Author Note:: So this is a project I'm doing. I'll try to keep the author's notes to a minimal. The title comes from the sonnet, Indeed This Very Love Which Is My Boast, by Elizabeth Barrett Browning. Everything else is copyrighted to me. Please enjoy and tell me what you think.

A/N2: Just to quick let everyone know I've updated this story with a name change because I'm having a hard time separating James from another James I occasionally write. Heh. So his name is now Theodore which credit goes to my dear friend Tiffany. Thank you my darling, we truly are the same person a country apart.

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I cannot look at the Atlantic ocean now without seeing his eyes. That deep sea-green. Once I described them like the color of sea foam, but that was never quite right. Of course anything I used to describe him was never quite right. Never quite spot-on, because neither was he.

It was nearing the end of a rather hot summer the year I turned thirty-four. It was 1889, I had just married and my wife was now swollen with my child, just three months away from giving birth.

Our marriage had been arranged, and I had always known it was going to be as such. Arranged marriages were popular, but I could see them eventually fading away as many had chosen to marry their childhood lovers rather than someone who could bring them more power and status.

I, on the other hand, came from a powerful, more traditional family. My mother often scoffed at those who would marry for love, claiming they were, "Fool-hearted idiots who married those not fit to breathe the same air as them." I had even seen many a love-marriage destroy ties between families.

Myself, as a Harvard educated lawyer, living in the ever-growing city of Boston, married for status. My wife, Elizabeth, was easy on the eyes and her temperament and personality were tolerable. It was all I could ask for, really, in a wife.

"Love may come," my mother said when I mentioned the notion just before my wedding. "Then again, it might not. I cannot say that I've ever loved your father, but I respect him and I know my place. That's the best you can hope for, Theodore. This woman seems to understand that so count your blessings."

"Thank you mother," I said to her and kissed her thin, dry cheek.

And my mother was right in that respect. Elizabeth knew her place; she knew what it meant now, to belong to the Hughes family, to be the wife of Theodore Hughes, lawyer and possible future president, although I hadn't mentioned that I had no desire to ever run for political office.

I had watched my father suffer as a senator and had no desire to follow in his footsteps. Besides, I was a damn good lawyer and I loved it. It was the only proper love in my life.

Elizabeth had asked for me to accompany her along the beach that summer's afternoon, a request I happily obliged as I had a lot on my mind that day and a quiet walk on the beach was something that helped me clear my head.

Rolling up the cuffs of my trousers, I offered Elizabeth my arm and we started along, letting the waves slowly lap our feet. The sun was hot and I could feel sweat beading off my neck and forehead but it felt good. Refreshing.

We walked up and down for the better part of an hour before I tugged her arm towards the place we had left our shoes. She gave a quiet nod and followed me, and it was then that I saw him. He was a rather smallish man, looking about my age, perhaps a year or two younger. His hair was a lot like mine, very curly, pitch black. I, however, kept mine trimmed neat and short while he had let his grow long, the curled ends brushing the tops of his shoulders.

And in every other way he was remarkable. His skin was pale, but not sickly, his features sharp, as though chiseled out of marble and his eyes. Oh those eyes. Piercing and the deepest green, like the calm waters of the ocean.

He was sitting on a low wall near to where Elizabeth and I had stopped and when I bent for my shoes, unable, still, to take my eyes off of him, he turned his head my way. I was not sure for a moment whether he was looking at me or my wife, so I smiled a little tersely and was rewarded by a wink and a nod.

I sucked in my breath and turned to Elizabeth who was frowning at me. "Is something wrong, James?" she asked in her soft, almost whispery voice.

"No," I said. "Did you-" I started but shook my head. She looked utterly bemused so I waved it away. "Nothing," I said.

"Are you sure?" she asked, her hand now falling onto my upper arm.

I brushed her off impatiently. "Yes, never mind."

She shrugged and looked off again. I could see her small hand resting on her belly, her face impassive except the occasional flitting smile when she felt our child moving in her womb. I wanted, just for a moment, to reach out and feel it for myself but then I remembered the green-eyed man and I looked back, only to find him gone.

Disappointment settled in the pit of my stomach which confused me. He was a stranger, but there were hundreds of strangers in Boston. Why should this man, no matter how interesting his eyes were or how handsome his features, capture my attention?

I was Theodore Hughes, after all. Not just rich, or powerful, but with my deep-set brown eyes, prominent nose and olive skin, I was a man to be desired. My wife, with her girlish figure, wispy blonde curls and heavy-lidded blue eyes, was a vision next to me. Why should I notice anyone?

Arrogant? Perhaps, but it was bred in me and well deserved. I had money but I worked hard for my place in the working world and I intended to use my life to the fullest. Yet, as we walked into the front doors of our comfortable home, I could not think of anything but that man.

Who was he? Well dressed, clean and most definitely nourished, he likely wasn't a creature from the streets. But he didn't-couldn't have- come from a family I knew. I had never seen him before. Had he been wearing a wedding ring, I wondered to myself as I hung up my coat on the peg beside the door.

I chuckled at myself. What a thing to wonder!

Elizabeth had excused herself to her drawing room where she sat on her chaise, pulled out a book and was brought hot tea. I passed by the kitchens and our cook, a tall, black woman who had been my nanny, passed me a glass of my favourite mixture; pineapple and orange juice, freshly made, and I stepped out onto the back terrace.

The weather was still, almost depressingly hot, the air thick with moisture that made the days rather uncomfortable. No matter how long one lived in weather this humid, it was impossible to become fully used to it.

I used a handkerchief from my pocket to mop sweat from my brow and took a long drink of the juice. It was too thick to be really refreshing so I sat it down on the railing and walked down the steps towards the pond where hundreds of small, orange goldfish were kept.

I sat down on the edge, staring down into the murky water and wondering why I couldn't leave the thought of this man back at the beach where I had seen him. No one had caught my interest in years, not since I was in college, spending nights with my dormmates drinking and chatting up the local women... and sometimes men... and leaving them after a night of sordid passion.

I had matured past that, hadn't I? Indeed I had, but was it really sordid passion that I thought of this man? No, it wasn't, but it was definitely something more than a benign interest in his unique look.

I sighed and the slapped my hands on my knees. "Enough," I said to myself and rose. I had too much work to worry about without my thoughts consumed by a green-eyed man. I was working on what was, so far, the most difficult murder case of my career and could not afford to have my thoughts elsewhere.

With a last, downward look at the rippling pond water, I hurried inside to my office where my real life awaited.

My head was pounding by the end of the day. The small bell beside my door chimed, signaling that dinner was ready but the moment I had set down my ink-pen, those damned green eyes floated to the surface of my mind.

I didn’t feel like sitting at the table with my wife for inane chatter. Grabbing my coat, I slipped out the kitchen door and made straight for my favorite pub that sat on the northern shore. Inside, the air was hot, salty and thick with the smells of ale and the night’s stew.

A few of the familiar patrons tipped me a wave as I made my way to a small, scrubbed wooden table towards the back. The barmaid saw me and winked as she set to fix me my usual, a bowl of their nightly stew and a glass of mulled wine. Usually when I showed up for dinner it was because of my head and mulled wine always hit the spot.

I dipped my spoon into the thick broth and as the bite was halfway to my mouth, I saw him. I blinked, trying to clear my vision as though what I was seeing was a mirage, but his image held firm.

The ugly, toothless barmaid caught my glance and said, "New round these parts. Kinda off, in'ne?"

I looked at her. "Has he given you a name?"

"Not said a word but to order," she said.

I nodded and said nothing. Eventually she walked away and I sat there, unsure what to do. My arms and legs, however, seemed to have more of an idea, because I found myself lifting my bowl and wine and walking the few steps to the small table he was seated at.

He was wearing the same thing as earlier, white shirtsleeves, black trousers and his hair hung long and free. He was clutching a glass of blood-colored wine in one hand and his other hand was tapping on the table, like playing piano keys.

"May I join you?" I asked. I wondered if he recognized me and frowned when he didn’t bother to look up.

"The invitation has stood firm since this afternoon," he said, his thin lips quirking up into a smile.

"This afternoon?" I admonished as I took a seat across from him. I ducked my head and moved slightly right in an attempt to catch his eye but his gaze held downward.

"At the beach," he said and then frowned. His eyes finally flickered up and I caught a glimpse of that green. They were bright, even in the dim light of the pub and I found I had almost lost my breath. "You are that man, are you not?"

"I am," I said with a nod. "Don’t you recognize me?"

He said nothing. The barmaid came with a plate of bread and cheese and set it in front of him. She cast me a curious look before walking off, muttering something under her breath.

I didn’t catch it but apparently he did because he chuckled slightly. "Are the people here always so pleasant?"

I shrugged. "They’re city folk."

"City folk," he repeated. It was then I caught a hint of an accent, something faintly European. German, perhaps.

"My name’s Theodore Hughes," I said and extended my hand to him.

His eyes remained on me but he did not take my hand. "Theodore Hughes," he repeated again. Definitely German. "It’s a pleasure Theodore Hughes. I am William Meer." He extended his hand out to me, missing mine and smiling patiently.

I frowned and looked down at my own hand and back up at him. Was he... blind? No, because he had recognized me. He had seen me at the beach! And yet here he was, still not moving and he frowned because I hadn’t taken his hand.

Manners, I chided myself and grabbed his hand. "Pleasure," I said.

"Indeed it is," he said. His soft fingers gripped mine tightly. "A great pleasure Mr Hughes."

"Call me Teddy," I said, totally unaware that I had just given him my childhood nickname. I was distracted and staring at his eyes. Could he be? His eyes were unmoving, fixed on my face but for the first time I noticed they didn’t look focused.

"Your palms are sweating," he said and I realized he was still holding my hand.

I swallowed and pulled away. "May I ask you a rude question?"

"Absolutely," he said with that smile again.

"How did you know I was there at the beach?" There. It was better than, ‘Are you a blind man?’ Wasn’t it?

His grin widened. "Ah, so you have figured me out," he said, gesturing towards his eyes.

"Well, I had extended my hand before," I explained. "You didn’t take it."

"Foiled again by the appearance of manners," he joked. "I can see some things in bright light, Teddy."

I blushed when I realized I had asked him to call me Teddy. But it just sounded so wonderful on his lips, in his voice. "Oh," I said. I looked down at my stew which had gone quite cold, but that didn’t matter as I had lost all interest in it. "So, Mr Meer-"

"William if you please," he said, "or Will if that pleases you more."

I flushed. "Will. What do you do, Will?"

"I live carelessly on the ridiculous amount of money my parents have left me," he said with a chuckle. "And on my off days I write."

"Write?" I asked and decided not to ask the rude question of how, and added, "What do you write?"

"Ah, whatever strikes my fancy, Teddy." It was as if he knew I liked how my name sounded because he drew out the syllables. "And to answer your unspoken question, I write the same as you, with a few slight modifications and a sighted person to make sure I haven’t destroyed the alphabet."

There was such humor in his eyes that I laughed. "Well then, Will, what do you fancy?"

His smile grew so wide I thought it might completely split his face. "I fancy many things, Teddy. Many things. Right now I fancy novels of deep feeling, mood and love."

"Novels?" My nose wrinkled with contempt. I hadn’t ever had time for novels. They were trite and a waste of time, my mother had said and I was inclined to believe her. There was far too much to be done to bother with sitting and reading frivolous poppycock.

"Not a fan, Teddy?"

I shivered and felt the first stirs of desire building in me. I shook my head but remembered he couldn’t see that. "No, I’m not."

"Perhaps you haven’t experienced the right ones."

"I haven’t experienced any of them. I have no time in my life to sit and read."

His face dropped and he looked sad all of a sudden. "That is something I don’t like to hear, Mr Hughes. I don’t like to hear that people don’t give themselves time in their life for pleasure, even in the smallest amount."

The word pleasure seemed to caress my ears and my face broke out into a fierce blush. "Are you trying to seduce me, Mr Meer?" The words were supposed to have come out playful, teasing, maybe even a bit sardonic, but my voice wobbled and cracked at the end.

His wide, friendly smile dropped and his eyes closed. "Seduce you?" he asked in a faint voice. I opened my mouth to say something, argue perhaps, or even apologize, but he spoke again. "I would love to ask you over for tea, Teddy."

I waited for another moment, thinking perhaps he was going to add a ‘but’ onto that sentence, but he didn’t. Eventually I croaked out, "When?"

"Tomorrow," he said, the dark look fading from his face and his voice going back to nonchalant. "If it’s good for you?"

"I think I could spare a bit of time away for tea," I said. My mind was screaming, ‘No! Don’t do this you foolish man!’ but I didn’t listen to it. I took down his address, stuck it into my coat pocket and shook his hand again. Tossing coins into the table for the wine, I bade him farewell and didn’t fail to notice a spring in my step as I made my way back home to my waiting wife.

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a/n: A few errors have been spotted and corrected. If you see more don't hesitate to let me know:)