Daughter on his Doorstep (HC #2)

17: Believe Forsythe Follow

Thomas' stomach dropped, leaving a sudden, painful hollowness in its place. He extricated himself delicately from Lupe, gently moving her across the room and seating her in the chair. The urge to pursue Vincent was overwhelming, but it felt unforgiveable to leave the girl in distress.

It was also unforgiveable to lose Vincent.

He swivelled between the door and Lupe, holding his hands up. "Uh, just... wait here," he said, wincing at himself. He did not pause long enough to see Lupe's response.

With long steps, he reached the door and threw himself into the corridor. He glanced to the left, but did not see Vincent approaching his own room, and hurriedly looked right instead. There he saw him, moving purposefully along the landing.

"Vincent, wait!" he called as loudly as he dared, darting after him, his bare feet thudding softly against the carpet-lined hallway. "I can explain."

Vincent stilled more easily that he had expected, turning on the spot. The landing was unlit excepting the moonlight that filtered in through a window behind Vincent, casting him further into shadow rather than helping Thomas read his face. He ploughed ahead, nonetheless.

"I thought it was you at my door, but then... Well, the poor girl thought we'd make her earn her keep, in the boudoir, I mean." Despite his rapid explanation, he spared a moment to scowl. "No doubt that's what she and the other women are accustomed to."

Vincent neither spoke nor pulled away, and Thomas risked a step closer. "But nothing happened between us. She was terrified and I was comforting her, that's all." Slowly, as if he feared he might startle the man, Thomas raised his hand and reached between them, looping his fingers gently under Vincent's palm. "Please, you must believe me."

Vincent's head tilted then. "I do."

"You can ask-" Thomas froze. "Wait, you do? Then where were you going in such a hurry?"

Vincent seemed just as perplexed. "Of course. Lupe was supposed to spend the night in the nursery – I thought to go check on Isabela. I did not think I'd be of value in that situation." His cheek twitched slightly, as if imagining his role in comforting Lupe. "Did I do something wrong?"

Thomas' reply was a kiss. "Not at all," he whispered eventually, his voice low more due to breathlessness than caution.

The other man cleared his throat lightly and stepped away, though their joined hands were the last to separate.

"You go to Isabela, I'll see Lupe settled in her own bed," Thomas agreed. He was grinning, he realised, but did not bother to hide it. He was relieved – desperately relieved – and overwhelming appreciative of Vincent's logical nature. Many a person would have assumed the worst, but not Vincent. Still, the man deserved reassurance. "You have nothing to worry about, you know; my eye has not strayed." He quirked his brow as if to prove the point.

He thought Vincent might have rolled his eyes.

.

The following morning could only be described as foggy and groggy. The city awoke in a thick haze that urged those residents that could to keep to their beds and enjoy warms cups of tea and thick novels. Nearly every person residing in the Humphrey family's London abode had enjoyed a tumultuous and disturbed sleep, and needed little encouragement from the weather. Unfortunately, Isabela was of another mind.

The girl-child had startled herself awake in the early morning, screaming and sobbing until Vincent plucked her from the crib and tucked her into the crook of his arm. Lupe joined him, hovering hesitantly in the doorway, but he'd applied his best smile and sent her back to bed.