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a certain step towards falling in love

Summary:

It is a truth universally acknowledged that a single woman in possession of little fortune and even less social standing must be in want of a wealthy husband. Melody Pond, however, wants nothing of the sort.

Notes:

Story title from Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen. I took quite a bit from the 2005 adaption because it’s so damn pretty and ain’t nobody got time to be completely faithful to the book adaption unless you’re the BBC.

Chapter 1: if he had not mortified mine

Chapter Text

“I could easily forgive his pride, if he had not mortified mine.”

- Pride and Prejudice, Chapter Five


It is a truth universally acknowledged that a single woman in possession of little fortune and even less social standing must be in want of a wealthy husband. Melody Pond, however, wants nothing of the sort. As she tells her cousin Amy often, nothing in the world but genuine love and affection could entice her into the trappings of marriage. In all her years, no man has ever managed to convince her of his devotion and consequently, she had long ago resigned herself to spinsterhood.

 

It won’t be so bad, she thinks, spending her days alone. At least there won’t be anyone disagreeable sitting across from her at the breakfast table and she won’t have to pretend interest in any of his boring hobbies. No, being the dull little wife of some dull little man with more money than sense is not in Melody Pond’s future. She’s much happier out on the moors with her horse, her cheeks flushed from her brisk ride as she contemplates a scandalous dip in the pond.

 

Once she reaches the stables, she hands the reigns of her dear Lizzy over to the stablehand and walks slowly toward the house. She moves quietly, listening in hopes of ascertaining Aunt Tabetha’s whereabouts. If her aunt discovers she had scorned her riding habit again in favor of a pair of trousers, she’ll pitch a fit. Melody does her best to avoid confrontation with Tabetha if she can help it — her aunt always finds a way to turn any disagreement into a pointed lecture about finding a husband.

 

An independent hellion all her life, Melody can think of no man whose company she prefers above that of her solitude. Which is precisely why, when she tiptoes into the house and is instantly accosted by her cousin going on about a bachelor in the neighborhood, she barely blinks.

 

Hanging onto her arm, Clara declares breathlessly, “A man has rented out Pandorica Manor.” Her eyes are as wide as Aunt Tabetha’s favorite china saucers and she lowers her voice, as though confiding some shocking secret. “And he’s single.”

 

Having been sitting in the parlour ever since Melody left hours ago, apparently no further along in her unsuccessful attempt at mending a single glove, Amy tosses aside her project eagerly. She leaps to her feet, rushing toward them hurriedly with skirts in hand. “What, where did you hear that?”

 

“Eavesdropping again, Clara?” Melody asks, hiding a smirk as she tidies her braid. Riding Lizzy always completely ruins her hair but she has plenty of time before dinner to fix it before Aunt Tabetha notices.

 

“It’s the only way to discover anything of interest around here.” Clara shrugs unashamedly, grinning. “And if you want to know more, I suggest you join me.”

 

She disappears around the corner and Melody listens to her light footsteps on the stairs. Amy scurries after her, pausing briefly in the doorway to glance back at Melody. “Well?” She snaps her fingers impatiently. “Are you coming?”

 

Melody sighs. She needs to go upstairs anyway to change out of these trousers and if it’ll appease Amy… “Right behind you, dear.”

 

She follows her cousins up the stairs at a more leisurely pace, turning to corner at the top only to find Amy and Clara hovering outside their father’s study with their ears pressed to the door. Moving to stand disinterestedly behind them, Melody leans against the opposite wall and folds her arms over her chest. She sniffs the air, realizes she smells distinctly of horse, and grimaces. She’ll have to get a maid to draw a bath too. Bugger.

 

From inside the study, she can hear her Aunt Tabetha’s irritated murmur and the amused timbre of Augustus replying to her. “You simply must pay a visit to the boy,” Tabetha says, and Melody hears the frown in her voice. “Otherwise we’ll never get the chance to introduce him to our girls and one of the other silly cows in town will snatch him up instead.”

 

Augustus chortles, the gentle sound of a rustling newspaper accompanying him. “And so what if they do? There are plenty of other eligible young men out there and we’ve only three girls. Surely there will be a few left for them even without Rory Williams.”

 

Tabetha stamps her foot loudly, causing Amy and Clara to flinch briefly away from the door. “Not many of those young men have five thousand a year, Augustus!”

 

Clara’s jaw drops and she looks gleefully at Amy, mouthing five thousand?

 

Amy swats at her, grinning.

 

“Why must you aggravate me so?” Tabetha wails. From the movement inside the room and the shadows beneath the door, Melody surmises she must be pacing to and fro, wringing her hands together. She imagines Augustus must still be attempting to read his paper, as every now and again she hears the rustle of pages. “You have no regard at all for my poor nerves.”

 

“That is simply untrue, pet,” he says, sounding distracted. As though he’s reading something of particular interest. “I have nothing but respect for your nerves. They’ve been my constant companions these many years.”

 

Tabetha makes a strangled noise of protest. “Augustus Pond, you promise me right this moment you’ll call on Rory Williams before the week is out or so help me-”

 

“I’m afraid I can’t do that.”

 

“And why not?”

 

“Because I’ve already called on him.”

 

Tabetha splutters. “You - what - Augustus, you utter tease!”

 

He laughs, that full-bellied chuckle that makes everyone around him smile. In the corridor, Melody bites her lip against a grin. “Forgive me, but I couldn’t resist. And before you ask, I already invited the young man to dinner but he was called away to London at the last minute. Not to worry, though, you’ll have plenty of time to inspect him yourself at the next public ball in a fortnight. Mr. Williams has assured me he’ll be attending.”

 

As Tabetha presses a smacking kiss to Augustus’ cheek and begins to chatter happily, pestering her husband for details about Rory Williams’ manner and proclaiming what a lovely match he would be for one of their daughters, Melody slips away back down the corridor to her bedroom. From the sound of soft footsteps behind her, Amy and Clara have decided to follow.

 

She sheds her riding clothes as Amy shuts the door, tossing them into a pile in the corner. Reaching for a dressing gown hanging in the wardrobe, she throws it on over a chemise and decides it’ll have to do until she can arrange for a bath. She peers into the mirror above her dressing table, frowning at her still-pink cheeks.

 

On the other side of the room, Amy throws herself onto the bed and squeals, “Fresh meat!” She turns on her back and her ginger hair cascades over the side of the bed as she stretches languidly. “I wonder if he’s handsome?”

 

Clara snorts, nudging her aside to settle against the pillows at the foot of the bed. “At five thousand a year, who cares if he has a face at all?”

 

Melody laughs. “Charming.”

 

“Oi, it’s not my job to be charming.” Clara shrugs, tossing her hair. “That’s Amelia.”

 

Amy sticks out her tongue.

 

“Work on it,” Melody advises, smirking. “It’s up to one of you to marry rich. I’ll need you and your husband to support me when I’m an old maid.”

 

“I refuse to pity you.” Amy shakes her head, scrunching up her face in disbelief. “Every man in town is half in love with you, Mels. You could have your pick of any of them if you weren’t such a snob.”

 

Melody shrugs, tugging a bit too hard on her haphazard braid. “I told you, I simply can’t stomach spending the rest of my days with some stuffy, dull baron just to ensure I have plenty of fine dresses in my wardrobe. Nothing but desperate, mad love could prevail me to marry.”

 

“That sort of thing doesn’t exist, you ninny.” Clara blows a raspberry at her. “Just find someone rich and tolerable. Honestly, you read too much.”

 

Leaning forward, Melody presses a smacking kiss to her cheek. “And you don’t read enough.”

 

“Or at all,” Amy mutters, squinting up at her. “Don’t think she knows how.”

 

Clara throws a pillow at her.

 

-

 

As the niece of Augustus and Tabetha Pond, Melody sometimes feels the burden of guilt settle over her in times like these. Standing in a crowded room and pointedly ignoring anyone who might think of asking her to dance, lest they consider it encouragement to court her, she occasionally feels rather ashamed. Her mother had died young and though the Ponds have been looking after her ever since, she suspects that Tabetha continues to do so out of a sense of obligation to her husband's late sister. She couldn’t possibly simply desire another mouth to feed.

 

And so Melody often struggles to ignore the urge to marry the first eligible man she happens across, in an effort to no longer be a burden to the people who have looked after her since girlhood. As she reminds herself frequently, condemning herself to a miserable life for the sake of Tabetha Pond’s nerves will not do anyone any favors — particularly whichever poor sod Melody tricked into marrying her.

 

“You wouldn’t have to trick anyone into marrying you.” Amy scoffs, exchanging a skeptical glance with Jack Harkness. The three of them have sequestered themselves in a lovely corner, perfect for watching the proceedings of the public ball but out of the way of anyone they don’t wish to hear their conversation. Somewhere out on the dance floor, Clara is twirling around the Vicar’s pretty daughter. “In case you haven’t noticed, most people in any room — including this one — are in love with you.”

 

“You’re biased.” Melody laughs, shaking her head. “And that’s simply untrue, anyway. Half the people in this room don’t even like women at all.”

 

She glances pointedly at Jack, who leers at her. “Sorry, sweetheart. I may prefer a handsome specimen with a nice beard but if you were inclined to let me ruin your reputation, I’d be a very willing participant.”

 

“You’re ridiculous,” Melody says fondly. “Just as all the rest of your sex.”

 

“Oh, come on, Mels.” Amy nudges her, grinning. “They’re not all as lecherous as Jack.”

 

“Hey!”

 

Patting Jack’s arm soothingly, Melody shakes her head. “Yes, but all the rest are utterly dull fools in my experience. So which is it to be — marrying a complete scoundrel or marrying the other type and dying of boredom on the honeymoon?”

 

Amy snorts delicately. “One of these days, someone is going to come along and prove you wrong, Mels. And on that day, I’m going to be there to dance around and say I told you so.”

 

Before Melody can offer any protest, the heavy doors to the dance hall open to signal a new guest has arrived. She turns to catch a glimpse and as she does, everything stops. The hall full of people stop dancing and even the music ceases to play as everyone takes in their newest arrival. A young man stands in the doorway in a very fine suit. Though his manner appears rather self-conscious and his nose is a bit too big to be considered attractive, he has a kind face and a humble manner as he glances around that Melody imagines must make him instantly endearing to everyone he meets.

 

Beside him stands a dark-haired woman who appears slightly older than him. Wearing an exquisite gown the color of blood, she stands stiffly, her chin tipped up so that she looks down on everyone as she surveys the room. Her piercing blue eyes are rather unsettling as she glances around, as though one chilly glance from her might be enough to bring about an early winter.

 

At her side is another man, this one tall and slender with silver hair and sharp, hawkish features. He stands with more confidence than the other man and though his eyes are almost the same color as the woman beside him, his gaze holds far more warmth. His mouth seems determined to frown and his brow is rather stern, as though he has entirely forgotten the act of smiling. Despite this and despite the gentleman being the oldest of the three new guests, Melody privately considers him the most handsome.

 

“So,” she whispers, glancing at Jack. “Which of the painted peacocks is our Mr. Williams?”

 

“The one on the right,” he replies softly, referring to the self-conscious fellow Melody had first noticed. “And on the left is his Aunt Missy.”

 

Still eyeing the older gentleman as the group begins to make their way through the crowd, Melody prompts, “And the one with the cross eyebrows?”

 

Jack leans in conspiratorially as the three grow ever closer. “Rory’s uncle and Missy’s brother, John Smith. Apparently he’s been a widower for decades and never bothered remarrying.”

 

“Ah.” Melody hums in quiet understanding. “No wonder he looks so miserable, poor creature.”

 

With a grin, Jack murmurs, “Miserable he may be, sweet thing, but poor he most definitely is not.” At Melody’s intrigued glance, he waggles his brows. “Ten thousand a year. And he owns half of Gallifrey.”

 

Melody scoffs, unimpressed. “What, the miserable half?”

 

Rory Williams and his guests approach them at last and as they pass by, Mr. Smith glances in Melody’s direction. His eyes linger on her briefly and instead of bowing her head in deference as Amy does, Melody meets his stare unblinkingly. Something changes in his eyes as he looks at her and though it’s a brief moment out of time, hardly anything at all to outsiders, Melody feels something inside of her shift into place under his gaze. She forces a wink and John Smith finally looks away, frowning.

 

Staring after him, Melody presses a hand to the bodice of her dress and forces herself to breathe. Around her, the music starts again and the merriment begins anew. Laughter echoes around the room and out of the corner of her eye, she sees the whirl of dancers once more. Jack and Amy whisper furtively to one another, ever excitable when there’s new gossip to be discussed. Melody, however, cannot seem to focus on any of it. For some reason, that inconsequential encounter with a strange man she doesn’t know has left her rattled.

 

As someone who prides herself on her unshakeable nerves, it’s very nearly infuriating.

 

There isn’t time to dwell on the matter before Tabetha scurries up to them, breathless and insistent as she drags Amy away by the hand. “You simply must meet Mr. Williams before everyone else starts parading their daughters in front of him. Come along, Amelia.”

 

With wide, panicked eyes, Amy grasps Melody’s hand at the last moment and tugs her along. “I am not meeting him alone, Mels.”

 

Amongst her own hissed protests, Melody is certain she hears Jack laughing at her.

 

She only stops complaining when they’re so close that she’s certain the new guests will hear her furious cursing. Tabetha pushes Amy forward with a smile but since her cousin has yet to release her hand, Melody is forced to follow. She feels two sets of piercing blue eyes on her, one disapproving and the other simply curious. Uneasy but refusing to show it, Melody meets the gaze first of Missy Smith and then her brother John. He looks away at once, staring out at the crowd.

 

As introductions are made, she notices that up close Rory Williams is indeed a kind, humble man with little in the way of the usual arrogance of his sex. It’s also quite easy to see that he is instantly smitten with Amy, blushing as she curtsies in front of him. “Miss Pond,” he murmurs, nearly stuttering. Bless. “I don’t suppose you’d do me the honor of a dance?”

 

With a wide grin, Amy holds out a hand. He takes it.

 

As the two make their way to the dance floor, exchanging shy glances and smiling at each other, Tabetha nearly swoons. Without a thought for Melody still standing there, she hurries off at once, probably to tell anyone who will listen that Rory Williams had asked her daughter for the first dance. Melody imagines she’ll be planning their nuptials before the night is over.

 

The moment she’s gone, Missy slips away too, muttering haughtily under her breath about needing more wine to get through this glorified barn dance. It’s only once she’s out of sight that Melody realizes she has been left alone with the sour-faced man who has yet to utter a single word to her. Mr. Smith stands stiffly beside her, looking anywhere but in her direction. She bites her lip, considering the idea of simply wandering off without any attempt at conversation. Despite his apparent lack of manners, he is rather distinguished looking and her aunt will happily slaughter her if she doesn’t at least try to speak with a man worth ten thousand a year.

 

“How are you enjoying Leadworth so far, Mr. Smith?” She asks, raising her voice slightly to be heard over the din of happy voices and music.

 

Mr. Smith doesn’t even look at her as he replies, “It’s dull and full of sheep.”

 

Melody blinks at him. “Well, that’s the countryside for you. Most men of your stature come here in search of this sort of quiet, you know.”

 

“It’s not the quiet I mind,” he says, and though his eyes scan the room with an apparent lack of interest, he still doesn’t look at her. Melody fights the urge to stand directly in front of him and thus force him to meet her eyes. “It’s the distinct feeling that any moment now someone is going to produce a piglet and make me chase it.”

 

Hiding a snort of laughter behind her gloved hand, Melody clears her throat. “Oh, I wouldn’t worry. That doesn’t usually happen until your second visit, at least.”

 

It’s with triumph that she watches his gaze finally flicker in her direction, the corners of his eyes crinkling briefly in mirth. His mouth twitches and for a moment she thinks she might actually get a smile from him but he seems to remember himself at the last moment. The half-formed grin falls away and his eyes snap from her once more as the tips of his ears grow red.

 

Rapidly losing her patience, Melody tries one last time. “Do you dance, Mr. Smith?”

 

Refusing to look at her again, he replies curtly, “Not if I can help it.”

 

Torn between a huff of annoyance and outright laughter at his rudeness, Melody only says, “Right then, I’ll leave you to it. Keep an eye out for swine, Mr. Smith.”

 

She slips away into the crowd, bewildered by the entire encounter. Amy is still whirling around Rory Williams with a happy smile and Melody has no wish to interrupt. She nicks a glass of wine off a passing tray and wanders around the party, avoiding the longing gazes of several former beaus. It’s a relief when she finally finds Jack again. He snags her wrist and drags her away to another private corner, eager for an account of Rory Williams and his uncle.

 

“Well?” He demands, stealing her glass and downing half her wine. “Is he smitten with her already? What about the silver fox? Strictly into your fine specimen or have I got a chance?”

 

Melody laughs, swatting his arm and stealing her wine back. “Mr. Williams seems quite taken with Amy and if you believe anything Tabetha says, they’ll be married before the month is up. But I’m afraid our dear Mr. Smith is beyond us both.”

 

He frowns. “What, is he a eunuch?”

 

“Not that I’m aware.” Melody sips her wine, smirking. “But he’s terribly surly and he hates dancing and eye contact. Not our type at all, dear heart.”

 

Jack sighs, his broad shoulders slumping in disappointment. “For ten thousand a year, I’m pretty sure any man — or woman, for that matter — would be my type.”

 

“Tart,” Melody accuses, draining her wine.

 

He winks at her. “And proud.”

 

“Did you see her? Did you actually, properly see her, John?” They both turn, startled out of their private bubble as Rory Williams and John Smith wander by their hiding spot behind the topiaries. Rory curls a hand around John’s arm, halting his stride. “Her hair. And her smile. And her laugh. I’ve never seen anyone so…vibrant. She’s like a sun.”

 

John grunts in acknowledgement. “Did anyone ever tell you looking at the sun’ll blind you?”

 

Undeterred, Rory glances at him meaningfully. “I saw you talking with her cousin. Melody, was it? She’s lovely too…”

 

“I suppose.” John studies the contents of his champagne flute with a frown.

 

Undeterred, Rory prods, “Come now, Uncle. I know you’re getting on in years but you aren’t blind yet.” He nudges him fondly, clearly hoping for a reaction of some sort. “She seems rather your type.”

 

The tips of John Smith’s ears go red again and this time, the flush reaches his cheeks as well. “Don’t be ridiculous. Her hair is a mess and her nose is too wide to be pretty. Rather like yours, actually.”

 

Rory scowls.

 

“Besides,” John says, finally looking up with a determined gleam in his eyes. “As far as I can tell she’s getting to be too old to be considered marriageable.”

 

“And you’re what? In your prime?” Rory scoffs, shaking his head. “You’ve got twenty years on her at least.”

 

“Yes, but it’s different for men. I’m not saying it should be, of course. Just an unfortunate fact of society.” John shrugs. “And I have money. Anyone will marry me.”

 

Rory sighs. “Has anyone punched you yet tonight?”

 

“No.” John smirks. “But it’s still early.”

 

As the two walk away still bickering, Melody glares into her empty wine glass and swallows with difficulty. That spark she’d felt the moment she met John Smith’s eyes all but forgotten now, she quickly places him in the same category as the rest of his ilk. Rich, mannerless, and an utter bore. Not even ten thousand a year could tempt her to offer him a dance ever again.

 

“Prick,” Jack mutters. His warm hands cup her cheeks gently, directing Melody’s gaze up to his with a smile. “Count your blessings, sweetheart. If he liked you, then you’d have to talk to him.”

 

She laughs.

 

“Come on.” Jack leans in and kisses her forehead. “Dance with me.”

 

It’s only after Jack whirls her around the floor for two dances in a row that she finally finds Amy again. To Melody’s misfortune, her cousin is surrounded by John Smith and his sister, Rory Williams, and Aunt Tabetha. At the moment there isn’t a group of people Melody wants to see less. And even more unfortunately, kind-hearted Rory Williams spots her at once and waves her over with a warm smile.

 

“Melody,” he says as she reluctantly joins them. “I was just telling my Aunt Missy that I met your friend Jack. Interesting character, isn’t he?”

 

In spite of herself, Melody smiles. It’s impossible not to. The man is just so bloody agreeable. Avoiding John Smith’s stare and ignoring the disapproving glower of his sister, Melody latches onto Amy’s arm and leans companionably into her. “Interesting is a rather tame word for Jack but I adore him.”

 

Beside her, Tabetha sniffs. “Such a shame he fancies his own gender. I always thought he and Melody would have made a rather sensible match.”

 

Rory coughs, blushing. “Oh, I hadn’t realized-”

 

Amy casts Melody an apologetic glance. “Mum-”

 

“Aunt Tabetha-”

 

“Of course, they could still marry if you ask me,” Tabetha goes on, apparently oblivious to Melody’s complete mortification. Around her, Missy hides a smirk behind a gloved hand and John stares pointedly at the floor. “I’m sure many men of his sort have a certain understanding with their wives. And he does adore Melody. Remember those pretty verses he used to write you when you were children, dear?”

 

“Yes and that ended things rather definitively,” Melody interrupts quickly, forcing a smile as she glances at Rory. “I pity the first man who discovered the power of poetry in driving away love.”

 

Rory chuckles but John glances up suddenly. “You don’t care for poetry?” His piercing stare startles Melody briefly into silence. “Wasn’t it Shakespeare who said poetry was the food of love?”

 

“Well, Shakespeare could actually write poetry — unlike poor Jack.” Melody laughs, refusing to cower under his attentions as he’d probably expected. Or stick out her tongue at him like she secretly wants to. “One terrible sonnet will kill even the strongest love stone dead.”

 

John eyes her with bemusement, ignoring the others around them as he studies her. “Then what do you recommend?” He clears his throat, glancing away quickly with an uncertain furrow in his brow. “To show affection, I mean.”

 

“Dancing,” Melody answers at once, watching his gaze snap back to her. “Even if one’s partner is getting too old to be considered marriageable.”

 

She watches with satisfaction as the realization settles over him slowly. She had heard him talking with Rory earlier. His eyes widen but to his credit, he doesn’t attempt some fumbling apology. He only flushes a little under her gaze and nods in acknowledgement as she smiles at him, ducking her head in deference. As she excuses herself and walks away, she feels his eyes on her back until she disappears into the crowd.