What a Woman Desires (14 page)

Thomas glared. “I’m willing to do whatever it takes to reach my goal of keeping myself and the other tenants in work. If that means stepping into what I consider the cesspit of humanity, so be it. The streets of Bath are lined with vendors, beggars, whores, and two-bit entertainers. It’s a bloody world away from the people here who do their utmost to support and get along with one another.”

She smiled. “But still you’re going. Maybe it’s more than the tenants you’re looking out for, eh?”

Thomas scowled into his beer. “Haven’t you got any more customers who need serving?”

“’Course I do, but teasing you is good for my soul. Your face is a picture and I—” Maggie halted and her eyes widened as she stared at something behind him. “I don’t believe it.”

Thomas frowned and turned on his stool. His breath lodged in his throat.

Monica stood just inside the door, her eyes scanning the room and her smile wide. Her fingers tugged on the ties of her cape and she shrugged it from her shoulders, tossing it over her arm in a gesture so relaxed, anyone would think the woman walked into The White Horse every day of her privileged life. Her eyes met his. “Thomas. You’re here.”

He raised his hand in a halfhearted wave and stood, words frozen like spiked icicles on his tongue.

She came closer, her gaze on his and that delighted smile still playing on her tempting mouth. “We never managed to come into the village today, so I thought a drink at the tavern would be the perfect opportunity to spend some time talking to more people.”

He glanced toward Maggie, who stood frozen to the spot, her eyes wide and her mouth open. He faced Monica. “A tavern is not the place to talk to people when you could be the mistress of Marksville this time tomorrow.”

Her smile dissolved and her eyes darkened with anger. “I’ll go where I want, when I want.” She turned to Maggie and smiled. “Could I have some wine, please?”

Maggie nodded and wordlessly moved to the back of the bar. Thomas briefly closed his eyes in an effort to rein in his temper. The gazes of nearly every patron in the bar burned holes into his back. What was he supposed to do now? Sit with his mistress and share chatter over a pint? Good God, the woman was more trouble than a dogfight.

He waited while Maggie poured a draft of wine and handed it to Monica. Her unadorned hair was up and elegantly twisted into a knot at the back of her head; her shapely neck was revealed for all the men in the tavern to see. Jealous possession rippled through him and when Thomas lifted his tankard to his lips, it trembled. He didn’t want her there. It was only a few nights ago that he’d been here when he had a run-in with the two bastards who took it upon themselves to then confront Monica and Stephanie in the road.

She knew the dangers of being here unaccompanied, yet still she chose to take the risk.

She took a delicate sip and smiled once again at Maggie. “Thank you.”

Maggie nodded. “You’re welcome.”

When it seemed Maggie had no intention of leaving them alone, Thomas glared at her. “Thanks, Maggie. We’ll take our drinks in the corner over there. Another pint when you’re ready.”

She blinked and grinned, her eyes glittering with undisguised excitement. “Go ahead. I’ll bring it right over.”

He nodded and gently took Monica’s elbow, resisting the urge to clamp on to her, which would only reveal the burning feeling of custody ripping through his blood. “Let’s sit over here.”

She frowned but complied, and they selected a small table beside a partition that went some way to shielding them from the prying eyes of the patrons. He waited until she was seated and then took the chair on the opposite side of the table. She slid her shawl from her shoulders and laid it across her lap. “My thought was to actually talk to some people, not have you commandeer me to a corner out of sight.”

He drained his tankard and thumped it down on the table with a little more force than necessary. “And what is it you plan to say to them?”

She glared. “I won’t hide away. I value honesty above all else, and no matter how much you or anyone else in Biddestone might condemn my leaving before, I never lied to anyone about it.” She glanced around the tavern before meeting his eyes once more. “I’ve never cared for convention. You know that. Nor should it surprise anyone else, so why would they expect any different from me now? I came here tonight because I care. Why can’t you appreciate rather than antagonize my position with the townspeople?”

“How am I antagonizing it?”

“By putting me in the corner, you are showing all and sundry I am not one of them. That I am different and don’t understand their predicaments.”

“You don’t.”

She flinched. “I do. I understand more than you know. The sooner you come with me to Bath, the better.”

Their gazes locked and Thomas’s heart picked up speed. Every time she mentioned his going to Bath, she put it side by side with hardship. As time went on, the more he dreaded going for fear of finding out more about the woman sitting so rigidly in front of him. She blurred the lines of mistress and servant; blurred the lines of class. Neither boded well when society was so unforgiving of anyone who dared to stand astride the hardened rules.

He was momentarily saved from responding when Maggie appeared at his elbow and put a fresh pint of ale on the table. She smiled at Monica. “It’s good to see you back amongst your kin, Miss Monica. How is your ma doing?”

Monica took another sip of her wine and sighed. “Not very well. She’s . . .” She briefly glanced at Thomas before returning her gaze to Maggie. “Jane and I will do our best to look after her, but with Papa gone, I’m not sure how Mama will fair. She loved him more than us. I think most of the village understood that. I just hope we’ll be enough for her now.”

“Of course you will.” Maggie crossed her arms and stared toward the darkened window. “Whenever I saw Mrs. Danes she would boast about you and Miss Jane to anyone who’d listen. I wouldn’t pay no mind to the thought she didn’t love you. We mothers have a way of keeping our children protected, even if we get it wrong more often than we get it right.”

Monica frowned. “My mother boasted about me?”

“Well . . .” Two spots of color darkened Maggie’s cheeks. “Maybe more so your sister since you’ve been in Bath, but when you were stepping out with that Baxter fellow—”

Thomas coughed and nodded toward the bar. “You’ve got customers waiting.”

Maggie threw him a glare. “And they can keep waiting if I choose, Thomas Ashby.” She faced Monica and smiled. “I would love to think you could find your home back amongst us. Your pretty face around here will be appreciated by most . . . of course, some more than others.” She winked at Thomas. “Isn’t that right?”

Thomas scowled, and lifted his pint to his mouth. “Thanks again for the pint, Maggie.”

She laughed and touched her hand to Monica’s shoulder. “Our Thomas will see you all right. No need to worry about that.”

Monica grinned. “Thanks, Maggie.”

Thomas followed Maggie’s return to the bar through narrowed eyes. No doubt, the woman represented the contemplation of half the tavern. He scanned the small space, purposely meeting the curious gazes of the patrons and holding them until they looked away. The wait to find out which way the wind blew as far as the future of Marksville was concerned might be driving Thomas mad, but that didn’t mean he wanted the force of the whole village’s impatience on Monica’s back. He’d take it himself rather than it be projected onto her.

If anyone had questions or concerns, he wanted them to come to him first and foremost. If Monica decided to stay, he didn’t want her decision to be made through other people’s pressure.

“Thomas?”

He turned.

Monica laid her fingers on his arm. “I wanted to tell you about my meeting with Dr. O’Connor. You’ll be pleased to hear I’ll be taking your concerns into account.”

“You don’t trust him?” He glanced around the room. Why was she touching him? Wasn’t she concerned about what others in the tavern might think or speculate?

She sighed. “I wouldn’t say I don’t trust him. At least, not yet, but I do think his interest in my sister is more about Marksville than Jane herself.” She removed her hand and lifted her glass to her lips. She took a sip and returned it to the table. “I’m going to see Matthew Cleaves once we return from Bath. I want to hear what he knows of Dr. O’Connor.”

“And then what?”

She met his eyes. “Then, depending on what he says, I’ll decide whether I’ll continue allowing the doctor to care for her.”

“And Miss Jane?” His gaze lingered on her mouth for a moment before he forced his eyes to hers. “What if she lied to you and she’s falling in love with him?”

A faint blush stained Monica’s cheeks and her blue eyes hardened. “I have every intention of speaking to her again. One way or another, I need to know Mama and Jane aren’t being taken advantage of.”

“So if she admits she loves him, then what?”

Her chest rose as she inhaled. “Then I won’t stand in her way. If I have given her all the facts and she still wants to be with Dr. O’Connor, that’s her decision.” Her eyes lit with vehemence. “It’s the not knowing who people really are until it’s too late that I hate, Thomas. I won’t rule Jane’s life, but I’ll do all I can to ensure she knows everything there is to know about a man before she commits her life to him. I want her to be more aware of their motivations than I was.”

Thomas stared. The fervor in her eyes clearly showed her distrust and disappointment. He clenched his jaw. Time would tell if that distrust extended to him. He lifted his tankard to his lips and drank deep. From now on, it would be his entire mission to prove his commitment to her . . . Marksville or no Marksville.

Maybe, just maybe, the two of them could come together for the sake of the estate and find a way to shed their mutual distrust of those around them. Who knew, maybe one day they’d even trust enough to embrace true love . . . even if it could never be for each other.

Monica leaned through the open window of the carriage, closed her eyes, and inhaled Bath as though she smelled the sweet scent of flowers rather than the stench of smog and soot. Although she’d been away from the city for little more than a week, to return to its cobbled streets was like coming home after touring a treacherous mountain range.

The newly emerging industry that flourished all over England resounded here as much as it did in London or Bristol. Anticipation rippled through her at the possibility of change for Britain’s people, especially its womenfolk. If her doubt of Bath being home had ever begun to waiver, the sight of the Abbey spires and butter-yellow of the buildings laid it to rest. This was where she belonged.

How could she ever think she could build a happy life in Biddestone when such elation rushed through her now? She thought of Thomas, sitting up front and guiding their carriage through the streets he despised and her smile dissolved.

When he’d helped her aboard outside Marksville, his eyes had glinted with annoyance and his jaw was set as though in stone. She could only imagine the emergence of the city around him had escalated his anger rather than soothed it. Refusing to allow his negativity to weaken her resolve, Monica snatched her gaze to Jane and her smile returned. “Isn’t it wonderful, Jane?”

Jane turned from the opposite window, her eyes alight with excitement. “The Season seems an age away now I am here again. Oh, Monica, I can’t believe this is where you have lived every day for the last five years. I thought nothing of it, but now I see the possibility, the dresses and bonnets—”

“We will be staying for one night only.” Her mother pulled Jane back from the window, her fingers digging into the sleeve of her sister’s mourning dress. “Sit back. I cannot bear what people might think of us being here so soon after burying your father.”

Monica leaned forward and touched her mother’s skirt. “Mama, people can think as they wish. We are here on Papa’s instructions. He entrusted Mr. Baker to execute his final will and testament; we are doing nothing to evoke judgment or concern.”

Her mother sniffed, her eyes cold. “And you think I will hold a bar to what is correct and what is not from you? You chose to bring disgrace and ridicule to your father’s good name by becoming an actress instead of a wife and mother. You are most certainly not the person to entrust with our reputation.”

Monica’s heart raced as she held her mother’s cold gaze. “I left to be with a man whom you and Papa deemed good enough for me to marry. Do you forget you held Malcolm Baxter in high enough esteem that despite everything he put me through, you would still have welcomed him into your home as a son-in-law? The father of my children?”

“Mr. Baxter proved himself a stronger man than most by forgiving your clear insolence and attention-seeking. An actress! The shame of it is more than I can bear.”

Cursing the sting of traitorous tears, Monica snapped her gaze to the window, the wound of her mother’s derision sinking deep into her flesh. If she ever found a man to love her and she him, and God were to bless them with children, she would never speak or look at them with the venom so deeply seated in her mother’s glare. How did a woman give birth to a babe only to gladly watch them grow and become everything they did not wish to be? Monica swallowed the painful lump in her throat. It would never be so for
her
children. Ever.

The carriage rumbled to a stop and she looked once more to the window. The hotel she’d chosen to stay with her mother, sister, and Stephanie would serve her mother’s pretentiousness, but also Monica’s need to be close to the people she’d come to love. Adam lived with his wife, Laura, just a short five-minute walk away and Monica planned to pay them a visit that very afternoon.

She took a strengthening breath, plastered on a smile, and faced her mother. “Are you ready, Mama? I’m confident you’ll like this hotel.”

Her mother frowned, looking at Monica with such softness in her gaze it was as though their previous conversation hadn’t happened at all. She smiled. “You always did know the comforts I need, my darling. Your father requires peace and quiet to work on his papers, so maybe a night in a hotel for us ladies is just what the doctor ordered.” She smiled in turn at Jane and Stephanie before facing Monica once again. “Is Thomas to stay in the stables?”

Monica met Stephanie’s concerned gaze before turning to her mother. “Thomas will take a night at one of the taverns. The hotel is just for us.” The carriage door opened, saving Monica from further explanation. “Let’s get into our rooms, shall we?”

Thomas stood at the door and offered his hand as Monica stepped out. His eyes were shadowed with misery and as they bored into hers, she turned away, guilt hovering above her like a dark cloud. She slid her gloved hand into his and worthless words battled on her tongue. What could she say to him? What could she ask of him when, in reality, she had no plan in place for the rest of the day or evening if Stephanie were not willing to stay at the hotel and attend Mama. She forced a smile. “Thank you, Thomas.”

He dipped his head. “You’re welcome.”

He released her hand and Monica turned to stare at the façade of the hotel as he helped Mama, Jane, and Stephanie from the carriage. She breathed deep and forced the tension from her shoulders. Bath was her home; where she felt in control. She would not allow the good and empowering feelings the city fed into her soul to be devoured by her mother’s illness or the overwhelming pressure of familial obligation. If she didn’t succeed in getting Thomas to understand how much she loved her life here, the niggling guilt that she should move home to Marksville would continue to badger her every waking moment.

With each day that passed, the more torn she became . . . the prospect of returning home where she was needed didn’t bring the depth of horror it had before. Yet, now, when she was here in the city . . . she wanted to stay forever.

A doorman emerged from the hotel entrance and came down the steps toward her. Monica pulled back her shoulders, pushing her dilemma to one side for the time being. The doorman bowed and lifted his hand to the brim of his hat. “Good afternoon, miss, and welcome. Would your groom like help with your luggage before I show him where the stables and storage for the carriage are located?”

Monica smiled. “We haven’t much luggage, but I’ll ask him. Just a moment.” She turned. Her mother clung to Thomas’s arm and her eyes were wide with fear as her mouth moved manically with obvious distress. Monica hurried forward. “Thomas? What is it?”

He barely glanced at Monica before addressing her mother. “Madam, you’ve nothing to fear. I will be on hand, as well as Miss Jane, Miss Monica, and Stephanie, should you need anything. Once you’ve heard the master’s will read, there’s no reason we can’t leave first thing in the morning.” He smiled and covered her mother’s hand with his own where it lay on his arm. “Why don’t you go upstairs and take a rest for a while? I’m sure Miss Monica has plans for tea.”

Monica stared at his profile, her heart swelling with gratitude for Thomas’s unending tenderness and his innate ability to soothe her mother despite his not wanting to be in Bath at all. She swallowed and gently eased her mother’s hand from Thomas’s and tucked it into the crook of her elbow. “Mama? Go inside with Jane and Stephanie while I help Thomas. You’ll adore the room I have asked the hotel to prepare for you. The view over the city is breathtaking.”

Her mother darted her gaze from Monica’s face to the hotel’s façade. “Will we have tea?”

Monica nodded and gently squeezed her hand. “With cake and scones.”

Her mother giggled sheepishly. “Then I shall have lashings of cream and jam too.”

Monica laughed, her eyes pricking with unshed tears to see such rare mischief in her mother’s eyes. “Come on, let’s get you inside.” She nodded to Jane who stood nearby, worrying her bottom lip and seemingly fighting her own tears.

Her sister and Stephanie stepped forward, and each took one of her mother’s arms and escorted her toward the steps. The warmth of Thomas’s hand at the base of her spine surprised and pleased Monica in equal measure, and it took all her restraint not to turn and gratefully lean into his quiet, unwavering strength. She exhaled. “I had no choice but to bring her here. You do know that, don’t you?”

“Yes.”

“I feel as though I have done something wrong, but she had to be here for the reading of the will regardless of how much I wanted you to see what I love. You know I didn’t force her?”

“Of course.”

His low, soft, and entirely masculine tone and limited words whispered over her skin and Monica trembled. The heat of his palm at her back was reassuring and suddenly, she truly understood the roles she often played onstage—roles of a woman needing a man to lean on; of a woman knowing in all probability she’d only have the chance of true love once in her entire life.

Pain unexpectedly squeezed her heart and she cleared her throat, stepping away from Thomas’s touch. She turned and smiled at the hovering doorman. “If you’d like to take our cases inside, that would be most appreciated.”

He nodded. “Yes, miss.”

He brushed past her and Thomas turned to help when Monica gripped his elbow. He met her eyes, his gaze questioning. Her gaze dropped to his mouth and she quickly snapped it to his eyes. “Will you come to Adam’s home with me tonight? I want you to meet the man who changed my life.”

His eyes darkened in a way she couldn’t understand and his jaw tightened. “If that’s what you want.”

Unease rippled through her and she slid her hand from his elbow. “It is. Then I want to take you to the theater.”

His drew his gaze over her face, his silence speeding the beat of her heart. “As you wish.” He glanced toward the hotel. “And your mother, Stephanie, and Miss Jane? Will they come to?”

“I’ll invite Jane and hope Stephanie is willing to sit with Mother. I need you and Jane to understand that leaving Biddestone could be just as much of an option for you both as staying there could be for me.”

He shook his head and closed his eyes. “The city is not an option for me. I’ve told you this.” He opened his eyes. “I love the land. I love the fresh air, the work, the horses.” He drew his gaze in a soft caress over her face. “I came here to see you shine as you have said you’ve seen me shine in the countryside. How we ever come to meet in the middle, I have no idea, but, praise God, never believe for a single second I would give up my peace in the open air for a city life of stone and mortar. Live or die, I will never, ever live in a city.”

Leaving her standing alone, he strode toward the carriage and, after sharing a few words with the groom, heaved himself into the driving seat and with a slap of reins and a click of his tongue, urged Jake and Wilson onward to wherever they would be housed overnight.

Monica stared after the departing carriage, a myriad of emotions tumbling through her. To ask Thomas to leave his beloved land was like asking her mother to accept her husband’s death. Everything about those two relationships was steeped in years of love, devotion, compromise, and hard work—something no one should have to give up without a fight.

The trouble she faced if Marksville was hers would most definitely mean either she or Thomas would end up bloodied and bruised.

“If there’s nothing else, miss?”

She started and turned to the waiting groom, her smile instantaneously leaping into place. “Nothing, thank you.”

Monica lifted her skirts and mounted the steps into the hotel. The moment she crossed the hotel’s threshold, she braced for a feeling of belonging to wash through her . . . nothing came but sorrow.

 

Thomas strolled at a snail’s pace along the street, his eyes flitting back and forth, and the hairs on his neck standing to wary attention. Having been dismissed for the afternoon while Monica, Jane, and their mother took tea and a nap, his nervous energy had forced him from the relative familiarity of the smoky tavern where he’d be staying for the night and out onto Bath’s streets.

He tried and failed to force the scowl from his face as he reached the Theater Royal. The billboards were papered with current shows, as well as upcoming plays and performances. He narrowed his eyes. A strip had been pasted over Monica’s name in the latest showing and replaced with that of her understudy.

Unwanted guilt twisted inside him.

Clearly, Monica had left the city as soon as humanly possible after Jane’s letter reached her, abandoning her work and coming home where she was needed. He couldn’t even accuse her of selfishness in order to douse the fire burning so fiercely inside him. A fire scorching and searing his need for her to be happy . . . but to be happy where he wanted her. At Marksville.

Sooner or later, he would be forced to admit defeat and with it, lose everything his family had worked for . . . or hang every hope on the new owner being as good and fair an employer as Mr. Danes had been. The chances of that coming to fruition were slim at best. When he’d spoken to the tenants who lived and worked on other estates in the past, their woes of mistreatment and lack of gratitude often led Thomas to counting his blessings at Marksville.

As angry as he was with the master for his treatment toward Monica, Thomas couldn’t fault Mr. Danes’s way of working with his groom.

Pulling back his shoulders, Thomas stared into the laughing eyes of Monica’s costar, Adam Lacey.
So this is the dandy she wants me to meet?
The man was dressed like a jackass in purple velvet trousers and jacket, the frill of his shirt so flamboyant, the garment belonged on a woman. His dark blond hair was coiffed and oiled to within an inch of its life. Thomas grimaced.