Three days later
"So, what do you think?" Thomas's tone is nonchalant, lacking any hint of investment. He was doing his best to appear engaged, but his mind was elsewhere.
Margaret sighs, "It's dark and dreary. Not enough windows." She shakes her head, crossing her arms over her chest.
"Right. Understood. I'll find us something else," Thomas replies, irritation creeping into his tone. This wasn't the first property they had viewed that fell short of her expectations. With each pass, the list of requirements seemed to grow longer, the perfect property becoming more elusive.
Thomas, for his part, made a conscious effort to keep his growing frustration in check, recognizing the weight of the decision and the impact it would have on their lives going forward.
His mind, however, is already racing to the next task on his list—reconnecting with Ada. With everything else on his plate, he knows he must prioritize this, despite the complexities and potential confrontations that await. Navigating the delicate terrain of family dynamics had to happen sooner rather than later.
He needed his family to attend the wedding, otherwise, he'd be faced with an awkward gap in the ceremony, a conspicuous absence that would raise questions and eyebrows alike. Their presence wasn't so much about emotional support or familial bonds; it was about fulfilling societal expectations and maintaining appearances.
In truth, Thomas would have preferred to postpone navigating these strained relationships, especially amidst the pressing matters demanding his attention elsewhere. The last thing he needed was to add tensions elsewhere, particularly when his focus was consumed by reconnecting with the Fascists.
Weary from yet another fruitless tour, Thomas makes a suggestion as he holds open the car door. "You know, we've seen quite a few properties already. Perhaps we overlooked one." He knows his words are tinged with impatience, but he can't help it—the urgency of his situation weighs heavily on him.
Margaret shakes her head, "I believe I have every right to be selective when it comes to choosing an estate with my own finances."
The comment catches Thomas by surprise as he sinks into the car, "Are we going to discuss finances now?" The mention of money, especially in the context of their marriage planning, was not lost on him. It was yet another layer of complication that weighed on his already burdened mind.
"It's a topic that ought to have been addressed long before now," Margaret remarks, her tone edged with bitterness. "I understood there would be advantages for you in our union, but I never realized you were so... so..." She struggles to find the right words to convey her feelings.
"So desperate?" he echoes her sentiment, his tone acknowledging rather than defensive. "I won't argue with that, because I am."
A weighted silence descends, laden with unspoken thoughts and pent-up emotions. It's evident that Margaret's apprehensions aren't without merit—Thomas Shelby is undeniably desperate.
Margaret's hands drop from her face, revealing the weariness etched into her features. "I thought I had left this behind. Truly, I did," her gaze meets Thomas's with a glare, her eyes alight with simmering resentment. "I find myself perpetually hindered and held back by the men in my life."
As the car starts its journey to the final property, located just outside of Birmingham in Warwickshire, Margaret's voice gains momentum. "Churchill deceived me," she continues bitterly. "I believed this arrangement would serve me in some way, but it's become abundantly clear that you're the one reaping all the benefits here. So, am I permitted to select the house where I'll inevitably be confined?" Her words are clipped, edged with a bitterness that cuts through the air.
"You're free to choose. Whatever pleases you." He concedes. There remains an underlying frustration in his tone, but he recognizes the futility of arguing about it. The conversation falls silent once more, a heavy acknowledgment of what they both already know.
The typical foggy weather cast the sprawling countryside in misted shades of gray as they made their way to the final property. No more words are exchanged. Both of them harboring their own grievances but choosing not to delve any deeper into the matter.
As the car approaches Packington Hall, Thomas's eyes are drawn to the elegant silhouette that rises against the backdrop of the sprawling estate. The hall's exterior is a testament to classic Georgian architecture, its symmetrical facade adorned with rows of large sash windows framed by delicate molding.
Massive stone columns flank the grand entrance, hinting at the grandeur that lies within. The soft hues of the weathered stone give the hall an air of timeless elegance, while creeping ivy adds a touch of natural beauty to the scene
Beyond the hall, manicured lawns stretch out as far as the eye can see, dotted with ancient trees and vibrant flower beds. A sense of tranquility pervades the air, interrupted only by the distant squawk of ducks on the surface of a pool beyond and the gentle rustle of leaves in the breeze.
As they stand in front of Packington Hall, Thomas breaks the palpable silence with a hushed question. "Does this suffice?" He turns to look at Margaret, his brow slightly furrowed, as if bracing for her response. Despite his best efforts to remain impartial, a sense of desperation peeks through. He wants this to be over and done with.
Margaret's eyes scanned the grand exterior of the estate, contemplating his question. "It's quite grand," she finally replied, her voice tinged with a mix of admiration and detachment. How one could maintain both he does not know.
Thomas's frustration surges unexpectedly, prompting him to let out a small but audible grunt. He had hoped for a more affirmative response, but the ambiguity of her reply leaves him agitated. His jaw clenches tightly as he refrains from speaking, afraid of what might come out if he opens his mouth.
Instead, he turns away, his features hardening in his growing resentment. Margaret's gaze shifts towards him, her voice barely above a whisper.
"Thomas," she says, her tone holding a quiet intensity that seizes his attention. It's the first time she's addressed him by name. "Shall we walk the grounds?"
As Margaret's suggestion hangs in the air, Thomas senses more than just an invitation to explore the grounds. It feels like a deliberate move to offer him a chance to regain his composure. And he doesn't doubt for a second that Margaret orchestrated it precisely for that purpose. With a silent nod, he extends his arm towards her, expressing his readiness to take the lead once again.
As they begin their stroll around the property, Thomas maintains a composed demeanor. There's a shared understanding between them, a silent agreement that at this moment, they're not adversaries, but partners. Thomas can't help but admire the sprawling beauty of the property and how it matches the exquisite architecture of the hall. He clears his throat slightly.
"It's a lovely spot."
Margaret nods, but he can see in her eyes she isn't convinced yet. Circling back, they pass the entrance to the large stable block. Thomas raises an eyebrow in pleasant surprise as she pulls him toward the building. Her unexpected shift in pace intrigues him, and as they make their way towards it, he can't help but wonder what's going through her mind.
Approaching the square courtyard, Thomas is captivated by the meticulous craftsmanship evident in its construction. The blend of stone and render composing the classical façade speaks volumes about the opulence of the estate's former owners. Stepping into the inner courtyard, Thomas is awed by the magnificence before him. It surpasses the stables of Arrow House in every aspect. The arcaded red brick walls infuse the space with vibrancy, adding to its allure.
Together they wander through the stable block, their footsteps echoing softly on the stone flooring. The air is thick with the scents of hay and horse, a familiar combination that comforts him. Thomas takes a deep, calming breath, feeling a weight lift off his shoulders, and he glances at Margaret, noticing the subtle relaxation in her features too.
Margaret gently tugs on his arm as they walk back towards the main house, just a short distance away. "The interior is last," she murmurs softly. "If it's dreadful, Nancy can help me make some adjustments."
Thomas steals a glance at her, their eyes locking momentarily, and a glimmer of hope flickers within him at her words. "You're already considering changes?" he asks, his voice tinged with his curiosity. Margaret doesn't answer, but he swore he could see a faint curl of her lips before she turned her face away from him.
Thomas and Margaret step into the expansive foyer. The walls are adorned in rich paneling, while the floor is intricately tiled with marble, lending the space an opulent feel. The high ceilings are adorned with a delicate gold trim. To the side, a sweeping staircase climbs towards upper levels, promising further elegance and sophistication.
Together, they explore the various rooms on the ground floor, each more splendid than the last. In the midst of their exploration, Thomas senses a subtle shift in Margaret's demeanor. Gone is the guarded skepticism, replaced by a quiet delight.
The weight of Margaret's initial apprehension lifts, and her expression softens as they step into the ballroom, filled with awe at the grandeur of the expansive room. The floor itself is a masterpiece of marquetry work, with intricate inlays creating mesmerizing patterns.
She exhales deeply, "Oh this'll do Mr. Shelby."
Thomas's expression softens slightly, a barely perceptible smile tugging at the corners of his lips.
"Seems we've found ourselves a home in Packington Hall, haven't we?" His voice carries a hint of satisfaction, albeit guarded. It's clear that though their shared success has managed to thaw his previously icy demeanor, it hasn't erased his lingering resentment in the wake of her earlier reluctance and bitterness. But for the moment, he remains silent on the matter, acknowledging her change in disposition but not forgetting the sting of her earlier words.
Releasing his arm, Margaret descends onto the ballroom floor, her gaze sweeping across the walls and windows. Despite its modest size, the room offers ample space for hosting gatherings. "Do you enjoy dancing?" she inquires, her eyes alight with excitement as if she's already envisioning future events.
Thomas takes a moment to observe her before joining her in the center of the ballroom. His brow furrows ever so slightly as he responds, "Not my favorite activity," a hint of amusement coloring his voice. He recalls the numerous occasions where he stood awkwardly on the sidelines, watching others revel in the lively dances.
She shoots him an unimpressed look. "What do you do, then?" she asks, her tone laced with impatience.
Realizing his attempt at levity hadn't quite landed, Thomas sighs internally before offering a clarification. "I find myself inclined towards more practical pursuits. Perhaps acquired from my time in the war." His voice gains a confident edge as he continues, "Leading men, managing complex operations, making strategic decisions—that's where my aptitude lies."
He falls silent, watching her intently, curious about her reaction to this glimpse into his capabilities. She seems intrigued, and he wonders if there's merit to what Churchill had advised about making an impression on her.
"It's fortunate you're on our side then, isn't it?" Margaret remarks, stepping closer to him.
"Indeed, it is," he replies with a hint of amusement. For a moment, he sets aside their earlier conflicts, focusing on the tranquility of the present.
His hand finds hers, gently guiding her towards the center of the empty ballroom. "Shall we dance?" he asks, offering a small smile. "I'll make an exception, just for you."
Margaret meets his gaze with a flicker of surprise, softened by a hint of amusement at his unexpected invitation. "Well, I couldn't possibly refuse such a rare offer," she replies with a playful glint in her eye.
With his free hand, he places it tenderly on her waist, and they begin to move in sync. The grandeur of the room seems to fade into the background as they dance, with only each other in focus. As they move, their steps fall into a natural rhythm.
Margaret is taken aback by Thomas's unexpected gracefulness as he leads her across the floor. His movements are fluid and natural, his confidence evident in every step. Despite his earlier claim of disinterest in dancing, he guides her with a subtle flair that captivates her.
The frustration and tension that had clouded his expression earlier seems to have melted away, replaced by a sense of ease and contentment.
"You're quite good," she remarks, allowing him to spin her gracefully across the floor.
"You're not bad yourself," Thomas replies with a smile. He finds solace in the simplicity of the moment, the rhythmic motion and the company of someone who can match his steps. As they navigate the dance floor, Thomas wonders what the future holds for them, but for now, he is content in the present, enjoying the dance and the momentary respite it offers from the complexities of their world.