Author's Note: Hello, all! It's been a while since I posted anything but I'm very excited to share this fic with you! Just a warning, I am in no way an expect on London, England, or the time period, so I'm sorry if there are any inaccuracies. Comments correcting me are very much appreciated. Also, there are minor original characters (mainly extra servants, and Adam's extended family members/acquaintances) included for plot reasons.

This story is mainly based off the 2017 version of the movie, but can be applied to either.

Enjoy!

London

April 1912

"Don't you have somewhere to be?"

Adam Savoy turned from the bar at the sound of the airy voice behind him. The question was a peculiar one, as if the woman asking it was an old nanny or one of his aunts ready to scold him like he was a child. There was a flirtatious tone in the woman's voice, to be sure, but the question still struck a chord. He did, in fact have somewhere else to be. Not because he actually wanted to be there, but because of an obligation to be there. And he hated obligation. It was, in fact, his father's birthday, and he'd said he be back in time for dinner… but time passed so quickly, and blast it, he'd forgotten his pocket watch. What a pity.

Even in the dimly-lit basement club in which he was currently nursing his third glass of scotch, so far below where a man of his position should be, Adam felt a sense of comfort knowing his being here would spite his father. It was far from the lavishness and splendor of his life in England's high society, and only a month ago he would have laughed at the prospect of attending a low-brow party such as this, but he had started doing it more and more, just because he knew his father hated it. Whether he actually enjoyed himself, that was another question entirely. He would be lying to himself if he didn't dread the verbal lashings he received from his father the mornings after. Some days, if he was lucky, his father wouldn't care enough tell him once again that he'd bring the estate and the earldom in ruin all on his own.

The parties he usually attended were at places like the Ritz and the luxurious townhomes in Belgrave Square filled with many other rebellious children of England's peers, but gossip was rampant – and the wealthy adolescents were all too keen to catch you in a compromising position just to hold it against you. No, in places this, Adam was in control. The patrons were his to manipulate if he so wished.

Of course, if the papers ever found out that the only son of the Earl of Villeneuve frequented dodgy clubs in even dodgier parts of London, it would engulf the family in scandal which they (or least, his father) would never recover from. Perhaps that was a consolation all on its own. But it wasn't the first time he'd been on the verge of such a scandal. In fact, his father had paid off countless papers to not publish the stories of Adam's busy nightlife, though it was more to save the Earl's reputation more than it ever was to save his.

Adam downed the rest of the subpar scotch (though the barkeep had promised it was the most expensive scotch they carried) before focusing on the woman now taking a seat at the bar beside him. He didn't bother gazing around the room for the lady's escort; she wouldn't have one. Another perk of low-brow clubs. He didn't recognize the woman, which was surprising since he'd spent the past hour dancing with every woman in the club, whether they had male companions or not. The woman was young, perhaps twenty or twenty-one, and dressed in a deep green gown two years out of fashion, though her hairstyle more of the times. She had a small mouth and nose, but dark eyes which Adam couldn't make out the proper shade because of the club's lighting. He smelt the faintest bit of perfume from her, and an expensive one at that. It smelt exactly like the perfume his aunt used (though his aunt always seemed to douse the whole bottle on her person before coming down to dinner). Adam entertained the thought that the woman next to him was in fact a lady, the daughter of a marquess or a viscount or the like, trying to keep her identity a secret by the out-of-date fashion.

"Why do you say that?" Adam finally replied, intrigued by the woman. She shrugged nonchalantly. "An educated guess," she said, smiling devilishly. She then snuck a quick gaze at his hand, and he realized what she was staring at. Adam didn't bother trying to hide the signet ring around his finger. It displayed his family's coat of arms, the same coat of arms that his family proudly wore dating back to the Wars of the Roses.

"Nowhere of particular importance," Adam said with a rather flirtatious smile. He allowed himself an inwardly gleeful moment as he thought of his father celebrating his birthday with his aunts in the dining room at Savoy House while he attended a party all on his own. He wondered if his father cared at all if he wasn't there, but judging his insistence to attend that morning, Adam decided that his absence would greatly spite his father, his family, and the many other guests attending the dinner. Ot perhaps his father didn't really care whether Adam attended the dinner, only that if he didn't it would be an embarrassment to the Earl. Adam smirked to himself. Why would he want to be at dinner with his family if he knew his father would carry on about how well his cousins are doing, and how Adam had once again acted in a way that disgraced the family. Even that wasn't worth the food, or the wine.

The woman's thin eyebrows raised in a look of slight astonishment. "I suspect the owner of that ring wouldn't be caught dead in a place like this."

"I suppose you're right," he replied, inching slightly closer. "So, what are you, then?" the woman asked. "A footman who's stolen from his lord to make some extra money, but is having second thoughts?"

Adam laughed at the woman's scenario. He couldn't even imagine himself as a footman, waiting on people every day. To him, it wasn't much of a life. "Nothing could be further from the truth," he replied. He reached out for her hand on the bar counter, grasping it firmly in his. It was cold, like she just entered the warmth of the club from the April night air and hadn't been wearing any gloves. The woman recoiled against his touch, not expecting such a sudden move, but didn't pull away completely.

He quickly glanced at the clock hanging on the wall above the bar counter. It was almost too dark to read clearly, but he could make out that it was about a quarter to eleven. The women his father invited to the dinner would be going through to the drawing room about now, and the men would be staying behind to drink port and smoke. Adam didn't – couldn't – go back home now, not while his father was still awake. Though Adam was sure his father wouldn't subject him to a verbal lashing while guests were at the house, he'd rather not take that chance.

"Let's go to a real party," Adam said slyly, in a smooth voice as soft as a whisper. The woman's eyebrows raised, as if taken aback by the idea. He left a 10 pound note on the bar counter and stood, not intending to wait for an answer, because he knew she would follow. Why wouldn't she? She was obviously intrigued by him, and he just needed at little more time out to ensure that upon his arrival at Savoy House his father would be asleep – or at least gone up to his room and was too tired to pay his son any attention.

He was nearly up the flight of creaky wooden stairs leading to the London streets when he heard the sound of the woman's shoes quickly tapping against the wood. He smirked to himself again.

"What do you have in mind?" she asked.

Adam only continued up the stairs and into the dark streets. There were few motors driving on the street in front of the club at this time of the night, but there were more just to the left, at the main road. Well, calling it a main road was a bit of a stretch. It was busier than the street where the club was situated, but nowhere as busy as the hustle of Piccadilly or the Mall. The air was significantly less hot and stuffy outside than in the club, sending shivers up his arms. He looked back at the woman, who was pulling a shawl around her.

As he reached the intersection, Adam hailed down a passing taxi and hopped into the back seat. The woman, whom he'd almost forgotten about, quickly stepped up into the motor beside him, looking a little peevish. Adam ignored the look. "Where to?" the cabbie asked. The scent of cigarette smoke wafted from the front. Even though he'd grown up around his father smoking in his presence, he still couldn't get used to the smell, and crinkled his nose in disgust. "Belgrave Square." Adam said haughtily.

"So you are well-connected," the woman commented. "Is there anything else I should know about you? A massive inheritance perhaps? Friends in high places? Or just an uppity-business man coming into the world of the nouveaux-riches?"

"Do you insist on insulting me?" Adam asked. His tone was rather playful, but he was truly offended that anyone would think him a nouveau-riche. Even in that club, he sat straighter than the rest of the patrons, he carried himself with grace and confidence, and not to mention his black-tie tuxedo had been freshly pressed that morning. The rest of the men wore wrinkled suits, ill-fitting suits, or the bare-minimum of what could be considered black-tie.

"I'm just trying to figure you out. You're a hard man to read," the woman said. She didn't sound taken aback by Adam's words.

"I consider that a very useful quality," he replied, gazing out the taxi's window to make sure the cabbie was using the shortest route. Sometimes they liked to cheat their customers by taking longer routes, and Adam would have none of it. So far, the route was satisfactory.

"What? Not being easily read?"

"Yes, of course," he said, getting rather annoyed. "I shouldn't want to be so easily read that another could tell me my life's story just by a single glance. How terrible would that be?"

The woman shrugged. "Depends on your life's story."

Adam didn't reply. He didn't want to reply to that. She didn't know anything about him, and he didn't know anything about her. Except that her style of dress would have been much better suited in the previous decade.

The rest of the taxi ride was spent in silence, and when they finally pulled into Belgrave Square, Adam tossed a bank note at the cabbie and exited the cigarette-scented motor onto the streets. Thankfully, his chap's house wasn't a long walk from where the cabbie left them. The woman walked slightly behind him, and he could tell she was trying to keep up with his pace. "Have you ever been to Belgrave Square before?" he asked, gazing ever so slightly at her. She didn't seem amazed or wonderstruck at the expansive townhomes as one would be if they were from a lower class. Perhaps she truly was a lady of a noble family, or a maid of one.

"No," the woman replied. "But I've been Mayfair many times."

Adam's eyebrows raised, though he tried to curve his surprise. "My family stays there for the Season."

"Do they really?" He asked, somewhat rhetorically. Even in his curiosity, he didn't press any further. He would leave that until later in the night. "Ah, here we are." Adam approached the front door of a townhome on the corner of the square, its windows a glowing with light. He used the gilded door knocker, and almost immediately a tall man with dark eyes and darker hair with streaks of grey opened the door. Upbeat music and loud chatter rushed up to greet him, but the butler in front of him was less than impressed.

"I thought you'd be at your father's birthday dinner, Mr. Adam," he drawled, practically barricading the entrance to the house. Beyond the door, at least twenty young men and women laughed, danced, and drank. No doubt a round of poker was taking place in one of the rooms, which Adam intended to play in. The scene was a stark comparison to the club from which he'd just come. The townhome at Belgrave Square was brighter, cleaner, and otherwise occupied with people more fitting to a man of his station (though his father would prefer it if he didn't associate with them at all). "Why can't you be more like your cousins?" he would shout, frustrated about covering up yet another scandal. "These schemes of yours only hurt this family's reputation. How will Theresa or Elizabeth find suitable husbands with you carrying on with every woman you lay eyes on?" He tried not to let it bother him. He was as good as his oh-so-perfect cousins, but just not in the way his father wanted.

"None of your business, Wallis," Adam replied rather sharply. He knew the grumpy butler didn't really care about whether he attended his father's dinner or not, only that where Adam went, scandal tended to follow. He intended to protect the house and the family who resided there from him, but Adam had promised to make the job as hard as possible.

"It's Watts, sir."

"Adam!" A chipper voice rang from the foyer, sparing him from an argument with Watts. Edmund Lynn appeared from the crowd of guests, opening his arms to greet them. Though Adam had many, many, acquaintances in London, Ned, the son and heir of the Viscount and Viscountess Uxbridge, was his closest. It was no coincidence that Ned's party and his father's dinner were scheduled for the same day.

"I was beginning to think you were not coming," he said, putting his empty champagne flute on one of the footman's trays. "Oh, Watts, let them in, you old sod."

The butler bowed his head a little, moving away from the door. "Of course, Mr. Edmund," he said, glaring deeply at the grinning Adam before exiting the foyer into an adjoining room.

"That would be just like you," Ned commented, gesturing for a footman to take the woman's shawl. "To not show up after I went through all the trouble to give you a reason to miss your father's birthday."

"Yes, well, I decided that it was time you and your guests were greeted with my presence."

"Quite right," Ned laughed, and then turned to gaze at the woman beside him, clearly waiting for an introduction.

"Ah. This is Edmund Lynn. Ned this is…"

"Agathe Townsend," the woman replied for him. The two gently shook hands, and Ned flashed her a bright smile. He wasn't a particularly tall man (a characteristic that he adored to complain about), but his charm made up for the lack of height. He stood about half-a-head below Adam, yet commanded a strong presence over the home and its guests. He was dressed in black-tie, identical to Adam and he rest of the male guests, his auburn hair combed to the side.

"Townsend…" Ned thought pensively. "As in the Ainsley's?"

"Yes," Miss Townsend replied brightly. The name had caught Adam by surprise, as well. The Earl and Countess of Ainsley were notable figures in England's peerage, though he'd only met them once, at his cousin's Season. "I thought the Ainsley's only had two sons," Adam remarked, however, he didn't think it. He knew it.

"They do," Miss Townsend replied, "I am a cousin of theirs."

"Of course, you are," Adam said, smiling, though his tone had the slightest hint of sarcasm. It was possible, of course that she could be a relation of Lord and Lady Ainsley, but he had a strong feeling there was more to this Miss Townsend than what she was revealing.

Adam turned back to Ned. "I need something good to drink. I've been drinking piss-poor scotch for the past hour." Ned laughed, clapping him on the shoulder. "Oh dear, we must fix that. What ghastly business did you get up to?"

"Drowning my sorrows in a club that your mother would faint upon hearing I'd been there. That's where I met Miss Townsend, here."

"Well, that begs the question: what would a member of the Townsend family be doing in such a place?"

Miss Townsend smiled, albeit, a bit nervously. Ned offered her a flute of champagne from a passing footman, and she took it gratefully. "And can I get a glass of port for Mr. Savoy?" Ned asked the footman, who uttered a "Yes, sir," and scurried off.

"Can't a girl get away from the life of high society?" She smiled with more confidence this time. Adam shrugged. "I suspect they can, but would they want to?"

"Why were you in a club in the back-water streets of London?" Ned countered. Miss Townsend raised her flute in agreement, making Adam roll his eyes. They were ganging up on him. "You know bloody-well why," he snapped, a bit harsher than intended, but frustrated all the same. Ned held his hands up in surrender. "Alright. Forget I asked."

The footman returned with a glass of port on a silver tray, and Adam took it eagerly. "Cards?" he asked after taking a large swig of the drink. He didn't know how others did it, when all they had access to was cheap alcohol. How horrid for them. "Yes, of course, in the smoking room," Ned nodded.

Drink in hand, Adam marched through the throng of guests, one almost spilling champagne on his suit, to the dark room. It had no windows, and the walls were lined in deep crimson velvet. Around a polished table sat five men, only one of whom Adam recognized. He couldn't remember his name, only that they'd met in Yorkshire for some shoot or hunt or another. He'd spent most of that trip indoors.

Adam played in the next round, and then two more rounds after that, his money constantly fluctuating. By the end of it, he'd lost a hundred pounds to a Mr. Nicholas Bradley, who had come as a friend of the daughter of some duke or marquess. He made a mental note to challenge him again soon. It wasn't the loss of the money that bothered him, but rather the damage done to his pride.

By then it was almost one in the morning, and Adam decided that his father would be long asleep so he could enter Savoy House unseen. After saying a quick goodbye to Ned, Miss Townsend rushed towards him just as he was about to exit the townhome looking quite distressed.

"Mr. Savoy!" Adam stopped, more than a little annoyed. "I didn't realize how late it had become and I'm afraid I must return to Mayfair immediately."

Adam stared blankly at the woman. What did this have to do with him? When he didn't offer anything in response, she continued. "Can you offer me a ride home?"

He let out a laugh, taking the woman aback. "Why?" he asked, as if the answer were obvious. When it was clear the answer was not obvious to Miss Townsend, Adam sighed and continued. "My home is at St. James's Square, and Mayfair is not close at all, and I'm afraid I must return as soon as possible as well." The statement wasn't completely true. While it would be an inconvenience to drop Miss Townsend off at Mayfair first, he didn't really need to be back at Savoy House right this minute. He, however, did want to leave.

"Please," she was practically begging, for all the good it would do. "You said you're staying with Lord and Lady Ainsley," he said matter-of-factly. "Wouldn't someone staying with people such as them have enough money to hire their own taxi?"

"I didn't anticipate coming this far from the club."

"Even so." When Miss Townsend didn't say anything in response, Adam smiled devilishly. "Or perhaps you don't have enough money because you are not a cousin of Lord and Lady Ainsley." She opened her mouth to speak, but he cut her off. "Your out-of-fashion and ill-tailored dress speaks for itself, and your perfume," he moved closer to the woman, so close that his nose was at the crook of her neck. "It's not a scent popular with young ladies, but older women. I know, my aunt wears the same scent. What are you then? A lady's maid to the Countess of Ainsley? Did you steal a dress from the back of her wardrobe, thinking she wouldn't notice?"

Her eyes started to shine with tears, and it was all the reply he needed. "Please," she whispered, her voice cracking. "I must get back or Lady Ainsley will sack me."

"Goodnight, Miss Townsend," Adam bowed sarcastically, and turned on his heels into the night, leaving the sparkling townhome and its guests behind.

Adam woke with a start the next morning. Light suddenly streamed into his room, and he grabbed one of his pillows to throw at the person causing such a disruption. The pillow landed against something, but he didn't make the effort to see where it landed.

"Sir," a voice, his valet said. "Lord Villeneuve requests your presence in the breakfast room immediately."

"Oh, does he? Lucky me," Adam said, though it only came out as a mumble. His face was pressed against his pillow, as if it would make everything go away.

"He was adamant," the valet said. Adam rolled his eyes. "When is he not adamant about lecturing me about how I could be more like the rest of the family?"

"It is different, sir. There was grave news in the papers."

Sighing, Adam slowly rose from the bed to let his valet dress him. He was still in his suit from the previous night, with the exception of the black bow tie that was laid on the back of a chair. He was quickly dressed in more suitable attire for breakfast, and after insisting his valet take a long as possible (he changed his mind about his cufflinks several times), he made his way downstairs to the breakfast room.

Lord Charles Villeneuve, a tall, imposing man, was seated at the head of the table, thoroughly engaged in the paper. He didn't acknowledge Adam when he entered the bright room, or when he dished himself breakfast from trays laid out. But when he sat down at the opposite end of the table, his father tossed him the paper in frustration.

"What are you on about?" Adam asked, taking the paper in his hands. It was still warm from its ironing. "Front page," his father replied, as if the answer were obvious. Adam looked down at the paper.

Titanic sinks four hours after hitting iceberg on her maiden voyage. 1,500 lives presumed lost.

"Good god," Adam breathed. He couldn't deny he'd taken an interest in the ship when the voyage was announced. It was the grandest vessel of its day and now… gone. He wondered if anyone he knew was on the passengers list. But if they were, they'd most be safe if they rescued first class before anyone else. Still, he didn't see what his father was so upset about. Then again, he could get upset at anything and it wouldn't surprise him.

"What does this have to do with us?" Adam asked.

"Don't you see?" his father raised his voice. "There were several pieces of art I had put on that ship to be sold in America, all to pay off your spending and gambling. They were worth tens of thousands of pounds! And now they're at the bottom of the Atlantic."

"Just sell some more," Adam said nonchalantly, trying to deflect the blame off him. "It's not like we're short on art-"

"No!" His father stood from his seat. "I will not sell any more of our possessions to regain your losses. I have had enough. You will move back to Theron Hall immediately and marry a suitable woman." Adam couldn't believe what he was hearing. Live in the country? Marry? "Father-"

"No more parties, no more gambling. The estate was already at risk because of you, and now even more so."

"You can't make me," Adam glared.

"Yes, I can. Who will fund your habits when you have no money? Because I certainly won't give you any. How will pay for your clothes? Your alcohol? Your gambling?"

"You wouldn't-"

"And not only that. If continue as you are, I'll make sure you never become the Earl of Villeneuve. The entire fortune, estate, and title will go to my next heir."

"There are no other heirs, I'm your only son. You have three sisters who can't inherit," Adam's mouth was agape in anger and frustration. How dare he threaten to disown him. But deep down, though he didn't want to admit it even to himself, he wasn't surprised.

"I took the liberty of consulting the family tree with Davies and found a third cousin who is fit to inherit," his father said. Adam couldn't believe this. His father had actively searched for a new heir to the estate and earldom with their solicitor.

"He's an accountant in Manchester. He'd do very well for the estate," his father continued, which only served to infuriate Adam. "You'd rather a middle-class accountant from Manchester inherit the estate and title than your own son?" Adam practically snarled. His fists were clenched into tight balls, and he felt as if he would throw his china plate across the room. "Yes, I would. If my son continues as he is now, he will not inherit anything."

For once, Adam didn't have a witty response or a snide remark. The only thing he knew was that his whole life had be threatened, his present and future. He was nothing without his family's wealth and position.

"You better start packing your things," his father's deep glare was back, seeming to pierce his heart. "You take the train back to Theron today."