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Ellen knows people think Edward is cold, unfeeling and can’t express any emotion but she’s never felt that way. With her, at least, he shares. Sometimes awkwardly, sometimes talking himself in circles, and for a man whose business relies on persuasion, it is not his natural skill set. But with Ellen, for Ellen, Edward shares his feelings.
Enough that she knows how he feels.
Enough that she knows he loves her.
She lying next to him in bed, he is long asleep, covered only by her blankets, chest rising and falling slowly. She sits propped against the headboard, legs curled under her, papers and pamphlets across her lap and at her feet. She's reading and reviewing every page carefully, occasionally crossing out words or phrases she thinks can be improved.
“You sleep less than I do,” he mumbles. She laughs softly looking away from the pages.
“You sleep just fine when you’re here,” she replies, lowering her papers to look at him. His eyes stay closed against the glow of the fire and the low burning candles, but the line between his brows deepens, a clear sign that he is awake and thinking.
When he does not answer she thinks he may have fallen back asleep, so she returns to her reading to find her place again.
She’s never known him to have a problem falling asleep in her rooms. He often wakes early, sometimes even leaves before dawn, but most mornings when he wakes he dozes beside her lightly or moves close enough to press warm kisses against her skin.
“I sleep better when you’re with me,” he says eventually, as if stating something obvious. He is clearly no longer asleep, still thinking through something, but his eye's stay shut, unwilling to betray his consciousness.
“You sleep better after you see me, you mean,” she teases, setting her papers aside, hoping to coax a smile or even a blush from him. He doesn't answer, but the corner of his mouth twitches upward and his hand slides across the covers to her knee.
"I'm not sure your explanation for my sleep is accurate but however it's achieved you're missing out." he murmurs, thumb begining to brush her knee. She smiles gently down at him, his eyes are still closed and she knows he can't see her face as she watches him and she feels the tiredness seep into her eyes.
“You’re right though, I should sleep,” she concedes, lying down fully.
The remaining papers slip to the floor as she tucks herself beneath the blanket and prepares to sleep. After she's settled, still for a beat, Edward turns on his side and reaches for her. He’s gentle and slow as he touches her, his hand moving across her stomach and to her hip without his eyes opening. He touches her so easily now they've been together so long that he knows the line of her waist and settles his hand there. She watches his face for any sign of further thoughts but the all seem to have disappeared as she settled next to him. The tension has left his features and the line between his brows has smoothed.
She exhales, louder in the quiet room than she intended. His lashes lift just enough to peek at her, and he smiles.
“What?” she whispers, curling closer beneath the covers. “Nothing.” His arm tightens around her hip.
“Then sleep again,” she breathes, stroking her fingers through his hair. His eyes close and his hand squeezes her waist once. Soon his breathing steadies.
As her own breathing slows, she thinks that for a man who supposedly never sleeps, she's thankful he can sleep quite well beside her.
His note told her to come, yet as she crosses the empty Guinness yards she wonders if she has made a mistake.
It is late, beyond late, the Dublin sky completely black, and the September air is sharper than it ought to be. She spots the light in his office window and heads in climbing the narrow stairs quickly.
She hears him pacing before she sees him. He walks in tight circles with papers in hand, eyes darting across figures and margins then bouncing to another paper. His shoulders are rigid and the room is in disarray. He has clearly not left it for hours. She waits a second watching, then leans against the doorframe and speaks.
“You look like one of your steam pipes about to burst,” she announces. Edward’s head lifts sharply. His eyes roll faintly at her joke before putting his papers on his desk and crosses the room towards her.
"Thank God" he greets, he kisses her quickly before returning to his desk. She follows, removing her gloves and coat.
“A warm welcome,” she says lightly. “Why did you want to meet here?”
“I need your help.” His voice is direct and she's taken aback. He's asking her for her help in the Guinness business then it must be bad, she knows that he can sell ideas if he has to, but it takes him thought and effort, she should know he’d used that skill on her. This though, him asking for help, reaching out to her. This is new to her, to them.
“My help? What could I do for the Guinness business?” she asks. He hands her papers and explains at pace, revealing details no outsider should ever hear. Plans, logistics, vulnerabilities. Knowledge that her brother would trade instantly and would mean every man from the brotherhood would know exactly how to destroy the Guinness family. Instead she listens, asks questions and helps him untangle the mess which he's found himself in.
Later, when they have solved most of the problem and they've both exhausted themself, she sits on the arm of the sofa, a drink in hand, while he writes notes for the morning crews at his desk. She thinks on why she's here. They spend nights, more frequently then ever together and sometimes they never make it to bed, discussing ideas and philosophies, but now she's here, helping a fucking Saxon to keep his business, their relationship has crossed some invisible boundary and she feels it weighing on her chest and needs to be sure he knows what's really happened tonight.
“You shouldn't have asked me to come,” she says quietly. He looks up, confused.
“Why not? Did Rafferty trouble you?” She laughs. Rafferty is nowhere near the factory tonight, not if the rumours of his new level of involvement with the family are true. Ellen still had her spies.
“No. You shouldn't have asked me.”she clarifies, pushing away from the sofa and towards his desk.
“Why wouldn’t I?” Edward moves back his chair and turns toward her. “Ellen, you are smarter than half the men in Dublin.”
She laughs at this, mainly because it's true but also because Edward seems to have missed her point again.
“We are not on the same side,” she reminds him. His face tells her that he has acknowledged her words though clearly unhappy about them.
“Showing me your plans, bringing me here, is that not dangerous?” He looks, one eyebrow raised in a puzzled expression. He reaches his hand out for hers and draws her to sit on the desk in front of him. His brows are knitted and his mouth pulled tight, she's seen this face before and knows he's trying to find the right words to use.
“I know. And you and I will never agree on those issues” he says as if the future of Ireland is not important in this room. Important between them. “But I trust you. Just as you trust me. And I know you will not go to the city and announce the details of this business to them all.”
“You cannot be sure.” She leans back and his hands rest on her legs, thumbs stroking her thighs through the layers of fabric. He doesn't often touch her first, that seems to be her's to lead in their relationship but he knows how to reassure her, to comfort her.
“If I was not sure, I would never have let you inside this office,” he answers. She knows he is right. He never allows access without absolute confidence just like her own rooms. He barely allows his own brother Benjamin in for fear he'll leak some plan.
He would only allow her in, share the knowledge with her, if he trusted her completely.
Ellen reaches down and cups the left side of his face gently.
For a second she thinks that, in any other life and any other place, they would make a pair to be reckoned with — clever, unstoppable, and entirely their own.
But for now, she just kisses him, knowing at least that he trusts her and respects her more then she knew.
She sees him from her pedestal, half-hidden in the crowd, wearing the clothes he saves for visiting her rooms, hat tilted low.
She does not falter in her speech. A free Ireland is a free people, she tells them, and the crowd cheers.
When the gathering thins and the crowd have stopped congratulating her, she searches for him again.
He is still there, leaning against the wall, trying to appear casual. She steps down, says goodbye to the stragglers, promises more speeches and more leaflets, then crosses to him.
“Interesting speech,” he says. She smiles. “But not one for the likes of you,” she teases as he falls into step beside her.
“Perhaps not entirely, although I understand why it pulls those who already lean that way.” She laughs because that is exactly what she wrote it to do. Draw in ordinary Dublin workers. Men who labour in his factory but fight for her cause.
It's a rare sunny moment in the early Dublin spring and they walk through the side streets in thoughtful silence. Sometimes she wonders how either of them speak at all when both spend days swallowed by their own planning and thought. Their causes completely incompatible but they seem to make an easy match. She assumes he is thinking about business, expansion, charity work, but instead when he speaks it's about her speech.
“I enjoyed watching you. And you are right about some things.” She lifts an eyebrow, curious but quiet. “You speak so that others want to follow you. I can see why they do." he pauses and Ellen tries to find words to respond to his compliment but before she can he continues.
"Mostly, I enjoyed watching you because you were happy.” she pulls her lips tight and her eyebrows shoot up in surprise. Edward Guinness does not find talking about emotions easily, certainly not happiness and certainly not in long sentences. A strong wind would blow Ellen over right now.
“You think I am happiest speaking to a crowd?” she asks shocked.
He pauses as they cross the street. She takes his arm and lets him guide her through the traffic.
“No. I think you are happiest when you feel you have won something.” He comments, watching her out of the side of his eye. His openness surprises her and she thinks about what he's said.
She knows it is true. Her work, her speeches, her information gathering, all thrill her when they bring progress, even invisible progress, toward a goal. Today she was alight because her speech was successful. It made her feel like she'd achieved a goal.
“And how do you know that, Mr Guinness?”
“Because it is the same look I get when I have won,” he answers locking eyes with her. It's true, she's been victim to his look before, when they very first met she recognised his sense of victory and achievement, she'd seen his eye's light up with it. And now he recognises it in her, that sense of purpose and fulfilment. The triumph over something that they wanted.
The recognition hangs between them quietly. She laughs eventually and squeezes his arm, and he smiles back at her shyly. It's enough of an acknowledgment for both of them. Of course he recognised it. Edward does not mind her ambition the way most men would because he knows the high of winning as well as she does. He understands victory. Seeing that same triumph reflected in her connects them, brings them closer. Seeing the same ambition, the same drive mirrored in the other. It is what draws him to her and what keeps her beside him.
“I’m sorry, I know I’m late,” she whispers, speeding between the obstacles.
Edward is standing in the corner of the graveyard, watching as she moves towards him. Evening is settling in quickly now and Ellen had rushed through the city to make it here before dark. Headstones cast long, uneven shadows across the ground but she can make out Edward standing in the corner waiting for her.
She reaches him and takes his hand quickly.
“Are you okay?” she asks, greeting him gently.
“I’m okay,” he says quietly, his hand tightening slightly around hers. His eyes flick to the shadows between the gravestones, then back to her. Ellen tries to slow her breathing as she settles. Edward meets her eye and notices how quick her breaths still are.
“You shouldn’t have come so fast” he adds, his voice low.
“I had to,” she smiles, still catching her breath. “I couldn’t… not come.”
She hasn’t seen him all week. She has been campaigning most nights across the city, attending meetings in the pubs across the city and giving talks in back parlours. His new enterprise in America has taken up most of his time, along with high society events he cannot escape.
“We should have met somewhere more... or less morbid. At least closer to the main streets,” he says, gesturing to the empty graveyard around them.
“You worry too much,” she says, shaking her head with a small smile. “About me in the city, about what might happen, about every corner and every street. I managed perfectly fine before a Guinness decided to get involved.”
He raises an eyebrow, mock offended. “I am being vigilant. Responsible.”
“Vigilant, right,” she teases. “Responsible, paranoid, obsessive...Take your pick.”
He just rolls his eyes at her. She laughs and leans in to kiss him. It starts gently, a quick greeting after a long week, but Ellen quickly finds herself gripping his lapels, pulling him in. Edward happily obliges, kissing her back and wrapping an arm around her waist. When they break apart, she looks up at him, still leaning into his body, and smiles.
“Did you have a good week without me?” she asks, teasing gently.
“Productive,” he replies, then hesitates, clearly weighing the word. “Efficient, I suppose.”
She snorts, unwrapping her hand from around his neck and moving away from him. “That’s still not an answer.”
He exhales, rubbing a hand briefly over the back of his neck, his eyes flicking anywhere but her face. “It was quieter,” he says. “Which I realise sounds appealing, but in practice it was mostly irritating.”
Ellen grins and shifts so she is leaning against the graveyard’s outer wall, one leg bent for leverage.
“Is that the Edward Guinness way of saying you missed me?” she teases.
He shoots her a look, his mouth thinning. “I didn’t say that.”
“You might as well have,” she replies. “You look like dog shite.”
“Ah, well,” Edward fumbles, playing with his signet ring. “I just like knowing where you are at all times.” He meets her eye and sees one eyebrow rise in suspicion at the comment. “That’s not what I meant. I know you can handle yourself. Christ, I would put you up against Rafferty. But I just have… I…”
Ellen softens slightly as he struggles around the words and decides, for once, to have mercy on the poor man.
“You worry,” she says simply, pushing herself off the wall and stepping closer. “too much. About me, the Brewery, the city, about all the ways the world might go wrong if you are not standing right next to it.”
“You've met my brother,” Edward offers by way of explanation, moving closer himself.
“And a pleasure it was,” she replies dryly. “But you need to trust that I can mind myself.”
“I do trust you,” he says quickly. “I would just prefer knowing you are safe, not dead in a hedge somewhere.”
She smiles at him as he comes closer and reaches for the corner of his jacket.
“Such a romantic,” she jokes, playing with the material.
He winces at her joke. “I’m trying.”
It is the first time he has said it so plainly, acknowledging the effort he puts into this and the care he takes navigating it. The force it takes just to share himself, where she finds it easy to talk and touch. He finds navigating this world of familiarity, uncomfortable. It's not a a path he's travelled before. He is not used to letting someone in, to being connected, to showing care without strategy or calculation. Even with his own family, whom he loves despite everything, affection has never been openly expressed.
She moves her hand higher on his jacket, her fingers curling over his shoulder, grounding him. “I know you are,” she says. Then, softer but no less certain, “Just don't pretend it is about vigilance or responsibility or whatever other respectable shite you dress it up as.”
His mouth twitches despite himself. “You make it very difficult to be respectable.”
“That’s the idea,” she replies grinning at his response.
There is a pause. The city feels far away, the graveyard quiet apart from their conversation. Edward shifts his weight, clearly uncomfortable with the silence, then blurts, “It is more than that.”
“Than sex?” Ellen asks, confused about where the conversation is heading.
“No. Well, yes, but I do. Ellen, I want you to know…” He pauses, looking up at the darkening sky, and she see's his annoyance at his own inability to speak plainly. Briefly she thinks that he's finished, unable to finish his thought and then he continues. “I love you. Probably more than I should, and more than I know how to, but yes. It is true.”
She freezes for half a second, then smiles slowly. “There it is.”
He looks down at her, finally meeting her eyes.
“I know,” she says simply, shrugging.
Edward looks taken aback by her response, but for Ellen his declaration is no surprise. She has known for some time, suspected it for longer. She appreciates that he wanted to tell her badly enough to struggle through the words. It does not shock her. She knows he loves her, just as she loves him. It is simply a fact built into their lives now.
“I love you too,” she adds.
He exhales, his shoulders sagging as though the words have relieved something in him. “You still worry too much,” she says fondly.
He laughs and leans in to kiss her, slower this time, deeper, his hand settling at her waist as though to anchor himself. She kisses him back just as deliberately, fingers sliding into his coat, holding him there while the last of the light fades around them. The sun has fully set now, and they should both leave before anyone sees them, but for a while they stay, stealing quiet kisses and lingering touches in the dark. Sharing their conversation and thoughts from the week and savouring the still air and time they have together.