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#all of this though being under the presumption that pride and prejudice takes place in 1811-1812
strangeratthewindow · 3 years
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In the midst of outlining my Pride and Prejudice/Sharpe crossover fanfic, I noticed that there’s a weirdly dark comedic aspect in the way certain events from both stories match up in the timeline.
Like the fact that around the same time that Elizabeth Bennet and Fitzwilliam Darcy are awkwardly getting to know each other in Kent, Richard Sharpe and the South Essex Regiment are getting blown to bits under the walls of Badajoz.
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Bewitched, Body and Soul 1/5 (??)
Areum is taken to the house of the stern Jumin Han and takes an instantaneous dislike to him. The feeling is mutual. 
AKA PRIDE AND PREJUDICE AU IS GO. Also this chapter was supposed to be twice as long, but I thought it would be funny to end it on the tropiest of tropes like if you’ve seen a period drama in your life you’ll have screamed over this i know it instead.
Intro - If You Go Chasing Rabbits
Jumin Route - Bewitched, Body and Soul - Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3
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“What do you suggest, Luciel? This is a rather unusual predicament,” said Mr Han. 
Luciel considered his words and then nodded. “I suggest we keep an eye on Miss…” “Areum.” “…Miss Areum for now. We should not dismiss the facts that she has presented before us, nor that she may in fact be the person most in danger. As such, I suggest that she stays under the care of our group for the time being, with her comings and goings under constant surveillance.” “But!”
She spluttered, though nobody seemed to be listening. “If it is to be surveillance, she is better off with you, Luciel, surely,” said Miss Kang, to which he shook his head. “If Miss Areum truly is dishonest, we must give her every opportunity to expose herself,” he said. “You just want to pull Mint Eye into the open!” Gasped Yoosung. “That’s very true,” said Luciel. “Now then-” He turned to her, grinning widely. “Who shall you be coming with?”
Areum glanced around the room, all at once surrounded by a thousand smiling faces and a dozen open doors. She did not wish to go with anyone, of course. She wished only to return to the Finchley house and apologise for her lateness, but it seemed that of the options available to her, that was the only one she was in no position to choose.
“I,” she said, meaning to express discomfort of sorts at her predicament, only to be interrupted.
“There is only one thing for it,” said Mr Han, stepping forward. “The girl shall return with me.”
“And why is that?” Zen guffawed. “You wanted her arrested not ten minutes ago.”
“Of that much I am quite aware,” said Mr Han, glaring at Zen as if he had openly admitted to something incriminating himself. “And had you not interrupted me before I had finished explaining, you might have heard the rest of it.”
He cleared his throat somewhat briskly before continuing to speak, while Zen scowled at him from the other side of the room.
“Of all of us standing here I have the most to lose from this strange group,” he said, “therefore it stands to reason that whatever plot this charlatan is part of will come to light if she returns with me.”
She was so anxious at the prospect of stepping inside of Mr Han’s house that it did not cross her mind that she should be offended at being called a charlatan.
“You say that you have the most to lose,” said Mr Kim rather quietly, “but we still don’t know what Mint Eye wants, precisely.”
Mr Han did not seem worried, however.
“What do groups like that always want? Money? Influence? I have both,” he said. “And mark my words when I say that I do not mean to let this woman out of my sight. She has already wronged me by trespassing on my property. I will not allow her the satisfaction of gaining the upper hand twice.”
She did not know the character of the man before her, but she guessed that he must have been a stubborn sort, for the moment his mind appeared to be made up, no one stepped forward to contradict him. As such, she also remained quiet, wondering what was about to become of her.
“If that is what you wish,” said Mr Kim, “I shall not interfere.”
“And if the boss is alright with it, then so am I,” beamed Luciel.
The cab ride back to Mr Han’s London apartment was almost unbearably silent.
Areum had never been permitted inside of the Finchley’s cab and if ever she or one of the other girls were caught in its proximity, they risked a beating. Even though she was a guest in the loosest sense of the term, she could not help but feel as if she had wandered into forbidden territory.
Somewhat thankfully, Mrs Ridgebit was not there to see her in the back of Mr Han’s cab with her hands neatly knotted together in her lap, taking in the soft blue velvet and polished windows. More than once she peered outside and took note of the fact that she did not recognise the streets, wondering what she ought to do in case an escape route became necessary. Ordinarily such a question might not have crossed her mind but, to put the matter simply, she was having an unusual day.
The very fact that she had never before heard of Mr Han before was, in itself, unusual and she found herself wondering at his personal history. She was little more than a maid, of course, but from something so small as dressing the Finchley girls to tidying a particular room at just the right moment, she had come to know the names and fortunes of many of London’s quality folk. The Finchley daughters had used other girls as stepping stones for far smaller prizes than half of Derbyshire, so Areum wondered how it was they had not heard of him. Perhaps through some unfortunate circumstance, he was married to a woman far worse than any she had ever met.
Perhaps he felt the weight of her gaze upon him, for he turned away from the window.
“How fares my schedule over the next few days, Miss Kang?” He said. “If I am to keep an eye on Miss Areum, I should make the proper arrangements.”
Miss Kang opened up her book once again and turned its pages as if by memory, which was a possibility.
“It seems you are free tonight,” she said. “Although you did accept an invitation at Shoreditch tomorrow evening.”
Mr Han sighed as if that prospect displeased him immensely.
“I cannot cancel,” he said. “The invitation came from an old friend of my father and he will almost certainly be offended if I do not show my face.”
Areum had heard of Shoreditch before, as a whisper while squeezing the Finchley girls into their corsets. More specifically, she had heard of the town hall; a place that she herself had never been and could scarcely imagine no matter how hard she tried. As a matter of fact, up until then she had never paid much thought about how little she knew of it beyond the name and its second hand grandiosity. She had watched the Finchley girls practice their dances and rearrange their ribbons in false refinement and that had always been quite enough for her.
For the first time, Mr Han looked into her face and instinctively, Areum glanced down at her shoes.
“I suppose,” he said, sounding not at all pleased about it, “that we shall think of something.”
Mr Han’s London apartments were situated in Piccadilly and she felt distinctly out of place from the moment she stepped out of the coach.
At the very least, some things were familiar: Mr Han’s housekeeper bowed in a polite fashion as her master approached without the slightest hint of familiarity; the same invisible boundary in place that Mrs Ridgebit so often spoke of.
“It is a good day,” she said once, scrubbing the silver in such an exaggerated fashion that it brought a sheen to her face, “if they do not see us.”
Areum had never questioned why it was better to remain invisible, until Mr Han’s housekeeper bowed to her too, no doubt under the presumption she was of some sort of pedigree. As she followed Mr Han into a room filled with sunlight that appeared to be some sort of parlour, she was tempted to run back and invoke camaraderie with the woman and reassure her of their shared experiences. The serving staff were the only people she could relate to in this strange new place and she could not tolerate the idea that even they did not recognise her as one of their own.
“Now then,” said Mr Han, taking several steps into the middle of the room and standing before the fireplace. “This woman shall need a new identity if she is to remain in my vicinity. I have taken many great steps to restore my family’s good name and I do not intend to sully it now.”
Perhaps there was no Mrs Han, after all. That would be the most obvious objection to having an unmarried woman in such close quarters.
“I,” Areum hesitated, “I am happy to cook and clean, sir. I do not require any hospitality.”
She meant it as a courtesy, but almost immediately she wished she had remained silent.
“That is out of the question,” said Mr Han. “To allow you to cook and clean would be to allow you the run of my house. I mean to keep you where I can see you during daylight hours.”
“And during the evening, sir?” Miss Kang said.
“She will share your room, Miss Kang,” he said. “And you will watch her where I may not.”
Miss Kang gasped at the suggestion, clearly unhappy at the prospect of an intruder in her most private of spaces, though in the end she merely bowed and said ‘yes, sir’.
When Areum was little more than a child of six, a stranger came to the workhouse with a bag of money and expensive clothes. At the time, of course, any clothes that appeared in the slightest bit new appeared expensive and she had trembled uncontrollably at the revelation that the stranger wanted to buy a girl to take back to their noble estate.
It was the first time she ever met Mrs Ridgebit and it set the tone for every conversation they had ever had afterwards. Mrs Ridgebit had examined her teeth, checked her hair for lice and sized up every girl in the workhouse in terms of general health. Even when she was eventually chosen, she was sure there had been some mistake.
She was reminded of Mrs Ridgebit’s cold hands upon her jaw as Mr Han looked upon her.
“For now I shall refer to Miss Areum as a cousin of mine,” said Mr Han. “About to have her coming out ceremony as a true lady. Miss Kang, she will require clothes.”
“It shall be done, sir.”
Miss Kang, at the very least, took quarters with the serving staff. It ought to have come as something of a comfort to her to stand in such familiar surroundings and yet she found herself unable to say a word.
There were so many things she wanted to ask. She wished to know more of Mr Han’s character, but did not know how to phrase such a question without confirming his suspicions of her own. In the end, she stood in silence as Miss Kang took her measurements and Miss Kang spoke only when to tell her to turn or to raise an arm. Areum supposed that she did not blame her.
Every so often, she cast a glance at her basket of apples, wondering what was happening at the Finchley house in her absence. Had Mrs Ridgebit sent another girl to look for her? Were they standing at the door waiting for her to return? Would she even have a home to return to when all was said and done? She would accept a clap around the ears, but the prospect of losing her job and her home in one fell swoop left her trembling so awfully that Miss Kang took some measurements twice.
She still trembled even after changing into a deep green dress from Miss Kang’s wardrobe and attaching Mrs Ridgebit’s watch to her middle.
She smoothed her fingers over the silver and wondered what might happen next.
Truthfully, however, she was not sure she wanted to know.
The afternoon was long.
Miss Kang had errands to run-not only to fetch her some new clothes, but also to drop off her old ones with the strange Luciel. She wondered what unnerved her more; the prospect of her clothes being examined for proof of criminal activities or having to sit in Mr Han’s study while he sat at his desk and responded to letters.
“Do not touch anything,” were his only words to her as she took a seat by the window.
Areum did not know what he imagined she would touch. She was habitually disinterested in the hard-backed books of the upper classes, which previously had served no purpose to her other than to gather dust. As it was, she spent the time in quiet contemplation, watching finely dressed strangers pass by the window, all the while conscious of each passing second.
Mr Han, for all of his talk of keeping a close eye on her, seemed to be doing everything in his power to pretend she was not there. His desk was positioned so that he faced away from the window and he did not look at her even as he reached for fresh papers.
It took exactly two hours and thirty seven minutes for her to have enough courage to speak; a fact she knew for certain from her frequent glances at Mrs Ridgebit’s watch.
Lord Finchley had always been the master, she reasoned, but he had never been unkind. She had never had his attentions like she had Mr Han’s, but she knew that he would be sympathetic under similar circumstances and it gave her confidence.
“I...uh, that is, Mr Han?”
His reaction was immediate. Cold, grey eyes upon her and a stilling of his pen. Her reaction was immediate too; within seconds she lowered her gaze to the floor, feeling exposed where customarily she ought to be unseen.
“Can I help you?”
“I…” Areum knew it was imprudent to ask favours of him, but she did not know what else to do. “I was wondering if I might send a letter to my employers. I do not wish to cause them any undue concern in the mistaken belief that I've run away.”
He fell silent in a moment of contemplation, before finally reaching to pick up his pen once more.
“If there is concern to be had,” he said, “I doubt that it shall be over your person but the silver around your middle.”
She did not shed a tear over that particular exchange, but rather waited until cover of darkness, when Miss Kang had extinguished the only candle in the room and drawn the covers. She turned over onto her side so that she faced the wall and allowed her tears to soak the pillow, scarcely able to believe she had found a person more loathsome than the Finchley daughters.
She wanted to go home, back to where her days were fulfilled and she understood her place. Mr Han’s house left her confused about both.
As she dressed the next morning, Miss Kang notified her that she was to take breakfast with Mr Han, a fact that ruined her day as it had yet to start. She had counted it as a blessing on that previous evening when he announced plans to dine alone, but now there seemed to be no avoiding it.
Breakfast had always been a hectic affair at the Finchley house, with the girls running late every morning and disagreeing three times over on how they liked their toast. Mr Han’s dining room was far less lively, even if the silverware was a good deal more intricate.
He had not invited her for toast and conversation, however, or even to pull at her hair as was the way with the Finchley girls.
“I mean for you to accompany me to Shoreditch this evening,” he said.
“I-”
“Do not jump to conclusions,” he said, putting down the newspaper. “Luciel is still looking into the Mint Eye case and until I know that you are innocent, I wish to have you somewhere that I can see you.”
Areum knew that she ought to have been most excited. She ought to have been clapping her hands together in glee, but all she could think about was the prospect of spending an evening in the company of the deplorable Mr Han. Not only that, but it was almost certainly going to be another full night away from the Finchley house, which would only make her present predicament all the more dire.
When she opened her mouth to speak, however, that was not the protest that came to mind.
“I cannot dance,” she said.
“Fear not,” said Mr Han. “I shall not ask you.”
Mr Han had commissioned a fine gown for her. Too fine, in her opinion. She did not know fashions, but the quality of the fabric was plain from moment she touched it. She had fixed such materials before while dressing Annette and her sisters, all while they chatted about which men were going to attend. Men whose private affairs they were sure they understood completely. Men who, for some strange reason, did not include Mr Han.
She considered it a strange twist of fate as two maids fastened up her dress and arranged her hair. She had always been on the other side and never in her wildest dreams had it occurred to her that someday someone would put flowers in her hair or put a ribbon around her waist.
Her corset was two sizes smaller than usual and the dress was heavier than she might have liked; it floated around her ankles as she walked and she found herself considering its utter lack of practicality as Miss Kang arrived to escort her to the coach.
“I shall wait in the serving quarters for your return,” she said. “Mr Han ordinarily never stays too late at these engagements, so do not feel concerned.”
“You're not coming?”
Over the course of the day, the pair had shared pleasantries and become better acquainted. They were far from one another's confidantes, but neither did they approach one another in the distanced manner of strangers.
“It would not be appropriate,” said Miss Kang. “Even if Mr Han would allow it. He is...far more conservative than his father.”
“I only hope I don't fall over,” said Areum. “I feel as if I'm going to trip in these shoes.”
“In that case,” said Miss Kang, “take my arm.”
Areum linked her arm in Miss Kang’s and followed her out of the house, to where Mr Han chatted with his coach driver, Mr Kim.
It was a brisk evening and the moment she stepped out of the house, a cool wind whipped through her hair and billowed her skirts, dislodging one of the flowers that Mr Han's maids had so lovingly placed in her hair. It landed at his feet in a display of white petals and he turned, presumably in curiosity of its origin.
She already felt self conscious and the moment his eyes fell upon her, she glanced away, breaking out in goosebumps.
“I,” he said, before clearing his throat. “Good timing.”
When she looked up, she realised that he had taken off his hat and extended a single gloved hand, ready to help her into the coach. Areum paused before laying her hand upon his.
Only the day before, Luciel had taken note of the burns on her fingers and in that moment she wore net gloves to shield her scars from view. Every scar from broken china; every burn and healed over callus. Her hands were undeniably those of a worker and would expose her despite any good manners on her part. They were those of a broken body and rising with the lark.
Mr Han’s gloves were expensive.
His hand was gentle.
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