They departed early the next morning.
When he returned to town, Vincent preferred to travel by stagecoach. Luckily â or otherwise â Thomas had also been able to procure a ticket, and they clambered into the coach shortly after the sun had risen. For the first part of their journey they were the sole passengers, but neither found reason to speak. It had been another restless night for Vincent, as he'd made the mistake of checking on the child, only to be passed the screaming bundle and relegated to the nursery once more.
After an hour or two the coach stopped to collect a middle-aged man, a vicar by the cut of his jacket and the worn bible clutched under one arm, and a young woman they could only presume to be his daughter. She was pretty, if demure, and watched them from under thick lashes when they were all seated within and travelling.
Vincent had brought some documents to revise, scanning them quickly and marking them with pencil as best he could as they bumped and twisted along the road. In the cramped quarters, he felt more than saw Thomas sink back into his seat, his arms folding across his chest as he assessed their companions.
"Are you long for town, sir?" he asked, breaking the silence. Vincent had thought it companiable, but he was the first to admit he was not the best judge. He tried his best to focus on the papers in front of him and not get drawn in by Thomas' boredom-incited chatter.
The vicar tore his attention away from the window and smiled at Thomas, readjusting the Good Book on his lap. "For myself, only a day or two before I must return to my flock, but my daughter Emily will stay on with her aunt, m'lord."
They had not been introduced, but only a fool would mistake Thomas for anything less than a gentleman. Despite the simplicity of his clothing, his coat was of fine material and tailored exquisitely, and as he reclined, he may have been called arrogant if it weren't for the smile on his face. Vincent, distracted despite his best efforts, watched him out of the corner of his eye, trying to discern if the smile was polite or genuine.
"Your first time in town, Miss Emily?"
The girl jerked at being spoken to directly, but then nodded so furiously that a few whisps of hair broke free from her tight chignon.
Thomas' eyes crinkled at the edges. "That's very exciting."
It escaped neither mans' notice when the vicar threw out a gentle elbow, nudging his daughter's side.
"Uhh, oh yes, um..." The poor girl took a moment to recover from her father's prodding. "What of yourself, m'lord?"
Ah.
The girl was of marriageable age, and Lord Thomas Thorne was a catch. The vicar, for all he appeared calm and pious, was not going to let this opportunity pass his daughter by.
Whether or not he was aware of that fact, Thomas leant forward, elbows resting on his knees. "I am on a treasure hunt," he said, his whisper conspiratorial.
The statement â misleading, in Vincent's opinion â had what could be assumed to be the desired affect; Emily raised her gloved hands to her mouth, cheeks rosy with surprise, and whispered back to him, "A treasure hunt?"
"Indeed!" He reclined again. "I shall not depart town until I have solved the mystery and found my prize."
Vincent let out a huffed laugh under his breath, immediately regretting it as the attention of the coach turned to him. Emily was still in awe, her wide eyes now pinned on him, and the vicar looked somewhat put out by the distraction. Thomas just smirked at him.
The vicar shifted in his seat. "And you, sir? Are you to stay long in town..." he hesitated for one palpable moment, his eyes scanning Vincent's hair, face, clothes and papers. "... m'lord?" The question was just as much over his title as it was his time in town.
Vincent was not offended though. In a strange way, he was rather flattered. His mouth opened, churning words, but he never got the chance to voice any.
"My friend here returns to finish his studies of the law, and then join me on my hunt in his free moments." Thomas clapped him briskly on the shoulder, his hand resting until Vincent slid fractionally out of reach and he retracted the limb. That relieved some of Vincent's tension, but not all; Thomas was developing a habit of speaking for him.
Vincent was not oblivious. He understood that his slow, stuttered speech could be tiring for some â most â and he was not normally offended when his siblings answered a question on his behalf to save him embarrassment. With Thomas however... It did not feel like it was Vincent's embarrassment he was trying to prevent.
The rest of the coach was unaware of his tense thoughts.
"Well, a busy man indeed," the vicar remarked.
Thomas's smile returned at full force as he looked away from Vincent and back at the pair that faced them. "No rest for the wicked," the slightest pause that Vincent might almost have called confrontational, "If you'll forgive my saying so, vicar."
The remainder of the journey passed in silence. For Vincent. Thomas, however, chatted amiably with Emily and occasionally her father, laughing, smiling, and generally having a merry time. He regaled them with stories and drew them into easy conversation. The more he talked, the more a tight ball pooled at the bottom of Vincent's stomach.
It was no small mercy when the carriage rolled to a stop, signalling their arrival. Thomas ambled out first, his hand reappearing to assist Emily down. The vicar followed, but it was a few moments before Vincent had collected his papers and disembarked. As his boots hit the cobbles, he glanced up and found the others gathered a few steps away. Over the hubbub of town, he couldn't hear what Thomas was saying, but it was impossible to miss the chaste kiss he placed on the back of the girl's hand, nor her blush and her father's proudly puffed chest.
Vincent frowned.
After watching them leave for a moment, Thomas turned back and closed the distance between the two of them. When he noticed Vincent's furrowed brow, he seemed at first curious, his head tilting, before his own brow descended into a glower.
"You disapprove?" he asked in a low voice, sparing a moment to nod at the coachman who lowered their cases onto the cobbles beside them.
Vincent wasn't sure that was the right word. In the last couple of hours, he'd learnt that Thomas Thorne might be considered a flirt. He was... disappointed.
Thomas was oblivious to his inner dialogue. "I've borne the disapproval of men far fiercer than yourself, Lord Humphrey."
Vincent took a deep breath and reached down to pick up his case. As he rose, he decided not to respond to Thomas. The man was being unnecessarily antagonistic, and it would do neither of them any good if he responded. Instead, he thought it best they head in the direction of their accommodation and perhaps spend a few hours separated.
"The... I..."
All he wanted to do was offer simple directions, but once again, Thomas would not give him time to speak.
"What? What is your well-thought-out argument?" Thomas demanded, his arms folding across his chest. "Should men of 'our station' not converse with the common folk? I'm surprised you'd even deign to travel by stagecoach, just think of all the-"
Vincent snapped.
"Must you put words in my mouth?!" His grip had tightened, crushing the papers in his hands. Thomas' mouth was ajar, startled at his outburst, and he was glad; the man needed to know that something Vincent did could surprise him. After that initial joy, however, Vincent began to feel silly. He took a deep breath, lowering his gaze to the documents in his hands, and gently smoothed them out against the hard surface of his case, as he continued in a more muted voice. "I only wanted to say that it is unkind to give the girl false hope."
Thomas stared at him. His gaze slowly lost the ire it held as he watched the usually unflappable man before him slowly calm his breathing. He could not recall every seeing Vincent angry... or anything other than serene, now that he thought about it.
"Forgive me," he said after a long moment. "I'm not usually so ... sensitive." The word seemed to pull a pin, and tension melted from his shoulders as his breath released in a heavy sigh. "I typically pride myself on not caring for the good opinion of others, but with you-" he swallowed, raking his curls back from his face "- and your family... well." He shrugged.
Vincent glanced up then, but the other man had looked away, staring in the direction the vicar and his daughter had wandered, though they were long out of sight. "I hope I did not hurt the girl. I only thought that a conversation with a gentleman would be a grand story to tell, perhaps something to inspire suitors..." Another shrug. "I hope I did not hurt her."
The furrow of his brow, the slight down-turn of his lips â Vincent was familiar enough with guilt to recognise it on the man's face. He was not familiar enough, however, to know how to offer comfort. It was surprising enough to him that he wanted to!
He did the best he could think of, extending an arm to clap Thomas on the shoulder. The contact drew Thomas' gaze, his cheeks pinching up into a slightly happier expression, but before Vincent could withdraw, Thomas rested his hand over his. There were seven points of contact between them that Vincent was suddenly acutely aware of â one were his hand pressed against Thomas's shoulder, one for the heel of Thomas's palm against the back of his hand, and one for the pad of each finger that rested gently against is.
Seven points of deep discomfort.
There was nothing for it but to tug his hand free, resulting in instant relief that began as a wave of cold that travelled from his hand up his arm and into his chest. He thought about apologising.
Thomas cleared his throat, once more staring down the street. "So, to the boarding house?"
Vincent was more than happy to lead the way.
.
During the term, Vincent kept rooms at a boarding house that bore the name 'The Speckled Hen'. Despite the rather rustic title, the accommodations were well-kept and convenient, and he had yet to be disturbed by the adjoining premises: 'The Speckled Egg'. Though the pub kept late hours, the ruckus did not drift up to his windows on the opposite side of the building, and the other students who lodged there either supped and slept when Vincent did, or had the courtesy to return to their beds after Vincent had already risen.
As they arrived, the owner greeted him politely, handing him the key to the room. He then looked expectantly at Thomas.
He glanced at Vincent with a raised brow. "May I? Or would you prefer to do the talking?"
Vincent turned on one heel and left the man and his mockery behind. The movement also served to hide the small smile on his face.
With unpacking, setting his room to rights, and prepping for his final classes, Vincent spent the rest of the day by himself. The journey had been exhausting â physically and socially â and he took his dinner in his room as well. Thomas left him in peace, exploring the area somewhat and retiring early to rise with the sun. Before Vincent had lifted his head from the pillow, Thomas was stepping into the street in search of answers.
Thomas had not had cause to spend much of his youth in this part of town, surrounded as it was by universities and schools. His education had come from less estimable avenues. Regardless, it was too far from where he needed to be, and he hailed a hackney for hire and requested that he be taken to the shipping district.
The day was lovely, but as they approached the ocean it grew lovelier. There was a generous smog residing over the city, but westerly breezes kept it from the horizon, revealing a light blue sky that met the deep blue water far beyond reach. Seagulls squawked overhead, diving at tables of salted fish as fisherfolk waved them away with nets and brooms. They passed through the merchant district slowly, negotiating swarms of people even at the early hour, eventually rounding a corner and breaking free of the markets.
The carriage rumbled to a halt, and Thomas disembarked quickly, taking a deep breath of the fresh, salty air. He'd never been particularly keen on the sea. Some he'd met who swore by it often regaled him with fond memories of their childhood holidays by the sea, but his childhood had never brooked the opportunity. Then again, perhaps that meant the sea still had a chance with him.
Shaking away the melancholy thought â however true it might be â he strode along the street, gaze scanning the buildings in search of the company Simon had described. They traded in minerals, if Thomas remembered rightly, but apparently the chap was reliable enough that he might answer a few questions.
There came a gruff cough from Thomas' side, and he stopped abruptly, turning to meet the stern gaze of a man that bordered on twice his size. He was bulky and scruffy, with a thick beard running from nose to neck and dirtied sleeves rolled up to his elbows. He folded thick arms across his chest, biceps bulging, and Thomas felt the first drip of unease at the back of his neck.
"Can I help you?" The man did not sound like he wanted to help.
Thomas had faced worst. He plastered a grin to his face and embraced the most dandy-like posture he could. "Oh, indeed, good sir!" He leant on the nearest object, which turned out to be an unsecured ladder which gave way beneath him and clattered to the floor. He caught himself easily, slightly embarrassed, but more impressed by the ineptitude of the character he was playing. "I don't suppose you could point me the direction of Mister Hugh Donaldson?"
The man adjusted his weight, and Thomas could have sworn he felt the earth shift.
"Who's askin'?"
Not the response one made if they did not know the man. "Lord Humphrey thought he might be able to assist me on a small matter."
"That don't tell me who you are."
Thomas would have laughed. Thomas the dandy merely swept a bow. "Lord Thomas Thorne. A pleasure to make you acquaintance."
As he straightened, he was surprised to see a deepened glower on the man's face.
"Lord Humphrey was wrong. I don't do business with the likes of you."
Simon had failed to mention that Mister Hugh Donaldson was a giant, though perhaps to him the man was only slightly large. Nevertheless, Thomas' gaze narrowed.
"Forgive me, sir," the dandy-ness was gone, and he had no intention of bringing it back. "But what precisely do you mean by that?"
Mister Donaldson was apparently passed listening, turning his back and striding back into the factory they'd been loitering in front of. Crates lined their path, stacked somewhat precariously, but the large man moved effortlessly between them. Thomas followed, somewhat apprehensively.
"I mean that I won't deal with men that buy or threaten their way in life. You can take my apologies to Lord Humphrey," he glanced back over his shoulder, jerking his chin back in the direction they'd come, "and clear out."
Buy or threaten?
A chill ran down Thomas' spine, settling in his stomach as a familiar weight. "I take it you've met my father."
The man shrugged, reaching and rounding a bench. "Ain't met no one. But 'gentlemanly' Thornes got a reputation 'round these parts, and I won't be getting involved."
"I don't doubt it." Although this was muttered under Thomas' breath, the man glanced up. Thomas simply sighed. "I can assure you that I am not anything like the duke, but I don't suppose you've got much reason to believe."
Hugh shook his head. "Don't suppose I have."
Thomas huffed a laughed, shaking his head. He could no longer be surprised by Duke Thorne's ability to permeate â and ruin â his life. They'd had no contact since the incident with David; no correspondence, nothing. He'd read about his brother's marriage to some wealthy daughter of a marquis in the paper, neither surprised not injured to not receive an invitation. He'd thought them removed from his life. He'd thought himself free.
Clearly, he was wrong.
He took a quick breath, offering Mister Donaldson a brittle smile. "Fear not, sir, I'll pass your kind regard onto Lord Humphrey. No reason why the duke should ruin things for both of us." He dipped his head, bidding the man good day.
As he departed the warehouse, he couldn't help but think what a disappointing start this had been. He'd told the vicars daughter that he would not stop until the mystery was solved: he wondered briefly how long he might have to stay in town.
"Oi!"
In the deserted streets of the early morning, Thomas assumed the call was for him. His head jerked up and he turned quickly, surprised to find Hugh standing in the doorway of his shop.
"You may as well ask," he grumbled, frown still etched into his brow. He raised one sturdy finger in warning. "But this is for Lord Humphrey, not none of them Thornes, you understand!"
Thomas understood completely.
~~
Hello Lovely Readers!
So sorry for the delay - I'm reaching the end of semester and exams are drawing nearer, so my writing time is severely limited! My next few weeks will be caught up in study, but then I'll be on holidays so I will have plenty of writing time (I'm very excited!)!
In the meantime, I hope you enjoy this chapter. Did I know where it was going? No. Am I mad at where it went? Also no!
Please remember to comment and vote if you're enjoying Vincent's journey! I can't wait for the next few instalments!
xx Flow