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After that carriage ride to the theater, things had been strange.
It wasn’t exactly awkward, nor exactly uncomfortable. There was simply a different energy between the two of them, something that Enola couldn’t properly describe. On the nights in which she couldn’t sleep and simply laid awake staring at the ceiling of Edith’s flat, all she could think about was that day. All she could think about was Tewkesbury’s sputtering confession and that kiss, the one that had changed everything, in that carriage.
She wanted to define them. She wanted to find out exactly what they were, but how could one approach a topic such as this? She wasn’t exactly well-versed in the subject of courting, having to use a handbook to just attend a ball (which hadn’t helped much, as she had been arrested in the process of doing so). It was all agonizingly unknown to her, nothing about it making sense. How could he talk, laugh, smile as if nothing had happened? How could he hold her arm as they strolled through the streets, acting like nothing had changed? Had nothing changed? Was it just in her mind? She wanted desperately to know, to unveil the mystery that had become of their relationship, and yet she had no idea how.
This was not to say that she wouldn’t try. No, Enola Holmes was a girl of defiance and detectivery, and she’d be damned if she didn’t at last find the answers she’d been searching for.
***
It was a normal Spring morning in London. The clouds were thick overhead, previous night’s rain leaving everything wet and glimmering. It was the kind of day that would start off slow, the kind of day that may have included a relaxing lunch at the park or a book study in the yard.
This was, by no means, the case for Enola. In fact, she was currently scrambling to get ready, tugging on a baby blue dress that seemed appropriate for the chirping birds and blossoming flowers. Her hair was a mess, though there wasn’t enough time to do anything but snag her fingers through the largest knots and pray the rest weren’t too visible. She had to get going, had to see him as soon as possible, because there was no way in hell she was allowing this matter to continue ignored.
As she rushed out of her room, Edith was talking with one of her students. The woman turned to face Enola with a bright smile. “Good morning--”
“I’m going out,” Enola announced as she rushed by her pseudo-auntie. “I’ll be back for lunch!” And she was gone, leaving behind a bewildered Edith in her wake.
From then on, she was flying down the street, not bothering to heed the confused--and the occasional judgmental--stares received. She ran and ran and ran as fast as she could, desperate to get there in time because she needed to know. This need, thai urge, to get answers was so intense it burned.
Unfortunately, the white, short heels of her shoes hadn’t exactly been designed for running. She had survived with them on several occasions throughout her adventures, but of course, today of all days had to prove different as her ankle unexpectedly gave out from beneath her, allowing her to ever-so-gracefully tumble to the ground.
The gritty, muddy, puddle-littered street of London.
She groaned as the initial shock faded, leaving the side she had fallen on feeling bruised. It didn’t hurt as much as several other of her injuries from fights throughout her life, but hurt nonetheless, the addition of mud seeping into her dress and the gazes of passing by strangers making it worse.
Face flushed, she attempted to rise, only to find that her ankle was blatantly, agonizingly twisted. Her expression must have pinched into a nasty grimace, as a little kid playing tag nearby ran off with a small yelp at the sight of her.
Great.
In her attempts to hunt down Tewkesbury and force the answers out of him, she had managed to dirty a decently expensive dress and prohibit her walking abilities to a minimum. She was in--oh, she was right next to the park that her Marquess of Basilwether took to the Lord’s. Fantastic; if she’d made it another twenty steps, maybe this wouldn’t have happened.
“Enola?”
Her head jerked to the side, eyes wide with both shock and horror as she recognized that voice and that hair and that concerned, confused face. No. No, no, no; she was not doing this, not today, not right now. Not when she had planned the perfect things to say and the perfect why this morning would go. Not when quite literally every part of her plan had been discarded, trashed, and tossed into the mud as soon as she had been.
“Good morning,” she said curtly to none other than Tewksbury himself, attempting to look as dignified as possible as she sat on the gravel street. She pushed a curl of hair away from her face, sticking her chin out slightly. “Does something concern you?”
He narrowed his eyes at her as if to say: Seriously? and the urge to die right then and there had never quite been so strong. “I…suppose not. What are you doing here?”
“Sitting and having a wonderful time. Don’t you have to go to the Lord’s? Wouldn’t want to be late, would you?” Please, please go. Her dignity was beginning to lose hold on its little ledge and it was about to plummet to its death if he stayed here any longer.
“Your dress is dirty,” he noted, utterly ignoring her. She shifted slightly, not used to the why his eyes scanned her up and down. It wasn’t entirely unpleasant, just…new. Strange. Something that had come with the kiss--or, at least, something she had begun noticing afterward. “Are you alright, Enola? I can walk you back to Edith’s--”
“I am well, thank you,” she cut in. “There is no need. Really, Tewkesbury.”
“Why haven’t you gotten up?” he questioned and God, why couldn’t he drop it? “Whatever’s wrong, let me help. There’s no need to do another thing alone.”
How ironic was that? Alone. Enola. They were practically synonyms, those two words, something that she had accepted until her mother’s speech about allies and the disbenefits of complete independence. Now, she wondered if maybe Eudoria had been right.
Maybe she should ask him for help.
Ugh, this was going to suck.
“I, um”--stuttering? Really ?--“it appears as if I have sprained my ankle. So…that is unfortunate. And also very hindersome, as I am in the middle of a road. With you. On the floor.”
“Yes, I can see that,” the Viscount said and this time there was a ghost of a smile on his face. Good for him, being the only one who could derive amusement from her humiliation. “Can you walk?”
This time, Enola was able to muster a glare much more fitting for her than spluttering. “If I could, do you think I would be here right now?”
He smirked and for a second--a split second, nothing more, and so nobody should hold her accountable for this in the future because it was nothing more than that--she saw what everybody meant when describing him as an “eligible bachelor.” The thought sent a weird flutter through her stomach, which was quickly followed by a flush of embarrassment that no doubt reached her ears.
Thankfully, Tewkesbury didn’t seem to notice or just didn’t mention it, offering his hand. “Take it,” he prompted and she rolled her eyes, although obeyed.
Once again on her feet, she remembered exactly why she had settled for sitting on the ground in the first place. A sound that may or may not have been a stifled yelp escaped her lips as a jolt of pain ran up her leg.
“Hey--” he said as he steadied her, wrapping an arm around her shoulders to keep her from falling. He laughed when she was no longer in danger of toppling over into the mud once more. “I never knew how clumsy the great Enola Holmes is.”
“Hush,” she said, swatting him on the arm, but it was difficult to be angry when she was leaning the majority of her weight against him just to stay standing. “Ugh…Edith should have something to help.”
“I can walk you there.”
“What about the Lord’s?” she asked, peering at the park behind them. Asking for help was one thing; having somebody sacrifice something of their own to assist you was another. “You should really go--”
“I’ll be fine, Enola,” he assured her. “You…perhaps not. I’ll just get you to her flat and then I can go, alright?”
She hesitated. There really was no way around this, was there? “Fine.”
The first ten minutes of the walk was slow yet manageable, with only a few moments in which she stumbled or staggered. Each time, he caught her, saying something to make her laugh and continuing on. It was almost normal--almost as if she wasn’t splattered in mud, almost as if she wasn’t leaning on him just to walk, almost as if he wasn’t so close she could smell the pine shampoo in his hair.
They talked about the normal things: how work was, the different variations of flowers currently blooming around the city, if she had gotten a new client yet (spoiler alert: she hadn’t, not after the matchgirls’ case had sent up a fire of controversy throughout the city that had yet to calm down). They talked about everything and yet there was this one looming topic, the one thing she had come to talk about in the first place, always hanging between them like this giant, dark weight.
It got to a point in which she couldn’t stand it. This was too much; the forced proximity, the obvious dodging around the single subject both and yet neither of them wanted to confront. She was about to blurt it out loud, about to say everything she’d wanted to say since that night at the carriage, when a man shouted from behind:
“WATCH OUT!”
The event that followed directly after was a blur. A teenage boy on a bicycle was coming up from behind them--except, instead of going around, he was barreling directly towards the marquess and detective at full speed.
Tewkesbury yelled something and before Enola even knew what was happening, they were sprawled on the sidewalk, the bicycling boy having sped off to his next civilian to mow over. She had landed on her ankle and wow , that hurt. It probably wasn’t true, but she swore up and down it was worse than her fights with the Dowager and Grail. She was biting down on her tongue to keep from crying out, the taste of coppery blood blooming throughout her mouth.
Tewkesbury uttered a curse a bit too inappropriate to reiterate, forcing himself into a seated position. When he realized the state she was in, his irritation quickly turned into a pitiful worry, one she would tell him to get rid of immediately if she wasn’t so focused on tamping down the pain in her ankle.
“Are you alright? God, Enola, how do you get yourself into these situations?”
“It seems safe to say that it’s considerably worse than before,” she managed through gritted teeth. Another wave of pain washed over her and she swallowed down the bile rising in her throat, insightfully adding, “Ow.”
“You won’t be able to walk,” he said and she couldn’t do much but scowl at him. “Okay. Okay, it’s fine. I can still get you to Edith’s.”
“How--” she wasn’t able to finish before he, the Lord Tewkesbury who was currently covered in dirt and rain from his own fall, was lifting her as one would a bride. It was undignified and mortifying and, unfortunately, unavoidable because she truly couldn’t see herself venturing the walk back home in her condition. “Oh.”
Attempting to tamp down her embarrassment and pretend as if this was completely normal, she said nothing as he walked through the streets with her in his arms. The occasional jostle would send another flare to her ankle and she must have tensed because he looked down, eyes etched with concern.
“Everything alright?” he asked, His breath smelled like peppermint. For a short moment, she wondered what it would taste like, and immediately scolded herself for doing so and instead nodded as a response to his question.
They--well, he --kept walking.
This was awfully cliche, wasn’t it? She could almost laugh at the entire situation, thinking back on her bad luck and the outcome it had brought. It was by no means what she had wanted when she woke up and decided to confront Tewkesbury about her feelings, although not entirely unpleasant as she breathed in the smell of blossoms that clung to him like a haze.
Before Enola really knew it, they were at Edith’s. He knocked at the door, which was quickly answered by an unsuspecting student. The girl, maybe a couple years older than Enola, blinked at the sight of them before allowing them inside. The student led them to Enola’s room (she quite honestly could have escorted them herself, though this girl kept on sparing admirable glances at Tewkesbury and Enola didn’t have the energy to stop it).
“Thank you,” the Marquess told the girl, who thankfully took the hint and ran off to fetch Edith, who arrived shortly after. Tewkesbury let Enola down onto her bed, where her ankle was carefully tended to. He stood in the corner awkwardly, fidgeting with his hands as if he didn’t know what to do with himself.
“Do be more careful, Enola,” Edith said in her soft, near-lecture-like manner before heading off to teach her next class. She closed the door behind her, leaving Enola and Tewkesbury alone together.
“Thank you,” Enola said softly.
He smiled slightly, though he still appeared uncomfortable. It was strange, having somebody in her room. Especially when that somebody was someone like him. “Of course.”
Quiet.
She twisted at the hem of her dress, studying the mud stains and trying to figure out if they would wash out or not. If there was a time to do this, it was now. She had to, especially after going through such great lengths to do so.
She inhaled shakily, trying to calm the peculiar thundering of her pulse. When she finally looked up at him, she found that he had already been staring at her.
Before she could, he asked quietly, “Why were you there?”
She paused. “What?”
“At the park. This morning. Why were you there, Enola?”
“I wanted to see you,” she said and it wasn’t entirely a lie. Just not the whole truth. He remained quiet for a few too many seconds and she sighed heavily. “I, uh, needed to talk. With you.”
His brow crinkled with concern. “Talk?”
This was too much. It was uncomfortable and uneasy and her heart was pounding too quickly to be healthy. She couldn’t even make herself look at him as she spoke. “About that night. The one with the carriage.”
Tewksbury didn’t say anything and it was horrible, the silence. She would’ve done anything to break it, to trump through, but before she could do anything stupid like start rambling, he drew closer. He was fidgeting with his hands and she had to say she was relieved to see she wasn’t the only nervous one.
He was standing before her at the bedside, staring down at her with something deeper than care, something more than worry or mere affection. This—this was adoration. Love. “I…I meant what I said. That day. I meant everything I did. I have eyes only for you, Enola, and I hope I didn't off-put you in the carriage. I mean it, truly, when I tell you that I love you.”
She could feel herself smiling as she looked up at him, as she replayed those words in her mind. I love you. “I meant my words as well. I apologize so, so much for not expressing it enough, but I love you, Tewkesbury. I love you more than I ever thought imaginable.”
He relaxed visibly and she could feel herself doing the same. It seemed like a miracle, the way that weight, that tension between them, dissolved with just those words, leaving nothing more than a future together full of infinite possibilities