ON HOLD - A Midsummer Night's Deal - Thomas Shelby x OFC - Peaky Blinders

17.

Leonor had always taken immense joy in the simple but pure pleasure of sleeping. Long before the tragedy that took place, she was often found napping beneath the sprawling oak trees of her family's estate in Granada.

In those moments, it felt like the world had emptied as the gentle rustling of branches in the breeze, the distant sound of the ducks by the lake, the warm Iberic sun filtering through the leaves as the air became fragrant and sweeter the more the wind blew the orange blossoms trees nearby.

She would lie there, nestled in thin fabric just to cover the cold ticklish grass, with a book or a sketchpad abandoned beside her as she breathed in one last time before closing her eyes, content.

It was heaven.

And unfortunately, that time had passed. Now, as she lay awake in a modest scratchy bed, far from that familiar and comforting scratchiness she would get from the grass of her home, Leonor stirred in bed, stretching, and immediately regretting it, wishing nothing but to return to that pleasant dream of her home, where she had seen herself sleep as in childhood she sweetly slept.

"Untroubling and untroubled where I lie; The grass below—above the vaulted sky." She completed it in a whisper, almost automatically. That poem was engraved in Leonor's head ever since she had learned to read, to her governess's horror. They all thought Clare's work, also rudely known as the peasant poet, was too inappropriate for a lady of Leonor's standing.

It was useless to linger on, so she shook that memory off her head, regretting it a few moments later. The throbbing pain that followed that movement was sharp and heavy, loud even. To top things off, an unwelcome chill through her body made her shiver, her whole body aching. She found a small jug of water by the empty bed and poured herself a glass, hoping it would help to smooth things over.

As she sipped, she heard the door creak open. Only then did she realize she was bare, her chest uncovered.

"Who is it?" Leonor asked in a panic as she wrapped the blanket around her neck, shielding her body. "Who is it???"

The door opened slowly, and felt relief from it.
"Thank God." Leonor breathed out, her hand on her chest as Thomas stepped inside, sparing her a glance before closing the door.

"How's your head?" He asked, stopping by the end of the bed, his hands inside his pockets.
She frowned, surprised by his question. Was she that transparent or he was just getting better at reading her?

"How..."

"Considering the amount of brew everyone hick in town is saying that my wife drank, I thought I would need to get you to the clinic here." His tone was a mixture of playful teasing yet held a good amount of disapproval.

Leonor's smile was short and embarrassed as she looked away from his gaze.
"People like to talk." She shrugged, sliding off the bed, the blanket still around her, unable to keep her warm when the cold wooden floor sent yet another shiver through her body. "And I thought you didn't like to listen."

Thomas scoffed, reaching out his hands, and stroking her matted hair down. "And what made you think that?" It was soothing, his large mistreated hands on her head seemed almost out of place, but Lenor, at the moment, wouldn't trade their spot for any other. "I listen to you, eh?"

"I'm not people." She replied with her eyes closed, the pain dimming as he continued his work. "And you do, at times. But I'm not sure you enjoy it."
The movement stopped and Leonor opened her eyes. His expression was stern, his gaze avoided her face and Leonor feared to have angered him.

"I apologize for my rudeness, Mrs. Astor." He released her, both the absence and the pain returning at once. "I'll wait downstairs. The car is almost fixed, so I hear."