Venus' Finest

Dear Elizabeth,

I hope this letter finds you well. I know that we have a great deal of preparation to do for the Venus expedition, but I wanted to write to you with a personal request.

It has been a singular pleasure to write to you over the past months. I have appreciated your scientific insight and determination, but I have come to admire your patience, your sharp wit, and your kind heart. The world expects me to derive joy from the Venus expedition, but even it pales in comparison to what I feel when I see one of your letters.

I would like to invite you to attend a play with me, on the evening of Friday the 21st if possible. If you wish to bring a chaperone, you could bring your assistant, about whom I have heard so much.

I look forward to hearing your reply.

--

Lady Elizabeth Havelock took a deep breath as she looked into the mirror. Her straight raven-black hair was being uncooperative, and the deep breath had little effect on her trembling hand.

"Molly, I shall require your assistance."

"Certainly, miss," Molly replied. She had been waiting by the door, eyes downcast as was expected of a maidservant, but she quickly crossed the room to Elizabeth's side. Elizabeth turned to face her and gestured nervously at the chaotic mess of her hair.

"I can't have Duke Harington see me like this, now can I?" she asked, forcing herself to smile in an attempt to calm her nerves.

Molly took up a moonstone-handled brush and began to attack the knots in Lady Elizabeth's hair. Elizabeth winced, but kept herself silent.

"You do tend to twist your hair when you're working on preparations for the expedition, miss."

"There's a lot to consider," Elizabeth said idly, her mind already drifting back to the preparations. "I'm not convinced that our reentry angle is ideal, given the number of colonists. I'll need to redo the calculations." She reached for her hair, then stopped herself.

"Well, I don't think you have cause to worry," Molly said. "I'll have it sorted." She glanced down at Lady Elizabeth's form, clearly discernible through her undergarments. Lady Elizabeth was thin, her scientific work affording her little time for diversions. Others knew her as a striking woman of refined style, but Molly knew that she was even more striking with less attire. Indeed, when she helped Lady Elizabeth in the bath, it was difficult not to become distracted.

"It's strange," Elizabeth said. "I've been corresponding with Duke Harington for over a year through the Royal Science Council, and I've never been nervous. It helps that you help me write the letters, I must admit. But the instant it's a social call, I'm shaking like..." She grappled for a metaphor.

"Like a mark two rocketship, miss?"

"Oh dear, I'm not shaking that much, am I?"

Molly leaned closer to Elizabeth's ear. "I don't think you're going to fall apart, miss."

Elizabeth smiled, glancing at Molly's reflection in the mirror. "Thank you, Molly."

Molly smiled back. "You are uniquely wonderful, miss, and the Duke is charming and kind. You should be lucky to have one another."

Elizabeth glanced back at Molly. She was quite good at maintaining a neutral face, and Elizabeth often envied her unflappable calm. But, in turn, Elizabeth had years of experience in reading Molly's hidden emotions. Right now, though, Elizabeth thought she could read happiness in Molly's face one moment and sadness the next.

"Are you comfortable accompanying me this evening?" Elizabeth asked. Her mother often admonished her not to ask the servants such questions, but Elizabeth took pains to ignore that advice when out of her mother's earshot.

"Yes, miss," Molly replied, finishing with Elizabeth's hair and setting down the brush. "I don't often get to attend the opera. And I look forward to meeting the man who's contributed to so much of your work."

Elizabeth smiled again. "It's our work, truth be told. I don't know how I would've completed half of it without you checking my math."

Molly blushed, the freckles on her cheeks vanishing amidst the rising color. "You're too kind, miss."

"Not at all," Elizabeth said. "I'm glad you're coming tonight. And I'm glad you're coming to Venus with us as well."

In truth, Elizabeth could scarcely imagine living without Molly. Her assistance had indeed been invaluable during the expedition planning so far, and she knew Elizabeth better than any of her so-called peers. Beyond all that, though, Elizabeth had grown so used to the warmth of her presence that time without her felt positively Arctic. The red frizziness of her hair, the warmth of her smile, and the way her frame threatened not to fit in her maid's uniform all conspired to give Elizabeth unusual thoughts, ones which she instinctively knew never to mention to her mother.

A sudden rapping at the door shook Elizabeth from her reflections.

"Elizabeth, are you decent?" her mother's voice rang out.

"Not enough for society, mother, but you may enter."

The Countess Havelock bustled into the room, casting an appraising eye at Elizabeth's hair and ignoring Molly entirely. "You're going to be late if you don't hurry," she said.

"Yes, mother."

The Countess frowned. "Now Elizabeth. I know that Duke Harington is well-regarded in London, and at the Royal Science Council, but none can say what sort of man he will be in private. I want you to remember that, above all else, you have a duty to protect our family's reputation. You should not touch a gentleman, except to take his arm or for a formal dance, until you are engaged. Do you understand?"

Elizabeth nodded. "I remember my etiquette classes, mother." She reached for a handkerchief on the table, and her mother restrained her hand.

"Then you shouldn't need to bring a handkerchief," the Countess said. "The gentleman should provide for you."

Elizabeth considered the practical objections, but kept them to herself. "As you say."

"Very well." The Countess stepped away. "Do have a good time, dear," she said, exiting the room.

Molly said nothing. She'd been very demurely saying nothing while the Countess was present, but she was now very pointedly saying nothing.

"Miss Molly?" Elizabeth asked.

"Yes, miss?"

"If I'm not to bring a handkerchief, can you bring one for me?"

Molly smiled. Years of masking her emotions had, if anything, made Molly's smile even more luminous when she could show it. It lit up her face, and it lit up Elizabeth's heart.

"Of course, miss."

--

A private zeppelin carried Elizabeth and Molly from the Havelock family estate towards London's west end. Looking out the window, Elizabeth could see the lights of the city growing ahead of them, the product of Queen Victoria's focus on scientific advancement. Steam power had revolutionized the industries of Earth, and fueled British colonization efforts on the Moon and Mars. Now, to the west, new rockets were being constructed for the upcoming expedition to Venus. It was a wonderful time to be alive.

And yet, while they were aboard the zeppelin, Elizabeth was obliged to sit in the more regal upper deck, while Molly waited in the cargo room below, unless called for. It was ridiculous, but the Countess insisted on propriety. The zeppelin crews feared her more than they admired Elizabeth, so she had little choice but to acquiesce.

Once they were moored at the ascent station in the west end, though, Elizabeth was quick to disembark and find Molly in the waiting area, standing demurely near a gentleman.

He was light-haired and fair, with blue eyes that seemed to smile even while his expression was neutral. He wore a fine suit, with polished boots and a crimson silk handkerchief in his breast pocket. Unlike many other members of the Royal Science Council, who often wore elaborate top hats with brass plating and advanced optical lenses, he wore a more modest Cahill hat and no glasses or goggles at all.

He smiled and caught Elizabeth's eye as she entered. She took several deep breaths as she descended the stairs in an effort to keep her heart from racing away from her. She'd worked with Duke Harington on an ongoing basis for over a year, she told herself; there was no cause for anxiety.

She'd almost convinced herself when she reached the bottom of the stairs. Duke Harington took off his hat and bowed slightly as he greeted her.

"Miss Elizabeth Havelock, I presume?"

Elizabeth could hear just a note of anxiety in his voice, and the knowledge that he was also nervous helped to calm her.

"Indeed, sir. It is a pleasure to meet you in person, Duke Harington."

"You can call me Simon, if you wish," he said.

Elizabeth knew that her mother would never honor such a request, which made it all the more enjoyable to do so.

"Of course," she said.

Simon turned to look at Molly.

"And you must be the assistant Miss Elizabeth says so much about."

Molly blushed, her gaze still directed down but with a smile on the corners of her lips. Most of the upper classes hardly mentioned the help in polite company except to complain, so she was unused to being addressed directly. Something about the combination of Molly's embarrassment and happiness made Elizabeth smile, and she wished to add to them both.

"Miss Molly is a wonderful help. I'd have been dead wrong on a dozen calculations if she wasn't checking my work."

"You're too kind, miss," Molly mumbled, blushing adorably.

"Not at all," Elizabeth said with a smile. They crossed the lobby and stepped out into the street. Simon took Elizabeth's arm as they stepped out, and she flushed at the sudden contact.

"Well, I'll be happy to have both of your assistance soon," Simon said. "I believe I have the designs ready for the colony's structures."

"Oh, lovely!" Elizabeth said. "I look forward to reviewing them. I-" she hesitated, noticing Molly's raised eyebrow and slight smile, then continued. "I've been told that I need to not let the expedition dominate my every waking thought, but the prospect of settling an untouched world is terribly exciting."

Simon smiled. "I understand perfectly. It may be cheating to organize a social outing with colleagues on that project, but I'll have to take that risk."

"It's not cheating if we all agree to allow it," Elizabeth said.

The Lyceum theater was a massive eight-story building. Unlike the blocky warehouses and slab-sided industrial buildings nearby, its elegant columns seemed to leap skyward. A crowd of well-to-do Londoners, wearing the latest fashions in brass goggles, top hats, and accoutrements, were already beginning to pour in the entrances.

In the lobby, one of the Age of Steam's new conveniences awaited the most affluent guests. Private boxes, accented in leather and silk, sat waiting at the rear of the lobby. As their owners arrived, they stepped inside and sat, while attendants slid shut a soundproof curtain. Once in place, clanking machinery built into the walls lifted the boxes up out of the lobby and into a set of tunnels leading up to the highest levels of the auditorium.

"That is remarkably posh, miss," Molly murmured. Elizabeth's mother frowned upon the servants speaking when not spoken to, but Elizabeth was always happy to hear her. Over the years, they'd both become adept at speaking in such a way as to avoid the Countess' attention.

"I don't know," Elizabeth said as they approached their box. It was lined with thick, crimson fabric and appointed with four opulent chairs. "It seems a bit impractical."

"I think that's part of what makes it posh," Simon noted. "Fine workmanship in a necessary object is appreciated, but fine workmanship for no other reason than to show off is a defining characteristic of a certain class."

Elizabeth glanced at Molly as they approached the seats. Molly was listening intently, but Elizabeth suspected she was hesitant to speak in front of the attendants. Either that, or she had another thought that she was afraid to speak.

"It does have its downsides, though," Elizabeth said. "If we had stairs, we could walk our own paths, but here we are forced down a prescribed route."

"Here, yes," Simon said. They sat, with Elizabeth leaving an empty space between them, and Molly stood behind them. After a moment, the gears began to turn, and their box rose through the tunnel. "For what it's worth, my designs for the colony structures on Venus do generally favor stairs, and open walkways. It seems appropriate for such a warm planet."

Their box slid into place, looking down at the stage from several stories above. To either side, they could hear the hiss and clank of other boxes entering, although curtains to either side blocked them from being fully visible.

"Do you want me to stop us from talking about nothing but Venus, miss?" Molly asked quietly. Elizabeth laughed, and to her delight Simon did as well. She glanced over at him; he glanced back, and she found herself blushing.

"If you would, Miss Molly," Elizabeth said.

"Certainly."

Simon glanced at Molly, then at the curtains that blocked the nearby boxes from seeing them.

"If you'd like, you could take a seat as well," he said.

Molly glanced at Elizabeth, her eyes wide.

"I'm not sure if that would be proper," she said.

"You don't have to," Simon said. "But it seems fair, if you're helping us be social adults, that you should be able to sit with us."

Molly hesitated. Elizabeth and Simon had left an empty seat between them, as was traditional for more conservative outings. On the one hand, she didn't want to cause Elizabeth any trouble with the Countess. On the other, though, she was enjoying Elizabeth and Simon's company immensely, more so than a servant or even a proper lady ought to. In addition to the conversation, Elizabeth was quite fetching in her long blue gown with its plunging back, and Simon was quite handsome in an unassuming sort of way that was terribly uncommon in the age of steam.

Uncertain of where it would lead her, and before she could think too much about her decision, Molly stepped around Simon and lowered herself down into the open seat.

"Thank you," she murmured.

"Of course," Simon replied.

"This isn't going to cause you trouble with the Countess?" Molly asked Elizabeth.

Elizabeth shook her head. "If she asks, I will tell her that Duke Harington and I sat with a seat between us," she replied, "and that neither of us moved."

"I believe I met your mother at a royal function a year or two past," Simon said, choosing his words carefully. "She seemed an...exacting woman."

Elizabeth contained a smile and a nod of agreement.

"Indeed," Elizabeth said. "And..." she bit her lip, then continued. "I'm terrible at lying to her, even when it would be to my benefit to do so."

Simon nodded. "I will take care to do nothing that would embarrass you before her."

Elizabeth was tempted, for a moment, to ask further questions in that vein. What if she asked Simon to do something that the Countess would frown upon? If, in a moment of desire, she was tempted to do something that would outrage her mother, would he try to stop her, or would he be her partner in crime?

Before she could speak, the electric lights began to dim, their buzz fading into silence as the overture began. It was just as well, Elizabeth thought, as the music washed over her. Molly was already her partner in crime in many ways. And how many partners in crime could one have?

--

On the stage, the actor portraying Romeo was loudly singing of his love for Juliet, while Tybalt skulked in the background. Elizabeth sighed. The design work was ingenious - the stage used steam-driven platforms to rearrange itself for every new setting - but the performance seemed overwrought to her, missing the heart of the story.

Simon glanced over at Elizabeth. "What do you think?"

Molly smiled; she was familiar with Elizabeth's expressions even when concealed behind a mask of decorum. Elizabeth glanced at her before speaking.

"I'm not sure that Romeo and Juliet needed an operatic adaptation," she whispered back.

"Ah," Simon said. "Well, I cannot disagree."

"Which is not to say that I am not grateful to you for this outing," Elizabeth hastily added. "I am enjoying your company immensely." She mentally chastised herself for leaping straight to theatrical criticism without considering Simon's feelings, her fingers gripping the seat in an effort to wring her guilt away, and Molly set a reassuring hand on hers.

"I am glad," he said. "I am enjoying your company as well. It's wonderful to have a face and a voice to accompany your handwriting and impeccable calculations." Elizabeth blushed, smiling, and he continued. "But you are correct - it's remarkable how many of the play's plotlines are the result of poor communication."

"Indeed," Elizabeth said. "Particularly since their communication started so well - not everyone can meet with a sonnet." Not everyone was fortunate enough to meet their love with a caress and a kiss, Elizabeth thought, but she wasn't certain she could say so.

"Indeed. They're hard to write on the fly." He smiled, then shrugged. "Of course, if he'd been honest about his barely-completed infatuation with Rosaline, it might not have gone so well."

"That would depend on their perspectives," Molly said. "And on Rosaline's, although we never hear from her."

Simon considered this. "You think she might have helped them?"

"Perhaps," Molly said. "If they'd had a reliable compatriot to carry messages, they might have survived."

Elizabeth smiled at this. At the back of her mind, she suspected that romantic outings were supposed to be candlelit and serious, rather than feeling like a collegiate meeting of three friends, but she was enjoying herself too much to worry.

"Romeo does seem the sort who tends to devote entirely too much affection to one woman, though," she noted. "I'm not sure how Rosaline would deal with no longer being the subject of such interest."

"Well," Simon said, "perhaps if Romeo was face to face with the woman he'd been pining for so recently, he would have been forced to be more reasonable. It would be less dramatic, but more survivable."

Molly took a deep breath, and Elizabeth could feel a tension in her grip. "Or...perhaps they would have been more sensible if...if they hadn't been devoting all of their attention to a single person."

Simon stroked his chin. "You mean if their culture was open to romantic groups other than pairings? That might have helped them have some perspective."

Elizabeth stared at Molly's hand, her thoughts racing. Molly's emotions were often difficult to read; years of experience in the Countess' household had made her adept at maintaining a resolute expression no matter the circumstances. And yet, those same years had given Elizabeth a good sense of what Molly was thinking even when her features were impassive.

Elizabeth knew that her current line of thought was one that she had studiously avoided for longer than she cared to admit. Molly was admitting to more than a friendly affection, for Elizabeth and Simon both. There was no socially acceptable way to walk down that path, not in Victoria's London or indeed elsewhere on the Earth. She would risk being disowned by her mother, and shunned by society, if she acknowledged her understanding of Molly's thoughts.

"It is...unfortunate that most societies on Earth are as strict as they are in regards to romance," Elizabeth said. She squeezed Molly's hand and refused to let go. "I suspect that we do so more out of a reluctance to change than for any other reason."

Simon looked at Elizabeth and Molly, first at their hands, then at their faces. Elizabeth was looking away, her expression one of inner turmoil; Molly was looking at the stage with a mask of impassiveness but she clearly wasn't watching the action in the play.

"Venus presents us with an opportunity there as well," Simon said, quietly but intently. His heart raced; Molly and Elizabeth's company brought him more joy than he had thought possible, but he instinctively sensed that their interest in one another predated him. He felt that he was trespassing, in a sense, even if his presence was not unwelcome. "We will be far from the eyes of the Victorian elite for many years. We may form whatever culture we wish."