Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Klaus was having a pleasant dream. Something about soft-skinned women and chiseled-jawed lads and a fountain of whisky. His very idea of heaven. But it all escapes him as someone pulls the drapes open and sunlight pours mercilessly into his bedroom.

He grunts loudly, nuzzling his face into his pillow to hide from the blasted light. Behind him, the perky pair of breasts of the lovely lady he brought home the night before presses into his back as she, too, contorts out of sleep. Gabrielle. Gertrude. Genova. Or something. He can't remember. Fantastic breasts, though.

"Turn the lights off," she slurs against his shoulder.

"What is happening..." comes the second complaint in a rough and deeper voice. The gentleman on his other side shifts away from the light, trying to pull the covers up to his face.

So much for his splendid night.

"Greta," he groans in warning.

"I'm sorry, sir," Greta replies in an uncharacteristic tight tone.

"What in bloody hell's name are you doing?"

"Don't lash out at your maid, Niklaus." He stops at the next voice.

Of course.

"Elijah..." The name rolls off his tongue like a curse as Klaus rolls onto his back, finally peeling his eyes open to see his brother standing by the foot of his bed. His expression is perfectly impassive, but Elijah's judgement reeks. The redhead curled into his side grunts in complaint. Klaus wraps an arm around her slender shoulders. "There, there, sweetheart... The mean man is just a bad dream. He will leave in a second. Once he realizes I'm too busy to entertain."

Elijah's lips tick upwards into the bare hint of a smile. He grabs a robe that had been discarded on the back of a chair and throws it over Klaus' naked form. "Greta will be serving us breakfast in the dining room. Do be hasty, yes? Unlike you, I haven't got all day."

With that, Elijah turns on his heels and stalks out of the bedroom. Klaus shuts his eyes, huffing a long, suffering sigh.

"I'm sorry," Greta repeats, only this time she means it. "I tried to show him to the door, but..."

"I believe you, love. My brother can be quite inconvenient when he's got something on his mind." None too gently, Klaus extricates himself from his guests. "Fun time is over," he announces. "Please pick up your things and exit through the back door. God forbid you have a run-in with the devil downstairs. Greta, would you be a darling -"

"Sorry, sir. I have breakfast to serve." With a sweet little grin, the woman spins away from the room.

Klaus sighs. He should remind himself not to hire house staff with a temper just because they look good with their clothes off. However competent she is at her official obligations, Greta makes no mystery of her distaste for his lifestyle. Especially when he brings the party home with him. Jealous women can be a turn-on, but it's oh-so inconvenient when it gets in the way of them running him a bath.

With sluggish motivation, Klaus freshens up and gets rid of the smidges of lipstick from his face. Spitefully, he puts on a pair of silk trousers and a matching robe which he knows will annoy Elijah's delicate sensibilities to no end. His purist brother thinks it makes him look like a man of ill repute. It's truly astounding how Elijah gets more obviously thrown by Klaus' choice of outfits than he does to find him in bed with another man.

When he finally joins his unwelcome guest at the dining room, Greta has just finished refilling his coffee cup. The smell of warm buttered toasts and fresh croissants assaults Klaus' senses, making his stomach twist in complaint. All he truly wants is a shot of whisky and a cigar to help heal his hangover, but instead he'll have to make do with black coffee and biscuits like a peasant.

Always the challenger, his dear brother has taken his spot at the head of the table, calmly reading through Klaus’ morning newspaper while he sips from his coffee. "Thank you, Greta," Elijah says, ever the picture of politeness.

Greta smiles at him and then walks around the table to where Klaus has plopped down on the opposite chair. Her eyes flash while she pours him a cup of coffee.

"Morning, sir," she says through grit teeth.

Klaus smirks at her. "Don't look so hurt, love. You know you're still my favorite."

The cup rattles and coffee spills over the side of the cup when she puts it down with more vehemence than necessary before stalking out of the room.

Elijah sighs, not looking up from his paper. "Is there no one you won't take to bed, Niklaus?"

"You," he says simply. "I don't like men with an attitude."

"No, you like men with very little dignity." Elijah folds the paper. "Sleeping with the staff is a bit much, even for you. What happens if she becomes pregnant?"

Klaus snorts. "Do you take me for some kind of idiot? I know how to avoid the little plagues, thank you very much."

"Well, then. What happens if she puts a dagger to your neck while you sleep beside your lively guests? She's clearly unhappy."

"She's unhappy because you called her my maid. It's so diminishing and Greta is proud. She fancies the term house assistant."

Elijah crosses his legs, leaning back on his chair like a king while he directs that prodding look of his towards his heathen of a younger brother. Klaus tries to hide behind the hem of his cup - not, it needs to be said, because he's ashamed, but rather because Elijah's whole posturing is way too exhausting so early in the morning - but it's useless.

"What?" he finally folds, putting down his cup.

"Your life choices, Niklaus..." He trails off, pondering his words.

"Disgraceful? Disgusting? Insulting? Go on, brother. Whatever adjective you can come up with, I've already heard it."

"Yes, it is all of that, I suppose. But right now, your life choices are also damaging Rebekah's prospects."

"I don't see how."

"Your club," he says, emphasizing his disdain for Klaus' business venture. Like half of the high society that attends brunches and balls at Elijah's estate don't also enjoy the pleasures of the flesh at Klaus' club. "It's starting to get a certain reputation. Not a good one, obviously. And as you know, our sister is going into her first season this year. She'll be introduced to the queen next week, when she will choose the most eligible of the young women debuting this season. Everyone I have spoken to regarding Rebekah's prospects has repeated the exact same thing to me. You are toxic to her reputation."

Klaus bursts into laughter. "I'm sorry, brother," he reigns himself in. "Are you trying to tell me that I should - what? Close my club and join the church choir because Rebekah is trying to find a husband?"

"In short words, yes, that's exactly what I'm saying," Elijah deadpans.

"You can't be serious, Elijah. My life has nothing to do with Rebekah's. She's got you and mother to vouch for her respectability. Every noble family has their black sheep. That's what second sons are for. You inherited the title and the duties and I - well, I suppose I inherited the time to do whatever I please."

Elijah's smile is caustic. "You are right about one thing, brother. I did inherit the title and the duties, such as managing the family's estates and fortune. This beautiful home, for instance." Elijah gesticulates towards the room. "One would say it's a bit too lavish for a bachelor with no ambitions. And it's part of the dukedom, of course. Which, officially, makes it mine."

Klaus narrows his eyes at his brother, knowing exactly where he is going with this and not caring one bit for it. "Are you going to kick me out on the street, brother? Is that what you're saying?"

"Don't be so dramatic, Niklaus. I won't kick you out. I will offer you a deal."

Klaus sighs, rolling his eyes as he raps his knuckles against the wooden table. "Is it that time of the year already, when you try to convince me of the wonders of marital life?"

"Not quite. Since amicable persuasion has no effect on you, I figured I must try a different avenue." Elijah shifts on his seat, propping his elbows on the table and leaning forward, piercing eyes glued to Klaus'. It's unnerving, to say the least, but Klaus keeps his chin up, cocking an insolent eyebrow at his older brother. "Your reputation is already in shambles, but I reckon that being the second son of a Duke will still count you many points across civilized society. Plenty of lovely young women are just arriving in town for the season for the first time, so there's also a chance that some poor, ill-advised soul might fall for your charms before she gets to hear the whole story. The only thing of any worth Mikael left us was his valuable name, and so you will use it in your favor in order to dig yourself out of the hell hole you've crawled into for the past so many years, in turn improving Rebekah's chances at a good marriage. I will not have my younger sister surrendering herself to some pathetic low-life out of fear of embarrassment. And, by the way, you might want to tell your associate to keep his paws off."

Klaus sniggers. "Marcellus is harmless, Elijah. And quite rich, I might add. His own father left him a fortune. Our sister would be well-off."

"I don't care about his fortune, I only care that he spends as much time as you at that filthy club of yours."

"So do many of your respectable chums. Would you like a list?"

"What I would like is for you to stop burying our family's fortune in that place."

"You talk as if it wasn't an investment! Do you have any idea how much money I make off the pockets of poor sods in unhappy marriages who seek me out in order to spend a good, anonymous time with a fair lady or even an interesting gentleman, no questions asked?" Klaus pulls off his chair, abandoning his coffee for something stronger. He walks up to the bar cart at the corner, pouring himself the much needed liquid encouragement if he is to make it through this dreadful conversation. "Have you yourself forgotten about the friend you made at my club? What was her name again? Kaitlyn? Katherine? No! Katerina," he draws out slowly, flashing his dimples at his brother. "So exotic. A beauty, indeed. What do you think the Duchess would think if she knew?"

Elijah's expression doesn't waver, the unflappable arse, but his dark eyes flash. "I had fun at your establishment, Niklaus, when I was younger and unmarried. But I grew out of it and into my responsibilities. And it's about time you do the same."

"You're a hypocrite, Elijah," he states simply, waving his glass towards his brother. "I think your problem is that you hate yourself for the fact that you envy me. You have the flashy title, you were the most coveted bachelor in all of the ton - the Duke of Orleans. You obviously enjoy the pomp, as the snobbish arse that you are, but what has that truly brought you? Are you happy, brother? With your responsibilities and your pretty little wife?"

Elijah lets out a long sigh that communicates infinite pain, as though Niklaus is being deliberately a prick. Which... Well, he is. But with good reason. He wasn’t the one who showed up at his brother’s bedroom uninvited to peel him out of the arms of two formidable creatures.

"You can't do this forever," his brother starts again, unfazed. And that's the thing about Elijah - nothing ever shakes that bastard out of his poise. "One day, you're going to wake up between your nameless whores and you're going to realize that time has gone by and you're old and miserable and none of that flair or the infinite array of partners that have been in and out of your bed has done a single thing to fill the void inside of you. Pleasure, Niklaus, is fleeting. You get your release with a velvety mouth wrapped around your cock, and then what?"

Klaus gets a bit of a sting somewhere, his lips twisting slightly even as he tries to pretend there is no truth in his brother's piercing words.

"Careful there, Elijah," he says. "That kind of crass language is only acceptable in my circles. Dukes do not speak of cocks."

"I'm not here as a Duke, I'm here as your brother, and that, unfortunately, seems to be the only language you seem to comprehend." Elijah stands to his feet, doing the buttons on his perfectly tailored jacket. "You will find yourself a wife, or you will be cut off and then you'll have to find out exactly how much money you make out of your despicable enterprises."

Klaus snorts. "You can't be serious. Marriage or banishment?"

"Good to know we've understood each other. There's a ball next week hosted by her majesty the queen herself. I would like you to attend. But please, do come by my office if you'd like to discuss some names. I've got ideas." Elijah offers him a bright smile that looks way too out of place on his otherwise nonchalant expression. "Enjoy your breakfast, Niklaus. The toasts are to die for."

"Next time, send a messenger ahead to inform me I should prepare for the displeasure," he grumbles, knocking back his drink. "It's so unbecoming to have my brother pulling me out of bed."

"Trust me, it is just as unpleasant for me." Elijah turns on his heels and walks to the door, but then he stops. "By the way. Hayley is expecting. Congratulations, you're going to be an uncle. But if you keep this," he says, motioning randomly towards the house, "going, I won't allow you anywhere near my child."

With that, and not even waiting to hear the best wishes for the new Mikaelson on the way, Elijah leaves.

Klaus lets out a dejected breath, shoulders dropping with misery. "That poor kid will have no sense of humor."

"You did what?!"

Caroline winces at her aunt's outraged shout. It's very rare for the ever polite and proper Countess to lose her temper, but when she does...

There's a reason Caroline had been dreading this conversation since morning. A reason why she hesitated for so long to put an end to this preposterous courtship. In fact, a reason why she even entertained it at all. Aunt Liz has always been so kind to her. Caroline wouldn't even be here, a young debutante in her very first season, dressed in fine silks and sparkling jewelry, if not for her. Her father never had any taste for the gentry or the polite society in spite of being a baronet. If it was up to him, Caroline would never leave the countryside. He'd rather she found a husband of no influence or distinction, someone who would inherit their lands and vow to stay there until his last breath. She owes it to Aunt Liz that she now has the chance for something more than fresh air and sheep as far as the eye can see.

Caroline wants to see the world. She longs for nights at the opera, masquerade balls at the royal palace, exotic dinners at Grosvenor Square. She wants romance. And for all of its raw beauty and picturesque charm, she will find none of that in Mystic Falls. Caroline's dreams are just bigger than that small plot of farmland.

Her dear widowed aunt, left with a title, a fortune and influence galore but no heir, made it her purpose to make a society lady out of her only niece. She spent years trying to convince her brother, Caroline's father, William, to send his only daughter to live with her in London, but he remained adamant. There have been times when Caroline resented him dearly, but now, as a grown woman of eighteen, she understands. He didn't want to part from her. Truth be told, she does value her childhood, growing up free and under the sun. Her parents were always sweet and tender towards her, and she can see now how the peace and quiet of the countryside gave her a distinct idea of what a true loving family is supposed to be, far from all the glittering affectation of the ton. That's what she seeks to find as well, only in a slightly different fashion.

The only problem is Aunt Liz's choice for her is not at all what Caroline wishes for herself. She's all but certain she won't be finding true love and happiness in Alaric Saltzman.

Aunt Liz only wants the best for her, she knows. She’s not being deliberately mean, she just… Lacks a certain vision. To someone her age, Alaric Saltzman surely fits all the basic qualifications. He's a Viscount with vast property and wealth, a well-traveled gentleman who's known among his peers for his academic brilliance. He's of mild manners and temper and - sure, he's not bad on the eye either, if one enjoys the tall, expressionless men of the more serious variety. Some twelve years less and he would indeed be a good prospect. If you disregard the lack of personality and the dead wives, that is.

As a good friend of Aunt Liz and in search of a wife - another one -, he set his eyes upon Caroline almost as soon as they were introduced. She probably seemed like an easy target, recently arrived in town, with not much to speak for her, let alone connections. Ever since the ball at the royal palace, he's been calling on her almost daily. And Caroline really did try to give him a chance. By God, she did! She narrowed her eyes and tried to pretend he was a wee bit younger and a tad more interesting, but... Well, she supposes the age gap is not the only problem. They're just... Not compatible.

Alaric Saltzman barely ever speaks, leaving her to fill all of the awkward silences. Caroline is not shy, not by a mile, and she deems herself accomplished as a conversationalist, but she's grown tired of the sound of her own voice. If she cannot stand another thirty minutes of promenading near him, how will she ever be able to look forward to thirty years of marriage? It's just impossible.

Now, if only there was an easy way to make Aunt Liz see this situation through her eyes...

There is no point in delaying the inevitable, however. It's best that she is as direct as possible, laying it all out in the open.

"I was merely sincere, auntie," she starts, trying - and likely failing - not to sound apologetic, but rather resolute. "I didn't want to lead him on. I simply told him I would not entertain his courtship any longer so that he might be free to pursue different options. It had to be done."

"Had to be done?" her aunt disparages, shooting up from her seat and pacing back and forth in front of Caroline. "I never took you for a fool, Caroline."

"Auntie, if you would just consider -"

"Consider what? That Alaric Saltzman is your best prospect at making a decent marriage this year? A fine gentleman with an abundance of wealth and influence who could give you everything you could possibly wish for."

"Hardly," she scoffs under her breath.

"Come again?"

"Auntie..." Caroline puts her palms together in a plea for comprehension. "We’ve nothing in common. And he's old."

"Oh, please, Caroline. He's five and thirty, hardly an elder."

"Well, he acts like one! Always so serious and sullen."

"Whatever is wrong with being serious? Would you rather marry a buffoon?"

"I would rather marry someone with a sense of humor. Or, I don't know... An array of different facial expressions that would make it easier to read his moods. He’s just… Blank."

"By all means! Then we shall fetch you a husband at the circus!"

"That's not what I mean," she objects, flailing with frustration at her aunt's inability to understand. Caroline shakes her head and stands up as well, gathering all of her courage to look at the Countess straight in the eye. Elizabeth Forbes is intense and implacable. It takes some to stand up to her. "I'm just saying, auntie... Mr. Saltzman and I are not compatible. Is it really that far-fetched to hope for a gentleman who will... I don't know... Connects with me? Or at the very least enjoy my company."

"He loves your company."

"He tolerates my company, auntie. He never speaks to me. In fact, it's as if he's hardly listening to what I say."

"He's a shy man."

"A shy man who can't say a word to the woman he intends to marry?" Liz huffs out in disagreement, but doesn't offer a rebuttal. "Besides... I'm not looking forward to becoming the fourth Viscountess Whitmore, given the fate of the last three."

"That's awfully inconsiderate of you, Caroline," her aunt chides. "The man has had terrible luck."

"He's buried three young wives, auntie. At what point does bad luck become a pattern?"

"Jenna always had a frail health, Josette died in childbirth and Isobel was a disgraceful woman who left him for an adventure in America. You can hardly fault him."

I can hardly fault Isobel either, she thinks, but manages to bite her tongue before it slips out.

"Caroline, look at me," her aunt starts again, placing her hands on her niece's shoulders and capturing her gaze with those relentless hazel eyes of hers. "You know how vulnerable your situation is. There's only so much my influence can gain you. Your father is a reclusive widower with not much to his name, your dowry leaves a lot to be desired and you have fierce competition."

"I'm well aware, auntie," she says in a small, tired voice. Like she needs to be reminded of all her inadequacies when compared to the diamond of the first water. "All the fine gentlemen have their eyes set upon Elena Gilbert."

"Not just the Gilbert girl. There's Bonnie Bennett, whose family hold close ties to the crown. April Young, whose uncle is a bishop. Rebekah Mikaelson, the only sister of the Duke of Orleans. And that's not even to mention Camille O'Connell and Aurora de Martel, who are all but royalty in their own countries. You are beautiful and clever and delightful, my girl, but none of that is sufficient when it comes to arranging a marriage. The ton is brutal. I'm afraid your life in the countryside imbued you with unrealistic ideas of romance when you should be thinking about practicalities. This is your future, Caroline. If you do not marry when you're fresh and new, your prospects will only weaken. And you know how your father gave us a deadline. He wants you back in Mystic Falls by the end of the year if you remain unmarried."

Caroline lowers her head, a sad sigh escaping her lips at the thought of settling for a small-town life with some small-town lad with no ambition at all. "I know."

"Then listen to what I say." Liz puts a finger under her chin and forces her to meet her eyes again. "I will write to Alaric and tell him that you were merely confused. You will continue to entertain him."

"But -"

"No buts," Liz cuts off her attempted objection. "If he's all you've got, and right now he very much is, then he must be considered. I would never marry you off to a man with a bad temper, bad vices or that I thought would mistreat you in any way. He will take good care of you, offer you a good life, and respect your wishes. Is that not all you can hope for?"

"But what about companionship? Compatibility? What about love?"

Liz sighs, her stern expression morphing into one of pure compassion. She cups her niece's face tenderly, shaking her head like a mother who sees her child commit an endearing mistake. "Oh, my darling girl... You are too precious, indeed." She walks back to her armchair, ringing the bell to call upon her maid to bring her pen and paper. "Trust me, Caroline. This is for the best."

"But then what if another gentleman comes calling?" she offers, aiming for anything to keep her hopes up. Her life cannot lie between Alaric Saltzman and a farm.

"No one has thus far."

She ignores the burning on her cheeks at the embarrassing fact and ploughs on. "Well, but what if it happens? Am I allowed to entertain another prospect?"

Liz's lips twist in distaste, but she has no option but to say, "Well, I suppose."

"The more I am seen with Alaric Saltzman, the less chances for another gentleman to show up. They will just assume that I'm already spoken for."

"Well -"

"Which I am not," she states with vehemence, adding a pointed look at her aunt for good measure. "Then you agree that we should, at the very least, keep our hearts and minds open to different possibilities." Liz lifts a shoulder in agreement. "Well, then. You will tell Mr. Saltzman that I am feeling somewhat overwhelmed and that he should not come calling every day, or show up for supper every other night, or, or - sign his name all over my dance cards. And we will see what happens from there."

"If it suits you."

"It suits me," Caroline agrees with a smile, at last. It's not much, but it's something. All she needs to do now is find a way to get noticed by someone who's not Alaric Saltzman. At least enough to convince her aunt that she's not without hope as she seems to believe. "It suits me very much, indeed."

"The spot is taken!" a voice announces as soon as Klaus shuts the door behind him, muffling out the sounds of meaningless chatter and crystal glasses clinking away.

He whips his face to the side to see a woman sitting by her lonesome self at one of the couches. He blinks slowly at her, taking her in as he tries to place her. As almost everyone else, she wears a mask that hides half of her of complexion, but not the attractive shape of her delicate features - button nose, high cheekbones, fierce eyes and a pink mouth made for sin, currently pursed into a displeased pout as she eyes him with something akin to irritation.

"Excuse me?" he asks.

“If you're looking for a hiding place, this room's taken.”

She seems faintly familiar, but Klaus cannot recall where he knows her from. Then again, he's been to so many of these spiritless society parties lately on Elijah's behest that it's unlikely they haven't been to the same places. At least judging by the way she's dressed. Like a Christmas morning present - shiny new dress that highlights her generous bosom, diamonds sparkling on her ears and an intricate set of braids on her blonde hair, which has been coiffeud into an elegant do that flatters her long neck and collarbone. It pleases his eyes very much, indeed, which tells him if they have been to the same parties, they hardly crossed paths. Klaus is too good at spotting pretty creatures to fail to notice this one.

"I wasn’t aware that there was a limited number of people allowed," Klaus replies, motioning towards the ample space around them. He hadn't realized where he was going, despite having been to the De Martel estate before. He just wanted to escape the madness for a bit. Perhaps run into a bar cart he could make use of in order to dull his senses enough to take another hour of this ordeal. Elijah will be furious that he abandoned Rebekah to the wolves, but his little sister can take care of herself. She's a Mikaelson, after all, a beast in her own right. He feels sorry for the poor sod who tries to prey on her.

"There is now," the girl shoots back. "Besides, it's highly inappropriate."

Klaus arches his eyebrows at her behind his own mask. "Well, then," he points to the door, stepping aside. "Leave."

"I was here first."

"Who's to attest to that? Do you have any witnesses?"

The mask doesn't hide the way she narrows her eyes at him with menace. "Are you always this rude?"

"Usually, I'm worse," he says sincerely. "What are you hiding from?"

"Who says I'm hiding?"

"You, as a matter of fact."

"Do you have no manners whatsoever?" she scoffs, folding her arms across her chest. "It's not polite to talk back to a lady this way."

"And you're a lady, are you? Hiding all on your own, alone with a gentleman?"

"Forgive me, sir, I didn't realize I was in the presence of a gentleman."

The tirade draws a laugh out of him, the first honest one he's had all night, in fact. "Touché," he concedes. She grins, a little proud of herself, and they settle into a more amenable silence. "It's a jungle out there," he picks up conversation again after a beat. "Like a meat market, really."

"Come talk to me about it when you're one of the pieces on display," she grumbles, dejection bleeding into her voice. "And not even a particularly prime one."

"That's rough, love." He makes a show of giving her a generous once over. "There seems to be nothing wrong with you from where I'm standing."

"I didn’t ask for your appraisal," she snaps back at him, shifting uncomfortably on her seat. "I'm no Elena Gilbert, though, am I?"

"Ah. Elena Gilbert." He takes a seat on the opposite end of the couch, a good distance from her so she won’t think he has any improper ideas. "Diamond of the first water. Pretty little thing, indeed. But dull as this ghastly outdated wallpaper, I'm afraid. Personally, I can't see what all the fuss is about."

She turns to him with a frown scribbled across her forehead. "So you didn't come here to gush over Elena, like every other gentleman? I hear her dowry is quite impressive."

"Dowry," Klaus practically spits out the word. "Such a barbaric thing. Parents paying men to take their daughters away. Although I do have to agree that it would take a great sum for me to wed some of these girls out there."

The girl shakes her head at him as though trying very hard to disapprove of his comment, but not able to hide her chuckle. "That was very rude. I am one of those girls, you know."

"Well, you're not out there right now, are you?"

She pauses, her expression smoothing into a soft smile. "I suppose not." She faces away from him, eyes fixed on the painting hanging on the wall opposite the couch. "It's so vicious. Men acting like fools around the prettier girls with the greater dowries while the rest of us are left to claw at each other for scraps. Dropping our handkerchiefs, pretending to faint, playing the pianoforte. Whoever decided that women should be made to play the piano for others' entertainment rather than their own? Some of us were just not born for it. I haven't got the fingers! Who should I forward a complaint to, mother nature?" As she goes on, her voice escalates, as does her indignation. Klaus can't quite help the amusement. He agrees with everything, but he does not think he's ever seen a lady being this candid about the tragic pantomime they're subjected to. In fact, he'd always been led to believe they rather enjoyed it. At least, the women in his family do. "God, I'm sorry," she says once she realizes she was more forward than her etiquette books would recommend. "I shouldn't have said all that."

"No, please, do go on. This is the most interested I've been in a conversation all night. You've quite the mind."

She gives him a look, lips twisted as though she thinks he's jesting. "My aunt says I've got too much of a mind. Makes for bad marriage."

"Well, I don't know. I myself prefer a woman with a strong personality over the ones who feign a need for vapors to garner attention. Can't imagine why frail health would be an aphrodisiac."

She chuckles again, and Klaus realizes, with a measure of surprise, that he rather enjoys the sound. Women of her caliber are always so discreet and restrained, taught from a young age to hide their personalities behind a veneer of propriety. They don't laugh, don't show joy or distaste, don't speak their minds, instead molding themselves to whatever they think will most please their male company. There are paintings livelier than many of the society women he's met over the years. This one seems to be of a rare breed. And a lovely one at that.

A beat goes by, followed by another, while the two of them merely eye each other, as though measuring their company. The air between them seems to vibrate with energy, and Klaus is tempted to ask her for her name when she breaks the moment again. "So what's your excuse?" she asks. "For hiding here, I mean."

"I just got tired of the circus. You've been to one of these parties, you've been to all of them. If I have to sign my name on another dance card, I swear to almighty God..." he trails off.

The girl dangles the card tied to her wrist in the air. "I'm hiding from a name on my card."

"Oh?" He arches his eyebrows in curiosity. "Who might that be?"

"I can't tell you that, can I? That would be terribly rude of me and contrary to what you might think, I am a lady."

His mouth curves into a delighted smile. "I would never think otherwise."

"Good. Then don’t ask me things I cannot answer."

She turns back to the painting, and Klaus finally pries his eyes away from her long enough to admire the art. Not quite as captivating as his company, but a masterpiece just as well. He remembers being marveled by some of the pieces in the De Martel’s extraordinary collection. Marveled and terribly envious. Mikael was never a big admirer of the great masters, choosing instead plain portraits and indistinct works devoid of any character and of little to no value to decorate their family’s estates. The old Count De Martel was an equally detestable figure, but at least he had good taste to speak for him.

"Do you like art?" he asks.

She shrugs lightly. "It's alright."

"Alright?" Klaus parrots in horror, putting a hand across his heart with mock-injure. "By God, my lady! You wound my soul. This is a Caravaggio, show some respect."

"Oh?" she asks, not showing any sign of recognition.

Klaus shoots up to his feet, walking over to the picture. "This is... Striking. Dramatic. Complex as its artist. You can see the man in his work, it's so transparent and vivid. He always expressed such intense emotions, capturing the darkest parts of the human soul. His tenebrism is a thing of brilliance. It speaks to you as though it were alive."

When he turns around again, he finds her watching him with an amused expression gracing her masked face. "Do forgive me," she says. "I didn't mean to offend your sensibilities. I do appreciate art, I just... Don't know it well enough, I suppose."

"Art is not meant to be understood, love, it's meant to be felt. Art that doesn't speak to you is not really art at all, it's but an ornament with no life, no history. The real thing is meant to be transcendental. Take Caravaggio, for instance. He was a rather controversial figure in his time, used children and prostitutes as models on his religious paintings, made a bit of a bad name for himself. Scandalous! But he was also extremely popular, and his art is as tempestuous as his short life was. And this painting here tells you all of that, if not with words than with the feeling it provokes."

She tilts her face to the side, her eyes staying on him instead of moving back to the painting as he spoke. "You're a big fan, I take."

"Not a fan. An admirer."

"Are you an artist yourself?"

Klaus huffs out a sardonic little laugh. "I've got an artistic soul trapped in a body that is not quite equipped with the right set of skills. The way you don't have the fingers for the pianoforte, I do not possess the prowess for masterpieces."

"Well, you seem to relate to the painter. Is your life as tempestuous as Caravaggio’s, then, my lord?"

Klaus' mouth draws into a slow smirk. If only she knew... "Depends on who you ask. I find my life quite reasonable. My brother would definitely disagree."

"Would your brother be right?"

Klaus chuckles. The answer to that is probably yes, but suddenly he doesn't want Elijah's terrible correctness to stand in the middle of the first decent conversation he's had since he started attending these events. "Can I offer you a drink?" he asks, changing the subject.

"No, thank you. I've already had my quota for the evening."

"You don't strike me as someone who would surrender to these pesky rules.”

"You strike me as someone who would offer alcohol to an unchaperoned lady. Doesn't bode well for you, my lord."

"I'm no lord. And I promise I mean no harm."

The girl scoffs. "I'm sure you say that a lot."

"I don't always mean it, though."

She bites on the corner of her lower-lip, pondering. "Ok, fine. But if anyone asks, it never happened."

"Of course not."

He walks across the room to the bar cart he knows will be in the corner and pours two glasses - more for him than for her, lest she thinks he's trying to get her drunk. She's a perfectly pleasant company sober, which he cannot say for most people he knows.

"To the sacred haven of hiding spots," he says in a toast. Her eyes light up behind her mask when she smiles - blue, he notices, or perhaps emerald green. He cannot tell under that light, and it suddenly vexes him deeply. He just knows he'll be spending some time mixing paints in order to find that hue.

As her lips touch the glass, they hear quick footsteps approaching.

"Oh my God." She jumps to her feet, nearly dropping her glass in a fit of panic. "Someone's coming. Someone's coming and they’ll see me here with you. I'm ruined. Oh, God!"

"Calm down, sweetheart. I was never here.” He puts a finger in front of his lips to quiet her down and then rushes to disappear behind the curtains just in time before the heavy doors fly open.

"Caroline!"

"Auntie Liz!" she replies, her self-assured voice suddenly quivering with nerves.

"I've been looking everywhere for you. What are you - oh, for heaven's sake, Caroline. Are you quite serious now? Drinking?"

"I-I... I don't - I mean - I just wanted to take a breath and they were serving, I didn't - I barely -"

"Oh, heavens. Give me that. Come with me. The Viscount has been searching for you. He was about to send the guards to scour the gardens. I believe you owe him a dance?"

"Yes. Yes, of course."

Once the door closes and the footsteps disappear in the distance, Klaus finally steps out of the shadows again. His mysterious friend left nothing behind but the abandoned glass, untouched, and the lingering smell of her sweet perfume.

“Caroline,” he speaks, tasting the way her name rolls off his tongue.

Well, if he does a bit of digging to find out more, then it’s nothing more than mild curiosity.

TBC

Chapter Text

Caroline is ruined.

Her life is over. Forever. Whatever hopes she maintained at a favorable match-making are all but buried. Before the night is over, her name will be the laugh of the ton. No respectable man will dare to look her way. She'll be all but done for and have no other choice than to accept Viscount Whitmore - and consider herself lucky for it.

Perhaps that's exactly what Auntie Liz wants. Destroying any and all possible alternatives will ensure that Caroline will be more congenial to his advances. No more pretending to have a fever every time he comes calling in the mornings, no more conveniently having lady pains whenever he invites her to promenade.

Oh, the embarrassment... People look at her with such pity when they see them side by side. They know what future awaits her if she is to marry Alaric Saltzman. The same thing that took all of his wives. Her aunt might as well give her a beautiful marble tombstone as a wedding gift.

She can count on having an honorable funeral, at least. The Saltzman mausoleum is striking, as far as eternal resting places go.

Caroline whines, an all too undignified sound that's halfway to a sob escaping her lips as she paces nervously around Lady Fell's library, her mind going on overdrive with possibilities, all of which are dismal at best. The dreadful melody of Bonnie Bennett's exquisite piano skills filters in through the closed door like angels of death announcing the end is near. Her end, that is.

Caroline doesn't have to be at the parlor room to conjure up vivid images in her mind: Bonnie's long, slender fingers dancing deftly over the keys, her face a mask of delight as she evokes perfect notes from the pianoforte, while joyful smiles of pure contentment grace the features of the crowd that surrounds her - everyone who's anyone in London society. Bonnie is magnificent. She's one of them. A true gem. Everything Caroline isn't, and her pitiful piano skills are just about to confirm it.

As soon as Bonnie is done, Lady Fell will expect her to take her place for a rendition of Haydn's Concerto in G Major to follow Bonnie's perfect Irish folk tune. Aunt Liz promised Caroline would do a fantastic job.

Well, not only will Caroline destroy her marriage prospects, she will also be an embarrassment to her dear aunt. She has no idea why Auntie Liz would lie so unabashedly. She was there through Caroline's painful practice hours. She knows how poorly a musician her niece is. It's incomprehensible why she'd want to bring shame upon her house of her own volition.

This is something out of a nightmare. Caroline feels sick to her stomach, anxiety eating away at her like a fever. Her palms are sweating, her head feels airy and she wouldn't be surprised if she were to faint before she even made it to the piano. Which of the two is more favorable: to be widely acknowledged as a terrible entertainer or to be of such fragile health? Both make her poor marriage material, she supposes, but at least the second won't be no fault of her own.

When the door to the library flies open, Caroline half expects it to be her aunt, ready to drag her out if need be. Bonnie's music booms loud and fatally beautiful into the room as she stares blankly at the man standing with his hand on the doorknob, the two of them locked in a staring contest, both of them taken aback by the other’s presence.

Slowly, however, the man's stunned expression morphs into a slow smile, lips curving into a smirk that puts dimples into his cheeks. Caroline can’t remember ever seeing him and yet he looks terribly familiar.

"We have to stop meeting like this," he says, taking a bold step into the library and shutting the door behind him.

"I beg your -" Caroline stops, the gears in her head finally clicking into place. There was a black mask covering half of his face, but that smile is unmistakable. As is the mischief in his voice. "Oh," she says. "You."

"Indeed."

Caroline deflates, shutting her eyes and turning away from him with a helpless sigh. All she needed right now was to have a gentleman witness as she falls apart before she's even taken the center of the parlor for her social suicide to be complete.

"You wound my famously big ego, you know," he derides.

"Excuse me?" she asks, turning back to him.

"I find that young ladies are usually happier to be in my presence. Especially behind closed doors. I don’t think I’ve ever had a single one turn her back on me. Not unless I asked, of course."

Caroline's brows slash together into a stern look. "That is entirely inappropriate, sir," she chastises him. He merely laughs. "Do forgive me if I haven't the time to feel sorry for your ego. I'm quite taken with my own tragedy."

He clasps his hands behind his back, an interested air about his handsome face. "What seems to be the matter this time?"

Caroline smooths an invisible wrinkle on her dress. "If you must know… I am expected outside in just a few moments to offer a pianoforte performance to Lady Fell’s guests," she replies, not doing a good job at hiding her bitterness.

"I thought you mentioned you were not a proficient pianist," he remarks with a light frown, recalling their conversation at the masquerade. She'd be more stunned by the fact he remembers anything that was discussed that night if her nerves weren't so jumbled.

"That is my point, exactly."

"Why would you offer a piano performance if you're no good at it?"

"Because I have a morbid fascination for humiliating myself," she snaps. "What do you think? It was not my choice. Lady Fell asked and my aunt thought it was a marvelous opportunity to flaunt my so-called talents. What talents, I asked her. I have none!"

He smiles; she can’t tell whether it’s because he thinks she’s being ridiculous or if the idea of her demise is just that amusing to him. "I understand being a perfectionist, but surely you can't be that bad."

"Oh, I assure you, sir, I am worse. I never did have any discipline for the pianoforte and I just do not possess the fingers." She waves both her hands in the air, wiggling her inadequately short fingers at him. "That's quite rude of you to laugh," she chides with a harsh look when he breaks into a humorous chuckle, to which he instantly snaps his mouth shut, trying to reign himself in. "Every gentleman of any relevance is sitting outside right now, rejoicing in Bonnie Bennett's fantastic Irish air. As if I couldn't humiliate myself on my own, how can I be expected to follow her number with my abysmal skills? It's a disgrace! A complete disgrace. What man would ever wed a woman who makes such a fool of herself?"

She didn't even realize she'd started pacing again, hands twisting around the fabric of her white dress as her voice escalated with the heat of her angst.

"I can think of a few worse features for a wife to possess," he offers, not without sympathy. It would be almost nice of him, if she happened to be in the right frame of mind to commiserate with a complete stranger.

"Well, you’re wrong," she counters. "I told her, Auntie, do not ever put me forth for a piano recital. It'll reflect as badly on you as it will on me. Does the Countess listen to me? Does she ever? If you’re going to be flaunting me about, then let me sing, I said. She just scoffed, like I was being ridiculous."

"Well, that's a lovely talent. Why won't she let you sing instead?"

"Some silliness about the depravity of songstresses," she explains with a dismissive wave of her hand. "Past traumas, I think."

"Can't say I disagree," he says, mouth curling into a crooked smile that is as charming as it is wicked. "I have met a few who were -"

"You're not helping!" It seems she's not the only one with trouble keeping her mouth shut. Except in his case, he seems thoroughly delighted in sharing vulgar details about his personal endeavors.

"Look," he starts around a sigh. "Just think of the easiest tune you can recall. Close your eyes and imagine yourself alone in your own music room."

"I don't think you understand, sir. I'm not being modest. I am equally terrible when I'm alone in my own music room. It's just a lot harder to ignore the fact that my whole future will be out there paying witness as I embarrass myself."

He twists his lips, cocking his head. "A touch dramatic, love."

"It's easy for you to say."

"Whatever do you mean by that?"

"I -"

What was certain to be yet another rant on the eternal suffering of her current circumstances is cut short when her aunt calls out to her. "Caroline! Are you ready? They're all waiting."

Talking to him got her distracted from Bonnie's performance. She didn't realize it was over already. For a moment, Caroline almost forgot she was meant to be bracing herself in favor of being outraged, which was a pleasant change, if not exactly a positive one. But all it takes for anxiety to flare up anew is her aunt calling her name.

"Oh, Lord..." She takes a deep breath in. Then another. Straightens her posture, tries her best to school her face into as composed an expression as she possibly can - which, judging by how tight her muscles feel, is probably a terrible failure. "I guess this is what it feels like to walk to the gallows," she whispers to herself as she finally makes her way to the door. No point in delaying it. The sooner she gets this done with, the sooner she can go home - and, with any luck, never come out, ever again.

"Oh, there she is!" Lady Fell takes her hand and pulls her towards the center of the room just as soon as she appears. "We were all waiting for you, my darling. Caroline Forbes, niece of my dear friend Lizzie, will be playing the next song for us!"

The effusive clapping leaves her dizzy. Caroline can hardly hear anything over the sound of her own heart, beating as though it's trying to punch a hole through her chest. Her eyes settle on her aunt, comfortably seated on a regal chair right at the front of the room, her kind face showing nothing but encouragement. Caroline wants to scream.

She takes a look at the piano and the whole room spins around her. Good God, she might actually faint.

"Surprise, surprise!"

Caroline's so out of depth she hardly registers the interruption until she feels a hand casually touching her shoulder, a light squeeze that pulls her back from the dizzying rush. When she blinks her surroundings into focus, her indecent friend is already walking around the piano, a cheeky smile bright on his face.

Her eyes go wide with terror. What in heaven's name –

"Mr. Mikaelson?" Lady Fell interjects, her voice carrying all of Caroline's confusion but none of her trepidation. All chatter ceases as the room descends into expectant silence. If anyone wasn’t paying attention before, now they are.

"Lady Fell," he greets their host with a polite nod. "Miss Forbes and I have prepared a surprise for you and your esteemed guests."

Caroline’s breath snags, a cold shiver shooting up her spine like a harpoon.

"You have?” Lady Fell asks, a question written between her brows as she looks from him to her, and then back. "That's most unusual."

"Unusual, indeed," Auntie Liz agrees in an ice-cold tune that leaves no doubt as to what she thinks of it. "What's this about, Caroline?"

She stammers, mouth opening and closing wordlessly as she fumbles for what to say.

"No need to be shy, my lady," Mr. Mikaelson cuts in. “Lady Caroline and I were discussing earlier about how extraordinary your soiree is, Lady Fell, and she expressed an ardent desire to offer something equally formidable as a way to thank you for being such an exquisite host.” Lady Fell shifts in her place, demurely touching the diamond necklace around her neck as she offers him a satisfied smile, easily charmed by his flattery. Spurred by it, he continues. “She wanted to sing, isn't that right?”

“I -” He arches his brows at her, eyes prodding her to follow along with his little story. She's no idea where he's heading, but what else is there to do? “Yes,” she agrees. “That's right. I wanted to sing. But…” she turns back to Lady Fell, doing her best to ignore the way her aunt is desperately trying to catch her gaze and make her reproach known. “I’m afraid I’m not as talented a pianist as Miss Bennett, you see, so I can’t really sing and play at the same time. I was too embarrassed to ask -”

“So I kindly volunteered,” he finishes with a winning grin.

“Well... I suppose that's quite alright,” Lady Fell drawls. It's clear the surprise is not entirely to her liking. No host would ever be thrilled to be caught unprepared at their own bash. But she is intrigued enough. The novelty of the duet might just make her otherwise inconspicuous soiree the talk of the ton. It's not every day the Duke of Orleans' younger brother offers to perform for your guests. "I didn't know you could sing, young lady," she tells Caroline, smiling affably. "Lizzie never said a thing."

"My aunt is far too modest," Caroline replies.

"I do love a good duet. Very well, then." She makes a move with her hand for them to go on.

Caroline bows graciously before her hostess, and then turns to her unexpected partner, the demure smile giving place to a mortified expression. "What are you doing?" she mouths to him.

"I am fully trusting you were being sincere when you said you can sing, otherwise this is about to go awry for both of us," he whispers as he tries a few keys to test the piano's tuning. "Do you know the words to Take Back the Heart?"

"Oh, goodness, yes. It's one of my favorites."

"Fantastic." He plasters a smile back on his face as he straightens his posture by the piano. "Go on, sweetheart. They're waiting."

Caroline takes in a slow, measured breath, clinging to whatever shred of self-possession she manages to find.

He gives her an encouraging wink as he motions for her to turn around. How can he be so calm, she wonders? In just a few moments, Caroline could make him the mockery of the ton, and yet he seems to be full of confidence, offering himself up for slander for someone he barely knows. It's touching, really, if not somewhat gallant, how blindly willing to believe her he is.

Either that or he is really just that bored.

Well, she’ll just have to make sure she won’t embarrass him as well now.

With a little nod, Caroline finally faces the expectant audience. Hands clasped primly in front of her body, face schooled into perfect serenity, head raised high as though there's not a nauseating chill running across her body. Her etiquette teachers would be proud.

As soon as the familiar tunes start playing - way more cleverly than anything she’d ever be able to produce - she feels the mayhem inside of her begin to subside. A tiny flame of courage flares to life at the center of her chest as she recalls the many times she has sung this song. It was part of her family's Holidays ritual.

Every Christmas morning, the house would be filled with music, her mother playing a string of Christmas carols at the piano to rouse up the rest of the house. Caroline would jump out of bed and come and sit by her side, and while mama played Take Back the Heart with the talent her daughter sadly never inherited, Caroline would sing. Sing and sing and sing.

She hasn't sung that song since her mama passed away, but the memories are kept close to her heart. So, she does as Mr. Mikaelson suggested, closes her eyes and imagines she's back in her music room, with her mother next to her and her father as her only audience.
And then she sings.

The night breeze feels like a balm, the fragrance of the blooming gardens a pleasant change from the stuffy air inside Lady Fell's parlor. Klaus closes his eyes, enjoying the much-needed break.

Rejoicing in peace and quiet makes him feel dead inside. What kind of monster has he become?

Nobody enjoys a party more than Klaus Mikaelson, but these bashes Elijah has been subjecting him to are hardly worthy of the title. The place is a zoo. Men strutting about like birds of paradise with their feathers on show before women who smell of too much perfume and powder as though that’s some kind of aphrodisiac. It makes him dizzy. The whole thing resembles a ritual, and not even a particularly enticing one, like some of the exotic performances they have at the club from time to time.

It’s the worst game ever invented. The rules are dismal, the players are dull and there is nothing to be gained at the end. Quite the opposite, in fact: Klaus feels like he loses a little bit more of his spirit the longer he spends at these social gatherings.

Perhaps that is precisely the purpose they serve. It’s there to beat the life out of people so they'll become tame and compliant. Dance to the genteel society’s tune for long enough and you will unfailingly find yourself turned into one of them, all traces of personality and character minutely eliminated. That would explain so much. Elijah, for starters.

What Klaus truly finds himself in need of is a touch of the green fairy and the company of a lovely young thing, but that's not something he can get to just yet. Pure air is but a sad replacement. If only he could just leave...

While he's miserable, Rebekah is having the time of her life, and Klaus does wish for his sister to find herself a good match. If anything, so that Elijah might stop using her as an excuse to torment his life.

Although, if he's to be perfectly honest, tonight hasn't been the worst of nights. Klaus has attended enough of these affairs by now to know what a truly bleak evening is. He would dare say today has been rather intriguing.

How remarkably fortunate of him to end up running into the ever-captivating lady Caroline. Never a dull moment where that young woman is involved, it seems.

He inquired Rebekah about her after last time, although he didn't wish to pry and make his sister believe there was more to his interest than mere curiosity. He could put his whole fortune on his big-mouthed little sister having been keenly instructed on keeping Elijah well informed of Klaus' movements, including anyone he may or may not set his eyes upon. The Duke is that controlling. The girl has piqued his interest, that is all. Although, truth be told, that is already more than he can say for almost every soul he's crossed paths with since he became a regular at this season's social events.

"You must be talking about Caroline Forbes," Rebekah said with the dismissive air with which she discusses every other girl. His sister doesn't have friends; she has rivals.

Rebekah can be difficult, as most spoiled young women of her caliber tend to be, but Klaus does oh, so love her spirit. He and his little sister were cut out of the same fabric. Equals in temper, tastes and venom alike. Elijah is the odd one out among the Mikaelson siblings. Klaus has always been of the theory that he must have been found abandoned in a dust bin or hatched out of wedlock, far too prim and proper to be one of them.

"She's new, I suppose,” Rebekah continued. “Hasn't been in London for long. Her father lives in the countryside, I hear he's a widower. She's here under her aunt's care, the Dowager Countess Elizabeth."

The Dowager Countess Elizabeth, also known among certain circles - his circles - as the Iron Lady. Klaus would've never pegged the two of them to be related in a million years. The girl he met at the masquerade struck him as outspoken and free-spirited, while the Iron Lady... Suffices to say, she lives up to her informal title. Although that suddenly explained why poor Caroline would be hiding from her aunt.

Lady Caroline Forbes. The name stayed with him, for some reason. It was oddly melodical, like the girl herself. A part of him had been eager to meet her again, a desire he was yet to experience since the beginning of this glorified crux. There has been no one he’s wished to see again. If only he'd known sooner that all he had to do was go searching behind closed doors.

The other half of him, however, didn't expect her to live up to the thrill and the intrigue of their first encounter. No one ever does. But he was not disappointed. The mask she had been wearing before didn't do her justice. It was almost a crime to hide such a lovely face and overshadow blue eyes that spark with a fire he doesn't often see in these debutantes, trained from such a young age to make themselves demure and amenable. Not Caroline Forbes, though. She is just... Spirited. Original.

And that voice...

She was far too modest when she said she could sing. He expected her to be decent enough not to make an embarrassment of herself, but that… That was unlike anything he's seen at these private soirees. Only the Iron Lady would want someone to hide that kind of talent instead of flaunting it. The look of contempt on Rebekah's face as Caroline opened her mouth and made the dullest of songs ever written sound like an angel's hymn was a true measure of just how wonderful she was.

Klaus could almost see the exact moment all tension lifted off her shoulders, the song coming to her as naturally as breathing. She was transported somewhere else, a place where the nerves that were twisting her raw could not reach her. Caroline was soaring, resplendent. It was a sight to behold.

Every young woman of any consequence in London can play the piano, but a talent for singing such as hers is rare, indeed. No amount of practice and the best vocal coaches money can buy can replicate a performance like hers. It was enthralling. Klaus forgot himself so many times, missing quite a few keys here and there, so distracted he was by her. He doubts anybody even noticed, though. He was mere background noise. They only had eyes - and ears - for Caroline.

Immediately after the song was over, a stunned silence settled upon the room. It lasted long enough for that prick of anxiety to return to Caroline’s expression, hands wrangling nervously as she waited for her fate to be revealed. But when thunderous applause finally erupted, it was like sunshine had suddenly broken into the parlor, her beam as dazzling as her performance, joy spilling out of her in waves.

Klaus remained seated, letting her receive all of the accolades. It was only right, seeing as he'd done a mediocre job at best. He was never as accomplished a musician as his siblings, and it had been quite a while since he'd last played around with a piano. But he was suddenly very happy he decided to do so, even at the risk of great shame, though he can't, for the love of all things holy, figure out why he'd do something so blatantly out of character.

It might have been something about the way she just seemed so terribly unhappy, backed into a corner by someone else’s desires and unable to escape it. He can certainly relate. Or perhaps it was the fright in her eyes as she was ushered forward, as though she was about to be eaten by a pack of ravenous wolves - which is not an entirely inaccurate analogy. The so-called civilized society is brutal, especially to a young newcomer such as her.

Either way, before he could come to his senses, he was stepping forward and doing exactly what he vowed to never, ever do at these ghastly parties: drawing attention to himself. Like being the Duke's brother isn't enough enticement for these rabid mamas.

He knows he'll likely live to regret this, no act of kindness goes unpunished at the ton, after all. But when Caroline turned around and their eyes met, her smile growing fond and full of gratefulness, aimed just at him, Klaus could find no remorse whatsoever.

"I believe I owe you a thank you,” comes a soft voice, startling out of his reverie. He didn’t even realize he had company.

As though summoned by his thoughts alone, he finds her standing there, a coy little smile on her face.

"I believe you do," he agrees pleasantly, "seeing as I rescued you from the gallows, as you yourself put it."

She rolls her eyes, embarrassed by what probably seems like a terrible overreaction in light of her success. "I did say that, didn't I?" She strides over to the balustrade, standing next to him, but facing the garden. "That was hardly my finest hour. I suppose I was somewhat overwhelmed."

"Good thing I found you just in time."

She chuckles. "My champion."

"You are most welcome, my lady."

"Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why did you do it?"

Klaus shrugs. "I enjoy a good duet as much as the next person."

"Please," she derides. "I'm a complete stranger to you."

"You wound me, madam," he says with mock-injure, placing a hand across his heart. "Here I was thinking of us as good acquaintances."

"A near complete stranger, then. The point remains you had no reason whatsoever to compromise yourself for me."

"Perhaps I'm just that gallant."

"No offense, but you don't strike me as the gallant type."

Klaus laughs. "That would be terribly offensive if it wasn't true."

"So? If not gallantry, then what?" she prods, raising her eyebrows expectantly.

Klaus regards her pensively. "The truth is I do not know," he admits in earnestness. "I guess I just decided to take a chance. I do love a good gamble, and that is true. And I felt I owed you one, for getting you in trouble with your aunt the other night."

"Well. Whatever mysterious force compelled you… That was very kind of you."

He nods at her in acknowledgment. Kindness is not a word usually used in association with him. It doesn’t even rub him in an entirely good way. Klaus doesn’t know what to make of it. So he changes the subject instead.

"I believe we haven't been formally introduced yet," he says, shifting so that he's facing her.

"I'm Caroline. Caroline Forbes. But I think you've already figured that out."

"I prefer to hear it from you than from a roomful of entranced admirers. Feels more intimate," he says smoothly. It cajoles nothing but a pointed, judgmental look from her. She's not easily flattered, and not interested in pretending for the sake of etiquette either. He likes her more and more. "I'm -"

“Niklaus Mikaelson,” she finishes for him. “Everyone knows who you are. You've quite the reputation, my lord.”

“I'm flattered you've heard of me.”

"What kind of debutante would I be if I didn't do my homework? I know all about you and your distinguished family."

“I notice the way you separate me from my distinguished family.”

“Does that surprise you?”

“Not in the least. I'm even more flattered.”

She laughs, and like everything else about her, the sound is rich and infectious. It seems to warm up the air around them all the way to his soul. It's astounding that she can be even more handsome like this, all lit up with mirth.

Klaus clears his throat, turning his face away from her. "How's the ton treating you so far?"

“It's all a bit intimidating. Much like exploring a mine field, really. I thought I was ready when I decided to answer my aunt's call, but now that I'm here, I realize how badly I underestimated things. A bad piano concert and I'm done for. So much hangs in the balance of so little. It's impossible not to -”

“Doubt yourself?” he finishes for her, the words rising to his lips from a place of uncomfortable familiarity. Caroline eyes him curiously, as though she did not expect her plight to be relatable to someone like him. Klaus' lips curve into a half-grin; if only she knew.

Being a Mikaelson comes with its own trials and tribulations, they’re just exceedingly good at pretending. Their exterior veneer of wealth and nobility is immaculate to anyone on the outside looking in. Except for Klaus, of course. He’s the stain on the family’s most distinguished reputation. If one is to be singled out and abused as a black sheep by one's own father, one might as well own up to such treatment.

“I believe self-doubt is the very foundation of our society,” he explains. “It puts as many obstacles as possible in front of you in order to see you flinch, slip and eventually tumble."

"That sounds awfully cruel."

"Make no mistake, Miss Forbes," he admonishes with a half-smile. "Underneath the fine garments and the diamond tiaras, we're all animals around here."

"That's reassuring."

"Forgive my straightforwardness. I don't mean to discourage you."

"You don’t discourage me, sir. I appreciate your honesty. But since you’ve given me the disclaimer, now you must tell me the solution. How does one survive so many trials?"

Klaus shrugs lightly. "I'm not yet sure you can. Not if you bother about - all this," he motions towards the house behind them, to where the party still rages on unabashed, laughter and music filtering out into the garden. A line appears between Caroline's inquisitive gaze, prompting him to elaborate. Klaus has to refrain from laughing; no one's ever really been this genuinely interested in hearing his pearls of wisdom before. He wishes the Duke could see him now. "The harder you try to follow all of their strict codes and rules of engagement, the harder the fall is. They're merciless, especially to those who aspire to be one of them. Your faithfulness is tested every step of the way. If you don't bother, however, your life becomes significantly simpler."

"Is that what you would recommend? Not bothering?"

He twists his lips. "It's worked well for me."

"I couldn't help but notice you say they. Born into one of London's most prominent families, heir to a fortune, younger brother to a duke. Do you not think of yourself as one of them?"

Klaus lets out a short, complicated laugh. "If my brother were here, he would be the first to say that I am most definitely not, even if he does try his hardest to beat me into shape."

Caroline hums under her breath, eyes wandering away from him, towards the Fell manor, and then back. "That's all a bit unfair, though, is it not?"

"How so?"

"Well, you're a man. You can afford a certain disregard for rules. In fact, it's expected of your gender. Boys are given a certain berth for deviant behavior, so to speak. It doesn't get you expelled from the club. Your reputation, Mr. Mikaelson, is not where you begin and end, nor is it your most valuable asset. For a woman, on the other hand, things tend to be a lot different. If one so much as dares to be bad entertainers or, God forbid, get caught in the company of a gentleman without the presence of a chaperone, it is a stain on her character that will follow her forever. So I'm afraid your advice cannot be applied to my particular set of circumstances. Not bothering isn't something I can afford."

"That's a very good point. But you should know that everyone has skeletons in their closets," he tells her. "And I mean everyone. No one is as irreproachable as they make themselves out to be."

"Of course. But at the end of the day, you still have a line of beautiful, clever young women dropping their handkerchiefs before you in the hopes that you'll pick it up and fall desperately in love with them, while I could've put an end to all my chances at a proper marriage due to being born with chubby fingers." She waves a gloved hand in the air to emphasize her point.

"Now you're just perjuring yourself. You don't think I noticed how your dance card was the most sought-after item all night? All of the dashing bachelors in attendance were desperate to get near you."

"Only after you kindly rescued me from certain ruin," she counters matter-of-factly.

"I did no such thing. I merely offered you the means to showcase a talent you, yourself, told me you had. The rest was all you."

"See, that's where you're mistaken, sir. It wasn't my talent that got them all suddenly interested."

He chuckles, “Are you going to tell me it was my blue eyes what had all these men sighing like school boys?”

“In a manner of speaking.”

Klaus' eyebrows draw together, a skeptical little grin dancing on his lips. “I will have to ask you to elaborate on that, please.”

“Are you quite serious? I'm surprised that one as versed in the ways of the ton as you wouldn't know that. It seems to be the most basic of rules. But perhaps you failed to notice the brawling aspect of this meticulous dance we're all doing here. The women are all fighting for a place under the sun, while the men seek the highest trophy, and it’s your interest, and your interest alone, what gives our efforts any true value. I'm not the diamond of the season, Mr. Mikaelson. I don’t even come close to a second place. Or third, for that matter. I was of no real consequence until the very moment when you - the most eligible bachelor in attendance, with all your credentials - made me the center of your attention. It's as simple as that.” She lifts one of her slender shoulders in a shrug, eyeing him dead in the eye. “They wanted me because, with your actions, you told them they should.”

Klaus is momentarily thrown by her candid exposition. Young debutantes are trained to a fault by their mamas to discuss the weather, the music, the pros and cons of a city life versus a house in the countryside and how many children they wish to have before the decade is over. The terrible injustices that follow a woman as she attempts to make a life for herself in a world that clips her wings as it tells her she can fly wherever she wants? That's certainly new. And not really something Klaus had ever spent a full second of his day giving a proper thought to, if he's to be perfectly honest. He understands how the engines of society work, of course, and he abhors all of it, which is why he makes himself as scarce as possible. He's not without sympathy, but that's as far as it goes for him. She's not wrong; he does not know what it's like for her, because it's never been the same way for him, and he hardly spends any real time considering it.

But Caroline Forbes... She doesn't just put her thoughts on such a delicate matter out with perfect eloquence, she's also completely unapologetic about it, lecturing him in a way that would no doubt be insulting to the frail masculinity of many of the gentlemen whose names are signed on her dance card. She does not care at all if before her stands what she just called the most eligible bachelor of the season, with power enough to decide whether or not she should be desirable. She's not interested in coddling him or telling him what he might want to hear. She wants to be heard instead.

Color him impressed.

"I should go back inside," she speaks after a moment. "My aunt is due to notice my absence any moment now. I just wanted to thank you properly, Mr. Mikaelson. It was most kind of you."

He smiles at her, open and sincerely. "It was my pleasure."

With a polite curtsy, she turns away and walks back towards the house, her dance card still dangling from her wrist. Before she goes in, though, she stops and whirls around on her heels once more. "You're wrong about something," she says, as though the thought just occurred to her.

"Just one thing?" he asks light-heartedly.

"You said I was perjuring myself because all of the dashing bachelors were desperate to get near me. But you're wrong."

"Oh?"

"There was one bachelor who did not try to get near me." Klaus frowns at her. "The only one who was privy to how staged and illusory that whole performance was, and therefore did not see it as a triumph the way the others did. I suppose that further proves my point." Caroline smiles as it dawns on him what she means. "Good night, Mr. Mikaelson."

She does not wait for a response, simply turns away and disappears back into the mayhem of the house. He considers giving chase, but hesitates. What would he even say? She's not technically not wrong, he didn't ask for a dance, settling from watching from the side lines instead as she spun gracefully around the room with one suitor after the other.

But she's absolutely mistaken if she thinks he didn't want to. Hell, Klaus hasn't felt this inclined to sign a bloody dance card in years.

Which is exactly why he didn't.

"Well, well, well! Even the devil enjoys a day off under the sun."

Klaus sighs wearily. It's not even noon yet. Marcellus' bright mood and pearly white teeth are too much for him to take at such an ungodly hour. There's a reason their friendship bloomed within the sanctuary of their club, where it's always night. Klaus has no tolerance for social butterflies such as Marcellus before dusk and a shot of whiskey.

"Did not expect to see you here, Marcellus," he greets his old mate flatly.

"I never expected to be here myself, but it appears that's the easiest way to find you nowadays."

"Don't be ridiculous."

"I haven't seen you at the club in a week."

"I was there last night."

"And gone before I'd even touched the ground." Marcel draws closer to him, leaning conspiratorially. "Unaccompanied, from what I heard."

"I didn't realize I was being spied on by my own brethren."

"Nothing like that. I was just worried. You haven't been yourself lately. I was afraid something terrible had come to pass." He eyes Klaus from head to toe, taking in every detail of his garment. Klaus huffs out a breath, sipping from his awfully fruity punch. "Have you been ill, by any chance?”

“My health is in perfect order, unlike my mood,” he says curtly.

“Are you aware that this is a garden party?"

“Quite.”

“And you're here willingly?”

"What poor sod who looks like me but is not me do you think you're talking to, Marcellus? Of course I'm not here willingly. I'm chaperoning my sister." Marcel chuckles, entirely too amused by Klaus' obvious suffering. "You only came here to gloat, didn't you?"

"Can you blame me? But actually - sorry, excuse me," Marcel says as he takes a glass from a passing waiter. His whole face cramps up when he takes a sip. "What horrid thing is this?"

"The drink served at my very own circle of hell, I suspect."

He shakes his head, putting down the glass on a nearby table. "No, thank you. Anyway, as I was saying. I did not come all the way here just to gloat. I could've done that at the club, at a more appropriate hour. I have to admit I was also terribly curious."

"About what?"

"You, of course. And this," he motions towards the party. "I wanted to see what all the fuss was about. It must take something quite extraordinary to sweep Klaus Mikaelson away from the shadows and back into the constraining arms of civilized society."

"Yes. The curse of an older brother with far too much power," he deadpans.

"Dry cake!" Marcel exclaims as another waiter passes by. He picks up a piece of cake, his thousand-watts smile nearly blinding with juvenile excitement. "I can see the benefits already," he speaks around a mouthful.

"Niklaus."

Klaus swears internally, shutting his eyes. The mere sound of his brother's deep voice causes an instant headache to brew in the far corner of his skull. One word, just his name, and Elijah manages to imbue it with seven shades of judgement and chastising. He wonders if the flair for being an ass is something his dear brother inherited alongside the title.

The Duke of Orleans approaches them, hands casually behind his back. "Mr. Gerard," he says, nodding towards Marcel, a smile on his face that, to anyone else, might seem perfectly polite. Klaus knows better. The steel in Elijah's dark eyes leaves nothing to the imagination.

He thinks Marcel is the reason Klaus has wandered off the path of virtue, that it was his nefarious influence that turned his little brother into a rake and a heathen. Like Klaus has ever followed anyone's lead but his own. If anything, he's the one who befouled Marcellus' mild nature. Klaus' particular brand of profanity is entirely too compelling. He never met a soul he couldn’t enchant into the dark side. His brother being completely impervious to it is how he knows there's something deeply wrong with Elijah. His brother seems to have been born with a condition that’s made him allergic to pleasure and joy.

"Your Grace," Marcel replies, bowing his head with deference. "I think I just saw an acquaintance. If you'll excuse me." In a split-second, he's gone.

Klaus snickers. "And they say I'm the temperamental one."

“I've no idea what you mean by that.”

“You scare people away with the weight of your judgement alone, Elijah.”

“I've done no such thing,” he denies in a completely disinterested tune. “How are you enjoying the party, brother?” Elijah asks conversationally, like it’s a most agreeable thing to find him here.

“Tedious but not too daunting up until the point I was accosted by you,” he says tersely, his mood souring further. “What do you want?”

"I was wondering if you've signed your name to any dance cards yet."

“Oh, Elijah,” Klaus says with mock emotion, a smirk on his lips. “Are you afraid I won’t save you a dance?”

His brother’s mouth curls into a humorless smile. “Do remember to make time for Lady Aurora.”

The derisive huff that escapes Klaus' lips is so loud people turn to look. “You cannot be serious.”

“I'm quite serious.”

“For Christ's sake, Elijah -”

“Brother,” Elijah interrupts his complaint, raising his tone above Klaus' like he used to when they were children. It made Klaus' blood boil then, and it makes his blood boil now. “Need I remind you of our conversation just the other day?”

"I recall our conversation every hour of every day, brother, thank you very much. It rings inside my head like an angel of death announcing the imminence of the apocalypse. Gives me one hellish headache that never eases away, no matter how many spirits I try to quench it with.”

“Good thing to see your foul mood has not affected your inclination for the dramatics,” Elijah remarks flippantly.

Klaus simply ignores him. “Do you sincerely see me attending a garden party on a Sunday morning if not for your abominable threat?"

Failing to notice the bite in Klaus' voice, or perhaps feeling all the prouder for it, Elijah grins. "Well, then. Make good use of your time by investing it wisely."

"In Aurora De Martel," Klaus snides.

"She's a perfectly -"

“Insufferable little pest,” he finishes for Elijah. “Are you not satisfied with having me subject myself to these ridiculous rites? Must you also choose who I will or will not set my eyes upon?”

"The issue, Niklaus, is that I do not see you setting your eyes upon anyone."

He draws in a deep sigh, heavy with exhaustion, and places a hand on his brother's shoulder, looking him in the eye with all the condescension he can muster. "Just because you married the first desperate woman who feigned a swoon in front of you, Elijah, it does not mean I must abide by the same idiocy. I'd rather take my time with my observations."

Elijah peels his hand away as though it were an insect, lips twisting with irritation. Perhaps meekness would be advisable in such circumstances; Elijah does possess the means to make Klaus' life hell in ways that will make a garden party hoarded with debutantes and their fearsome mamas feel like a delightful morning. But Klaus cannot help the satisfaction upon seeing he's touched a nerve on his ever-unflappable brother. Two can play this game.

“If you're observing, Niklaus,” Elijah continues, “then there should be no problem with keeping tabs on lady Aurora. I hear she's a lovely dancer.”

“Elijah -”

“Allow me to make myself clear, in case I stammered before. Believe me when I say that my threats are not empty ones, unlike your bravado and that ridiculous brazen attitude you sport like that makes you anything other than insufferable. I have been far too lenient with your whims, Niklaus, and I take full responsibility for how unruly you've grown, but I wouldn't test me if I were you. Or do, and see where that takes you.” He plasters a charming smile on his face, and then reaches out to fix Klaus' cravat. "Enjoy your day, brother. And do be sure to keep an eye out for Rebekah, will you? She's a trifle too over-excited with the attention she's been receiving. I'm afraid her vanity will get the best of her." He shrugs one shoulder with an air of helplessness. "She's taken an awful lot after you."

Oh, no.

Caroline feels the color draining from her face when she makes accidental eye contact with the Viscount Whitmore.

Oh no, oh no, oh no.

She was having a fantastic morning thus far - dancing, jesting, gossiping with the girls. The punch and dry cake were to die for and she'd managed to steer clear of Viscount Whitmore, artfully keeping herself out of his radar. Her performance at Lady Fell's soiree had raised her profile, for certain, but it’s given her nothing of substance so far. Two callers and a few promenades, but no promises. No beautiful bouquets to mark real intentions and crack her aunt's steadfast determination. The Countess remains convinced Alaric Saltzman is Caroline's best option and unless her tides begin to change soon, she's afraid she will end up betrothed to the man whether she wants to or not.

The idea of being left in his company for even so much as a single dance has been giving her night terrors. It's all he'd need in order to make an official proposal. All it’d take for her life to be over. Her aunt will never allow her to say no. The clock is ticking frighteningly fast.

"Are you all right, Caroline?" Bonnie asks, full of concern.

“Saints! You look like you’re about to faint,” Elena adds. “Do you want to sit down?”

"What?" she blinks back to the two girls. They were taking a break after a round of dancing to recover - their feet more so than their breaths. The three had their heads bent together, chuckling as they criticized their partners' skills. Silly business, for certain, but no less entertaining for it. It's good to disconnect from responsibilities and just enjoy herself from time to time, pretending as though not everything is a competition.

But one second of distraction, one single moment when she let herself go, and there he is - and oh, Lord, now he's crossing the garden towards her, he's going to ask her to dance, he's going to –

Panic wrenches her stomach up into her mouth.

No. She cannot give the man a chance to use the wretched words.

"I think I need some air. Excuse me for a moment," she says hurriedly, already grabbing her skirts as she turns away to make a hasty exit.

Caroline speeds across the garden, no destination in mind, heart pounding manically as she looks for an escape like a mouse running from a feral cat.

Luckily, the Lockwood's residence is formidably large. The garden alone is almost as big as the entire Forbes estate. It doesn't take long for her to get lost in the maze of well-manicured lawns and trees. But it's not enough to shield her from Alaric Saltzman. Getting caught by herself would be even worse than having to dance with that man again. Lord knows the horrors he could claim in order to ensure a matrimony.

After turning a corner around the main house, Caroline's salvation appears like the gates of heaven materializing before her: a hedge maze, tall enough to conceal her completely.

She doesn't even think before running into it.

It's not a very big one, or particularly tricky. She only turns a few lefts before she spots the center, where a beautiful fountain gushes clean water. Perfection if she's ever seen it.

When she steps out of the hedge corridor, however, she is surprised to see she’s not the only one there.

"Oh," she exclaims, halting to a stop. “You again.”

Lord Niklaus Mikaelson lifts his head from where he's sitting on a marble bench, legs stretched before him, crossed at the ankles. He blinks at her, stunned with surprise before a spark of amusement lights up his eyes, lips drawing into his trademark boyish smile that is far too charming than it has any right to be.

“Miss Forbes,” he drawls, sounding entirely too pleased to see her. “I'm starting to think these run-ins aren't accidental.”

She huffs out, half in indignation at his suggestion, half in irritation at herself. Why does she keep getting caught by him at the worst possible moments? “I didn't realize you were here, Lord Mikaelson. Forgive me.”

She swirls around, ready to leave, but he shoots out of his seat. "Please, Miss Forbes," he calls out to her. "I'm sorry. It was a tasteless joke." Caroline stops, casting him a harsh glance from over her shoulder. "I sometimes forget my sense of humor can be rather inappropriate. I would never make such a boorish presumption about your spotless reputation. You don't have to leave. There's enough room for the two of us."

Caroline harrumphs, finally turning back to him. The fact there's enough room for two there would mean absolutely nothing if anyone was to find them alone and together in such a secluded area. But she quickly weighs the risk of getting caught against the idea of going back outside and running straight into Alaric Saltzman, and decides to take her chances. At least for a little while.

“Very well,” she says magnanimously. “I suppose we can share.”

Klaus keeps his eyes on her as she makes her way to the fountain, the soothing sound of the water helping to even out her breath.

“Were you running from someone?” he asks after a beat.

“Whyever would you think that?”

"Well, you did seem in an awful hurry."

"I wasn't running," she denies it with a pointed look. "Just... Employing some careful avoidance."

Klaus grins, clasping his hands primly behind his back. She can't help but notice how handsome he looks today. The well-tailored daywear suits him, the blue of his cut-away coat matching his eyes almost exactly. Under the sunlight, his hair looks golden instead of a dirty light brown. Reputation aside, the man is a sight, to be certain.

Caroline whips her face away from him, distracting herself with watching the fountain.

"And who's the impertinent git, if you don't mind me asking?"

Caroline hesitates. "The Viscount Whitmore," she grumbles under her breath.

“Alaric Saltzman? You poor thing. I do not blame you one bit,” Klaus exclaims in a disbelieved and slightly scandalized tune that makes Caroline feel reassured. Sometimes she wonders if she isn't being too picky, or too ambitious, or perhaps even unfair to Mr. Saltzman. He's been perfectly nice to her, if terribly boring, in their few interactions - the ones she couldn’t help. But whenever she mentions his name, people eye her with such pity that she is convinced she's not being fickle in trying so desperately to escape him.

"What about you?" she turns the question on to him.

"What about me?"

"You're hiding again, are you not? Who is it?"

Klaus chuckles, looking down at his feet as he kicks a pebble. "The two most gruesome monsters on the face of earth, I'm afraid."

"Oh?" Caroline turns to face him, curiosity piqued. "Do tell."

"My dear brother and mothers."

"Mothers?"

"They're vicious, aren't they? I've known wrestlers who would have nothing on some of those mamas."

Caroline laughs. "You're too harsh, sir. They're just trying to do right by their daughters."

"By marrying them to me?" Klaus scoffs. "Do they know me at all?"

Good point, she thinks. Although she can see exactly why the mamas would insist on a rake such as Niklaus Mikaelson against anyone's better judgement. It's very hard to connect this charming man with a boyish smile to the reputation that precedes him. It's almost like the two cannot coexist in one same person. But all they need to do is look closer and it becomes clear as daylight. The man has a wicked twinkle in his eyes.

"They know your name," Caroline offers instead of revealing her less than flattering thoughts. "And your family. I suppose that's all they need."

"The silly fools think one of their daughters will set me straight," he speaks with derision as he walks towards the fountain, keeping an appropriate distance between them.

"Are you saying you’re beyond any hope?"

"More like I am not looking to be straightened."

"If that's the case, then why are you here at all?"

"Ah. That would be the first monster's doing."

"The Duke?"

"It appears my esteemed brother grew bored with his own life, so now he's decided to terrorize mine for sport." Bitterness bleeds into Klaus' voice. Caroline can hear all the shades of familial turmoil there, not quite able to help how eager to know more it makes her. But before she can inquire further, he moves on. "But you have your own monster, it seems. The Grim Reaper himself."

She laughs at the nickname, and then clamps a hand over her mouth in reproach. "Oh, but it's not funny."

"Then stop laughing." Caroline widens her eyes, forcing her lips to stay closed until the surge of humor goes away. Klaus smiles brightly at her, much entertained by her struggle. "Can't you just spell it out to the poor man that he hasn't got a chance?"

And just like that, her good mood all but vanishes. "That's the problem."

"How so?"

"It appears he does have a chance. A good one, I'd wager."

Klaus frowns. "Are you going to tell me you're actually attracted to that old ghoul?"

"I'm very much not!" she counters with indignation. "It's not my design. He's a good friend of my aunt's. Very dear to her, in fact. She favors the union, obviously. If she were to have her way, I would be engaged to be married already."

"Good grace, Miss Forbes. Does your aunt loathe you so that she would shove you into the arms of Alaric Saltzman? The man is a walking cautionary tale."

"She thinks he's just been stricken with bad luck."

“One lost wife is a tragedy. Two is bad luck. Three is a pattern.”

"That's exactly what I said! And even if it is all a terrible coincidence, I do not look forward to being the fourth victim of his misfortunes. But the point remains that I might not have a choice."

"Are you trying to say you haven't a line bending around the corner of your aunt's house?"

Caroline pins him under a glare. "Do not mock me."

"I'm not. I'd be sincerely baffled if that's not the case."

She averts the honesty in his gaze, unsure of whether to feel flattered by his compliment or embarrassed that he's so wrong. "So far, I've only received a couple of gentlemen callers, and neither of them seemed very serious about it," she admits in a small voice. "Mr. Saltzman is the only one who's expressed any intentions."

"That's not right at all. What's wrong with this season's bachelors?"

"Better prospects," she offers with a sad smile. "More generous dowries."

"Dowries," he spits out the word as though it were a curse. It reminds her of their first conversation, when they bonded over their mutual distaste for society's retrograde rules.

It's funny how comfortable she feels to just speak her mind around him. Something about him invites her to freedom of opinion in ways that are not common, not even among some of the other girls. Perhaps it's his unorthodox lifestyle, which implies a natural disregard for norms, but more likely it's how he never seems to be judging her, scrutinizing her behavior, putting every single thing that comes out of her mouth into a column of pros and cons in order to decide how suitable she is.

He doesn't want to be here, he said it himself, the incessant attention he receives wherever he goes clearly unwanted. It's most obvious the prospect of taking a wife is not one that pleases him, at least not in any traditional fashion, by signing his name on dance cards and fawning over young ladies like a peacock. This creates a mutual understanding between them, and opens them up for honesty. She doesn't have to pretend; he doesn't have to act like he cares about her excessive opinions and lack of manners.

It's... Different. Nice. Leaves Caroline oddly at ease. Not having to be perfectly amenable and adulatory to his manly ego is so freeing.

She wonders if he feels the same way, or if he’s just better than most at hiding his true thoughts, bad-mouthing her behind her back to the rest of the ton during brunch at his gentleman’s club.

"Why won't your aunt simply allow you to wait for a better proposal?" he asks.

"Because it might not come. I must marry in my first season, or else I'm to return home. That was the agreement. It was hard enough to convince my father to let me come here at all. He's got plans of his own for me. So, you see..." She smiles despondently at him, feeling a prick of emotion deep in her chest. Saying these things out loud gives them contours of reality, making them all the more daunting for it. "My hands are tied."

Klaus goes quiet for a moment, the lines on his forehead sinking deeper with a thought. And then all of a sudden, it's as though a light shines above his head, expression brightening up as an idea clearly takes shape in his mind.

"What?" Caroline asks with a strange frown.

"Miss Forbes... How would you feel about a deal?"

"What are you talking about?"

"A deal that will benefit us both. A union that just might be the answer to both our woes."

Caroline chokes. Did he just say union? "I beg your pardon?"

"You see, my brother is blackmailing me into finding a bride, which, in case it hasn't become abundantly clear by now, I have no intention whatsoever to do. You need to find a better candidate than Lord Whitmore. It seems to me that our interests are perfectly aligned."

"I'm sorry, my lord. I'm not sure I'm following."

"You said it yourself the other night, Miss Forbes. Where one suitor goes, the others soon follow. If I am perceived to be courting you, you will have the eyes of the ton, while I will get my brother off my back. I become unavailable, and you become desirable."

The toothy smile he gives her is both dazzling and slightly mad. He clearly thinks he's found the holy grail with that proposition. And while Caroline cannot deny that it gives her pause, she's not entirely convinced.

"That would take a lot of investment on our parts," she counters with skepticism. "I mean, you would have to really court me as if you mean it."

"Yes, of course."

"And you don't mind that?"

"Not at all. It's not real, and we both know it, which makes it perfect. Besides, I can't think of a better partner in crime."

"I suppose you think it should flatter me that you wouldn't be completely miserable being forced to spend time with me in fake courtship," she chides.

"Let's put it this way. I'm a terrible prospect, definitely not husband material... But aren't I fun to converse with?"

Caroline huffs out a short laugh, shaking her head at his shamelessness. The fact she can't deny it just makes it all the worse. Still, she remains unimpressed.

"How does it get resolved?" she inquires.

"It’s quite simple, really. You will have an array of suitors to choose from and, once you find a decent match for a husband, I will bawl my eyes out before my brother and become so heartbroken I will refuse to choose another wife. Elijah may be practical, but he's also a hopeless romantic at heart. He'll know I tried and won't be able to fault me for it, while you will be married to someone of your own choosing."

He punctuates his exposition with a self-satisfied grin. How he managed to come up with such an intricate machination in a matter of seconds is just beyond any comprehension. What he's suggesting is that they fool not only his brother, one of the most powerful men in the whole country, and her aunt, one of the sharpest minds to have ever lived, but also the entire genteel society of London, including the Queen herself. It’s a ruse for the ages. The design of a wicked mind, indeed.

"That is absurd,” she says matter-of-factly.

"That's one word for it," he agrees. "Brilliant is another."

"You overpraise yourself, sir."

"Oh, you have no idea," he concedes unapologetically. "Join me and you'll know just how excessive my ego can be. I assure you; it will be a wonderful pastime while you wait around for a decent fella to come your way. If there’s one thing no one can accuse me of is of being boring."

Caroline bites on her lower lip, one foot tapping nervously on the pebbled ground as she tries to list all the ways this is a terrible idea. Klaus is far too persuasive for a man of such ill repute, and that's precisely what makes her so reticent. But she cannot deny the offer has her moved.

And then Klaus goes for her jugular, sealing the deal with the most compelling of arguments: "Would you rather have the Grim Reaper filling out your dance cards instead?"

“Oh, you're a devil!” she relents. “Fine!”

He smiles brightly at her. “We have a deal?”

“To hell with it. Yes, we have a deal.”

“Mademoiselle…” Klaus walks up to her, taking her hand and lifting it up to his lips. He keeps his eyes fixed on hers as his mouth brushes her knuckles ever so lightly. Caroline swallows hard, heat rising in her neck. "I promise you will not regret this."

"I better not," she pulls her hand away. "You should know you're not the only one with a temper. And I am not afraid to use it."

"I'm well aware. I've been burned by the sharp side of your tongue quite a few times already."

"Then you must do better if you aim to convince anyone of our - courtship," she admonishes, tripping over the last word.

Is this really happening, then? Little old her is about to become the sole attention of the most eligible bachelor of the season?

"I shall endeavor to," he says, and then puts his arm out to her. "Shall we return, then? I believe a few dances is a good place to start."

"You'll have to act like you're enchanted," she speaks very solemnly. "Like I'm the most beautiful thing you've ever seen. Can you do that?"

Klaus' impish smile softens, something undecipherable crossing his eyes. "That won't be a problem at all."

Gingerly, Caroline puts a hand on the crook of his elbow. "Very well, then. A few dances. Just to start."

"Just to start."

TBC

Chapter Text

Klaus stirs as sunlight streams into his room, poking him out of sleep. He left his curtains open for that very reason, not wanting to oversleep and risk missing his appointment, but already he regrets it. There’s a pounding headache mounting at the back of his skull. He should've held back on the drinking the night before.

This life of early-rising social butterfly does not agree with him at all.

Klaus starts kicking his covers away and ends up hitting something hard. There's a loud grunt, and then someone rolls over beside him. He curses under his breath. For a second he'd forgotten he'd brought company home from the club. This is way too early for so many regrets. It usually takes him at least until sundown to start questioning his life choices so vehemently.

He sits up against the headboard, rubbing his eyes as sleep gives way to a spiky mood. The woman beside him is petite, a mess of light brown hair spread across his pillow. He remembered her being blonder. He was really drunk last night.

Klaus never meant to end the night with anyone, at least not back at his place. It's astounding, but he was actually looking forward to this morning's appointment, wanted to make sure he'd be at his sharpest, and the exertion and lethargy that comes with a long night of intemperance leaves him feeling like death if he's made to rise too early. He's a man of the night and the night lives in him. But then one thing led to another, and before he realized it, she was pulling her skirts up and settling down on his lap and, well... He may be a devil at heart, but his body is still only human, with very human needs.

It had been a long time, practically an eternity by his own standards. He does not reckon he’d ever gone for long without a lovely pair of lips wrapped around his manhood or writhing in his bed in his adult life. He doesn't know what kind of malady befell him, but he'd been finding himself utterly uninterested. People were starting to talk, and Klaus has a reputation to uphold.

The previous evening is a bit of a haze, but he thought there had been something about the woman that left him utterly unable to resist her. Looking closely now, he cannot remember what it was. She's handsome, he supposes. But most of them are.

He could swear she was blonder.

"Greta!" he growls for his maid. The strange woman grunts in complaint, burying her face under the covers. "Time to wake up, sweetheart, the party is over," Klaus snaps.

"Up already sir?" Greta asks as she appears at the doorway. "It's still early."

"Indeed. Terribly so." He climbs out of bed, covers slipping away as he stands up. Greta doesn't even blink at his nudity. She's used to her boss' uninhibited ways by now - and more than a little intimate with the sight herself. “I need a bath,” he instructs. “Can you see this one out?”

"Don't I always?" she snides. "May I ask where you're going, sir?"

Klaus throws his robe over his shoulders, tying the knot around his waist. "Promenading."

"How about Stefan?" Caroline asks as they stroll across Hyde Park.

It's a lovely day, warm sunlight gracing yet another summer morning in London, and it seems everyone has decided to come out to enjoy the weather. The proud smile on Caroline's face is not by chance; if there was ever a time to be noticed in the company of Klaus Mikaelson, it's today.

She had her doubts over how committed he truly was to their agreement, even considered the possibility that he might not show up, in spite of the flowers that accompanied the invitation. This whole thing still strikes her as such a ludicrous idea, half of her is just waiting to find out it has been a practical joke on his part. And it would come as no surprise, too, considering some of the things she’s heard whispered about him.

And yet, when she arrived at the park with her aunt, there he was, looking dashing and proper in a summer jacket, those cheeky dimples already on show, with an elegant bouquet of fresh flowers to mollify the Countess' humor - it didn't work, but it was a nice touch.

Aunt Liz drills holes onto their backs as she lags behind, pretending to give them some modicum of privacy to talk whilst making sure her presence is sorely felt. But not even that is enough to dampen Caroline's excitement.

She has been offering him updates on how things have been going on her side, while he gives her his rather caustic opinion on the gentlemen who have started calling on her since that day at the Lockwood's garden party. She welcomes his honesty, but so far it seems as though it’s to be taken with a grain of salt. He more or less loathes absolutely everyone. She'd be annoyed if his running commentary wasn't so amusing. Stefan's name, however, provokes a different reaction.

Klaus' mouth draws into an appreciative smile, and the way he repeats the man's name makes Caroline think he doesn't completely hate him. It instantly piques her interest.

"Prominent family," Klaus starts. "Brooding hero type. Lots of... Hair."

“He does have exquisite hair,” she agrees with a chuckle.

"Excellent kisser as well," he speaks lowly, casting a quick glance at her aunt to make sure she's out of earshot. "There's a thing he does with his tongue -"

"What?!” Caroline practically screams, clamping a hand over her mouth.

"Shhhhh," he quiets her. "Sweetheart, please. Discretion is the name of my business."

"Stefan goes to your club?" she whispers conspiratorially. The details of Klaus' businesses are as mysterious as the man himself, but the ton is definitely not lacking in rumors. She's done her due diligence and spoke to some friends about him, pretending to be interested merely because he'd asked her to dance. She heard all sorts of things, almost all of them too outrageous to be repeated out loud. When she shared some of those rumors with Klaus to test its veracity, he simply laughed, not at all concerned for the kind of fame he'd built for himself. It made it even harder to tell fact from fiction. He's more than willing to entertain whatever gossip people might want to slap on him, be it real or not. The worse, the better.

On her part, Caroline's not too bothered. His status more than makes up for any wrinkles his reputation might create. He's not a murderer - not that anyone knows, anyway -, has no debt to his name, and his only vices seem to be the usual: drinks, cards and... well. The vulgar bits are none of her concern. Men and their habits. It's not like she's to be wedded to him, anyway.

“Not lately, no,” he offers earnestly. “But he was a regular for a while.”

"And -" she makes a quick pause when they walk by two women who smile and nod graciously towards Klaus, waiting for them to be a good way behind before continuing. "You and him...?" Klaus smirks. Caroline chuckles, feeling a sudden heat creeping up her neck. "Goodness. That's... Something."

There's a part of Caroline that feels she ought to be more scandalized, but she cannot help but admire how unapologetically himself Klaus is. His sincerity, however shocking, is so refreshing amid the sea of superficial and practiced conversations she faces every day in her social life. His own lack of restraint rubs off on her, makes her feel freer as well. If not in any practical terms, then at least to fully express her mind - which, all things considered, is not nothing.

"Does it bother you?" he asks gently.

"I suppose bother is not exactly the word."

"Are you offended, then?"

"Why would I be offended?"

"I believe most virtuous young ladies would claim to be. Their delicate sensibilities cannot stand such vulgarities."

"Please,” she scoffs. “What you do in private is your business only and no one else's. It takes a lot worse than that to insult my sensibilities. Like that hat, for instance," she says, and then discreetly bobs her head towards a woman wearing a hefty summer hat in bright purple, decorated with a multitude of feathers and what appears to be an egg of some sort. "That should be outlawed."

Klaus laughs, such a rich and open sound that Caroline finds herself joining him. "Indeed," he agrees. “Although I don't think I'm in a position to be judging anyone just for being themselves.”

Caroline hums under her breath. "Now you're making me sound like a hypocrite."

"Hardly. You state no lies; that hat is indeed hideous. I just appreciate the fact she is so open about her singularities. It’s a warning sign, so I know never to be associated with someone with such dreadful taste. If only everyone was like that."

"That makes me feel even worse."

"Why?"

"You rescued me from offering a piano performance I was bound to destroy just to be agreeable. I'm afraid I am guilty of hiding my true colors."

"Politeness and deceit are two entirely different things. I should know. I am an expert at the second and a disaster at the first."

"I must disagree. I find you to be rather honest, sir."

"With you, perhaps. More often than not, I am merely rude and straightforward, and that's often mistaken for honesty. But I could say the same about you. Your colors are bright and clear, my lady," Klaus says with an easy half-smile that feels as private as it is warm. "If only one bothers to truly look."

Caroline smiles in return. "So..." she continues. "Is that why you don't wish to get married? Because you are..." She pauses, considering the right words. "Not fond of the ladies?"

"Oh, I am very fond of ladies. Deeply, deeply fond of them."

Caroline gives him an admonishing look. "If you're trying to get a blush out of me, you'll have to try harder."

Klaus' eyes glint with amusement. "Not easily vexed, are you?"

"Not by cheap taunting, no," she replies.

“Well, I do enjoy a challenge. Give me time. I shall put some color on your lovely countenance.”

She rolls her eyes at him with humor. “So, you were saying?”

"I do not discriminate when it comes to pleasure. It seems rather pointless to limit myself. Life is too short."

"And Stefan? Does he feel the same way?"

"I think he's more of an adventurer. Trying to feel something, shock some thrill into his dull life," Klaus says with a judgmental twist of his lips. "But his sad little heart has always belonged to Elena Gilbert, I’m afraid"

"That truly is sad. She seems more inclined towards his brother's advances."

"Damon Salvatore," Klaus practically spits out the name. "What a crook."

"Does he also -"

"In his dreams!" Klaus derides. "And not for lack of trying. That insufferable brat did everything to get into my club, but I never allowed him. Can't stand that sodden rat."

"Well, considering some of the things people say about some of your close friends, the fact you dislike Damon speaks volumes."

"I don't understand what you mean." Klaus' eyebrows knit into a look of mock-hurt. "I'm an excellent judge of character. I, for one, am awful."

She laughs. "Awful is a strong word, my lord. More like… Authentic."

"Authentic!" he parrots with delight. "That is a new adjective on my list. You are most kind, my lady. Do you mind saying that again when my brother is near?"

"Because the opinion of a countryside girl is bound to sway the Duke of Orleans?"

"Not at all. The Pope couldn't sway the Duke of Orleans' thick head, love. It's nothing personal. But the look on his face would be priceless."

She bites back on a grin, shaking her head. "Do keep me out of your feuds, will you? I do not wish to get on the Duke's bad side."

"Don't sell yourself so short, sweetheart. I doubt even my embittered brother could resist your charms," Klaus says, his eyes landing softly on hers. Caroline's heart skips an unexpected beat, and then she has to look away.

"Back to my problem," she starts again, changing the subject. "I suppose that means Stefan is out of the race, then."

"Because of me? I'm not jealous."

“Your ego! No, not because of you. Because of Elena. If he's in love with her, I feel sorry for whoever ends up marrying him. I can't imagine anything worse than living in the shadows of a broken heart.”

"That's sweet, love," Klaus derides. "The countryside girl in you is showing."

"Does it make me provincial that I do not wish to marry someone who's already in love with another?"

"You think marriage is based on love?" he challenges.

"You sound like my aunt now."

"Your aunt is renowned for her wisdom."

"You should know she is deeply against your courtship."

"Like I said, she is wise. I doubt the soundness of the mamas who want their daughters to marry me."

"She can't hear you, you know. Flattery will take you nowhere. She has bad hearing."

He huffs out a breathy laugh. "Look, here's what I know. Marriage is a social contract. A business transaction if you will, same as any other. My advice to you is to lower your expectations and be more skeptical if you plan on making a good match."

"You don't believe people can marry for love?"

"I believe people can marry for all sorts of reasons. But the ideal of a love match is a fairy tale. Some pretty story made up, no doubt to keep women pliant and hopeful and lift men up on their pedestals. It's not what real life is like."

"Forgive me for being blunt, but you sound bitter, sir."

"Perhaps I am. But that's just the real world, love. Bitter and hard."

"My parents married for love," she counters.

"Ahh, the life in the countryside… So bucolic, inspiring the hearts of poets."

"Don't mock me," she chides. "I'm not some gullible little child. You offer your bleak and grim view, I offer another. I grew up in a loving home, with parents who deeply cared for each other as man and woman as well as husband and wife, until the day my mother died. And they were very happy together. I don't think it's asking too much to expect that my own husband will care for me the same way."

"And what way is that?"

"With respect, above all. Like an equal. Someone who will appreciate me with all my quirks and flaws, who will want to hear my thoughts, who will value my opinions, and take me seriously. Not a man who will bury me in a closet like an old broom or parade me about as though I were a prize horse. I want a husband to share a life with, in every aspect. Someone I can be grateful for every single day, and who will feel the same way about me."

Klaus gives her a long look, his blue eyes unreadable. "Notice how you didn't say the word love."

"What is love if not what I just described?" she retorts. "See, that’s where you’re mistaken. Your whole conception of love is wrong, so no doubt you don’t believe it. It doesn't have to be a big epiphany, you know. It can be... Simple and quiet. Just… Longing to be with someone, feeling like you’ve found your place in the world when you’re with them. You can't tell me you've never felt it. That craving that hits you out of nowhere in the middle of the night, that makes your chest tight with how much you need someone? It dominates your thoughts, makes your heart race and your palms sweat and makes you think you're dying."

"Oh, I've felt it," he says tonelessly. "It's called a fever."

"God, I want to shake you for being so skeptical!" she says around a laugh.

"If you wish to touch me, sweetheart, by all means. You're more than welcome to. Though I’m not sure the Countess would approve of it." Klaus flashes her an insolent pair of dimples, unrepentant.

"I take back what I said. You are awful! I'll make sure to write a note to your brother."

"Miss Forbes." They were so caught up in their banter Caroline didn't notice the man who'd approached them. Matthew Donovan, a lovely young gentleman with the kindest smile she's ever seen, is suddenly standing right before her, lifting his hat as he bows his head respectfully.

"Lord Donovan," she greets him with a polite curtsy. "Forgive me, I did not see you."

"That's quite all right, you seemed rather engaged in conversation.” He casts a look towards Klaus that lacks all the warmth he’d shown her. "Lord Mikaelson," he says in a distinctively colder tone. Klaus merely nods. "You look lovely this morning, Miss Forbes."

"Thank you, that's most kind."

"I hope to see you at my mother's ball. I do believe you got the invitation?"

"Yes, I did. As well as the flowers. They were beautiful, sir."

"Only fitting, seeing as they were for you."

Caroline's smile broadens, her cheeks burning under the young man's appreciative gaze. She doesn't even know what to do with that kind of attention. Is this what Elena Gilbert feels like every day?

"Well, I'll see you then, Miss Forbes."

With a nod, Matthew excuses himself and continues on his way. Caroline can barely contain her giddiness.

"Lovely chap," Klaus says sourly.

"Don't tell me there's something wrong with him, too."

"Then I won't."

"I'm starting to think it's not the others who are faulty, it's you who are too demanding."

"You say that like it's a bad thing to have standards."

"Lord Donovan is a perfectly fine gentleman."

"Fine is indeed a good word. Like cold chicken soup or soft rain. Endurable."

"Oh, stop it," she slaps his arm lightly.

“You’re the one who’s trying to find a husband, not me. I’m merely trying to help.”

“Six balls, then. No, eight!”

He blinks at her. "What?"

"For our agreement. Eight balls. And the grand picnic, of course."

"Eight? The purpose of our arrangement was so that I could avoid being exposed to the crazed mothers as much as possible."

"No, the purpose of our arrangement is so that I might find a suitable husband in my very first season."

"I suppose we each have our own point of view."

"Precisely. And if we're to make this work, we need to be committed to each other as well as to ourselves."

He grunts. "Five. That's my best offer."

"Six. And then we reevaluate."

"You're a terrible negotiator, has anyone ever told you that?"

"Not really," she replies with a candid smile. "I'm used to getting what I want."

Klaus' lips tug into an amused smile, like he cannot help it. "Six," he continues. "But no picnic."

"We'll see. Oh, and you must send flowers again! The ones you sent today started a competition, did you know?"

"Did they, now?"

"Yes! I feel I might get something special tomorrow. So you must keep it up and convince everyone of your determination."

"Do you enjoy feeling like you're being auctioned to the highest bidder?"

"When the bidders are all young, handsome gentlemen trying desperately to win my affections, yes, very much so," she replies shamelessly.

"I do not understand what the flowers are supposed to achieve in the grand scheme of things."

"It's a show of interest. It means you're thinking about me," she explains. "That's romance, my lord. Have you heard of it?"

"Once or twice, many years ago."

"Of course," she chuckles. "And anyway, you would send me flowers if you were courting me, so it would be strange if you didn't."

"If I were courting you, Miss Forbes, I wouldn't need to send you flowers." Klaus leans in closer, his eyes twinkling with malice as he speaks only above a whisper. "If I caught you alone for five minutes in your drawing room, that would seal the deal."

Caroline's breath falters as she swallows down hard, heat rising in her chest.

"Eight balls and a picnic," she blurts out, facing away from him and hoping he didn't catch the flame blushing her cheeks.

"Very well," he relents, though he sounds way more pleased with himself than he should after losing the argument. "Have it your way."

Klaus checks his pocket watch, twisting his lips at the hour. Not even midnight yet and already he's done for the evening. This business with Miss Forbes is making him soft. If he doesn't watch himself, he'll soon turn into his worst nightmare: Elijah.

It was a bland night at the club, anyway. Not too many interesting faces, some ghastly hands in poker and Marcel smirking at him from across the room as though he was in on a joke Klaus wasn’t privy to. He didn't have nearly enough to drink to stand his best mate's nonsense, so before his mood began to sour further, Klaus decided to take his leave.

They need to have some discussions about the future of the club. If Klaus himself is starting to grow bored, they must be doing something wrong. Maybe it's time to bring in some new members to liven the place up and add some novelty. Klaus has seen those faces a thousand times already, been with most of them more times than he cares to count. It's all perfectly fine, but it does get old, doesn't it? His appetite never seems to be quite satiated lately. Nothing ever seems to touch on what he truly seeks.

That unfulfilled and elusive need leaves him awfully vexed. Klaus Mikaelson does not know what it's like to be denied. If he wants something, he usually gets it. The world has always been laid out at his feet, and he has unabashedly indulged in all it has to offer. All of a sudden, however, Klaus finds himself chasing something he can't quite name. Something that does not seem to belong inside the mayhem of his beloved club. Like that’s no longer enough.

He must be getting old. It's a tragedy, really.

As he makes his way towards St. James' Square to hire a cab home, quick footsteps echo loudly in the empty street.

"Mikaelson!" a man calls out to him.

Klaus grunts an exhale. It's not uncommon for some angry husband or a sore loser to come chasing after him. Usually, he finds it amusing. Often even encourages it - it's a wonderful way to blow off some steam. Tonight, however, he's just not in the mood. Klaus merely rolls his eyes, ready to dismiss the poor bastard with a string of insults that will crush his ego just as mightily as a right hook would. But when he whips around, he’s hit cold with surprise.

"Whitmore." It winds up as a question. Alaric Saltzman has good many vices - getting rid of his wives like the plague and being awfully boring, to name a couple - but gaming hells and sex clubs have never been among them. Klaus does not recall ever seeing him around the neighborhood, where gentlemen clubs and late-night activity prosper. "Have you been stalking me?"

"Not quite," the man replies tersely, pulling on his jacket and sticking his chin out as though bracing himself for confrontation.

"Then what do you want?"

"I am here to tell you to leave Caroline Forbes alone."

Klaus nearly chokes on a laugh. "I beg your pardon?"

"You heard me. I had everything settled with her aunt, was merely waiting for an appropriate time to make the official proposal. It was all but done. Now you've come and spoiled everything. You do not need her, Mikaelson."

“I do not know what nonsense you are yapping about, Whitmore, but today is not a good day.”

"You are the brother of a Duke," Alaric continues, unaffected. "There's an infinite line of young women throwing themselves at you. Women, in fact, of much higher caliber than Caroline Forbes, who's but the daughter of a poor baronet. Let us come to an understanding as gentlemen. Pick someone else, anyone else, and leave Caroline alone."

Heat spurts into Klaus' veins like poison, sending his blood to a sudden boil. He can't tell what about the other man's speech knifes through the last remnants of good mood Klaus still had in him: if the way he speaks about Miss Forbes as though she were a property he'd claimed for himself, or the absolute disdain with which he refers to her status.

"I am not in the business of having understandings with pathetic men," Klaus hisses dangerously. "Go home to weep in your own bed, man. At least it's warmer."

"Why can't you just let me have her?!" he demands like a whiny child throwing a tantrum. "I took notice of her first! When no one else did!"

"I understand this might be too much to ask of you, Whitmore, but have some self-respect, will you? If Miss Forbes wished to marry you, she would've made that clear by now, with how suffocating you have been. Perhaps she's too polite to be straightforward, so let me spell it out to you, shall I? She does not want you," Klaus speaks in a slow, clipped tone, each word spat out coated in vileness. "Accept it and move on while you still have some dignity left."

Klaus makes to move away, but just as hopeless as he is to take a hint from the way Caroline hides from him as though he were the devil himself, Alaric seems incapable of realizing he is about to get a right beating if he does not cease to test Klaus' nonexistent patience.

"Why haven't you asked for her hand yet, then? If you're so besotted and she is so smitten, why haven't you sealed the deal?"

"What I do or do not do is none of your business."

"Unless you've already had her," Alaric shoots as Klaus turns away again. "That would be very much like you, wouldn't it? Wooing an innocent girl into your filthy web in order to deflower her, all for the sake of conquest. Everyone knows about your antics. Your brother's good name alone is not enough to clear your rotten reputation. Although if that is the case, then you must tell me. She is not fit to be my wife."

"Stop talking," Klaus grits out, violence mounting fast inside of him, begging to be unleashed.

"If I knew her to be damaged or impure, I would have never -"

"I said, stop talking!" he snarls as he whips around to face Alaric Saltzman, white hot rage expanding to fill every inch of his being. "Shut your mouth right now, Whitmore! Say whatever you will of me, I do not care for the opinions of low-lives such as yourself. But I will not allow you to cast doubt over Miss Forbes' unimpeachable honor. Do you understand me? You are a pathetic little man and she is far too good for you. You do not deserve to even breathe the same air as her."

"And you do?" Alaric bites back. "With the kind of monstrosity you sponsor behind the disreputable doors of your club. I do have to wonder what it says about a woman's character that she would fall prey to your depraved ways so easily. Perhaps you two deserve each other, after all. Miss Forbes is not the lady I believed her to be."

Klaus is a man possessed once the dam breaks. Something happens to him that goes far beyond the limits of a common disagreement. It's black anger, which consumes him like a fever.

He's barely aware of what he's doing before his fist connects to Alaric's chin, sending the man tumbling to the ground at once. The pitiful sound that escapes the viscount's mouth is not enough to bring forth his reason or his mercy, and neither is the pain that explodes on his own knuckles. One punch is not enough to put a leash on his rage. Klaus does it again, and again, and again, until Alaric's face is all covered in blood, a barely discernible bruised mess, one eye already swollen shut. It takes no time at all before Alaric can barely hold his head up, his body limp in Klaus' grip.

He grabs a fistful of Alaric’s shirt, pulling him close until he's breathing fire on the other man’s face. The Viscount moans something that sounds like please, or maybe mercy. Klaus cannot tell, nor does he care to try.

“You are right about one thing and one thing only,” he hisses venomously at Alaric's face. "I am no saint, nor have I ever claimed to be. You would've done well to ask around before accosting me with your absurd claims, mate. My club is not the only temple of vice I frequent, you see. I'm also quite fond of brawling, and I'm always looking for an excuse to punch the soul out of some miserable sod with too highly an opinion of himself." He gives Alaric one violent shake. "Speak her name again, show your disgraceful face in front of her, and you will be hearing from me. And believe me when I say you do not wish to find out how rotten I can truly be."

At last, Klaus shoves Alaric away, letting him drop to the floor like a sack of flour. His whole face twists with revulsion; he can barely stand to look at the man and keep his anger at bay.

This rodent was poised to destroy Caroline's reputation, start a petty rumor that would likely tarnish her name forever, leaving her with no choice but to accept his filthy advances. Klaus will not stand for that. Now, if ever it comes to his ears a single ill word about Caroline's virtue, he'll know exactly where it started - and who to blame for it.

"Now go home, Whitmore. And do not bother me again," he commands, retrieving a handkerchief from his pocket to wrap around his own bloody fist.

This will hurt like seven hells come morning, but it’s more than worth it.

Caroline's dreadfully boring evening brightens up in the space of a second when she spots Lord Mikaelson cutting through the ballroom towards her.

Thank God, she thinks, mouth curling into a relieved smile. Finally, someone to keep her entertained. For all his good looks and faultless manners, Lord Donovan cannot carry a conversation to save his life. He's still pleasant to be gazed upon, not unlike a fine painting or a nice vase. But much like both, it gets tiresome rather fast. Klaus would likely scold her for the comparison, art snob as he is. It's one of his favorite subjects to discuss, right after acidic society gossip. And he's equally knowledgeable on both.

Truth be told, he's managed to capture her attention in ways none of her art classes ever did in the past with how he lavishes praise over his favorite pieces, spinning brushes and colors and contours into windows to the artists' soul. She never really looked at a painting the way he does. He sees depth and life where Caroline would otherwise see nothing but plain, still beauty. It's fascinating, really. But she doubts even Lord Mikaelson would be able to find much intensity behind Lord Donovan's dazzling blue eyes. Beautiful, but so very dull.

Cold soup and soft rain, she recalls. It’s so annoying that he’s right.

One more name she'd like to scrape off her list. Not that he seemed inclined to pursue her, but if he did, he would so far only rank above Alaric Saltzman. Even Stefan Salvatore and his eternally broken heart would be a finer match.

"You are late, my lord," Caroline chides mildly as she greets him with a curtsy.

"I didn't realize I was being expected," he replies as he nods.

"We had a deal, remember?"

"How could I forget?" He puts his left hand out to her. "Two dances?"

"Three," she corrects, taking his hand and following him to the dance floor, where pairs are spinning around to a waltz. "To make up for your delay."

"Of course," he says with an eye-roll, though the curl of his lips says he's not in disagreement. “You look stunning this evening.”

“Thank you,” she says proudly. When she takes his right hand in her gloved one, however, Caroline's humor all but slips off her face. His knuckles are swollen and badly bruised, the skin around his fist a rainbow of nasty colors.

She lifts her eyes back to his face as they begin to waltz around the ballroom, their synchrony so fluid and natural by now she doesn't really have to think in order to follow his lead seamlessly. But while her body gives in to the dance, her mind reels back to a moment two days before, when the Viscount Whitmore stopped by her aunt's house for an afternoon tea.

Usually, her aunt would have the maid fetch her to join them, but this time she wasn't even aware that he'd arrived. While being spared of the Viscount's company wouldn't normally be a bad thing, it was clearly evident there was something wrong with the situation, and it wasn't just the way the Viscount could barely stand to look at her when she accidentally stormed into the drawing room. And at the sight of Lord Mikaelson’s wounded hand, she starts to make the connections. The awful black eye, split lip and wounded nose Alaric sported match his fist just right. Though she cannot imagine how or why that would come to be. The two of them don’t even run in the same circles, for all she knows.

"What did you do to your hand?" she asks.

"Boxing," he says simply.

Caroline narrows her gaze suspiciously. "You wouldn't happen to know what happened to Lord Whitmore, would you?"

"Why would you think that?"

"Call it a hunch," she says with a half shrug. "Or perhaps it's the fact he showed up for tea with my aunt in an appalling state of dishevelment, sporting a very unflattering black eye. He said it was an accident involving the kitchen cupboard."

"I would bet on a cupboard against him in a brawl," Klaus remarks with sheer disdain.

"My lord," Caroline admonishes.

"I did not realize you cared so much for Alaric Saltzman."

"It has nothing to do with caring for him." She gives a quick look around. People are obviously paying attention to them - Klaus commands the room wherever he goes, after all - but no one's close enough to eavesdrop on their conversation. Still, she lowers her tone. "You know very well what's at stake here."

"There's something you should know about me, Miss Forbes," his voice finally betrays a bite of annoyance. "I'm not entirely a good man. And I have no tolerance for bullies, especially when they try to make me the target of their vitriol."

Caroline frowns in question, but Klaus merely purses his lips, unwilling to offer any further explanation.

"Our agreement cannot go wrong," she says very solemnly. "This isn't just about appeasing my aunt or your brother. It might all just be a silly game to you, but it’s very serious to me. This is my life. My future. It's the only way I'm allowed to take charge of it, and so it cannot fail. If you're not completely committed -"

"I am," he cuts her off with intent. "Completely committed."

"Good. Then please, act accordingly."

"Am I not acting accordingly? Behaving like a perfect gentleman. Attending balls after balls after picnics after soirees. Spinning you away across ballrooms all around London town. Making you the very envy of the ton. What more do you want from me, my lady?"

“Since you asked…” Caroline just her chin forward obstinately. “If we're to take this further, we must up our game. Matches are already starting to be made, so we do not have much time left. We need to have everyone believe our mutual feelings, so that my callers will be forced to bring forth their very best."

"I see," his lips tug into a wolfish grin. "You wish for me to be dashing?"

“As dashing as you know how to be, I suppose.” She flickers a judgmental look at his hand. “And this is not it.”

"Well... If we're to become even closer..." He tightens his grip around her waist, pulling her forward so that their chests are almost touching. Caroline's heart gives a violent lurch at the unexpected proximity, her breath catching with a low gasp. “Then you should stop lording me and call me by name instead.”

She clears her throat, attempting to wrest away the violent churning in her stomach. "Very well," she says, aiming to keep her voice steady but likely failing. "Nikla -"

"Good grief, no. Last thing I need is for you to sound like Elijah."

She pauses, a tiny grin finding its way to her face. "Klaus," she says, and then bites on her lower lip to stifle a chuckle. She feels positively wild addressing him in such a manner. Aunt Liz would be scandalized. And yet the boldness of that simple act sends a rush through her. Caroline feels lit up. As does the contented smile that breaks onto Klaus' face.

His hand slides up her back, the tips of his fingers brushing against the naked skin of her shoulder blade. "Caroline," he speaks in a low, hoarse tone, meant only for her.

Everything inside of her comes to a stop. Every nerve ending on her body erupts with incandescent heat. Caroline nearly loses her footing and trips over her own feet. Klaus laughs at her clumsiness with the smug satisfaction of a man who knows what kind of effect he has - and thoroughly enjoys it. She feels locked in the intensity of his eyes, unable to escape his gravity, and not entirely sure she wants to.

Oh, good Lord…

This is more dangerous than she’d imagined.

She snaps out of her trance when he spins her away once, holding her hand up as she twirls gracefully before they're joined once more.

"You think very highly of yourself, sir," she manages to grumble, recovering just enough of her posturing to save face.

“Yes, I'm afraid that is entirely true,” he agrees without shame. “But I am merely doing as you asked. Let's find you a husband.”

TBC

Chapter Text

It is so easy to get lost in Klaus' eyes.

Midnight blue, speckled with little shards of honey color, lit up with devilish mischief. It bears all the allure of a finely crafted trap, drawing her in. His looks are calculating and enticing all at once, daring to delve into the world of secrets he keeps just beneath the cheekiness of that dimpled smile. All of the fascinating, riveting, absurd and terrifying bits that make up the fabric of Klaus Mikaelson, a man whose very name ignites burning passions and vicious cholera all the same. There is no staying indifferent to him.

The hysteria surrounding Klaus is highly exaggerated, in Caroline's opinion. But he is dangerous, to be certain. The predatory glint in his eyes is entirely too real. Klaus' larger-than-life aura can swallow you up. Consume you like a fever. It can be provoking, revealing, bringing forth inconvenient truths from the deepest recesses of one's soul. Perhaps that's why so many are intimidated by him. It's his mesmerizing influence, and the things it awakens in the hearts of those who get dragged into his orbit by his magnetic pull.

This all comes to her not as an epiphany, but as empirical comprehension. She has felt the stirrings of danger before, the sizzling effects of his undivided attention, but never quite as strongly as right now. When he looks at her like that - like she's the center of the whole universe, the most beautiful and captivating creature he's ever laid eyes on - it's all she can do to remember how to breathe.

Her heart is a barrel of thunder as they move across the ballroom, never breaking eye contact. The whole world around them has shrunk into darkness, disappearing from existence. Everything narrows down to Klaus, and all the million inappropriate ways he makes her feel.

He sets a hand on the small of her back, pulling her far closer than is proper. The impish curve of his perfect lips gives her goosebumps. Caroline swallows down her parched throat, a thread of anticipation unraveling at the pit of her stomach.

He never wavers in his moves, leading her with the dexterity of a man who's been to many ballrooms, with many partners, over many nights. Dancing is not just a social activity to him - it's a ritual. And one he dominates with the same flair and ease he commands just about every room he walks into.

Klaus is the moon, dark and mysterious and absolutely compelling. The ruler of lovers and demons alike. How can anyone resist him? How can she? It feels inevitable.

One of his hands rides boldly up her back, settling on the exact spot he touched the other day, on a different ball - just between her shoulder blades, over a sensitive patch of bare skin. She has felt the burn of his touch like a tattoo everyday ever since. Her breath snags. They're standing so close now, chest to chest. Her mind is racing, her heart set on a wild thump.

His gaze is pure heat across her face, her cheeks, her lips. She looks down at his mouth, at those ridiculously pretty lips that have given her so many awful ideas, parted just slightly, as though waiting, ready - so close. She can feel the ghost of his breath, can feel herself tipping into him.

She should shove him away, slap him for the audacity. He's going to ruin her forever, but all she can think is that she might die without his kiss. She craves it more than air, needs it more than the blood in her veins.

She closes her eyes, lets out a shiver of a sigh.

And then she jerks awake with a loud gasp.

It takes her a hot minute to recover, for her heart to stop punching so hard against her ribcage. She's in her bedroom, entangled in her own sheets, her skin covered by a sheen of sweat.

It was a dream.

"Miss?"

Caroline startles at the sound of her maid's voice, her soul nearly jumping out of her body as though she'd just been caught doing something naughty.

"Are you alright, Miss?" April asks, taking a step closer, concern etched onto her face. "You look as though you might have a fever."

"Yes, I'm quite alright," she replies, still catching her breath as she sits up. "I was... Having a dream. That's all."

"Bad dream?"

Caroline pauses, the forged memories of her dream flashing in her mind. She'd never had a dream like that before. So palpable, so vivid. She can still feel the skin on her back burning up where Klaus' hand touched her - though if that's from the dream or from their very real dance a few days before she cannot tell.

Heat begins to creep up her neck, and Caroline turns away from April's questioning gaze. "I don't know," she replies, busying herself with braiding her hair. "It escaped me the moment I opened my eyes. Can't tell what it was about."

"It must have been a nightmare," April states with authority. "It has you all startled."

"You're probably right," she agrees, all the while knowing that startled is not quite the word. More like flustered. "Can I have some water, please?"

"Of course." April crosses the room towards a crystal jar she keeps on the dresser, filling a glass for her.

"Thank you." Caroline empties the glass all at once, her throat still dry as a desert.

"Are you sure you're feeling alright, miss?"

"Yes, quite sure, April. I just need a minute."

"Good. Because you need to get ready."

Caroline frowns. "Ready? For what?"

"Have you forgotten, miss? You're to meet with young Mr. Lockwood at the park this morning." The smile on her maid's face is one of genuine excitement. April has never made a mystery of how she favors Tyler over all the other gentleman callers she's received. And she's not the only one. Aunt Liz is also an admirer. Lady Lockwood has been invited to tea twice in the last couple of weeks. Just a fortunate coincidence, she says.

"Oh." Even to her own ears Caroline lacks the required level of enthusiasm. Not too long ago she would've been radiant to see Tyler. "Right. That's today. I lost track of time."

She thought she favored Tyler Lockwood, too. He's been calling often, sends her flowers every other day, invites her for promenades, seeks her out at balls. He's charming and good-natured, smart and rather easy on the eye. His family has no title, but their influence is undisputable. One of the greatest fortunes in all of England, they say. Everything a girl on the mart for a husband could possibly dream of.

For a brief moment in time, Caroline was certain Tyler was the one. And yet, all of a sudden...

She cannot stop thinking about Klaus' pink lips, the mischief in his eyes or that inconvenient little quake still going at the pit of her stomach.

Oh, for goodness' sake...

She can't have possibly caught feelings for the biggest rake in England.

The Strix club smells like leather, cigars and a distinctive odor Klaus has come to associate with decrepit old men. It's exactly what Mikael used to smell like, his stench impregnated in every chair and every curtain and every floorboard in the house.

To this day, that smell makes Klaus' stomach turn.

He spots Elijah sitting on a chesterfield chair by the window, perusing the daily newspaper. His poor, poor brother. On a path towards becoming the thing he once loathed most: their father. It must come with the Dukedom.

Klaus will never understand Elijah's taste for the sole company of ugly men who do nothing but congratulate themselves for being the kings of the world. If one's going to surround oneself with people of dubious character, it might as well be the type who gamble and fuck the night away. At least Klaus' way is fun. He can feel boredom growing inside of him like weed just by stepping into this place. The horror.

"Good morning, Your Grace," he greets his brother with a solemn nod, dripping sarcasm, before flopping down on the chair across from him. "To what do I owe the dishonor of being summoned to your illustrious presence?"

Usually, when Elijah wants to talk and meddle with his private business, he shows up at Klaus' place uninvited and unannounced. A message to meet him at his gentlemen's club is a rare occurrence, and all the more worrisome for it. His first instinct was to send the messenger back with a simple note saying No, thank you. But curiosity ate at him, even if he knows, for a fact, he's bound to regret it. He always does.

Elijah folds his newspaper carefully, and then pushes a glass of sherry across the table towards Klaus. He looks from the glass to his brother, eyebrows arched.

"Elijah, I'm scandalized," he marvels, sipping from the drink. At least they serve good liquor at this place. "Sherry at 10 in the morning. I should’ve worn my satin breeches for the occasion."

"I'm merely adapting to my audience," his brother delivers in a bored tune.

"Whatever happened to make you fun? Did someone die?"

His brother crosses his legs, brushing an invisible fleck of dust from his impeccable trousers. "Caroline Forbes." Klaus' hand freezes mid-air, his entire body going cold. Elijah narrows his eyes studiously at him. "She's not dead, Niklaus, I merely wish to discuss her. But your reaction is quite revealing, I would say. You look like you're about to faint. Should I send for some salt?"

Klaus huffs out, lips twisting with annoyance. "How dare I express shock at a young woman's death, what an absolute monster," he says flatly. "I thought you had something important to discuss. Your note said it was urgent."

"It most definitely is." Elijah leans over to the side, retrieving a briefcase. He opens it and pulls out a folder. It looks like a police report.

Klaus grunts under his breath, knowing exactly where this is going. "Please, don't tell me you had one of your jackals produce a dossier on Miss Forbes."

"Caroline Elizabeth Forbes," Elijah begins to read.

"You are disgusting, Elijah."

"Eighteen and a half years of age," his brother continues, fully ignoring his grunts. "Raised in Mystic Falls - countryside girl. Only child. Daughter of a baronet of modest means who's averse to life in the big city. Her aunt is the ever influential and well-respected Dowager Countess Elizabeth, who rallied to have her beloved only niece come live with her and be properly groomed for her first season."

"Is there a question in there somewhere?"

"Tell me about her."

"Tell you what? You obviously already know more about her than I do."

"The part that truly has me wondering is nowhere on these files. I'm curious, Niklaus, as to why this girl seems to have enraptured you so."

"Well, I don't know. Have you got a pair of eyes on you?"

"She's lovely, no doubt. But by all accounts, she's also nice. Perfectly agreeable. Polite. Pleasant. A bright ray of sunshine. Not exactly proficient on the pianoforte, but her singing has made the headlines, thanks to you." Anyone who doesn't know Elijah might hear those things and think he's paying her a compliment. But Klaus can identify all the subtle edges of his reproach.

"I still don't know where you're getting at."

"She's not your type," he states drily.

Klaus' expression twists into mock-insult. "You wound me, Elijah," he says, placing a hand across his chest. "Two and twenty years together on this earth and you still don't know me at all? I don't have a type, dear brother. I'm a broad-spectrum kind of gent."

"Whatever your type might be, Niklaus, it does not encompass innocent and well-meaning, which is exactly what this girl is," he stabs his fingers over the folder, fixing Klaus under a glacial stare. "So I suppose the underlying question is: what are you playing at here, brother?"

"The same as you. Same as everyone in this fine establishment," he gesticulates widely around the room. "The game of ton, brother. Is that not what you wanted me to do? Attend a useless parade of balls, find a wife?"

Elijah lets out a deep, weary sigh, as though Klaus is giving him a headache just by being difficult. He hopes it's true. It's the least his brother deserves for acting in such an untoward manner and also for getting him out of bed and into this polished pig house so early in the day.

"Contrary to what you just stated, Niklaus, I do happen to know you quite well, much to my chagrin, I must say. Which is how I know you have no intention whatsoever of marrying this girl."

"And how would you know that, exactly? Have you hired a psychic to read my mind, too?"

"Why her? Why not several others?” Elijah demands. "Why not some opera singer who would suit you much better and give me the heart burn you no doubt wish upon me every night?"

"I'm confused. Do you want me to marry an opera singer?"

"No, but I was fully prepared to have to deal with that. Did not see a nice, decent girl on your horizon."

An amused smile slashes across Klaus' face. "I see. So the issue is that I frustrated your expectations that I'd try to marry a whore," he concludes with a laugh. "Has it occurred to you, brother, that perhaps I just like her?"

"It did. And that's the part that throws me. Try as I might, I can't understand why." He pauses, twining his fingers together and propping them over the table. Elijah has a speculative glint in his dark eyes, so piercing it's like he's trying to see through to the back of Klaus' head. But he does not budge, holding his stare levelly. "And then it hit me," his brother continues. "This is all a game to you, isn't it? In your deviant mind, you think you're playing tricks on me, and you're using her to do it. You spend time with this girl, you let everyone see how ardently dedicated to her you are, and you hope that in doing so you'll be placating my mood. Am I close?"

Infuriatingly so. How detestable Elijah's perception is. Klaus had been running on a loose leash from his family for so long, living at his own estate, doing his own thing, he'd forgotten how hard it is to keep secrets or indeed hide anything from Elijah. The man has the uncanny observation qualities of a hawk, with a mind devious enough to rival Klaus', which means he can, indeed, see right through his charades.

But he's not about to give this one up so easily.

"You overthink, brother," he says with disinterest. "It'll give you wrinkles."

"Niklaus..." Elijah starts slowly, putting both his palms out on the table as though to steady himself, lest he ends up putting his little brother's head through a wall. "I know it delights you to believe you're fooling me. I know this brings you pleasure. Your love for games is well documented. But if you've any heart left in you, you should consider I'm not the only victim in your schemes. You're toying with this girl just as well."

"What do you want from me?" he finally snaps, irritation seeping into his voice. "You give me an ultimatum to find a wife, and when I do find someone who tickles my fancy, you accuse me of toying with her. Am I not following your stupid rites? We get chaperones wherever we go. I sign my name on ridiculous dance cards every other night. I attend picnics, fundraisers, balls, the bloody opera - and not for backstage access, mind you. What more do you want from me, Elijah?"

"I want you to take this seriously," Elijah states firmly. "More importantly, I want you to think about what you're doing before you cause a tragedy, brother. Think about the message your undivided attention is sending to everyone, including prospective suitors she might have. She clearly favors you -"

"She's being courted by other gentlemen, you can rest assured," he retorts, trying to sound nonchalant in spite of the sudden bite of displeasure at the sheer truth of his words. He's not the only man who's been calling on Caroline, a thought that has been making him rather uneasy lately.

"Which means you are expected to propose," Elijah simply continues. "And if you don't, you'll be causing heartbreak and embarrassment to this young girl. So I beseech you, Niklaus: please, do not drag an innocent girl into whatever ruse you think you're playing here."

"You underestimate women, Elijah. Just because you married a blank parchment of a female, it does not mean they're all as dull as your wife. Whoever wrote that atrocious dossier failed to list some crucial bits of information. Miss Forbes may be young, but she's spirited. She's strong-willed, she's got character, opinions - a mind all of her own. She knows exactly who I am, and she won't be marrying anyone she does not wish to, including me. Perhaps that's exactly what I like about her. She's far too smart to be so easily seduced by me." Klaus knocks back the rest of his sherry, putting the glass down with a thud. "Thank you for the sherry, brother. I'll let you know if I ever find myself in need of unsolicited advice in the future. Have a nice day."

Not wishing to entertain Elijah's foolish arguments any longer, Klaus pushes off the chair and marches out of that ghastly place, happy to breathe fresh air again. It's hard to tell what was more suffocating inside: the stench or Elijah's nonsensical ideas.

He and Caroline have a deal, one that is mutually beneficial to the two of them. He favors her as a part of their ploy, but she does not favor him back. Or if she does, it's merely because the rest of her suitors are far too dismal. It's not his fault the men in this town are such boring rats, or that Caroline deserves something better than what is regarded as the ton's finest. He's glad to offer her some company, keep her moderately entertained while she considers her options. There's nothing wrong with that. There's nothing wrong with being friends. That's all there is.

No charm. No charisma. A face as plain as his hobbies - riding, deer-stalking and the lowliest of all inventions, sports. Not even something challenging and thrilling, like horse racing or boxing. No, Tyler Lockwood enjoys the type of activity that likens a man to a Neanderthal: rolling around on mud-drenched fields like a dog, pointlessly chasing after a ball.

And just to cap it all off with honors, the man is a real wanker.

Klaus remembers him well from Eton. A social-climbing prick, if he's ever seen one. So full of himself because of his father's wealth, and yet unable to sustain any modicum of popularity through his own means. He adhered to the children of the aristocracy like a leech, trying to suck up their statuses, no doubt hoping it would rub off on him. The exact same strategy employed by his mongrel father, who has long been a business partner of the Mikaelsons, a curse inherited by the eldest son alongside the dukedom and the arrogance. Carol Lockwood is a regular at Elijah's home for tea with the Duchess, Klaus hears.

He can't understand what a man like that could possibly say to have Caroline laughing. He's a dullard, not a hint of imagination in that empty head of his. Klaus is surprised Tyler is even calling on her, although he supposed it makes some sense. While his family has a considerable fortune, they do not have the title to go with it, which means he likely ranks very low on most young ladies' preferences. Caroline has no means, but she is of noble descent nonetheless; her father is a baronet, her aunt a Countess. A combination that makes her the perfect target for this rodent's -

"Mr. Mikaelson?"

Why is she laughing so bloody much? She must be a truly gifted actress if she can pretend to be enthralled in the company of that -

"Klaus."

He's pulled out of his musings by Lady Camille's scolding tone. He'd almost forgotten she was there.

"Did you hear anything I said?" she demands, indignation written across her tight expression.

"Yes, of course," Klaus replies dispassionately. Sadly, he does remember it only all too well. It's likely why his mind deviated so drastically in observing Caroline as she promenades across the pond in the ghastly company of Tyler Lockwood. Camille cocks him an eyebrow as though challenging him to prove his words. Klaus barely refrains from rolling his eyes at the woman. "You decided that the artist is dark, angry and ridden with demons based on five minutes observing his technique - a rather bad one at that."

Camille's jaw drops in offense, visibly miffed by his curt summary of her presumptuous and frankly misguided interpretation of the painter's work they stopped to watch as they engaged in their own promenade. Not for the first time he wonders just how drunk he was when he thought this would be a good idea.

"You don't have to be rude just because you disagree with my view," she states sourly.

View. That's too broad a concept for a shallow analysis that bordered on the artistic equivalent of palm reading, in his not-so-humble opinion. How anybody could draw such conclusions from that piece is just beyond him. She sees what she wants to see, rather than what's right in front of her - which is nothing more than a subpar excuse for an artist. It just speaks of how little grasp she truly has of art. God forbid Camille O'Connell from ever not having an opinion on something, even things that are completely outside of her orbit.

Lovely to look at, insufferable to listen to.

He blames Elijah for having to endure this at all. His brother's annoying interrogation left Klaus rattled enough that he decided to prove him wrong out of spite. So he invited Lady Camille for a walk. Harmless, no real intention behind it. But it appears the gods have deemed to punish him for his impish motivation, seeing as not only she turned out to be way less interesting than he'd expected, but they also ran into Caroline having what appears to be a lovely time with one of the worst bellends Klaus has ever known.

That makes two of them in need of rescue.

"Oh. I see." Camille remarks with disdain. "No wonder you're in such a foul mood."

"What are you talking about?"

"Caroline Forbes and Tyler Lockwood, of course," she replies matter-of-factly, motioning vaguely in the direction where the pair is engaged in lively conversation.

Klaus clasps his hands behind his back, shrugging with as much nonchalance as he can muster. "I haven't a clue what you mean by that."

Camille straightens her green eyes at him. "I have a hard time believing you, of all people don't read the gossip columns."

"Whatever do you mean by that, me of all people?"

"Oh, please. Everyone knows about your dealings. Your name is all over the gossip columns." Klaus has never had a problem with his reputation being brought up; in fact, he usually enjoys taking the piss out of the easily flustered puritans who love to cast judgment upon his lifestyle. But the scorn in Camille's intonation rubs him off wrong. Or perhaps it's just the fact that, for once, she's not entirely wrong. He does read the gossip columns. And this morning's paper ended up crumpled in his fireplace after he read Lady Blowsworth’s prediction that the Forbes-Lockwood union could turn out to be the first wedding of the season. What a joke. "Everyone knows the Lockwoods are in favor of a union with the Forbes family," Camille adds. "They say it's a sure thing."

"That's ridiculous," Klaus sneers. "The Lockwoods are vultures. Miss Forbes can do much better than those nobodies."

"Can she, though? His family is as wealthy as it gets. In fact, they're aristocracy in all but title. Mr. Lockwood has vast political influence and Lady Lockwood is one of Her Majesty's closest confidantes. I think it's only a matter of time until they get bestowed a proper nobility status to go with their fortune."

"You've done your research," he teases, though his tone is less than complimentary. "It appears Miss Forbes is not the only one with her eyes set on young Master Lockwood."

Camille scoffs with derision. "Please! I have no interest whatsoever in Tyler Lockwood. I can actually do better than him. But he's not at all a bad prospect for a girl of lesser means."

"That sounds an awful lot like an insult," Klaus says, getting a prick of irritation at the disdain in Camille's voice for Caroline's circumstances. They talk as though she were born with the pigs. "The girl is well educated, has a brilliant mind, the voice of an angel and a face to go with it - not to mention her family is very well connected through her aunt. Just because she doesn't come from obscene money, she's somehow treated as lesser than. Which is precisely why she gets shoved towards the likes of Tyler Lockwood."

"Not at all," Camille denies it. "I merely state the truth. Well connected, yes, but her father is a baronet of modest means, with hardly any influence anywhere that matters. Her aunt is a remarkable figure, but she has no heirs. When the Countess dies, her title, as well as her estate, will be handed over to some distant cousin, since Caroline's father is of even more advanced age, unlikely to survive his sister. She will see none of it. A marriage to Tyler Lockwood would be more than she bargained for. It would ensure her future and that of her children for generations to come. It's a step up, in fact. For a while there it seemed she would end up with Alaric Saltzman." Camille shrugs, casting a look towards Caroline. She's not venomous, likely doesn't even think she's being mean. It's just that way of hers of translating her opinions into professional analysis to give it a veneer of legitimacy. She doesn't even realize how annoying she is. "But she is lovely, to be sure. I think the two of them would have lovely babies." She turns to Klaus with a smile. "Don't you think?"

Klaus feels his blood heating to a boil. Babies.

"Has anyone ever told you it is very unbecoming for a lady to be so gossipy?" he snaps at her.

"That's hardly gossip., my lord. It's just what everyone knows." She pauses, adding as an afterthought, "With a dash of personal opinion."

"A maliciously opinionated woman is even worse than a gossipy one."

"Maliciously?" Camille huffs out in righteous indignation. "If there's anyone with malicious views here, that's you. My opinions are merely objective. Yours, on the other hand..." She trails off, punctuating her sentence with a pointed little grin. "Thank you for the stroll, Mr. Mikaelson. Have a good day. If you can, that is."

Camille turns away from him, walking back towards the maid who had been chaperoning them. This is why Klaus doesn't get out of bed before noon. This is why he avoids daylight like the plague. Because of the likes of Elijah, and Camille and bloody Tyler Lockwood. He only feels sorry for Caroline, who deserves better but has no choice but to endure.

This calls for a night at the club to appease his mood. If people are going to be testing his patience with ridiculous theories and annoying conversation, he'd rather they do it when he's drunk and they're naked.

But first... There's nothing wrong with saying hi to a friend. He is, after all, for all intents and purposes, courting her. It would be rude not to.

Caroline had been to Somerset House with her aunt on more than a few occasions. The late Count was a passionate patron of the Royal Academy of Arts, and Lady Elizabeth continued to pay her dues after his death. It's a lovely place, not just the north wing, where the Academy is fitted, but the entire property, including - and especially - its meticulously manicured gardens.
But in all her previous ventures to Somerset House, Caroline had never seen it quite as crowded as today.

It appears the entire genteel society of London has descended upon the palace for the inauguration of its new exhibition room. Caroline deeply underestimated people's artistic interests - that, or how desperate everyone is to be seen. Any opportunity for a public soiree is a new chance to find a match for a daughter or a wayward son.

There's hardly any space for walking and truly admiring the several pieces being displayed from floor to ceiling on the high walls of the new room. All around her she can pick up scattered bits of the mindless small talk she's grown accustomed to since arriving in London. Conversations carefully constructed to feign depth whilst remaining dreadfully insubstantial, lest anyone says anything to rouse sensibilities. How stunning the colors on this painting, how lovely the summer sky is displayed on that one, how perfect the lighting in the room. All she can think is that Klaus would go green from hearing some of these comments. Indeed, it's a struggle to stifle the chuckles that threaten to escape her from time to time.

As she makes her way through the room, bowing and nodding to her acquaintances here and there, her eyes never stop searching for him. This is his type of event, she thinks. Unlike the picnics and the balls and even the casual promenades at the park, which he's been forced to attend by his brother's demand, a grand opening of an art gallery is something he would likely go to off his own free will, gladly. There's no doubt in her mind that he will come, even if seeing all these people facing away from the art as they talk amongst themselves will no doubt put him in a right mood. She can already see the childish pout on his face. Art is a personal matter to Klaus, and he takes serious offense on behalf of every artist to have ever lived.

She gets momentarily distracted by Elena Gilbert, who stops her to talk about her dress for the Mikaelson ball next week. It's been the talk of the ton for well over a month now. Caroline had to nearly wrestle a piece of silk out of a girl's hand on her last trip to the modiste for a fitting. Every woman in London has ordered a dress for the occasion, which has caused a tragic shortage in silks. The Duke's ball is one of the most anticipated events of the season, and this year promises to be an extra special occasion, seeing as it is Lady Rebekah's first season. Her brother will no doubt spare no dime or effort to make sure his sister gets the treatment of a princess. A night to remember, is what everyone says.

Personally, Caroline is not sure what magnitude to expect, being new to all this. But if Klaus' opinion is anything to go by, it will be nothing short of nightmarish. Determined as he is to take to his grave the title of grumpiest man in England, he does not share in the general excitement. When Caroline brought it up on their last encounter at the park, he merely rolled his eyes. "I was pulled out of bed a few days ago by a man with a fitting tape against my crotch. I almost killed the lad before I was informed he'd been sent by Elijah to make me a proper outfit. My brother says I'm too dandy. Can you believe that?"

Caroline felt it was not appropriate to openly agree, but - his grace does have a point.

Once Elena moves on and Caroline turns her attention back to the room, she finally sees him. Looking as dapper as ever - dandy, as the Duke would say - but not nearly as miserable as she expected him to be. Indeed, he seems to be having quite a pleasant time in the company of Lady Aurora De Martel, whose hand rests casually on his forearm as he points something out to her on one of the pieces closest to the ceiling. She laughs at what he says, demurely covering her mouth with her hand. It seems to amuse Klaus, dimples cutting into his cheeks as he offers her a tight-lipped smile.

Something hot and angry bursts inside of Caroline.

Suddenly, she cannot stand the crowd and the noise and all the shallow chattering anymore. Her blood is sizzling to a boil, heat rising from her chest, to her neck, and shooting out of her eyes. All the humor bleeds out of her as her lips press into an expression that is probably not flattering at all.

The intensity of her gaze must be such that Klaus seems to sense it, turning in her direction like he can feel it boring holes into him. Their eyes meet across the room. His expression smooths into surprise for a second, before he offers her his trademark smirk. Caroline whirls around on her heels and stalks out of there at once. She doesn't even know where she's going, hardly a coherent thought in her mind, guided only by the inexplicable bite of anger in her chest.

She crosses a couple of adjacent rooms until she finally comes upon a deserted one. There she stops, taking deep breaths to steady herself.

She'd been waiting for Klaus. That's how ridiculous she is. Had hardly paid any mind to the gentlemen who struck up conversation, excusing herself to find Auntie Liz when, really, she was just keeping herself available for him. How long had he been there, volunteering as a private tour guide to Lady De Martel? Wasn't he so disgusted by these marriage rites? Desperate enough to escape the harassment of young women and their rabid mamas, as he so poetically put it, that he'd draw a bargain with her? Has he changed his mind now?

One is bound to wonder. He was promenading with Lady O'Connell the other day, now Lady De Martel. By any standards, Klaus is branching out. Perhaps the Duke has finally convinced him to find a wife, and now he's started to entertain his real possibilities - which does not include her. The daughter of a poor baronet would be no match for the most eligible bachelor of the season, not when there are far better options - throwing themselves at him, no less. Perhaps that's why he hasn't informed her of his change of heart, trying to spare her the embarrassment of rejection when he spent such a long time pretending to court her. It'll be humiliating if Klaus starts sending flowers to other women - or worse, finds himself a bride before Caroline is engaged. What will everyone think? It'll be the talk of the ton, and she will be in ruin. Damaged goods, rejected by the marriage mart's biggest trend setter.

It should come as no surprise to her. She knows Klaus' reputation. Monogamous attention seems to bore him to death. And she's not fool enough to think she's good enough for the son of a Duke, even a second one. He's always been honest about his intentions, so she cannot claim deceit. He owes her nothing. But then why does it sting so?

Caroline feels a familiar warmth gathering behind her eyes and mashes them shut as she forces it back in. She refuses to shed a single tear over this - over him. They had a deal, and he fulfilled his part wonderfully. She couldn't hope to keep this going for much longer. Now he wishes to be set free. It's only fair. It's about time she puts a stop to these foolish fantasies and starts working towards her one and true purpose: finding herself a husband.

Still not feeling in a clear enough state of mind to rejoin the gathering, she decides to distract herself by inspecting the pieces displayed in this room, away from the commotion. Bronze tags underneath each of the pictures name which patron donated or lent the painting for the gallery. Caroline lets out a bark of a laugh upon noticing many of them say Niklaus Mikaelson. The fates wouldn't be kind enough to allow her to rid herself of him so easily, now, would they? In trying to escape, she found herself basically surrounded by him.

"I thought we were past meeting in hiding," his taunting voice cuts through the comforting silence, booming loudly in the empty room and causing Caroline's insides to stir. "Is this to remain ever our thing?"

She keeps her back to him, hiding the hard lines of her face as she maintains her focus firmly on the paintings. "I was hiding, sir. You, I believe, followed me here deliberately," she replies curtly.

Klaus chuckles. "Guilty as charged, I'm afraid."

She stops before one of the largest paintings: five women dancing naked around a fountain, sharing a laugh. The tag says it's another one of Klaus'. How surprising. It does seem exactly like the type of activity he'd engage in.

"I cannot imagine why you would do such a thing," she comments casually. "You appeared to be rather engrossed in conversation with Miss De Martel."

She can hear the infuriatingly smug grin even without looking. "I didn't realize I was being watched."

Klaus' footsteps ring loud as he makes his way across the room, coming to stand almost shoulder to shoulder with her, but facing the other way. Caroline shifts uncomfortably, putting more distance between them as a certain patch of skin on her back burning up with his proximity.

"Do not flatter yourself," she retorts, keeping her tone as dispassionate as she can, refusing to give him the satisfaction. "It was a mere observation."

"Is that why you stormed out of the room?"

"I did not storm out," she objects. "I was annoyed by the excessive noise."

Klaus makes a hum under his breath, unconvinced. "I think I detect a tinge of jealousy there."

She scoffs, suddenly glad he can't see her face. Her cheeks are burning, though a good portion of it is from anger. "I shall not waste a breath dignifying such a preposterous idea."

"I shall be forced to draw my own conclusions, then."

"I'll have you know it is not charming to have such an inflated ego. In fact, it's very unbecoming for a gentleman."

"I'm no ordinary gentleman."

"I am well aware of your extraordinary reputation."

"Oh, my reputation," he parrots with a sneer. "It had been a minute since you'd brought it up. I almost thought that was water under the bridge."

"Well, it had been a minute since you'd done anything to remind me of it."

"Some might say that a reputation recommends a man."

"I'm loath to think of what kind of recommendation your reputation might bestow a person, my lord."

"You wound me, my lady."

"I sincerely doubt it. It would take far more than a waspish remark from me to put a dent on your humongous self-confidence."

"Is a demure gentleman more to your taste, then? Like, say, Tyler Lockwood?"

"I don't have a taste in men," Caroline chides, casting him a quick sideways glare. Klaus lets out a sardonic Ha, which she promptly ignores. "And there is nothing wrong with being confident per se, but you do tend to behave as though the sun shines out of your pretty smile, which is very unflattering."

"So you think my smile is pretty?" Klaus asks smoothly.

Caroline rolls her eyes, huffing out a breath. "You're impossible."

"Isn't that why you like me?" She turns to him with a scowl, finds him staring at her with a teasing smile, and immediately faces away. "Oh, come now," he protests. "Are we not friends?"

"We're... Allies," she offers lowly, glancing around to make sure they're in privacy. "Co-conspirators. Accomplices, I dare say. But friends? I'm not so certain."

"You are being awfully harsh today," Klaus says, and something about the lack of jest in his tone makes her realize he's right. She's turned the full force of her barbed mood towards him, wielding it like a foil as though he'd done something to offend her, when he hasn't, not really. Whatever ill feelings she is harboring is entirely her own fault.

Suddenly, she feels so very silly. "I'm sorry," she says quietly. "I don't know what's the matter with me today, I'm... Irritated. It's far too hot in here. I didn't realize there would be so many people in attendance."

She pretends not to feel his eyes burning on her skin, studying her profile. "Somehow, I don't think that's what's gotten you in a mood."

"You're not the only one with a temper," she replies with ease, affecting a little smile to disguise her discomfort.

"Don't I know that?" Klaus snorts. "I wasn't engrossed in conversation."

She blinks, confused. "What?"

"With Miss De Martel. I was searching for a particular piece in the room when she approached, asking questions I can only assume were previously rehearsed. I was merely paying her some attention, nothing else."

"You don't have to explain yourself to me."

"I know. I just want to."

His expression is open when she finally forces herself to look at him, the sincerity in his eyes more revealing than he ever allows himself to be. A pang of guilt shoots through her, and Caroline decides to change the subject to avoid it.

"You're a very generous patron to the arts," she mentions conversationally. "Several of these pieces come from your personal collection."

"You sound surprised. Is it the generosity or the patronage part which confounds you?"

"Perhaps only that you'd be willing to part with your precious pieces. From the way you speak, I know you're very particular with your art. You talk about your paintings as though they're your children."

"I suppose that's true. I am rather attached to my things," he agrees. "But I also believe that art is meant to be admired and appreciated, not hidden away in private parlors. The artists pour so much into their works, it's selfish to keep it all to oneself and a handful of selected observers."

"Even if the audience is far more interested in discussing fabrics than the framed art before them?"

Klaus grunts lowly. "Today is the exception. These buffoons are nothing. They'll leave here and not remember a single one of the pieces they've seen. The real audience will be here tomorrow, and the day after, and the day after that. They will write about it in their papers, letters, academic journals, discuss it with their friends and peers and other connoisseurs, and soon everyone who genuinely cares will have come here to see it with their own eyes and bask in the artistic expression. And so, the painting will have fulfilled its purpose, and I will be very much pleased to have parted with my collection for a while."

"How positively charitable," she says, somewhat surprised by his answer.

"Not quite." He leans slightly closer to her. "Notice the tags underneath. I still want everyone to know where they come from."

She laughs, shaking her head. "Narcissistic charity is still charity, I suppose."

"Well, what do you think?"

"Of the paintings?" Klaus nods. "I don't -"

"Please, not with the I don't understand art nonsense again," he casts her a skeptical look. "You can tell me to my face how much of an egocentric narcissist I am, but you draw a line on expressing an opinion on paintings that aren't even mine?"

"They still belong to you, even if you didn't paint them yourself," Caroline points out. "It's your taste that stands to be offended."

"Again: you just called me a narcissist and you think that is what is going to insult me?"

Caroline bites down on a grin. "Well, when you put it like that..."

"Go on, then. I'm a tough boy. Give me your worst."

She focuses her attention back on the picture before her, the nude women. "This is going to sound naive. And somewhat ignorant, perhaps. But... Have you noticed how many of these paintings depict naked women?"

Klaus chuckles. "Do you find it inappropriate?"

"No, nothing like that."

"Then what's the matter? The portrayal of beauty is a popular theme in the world of arts, and there aren't many things more beautiful than the female anatomy."

Caroline levels him under a pointed look. "This is not about beauty. Not all of them, anyway. This one, for instance. The technique is certainly stunning, the colors and the exhilaration in the women's faces make it very palpable. But there's something so... Flat about it. They're just dancing around a fountain. What am I supposed to read here? And the vast majority of the pieces I've seen here are the same. Crude and empty representations of women, wearing nearly nothing, for no purpose other than to expose them to the eyes of men. Like that's the sole purpose of our existence. To be gazed upon. Our bodies no different from a vase or a bibelot. Except with perfectly round bosoms."

Klaus lets out a laugh, shifting his body enough that he can give the painting a good look. "That's not naive at all, sweetheart. I cannot dispute your reason. I suppose I'd never thought of it that way."

"Of course not. You're a man."

"Derogatory, I assume?"

"Absolutely."

He flashes her his cheeky dimples. "Can't dispute that either."

She turns around, facing the same way as Klaus now, curious to see what he'd been eying this whole time. "Oh," she says, somewhat taken aback. She'd failed to notice this piece before. It's as large as the one right opposite, but completely different in mood and theme. It's a landscape that awakens a sense of familiarity in her. The countryside at the earliest hours of the morning, with the sky painted in shades of pink and orange, and a small wooden house surrounded by nothing but green as far as the eye can see, everything shrouded in a thin coat of fog, just starting to dissipate as the sun comes up. "This one's nice."

"No bosoms in sight," Klaus jests.

"Which is refreshing," she tells him. "But not just that. I... I don't know, it reminds me of home."

"Does it look like Mystic Falls?"

"Not quite. It's more of a feeling. There's something rather unassuming about it. Like waking up in the very early morning, when the world is still asleep around me, but so strikingly alive at the same time. There's a different perfume in the air at this hour. I can smell the grass and the jasmine in bloom right under my window. Can hear the way the breeze shakes the trees ever so gently. The birds chirp away as dawn settles upon the sky. I'm alone in my room, staring out my window, but I don't feel lonely. It just brings me so much... Peace. Funny. I'm only now realizing this is the first time I experience that feeling since I've come to London, just staring at that painting." She smiles softly. "I guess this one has fulfilled its purpose, after all."

The silence that befalls then feels suddenly loaded, so many unsaid things and untapped emotions floating between them, the air strained with a thousand feelings Caroline could not even begin to describe. It's hard to tell where it starts or where it ends - the paintings, the mad hammering of her heart, Klaus' proximity, which she can suddenly feel so acutely.

The very sense of belonging the painting kindled in her, the peace it evoked, curls wildly inside of Caroline. It feels so real, almost palpable. Like she can touch it, taste it, wrap her arms around it. It compels her hand to move, her fingers twitching, desperate to reach out. Except it's not the painting at all, is it? That sense of rightness, of belonging... It's not hanging on the wall before her, but rather standing right beside her as she attempts to resist the magnetic pull of its conjurer.

She holds herself still, though; she would never be so bold. Not wittingly, anyway. But something happens in spite of her resolve, and she doesn't know whether her hand rebels against her command, or if it was Klaus who dared first. Suddenly, her fingers are brushing up against his, his own hand cutting the scant distance between them. Fire explodes within her, her heart lurching violently against her ribcage, stealing all the air off her lungs. Klaus curls his fingers around hers, squeezing tightly. Caroline's knees go weak as dizzying heat rises to her head like a geyser, her strength threatening to give in underneath her.

Slowly but surely, Caroline feels herself tilting towards him, tipping into his devouring orbit, like she cannot help it. She will fall, and he will swallow her up, and she's not sure she even wants to fight it.

"Caroline..." he breathes out, her name rolling off his tongue like an enchantment, dressed in a plea

This isn’t like dancing in a crowded ballroom, or like promenading at the park. They’ve touched before. They’ve been this close together. But this feels different, more intimate, more personal - and all the more dangerous precisely because of it. The flutter in her belly, the yearning in her chest, the desperate need to melt into him - it all aches inside of her like never before, leaving her on the verge of panic. His hand against hers, the warmth of his presence, his gaze burning on her skin - it all washes over her like liquid fire, setting her ablaze.

She's utterly lost to this feeling. It disarms her so completely she's barely able to put up a fight against this need that blossoms into her core, with no margins, no limits, ingrained into her being almost at the exact same time it is born. She doesn't stand a chance. The mere touch of his fingers feels like the greatest epiphany of her life.

The moment where one of them should move away comes and goes undisturbed by the raging staccato of their hearts. She's so desperate to look at him, to see if she'll find a mirror of her own desires reflected upon the glacial blue of his eyes, to know whether Klaus has this same lump in his throat, the same confession dancing at the tip of his tongue, desperate to be unleashed. She wants to know if he feels the same way.

Something steadies her, though. Fear, she realizes. Even in the throes of emotion she understands this is too big. If it turns out to be true, she cannot imagine anything that would make her happier, and then how is she to live if she doesn't get to keep it? How does one move on knowing their happiness is forever bound to someone they cannot have? What kind of life is that?

And if it turns out not to be true... If he doesn't feel the same way... How will her heart ever heal?

She doesn't have to dwell on her thoughts for much longer, though. The sound of approaching footsteps and conversation cuts right through their moment. Caroline gasps in horror, abruptly brought back to the reality of her situation - unchaperoned in a room with a gentleman with a reputation for being unreliable around young ladies.

She attempts to let go of his hand and move away, but Klaus tightens his grip around her. Caroline stops, shutting her eyes against the wild fire burning low in her belly.

“Klaus…” she says, though not even she knows for certain what she means by it. Whether she’s asking him to let her go, or to make her stay and promise to never leave her side again.

He hesitates a beat longer, and then finally releases her.

Quickly, before anyone sees them, Caroline takes off in a haste, holding her hand close to her chest, trying to preserve the heat as though holding on to a treasure.

Klaus pulls his hand away, tilting his head as he inspects his work. Not quite right.

He smooths the lines of her face with his finger, the charcoal too rough for such delicate features. This wasn't the appropriate material for the sketch, but it's what he had at hand when inspiration struck. His muse has been rather fickle as of late, coming and going as it pleases, not necessarily when Klaus has the time or the disposition to work. It's the most inconvenient thing, desperately itching for parchment and pencils when he's outside, promenading at the park or stuffing his face with canapés and low-quality spirits at a private ballroom. He gets torn between the wish to rush home to paint and not wanting to move an inch, not wanting to dart his eyes away from the source of such rich moments of enlightenment.

It seems to happen a lot whenever he's around Caroline Forbes.

He was on the brink of attacking one of the paintings hanging on the walls of Somerset House earlier today, so maddening his desire for creation was. It wasn't all artistic endeavor, though. The release he sought was of a different variety, more physical. It cost a great deal not to act on it. He'd no idea that the mere touch of a woman's fingers could fill him with such wanton need like that, every nerve ending on his body begging to feel her. He'd been close to her before, he'd even been cheekily bold about it, but that was... That was something else, indeed. The secrecy, the danger of being caught, the way the very air around him simmered with barely restrained need... It was positively erotic.

Good Lord. He sounds like a pathetic unseasoned lad again. It's ridiculous, really. A man of his status, with his experience - with his reputation - getting that riled up over a flimsy stolen touch at an art gallery. Marcel would have a case of the vapors from laughing too hard if he heard of this nonsense. Which is precisely why he never will. No one will. Klaus won't tell a soul about the Olympian struggle to allow Miss Forbes to get away when all he wanted was to push her up against that wall and -

He stops himself right there, lest he gets a bit carried away by the fantasy. Again. He's already had to relieve himself once today, and that's as much as he'll allow. He's a grown man, for goodness sake.

He should've gone to the club, found himself a pretty face or two to take care of his manly needs for him. It's what any self-respecting gentleman does. Hell, even Elijah, with his righteous pomp, used to attend Klaus' club once or twice a week. It's only natural. But something told him he would only be putting himself up for chagrin. It would invariably end in frustration. There's no way he'd find what he needed there. Not tonight. Perhaps tomorrow, once he's had a chance to clear his mind. Perhaps. It's been hard to think of anything else lately, truth be told.

It's what he's been trying to do ever since he left Somerset House. After their moment, try as he might to capture her attention again, Caroline was determined not to pay him any mind, annoyingly deliberate in how she graciously avoided him for the rest of the affair. If not for the pink on her cheeks giving her away, Klaus might have believed her to be indifferent, so natural and effective she was in her elusiveness. He could've pushed, of course, could've demanded her attention, intruded her conversations, been every bit the spoiled brat he knows how to be. And oh, how he wanted to... But he didn't wish to cause her public embarrassment. Besides, her aunt was there, with an aquiline gaze that never left her niece. She would not approve of such an approach. Might even forbid him from calling on her. Wouldn't that be truly dreadful?

Something else that seems to be new about Klaus: how he suddenly cares for pleasing people whose opinions never meant anything to him before.

This newfound virtue will be the very end of him.

The smile on her face is not right at all, and neither are her eyes. He makes a mildly frustrated sound in his throat as he tries to fix it, to no avail. Caroline was not made for charcoal. He needs finer materials. He needs oils and gouache and delicate brushes. She demands colors - soft and warm, with character, just like her.

Klaus had never before met a person so genuinely bright. Caroline just seems to glow. Everyone else pales in comparison. They feel contrived and practiced, trying too hard, whereas she just exudes it in waves. As if Apollo himself had laid a finger on her, making a home for his light underneath her skin, bestowing upon her a sparkle that is entirely her own.

"Who is she?"

Klaus lifts his eyes briefly from his drawing to find Greta pretending to busy herself with dusting.

"Who?" he asks, feigning aloofness to see if she'll leave him alone.

"The girl you're drawing, of course."

"Paying too much attention to my drawings now, Greta?"

"I clean your house, I always pay attention to you," she replies matter-of-factly.

Klaus' lips curl slightly upwards. He's always liked her sharpness. "She's no one."

"Must be a very important no one. You've been working on that sketch for hours."

"Your point?"

"No point, just an observation," she says with a light shrug. "As is the fact I've seen her face on so many scattered pieces of paper lately." Klaus narrows his eyes slightly at her. Greta purses her lips innocently. "I do not recall ever seeing her around."

"And you know the faces of everyone who's been through my bed, do you? That's a bold assumption to make."

"I know a whore when I see one," she quips back, then nods towards his drawing. "That is not it."

Klaus lets out a bark of laughter. "Acidic, are we? You hold too much of a grudge against my guests, Greta."

"That's entirely on them."

Klaus shakes his head, looking down at his work again. The hair is also all shades of wrong. He's an incompetent disaster in trying to portray her. "You wouldn't know her. She has never been here before."

"So not one of your girls, then."

"No. She's..." He pauses, considering. The words that come to his mind cannot be uttered out loud. "A partner," he says instead. "A business partner, if you will."

Greta's judgmental frown deepens. "Business partner? What sort of business could you be in with a lady like that?"

"We have a deal. I pretend to court her in order to make her more desirable to prospective suitors. Help her find better marriage material."

"And what do you get out of it?"

"My brother off my back, for starters. As long as Elijah thinks I'm trying, he won't bother me. Or so I thought, anyway. I'm starting to think my brother makes a sport out of annoying me."

Greta remains quite for a moment, peering at him studiously before making an unconvinced hm.

Klaus gives her a look. "What?"

"Nothing," she backtracks. "She is beautiful, that's all."

"So?"

"So you seem to think so, too. She has you quite inspired."

"I like pretty things, in case you haven't noticed. Being beautiful was a requirement. Elijah would never believe me interested in a plain girl," he remarks objectively. It's all very true, though it excludes the almost accidental way his plan came to fruition, and the fact he was intrigued by Miss Forbes long before they shook hands on their bargain. That perhaps that is the very reason the thought came upon him at all.

"Of course."

"What is this, the Inquisition?" he demands, annoyance finally seeping into his tone. "Don't tell me you're jealous, sweetheart."

Greta snorts. "Far from it."

"Meandering is not your style, Greta. Speak your mind at once and be done with it or stop with the teasing."

She takes a slow intake of air, stepping forward. Already he knows he's about to hear more than he's willing to. Greta, for all her merits, can be awfully opinionated.

"I'm not jealous," she states firmly. "I have never entertained any foolish assumptions about the nature of our relationship. I knew exactly what I was getting into when we... Dabbled," she provides with a light shrug.

Klaus smirks. They did enjoy some rather good times together, but although he still teases her whenever the opportunity arises, Klaus is not as irresponsible as his brother seems to believe, even if his reasons widely differ from what Elijah might expect. His affair with Greta was a short-lived one. It would be an awful inconvenience to parade with different partners in front of someone he'd been sleeping with. He didn't wish to hurt her feelings - no more than necessary, anyway. She seemed to take it in stride, even if she still categorizes and judges every single one of his lively guests.

As far as he knows, Greta has been properly seeing someone for a while now, a gentleman who calls on her every now and again, but that she's never allowed Klaus to meet. No doubt for fear he will disapprove of the man. Or maybe that he will be completely inappropriate and spook the man away. It can only mean she truly likes the lad. Much like himself, Greta does not fancy a good many people.

"I'm grateful for the job I have here," she continues. "You pay me handsomely and you never asked me any questions about my past. It would be hard to find a decent job anywhere else with my record, so... It's a good deal." She pauses, and then, almost as an afterthought, she adds, "And you're not half-bad in bed, so."

Klaus laughs. "You're welcome, madame. Glad to be of service."

Greta's expression changes then, morphing into something softer, but more intense at the same time. She fixes him under a sharp look that renders him uncomfortable before she's even said anything else.

"I do care about you, Klaus. You wake up every day with a different someone and you seem pretty content, but... Are you, really?"

"Have you been speaking to my brother behind my back now?" he asks grumpily. "That's a betrayal I will not tolerate."

"You know I would never," she objects. "But perhaps your brother is not entirely wrong."

"My brother is never right," he states firmly.

"He cares about you."

"He cares about his precious reputation as a colorless prude."

"If all he cared about was his reputation, he would've quashed your club a long time ago. He has the means to. He's a duke."

"Are you defending him now? That's not what I pay you for."

"No, you pay me to keep your house clean, your kitchen well stocked and to escort your guests through the back door in the morning, once you've tired of looking at them," she points out bitterly. "My mind I offer for free, as a friend. Maybe what your brother wants is just to see you happy. Genuinely happy."

Klaus plasters a brilliant smile across his face, dripping sarcasm. "Do I seem unhappy to you? Are all those noises you hear coming from my bedroom all through the night the sounds of a miserable git?"

Greta shakes her head at him with something close to pity. "You seem lonely. None of those boys and girls knows you. Not the real you. And you don't really know any of them. And I understand why you'd rather live that way. Feelings can be terrifying. Allowing someone in, someone who will see your soul and know you for who you are rather than the image you try to project, is daunting. It exposes you. Makes you feel vulnerable. Not to mention how it elevates the stakes, having to live up to someone else's expectation. That's not a very comfortable place to be in," she says with the intonation of one who speaks from experience. Klaus' smile all but slides off his face, the line of his lips becoming strained as her words hit far too close to home. "Putting your heart in someone else's hands takes a giant leap of faith. But trust me, sir... When reciprocated, there is nothing that compares."

Klaus feels a prickle somewhere inside his chest, a tug that is as alien as it is familiar. He's felt it before. Just this morning, in fact, while he was in that empty room in Somerset House, listening to Caroline paint an emotion inside of him with just her words. It kindled a fire deep within, bringing forth something wild and all-encompassing Klaus, with his devious mind and colorful, endless vocabulary, is yet to fully comprehend. It swept him with the might of a tidal wave, a force of nature completely out of his rule, and yet it felt so bitterly human. It made him feel wide open. Naked, and not in a good way.

However, in spite of all that, his first reaction was not to run from it, not to quench that fire before it could spread. It was like standing before a building as it burned up in flames and foolishly wanting to run towards it, jump head-first into the fire and let it consume him whole.

Klaus wanted to pull Caroline into his arms, kiss the living daylight out of her, fill his lungs with the air from her lips and claim her for himself.

Never in his greedy, filthy life had Klaus ever wanted someone as much as he wanted - craved - Caroline Forbes just then. His entire being hungered for her.

He didn't recognize himself in those feelings, in that sensation, in the way his heart sped up as though he'd never been intimate with a woman before. But maybe that was him. Maybe it could be. Maybe there's some truth in what Greta is saying. Maybe -

"I used to think you knew me better than anyone, but for goodness' sake, Greta," he lashes out, crumpling the drawing in his hands the way he wishes he could do to the annoying feeling in his chest. Just get rid of it, throw it out, pretend it never existed. "Are you honestly trying to lecture me on the wonders of true love? Have you not lived long enough under my roof to understand I'm way past the age of believing in fairy tales? I appreciate the unasked-for advice, love, but next time, see that you keep it to yourself - or better yet! Save it for when my brother comes over for tea. I'm sure you'd have lots to bond over."

Greta doesn't even flinch in the face of his sudden hostility. "It appears I have touched on a nerve, sir."

"I'm not interested in commitments," he nearly seethes at her, although whether he's trying to convince her or his own traitorous shriveled little heart is unclear. "Not with her, not with anyone."

"Oh, I don't know." She picks up the discarded drawing, uncrumpling the paper enough to peek at his poor attempt at drawing Caroline. "I think this girl has been occupying a whole plot in your mind. If she's been putting up with you, even though you're a right prick, I'd say she's quite special, indeed." She crumples up the paper once more, offering him an exaggerated bow before spinning on her heels. Just before she exits the room, however, Greta turns back to him. "I may be wrong here, but if I'm not, I really hope you can drop this act and your awful pride to recognize what's right in front of you before it's too late. Spending the rest of your life drowning in regret is something I wouldn't wish on my worst enemy. Good night, sir."

Once he's left to stew in his own bitterness, before he can even walk up to the bar cart to start stifling these pesky thoughts with a good scotch, the idea settles there, spreading its tentacles and latching onto his mind, filling him with questions he'd never in a million years thought he'd have.

What if Greta is right, and Caroline is that one in a million? What if his elaborate ruse has backfired and he has fallen victim to his own villainy? What if that strange flutter in his chest is not an illusion after all, but something much more real?

Could Klaus Mikaelson, greatest rake in all of England, have found his true match at the most unlikely of places, in the most unlikely of forms? The simple thought dredges a dry laugh out of him. But it does not feel as ludicrous as it once would have, not when he can still feel the tips of his fingers tingling where he touched her this morning.

TBC

Chapter Text

The anticipation surrounding the Duke of Orleans' ball was unmatched. All across London town, the genteel folk perked up with extraordinary excitement, crying out about how it was the most anticipated event of the season.

Feeling herself well acquainted with the hyperbolic ways of the ton by now, Caroline thought it was yet another excessive reaction to what was likely just another ritzy soiree like the dozens that came before.

She was wrong.

All the months gracing grand halls and bashes at the homes of some of the most upstanding families in London could not prepare Caroline for the sheer grandiosity of what awaited her at the duke's home. The opulence is... stunning. Quite literally.

"His Grace really outdid himself this year, didn't he?"

"This is formidable. It will be one for the ages."

"The Queen will not be pleased. She will have to up her game if she is to retain her status as society's greatest entertainer."

"I'll be damned if Lady Rebekah doesn't find herself a husband or two tonight."

Gilded carriages line up the street before the most impressive of all the residences at Grosvenor Square. Eyes sparkle all around as elegantly dressed gentlemen escort women in the most sumptuous of gowns towards the entrance, the glint of expensive jewelry blinding as diamond tiaras and necklaces of all shapes and sizes catch the flickering lights.

"You're gawking, sweetie," her aunt admonishes, though her tone is more amused than reproachful.

Caroline is quick to snap her mouth shut, suddenly overly-mindful of her posture. "Sorry."

"Oh, don't apologize. It's quite something, indeed." Auntie Liz links her arm through Caroline's as the two of them give the Duke of Orleans' ancestral residence a good once over. "Elijah Mikaelson keeps to himself and stays virtuously out of the spotlight all year round, and then on this one night, every season..." She trails off, shaking her head. "It does run in the family, doesn't it?" Her aunt casts her a knowing look, and Caroline chuckles. She understands exactly what Auntie Liz is referring to. For all their differences, the Mikaelson children seem to share a unique flair. Even the most seemingly unpretentious of them knows how to throw a spectacle like no other.

As they wait to be announced, Caroline becomes distinctly aware of the fact she's being stared at.

She was feeling quite confident about her choice of outfit for the evening, but the prodding gazes and loud whispering make her very self-conscious all of a sudden. It's staggering how nobody is even bothering with discretion.

She peers down at her dress, smoothing invisible wrinkles on her puffy-sleeved lavender gown as she considers what fashion crimes she might have unwittingly committed. Could the hand-sewn crystal beads be too much? Is her neckline too exposing? It does highlight the swell of her bosom, she supposes, but the modiste assured her it was all in good taste - the highest of fashion, she said. Not even aunt Liz had an issue with it, and she's the most particular person Caroline's ever met.

It can't be her gown.

"What's the matter? Why are you so fidgety all of a sudden?" aunt Liz asks.

"Have I put on too much rouge?" she asks her aunt. "Or is my hair already starting to fall apart? Where can I find a mirror around here?"

"Your rouge is fine, dear, as is your hair."

She leans closer to her aunt, speaking very lowly. "Am I crazy or is everyone looking at me?"

Aunt Liz laughs. "Of course they're all looking at you, sweetie. What did you expect?"

She blinks in confusion. "What do you mean?"

"Caroline, this is the Duke's ball," her aunt says matter-of-factly, as though it's the most obvious thing in the world.

"And?"

"And you're being courted by the Duke's brother. Whoever Niklaus chooses as a bride requires the Duke of Orleans's blessing. They all expect you to be on trial this evening."

She feels the color draining from her face. Her corset feels all too tight all of a sudden. "What?" she asks, eyes wide in horror. "A trial? I had no idea - I never knew - I didn't -"

Aunt Liz stops her by placing a comforting hand on top of hers. "You're babbling, my child. It's very unbecoming."

"Auntie Liz," Caroline whines. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"I thought you knew. It stands to logic, doesn't it?"

"Well, yes. Now that you mentioned it," she grudgingly admits, shifting nervously. Already she's wondering if there are any hidden nooks she can crawl into and disappear for the whole duration of the party, resorting to her old withdrawal tactics. "I did not prepare for this."

"You talk as if you're about to be sent to war."

"You just called it a trial!"

"Shhh," her aunt quiets her with a firm look. "Drawing more attention to yourself is not going to help. Calm down, will you? This isn't mathematics, Caroline. You merely have to bow and be polite, that is all."

Easier said than done. It never occurred to her that she'd be on the spot at the Duke's ball. In fact, she thought she'd be so insignificant at an event of this magnitude she'd hardly even be properly introduced to the Duke and his wife, no more than a curtsy and a quick greeting. How did she not realize that the whole ruse with Klaus would make her a person of interest before His Grace?

"The Dowager Countess Elizabeth and her niece, Lady Caroline Forbes," a booming voice announces.

Caroline's blood turns to ice. She only moves when her aunt's firm hand on the small of her back ushers her forward.

Standing next to the ballroom entrance are the Duke and Duchess of Orleans, Elijah and Hayley Mikaelson. The couple are the perfect picture of nobility: statuesque beauties, dazzling in their evening gowns. Caroline had heard about the Duchess' beauty, but it's even more striking in person. According to the rumor mill, she has been notoriously absent from this season's events due to her delicate condition, which her emerald dress doesn't completely disguise.

"Your Graces," her aunt greets them with a curtsy. When Caroline doesn't follow, paralyzed, her aunt gives a firm pull on her dress to startle her out of her terrified inertia.

Mustering all the grace she was taught from a very young age, Caroline bows - perhaps a bit too deep -, glad for the excuse to avert her eyes.

"Lady Elizabeth, it's always an honor." Elijah's tone is warm, but his voice and gentle grin doesn't quite reach his eyes.

"May I introduce my niece, Caroline."

When the Duke's attention shifts entirely to her, Caroline's stomach churns so violently she fears she's going to be sick.

Elijah Mikaelson can read minds.

One good look from him and Caroline's convinced he can see right through the boiling mayhem inside her head - a quality he seems to share with his brother. Seems fitting as a Mikaelson family heritage - beauty, fortune and inhuman powers. They are certainly the type.

His gaze is piercing and impossible to avoid, and though he keeps a gentle curve on his lips, it does not quite meet the darkness in his eyes.

The pause seems to take an eternity, rendering Caroline even more nervous than she already was. It really does feel as though she's being appraised - and what is one even supposed to do in a situation such as this? Curtsies and politeness do not seem even remotely sufficient. How she abhors being caught unprepared.

At last, Elijah takes a step forward, taking her gloved hand in his and lifting it up to his lips. "My lady," he says. The kiss sears through the fabric, imprinting on her skin.

If her rouge wasn't overdone before, it will certainly be now, flustered as she is.

"I've been looking forward to making your acquaintance," he says

"Oh," she replies, sounding like a dimwit. "That's... I'm very flattered, Your Grace. Thank you for having me."

"It's my pleasure. I hope you will grant me a dance, if it's not too imposing?"

She casts a furtive look at her aunt, loath for what to do. What's the appropriate etiquette when a duke who also happens to be the host of the most anticipated event of the season asks you for a dance?

The sharp smile on her aunt's face is quite telling. Do it, you silly girl.

"Of course," she blurts out. She's going to need a drink. A strong one. Or several. "That would be an honor."

"How does the waltz sound?" he suggests with an innocent arch of his eyebrow.

"The waltz?" she parrots, her voice at least an octave too high. There's only one waltz tonight. It's meant to be the pinnacle of the evening.

"Unless you were saving it for someone?"

Caroline disguises her nerves - and the slight prick of disappointment - behind a strained but practiced smile.

The waltz is their thing, hers and Klaus'.

"Uh... Not particularly, but..." She trails off, looking at the Duchess instead.

"Oh, I can't dance," she offers, placing a hand on her swollen stomach. "Doctor's orders."

"Oh. Of course," she says. "Then it will be my honor, Your Grace. The waltz sounds... perfect."

"Wonderful. If I may?"

She lifts her arm and Elijah writes down his name on her dance card dangling from her wrist, saving the most intimate of dances for himself.

"Thank you, my lady. I will see you inside," he finishes with a polite nod, motioning towards the ballroom and indicating it's time for her and her aunt to move. He and the Duchess still have a line of guests to greet.

Her head is spinning as the two of them join the rest of the guests already socializing in the ballroom, where musicians are playing a tune she can barely hear over the pounding sound in her ears.

"What just happened, auntie?"

"You, my dear, have just been granted the biggest honor of the evening," aunt Liz tells her, sounding entirely too proud.

Caroline is not so sure yet about it.

Caroline is a vision.

It seems absurd, but it somehow strikes Klaus anew every time he sees her.

It's not just her statuesque features or her graceful manners. There's something about Caroline that makes it impossible to look away. A radiance that seems to follow her wherever she goes. It brushes upon his perception, makes him hyper-aware of her presence whenever she walks into a room, calling to him. The kind of thing that inspires poets. That inspires art.

It's also the kind of thing that leaves him terribly frustrated, because he knows this will be yet another night when he will be useless at thinking of anything else but how magnificent her bosom looks in that dress. Such a tease.

He clasps his hands behind his back, cutting a straight line across the ballroom towards her like a man on a mission.

"Good evening, my lady" he greets her smoothly. "You look devastating tonight."

Caroline gives him a polite nod, her smile somewhat strained. "My lord."

Klaus frowns at the awkwardness of her behavior. Caroline usually relaxes in his presence. Her smiles come more easily, her comments more freely. She's less of a prim and proper debutante and more herself. Instead, she looks tense.

"Back to lording me, I see," he says. "I thought we'd agreed on dropping the formalities?"

"Well, that - might have been a bit hasty." She casts a quick look around before leaning slightly closer, whispering conspiratorially, "We're being watched."

"Is that why you're so nervous?"

"I'm not nervous," she objects crisply. "Just... Uncomfortable. Everyone is looking at me and whispering. I'm not used to that kind of attention."

Klaus smiles, all amusement. "Well, I can tell you all about being the center of attention, if you wish."

She straightens her eyes at him in censure. "You enjoy the spectacle, don't you?"

"There's nothing I can do about it. It will happen whether I welcome it or not. I might as well make the most of it."

"You're impossible," she says, fondness bleeding into her voice even as she shakes her head. "Well, I must be on my very best behavior tonight. It appears I'm under some kind of test, whatever that might be."

"You've nothing to worry about, Caroline. Just be yourself."

She scoffs. "That is terrible advice. I don't think my true self would be particularly popular."

"Then it is their loss." Caroline gives him a look, her expression relaxing for just a moment, her lips ticking up into a near smile. And then she catches herself.

Klaus is notably unsympathetic to all the prudish regiment that dictates social engagements at the ton, but he's come to despite it all the more since he met Caroline, purely for how it seems to curb all of her beautiful natural instincts. Caroline is a force to be reckoned with, he can feel the strength of her character thrumming just beneath her skin, and yet she never allows herself to be truly free for fear of consequence. She's not wrong, of course. Young women's reputations are destroyed every day for the silliest of reasons. But it does not stop him from wishing she could just step outside of her gilded cage and spread her wings. Klaus has only scratched the surface with her; he can only wonder how magnificent she must be in her full glory.

"I imagine your company will be in high demand this evening. I shall claim my stake on your waltz immediately. There will be only one tonight, if you can believe it. Elijah is not a fan."

He attempts to reach for her dance card, but Caroline pulls her hand away. "It's already taken," she sputters. Klaus arches his eyebrows at her, a pinch of bitterness in his chest that she would've given the most coveted dance of the evening to someone else.

"Oh?"

She averts his gaze, staring down at the floor. "By your brother."

"What?"

"Your Grace requested the dance as soon as I arrived," she explains, somewhat apologetically.

The bitterness quickly turns to irritation, humor bleeding out of Klaus in a second as his temper flares hot. "Elijah asked for the waltz?"

"It's a great honor," she says, though it sounds like she's trying to convince herself more so than him. "It's his ball, after all."

Klaus' gaze shoots towards the entrance, where Elijah is still standing primly next to his wife, greeting the guests as they arrive. No wonder Caroline's nerves are showing. Not only is she under close scrutiny by their peers, the Duke himself has made it clear that he's also watching her.

His brother doesn't do anything without a reason. He knows very well the kind of message he'll be sending by asking Caroline to save him the most important dance of the evening. But more than speaking to the other guests and society in general, Klaus knows his brother's message is addressed especially to him. Elijah is all about the mind games.

"What's the matter?" Caroline asks when he stays quiet for a moment too long, shooting daggers at his brother. "Is there something wrong?"

"No," he turns back to her, trying to mask his own discomfort. "It's nothing. I'm only displeased that I have missed out on the waltz. We'll have to settle for something else."

She puts her hand forward, offering him her card. "I couldn't turn him down," she speaks in a small voice.

He lifts his eyes to her, suddenly regretting his reaction. Caroline looks guilty, as though she'd done something wrong. "Don't worry, love," he says softly, awarding her a lopsided grin. "It's not your fault. When a duke asks for a dance, especially at his own ball, one doesn't simply turn him down. Not even in favor of his much more dashing and light-footed younger brother."

She chuckles. "Is he not a good dancer?"

"He inherited the title and all of the pomp, but none of the flair, I'm afraid. Beware."

"I appreciate your concern for the well-being of my feet," she says lightly, finally sounding like herself again. He's glad to put her mind at ease, even if his is the complete opposite.

"It's a very selfish interest, I assure you," he says as he finishes writing his name under a cotillion and a country dance. Two sets to make up for the one they'll lose. "I can't very well collect on these dances if my brother destroys you."

"I'm sure you'd have no qualms finding a replacement. I doubt there's a single lady in attendance who won't be dying to have a Mikaelson on their cards this evening."

"Is that true for you as well?" Caroline's cheeks flush beautifully, but she disguises it quickly with an eye-roll. Klaus' lips draw into a feline grin, his eyes focused on hers. "Well, too bad for them," he adds, "for I've no interest in replacements."

Klaus has always prided himself in being rather strong of heart. There aren't many things that will shock him, nothing he can't take on the shin. A lifetime of abuse from Mikael made him quite impervious.

But watching Caroline waltz in the arms of his brother... It turns out to be more than he can stomach. He can only imagine the nefarious intentions behind Elijah's request, or what kind of thing he could be whispering into her ear. Nothing good can come out of it.

Instead of signing his name to some other lady's card, he decides to skip the waltz altogether, ignoring the longing gazes sent his way. He would rather not give rise to any speculations. There's only one person he'd like to dance with this evening, and she's already taken. Perhaps that's why Elijah picked her, after all. Out of pure spite. Klaus wouldn't put it past him to do something as petty as using his rank to steal this little pleasure away from Klaus. It's just like Elijah, in fact.

Before he ends up making a scene, he grabs a glass of champagne and walks to the door.

He knows the house like the back of his hand. Every hidden nook and corner, every secret passage. Klaus has no love for the place, having severed roots with it a long time ago, but it's hard not to feel a wave of nostalgia on the rare occasions he comes back for a visit, whenever familial obligations - namely, Elijah - makes him, once or twice a year at most.

He's thinking of snatching a bottle of whiskey from the study and burrowing himself in the library for an hour or so when he spots Lady Elizabeth. He imagined she'd be at the ballroom with her ever-hawkish eyes glued to her niece as she's made the center of all attention in the arms of the Duke. Instead, she's had the same idea as Klaus, escaping to the hall, standing all by her lonesome self as she admires the ghoulish portraits lining the walls.

It's practically an invitation, isn't it?

"Ah yes, dearest great-great aunt Freya," he says casually, coming to stand beside her. "What an awful woman. May the devil have her soul."

Lady Elizabeth arches both her eyebrows at him, and Klaus can't tell whether she's outraged or amused. "What has the poor woman ever done to you?"

"I never met her," he replies with a shrug. "Fortunately, I would say. She had the face of a rabid dog and father loved her to bits. That's all I need to know about her."

She shakes her head at him, but he doesn't fail to notice how the corner of her lips curl just that tiny bit upward. Klaus hides his satisfied grin behind his glass as he sips from his champagne. He wouldn't be so bold as to gloat before the Iron Lady and risk getting on her bad side.

"What are you doing out here? There's a line of young ladies desperate for your famed dance floor talents inside."

"My dance floor talents are shared sparingly."

"Playing hard to get, Niklaus? Not really your style, is it?"

"Ouch!" He splays a hand across his chest with mock-hurt. "Am I really so terrible?"

"Oh, I'm sure you're worse." He has to laugh. Klaus was never close to the Countess for obvious reasons, but he's starting to think that was a mistake on his part. Caroline seems to have taken after her aunt in many aspects. "I saw how much you contributed to the new wing at Somerset House," she remarks casually. "As a patron of the Academy myself, I find it inspiring to see a young man contribute with so many pieces. Your collection is outstanding."

"You flatter me, my lady. I'm a mere admirer."

"Is the Duke a collector as well?"

He snorts, motioning to the portraits on both sides of the corridor. "You can see the quality of his art collection for yourself. It's all portraits of dead sinister-looking people. Father's bad taste comes with the estate, I'm afraid."

"It's a sore shame. Young men these days don't appreciate the noble arts much beyond the status it confers them to possess expensive pieces."

"I'm entirely in agreement. But you speak as if there are centuries between us. You're quite youthful yourself, my lady."

"There's no need to flatter me, young man. It won't work," she says with a pointed look.

He laughs. "That's why I like you, Lady Elizabeth."

"Is that why you like my niece as well? Caroline is also known to be rather candid. A bit too much for my tastes, even. Her father tried to warn me about her temper. I thought he was exaggerating, the way men tend to exacerbate everything they perceive as a fault in a woman. But he was not wrong about Caroline." She smiles fondly, in a way that makes Klaus believe she admires more than reprimands her niece's outspokenness. When she shifts her attention from the painting to him, however, there's a harsh glint in her hazel eyes. "Do you find her entertaining?"

Klaus' grin turns awkward. "I can sense your disapproval -"

"I cannot imagine why."

"- but I assure you, my lady, I am very sincere. Lady Caroline is a fascinating young woman."

"Yes. And quite handsome, too."

"To anyone with a pair of eyes, I would say."

"I understand, Mr. Mikaelson. I really do. I may be biased, but I'm also not daft. I know Caroline is a gem. I quarreled so much with my dear brother about her upbringing after her mother passed away, didn't think it was right for a young woman to be raised alone by a man in the countryside. But he refused to part from her until it was absolutely necessary - and she started to grow restless herself. He knew he couldn't hold her back for much longer. Caroline has a craving for adventure, to experience things, to see more of the world. Mystic Falls was never going to be enough for her. She does have too much of a mind of her own and a tongue just as sharp, but she turned out extraordinary. I think her upbringing has made her quite unique. Wouldn't you say?"

He nods. "She is certainly not like any other young lady I have met before."

"As I'm sure you are probably unlike every other young man she's met. You're... Different, Mr. Mikaelson. A free spirit."

He squints at Lady Elizabeth. "Is that a compliment or...?"

"It's a mere observation."

He flashes her a proud smile. "Well, I shall take it as a compliment, then."

"You should leave Caroline alone."

Klaus' humor all but drops. The suddenness of her words feels almost like an attack, finds him cold and unable to react. He thought this was going well. Where exactly did he go wrong?

"I beg your pardon?"

"She is enraptured, Mr. Mikaelson. Fascinated, no doubt, by that deadly combination of witty mind and heavenly face you sport so well. I do not blame her. Half the ton is drawn to your charms, even with everything that is known about you. Sometimes it feels like I was born old and grumpy, but I was once young and wide-eyed myself, and I know what it's like to come upon a man who feels like a force of nature. Especially for someone like Caroline, who was sheltered her whole life."

"Lazy Elizabeth, I -"

"You monopolize her time," she continues, speaking over him, "her attention, and right now, her affections. My niece is falling for you, Mr. Mikaelson."

Something tugs at Klaus' chest, his stomach fluttering in a way that was entirely unfamiliar but not unpleasant.

"She..." he starts, then stops, realizing he's smiling in what is probably a very unseemly manner. He presses his lips together, trying to wipe the astonishment from his face. "She... Never expressed anything about... that."

"Somehow, I don't believe that comes as a shock to you. Already she favors your attention over everyone else's. And here's where I have a problem with that, Mr. Mikaelson." Lady Elizabeth takes a step closer, leveling him with a stern look. "If she loses the chance to find a suitable husband, someone who will actually offer her marriage and the life she deserves, because of your selfishness... I will make you my enemy. I never had any children of my own, but I love Caroline as though she were mine, and will not allow her to be used as entertainment to help relieve the boredom of a season, and then discarded like an old boot."

"With all due respect, but you underestimate your niece if you think she would ever allow herself to be used by a man - even one as charming as me." He punctuates his sentence with a winning smile, dimples and all, the type that awards him whoever he sets his eyes upon at his club. Lady Elizabeth doesn't even blink.

"Not quite. Caroline may be smart and practical, but deep down she's still a young woman dreaming of a love match. And you, sir, much like every other man, have too much of an ego. I'm sure it does wonders to your male ego to have a beautiful girl swooning over you."

"Not to gloat, my lady, but it's not as if there's a shortage in those. If that's all I required -"

"I suggest you stop talking right there, Mr. Mikaelson. I see where this is going and you're not making things better for yourself."

He exhales wearily. "And here I was thinking we were becoming friends."

"Well, let me put this into clearer words, then: I do not care for you one bit, Mr. Mikaelson. My late husband always did say I would make a formidable detective with how perceptive I am - were women allowed to perform such brutish activities. And I see right through that shiny veneer you put forward. You don't fool me, Mr. Mikaelson. Not for one second."

Klaus' lips curve into a half-smirk. "A worthy adversary, I see."

"Are we to be adversaries, then?"

"I should hope not." He puts on his most solemn posture, then, trying to be as honest as he knows how, without giving himself entirely away. A fine balance, indeed, but one he's perfected to an art over countless hours emptying pockets at gaming hells. "Whatever you might think of me, Lady Elizabeth, know this: I care very much for Caroline, and I would never do anything to hurt your niece."

"Not willingly, perhaps. Which is not to say that she would not end up getting hurt, anyway. In spite of everything, I do believe you. I see the way you look at her. There are only two reasons someone would dedicate as much time and attention to another person as you dedicate to her: you're either truly interested, or you stand to make money, and seeing as the latter is not the case here, I can only assume it's the former. And that is the only reason I'm having this civilized conversation with you at all. I believe we both want what's best for her, and if your wish to never bring her harm comes from a place of sincerity, then you will agree with me that you should take your leave. Caroline is the only one who stands to lose at the end of whatever ruse you're playing at here." He opens his mouth to defend himself, but she stops him by waving a hand in front of his face. "No, no, I'm not asking for explanations or excuses. It's your life, your business, do as you please - but do not drag my niece into it. You and I both know you were not cut out for the matrimonial life, Mr. Mikaelson, what with your nighttime activities which you seem so fond of. It does not blend well with a wife. And while you continue to distract Caroline, she might be losing the chance of a lifetime to settle down with a man who will offer her everything you've no intention of giving her. So if you care for her at all... Please, Mr. Mikaelson. Set her free."

Lady Elizabeth's plea bites right through him, her voice ringing in his ears as she gives him a polite nod.

She sounds just like Elijah, he thinks. And just like Elijah, her words should barely give him pause. And yet, as she steps around him and returns to the ballroom, she leaves him with guilt weighing inside his chest, and an awkward ache in his heart.

The Duke of Orleans moves with the self-assurance of a man who has the whole world in the palm of his hands.

Caroline didn't think it was possible for anyone to have an even greater sense of self than Klaus, but she was wrong. Although she supposes it stands to reason that if anyone would, it would be his older brother. The name Mikaelson has a power of its own in this town - in this country, more like it - but the title adds a whole new layer of influence to it. There's not a single door in all of London who would ever stay closed to a man like him, not even the gates of the royal palace.

The moment he approaches her to join him as the musicians introduce the waltz, Caroline is on the edge of her wits. Her breath snags when he pulls her closer, her body going stiff as a rod, which makes it harder for him to lead her in the dance. "Don't worry, Miss Forbes," he says with a gentle smile, sensing her growing tension. "Unlike my brother, I do not bite."

She huffs out a silent laugh, but not even his attempt at humor can put her at ease. His eyes are as dark as the night - so different from his brother's, but equally cunning, and even more acute. She gets the distinct sensation that he can poke around her mind and unearth all of her secrets.

She cannot help but compare him to Klaus. It's interesting how the two brothers can share so many traits - confident, bold, imposing - whilst remaining polar opposites. Where Klaus is exuberant, Elijah is the picture of discretion. Where Klaus is expansive and loud, Elijah is restrained and temperate. Where Klaus wears his heart on his sleeve, always so unapologetically himself, Elijah is absolutely inscrutable. While Klaus burns with heat and reckless abandon, Elijah is as cold as ice. There's something very calculating about him, and the fact she has no idea what's going through his mind makes her terribly unsettled.

Klaus was wrong about one thing, though: Elijah is no ungainly amateur when it comes to dancing. Caroline is not by far at her best tonight, her nerves distracting her from the dance, which requires a lot more skill from her partner, and he pulls it off brilliantly. She was half-expecting a clumsy show of ineptitude after Klaus' warning, but she should've known it was very like him to bad-mouth the Duke out of some petty brotherly rivalry.

Elijah lacks Klaus' flair and enthusiasm, but more than compensates for it with refinement and elegance. Instead of being reassuring, however, his prowess feels threatening. He keeps her firmly under his control at all times, holding on to her in a way that admits no deviation, spinning her as though she were a rag doll, completely at his mercy. Caroline has a tremor at the pit of her stomach the whole time. She never thought a mere dance could render her so vulnerable.

Relief floods her veins when the music ends. She offers him a curtsy, keeping her eyes down. "Your Grace," she says.

"Do you mind accompanying me for a moment?" Elijah asks, and while he sounds very polite, there's an authoritarian edge behind it. It's not really a question, so much as a request. This isn't a man used to hearing no, she gathers.

"Of course," Caroline answers, because what else would she say?

She searches for her aunt as he escorts her out of the ballroom - and in failing to find her, she looks for Klaus. Neither of them is around. It makes her all the more antsy to be led away by a man like this - a man she hardly knows, even if everyone else seems to have in high regard - but she tries to keep her nerves at bay.

They walk across a sumptuous corridor, lined with portraits of important-looking people on both sides. Mikaelsons, she guesses. Generations and generations of wealthy nobility peering down at her from the top of their elevated statuses. It instantly crosses her mind that Klaus and Elijah's artistic tastes must clash quite brutally. She doubts the youngest Lord Mikaelson has a wall such as this at his home, based on the pieces he lent to the gallery. Klaus is a rebel at heart, and one who appreciates the subjectivity of art far too much to endorse the vanity of commissioned portraits meant to sit on a wall as a reminder of bloodline and heritage.

Not to mention, it's dreadfully ominous.

"How are you enjoying the city?" Elijah asks. "I know London can be a tad intimidating to newcomers. I hear you were raised in the countryside?"

The fact he's obviously gone through the trouble of learning about her should be flattering, but she can't quite shake the feeling she is being judged for her upbringing. The line of scornful Mikaelsons around her doesn't help either.

"Indeed. I grew up in Mystic Falls. I should've come sooner, but it was difficult to convince my father to let me leave."

"I can imagine. No father would want to part from their only child."

Good Lord, he really does know everything about me.

"To be certain. And he's also not partial to London, thinks life here is too hostile and superficial. London is wicked and fatally attractive, he used to say. It will inflame you and corrupt you until it kills you."

"Dramatic, perhaps," Elijah says, seeming somewhat amused, "but I cannot say I disagree."

"He makes a valid point, perhaps, but it's only part of the truth, not the whole thing. There's more to London than just corruption and the ides of society. There's so much to see, so much beauty, so many places to go, such different characters and cultures. People who come from all over the world, who have been to corners of this earth I didn't even know existed. It's so rich. It can be overwhelming, but that doesn't take away from its many merits. I think it's quite lovely."

Elijah smiles at her, and she can't know for sure, but she thinks he means it. "There is something very optimistic in seeing beauty in our chaos. I find that most people who spend their lives here become desensitized to such things."

"You must think me silly."

"Quite the opposite. I think it's very refreshing. Please, after you," he stops by the door, motioning for her to enter.

The study is as opulent as the rest of the house, with dark wooden shelves lining up most of the walls, filled with leather-bound books and curious knick-knacks - except for the wall right behind the grand desk, empty but for a single portrait, much larger than the ones in the corridor. There's something very familiar about the man cutting an imposing figure on the painting.

"The eleventh Duke of Orleans," Elijah cuts through her thoughts as he comes to stand right beside her, watching the painting with an unreadable expression on his face. "My late father."

"Oh," she says, realizing now why he'd seemed so familiar. Not because of Elijah, though; because of Klaus. The resemblance is obvious now that she thinks about it. They have the same fierce blue eyes. "He looks so much -"

"Like Niklaus, yes." He offers her the bare hint of a grin. "Everyone says so. The irony of it never ceases to amaze me. The two of them were at odds every single day of their lives, until father's last breath. I don't think they ever agreed about a single matter. Father was hard on all his children, but none of us had it harder than Niklaus. And yet he certainly inherited all the physical resemblance."

"That's awful," Caroline says. "About your brother, I mean. I can't even imagine not getting along with my family."

"Then you've been very privileged, Miss Forbes. Family is the most precious thing there is. But they're not always a gift."

She frowns slightly, unsure of what he means by that - whether he's talking about his father or about Klaus, or perhaps both. Is he jealous that his younger brother bears all the resemblance to their father? Caroline always assumed that Klaus' contemptuous tone when speaking about his older brother was just playful exaggeration. As an only child, she has no experience in the matter, but her father was often critical of aunt Liz, and her aunt is definitely the same, always grumbling about how headstrong and irreducible Bill Forbes can be. She just assumed that Klaus and Elijah were the same, displeasing each other with their clashing temperaments. But maybe there's more to it. Maybe their feud runs deeper than she thought.

It's impossible to tell, though. Klaus hates pretty much everyone, which makes it hard to capture any nuances in his opinions, and Elijah is utterly undecipherable. Even his tone of voice is perfectly composed and level, making an enigma of the underlying meaning of his words.

"Tell me something, Miss Forbes," he starts again after a beat, turning to face her. "Have you any serious prospects?"

She blinks slowly. "I beg your pardon, Your Grace?"

"I mean suitors. Is there anyone who stands out? I imagine there must be a line of young lads bending the corner of Lady Elizabeth's home," he explains, as though there's nothing inadequate about this very personal question. Caroline may be new to the ton, but she's pretty certain it's not common for dukes to pull guests away to inquire on the circumstances of their marriage prospects.

She hesitates. "Well, that's... You flatter me, my lord, but that is not the case."

"That is truly staggering. You're an upstanding young lady - and a remarkable dancer, as I can attest -, your aunt is one of the most respected members of the ton. And you're quite becoming, if I may respectfully say so."

Caroline's eyebrows shoot up in shock, heat creeping up her neck. "I - that's -" she stammers, at a total loss for how to conduct this conversation. While she would rather not be seen alone with a man, she suddenly wishes for nothing more than for someone to come barging into the room. "I'm sorry, my lord, I'm not sure -"

"I'm making you uncomfortable," he states. "Do forgive me. I didn't mean to upset you."

"I'm not upset, I'm just... Confused as to why you asked me to come here to inquire about my suitors."

"Of course." Elijah walks over to a bar cart, pouring himself a glass of brandy. "I'd offer you some, but -"

"It's very inappropriate."

"Indeed." He takes a sip from his drink. "I'm sorry to be so forward, but I have been most curious about you. I'm afraid my responsibilities keep me from attending most social gatherings, but word does travel fast. And it has come to my attention that my brother is rather bewitched."

"I..." Her voice catches, cheeks burning with embarrassment as she wrings her hands together. "I don't know what to tell you. Your Grace."

"No, you've nothing to tell me. I'm the one who has something to say. I was eager to see from up close what the woman who has captured my brother's attention so fiercely is like. I must admit that my imagination took me to wild places. Knowing Niklaus' usual disposition, I... Well. Suffice to say, I had a very different idea. You're nothing like I expected."

"Oh?"

"You're impeccable, Miss Forbes. Just... Absolutely faultless."

"You have me confused, Your Grace. Are you trying to pay me a compliment or...?"

"Not particularly, though it is complimentary, I suppose. I'm merely stating a fact. What I mean to say is that you resemble nothing the kind of company my brother usually chooses to surround himself with. If you've notion of his reputation, which I assume you have by now, you can certainly understand. And that's why I've asked you here, Miss Forbes. To tell you that you must end your pursuit."

Caroline's brow crinkles with bafflement. "My - pursuit?"

"Of Niklaus. You shouldn't see him anymore. For your own good."

"I'm well aware of your brother's reputation, my lord, but if you're worried about his behavior, I assure you he's been nothing but respectful."

"And I don't doubt that, absurd though it might seem. Not because of him, but because of you. You don't appear as the kind of woman who would entertain Niklaus' attention if he acted with his usual reckless disregard for decorum. But it's all a lie, Miss Forbes. A deceit. His well-earned fame is no happenstance. Perhaps if you were different, someone else -"

"Someone else?" Caroline parrots, the words tasting like ash in her mouth as comprehension begins to dawn on her. "If I were someone else... I'd be more suitable for him?"

Elijah gives her a look that seems awfully sympathetic. Almost pitiful. It makes her insides clench. "If you were someone different, I might have believed him to be truly enraptured. But you are..." He trails off, wetting his lips with the tip of his tongue as he ponders over his next words.

"I am?" Caroline prods.

Elijah sighs. "A country girl of exemplary nature, with honest and pure aspirations. I'm afraid your lightness of feet or indeed your striking features, tempting though I'm sure they are to someone like Niklaus, are not enough to appease his voracious appetite. You see, Miss Forbes, decent women do not tend to hold his interest for long. He enjoys the challenge far more than he does the conquest. I have seen far too many hearts being broken not to warn you against this fruitless pursuit that will cost you dearly. This is all a sport to him, Miss Forbes. All of life is. You are not the one for my brother, and my straightforwardness might come off as rude, but in due time you will understand this is a kindness, for it will take you nowhere to entertain his attention. This marriage won't happen."

He might as well have struck her raw.

Her heart drops to her feet as she stares at Lord Elijah in sheer incredulity. His impassive expression never wavers, not even a little show of remorse as he all but humiliates her. She feels the hot press of tears behind her eyes, her chest tight with a mix of embarrassment and indignation.

She is stuck in that semi-catatonic state for a long second, unable to produce a single word in her own defense as she battles her trembling lips. She refuses to degrade herself further by breaking down in front of him.

It takes every ounce of pride she has to put her chin up, balling her gloved hands into fists for courage.

"I may have grown up in the countryside and have no fortune to my name, but I am no fool, sir," she grits out, her voice wound tight, but steady.

Elijah's eyes widen for a moment, he takes a step forward. "Miss Forbes, you misunderstand -"

"I would never allow a man to take advantage of me - not even one in your brother's position."

"I know. Of course I know. But that is not what I'm saying."

"If you won't respect my status, then respect my intelligence, sir. It's quite clear to me what you're saying." Caroline's stomach coils with nausea, but her resolve hardens. "I don't come from a line of dukes and princes. My father is a mere baronet who has spent his whole life working hard and accumulating very little wealth. But he's an honored man, and so am I. He taught me very well what my position in society is, and as I know my own value, I also know my place. So it is I who must tell you to fear not, my lord. Your brother has not spoken of marriage and should he ever find himself in a delirious enough state to mention it, I will be sure to dissuade him. Thank you for your concern."

She gives him an exaggerated curtsy, going almost all the way to the floor before rising again. "Your Grace."

"Miss Forbes, please -"

"My aunt will be expecting me."

She does not wait to hear what other indignity he could possibly hurl at her, all the while making it sound as though he were doing her a favor. Caroline dashes out of the room in haste. She is far too sincere to hold herself together for much longer; another second in there and she would surely put herself through even more embarrassment. In fact, as soon as she takes off, she feels herself begin to come apart. Everything comes spilling out as her false confidence cracks - all of her insecurities, which she's tried so hard to battle since her arrival in London, knowing she'd be compared to the pure-blooded diamonds, daughters of dukes and earls and viscounts, floods her at once, carried by the greatest sense of humiliation.

There's no silk or sparkling jewelry that can hide what she truly is. Caroline doesn't belong in this place, with these people. She's not one of them. She will never be.

The Duke of Orleans has spoken, and he has ordered her away from his family.

She needs to get away from there. She needs to leave. She can't breathe.

Caroline is a blur of lavender silk as she dashes across the ballroom, barreling her way towards the front door in a rush.

Is she... crying?

Klaus feels a spike of panic twisting his insides. Something is terribly wrong, and all of his instincts send him immediately chasing after her. He doesn't even think - doesn't even apologize to Lady Fell for abandoning her in the middle of the cotillion without so much as a warning - he just reacts.

He follows her all the way to the front yard, but there's no one there. All he can hear are the muffled sounds of the party raging inside, light spilling into the darkened night from the large windows.

"Caroline?" he calls, searching around, his heart heavy in his chest.

He could swear she'd come this way. The door was left ajar. Could she have taken a turn at the main hall -

A sob knifes through the night, straight into his chest. Klaus follows it like thunder.

His heart sinks at the sight of Caroline's trembling figure, hidden behind a bush. He's never seen her like this - so small, so fragile, so broken.

"Caroline, sweetheart," he croaks. She's a wreck of tears and bitter hurt and everything inside of him wants to comfort her, protect her, but he hasn't the faintest idea of how to go about it.

She recoils from him when he tries to reach out as though his mere proximity burns.

"What are you doing here?" she demands, trying to swallow back her tears. "If anyone sees us -"

"To hell with anyone." He regrets the harshness of his tone the second it comes out. "I'm sorry, sweetheart, I'm -" he starts once more, trying to calm himself so he won't startle her further. "What happened?"

Stubbornly, Caroline sniffs back a shaky breath. "Nothing."

"This doesn't look like nothing to me."

"Nothing happened, leave it alone."

He regards her carefully, taking in her full state. His first thought - a dreadful, revolting thought - is that someone could've tried to take advantage of her. The moment the idea flares up in his mind, Klaus' insides curl with anger. But other than her puffy eyes, she seems perfectly aligned. Her hair is intact, not a wrinkle on her gown. It doesn't mean someone couldn't have tried something, but - it's unlikely.

He did wonder where she'd gone off to when she disappeared from the ballroom after the waltz. The powder room, or perhaps getting a refreshment after being subjected to Elijah's subpar dancing skills, he thought. But she was gone for quite a while. Everyone else returned for the next dance. Everyone except -

"What did he do?" Klaus demands, anger curling at the edges of his voice.

"Nothing."

"What did Elijah do?" he repeats in a grave, clipped tone.

"Nothing! We just talked."

"About what?" Her jaw tenses as she presses her lips to a thin line, facing stubbornly away from him. "For goodness' sake, Caroline! What did Elijah do? Did he touch you?"

"No!" she practically screams, her whole face scrunching up with contempt. "Don't even say that out loud, he never touched me."

"Then what? If you do not tell me I will wrest the answer out of him right now."

"He only said the truth."

"The truth about what?"

She hesitates, and he can see her eyes beginning to water again. "About everything," she confesses, barely containing the crack in her voice. "About me. My place in society. My ludicrous aspirations. I've been fooling myself to think that I could be a part of all this. I don't belong here. I'm... Nothing."

Klaus takes a cautious step forward, a dangerous edge to his voice. "Did my brother suggest that you don't belong here? At his home?"

"In his world. Your world. But not mine. I am not my aunt. I was raised on a farm, with pigs and ducks. Grand balls and fine silk won't change that," she pulls angrily at her own gown as she says it.

Klaus rubs a hand across his face, pacing back and forth. Dark anger crests inside of him with such violence he feels dazed.

"I'm going to kill him," he decides. "I'm going to peel off his skin and -"

"You will do no such thing."

"Oh yes, I will! I am going to murder that scum with my bare -"

"Klaus, stop!" He halts, the vivid images he'd been conjuring about disemboweling Elijah vanishing as he focuses his eyes back on her. "You're not to do anything, do you hear me?"

"You don't get to decide that."

"This is about me, not you. You are absolutely not to pick a fight with the Duke over me. I forbid you."

Klaus gives her a look like she just sprouted a pair of horns. "Are you out of your right mind? You're crying your heart out behind a bush. He attempted to humiliate you with lies, no doubt meant to keep you away from me, and I shall be very glad to prove my point of just how wrong he is with my fists."

"I've been humiliated enough! If you go after him, it will only give rise to a scandal, and it will be my name getting dragged through the mud. It's the last thing I need." She pauses, drawing in another shaky breath in an attempt to cool her nerves. "I appreciate your concern, but there is no need to defend my honor. I have placated his grace's concerns. I shall be married soon and he'll have nothing to worry about."

An altogether different kind of pernicious feeling rises to the surface. "Have you become engaged?"

"Not yet," she admits. "But there have been talks. It's bound to happen any day now. I believe all Tyler has been waiting for is a signal from me. An indication that I'm open to it."

Her words cut right through him. He feels sick all of a sudden. "I cannot believe you'd dispense with yourself so easily."

"Dispense with myself?" she echoes with insult. "This whole time, all we have done - our make-pretend before every single person in this city 0 has been for the purpose of finding me a suitable husband."

"And I suppose you've found one. Tyler Lockwood?" he practically spills the name, coated in scorn.

Caroline sticks up her chin with defiance. "Tyler is a fine gentleman. He's smart and kind. He will be a great father. And he knows what he wants. I will marry him and I shall be very happy."

"Are you?" he challenges. "Are you really so certain that he can make you happy?"

"How are you questioning me? This is my choice to make, not yours! I have never questioned you raking your way through life."

"Tyler does not care for you!" he shouts with an urgency he can barely control. "Don't you see it? All he wants is a trophy wife to add spark to his fortune. He wants you because you will look good next to him. He'll parade you about like a prize. It's all you will ever be good for."

"He is a good man!" she shouts right back at him, spitting fire now.

"He is a dullard! A dimwit! A self-serving scoundrel just like his father, and he will turn his back on you the second he spots something flashier. You don't think I know the kind? You deserve better, Caroline. I cannot believe that this is truly the life you are ready to settle for. Whatever happened to marrying for love?"

She lets out something that's halfway between a laugh and a whimper. "Congratulations, Klaus! You were right. There is no such thing. It was a foolish idea and I should've realized it sooner. The best I can hope for is to find a decent man who will ensure my future and perhaps even come to be a good friend."

"Bollocks! Caroline, please!" He puts his palms together, his voice filled with a despair he can't explain. He doesn't know what he's asking of her. All he knows is that the thought of seeing her marry Tyler Lockwood drowns him with unspeakable panic, makes him want to commit murder. He wants to hold her, shake her, make her see he's not the man for her. "This small life with your small-minded husband will suffocate you. It will snuff out that beautiful light you have. That sparkle in your eyes will die alongside your spirit and it kills me to see you accept it so easily. And all because of - what? Something my idiot brother said? Just because he's a duke it doesn't mean he has a monopoly over the truth. Elijah does not know you the way I do. He does not care for you the way I do!"

Caroline stops, the incandescent outrage that had taken over her dimming into insignificance as she looks straight into his eyes with a vulnerability he was yet to see on her. His fierce, strong Caroline, looking so brittle, like she might break at any second. It's almost too much for him.

"If not Tyler, then who?" she asks in a small voice, heavy with emotion. "Who will give me the world, Klaus? Who would marry me for love?"

Klaus feels the words rising to his lips, ready to burst out of him without a second thought. It comes to him as naturally as breathing. The truth he's been denying himself for almost as long as he's known Caroline, burying it under layers of cynicism and a stubborn refusal to admit he felt anything more than a juvenile infatuation for the girl. Tempted by the forbidden fruit, he told himself. He can't have her, so of course he wants her.

It all seems so obvious now. So simple.

And yet something detains him. Caroline looks at him in apprehension with hope shining so bright through the crystal blue of her eyes, and all of a sudden Klaus cannot find his voice anymore, the confession lodged in his throat.

Lady Elizabeth's words pop into his mind like an ominous warning - You and I both know you were not cut out for the matrimonial life, Mr. Mikaelson.

His hesitation has catastrophic consequences, however. He sees the exact moment it breaks Caroline's heart, the openness of her face shutting down. Klaus feels something inside of him wither away and die.

"Just as I thought," she says, disappointment etched onto every line of her handsome face.

Panic seizes him as she begins to turn away, and Klaus tries to shake himself out of stupor. "No, Caroline, please."

He lunges forward, grabbing hold of her wrist, but she shakes herself free, putting a respectful distance between them. She juts her chin forward, and in spite of the bitter hurt shining through her eyes, her face is a mask of determination.

"I appreciate all that you have done for me, my lord. If not for you, I would likely be married to the Grim Reaper by now. But I think we have reached the end of our bargain. There's no more purpose to our ruse. I will marry Tyler and we shall build a prosperous life together. I expect you to congratulate me, and perhaps even find it in yourself to be happy for me, as my friend." She pauses, her throat bobbing as she swallows. "But if not... Then I urge you to keep your opinions to yourself. I have made my decision. Do let me know if you wish to be invited to the wedding. Now, if you'll excuse me, I must find my aunt. I have a terrible headache; we need to go home."

With a polite curtsy, averting his gaze as she does so, Caroline whips around and returns to the house.

"I was wondering when I'd see you," Elijah speaks around a weary sigh, staring vacantly into the tumbler in his hand.

He sits in front of the fire at his study - on the same chair Mikael used to sit on, drinking the same brandy. When they put their father in the ground, he vowed to never become the same man. Elijah's first broken promise. The title has corrupted him.

All Klaus sees when he looks at his brother now is Mikael. The same hatefulness, the same prejudices, the same cowardice, all arranged under a façade of dignity and nobility.

White, brutal rage flares up inside of him, devouring every inch of reason he possesses, leaving nothing but violence.

Perhaps sensing the hatred that bursts out of Klaus in waves, Elijah puts down his glass and stands to his feet. "Niklaus," he starts in a placating tone. "There has been a terrible misunderstanding."

"Yes. There has."

With two purposeful strides, Klaus is on him, his closed fist flying towards Elijah's face with vicious precision. Pain explodes on his knuckles when it connects to bone, but he barely registers it, ready to strike again. And again. And again. Elijah tumbles to the grounds at once, falling over the center table, glass and porcelain shattering under his weight.

Klaus would have dived right in for another hit, all razored anger and no remorse. But a terrified wail stops him. He turns to see Hayley, eyes wide in terror as she rushes to her beloved's side.

"Are you alright? Oh, God, you're bleeding! Are you hurt? Elijah?"

His brother looks dazed as he sits up, the spot right under his left eye already swollen and red. Klaus clenches his hands closed, gritting his teeth not to attack him again.

"You're lucky your wife is with child, or I would push her out of the way and destroy you, Elijah," he hisses.

"Niklaus..." he tries to speak, but stops, his whole face scrunches up into a pained grimace.

"You are never to speak to her again," he commands, voice descending into a low and dangerous growl. "Don't go near her, don't even so much as look at her. Do you understand, Elijah? Say another word to Caroline and I swear you will regret it until your dying day." He leans forward, capturing his brother's dark gaze with his own, incandescent with the full force of his rage. "Stay the hell out of my life."

"What is wrong with you?!" Hayley screams at him. "He's your brother!"

She visibly tenses when his eyes flicker at her, before returning to Elijah's pathetic figure. He looks desperate, his poor brother, crippled by the pain, unable to fight back. Such a far cry from the formidable figure he wears before the world. The honorable Duke of Orleans - the mask he puts on to humiliate and diminish young ladies -, in truth just another pitiful rat following in the steps of his papa.

Klaus has fought with his brother before. They've come to blows once or twice. He's even hated Elijah, for brief periods of time. But he never thought there would come a day when he'd lose all respect for Elijah.

"No," he says at last. "He's not my brother anymore."

TBC

Chapter Text

"Sir, you have a visitor."

"No," Klaus says, candid and unaffected, not bothering to veer his attention away from his latest work.

It's ridiculous he’s even required to state the obvious out loud at all, seeing as he hasn't welcomed visitors for a fortnight now. He thought he'd made it clear his doors were closed to callers for the foreseeable future when he stopped shaving or getting dressed and started speaking in incoherent grunts. The fact he thrashed half his studio three times out of sheer frustration in the last week alone should've been the final clue into his hostile state of mind, if there was still any cause for doubt. Greta's supposed to know how to read his moods better than this.

"Too late, I'm afraid."

This time it's not his maid who speaks. The mere sound of the male voice makes Niklaus bristle with revulsion, his blood heating up to a boil in the space of a second.

He pulls so hard on the ink-stained rag in his hands it tears.

"I told him you weren't seeing anyone, sir, but he insisted." The emphasis on the last word tells him everything he needs to know. By insisted she means Elijah didn’t wait for a formal invitation, just barged in, as per usual.

One would think that the duke would've learned a thing or two about boundaries after that punch. One would have widely underestimated his hubris.

"I'm not entertaining today," Klaus states firmly, taking a step back to inspect his painting. It 's… awful. Rage usually fuels the best of Klaus' creations, but lately it has been all perspiration and no inspiration. His muse has joined hands with the last of his social skills and forsaken him. His creative mind is just a giant black hole filled with cholera these days. It's been a pain to live inside his head - all darkness and no vision. "Come back some other time," he adds. "Or better yet, never."

As expected, Elijah pays him no mind. Instead, his brother simply throws something at his feet. Klaus looks down to see a paper, one he's unfortunately familiar with. It was on his breakfast table just this morning, brought in by a servant by mistake. Ended up thoroughly ripped to shreds and thrown out the window in a heap of fury that ignited the third destruction of his studio, a few hours ago.

Klaus swallows down the bile lodged in his throat at the sight of that pamphlet, stepping over it as he turns around to face his brother. "Reading gossip papers now, Elijah? How so very beneath the esteemed Duke of Orleans."

"Have you seen this yet?" Elijah asks rather calmly, his expression betraying nothing.

“I don't partake in parlor gossip.”

"He has seen it," Greta cuts in. It earns her a death glare. She shrugs apologetically, almost shrinking into herself. "But you did." A beat. "Sir."

"You're fired, Greta."

"No, she's not," Elijah states, before turning to her and repeating, "You're not fired, Greta."

The maid curtsies and scurries away. Klaus will need to have a very serious word about loyalty with her later.

"Is it not enough to control my life anymore? Are you going to boss over my servants as well?"

"Considering I provide the funds for her stipends, I believe it is well within my rights to do so."

Klaus fixes Elijah under a dark look. The way he reaffirms his superiority with a complete straight face, as though the black eye, which has only now started to fade, did not evoke a single second of deliberation on his part.

That injury must have left Elijah brain-damaged if he thought it was smart to march into his home to flaunt his influence in such an overbearing manner. Perhaps he's forgotten that Klaus may be a few years younger, but he's still stronger and a good deal more vicious.

"Ah, yes..." Klaus says, his voice deceitfully calm. "The weekly reminder that everything I have belongs to you. It always comes down to that, doesn't it? Your money. Do you remember what you said to me the night father died and we found out he'd completely cut me out of his will? You would get everything, and I was to inherit nothing. Worry not, brother," he delivers in a mocking imitation of Elijah's affected speech, "for I will grant you the inheritance and dignity you ought to receive as a second son, even if father has not. Touching words, indeed. And yet, at the slightest sign of disagreement, you're so very quick to remind me how completely at your mercy I am." His lips curl into something closer to a snarl than a smile. "Mikael would be proud. You are every bit the golden son he always thought you to be."

Elijah has the decency to look ashamed. "I only resort to such petty arguments because I care for you."

Klaus laughs - loud and cynical. "Aren't I the luckiest lad in all of London!"

"Is that really so hard to believe?"

"Depends. How much sherry have you had to drink this morning?"

Elijah shuts his eyes for a long second, combing a hand through his hair. Klaus has to say - as much as he detests his brother’s mere presence, it does bring him a grim satisfaction to watch him so clearly in distress. A small pleasure in his otherwise drab existence of late.

"I will not deny that I have been exceedingly hard on you, perhaps even unfairly so," Elijah concedes. "But you have forced my hand on many occasions, Niklaus. I only want what's best for you."

"Then what, pray tell, are you still doing here? Did I stutter when I said you are no brother to me? Is that disgusting bruise on your face not a clear enough sign that I do not wish to see you, or speak to you? Unless you're here seeking a matching pair of black eyes? It is more fashionable, I suppose."

"Niklaus..." Elijah speaks around a dejected sigh. He takes a moment, ruminating over his next words with careful consideration. "I'm here because I made a terrible mistake."

"That sounds like the beginning of an excruciatingly long conversation I do not wish to have," Klaus says dismissively, turning away from him. "Not now, or ever."

"Brother -"

"You have made more mistakes than I can even count, Elijah. If what you want is to expiate your sins, go find a priest to confess - or, I don't know, a door. Anything that would be more welcoming to your pathetic whining than my ears. I’ve got better things to do with my time, like gouging my eyes out with a hot poker."

"Am I really the only one at fault here?" Elijah's question comes dressed in vague irritation. "Do you not accept responsibility over anything? Because let me tell you, we did not get to this drastic point in our familial bonds over night. Is your behavior really so faultless that you can genuinely point a finger at another man, Niklaus?"

Klaus whirls on his brother, pointing at him with a brush. "There is a critical difference between the two of us, Elijah. I have never claimed righteousness, nor have I ever pretended to be something that I am not, hiding my true colors behind a flashy veneer of nobility in order to exert control over my family's lives like a puppeteer. I may be foul and vulgar and rotten to my core, but at least I am not a hypocrite."

Elijah perks up as though he's ready to fight Klaus, but then he stops, a low breath leaving his lips. His shoulders sag. "You are... Not entirely wrong, I'm afraid."

"You can't even say it, can you?" Klaus sniggers. "You cannot bring yourself to admit it, just continue to speak in euphemisms. You are pathetic."

"I have never thought myself without flaws, but I have tried to care for you and for Rebekah the best way I could. I wasn't much older than you are now when father died, Niklaus, and I was most definitely not ready to take on all the responsibilities of being the family's patriarch. I thought I'd have years before I was ever to be in charge of another person's life. I thought I'd be married, with children, with my own life figured out before that day ever came. All of a sudden, I had a million things to worry about, hundreds of people who relied on me to make not just decisions, but the right decisions on a daily basis, and still look after the two of you. Make sure Rebekah was being brought up right, that you weren't losing yourself to vice and debauchery, burning through our family’s wealth - and let’s not even talk about mother’s woeful last years. I didn't know what I was doing, and I had no one to ask for guidance. All I aimed for was to steer you both towards what I perceived to be the righteous path. Rebekah was certainly challenging - her temper is not better than yours by much - but she is still manageable. You, on the other hand..." Elijah stops, pressing his lips together. "You completely escaped me. You have always escaped me, in every way."

The earnestness in Elijah's speech gives Klaus pause. He doesn't think he's ever seen such an open display of emotion on his brother's part. The stone-cold shield of impassiveness he wears all the time is down, his dark eyes a rare window into the world of pain and remorse he keeps under lock and key, buried deep within. It's not in Elijah's nature to complain about his circumstances, always so loyal to his unyielding sense of duty.

Klaus remembers looking at him as a kid with an admiration that bordered on reverence. His tutors loved him; his scores were all high above average. At ten, he could already ride, shoot and fence better than lads twice his age. He was mother's beloved and father's pride. Klaus thought he was invincible. Everything he or anyone in their midst could ever aspire to be.

Soon, his admiration for his older brother was corrupted by his own sense of inadequacy. No matter how hard he tried, or how much he applied himself, it was never good enough. He grew envious of Elijah. Bitter. It made him restless, which then bred a temper that turned more and more challenging as he grew older.

Klaus was short-fused, impatient, reckless - the complete antithesis of Elijah. He was also, if he's to be honest, a tad wicked. To exorcize his sourness, Klaus would play cheeky tricks on his brother - glue in his shoes, vodka in his water jug, salt instead of sugar in his tea - just to delight in watching him squirm. Anything to push Elijah off his pedestal, even if only for a second. Anything so he could spot the dents in his brother's armor and remind himself that Elijah was still human, after all. That he was not so out of reach.

As time went on, their differences became too striking to be mended. Klaus' mind veered towards the artistic and the bohemian, while Elijah's only ever had room for duty and a handful of tedious interests.

With all those insurmountable gaps stretching between them, clashes were inevitable. But even then, Klaus still had an inexplicable affection for his older brother. It was how they just... Knew each other. Probably better than anyone else. There was no charade, no pretense. Society life had always been too much of a burden to Klaus. He couldn't stand the pantomime, so full of pomp and deception. His tolerance for the ton's histrionics was limited at best. Which is why the club had always felt like a haven to him. A place where he could indulge in pleasure in its many forms, no questions or explanations needed. It was freedom as he knew it.

In many ways, he always felt the same around Elijah. He knew every facet of Klaus' adventures and misfortunes - from the blandest to the most outrageous and extravagant endeavors. Even the ones that might have gotten Klaus sent to prison - and there were some. And while Elijah never spared him the judgment, he also never condemned him for it.

Having someone who knows all of your secrets, all of your flaws, in front of whom you do not have to play-act, for whom you do not have to mollify the less palatable parts of your personality, and still feel accepted... It can be rather liberating. Relieving, even.

Life had set them up to be rivals, but they didn't have to hate each other. They could settle for being permanently annoyed and never agreeing on anything.

It never occurred to Klaus that, all this time, his unflappable brother might have been struggling as well, crushed under the weight of a responsibility he carried out so naturally, harboring such lonely sadness in his chest, hurting in silence for so many years.

The Duke of Orleans really is just a man, after all. Isn’t that something?

If this conversation had taken place a few weeks before, Klaus would hold enormous sympathy for his brother's plight. Hell, he would probably forgive him anything. It has always been their unspoken pact - they huff and puff but they never turn their backs on each other. Not for good. Not until now.

Klaus doesn't know if he can forgive this. Not after seeing Caroline reduced to tears, wrecked by Elijah's inconsiderate, humiliating words. He cannot erase the image from his head - that beautiful, strong woman, shaking in the dark, her light completely snuffed out, engulfed by a shame that was not hers to bear.

Klaus could take just about anything from Elijah. But not this. Not what he did to her.

After leaving his brother to stew in the discomfort of his confession for long enough, he curls his lips into a cold smile, full of spikes. "I shall take that as a compliment."

A shadow crosses Elijah’s eyes. "I understand our wounds are too deep and too old to be addressed right now, but there is... One particular failure I believe to be the most villainous of them all. One where I failed you not as the patriarch of our family... But as your brother. I made a terrible mistake, Niklaus, when I underestimated your feelings for Miss Forbes."

"I'll make this very easy for you, Elijah. You can keep your wretched excuses, I have no use for them. But if you are indeed in a rare charitable mood, I suggest you employ it differently. I am not the one to whom you owe a heartfelt apology."

"You are quite right. Indeed, you're not the only one I intend to pay a visit to this morning."

Klaus scoffs derisively. "You have some nerve, I will give you that. Or perhaps it’s just a hefty dose of arrogance. But I suppose if anyone in this town is going to slam a door on a duke's face, it's going to be the Dowager Countess."

"I am well aware of the risks."

"I do encourage you to go, then. And by God, I hope she does it. In front of a packed street, no less. Or better yet! In front of some informant of that Lady Whatshername. It would be the talk of the ton." Klaus lets out a huffed laugh. "The joy it would bring me to see you being humiliated... Wouldn't that be something marvelous?"

Elijah sighs, entirely too bored with Klaus' delight in watching him atone for his sins in the most excruciating way. "Whether Miss Forbes will ever feel inclined to grant me a kindness I do not deserve and forgive me for the terrible unfair treatment I showed her, it remains to be seen. Personally, I am not holding my breath."

"You'll be lucky if she agrees to see you at all."

"Perhaps. Then again, it’s worth the try. Once it becomes clear that none of this has been about me, she might let me in."

Klaus scoffs in outraged disbelief. "You are completely deranged, aren't you? How is this not about you? You make everything about yourself, Elijah. You even took it upon yourself to decide who I was to marry and when. All of this is your fault. Everything!" Klaus stabs a finger in the air at him. "You think me selfish and narcissistic, but I am nothing compared to you."

"I was merely trying to protect you!" Elijah finally loses the feeble calm he'd been holding on to, his voice rising by at least an octave.

"I do not need your protection! Nor do I want it!"

"Yes, you do! You need my protection even if you think you don't! Adulthood has not made you any less of an inconsequential child! You need me to protect you from yourself. All I did - all of it, everything - was to try and keep you from your own ruin. To prepare you for what is to come."

"Oh, for goodness' sake! Have some dignity, Elijah! If this is what you intend to tell Caroline, don't even waste your time. Come up with a better excuse. Prepare me," he scoffs disdainfully. "Prepare me for bloody what? Another one of your moralizing speeches?"

"For your bloody future!" Elijah all but shouts now. And then seems to catch himself, snapping his mouth shut and rubbing a hand across his face as he attempts to gather his wits. "Niklaus..." he starts again after a moment, quieter, but not less rattled. "I didn't give you the whole truth when I issued that ultimatum. It was about Rebekah, yes - your inappropriate lifestyle was a stain on her prospects, least of all because many of the gentlemen currently in the mart for a wife, and some which she has set her eyes upon, have figured at your club. God knows how many of them have been through your bed."

Klaus snorts, unrepentant in the face of reproach. "Yes, I'm a heathen. Off with my head."

Elijah ignores the jab. "But that was not the only reason." He pauses, ruminating on his thoughts for a heartbeat longer. "You will be an earl, Niklaus."

Caroline rolls her eyes, facing away from Miss Camille O'Connell and her mother. She has to bite down on her tongue not to let a nasty remark tumble off her lips. It's been a most trying day, and Caroline has been doing her best to keep her poise, but if someone else stares at her hands, she's going to -

"Caroline," Auntie Liz chides, grabbing her elbow as the two of them continue on their leisure pace down the street. Who could ever guess that a simple trip to the shop for a new pair of gloves could prove to be so exasperating? "You're in a mood and it is showing, dear."

"Well, no wonder," she grumbles. "I can't stand everyone staring at my hands, auntie. It’s like I’ve grown a sixth finger. And a particularly nasty one."

"They're just curious."

"They're a right band of gossips, that's what. Lady O'Connell was sniggering about failing to find an extraordinary ring dangling from my finger. They're just dying to have some mean topic to chatter about endlessly at their afternoon tea. All because of that godless woman. Lady Blowsworth." The witch's name comes out coated in contempt. Just saying it out loud makes Caroline want to gag. "I swear I am this close to launching an investigation into the woman’s identity just so I can blackmail her into never using my name in any of her papers, ever again."

"You do realize how suspicious that would make you seem?"

"As long as I never have to deal with the consequences of that snake's slander. I'd rather be a suspect than a subject."

Liz chuckles, shaking her head as though she thinks Caroline's aggravation is endearing. "My darling girl," she sighs, patting the back of Caroline's hand. "You're new. You'll get used to it. And in any case, it shall all be over soon. You'll no longer be of any interest to her once you're married. Whoever her sources are, they seem to be well informed."

Caroline pointedly faces away from her aunt's knowing eyes. The two of them do not speak about the elephant in the room. The extremely expensive and rare diamond elephant, if there's any truth in the rumors about the jewelry that Tyler Lockwood picked for her from the Queen's very own jewel maker. It's meant to be grand, indeed. And it has Caroline's stomach in a roil just thinking about it.

She enjoys diamonds just as much as the next girl, but the thought of having this huge gemstone on her finger marking her as belonging to Tyler Lockwood has her deeply unsettled, for some reason. It's not like she doesn't know how these things go. It's not even as though she's not ready for it. She's just... Afraid she'll disappear behind a sparkly rock - less a person than a commodity through which the Lockwoods might showcase their riches and social status.

Already she feels it happening, what with all the conveniently accurate whispers about the details of an engagement that isn't even official yet. For all anyone knows, it might never come to pass. But it would seem as though someone with particular interests spotted an opportunity to make this match the talk of the ton in the middle of a lukewarm season and grabbed it like a lifeline.

She so hates herself for having such terrible thoughts about her future husband and his family. She hates it even more that she can hear Klaus' voice ringing inside her head, a harbinger of evil, foreshadowing a dreary future ahead of her. It's awfully unfair. Tyler has never given her reason to think ill of him, treating her with utmost respect and appreciation, behaving like a perfect gentleman. When Aunt Liz asked for her thoughts upon the inquiry from Mr. Richard Lockwood, Caroline said yes. She said, "I'm ready". She said, "He's the one". It's so unbecoming to be plagued with these vicious doubts now, on the day of her engagement. Like Caroline wasn't nervous enough, knowing that by this time tomorrow, she will no longer be Caroline Forbes, but the future Mrs. Lockwood. And Lady Blowsworth's paper had to go and make it all worse.

Couldn't Tyler have just picked a family heirloom at least, so that no one would be talking about the bloody ring?

"You don't suppose it's one of our servants, do you?" Caroline asks her aunt whilst she pretends to distract herself inspecting the items on a shop window. "Could one of them be reading our correspondence and eavesdropping on our conversations to sell this witch information for coin?"

"Oh, but I've no doubt she has a large line of servants feeding her gossip all over London. They're the true eyes and ears of the ton. Lady Blowsworth has merely realized a way to siphon all that information to her own benefit."

"Then we must do something. We can't just let them trade on our personal lives like that, it's not right."

"I agree, but what would you have me do? I've no proof of anyone under my employment behaving immorally, and I happen to like all of them. I can't just very well accuse anyone of crimes I do not know they've committed."

Caroline huffs out an annoyed breath. "It's so vexing!" She entirely expects to find a full account of her engagement in the next paper. Perhaps she should request for it to be only herself and Tyler in the room when it happens, and then feed different versions of the event to each of their servants. That way, if word gets out, she'll know exactly where it's coming from.

"Come, let’s have some biscuits," her aunt says, dragging her towards the tea room further ahead. "You're in desperate need of something to sweeten your disposition."

Caroline gapes, ready to object, but decides against it. Aunt Liz is not wrong, after all. She has been terribly bitter lately. This is not how a lady about to become engaged should behave. She should be glowing, soaring, smiling from ear to ear.

She needs to work on this for tonight. Tea and biscuits sound like a good start.

The ominous silence that follows Elijah’s words seem to stretch for eons.

"What?" Klaus asks with a frown. "What nonsense are you talking about?"

"I received a letter from uncle Finn's estate shortly before I returned to London from Belvoir for the season."

Uncle Finn.

The name drops like an ice anchor inside of Klaus. He hadn't thought of Finn Mikaelson in years, hardly even remembered he existed at all. A sickly and angry old man with the worst sense of humor Klaus has ever had the misfortune of knowing, if he remembers it well. He couldn't have been more than 10 or 11 the last time he saw uncle Finn, on a family visit to his country house on their way to Belvoir Castle, their family's ancestral home. His deep dislike for his uncle was reciprocated. The man took one look at him and decreed he would never inherit his fortune.

Finn, Earl of Belaga, was younger than Mikael by five years, but his health had always been fragile, keeping him from leaving his estate on long travels - to the ton's fortune, might he add. Having to stand that bore of a man is a torture Klaus wouldn't wish upon his worst enemy. He was married once, to a lady Sage, but the woman died of consumption not long after without ever bearing a child.

His lack of success in producing an heir put Klaus in line to inherit his title, his properties and everything he owned. But that never truly felt like a possibility. The man clearly despised him, no doubt influenced by his brother. He was bound to find a new wife at some point, and even if he couldn't produce a natural heir, he'd buy himself a little bastard and leave it all to him instead. He'd been removed from the ton's rumor mill for such a long time it would hardly be a scandal.

He has to unclench his jaw to speak. "You’re lying.”

"I’m not. He's very sick."

"So? The man has had one foot in the grave since before we were born."

"Not like this. He's been bed-ridden for months, and his health deteriorates by the week. His physicians don't think he'll make it to the end of the year. And since he hasn't produced an heir -"

"No," Klaus states with finality.

"You will be the new Earl of Belaga."

"No. I don't want it."

"You don't have a choice."

"I'll decline it."

"You can't."

"Like hell I can't!"

"You must have known this would happen."

"How the bloody hell was I to know? I hardly even remembered the man was still alive. For all I knew, he'd already sorted out his problem by marrying some desperate poor soul already in an interesting state."

"Well, he didn't. And the title, as well as Hardwick Hall, every penny under his name and everything else he owns, will be yours. And before you throw a fit, Niklaus - Just think. This is not just about money and titles. An earldom, as well as a dukedom, comes with a lot more than that. You will have countless lives depending on you - servants, tenants, villagers, farmers, small producers and shop owners whose businesses depend entirely upon the lands you will inherit. Their livelihoods will be in your hands, Niklaus. If you deny your position, they will suffer. If you do a poor job, they will suffer. If you decide that all you want, for the rest of your days, is to lock yourself up in a brothel and drink and fuck your way to death - they will suffer. You cannot be selfish with this, brother. I've been where you are, I know how overwhelming and daunting it can be, but you cannot falter, because this isn't only about you."

Elijah gives a moment for his words to register and the idea to sink in. It does so with a devastating bang. And then he keeps going.

"I can offer you assistance. I can help you get yourself organized, get everything up and running, teach you everything I've learned. But I cannot make you care, Niklaus. That has to come from you. And I thought - in a rather misguided fashion, I must say - I thought marriage was how I'd prepare you for this undertaking. That it might get you to change your ways, make you realize there's more to life than debauchery, teach you some accountability. I didn't expect you to find a wife straight away, but at least you'd get a feel of it, would meet some new faces - appropriate faces -, and when the time came for you to become the man you're supposed to be, you'd be ready. Already the marriage mart is a jungle for a man of your position, brother. You're regarded as the most eligible bachelor simply because of your family name. Once you have a title of your own, you will be worth more than pure gold to these mamas. I won't lie to you, it'll be insane. I feared that uncle Finn would die before you even had the chance to test the waters. That's why I was so adamant."

Klaus stares at his brother completely dumbstruck for a long moment, his head spinning madly with the revelation and all it entails.

It changes... Everything. Klaus' entire life was spent with the exact amount of inconsequential commitment that his lack of titles and obligations allowed him. He wasn't raised to be an heir, and once he embraced this fact, he made the most of it. There are many perks to being a second son, and he made it his life’s mission to unravel every single one of them, test all the limits of his privilege. How can anyone expect him to change the very fabric of who he is overnight?

The momentary disorientation he experiences gives rise to an altogether different kind of acrimony - directed entirely towards Elijah, but not about Caroline anymore.

"How could you keep this from me?" he seethes. "How could you not tell me I'm on the verge of inheriting something that will mess up my entire bloody life?"

Elijah motions his hand vaguely towards Klaus, as though saying Do you have to ask? "I was afraid of your reaction."

"I was bloody entitled to a reaction! This isn't just a few coins and a tiara, Elijah."

"And that's precisely why I was so reticent. I feared you'd do something reckless and borderline stupid. Disappear into the night, flee to Paris and shack up with a French whore, or jump on a steam boat to America and vanish into the new world. Can you honestly blame me for anticipating that your temper would get the best of you?" Klaus wants to yell at his brother, fight his reasoning out of principle and a strong sense of betrayal. He doesn't, though. Not that he’ll ever admit it, but Elijah's probably right. This seems exactly like a situation that would coax such a dramatic response from him. "I thought I was looking out for you, Niklaus."

"You were patronizing me, as you always do," Klaus retorts caustically. "You had no right."

Elijah's chest rises and falls with a weary sigh. "Hindsight is the mother of all curses, is it not? I can see how that wasn't my brightest moment. If I could, I would go back and do it all differently. I would prepare you for your coming duties in the light of the truth, rather than under false, however well-intentioned pretenses, and I would trust you to do the right thing, in spite of my every instinct telling me you would not." Klaus grunts under his breath. Trust Elijah to be condescending and judgmental even as he pleads guilty. "Sadly, there's nothing to be done in that regard. What I can do, however, is try to change the future. Which is exactly why I'm here now, brother."

He points towards Lady Blowsworth's pamphlet on the floor. Klaus gets a sharp twinge in his chest. For a moment there he almost forgot Caroline's impending betrothal. His world was no less turbulent, but the constriction in his chest felt somewhat abridged. Now it's back, and everything is twice as awful.

"What does Caroline have to do with any of this?"

"Everything," Elijah says matter-of-factly. "Can't you see? She's at the heart of everything, Niklaus. Your future, your happiness - it is entirely dependent upon this young lady's decision. And it appears Tyler Lockwood has taken the lead."

"And? Do you intend to throw the happy couple a party in order to beg for her forgiveness?"

"Not if you ask her to marry you first."

That's -

He can’t have heard that right. He must have gone completely insane after today's news. Elijah can't have said what he thinks he just said.

"What?"

"When I told Miss Forbes I didn't think she was suitable, I never meant that she wasn't suitable for you, or for our family. It was the exact opposite. My intentions, however misguided, were honest. I thought I was doing her a favor. You had me convinced you were merely using her to play tricks on me, and I wasn't about to stand idly by and watch you ruin a gullible young lady for your own entertainment."

Klaus snorts. "Is that really what you think of me? That I'd destroy someone's reputation for pleasure?"

"Yes, indeed." Klaus feels he should be more insulted at his brother's direct answer, not missing a single beat. "I love you, Niklaus, but I know exactly what you're capable of. And that was my undoing. Knowing you too well blinded me to the glaring truth right in front of me. You weren't just fooling around, wasting her time - and mine," Elijah says, his lips tipping upwards into the ghost of a smile. "You actually care for this girl."

The words stir up a turmoil inside of Klaus, a twinge of heartache he's become tragically familiar with over the last few weeks slicing through his chest.

He faces away from his brother's prodding gaze, pretending to busy himself with his brushes. "I've had enough of your nonsense, Elijah," he grunts. "You've spoken your mind, now you can see yourself out."

"Dismissing me is not going to make anything better, it will not change reality," Elijah insists. "The rage I saw in you when you assaulted me -"

"Assaulted!" Klaus parrots with derision. "That's a colorful way to describe an aggression you absolutely deserved."

Elijah shakes his head, choosing to ignore his remark. "I have never witnessed you express such fierce emotion before. In that moment, I knew you hated me with all your heart - not for yourself, not even for me, but for her. It was all because of her."

Klaus lets out a curt exhale, the ends of his patience unraveling fast. He'd rather have his head pounded at a boxing ring than stand here and discuss the magnitude of his feelings for Caroline with Elijah. "If you wish to cut me off and throw me out in the street, Elijah, go right ahead. Do it. I'm to become an earl, aren't I? It seems I won't need your patronage for much longer. But as long as I remain the lord of this house, you are not welcome here, so leave."

"You are going to lose her, Niklaus. You will lose her, and it will be the worst mistake of your life."

"I have already lost her!" Klaus snarls, his heart splitting as grief spews into his voice. "Haven't you done enough? What the bloody hell do you still want from me?"

Elijah puts his palms together, holding Klaus' gaze. "I want you to fight for her."

"Why? Why do you care?"

"Because you've found it, Niklaus. The diamond. Your diamond. Every season births a new incomparable, a big title that is void of any true meaning. It randomly bestows a girl with a crown based solely on how demure her smiles are or how expensive her dancing lessons were. It's foolishness, and a lie. What no one will tell you, brother, is that the true diamond is much harder to come upon. The very nature of our society keeps us from it. It's all so... Superficial. Conversations are dull and rehearsed, all based on convenience, propriety, dowry, family trees. It's an auction, really."

Klaus' lips kick into a lopsided smirk. "Careful there, Elijah. You're starting to sound like me."

"You insult and provoke my wife every chance you get, reminding me exactly where I found her." Klaus rolls his eyes. His objections to Hayley have nothing to do with the gutter where Elijah found her, and everything to do with the fact the woman has the charisma of a blank canvas. It seems like he went through too much trouble for very little bang. Klaus decides not to point that out, though. It's not like he hasn't made his opinion abundantly clear before. "She is my diamond," Elijah continues after a dramatic pause. "She is the one. My eyes were set elsewhere, but as soon as I met her, I just knew there would never be another for me. Now, never in a million years did I expect you to find someone who was truly your match. And if there was such a person - goodness. I was afraid to even find out what that creature would turn out to be. But here she is. You have actually - against all odds and in fact my abominable predictions - found the one, and she is... Irreproachable."

Klaus turns away from Elijah, pacing to the end of the room before slumping down on a settee. He tried so very hard to hold on to his anger, to keep the animosity alight. But the outrage that had been carrying him thus far evaporates as the truth of Elijah's words sink in, dragging him back under the bleakness that had consumed his entire being.

Klaus thought he could smother it with enough alcohol - his regrets as well as that nasty yearning strangling his heart. He thought he could exorcize it through his art, as he normally does. Not this time, though. The more he tried to drown himself in distractions, the worse it got. Like adding fuel to a ravenous fire.

He hadn't realized how much space Caroline had come to occupy in his life until she was no longer there. The days when he knew he'd be seeing her were brighter, the colors more vivid, his mood less testy.

Now, it's all gray and dreary. Empty. Caroline's absence is a sore wound that stands out more than anything else - the lovers, the gambling, the art... His whole world has fallen off-kilter without her.

"It was only ever meant to be a ruse." He doesn't even realize he's speaking until his voice squeezes out of his throat, hoarse and drab. "We had a mutually beneficial deal. You would leave me alone, and she would attract the interest of other young gentlemen, convince her aunt that that ogre Whitmore wasn't her only option, and find herself a suitable match."

Elijah frowns. "She was in on it?"

Klaus' mouth draws into a proud, however spiritless, grin. "The whole time. Caroline has more grit than you ever gave her credit for. It made her the perfect partner in crime, really, because I'd rather hang myself than spend time with any of those dull debutantes. Caroline was different. There was something about her that caught my attention from our very first encounter. She was... Interesting. Formidable. A kindred soul, even with the world of differences setting us apart. It started out innocent enough, just a distraction, a way to kill time. Before I realized it... I couldn't stop thinking about her. From the second I wake, to the last wisp of consciousness before I fall asleep, she is all there is. And I hate it. I hate this feeling, Elijah. I wish I could chop it out of me. If I could punch a hole into my own chest and carve out my heart, I would crush it, burn its remains and scatter its ashes in the ocean just to make sure it would never be able to feel again. This is a curse."

His brother cocks his head to the side, and then smiles, his whole expression softening almost beyond recognition. "This is love, brother," he says. "It can be quite gruesome, indeed. But it doesn’t have to be."

"Yes, it does," he states bitterly. "It's worse than a disease."

"Only if you let it."

"What choice do I have, Elijah?!" he demands, shooting up to his feet again and going right back to pacing. "I care for her! I want her to be happy, to have everything she wants in life, and I... I'm no good. I don't know how to be what she needs - what she deserves. I would only tarnish her - hurt her. I'm helpless! If this was anyone else, I would not care one bit. But Caroline... Caroline I cannot bring to ruin. I would never forgive myself."

"Look at that... An honest show of altruism from Niklaus Mikaelson." Elijah shakes his head like he thinks it sweet to see his little brother in such torment.

"You're enjoying this, aren't you?"

"A little bit, yes," he admits with a noncommittal shrug. "But you give yourself far too much credit, Niklaus. I doubt you could ever ruin a woman like Caroline Forbes. I don't know her all that well, but the few moments I've had with her were rather intense. And I can tell she's far too strong to crumble before your juvenile ways, however stubborn you might be. I believe, in fact, that it is far more likely that she would make a half decent lad out of you before you could so much as give her a wrinkle."

Klaus fixes his brother under a deadly glare. "If you're going to stand there making jokes at my expense, you can leave."

Elijah sighs with that air of infinite patience that makes him seem like he's dealing with a child. "Brother... Whether you like it or not, there is a piece of your heart that already belongs to her. You will not get it back. Stop teetering around the truth already, stop making excuses. You are in love with this woman. And what you must ask yourself is: how much are you willing to sacrifice for her?"

"What do you mean?"

"Surely you know you can't keep your current lifestyle and business enterprises as a married man. Not unless you want your wife to have any shred of respect for you."

"Caroline knows exactly who I am and what I do."

"And it is certainly astounding that she should return your feelings knowing what she does, but even if she accepts all of your baggage without prejudice, it would be an embarrassment for her if her husband were to frequent sex clubs every other night."

"Then I suppose it's a good thing she's not marrying me," he says stubbornly.

"Are you really going to let her go in the name of your silly pride?"

Klaus doesn't falter when he says, "I would give up everything for her in the blink of an eye." The strength of his conviction surprises even him. He'd never said these things out loud before. He'd barely dared to think about it, to entertain the possibility of straying towards the virtuous path. It felt like a betrayal to his own crooked principles.

He has known for a while now that the paradigms have changed. Caroline has made a mess of his moral compass. And it's not that he's now a transformed, elevated man, or that his opinions on the ton and its pathetic theatricals have changed, it's just - her.

She is all that is different. He wants her more than he wants anything else. He misses her more than he's ever missed the club and its revelry. He thinks of tasting her, of touching her, of having her writhing and gasping and crying out his name in the throes of passion and it takes the sparkle out of any other company he's ever had.

He remembers her smile and his heart grows twice its size.

She is everything.

"I don't care about the club," he continues after a moment, and he means it. The last thing he wants is to give Elijah the satisfaction of being right about anything, but it feels useless to deny it at this point. It is what it is. "Nothing there has felt the same since... Since the day I met her. But it's all for naught. She has made her choice."

"You are a great many things, brother, but I never pegged you for a weakling."

"So now we've moved on to gratuitous insults, I see."

"Don't be daft, Niklaus."

"What do you want me to do? Challenge Lockwood for a duel? Caroline would kill us both. Besides, she's probably already betrothed to him by now."

"She's not."

He stops. The confidence in his brother's eyes kindles a traitorous flame of hope in Klaus' chest. He almost dreads to ask. "How do you know that?"

Elijah's smile is positively wicked. "Because on the off chance that you'd grown tired of moping around, I pulled some strings and bought you some time."

"Lady Elizabeth, Miss Forbes," George, her aunt's butler, greets them by the door as soon as they step out of the carriage. "There's someone here to see you."

"Oh? I wasn't expecting any callers," her aunt says with a light frown.

Caroline gasps, shaking her hands nervously. "Oh my God, is it the Lockwoods? They're early! They weren't supposed to come until tonight!"

"It's not the Lockwoods, ma'am," George replies. "Although their footman did leave something for you."

"For me?"

George nods and then motions for the two of them to go ahead inside. He leads them towards the parlor, where he retrieves a package and a note and hands it directly to Caroline. She exchanges a look with her aunt. "Well?" Liz asks, prodding Caroline to go ahead and open it.

With her heart pounding, Caroline reads the card. "It's from Tyler," she says. "He says there's some kind of emergency regarding the railway constructions and he and his father had to depart immediately for Surrey. They won't be able to call on us this evening."

"That's awful," her aunt exclaims, sounding genuinely disheartened over the news.

"Yes, it's most unfortunate," she agrees, though with a lot less feeling than her aunt. She's not entirely sure how sorry she is. "But he says they'll send a message as soon as they're back."

"I hope it's nothing too serious. Is there any news about misfortunes in Surrey, George?"

"Nothing in the news, ma'am."

"Good. They should return soon, then. What's in the package?"

Caroline blinks. For a second, she became so distracted by the spurt of relief flooding her veins she forgot about the package. "Oh, yes." Inside a beautiful box, wrapped with a neat silken ribbon, lies a smaller velvet case. Caroline's heart does a somersault before she realizes it's too big to be a ring. Unless the ring really is the monstrosity people have been confabulating about.

"Would you open it already, Caroline? You're killing me with anticipation."

She casts a reproachful look at her aunt. "Calm down, auntie. It'll give you wrinkles."

Liz narrows her eyes at her, but the corners of her lips kick up into a smile. "Do not try me, young lady."

Caroline chuckles, and then finally puts her aunt out of her misery. It's not a ring inside the box, but a necklace. "Oh," is all she manages to say.

She's almost... Underwhelmed. After all that talk about the gifts Tyler had purchased at the jewelry shop, she was expecting something striking. Hideously so, to be frank. Instead, what the necklace is... Simple. Almost unremarkable. Nice, she supposes, by some standards. Just not hers.

She’s not a snob by any means, it just doesn’t really seem to fit her style. Caroline’s certain she has never worn anything even remotely similar.

"That is absolutely lovely, Caroline. Tyler is so very thoughtful."

"Yes," she agrees, affecting smiling. "He is."

"Lady Elizabeth?" George calls.

"I almost forgot. Who's waiting for me?"

"The caller is for Miss Forbes, ma'am," George explains, giving her an apologetic look.

Caroline frowns. "For me? Who is it?"

"It's the Duke of Orleans, ma'am," he says. "He's waiting in the drawing room."

Caroline takes a deep breath. Then another. Her heart punches holes in her sternum as she tries to gather her bearings. Already she's starting to regret her decision to see Lord Mikaelson.

Her aunt instructed her to wait in her room while she had a word with His Grace. Caroline fully expected her to show the man the door without much consideration. If anyone would dare to give Elijah Mikaelson a commoner treatment, that would be her. But the most mysterious thing must have happened at the drawing room, because when Aunt Liz returned, all she told Caroline was that she should give the man a moment of her time and listen to what he had to say.

She made it very clear it wasn't an order, and that she would not force Caroline to sit in his presence if she absolutely did not wish to do so. One word, and she would have George show Lord Mikaelson the door. And Caroline's first instinct was to deny him, all right. She gets goosebumps just thinking about being in his presence again. He may be a duke, but she will never subject herself to the whims of that man, etiquette and hierarchy be damned. And yet... She could not help the kind of morbid curiosity that assaulted her reason.

Her aunt's change of heart was most puzzling, indeed. She was outraged on Caroline's behalf, angered even. If her sense of propriety wasn't as resolute as it is, Caroline has no doubt that she would've done something about it - demand a retraction, an apology, hire someone to throw tomatoes at him when next he stepped out on the street. So for her to have changed her mind this way... It makes one wonder.

What could he possibly have to say that would bend the Countess' ironclad disposition to show him the door without so much as a greeting?

"I believe - No. I know that it is something you should be aware of. Especially in light of... The imminence of your engagement," was all the clarification she was offered.

Trusting that Aunt Liz would never let anything unbecoming happen to her right under her roof, she said yes. But now that she's right outside the drawing room's door, her shaky confidence is beginning to balk. Caroline is not entirely sure she can do this.

Liz squeezes her hand. "I will be standing right outside. If anything happens - if he says anything that you find disagreeable, anything at all - just call out and I will step in right away. But first... Give him a minute."

She gives Caroline an encouraging nod and a warm smile. It does nothing to mollify her nerves, but oh well. She might as well get this over with.

Clasping her hands together to try and conceal her jittering and schooling her face into a mask of imperious control, Caroline nods at George and braces herself for the worst.

Caroline is momentarily thrown by the man she finds waiting for her. She was ready to face the same unreadable, cold façade she saw at the ball, the same sharp impassiveness that cut through her chest like a blade with his insults dressed as objectivity. Instead, what she finds is... Something else.

He looks... Softer. Almost grateful. Or relieved. A man, rather than a monster. Even the glint in his eyes is different - before, it was all dark depths and no kindness, now the brown of his irises seems almost warm. Approachable.

God, he even looks younger.

It's very disarming. She's not sure what to make of it, whether this is some kind of ruse.

She stops a good distance away. "Your Grace," she greets with a curtsy, all polite deference.

“Miss Forbes.” Instead of a simple nod, he bows forward - a gesture that the difference in their ranks would not normally warrant. “Thank you for seeing me. Please, forgive my intrusion. I didn't send a notice about my calling.”

"That's quite alright, Your Grace," she says easily, holding on to her exterior calm. If there's ever been a test to Caroline's excruciating etiquette lessons, it's this. "Can I offer you anything? Tea, perhaps?"

"No, thank you. I shan't be long." He takes a few tentative steps closer, and that's when Caroline notices -

"Your Grace," she says with a frown. "What happened to your eye?"

Elijah laughs, lifting a hand to touch the bruise under his right eye. It sports a faint green-yellow-ish color, indicating that it's not new, but noticeable nonetheless. "This is, in fact, one of the reasons why I'm here. Miss Forbes, I... I believe I owe you an apology. I was most discourteous with you. Indeed, my behavior was unforgivable. I cannot tell you how sorry I am for what I did. I was just -"

"You were just looking out for your family," she finishes for him, voice perfectly level. "I understood it, my lord. It is your place, after all, as the patriarch, to care for your siblings' best interests."

"See, that's not what I meant. When I demanded that my brother find a wife, I expected... Well, truth be told, almost everything. I first thought he would throw a tantrum, threaten me, try to shock me into retreating by bringing home an exotic dancer or an Opera singer. I had the most colorful and imaginative scenarios drawn in my head, and I was honestly prepared to handle every single one of them. The one possibility that never crossed my mind, however... Was that Niklaus might actually find a decent and lovely young woman whom he genuinely cared for."

Genuinely cared for. Elijah's misconception stings in her heart, and for some reason Caroline is filled with an apologetic need to dispel his ludicrous idea. "My lord -"

"Please," he interrupts her politely. "I don't deserve so much as a moment of your day, Miss Forbes, but I beseech you to listen to what I have to say." Caroline swallows, and then gives him a stilted nod to continue. "When it was brought to my attention that my brother was favoring someone - in fact, courting someone, I was... Curious, to say the least. And the moment I saw you, Miss Forbes, even before the ball, I knew it was a ruse."

"You thought I was scamming him," she says bitterly.

"Good God, no! I thought he was scamming you. I was certain that Niklaus had picked an agreeable target and decided to play games with the sole intention of tormenting me. A mere distraction, so that I'd leave him be. And from what I gather... I wasn't that far off. But I could not have imagined that the two of you were both in on it." The duke cocks an eyebrow at her, daring Caroline to deny it. Her cheeks burn, a child caught red-handed, and she has to avert her gaze. Strangely, he does not seem vexed by it. In fact, he seems more amused than anything. "It was an ingenious plan, I must say. No doubt Niklaus' idea."

"He was just trying to help me.”

"No, he was trying to help himself. And in doing so, he accidentally did something decent, for once in his life. I don't blame him, because the truth is, I should've seen that coming as well. Niklaus has a devious mind and he's always had a love for elaborate pranks, I should know better than to underestimate him. And I also do not blame you, Miss Forbes. You did absolutely nothing wrong, by any standards. However..." Elijah clasps his hands behind his back, tilting his head as he regards her studiously, one of those prodding looks that seems to coax all of her secrets out of her. "Am I correct to say something else happened? Your make-pretend went further than either of you ever expected."

Caroline dips her chin, her insides coiling furiously. She cannot imagine a person she would like to discuss such matters with less than Elijah Mikaelson. When she fails to produce a response, he grins, soft and understanding.

"You met my wife, right? Hayley."

She blinks at him. "Yes, we were introduced at the ball. She's beautiful."

"Yes," Elijah agrees, his eyes crinkling with warm affection. "I may be biased, but to this day I believe her to be the most beautiful woman I have ever seen. Hayley's maiden name was Marshall. If you haven't heard of them, it's because they're not in society. They were her adoptive family, actually. She doesn't know who her real parents are, was abandoned as a baby."

Caroline frowns. “That’s awful.”

"Yes and no. It is awful to think of a mother who would abandon her own child, to be certain, but I believe Hayley was lucky to be raised by Mr. and Mrs. Marshall. They were tremendously good people. Simple, but decent, with honest values. Both have passed away, sadly. Mr. Marshall was a very hardworking man who owned a bakery. I'm not big on sweets, but his pain au chocolat was to die for. Hayley took after him in that regard. She used to help out, working the counter and sometimes in the kitchen as well. She still bakes every now and again, even though there's no need for her to do anything herself anymore, of course. Some people find it bothersome. My own cook was horrified the first time she found Hayley operating the stove, thought she was going to set the house on fire." In spite of her own feelings, Caroline finds herself grinning. Some servants can be just as snobbish as their masters. "Hayley says it's therapeutic, kneading the bread, rolling the dough open. It helps her to clear her mind, or so she says. I think she just misses it. Not the work per se, but the simpler life.

"The bakery was lovely - understated, not flashy or glamorous at all, but that smell of warm bread that poured out into the street..." Elijah shuts his eyes for a beat, as though slipping into a sensorial memory. "It was irresistible. It's why I went inside the first time, literally enraptured by that smell. But the reason why I kept going back almost every day after... Was her." His lips curve into a sincere and nostalgic smile. Caroline can see how much he means it - how much the Duchess means to him. "When I announced my intention to marry her, my mother... Well, suffice to say, it was not a pleasant conversation. To this day, you'll hear nasty whispers about it, if you care to listen. That she scammed me, that I deflowered her and then offered marriage in order to avoid a scandal - there was even a rather creative line that said her parents ran an underground gaming hell and I owed him money. I still think Niklaus might have started that one, it's so very like him. None of it was true, of course. I married her because while I was waltzing around ballrooms all across London town with the daughters of marquesses and earls and barons being thrown at me by desperate mamas, all I could ever think about was her."

"That's a lovely story, my lord," Caroline says. "But I don't see how that has anything to do with me."

"Let me see if I can make myself clearer by asking you a question, Miss Forbes..." Elijah raps his knuckles against the back of a settee, before locking his eyes onto hers. "Are you in love with Tyler Lockwood?"

The shock of the question physically throws Caroline, her eyes widening. "I beg your pardon?"

"Do forgive my intrusion. Hayley always says that my straightforwardness can be too abrasive at times, even rude," he says, although he does not sound sorry at all. "I promise I mean no harm. It's a simple question, really. Have you real feelings for the young Mr. Lockwood?"

"That's not - I don't have to -" Caroline stutters, terribly flustered. Her insides clench with sudden anxiety, heat creeping up her neck. Who does he think he is, marching into her aunt's home and making such personal questions as though the two of them were familiar? Well-meaning or not it makes no difference. "That's... Very inappropriate. And none of your business," she states harshly. After a beat, and because Caroline is nothing if not proper, she adds, "My lord."

"Of course not," Elijah agrees with an affable nod. She's a second away from excusing herself and putting an end to this conversation when he continues, almost as an afterthought, "I went to see my brother today." It gives Caroline pause, her heart skipping a painful beat. "As you can imagine, he's the one who gave me this," the duke points to his bruised cheekbone. "As much as it pains me to admit it, it was well deserved. The punch wasn’t the most dramatic part, though. The words exchanged had a much direr effect. We hadn't spoken since. Then today I saw the news on that gossip paper and... Well, I figured I should pay him a visit. I've witnessed Niklaus in the most outrageous, appalling and undignified states of dishevelment you can imagine - and some you probably can't. But I had never seen him broken. He has this... Bigger than life air about him. Like nothing can truly touch him. And to see Niklaus reduced to a ghost of himself is... A disquieting sight, to be certain. He was utterly crushed."

Caroline ignores the pang in her chest. "I'm sorry to hear that."

"So was I. In spite of what he's surely told you about me and our relationship - which I will grant, has been far from easy -, I do love my little brother very much. I care about his happiness. And I think - nay, I know - that his happiness lies with you, Miss Forbes."

“I... I don't know what you mean.” Caroline's voice comes out strained.

"I believe you've been informed of an incident that has detained Mr. Lockwood and his son. He's a long-time business partner of mine. I wrote him a note informing him of a disruption in Surrey that demanded urgent attention, but he will get there and realize there's been a misunderstanding."

“Wait… You? You’re the one who wrote to Mr. Lockwood about the accident in the railroad constructions… And it was a lie?"

Elijah makes a pondering noise, pursing his lips. "Well... For lack of a better word, I suppose. There's always a thing or another with these enterprises that demands attention, but nothing that couldn't wait another day or two. He'll be back as soon as tomorrow. Surely, the first thing he and his son will do upon returning to London will be to come here."

"He will be furious when he finds out."

"As is to be expected - nobody likes to be fooled. But I took this all under consideration when I wrote to him personally, so he won't dare to say a thing." Elijah's smile is smug, no shame whatsoever in pulling rank over Mr. Lockwood in order to manipulate his son's engagement. Caroline should be a lot more outraged than she is at this. It's preposterous, and so very Mikaelson of him - something Klaus would no doubt do himself. The two of them are a lot more alike than it meets the eye.

"It's just a slight delay, no harm done," he offers by means of justification. "If indeed young Mr. Lockwood is where your own happiness lies, Miss Forbes, I wish you all the best from the bottom of my heart. I shall buy you a lofty gift to make up for this minor delay. However... If there is even a small chance, as I believe there is, that your heart might belong to another... You should know there is a very sad man in Mayfair right now doing a very poor job of nursing the first heartbreak of his life, and he would be most gleeful to hear it. And let me say this in no uncertain terms: I would be proud to welcome you into our family."

Caroline feels as though her heart is ripping apart with anguish.

The pain becomes too unbearable to stay hidden, the rehearsed indifference she tried so hard to hold on to dissolving in a puddle of heartache so overwhelming she can hardly breathe. She's going to cry about Klaus Mikaelson in front of the Duke of Orleans.

She could die from the embarrassment alone.

Perhaps sensing her unease or the fact she's about to break down, Elijah decides to offer her the kindness of privacy. "I believe I've said all I had to. I've taken up enough of your time." Caroline presses her lips tightly together, trying to keep her chin from quivering as he approaches her. "Our last encounter shall forever be one of my greatest regrets, Miss Forbes. But I do hope you can forgive me one day. Thank you for seeing me."

Caroline had to close her eyes and take several deep breaths before she could move again.

The more Caroline looks at the necklace trying to decipher what Tyler could’ve possibly seen on it that would remind him of her, the stranger it appears to her.

It looks expensive indeed, with the way the light bounces off all the finely cut diamonds in a mesmerizing dance. But… That’s about it. Her best guess is that the light blue hue of the main gem is not by chance. He did always compliment her eyes. Maybe that's what he saw about it. The color.

What truly matters is that it is a token of adoration that would likely have any girl swooning. Any girl but her, that is.

As flattered as she is, she just cannot seem to draw from that gift - and its significance - the level of enthusiasm it befits.

She feels strangely bereft. As though she stands to lose something fundamental, rather than about to start a family, paving the road to a secure future by making an auspicious match. What should be a moment of triumph and joy tastes like ash in her mouth. Caroline cannot help but feel a terrible guilt.

"That's a beautiful necklace."

She startles out of her thoughts at the sound of her aunt's voice. Caroline sits up straighter. "Auntie," she says, shifting awkwardly as though she'd been caught doing something naughty.

Liz walks up to her, coming to stand behind Caroline's chair and putting both her hands on her niece's shoulder. She sees the warm smile on her aunt's face through the mirror on her dressing table.

"It matches your eyes," her aunt continues. "Almost perfectly. It's the kind of jewelry that will stay in your family for generations. It'll pass on to your children, and your children's children, and 150 years from now, they will be talking about how that necklace was the same color as their great-great-great-grandmother Caroline's eyes, and how beautiful she was." Caroline can't even muster the will to smile. Instead, she averts her gaze. Although soft, her aunt's words wind up sounding like an accusation. You should be proud of this, Caroline. It's all you've ever wanted. "It's funny how sometimes things that seem to be perfect on the outside just won't reach you on the inside."

"I love the necklace."

"But not the one who gifted it to you?"

Caroline parts her lips, willing the words to come out. I do. I love him. I could love him. He's the one for me.. But the knot in her chest grows impossibly tight, and she cannot -

She cannot bring herself to lie.

"Oh, sweetie..." Liz sighs. "You fell in love with that sodden rake, did you not?"

"Auntie -"

"I'm not chastising you, Caroline. He's charming, which makes him awfully dangerous. It was bound to happen."

"I never meant to -" Caroline starts, and then stops herself. Saying it out loud hurts too much. "It wasn't supposed to be like this."

"Of course not. I'm certain he also did not mean to feel the way he does about you. But you are extraordinary, my darling. A man who sees all of you and does not fall for it is a fool."

"He doesn't..." Caroline shakes her head, tries to speak around the lump in her throat. "He doesn't feel that way."

"If there's any truth to what the duke said, he does. Although I'm nevertheless inclined to question how much of an imbecile he is, considering you're about to become engaged to someone else."

Caroline only manages to hold on for a few heartbeats longer before the tears well up in her eyes. That's when she finally falls apart.

She can pretend all she wants that this ache in her chest isn't a terrible case of yearning; that the tiniest moment of idleness isn’t enough for her mind to invariably drift toward him, wondering where he is, what he’s doing, who he’s with, if he’s pleased that their arrangement has finally run its course, happy to be free.

She can tell herself that the melancholy that seems to strike her seemingly out of the blue isn't from missing him, or that this twinge in her guts whenever she sees something or hears something that reminds her of him is just a coincidence, likely the result of too much milk or an overripe fruit. She might even tell herself that her tears are all because of the Duke of Orleans, and not because Klaus couldn't tell her what she wanted to hear.

Caroline can wipe her face, take a deep breath and be ready to lie to herself and everyone around her. Fake a smile that will fool everyone. Say yes to Tyler and mean it. But the truth remains unchanged within her. Lying will not take away the pain.

"I gave him a chance, auntie," she says in a small, tight voice. "I practically begged him to stop me from betrothing Tyler, and he did nothing. He looked into my eyes and he couldn't say it. What am I supposed to do?"

"Nothing. You’re not supposed to do anything, my child. It is a gentleman's place to make a marriage offer, not yours." Aunt Liz walks around her chair, standing right in front of Caroline. She grabs a handkerchief and, tenderly, dabs at Caroline's wet cheeks. "Shedding tears for men," she clicks her tongue, shaking her head. "It is the most preposterous thing, but it simply cannot be helped. I don't think any of them truly deserves it." Caroline cannot help the sobby chuckle that escapes her lips; aunt Liz reminds her so much of her mother sometimes. She puts a finger under Caroline's chin, lifting her face. "I know I was hard on you before, sweetheart, but it is only because I care about your future. Tyler Lockwood is a good man, with a bright path ahead of him. He comes from a good family, too. He fancies you quite handsomely, and he will give you the life you deserve. You might not have feelings for him now, but that's not so terrible. Many of the best marriages I know started out like this - mine included. But I will not make the same mistake again and push you into a union you do not want."

Caroline falls quiet, her eyes dropping back to the necklace on her dresser. This will pass, she thinks. This sinking feeling inside of her will dwindle to insubstantiality, until one day she will hardly even remember it was ever there.

Time heals all things, they say. Time and a big wedding to someone who she might one day come to love with the same burning passion she has for Klaus Mikaelson.

"I cannot wait for a man who does not know what he wants," she speaks, her voice carrying the calm steadiness of finality. "Even if he... Even if he harbors any kind of feelings for me, if he cannot bring himself to confess it, how could I ever expect a serious commitment? I'm not what he wants. At least... Not the life he wants. And I cannot wait for him to change his mind." She turns back to her aunt, head held high. "Tyler wants me. Klaus does not. Mr. Lockwood will be here tomorrow... And I will say yes."

Aunt Liz sighs, her eyebrows drawn together in an expression Caroline cannot read. If she didn't know her aunt better, she'd think she was sad. "If you're certain that's what you want."

She gives an emphatic nod. "It's what I must do."

"Very well." Liz leans forward, placing a gentle kiss on Caroline's forehead. "Then go to sleep, my child, for tomorrow your life shall be changed forever."

Caroline must be losing her mind.

If anyone caught her wandering the grounds before the sun is even out - in her nightgown, nonetheless - they would think she's been stricken with a delirious fever. Women have been tossed in mental institutions for far less.

She wouldn't be fully capable of dispelling the idea of madness, not entirely sure herself that she isn't coming down with something, although what kind of affliction has befallen her, she cannot say.

It seems like it starts in her head, racing thoughts that kept her tossing and turning all through the night, an inexplicable anguish that tightens her chest with a worry she can't name. But she can actually feel it all reverberate in her body - a restlessness that rises from her very bones, makes her heart pound in manic distress even though she has done nothing but lie in bed, staring at the ceiling. She should be freezing out here, in this dreadful weather, and yet, her palms are sweating, her insides bursting with flames.

All she can think about are her aunt’s words.

Tomorrow your life shall be changed forever.

They were words of promise. Of coming prosperity and joy. Something to look forward to, meant to fill her heart with expectation and wonder. In her head, however, they carry such ominous intent. Her whole being reacts viscerally to it as though they were a threat.

Caroline tries to imagine herself wearing the name Mrs. Lockwood the same way she'd wear a gown. Stepping into it little by little, adjusting it until it feels like a second skin. She can never make it to that part, though. Something in her starts screaming for freedom. One would think she’s about to be thrown to the sharks, rather than walk down the aisle.

She was suffocating in her bedroom. So she got up, put on a cape and went outside for some fresh air.

Caroline used to run up and down her aunt’s majestic estate when she was a little girl, on the few times she visited with her parents, before her mother passed away. Back then it seemed as though her aunt's home was infinite. She could never reach the limits of the property, no matter how far she ran. As a grown woman, it feels exactly the same. There is land as far as the eye can see. It’s easy to imagine that she could simply walk out into the distance and never find her way back.

Suddenly, the thought doesn’t seem so disturbing.

She has been so taken with the duties of a debutante in search of a husband that she forgot there was more to London than just balls and trips to the modiste. Back in Mystic Falls, Caroline used to go for early morning walks almost every day before breaking fast with her papa. It was invigorating, breathing in that first air, allowing it to settle inside of her like a balm.

It felt like starting anew.

And isn't that just what she needs right now? To resettle herself, recenter her thoughts and put the demons in her heart to rest so she can gain some much-needed perspective.

The air is stained with the smell of rain, but it probably won’t be coming down for another hour or so. Determined, Caroline heads towards one of her favorite parts of the property as a child: the orchard. She used to sit under the trees and gorge on apples and plums all day long, sometimes playing with her dolls, sometimes reading one of the books she'd steal from her uncle's library.

After wandering about a bit, she collects a juicy plum and a ripe pear and walks to the gazebo nearby. It looks just as beautiful as she remembers, underneath a wisteria tree in full bloom. It's sad to think that this will all belong to someone else when her aunt dies. The woes of being a woman in their society. It doesn't matter how upstanding or important you are, you'll always be seen as lesser than. The title has already passed on to some distant cousin of her uncle's, and when Aunt Liz is gone, so will her beautiful home and everything in it. She can't even decide how her memories should live on, and who should carry her legacy.

Caroline should've enjoyed the place more while she could, made time to reconnect with all the beauty and secrets of this vast estate rather than spend every breathing minute thinking about marriage and dance cards and how much bosom to show. This all feels so silly now, so futile -

Her thoughts are brusquely interrupted by the rain. A few soft drops at first, and then all at once, pouring down mercilessly from the skies. She curses under her breath. She thought she'd have more time, but clearly the weather in London is even more gruesome than in the countryside.

Just bloody brilliant, this is. It'll take her twice as long to return to the house, and she'll be wretched when she gets there, with mud coming out of her ears. April will have a right fit.

“Caroline.”

She nearly jumps out of her skin, dropping her pear with a loud gasp. The rain was so heavy, and she was so distracted by her own dismal thinking she didn't even realize -

"Klaus?" Her exclamation winds up as a question.

He looks like a ghost, a blurry form standing under the silvery curtain. She has to blink a few times to convince herself he’s not a mere figment of her troubled imagination. Then he steps out of the rain and under the protection of the gazebo, soaking wet. She feels the air being knocked out of her lungs. Klaus' presence expands to fill the entire space, as is usually the case with him. He owns every room he walks into - and every gazebo where he seeks refuge, it seems. Except there's no one else there to distract from the sheer power that radiates from him. It's just the two of them, miles away from the house, under the cover of a downpour.

Caroline can feel him under her skin, in the marrow of her bones.

Klaus combs a hand through his hair, his luscious curls flattened and swept back. He looks pale and tired, dark bruises under his eyes speaking of restless nights. She thinks of what Elijah said, about how miserable he'd been since the ball. She wonders if the Duke was being truthful, or if Klaus has simply been dedicating his evenings to his many vices. It’s hard to know what to believe anymore.

Caroline snaps her eyes away from him when she realizes she had been staring.

"Are you out of your mind?" she asks tightly, not quite able to think properly with the way her heart is pounding in her ears.

"Quite possibly, yes. Then again, I have never been particularly well-adjusted."

Her eyebrows knit together, completely befuddled by his casual tone, as though this was an ordinary social visit from a friend. "What are you doing here?"

"I could ask you the same thing."

"I live here."

"Not here, hopefully," he motions towards the gazebo. "Or I'll need to have some words with the Dowager Countess about her hospitality."

"I came for a walk," she states crisply. "You, on the other hand, are trespassing."

"Technicalities," he shrugs nonchalantly. "I was, in fact, waiting."

"Waiting for what?"

"For the clock to strike a more appropriate time to ring the bell and wake the house staff, of course. I'm not a complete brutish, you know, I do have some manners in me." His impish smile does funny things to Caroline, but it does not disrupt the sternness in her expression. "I wanted to make sure I'd be here before - Well. Before anyone else. And then I decided to sit in the back yard and enjoy the view while I waited - I had heard many splendid things about your aunt's estate, its surroundings are a thing of beauty, to be certain. And that's when I saw - something. A strange something. I wasn't sure what I was seeing, to be perfectly honest. At first, I thought it was my sleep-deprived mind playing tricks on me, or perhaps I'd caught a ghost in its witching hour. But then there was a moment when you turned a little and the wind caught your hair and I - I knew it was you. So I followed. I lost you around the orchard. Hence -" He opens his arms, lets them fall back beside his body. "You'll have to forgive me. Not at my most presentable, I'm afraid."

Caroline's lips part wordlessly while she attempts to process the whole story. Then she shakes her head. "Why are you here, Klaus?"

"To see you," he replies with ease, like it's the most obvious thing in the world.

"You do realize how unbelievably inappropriate this is? You're not supposed to call on me anymore, let alone chase me in the early hours of the morning, before anyone in the house is even awake. If anybody sees us -"

"It will be a scandal, no doubt. Lady Blowsherface will be all over it."

The lightness with which he speaks of her complete demise - paired with the way he visibly fights off a smile - gets Caroline's temper spiking. "Forgive me if the complete ruin of my reputation is not as amusing to me as it obviously is to you."

"It's hardly amusing. Which is why I had every intention of doing this by the book - waiting for a chaperone to be available before I came knocking. This encounter is most baffling to me as well. I don't really think it's common for young ladies to go on strolls like this, all by themselves, especially so early - especially in their..." His attention drops to her clothes, stopping at her chest. Caroline follows the line of his to see her cloak has fallen open, revealing her delicate white nightgown. Klaus' eyes flash with something dangerous before she pulls the cloak tightly around herself once more, cheeks flushing. He clears his throat. "What were you doing out here, if you don't mind me -"

"I do mind you asking," she snaps. "I owe you no explanations. And you need to leave, now, before anyone sees us. I'm expecting visitors today and they should be here soon."

Something dark crosses Klaus' feature, his lips pressing tightly before he speaks, laden with disdain, "The Lockwoods, I assume."

Caroline juts her chin proudly. "As a matter of fact, yes."

"Well, good thing I have found you just in time, then," he says. "Because you cannot marry him."

Caroline's heart stutters over a beat. "I beg your pardon?"

"You can't marry Tyler Lockwood," he repeats matter-of-factly. "I'm aware that he intends to propose today. I also know he would've done it before, if not for my brother's interference. I hate to be in Elijah’s debt, but I will gratefully owe him whatever he wishes for this." Klaus takes a step forward, locking his gaze on hers with ironclad resolve. "I am terribly - foolishly, I should say - late, but not yet beyond salvation. I'm here to stop you from making the worst mistake of your life."

Caroline's knees go wobbly. She stares at Klaus in petrified silence for a long time, unable to produce an appropriate response.

When she finally finds her voice again, it comes out airy and weak. "What kind of sick joke is this?"

"I have never been more serious in my entire life."

"Klaus..." She shakes her head, trying to dispel the mayhem taking place inside her skull. "Our bargain is over. You have no voice, no place - indeed, you have no right to tell me what to do."

"What happened to that fierce woman I met? The one who knew what she wanted, determined to find a perfect match? To marry a man who would respect her as an equal, and love her completely?"

Caroline huffs out a weak and shocked laugh. "You cannot be serious."

"You're not making this decision for yourself, and you know it."

“Do not presume to know anything about me.”

"That's where you're wrong, sweetheart. I know everything about you. Everything that matters. I have seen your soul, Caroline, I know your heart. I know you do not love him. I know there must be a part of you revolting against the idea of chaining yourself to a loveless union for the rest of your life. Marrying Tyler will be no different than marrying Lord Whitmore, and you know that."

Caroline feels pressure building behind her eyes. "You are out of line," is all she manages to say from behind grit teeth.

Klaus pays her no mind, taking yet another bold step forward. "Tell me you have feelings for him," he challenges. "Look me in the eye and tell me you have honest affection for that miscreant rascal and I promise you, our paths shall never cross again. I will leave, and you will be free."

His words bite through her, igniting a flaming rage that seems to burn through her reason. She tries to muster all of her indignation at his audacity, all of the hurt she's been harboring inside her chest for weeks now, in order to tell him what he needs to hear to walk away forever. But when she opens her mouth, all that comes out is choked up air.

There's no point, she realizes. He may be infuriating, but he's not entirely wrong, and she knows that. He can see right through her. It's one of the reasons Caroline always felt so at ease in his company, the fact she never had to pretend, could always just be herself. One of the reasons why lying to him is impossible.

"Affection can be built," she states instead, stubbornly. "It can blossom over time, with the unique intimacy that comes with sharing a life with someone. But Tyler and I have something much more important than affection. Something that you will never understand."

"And what is that?"

"Our roles," she practically spits out. "We both occupy the exact same place in society. He has no title; I have no fortune. We're both seen as damaged goods, interiorized in our midst, with little to no options. We are united by the demands of the parts that have been bestowed upon us from our births. You, sir, do not know what that is. You couldn't possibly understand."

"Have you forgotten the family I was born into?"

"Sadly, not quite, but I damn well wish I had."

Klaus' lips twitch into a broken little smile. "I have upset expectations from my very first breath on this earth, Caroline. I dare say no one knows the weight of being a disappointment better than me."

"You live a life of privilege, Klaus. Of excess and extravagance and no fear of consequences whatsoever. I can only dream that I could be as free as you are."

An indecipherable emotion flashes through Klaus' eyes before he averts his gaze. A harsh line appears between his eyebrows while he inspects his wretched boots.

A beat goes by, then another. Klaus draws in a slow breath, seeming to brace himself for courage. His mouth parts a few times before the words can finally come out. "I'm to become an earl."

Caroline stops, blinking slowly at him. "What?"

He sighs heavily. "Word on the street is that my uncle Finn is on his deathbed, all but ready to join his beloved older brother in hell. My father, that is. He never had any children, not that I knew of, which made me his heir, but I haven't heard from him in many years, and he always made it very clear how much he despised me. Not that I wanted to be his heir. I thought - hoped, in fact - that by now he would've found himself a young wife with a little bastard that could carry his name, but he did not. And when he's gone, which shall be soon, I will be the new Earl of Belaga."

The misery with which Klaus speaks of what would be regarded as great fortune and a blessing by anyone else is so tangible Caroline can almost feel his rancor taking shape. Her heart aches as she is overtaken by a sudden need to reach out, take his hand, comfort him, even if she can’t really understand his grief. She doesn't though, instead clasping her hands together to keep them from acting on a whim.

Tyler would probably kill to inherit someone’s earldom, and here is Klaus, heartbroken over the news.

"You don't think I understand roles?" he continues after a moment. "Expectations? It's been brutally hammered into me from the moment I came out of my mother's womb. In fact, it was brutally hammered into me how I failed to meet anyone's hopes. My father hated me, my uncle loathed me, and both of them made sure I knew, without a shadow of a doubt, how completely inadequate I was. Ignoring my duty has been a deliberate choice on my part, almost an act of rebellion, but not even that saved me from my fate. As hard as I tried to escape its tangles, it caught up to me. And so here we are. I’m to be an earl, whether I want to or not."

The words sink so far inside of Klaus he feels momentarily displaced, dragged by the unbearable weight of his destiny.

Saying it out loud brings a new edge of finality to it. Before, he could almost pretend it was a distant dream. Something that would happen to someone else. Now, he can feel every razor-sharp spike of reality latching on.

His own words ruminate - painfully so - while Caroline seems to fall into quiet contemplation. She looks sorry for him - or for how he feels, anyway - but unsure of what to say.

In the middle of all this chaos, a mess of convoluted emotions Klaus can hardly define, one thing persevered against the fatalism that took over his being: Caroline. A lonesome beacon of light in a whole lot of darkness.

She grew in the inhospitable space of his heart, his feelings blossoming against the indifference and the cynicism that had taken over long ago. Klaus had never come even close to feeling this way about anyone, and that made him careless. It made him arrogant. He thought himself impervious to such things. He hadn't known Caroline then.

He just… Wants to fix this. Fix all of it. If he cannot escape his destiny, he at least wants to make sure that he will chase his heart's honest desire. Stop this farce of a wedding she convinced herself to be the right thing and show her that her happiness lies with -

"Earl of Belaga," she finally says in a small voice. Her face twists with an expression he can't quite grasp, as though she doesn’t quite appreciate the way it sounds either. "Well... My lord... I'm sorry for how you feel, I truly am. But I'm afraid our plights remain absolutely unequal. Even as an earl, you might still do... Whatever you well please with your life. A title does not define you, it does not dictate what your future will be." For a quick second, Klaus thinks she's going to say something else, but then she draws a steadying breath in, shaking head. "I have to go back."

“Please -”

“You should go home. Get some rest, put on some warm clothes, before you get sick.”

He sighs. "I... Could not sleep."

"I hear valerian tea is quite good."

"So is inebriation, but it hasn't done anything for me. The drunker I get, the more my mind deviates towards the things that keep me up at night. It's been two weeks, Caroline, and I have barely shut my eyes."

Her jaw tenses. "That is not my responsibility."

"Au contraire, love. It is every bit your doing," he counters. "Day and night, you have plagued me. And if I'm to be completely honest, this didn't start two weeks ago. It's been going on for months. I can't think straight, I can't breathe, I can't... Stop searching for you wherever I go, and when I find you, I can’t stop looking. Everything else seems to exist in your shadow." Klaus' voice tightens, the brunt of his emotions pouring out of him with an edge of despair. "I've tried to stop it. I've tried to prove to myself that I could go on as though nothing had changed, but I cannot. Even now, I..." He falters, throat working as he swallows. "I have to dig deep inside of me for an honor I do not possess not to give in to my burning desires. And the worst part is - it's not even about the impure thoughts. I have those too, let me be very clear, but those are easy. It's the other ones that torment me. The honorable ones. The ones I've never had before and therefore know not how to purge. There are not many things in this world that put fear in my heart - I am both arrogant and reckless enough that I can face just about anything with foolish bravery. But you... The thought of never seeing you again, of never dancing with you, of being deprived of your smiles, of the sound of your laughter, of your company..." He shakes his head lightly, the cracks in his heart feeling as wide as the world. "It terrifies me, Caroline. It terrifies me like nothing else."

She looks down, but not before he catches the way her eyes are suddenly bright with the tears she's trying so hard to hold back. "My deepest apologies, my lord. I assure you it was never my intention to be the source of such vile torment."

"Tell me you don't feel the same way."

"What I feel does not matter."

"It is all that matters!"

"It will pass," Caroline states firmly, and he can tell she's trying to convince herself as much as him. "Before you realize it, your obsession will have faded and you will have moved on."

"Do not attempt to lecture me on the nature of my obsessions, love. I understand it quite deeply. I have lived my entire life jumping from obsession to obsession, consumed by temporary passions, burning through them like matches, one after the other. I know what an obsession feels like. And this -" he gesticulates between the two of them, "is not it. And I think you know that, too."

"You can't do this to me!" Caroline finally snaps. "You cannot show up like this when I am mere hours away from becoming engaged to tell me not to marry him. This is cruel, Klaus! I knew you were impulsive, I knew you were indifferent, but I never thought you could be so heartless."

"You think me indifferent?"

"What else am I supposed to think?"

Something catches in Klaus' chest. "Have I ever appeared to be indifferent to you, Caroline? To everything else, yes. But to you? From the very first time we met, I was anything but indifferent. And believe me when I say I tried very hard to remain so. But you coaxed all these foreign feelings out of me, against my every judgment. What exactly about this -" Klaus opens his arms, evidencing his pitiful state of dishevelment, " - says indifferent to you?"

There's a heartbeat of quiet before Caroline shakes her head. “You should’ve realized that sooner,” she says in a small voice. “You're too late now.”

All the color drains out of Caroline's heart as she says those words. Her very soul is left bereft, just an ashen, brittle thing.

She never could have thought that it would hurt so much to hear what she so ardently craved. If Klaus had had the courage to confess his feelings on the night of the ball, Caroline wouldn't have encouraged Tyler. Even without a promise of marriage, even with Elijah's threat, even if the voice of reason in her head kept whispering otherwise - she wouldn't have been able to walk away from Klaus.

But that was before. Things are different now. Klaus couldn't say it then, and it prompted her to make a decision, and she cannot go back on it. Cannot accept less than what she truly wants. It's not just about the fact her father only gave her one season to procure a husband in London; it's about the life she wants for herself. Mystic Falls does not suit her anymore. It'll always be home, but it has margins that do not bear the size of her burgeoning dreams. Caroline wants more than just to be a housewife, yes - but she also wants to get married. Have a family. A loving home. And Klaus offers her none of that.

Two weeks have given her the perspective she lacked a fortnight ago. Klaus let her go, and it was for the best. Now she must do the same.

"You once asked me why I never wanted to get married," he says, that same sadness dancing behind his eyes.

"Klaus -" she tries to stop him, but he puts a palm out, asking for a chance to speak and - when could she ever say no to the sound of his voice?

"The truth is I never believed in marriage. I didn't think there was any joy to be found in the transactional nature of matrimony. There was no room for personality, for uniqueness, barely any free will at all. It was a prison, as I saw it. Most men at my club are married - many of the women as well. They barely share a word with their spouses, let alone any intimacy or common traits and interests. Couples living together, raising children, building a life, as you said, but strangers nonetheless. The club is where they exist, where they show their true colors. The person they become once they cross my doors is the person they truly are in their hearts. There is something intrinsically wrong with an institution that has that as a baseline. I swore to myself I would rather die than be like that. I am many things, and certainly have many faults, most of which I will stand by with pride, but one thing I cannot be accused of is being a liar. My honesty is often mistaken by rudeness, but that's just because in our world, sincerity is not necessarily a virtue. I refuse to marry someone just to deceive them. To pretend to be something I am not inside my own home. But I would also never leave a miserable wife alone to wallow in anguish while I go enjoy myself with the usual suspects. I have seen firsthand what that can do to a person."

Klaus pauses, turning away to stare at the silver curtain around the gazebo. His eyes glaze over, distant as he gets lost in a thought.

"My mother was once a strong woman. Smart. Beautiful. I remember being a very young boy and thinking she looked like a fairy." He shifts his attention back to Caroline, a short grin dancing on his lips. "She was the diamond of her season, did you know?"

Caroline shakes her head. "No, I didn't."

"Yes... Not that it means anything, but it did mean she stood out. She was born Esther Seymour, daughter of the Marquess of Dorset. Even before she was out, she had gentlemen lining up outside her home, begging for a chance to win her affections and fall into my grandfather's good graces. They showered her with gifts, poems, endless promises of riches and happiness. But when the future Duke of Orleans came knocking - dashing, handsome, filthy rich and the only soon-to-be duke in the marriage mart at the time - they didn't think twice. She was meant for greatness. If not to be a princess, then to be duchess. And she remained the very envy of the ton until the day she died.

“Mother was no artist, but she definitely knew how to paint the perfect picture of nobility, at least to the outside world. The truth, however, was... Not as flattering. The sparkle that had once caught the eyes of the queen and made her a diamond all but died after she married my father. Her spirit was brutally murdered, day after day, tortured out of her. Marriage left her soulless, just an empty shell of the woman she'd once been."

The calm in Klaus' voice is belied by the raw emotion in his gaze, the harsh lines scribbled across his forehead.

"One of the strongest memories I have of my youth is this scent my mother always had in the mornings. Pungent and acrid and unpleasant, and for the longest time I thought that was her natural scent, which she would cover up with perfumes and flowery infusions during the day. It wasn't until much later that I understood that the smell came from the brandy she used to drown herself to sleep every single night. It got worse as she got older - or perhaps it was us who were getting older, losing that childish innocence that would distract from so many horrible things. Elijah and I would sometimes have to carry her to bed in states of indignity no lady should ever be seen in, especially not by her own children. But no one outside of our house suspected a thing. No whiff of gossip ever made it past those walls. I always wondered how that was possible. The servants could've made a right fortune selling the stories to the papers. Mother was one of the most respected society ladies, chair of so many charities, dictating what was right and fair and appropriate, and she was not kind. Her opinions might have destroyed some lives. A role model to the ton, as it were. In private, she was anything but. Just a sad, pathetic old woman who spent her whole life cowering from her husband, too ashamed to face her children, with absolutely nothing to live for. I then realized that that was precisely the reason why she was spared the embarrassment of having her secret life exposed: they pitied her far too much. Can you imagine that? The Duchess of Orleans, the most powerful woman in all of England after the queen, and she was pitied by her own servants."

Klaus' voice comes out stiff and terse, words so drenched in acrimony they seem to burn in his lips.

It occurs to her that Klaus had always possessed a sadness lurking underneath his carefree exterior, she just hadn't really been able to read it for what it was before. He struck her as someone who kept lots of secrets, someone who didn't appreciate being found out. He was born with an upper hand and had a really hard time ever giving it up. Klaus was as complex a creature as Caroline had ever seen, and so she mistook his exuberance for just another one of his parlor tricks, the persona he put on in order to glide through life blithely unconcerned.

But it had always been there, hadn't it? Lurking in the corners of his eyes, dancing just on the edge of his cheeky smiles. Now, it’s all out in the open, as clear as daylight. It just oozes out of him. Melancholy. Heavy and deep. Not a trace of pretense in his features, no masquerade to keep the illusion of a fickle man with no woes in his heart.

Klaus is making himself vulnerable, laying himself bare before her.

She wonders how many people before her got a glimpse at this side of him. To how many he showed his beating heart that feels just as much as hers. A heart that hurts and burns and breaks, just like hers.

"My mother was the unhappiest person I have ever known," he continues, locking his gaze on hers. "And it was all because she married the wrong man. My father was a monster in sheep's clothing - gilded on the outside, rotten on the inside. He fed on making our lives small and painful so that he could make himself feel like a god."

"Klaus, I..." she chokes on her words, voice snagging behind the lump in her throat. "I'm so -"

"No, no, no," he shakes his head vehemently. "No, Caroline. I'm not telling you all this so you will pity me. There is nothing to be sorry for. We do not choose where we come from, and the past is the past. I ensured that my own destiny would be much different than hers. I refused to become either of my parents. I wasn't the first born, I owed absolutely nothing to no one. I was free, and I would remain so, pursuing absolutely nothing but whatever made me happy." He pauses, his expression softening with sudden warmth. "Until you."

"I don't... Understand what you mean. I didn't do anything.”

Klaus smiles, a gentle and candid smile that seems to tug directly at her heart. "Oh, I beg to differ, my lady... You've done quite a mess of me."

Caroline frowns. "Are you accusing me of something?"

"Yes, indeed. You stand accused of turning my world upside down. Of throwing me completely off my axis. Of making me question everything I'd ever known, including my own sanity. I accuse you, Caroline Forbes, of utter and complete disruption."

"You make it sound like I was deliberately luring you into a trap, when I've done nothing of the sort. You can't possibly blame me for any of this."

"Oh, but I can, love. And I do. I was perfectly satisfied with my life until you showed up. it was shallow, but it was just as it should be. Easy, simple. And then you came in, with your sunshine smiles and your melodic voice, and now... Now I cannot imagine ever going back to that. I cannot fathom ever finding joy in that aimless, rootless, lonely existence. I'm not the same man I was the night we met, at that masquerade ball. Perhaps I haven’t changed in my core, I'm not sure that level damage can ever be undone, but my beliefs, the things I want... That has all been twisted by you, Caroline. You gave me a taste of what it's like to have... More."

Boldly, Klaus steps up to her. So near... Caroline sucks a breath in, heat bursting through her veins. They've been this close before, enough for her to feel the warmth of his breath, see the shards of golden dancing in the blue of his eyes, while they waltzed across ballrooms all over London. But this... This feels different. More intimate.

"Tell me you don't think about this..." he whispers, raspy voice only above a purr, his gaze pure heat across the line of her lips. Caroline's knees go molten. "For I think of nothing else, Caroline. Every time I close my eyes, I dream of tasting your lips... Of feeling your skin under my fingertips... Of kissing every corner of your body, and claiming you for myself..." He closes his eyes, inching closer still. His nose rubs against hers, their foreheads touching. If she tips her face just so... If she lets herself go just a tiny bit...

"You cannot..." she breathes out. The heat radiating from Klaus in spite of his sodden state is scorching, seeping past the thin layers of her clothes, stirring up lava at the pit of her stomach. "This is… Unfair..."

"Only if I’m wrong. Am I? Do you not think about me… the way I think about you?"

"I..." Caroline bites on her lower lip. Her poor heart, so desperate to break free of her chest and go to where it really belongs, with him... She shouldn't do that, shouldn't allow him to come this near. "I..." If this were anyone else, Caroline would scream. But it's not just anyone, it's Klaus, and he's here, all warm flesh and beating heart, and he curses her reason seven ways to hell. "I... I can't!"

Caroline spins away from his grasp, the separation physically painful. Everything inside of her screams for surrender, her body buzzing with an energy she can barely contain. Klaus causes the strangest, most visceral reactions in her, things she didn't even know she could feel. But her will has to be stronger than her heart's desires. If she cannot push those feelings down and away now, then she will be damned forever.

"This is madness," she whispers as she paces around the short space under the gazebo. "I can't do this. I can't let you - We cannot - This isn't right!"

"Caroline -"

"No!" She ignores the pang in her chest and barrels on. "I waited for you. I practically begged you to say - something. Anything! You allowed me to walk away knowing full well that I would be walking straight into Tyler Lockwood's arms. You let me go. And for what? To march into my home on the day of my betrothal and ruin me? If you can’t have me, then no one will? Are you really this cruel?"

"What? No. Caroline, I would never ruin you."

"You're doing it right now! If anyone catches us here, I'm done for. I’ll have to leave London in shame. No man would ever marry me. You had your chance, Klaus," her voice breaks at the seams. "You had your chance to keep me at your mercy, and you renounced that chance."

"I made a mistake," he says in a near plea, remorse etched onto every line of his face. "I thought I had your best interests at heart. I'm a libertine, Caroline. I own a sex club, for goodness' sake. I didn't think I was the right man for you."

"You admit that yourself and yet you'd still try to stop my wedding?"

"I told you already, it was a mistake!" his temper finally bites into his voice before he catches himself, scrubbing a hand through his face. He pauses, takes a slow breath, collecting his wits. "I didn't think I'd ever be able to abandon all of that, that a rake is all I would ever be. It was all I'd ever known, the only life I thought was worth living. But you made me realize I had it all wrong before, Caroline. It wasn't happiness I had been chasing, it was gratification. Happiness is... Much more elusive. And far more difficult to recognize, even when it stands right before you, living and breathing, looking you straight in the eye. The moment I met you, it all fell off-color. I have not been back at the club in forever. In fact, I had been discussing with Marcel the possibility of handing the administration over to him, even before that night at my brother's ball. He's going to buy me off - cheaply, if I may say so myself. But I don't mind. I don't want it anymore."

The shock in Caroline's wide eyes gives Klaus the real measure of his decision to forego the club. He bites back on a smile; it would be inappropriate for the seriousness of the moment. She'd think him duplicitous.

Those are big words, he supposes. But it's funny how he only feels their weight in other people's reactions - Marcel's, Greta's, Caroline's. Elijah merely offered him one of his cryptic, smug grins, as though it was his own personal victory, and Klaus instantly regretted telling him anything.

"You..." Caroline articulates after a beat-long surprise. "You would give up your club?"

"In a heartbeat," he says without a shred of hesitation. "I cannot tell you how many times Elijah tried to threaten me into giving it up, and I thought I'd rather stab my brother than do it, but now... I just don't care anymore."

"And what will you do?"

"I haven't thought about it yet, but it appears I have quite the burden coming my way. I'll have to care for the earldom, all the people who depend upon it. Seems like a handful."

Caroline gives him a look, tilting her head. "Won't that kill you?"

Klaus chuckles weakly. She does know him so well. "My instinct says yes, but the truth is I don't know. I suppose I’ll find out either way. I don't have much of a choice."

"There's always a choice."

"I can always find a side occupation to inspire me," he says with a shrug. "I don't just have to be an earl, though that does require some adjustment. A man of privilege will never find himself out of options, as you have reminded me so often." His lips curl into a lopsided grin. "But what I will never find... Is another like you, Caroline."

"Why me?" she asks, and he detests the edge of uncertainty in her tone, the insecurity that seems so natural to her. It makes him vexed just to think about what could've happened - the rejections she must have endured, the injustice - to make her so doubtful. As though the idea of someone choosing her over anything else is so far-fetched it earns suspicion.

"I wish you could see yourself the way I do, love," he says. "No one has ever vexed and tempted, taunted and challenged me - all at once - the way you have. You are the most frustrating, fascinating, perfect human being I have ever met - Caroline, you are... Everything." He stops when he feels the next words taking shape, snapping out of the cage where he'd tried to keep it and rising to the tip of his tongue. Words he's never said before. "You are extraordinary, sweetheart... And I love you."

At first, nothing happens. Caroline's expression goes slack, completely blank, before her cheeks burn bright pink, her breath catching slightly. "What?"

Klaus smirks. "Don't look so surprised. You must have known. According to Greta, my maid, who hasn't even had the pleasure of making your acquaintance, I was doing a piss poor job of concealing it. I don't know what I'll be doing with my life from now on, but what I do know, without a shadow of a doubt, is... I want to spend it with you. I want to dedicate every second of my life making you happy, putting a smile upon your face, reminding you of just how loved you are. I should've prefaced this entire conversation with that. That is why I'm here right now. I came to tell you that you cannot marry Tyler Lockwood... Because you must marry me instead."

Caroline's lips part wordlessly, but her brow creases into a scowl. "What... What are you doing?"

"What does it look like I'm doing? I'm asking you to marry me."

"You don't really mean that."

"Of course I mean it."

"No, you don't."

“I think I would know if that was the case.”

“You don’t mean it,” she insists, almost angrily.

“Do you think I am capable of proposing marriage unless I absolutely mean it?"

"You just listed all the very compelling reasons why you never want to be married! You're acting on a whim, Klaus. This will wear off, and then what? You will resent your own rash decisions, and then you'll spend the rest of your days resenting me for giving up on everything you hold dear, until what you perceive to be - love -" she chokes up on the word a little bit, "will be corrupted into vile hate."

"Caroline..." He takes one tentative step closer to her again. "My dear, dear Caroline... I'm certain there won't be a day when we won't aggravate each other. We will argue for all sorts of reasons, and I will fall more deeply in love with you at every turn for it. But I could never hate you." Caroline stares at him as though he's grown a second head. Klaus huffs out a little laugh. "I suppose I've earned your skepticism. Tell me something, then... Do you love me?"

Caroline's face turns a bright pink. "I..." her voice falters, her throat working as she swallows, averting his gaze.

"Your honesty, Caroline," he prods gently, capturing her eyes once more and trying to keep the tension threatening to snap him in half at bay. It only now dawns on him that when he left his home before the sun was even out, he had not fully braced himself for the chance that she might reject him. Klaus sees it in her eyes, as clear as the brightest sky, the same rambunctious feelings he has pounding in his chest. But perhaps Elijah was wrong. Perhaps he is too late, after all. Perhaps there was never any hope left. "The honesty you've always given me so brazenly, even when I didn't wish for it. That is all I ask for."

Caroline holds his gaze with a steely determination, and for a moment he thinks this is it - she will deny it, she will reaffirm her intention to marry Tyler Lockwood and thrash whatever's left of his shriveled heart. Slowly, however, something shifts behind her irises. A slight tremble on her lips, her shoulders sagging just a tad.

"I'm an idiot," she starts, voice quivery and uncertain. "I knew the stakes. I knew what I was getting into. From the start, I knew exactly who you were. And yet... Like a fool..." She huffs out a breath, just on the edge of a sob. "I fell in love with the greatest, most arrogant rake in all of England. What kind of halfwit does that?"

Klaus' head spins madly, and then something explodes inside of him, a swell of warmth that spreads from head to toe.

Caroline is in love with him.

That is all he needed to hear.

"That shall forever be my greatest achievement," he announces, face cracking into such a bright smile his muscles twinge with the effort.

She flinches slightly when he takes her hand - so warm against his cold ones, so soft against his roughness - but does not pull away. In fact, after a brief hesitation, she loops her fingers tenderly around his. Her touch sizzles all through his body, thrumming across his spine. It's always been like this with her. A single look could put his soul to rest; the slightest bit of contact was enough to raise a tsunami. The power Caroline Forbes wields over him is a mystery he's yet to fully understand, but for once it's a vulnerability he's not afraid to uncover.

When he gets down on one knee, Caroline gasps, clamping a hand over her mouth.

"Miss Forbes..." he starts, staring deep into her eyes. "I have come dreadfully unprepared for this, and I feel I must apologize for it. It appears marriage proposals aren't amongst my infinite array of skills. I fully intend to repeat this before all the appropriate people, at a more appropriate - and preferably warmer - location. However... We both know I'd be lying if I said I care a great deal about propriety. All I care about - all I have cared about for a good while now - is you. So here and now, just between you, me and the falling rain before sunrise, I pledge my life to you. I shall be your companion, your champion, your best friend and your loving husband. I will appreciate you, value you and share my whole life with you, because I have, indeed, found my place in this world, and it is by your side. I am ever yours, and I shall forever remain so, regardless of your answer to my question."

Klaus thought this part would be difficult. He thought the words would catch at the back of his throat, that his whole being would convulse with revulsion. But when he tastes it in his tongue - when he sees the joyful tears in Caroline's eyes, when he imagines what a future spent alongside her might be - it is as sweet as nectar.

Nothing has ever felt this right before. Nothing has ever been so easy.

A smile tugs at his lips.

"Caroline Forbes... Would you do me the absolute honor of being my wife?"

The strangled yes he can barely discern is not as important as the beam on Caroline's face - sunshine breaking through thunderclouds, sending a spark into his bloodstream, reaching into the darkest, deepest recesses of his being. Klaus cannot remember the last time he felt such an unbridled surge of joy, more potent than anything he's ever experienced. It’s almost too much to bear.

In a second, he is on his feet, arms tight around her waist as he finally - finally - pulls her into him, mouths clashing into a kiss that has been building up for months. It's all passion and no finesse, all need and hunger and an excruciating need to be as close together as physically possible.

Klaus thought there wasn't anything in this world he was yet to uncover when it came to the pleasures of the flesh; he was wrong.

They're both breathless when they pull away, foreheads together, hearts in tandem. His hand cradles her neck, and he's reluctant to allow her even an inch of distance. Now that he has her, he never wants to part from her.

She chokes out a nervous chuckle. "Did this really just happen? Or am I asleep at the house right now, and this has all been the craziest of dreams?"

"I don't know. How often do you dream of me?" he asks with a lewd little smirk.

Caroline glares, but her smile tells a different story. "Are you quite serious?"

"It really happened, love." He kisses her again, once, twice, soft pecks on her soft lips. "And it'll happen many times more."

"Klaus." He hears the uncertainty on her voice, draws back just enough to look at her. Caroline hesitates. "Are you sure this is what you want? Because if you change your mind - if you hurt me, Niklaus, so help me God -"

He puts a finger on her lips. "I don't deserve your trust," he starts, fingertips caressing her cheek. "I don't think I have ever done anything in my whole wretched life to deserve someone like you. But if there is anything pure in me, it's the love I have for you." He takes her hand, places a kiss on her palm and then puts it against his chest. "Do you feel this? This mad rhythm? It's yours. It beats for you, and you alone. And I will spend the rest of my days proving it to you."

She closes her fingers around the fabric of his shirt, as though she were trying to carve his heart out of his chest and keep it under lock and key, just to make sure he won't go out handing it to anyone else. If only she knew...

"Do you promise?" she asks. "Do you promise this is forever?"

He grins, pushing a strand of blond hair away from her eyes. He drinks her in - the fire in her eyes, the light flush on her complexion, the happiness she’s still reluctant to give into written across her features. He wants to memorize this moment, put it down on paper, on canvas, immortalize it. Not a million earldoms could ever be worth more than the very moment this woman entrusted him with her love.

"I promise," he whispers after a moment. "Always and forever."

Two months later…

Once more favorable to walking to the gallows than to the altar, Klaus suddenly finds himself riled up over the painfully slow path to holy matrimony.

It would be hilariously ironic if there was any real humor in it. The way he sees it, it's all just nasty.

He used to think nothing could be more dreadful than the pre-engagement rites - the balls, the courtship, the bloody dance cards. Nobody ever told him about what came after. Becoming engaged turned out to be the easiest part. Or least, getting the bride to accept him was. The other involved parties... Not so much.

Lady Elizabeth's hour-long interrogation was only the first of many arduous steps. Klaus has been grilled by police detectives and private investigators who weren't half as tough as the Dowager Countess. Enduring the razor-sharp probe of her famous steely eyes whilst keeping his temper in check proved to be a monumental task. Everything was a test, he knew, and the tiniest slip was enough for him to fail. Except failure meant not being allowed to marry Caroline, and so that was not an option.

Klaus has no clue however he managed. Perhaps it was that he was still drunk on Caroline's kisses, the promise of what awaited him beyond the finish line vivid enough to carry him. Or maybe it was the beginning of the fever that left him bed-ridden for a week after that blasted storm.

Either way, gaining Lady Elizabeth’s blessing was only the first part of the crusade. Next, Klaus was forced to take a step back so the Lockwoods could be placated. They were beside themselves, from what he heard.

Klaus spared not a shred of sympathy for that gold-digging family, but Caroline felt awfully guilty, as though she owed them anything. As per custom, ladies are allowed to break an engagement however and whenever they wish - and the two of them weren't even engaged yet. The Lockwoods set their own bed when they started feeding that gossip paper - like no one knew it was coming from them. It was clever, Klaus will give them that - generating conversation around their family, getting society excited about their son's wedding, all the while pressuring Caroline into a hasty decision. They almost had it their way. Emphasis on almost.

In the end, although bitter, there wasn't much they could do other than whine in private. In public, it was in their best interest to pretend ending the courtship had been an amicable decision on both families' sides. Klaus wasn't interested in getting the detailed account from Elijah, but his brother was the one who took care of the conversations. The Lockwoods might be vexed, but they know better than to pick a fight with the Duke of Orleans. For once, that cursed title was good for something.

Then came the part Klaus dreaded the most.

As if to make up for all the years he spent lost to debauchery, marrying Caroline was a real test to his intentions. He had to propose not once, not twice, but three times. First to her, then to her aunt, and lastly to her father. And in order to do so, he had to travel all the way to idyllic Mystic Falls. William Forbes refused to set foot in London, just to make it all the more challenging.

Klaus wasn’t entirely disagreeable to the idea, though. He was curious about Caroline's hometown. That brief conversation the two of them had at Somerset House had sparked an interest in him. He kept trying to picture what home was like for her. What kind of place could've forged Caroline Forbes. It seemed like as good an opportunity as any to see it firsthand.

It was... Different. Definitely not to Klaus' cosmopolitan tastes. Lacking in... Several aspects, he would say. But not without its charms. Not completely, anyway. Or perhaps seeing it through Caroline's eyes added an extra layer of color to an otherwise drab and muddy little town. Having her to show him around was a delight. He was certainly more interested in watching her and the tender way she'd speak about her favorite parts, the sparkle in her eyes whenever something was particularly dear to her, than actually paying attention to his surroundings.

But the air did smell of jasmines, just as she said it would.

They remained under close surveillance the whole time, of course. Her father was even more of a hawk than Lady Elizabeth, and so were her maids. Then one night he heard a knock on his window. He dismissed it as some animal or perhaps just the wind, but then it came again, more insistent. It was Caroline standing right outside, a cheeky grin on her face, beckoning him to follow.

It was the very first hours of the morning, before the sun was out, the sky caught in that perfect shade of purple that marks the in-between. Caroline took him up a hill, under the cover of an enormous willow tree. The best place to watch the sunrise, she said. They were completely alone, but the world around them felt vast and alive, and even though there were no chaperoning eyes, they didn't really do anything more than exchanging a few heated kisses. Caroline curled up next to him on the soft grass, with her head on his chest as they watched the sun come up, and Klaus finally understood what she meant that day at the gallery.

That feeling, he learned, was true peace.

He went back to that creek as many times as he could in the short week he spent in the countryside, trying to capture the place and the feeling, memorizing the colors. He started working on a painting as soon as he returned to London. It took him a few frustrating attempts, but he thinks he's narrowed it down to the perfect hues now. It'll be his wedding gift to Caroline. Something to remind her of home, to bring her peace. He has a feeling she'll need it, marrying someone with as much chaotic energy as him.

His conversation with William Forbes was brief. He wasn't interested in what kind of wealth Klaus' family possessed or what he was in line to inherit. All he truly wanted was to hear from his daughter. His questions were mostly addressed to her.

"Will he take good care of you? Is this union your will, or are you being pressured? Are you sure he's the one? You haven’t done anything inappropriate, have you?"

The single question he asked Klaus was much simpler.

"Are you in love with my daughter?"

The easiest yes he's ever spoken in his life.

One would think that after all that, they could just return to London and finally get on with the wedding part.

One would be pitifully wrong.

Just to make his wait an even bigger nightmare, Elijah and the Countess brought in bloody lawyers to discuss the legal documents. Klaus wanted to stab his own eyes. He couldn't care less about any of that, but Elijah insisted it was important to show good faith. He would've explained to Elijah that good faith is something he is sorely lacking, especially when these pesky details keep adding time to his wait, but it seemed like an argument he did not want to start with his brother, so he simply allowed Lady Elizabeth to make whatever demands she wished in the name of her niece.

He refused the dowry, of course, but Caroline's family insisted, so he instructed for it to be put in a trust for her to use as she pleased. She could have it all. She could have his money as well. It would probably be safer in her hands than it ever was in his, anyway.

At this point, Klaus is certain he’s the object of some kind of cosmic prank. How hard can it be for a gentleman to get married in this blasted city? He has a bride, which should be the most challenging part. He has more than enough means to get a special license, if that's what's needed. He wants to get married - desperately so. And yet there's always something getting in the way.

His growing restlessness must be glaring, because nobody allows him to be alone with Caroline for more than five minutes at a time. Wherever they go, there's an aunt, a maid, a footman, or bloody Elijah -

"Careful, Nik," Rebekah sing-songs next to him. "You're going to set them on fire with your stare. It’s not auspicious to burn your bride before the wedding."

He grunts an incoherent curse under his breath. Their wedding announcement was in the newspaper today. It's happening in two weeks. He was to meet with Caroline - and her aunt, because of course - for a promenade and luncheon. When he arrived at the park, however, Elijah was waiting for him with Rebekah. "The people need to see that the union has my full support, Niklaus, that our families are all in agreement," he said in that matter-of-fact way of his. "After what happened at the ball and with the Lockwoods, it's good to kill any gossip in its berth. The ton's malicious tongues can cut quite deep, as I'm sure you know".

Nothing ruins Klaus' day quite like having to agree with Elijah. He detests it when his brother is right.

Instead of having Caroline's arm in his and Lady Elizabeth a good distance away so the two of them might at least talk with some semblance of privacy, he was left to escort Rebekah while Elijah parades about with his bride and her aunt.

"Such a diligent patriarch, our dear brother," he grumbles bitterly.

"Are you seriously jealous? He's a happily married man, Nik."

"As happy as one can be married to a doormat, I suppose."

Rebekah chuckles. Elijah may be the father figure in Rebekah's life, but it is his character his little sister shares. She's a little troublemaker, that one, bound to give Elijah a lot of headache before she settles down. He couldn't be prouder.

"He means well, you know. He's doing the honorable thing and making it plain clear to the vipers at the ton that Miss Forbes has the Duke's favor."

"What a gentleman," he deadpans. "It almost slips the mind that he was practically booting her out of his home like a dog not two months ago."

"And he terribly regrets it. You had a formal apology from Elijah, that is more than most people can say. What more do you want?"

"How long do I have?" He casts his sister a slanted look. "I can compile a list."

Rebekah shakes her head, rolling her eyes affectionately. "You know, I still can't believe that my shriveled-hearted big brother is set to be married. And to someone like Miss Forbes, nonetheless."

Klaus narrows his eyes at his sister. "What does that mean?"

"She's quite something, isn't she?"

"Don't be mean, Rebekah," Klaus admonishes. "Not to her."

"I'm not!"

"You know you can’t fool me. Your fangs are showing, dear sister."

Rebekah simply shrugs. "Well, you have to admit, she's... Different."

"Different?"

"Look at you. Look at us. We're venomous. And she is... Lovely, I suppose. A ray of sunshine. So... bubbly and bright."

"You say that like it's an insult."

"It burns my retinas just looking at her, I can't believe it doesn't bother you."

"Not one bit."

"She has you bewitched. Mikaelsons are born and bred in dark and damp environments. We're not used to all - that. It's most baffling that she would turn out to be your type. You two are nothing alike."

"An assessment I can definitely agree with." Klaus feels the aggravation dwindle somewhat, giving way to something softer as he peers at Caroline, her delicate frame enchanting in a light blue summer dress. "She's nothing like me."

"Oh, please... You're going to make me sick, Nik."

He smirks. "Looks like I'm not the only one jealous."

"I'm not jealous," she protests weakly. "I just... Have very little tolerance for saccharine demonstrations of affection, as you well know. Between you and Elijah, I'm feeling overwhelmed. I always knew Elijah was a softy deep down, but you?"

"And here I thought you were the romantic in the family, ever in search of true love in this cold, cold world," he teases.

"Maybe I have stopped believing in love after half a season entertaining abysmal suitors."

"Fret not, Rebekah," he pats the back of her hand tenderly. "You will find your match."

"I should hope so. If even you can find a match, I wonder what it will say about those of us who cannot."

He laughs. "You think so little of me, sister."

"Quite the opposite. I hold you in the highest regard. In my own way, of course." The two of them share a little secretive smile, the kind they used to when they were children and up to no good. If they were the type, Klaus would smack a kiss on his sister's troubled head. But knowing Rebekah, she would probably slap him. "Look at her," she starts after a moment. "It's like she was born for this, isn't it? Out of a swine pit in the countryside and she holds herself like royalty. So at ease arm in arm with a duke. No one would ever know she wasn't born a princess. Everyone’s looking in awe."

"Rebekah," he draws out her name in a warning. "If you make Caroline the target of your petty attacks, we'll be having issues, you and I."

"I would never." She pauses, and then, after a wounded sigh, "I suppose I am jealous. If you quote me to Elijah, I will deny it, but as much as I love him, you and I... We've always been a pair. Part of me felt validated in the knowledge that you were a hopeless rake, because that meant I would always be your number one."

"You'll always be my number one, little sister. You'll just have to learn how to share the spot from now on. You will forever be my favorite sibling, unrivaled. And do quote me to Elijah, please. I will be glad to confirm it."

Rebekah laughs. "I'm happy for you, Nik," she says, in a quiet and unaffected way that tells him she's being sincere. "You have found your match. And even though it pains me to admit it… She is perfect."

At that precise moment, as though she can hear his thoughts calling out to her, Caroline looks back. The second their eyes find each other, it's like time has stopped running. The whole world vanishes around them - there's no more park, no more Elijah, no more Rebekah. Caroline smiles - bright and warm and full of undisguised affection. A smile that's all his. It melts all of the aggression and the acrimony festering inside of Klaus, that peace he discovered on a hill in Mystic Falls expanding to take up space.

It's not a place, this peace. It's not even a state of mind, or a memory. It's a person. It lives in the blue of Caroline's eyes, beats inside her chest.

"Yes," Klaus murmurs, almost unaware that he's saying it out loud. "Yes, she is."

Fin