Thomas has had a considerable amount of time to think about his current situation, and by considerable amount of time, it meant that he had stayed up nearly the entire night, staring at the ceiling, wondering why he had been such a fool. Why did he hope for a fairytale ending? Was it really in his nature to wish that a prince would sweep him off his feet and take him away from the bad, bad world? No, of course not. But it didnât hurt to hope, nor was it illegal. He would never admit it, but the Duke broke him, smashed his heart to pieces.
He would never admit it aloud now, but Thomas had been in love. There shared moments together were unlike any he had had before, and Thomas imagined that they would not occur again, not in the world as it was now. His one chance at happiness had been taken away from him, and he felt as though a rug had been pulled out under him, making him slam onto the floor of hard reality.Â
The exhaustion showed on his features, particularly in the dark circles under his eyes that morning. Though he still kept his head up high, lest he want Carson to comment on his lethargic behavior. The Duke was leaving bright and early (with Bates in tow, thank God), and he had to be the one to dress him and ready him for the trip. Luckily, the man had packed himself, presumably sometime after Thomas left the night before, and all Thomas had to do was dress him and brush off his coat. He refused to say anything, instead working as though he were a machine on autopilot. If the Duke had looked at him with concern or even regret, Thomas wouldnât have noticed. He left as soon as the bastard was dressed and made his way downstairs to ready his coat.Â
William might have noticed his extra coldness that morning, considering everything Thomas said was a scathing remark instead of his usual authoritative bravado. The second footman thought nothing of it, though, until he got a look at the way Thomas hastily put on the Duke of Crowboroughâs coat as if it burned him. He pushed away his curiosity, however, not wanting to anger the first footman further.Â
Thomas grabbed the Dukeâs cane and hat and stared at the manâs back as he walked outside to the car. William followed with his suitcase, but Thomas hung back for a moment, feeling the finality of the situation. There was still some time left for his darling to turn around and say he was joking, that he would take Thomas away from this horrible place, and that they would be happy together. But it did not come.
The raven haired man swallowed, willing away his sadness, and walked outside. He walked around the Duke and held out his hat and cane, trying not to meet his eyes and failing. Crowborough did not smile at him, instead taking his accessories without a sound. There was tension between them, but Thomas could read the otherâs emotions well. And in Thomasâ hopeful mind, he imagined he might have seen some sort of sorrow deep within that gaze. Maybe the other man would miss him, too.Â
Or maybe he was a fool. He stood straight, swallowing, trying not to let his walls break down, but he knew that the Duke was looking straight through him. The man could probably read him like an open book, and he hated it. Still, nothing was said. Instead, he nodded his head and walked past Thomas. That was all he would get for a goodbye. Thomas found himself smirking ever so slightly, but there was a stinging sensation in his eyes. No. He could not cry. He was not that kind of man; he was not weak. But he couldnât bring himself to turn around to watch the car go. Instead, he walked briskly into Downton, needing a moment alone and perhaps a cigarette.
The Duke did watch him, though, as he left, and wondered what would be different if he had let Thomas come after all.
(I totally missed this the first time it was posted, but man my feelings now... A+ my bro)
