Tewkey POV, Autumn 1889
Enola would be the death of him; that was plain and simple. What was not so simple was how she would do it.
After he had walked her back to her room, pressing one last kiss to her cheek, Tewkesbury had practically sprinted back to his own, almost dropping the pile of his discarded clothes. Not that he could sprint all that fast, his breaths were shallow and his heart had been pounding in his ears for what felt like hours. Inside the room, for two humiliatingly short minutes, he was infinitely glad of the privacy afforded by not having to share.
Tewkesbury fell asleep almost as soon as his head hit the pillow, but after waking up sometime in the early morning from a wild dream, the shame hit him. He tossed and turned for close to an hour, silently yelling all sorts of obscenities at himself for his actions. Enola was good and caring and while she wasn't as ladylike and naive as the women he had imagined himself marrying, he had no right to debauch her in such a way. He was raised as a gentleman for crying out loud, yet he was acting like a wicked rake or even a vulgar ruffian.
He had promised himself he wouldn't ruin her, but had he already crossed that line? Tewkesbury supposed he had, if they had been caught together and he refused to marry her, not even a man of her own station would consider marrying her. Not that he intended on begging off, he couldn't imagine marrying anyone else the way Enola occupied his mind.
Tewkesbury loved her, plain and simple, and he would apologise and correct his actions as soon as he got the chance.
At breakfast, Tewkesbury's determination to apologise had waned slightly along with his disgust with himself. In all honesty, seeing Enola sitting across the table from him just brought back the warm memories and a hint of boyish embarrassment. Plus, it occurred to him that apologising for his actions at the breakfast table with everyone present would be monstrously stupid and possibly a death wish. Did Mycroft own a pistol? Would he duel for his sister's honour? Tewkesbury thought it was really better he didn't find out. He settled for comforting smiles whenever he caught her eye, and polite conversation with the other table occupants.
Not that it was comforting Enola very much, as not a minute after Tewkesbury had somewhat skillfully stopped Lady Isla from chattering his ear off, Enola was looking at her plate like it had personally affronted her. And then she looked at the Earl's eldest daughter - who was now whispering with her sister about him - with even more disgust; like Enola cared that she was exceedingly excited to dance with him. The thought hit him with a rush of pride, Enola was jealous that another girl - a young and fanciful girl that he was not interested in - was attempting to flirt with him.
How his fiancee could be jealous of a girl he hadn't spoken to in over a year, when they had spent the previous night in unspeakable levels of familiarity, Tewkesbury would never understand. Especially after she had confessed her love for him, and he had happily reciprocated.