So in spite of the impromptu nature of Thomas' marriage proposal, his cleaver mind is capable of formulating a quick and efficient plan.

I can see his thoughts have gone into overdrive, as we sit down to lunch at the tea rooms. Between each mouthful, he hastily explains his idea to me, whilst even more hastily eating only a small amount of the food we've been served.

"We must elope I'm afraid." He says, with an apologetic half-smile. "There's nothing else for it. And as it is already late in the day, I must make haste and attend to matters."

I almost spit tea out at him in shock. "You mean you intend for us to set off today?"

"Yes. I'd much rather we be married as soon as possible. If you've no objections that is."

"So what will we do? Are you going to break the news to Lucille before we--"

"Break the news to Lucille?" He parrots, looking suitably horrified. "Certainly not. I'd just as sooner break my own nose. And she's so tempestuous she'd more than likely do it for me if I were to tell her."

I blink at him, bewildered. "But how will you collect your things? Won't you need them?"

"Not desperately enough to warrant me going back. No. Lucifer himself couldn't induce me to go back there."

"Lucille might though." I say worriedly. "She's fiercer than any devil could ever be, though I see how the two might be mistaken for one another. Their names do share the first four letters."

"Perhaps he's a distant relative." Thomas muses sardonically, which makes me smile.

"That's not possible. If he's related to her that would mean he's also related to you. And you're too angelic to share his bloodline."

"Lucifer was a fallen angel." He points out, darkly.

A strange sort of silence falls over the table, and he appears momentarily lost to his thoughts. Melancholic thoughts by the looks of things, as his face looks grave. Troubled. Almost...haunted.

It unsettles me so greatly I feel compelled to break the silence, yet I can't bring myself to ask him what's wrong. It's as if intuitively, I feel I might not like the answer if he were to tell me.

I cough gently, clearing my throat. "So, we're going to Gretna Green?" I ask, my feelings equal parts shock and excitement.

He gives a small nod, and the somber-look instantly lifts, as if he's shaken off his melancholia as if it were nothing more than a dusting of flour on his shoulders. "That is our only option. There isn't time to gain your parents consent to the union, and the marriage laws in England strictly prevent you from marrying me without their express permission."

Oh my. This is all escalating so quickly and becoming scarily real.

"And we definitely have to leave today?"

"Regrettably. We don't exactly have much choice."

I take another sip of my sweet tea, abandoning my food due to loss of appetite. I find myself feeling much too anxious and excited to eat.
"Are we going to take the stage coach?"

"Heavens, no. I shall make enquiries at the railway station." He pushes back his chair and stands. "Wait here for me and try to eat a little more. I have some business to take care of at the bank, but I'll be as quick as I can."

I'm left alone to my thoughts. The chattering in the tea room becomes white noise, but as I look around me, at the genteel folk partaking in tea and cake, I feel as if I'm having an outer-body experience. Looking down at my new, fine clothes, and the large parcel set by my feet that contains even more fine clothes, I have to resist the urge to pinch myself.

This cannot be happening to me.
Little over a week ago, I was just a servant, resigned to a life of drudgery and no prospects. The future was bleak, and I never dared dream of what the fates might have in store for me.
Now here I am, on the brink of eloping with a Baronet.

How wonderfully strange life can be.

When Thomas returns some forty minutes later, he's looking somewhat harassed and perplexed. He apologises for keeping me waiting, explaining how he'd also had to enlist the services of a farrier, to see to it that the horse he'd borrowed from the stables at the Red Lion Inn, was returned safely.

He then explains that no trains are scheduled to leave for Scotland until tomorrow morning, so he's hired a carriage to take us.

"Couldn't we just wait until tomorrow and take the train? It must've been very expensive to hire a carriage."

"We can't afford to tarry here. By now Lucille will have grown suspicious. I should've been back by now."

I frown, realising that what he's saying makes little sense. "But, wouldn't she have been suspicious anyway? You said you left unexpectedly without explanation."

There's a subtle shift in his posture. It's only slight but I see the way his shoulders stiffen almost imperceptibly. "That's right, I did. However I did have some business to attend to at the bank. So I had hoped she'd assume that's where I was going. But I did leave abruptly, without a word, and I fear she would suspect that something is very much amiss."

"And you think she'll come here looking for us?"

Encouraging me to hurry, he picks up the clothes parcels, hefting a box under each arm. "I wouldn't put it passed her. Best not to take any chances."

"Yes. You're probably right."

Swiftly, he steers the subject away from his dangerous sister, as we head for the door. "I'm afraid it's going to be a long arduous journey, my darling. We shan't be able to stop off along the way. Come, the coachman is waiting."

I hesitate. "Thomas, you know....if you're having second thoughts about this--"

"What? No. Of course I'm not." His beautiful eyes blink back at me anxiously. "Are you?"

Appeased, I smile at him and squeeze the hand that's holding mine so protectively. "Not at all. Let's go."

❦ ❦ ❦ ❦ ❦

The 182 mile journey from Birmingham to Gretna Green has to be by far the most torturous I've ever had to endure.

The carriage isn't very well-sprung, so every bump in the road seems amplified, and the further North we travel, the rougher the terrain becomes, with some parts feeling like we're traveling over jagged stretches littered with broken cobbles and potholes.
At one point I'm practically jolted off the seat and almost onto the floor, jarring my back so badly that I wince in pain.

This prompts Thomas into sitting beside me rather than opposite, wrapping a sturdy arm around my shoulders. Gratefully I snuggle into his side, appreciating the warmth as well as his secure embrace. The temperature plummets drastically, so much so you wouldn't think it were Spring, and I shiver in spite of his body heat.

We stop off only when necessary to change the horses, and make use of the facilities at the various roadside Inn's.

"I'm sorry, this must be intolerable for you (Y/N)" Thomas says, as he guides me back across the dimly-lit courtyard to the awaiting carriage. My numb legs are making it quite difficult to walk. "But we haven't far to go now. We should reach Gretna by midday."

It's dark out, and I've no idea what time it is, and I don't want to know.

He helps me back up into the dreaded carriage. The sight of the cramped confines making me want to cry with irrational frustration and weariness.
But I pull myself together, trying to focus instead on our destination, and the prize that awaits me at the end of it.

I'm going to be Mrs Thomas Sharpe.

Thomas vaults up into the carriage a few minutes later, and to my surprise and delight, he's carrying a thick, woollen blanket.

"I managed to procure this from the Inn keeper's wife." He tells me, looking quite pleased with himself. Then he crouches down on his haunches, and gently takes my ankle in one of his large hands. "Here, let me take your boots off. That ought to make you more comfortable. And....perhaps you could loosen the lace on your corset a little? Otherwise you'll be in absolute agony."

His kindness, his attentiveness, never ceases to astonish me. He may be a Baronet, but his gentility and manners makes him a Prince among men. I watch him tentatively unlace my half-boots, carefully slipping each one off in turn.

He notices me watching him, and looks up at me through his dark lashes, questioningly. "Do you need me to help you with your dress?"

I raise an eyebrow, fighting to keep the giveaway smile from my face. "Are you just trying to get me out of my corset, Thomas?"

His black brows shoot up animatedly. "Not at all, I swear. I'm merely thinking of your comfort and...." His voice fades away as I begin giggling, and he realises I'm just teasing him.

"You're adorable." I tell him honestly, as he rejoins me on the seat.

"You flatter me." He says, flashing one of his most dazzling smiles. The whiteness of his teeth seem to gleam against the backdrop of our darkened surroundings. "But I swear I won't accost you like I've done before when we shared an enclosed carriage. From now on I'm going to behave honourably. I want to be a better man for you."

Lord have mercy, if I were prone to fits of hysteria I'm sure I'd be swooning right now. His words penetrate my heart more deeply than any declaration of love ever could. He wants to be a better man for me, and I love him for that. I love him for the way he has made me feel like my feelings, and my opinions, matter. That I matter. That I am worthy of love and respect, and he hasn't overlooked me despite our difference in class.

Looking tired, and travel-crumpled, he's never looked more appealing -- if such a thing is possible -- his usually well-polished, neat appearance gives him the unmistakable air of nobility. Whilst devoid of arrogance, the elegant confidence of his posture and regal tilt of his head, lends itself only to generations of aristocratic breeding.
Yet like this, he seems more vulnerable. More humble. As if he could be just as easily at home in a backwater village, as in some stately home.

But, the visible weariness etched into the tired lines of his face, is also proof -- if proof were needed -- that seduction and lovemaking is probably the very last thing on his mind right now.

Urging me to lay along the seat, I settle my head against his chest and he tucks the blanket around us, displaying a level of tenderness that makes my heart ache with love for him.

"Try to sleep, darling." He says soothingly, kissing the top of my head.

And I do. Now enveloped by this warm coziness, and held still by his strong arms, I close my tired eyes, and soon the rhythmic rocking of the carriage lulls me into a soft slumber, filled with hopeful dreams.

I awake to see the carriage filled with dismal grey daylight, and upon stirring, Thomas informs me that we have just crossed the Scottish border.

Peering outside, the weather is bleak, and there's little else to see. Unless you count the scarily large, rusty-coloured Aberdeen Angus cows, that are grazing lazily in the fields, their thick coats providing them sufficient warmth from the biting wind, that whistles through the draughty carriage unforgivingly.

Fortunately, it's not long after when we finally arrive at The Gretna Inn, which is conveniently situated across the village green from the Blacksmiths shop.

Since the change in English law, Gretna Green has become a notorious destination for eloping couples wanting to wed, but who don't have parental permission. Thanks to the leniency of Scottish laws, and the more relaxed traditions, any couple can get married here, as long as two witnesses are present. The most notable venue for these casual ceremonies to take place, is the 'old Smithy' (the Blacksmiths) and are conducted by what are locally referred to as 'anvil priests' due to the service being performed over the blacksmiths anvil.

I've read about such clandestine affairs taking place in my romantic novels, but never in a thousand years would I have believed that one day I'd find myself here.
And while most girls would prefer a more grander, refined, church setting for their wedding, I find the concept incredibly whimsical and romantic.

Gretna Green is only a small village, by all accounts, and the long lane that runs through it consists of only a few small-holdings, an Inn, and the Blacksmiths shop.

We alight from the carriage, and Thomas gently laces my arm through his as we cross the stable yard into the Inn.
We're greeted inside by a burly looking Scotsman with a healthy, ruddy complexion.

When Thomas discreetly attempts to enquire about the old smithy, the man isn't at all judgmental, and he's eager to help. So accustomed to runaway couples seeking a room, he not only doesn't bat an eyelid, but also jovially informs us that he always keeps one or two rooms vacant for such an eventuality.

"And does one need an appointment at the smithy?" Thomas asks, with obvious concern. "We're not expected."

The innkeeper laughs heartily, as though thoroughly amused by such a suggestion, which he clearly deems to be an almost ridiculous enquiry.

"Nay m'Lord. Ye' can go over whenever ye' want. Just knock on the door. Old McKenzie will see to it right away."

Although slightly disconcerted, Thomas appears visibly relieved. "Thank goodness. I was worried one might have to book in advance."

He laughs again and says kindly. "Aah, ye English and yer funny customs. That's not how things are done here. Appointments and such aren't necessary. Do ye have any luggage, m'Lord?"

"Only two clothes boxes and a small parcel containing a few personal items, but I can carry those up myself." Thomas assures him with disarming ease.

This impropriety takes the innkeeper aback, and he waggles his finger approvingly at Thomas. Seemingly grateful for not having to take our belongings up the stairs himself. "Are ye' sure, m'Lord? Eeh, I like you." He burrs in his thick, Scottish accent.

"Um, thank you."

"And would ye' be wanting some refreshment?"

Thomas smiles but shakes his head. "Not just yet thank you. We're rather tired. We've come a long way."

The man nods understandingly. "Aye, you'll be wanting to rest then."

"No. Well, that is, not just yet. You see we're both eager to seek out the services of Mister McKenzie first."

"Ohhh, keen are we, m'Lord?" He chuckles conspiratorially to himself, and I notice Thomas' colour heighten considerably.

"Um, quite."

I giggle quietly as we turn and make our way upstairs. Quite forgetting the cramp in my legs.

"Well that was hideously embarrassing." Thomas says leadenly twisting the key he's been given, into the lock. It gives a click, and he pushes the door open to reveal a fair-sized, comfortable room.

As my eyes come to rest on the double bed, I feel an odd, pleasant little chill race over my skin. It's a welcome sight indeed, and the desire to tumble face down onto it and sleep for an eternity is alluring.
Almost as alluring as the thought of tumbling into it with Thomas, and consummating our impending marriage.

He goes over to the porcelain wash basin, and fills it from the jug of warm water that stands beside it.

"There's soap provided, so if you want to wash and freshen up, I'll go down and bring up our belongings."

He leaves the room, so I set about unhooking my emerald green dress, stepping out of it and laying it over the back of a chair carefully. It's excessively dusty from the road, and creased from the journey. But thanks to Thomas I've others to change into.
As eager as I am to to marry him, I couldn't bear to exchange vows with him in such a state.
He's seen me look worse, admittedly, but he deserves better. I want him to see me looking my best.
He on the other hand, could go exactly as he is, without so much as dragging a comb through his unruly mop of dark waves, and I wouldn't give a fig.

I've just finished washing my face when Thomas comes back into the room.

"I took the liberty of purchasing you a few items, such as hair pins, a toothbrush, some tooth powder, and a comb." He says, setting the boxes down on the bed. It's then he notices me standing here in only my corset, silk stockings and knickers, and he halts to stare at me.

A deep blush crawls up my neck, making my face grow hot. The heat of his penetrative gaze does nothing to help matters, as I see his sparkling eyes rove over me, lingering on my hips and breasts, appreciatively.

"That's very kind of you." I manage, mouth turning dry. "Thank you."

He meets my eyes then, and looks a little confused. "Sorry, what?"

"For getting me a comb and toothbrush. And the hair pins. It's very thoughtful."

"Oh, right." He laughs sweetly, a sound so boyish and innocent you wouldn't associate it with someone who's just stripped me naked with his eyes.

We unwrap our things, and as I pull on the soft lilac dress, deciding it's more befitting for the occasion than the deep, sapphire-blue one, Thomas busies himself at the basin.
He must've had the forethought to buy himself a shaving brush and razor, and I watch him fondly as he stands in front of the small mirror, thoroughly absorbed in his task.

He laments not having had time to purchase a new shirt, but I assure him it doesn't matter. He always looks devastatingly handsome in his smart waistcoat, jacket and cravat, the sobering, dark colours accentuate his exotic masculine beauty.

Once we've both smartened ourselves up, we head back downstairs and make our way hand-in-hand across the green to the Old Smithy.

The blacksmith resides in the living quarters adjoining his shop, so he's conveniently at home when Thomas raps on the door with unmistakable, commanding authority.
As we're ushered inside to his workplace, I'm scarcely paying attention to a word that's being said between Thomas and Mr McKenzie, but the situation is so surreal, I deserve to be forgiven.

All around us there's horseshoes and the tools of his trade, and yet amidst this seemingly mundane setting, there's a man standing between us, on the opposite side of the infamous anvil, brandishing a length of white ribbon, saying something about how he's literate and will have the marriage certificate drawn-up for us by the following morning.

An elderly, frail looking woman and a young boy join us from the house. Presumably these are relatives of the blacksmith, their presence so regularly required in instances such as these when there are no other witnesses, they're not only happy to oblige but also undoubtedly a little bored by the proceedings.

"Now I must ask ye' this. A mere formality, but it has to be done, ye' understand?" McKenzie says, turning to us. "Are ye' both unmarried persons?"

"Yes." Thomas says without hesitation.

"And have ye' a ring for the lass?"

I turn worriedly to look at Thomas. Surely he wouldn't have had time to see to that as well? And I feel myself inwardly cringe a little, at how we could've both overlooked something so blindingly important.

But Thomas answers, and what he says and does next, astonishes me...

"Yes." He replies again, reaching into his inside pocket. Then he pulls out an elaborate, beautiful dress ring, adorned with a stunning red ruby.

I blink at him, exhaling a little too sharply. "T-Thomas....where did you--?"

"It's a family heirloom." He says simply, as if it's of little or no importance. "It's been handed down from one generation to the next. My father wed my mother with it. Now it is your turn to wear it (Y/N)."

Feeling overwhelmed by such a privilege, I have to steady my breathing. Fleetingly I seem to recall having seen Lucille wearing a similar ring in the past, but surely it can't be the same one. Can it? If it is, then how could he have possibly obtained it without her permission? Without even knowing that we were going to....

Oh, but wait.

Unless of course, he had been planning to propose to someone else with it.
That someone being, Amy Harwood.

A sudden bout of nausea makes me feel faintly dizzy, so I struggle to push the unwanted thoughts from my mind.
It shouldn't matter now. It really doesn't matter.
All that matters is he's here with me, not her.

It's me he wants.
Even at the risk of disgracing himself by marrying beneath him, and becoming estranged from his only living relative.
He still wants me.

"(Y/N) are you unwell? You've turned a little pale." Thomas says, sounding a little disconcerted, his brow furrowing.

"No I'm fine....it's just....just nerves that's all. Silly really."

He's about to reach for my hand, when McKenzie reproaches him. "They'll be time enough for that." He jokes. "No hand-holding until I get to that bit, ye' hear?"

Even though it's clear the man is jesting, Thomas still checks himself, and stands comically stiffly. His feet shoulders width apart.

"Take the ring, and place it on the lass' finger." He instructs.

Obediently, Thomas slides the ring onto my finger. Which takes some effort due to my trembling uncontrollably.
Nerves are most definitely getting the better of me now, it feels suddenly stiflingly hot inside the shop, despite the cold temperature outside.

"Now ye' may take your hand and match it to hers." McKenzie says importantly.

Tension grips me as Thomas flattens his much larger palm against my own. His fingers are so long, and cool, whereas mine have grown clammy with perspiration.

Taking the white ribbon, McKenzie then proceeds to loop it firmly around our joined wrists. "Now we tie the knot." He says, tying it with a flourish. "This is the love-knot, it symbolises the bonds of yer sacred union." Turning to me, he smiles. "Now repeat after me lass, I do take thee to my husband..."

I swallow, and suck in a nervous breath. "I....do take thee to my husband."

Inclining his head towards Thomas, he then prompts. "M'Lord?"

As he speaks, his voice is low and quiet. He looks perfectly composed, yet I can hear his breathing quicken slightly. "I do take thee to my wife."

Satisfaction rings in McKenzie's voice, as he declares, "Before God and these witnesses, I declare ye' to be married persons. Whom God hath joined let no man put a sunder."

All the air leaves my lungs, as I gaze up into the handsome face of....my husband.

We did it.
We actually got married.

The realisation makes my head spin, and my knees wobble precariously. My heart is rattling around my ribcage like a wild bird, and Thomas must sense my attack of the vapours, as he reaches up with his free hand, stroking the side of my face as if calming a startled animal.

"Are you alright?"

I've lost the power of speech, but manage to muster a nod in response.

"Ye' may now kiss yer bride." The blacksmith beams at Thomas.

Obligingly, Thomas dips down and kisses me sweetly. There's no intertwining of tongues, or exchange of hot, racing breath -- for obvious reasons -- that would be considered unseemly in public, even by the friendly, roguish natives.
It's just a simple, sweet kiss.
And it's absolutely perfect.

"Be sure not to untie the ribbon until ye've consummated yer vows." McKenzie adds devilishly, as we make our way to the door. "It's said to bring bad luck otherwise."

Even in the gloomy late afternoon light I see the high planes of Thomas' cheekbones turn dusky. Talk of consummating our marriage whilst still having our wrists bound together, seemingly embarrasses him excruciatingly.

McKenzie then politely asks for the £35 fee for the ceremony, and Thomas struggles a little as he fumbles for his wallet. He's right handed, and as our wrists are bound together it takes a bit of effort for him to produce the money using only his left hand.

Just before we leave, the elderly woman approaches us, and proffers a sprig of white heather to me. "Lucky Scottish heather." She smiles warmly, her eyes bright and twinkling like polished buttons. "It's traditional for the bride to have some Scottish heather."

Feeling the onset of overwhelming emotion, I struggle to contain my tears as I thank her repeatedly, pressing a kiss to her soft, leathery cheek.

We make our way back to the Inn, and Thomas groans as if in pain, pinching the bridge of his nose between his fingers. "I apologise unreservedly for that, my darling. Will you ever forgive me?"

I look up at him, puzzled. "For what?"

"For what? For that painfully rustic ceremony of course."

I laugh. "Thomas! You're being silly. It was lovely."

"Lovely?" He echoes in disbelief. "I'd hardly call it that."

"You might not, but I do. It's so quaint, traditional, mysterious...."

"Fascinating." He interjects.

"Yes, fascinating--"

"No you misunderstand me, I was referring to you. I've said it before and I'll say it again, you're so different."

I slow down a little, and he's obliged to slow too, seeing as we're still anchored together at the wrist. "And is that a good thing or a bad thing?"

He smiles down at me, his dazzling eyes glinting like precious moonstones in the failing light. "Most definitely a good thing, darling. That's why I love you."