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upstartpoodle · 5 years

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The Cornish Way (Chapter 6)

Rating: G

Pairing: George x Elizabeth

Summary: The sixth chapter of my coffee shop AU, in which George is terrible at navigating Cornish roads, Elizabeth has two visitors and George and Elizabeth make the most of their last night together before he returns to London.

Previous chapter

“Oh fuck…”

“See, told you you should have let me drive.”

With another uncharacteristic curse, George backed a little inelegantly into an overgrown passing place in order to let an old, battered landrover drive past them along the winding country lane that meandered off in the direction of the creek. It was quite clear to Elizabeth, who had, despite what she considered to have been her solid reasoning, been relegated to the passenger seat of his car, that, if he had ever been in the practice of negotiating the narrow roads of Cornwall, he was certainly out of it now after years of London.

“It’s fine. I’m fine,” George protested, although his words were belied by the slight wince he gave when the side of his car brushed dangerously close to a clump of overhanging brambles that were growing through the hedge. “…Well, admittedly it may not have been the best idea I’ve ever had.”

Elizabeth couldn’t help but smirk as he finally managed to navigate his way out of the passing place and back onto the lane.

“You see, this is what chivalry gets you in this day and age—a scratched car and wounded pride.”

“I’ll try to bear it as best I can” she got in reply, and she had to fight back a snort of laughter at the wry tone.

It was another gloriously sunny day in Cornwall and they were heading towards the Helford River for the afternoon. Elizabeth had recently got a large commission for some landscapes of the area, and, wanting to make some little sketches and watercolours as practise before she started on the final product, she had invited George to join her. He had agreed, but despite not being particularly familiar with the area--he, like her, had grown up near Truro after all--had insisted on driving in the hope of returning the favour for the times that she had been delegated the duty. It was quite clear, however, that he was beginning to regret that decision, as she pointed him to a small parking space which was really just a glorified layby at the side of the road, where there stood a half-concealed signpost reading “public footpath” pointing out over the fields.

“Are you sure we’re actually allowed to park here?,” he asked sceptically as he turned off the engine. “It looks exactly the same as the passing places.”

“Yes I’m sure. Don’t worry about it,” Elizabeth replied as she stepped out almost directly into the hedge, scooting past it towards the boot. George followed suit, the route from his side of the car unhampered by the local fauna, and pulled open the door for her to take out her things. Making sure she had a firm grip on her easel, she headed towards the gap in the hedge where the footpath lay, casting a glance over her shoulder at her companion, who was ensuring the car was locked. “Come on, slowcoach” she called back at him.

They picked their way along the path in companiable silence, listening to the sound of tweeting birds and the whistle of the wind, which was surprisingly strong that day, though there was little bite to it. Roughly ten minutes later, they reached a fence blocking their path with a small, rather wobbly-looking stile embedded in it. Beside it was a large, laminated makeshift sign reading “BEWARE OF THE BULL” in bold red letters.

"Hold my easel for a minute, won't you?" Elizabeth asked, passing the item in question over to him as she headed towards the fence.

George took her things without complaint but there was a rather dubious expression on his face as he eyed the fence and the field beyond.

"Umm, Elizabeth..."

"Yes?" She was already halfway over the stile, one foot on each side of the fence, and she paused, hands outstretched to balance herself, to turn back towards him with a slight frown.

"Are...are you sure that's a good idea?," George was still staring at the fence, the look on his features more and more sceptical by the second. "I mean...there is a massive sign saying "BEWARE THE BULL" in big red letters. I'm not sure how fast either of us will be able to run with all this stuff. "

"Oh," Elizabeth's expression cleared as she swung her left leg over the style and landed lightly on the grassy path on the other side of the fence. "Don't worry about that; there isn't actually a bull in the field. The farmer just puts that up to stop people from walking through it-- Oh it's alright; it's a public footpath," she added, correctly predicting the question that had been showing on his face. "I just think that he'd rather not have loads and loads of people traipsing through his field all the time."

"Well if you say so" George replied, though he didn't look particularly reassured, even if he had at least stopped trying to peer past her in search of the non-existent bull.

"Don't worry, if it turns out I'm wrong, I'll protect you from the big scary bull," Elizabeth said with a soft, teasing smile, holding out her hands. "Could you pass me my things please?"

"Is bull fighting a special skill of yours then?" George asked, huffing out a laugh as he handed the easel to her over the fence.

"Oh yes, it's my secret superpower so ssh, don't tell anyone," she returned with a grin, settling the easel under her arm. "Now come on you--over the fence."

"Uh...," George floundered slightly, his manner that of a man confronted with a task so large that he didn't quite know which direction to approach it from. "I fear that this isn't going to be the most dignified moment of my life."

"Oh no need to worry; I'll only remind you of it for ten years to come at most."

With a soft chuckle, George hoisted himself ever so slightly unsteadily over the style and landed beside her on the other side of the fence. He cast a cautious glance around him and, once he had assured himself of the lack of both angry bulls and disgruntled farmers, the tension melted from his frame.

"See, that wasn't so bad now was it?" Elizabeth laughed, bumping shoulders with him affectionately as they headed off down the path.

"Heh, I suppose not."

Elizabeth grinned. Sheltered from the wind by the line of trees at the edge of the field, the sun was warm and pleasant on their backs, and with the hedgerows alive with the twittering calls of farmland birds, she couldn't help but fee a strong rush of contentment at being out with him on that beautiful day.

"I'll make a rambler of you yet" she said, intertwining her fingers with his and squeezing gently.

“You’re very quiet today,” Elizabeth remarked some time later, after they had settled down under the shade of the trees growing at the banks of the creek. “Is something the matter?”

She turned away from the sketchbook which she had balanced on her lap to frown down at her silent companion, stretched out beside her on the picnic rug, slowly making his way through a punnet of strawberries which they had been sharing. He glanced up at her, sending her a soft, reassuring smile, but there was something a little distracted in his gaze which did little to assuage her worry.

“Oh, it’s nothing,” he replied, his eyes flickering briefly out towards the water. “I…I was just thinking, that’s all.”

“Penny for them?”

George’s lips quirked in dry amusement as he turned back to meet her gaze.

“I don’t think they’re worth that much,” he said wryly, but something a little hesitant was beginning to creep into his tone. “I’ve just been thinking that…well…it won’t be long until I go back to London and…well…what happens then?”

Elizabeth chewed thoughtfully on her bottom lip. If she were honest with herself, it was not just George who had had that thought stuck in his mind. The nearer this past week had come to drawing to a close, the more the realisation that George would be going home to his old, hectic life in the city, miles apart from his old home--from her--had gnawed at her. She couldn’t deny that she would miss him, miss having his company on her little outings, miss talking to him and knowing he was just a short drive away if she wanted to see him. Would it be different for her now? Sitting, half-expecting someone else to be by her side whenever she went out to the beach, or the countryside, or the little coffee shop where they had met, which she so often frequented? It was strange, she reflected, how quickly she had become accustomed to him being a part of her life, and with the prospect of him disappearing from it as swiftly as it had appeared, Elizabeth’s mind rebelled stubbornly at the thought of it.

“I…don’t know,” she admitted, tapping the base of her pencil against her chin as she thought. “We can…we can keep in touch, can’t we?”

There was a hint of uncertainty in her voice which she had not quite succeeded in masking, and she knew instantly from George’s expression that he had heard it. As wonderful as their three weeks had been, she couldn’t quite dispel the notion that, once he was back to his busy, successful life in London, he would have infinitely more interesting things—and people—to focus on, and that she would be forgotten as just a brief holiday fling that didn’t bare dwelling on. Rationally, she knew that that was her past experience talking—Ross may never have looked back when he upped and left for America, but it was unfair to judge George by another man’s actions—but all the same the worry gnawed away at her, no matter how she tried to suppress it.

“Of course,” George said with a smile, but he too looked a little nervous, a little unsure. “I would like that. But…well…it’s just…I think it’ll be strange now, just…going about my life and you not being there.”

He stopped himself abruptly, cheeks flushing pink, unable to meet her eyes. Elizabeth blinked, taken aback by the sincerity of it. George, she had discovered, was naturally a little guarded with his thoughts and feelings, even when he was making an effort to be open—something, she thought a little wryly, that they had in common. As such, the stark honesty, even compared to the gentle genuineness that she had become accustomed to hearing in his compliments, stunned and—if she were to be entirely honest—rather pleased her, and before she had time to consider what she was doing, that they were in full sight of a public footpath, she darted down and kissed him.

The soft noise of surprise that escaped him was swallowed as she pressed herself closer to him, her sketchbook and pencil, swiftly forgotten, falling in a heap on the picnic rug. Her hands slipped into his hair as she felt an arm snake around her waist, holding her close, and she sighed at the sensation, nails raking along his scalp as her fingers twined in the soft blond curls. In response, he nipped gently at her full bottom lip and she gasped, almost ready to give herself over to the feeling entirely, but the rational part of her brain knew that she couldn’t--not here--and it was with a slight feeling of disappointment that she drew away, resting her forehead against his.

“Perhaps we should go out tomorrow night,” she suggested. “Do something special, you know?”

George smiled up at her, though there was something a little sad in his expression.

“What did you have in mind?”

“Hmm, I’m not sure,” Elizabeth replied as she leaned down to kiss him again. “Perhaps I’ll surprise you. It’ll be my treat, though. You are on holiday after all.”

It was mid-afternoon the next day, and Elizabeth had just finished painting her nails a deep, rich red when her doorbell rang. Muttering a soft curse, she blew frantically over them, hoping that they would dry at least a little before she had the chance to smudge them—God alone knew that it had taken her long enough to get it right; it wasn’t something she usually bothered with, but tonight was special—before heading downstairs to answer the door. She resisted the urge to run her hands through her hair with some difficulty. The last thing she needed was to get red nail polish all through her hair, especially since she had only just washed it that morning.

Careful of her nails, she pulled back her front door to reveal, to her surprise and pleasure, a smiling Verity, dressed in a pale pink dress and a thin white cardigan and carrying several large bags of shopping. Beside her was a young girl whom Elizabeth estimated to be around sixteen or perhaps seventeen years old. She too was laden down with bags, and was looking a little shy, though she wore a tentative smile on her face. From what she had heard of her, Elizabeth guessed that this was Verity’s soon-to-be stepdaughter, Esther.

“Hello Elizabeth,” Verity said. “Esther and I were just out shopping and since we were so close I thought we might pop in and say hi before we head back, if it’s not a bad time?”

It was a little inconvenient, but Elizabeth wasn’t about to pass up the opportunity to meet her best friend’s new family, and so she greeted them with a warm smile and stepped aside to let them in.

“Make yourselves comfortable,” she called over her shoulder as she headed out to the kitchen. “Would you like tea? Coffee?”

“Oh, only if you’re making some,” Verity replied. “I don’t want to be a bother.”

“It’s not a bother—I fancy some anyway. What about you, Esther? Would you like something to drink?”

“Could I have some tea as well please?”

“Of course. Sugar?”

“Just one spoonful please.”

A few minutes later, Elizabeth came into the living room to see them both sitting quietly on the sofa, Esther glancing curiously at the little sketches that she had left strewn on the coffee table the previous evening. On hearing her approach, she looked away a little guiltily. Elizabeth sent her a reassuring smile as she handed her her mug—she wouldn’t leave her work lying about if she minded people taking a look at it.

“Elizabeth…are you wearing nail polish?” Verity asked in surprise as Elizabeth handed her her own mug before sitting down in the armchair adjacent to them. Elizabeth blinked down at her hands, relieved to see that, by some miracle, the polish had not been smudged.

“Oh, well, I’m going out tonight,” she explained. “And you know how I am with this stuff. Takes me at least an hour to manage to paint my nails instead of my fingers so it’s best to get it done early.”

She decided not to mention that she had in fact spent several hours before that fussing over which outfit to wear before she could even begin to go about choosing a complementary colour for her nails.

“Really? Who are you going out with?” Verity said curiously, a slight frown on her face.

“Oh, just a friend” Elizabeth replied, attempting a casual tone, but, from the expression on her friend’s face and the fact that she could feel a blush rising in her cheeks, she suspected that she had wildly missed the mark.

“Oh? A male friend by any chance?” Verity raised her eyebrows wryly at her, an altogether too knowing look on her features.

“Maybe, maybe not” Elizabeth rebuffed the inquiry coyly, taking a sip of her own tea.

She half-expected Verity to say more, but she seemed to have decided that, with Esther there (who was looking faintly awkward listening in to the subject at hand) she would leave her questions for another time.

They stayed for another hour or so, chatting about the engagement and James’ new job in the police force and Esther’s aspirations for university. It was only when Verity glanced at the clock and exclaimed that they had to be getting back to Falmouth that she realised how much time had passed. Forcing herself not to panic--she still had enough time to get ready--she waved them goodbye before rushing off to finish her preparations for the evening. She wanted this evening to go well, and she wasn’t about to start it off by being late to her own date.

George, believing firmly in the principle that one should be punctual in both their personal and professional lives, arrived at Elizabeth’s doorstep at exactly seven o’clock. Pressing the doorbell, he stood, fiddling distractedly with the cuff of his jacket as he waited for her answer. He could feel the familiar jangling of nerves encroaching upon him, as they always did on a certain level whenever he was due to meet her. This particular occasion being especially important in his mind, he found that he was much more susceptible to them than usual that evening, albeit not quite so much as when he had invited her over to the holiday home. He knew it marked a change between them—it was, after all, something of a goodbye, though hopefully not a permanent one—and that couldn’t help but sadden him a little on top of everything, for all that he had promised he wouldn’t let those emotions cloud his enjoyment of their evening together.

It had been awhile since he had rung the doorbell, he realised, and she had still not answered. He considered pressing it again, but before he could do so, the door was pulled open to reveal a slightly flustered Elizabeth. She smiled a little sheepishly at him, stuffing her phone into the small handbag hanging from her shoulder.

“Hi, sorry. Verity visited this afternoon and we kind of lost track of time. I—what is it? Is there something wrong?”

George shook himself, suddenly realising that he’d been openly staring. But really, he couldn’t help it. Her hair piled up into an elegant knot at the back of her head, Elizabeth was clothed in a stylish, floaty, wine-red dress which contrasted sharply with her pale skin, accompanied by a thin white shrug and complemented by a pair of dark red heels that accentuated the line of her long legs and gave her several inches on him in height. She was glancing at him nervously from under her lashes, a little self-conscious, but all he could think of was that she looked absolutely stunning.

“I—Elizabeth, you look amazing” he said, all thoughts except blunt honesty temporarily robbed of him.

Elizabeth’s slightly anxious expression melted away into a broad smile, a blush colouring her pale skin as she leaned forward to press a soft kiss to his cheek.

“You don’t look too bad yourself, mister,” she said with a wry quirk of her lips, and it was George’s turn to blush, not quite sure how to respond. “Even if I have left lipstick on you” she added with a slight giggle, attempting to brush the offending mark from the arch of his cheekbone with her thumb.

They headed off along the quay, soaking in the warm evening sunlight and the cries of the gulls above them. Several times George tried to persuade her to tell him where they were going, but each time she evaded the question.

“Hush, no spoiling the surprise!” she teased after his third attempt.

“Alright, I concede defeat” he responded with a put-upon sigh, causing her to smirk in amusement.

They were beginning to head away from the quayside now, up into the city centre with Elizabeth just ahead of him, guiding the way. Eventually, they reached a familiar street full of multi-coloured houses which George remembered to be just along the road from the museum and, turning the corner, came to a halt. Before them was an average-sized, slightly crooked, white-painted house with a low door and small windows. It did not look particularly remarkable--in fact, he doubted he would even have realised it was a restaurant if it had not been for the sign emblazoned on the wall.

“Well, here we are,” Elizabeth said, and he could here a note of uncertainty in her voice. “Now I know it doesn’t look like much on the outside, but it’s definitely worth a visit.”

George smiled at her and nodded.

“I trust you.”

Elizabeth beamed at him.

“Come on then.”

The sensation of walking into the little restaurant, George couldn’t help but think, was not incomparable to that one might feel upon walking into the TARDIS--in that it was most definitely bigger on the inside. Where the outside had been rustic and--dare he say it--a little drab, the inside was spacious and stylish, the white of the tablecloths offset by the deep plum colour of the walls. It was quite busy already, many of the tables already occupied, and the room was filled with a pleasant hum of chatter alongside the soft clinking of cutlery on plates.

“Not quite what you expected?” Elizabeth leaned in to whisper to him.

“Not exactly, no,” he admitted. “But I’m pleasantly surprised.”

At that point, a waiter came over to settle them into their seats and handed them their menus, telling them to take as much time as they needed. They both took them with a smile, thanking him as he headed off to deal with another couple who had just walked through the door.

“God, this place must be expensive,” George muttered as he opened the menu and glanced down at it; his eyebrows shot up. “Oh, this place is definitely expensive.”

Elizabeth laughed.

“Yeah, it’s not exactly a regular dining experience for most people,” she said. “I’ve come here with Francis and Verity before though, and for a couple of family things. Trust me, the food’s worth it.”

She turned out to be quite right. The meal--all three courses of it (thank God he had had a light lunch that day)--had been delicious, though that had not stopped them from talking easily and animatedly on just about ever subject imaginable. Despite that though, George couldn’t help but detect a hint of melancholy in their conversation throughout the evening. After all, they only had one more morning together after this and then he would be gone, back to his old life in London. He didn’t want to think about that though--not now--and so he did the best to put it to the back of his mind.

Their meal finished, they turned their attention to, as Elizabeth described it, “the thorny issue of the bill”. Both determined to pay and unable to come to an adequate conclusion that would suit the both of them, in the end they simply decided to split it fifty-fifty and, feeling full from the food and a little warm and fuzzy from the wine, they stood from their table and headed out into the cool evening air.

It surprised George when they stepped outside to see that the sun had almost entirely set, the red of little more than a low, thin line in the deep blue sky. They must have rather lost track of time inside the restaurant, he supposed. With the sun gone, there was a slight chill in the air, but Elizabeth didn’t seem to mind as she leaned into his side, slipping her fingers through his and squeezing gently, a soft, gentle smile curving on her red lips.

They headed back down to the quay like this, barely inches between them as they walked. The feel of her body brushing up against him, the flowery smell of her perfume in his nose was almost maddening, but he did not pull away from her--he could not ever dream of wanting to. It was only when they reached her front door that they parted, as she extracted her hand from his own to rummage through her bag in search of her keys. She fumbled with them a little before finally managing to unlock the door. Pushing it half open, she turned back to him, a slightly shy smile on her face.

“Do-do you want to come in?” she asked, and it was all George could do not to stare as she worried distractingly at her full bottom lip with her teeth, her expression soft and hopeful. He smiled back at her, following her into the dark hallway. Even if he had wanted to, he didn’t think he could have refused her anything.

George barely paid any mind to the semi-darkness of the house as he stepped over the threshold. All he could focus on was the click of the door closing behind him and then, as he turned to face her, the feel of Elizabeth’s arms encircling him, pulling him close, and the press of her lips against his own, gentle but insistent. Alost of their own accord, his own arms came around her, right and settling at the small of her back and left coming to cup the back of her neck, pressing close against her. She moaned softly into his mouth, hand trailing down to his chest to toy with the buttons of his shirt.

“Bedroom?” she whispered against his lips, slipping the top button undone.

“Oh God, yes” he murmured in reply, gasping as her fingertips meandered along the dip of his collarbone and down to the second button of his shirt. The press of her body against his was almost torturous; he could barely think properly as her lips found his again, the kiss harder and hungrier than the first. All he could do was return it with equal enthusiasm, fingers fumbling with the clip that held her hair up in its elegant knot, so that it unravelled slowly down her back like a dark, silky waterfall. Elizabeth sighed as he ran his fingers through it, drawing back slightly, pupils blown wide, and then, taking his hand in a gentle grip, tugged him towards the stairs.

“If it’s going to be our last night together, let’s make it one to remember.”

Next chapter: George and Elizabeth take one last trip to the coffee shop where they met, and George returns to London.

#poldark #george warleggan #elizabeth warleggan #elizabeth chynoweth #george x elizabeth #elizabeth x george #georgibeth #verity blamey #verity poldark #esther blamey #poldark au #modern au #coffee shop au #mine #fic #my fic #this has taken so long to write it's ridiculous #only one chapter left to go now

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