Elizabeth called on Lord Byron, she hadn't seen him for a couple of weeks since his last ball and wanted to check on the injury he sustained that prevented him from travelling for the hunt. She felt it was her duty as they would soon be married, although she realised now, she felt no affection for him. When she remembered the balls Byron had thrown in her honour, her most persistent memory of those nights, by far, was meeting Thomas, dancing with him. He was a better dancer than Byron,more attentive, there was a gentleness in Thomas that bordered on reverence. When she was with Byron she felt as though he tolerated her, marrying her was his duty, not what his heart called for.

She was lost in her memories and started when the door suddenly opened, revealing a surprised butler, of all the people he expected to be on the doorstep today, miss Elizabeth was not one of them. It was a moment before he regained his composure, remembered his station, bowed low and invited her inside.

"I am afraid mistress has called at an unfortunate time, the master of the house is not  present at the moment."

"Not present?" Elizabeth repeated back.

"I am afraid not mistress, he left not long ago with the horses..." He had hoped this would be the end of the matter and Elizabeth would take the hint and leave, unfortunately Elizabeth was much more persistent. "Where,pray tell, has he gone?"

The butler fought to stifle a sigh before he replied, "I am afraid I do not know mistress, he is not usually gone riding longer than a few hours, but I was not informed of when he will return, having received no specific instructions from the master himself."

Elizabeth was disappointed, but also partly relieved at not having to talk with Byron, she was however, hot and thirsty from her ride. "Very well,if I may impose on your hospitality a while, the ride over here was hot and I would require a drink of water before I can continue on my journey."

"Of course mistress,please..." The butler led her into the drawing room and instructed her to make herself comfortable and take as long as she needed in the comfort of the house, while he fetched a drink from the kitchens. Elizabeth thanked him and cast a curious glance around the room,taking the opportunity to learn of Byron's tastes and the objects he surrounded himself with, while she was unobserved. You could learn a lot from a man by how he chose to decorate his drawing room, and the correspondence he left on a side table. Elizabeth's gaze fell on the letter lying conspicuous on the table, it had clearly been balled tightly and smoothed out again, her conscious could not dissuade her from sweeping across the room and picking it up to read. She wondered who had been writing to Byron that would cause him to crumple the letter, but also keep it.

Her question was answered immediately although it was much worse news than she had been expecting and found she must sit down immediately as the truth of the words rushed out from the parchment and hit her as a chilly December wind.

The first thing she noticed was the letter had been addressed to her.

The second thing was the poem it contained.

The third was the signature at the bottom.

She barely had time to take in this unwanted knowledge, it seemed to chill her to the bone,the uncomfortable feeling of an icy touch gripping her by the shoulders. She felt a rush of blood to her head, roaring in her ears, she was expecting to read a trivial note about Byron's business dealings, a meeting postponed, his writing rejected. Not this. She could never have prepared herself for this. The room around her seemed to disappear, fade into the background as she struggled to comprehend what she was reading. Byron had somehow intercepted her mail, a letter addressed to her, intended for her sole attention, the anger was boiling inside her, how dare he!

As she scanned the lines it all became apparent, she had suspected the poem Byron had sent her had not been penned by his own hand, she had not found him as eloquent as would be expected to write words of such beauty.

"She walks in beauty, like the night

Of cloudless climes and starry skies."

Elizabeth assumed,cruelly she thought at the time, he had paid someone to write the poem on his behalf. She now wished that had indeed been the case, the truth that was now slowly and horribly dawning upon her was much, much worse.

"And all that's best of dark and bright

Meet in her aspect and her eyes;"

She was so familiar with the words, having repeated them again and again since Byron had sent her the poem, she loved it and was deeply honoured to think someone had written those beautiful words for her.

"Thus mellowed to that tender light

Which heaven to gaudy day denies."

The letter was signed as Thomas Thorne, written in beautifully looping calligraphy,accompanied by a small sketch of a rose.

Thomas.

Thomas had written that poem for her.

He had written her a beautiful poem that screamed of love, in a letter that had been intercepted by Byron.

She gripped the letter tightly in her fist as she tore from the room, slamming the front door closed behind her and rushing to her horse, mounting clumsily with the rising anger for Byron and panic for Thomas. She kicked off and rode with the ferocity of a highwayman attempting to escape the sheriff, she could not have ridden faster if the hounds of hell themselves had been at her horse's heels.

Her seat was ungainly,her appearance becoming undignified as she squinted through the tears building behind her eyes. The poem – those beautiful words –they were from Thomas' pen, his mind, his heart. She felt his anguish and knew what she had so far refused to consider, what she had always known but could not dedicate her thoughts to.

Thomas was in love with her.

This poem was his way of expressing his feelings. To what end? She could not help but assume he harboured dreams of her running away with him, Elizabeth was forced to grip the reins tighter and dig her heels in more forcefully to her horse's sides as she was hit by the realisation she had so far ignored. That was exactly what she wanted. She would runaway with Thomas and find happiness with him that would be forever elusive if she stayed and married Byron. She didn't love Byron, she couldn't, especially after this betrayal.

She loved Thomas.

If Byron hadn't intercepted the letter she would, of course, have been taken aback by Thomas' forwardness in writing to her, in writing this for her. But there was no doubt in her mind what actions she would take. She was risking everything for Thomas and she knew with the entirety of her being she would regret nothing, her heart exclusively and fully belonged to Thomas, it always had. Since that first night in the walled garden when they met, when they danced in the peaceful serenity of the moonlight. She had loved him since, she would love him forever more.

She needed to reach him, the hoof-beats of her horse thundering down the road that led to his house. Elizabeth knew instinctively, as soon as she read the letter, where Byron was, what his intentions were. On handling the letter, she felt the anger that had caused Byron to crush the parchment into a ball, the flicker of an idea that would have followed. A way out for him, to use Thomas' words for his own end,he would have known how receptive she would be to the words Thomas wrote with so much love. How dare Byron lead her to believe they were his own. She knew Byron well enough to be sure he wouldn't allow Thomas to contact Elizabeth again, he would silence him to prevent Elizabeth from finding out the poem represented Thomas' love,not his own. She needed to stop Byron before it was too late, she needed to find Thomas. Elizabeth fought back the anguished scream that dwelled within her chest as she threw her entire being into urging her flagging horse onwards, onwards.

Her mind was racing with this new, terrible knowledge, her only sure course of action was that she needed to move fast – faster than the speed at which she was currently travelling, faster than she would ever be capable of moving on a mortal plane. She wanted to cry out against the futility of it all, the world around her seemed to have slowed purposefully to impede her progress, she felt trapped,helpless, but she would never give up, knowing Thomas was in danger.

Elizabeth clattered up to Thomas' residence, throwing herself from her horse, attempting to ignore the dishevelled picture she must appear to household staff to be. She pummelled on the door, almost falling into the hallway as it was finally wrenched open. "Thomas..." she panted, "where is Thomas?" The butler was dumbstruck by her unorthodox appearance,her stuttering question. Many frustrating seconds ticked by before he found his voice to answer, "he's riding out in the fields behind the house...miss...can I call a groom to accompany you?" Elizabeth didn't hear his kind offer as she ran back to her horse and swung him around before she had properly mounted. The butler was left standing in the doorway, staring open-mouthed at her swiftly departing figure as Thomas' father appeared in the hallway behind him. "What was all that infernal banging?"

"My lord, it was a lady in a state of distress, enquiring after master Thomas."

Thomas' father snorted dismissively, "that's the second impassioned visitor the boy's had today, what's he been up to now?" They both gazed out at the empty drive before Thomas' father barked at his servant. "Close the door, man! People will think I'm running an unruly house."

Elizabeth galloped across the fields, desperately turning her head from side to side,scanning the horizon for any sign of Thomas, Byron. She begged silently, holding back the sobs that threatened to unseat her, she needed all of her energy to ride fast to his side. Please, by all the gods, please allow me to find Thomas unharmed, I'll do anything,I'll give up everything, please let him be safe.

She had lost sight of the house a while ago as she drove forward, her horse slowing under her through sheer exhaustion, she patted his neck and promised him the best life from now on if he would just carry her to Thomas now. She gritted her teeth, hating herself for every dig of her heels to his sides but unable to relent on her search for Thomas. She had to find him, she must.

Her heart caught in her throat, her blood pounding in her ears as she searched desperately and was both relieved and worried when she saw a fully tacked horse grazing across the field she had entered. One final push, she promised her horse, just get me over there. Her horse had slowed to a reluctant trot now, unable to give her any more. Frustrated, she threw herself from the saddle and ran the last few yards, it felt more like a furlong to her legs that weighed her down like stone. She stumbled but pushed forward, suddenly catching sight of a shape on the grass beyond the horse. It wasn't moving. It was human-shaped.

No, please, no. Elizabeth propelled forward with her last ounce of strength to the shape, wishing away the inevitable with everything she possessed. She cried out as she drew closer and saw the figure was indeed Thomas, he lay motionless in the grass, a large bloodstain emanating from a hole in his waistcoat.

She threw herself to the ground next to him, hands on his chest, shaking him and crying out his name, the tears she had repressed on the journey finally burst forth as her worst fears were confirmed. She knelt by his head and gently cradled him around the neck as she checked for a pulse. Non-existent. She searched for signs of him breathing. None.

She called his name over and over, begging him to wake up, she was here now, she would never leave his side again. She shouted her desperation into the sky, threw her arms around him and hugged him tightly as though the strength of her love alone could revive him, this succeeded only in covering her in his blood. She didn't notice, his body was still warm, he still held a resemblance to her Thomas, she thought of herself as a widow – of course she would have married him. She could never have married Byron, not really, she wouldn't have went through with it.

Elizabeth lovingly brushed Thomas' hair away from his forehead, frowning and wiping away a faint trail of his blood she had left on his face. He didn't deserve this, to be murdered, for she had no doubt Byron was to blame. No doubt he was long gone by now, fleeing the scene of his crime like the coward he is.

He had intercepted Thomas' letter to her, a love poem, Byron would of course have interpreted that as a grave threat from Thomas, he would have wanted to assert his dominance by neutralising Thomas, the only way he knew how – with violence. No, no more thoughts of Byron, she had thoughts enough only for Thomas now, her Thomas.

If only she had stayed with Thomas the night they met in the walled garden, if only she had ignored her sister's call, Byron's power and wealth, all she really wanted from life was love. That could have been her life with Thomas, they could have eloped that night and spent the rest of their lives in blissful harmony.

She felt as though her soul had been ripped out, the pain tore through her mercilessly, she wished she could have been laying bleeding beside Thomas. That she could have shouldered some of his burden, they could have been together. If only she had arrived earlier, ridden harder, left her home earlier. If only she'd chosen to visit Byron before today,maybe she could have talked him out of it. She knew she could never go back to him now, could never look him in the face, knowing what he'd done. She cried freely over Thomas' inert body, clutching his shirt, wailing to the otherwise empty field. She took too long to acknowledge her love for him. If only...If only...

The love Elizabeth felt- and was finally able to express - built up as she knelt over him,she knew it would build to a crescendo, steadily rising like a wave to break over the shore, she wanted to be swept away, to drown in her grief and not have to live in this reality where she couldn't be with him. When her grief had subsided enough, she lay next to him,entwined his hand in her own and faced the sky with him. Her eyes full of regrets, his – unseeing.

She gripped his hand tightly, if only her touch, her love could bring him back, just one more chance. She would do things differently this time, better, she would make it work. She would leave Byron for Thomas that night they met in the garden. She would give all of the days she had left on this Earth to relive that one evening with Thomas. Her eyes closed as she replayed that memory over and over, lying next to her only love, the sun was setting behind the trees now, the grass becoming damp, the world eager to close the curtains on this hellish day. She wondered if she lay there long enough, would she stiffen and never move again? Would she sink into the grass and be reclaimed by the Earth?

Thomas was as still as a rock and she clung to him, her lighthouse in stormy seas, she wanted nothing more than to be near him, caring not for what happened now. Her mind was blank, numb. No thoughts left that were worth thinking, she would simply lie there until her fate matched that of Thomas. She would never leave his side again.

At Thomas' house James was pacing uneasily, he had been told Thomas was riding in the grounds and wasn't expected to be out long, that was hours ago and he had not returned. Although Thomas had a habit of long rides and losing track of time, James was becoming impatient – tinged with worry. He had resolved not to fret and wondered upstairs, pacing around the house to avoid sitting still. He heard servants approaching down the corridor and slipped into Thomas' room to avoid them, he was in no mood for conversation. As he stood in the familiar room, he heard the conversation of the servants as they passed outside the room. "Two visitors today apparently – a man then a woman, respectable sort mind...well..."

He paced nervously over to the desk, glancing down at the mess of papers that lay there, he gave a tight smile at Thomas' untidiness when he was writing. The parchment on top seemed to be a completed poem, he picked the sheet up and read in a whisper:

"I watched thee on the breakers, when the rock,

Received our prow, and all was storm and fear,

And bade thee cling to me through every shock;

This arm would be thy bark, or breast thy bier."

He could still hear the servants, they must have paused to finish their conversation in the upstairs hallway, away from the family, "...and you should have seen the state of her! Wild, possessed like a mad thing she was!"

James tried to block out the gossip of the servants, as his eyes skimmed down the page, omitting some verses for a swifter read, others hitting him with a force, they would not be ignored. The more he read, the more he experienced a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. He suddenly knew why Thomas had written this, who he had written it for – and who had called at the house today that gave the servants so much to gossip about.

"And when convulsive throes denied my breath

The faintest utterance to my fading thought,

To thee—to thee—e'en in the gasp of death

My spirit turned, oh! oftener than it ought.

"They both demanded to know the whereabouts of master Thomas and left in aright hurry once they were told...like they were chased by the Devil himself! I very much doubt either of them were after master Thomas to pass the time of day...something's going on with that boy, mark my words!"

James could no longer concentrate on the poem, the servant's words seemed to be magnified in the silence of the room. A beacon shining a light on a truth too terrible for James to acknowledge.

"Thus much and more; and yet thou lov'st me not,

And never wilt! Love dwells not in our will.

Nor can I blame thee, though it be my lot

To strongly, wrongly, vainly love thee