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♪ Never seen a face like yoursI got it together but my breath feels short ♪{Clairo—North}

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♪ Never seen a face like yours
I got it together but my breath feels short 
{Clairo—North}

As Thomas tugged Cordelia out of the way of more servants swinging around trays of beer and food-stuffs that smelled divine, she noticed Helen's father dragging her out of the room, red-faced and scathing. Helen didn't see her, nor had she spotted Thomas, too busy getting reprimanded by the horrible Lord Hughes.

For a moment Cordelia hesitated to rush after them, to make sure she wasn't harmed. But Thomas' reappearance clouded her judgment, kept her rooted in place to await his explanations.

As the initial shock of his presence wore off, she noticed his hair was a tad longer, almost curly in places. It had grown out since she'd last seen him, in the darkness of the Baroness' garden.

"Will you stop keeping me waiting?" She attempted a stern look, but in truth she was too happy to see him to pretend otherwise.

He ruffled through his mane, and as he did so Cordelia also noticed he was a tad scruffy, not clean-shaven as she'd known him to be while they stayed with the Baroness. Even while they were traveling clandestinely, he'd managed to keep his beard and mustache near invisible, contrary to Razin, who'd let everything grow out. She'd never understood how Thomas found the time—or the means—to keep his face clean and refreshed while they busied about small towns getting drunk and sleeping in dilapidated inns.

Though he was clean now, he wasn't refreshed, Cordelia slowly figured out. If anything, he appeared worn out, either by the party or whatever recent events he'd experienced. Usually he was bubbly, friendly; and usually he lit up at the sight of her, but tonight, he was borderline stoic, neutral. He'd smiled upon seeing her, but Cordelia now realized it hadn't been a genuine, corners-of-the-lips-reaching-to-the-ears kind of smile.

"It has been quite the venture to get here, I will say that," he ultimately spoke, his voice drowning in the nearby laughter from a group of women speaking with Lady Read.

Cordelia yanked him a little further away, to lean against a wall on the opposite side of where the fiddler had picked up a heavier, faster-paced rhythm that overjoyed most of the guests.

Helen and her father were right to slip out of here!

"Hard to get here, you said?" She scrunched her nose as she rubbed her ear, desperate for the noise to die down long enough for her to hear Thomas' tale.

He got the hint and raised his voice for Cordelia to understand him, but not too much that any sneaking eavesdroppers would be listening. "I had to stay behind after you set off, of course." He snatched a beer from a nearby servant, then grabbed another one for Cordelia, who took it with a nod of appreciation; she had a feeling she'd need it. "To keep the Baroness occupied, whenever she got back. Which was two days later, by the way."

Two days—Cordelia's stomach clenched at the thought that their carriage might have passed the Baroness' at some point, on her way back from whatever errand she was running. What if she'd been suspicious and stopped them? Cordelia had had no true notion of the danger they'd been in until they'd arrived at Calais, but now she saw it was deeper than she'd ever known.

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