What a Woman Desires (23 page)

Humility overcame her and Monica went to his side and sat down on her haunches at her mother’s sleeping head. Her chest rose and fell, occasionally stuttering over a breath before calming once more. She turned. Thomas looked at her with tender concern in his eyes. “I think it’s poisoning.”

Her previous melancholy vanished on a wave of fear. “Poisoned? But who—”

“You know who.”

Monica frowned for the briefest moment before her breath caught. “You think Nathanial did this?”

“Yes.” His expression turned stoic and his eyes flashed with a fury that was dangerous and entirely unpredictable. “If what I suspect is proven to be true, then I’ll see him arrested above all else. He won’t get away with this.”

Monica looked to her mother and back again. “You can’t possibly believe he would do something like that,” she whispered. “Why would he?”

“He wanted the house a long while before you came here. You’re a good person, Monica, and you see the good in everyone. O’Connor was with your father at the accident. He wanted your mother institutionalized. . . .”

Nausea rose bitter and coated Monica’s throat. “You’re wrong. You have to be wrong. You don’t know what he’s told me. He wouldn’t do this.”

“Why? Why are you so certain.”

Before Monica could answer, Jane burst into the room with Mrs. Seton close behind. Monica pushed to her feet and reached for the glass of water Mrs. Seton carried. “Thank you. It’s all right, Mrs. Seton. There is no need to look so worried. The doctor is on his way—”

“Dr. O’Connor?” She paled, her gaze darting to the settee. “But Thomas—”

“Thomas had no right to say anything that might be completely unwarranted.” Monica glared at Thomas as he stood beside her mother. “I will not listen to any more of this nonsense until Mama has been properly examined. Now, I want you to go to the door and wait for Jeannie’s return.”

Mrs. Seton cast another look at Thomas before dipping a hurried half curtsy and leaving the room. Monica strode to her mother’s side, anger and fear pulsing through her blood. What if she was wrong? And Thomas right? Would Nathanial have used such a thing as invented homosexuality to gain access to her passionate right for people to be who they were?

She glared at Thomas. “You’ve spoken to Mrs. Seton about your suspicions? For goodness sake, Thomas, you know the whole village will hear of this by nightfall. You can’t cast aspersions as serious as poisoning without proof. What were you thinking?”

He came around the settee and gripped her elbow. His gaze flew over her face and settled at her mouth. “I was thinking of you. Of the mistress and Jane. There’s a hunger in O’Connor’s eyes that speaks of a man at the end of his sanity. Something has gripped him and put him in a cage. He’ll do anything to get out of it, I swear.”

Monica’s heart beat fast and she trembled. “You’re right about that, at least. He’s trapped, Thomas.”

“What?”

“He’s trapped in a life he has no control over and views Marksville as the key to his freedom.”

Relief seemed to relax Thomas’s shoulders and he blew out a breath. “So you see it too? The madness in his eyes?”

Monica glanced toward her mother and shook her head. “It’s not madness you see, it’s desperation. Desperation to be free.”

Before they could say more, voices at the front door drifted toward them and seconds later, an older, gray haired man Monica hadn’t seen before marched into the room with Jeannie panting behind. “Miss Danes?” He held out his hand. “Dr. Wilfred Naughton, at your service. I understand your mother has been taken ill?”

Blinking from her momentary stupor, Monica nodded. “Yes, Doctor. She’s here on the settee.”

The doctor brushed past her and leaned over her mother. Monica stood stock-still until Thomas’s arm came around her waist. She dropped her head onto his shoulder and waited as the doctor examined her mother. He touched her face and neck before extracting something from his bag to listen to her chest. His face turned more somber with each passing second; then he opened her mouth to examine her throat and tongue.

At last, he addressed Monica. “Do you have a carriage? Something that will seat your mother comfortably and get her into the city as soon as possible?”

Monica stepped forward from Thomas’s grasp. “What is it? What ails her?”

He inhaled through flared nostrils and straightened. “I have my suspicions, but I cannot be sure until she is examined by someone at the hospital.”

“No.” Monica clutched her hand to her throat and turned to Thomas. “No.”

Despite Monica’s pleas with him not to go to O’Connor’s house, Thomas stood across the street outside the small cottage with his blood boiling through his veins on a river of anger. Months, Dr. Naughton said. Months of something slowly eating away inside the mistress had resulted in her still being in hospital six days after she collapsed.

The hospital had said they couldn’t be certain in their diagnosis until further tests and certainties were made and warranted. Bull. He knew exactly what was wrong with her.

Thomas scowled at O’Connor’s black painted door, the brass doorknocker glinting and gleaming in the hot August sun as though the owner of the house was wealthy, reliable, and upstanding. Did he really think he would get away with attempted murder? Or maybe even an additional count of murder considering Mr. Danes lay cold in his coffin and the good doctor had been there when it happened.

The door opened and Thomas straightened.

O’Connor hesitated on the doorstep, his gaze locked on Thomas. After a moment’s clear deliberation, he left the door slightly ajar and walked down the short, flower-lined pathway to the gate. He opened it and stood on the pavement.

“Are you intending to stand there all day, Thomas? Or was there something you wanted to say?”

Thomas tossed the length of grass he’d been chewing into the road and sauntered across to the doctor’s side. He slowly ran his gaze over the other’s man face, his pulse thumping. “How did you do it?”

O’Connor huffed out a laugh. “Do what exactly?”

“Poison her.”

The doctor’s eyes widened. “Poison . . . poisoned who? Are you all right? You really seem to have been knocked off-kilter.”

Thomas smiled. “Oh, I’m fine and dandy,
Doctor.
Don’t you worry about me. I’ll be here long after you’ve been banged up in the nick.”

O’Connor’s smile dissolved and his eyes hardened. “What do you want?”

“Your head . . . on a stick.”

“I beg your—”

“Why did you do it?” Thomas gripped O’Connor’s arm and frogmarched him along the street until they reached the shadowed wall of the churchyard. He glared. “Why did you try to poison the mistress? Did you cause the accident that killed the master too?”

“Have you gone insane?” O’Connor snatched his arm from Thomas’s grip and stumbled backward. He righted himself and then took a stride forward so he was nose-to-nose with Thomas. “I didn’t hurt anyone, I’m a
doctor
.”

Thomas poked his finger into O’Connor’s chest. “And you think that gives you license to play God? What happened to the master was no accident and you also planned to kill the mistress.” He screwed O’Connor’s shirt into the grip of his fist. “I swear to God, I will find the proof that will put you away for a long, long time. You dare to step one foot on Marksville land again, I’ll beat you into the ground.”

O’Connor grasped Thomas’s wrist and flung him aside. Lifting his fist, he threw a punch. Thomas ducked and grabbed O’Connor’s arm before whipping up hard behind his back. The doctor cursed. “Get your hands off me.”

Thomas leaned in close to his ear. “There will be no marriage. There will be no Marksville, and there will be no more career for you in Biddestone. Do you understand me? Now, you either go to the station right now and confess, or we wait until the proof is uncovered and you’re arrested.” He shoved him away into the wall. “Your choice, but I will make sure justice is served. Have no fear.”

Thomas turned away and had barely taken four or five steps along the street when the doctor gripped his shoulder and spun him around. “I did not harm either of them. Whoever has told you Mrs. Danes has been poisoned is wrong. If she’s ill, it is because of something else, not poison. I swear to it.”

The anger in the doctor’s eyes and the flush at his cheeks screamed of honesty, but still something nagged at Thomas. “It had to have been foul play.”

O’Connor glared. “Why? For God’s sake, Thomas. If you love Monica, do something about it before someone else like me comes along and tries to free her from the life she doesn’t want.”

Thomas stilled. “What did you say?”

O’Connor briefly closed his eyes before releasing his grip on Thomas’s shoulder. “Has Monica not told you the motivation behind my proposal?”

Unease prickled the hairs at Thomas’s neck and he stepped back. “No.”

“Fine, then I will.” O’Connor’s chest rose as he inhaled a shaky breath. “I’m homosexual, and in a village like Biddestone that would mean certain ostracization for any man, but for a doctor . . . my life and career would be over before it began. I saw how unhappy Monica is and offered a solution that suited us both.” He pushed his hand into his hair and held it there. “I thought I was doing what was best. I adore her. I adore the whole family, and it was my intention to look after them as promised.”

Thomas stared. Could he be telling the truth? “Wait.” He held up his hand, his mind whirling. “You wanted to live in Marksville as some sort of hideout because you like men? What was your intention? To bring your lovers there?”

“Of course not.” O’Connor glared. “I just want my career to flourish and in order to do that, I have to gain the villagers’ trust. I know I could make Marksville as good and prosperous as it’s always been. My personal life would not affect the prosperity of the tenants or anyone else.”

“It wouldn’t work.” Thomas turned his back to him, sympathy edging into his conscious. He turned around. “Pretending to be something you’re not is never the answer. A certain woman told me that a long time ago.”

For a long moment, O’Connor didn’t speak; then he smiled. “Then maybe you should listen to her? Better still, get Monica to see how passionately she’s avoiding her own advice?”

Thomas glared. “Don’t tell me what I should or shouldn’t do as far as Monica’s concerned.”

O’Connor laughed. “For God’s sake, man, ask the girl to stay, ask her to marry you.”

Thomas shook with the control it took not to punch O’Connor just to stop the man talking sense. “Don’t you think I’d do that if I thought for one minute she could be happy here? She wants Bath. She wants fame . . . Goddamn it, she wants everything I hate.”

O’Connor shook his head. “No, she doesn’t.”

Anger burned and scolded around Thomas’s heart like flickering flames of fire. “Do not deem yourself to know Monica better than I. Don’t you dare.”

“She wants love, Thomas. She wants the adoration and respect she gets every time she steps on that stage because she deserves it. She could just as easily find that here. With you. With her family.” The doctor walked forward and laid a hand on Thomas’s shoulder. “Trust me. I’m a doctor.”

“And what am I to do? Live in her house? Rely on her for my keep? I will not do it.”

“You would be equals in every way as you run the estate side by side. She would need you to orchestrate every aspect of a home and business she has no experience of. Your income would be yours jointly. Only your misplaced ego is getting in the way of a life you crave and the woman you love. What happens now from this point forward, is entirely up to you. Do not let yourself down, Thomas. To fritter away the chance to be happy is not why God put any of us on this earth.”

Thomas closed his eyes as O’Connor’s hand slipped away and his footsteps faded. Could it really be that simple? After all this time and all this pain, could Monica really be his and live the life she loves right here in a place that Thomas believed had been waiting for her to believe in her entire life?

He drew in a long breath and turned to the church. He stared at the spire. “If I ask her, will she say yes? Will we be happy?”

 

When the first stars were visible through her mother’s bedroom window, Monica rose from the bed and walked closer to look outside. It was one of those beautiful summer nights when everything slept because the heat of the day had given way to air that was warm and touched the skin like a lazy caress. Crickets chirped and birds sang as the sky grew darker, telling everyone it was time to rest.

Monica inhaled. Yet, she had never felt so restless in her life.

For the first time in forever, she had doubts about her own decision-making; she had doubts about Marksville. Doubts about everything except for Thomas.

She moved away from the window and returned to the bed. Gently, she placed the back of her hand on her mother’s brow and smiled to feel its normal warmth after the fever had finally broken the night before.

Poison.

She shook her head. The certainty in Thomas’s eyes and the dread in her heart had been proved entirely unfounded, even if the real cause of her mother’s illness was no more comforting. Shadows. Shadows on her heart and lungs.

Monica blinked against her tears and leaned over to press a kiss to her mother’s cheek before blowing out the candle by her bed. The shadows loomed all around the room, but inside Monica, a clear light burned.

She wouldn’t be leaving tomorrow.

She wouldn’t ever be leaving.

Not now.

Not when, at last, she saw just how much her family needed her right here.

Given time, Nathanial would understand and she would support him in the life he deserved in any way she could.

A gentle knock on the bedroom door jolted Monica from her thoughts and with a final glance at her mother, she walked to the door and opened it.

Jane smiled. “Is Mama settled?”

“Yes, she’s sleeping.” Monica closed the door and pushed her hand into the crook of Jane’s arm. “Shall we sit awhile in the garden? It’s a beautiful night.”

Her sister grinned, her pretty green eyes shining in the lamplight. “Maybe you should take a walk outside alone.”

The teasing tone of her sister’s voice brought Monica to an abrupt stop. She frowned. “What’s the matter?”

Jane’s eyes glinted with mischief. “Nothing.”

“Jane . . .”

Jane laughed and gently urged Monica toward the stairs. “Go. Go outside and have a seat by the gazebo.”

“The gazebo . . .” Monica rolled her eyes. “What on earth is the matter with you? It’s almost ten o’clock. I thought you might want some company, but if you do not wish to walk with me, then I will go to bed.”

“Monica, for once in your life, will you do as you are told?” Jane’s smile vanished. “I mean it. Go to the gazebo.”

Monica opened her mouth to protest, but Jane turned around and hurried toward her bedroom, succinctly closing the door behind her. Monica frowned as she stared at the door.
Fine. She wants me to go to the gazebo, I’ll go to the gazebo....

Snatching up her skirts, Monica descended the stairs and walked out the front door. As soon as the warm evening air caressed her skin, her annoyance with Jane was blown away and Monica breathed deep. An innate sense of belonging came over her and settled deep in her heart.

One way or another, she would get through these days caring for her mother and learn how to run an estate as large as Marksville. She’d conquered the stage and made a life she loved, who was to say she couldn’t do the same here?

She swallowed and her smile wavered. There was just one major difference between Bath and Marksville. She wasn’t
in
love with anyone there as she was here—everything would be so much easier if the man who held her heart wasn’t at the center of everything that would take time to find a home in her heart as it had in her father’s.

Thomas was Marksville.

Exhaling, Monica walked on toward the walkway that led to the bottom of the garden and the gazebo. As her boots crunched upon the gravel pathway, the flickering of a lantern a few feet away stopped her. She frowned. What was that doing there? Was someone already here?

She swallowed. “Hello?”

Silence.

She walked closer and picked the lantern up by its metal handle and continued farther. Her heart picked up speed and a girlish thrill knotted her stomach.
Could Thomas be waiting for me?

Just as the thought entered her head, he stepped out from between the hedges. Her breath caught. “Thomas.”

He smiled, his teeth showing white in the semidarkness and his hair shiny and dark. “Hello, Monica.”

She stared at him and fell a little deeper. Dressed in a suit she recognized as her father’s from many years before, the cut had been tailored to Thomas’s muscular and fit physique. Expensive fabric swathing a man of iron in cuts of silk. Monica inwardly laughed at her thoughts.

“You were born to wear it.” She smiled. “You look handsome.”

He smiled and stepped closer. “You don’t mind?”

“Of course not. I said they were for the tenants and that includes you.”

Something flickered across his face before he nodded and his shoulders rose as though preparing himself for a blow. “I have something to ask you. Would you sit down?”

Trepidation rippled through her. He had been so angry of late; so frustrated and protective to the point of seeing things that weren’t there. “Is it Dr. O’Connor? Did you not find a resolution to your grievances?”

“We did. It’s not the doctor.”

“Then—”

“Monica, please. Sit down before I lose my courage.”

She laughed. “You are the bravest man I know.”

“Not right now, I’m not. Sit, please.”

Frowning, she walked to the stone bench where she and Thomas had kissed so many weeks before, and smoothed out her skirts. “What is it?”

He stared down at her, his face still and strong, if not for the softness in his eyes and the whisper of a smile playing at his lips. “These last few weeks have been my strangest at Marksville for the entire time I have lived and worked here.” He looked past her toward the blackened trees. “I never thought I would see you smile, laugh, or care for your mother and Miss Jane as you have been. You seem happy. Committed.”

“I am.” He snapped his gaze to hers as though taken by surprise. She laughed. “What? Did you think I would disagree with you?”