Thomas

We were married on the twentieth of June, 1786. The day was warm, the clouds scudding and wispy, the sky a light distant blue. Reverend Paulson officiated, and our only guests were Lucian, Mrs Shute, and Peggy. Emmeline seemed not to mind the lack of ceremony, while I was grateful for it. Other members of the peerage would have been gossiping about it for days, weeks possibly. Not only because of my choice of wife, but the circumstances as well.

"Congratulations, Thomas," Reverend Paulson said after the ceremony was over. Then he nodded at Emmeline. "And to you, Emmeline. Milady now, isn't it?"

Emmeline blushed and hid her face in my shoulder. She'd taken a while to accept the fact of marriage, but it was clear she knew it was for the best. I wished I could have loved her the way a husband should, but there were still so many things I didn't know about her. And, similarly, many things she didn't know about me. Although it was not all that surprising. Very few couples these days married for love. And many of them were built on secrets like ours.

"You do make a very good match, milord," Lucian said to me as we walked back home. Summer was now upon us and it was warm enough to do so. "The lady Emmeline makes a beautiful bride."

Emmeline smiled over at him, but said nothing. She was beautiful, in another one of Mother's borrowed dresses and her hair dressed with flowers. Although she was still thin, now she was willowy and not emaciated. She had colour in her cheeks too, and her wounds were healing on the surface. It would be hard to say the same about the ones we couldn't see.

We spent our first nights as a married couple much the same as they were been before. Dinner, followed by some time in the drawing room. Sometimes I would read to her, from my father's extensive library. Her favourites were tales from the Arabian Nights. Other times, now that she was the lady of the house, Mrs Shute or Peggy would teach her needlepoint. She did not pick up the hobby as easily as they might have assumed, because her first ones were spotted with blood from numerous finger pricks.

A week passed this way before I decided to try and broach the subject again. Her nightmares still happened occasionally, but those were the nights she did not use the laudanum.

"Emmeline, there is something I must ask you," I said, as we got into bed that evening. She still couldn't sleep alone, so for the time being, we shared it. "It involves your capture."

Her gaze snapped to mine, eyes burning. I'd avoided the subject for so long she must have thought I'd forgotten about it. "Again?"

"Please try to understand." I took her hand and kissed her fingers, her wedding band cold against my lips. She looked away from me. "There are things happening, Emmeline, bad things. Elementals are disappearing at an alarming rate. And you may be one of the only survivors."

"I told you," she said softly, tugging her hand away. "I don't know."

"There must be some detail you remember–"

"No," she said, firmer this time. "I remember nothing."

I sighed and sank back against the pillows as she turned her back to me. I would have to find a way to pull it out of her, gradually. Because for better or for worse, we were married now. And as all marriages did, they had their secrets. It was only a matter of time before they emerged.

||

Another important-looking letter arrived in the post a few days later. Unlike the others, it bore no seal, only a folded note. I unfolded it and read over it quickly. It was from the manager of the textile factory in Taunton. The workers were wondering, apparently, when they would be paid next. And the fact that they were not meant they were considering a riot. I ran my hands over my face, slumping back in my chair. I had not paid them a decent wage because I was not making enough money. Still, I knew I had to go and remedy this problem. Mr Gaskell could not handle a riot all by himself.

When I stood, Emmeline's eyes followed me. One of her eyebrows went up. "Leaving?"

"Yes." I leaned over, kissing her forehead. She'd allowed that much intimacy, at least. "I'm to Taunton. A business matter."

"No," she said, stopping me in the middle of pushing my chair in. That was the firmest word I'd heard her speak since we'd first met.

"Emmeline, I cannot just–"

"You promised," she said, eyes bright. "You wouldn't leave. Not alone."

"Listen to me, Emmeline." I knelt down next to her chair, gripping her upper arms. "I do not know what will happen there. I'm afraid that there will be a riot. The workers are already considering it. You have done it before, and I'm asking you to do it again. I won't be long this time. You must believe me. Do you understand?"

She tightened her mouth, but nodded anyway. Her expression was completely unreadable.

"I will return within the day." I gave her forehead another kiss as I stood, wishing it did not have to be like this. "I promise you it will not be like the last time."

She said nothing as I went out, but I could feel her eyes watching me. I hated to leave her alone. I was well aware of what it did to her now. But this matter could not be ignored. It could escalate more than it already had.

Thor was already saddled when I finally emerged outside. His black coat shone in the sunshine, and his large ears swiveled towards me as I approached. He nickered softly and one of his large dark eyes focused on me.

"Hello, my friend." I ran my hand down his neck, and then swung myself into the saddle. Josiah handed me Thor's reins, and I could feel his body gathering beneath me, ready to run. "Tell Mrs Shute, Josiah, that the lady Emmeline must not be left alone at any point while I am gone, understand? Under no circumstance."

"Yes, milord." He bowed, and then backed up as Thor pranced forward, me still pulling at his reins.

"And do not let her leave the house. I am confident that she will not, but if she tries, you must not allow her."

"Yes, milord," he said again.

"Very good." I gave him a nod and then wheeled Thor around. "Hyah!"

Thor was off like a shot. With him, I never needed to give further urging. He would have run forever without my help.

||

Emmeline

I watched him ride away, and every time I did, I believed a piece of me went with him. In him I saw a fair man, an honest, hard-working man. He was my saviour, and my protector. I wanted to treat him as a wife treats her husband, I did. The wedding band I wore was our bond, tying us together until death. Or so our vows said.

"Are you all right, milady?" Mrs Shute joined me at the window. Her hand gently settled on my arm.

"How must I treat him?" I folded my arms and clenched my fists. I wished I didn't need to ask. But I was about as new to being a married woman as I was to living in society again.

"You mean His Lordship?"

I nodded, dropping my forehead to the glass and closing my eyes. He was patient indeed, but it would not hold out forever. One of these days, his restraint would break. And whether I wanted to or not, I would have to surrender.

"He understands the circumstances, milady. I doubt he'll try to force it."

"I want to..." I dropped one arm to my side, resting my other fist on the window. "I want to be his...his wife."

"And you are, milady. Not just on paper, mind." Mrs Shute squeezed my elbow lightly. "Sometimes love is learnt, not innate. It does not come easy to everyone."

"What if I am...broken? What if that broke me?" I clenched my fist tighter, so my nails dug into my palm. I turned my head to look at her, and her gaze softened. "What if I can't love him?"

"You must listen to me, milady." Mrs Shute cupped my face in her hands. "You are capable of love, and to be loved. But it cannot be hurried, or forced, or faked. You must take your time, and when you do, you'll be rewarded for it, right enough."

"He told me..."

There is no one coming for you dearie. No one to rescue you. You are alone in this world.

Mrs Shute wrapped my hand in both of hers when I hesitated. "What was it, my dear? You can tell me."

"I was alone," I whispered, and tears blurred my vision. "No one there. To rescue me."

She pulled me into a warm embrace, and I buried my face in her shoulder. I saw his face, swimming up from the murky depths of my mind, and heard his voice, echoing back to me across the distance. I trembled and wished for Tom. Only he could truly anchor me. Otherwise, I was adrift, lost at sea.

"Come now, love. Perhaps a cup of tea and a fire would help." She stroked my cheeks gently with the backs of her fingers. "Any books you would like read?"

"I do appreciate the Arabian Nights." I kept to myself that I asked Tom to read to me because of his voice, wrapping me in a warm blanket. Everything about him, when he was near, gave me comfort.

The hours crawled by slowly this way. We finished the stories, and I sat for a long time and stared into the flames. He'd told me I could produce them myself, if only I was not such a little trollop. I understood nothing of what he meant. I, produce fire? How could that be?

When the sky dimmed outside, and Peggy and Lucian went through the house lighting the lamps, I stood and wandered the room. That soon became much too small and I prowled the corridor and the entrance hall, checking the drive outside every time I passed a window.

As the clock struck nine, a beating of hooves came from outside. I pressed myself to the window, trying to see out. The doors opened, throwing light onto the drive. Tom's horse stood at the foot of the steps, pawing at the ground. And there came Tom, staggering up them, his hat in one hand.

"Tom..." I breathed, pushing back from the window and breaking into a run. I skidded into the entrance hall as he was stepping inside, pushing Lucian away when he hurried forward.

"Leave me," Tom said.

"Tom!" I exclaimed, urged forward by relief. "You're–"

He raised his head, and I stopped in my tracks. His face was bruised and bloody, and his hair was matted with more of it. Some of it dripped from his mouth onto his shirt, torn and open at the neck. Only one of his eyes was visible. The other was swollen completely closed.

"Emmeline," he said, voice thick, but not as brusque as it'd been with Lucian. "Kept yourself busy, have you?"

"Your bruises..." I approached him, step by step. "Your face..."

"It was already started when I arrived," he said when we were close, close enough for me to see his injuries better. I dared not touch him. "The men threw stones, and the women threw punches. They were tipping vats of dye over the ground, and throwing the wool into the mud. I have never seen such chaos."

"You were caught," I said, reaching out tentatively and brushing his arm with my fingertips. His coat was scratchy under my palm. "In the middle."

"Yes, but you know the rub?" He shook his head. "They were not angry at me. They did it to spite me. As if to say 'Your money means nothing to us either way. You may pay us, or not pay us, but we think so little of you that we will destroy everything you own.'"

"Will they be back?"

"I do not know, nor do I care. We have lost so much already, as a household. What is a little more?" He raked his hand through his hair and stalked into the drawing room. "I cannot think of what else I can do to prove myself. To show I am not my father."

I followed him, but I was unsure of what to say. I always was.

"Sit with me a while, won't you?" he said, tossing his hat on the floor and slinging his coat over a chair back, so he stood in waistcoat and shirtsleeves. "I need the surety of my wife to ground me."

"I'm hardly sure. Of myself," I said, so quietly I thought he hadn't heard me.

"Come here a moment." He kept his back turned to me.

Hesitantly, I approached. When I was close, he spoke again.

"Do I look a failure to you, Emmeline?"

I glanced over at him, but he never once returned it. "No. Not to me."

"Because it seems I have failed everyone. Do you know what they called me, while they were rubbing this in my face?"

I shook my head.

"Poxy, tight-fisted codger. Sodding spawn of a layabout ton. Grubby-handed old twit." He spat out those insults like curses, hurling each one towards the fire. "They never would have said those things to my father."

"Show them," I said, and that caught his attention. "You deserve their respect."

"What have I done, to deserve such a wife?" He brushed my cheeks with his knuckles, his touch feather-light. The one eye that was visible, the silver, shifted with the flames. "Those are wise words, Emmeline. Wise words."

"Tom–" I caught his hand as he turned away. Startled, he wheeled back around to face me. I stood on tiptoe and lightly kissed his bruised cheek. He smelled of dirt, blood, and leather. Like himself.

"Thank you, Emmeline." He slid a hand around the back of my neck and kissed my forehead. "That is what I needed."

It was much later, when I went up to bed that I saw the streak of blood he left behind, coppery-brown. His pride was injured, it was evident in every movement. I would try to mend it. There was no other way.