Crimson peak re-telling (Reader x Tomas Sharpe)

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Father Knows Best

From somewhere deep in your sleep, you heard the door open downstairs. Stretching your legs out, you yawned. You could tell before you opened your eyes that it was far too early to be awake, but now there was no going back. Your eyes fluttered open to the warm morning light spilling softly through your windows. You moved slowly, your ears picking up the light clunking and bumps no doubt caused by your newly returned father.

It was always a mixed blessing when he returned from his long business trips. You did love your father. After your mother died, he was the only family that remained. However, his constant badgering to marry you off to some horrible man was wearing you down. Part of you knew it was out of concern for your well being in a society where an unmarried woman would be scorned or even outcast. Another part of you knew he wanted you away from the house because you reminded him too much of the woman he had lost. For that you could not blame him, nor could you completely understand.

You took the stairs lightly, the soft carpet a welcome friend of your feet. Wrapping your dressing gown around you for warmth, you descended the stairs, peeking around the corners for a sign as to where he had settled in. When you reached the bottom stair you smelled that familiar tobacco scent and knew he was in his study. Knocking on the door, you heard him mumble something like come in.

"Good morning, father. How was your trip?" you asked, seeing his familiar round form nestled into his favorite plush armchair.

"Long," was his response. His eyes looked tired and he took a long draw from his wooden pipe.

"Not too stressful, I hope," you tried to sound enthusiastic, caring.

He shook his head, although it was more out of disillusionment than a reaction to your question.

"My dear, it is always stressful to be away from you," it took effort for him to say. "Come," he gestured to the desk chair next to him.

You obliged and settled down beside him. The wrinkles on his face seemed to have deepened in his weeks away, and his usually clean-shaven face was more than a little stubbly.

He took your hand in his and gazed woefully into your eyes.

"When are you going to get married?" he asked blatantly.

You sighed, exasperated. This was a common question you were tired of answering.

"Never, if I can help it," you repeated yourself for the hundredth time. "I will belong to no man. I can take care of myself."

Your father shook his head and took another drag from his pipe.

"I worry when I'm away," he admitted. "Margaret is not a substitute for the protection of a man."

You scoffed at him.

"Since when do I need protecting?" you asked. He gave you a tired smile in return.

"Perhaps not protection so much as... Companionship then?" he tried. "It must get rather lonely here with only Margaret for company. And she won't be around forever," he added.

You frowned, he wasn't exactly wrong on that point. Seeing your wavering expression, he seized the moment.

"I met a very nice young man on my travels," he smiled, some light returning to his features. "Oliver, his name was. A doctor, no less. A few years older than you, but very well respected and--"

"No," you interjected before you he could try to sell you more on this. "I will not marry one of your old business associates," you scowled. "I am perfectly fine here. Just the other night I had company over. I am not so lonely as you think."

Your father raised his brows in surprise.

"I thought you hated everyone around here," he said almost proudly.

You sighed.

"I did... I do," you stumbled. "But I managed to find someone who was at least tolerable. For a few hours anyway."

"What is the name of this mystery guest?" he inquired.

"Sir Thomas Sharpe," you answered.

"Sharpe," he repeated. "I don't know the name."

You explained Thomas' origins to your father as he had not been in town to hear the gossip. He seemed to look at you in a new light and it scared you.

"And you like this young bachelor?" he asked.

You fidgeted.

"He's alright I guess," you managed. Inside your thoughts were swirling. You hated to admit that, despite yourself, you had not stopped thinking about him since he left the other evening.

"That is praise coming from you," your father smiled. You rolled your eyes. "Does this Sharpe character enjoy your company as well?"

"He was the one to ask for it," you concluded. "So I suppose, yes."

You could see the wheels turning in your father's mind. A new candidate for your hand in marriage - someone to take care of you for him.

"I will make you a deal," he said carefully. "If you marry within two months, I will personally deliver, and ensure the publication of, your little ghost story."

Your heart leaped. He had never taken your writing seriously. Although he had the power to influence the publishing house, he had never offered to use it for your benefit. He could get your work out to the world... You chewed your lip, thinking it over.

"You do not have to answer right now," he said carefully. He didn't want to spook you. "But I believe this is a win-win scenario. You get a husband, a stable life, and the notoriety that you, for some reason, seek."

Your mind was reeling. There were many men who had shown their interest in your hand, but would it be worth belonging to a man in order to attain your first publication? The opportunity would no doubt repeat itself once people read your work. Your father would have peace of mind. Perhaps you could find someone tolerable within two months. You thought back to your dinner with Thomas and your heart fluttered. He was the most tolerable, dare you say enjoyable man you had met thus far.

Your father could see that you were seriously considering this for the first time and seemed triumphant.

"I thought you might like that proposal," he said smugly.

"Don't get your hopes up," you muttered, making to leave the study. In your mind you had already decided: it would be worth it for the art. Now it was only a matter of going through with it.