HIS DUCHESS • TOMMY SHELBY

02. the stolen duchess

[02]
"they have taken our most precious jewel."

THREE MONTHS LATER.
SMALL HEATH, BIRMINGHAM.
1924.

SOME CALL HIM a fallen angel. Others say he's the devil himself.

Yet somehow, he is still worshipped like a god throughout the cobblestone streets of Small Heath. Whether he is as merciful as one, is an entirely different matter. He became a ghost of the boy he once was before he left to France. The sound of bullets never quite left his head.

But beneath the murders, dark business deals and weapons, Tommy Shelby stood as a rational man that seemed to have the world on his fingertips. In a way, he let the violence set him free instead of cage him—

And that's why his crown will always be bloodstained.

"Tommy Shelby, sat alone in his bloody office when there's a whole party going on. I want to say I'm surprised but I'm not." Aunt Polly had her arms crossed as she stood by the door.

Tommy on the other hand, had his face buried in work, with a cigarette burning between his lips as he analysed the words on each document.

"You're the one that wanted Arthur to get married and you're not even at The Garrison celebrating." Polly sighs, walking into the office further.

Tommy looks up at his aunt. "I was at the wedding, is that not enough?"

"Just because you don't believe in love anymore doesn't mean you can't celebrate it,
Thomas."

Polly was in front of his desk now, and those words were enough to make her gain a spark of his attention.

"She was one woman. One woman, Thomas. Don't let it cloud your judgement."

Tommy's mind flickers to Grace.

Grace Burgess. An undercover Irish barmaid that wasn't meant to fall for the criminal she was investigating. And him, a criminal that wasn't meant to fall for the woman that lulled him into her angelic yet bittersweet ways.

But he did. Grace was his perfect chaos.

Keyword, was. He proposed on Derby Day, she said yes. They planned to marry in an old cathedral and honeymoon away in Spain.

In the end, Tommy's dark life overpowered their temporary fairytale. Being a gangster kept him out until late hours, she'd spend most nights eating dinner alone. Sometimes she'd experiment with cocaine, hoping it would give her the same high as the beginning of their love felt. Tommy hated it. They fought every other day. Until one evening, he came home to a note on the table and her engagement ring.

Grace had set sail to America, taking his crooked heart with her.

"Don't let it cloud your judgement." Polly repeats. "And don't chase after someone again that doesn't want to be found."

Tommy sits back, gripping his cigarette. "Let who cloud my judgment?"

Polly shakes her head. "Don't act like you don't know who—"

"My mind was cloudy and foggy long before that, trust me Pol." Tommy interrupts.

"Well, when you're done reading about the fucking Russians, come to The Garrison and celebrate Arthur and Linda with us." Polly was getting ready to leave.

"I plan on making contact with them tonight."

She stops at the door.

"What?"