Work Text:
"You are in love with her."
Such a simple statement. Six little words. Five of them quite innocuous really, used often and in many different contexts, but the sixth one? love? – that one was surreptitiously explosive. It had certainly blown his comfortable – willful – ignorance all to hell. Damn Arabella anyway. She had no right to dig up something he had so successfully buried, even from himself.
William took another swallow from the half-empty whisky glass he was dangling over the chair arm with his left hand as he sat slumped and staring unseeing into the fireplace in his sitting room, head resting against the knuckles of his right hand and long legs stretched out toward the fire. He had torn off his necktie and collar as soon as he’d come in the door, rolled up his sleeves, taken off his boots, anything to relax and settle himself after the unexpected shock. Hence the whisky, on an empty stomach. He wasn’t sure that was actually helping. He should be having another comfortable dinner with Arabella right now instead of sitting alone in his rooms trying to figure out how everything had suddenly gone to pieces.
"The truth is there for all to see." Did he really talk of Eliza incessantly? She was certainly often in his thoughts, but that was only because she constantly needed to be bailed out of one scrape or another, or kept from walking head-first into yet another dangerous situation, or argued out of trying to stick her nose into another one of his cases. She was reckless, heedless, overconfident, and his responsibility – always had been.
Always. Why was that? When was that? Even before Henry had had to leave the Yard and asked him to keep an eye out for her, as a favor? Aye, he’d been doing it even before then, even as a fresh young constable at eighteen. He couldn’t even remember exactly when it was that he’d started paying attention to where she was in the world, off at school, home for the night, visiting cousins out of town, snooping around dark alleys late at night when Henry was otherwise…well…drunk. It was as if some invisible tow line had snared him and anchored in his heart long before that disastrous kiss, the one that had simultaneously bound him to her and shredded his hopes of a life with her. Even before that kiss, he had known in his bones that he was born into this world to protect her. The fates had directed his upbringing, given him the background and skills to be able to handle the darker currents of life and police work, brought him to London, crossed his path with Henry’s, and given him this job that allowed him to protect Eliza from the worst consequences of her detective endeavors. This job. He’d never told her, wasn’t sure he even realized it himself at the time, but she, more than anything, was why he hadn’t taken any assignments out of London. Not just because he was comfortable and “settled” in his life here, but because she was here. His world would have tilted off its axis if he were too far away from her.
Eliza. Why couldn’t he love her as just an old friend as she wanted, or as an often-annoying almost-sister? He didn’t have to be in love with her to protect her. So what was it about her that kept him circling, moth to a flame? He sighed and rubbed at his eyes with his right hand, elbow resting on the chair arm. Not a good move. As soon as his eyes closed, he could see her face, Eliza’s – her lively eyes, the bow curves of her lips, her delicate features. She was achingly beautiful to him. And even though he could almost never read her expressions as she claimed to be able to read his, he loved watching hers. The slight frown and biting of her lower lip as she puzzled something out, the bright eyes and curving lips when she was discussing something that interested her, the pout when she wasn’t getting her way. He almost smiled at that, and then remembered the look she’d given him earlier that day when she’d turned down his suggestion of resuming their dinners. She’d brightened at his admission that he missed her company, but then her expression had become crestfallen, almost…sad?...forlorn? But now, without Arabella in the way, they could resume—
William cut that train of thought short, realizing that he felt a curious sense of relief lurking beneath the humiliation of earlier. Women didn’t usually end things with him; it was normally the other way around. Well, except for Betsy, but— (Christ, had it been that long since he’d lain with a woman?) Arabella was in a different class, though – a widow, not an innocent, but respectable; he’d never even thought to try seducing her into bed. She was on a level with Eliza, had grown up with her. Perhaps that was why he’d succumbed to her charms? Because she was the closest he would ever be able to come to Eliza herself? Come to think of it, he wasn’t even the one to initiate their relationship; she had issued the first dinner invitation, all in the guise of thanking him once again. He had gone along with it because she was so flatteringly, blatantly interested…and admit it, he’d been a little lonely. Now that they had parted ways, he was free again. But free for what? To go back to once-monthly dinners with Eliza? As just old friends, nothing more? Could he really even do it again?
She’d been offended by his artless kiss at nineteen and had made her lack of interest crystal clear. He was so sure he’d gotten over that, years ago. He'd put it behind him by throwing himself into his work, gaining his first promotion a little ahead of the others as a consequence. And since he was a man, after all, and men had needs, he’d eventually begun satisfying them with any number of women more befitting his station in life, as a lad up from the workhouse. His dalliances had almost always been with the sort of women his men called tarts, though, suitable for bedding but not for marriage. And none of them blondes. Looking at it more closely, had he kept with unsuitable women because some deeply buried corner of his heart still hoped for Eliza? Eliza, who’d made it clear more than once in recent times that she valued her independence and career too much to consider ever marrying, ever having a family? Arabella was probably right on that score.
William lifted his head to take another swallow of whisky, eyes catching sight of the scar on his right forearm as he did so. Still holding the glass, he brought his hand over to trace the scar with his forefinger, studying it. It had been a pretty deep cut, painful. He’d been lucky it hadn’t cut through any major veins or severed the muscle unduly. The scar was still a little puckered, skin raised and slightly pink along the length of it. It would be years before it faded to a thin white line like the others on his back, evidence of a few beatings in the workhouse that had gone too far, but barely visible now against the lightness of his skin. What would Eliza make of those? Or of the one on his side where a bullet had grazed him as a constable? Not that she would ever see them. He remembered her consternation as she wrapped the knife wound on his forearm, remembered her hands, so small and delicate, cutting and tearing cloth and holding his forearm gently yet firmly while she worked to wrap it. He smiled softly. Those hands, so awkward at sewing or cookery, but quite capable at picking locks, binding wounds, holding steady while cutting through bomb wires. The smile faded. He would give anything to feel those hands upon him.
William made a sound of frustration, lowering his arm again and tearing his eyes away from the scar. He stared at the whisky as he swirled it in the glass, firelight glinting off the amber tones of the liquid. If he had to compare women like Arabella and Eliza to drinks, Arabella would be warm tea, with milk, soothing and comforting, if rather bland. Eliza, on the other hand, would be a stiff drink, like whisky, bracing, and burning on the way down. And God knows, he lived on whisky.
He downed the rest of it in one final swallow before drawing in his legs and leaning forward in the chair to put the glass on the floor. Resting his elbows on his knees, he buried his face in his hands. Christ, what was he going to do?
He was in love with her. Again. Still.
Always.
-----------------------------
Eliza sighed and put the book facedown beside her on the settee. The novel was not holding her attention. She stood up abruptly and started pacing back and forth in front of the windows of the sitting room. Why was she feeling so…unsettled…restless? Only days ago, this room had held the four of them, a true team, working closely on solving the case of the railroad robbery. It had been exhilarating to work with her friends – yes, friends, not just colleagues – each contributing to the resolution of the case, wrapping everything all up earlier today. Was that why she felt at such loose ends now? All alone, just herself in her sitting room this time? Ivy was off on another evening with Barnabas. Moses was busy training and coaching Fitzroy – good job, too! Nash was doing whatever he did to amuse himself at night, probably holding forth in a tavern somewhere. And William was— Her footsteps faltered briefly. William was— She really didn’t want to think about what William was doing, since he was probably with Arabella again.
The image of him kissing Arabella in front of her restaurant flashed across her inner vision and she felt that same unexplainable twisting in her stomach again. Much as she tried to insist to herself, and him, that they were just old friends, she had a suspicion that there was more to it than that. For one thing, the thought of what her other friends might be doing tonight didn’t seem to bother her. Eliza took a deep breath, wishing she could erase the image of William kissing Arabella permanently, wishing she could un-remember that awkward afternoon tea at Arabella’s when William had “unexpectedly” shown up. She’d kept herself busy for weeks since then, pushing all thought of the two of them to the edges of her mind. Unfortunately, she had nothing better to do tonight and this odd reaction of hers really bore investigating, much like a case to solve, and indeed more interesting than that silly novel.
So, she needed to focus. Was she still angry with him, because he had chosen Arabella of all women? She had forgiven him for that, hadn’t she? And despite his many dalliances, hadn’t he always been there for her since…well, since forever? Was that what the problem was? He was courting Arabella, not dallying, and Arabella would not take kindly to them continuing their friendship and dinners out. They would have to confine their interactions to collaborating on cases now and then. And would he still drop by her office unannounced occasionally? He had done so much less often of late. But just today, he had said he missed her company. And she had felt such a wonderful lift of spirits when he had told her that. Followed of course by that sinking, almost desolate, feeling when she had realized she would have to turn him down.
Eliza swallowed and continued pacing, not even noticing how she was fiddling with her mother’s ring. When she reached one wall, she turned about abruptly and continued pacing in the opposite direction. Introspection was not her strong suit, but she needed to get to the bottom of this question. Why was she still upset at the thought of William with Arabella? Because yes, she wasn’t merely uncomfortable, she was upset. Still. She thought back to that kiss she had witnessed, her first indication that William might be moving toward a life that didn’t include her. William had doubtless kissed many women over the years, but she had never seen him doing it. And from the rumors she had heard, those women were likely completely unsuitable for marriage and not a threat. A threat. A threat to what? Eliza stopped and shook her head quickly from side to side as if that might help her to think more clearly.
The only other kiss of William’s that she had certain knowledge of was the one he had given her when he was nineteen and no longer a boy. When she let herself, she could still remember vividly the comforting strength of his arms and body as he held her and the soft warmth and slight trembling of his lips as they had pressed and moved gently over hers, tugging slightly at her bottom lip as he’d pulled away, and causing a curiously delicious warmth to curl through her insides. The unexpected sensations had overwhelmed her, made her feel that perhaps she was wanton for having felt what she did, and she had reacted badly, so badly that he had left her alone for months afterward. It must have been humiliating to him as a man to have been so emphatically rejected. She’d wanted to explain, later, but he had been so polite and guarded the next time they had seen each other that there was no walking it back, and so they had devolved eventually into their pretend battle over whether she had actually enjoyed his kiss or not. Such a silly game. But she had never forgotten his kiss. She just…refused to let herself ever dwell on it.
She sighed and continued pacing and examining the question. Arabella was suitable. And therefore a threat. To what? To the status quo? To herself and William always being there for each other? Her steps slowed again. The status quo – herself and William always circling each other, supporting each other, but never coming together. She drew in a sharp breath at the thought of never. At the thought of not having William in her life any longer. Never hearing his voice regularly, never seeing the softness in his eyes sometimes when he looked at her, never feeling the warmth of his hand covering hers when she took his arm as they walked, never hearing his footsteps on the stairs up to her office, never being able to admire his tall commanding figure as he came into view. And he was certainly a man to be admired: intelligent, handsome, well-built, vital. He drew eyes wherever he went – especially women’s eyes. And, admit it, her own eyes.
Eliza abruptly returned to the settee and plunked herself down, closing her eyes tightly, trying to catch her breath. Alright, yes, she found him extremely attractive. Was it proper to feel that for a friend? Probably not. Did she see him as more than a friend, still? Because yes, they had, almost, briefly, flirted with the idea of courting, of not remaining simply friends. But he had put a stop to that, explaining that with her focus on her career, it made his position at the Yard untenable. Although, there was no denying they enjoyed each other’s company. When they weren’t arguing, that is. (And even their arguments were sometimes strangely enjoyable – sparring, to see who would win this time.) But it was nothing serious. She needed her independence, to build her agency, and he needed to protect his standing at the Yard, so they’d left things as they were. "For now."
Her train of thought froze for a second. "For now." Didn’t that imply a future reassessment? Did she want one? Did he? She thought of all the times since then that he’d seemed about to approach her: when he’d almost left for Glasgow; every now and then during their monthly dinners out, along with his exasperation when she would ask to reschedule; his teasing about her homemaking skills when she’d turned up with her sponge cake. He knew she had no skills or aspirations to be a traditional female, and so she’d always brushed him off, certain she had time to come back to that question, as soon as she’d solidified her career as a detective. But then Arabella had swooped in. And now her possible future with William seemed to be in the past.
Eliza bit her lip, feeling the beginnings of tears prickling at the back of her eyes, and then finally noticed that she’d been fiddling with her mother’s ring again. The ring that Ivy thought belonged on her other hand by now. Indeed, she felt almost certain that it never would be. She took a deep breath to settle herself as she felt that knowledge sink into her. If it was not to be William, it would be no one. She simply could not imagine anyone else. But he had moved on. He was courting Arabella, which implied a future engagement, and then marriage, and then— Was he kissing her right now? Caressing her with those warm strong hands, his arms holding her body tight to his? Perhaps more? Arabella was a widow after all, and freer from society’s strictures than an unmarried woman. Eliza was not a complete innocent. She had spent enough time around Clementine and various dance hall girls, seen enough naked bodies in the morgue, dealt with enough cases of marital infidelity and misdirected passions and illegitimate children to know that there was more to marital intimacy than just kissing and caressing. Bodies and private parts were meant to come together in some kind of pleasurable fashion that drove them to it. And if William and Arabella were—
Eliza jumped up and began pacing again as a fierce, confused, possessive feeling came over her: William belonged with her! Not anyone else, not Arabella. That was why seeing him kiss Arabella had hurt so much – not that it was Arabella, but that it wasn’t her! No one but herself should ever feel the warmth of his lips, the caress of his hands. No one but herself should ever feel the security of his strong arms holding her close. Eliza almost whimpered at the sudden ache that bloomed in her chest as she raised her hands to press against it. He centered her world. She should have told him, that night he hadn’t left for Glasgow. But she hadn’t known, herself; she hadn’t quite realized why she needed him to stay. And she hadn’t thought it important to tell him that she did, since he was staying after all. He was just always there. But now— What if he wasn’t? What if he went home to Arabella – or even some other woman – every night, shared everything with someone else, created a family with someone else? What if his constant presence in her life went away and she was left without the sound of his voice, his laugh, without the opportunity to tease him, or see his face, or take his hand. What if she woke up every morning for a lifetime without him there?
Why, oh why, had she turned away from him so often? Was she afraid of caring too much and then losing him, as she had lost her mother, and then her father? But wasn’t holding him at arm’s length, turning away, the same as losing him? It must have been at least one time too many, and so he had turned to Arabella. She felt a hot tear fall onto her clenched hands. Stupid, stupid girl! And hopeless, too, apparently…or she would not be crying right now. She sniffed and searched her skirt pocket for a handkerchief before sitting down abruptly, closing her eyes tightly. Oh god, what was she to do?
“I love William,” she whispered, tentatively, testing out the words. “I’m in love with him.”
--------------------------------------
"Choose just one."
Eliza sat at her desk, the late afternoon light filtering in through the curtains, and Moses’ prescient words echoing through her thoughts. As soon as he’d uttered the words, she’d immediately pictured William, even before she’d realized later that evening what he truly meant to her. She now knew that, of the many things she wanted, if she had to choose just one, William was paramount. But he was no longer hers to choose. She quickly stifled the feeling of desolation lurking around that thought.
Only second on her list, surprisingly – well, it would certainly surprise William…and Ivy…and it would have surprised even herself yesterday – would be her career as a detective, as the head of her own agency. Now, however, she suddenly had a different choice before her: Nash’s offer. If a life with William was not to be a factor in her decision, what should be factored in? Should she continue struggling to keep her own agency afloat? It would be harder if Moses decided on relocating to France. And William would be less available, too, with Arabella in the way. But could she really give up her father’s office? She glanced around at the familiar space. It was her second home, really, almost a place of refuge. "You’re always here," William had once pointed out. She looked down at the bottom righthand desk drawer and pulled it open. The bottle of sherry and a few glasses that she kept there glinted out at her. There was also a bottle of whisky for William further back in the drawer. If she closed her office and moved to Nash’s agency, should she bring it with her? Would William ever feel comfortable just stopping in as he was used to here?
She wished she could talk this over with him. He would have useful insights on how to manage such a large group of men, on how to dole out cases and pick the best man for a particular type of case, on any pitfalls she might face in taking on such a venture. And he could give her his opinion on what kind of men she’d be working with, too, to help with her decision. After all, he’d been working with Nash’s agency for a while, bringing them in on cases when his own men were overloaded. But could she go to him? She wasn’t sure how he’d taken her rejection of his request to resume their dinners yesterday. She also wasn’t sure how she would carry on in his presence, how she could act naturally, given her newfound awareness of her feelings for him. She frowned and looked at the clock, conscious of a certain relief when she realized it was probably too late in the day to visit the Yard anyway.
She sighed and leaned forward over the desk, crossing her arms and resting her forehead on them. Oh, why did everything have to be so difficult and confusing all of a sudden! Why was it so hard to think things through!
“Miss…Scar-let?” Eliza froze as the sound of Moses drawling voice floated over her head. She straightened up abruptly, trying not to look as embarrassed as she felt. She hadn’t even heard his footsteps on the stairs.
“Moses! How nice to see you!” She looked brightly at him as he took off his hat and seated himself in the armchair by the fireplace, resting the hat on his knee. “What brings you here?”
“Nottin in particular,” he replied, his expression clearly somewhat amused. “Were you tinkin bout Nash’s offer just now?”
She grimaced. “That obvious?” and then, “Wait, how did you know about that?”
“He had me deliver a bunch o’ files over to da Yard dis mornin, bring back a couple o’ new cases. Saw your name on a door - Chief Investigator.” His eyes crinkled at her, not quite laughing. “Wants me to put in a good word wit you for him.”
“Hmmph,” she scowled. “Well, you can now tell him you mentioned it to me, but I’m still assessing the pros and cons.” She paused for a moment and then asked, “What about you? Have you decided about France yet?”
“Noo. Still tinkin on it. Nash don’t be leavin til next week.”
“Well, if you do go, please send word. Otherwise, if you suddenly disappear into thin air, I might worry that it was one of your past associates that did you in instead.”
“I will do dat.” He stood and then paused. “Heard sometin else interestin while I was at da Yard, about your Inspector.”
“Oh?” She picked up a pencil and focused her attention on twirling it, trying not to frown. Why did everyone always call William “her” Inspector?
“Seems he be done wit his lady friend.”
The pencil stopped twirling abruptly as she looked up at him, startled.
He continued. “Yah. Artur, his driver, said he took him late to Mizz Acaster’s last night. De Inspector tol him wait while he fetch de lady, but he come back out by himself. Had Artur drop him off home, tol him he could scratch Mizz Acaster’s address off his list for de future.” Moses seemed to be scrutinizing her as he finished. “He was holed up in his office dis mornin, quiet-like.”
She schooled her expression as best she could, trying to steady her breathing. “Thank you, Moses. That is…that is…interesting indeed.” She couldn’t seem to breathe evenly, though. He nodded, lifting his hat in farewell as he turned and left. Eliza closed her eyes, pressing her hands down on the desktop and trying to calm her suddenly pounding heart.
------------------------------------------
Eliza took out the last hairpin and combed her fingers through her hair before brushing it out. She’d already put on her nightdress, glad to be out of her corset after such a long day. Perhaps without its confining stays, she’d be able to breathe properly again. She’d been quiet at dinner, making Ivy nervous that something was wrong, but she’d assured her it was just because she was still pondering what to do about Nash’s proposal. The only thing was, she’d also been quiet this morning at breakfast, before she’d even learned of his offer. If Ivy remembered that, she wasn’t revealing any suspicion that there was something else that was off.
Eliza drifted over to sit down on the edge of her bed, staring off into space as she began loosely braiding her hair for the night. Was William really free again? Moses was usually very accurate in gathering information, in making connections between random bits of data. He wouldn’t have mentioned it if he weren’t pretty certain about his conclusions. If it was true, then she and William could re-engage in their monthly dinners out. She could take back her dismissal of the idea. And from there, what? Could she re-engage his interest? He would still have to be willing to entertain the idea of having an unconventional wife, who had her own career, who didn’t cook and sew. Although there were workarounds for that. Much of the housework could be hired out, particularly with two incomes. And his position at the Yard was solid now, especially after the way they’d shown up Hudson and his men. And perhaps, if she came through Nash’s agency rather than her own, her working wouldn’t appear quite so obviously unconventional? William might be more comfortable with that.
She pressed the fingers of her right hand to her lips, letting her thoughts dance around the edges of that memory of William’s kiss so long ago. How was she to open up the subject of potential courtship again? She had no idea how to engage a man’s interest, nor any friends she could go to for that sort of advice. And it would probably be completely different from her usual ploy of dressing attractively and batting her eyelashes to get what she wanted from him. He always knew what she was doing then – it was just another of the little games they played and he went along with it. If…if they were truly courting…there would be physical aspects to it. Kissing. Touching…more than just brushing fingers or holding hands. And then with marriage—
Eliza shifted on the edge of the bed, feeling her face flushing with embarrassment at where her thoughts were taking her. She’d never seen any of William’s body uncovered, just his forearms when he rolled up his sleeves sometimes at the end of a long day. But when he took off his jacket, she could tell from the set of his trousers and his broad shoulders stretching the cloth of his shirt and waistcoat that he was well-formed, firmly muscled all over, and trim. The hair on his forearms was dark, of course, and so would also be dark on his chest and further down... Eliza swallowed suddenly – proper women didn’t think of these sorts of things. But…if they married…she would see his body, and he would see hers. And they would have to be touching…entwined…for him to give her children. She’d never seen a live naked man, just…pale stiff corpses. William’s body would be warm, vital, moving, his strong arms holding her body against his, his hands stroking her bare skin, allowing hers to wander over—
God! Eliza threw herself under the covers, trembling and suddenly hot everywhere. Surely she was blushing all over, not just her face but her whole body, even down to her private parts. How was she ever to face him with these kinds of thoughts floating through her head?
-----------------------------------
William stood in front of the washbowl on his dresser, barefoot, bare-chested, trousers still on with braces dangling, while he poured a kettle of heated water into the bowl. He’d gotten home late again, later than before, and he felt grubby from the day’s work. They were working through the backlog of homicides now, he and the senior detectives, leaving the thefts and lesser crimes for the less experienced detectives. But it had been hellish, one crime scene and morgue visit after another, barely time to grab a bite or a drink to sustain himself. And then the paperwork, and the photographs, and the memories of what he’d seen that were still in his head. Vivid memories. One had been particularly brutal, a young girl.
William leaned forward on the dresser, bracing himself with both arms as he looked unseeing into his own haunted eyes in the mirror. He wasn’t sure if the case bothered him more because it could have been his own lot, or because the girl reminded him of pictures he’d seen of Eliza at that age. She had looked about ten or eleven, just old enough to be of legal working age, at least as far as he could tell from her body and what remained of her face. She had been dumped by the side of the Thames, near several factories that had been sited there in order to discharge directly into the river. Her left arm and side of her chest had been crushed, her long blonde hair with a good portion of her scalp and part of her face still attached trailing off the back of her skull. He squeezed his eyes shut against the vision. It was clearly not a homicide, but an accident with factory machinery. There was nothing to identify her, though. No way to tell which factory she’d been working in. And an accident wasn’t a murder. If the coroner could put her face back together well enough to get a decent photograph to show around, they might be able to get some info on who she was. Or if her family, if she had one, reported a missing person. But so many didn’t – she was probably a throw-away, like himself. He pushed off the dresser and picked up a flannel and the bar of soap, trying to put the image out of mind. He would get past it, as he had so much else in his life, starting from birth really; he occasionally thought he was lucky to have been born Scottish – stoic endurance was bred in the bone.
There was a bit of a chill in the air but not enough to bother him as he washed, or to bother starting a fire. He would be in bed soon enough anyway, and perhaps he’d get some sleep tonight. If he could stop thinking of long silky blonde hair. That’s why that young girl had reminded him so much of Eliza – her hair. Was Eliza in bed already, her hair let down and brushed out for the night? He had felt her blonde locks sliding through his fingers once, long ago, when he was just turned 17 and she was still shy of 14 and hadn’t begun putting her hair up yet. It was a Sunday afternoon and Henry’s day off, so he’d gone over to talk with him about the prospects of joining the police force in the near future. Eliza had wanted to take Skip to the park near the Scarlets’ house, and he and Henry had walked over with her to sit and talk while she entertained the dog. When she’d gotten her hair tangled in a bush as she tried to retrieve an errant ball, he’d gone over to free her, trying to be careful but pulling on a few strands hard enough to hurt, nonetheless. She hadn’t been happy with him, but had thanked him anyway, reluctantly, for helping. He remembered how soft and silky the waves of her hair had felt sliding through his fingers as he’d tried to neaten it for her before she pushed him away impatiently.
He hadn’t thought about that in years. Lately, though, in idle moments, when he’d noticed that tendrils of Eliza’s hair had come loose from the hairpins she so often managed to drop, he’d found himself wondering how it would feel to run his hands through the cool silk strands of her hair. If things had turned out differently, if they were married, he would have that right. He would have the right to hold her, explore her softness, stroke the curves of her smooth alabaster skin, feel her hands stroking him— “Dammit” he muttered, closing his eyes. He could feel the heat curling through his core, gathering in his groin. It was disastrous to think of Eliza in that way. He threw down the flannel and quickly removed his now-confining trousers and drawers, hoping the chilled air would help.
It didn’t. But he needed to finish up washing anyway. As he did so, the warm wet flannel wasn’t helping either, but there was nothing to be done about it. His body apparently wanted release and relief after days of tension and heartache, but there was no finding a woman tonight. No taking comfort in someone’s arms, even if it wasn’t Eliza. He always felt empty afterwards anyway – sated, but empty. He stopped, mid motion, in dawning realization. His body’s need was an appetite, just like hunger that needed to be satisfied – could be satisfied – even if the food was tasteless. But he now knew why he always felt empty afterwards: other women weren’t Eliza.
-------------------------------------------
William had closed the door to his office most of the way to cut down on the sounds coming from the bustling corridor outside while he intently perused the many folders on his desk. He heard a light knock, and as the door opened, he knew immediately who it was and felt his heart thump briefly as he spoke, without looking up, “Eliza. You knocked. To what do I owe the pleasure?” Given his thoughts of last night, he thought it best not to look at her too closely.
She drifted across the room to put her bag down by the chair near his fireplace, sitting down and saying simply “I missed your company.”
He glanced up abruptly at her admission, narrowing his eyes as he recognized the phrasing from several days ago, not sure if she was teasing or actually meant it. She seemed to be scrutinizing him, almost warily, and he held her eyes for a long second. She was wearing blue this morning. He actually preferred that to the red dress she often wore when she wanted something out of him, because of the way the blue enhanced her eyes. Sometimes he thought he could fall in and drown in those eyes, which would be another good reason not to look at her today. Her gaze slid away for a moment before returning to meet his as she added, “Word is that you and Arabella have parted ways?”
He broke eye contact and pretended to look down at the open file again. “True.” How did she know that already? He’d said nothing to anyone that he could recall.
“Well,” she looked down for a second, “I can’t pretend that I’m sorry to hear that, but are you alright with it? I haven’t seen you for several days and you look…tired.” Was it his imagination or did she seem…slightly self-conscious?...subdued? It was unlike her.
William sat back in his chair, turning it slightly and leaving one arm on the desk while he pulled the other onto his lap, clenching his fist out of sight below the desktop. He simply looked at her for a moment, considering. He could tell her the truth about that part. “I’m fine, actually. It turns out the relationship wasn’t what either of us was looking for.”
“Oh?” She looked slightly confused. “And what were you looking for?”
Time to end that line of inquiry. William brought his arm back up and turned over one of the pages in the folder, looking down at it as he asked offhandedly, “So are you going to accept Nash’s offer?” before he shot a glance directly at her to gauge her reaction to the sudden turn.
Eliza’s eyes widened in surprise. “How did you know about that?” He tried not to drop his gaze to her lips as she spoke.
He shrugged. “Fitzroy trains with Moses. Moses works for Nash,” he stated, as if it were obvious.
She made a face. “Well, that’s why I came, really. I wanted to talk it over with you and get your advice and insight on the matter.” There it was. She rarely dropped by strictly for his company. She wanted something from him. Again. “Nash has given me until the end of the week to give him my answer, as he needs to head back to France shortly after.” She twisted the ring on her right hand as she spoke. William smiled wryly as he noticed the nervous habit, though he was quietly pleased that she was seeking his advice for a change. She continued, “Now that you’re not…seeing Arabella…perhaps we could discuss the offer over dinner? Tonight?” she finished, hopefully.
He sighed and gestured to the folders in front of him, actually glad of an excuse. “Dinner’s out, I’m afraid. I really am busy, Eliza. Hudson and his men made a royal mess of my caseload when they interfered with the running of this office and stopped us from conducting regular business. It’ll take days to get my men back on top of the old cases, not to mention the new ones constantly coming in.”
She made a face, clearly disappointed. “No time at all? I really do need your input, William.”
He sat back in his chair again, clasping his hands across his middle as he looked off to the side in contemplation. “Perhaps…day after tomorrow? I think I could get things sufficiently under control by then.” He wouldn’t be able to handle a dinner with her yet, though; it needed to be somewhere more business-like. “I could drop by your office at the end of the day, say 5:30?”
Her smile completely lit up her face as she exclaimed, “Yes! Thank you, William. And to that end, I won’t delay your work any further.” She stood up and grabbed her bag, heading for his door. When she reached it, she turned to look at him with a softened expression in her eyes, saying, “and do try to get some sleep, William. You really do look tired,” before she went out, pulling the door nearly closed behind her, just as she had found it.
As soon as Eliza left his office, William leaned back in his chair, looking up at the ceiling and groaning as he rubbed both hands over his face. Was he really going to be able to manage this? Spending time with her again in the guise of the old friends that she kept insisting was all they were? He needed to find a way to get her to back off for a bit, to give him time to get back on an even keel and stuff his desires back into that deeply hidden hole in his heart where he had buried them the first time over a decade ago. Maybe the same method would work again – throwing himself into his work. He sighed, brought his hands down and opened the next folder, doing his best to focus on the contents.
As she made her way down the corridor, Eliza thought back over the exchange. Yes, William looked tired, drained actually, but there was something more. He seemed…guarded? Was he keeping something from her? And yet Moses had been correct in his assumption: Willam was no longer seeing Arabella! Eliza felt the oddest sensation of nervousness as she left the Yard. William would be dropping by her office in two day’s time. She would need to prepare a list of the pros and cons of taking Nash’s offer for them to go over. She would need to act as though everything was back to normal between them. Later there would be time to address their…personal relationship.
------------------------------------------
The afternoon sun was in full slant through his office windows as William pulled yet another file off the stack and opened it. Over the past two days, they had worked through most of the homicides and missing persons, and were now down to the high-level thefts. He had given the young blonde girl’s case to Fitzroy to keep digging into. The lad was proving to be a godsend as far as improving their solve rate – he was surprisingly good at hunting down obscure details, noticing connections where others didn’t see them, keeping facts neatly sorted in that odd brain of his. William nearly jumped when Fitzroy suddenly appeared at his door and cleared his throat.
“Excuse me. Sir. I was wondering if I might be allowed to leave a little before the end of shift tonight? You see, a friend of mine has come into possession of theatre tickets for—"
William held up a hand to stop him. “How many case files have you got left?”
“Just two, Sir. I can come back later tonight to—”
“No need. Leave them for the morning.” He leaned back in his chair to stretch a little. “We’ve all been working double shifts, so I’d say we’ve all earned an evening off about now.” William reached into his waistcoat pocket to pull out his watch as he spoke.
“Yes, Sir. Thank you, Sir!” and Fitzroy disappeared as quickly as he’d popped up.
William looked at the time, quarter to five, and tucked the watch back in his pocket. He was due at Eliza’s office shortly. He would tell the others to go home on his way out. He reached over to quickly flip through the last three files in his stack and decided he could do the same, leave them for the morning. Or he could come back later tonight after he finished with Eliza, if he felt he needed to. His work was actually strangely comforting at the moment, kept his mind off…things.
He’d made a decision last night that he would have to tell Eliza that she needed to leave him be for awhile. If she needed help with a case, she could go to Fitzroy or Phelps – no, not Phelps, Sullivan – or send one of Nash’s men if she ended up managing his office. In any case, she wouldn’t understand, and she would try to argue with him, and he would have to tell her the reason why. The real reason. He’d thought of prevaricating, coming up with some story or other about his excessive workload, but she would see through it. Because she could always tell when he was lying.
But that conversation would come later. Perhaps at the end of their meeting tonight, he would suggest dinner in a few days’ time, somewhere comfortable, but public. So she couldn’t argue with him. In the meantime, he only had to get through this evening. He reached behind to grab the whisky bottle and glass off the windowsill and then thought better of it. Best not on an empty stomach. He hadn’t managed to find time to eat, again.
-----------------------------------------------
Eliza smoothed her hands over the desktop, picked up a pencil that had rolled, and lined it up on the side. She had her list of points, neatly printed, at hand. Goodness, she felt nervous! Which was ridiculous. It was only William after all, and they had known each other since childhood. There was absolutely no reason for her apprehension. Except for where her thoughts had been taking her these past few days…for the way her imagination had been making her heart race. She closed her eyes. She desperately wanted to see him, to hear his voice. She loved hearing him speak, his words uniquely inflected by that Scottish brogue of his. Perhaps he would even take her hand to kiss it in greeting as he sometimes did. But she would have to be standing by the door when he arrived for him to do that. She shouldn’t be thinking along those lines, though. They could deal with that later. This was business tonight. Just business.
Her heart gave a sudden jump as she heard the door downstairs open, close, and then his footsteps coming up. She’d recognize them anywhere. They paused for a moment or two, halfway, and then resumed, slowly. Finally, he reached the door, knocked lightly, and opened it without waiting.
“William. You knocked.” She looked up at him as he entered, trying to smile teasingly as she rested her elbows on the desk and clasped her hands under her chin.
“Did I?” he made a face, raising his eyebrows as if in disbelief before turning to close the door behind him and hang his hat on the rack, next to hers.
Eliza studied him. He looked even more exhausted than the other day. What was going on there at the Yard? She reached for the bottom desk drawer, asking “would you like a drink?” and then stopped in surprise at his reply.
“No. Thank you. Need to keep my wits about me,” he almost mumbled as he dropped wearily into her father’s chair by the fireplace.
This did not bode well for a lively discussion. Really, what was happening at the Yard?
------------------------------------------------
“Truth be told, Eliza, I would probably feel more at ease if you were working through Nash’s agency. If you have to go somewhere questionable on a case, there’d be any number of men to take with you as backup. The Yard is getting busier by the day and my caseload along with it, so I won’t be as available as I was previously to go rescue you” he shot a glance at her as he said this “when one or another of your cases goes awry.” He was still sitting in Henry’s chair, bone tired, elbow on the chair arm, propping his head up with his left hand, while she stood leaning against the front of her desk. They had been discussing the offer as the daylight slowly waned.
Eliza opened her mouth to object and then closed it again, clearly restraining herself with some difficulty, but she narrowed her eyes at him. “You’re teasing me, William.”
He admitted it, smiling sheepishly, “A little,” and then rubbing his eyes, continued wistfully, without thinking, “I will miss this.”
Eliza tilted her head at that, puzzled, “Miss?...what?...why?”
God, had he just said that? He shifted uncomfortably in the chair, not meeting her eyes, and then got up to walk over to the window, his back to her. “Nothing. Just…having this time with…” He stopped.
He hadn’t meant to do this now. He’d wanted to be clear-headed, matter-of-fact, business-like, as if it was not that huge a thing. He never made his best decisions when he was tired. And he was soo tired. Not just from his workload and the long hours, but he hadn’t slept well for days, wondering how he was going to get through each day, the rest of his life, without touching her, without having her to come home to, without ever having anyone to come home to, since no other woman would do. He had to get past this…this longing for her. He had to put it behind him, and the only way he could see to do that was to stay away from her for long enough. It kept coming back to that. And admittedly, it had worked in the past.
He swallowed. Was he really going to do this? Now? No, he didn’t make his best moves when he was tired, and he hadn’t intended to do this today, but it had to be done sometime. He had tripped up and now the moment was here; the cliff was here and he was going to freefall over it. And there was some kind of comfort in knowing it would be over soon. Had he really thought he could do this in a public restaurant? “Eliza, there is…something…I need to discuss with you.” He couldn’t keep a slight tremor from his voice. He didn’t turn to face her.
“William, you’re scaring me. Is…is something wrong?” Her voice suddenly sounded small, worried.
God, he just wanted to hold her in his arms, that small perfect body, tight against his, and protect her and himself from the world’s pain, tell her that everything would be alright if she would just…love him back. She had stepped away from the desk and come closer behind him, but he turned and walked past her to stand in front of the fireplace, facing Henry’s chair rather than looking at her. He wouldn’t be able to say what he needed to say if he looked at her.
Eliza watched him walk past her and went back to lean against the desk so she could at least see his profile rather than his back. She was a little stunned. What was going on? His whole demeanor and tone had changed. They had been having a normal discussion prior, a little subdued since William was clearly exhausted and she herself hadn’t slept well, but for the most part it had been almost like old times. Then she remembered that he had seemed to be holding something back the other day in his office. Was he ill? Was he leaving? Why would he miss…having time? Time for what?
As she watched him, he rubbed his hands over his face as if to clear his thoughts and then, shoving his hands in his pockets, started speaking slowly. “I need to tell you something, to explain what I’m going to ask of you, and I need you to refrain from interrupting me, since if you remember, that tends to derail my train of thought.”
He closed his eyes for a second and then opened them to stare down at the chair while he spoke, “I didn’t tell you exactly what transpired when Arabella and I parted company the other night. It wasn’t as simple as…” He trailed off, took a breath, and started again. “I went to pick her up for dinner, late yet again, but when I got there she…she sat me down and proceeded to accuse me of…of being in love with you…” That last was barely audible and his voice trailed off for a second before continuing in a more normal tone, “and she challenged me to convince her otherwise.” He hesitated slightly, “I didn’t even try…because…” There was that slight tremor in his voice again.
Elizaa took an audible breath to speak as she stood up from leaning against the desk, to go to him, to tell him, but instantly he put a hand up, saying “Don’t!” without even turning toward her. He kept going, “Do you remember that made-up proposal scenario I seemingly pulled out of thin air in the jeweler’s shop? Well, I had to cast back in my memory for a moment, but I had rehearsed those words – or ones very like them – countless times when I was eighteen, nineteen. I meant to wait until you were of age and I had Henry’s permission but, that day that Skip died?...when I held you in my arms to comfort you? I could no more have kept from kissing you than I could have kept my own heart from beating. And…when…you made it clear…that you weren’t interested in my affections, I… I buried myself in my work to put you behind me and moved on…as young men do. At least I thought I had.” He paused, seemingly gathering his thoughts again, rubbing the back of his neck.
Eliza stirred, “William—”
He stopped her again, “Please. Just this once, Eliza, let me finish!” She made a sound of frustration, hoping he would at least turn to face her, but he didn’t.
“Haven’t you ever wondered why I’m still unmarried, after all these years? Every man has…physical needs. I’m no different, so I began “womanizing,” as you put it, to satisfy them, but looking back, none of those women, even the ones that might have been suitable, like Arabella, none of them would’ve worked for me, because none of them came even close to— None of them were you. I think I may even have chosen them because of that. And then…then Henry was killed and you were suddenly back in my life again,” he half laughed and brought his hand up to rub his eyes, “and I mean fully back, because looking after you is a full-time job, and I—”
“William—”
“Dammit, Eliza!” He put his hand up again, as if to ward her off.
She stopped, again, and he took a deep breath. “So I find myself back in the exact same situation. And since I know that…that you do not care for me in that way...” he paused again, briefly, before continuing, his voice lower and thick, “what I need is for you to leave me be for a short while, Eliza, perhaps merely months, so that I can get back to a more comfortable level of regard for you. It’s…it’s just that I cannot be without you, even if it’s just as an old friend,” the tremor was back, “because you are the closest thing to family that I have ever had—”
Oh God, this was unbearable – he thought she felt nothing for him! Suddenly Eliza found herself tugging at his arm to turn him towards her, her hands reaching up and pulling his head down and then she was kissing him, inexpertly she was sure, but— He was so startled that he reflexively pulled her hands down and held her away from him. “What…what was that?” he asked, looking down at her, totally confused.
“A kiss! You wouldn’t look at me, or let me speak. How else was I to get your attention?”
“Do not tease me, Eliza! Not about— And do not ever kiss me again unless you mean it!” His expression was almost unreadable – hurt, angry, pleading, frustrated and a dozen other emotions she couldn’t even name.
“I meant it, William.” She looked up at him, her eyes pleading with him to believe her. “Of course I meant it.”
“No you didn’t! You’ve said countless times that we’re just old friends, that—”
“That was just because I didn’t know how I felt until recently. Even after I saw you kissing Arabella, I thought…I thought I was upset because it was her, not because…because it wasn’t me. I—”
William looked confused, stunned, as he interrupted her. “But you always brushed aside all talk of marriage and a family as being of no interest to you, that your career and independence were what you needed. And you were so focused on— I don’t…understand—” He was breathing raggedly, still holding her wrists, the warmth of his large strong hands seeping into her bones.
Eliza let out a broken little laugh, “I know we tend to argue about almost everything, William, but are you really going to try to argue me out of being in love with you?” She waited a heartbeat and then said quietly, “Let go of me.”
He was staring at her, seemingly mesmerized. “No.” His voice sounded drugged, thick and low. “I’m so exhausted, I’m clearly hallucinating. If I let go, you’ll disappear.”
“No I won’t,” she whispered, looking up directly into his eyes. He finally released her, slowly. Eliza rested her hands on his chest, spreading her fingers over his heart and pressing lightly, feeling its strong almost wild beating. “Do you remember telling me that you always thought that one day I’d meet someone suitable and get married?” He nodded, once, not taking his eyes off of her. She looked down at her hands. “And yet here I am, also still unmarried after all this time. And I know now that it’s because…because you are my someone suitable, William. You always have been.” She looked back up at him and smiled softly, almost ruefully. “I’m only sorry that it took me such an unconscionably long time to discover that.”
“Eliza…” he whispered, bringing a hand up to caress her cheek.
“And I think, since we’ve both made some rather incorrect assumptions over the years, that we should start all over again, at the very beginning. Which means you need to kiss me again.” She smiled gently, teasingly, “And I promise I won’t slap you this time.”
His expression lightened for a second, “Given your track record with the truth, I’m not sure—”
“William!” She pushed at his chest lightly, playfully.
He sobered again and said almost hesitantly, “You need to be certain, Eliza, because I cannot kiss you…now…and ever hope to leave you behind again…” he trailed off, his thumb brushing over her bottom lip.
“You leave me behind and I will hunt you down. I’m a detective, remember?” she whispered as she raised up on her tiptoes to try to reach his mouth.
William brought his other hand up to gently cradle her face and bent his head down to meet her. He must be dreaming, but that was no reason to stop. Her lips were as soft and warm as he’d remembered. And since she was still clearly inexperienced at kissing, he took over, closing his eyes as he concentrated on the sensations and trying to make this kiss as much like their first as he could, taking his time, brushing her lips with his first, molding them to his, and then tugging at her lower lip with his as he pulled gently away. He was looking down at her as she sighed and opened her eyes. They were a deeper blue than before. Deep enough to drown in.
God, how he wanted to truly taste her. He began tracing her features gently with his fingers, the soft line of her cheek, the curves of her lips, saying as he did so, “That was a chaste kiss, Eliza. When you think you might be ready for an un-chaste one, you let me know.”
Eliza narrowed her eyes at his gentle teasing, trying to ignore the tendrils of warmth curling through her insides, just like what had happened the first time he’d kissed her so long ago. It probably was wanton, just as she’d thought then, but she was an independent adult woman now and she wanted more, only from him. “And how will I know when I’m ready?” she asked, slowly, letting her gaze linger on his mouth.
He drew in a breath, licking his lips unconsciously, before he replied, “You’ll know when—” He stopped suddenly, swallowing convulsively before continuing, clearly reaching back into his own experience for the answer. “When you look at me and forget to breathe. When you go to bed at night wondering how it would feel to sleep with my arms about you and my body warming yours through the night.” His voice lowered, thickened. “When you wake up in the morning and find yourself imagining what my hands would feel like stroking your bare skin…” His voice trailed off, his fingers trembling slightly as he traced the soft curves of her ear.
She slipped her arms up around his neck and, barely able to form the words, whispered, “In that case, I think I’m already—” but she never got to finish. William’s hand curved around the back of her head and his other arm snaked around her waist, pulling her up against the hard planes of his body and lifting her slightly off the floor. And then he was kissing her hungrily, his lips molding hers, teasing hers apart, until the soft shock of his tongue sliding along her lower lip made her gasp. His tongue immediately slipped inside her mouth, exploring, teasing, the soft tip gently coaxing her tongue to move against his with heated silken strokes, inviting hers into his mouth, to taste him in return. She could feel her limbs trembling, those tendrils of warmth that started with the first kiss now reaching the core of her, the heat making her feel as if her whole body was melting bonelessly into his. His tongue was stroking in and out against hers, in and out, as if…as if… She felt more than heard herself whimper in reaction. She’d never known a kiss could feel like this.
William groaned softly as he pulled his lips away from hers, trying to catch his breath. He’d lost control. He could feel the familiar heat gathering in his groin and hoped she wouldn’t notice through their layers of clothing, but he just couldn’t let go of her yet, not yet. He could barely speak. “God that went too far, Eliza. I’m sorr—" but her fingers were suddenly on his lips stopping his apology.
“Sshh!” Her eyes were the deepest, bluest blue he’d ever seen, “I needed that as much as you did,” she finished. He digested that for several heartbeats, watching her as she gazed at him, slightly dazed, watching her own fingers as they brushed over his lips, the fingers of her other hand threading through the hair on the nape of his neck.
He closed his eyes and rested his forehead against hers, still holding her firm, soft, perfect body tight against his. Both her arms twined around his neck again.
“Are you going to put me down?” she whispered.
“I’ll think about it.” But he did gradually loosen his hold, feeling her curves mold against him as her body slid down his until her feet touched the floor again. He was still trying to get his bearings, but he knew there was no holding back now. No way to return to “normal.” She needed to know everything he wanted from her, so she could make her decision, so he could know how his life was going to proceed.
He took a breath, clearing his throat, speaking slowly as he thought out the words, “Eliza, I know I once told you that being tied to you, with your career as a detective, would make my position at the Yard untenable, but…but I know what it is to be alone in the world and…I know now that coming home to you each night is much more…essential…to me than whatever job I might have. If it comes to that, if my position at the Yard is unworkable, then I shall find something else. But I cannot—" He broke off, and then began again, almost whispering, “What I should have said that night was that I don’t want to be your master. I want to be your husband…your lover…your life’s companion…even the father of your children if you’ll have me and we are so blessed.” He swallowed, waiting. He still had his arm snugly about her waist and had begun toying with a loose tendril of her hair as he spoke.
Eliza had brought her arms down to rest her hands on his chest again and was looking up at him, smiling softly. “Well, I’m sure we’ll work something out. And there are always nursemaids and housekeepers to cover whatever housewifely abilities I might be lacking in?” she made a face. “Perhaps even Ivy still, if she agrees to stay after she marries – I know you prefer her cooking over mine,” she teased. William felt his heart start beating again.
“Aye.” But his brain was still trying to comprehend what she had just said. He kissed her softly on the forehead and then kept holding her in his arms for a long, long moment, her head tucked under his chin, both of them simply breathing, quietly, together. Finally, he gave a deep sigh and said, “I could hold you like this all night, but I’m so exhausted it would probably end up being you holding me up.”
She gave a small laugh, pulling back to look up at him, and asked suddenly, “Have you eaten?”
It took him a moment to catch up. “Uh…today?...no…” he frowned, “well, Fitzroy left something disgustingly healthy on my desk this morning, but I don’t think I had more than a bite or two…”
“William! No wonder you’re so tired!” She stepped away from him, out of his arms, grabbing her bag off the desk and then grasping one of his suddenly empty hands to tug him after her. “I’m taking you home with me. Ivy’s making a roast so there will be plenty for everyone.” She let go of his hand again to take her hat off the rack and open the door. As she did so, she turned back for a second with an apologetic look, “Although you will have to put up with Barnabas being there.”
William gave half a laugh as he grabbed his own hat off the rack and followed her out. “Potts is the least of what I’ve had to put up with for you, Eliza.”
“Whatever do you mean!” She exclaimed indignantly, smiling, and grabbed his hand again to pull him after her. He loved the feel of her small hand tucked safely in his own. As they clattered down the stairs, he realized that this was the complete opposite of how he had expected the day to end. In fact, it mystified him how he never knew where he was with her. And yet how much he needed that mystery. How empty and dull his days would be without it.
As they reached the landing, he stopped in his tracks, what had just happened finally hitting him. His sudden stillness and tug on her hand caused Eliza to turn and look at him enquiringly. It had just occurred to him that she hadn’t said no, she hadn’t said she needed her independence, that her career came first. She’d said they would work it out, hire cooks and nursemaids…nursemaids, which meant a family… He looked at her, silently, a little in awe and wondering again if it could be real, asking, “Truly, Eliza?”
She seemed to understand intuitively what he was asking, moving around him to step back up onto the last step before the landing to bring herself up to his level before leaning forward to kiss him gently, softly, on the lips. “Truly, William.” Then she set her bag down and let go of his hand to pull her mother’s ring off of her right hand, placing it in his palm and looking directly into his eyes. “Use this,” she said quietly. “Until we can get to a jeweler's for a proper engagement ring.”
William looked down at the ring in his palm, then back up, dumbfounded. He never knew what to expect with her. Without saying a word, he picked up her left hand and slid the ring onto her ring finger, his own fingers fumbling slightly, gazing into her eyes as he did so and then down at the ring again. On her left hand, as an engagement ring.
“Now,” she said, stepping back down and toward the door, “we don’t want to be late for dinner.”
As they walked down the street, William pulled her left hand through the crook of his arm and held it there, pressing his fingers over hers where he could feel the ring. He was going home, with Eliza. He looked over at her, studying her profile until she glanced up at him for a second, almost shyly, with a small smile playing about her lips. His own expression echoed hers.
She was in love with him.
Such a simple statement. Six little words…