Chapter 23- Finding One's Place
This chapter contains some adult material.
Thomas returns to Lizzie's bedroom. She is curled on the bed, quiet, and he wonders if she is asleep until she shifts upon hearing the door click shut. He kneels beside her bed so he can be eye to eye with her, his arms crossed under his chin as he rests on the edge of her mattress. She touches his hair, running her fingers through the damp locks.
"Thank you."
He places his fingers on her lips, "You're welcome. But rest." She smiles and kisses his fingertips.
"I'm scared for Nathaniel. He's the only brother I've ever had."
She touches his cheek and traces a line down it.
"I'm sorry, I don't understand."
She touches her own cheek where her tears are still damp and then his, leaving little trails down from his eyes.
"Cry. Are you asking if I need to?"
She nods.
"I don't know. I don't know how to feel this."
She finds her notebook, "Just do. Don't make a right or wrong out of it. You will feel what you will feel. And I will be right here."
"May I join you right there?"
She nods and he climbs onto the bed, slipping under the sheets and quilt behind her despite the summer warmth. He buries his face in her hair, breathing in her scent, one arm around her waist. There is something different about her hair, though, something harsh. A scent not hers. It also feels brittle, rough against his skin- he noticed it when he held her as she coughed, but didn't think to identify why. Then it dawns on him. Cordite. She has not been working only in the press house.
"Lizzie...you've been moved to another place in the factory?"
She shakes her head.
"Your hair is brittle. You've been around the acids."
"The girls in the cotton rooms are in far worse shape. They need breaks, or their gums start to decay from the fumes. I took a few shifts for them. We all do."
"Oh no..." His heart sinks and he holds her snug against him, one arm around her waist, the other across her chest.
"I'm sorry. But I couldn't just let them stay there without time to rest. Our building is much safer."
He pulls her from her side to her back and she looks over at him, "Don't go back. Please. I'll find work in the shipyards, I'll make bullets, I'll do anything I have to so that I might take care of you and serve in your place, but please, stay here, where it's safe."
"But why should any of us be safe? Nathaniel isn't. Ezra wasn't. And I have to do something, too."
"Let me. I'll split my time between Barrow-in-Furness and the village. It won't be ideal, but I'll send every cent back so we can build a life here after the war. Please, Lizzie. You've sacrificed your health to this. Neither of them would want you in harm's way. That's why they went to fight- to defend the people they love."
She turns to face him and cuddles against his chest, "And what if it never ends?"
"All wars end. Even the long ones."
They lay together in the still of the afternoon, the sun warming the bed. She starts to fall asleep, but wipes her eyes and rests her hand on his waist. He smiles at her and kisses her forehead. She kisses his lips, her mouth open, quietly eager. Thomas does not resist. The door is closed. Lizzie is inviting. And he has dreamt of time absolutely alone with her for far too long. He clutches her close as they explore lips, tongues, skin, his hands inching down her back until he finds the curve of her rear. He slides his hands over her skirt slowly, waiting for her to stop him, wondering if she will. She does not. Her own hands inch lower on his chest, down his stomach, slipping under the fabric to loose the buttons. He sighs as her hands meet his bare skin, working their way up across his chest and then back down again, until one rests under his side, the other slowly moving lower.
He breaks from her kiss and rests his forehead against hers, "Please. Touch." He unbuttons his trousers and takes her hand, guiding her fingers between his legs, "Have you ever done this before?"
"Yes. but he was not nearly so gentle." Nor did that man expect such a slow progression, an exploration, and he did not expect her to communicate her wants or her hesitations, either. But she does not tell Thomas. She cups soft skin, warm skin, in her hand and gently kneads. He gasps, a little involuntary thing. She smiles, proud that she has the capacity to cause such a sound to escape his lips. She slides her hand around his hip and tugs on his waistband. He takes the hint and pushes his trousers down. She runs her hand over his thigh and then follows the curve of his pelvic bone until she is back where she started, stroking.
Thomas rolls over her and she pulls the sheet over him; he nudges her legs open under her skirts and she relaxes as he eases his chest down on hers, "A moment, then may I remove your clothes?"
She smiles and drapes her arms around his neck, inviting him in for a kiss or, perhaps, a few dozen. She gladly sits up for him a few minutes later and allows him to unbutton her blouse, tugging her out of her layers until she is wearing only the well-worn, battered corset and her bloomers. He unties the bloomers, his lips trailing along her leg as he eases them down around her hips, her knees, her ankles.
Lizzie is certain that this is where things will change- that this is where he will lay her down, find his rhythm, and forget that she is here, silent, but still a person seeking her own pleasure. Instead, Thomas lays down and pulls her over him, guiding her hips over his. She winces as he penetrates her. He stops. She takes her time lowering over him, easing into this new and uncomfortable position. He waits, massaging her thighs, until she begins to relax. He unhooks her corset busk and drops it off the bed, her body free beneath the light camisole under it. He slides his hands up her sides and rests them against her breasts. With a little teasing from his thumbs on her nipples, she begins to rock and they find their rhythm together, losing sense of time, of the boundaries of their bodies, and all thoughts outside of the moment they share.
When he climaxes within her, he pulls her down to his chest, panting, whispering her name, moaning. She stays still for a few moments and then starts to roll off him. He stops her.
"We aren't done. You haven't had your moment." She tilts her head, surprised, "Have you ever...?"
She nods and sits up, reaching her own hand down between her legs before patting her chest.
"Only by yourself."
She nods.
He lays her to one side on her back, withdrawing from her, "Oh, we certainly must change that." She beams as he bends low to kiss her neck, her collar bone, her chest. His lips play across her breasts, lingering on each nipple, a tease that sends a shudder down her spine and urges her legs to spread. Fluttering kisses down her stomach, he takes her hips in his hands and licks her clit, pausing to see how she reacts. She closes her eyes, waiting. He laps gently, slowly, down her folds, his tongue probing her open, searching for the moment when she will either tell him to stop or urge him to continue.
She does not tell him to stop. One hand grasps at his, prying it from her hip, weaving her fingers in his as she arches to meet his lips, his tongue, everything that is worshiping her. She moans and grasps for his other hand, her toes curled against the sheets, her hips rocking with his strokes. When she clenches, he draws back his mouth and frees one of his hands, slipping it deep, stroking slowly as she shudders, his lips finding hers. He tastes of salt.
Exhausted, she pants against him, unwilling to move.
"I have waited fourteen years for this and my god, Lizzie, thank you."
She nods and hugs him tight. He goes to move his hand, but she catches him, pressing it in place.
"Ah...not ready yet?"
She laughs and shakes her head. He waits and they rest.
Lizzie sighs and draws out his fingers, "Thank you."
"How does it compare to your imagination? I remember your letters."
"Better."
Thomas is immensely pleased with himself, "Before we leave the room, I think we should clean up a little, though, as there are things stuck to both of us that I would rather your father not see."
She giggles and pushes him away from her. He rolls a little too far and falls off the bed, laughing as he staggers to his feet and searches for discarded clothing. He puts in all on a heap beside her as she sits up.
"We'd better get this right or we're going to be in a bit of trouble."
She takes his shirt, rolling up the sleeves, buttoning it down her chest.
"I don't think I can fit into your dress."
She tosses his pants at his face.
"To be fair, I think I should clean up a bit, first. Is there a washbasin?"
She points to a small door he hadn't noticed before, "Bathroom."
"And how do I know it is not occupied by someone else? Namely, your father?"
She shoves his arm playfully and rolls her eyes, miming knocking.
"Ah. Well that would be the simple thing to do, wouldn't it?" She giggles as she stands, catching herself on him as her legs remember how to stand.
They clean themselves and return to her bed, Lizzie wearing Thomas' shirt, he in only his trousers. She is falling asleep against him when he asks if she has that little cottage yet that she dreamed of when they were younger. She shakes her head.
"I will build it for you. I will go to work in the shipyards and I will bring home my pay so that you can have your witch's cottage, even if you split your time between this house and it, depending on if your father needs help in the jail."
Lizzie shakes her head and reaches beside the bed for something- a ledger. She hands it to him.
"What is this?"
She opens to the first page and taps the column listing assets. He reads through them. A piano. Tapestries. A claw foot bathtub. Books. Hundreds of books. A stove. Beds. Woodwork. He looks at the figures in the columns to the right. The sale price, a date, and the total earned sum. Something clicks.
"This is Allerdale Hall."
She turns to a later page and points to another entry- one gate and entry archway. It sold for a pretty sum.
He flips through the items. Thousands, of things. And every one of them has a sum next to it and a total that grows and grows, sometimes incrementally, sometimes by leaps and bounds.
"What...what does this mean?"
She finds her notebook, discarded on the floor, "You don't have to work a day in your life if you don't want to. Even the land fetched a strong sum."
He turns to the last page and his eyes grow wide as he realises just how much money she collected for the estate, "My god...this...this..."
"Is all in a bank account in Carlisle. I drove a hard bargain on some of these, giving up a little on things like the floor tiles in the basement to leverage a higher price for other items. You were living in a fortune. Some of the wood went to build Ezra's steam shed...but he won't be home to use it again."
He sees the tears rise in her eyes and wipes them away, "Would you like to learn? I know they are moving towards other forms of power, more powerful ones, ones that can move submarines across the oceans, but there will always be a romance in steam."
She smiles, then it falls, "I do poorly with mathematics. I don't think I can learn engineering. Your diagrams were always so precise. And it won't be useful to the war effort."
"You can learn. I will teach you. And whatever you struggle with, I will help. This is for you, Lizzie, not the war. If you ask, I will serve at the shipyards to further the cause, even with a fortune to my name."
"I don't know. I want to help. I feel as though I must, but at the same time...I don't want you to go. I have been away from you too long and I would yearn for you every day. Do you want to leave?"
Thomas shakes his head, laughing, happier than he thinks he has ever been, "No. No I don't. And you won't go back to Gretna. We can send aid to the front other ways- food, medical supplies, whatever we can purchase or fund. We'll make our peace here. I will make you a home- your very own cottage. We'll send for timber as soon as you and I sit down to sketch plans. God, Lizzie...I never thought life would feel so...free."
"I doubt there is any timber to spare, with the war. But there is a pile of structural beams still from Allerdale Hall. Big, thick support timbers and some of the other wood. Perhaps you can at least start with that."
"Yes! Yes! We will build you a place of magic and joy, grant it new life!" He is so excited that he can hardly contain himself. He kisses her and they tangle, playful, under the blankets, giggling, tickling, kissing, and eventually calming, curled up together. They fall asleep.
They nap through lunch, only rousing when Mr York knocks on the door to tell them they need to come down for supper. Once dressed, they sit down together around the table and Lizzie tells her father she is not going back to Gretna; he is visibly relieved. Thomas asks if he knows about the ledger- about how much Lizzie collected for the estate. He does not. When Lizzie tells him, he starts laughing and clasps Thomas' shoulder.
"Son, if you ever needed to reassure an old man that you can take care of his daughter, you just did well. Or, rather, she did very well and you're the better for it."
"She is a smart businesswoman, Mr York."
"A witch who drives a hard bargain. I think that's a good combination, don't you?"
"Yes, sir, I do. And I hope to have your further blessing when I ask for your assistance in building her a cottage wherever she wishes to have it."
"And are you going to inhabit this cabin with her?"
"Only if she asks, sir."
Mr York nods, "Good answer, son. Good answer. Before we discuss anything further, though, I have cake and coffee in the kitchen."
And so cake and coffee it is. After, Mr York finds his pencils and a large sheet of vellum. He lays everything out on the dining table and together, they begin to design an octagonal cottage, Lizzie suggesting things in notes on the side of the sketch, her father reading them so Thomas can keep drafting and sketching without interruption. Lizzie makes rough little line drawings of things she cannot describe and Thomas renders them beautifully from what she considers crude attempts at mimicry. He later tells her that they communicate exactly what they need to. They are, for their purposes, perfect.
She beams up at him from her chair as he sketches. Mr York watches. They are so clearly in love, so clearly happy. It is a reminder that even in the darkness of war, there is still light in the world.