As they entered daylight, a sharp wind whipped down the lane, tossing Lupe's filthy tresses and setting the hair on her arms on end. As she wrapped her arms around herself, Thomas shrugged out of his coat, draping the heavy material around her shoulders.
She smiled at him. "Gracias."
After that, Lupe didn't speak for a long time. Not when they hailed a hackney and Thomas helped her inside, not when the view from the window transitioned from the docks to the centre of the city. She just watched with wide eyes and held Thomas' coat tightly around herself. Matt paid the driver when the coach pulled to a stop, and Thomas escorted Lupe into the inn they were lodging in. Each man had taken a room â coincidentally, they neighboured each other â and without pausing to even acknowledge the startled innkeeper, Thomas ushered Lupe up the stairs and into his.
The girl moved to the centre of the room, before turning in one slow circle. Her expression was no less than awestruck as she admired the mediocre furnishings and mildly-well maintained carpet. She flinched at the sound of the door closing, relaxing only slightly when she saw it was just Matthew entering. She rubbed her arms through the coat.
Thomas moved forward slowly. "Sit, Lupe, please," he instructed cautiously, directing her to an armchair near the fireplace. He stepped towards it, but Matt interceded.
"I'll light it," he offered quietly.
Instead, Thomas squatted down beside the chair Lupe was perched in, bringing their eyes to a similar height. "Lupe," he said softly, "I need you to tell me more about the men who took your friends. I want to help you all but-"
Lupe was distracted, glancing between him and whatever Matt was doing.
"Everything alright, Matt?" he asked, perhaps a little too sharply, without turning.
The younger man let out a muffled curse. "I can't find the damn flint. The maid who turned the room over must have taken it with her."
Thomas sighed. "Try along the edges of the brickwork. Feel for a shelf or the like."
There was a moments pause, filled only with the sound of shuffling. Then a surprised grunt. "How did you know it-"
"Vincent," was all the answer he offered.
That caught Lupe's attention, and she fixed her gaze back on Thomas. "Vincente?"
Thomas' legs were beginning to ache as much as his brain. He grabbed the leg of a low-set table nearby, tugging it closer before taking a seat atop it. He smiled gently at Lupe.
"Yes, sÃ. Vincent and I want-" Matt coughed. "- and Matt. We all want to help you. You and Abrienda and the others." He leant forward, elbows resting on his knees and hands clasped between them. "But in order for us to help you, we need to know more about the men that took them."
Lupe never looked away, and he took that as a good sign. Eventually, she let out a heavy sigh and nodded.
Progress! Thomas tried not to look to excited. "Who took the others?"
Lupe took a quick, short breath. "El jefe y el hombre feo."
Neither man could be sure, but it sounded similar to what she'd said earlier. "Alright," Thomas saw no sense in admitting he couldn't understand, "and what do they look like?"
"El jefe es..." she tugged one lip between her teeth. Suddenly she grabbed Thomas' arm, running her fingers across the skin on the back of his arms. "¡Marrón!"
Thomas frowned. "Marrón? Maroon?" He threw a look over his shoulder to Matt who was just stoking the fire to light. "What colour is maroon?"
The younger man raised his brows. "I don't know â purple?"
Thomas had no better suggestion and went with it. With his free arm, he tugged on his shirt. "Were his clothes purple?"
Lupe did not look convinced. She frowned for a moment, her grip firm on Thomas' arm, before she looked up suddenly. "Mateo!"
The man was surprised, but joined them quickly enough, only letting out a small grunt of protest when she pulled him to his knees beside them, laying their arms out in parallel. The comparison was clear; light skin, tan skin, dark skin. She pointed at Thomas' daker complexion. "El jefe." Then at Matt's pale skin. "El hombre feo."
Ah.
Thomas gently separated their arms, nodding encouragingly at Lupe. "I understand. El jefe is marrón. El hombre feo is white."
Lupe smiled broadly back at him.
He hated to dim that joy. "Why did they take the others, Lupe?"
The girl squeezed her eyes shut for a moment, her lower lip caught between her teeth. When she eventually looked at Thomas, there was a much hesitance as sadness in her gaze.
"Ellos eran sospechosos," she said slowly, "de la comida y el agua. The food and water."
Matt's head jerked up. "Did she just say 'suspicious'?"
Suspicious of the food and water. Thomas' hands pressed into his knees, digging the tips of his fingers into the bone until they ached; this was his fault. If he hadn't brought them the food, or if he'd taken the time to deliver it more surreptitiously...
He lunged to his feet, hands moving to rake his hair hurriedly out of his face as he sought to pace out his agitation. Lupe stood as well, his coat falling from her shoulders to crumple on the armchair. She caught his elbow, tugging him desperately to a stop.
"¡No es tu culpa! ¡Nos habrÃan movido de todos modos!" Her grip was strong, even as she searched for English words. "Move us. New factorÃa."
Even in her pain, she was trying to comfort him, convince him this wasn't his fault. Thomas didn't believe her, but he did pat her on the hand. She calmed some, and he nudged her back to her seat by the fire.
"Do you know where they took your friends?" he asked. "Where the new factorÃa is?"
With tears welling in her eyes, Lupe shook her head.
The girl was frightened and exhausted, and with little encouragement she fell asleep. She didn't look comfortable, curled in a ball in the armchair with a coat draped across her thin frame, but she did not stir for hours.
In that time, Matt sent for food and drink, and the pair settled in the other chairs across the room where they could keep an eye of Lupe without disturbing her. Thomas sat with his elbows on his knees, his chin resting on clasped hands, and a frowned pinned on Lupe. He stared without truly seeing her, his mind racing.
After more silence than Matt was comfortable with, he cleared his throat lightly, smiling apologetically as Thomas startled.
"What do we do now?" he asked quietly.
Thomas did not know. But he knew a man who might.
The thought of Vincent two very opposite effects on his body. The first was one of peace. Vincent would have thoughts â probably more than he should â and he'd have a plan for them. Together they could undo the mess that Thomas had made, he was sure of it. The second effect was a pounding in his heart and a tension in his stomach that distance had not resolved.
"Now," he said eventually, throwing back the last of his whiskey, "we go home."
.
Vincent was growing frustrated. He was an intelligent man, a practical man. He had even mastered the changing of nappies and the burping of babies, despite his initial reservations. And yet with all that behind him he could not find a way to make this child crawl.
After the tours and visits of the previous day, Vincent had been disheartened. The neglect he'd witnessed had stayed with him â haunted him, even â and he'd spent much of the evening laying on the couch in the nursery with his eyes trained on the ceiling. He refused to let Isabela be neglected, especially whilst she was in his care. He had therefore taken it upon himself to catch her up to where she ought to be.
But Isabela was not cooperating.
His day had begun with the construction of a makeshift pen out of books, laying them out in a rough circle in the nursery to contain the baby when she began to move. It seemed he had been overly ambitious, however, as Isabela had simply lain on her back, staring up at him with her serious dark eyes.
Matilda, the serving maid, found them there half an hour later, with Vincent frowning down at the child with his arms folded across his chest. Her suggestion had been to go somewhere else. Somewhere new.
So now he was standing in the gardens, grateful the rain had finally let up, frowning down at the child with his arms folded across his chest. Isabela seemed slightly happier in the fresh air, but she still made no effort to move.
With a sigh of frustration, Vincent decided to put the science of child-rearing out of his mind. The blanket he'd laid Isabela on was big enough for two, so he sat down by her head, crossing his legs, and opened the text he'd brought with him. It was a treatise on the need for stricter laws regarding working rights for laborers, something that interested him particularly because of the Spanish women and their circumstances. He wasn't sure how, but he hoped that-
He'd barely read a sentence when he was interrupted by a gurgle. He raised only his eyes, just to check Isabela wasn't in distress. He found her laying on her stomach, chubby arms waving as she pinned him with her gaze.
On her stomach.
Vincent's head jerked up sharply. He was reasonably sure he had laid her on her back, but there was only one way to be certain. He tried and failed to lighten his frown as he set the book down, pushing up onto his knees. Gently, he flipped her onto her back. Isabela blinked up at him, but otherwise seemed content in her new position.
Vincent rubbed a hand across his face, settling back on his heels. "My lack of sleep has impaired me," he murmured to himself.
Isabela made another sound, and he lowered his hand.
She was on her stomach again.
Vincent glared at the child: was she doing this on purpose? Very deliberately, he leant forward, turned her gently onto her back once more, and then waited. Again, she simply blinked up at him, a curled fist drifting up to her mouth. This time, Vincent slowly sat back on his heels. As soon as he was out of her sight, Isabela's brow crinkled, and her lips puckered in disapproval. Then, as easily as Matt picked up a drink, she rolled onto first her side and then her stomach, landing on her belly with a small grunt of effort. In that position, she could see him once more, and her frown faded back to infantile seriousness.
In sharp contrast, Vincent was overjoyed.
With a very un-Vincent-like whoop of glee, he scooped the surprised child up, staggering to his feet and twirling them both across the grass. To both of their surprise, Isabela giggled. Vincent stopped abruptly, partly in surprise and partly in response to the dizziness swirling in his brain. He grinned at the little girl in his arms.
"Job very well done, Isabela," he said gently, only to be rewarded by the placement of two sticky hands on his stubbly chin. Her nose scrunched up at the prickly sensation, and he chuckled as she withdrew. She glanced around then, her attention caught by the leaves of the trees or a bee as it buzzed by. She seemed approving when Vincent rotated her in his grip, facing her outwards to more easily enjoy the world around them.
"I suppose we should go find you more to look at, then."
Vincent's first thought was the stables. One of his earliest memories was looking at the horses with his father and dreaming of the day he might be allowed to ride. Introducing Isabela to the horses, he thought, might be very enjoyable for them both. It would also give him a moment to ask the stablemaster if there was a safe way to put both him and Isabela on horseback.
And then there was Mutt.
Since Thomas' departure, he had not made a moment to visit the animal, and he was no unaware of the guilt nipping at his heart. Thomas cared for the dog, and Vincent should be tending to it in his absence. That's what you did when you...
He tripped on a rock, startling himself and Isabela who let out a gurgled protest. He apologised under his breath as the rest of the thought formed in his mind.
That's what you did when you cared about someone.
.
Vincent stirred on the settee when bright mid-morning sun brushed his face. He raised a confused hand, blocking light and sitting quickly. Isabela had not let him sleep that long the whole week he'd been back, and he instantly looked to her crib to see that she was alright. He found a figure standing in the way, swaying back and forth gently in a loose white shirt and brown breeches.
Thomas.
"You're back." The words escaped on an exhale as he sat up, his feet coming to rest quietly on the floorboards.
The other man tossed a look over his shoulder, apparently not surprised to find him awake, and then turned slowly to reveal the baby snuggled comfortably against his chest. "I thought you could use some sleep," he said softly. "No doubt this darling kept you at her beck and call all week."
Vincent would have argued if he thought the statement inaccurate. He brushed his hair out of his face as Thomas turned away again, settling the child in her crib with only a few snuffled protests. He eventually faced Vincent again.
"Thank you."
"You're welcome."
Thomas looked different, Vincent decided. His hair was shorter, his attire crumpled, but otherwise he was physically unchanged. And yet, despite only a few days having passed, he seemed... older.
"When did you get back?" Vincent asked eventually, noticing the silence that stretched between them.
"Late last evening."
Vincent pushed himself to his feet, a gentle frown forming. "You must be tired, and yet you're here?"
Thomas' tongue darted across his lower lip as a small laugh escaped. He hesitated, his mouth opening, then closing, but then suddenly he straightened his posture. "I had some things to discuss with you. Three things," he amended. "Three things to discuss with you."
Vincent's frown deepened. "Urgently?"
"So it would seem."
If it was a joke, Vincent didn't understand it, but before he could ask further, Thomas narrowed the gap between them and continued speaking. "I've brought Lupe back with me from town. I found her... well, she's-" he waved a hand to cut himself off. "It doesn't matter, I'll explain later. Simon has agreed to keep her on as staff though, so she finally has somewhere she'll be safe."
Vincent was torn between processing what Thomas was saying â excellent news, though he had many more questions about how and why she'd been brought there â and the manner in which he was saying it. The man seemed to vibrate with energy, his words flowing quickly, but stumbling far more than was usual for him.
As if he also noticed, Thomas took a deep breath, before continuing at a calmer pace. "Secondly," he said, his gaze deliberately fixed on Vincent's, "I want to know if you missed me."
Of all the things Thomas could have said, Vincent could not have predicted that. He blinked into the patient silence that followed.
Had he missed Thomas?
It was a difficult question to answer. There were no moments like those described in poetry, no desperate keening of his soul to be reunited. If it were possible to miss someone like that, Vincent doubted he would ever experience it. He didn't have the capacity to yearn for someone's presence. Not when he enjoyed being alone so much.
In saying that... He swallowed heavily, frown deepening. There were times he'd thought of Thomas. Thought of telling him something, sharing something with him. Times he'd... looked forward to his return.
Was that the same as missing someone?
He didn't know how to explain. A denial never even crossed his mind. "I...the...In my way."
Thomas' lips twitched, and for a moment it looked like he might smile. He bit down on the emotion though â literally, his lower lip trapped between his teeth â and nodded instead. "Well â"
"And you?" Vincent hadn't meant to ask.
The other man didn't hesitate. "I missed you too."
Vincent didn't know what to do with that information. Or the warm sensation in his stomach. He simply nodded.
Thomas cleared his throat lightly, and if his skin wasn't so dark one might have seen a blush in his cheeks. "Well," he said again, taking small slow steps to close the gap between them. His hands were clasped behind his back, but there was a distinct disingenuousness to his nonchalance. "That brings us nicely to the third thing I wanted to talk to you about."
Matching him, Vincent slowly narrowed the gap between them, bolstering himself for whatever Thomas was about to tell him. The man's tone was serious, and he prepared himself for anything.
"I've been thinking long and hard about this â overthinking it probably, which you might appreciate... I mean, that is to say..."
For a moment, Vincent had a stark insight into how those around him must feel whenever he spoke. But more importantly, he knew how Thomas must feel in that moment. He reached out a hand, laying it gently on the other man's forearm. He squeezed.
Thomas' mouth froze open, whatever sentence he'd been stumbling over forgotten. "Oh, sod it," he muttered sharply. He raised his chin a fraction, locking eyes with Vincent. "Vincent, I'm wondering if you'll allow me to kiss you."
There was silence.
Vincent blinked; he must have misheard. "Pardon, I-" He cut off when Thomas took a small step closer. Now they were perhaps a handspan apart, close enough for Vincent to feel the other man's heat. He swallowed down whatever else he'd been about to say.
"I would like," Thomas spoke carefully this time, enunciating each word deliberately as he held Vincent's gaze. "To kiss you."
He hadn't misheard.
"I've been thinking about it for a while now, months probably." Thomas ran his hand over the back of his neck, seemingly sheepish at the admission. "But I've finally run out of excuses."
Vincent was only half listening. Instead, he was feeling. Feeling the tingle where his fingers still rested on Thomas' wrist. Feeling the thumping of his heart. Feeling that coiled heat in his stomach that seemed to appear whenever Thomas was around. He had truly never considered kissing Thomas â had not known it was an option â but now he considered it, and felt...
He nodded.
Whatever Thomas had been saying froze on his lips. "Yes?"
Vincent was frowning, but he nodded again.
Thomas took a moment to consider that. Then he smiled. "Yes," he repeated under his breath, savouring the word. He stepped closer still, their chests now pressed together. Vincent's breath hitched as Thomas' hand moved to cup the back of his neck, his thumb sliding across the edge of his jaw and leaving fire in his path.
When Thomas eventually pulled their lips together, he was not the only one who closed the gap.
And then there was nothing. No thinking, no anxiety, no planning. For the first time in his life, Vincent's mind came to a complete stop.
~~~
Oh. My. Gosh.
Hello Lovely Readers!
I have been waiting sooooo long for this chapter. It has had rewrite, after rewrite to try and make Vincent and Thomas' first kiss realistic and important for them, and after a few weeks (months) working on it I think I'm finally happy with it! Or at least, happy enough to post it and hope for your lovely feedback!
There are a few scenes from this book that I've had to rewrite to make them fit Thomas and Vincent better as their personalities have come out on the page. Would you guys be interested in reading those bits as well? I was thinking I could pop a little compilation at the end of this book.
Speaking of ending, I revised my chapter planning and am very excited that DohD only has 9 chapters left! We are on the home straight, friends!
As always, please consider leaving a vote or a comment, and consider following my profile if you don't want to miss out of Humphrey Sibling updates!
xx Flo