Chapter Text
“D’you think you could bother to give them a smile?”
On the face of it, it seemed a fair question, but all things considered, it made you want to punch Thomas Michael Shelby squarely in the jaw. You didn’t, of course—that conduct would be unbecoming of a bride in front of her new family.
You’d been getting knowing looks from the women all night—pursed lips from Ada and Polly, and a wide smile from Esme. It was almost wolf-like, the way she watched you—welcome to the pack.
“I could,” You conceded, nodding, casting your gaze around the party. The revels had only just begun. It was early enough that nearly everyone was coherent, on their feet, but you knew that in just a couple of hours, the party would likely turn to shit. These people would be drunk, coked out of their minds, dancing, and flirting…Probably fucking. You had no doubt that you would be expected to do your wifely chore that evening.
Maybe that was why a permanent frown had been fixed on your lips from the time you’d put on your wedding dress, as you’d walked down the aisle, all the way through the fucking I Dos.
“You’re still frowning.”
You didn’t bother to hide your eye roll before you turned your head fully to look at him. He didn’t give you the same courtesy. He watched the revelers with the same bored speculation as you’d given them just moments ago.
“And this is what you’re fucking grin looks like?” You snipped. He raised his cigarette to his lips, drawing in a deep drag that sank his cheeks. He managed to cast you a knowing glance, his brow raising.
“It’s the most that you’ll get of me tonight.”
“And of me. Don’t ask me to stoop to something that you won’t bother with. I’m your wife now. At least pretend to respect me in front of them,” You insisted, nodding toward the others. It took him a moment, but Tommy nodded.
“And behind closed doors?” He asked.
“That’ll be none of their concern. And you’ll have to take it up with me later.”
“I intend to.”
–
You sat on the edge of the bed, and watched. All Tommy did was light up another damn cigarette. You weren’t sure if you married a man or a chimney.
You could hardly believe that you had married the man at all.
Your family had never been a big player in Birmingham, or Camden. You’d kept your head down, stayed out of the way, operated cleanly. When the Shelbys had come to you with a proposition, it hadn’t been for your minor operations in the UK—it had been for your connections in America. They were looking to expand, offered you a good deal, and a union between the two households.
When it had first been brought to your attention, you’d thought that it was a pretty good idea. But when it came down the line that Thomas Shelby had specified an interest in marrying you, well—the thought had become less and less appealing. If you’d cared less for your family, or known less about the mounting tensions that they were facing overseas, you would’ve laughed the idea off. If you’d been involved with anyone, if there’d ever been a hint or a whisper of a beau recently, you might’ve been able to plead differently for your future.
But you knew as well as your family that this was your best move, and with no great love waiting in the wings, there was nothing to be done but to marry the man.
You secured your interests, the interests of your family. You gained a powerful ally—but you also gained powerful enemies.
Tommy had spoken to you only once before your wedding day. The meeting had been brief, and he’d done all of the talking. He’d promised to protect you, sworn to never raise a hand against you.
“You know as well as I do,” He’d insisted, “That this is the best way forward for our families. And I know,” He’d leaned in a touch, “That you want what’s best for your people.” He’d reached into his pocket and drawn out a small velvet box, setting it on the table before he stood, straightening his waistcoat.
“You have until tomorrow night. I need an answer.”
You’d sent him your reply—a single slip of paper sent with your brother Lewis that simply read: Yes
“…It was a nice party,” You offered now, unable to stand the silence any longer.
“You didn’t seem to particularly enjoy it.”
“No one left with a bullet wound. In my family, we consider that a successful bash.”
Tommy’s lips quirked just a touch as he nodded.
“Our brothers seemed to get on,” You hedged, desperate to draw this out. You worried that once you stopped speaking, he may…Want to consummate the marriage. You weren’t sure how you felt about that. You’d heard rumors, whispers that Tommy was a good lover, but you weren’t sure that you were ready to find that out yourself.
“They did,” Tommy nodded again. “Lewis and John already seem thick as thieves.”
“Yes.”
The two of you fell into quiet again, and it was a harrowing few moments before Tommy pushed himself off of the dresser. Your hands dropped instinctively to the bed, grasping at the sheets—but Tommy turned and went for the door.
“G’night, then.”
Your brow furrowed as you glanced around. Goodnight? But—
“Where will you sleep?”
Tommy stopped in the open doorway, nodding behind himself. “I’ve a room down the hall.” He turned away, adding, “Shout if you need something.”
You hesitated a few moments longer before you sprung up, darting forward and shoving the door closed before locking it. You drew in a deep breath, closing your eyes and letting your forehead rest against the dark, cool wood grain.
He didn’t take.
You had gone into the room expecting shoving hands and a quick coupling, but Tommy kept his distance. You weren’t sure if you were more relieved or insulted. You turned away from the door, leaning back against it and peering around your dim new living quarters.
Relieved, you decided.
–
Insulted, you decided.
Tommy had the gall to lean in and peck your cheek when he’d come down to breakfast that morning.
It took everything in you not to shove him away.
Polly made no comment on how wane you looked the next morning, nor did Ada or Esme cast you knowing grins or teases. They all watched Tommy, and the little slip of a shadow that you’d met last night—a birch-pale, dark-haired woman named Lizzie.
You didn’t think that the news had made it back to your family—the fact that your husband had just spent his first night as a newly-married man with a prostitute-turned-secretary while you slept alone in an unfamiliar room wearing the lacy nightie that you’d bought specifically for your honeymoon.
Esme and Ada excused themselves as quickly as they could, but Polly lingered, and offered,
“He’s a prickly sort, and these things take time. Men have their needs and urges.”
“…Right,” You pronounced crisply as you stirred some sugar into your tea, “And I’m a novice in a nunnery.”
–
“You should’a seen the girls at the party last night,” Lewis groaned.
For all of your irritation during the last few days, you’d been happy, truly happy to see your family enjoying themselves. Carving out your space in the literary scene of London and running a few underground print shops wasn’t exactly a serene existence. You constantly had to move operations, vet workers, stop-up leaks in production cycles and deal with snitches. Your entire family was dedicated to the business, but your brother was the most determined of the lot. Lewis had become the man of the house at a young age, after your father had been hauled into prison for treason.
So to see him let loose a little—well, more than a little, truth be told—was a heartening sight.
“I don’t think I would’ve quite enjoyed them the way you did,” You raised a brow, smile widening as he ducked his head bashfully, “But I’m glad you had a good time.”
“And you?”
The pointed question came from just behind you. You didn’t dare turn to look at your Aunt Pearl. She knew you far too well. You could hide your feelings and concerns well enough from Lew—you had plenty of practice. But Pearl had been a motherly figure, a guiding hand in what would’ve been an otherwise rudderless life. She learned to read you like an open book when you were young, and you had been powerless to change the way that she understood you, even as the seasons of your life had passed.
You turned your head back toward her just a touch, biting the inside of your cheek as you waited for her to go on. It was a few moments of quiet before she urged: “Lewis, go get some air.”
You drew a deep breath in through your nose, fighting to steady yourself, and giving Lewis an encouraging smile and nod before he stood, pushing away from the kitchen table and heading outside. You saw him tipping his head back toward you, trying to catch on the line of questions that Pearl was about to level—as if neither of you knew any better to wait until he was fully out of earshot.
“Who’s Lizzie?” She finally asked. You weren’t sure how to answer at first. You scrubbed your hand over the back of your neck, making sure that you heard the door shutting behind Lewis.
“It’s just…Growing pains,” You finally offered, gaze set stalwartly on the table. “Every couple has them.”
“Where was he last night?”
“How should I know?”
“He’s your husband. You’re supposed to know.”
You didn’t have a chance to argue before she strode closer, her hand resting on your shoulder. You didn’t flinch, or draw away. You were used to her hand on your shoulder, her nails digging into your skin. She didn’t dig her nails in just now—she merely rested and waited.
“Growing pains,” You finally offered again as you looked straight ahead. It was as if Polly had her hand on your other shoulder, and was staring you down in warning.
“Pains?” Pearl repeated. “Physical?”
You don’t want to answer, but—
“Emotional,” You blurted. It was another moment of quiet before she hummed. You stopped yourself from turning to look at Pearl—to catch the no doubt heavy judgment in her dark eyes, and the twist of displeasure to her small mouth.
“I see.”
“It’s early,” You insisted. She hummed again, stepping around you to walk toward the window. It didn’t take much to glance over, to see where Lewis was playfully fighting with John and Finn.
“Do they know?” Pearl asked.
“About where he was?” You shook your head. “I’m sure his brothers do.”
“And?”
“And what?” You scoffed. “It’s no business of theirs. Our marriage is between myself and Thomas.”
Pearl turned to face you with a crisp smoothness, her eyes narrowed as she cocked a hip.
“And that’s all you have to say about it?” She asked. You pursed your lips. You had plenty to say about it, but it would land on deaf ears. Any of Pearl’s meddling would spell trouble, and you weren’t about to sic the dogs less than twenty-four hours into wedded bliss.
“Yes,” You nodded firmly. Pearl’s eyes narrowed further before she hummed, turning back toward the window.
“…This is good for us, Pearl,” You reminded her. “The Shelby’s are strong, they know what they’re doing. I just have to hold up my end.”
“And what end is that?”
“That of a doting wife.”
“And mother?”
Doubtful. Thomas couldn’t even be bothered to touch you as it was. But it was early, you reminded yourself. Things could still change. Things would change. They had to.
“Perhaps,” You leveled evenly. “Someday. Time will tell.”
“Time,” Peal repeated, nodding as she rounded you. “Well, if we’re going on time, so far, you’re not managing it particularly well.”
You slid down in your seat a little as Pearl finally left the dining room. Your interest in the day’s paper had been sapped; your tea had gone cold. You didn’t want anything to do with Thomas Shelby, or with his family, not anymore. If you were going to make it through at least one year of marriage, you needed to nip this in the bud.
–
“I need to talk to you.”
Tommy didn’t so much as glance at you, his gaze trained steadily on a horse. You waited a moment, shifting from foot to foot, but perhaps you shouldn’t have waited. You’d spent nearly two weeks waiting. Maybe he hadn’t heard you? You stepped a little closer and raised a hand to touch him. You couldn’t bring yourself to make contact, and your hand curled in on itself just before it could brush his waistcoat.
“Thomas?” You pressed.
“I’m busy.”
“When can we speak, then?”
“Tonight.”
Certain that he meant it earnestly, you turned away and left.
But the evening came and went, and you found yourself sitting alone, stewing in front of your uneaten dinner and eyeing his empty plate. The house was too quiet, and your thoughts were far too loud. You needed to clear your buzzing head—you wanted a drink, and some fun.
–
“You can’t let them push you around.”
The warning was spoken knowingly. You knew that she was right, but you couldn’t bring yourself to meet Esme’s eye. Her gaze was so heavy, so all-knowing—nothing like the bright, uninterested gaze that Thomas often offered you. But Esme was having none of it. She dipped her head into your field of vision and clapped her hand over yours where it rested on the table beside your drink. You shook her hand away lightly, reaching for your drink instead. Maybe coming to the office to nip out of the bottle Polly kept in her desk had been a bad idea. But you couldn’t bring yourself to just sit in that house and rot in your anger.
“No one is pushing me anywhere,” You grumbled.
Esme let out a soft, cruel chuckle.
“I know what it is,” She insisted, “To come into this family and feel on the outside, feel that you don’t have a voice. Becomin’ a Shelby doesn’t erase who you were before.” She reached out again, taking up your drink and drawing in a deep pull before you could argue. As annoyed as you were, you knew that she was right. You nodded slowly, topping the glass up when she set it back down.
“…Should I not bother replacing Polly’s alcohol, then?”
Esme’s smile grew as yours did, and the two descended into quiet giggles.
–
“We need to talk.”
It was steely when it left you this time. Despite that, Thomas still paid you no mind. In fact, he went out of his way to take his time drawing on his cigarette before fishing into his waistcoat. He pointedly drew out his pocket watch, flipping it open and eyeing the time. The tick tick tick of the second hand passed for several long moments before he flipped it shut again, lifting his gaze to the hustle and bustle of the office around him.
“Later,” He offered.
Later, always later. Weeks of later, of hearing Lizzie’s footsteps and the creaking across the floor as she left the house before you were up and about for the morning. Weeks of sitting alone in that empty house, putting on a brave face for Pearl and Lewis. Weeks of anger and shame eating through your gut.
“Now,” You spat.
He turned his head toward you, brows ticking up. You could feel the pace of the others in the shop around you slow just a bit, and speeding up again as Thomas shot them a glance.
“Alright,” He murmured, resting his hand on your lower back. You let him steer you toward his office, resolute in your irritation. He opened the door for you, waving you inside and shutting the door behind the two of you.
“What is so urgent that you pulled me away from my work?”
“Your work of watching other people count your money?” You quipped in irritation.
“…What is it that you want to discuss.”
“You need to keep your whoring private.”
Thomas’s brows jumped with intrigue, his chin tipping down toward you.
“Explain.”
“I understand that we went into this with our eyes open and a mutual understanding that the actions that we were taking were for the good of our families, but to the rest of the world, we are husband and wife. I will not ask you to stop your carrying on, as I can’t imagine that you’d abide by it if I did, but keep it private. I will not step out on you publicly, and I expect to be given that same respect.”
Thomas blinked before he straightened, pushing away from the door and stubbing out his cigarette in an ashtray on the desk. He muttered something that you couldn’t hear, and you frowned.
“Pardon me?”
“Publicly,” He repeated firmly. “You said that you wouldn’t step out on me publicly.”
“I did,” You nodded.
“Do I get to know the lucky man’s name?”
Your face went hot with indignation. Was he trying to embarrass you? Whether he was or not, it was working. You folded your arms across your chest.
“You’re missing my point.”
“I take your point. You want me to treat you as my partner, and as my wife, you have that right.”
“And will you?”
“You can trust me to be discreet.”
“I don’t trust you to do anything.”
Thomas’ expression closed off, his eyes narrowing a touch, and your stomach twisted with nerves.
“And might I ask why.”
“What have you done to earn it? In our, what, two weeks of marriage, I have hardly seen you. You’ve made no point to acquaint me with your family or your business, and you’ve spent your nights down the hall with another woman. I’m not your wife, I’m a boarder.”
Thomas considered for a moment before he gave a short nod.
“I understand. I will make changes.”
“Thomas—”
“I will.”
You pursed your lips together, pushing a sigh out through your nose before you gave a small nod of concession.
“Alright.”
“Anything else?”
“…No.” And, just to seal the deal, “Thank you for your time. And for listening.”
Thomas nodded, straightening up and opening the door for you. You strode toward it, and were nearly through before he rested a hand on your shoulder. You went still, turning your head toward him just a touch. Before you could get a good look at him, Thomas leaned in, brushing a kiss to your cheek. It was the most that he’d touched you since he’d kissed you the morning after your wedding. You thought that he may be making a show of affection for the office, but Thomas turned his head, brushing his lips against your ear.
“If I ever find out that another man has touched you,” He murmured, “I’ll take off the bastard’s hands and give them to you as an anniversary present.”
You balked, shock wracking your chest as he placed a final kiss to your temple before he gave your ass a pat, spurring you into action and sending your scurrying back into the office, and out of his reach.
–
“It’ll be nice for you to fix up the place and make it your own,” Polly commented.
“She was always going to get around to it of course,” Pearl insisted. You didn’t dare look away from the row of dressers. The one that you had in your bedroom was fine, but it was a bit small. You’d ordered several new pieces of clothing on Tommy’s account—well, on your joint account. Giving the name Mrs. Shelby had incited stunned, wide eyes from the shop keeper’s assistant and prompted fawning and a healthy discount.
Still, as much as you were trying to bring your families together, you realized belatedly that in this case, it was an awful idea. Polly and Pearl had taken every opportunity to take digs at one another, leveling backhanded compliments with smug smiles and drags of their respective cigarettes. The two of them were so painfully similar, and perhaps that was why they seemed to hate one another so much.
“Of course,” Polly echoed placidly.
“I want this one,” You pointed to the one in front of you.
“I’ll find the assistant,” Polly offered, brushing past you. You sighed heavily, shaking your head.
“Please pull it together,” You muttered.
“I’ve nothing to pull together,” Pearl pronounced.
“Please,” You bit out again. “I can’t make any of this work if you and the others don’t, either.”
You heard a deep sigh, chased by the tapping of her cigarette ash beside you.
“I will be myself.”
“I don’t need you to be yourself, Pearl. I need you to be pleasant.”
A little knot of tension unwound as Pearl chuckled.
“Becoming a missus really has given you fangs.”
“I’d rather not use them, if possible.”
“I understand.”
“Thank you.”
“…Are you going to give Miss Sourpuss the same talking-to when she gets back?”
“Lord above.”
–
“You look like you’ve had a marvelous time.”
Bringing Pearl and Polly to a somewhat peaceful place had been shock enough for that evening, but this took the absolute biscuit.
You might’ve yelped in fear at the sound of his voice if you hadn’t spotted the burning cigarette in the ashtray mere seconds before he spoke. As it was, you didn’t answer right away. You plastered yourself against the backdoor, your hands curled around your key and your purse. Thomas just arched a brow, expectant and silent. He wasn’t supposed to be there. You’d been told that he had business, and you had figured that once that had concluded, he would take care of other…Matters. You’d thought you’d have the house to yourself and have a nice cuppa before going to bed.
You finally managed to push yourself forward, away from the door, your face hot with drink and embarrassment.
“I didn’t think you’d be in,” You admitted.
“You didn’t think I would be spending the evening in my own house?”
“Esme told me there was a family meeting. She said that they can run late.”
“You were misinformed.”
“Clearly.”
You watched Thomas warily as he drifted closer, going tense as he stepped around behind you. You hardly dared breathe for a moment, then let it out as you felt him slide your coat from your shoulders.
“Thank you,” You mumbled as he stepped away with it.
“Were you with Esme?” He asked, tossing your coat over the back of a chair.
“Mhm,” You nodded, taking a few steps deeper into the kitchen. “And Ada, Polly…And Pearl.”
“Where were you?”
“Polly’s house.”
“Mm.”
You watched Tommy round the counter, taking up a clean glass and a bottle of whiskey. You nodded, stepping closer. “Please.”
He poured a good amount before setting the glass on the table. You sat down, watching him do the same. The light in the kitchen was low, casting an orange glow about the room. You felt almost like you were being interrogated as Tommy tucked his cigarette between his lips for another drag. You took your drink up in turn, giving your hands something to do. Besides, finding your husband at home had harshly staunched your blissfully tipsy mood, and you were desperate to get it back. Tommy made no comment as you took a deep swig, and you fought away a wince at the taste and burned as you gulped it down greedily.
“How was the meeting?” You asked.
“Fine…Would you like to know what it’s about?”
“If you’d like to tell me.”
You figured he would let it go there, but he gave a short nod, offering: “We’ve reached a trade agreement with your man in New York.”
“I’m glad to hear it.”
“Lewis can fill you in on the particulars later.”
Your brows jumped. “Lewis was there?”
“The business concerned him, I made sure he was in attendance.”
“I’m sure he appreciated it.”
He hummed, leaning back in his seat. You took another deep swig from your glass, but you couldn’t bring yourself to draw your gaze away from Tommy’s. He seemed so relaxed—though, maybe it was absurd to find a man relaxed simply because he had removed his suit jacket. Still, he looked irritatingly dashing in his waistcoat.
“Tell me about yourself,” He ordered as you lowered your glass to the table. You cleared your throat, shaking your swimming head to try and clear that, too.
“Pardon me?”
“Well,” Tommy plucked up the bottle again, topping your glass up. “As you have reminded me, you are my wife. I ought to know something about you.”
“…Are you drunk?”
His lips quirked with a small smile. “No. But if you keep on like that, you will be.”
“I’ll be fine.”
“If you say so.”
“I do say so, thank you.”
“I have to be drunk to want to learn about my wife?”
My wife. It made you feel oddly warm as he said it…Though perhaps that was the whiskey.
“We didn’t exactly have the most conventional courtship, or wedding,” You reminded him.
“All the more reason for me to learn about you now.”
“I don’t know where to start.”
“How about with the things you like.”
“I will tell you,” You nod slowly, “But only if you tell me about yourself in turn.”
Thomas seemed to purse his lips before he sat up in his seat. He held his hand out, the gold of his wedding ring glinting in the light.
“You have a deal.”
You hesitated for a few moments, certain that he was putting you on. But when he didn’t draw it back, you raised your hand in turn, grasping his and giving it a shake.
–
The first hint of light made you wince and turn away. Your mouth was obscenely dry; your head was pounding harshly. You groaned, rolling away from the window. Oh…You did not feel good. Your head felt like it was going to burst; your stomach rolled like you were taking a rocky transatlantic crossing. Oh, god…Were you going to be sick?
You peeked an eye open, then squeezed it shut again. Oh, no. You weren’t sure which was worse, having your eyes open or keeping them closed. You hesitantly opened both eyes, then groaned more loudly, tucking your head beneath your pillow. No. Having your eyes open was definitely worse.
You heard a harsh thudding, as if a giant has managed to get into your room. What on earth—
The pillow lifted away, and you tipped your head up into the cool brush of fingertips against your forehead.
“How’s our Sleeping Beauty?”
You weren’t sure what flustered you more: the teasing tone of Tommy’s voice, or the way the word beauty sounded coming out of his mouth.
“Right as rain,” You mumbled. “Or I will be, once you stop yelling.”
His chuckle brushed your forehead.
“Pearl is on her way to look in on you. Apparently Esme is doing just as well as you are this morning.”
“I don’t wish this on my worst enemy.”
“Rest up.”
“I wasn’t planning on doing anything else.”
“Good girl.”
Before you could ask, or argue, or throw a hand out to slap him on the shoulder, he brushed a kiss to your forehead, then drew away fully. You listened to the retreat of his footsteps, a pause, the scraping of the curtains being drawn closed, and the gentle scruuuuuuh—thump of him shutting your bedroom door behind himself. You only dared look around after a few minutes, when you were certain he was gone. You rolled onto your back, sighing and trying to ignore the thud-thud-thud behind your eyes.
You feel like hell, but last night was sort of…Nice.
Drinking with the girls and breaking down some of the barriers before your families had been a success, but coming home to Thomas was…New. It wasn’t unpleasant, as you would’ve previously thought. You scrubbed your hand gently across your eyes, trying to recall your conversation. You had it in bits and pieces—his love of horses, his devotion to his family, his worries for Arthur and John. You wondered if he told you those things because you’d been spifflicated that he didn’t think you’d remember a damn thing. But you remembered.
You remembered the almost kind way that he’d smiled at you a couple of times. You remembered the way he’d taken your hand and led you up the stairs, steadying you when you’d wobbled and taken uneasy steps. You remembered him turning his back as you’d gotten undressed, waiting for you to get into bed before bidding you a goodnight.
A knocking on the door drew you up from your recollection, and you winced at the sound.
“Yes?” You croaked. The door opened, and to your surprise, two heads poked through.
“You’re in a state,” Polly chuckled before Pearl opened your door the rest of the way. The two entered your room, each eyeing the furnishings that were soon to be replaced. You pushed yourself up, wincing as your head spun.
“Had a night, did you?” Pearl settled onto the bed beside you.
“Could you lower your voice, please,” You grumbled.
“Did you go right to bed when you came home?”
“I meant to.”
“But you didn’t?” Polly chimed in.
“No.” You winced as you raised your voice just a touch. “I…I had a conversation with my husband.”
Polly and Pearl cast one another curious glances, so unlike the cutting looks they’d leveled at one another just a couple of days ago.
“It was fine,” You added. “It was…” Nice? Enlightening? Something you would be happy to have again? “Cordial.”
“Was he drinking?” Polly plied.
“We both were.”
Polly and Pearl each hissed, chased by sympathetic tuts.
“You should’ve quit while you were ahead,” Pearl admonished.
“I certainly know that now.”
Polly took another look at you before she patted Pearl’s shoulder, offering, “I’ll put the kettle on.”
“You’re a saint,” Pearl smiled. You sagged back against the headboard, scrubbing a hand over your brow as Polly disappeared.
“Since when are the two of you so friendly?” You asked. Pearl shrugged.
“We’ve come to an understanding…As you have with your husband, apparently.”
“I think it may be a very different kind of understanding.”
“D’you mind if I smoke?”
“…I don’t mean to sound harsh, but if you smoke, Pearl, I will be sick.”
“Better out than in.”
“Please, no.”
–
It wasn’t every night—it wasn’t even most nights, but you began to spend time with Thomas. It started with him coming home just as you finished dinner, and progressed to Thomas making it home just in time for dinner. Conversation wasn’t always freely flowing, and a few of those first dinners were a little quiet, and awkward. But as you spent more and more time together, those silences became more and more rare, and when conversation wilted, the quiet was comfortable.
You still slept apart, but for the life of you, you couldn’t remember the last time you’d heard Lizzie creeping out of the house as you awoke. Maybe she’d managed to work out which floorboards didn’t creak; maybe Thomas had stopped having her in the house…Or having her at all.
You were certain that the second possibility was the most likely. It still wasn’t the ideal situation, but you appreciated it all the same. Not only had Thomas kept his promise and been discreet, but he was taking the pains to distance you from his romantic liaisons. It was…Almost sweet, all things considered.
–
“…What are you reading?”
You jolted at the question, sucking in a gasp and dropping the manuscript that had been in your hand. Thomas’ brows rose as he walked deeper into the sitting room.
“You scared me,” You grumbled. “How long have you been here?”
“A few minutes. I called out twice when I came in.”
“Oh,” You frowned. “I’m sorry, I must not have heard you.”
“Clearly.”
He walked deeper into the room, taking up the fallen manuscript and sitting on the green velvet settee beside you. You let your gaze linger, sweeping over him. His jacket had always been removed, though his waistcoat was still intact. His cool eyes swept over the page, brow furrowing a touch as he took in the content. His head began to turn toward you, and you hurriedly stood, rounding to the bar cart.
“Would you like a drink?” You asked.
“Sure.”
You plucked up the bottle of whiskey, uncapping it and pouring a good amount. You rounded back to him, holding the glass out. He crossed his legs, resting the manuscript against it before he took the drink with one hand, patting the seat beside him with the other. You lowered yourself back down hesitantly, acutely aware of the way your thighs brushed.
“What is this?” He asked, nodding toward the pages.
“A book that was sent to us.”
“Topside?”
You smiled a little. Topside was how your family had always referred to the legitimate side of your publishing operations. You were certain that you and the others had said it around Tommy and his family before, but you were surprised he remembered.
“Yes,” You nodded.
“D’you like it?”
“Ah…” You considered before you blew softly between your lips. “I’ve read worse.”
“I’m not sure if that’s an indictment or praise.”
You chuckled. “It’s got a good frame, but the writing is unpolished. Could be good, with a little bit of work.”
“Will you work on it yourself?”
“I may. Need something to do with my time.” It felt like the wrong thing to say as soon as you said it—but Thomas simply hummed, turning the page as he lifted his drink to his lips.
“Redecorating hasn’t been enough of a challenge?” He asked after a moment.
“Well it was, but I’m nearly through. The only room in the house that I haven’t touched is yours.”
“And why is that?” His eyes slid toward you, and the sudden shock of blue made your stomach flip. You shrugged a little, shaking your head.
“I didn’t think you’d want me to.”
Thomas nodded before he turned back to the pages. The two of you fell into silence, and you leaned in a little, reading over his shoulder.
“…Dinner’ll be ready soon,” You told him after a few moments. He nodded, blowing smoke out of the side of his mouth, away from you.
“What’re we having?”
“Roast chicken.”
“Vegetables?”
“Potatoes and carrots.”
“Gravy?”
“Of course. I’m not an animal.”
Thomas huffed a soft laugh through his nose. He turned his head toward you a little, his lips brushing your temple. The touch made your eyes slide closed, your stomach fluttering at the sensation. You were so caught up that you nearly missed what he said next:
“We’re going to London tomorrow.”
You frowned, glancing up toward him. “Why?”
“I’ve a meeting.”
“A meeting that involves me?”
“I want you with me.” He turned his head a little more, nuzzling lightly against your hair. “Besides, it’ll be good for you to get out of the house for a bit.”
“I get out enough.”
“I think you could do with a bit more.”
You hummed thoughtfully before you leaned away, patting his thigh lightly.
“I’ll go check on the bird.”
You only managed to get up and take a single step before Thomas caught hold of your hand. You glanced back as he raised it to his lips, brushing a tender kiss to your knuckles. The action was so small, yet so intimate that it made your breath catch in your throat. He gave your hand a squeeze before letting go of it, letting his arm drift up to rest on the settee. You turned away, hurrying toward the kitchen.
Once you were alone, you braced your hands on the counter, drawing in a deep breath and pushing it out again. Your skin seemed to tingle where he kissed it, and you glanced down, as if you could see some discernible change. You shook your head, shaking your hand before you turned to the oven.
Dinner, get dinner together. You could worry about Thomas’ touch and the trip to London later.