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The clink of porcelain against metal spoons was the only sound in the tense, still air of the parlour until one of the ladies cleared her throat.
“Mrs. Vandernacht?” Mrs. Sheffield glanced sheepishly at the lady to her right before continuing, “We aren't really quite sure how to tell you this, but you deserve to know.”
Annabel raised one eyebrow, giving a slight nod, running over every possible error she could have made to initiate such a conversation. She and Lenore had been careful to cover their tracks, and so far their position as a married couple had gone uncontested. Hopefully this wouldn’t be the crack that shattered the illusions — it would be such a bother to pack up and skip town.
“Do go on,” she said, lifting her cup to her lips for a sip.
“We’re worried your husband is, well, a bit of a dandy,”
It took everything in Annabel not to choke on her tea at the words. Lenore? Her Leo? A dandy? It was comical, to think Lenore could have any interest in a man, never mind in the queer way they were suggesting, not when Annabel knew exactly how she worshipped the female form every night.
“Pardon?” Annabel manage to splutter out, lifting her free hand to cover her mouth on the chance a bit of tea was dripping down her chin, and to cover the slight bit of humour she found in this, God would that make this situation worse if they were to catch onto her.
“He is of the flamboyant sort,” Mrs. Abbot offered, “And I can only imagine how heartbroken I’d be if my dear Edward were to be caught up in such a thing while I was kept unawares.”
“We simply don’t wish to see your marriage ruined, especially so early on. You’re newlyweds! It’d be a terrible tragedy for a fine lady such as yourself to be tarnished by such things.”
Both ladies were looking at her with such pity, all wide eyes and brows knotted in concern.
Annabel daintily cleared her throat, “I- I do appreciate the concern, but I can assure you, my beloved Leo is certainly not sneaking around behind my back or up to any such illicit behaviour. He is most thoroughly obsessed with me — It’s almost hard to get a moment to myself, with how he wishes to accompany me at every moment.” a fond chuckle passed Annabel’s lips as her fingers idly found themselves busy fidgeting with her engagement ring. “I have no reason to doubt him, and it would be a great favour to me if you would lend your credibility to undermining these foul rumours.”
Mrs. Sheffield’s pitying look only intensified, and with a knowing glance at Mrs. Abbot she reached across the table to rest her hand upon Annabel’s, “I’ll take your word for it dear. Do just know, if any issue does arise in your marriage, the both of us will be ready and waiting to lend an ear.”
A sinking feeling settled in Annabel’s gut at her words. She’d overcompensated in her defence, they likely thought she was simply in denial — too young and in love to consider Leo capable of such a betrayal.
The tension in the room quickly settled with one of Mrs. Abbott’s maids coming in with refreshments — Annabel’s companions thankfully had the sense to know that rumours travel quickly amidst the staff, and conversation soon shifted to less delicate conversations.
Such alternate conversations were hardly invigorating by Annabel’s standards — Lenore had forever changed them, really, with how every moment spent with her seemed more enticing than the last, nothing could really compare — but they were at least free of interrogation, allowing Annabel’s anxieties to settle to their consistent background hum. Hardly a day went by where she didn’t consider the sword of Damocles that hung over their heads, that she didn’t sit upon high alert in every room with the same tension she’d once associated with entertaining suitors, mincing her words and twisting truths into pretty lies for both parties comfort. It was safer for Annabel to keep herself shrouded by a veil, and it was better for everyone else that they not know about the sort of scandal that accompanied the very foundation of the life she (and Lenore) had built.
It was somewhere in between the topic of exactly when Mr Such-and-Such would be proposing to Miss What’s-her-Face (they got caught canoodling at a party just a few weeks ago) and of exactly how many ruffles constituted the difference between “keeping up with the trends” and “out of season” that Mrs. Sheffield’s footman stepped in to remind her of what time she’d intended to make it home by. His words were acknowledged, teacups being sipped dry of their final dregs followed by gloves and parasols being gathered from where they’d been placed, but neither of Annabel’s conversation-mates seemed to be in any hurry to cease their chittering.
After an agonizing snail’s pace of a walk to the foyer (it was hardly a few steps down the hall it should not have taken five minutes), they began upon their second round of goodbyes, even as Annabel yearned to leave, to be free of upholding her facade while her worst fears whispered in her ears and nipped at her ankles.
Mrs. Abbot took Annabel’s hands in hers and gave her a final, disgustingly earnest look of concern “I do mean it, Mrs. Vandernacht, if you need anything, advice or even just an ear, I’m here.”
Annabel forced her smile to meet her eyes, fighting the urge to let her eyelid twitch as she did, “Thank you Love, I’ll keep that in mind,” the lie slipped off her lips easily, practised. She’d say anything at this point, to leave as soon as possible, and mercifully, she was waved out the door quickly after that.
Annabel was quite certain she was going to pace a hole in the carpet.
She’d arrived home before Lenore — not an uncommon occurrence — but today she simply couldn’t bear it. Every tick of the clock on the mantle was another stone settling in her gut as she walked loops around the sitting room, muttering rhymes under her breath to keep her mind busy as her thumb rubbed over the surface of her ring over and over and over again. She’d hardly had it the better part of a year, but at this rate it only seemed a matter of time before she rubbed against the prongs holding the stones in place enough times to bend them out of shape and dislodge one of the petals that made up it’s floral shape.
Or at the very least she’d tarnish it, she couldn’t decide which was worse, her thoughts were hardly in order.
As the hands of the clock ticked on and on, her nerves only grew tauter as time tallied up, minute by minute. Lenore hadn’t said anything about not coming home for dinner when they parted hours earlier (and Annabel didn’t recall her wearing a dinner jacket either, not that it was the most pressing matter). Surely she would’ve sent a note home if her plans had changed?
Annabel’s knuckle caught between her teeth as she pondered, eyes flickering from the clock to the door to the entry hall, and back — and if a figure flickered at the corner of her vision she refused to acknowledge it, not now — running over every conversation they’d had this morning, wracking her mind for clues to Lenore’s whereabouts.
Come on Annabel, you’re a smart girl, you know what happens.
There was hardly anyone to ask about it — she’d dismissed the maids quickly upon arriving home, unwilling to risk being seen like this by anyone, only Lenore could be trusted to not find something wrong with her, only her Leo wouldn’t see her as something broken in such a state.
You’ve read the papers, you know what happens to people like her, once such rumours spread.
Answers evaded her, worst case scenarios whispering from the back of her mind distracting her from all reason, and even if it was true — the idea that she was the one who was early, rather than Lenore who was late, never crossed her mind at all.
Are you really so naive, as to think she’s coming home?
The monotonous tick-tock of the clock was suddenly, mercifully, interrupted by a sound near the foyer, the familiar click of Lenore’s cane against the porch and the murmur of voices filtered through the door.
It took everything in Annabel to keep herself from running to the door (even as some deep part of her hated the way she was so eager to greet her ‘husband’ at the door, like the good wife she was taught to be) her fist tangling in her skirt, the lingering sting of her teeth digging into her skin radiating through her finger. The door creaked open slowly, and Annabel lost herself in the wave of relief that washed over her as Lenore came into view, still turned back to dismiss the footman, whole and safe and proving the fears that had haunted her incessantly for the past hour wrong.
Her heart dropped in time with the sound of the door closing as Lenore turned to face her, left eye swollen half-shut, the flesh around the eye socket red and purple with the evidence of impact. Whatever greeting Annabel had been prepared to say died on her lips as she reached up to gently cup Lenore’s cheek in her hand.
“W-what—?” She could feel her throat closing as she peered closer, only a half measure of an exhale passing her lips as she tried to speak, her vision siloing in on the injury, the proof of her fear's validity, evidence her Lenore had been attacked. The shape of it was distinctly that of a fist, the bruising taking an irregular shape and colors uneven and splotchy, the edges of it just shy of obscuring the beauty mark beneath her eye.
Lenore’s lips were moving, just in her periphery, but she couldn’t hear her over the ringing in her ears. The entire room felt off kilter as she half stumbled forward, her vision going dark.
Her eyes slowly fluttered open to find her face inches from Lenore’s neck, resting against her shoulder. Weakly, she grasped at Lenore’s other shoulder, trying to push herself up a half second before she determined the two of them had found themselves seated on the floor. The fabric of her skirt pooled to cover most of Lenore’s lap, but it was still quite obvious her knees had taken the impact of the floor to spare Annabel, the very thought making Annabel’s stomach twist. Lenore had come home injured and what had she done but injure her further?
“It really is much easier to catch you when you fall towards me,” Lenore mused lightly into the top of Annabel’s head, pressing a soft kiss to her hair.
The comparison made Annabel wince, despite Lenore’s tone all she could hear was the way she’d failed to make things easy on those around her before. She faintly recalled the way her father had tried to play off her fainting spell at her and Leo’s “first” meeting as unusual, as if it hadn't happened before, as if it wasn't one more thing wrong with her she’d learned to hide as best as possible and lie about when that wasn’t viable. She hadn't experienced one since, and the shame of being seen as weak, frail and broken hadn’t faded, even in Lenore’s arms she couldn’t escape it, and sometimes she feared she never would.
“What happened?” Annabel managed, breath shaky. She kept her eyes on their laps and her face in the crook of Lenore’s neck as she spoke — she wasn’t certain she could bear to see her face, guilt twisting inside her the more she considered it. Was she really so awful as to be disgusted by Lenore being injured? To reject her when she was in pain, the same way her parents had? A small part of herself tried to whisper that it wasn’t true, but it was drowned out by her mind’s image of Lenore’s hurt expression when Annabel flinched at the sight of her.
“Oh you know,” Lenore began, “Simply a minor altercation with a gentleman who took offence to how I looked,”
Annabel felt sick at the description, vague as it may be, and let her eyes trawl the details of her skirt for a distraction, eyes catching on her chatelaine. How funny was it, that she kept smelling salts on her person for this very situation, and yet when it arose it all happened to quickly for her to reach for them. It wasn’t as if Lenore would use them on her, the last time it came up Lenore had been insistent about it, that no matter how Annabel asked she couldn't bring herself to do it — the action was far too similar to the maids with the ether to her, and nothing could convince her to do such a thing to Annabel.
Lenore hummed softly into Annabel’s hair, “But you needn’t worry Annie, he was thrown out of the establishment far harder than he threw his punch,”
Even as Lenore chuckled at her own joke, Annabel felt a wave of dread wash over her. What if the staff down at the gentleman's club hadn’t taken Lenore’s side? Or the scoundrel who'd accosted her had managed to convince them Lenore had started it and she’d been the one thrown out? If something worse had happened would anyone have even told her what became of Lenore before she was in critical condition? Just how close had she come to losing her?
Her grip on Lenore grew tighter as the possibilities began to play out behind her eyes, the slight sting of tears forming at the corners as she buried her face closer to her pulse. Lenore’s identity being uncovered. Her hip being injured and stealing her pet’s ability to walk once more. A knife. A gun. Lenore’s body splayed out on the ground in an ever growing pool of blood.
A hand pushed gently at her shoulder, trying to nudge her away from Lenore, and something in Annabel snapped, lurching forward into Lenore and pulling her tighter still into a death grip, muffling the animal sound that clawed itself out of her into Lenore’s blazer. Logically she knew it must have been Lenore who tried to push her away, and really, there must be a better place to do this than the floor of the foyer, but the concept of letting go of Lenore felt as difficult as cutting off a limb.
“Annie,” Lenore was holding her again, hands gently stroking along Annabel’s spine, keeping Annabel soundly in her arms, the only place Annabel could be sure they were both safe. “I’m alright, I promise,”
Annabel gave a small whimper as she tried to compose herself, if only long enough to get them off the floor. Slowly, ever so slowly, she pulled away from Lenore and turned to locate her beloved’s cane, where it had fallen an arm-span or so away.
It was only once she had a solid grasp on it that she met Lenore’s eyes again. It was still shocking, to see Lenore so injured, but she managed to not look away as they helped each other stand, and tried not to wince when she saw Lenore limp was worse than normal. Was that from before or did Annabel cause that in dragging her to the floor?
Gingerly, they both took a seat upon the settee, Annabel allowing herself to take in the lines of Lenore’s face, the way the bruising swelled to interrupt the smooth slope of Lenore’s nose, a shape she’d memorised with both her eyes and fingertips in the quiet moments they spent together. It sickened her, to sit there and fail to do anything to reprieve Lenore’s pain, a desire to fix that she was never quite sure was her own or just something taught, a trait a good wife should have that she’d taken on as her own.
Lenore, for her part, simply stared at Annabel in her usual lovestruck manner, disturbingly normal despite the fact things were anything but.
“How was tea?”
Annabel couldn’t take it, rising to go fetch cool water and a cloth to press over Lenore’s eye, to reduce the swelling at least (and hide it from her sight), blinking back dark spots in her vision as she attempted to take a step towards the kitchen, stopped only by Lenore’s firm grip on her wrist.
“Annabel, please. I don’t want you fainting on me again,”
She was dumbstruck by Lenore’s words long enough for Lenore to pull her back to her seat, rubbing circles on her wrists with her thumbs, “We can call someone to fetch whatever it is you’re after.”
Annabel shook her head, “I told Lizzie to let everyone have the night off, I- I couldn’t risk being seen…” she trailed off, a lump in her throat keeping her from continuing. How was she to explain it to Lenore, the worries that had consumed her and were only confirmed by Lenore’s arrival. It felt as though she'd be blaming Lenore for being injured, for not predicting Annabel’s neuroticism had her already a hairs breadth from one of her attacks when she'd arrived home.
Lenore seemed puzzled for a moment before her gaze softened into a display of compassion that had a pit forming in Annabel’s stomach. “What had you so on edge darling?”
Annabel shook her head dismissively, this shouldn’t be about her and she only felt worse the longer Lenore’s focus stayed so single-mindedly on her issues, “It doesn't matter,”
Lenore opened her mouth to protest only for Annabel to cut her off, “Please, tell me what happened to you. More details, I don’t need my imagination thinking it worse than it was,”
Lenore made a face, expression shifting to one of pensive reflection before Annabel could decipher it. “What’s there to say? I hardly remember what his issue was.”
Annabel wordlessly urged her to continue, and she acquiesced.
“Mr. Walton and I were at the bar having a drink, I believe we'd just finished up a round of billiards, and some ill-mannered fellow came up to insult me.” She paused, eyes rolling up to the ceiling as she thought, “God what was the insult this time, was hardly a good one,”
“This time?” Annabel whispered, horrified, “What on earth do you mean this time? How often is this happening?”
The rumours about Lenore reaching the ladies she associated with was making a disturbing amount of sense now, Lenore had not been pinned with these accusations recently, and apparently Lenore hadn't seen fit to tell Annabel until it was impossible to ignore.
Lenore, at the very least, seemed somewhat ashamed now that she was being put under scrutiny, “Oh you know how men are, lighthearted taunting is common enough that there's always one gent who takes it a bit far,”
Annabel took Lenore’s hands in hers and squeezed, “What have they been saying?” She knew the answer — that even if Lenore hadn’t been found out, Lenore was still regarded as too feminine for a man by at least some of the men she kept company with — but she needed to hear Lenore say it, for Lenore to admit she knew the seriousness of it all. “And why didn’t you tell me this was happening? The rumour mill got around to the ladies I was at tea with that there’s something to whisper about with you, I thought we were meant to be a team Lenore,”
Lenore opened her mouth only to close it, like a fish gasping for air.
“For God’s sake, how am I meant to protect you if you won’t even tell me there’s something to worry about?”
“I don’t want you worrying!” Lenore shifted forward to sit closer to Annabel, pulling her hands to her heart, “I promised to give you freedom Annie, what sort of freedom is it if you have to put your life aside to clean up my mess?”
Annabel blinked once. Twice.
“And you assume your mess doesn't have anything to do with me? We're married pet, and as long as that’s true people will see me as an extension of you.” Annabel took a deep breath, fixing Lenore with a glare, “If there’s rumours going about that you’re some dandy off dallying with men, what do you think people say about me? That at best I’m some poor victim of your lies?”
“Surely the rumours aren't that bad,”
“It’s what I was told at tea,”
Lenore’s jaw snapped shut, expression that of a kicked puppy as she stared at Annabel.
“I know you’re not up to anything of the sort, but they were quite convinced by whatever story they heard to think you’re sneaking around behind my back,”
“Annie I-”
“What were you thinking, keeping it from me? It’s supposed to be you and me against the world, not just you while I sit here helpless,” Annabel squeezed her eyes shut, “I may not be able to do what you do posing as a man, but I’m not incapable,”
“Of course I know that Annie, you’re the most incredible woman I’ve ever met, I’d never think of you in such a way.”
“Then don’t leave me in the dark.” Annabel hung her head and let out a shaky breath, her frustration with Lenore running dry, “He’s lucky I wasn't there, getting thrown out of the establishment would’ve been the least of his concerns,”
Lenore gave a small chuckle, “I don't doubt that darling, not at all,” Annabel smiled up at her through her lashes, “In fact, I doubt he would’ve hit me at all in front of a lady,”
Annabel pressed a kiss to Lenore’s jaw, “Be careful pet, keep saying things like that and I won’t let you go anywhere without me,”
Lenore smiled into a quick peck against Annabel’s lips “Oh no, having to spend more time with the love of my life, whatever will I do?” Lenore threw her head back and draped a hand over her forehead dramatically, barely stifling her giggles.
The laughter was infectious, and Annabel soon found herself chuckling into the butterfly kisses she peppered up Lenore’s cheek. “Heaven knows how you’ll bear it,”
Lenore’s eyes fixed on Annabel, gazing upwards at her like she hung the sun in the sky, “I’m certain it will kill me, to be in your radiance for so long,”
Annabel hated the way her gut twisted at Lenore’s words, that her mind somehow managed to turn even her compliments into blame. It was second nature, to take Lenore’s flippancy around death upon herself, to make it her burden. Lenore had given up so much for her, it was the least she could do, or at least, that’s how she justified it, no matter how far the truth seemed to drift from that conclusion.
Instead, she smiled back at Lenore, and sank into the lazy embrace she was pulled into. Her hands were upon Lenore, and her pulse still thrummed beneath her touch — no matter how Lenore spoke, it couldn’t change the fact that she was safe for now, and it would do Annabel some good to live in the present for once.
Neither Annabel nor Lenore knew how to cook beyond burning toast, and Annabel gave in to Lenore’s suggestion of “raiding” the kitchen for odds and ends they could throw together into a snack platter of sorts to eat in their room.
Lenore set a bottle of wine on the coffee table with a clink, the glasses clattering against each other as she juggled them to set them beside it “I should light the fire,”
The serving tray hit the table harder than Annabel intended, utensils clattering and her fingers white knuckling the handles. It was irrational and she knew it, but her nightmares still plagued her with visions of Lenore burning alive, and there was only so much she could take in one night, she didn’t want Lenore’s hands anywhere close to an open flame when she was still treating the burns that scarred her hands as if they were unimportant, as if they didn’t matter.
Lenore’s head was cocked to the side with confusion when Annabel looked up at her, shaking her head, both to get her curls out of her eyes and to tell Lenore No. There was no reactive flicker of understanding in Lenore’s eyes, meaning she certainly took the gesture to be only the former of it’s intentions. The prospect of arguing again was exhausting to even consider, she didn’t dare rupture the fragile peace they were in when she wanted Lenore’s comforting presence by her side more than anything.
She rounded the table and trailed her hands up Lenore’s front, taking her cravat in one hand and loosening it from her shirt “Why don’t we get dressed for bed pet?” Her fingers began working at Lenore’s buttons, knowing Lenore wouldn’t tell her to stop, and her desperation to prove to herself that Lenore’s eye was the only injury she’d sustained urged her onward. What Lenore had told her simply hadn’t confirmed anything to her, had done nothing to disprove her worries that Lenore was hiding further wounds from her.
Lenore complied with her every touch, settling back into an armchair that Annabel pushed her towards, shirt hanging open for Annabel’s fingers to eagerly run along the skin beneath. Inch by inch Annabel uncovered fresh patches of unblemished skin, her fingers leaving the slightest tint of pink blooming in their wake before fading away. It was both unnerving and calming, the way Lenore’s skin showed marks so easily. It meant a lack of caution with her nails would leave angry red lines across her skin, but it also meant she could soothe her anxieties without doubting herself that she missed something, that if she’d only looked hard enough she could’ve fixed something.
Her fingers played at the buckle of Lenore’s belt as she slipped to sit on the floor, dragging her hands down Lenore’s legs as she did. She quickly busied herself with untying her shoes, head resting against the side of Lenore’s knee.
“Annabel, please, you needn’t sit on the floor,”
Annabel ignored her, even as one of Lenore’s hands came to cup the back of her head, slipping her fingers into her curls with a practised confidence, no longer bothering with caution in regards to tangling them the way she once had. Lenore’s shoes were soon discarded and Annabel grasped at Lenore’s trousers, desperate to pull them away, to prove to herself that whatever had Lenore limping earlier hadn’t been her fault, that she hadn’t dragged Lenore’s knees to the floor too harshly. She knew she hadn’t heard it, she hadn’t been conscious, but a part of her could feel the heaviness with which Lenore had hit the floor echo in her memory.
A relieved exhale passed her lips as the fabric pooled at Lenore’s ankles, proving her knees (presently) free of any bruising. She brushed a kiss over each knee before nosing her way between Lenore’s thighs, leaning into her warmth as she gazed up at her. Lenore was in just her drawers, the loose end of her cravat half-draped over one shoulder, and Annabel was certain she’d never seen anything more beautiful.
Lenore watched her with confusion, shrugging the discarded shoulder of her shirt away and leaning towards her, propping her arm on one knee and resting her chin in her hand.
“You’re okay,” Annabel breathed out, almost tearily.
Lenore’s eyes softened, “Of course I am. I’m right here dove, I’m not going anywhere,”
Annabel couldn’t help but focus on the bruise around her eye, the healed burns curling up Lenore’s wrist, evidence upon evidence that Lenore couldn’t promise that, that it was always possible that she could be taken from her, but the words wouldn’t come. Instead, she surged upwards to capture Lenore’s lips in a kiss, hoping to impress into her just how much she treasured her through the contact alone.
Arms wrapped around her as Lenore sank into the kiss, guiding her closer and closer until Annabel clamoured up from her seat on the floor and into Lenore’s lap. It didn’t take long after that for Lenore’s fingers to take advantage of their placement, working open button after button down Annabel’s back. Annabel sank into the kiss, even as Lenore’s lips travelled away from hers, down her neck in hungry movements, punctuated by nips at Annabel’s flesh that had her flinching closer.
Annabel soon freed her arms from her sleeves, bodice falling to pool in her lap as she looped her arms around Lenore’s neck, relishing in the uninterrupted contact, pure skin upon skin. Lenore was still busy with unravelling the layers she wore, adding each one to the pile of discarded clothes they were slowly enveloping themselves in.
Soon enough Annabel was wriggling out of the skirts gathered at her waist, giggling with naked affection at the way Lenore stared at her, nothing but pure want radiating out of her.
Lenore’s breath was hot on the shell of her ear as she leaned close to whisper “We really should eat, shouldn’t we?”
Ever so briefly, Annabel’s lip jutted out in a pout as she slumped back against the arm of the chair, drawing her stocking feet up to dangle over the opposite side. She was half tempted to brush the idea off, to suggest herself as dinner and continue savouring Lenore’s lips on her skin, but her better sense stopped her.
“Mmm, we should,” she hummed, combing a finger through the lengths of Lenore’s hair.
Lenore giggled into Annabel’s hair as she gently nudged her out of her lap, “It’d be a waste of the effort of bringing it up if we don’t drink that wine, anyway,”
Lenore let her gaze lazily crack open as the damp cloth that had been laid over her black eye was removed, peering up at the sight of Annabel from her lap while the gentle splash of Annabel dunking the rag into the basin of water she’d set on the bedside table filled the empty room.
She flinched ever so slightly as Annabel’s fingers came to gently rest along her jaw, thumbs tracing circles on Lenore’s cheeks, carefully dipping shy of the edge of her bruise. Annabel’s lips twisted further into the concerned pout she was making, eyebrows remaining in the worried knot they’d been in all evening — despite Lenore’s best efforts to release them.
“Your hands are cold, Annie,”
Annabel shook her head slightly, dancing along the periphery of Lenore’s field of view, “They’re damp pet, of course they’re cold,”
Those same chilly fingers traced their way up to Lenore’s hairline, carding through her fringe to pull it back from her face. It was as if Annabel couldn't stop moving, couldn’t stop her hands from trying to do something to soothe her pain, no matter how Lenore argued it wasn’t worth the fuss.
“They’re cold because you’re cold, dove,” Lenore grasped one of Annabel’s wrists and pulled her hand to her lips, letting her warm breath fan over Annabel’s skin before pressing a kiss to her knuckles. “Please let me light the fire for you darling, I can't have you suffering on my behalf.”
Annabel’s eyes hardened at her words, ever so briefly, her jaw tensing as she shook her head no and turned back to fetch the rag again.
It was an unfamiliar sight at this point in the evening, their bedroom fireplace left cold. It wasn’t a hard fix, it's not as if there were a dearth of matches in the house, or even simply lit candles set about to light the place, but Annabel had refused to let Lenore take over the task for even this single evening without the staff to do it.
Lenore pulled herself upright, turning to face Annabel and taking her chin beneath a finger to force her to look at her, “Please let me do this for you, I know you hate being cold,” Annabel’s reasoning to stop her earlier still escaped Lenore — what could it hurt for Lenore to light a bit of kindling on a candle and set it in the rack of logs? It’s not as if she was going to risk burning herself the way she had at the cottage, she couldn’t bear the thought of inflicting the horrid scent of burning flesh upon Annabel, if anything. The comedy of errors that would need to occur for such a contained spark to rival any such injury brought a small laugh out of Lenore, “it’s not as if the fireplace could hurt me when I left the cottage unscathed,”
That had clearly been the wrong thing to say, given how Annabel’s features twisted into that of anguish, the half wrung rag falling from her fingers with a plop into the bowl. Her lip trembled once before she attempted to contort her face back into the expression of concern it had assumed prior.
“Don’t say such things,” her voice was small, strangled even, as she grasped Lenore’s hands close, “Please, pet,”
She blinked harshly, the bead of an aborted tear catching on her lashes as her thumbs brushed gently over Lenore’s scarred knuckles, nose scrunching as she took a laboured breath, “Don’t lie to me that you came out unscathed, it’s bad enough you see the subject fit to joke about,”
Annabel’s chest heaved as a sob hitched in her throat, and she didn’t fight it when Lenore pulled her hands free to gather her close in her arms, where Annabel eagerly buried her face in the crook of her neck, fingers fisting roughly in the fabric of Lenore’s nightshirt to pull herself closer, as though Lenore would simply disappear if she didn’t hold her tight enough.
A whimper fought its way out of Annabel as Lenore’s hands ran up and down her back, Annabel’s breath hot and moist against her skin and sending shivers down her spine.
“I hate it when you do this pet,”
Lenore’s hands stilled in their movements against Annabel’s spine, and Annabel’s breath paused with them, as though she was bracing herself against whatever Lenore might say next. Bracing for what, though, Lenore couldn’t say, not when she didn’t even know what Annabel could be referring to.
“You hate it when I hold you?” Lenore questioned lightly, hands falling to rest on Annabel’s hips, unwilling to break contact but leaving an opening for Annabel to pull away if that was what she desired.
Annabel’s eyes met hers, those still furrowed brows veiling the look of disappointment painted across her face. “Do- Do you not see what you’re doing?” She looked near incredulous as her hands came to grip Lenore’s shoulders, “Here I am blaming myself for being so distraught over it, and you don't even know why I would be in the first place!”
“What is it that you despise so much about me then Annie? Enlighten me,” Lenore shot back, voice far icier than she’d intended, which was clear in the way Annabel flinched as though struck.
“I hate it when you hurt yourself for me,”
Annabel’s tone had lost any edge it once held, words slipping past her lips with the tone one would use with a spooked child. She took Lenore’s jaw in her hands and let her thumb trace the outline of slowly deepening purple blooming on her eye socket.
“I can't just-” her face scrunched as a tear finally fought its way out to begin its slow descent along her cheeks, “It destroys me, watching you throw yourself away over and over again and then try to claim you’re doing it for me,” a sob hiccuped it’s way out of her as her face crumbled, “What good is it if I have to go on without you?”
She pulled her hands away to wipe at her tears with a sniffle, her frame trembling as she tried to pull herself together. Lenore's hands darted forward to try and hold Annabel again, to do the one thing she knew how to do to fix things.
And somehow, despite all she’d done, Annabel collapsed into her arms willingly, throwing her arms around Lenore’s shoulders and clinging to her again. Lenore held her like something precious and fragile and allowed her to fall apart, promising to Annabel that she was here, that she'd stay, over and over until the phrase no longer felt like it was made of words anymore, simply a sound that fell from her lips like breathing until Annabel composed herself.
Didn’t Annabel see it, that all Lenore’s actions ever brought was hurt? Wasn’t it better if Lenore was the one to absorb all the damage she caused, to leave Annabel — the one good thing she’d managed to not ruin with her curse — unharmed by the wayside?
Annabel’s eyes were bloodshot and her cheeks tear stained when she finally withdrew her face from Lenore’s shoulder. Her eyebrows were still knotted with that same concern as she tried to regulate her breathing, eyes widening slightly with anguish at the very sight of Lenore’s face, at the obvious bruise still there. Lenore almost regretted the way she'd brushed off the importance of the black eye since she’d arrived home, had she known that it would hurt Annabel every time she looked at her she would have regarded it as more severe.
Lenore leaned forward to press a kiss to the furrow in Annabel’s brows, one of Annabel’s hands laying itself over Lenore’s neck to pull herself closer to her touch, fingers still cold despite the time Annabel had spent wrapped in her arms. It felt hopeless. How could Lenore soothe any of Annabel’s pain when she couldn’t even warm her hands?
“Do you not have anything to say for yourself?” Annabel choked out, pulling back to look in Lenore’s eyes. “Nothing?”
Annabel was putty in Lenore’s hands as she cupped her face, leaning into her touch even as her eyes pleaded with her for something Lenore didn’t understand.
“I won’t apologize for protecting you,”
“That’s not what I’m asking,”
Lenore’s thumb dragged over the sticky tear tracks on Annabel’s cheek, half dried and glistening in the flickers of the distant candlelight. She felt like she held the world in her hands, Annabel’s face warm and curls silky where they brushed at the backs of her fingers.
“Please, let me light the fire for you,” Annabel’s lip curled as she recoiled at the words, but Lenore continued, “I want to take care of you,”
“I already asked you not to pet, how many times do I have to repeat myself?”
Annabel’s eyes were distant as she wrapped her fingers around Lenore’s wrists.
“Why won’t you let me do it for you?”
“Why do you always insist on doing things the way you think I need them?”
Lenore sneered “Is it a crime now? To take care of the love of my life?”
Annabel yanked Lenore’s hands from her face with a huff, “Would it kill you to understand the words I say?”
“I hear you loud and clear. Every time I try to take care of you, treat you the way one should treat their wife, you tell me off and act like I’ve gravely insulted you instead! I just want to protect you and this is the thanks I get?”
The grip Annabel had on her wrists tightened, “You’re not protecting me by throwing yourself in harms way,”
“How is lighting the fire doing that? It’s an everyday task, for gods sake, the maids do it several times a day and are no worse for wear,”
Gently, Annabel’s grip on her wrists released and her fingers trailed softly along the scars warping her flesh, “You know it keeps me up at night still,” she choked on her own breath a little, the sound still wet with the tears she’d cried, “What am I supposed to do if something happens to you?”
Lenore was still regretful that the news of the cottage fire had reached Annabel before she'd been there to tell her herself, she hadn’t anticipated that she’d be in the room to overhear, hadn’t given any thought to what her reaction would be to such a prospect. All she'd known was that she needed to get to Annabel as fast as possible, everyone else was a mere stumbling block that she disregarded, and in some ways Annabel herself had been one such casualty.
It broke her, the nights when Annabel woke fighting her own instinct to scream and bargaining with someone that wasn’t there. Annabel’s ability to quiet herself would be impressive if it wasn’t troubling, on a few occasions Lenore only woke up to Annabel’s distress by the time Annabel had composed herself enough to slip closer to her and bury her face in her chest. She felt useless in the face of it, what good had it been to come back for Annabel when it left her haunted like this? How could Lenore claim to love her when she was the one who hurt her the most?
Lenore didn’t know how to tell Annabel she deserved the scars she got, that physical pain was nothing compared to what she’d inflicted upon her. Annabel was impossible to please it felt like — she’d blame Lenore for causing her agony but refused the idea Lenore deserved to pay for it. Lenore would almost prefer it if Annabel would just scream at her and get it over with, rather than linger in this in between, this accusatory concern. Annabel would worry over her until she was breathless with anxiety, and then assure her it was her fault in the end.
Maybe, if Lenore had the guts to deny her anything, she’d refuse to humour her concerns outright. But she didn’t, she couldn't. She knew that it would break her to even attempt to take Annabel’s place in how she'd left her behind at the cottage, to coldly deny everything to a desperate Annabel would kill her. Her own will to do something for her could never win out over Annabel insisting otherwise, and if to beg was the only dull blade of retribution Annabel offered, then beg she would, until one of them broke.
“Without me? You’d simply go back to your father, live your days as a widow without a care in the world,”
“I’ll die before I live as your widow Lenore, even if it has to be at my own hand,” Annabel cradled one of Lenore’s hands against her chest, “Why do you seem to enjoy making me consider such a nightmare?”
Lenore opened her mouth to respond before Annabel cut her off,
“I was worried you wouldn’t come home today, would you please stop stressing me further? Just for tonight?” Her voice broke on the final words, her already tear stained face scrunched up with distress.
Lenore softened, moving to kiss Annabel intently, drawing her close in her arms and cradling her. “Of course Annie,” she gently pushed her down on the pillows, keeping her arms caged around her as she settled down to lie beside her. “I’m here now, and no one’s coming to take me from you,”
Annabel shifted closer to her, tangling their legs together as her curls spilled across the sheets, “You can't know that, pet. Don't make promises you can’t keep,”
The chill of Annabel’s fingers were now pressed over Lenore’s heart, close to her warmth like they deserved. Lenore gave Annabel a soft smile, “No matter what, it's gonna take an act of hellfire to drag me from your side.” She trailed her own fingers along the curve of Annabel's cheek, “You’re my home, no one’s ever going to be able to stop me from coming back to you.”
Annabel’s expression seemed unconvinced, but she nestled herself closer in Lenore’s embrace regardless.
“I’ll hold you to it,”