What a Woman Desires (20 page)

They reached the dining room and Thomas gripped her hand where it lay on his arm. She raised her eyes to his. “What is it?”

He glanced through the open dining room door and she followed his gaze. Dr. O’Connor was holding out their mother’s chair and talking to her. She laughed and waved him away in an almost flirtatious manner. Monica inhaled. “She trusts him, doesn’t she?”

“Too much.”

Monica looked at him. His jaw was set and his eyes narrowed as he continued to study the doctor. Without thinking who might witness it, she touched her finger to his chin and urged him to look at her rather than the person central to the success of her mission. “It doesn’t matter whether Mama trusts the doctor or not. What matters is you trust me to ensure your future here. That’s still what you want, isn’t it? To stay here? With your family?”
Say no. Say you’ll leave and come with me, Jane, and Mama to Bath. Say you want to be with me above all else.

The selfishness of her silent plea twisted like a sword in her heart. How much longer could she bear to be around him without falling victim to her most painful heartbreak yet? Even the strength of Malcolm’s fists on her flesh and the whip of his belt buckle on her back seemed preferable to never seeing Thomas again. If she managed to persuade Mama to return to Bath with her, Monica would never set foot in Marksville again. To see Thomas and the disappointment at her abandonment a second time would be her undoing.

He eased her arm from his, his beautiful eyes intense and unwavering. “I wish you could see Marksville as your home rather than your prison. But if you have to go, I won’t fight you anymore.” He briefly closed his eyes and opened them again. “I’ll support you, Monica, but for as long as I live, I will never let another man hurt or abuse you. If you succeed and O’Connor buys Marksville, promise me you’ll call for me whenever you need me, whether you be in the city or on the other side of the world.”

Her thoughts of never seeing him burrowed deeper into her soul. It would be too painful to call on him, to visit and spend precious moments together when nothing could ever come of it. “Thomas—”

He shook his head, his jaw tight. “What Baxter did to you—”

“We will not talk of that anymore.” Heat assaulted Monica’s cheeks and shame rushed through her. The scars Thomas had seen on her naked back clearly haunted his thoughts and plagued at his need to protect her. She should’ve never lain with him. “It’s in the past. No man will ever get close enough to hurt me like that again. I can promise you that with all my heart.”
Because it’s you who holds my heart and if I can’t have you, I’ll never love another.

“Miss Danes? Is everything all right?”

Monica stepped back as though scolded and Thomas stiffened. Mrs. Seton approached them carrying a steaming tureen. “I thought everyone would be seated. Do you want me to take the soup back to the kitchen?”

“No, no, we’re ready to eat.” She glanced at Thomas. “Thomas and I were . . . we were . . .” She smiled apologetically. “We’ll be seated now.”

Leaving Mrs. Seton frowning at Thomas, Monica hurried into the dining room and took a seat at the head of the table. The doctor was seated to her right and Thomas took the empty chair on her left. As Jeannie followed Mrs. Seton into the room and the soup was served, Monica caught Jane’s gaze where she sat next to their mother at the end of the table.

Silently, Monica smiled her encouragement even though her resolve to garner the doctor’s interest faltered. How could she promise Jane anything when nothing was guaranteed? What if the doctor’s motives in his attention to Jane had nothing to do with Marksville and everything to do with genuine affection for her? Snatching her gaze from Jane’s, Monica faced him. One way or another, she had to find out. She smiled. “Is this the first time you have met the Coles, Doctor?”

He smiled at Mrs. Coles beside him. “Indeed it is, and an absolute pleasure I must say.”

Mrs. Coles blushed beneath the doctor’s gaze and quickly turned to her husband beside her. Monica smiled. “Well, I’m glad to be a vehicle for you getting better acquainted with some of Biddestone’s most influential residents. They are all the most lovely people, I assure you.”

The doctor faced her, his brown gaze on her mouth. “I’m glad to be here with you, Miss Danes.”

Monica swallowed and sensed Thomas’s hackles rise beside her. She glanced at his hand as it curled into a fist on the tabletop. The way the doctor looked at her couldn’t be denied or misinterpreted. She’d seen the same look in the eyes of gentleman patrons who’d accosted her in the theater corridors before and after performances. She touched Thomas’s ankle with her toe as a way of warning him not to do anything foolhardy.

She forced a smile as Mrs. Seton filled their bowls. “I very much doubt there will be many more dinners at Marksville with Mama’s health as it is, so I’m glad to have invited you here tonight.”

“Never say never, Miss Danes.” The doctor smiled. “If you were to change your mind and wholeheartedly assume your new role as mistress of Marksville, you will soon fill the rooms with laughter and cheer, and maybe the theater won’t call you back quite so soon. You are still young and beautiful after all . . . and Miss Jane even younger and equally as beautiful.”

The reference to Jane’s youth and beauty rankled. It was one thing for the doctor’s cool gaze to be directed on Monica, but quite another for it to be fixated on her sister. Thomas’s instinct was beginning to burgeon inside her, too—the doctor was most definitely up to something.

Monica might have been forced to arm herself against male domination through experience, but Jane still believed in love and romance and long may it last . . . Marksville or no Marksville. The doctor might think he was biding his time, but Monica felt assured she was way ahead of his game plan.

She turned to face him. “You are very lovely to say so, Doctor, but Mama’s happiness is paramount, and I don’t think parties and the such will do any more than frighten her as time goes on.”

His gaze snatched to her concealed bosom and back to her eyes. He inhaled through flared nostrils. “Hmm . . .” He looked along the table toward her mother. “I know you were upset about my suggestion of hospitalization, but surely you do not envisage sacrificing your best years for the sake of not getting your mother the best help elsewhere?” He turned to Monica and smiled. “It would be a travesty for you and Miss Danes to end up alone because you do not wish to burden another with your mother’s health. It is what us doctors are here for, after all.”

Monica picked up her spoon and the doctor and Thomas followed suit. She glanced from beneath lowered lashes toward Thomas and saw that his knuckles were white from his iron grip on his spoon. She needed to put space between him and the doctor before Thomas lost control.

“I do have other avenues I wish to pursue with regard to Mama, Doctor.”

“Oh?”

“Yes, maybe we could talk privately after dinner?”

Silence.

Monica’s mouth dried as the tension rose. It was beyond unseemly for a woman to invite a gentleman to talk privately, but in that moment she was a businesswoman above anything else. Thomas could rant, rave, and fume at her as much as he wanted later on, but for now, it was imperative he remained quiet.

The doctor cleared his throat and when Monica lifted her head, he smiled widely at Thomas’s bowed head. “Of course, Miss Danes. Whatever you need, I am more than willing to help.”

“Thank you.”

The doctor turned to Mrs. Cole and soon charmed her from her coyness to engage him in conversation. Monica barely managed to resist looking at Thomas for more than a few seconds before their eyes met. “What are you doing?” His demand was a gruff whisper. “I specifically asked you not to be alone with him.”

Monica glared with her mouth stretched into a smile. “Let me do this my way. I’m in charge here. Let me do what is best. You have to trust me.”

“Oh, I trust you. It’s the damn smarmy doctor I don’t.”

She glanced at the doctor to ensure he wasn’t listening. He was still engaged in deep conversation with Mrs. Cole and her husband. Monica lowered her voice even further. “I will take him into Papa’s study and I want you to stay here with Jane and Mama. Keep people talking and amused so they don’t notice my absence. I don’t want Mama asking where I am or getting confused. Please, Thomas, I know what I’m doing.”

His eyes flashed with fury and frustration. “You cannot expect me to stay away.”

“Yes, I can. I need you to do this for me.” She touched his hand. “I’m doing this for your family as much as mine, remember?”

He closed his eyes and swapped his soup spoon for his wine. He drank. “Fine, but if you are longer with him than I deem necessary, I will come looking for you.”

She exhaled. “I’d expect nothing less.”

Thomas glared toward the open drawing room door for the tenth time in as many minutes. Monica had disappeared with Dr. O’Connor over twenty minutes before and Thomas was beginning to feel the pressure of staying with the guests as Monica had asked of him.
She must know what this waiting is doing to me. . . .

He cast his gaze around the room. All the couples were joined in a semicircle around Miss Jane and Mrs. Danes as they sat side by side on the settee. As much as Monica had wanted Thomas to be party to the night’s events, it was clear his involvement as a guest was harder for the others of the household to accept than it was for Monica. He was a servant, and would never be anything more if Mrs. Danes had anything to do with it.

Not that he minded the mistress was unaware of his presence—although it did bother him she hadn’t noticed Monica missing. He prayed again for Mrs. Danes to demand he find her eldest daughter and bring her to the drawing room. He could hardly bear one more minute of Monica being alone with O’Connor.

Something in the man’s eyes shouted of conspiracy.

Glancing again toward the door, Thomas inwardly cursed. Where was Monica and what was keeping her so damn long?

“Thomas?”

He started and snatched his gaze to Miss Jane. He pulled back his shoulders. “Yes, miss?”

“Is it possible you could take a moment to look for my sister? I have no idea where she could’ve gotten to.”

He dipped his head and smiled. “Yes, miss.”

She smiled. “Thank you.”

She turned back to the party’s conversation, gently taking Mrs. Danes’s hand and cradling it in her lap. Miss Jane was a good woman, but not the right one to run Marksville. The estate needed a woman with a steel spine—hence the reason Thomas didn’t doubt the master bequeathed Marksville to Monica, despite her claims the decision was made out of spite.

The master must’ve known as well as Thomas did that Marksville was where Monica belonged.

He made a dash from the room and hurried along the corridor. The double front doors were open to the warm evening air. He frowned and looked along the corridor. The late evening sky was stunning and the air warm. Would Monica have suggested she and O’Connor walk outside rather than go to the master’s study? Nerves leaped in Thomas’s stomach. If she were somewhere in the vast gardens, how was he meant to hear her call if she needed him?

No, she knew he’d be concerned. She wouldn’t have left the house.

He turned toward the study and released his held breath when he heard Monica’s muffled voice from behind the closed door.

He lifted his knuckles to the door and stopped, indecision battling inside him.

Cursing his deceit, he walked to the adjacent door and slipped inside the library. There was an adjoining door that opened into the master’s study that was rarely pushed closed. Thomas smiled. The door was indeed ajar as Monica and the doctor’s voices filtered through the gap.

Flattening his back against the door, he strained his ears to the conversation in the study.

Monica laughed. “Fine, you have my card marked, Doctor. I did bring you in here with a proposal with regard to Marksville, rather than anything to do with Mama.”

He laughed. “I thought as much. So what is it? I have no idea about the estate, so I’m not entirely sure how I can help you.”

“Won’t you sit down?”

There was a shuffle of chairs and rustle of clothes before Monica spoke again. “I know this will sound entirely unorthodox, but the truth of the matter is every time I consider who would be perfect to become the next person in charge of the estate and the tenants who live here, my mind wanders to you.”

“Me?” The doctor laughed. “I am quite flattered, Miss Danes, but like I said, I do not know the first thing about running an estate.”

“But you could learn.”

O’Connor laughed again. “You seem a lot more confident in my abilities than I am myself.”

Thomas squeezed his eyes shut and pulled his hands into fists at his sides.
Like you haven’t thought about getting yourself comfortable behind the master’s desk, you snidey—

“Believe me, Doctor, I have thought of little else but the security of the estate since I returned to the village. Would you not consider buying Marksville, if it was at all possible?”

“Miss Danes—”

“I am putting this proposal to you with sincerity rather than flattery,” Monica continued. “I think you would be the perfect candidate. You have an invested interest in the community, you are young and strong . . . the longer you live here, the more people will come to like and trust you. I’m quite certain of it.”

Silence.

Thomas opened his eyes as the seconds passed. Tension knotted his shoulders and his heart beat fast as he waited for O’Connor’s response.
Come on, come on . . .

The doctor coughed and then there was the creak of leather as though he rose from one of the two winged chairs opposite the master’s desk.

“Well, I thank you for your compliments. I can’t deny it gives me a certain amount of pleasure to think I might one day take over from where your father left off, but right now your proposition is, unfortunately, one I have no option but to refuse.”

Thomas released his held breath and leaned toward the edge of the door. Through the minimal crack, he had a sliver of view. Monica sat behind her father’s desk looking up at O’Connor where he stood on the opposite side. Her face was just the right expression of keenness without seeming desperate; her blue eyes wide and alert, dark with certain wisdom. Pride bloomed in Thomas’s chest. She might want to return to Bath, but from the expression on her face, she was entirely invested in doing what she thought best for Marksville and its people.

Her eyes were full of careful consideration as she rose and leaned forward, her hands splayed on the rosewood desk. Thomas inhaled. She was every ounce the lady in control.

She smiled. “Can I ask why?”

The doctor shrugged. “It is beyond my means, Miss Danes. I do not have the capital to buy half the estate, let alone its entirety.”

“I see, but being the master of this house isn’t something you are averse to?”

He laughed. “Why, of course not. I have been half in love with Marksville since I first came here two years ago. Who wouldn’t want to call this their home?”

She smiled. “Me.”

Thomas’s heart kicked painfully to see nothing but raw honesty shining in her eyes. Nothing had changed in her time spent there. His gut tightened with defeat; his heart ached with loss. One way or another, he refused to clip her wings any longer. If she wanted to go, he vowed in that moment to support her bid for freedom. He loved her too much to keep her where she didn’t want to be.

“You really want to live in Bath rather than here?” The doctor crossed his arms and frowned. “But surely your stage career would be an impossibility with your mother and sister to care for? How will you manage?”

Monica pushed away from the desk and walked around it, out of Thomas’s view. He silently cursed and leaned his head to the door.

“This isn’t where I’m supposed to be. My mother will come to Bath with me and Jane will remain in the village. She doesn’t want the estate without a husband she loves by her side and I do not want it at all.”

“Does Miss Jane not have a beau? No suitor?”

Thomas tensed and risked another look through the gap between the door and its frame.

Monica smiled, but her gaze was cautious. “She has interest in someone in the village, but is reluctant to tell me who.”

“So it could be someone your mother would deem unsuitable?”

“That’s more than possible, yes.”

“I see. And what about you? Would you not stay if you had a husband beside you?”

Thomas closed his eyes as he waited for her to deny that particular philosophy to the doctor as she had him. “No, I want my stage career above all else.”

Thomas’s heart kicked painfully.

“I see.”

Thomas narrowed his eyes as he witnessed the cogs turning in O’Connor’s brain. The man was certainly thinking on a solution for Monica’s plight and undoubtedly his own gain. The flush at his cheeks and the excitement in his gaze could not be mistaken. At last, he smiled. “Well, I do have one possibility that springs to mind.”

“You do?”

Knock, knock.

Thomas stiffened at the sound of a knock on the master’s study door.

“Come in.” Monica turned toward the door. “Mrs. Seton, is everything all right?”

“Some of the guests wish to leave, miss. Could you possibly spare Thomas to help Mr. and Mrs. Coles into their carriage?”

Thomas grimaced and shot his gaze toward the closed and locked library door. How was he supposed to make his escape and not alert Monica and O’Connor to his eavesdropping? More than that, how could he walk out now and not hear O’Connor’s suggestion?

“Is Thomas not with everybody else upstairs?” Monica moved out of his view a second time. “I specifically asked that he stay in the drawing room in case Mama needed him.”

“No, miss. He left a while ago.”

“Left? Left to go where?”

Mrs. Seton gave one of her tell-tale sniffs of impatience. “Is it not like Thomas to take off without a good-bye when he thinks something needs doing?”

Monica sighed. “Go back to the drawing room and I’ll join you as soon as I can. I am sure Thomas will be back by now.”

In two long strides, Thomas was at the library door. He paused as Mrs. Seton’s footsteps passed by, before quickly and silently unlocking the door and slipping into the hallway. Regret that he had to leave and not hear the doctor’s proposal burned and twisted inside him on a flame of fury as he followed Mrs. Seton’s ample behind back toward the drawing room.

 

Monica closed the door and her eyes, taking a moment with her back turned to Dr. O’Connor. A strong sense of trepidation gripped her as soon as he’d mentioned an alternative proposal to her suggestion he buy Marksville. Inexplicable tension had snaked across her shoulders as dread knotted her stomach. Neither was yet to dissipate.

Taking a strengthening breath, she turned. He stood in the center of the room, his shoulders pulled back and his chin high as though he was already master of his domain. Irritation threatened and Monica steadfastly pushed it away. Wasn’t this what she wanted? A solution to suit everyone. She would listen to what the doctor had to say, regardless of the unease rippling through her . . . and her growing concern she was making a mistake.

A strange sensation had overcome her when she had been seated behind the huge width of her father’s desk. As though she felt him puffed up with pride behind her . . .

She swept across the room to stand behind the desk once more and cleared her throat. “So, your proposal?”

The doctor smiled and strolled toward the window. “The idea leaped into my mind without warning, so I’m sure it’s ludicrous, but still I want to suggest it.”

She clasped her hands in front of her and lifted her chin. “I’m listening.”

He abruptly turned. “Marry me.”

Monica flinched. “Pardon?”

He laughed. “Marry me.”

Her heart picked up speed and her chest tightened as Monica stared in disbelief. “I can’t possibly—”

“Why not?” He came forward and stopped on the other side of the desk, his eyes wide with excitement.

Monica instinctively stepped back, knocking the chair behind her. “Because marriage is the last thing I want.”

“Even if it means you’re free to live your life in Bath? Even if it means your mother can remain in her home and have me here to look after her?”

Monica stared. “But why would you marry me? You said yourself that you wish to have children one day. I will not have your children, Doctor. I don’t love you. If I am to be blessed with children, I want them with someone I love.” Her heart constricted with the thought of never having the children she hoped would one day exist in her future. “I might not be ready to marry or have a family of my own yet, but one day when I’ve had my fill of my career, I would like to think it’s possible. This proposition would put an end to any new life I might want to make for myself.”

“I truly believe the arrangement will turn out to suit each of us more succinctly than we ever thought possible.”

Monica moved from behind her father’s desk to pace the room, a dull headache pulsing at her temples. “The idea is ludicrous. I have to think of my family, and marrying for convenience is not an option.”

“Miss Danes . . . Monica, please just listen.”

She spun around, anger replacing her shock. “I am listening, and marrying you is a ridiculous solution to the future of my tenants.”
And Thomas. What of Thomas? How can I marry another man and ever face Thomas again?

“I want Marksville, Miss Danes. I won’t lie to you.” The doctor came forward, his hand outstretched as if to touch her.

Monica held up her hand warning him off. “Yes, I believe you do. I also believe you have completely misconstrued why I suggested you buy it. I need someone who wants to follow in my father’s footsteps. I need someone who will respect and love the families who have lived here for years and keep them in food and shelter. I now know you are not that person. All I see in your eyes is blind ambition.”

He squeezed his eyes shut and tipped his face toward the ceiling. “It is not ambition that drives me, Miss Danes.”

The whispered and sad tone of his voice alerted Monica to a confession and her body stilled. “Then what?” He dropped his chin and opened his eyes. His gaze was full of the most heart-wrenching pleading Monica had ever witnessed. Her shoulders slumped and she came closer. “Nathanial? What is it?”

He shook his head. “I
need
Marksville.”