"Thomas," Edith says in a calm, even tone. "Please- please don't do this." She steps backward ever-so-slowly, her eyes pleading with him, earnest and hopeful as she blindly finds her footing. The blade in his hand catches the light momentarily and its piercing reflection causes her heart to pound. "It doesn't have to be this way," she cries, offering hope rather than desperation.
His eyes soften but his expression reveals a twisted kind of agony. "I'm sorry," Thomas utters simply. "I'm so sorry, Edith." And with a single, menacing motion, he raises his arm and plunges the knife in...
TEN DAYS EARLIER...
The chapel is small but charming, and nearly everything seems aglow in the afternoon light. Outside the window a swarm of butterflies hover over a patch of colorful flowers, bringing a smile to Edith's face.
I can't believe this is happening, she thinks to herself. I'm about to be married- in a small town in the English countryside- to a man I only just met a couple of weeks ago. With a deep, calming breath, she turns toward the mirror.
"Lady Thomas Sharpe," Edith says aloud, trying the title on for size. She stifles a girlish giggle. This is madness!
Her heart flutters in anticipation, and just as she places the last pin in her hair, there is a soft but urgent knock at the door. "Yes?" she replies welcomingly, quickly shaken from her thoughts.
"Edith, it's Thomas." He pauses briefly. "May I come in?"
She opens her mouth to respond, but hesitates. Isn't it bad luck for the groom to see the bride before the wedding? Oh well. To hell with ritual superstitions. There was nothing traditional about their relationship anyway. Without a word, she scurries over to let him in.
Thomas shuffles inside and swiftly but quietly shuts the door behind him without so much as looking at his bride. "Edith," he begins hastily, but his breath catches at the sight of her.
"Thomas what is it?" she asks with concern.
"...my darling you look radiant," he inserts with sincerity and awe. A shy smile overtakes his face as Thomas steps forward and caresses her shoulder gently, his fingertips trailing down her arm and leaving echoes of his touch along the way. But his expression quickly shifts. "There is something I need to say." His eyes shift sideways, as if afraid someone might overhear.
Why the sudden formality? Thomas is always poised, to be sure, but this- this was dry and businesslike.
"Edith, I love you," he begins plainly, "and no force on this Earth could ever change that. But there are things- things you don't know about me- things I fear, if ever came to light, would drive you away from me."
"Thomas, where is this coming from? Don't be ridiculous," she insists uneasily. Surely these are just pre-wedding jitters.
"Edith listen to me," he orders, grabbing her shoulders sternly. "I am not, entirely, the person you think I am..."
"Are you not Sir Thomas Sharpe, the charming, enigmatic baronet and inventor who told me my writing was 'rather good'?"
"Well... yes," he admits uncomfortably. "But Edith, there is a darkness- a shadow- that follows me in everything that I do, and if we are to be wed, then I-"
"Stop. Please stop! Thomas, whatever this is- it's in the past, and I suggest you leave it there. I don't want to know."
He opens his mouth to object, but Edith shakes her head insistently. "Thomas, a couple of weeks ago, I wasn't sure that love existed, and I was even less sure that I wanted any part of it. But then you showed up, and… I don't know how, but everything changed. You speak of darkness, but my world is suddenly so much brighter."
Thomas' thin lips curve upward at the corners, but his sad eyes seem unconvinced.
"We may not know every intimate detail of one another's lives, but you make me inexplicably happy, Thomas. You intrigue me and inspire me and embolden me and... I love you." It was the first time she'd spoken those words aloud.
Leaning forward, Thomas places a light but lingering kiss upon her forehead, stroking her hair. "You will never know how much it means to hear you say that," he whispers. And for a few long moments, the two of them just stand there, breathing each other in as the rest of the world falls away. Thomas brushes her cheek with the back of his hand, tracing her jaw, her neck, her collarbone... Edith shivers at his gentle touch.
"I need you to do something for me, Edith." His voice is low and serious. Thomas takes her hands in his, squeezing them protectively as his pale eyes bore into her very soul. "I need you to trust me."
Lost in his gaze, she nods. "I do."