A Practical Arrangement (9 page)

“
Exactly,” Thomas concurred. “The one I'll have is Miss Grey.”

“
I had no idea you held an interest in her. When did this happen?”

Thomas relayed the circumstance of his need to wed and his subsequent conversation with Albert Grey. Explaining her father's decree that she must marry as well, Thomas detailed the practical solution he envisioned to fulfill his debt and finally assume his responsibilities as Masterson heir. He also included his growing preoccupation with Evangeline Grey. “The question remains, unfortunately, whether I can convince her to accept me. I dare say she may refuse me and take her chances with her father's choice.”

“
You're mad to believe that, Thomas,” Jonathan quipped. “Women clamber over one another simply to gain a few moments of your attention. Your income alone entices them, never mind your rumored abilities in the bed-chamber; I say, you could be ugly as an ogre, and still they would gladly wed you.”

“
Yet Miss Grey avoids me at every opportunity. My money – and my reputation – seem to dissuade rather than entice her. It is, perhaps, the reason I find myself drawn to her. Frankly, I believe she will refuse my offer.” He considered his own statement, an idea dawning. “But I may not give her the chance.”

“
What are you considering? Will you work out a deal with her father?” Jonathan asked.

“
That would still give her opportunity to resist. No,” he stated, mind conjecturing methodically, “I'll orchestrate a situation which will leave her no choice but to accept me.”

“
How do you plan to accomplish that?” Jonathan frowned. “Will you compromise her?”

“
She'll never allow herself to be compromised, Jonathan,” Thomas chuckled. “But I shall manage to instigate a scenario that will leave that certainty in doubt.”

Jonathan slapped his friend's back. “You sly devil!” he smiled. “I only hope you don't regret this decision. Miss Grey is a capable woman, intelligent of mind, but she does not strike me as one suited to making a man happy, if you catch my meaning.”

“
Is that so?” Thomas said cryptically, a peculiar smile on his lips. Changing the subject, he turned conversation to Mrs. Brentwood, a topic Jonathan readily engaged.

“
I am in love with her,” Jonathan declared passionately.

“
Be careful,” Thomas warned. “I have it on good advice that the woman is of a sensitive nature. Albert Grey is a close friend of mine, and of my uncle and aunt. Make sure of your intentions before risking my family's relationship.”

Jonathan smiled, his blue eyes honest and open with admiration of the lady which they discussed. “Her heart is open and sweet. She'd make me a fine wife.”

Thomas shook his head, a wide grin plastered across his face. “You are lost to her, Jonathan. Just remember to retain some backbone. I'd hate to see you tethered to a woman of Mrs. Grey's disposition.”

“
God forbid such a trial as that woman!” Jonathan laughed. “May He spare us both a sentence of that severity.”

The two men planned their afternoon, the subject of women exhausted for the time being.

Chapter Five

“
Dearheart, you look lovely,” Opal cooed as Melody approached the table. “Isn't she a sight, Mr. Lane?”

“
Without question, Mrs. Grey,” Jonathan readily agreed.

“
Pink is your color. Haven't I told you so? And Mr. Lane makes it official!”

Mrs. Grey sought further compliments for Melody as Thomas watched on. Irritation grew by the minute. Albert ate silently at the table's head to Thomas' right, ignoring his wife's chatter. After another volley of Mrs. Brentwood’s admirable qualities had been detailed thoroughly, he could hold back no longer.

“
Your daughter, Miss Grey, is quite knowledgeable about your barley farming and storage techniques, Mrs. Grey. Her explanations were detailed, and I've gained a few ideas I'll implement at Cherry Hill.”

“
Wonderful,” Albert answered, a pleased expression on his long, lean face. “She's a capable farmer, I dare say!” His eyes twinkled with mischief-making at the comment.

“
A farmer,” Opal scowled, pursing her lips. “Milling about with you and Mr. Bankirk! She learned to be too frank in her speech, too frank! You coddled her, allowing her to tag along with you learning of barley, Mr. Grey!”

“
And you see,” Albert laughed, “she's done a service for Mr. Masterson because of it!”

“
Mr. Masterson was only being polite, Mr. Grey.
Your
daughter would do better to learn from her sister,” Opal sniffed.

Evangeline sat, unmoving, straight and stiff, eyes directly in front of her. In that moment, Thomas comprehended it was her only defense against the humiliating reprimand – and he had caused it. Anger flared deep inside him. An incident from his last visit came to mind, Opal Grey fussing over Melody after their walk. He hadn't been able to place what bothered him then. It was now plain. Evangeline Grey may be the elder daughter, but her mother treated her like a second son. Thomas identified with her on a new level. She lived his former existence.

“
That is hardly correct, Mrs. Grey,” Thomas leapt to her defense. “I do consider myself polite, but I draw the line at insincerity. I quite meant the compliment I made Miss Grey.”

“
Why, Mr. Masterson,” Opal replied. “Of course you would never be insincere. But you are too kind.”

The woman would not allow the compliment to stand unscathed.

“
Melody, you must play for our guests after the meal is ended,” Opal resumed her fawning with renewed vigor.

Jonathan, so enamored with Mrs. Brentwood, scarce noticed, Thomas observed with a shake of his head.

“
Do you play, as well?” Thomas once again focused his attention on the now scarlet faced Miss Grey. He thought she meant to ignore the question, so still she remained for long seconds.

“
My sister is quite accomplished,” Evangeline evaded deftly. “You'll find she has a lovely voice as well.”

“
If we've all finished?” Opal questioned, rising from the table. “Shall we?”

Evangeline excused herself quietly, not unnoticed by Thomas. He lingered for a few songs before slipping away in search of her, a strange compulsion demanding he seek her in the wake of his new understanding.

Cresting the gently rolling knoll, Thomas caught sight of her. She did not look up as he neared, but steadily peered into the underbrush nearby. Without breaking the silence, he stopped, tracking her gaze's path in search of the thing holding her rapt. Thomas frowned, his patience waning. Just as he made to speak, the chatter of a squirrel broke the silence, the agile creature scampering across the dense brush, bushy tail flicking this way and that. A second emerged, peeking through the tangle of thin branches, chattering in what appeared to be a thorough set down. Each stilled in watchful survey before wildly chasing about the dead mass of brush in playful abandon.

Evangeline's soft laughter halted their revelry, and they darted within the woven cocoon's safety. She sighed, turning to acknowledge his presence at last. “Mr. Masterson,” she tilted her head slightly in question.

“
Miss Grey,” he allowed, matching her gesture with a quirked lip. “Are you enjoying yourself?”

She laughed then, an honest, unrestrained song it was. “Yes, sir, I am.”

“
When you've quite had enough, I'd like to walk with you,” he said easily.

Her expression darkened, a frown forming.

“
Miss Grey, if you'll recall, I advised you against frowning,” he stated with a grin.

“
Oh, I recall it,” she replied. “Something about it not becoming me,” she added boldly. “Please do recall my response, Mr. Masterson, if you can remember so insignificant a conversation.”

“
Why do you refer to our conversation as insignificant?” he countered, taken aback at her choice of words.

“
Why would I refer to it as otherwise?”

Thomas smiled. What a challenge this frank, fiery woman presented - such rousing exchanges of word and wit. He jumped at her question's open invitation. “Because my conversations with you, too few in number to satisfy, are far from insignificant. Intriguing seems a more fitting term.”

Her frown deepened, and when next she spoke, her voice was eerily soft. “Mr. Masterson, this has gone far enough. You've had your fun. I'll return to the house now. Alone. Please, do not continue your amusement any longer at my expense.” Quiet reprimand at an end, she walked away.

Thomas stood a moment, her words hitting him harshly. What a fool he was! His reputation had her convinced he merely toyed with her. Setting off after her, Thomas called, “Miss Grey!”

She ignored him, marching toward home in a rush.

“
Evangeline, stop.” He threw her given name across the distance, knowing it would garner some reaction.

She froze a split second before turning on her heel. That steady brown gaze betrayed her fury. “My Christian name upon your lips is an insult I cannot ignore, Mr. Masterson. I may be nothing more than a plain woman – and far too frank in my speech - but that gives you no license to make sport of me.” The hurt of her mother's words, her conflicting emotions toward Thomas, and her anger over her perceived weakness to his charms fueled her outburst, the candid description of self spilling out accidentally.

He had gained her by then, and looking intently into her angry gaze, Thomas reached for her arms. “Stop,” he said firmly. “I only spoke your name to make you stop, Miss Grey.” Gently, his hands found her arms, her body going rigid at the contact. With wide eyes she stared mutely into his, unmoving. Thomas sensed her taciturn response was born of some fear, and he spoke with a gentleness he'd not believed himself capable of. “I do not make sport of you. Believe that if nothing else I say to you. I cannot apologize for my words, nor my actions, for I behaved in accordance with my inner feelings. I find you challenging and intelligent, and am left wholly in want of more when no longer in your company.”

Shock registered, morphing into something darker Thomas could not name. She continued to stare, blinking as she processed what he'd said. Ragged breaths escaped her small frame, and a deep flush crept over her exposed skin. Evangeline opened her mouth, closed it, then turned, starting for home in a near run.

Thomas followed, uncertain whether she was angry, fearful, or embarrassed. “Miss Grey, wait.”

Glancing over her shoulder to gauge how close he followed behind, Evangeline stepped in a small hole, twisting her ankle. “Ohh!” she cried aloud, tumbling to the ground. She clutched the smarting limb, her mouth pressed into a pained grimace.

Thomas knelt beside her. “Are you all right?”

“
Give me a moment,” she said shakily.

He reached to check for any sign of a break, but Evangeline slapped at his hands. Catching her breath, she chided, “Mr. Masterson, your concern is commendable, but unnecessary.” Gingerly, she stood.

Taking her elbow, he supported her as she tested a step unsuccessfully.

“
Ahh!” She hobbled a few more feet, her breathing harsh.

“
It is too far to continue this way,” Thomas stated, lifting her in his arms. “I'll carry you.”

“
What do you think you're doing?” she yelped, her body tensing. “Put me down!”

Thomas chuckled. “Easy, Miss Grey. You are in no condition to walk. This is far easier – for us both.” Her rigid form complicated the matter. “Relax yourself.”

She protested vehemently, “Unhand me this minute!”

Thomas shook his head. “No.”

Evangeline blazed with fury again. “You, sir, will set me down at once, or I shall...I shall scream!”

Thomas set her down at once. She promptly lost her balance and toppled to her backside. “There, Miss Grey, you've been set down.” He studied the wide-eyed young woman with amusement. “Now, what seems to be the problem?”

Beyond flustered, Evangeline stared up at him. Her eyes conveyed an emotion he'd not expected. Panic.

“
I...I,” she stammered.

It was so unlike her. Unease sprouted in his gut. He knelt beside her. “Miss Grey, you're near frozen, soggy from the ground and quite unable to walk. I will not stand by and watch you catch your death because you refuse to be carried. Now,” he added firmly, “I'll know what the trouble is.”

All pretense of anger left her, her expression wary and awkward as it had been at the table earlier. Tension emanated from her still, stiff body, and she stared into her lap. Softly, she replied, “I wasn't ready.”

Confusion erupted in his thoughts. “Ready for what?” he asked gently.

Her teeth began to chatter in earnest, but she sat, not speaking for a considerable span. Eyes averted, she breathed deeply, voice barely above a whisper. “For someone to touch me.”

Thomas was undone.

'For someone to touch me.'

Not him. Someone.

He lingered on the word. Anyone? Everyone? He lifted her chin, forcing her to meet his steady gaze. “I am going to lift you now, Miss Grey,” he informed softly.

Brown eyes wide and wary, she nodded and held her breath.

Scooping her into his arms, Thomas stood in a swift motion and carried her toward home. Slowly, she relaxed ever so slightly against him, yet remained subdued. Nearing the great house, he slowed considerably. The connection with her, her willingness to trust herself to him after her quiet revelation, his undeniable and growing regard, all these compelled him to prolong the experience. Realization dawned. He wanted her trust, desired to become the man who could touch her, whose touch she welcomed. Never before had he sought such an intimacy of the heart, of the mind. Stopping before the door, Thomas regarded the small woman in his arms.