"I cannot leave you, Edith. In fact, I find myself thinking of you even at the most inopportune moments of the day."
Chapter 4
"I want..." Edith trailed off, a bit choked up. She took a deep breath to steady herself. "For the longest time, all I ever wanted was to be taken seriously as a writer. Well, I have that, now; for the past few years, that's all I've had."
She paused for a moment, fixing Thomas with a wounded gaze. Then she said, "There was once a time when you were all I had. So, when you stopped me by the elevator and asked me to trust you one more time, I chose to believe you. Even after you lied to me and deceived me, I trusted you. I even waited for you."
Thomas's breath hitched in his throat. "You did?" he asked with disbelief.
Edith nodded. "You asked me to."
"Yes, but I also said that you could leave with McMichael, if you wanted to." He shook his head with regret. "You should have just left. You should have just left me behind and gotten out of there as soon as possible."
"I thought about it," she admitted to him with an airy laugh that was completely lacking in humor. "I thought about running away, but I didn't want to leave you. I wanted you to come with us."
Thomas searched her expression, the corners of his eyes crinkled in puzzlement. "Why?" he asked finally.
"I was scared for you. I knew that whatever happened, Lucille would not react kindly. I wanted to make sure you were okay." She paused briefly before saying, "I loved you so much, even then."
A shuddering breath released itself from deep within Thomas's chest, and tears brimmed in the corners of his eyes. "I'm sorry," he whispered. "I'm sorry for everything."
Edith shook her head. "I forgave you a long time ago, Thomas. You were as much a victim of Lucille's whim as the rest of us. You did what you had to to survive."
Thomas breathed a dry laugh through his tears. "Survive," he repeated coldly. "I'm tired of surviving, like a stray off of scraps. I want not only to survive, but to live. Though my life cannot be worth much, I want to live it to the fullest measure. Either that, or be done with it altogether."
"And what would give your life meaning, Thomas?"
He stared for a moment, his jaw working as he pondered her question. Then, in a voice so soft that Edith had to strain to hear him, he said, "Love."
"Thomas..." she started before trailing off, unsure what else to say.
"Please, don't," Thomas said bitterly, his face twisting into a scowl as he turned away from her. "Please, do not offer me your words of pity, for I am far beneath them. Do not extend to me comfort when I am undeserving of it. I am not naive enough to believe that I am worthy of a second chance, so please do not say anything to further condemn me!"
Edith rose from her spot on the sofa, and came to kneel in front of Thomas. She gently placed a her hand over his. "Thomas, look at me," she softly commanded of him. He was never able to deny her, so reluctantly he did what she asked of him.
"Thomas," she repeated his name, as if it were a new word that she were trying out for the first time. Then she said, "You're a bit of an idiot, you know that?"
His brows shot up in surprise at her bluntness, which caused her to smile softly.
"How many different ways must I say that I forgive?" she asked him. "How many times do I have to tell you that I still love you?"
Thomas could not help the tears that sprung to his eyes at her words. "S-say it again," he requested breathlessly, not quite believing that he had heard her correctly.
Edith lifted her hand from his to gently cup his cheek. Softly, she brushed her thumb against the scar that marred his cheekbone. "I love you," she whispered. "It does not matter to me what name you choose to wear; Thomas Sharpe or Henry Cavendish, I will love you either way." Then without wasting another breath, she brought her lips to his and kissed him.
...
Three weeks later, Edith Cushing returned to England, and was remarried to Henry Cavendish. It was a small ceremony. Only two guests were present: Mister Gregory Bobbins and Doctor Desmond Lawrence, whom also served as witnesses.
Edith and her new husband lead rather quiet lives in a modest little home. Mr. Cavendish continued to work at Mr. Bobbins toy store, and the new Mrs. Cavendish wrote serials for the paper under the alias of Carter Kingsley.
And for the first time in a long while, Edith could finally say she was happy.