✔️ shadows of desire | downton abbey

chapter 35

1900, Downton village

The sharp scent of damp earth and freshly fallen leaves filled the crisp autumn air as I darted through the narrow path leading to the edge of the village. Behind me, the crunch of boots on dirt and the occasional snapping of twigs marked Thomas's pursuit.

"Denny, wait up for me!" his voice called, breathless and strained. I ignored him, my legs pumping harder as if I could outrun the storm of shouts and slammed doors that had driven us from the house.

Ahead, the gnarled oak tree loomed, its thick branches clawing at the gray sky. I scrambled up the rope ladder we'd fashioned together last summer, my small hands clutching at the rough hemp as I climbed higher, the familiar bark of the tree pressing against my fingers. Thomas was close behind, muttering under his breath as he struggled to keep up.

The treehouse, our sanctuary, stood sturdy against the wind. Its creaky wooden boards groaned faintly under my weight as I sank down in the corner, hugging my knees to my chest. My chest heaved with effort, and my breath came in uneven gasps that clouded the chilly air.

Moments later, Thomas hauled himself through the trapdoor, his face flushed and his dark hair sticking to his forehead. "Denny, will you stop now?" he huffed, collapsing onto the wooden planks. "You're too fast."

I didn't respond, my gaze fixed on the horizon where the rooftops of Downton village peeked through the bare trees. The faint murmur of village life-the distant chatter of voices, the clatter of a cart on cobblestones-felt like another world entirely, far removed from the chaos we'd left behind.

"Do you think they'll be angry when we get back?" I asked quietly, my voice trembling as I broke the silence. I tightened my arms around my knees, trying to make myself small. The faint smell of wood and damp moss wrapped around me, comforting in its familiarity.

Thomas sat cross-legged beside me, his face serious as he nodded. "I think they will be," he admitted, his voice steady despite the shadow of fear in his eyes. "But I'll stand in front of you. Always."

"No," I said quickly, shaking my head. I didn't want him to take the brunt of it again, not this time. I stared at my scuffed boots, my voice firm despite the quaver in it. "I nicked the cookie, and I'll face their wrath."

Thomas's expression softened, and for a moment, he simply looked at me, his lips pressing into a thin line. Then, without warning, he reached over and pulled me into a tight hug. His warmth and the faint, familiar scent of soap and hay soothed the knot of fear twisting in my chest.

"No," he said firmly, his voice low but resolute. "I won't let them."

The wind whistled through the branches, and the treehouse creaked as if in agreement. I buried my face in his shoulder, letting the first tear slip free. Thomas's arms around me felt like the only shield I'd ever known, and though the storm waited for us back home, in this moment, I felt safe.

We stayed like that for a long time, the quiet settling around us like a blanket. The world beyond the treehouse could wait; for now, it was just the two of us, holding onto each other against the cold.

The sun dipped lower in the sky, casting long shadows across the forest floor as the chill of early evening settled in. I hugged my knees tighter, reluctant to move, but the weight of time pressed on us. The safety of the treehouse couldn't last forever, no matter how much I wished it could.

Thomas shifted beside me, his face hard with determination. "We have to go back," he said, his voice low but firm. "They'll be worse if we stay out too long."

I nodded, though my stomach churned at the thought. "Do you think they've calmed down?" My voice came out small, trembling.

Thomas hesitated, his lips tightening. "Maybe," he said, though we both knew it was a lie. "But I'll be right there. You've got me."