm wooly enough to be a lamb," she reassures her before heaving a wistful sigh. "I didn't explain correctly. Adrien can commit--look at how wonderful he is with Sitara--and heaven knows nothing will ever pry him away from friendship with Cadogan. It's only...." She flounders for the right words. When they fail to surface, she abandons the sentence altogether.

"I know he cares, Ma Mère, even if...even if he doesn't say it. But I'm so frightened I'll forget and say or do something wrong to make him close up and...and...and that will be that."

She shrugs. "Unfair of me. It's not like I didn't know from the start. I suppose...I suppose I want us to be happy--all of us." Her us includes Cadogan. She can't imagine them without him. "And we are! Listen to me. The idea of babies is making me silly."

"And you'll be happy like this?" That's the goal, after all. For not just the boys to be happy, but also this wonderful young woman. "Not married an' worrying you'll do something wrong?"

There's no judgement in the question, just a sort of musing statement. After all, who knows how these young people live. Maybe this is the new normal.

It doesn't matter. Sophie stops the words before uttering them. Isn't that exactly what the other woman is worried about? Her smile's rueful as she says instead, "I was engaged once, you know--to my sister's husband. Arranged. Some old Deck families still do that." She rolls her eyes. "And some Deck children spend far too much time doing what they're told. But Reenie...he'd always had eyes for her. They're married now and--I hope!--happy.

"It took awhile after I ended that before I even felt like dating again. But when I saw that wasn't going anywhere, we parted amicably. I don't know the answer to your question. I'm happy now. I can't explain. He let's me be me. He likes me because I'm me. For the first time in my life I don't feel like I'm playing a part."

It's easy to accept that Adrien is good man. It's wonderful to have the confirmation that he's being as good a gentleman as he clearly is a father, a friend.

Over goes a hand to smooth back a few strands of beautiful red hair affectionately. "An' that's a right important thing, m' love. So long as you aren't afraid of what might come if that changes, that sounds a load off an old 'ooman's mind."

"Stop playing the elder card. You're not so old." She smiles suddenly. "Life's too short to worry about what ifs." Her new-found optimism's another of Adrien's gifts, really. "I can't describe what Adrien and I have, but it works." The imp of the perverse makes her add, "And I'll even have babies someday. Cadogan promised me beautiful red-haired ones."

Look at this innocent face. Pay no attention to the dimples.

She's been here too long already to make any cracks about playing cards. Life's too short to make bad jokes, after all.

The optimism is encouraging. That dimpled smile is wonderful. None of that means she's not going to throw up her hands in despair. "Aye, you'll be getting none from him, cariad. I'm more'n happy with the grandchildren 've already got."

"Adoption! We redheads are a dying breed. It's possible we pinky swore to perpetuate the gene pool." She laughs. "But feel free to tease him about it."

"An' any which way, I'll be more'n pleased t' call you my daughter, hm?" Which simply needed to be said.

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Surprises come in small packages

Cadogan when he stops being a jerk. For now, this. o/

When is he ever a jerk?

When I'm like "let's tag Sophie \o/" and he's like "/NO INSPIRATION FOR YOU" :|

Oh! I thought he was giving someone grief somewhere!

Just me. Just giving -me- grief. :|

He says we're all ridiculous :|

He is not wrong.

Let's not tell him that though

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