A Yorkshire Thing, 1/2
Part One | Part Two
Peter had surprised her with a mini-break, squiring her away to Yorkshire at the conclusion of her most recent case, insisting that she needed time to relax, to be able to focus on herself instead of the needs and demands of others.
Rose had no idea how Peter had found the romantic hideaway, so far off the beaten path it was; she suspected that, however he’d come to discover it, he’d chosen the B&B in part because their phones didn’t work there; he’d merely given her a small smile when she’d asked, before asking in return if it mattered.
They’d spent their first full day in Yorkshire hidden in their palatial room, making love several times throughout the day, in between napping or reading. They’d spent much of the afternoon lazing about on the sofa, nibbling on the provisions the proprietor of the B&B had had delivered to their room, the warm sunlight streaming through the tall windows of the old house. Peter had brought some books, and she had been perfectly content to lean against his body, stretched out along the length of the sofa, his arms surrounding her as he read to her over her shoulder. It felt like months had passed since she’d last spent so much time with Peter, and she had felt herself relax immediately they were alone together.
The B&B owner had smiled knowingly when they’d finally emerged from their suite late the night before, desperate for a proper meal before retiring back to their quarters.
In spite of how they’d spent the day before she still wasn’t quite in the habit of having a lie-in; thus it was that they were at the earliest sitting for breakfast on their second morning, the spring sun bringing a soft light to the fields outside. They had the breakfast room to themselves, the other guests at the small B&B still tucked up in bed, or already out for an early morning.
“More tea?”
Rose looked up from buttering her toast, and smiled. “Please.”
Peter poured for her before topping off his own cup and settling the teapot on the trivet.
“So, Carlisle, what do you have in store today?”
He set his spoon on the table, the tea in his cup still swirling, and raised his eyes to hers. “Up for a drive and a walk?”
“It’s a bit frosty outside...” She pretended to equivocate, her eyes dancing.
“We spent yesterday in, Rose,” he said, his voice warm with the memory.
“Indeed we did. Which means, I suppose, that a drive and a walk would be fantastic today.” She grinned at him, before turning to peer out the window. “It is a lovely day.”
He smiled at her, and they returned to their breakfasts.
It was an hour later that they were in the car, headed westwards from the B&B and kitted out in boots, hiking trousers, sweaters, and jackets, a knapsack tossed carelessly in the back of the small car. Peter drove, as usual tending to exceed the speed limit in between slowing down to pass through the villages, and she marvelled at the normalcy of the situation. The Doctor had once said he didn’t do domestic, and somewhere along the way she’d assumed she never would, either. Somehow, since she had fallen in love with Peter, she’d found she rather liked domestic. At least, she liked domestic when Peter was around to enjoy it with her.
They made small talk as they crossed the moors, commenting on a passing house, pointing out a stunning view; discussing work only briefly in amongst the range of other topics that arose. At other times, the car was silent, each of them content to just enjoy the company of the other as the countryside flew by.
It was a short drive-shorter, certainly, than she’d been expecting--and they pulled off the A road after only an hour. She’d no idea where they were, knew only they were somewhere west of Harrogate up in the dales, and saw Peter’s lips quirk as he noted her searching for a clue as to their whereabouts.
“Bolton,” he said as he took a particularly sharp, rather narrow corner. As the road straightened a small village straddling the road came into view, and she smiled. “There’s an old priory here, and it’s good walking.”
They found parking, stopped by the small shop for some water and food to add to their knapsack, and Peter led her along the hedgerows to a gate. She was reminded of Shap, and couldn’t resist saying, “You certainly do know how to find ruins.”
He held the gate open for her, a smile on his lips, and she noted him watching her as she turned to look at what lay in front of her.
The panorama looked like something out of a painting, the path ahead of her dropping away into a valley with the moors rising in the background. The ruins sat in front of her and to her left, next to a small river; surrounding it were fields and forests, the bright green of the first spring growth evident in the mid-morning light. With the exception of the cows grazing in the field in front of them, they appeared to have the place largely to themselves.
Peter reached down to take her hand, and together they set off down the path. They stopped, briefly, at the ruins of the priory; she was keen to explore, to see what the ancient tombstones in the small graveyard said, but Peter lured her away with the promise of a stop on their return trip. There were stepping stones leading across the river, and she laughed as she watched Peter negotiate his way across them, before stopping on the other side and waiting for her. Her laughter faded at the intensity of his gaze as he quietly watched her cross, and she was quite breathless by the time she arrived at the other side. She couldn’t resist leaning up, placing a kiss on his lips, his breath warm against her in the chilly air; she would have been perfectly content to stay like that, kissing him under the clear blue sky, but he pulled back, smiling.
“If I didn’t know better, Miss Tyler, I’d think you were trying to seduce me.”
She grinned back. “Maybe I am, Mr. Carlisle.”
He leaned forward, whispering into her ear, “Maybe I’m the one who’s trying to seduce you.”
“You don’t need to seduce me, Peter,” she replied, her heart racing.
“Maybe I enjoy it.”
Rose suddenly wished she could shed her jacket-she was roasting hot, and she hastily unzipped it to try to cool off. He gave her a lazy grin as he stepped back, taking her hand in his once more and leading her up to the main path.
They continued through the valley, the panorama shifting as they rounded a bend, or reached a rise. The bleat of sheep could be heard periodically, or the lowing of cattle; but she and Peter were the only humans in sight.
“Is it always this...quiet?” she asked as they paused to take in one of the more stunning views.
“It is a Tuesday, you know,” he said, turning to look at her. “And for you southerners, it’s a bit chilly.”
She leaned into him, bumping her shoulder into his arm. She had managed to forget which day of the week it was, her most recent case leading her to work seven days a week for nearly a month. Peter had made sure she was fed at night, had looked after her as she drove herself to near-exhaustion trying to find the missing child of one of the alien ambassadors. Torchwood-Pete, really-had told her to take several days off once things were done, and she had slept the clock around on her first day after the case wrapped. The morning of her third day off, Peter had told her to pack a carryall, bundled her into his car, and driven them up to the B&B.
They spent several hours walking along the trails, wandering through the wood, hiking up to the top of the moor. Peter found a likely spot for a light meal around noon, and they giggled like children as they lay on their backs afterwards, picking shapes out of the small puffs of clouds drifting lazily overhead. She was reminded of their first date, and asked, at one point, if he’d spotted any legless ducks, which made him reiterate, “It was swimming,” before rolling over to give her a long and emotional kiss.
They made their way back to the car slowly, clasped hands swinging between them as the sun began its downward journey. They had encountered very few people during the course of the day, and it was a bit of a shock to return to the little valley they’d first entered hours earlier to find a tour group milling about, taking pictures and chattering excitedly in the ruins of the priory. The cattle appeared equally unimpressed, moving about restlessly along the side of the field.
She reminded Peter of his promise to stop so she could explore the small churchyard; she didn’t miss his quick glance at the tour group, nor his swallow of discomfort before he acquiesced. She leaned up, placing a quick kiss on his lips, before tugging his hand and leading him in amongst the old tombstones. The tour group left shortly thereafter, having taken as many pictures of the ruins as they could, and they spent the rest of their time exploring the Priory and the churchyard in peaceable silence.
Eventually, they made their way out of the Priory grounds, walking hand-in-hand along the wide path, hands swinging between them as they slowly climbed out of the valley. As they reached the gate leading to the road, Rose turned to Peter; pulling him to her, she kissed him gently. “Thank you,” she whispered against his lips. She took a step back, saw him looking at her with dark eyes, and she reached up with her free hand to gently stroke the stubble along his chin. “I love you.”
It was hardly the first time she’d said it to him outside of the bedroom, but he still looked as though he might weep; she leaned forward, once more kissed him gently, and felt his hand gently cradle her head as he returned the kiss.
As he so often liked to do, he slowly drifted kisses away from her lips, along her jaw, ending with a soft brush of his lips over her ear before he simply embraced her. She sighed against him, her eyes closed as her head rested against his shoulder. She loved him so intensely it scared her, a feeling which hadn’t abated since they’d admitted their feelings to each other nearly two years earlier. Even when he was doing something as simple as holding her to him, she felt dizzy, thought she might suffocate from how his touch or voice made her breath catch.
He brushed his lips over her hair before releasing her. He took a step back, clasped her hand, and said, “I’d be quite content to stay here, you know-but they were going to do supper for us tonight. We’ve an hour yet to get back, so...” He looked at her apologetically.
“Then let’s go. We’ll have plenty of time later to cuddle.”
He smiled. “More than cuddle, I should hope.”
She felt her body flush, and his smile grew. He was like a drug to her-and he knew it. Not that she minded.
The return ride was quiet, Peter holding her hand as he drove, finding, as he often did, a way to shift without letting go. She dozed, a day spent in fresh air relaxing her to a ridiculous degree, and Peter had to gently awaken her once the car was parked outside the old house in which they were staying. “We’re back,” he said, brushing his lips across her cheek; she stirred, opening her eyes with a smile.
“Mmm.”
“Come on, then, sleepyhead. Let’s get you upstairs and showered, shall we?”
“Alone, or with you?” she asked sleepily.
“Depends on how long you take to get upstairs,” he said, humour in his voice.
Peter joined her in the shower, his fingers massaging her scalp as he shampooed her hair. Rose returned the favour, laughing as he leaned down so she could reach up to lather his hair. She practically purred as he combed conditioner through her hair with his fingers and then rinsed it out with infinite gentleness, and he danced away from her hands as she tried to sidetrack him. He teasingly scolded her for trying to distract him and make them both late for supper, before shutting the water off and wrapping her in one of the fluffy towels he’d strategically hung over the edge of the shower stall.
Dinner was intensely romantic, the two of them dining at the small table in the window of their large suite, the only light provided by the candles flickering on the table and the dresser. She’d seen Peter in many, many situations since she’d met him, but she still thought he looked most stunning by candlelight. She couldn’t help but stare at him as the light flickered, his eyes glittering as he returned her gaze.
There were certain conversations, in their time as a couple, that had become special, snatches of dialogue meaningful just in the intensity of memories that they conjured. He used one of them now. “D’you see something you like, then?” he drawled lazily, a slight smile curving the corner of his mouth.
“Oh, very much so,” she responded, still staring.
“And what might that be, Rose?” he whispered, leaning forward.
She closed the distance between them, until they were only inches apart. “You have to ask, Peter?”
He captured her lips, the china rattling on the table as he bumped against it; she laughed lightly, and he nipped at her lip, employing another of their familiar slices of repartee.
“That’s not nice, Rose.”
“Never said I was nice, Peter.”
He stood, moved around the table, pulled her up to him; he kissed her deeply as he wrapped his arms around her, and she thought she might actually swoon. Which was ridiculous-she had been sleeping with him for two years, had lived with him for a good part of that time. And yet he still had the power to make it feel as though everything was new, and as though she was literally the only thing in the universe for him.
They undressed each other in the candlelight, made gentle love in the flickering glow of the flames, sighs of love mingling with the moans of pleasure, the murmurs of encouragement and want. She came, whispering how much she loved him against his ear; he followed soon after, letting her know exactly what she meant to him in a soft voice, his breath brushing against the skin of her neck.
They lay naked in each other’s arms, limbs tangled together, and she fell asleep to the comforting beat of his heart, the rise and fall of his chest soothing her as she slipped into dreams that couldn’t compare to her reality.
When she awoke, the room was bright, morning light spilling through the curtains. The duvet was tucked securely around her, and she could feel Peter lying next to her on the soft mattress. She blinked, shifting so she could see her lover; he was on his side, looking at her. His fair skin was always exceptionally pale in the morning, the dusting of freckles along his skin standing out in sharp contrast. His hair was inevitably rumpled, more so if they’d made love the night before-this morning, it looked like a small, frightened animal. His dark eyes were intense, and she felt herself blush under his watchful gaze.
She rolled to face him, her feet seeking his as she shifted; he brought a hand out from under the duvet, and gently stroked her face.
They stared at each other in soft silence for a few moments, Rose content to run her eyes over the beloved features of his face as he lightly brushed his knuckles along her cheek, his eyes following his fingers as they traced her skin.
He removed his hand, his eyes meeting hers as he took breath to speak.
“Marry me?” he said, so softly she wouldn’t have been sure he’d spoken at all if she’d not seen his lips move. Her heart stopped.
“What?” she asked dumbly.
“I want to marry you, Rose. I want us to get married.” Peter was staring at her, his eyes deep and vulnerable, awaiting some sort of answer from her-any answer.
“I...” Rose swallowed, her heart in her mouth. She’d never thought he’d ask her, certainly hadn’t expected it. He’d told her his first marriage had been a disaster, and he’d made it sound as though he’d never want to do it again; she’d not thought she’d even be interested in something so conventional, so unnecessary. She and Peter loved each other, lived together as partners; what would a small piece of paper change about that?
And yet, the thought of marrying him--of knowing he was her husband, that they were bound together through thick and through thin, that they were a partnership-made her want to weep for happiness.
Peter was still awaiting her answer, his expression slowly growing fearful as he watched her in the growing silence. “I...” She tried again, having difficulty getting the words out. Yes! Her mind screamed, yes! But all she could do was nod.
His expression brightened. “Really?”
“Really.”
He leaned forward, gently kissing her, his lips curled in a smile; she was smiling as well when he broke the kiss, putting enough distance between them so they could focus on each other. “You’ll be my wife?” he asked, still not quite believing it.
“You’ll be my husband,” she corrected. Her heart clenched at the simple statement.
“That I will.” His voice was low, intent; her breath caught at the look he was giving her. “When? That is...when would you be willing to...”
Her mum would want a huge society wedding, everyone who was anyone invited to the event of the year. She might have only appeared five years ago, but she was a Tyler-and a Tyler wedding would be a Big Wedding. And Peter...he didn’t have any family, not really.
She shuddered at the thought. She didn’t want something so personal to be so very public, and she absolutely didn’t want to do that to Peter.
“As soon as possible.”
Peter blinked, surprised. “Really?”
“I...want to elope. If you’re willing.”
Peter was taken aback. “As soon as possible.”
She wiggled closer to him; he rolled on to his back so she could curl against him. “I...Peter, what will waiting to get married change? I love you. I’ll love you tomorrow, next week, next month, next year.”
“But...I thought...you might want your mum there, and Pete. Maybe your team.”
She turned, looked up at him; he pulled back slightly and looked at her. “I’m marrying you, Peter. I’d like my family there, yeah-but you’re the only one that matters.”
“We’ll have to wait a day or so for licensing and blood tests, you realize. There’d be time to let your family know.”
She pressed a kiss to his skin. “I know. But...I want this to be just us. It’s for us, about us. My mum’s going to want to do a huge thing once she finds out.” She sighed. “So I’d rather the real ceremony, the one that’s the legal one, be just us.”
He kissed the crown of her head. “Then let’s elope properly. Come back to London married, not tell anyone at all.”
She grinned, and once more looked up to Peter. “Perfect.”
A/N: Thanks to
aibhinn for reminding me about this. Yes, I'm aware of the marriage laws in England, specifically regarding elopements. That particular issue will be addressed in Chapter 2. :)