Page 13 of Emma & Edmund

Lightning flashed again, illuminating the shadowed figure picking up a dropped tray on the worn wood floor. A shockingly ordinary cottage kitchen, even if scaled, was fitting for the space but only served to highlight the enormity of its occupant.

Edmund, so engrossed with his task, hadn't yet noticed her arrival, humming a tune as he worked at the counter. While certainly monstrous in appearance, he was nothing but pleasant, calm, and even elegant in movement, acting the part of a trained gentleman well. That thought led her to a blushing realization.

If this truly was Lord Edmund, not an illusion or a trick, then their distinct privacy, as highlighted by the lightening illuminating the thick row of trees just beyond the windows, was wholly inappropriate. If anyone were to find them, her reputation...

Would be far more likely to survive than him.

There were few circles one could run in at the moment that hadn't discussed the bombshell "reanimated man" novel. While she hadn't read it personally, it hadn't been hard to overhear the events that take place. As highlighted in the book, the public doesn't take kindly toother.

And the Edmund before her most definitely was. The white, clean cotton of his shirt only emphasized his expansive shoulders, and his fitted trousers didn't bother to hide the unnatural thickness of his thighs. Even if his dense ink-black hair was pulled into a fashionable knot at the base of his neck, she well knew those who could never consider him a man.

She herself had called him a monster, despite his clear hospitality, and she doubted any of those dancing in his ballrooms or drinking his wine would think any differently.

"Oh!" Edmund exclaimed as he turned from the counter, a large platter in his hands. Emma noticed a slight tremble in his grip. "I hoped you would rest more, but that’s all right. Here, come sit. I made you something to eat. Only light things, of course, but hopefully it's enough."

As he spoke, Edmund strode to the table in two wide steps, setting the tray down. The silver was piled high with cut bread, bits of cheese, nuts, and fruit.

It was simple, but Emma's mouth watered at the sight of it, her stomach grumbling as if on cue. The sound of it rolled through the small space so loudly, it would have been impossible for Edmund not to hear it. But he politely said nothing, only keeping a soft smile, full lips curving around his protruding teeth, as he pulled out a chair.

"Thank you," was all Emma could manage. Since the moment she accepted this was real, this was actually happening to her, an uneasy feeling began to hang in the air between them. It had remained nameless, but rolled anxiously around her like a growing ball. She took the seat nonetheless, and although she didn't necessarily have to hop to get on it, once seated, only the tip of her toes could touch the ground. It almost felt like being a child again.

"And your tea." Edmund returned with another platter, carrying a steaming teapot and cup. Sitting across from her, with his chair pulled out as far as he could without it colliding with the wall, he poured the tea before handing it to her.

"You really shouldn't have gone..." Emma started, almost feeling guilty to accept the welcoming treatment after how she had thought of him. But that worry ran from her mind as he handed her the cup, their fingertips lightly brushing.

With a gasp, Emma snapped her hands away. If it weren't for Edmund's quick reaction, the cup would have shattered on the table, spilling hot tea across her lap. She barely noticed that, though, far too engrossed with the fact that her apprehension had found its reason.

"I am so sorry," Edmund said rather sheepishly, "I know it is a bit odd looking, but I do promise it is exactly like regular skin."

"It's not that," Emma corrected quickly, staring unabashedly at the being standing beside the table. "Lord Lockhart-"

"Please, just Edmund."

"Edmund, if you truly are who you say you are and if, beyond all understanding, you're truly a man, I still cannot understand. Why did you host a party? Why did you bring us all out here?”

Emma watched his face fall even further, black eyes darting to the floor, then to the plate of food, and briefly to her before the floor again.

In the low light, it was difficult to see his expression, but when his eyes returned to hers, nearly hidden in the shadow of his furrowed brow, his jaw had tensed and his voice dipped low.

"It's almost to ridiculous to say. Definitely too much for you to believe."

"Look," Emma placed her cup on the table, trying to meet his eyes if only to show him the sincerity in hers, "I believe you are who you say you are. I've already believed the impossible. What is one more thing?"

"I've never told the story aloud before." The grumble was barely above a whisper, so low that Emma had to lean in over the table, bringing her head low to the wood, capturing his eyes. However reluctantly, he drew his to hers. Emma couldn't help the small smile that itched at the corners of her mouth.

"I trust you, Edmund. So I think you should trust me too."

For a long moment, Edmund still did not raise his head, but he also didn't look away from her eyes. She needed her answers, if only for it to all make sense, for her to not feel like she was still unconscious, with all the events of the last hour playing out as only a dream.

Her heart inexplicably soared when he finally lifted his chin, meeting her eyes fully over the table. "I’ll trust you, Miss Emma."

"And I'll believe whatever you tell me. I just need to know."

"You may say that, but more than anyone else can understand, I know how unbelievable this will sound. Miss Emma, my mother and father...weren't like me..."

"I know. My father knew your parents when they kept a house in London.”

"I am sure he also remembers when they stopped returning to the city. And when they sold the family home in Sussex."

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