✔️ shadows of desire | downton abbey

chapter 45

The corridor smelled faintly of beeswax and lavender, the polished floors gleaming beneath the soft morning light streaming through the tall windows. My heels tapped a steady rhythm as I hurried along, my mind already on the appointment ahead.

"Ah, Eden, there you are. I wanted to ask you something," Mary's familiar, crisp voice rang out from behind me, stopping me mid-stride.

I turned to face her, smoothing my skirt. "Mary."

Her lips curved into that small, knowing smile she so often wore. "Have you decided when the wedding should take place?"

"We have," I replied, brushing a stray curl from my cheek. "April 4th. Why?"

Mary's eyes lit with something suspiciously close to amusement. "Well," she said, folding her hands neatly in front of her, "I wanted to ask if you need any help. Wedding-wise, of course."

I blinked at her. "That's very kind of you, but Edith has already helped me a great deal. I don't want you to feel obligated."

Mary's expression softened, and a rare warmth crept into her voice. "Nonsense. You're going to be family."

I hesitated, my fingers brushing the fabric of my gloves. "But I'm not yet. I'm still a Barrow, after all," I said quietly, the familiar surname sitting heavy on my tongue. "I know what you think of my lot," I added with a faint smirk, meeting her gaze. "But truly, thank you."

Mary tilted her head, an elegant flicker of something unreadable in her eyes. "Well," she said with a faint sniff, "You are stubborn like a Barrow."

I chuckled softly. "Takes one to know one."

I dipped my head and stepped past her, the faint swish of my skirts brushing against the polished wood. The scent of roses from a nearby vase followed me, but my thoughts were already ahead—on lace and silk and the dressmaker's sharp pins.

Then, rather abruptly, I collided with a firm chest.

"Goodness—sorry!" I exclaimed, startled as I found myself face-to-face with Thomas. The familiar scent of starch and cologne clung to him, along with the faint smell of cigarette smoke.

His brows shot up, his lips twitching into a smirk. "Well, well. Now don't be all smug," I warned, pointing a gloved finger at him. "I know you were right. About Raphael."

He crossed his arms, leaning against the wall with a positively irritating grin. "I just like to hear the words myself," he drawled. "You know, something along the lines of 'I told you so.' It has a nice ring to it, don't you think?"

I narrowed my eyes but felt the corners of my mouth betray me with a smile. "Fine. You told me so. Are you happy now?"

His eyes sparkled with mischief. "Immensely."

"But," I added pointedly, "that still doesn't change the fact that I'm a grown woman who can make her own decisions."

Thomas raised his hands in mock surrender, his smirk widening. "Far be it from me to suggest otherwise."

He tilted his head then, curiosity replacing the tease. "So, where are you off to in such a flurry?"

I straightened proudly, a flicker of excitement lighting my chest. "The dressmaker," I said, my voice softening slightly. "My wedding dress is here."

Thomas's eyes widened. "Already?"

Before I could answer, a familiar, gruff voice cut through the air, its authority unmistakable.

"More work, less talk, Mr. Barrow," Mr. Carson bellowed from down the hall, his shoes clicking purposefully against the floor.

Thomas's face fell into a comically sheepish expression, and I pressed my lips together to stifle a laugh.