The festivities were at their peak now. Thomas figured that it must be getting late - during the day the nobility preferred to maintain a facade of respectability, which they shed like clockwork at night. Attending the court on occasion over the past few years had made him uncomfortably aware of the secrets, such as these, that were kept safe amongst the upper echelons of society.
"Thomas." Isobel's voice rang out over the hubbub like a siren's.
"Isobel?"
She caught his eyes and smiled. "Follow me."
He let her walk past, waiting a few seconds before following. They'd done this plenty of times before, sneaking off while no one was watching, neither of them enjoyed the racket and much preferred each other's company. Upon reaching the long, narrow corridor of the palace, Thomas caught up and began to walk alongside her. They were both visibly at ease now: Thomas noticed how Isobel now assumed a leisurely pace, crossing her arms over her chest in a gesture that suggested the tension had dissipated from her body.
Thomas put his hands in his pockets. "You can talk to me about anything."
"Except your much anticipated, and I'm sure utterly sensational, royal-endorsed play?" She let out with a teasing smile.
He quirked a smile. "Yeah, except that."
She then became very silent. A familiar sorrowful expression replaced her muted cheer, a vestige of the persona she adopted whilst in the public eye.
"12 this time. 5 children. In London." She said.
Thomas began to slow down his steps, forcing her to slow down with him. The lively din of the court had faded away substantially, but was still slightly audible. Hands still resting in his pockets, he turned to face her.
He knew that she had become disillusioned with royal life a while ago. Isobel was inquisitive, something Thomas liked about her, thus, she did not shy away from questioning even the most entrenched beliefs in their society. For one, what was up with having a monarchy? That is, what made her and her family so much more special than everybody else, that they got to live in obscene wealth whilst much of the country struggled. One could argue that it was a divine right to govern, bestowed by God, but Isobel could not see how that could be proven. Understanding that what she had known her entire life could have been a very false lie had caused a lot of resentment, which she directed towards the monarchy. She hated her title, the privilege that came with it and, most of all, how it caused her to be complicit in the suffering of thousands of others.
"Clarkson's company?"
"Yes. Parasites the lot of them"
"Don't even think about blaming yourself."
She paused, training her eyes on him.
"But-", she began.
"No. You are not directly responsible for those deaths, Isobel. I've told you this."
Sensing his firm resolve, she sighed and leaned back against the wall, resigned yet still angry.
"Well, no one else loses any sleep over it, someone has to feel guilty."
"Unwarranted guilt is not going to bring them back, make life in this country any fairer. You know this. It's why I help you the way I do, so that you can really make a difference."
Books. Thomas lent her many books. Books on military history, fictional novels, banned plays and so much more. She loved most of them (Dante's Inferno was too lively of a story to follow), but her favourite were books on politics, society and economics. She was enchanted by John Locke's theory of mind, and Adam Smith's arguments for free trade. What she loved most was discussing these ideas with Thomas, in clandestine meetings such as these. That is, when she wasn't upset by news of yet another casualty of her father's oppressive regime, such as now.
"Thomas, thank you". She leaned forward and held her eyes on him
"It's fine-" he began to reply, shifting his eyes away from her intense stare.
"No. I don't say this enough: thank you."
Thomas met her gaze again, and they shared a moment of silence.
"I just want you to know -no to believe- that you've got a cleaner heart than most would if they were in your positions." He bit back a smile, "Than I would have, for sure."
She snorted, "You'd be horrible".
Our laughter faded, leaving us in silence again. These moments of awkwardness were becoming more frequent as they spent more time together, but Isobel did not like to think too much about what that might mean. Instead, she smiled at him and made a gesture towards the door at the far end of the corridor.
"I'd better get back inside."
