✔️ shadows of desire | downton abbey

chapter 32

THOMAS POV

The air in Mr. Carson's office was thick with the scent of leather and polished wood, the ticking of the grandfather clock echoing in the otherwise still room. I stood just inside the door, my hands clasped behind my back, trying to suppress the knot of nerves tightening in my chest.

"Mr. Carson, may I have a word with you?" I asked, my voice steady but with an undercurrent of desperation I couldn't quite shake.

He looked up from his desk, his pen pausing mid-scratch on the paper. His eyes, always sharp and watchful, settled on me with a mix of curiosity and wariness.

"How may I help you, Mr. Barrow?" he asked, setting his pen down and leaning back in his chair, the creak of the leather momentarily breaking the silence.

I cleared my throat, unsure how much of my pride I was willing to sacrifice in this moment. "I was wondering if you needed a footman for the dinner tonight," I said, choosing my words carefully. "You don't have any, and William is still recovering."

Mr. Carson's gaze hardened, his lips pressing into a thin line. "Mr. Barrow," he began, his voice heavy with that familiar air of disapproval, "I thought you left service for good. You made it very clear that you wanted something else."

I swallowed, forcing myself to meet his gaze. "I did," I admitted. "But it's hard to find work now. Really hard. What am I supposed to do, Mr. Carson? Downton is all I've ever known."

The silence that followed felt suffocating, and the ticking of the clock seemed louder in the tension between us. I could feel the weight of Mr. Carson's judgment, of all the mistakes and missteps that had led me back to this moment.

He studied me for a long while, his eyes narrowing as if he were trying to peer through whatever facade I might be putting up. Finally, he sighed, a deep, weary sound.

"Fine," he said, and I felt a small flicker of relief at the word. "You may stay until William gets back on his feet. But until then, you will refrain from doing any mischief, Mr. Barrow. I won't have a repeat of old behaviors."

I nodded quickly, gratitude mixing with a quiet shame. "Thank you, Mr. Carson."

Without another word, I turned and left his office, the door closing behind me with a soft click. The hallway outside felt colder, more silent, as though the walls themselves were absorbing the weight of the conversation that had just passed.

I walked upstairs toward my room, each step echoing on the stone floors. The familiar smells of waxed wood and the faint scent of lavender polish filled the air, but they did little to ease the heaviness in my chest.

Andrew. The thought of him was like a sharp ache. He would be leaving soon, returning to his hometown, his future bright with possibilities that no longer seemed within my reach. I pushed open the door to my room, the familiar creak of the hinges making me wince. Inside, the air was cooler, quieter. I sat on the edge of the bed, running a hand through my hair and staring at the floor.

The war was ending. The world outside Downton was moving on, changing. And yet, here I was, clinging to the only life I had ever known, unsure of how to move forward.

The thought of Andrew leaving stung more than I wanted to admit. I had grown used to his presence, his quiet strength, and the rare but warm moments we shared. But what future was there for someone like me, here in this place that was both home and prison?

A soft knock on the door broke through my thoughts, and I looked up to see Andrew standing there, a tray in his hands.

"Thought you might like some tea," he said, his voice gentle, as though he could sense the turmoil brewing beneath my calm exterior.