What a Woman Desires

by Rachel Brimble

  Monica laughed. “I’m not quite the success to be recognized everywhere I go.” She grinned. “At least . . . not yet.”

  The doctor smiled. “Did you leave a play to come home for your father’s funeral?”

  “Yes.” She glanced at Jane. “And I won’t be able to stay in Biddestone indefinitely. There are many difficult choices Jane and I will have to make over the coming weeks, I’m afraid.”

  The doctor’s smile faded to a frown. “But surely one of you will continue at Marksville? The house and land are so stunning, it would be a travesty for the estate to be taken on by someone outside of your family.”

  Monica stiffened. Yet another person who held no qualms about telling her what should happen with the estate. “Be that as it may, nothing has been decided and nor will it be for a while yet. I intend to travel the estate and village tomorrow to get the lay of the land. I’m sure with that done, and your advice regarding Mama, I will have a much better idea of the best way forward.”

  Jane cleared her throat. “Are you intending to take this trip about town alone tomorrow?”

  “No, I—”

  “She’ll be accompanied by me, Miss Jane.”

  Monica stilled as Thomas came to her side, the scent of fresh air and man enveloping her senses. She tried and failed not to inhale. Breathing deep, she fought to keep her stiff smile in place and concentrated her gaze on the safer face of Dr. O’Connor. “I’m sure you know Thomas, Doctor? He was Papa’s groom, valet . . . everything, really.”

  The doctor smiled and turned to Thomas. “Indeed, I do. How are you, Thomas?”

  “Well, thank you, sir.”

  Monica snapped her head around. Thomas stared at the doctor, his jaw clenched and his eyes narrowed. Unease lifted the hairs on the back of her neck. Sometimes the man’s brooding bypassed that stomach-clenching, toe-curling intensity she couldn’t resist, to something far more dangerous and infuriating. She glared. “Thomas? The doctor—”

  “Mrs. Danes is looking more strained than ever, is she not, Dr. O’Connor?” Thomas bowed slightly. “Of course, we are at the master’s funeral, so most likely it is her grief adding depth to her already fragile state, rather than escalation of her declining health.”

  The accusatory tone of Thomas’s musings sent a frisson of hostility and awkwardness through the previously civil atmosphere. Monica glanced around the trio of faces. Jane studied the rug at her feet while Thomas and the doctor held each other’s gazes, their smiles identically frozen. Monica slowly released Jane’s hand. “Well, I really must check on Mama. If you would be so kind as to come to the house whenever possible tomorrow, Doctor, I will look forward to seeing you.”

  Dr. O’Connor turned to face her. “Of course. I am free of patient appointments after three o’clock. How would half past suit you?”

  Monica smiled. “That would be perfect.”

  “Then I shall see you then. If you’ll excuse me, Miss Danes . . .” He nodded to Jane and Thomas in turn. “Miss Danes . . . Thomas.”

  He left the group and Monica stared at Thomas’s profile as he watched the doctor bid his farewell to Mama. He clearly neither liked nor respected the young doctor. Well, I won’t tolerate such rudeness toward someone looking after Mama. She opened her mouth to tell Thomas just that when Jane gripped her elbow. “Would you excuse us a moment, Thomas? I think Jeannie would appreciate your help seeing to the departing guests.”

  Thomas slowly turned to face Jane, his hardened gaze evolving into fondness. “Of course.” He glanced at Monica and lifted an eyebrow. “Miss Danes.”

  Trembling with suppressed frustration, Monica merely nodded and faced Jane in a gesture of clear dismissal toward Thomas. Whatever game he played, he was the assured loser. She waited until the man’s damn lingering masculinity cleared the vicinity and she could breathe easy again. She shook her head. “Whatever blasé rule Thomas has been under these past years, it has clearly given him airs. Did you see the way he looked and spoke to the quite lovely Dr. O’Connor? What in God’s name has gotten into him?”

  Jane sighed. “Ignore him. You know Thomas.”

  “Yes, I do, and from now on—”

  “Monica, listen to me.” Jane tightened her grip. “Dr. O’Connor’s interest . . . his interest is becoming . . .”

  Monica frowned, all thoughts of Thomas’s reprimand vanishing from her mind. “His interest is what . . . ? Oh, I see.”

  Jane glared. “Do not look so amused. The man has begun to show more and more interest in me. It makes me decidedly uncomfortable.”

  “You do not return his affection?”

  “No, I do not.” Jane’s eyes widened. “Short of being rude to him—”

  “I see.” Monica stared toward the open parlor door through which the doctor had disappeared. “And why is that? I thought him quite amicable. He is clearly an intelligent and studious man to be in such a position at his age.”

  “That may be so, but he is most certainly not the man for me.”

  “And is there a man I should be aware of? Someone’s whose attention you’d prefer?”

  Jane blushed and as much as she tried to scowl, her eyes belied her feelings. “That’s neither here nor there. If Mama were to suspect for one minute I might have affections for anyone other than for someone of her choosing—”

  “She’d put an immediate stop to it.” Monica’s smile dissolved. “I understand.” She glanced around the room. “We will talk of this later, but I promise you I will never try to change your mind or influence you about any beau. As long as he’s a nice and caring man, that’s more important to me than anything else as far as a suitor of yours is concerned.”

  Jane’s shoulders relaxed. “Good. I couldn’t bear dealing with your anger or opinions about my life on top of Mama’s.”

  Monica smiled. “Your happiness is all that matters to me. I’m sorry I haven’t been here for you to already know that.”

  A returning smile lit Jane’s face. “Well, you’re here now and you haven’t completely dismissed the idea of me finding someone to love by my own means. That’s means so much to me. Thank you.”

  “You don’t need to thank me.” Monica covered Jane’s hand at her elbow and squeezed. “I’m not Mama. The sooner you understand that, the better.”

  Jane smile widened. “I’m so glad you’re home.”

  Before she could correct her sister’s naming of “home,” Jane hurried away, leaving Monica standing alone and reeling under the realization that her determination to leave Biddestone twenty minutes before had been weakened once again.

  She sighed. One step forward, two steps back was the cruelest of games.

  Thomas sat in the front seat of Monica’s phaeton and scowled. When she’d told him to tack up her horse and the phaeton, he’d received her message loud and clear. From now on, he was her employee to do with as she pleased, and she would clearly have no restraint at showing him the trappings her independent earnings had bought her.

  He clenched his jaw. She’d kept Wilson in fine condition and along the way purchased her own means of transportation. He wished for resentment, but instead nothing but pesky pride pulsed in his blood. He smiled softly. His girl had done good.

  “Good morning, Thomas. I must say it’s a relief to see you smiling on such a sunny morning.”

  His smile vanished. He stood and leaped from the phaeton without looking at Monica. When he landed on the gravel and met her eyes, his breath caught in his throat as it did every time they were reunited after separation. How could a woman look so stunning in mourning? He swallowed and touched his finger to the brim of his hat. “Good morning.”

  Her gaze lingered on his mouth for a moment before she swept past him and approached Wilson. “Good morning, my darling.”

  Thomas curled his hands into fists and battled the ridiculous envy of watching her smooth her hands over the animal’s flanks. She moved to his nose and gently tugged on his forelock, finishing her greeting with a kiss to the horse’s
nose. Thomas scowled. The woman held more affection for her damn horse than for any human.

  His gaze roamed over her from head to boot. Her black riding habit fit her like a second skin. Tightly nipped in at the waist and wide at hips that would, no doubt, one day bear the children of another man. Her dark, glossy hair was pinned up, revealing the white column of her neck. On her head, she wore a black high hat, circled with a thick length of black lace that fell beyond her shoulders.

  She’d turn the head of every man in the village.

  He purposely kept his gaze on her as she left Wilson and returned to the front of the phaeton. She stopped in front of him and tipped her head back to meet his eyes. “Shall we set off?”

  He nodded, his body tense with the need to touch her. “Where would you like to go first?”

  “I think we’ll visit a few of the tenants and then ride into the village for lunch.”

  He arched an eyebrow. “Do any of the tenants know you’re coming?”

  She frowned. “No, but does it matter? I would often drop by unannounced when I was here before and always felt welcome.”

  The look of surprised vulnerability on her face pressed guilt onto Thomas’s conscience. “You’re probably right . . . .”

  “But?”

  He glanced toward the house before facing her. “You’re not a young girl growing up around the place anymore. You’re the mistress. Or that’s at least how the tenants will see you. When they see you at their doorstep, they’ll have no idea if you bring elevation or eviction.”

  She stared at him for a long moment, before turning and gripping the sidebar of the phaeton. “Well, then, the sooner I speak to them, the better.” She levered herself into the seat, quashing his chance to help her. “And once we’ve seen some of the other tenants, we’ll take that visit to your parents that never materialized the other day.”

  Cursing her determined independence into next week, Thomas strode around to the other side of the carriage and climbed into his seat, snatching up the reins before she took it upon herself to drive as well. Being made to feel redundant around the estate did not rest easy with him, and over his dead body would Monica treat him like a piece of lint on the lapel of her fancy riding habit.

  “As you wish.” He slapped the reins onto Wilson’s rump. “Off you go, boy.”

  Wilson, at least, did exactly as he was bid and they jolted into motion. For the next twenty minutes, only the crunch of the wheels and the call of the birds broke the silence. Time and again, Thomas glanced toward Monica’s hands, neatly folded in her lap, and tamped down the urge to lift one of them onto his knee. They rode side by side like lovers, but instead of sexual tension hovering between them, the tension of two enemies in the midst of an unresolved quarrel hung heavy in the air.

  He cleared his throat. “Why do you need to see my parents? Didn’t you speak to them at the funeral yesterday?”

  She looked at him. “Yes, but nothing was discussed. I want to allay your parents’ immediate fears as much as possible.”

  Irritation simmered in his stomach. “How can that be possible when yesterday you asked me to accompany you to the city? You have every intention of attempting to convince me Bath is where you belong rather than Marksville.”

  Her eyes darkened. “I asked you to the city so we are on an even keel. Today I will find out more about your life and tomorrow you will discover more of mine. That doesn’t mean I shouldn’t tell your parents they won’t be thrown from their home without a moment’s notice. I don’t want to do that to anyone . . . especially your kin.”

  He ran his gaze over her face and took in the unmistakable sincerity in her gaze. He dropped his shoulders. “Well, like I said, they’ll be pleased to see you and spend some time. Although, don’t be surprised if we miss lunch in the village and end up being tied to Ma’s kitchen table.”

  She smiled.

  When the first of the tenants’ houses came into view, Thomas blew out a breath of relief. As fearful as he was of what would unfold inside the Drakes’ household, it was a lot more appealing than spending any more time fighting the need to extricate Monica’s intentions from her. The woman’s determination to keep him in the dark about what went on in that pretty head of hers was driving him insane.

  He steered Wilson to the cottage gate and drew the animal to a halt. Monica immediately stood and Thomas lunged out to grip her arm. She turned, her eyes wide. “What is it?”

  “Let me help you down.”

  Amusement lit her blue eyes and a wide smile replaced her frown. “Does my independence really bother you that much?”

  He scowled. “Not nearly as much as me wanting to see you land face-first in the dirt, but that’s not what the Drakes expect of me, so I won’t risk disappointing them.”

  Her mouth dropped open and her cheeks flamed red. “Why, you—”

  Smiling, Thomas leaped from the phaeton and strode around to her side of the carriage. He planted his feet apart and offered his hands. “My lady.”

  She glared, but her mouth twitched as though she fought a smile. “Don’t you dare my lady me. You have no more respect for me as your mistress than you do Wilson’s aptitude compared to Jake’s. I’ll surrender to you helping me down, but only to save your masculinity from being usurped in front of the tenants.”

  He nodded. “I’m much obliged to you.”

  She shimmied forward and his hands splayed the narrow circle of her waist. For just a little longer than necessary, he held her, their gazes locked. Battling his want of her was like fighting unarmed against a cavalry, but fight it he would. He released her and she pulled herself up straight, her spine rigid. “Thank you.”

  She moved past him and through the Drakes’ gate. Thomas drew in a long, strengthening breath before following on behind. She seemed to hesitate at the door before she raised her hand and knocked. It was nearing eleven o’clock, and as Thomas expected, it was Mrs. Drake who opened the door rather than her husband, who would likely have been in the fields since sunrise.

  “Oh, Miss Monica.” Mrs. Drake pressed the cloth she held to her breast. “This is a surprise.”

  “Good morning, Mrs. Drake.” Monica smiled. “I hope I’m not intruding.”

  Mrs. Drake glanced behind her into the cottage, a worried frown creasing her forehead. “Not at all, if you don’t mind two little ones running around. The place is a bit of a mess.”

  Monica laughed and Thomas smiled to see the joy in her face. Monica peered through the door. “Are the little ones Hannah’s? How is she?”

  Mrs. Drake visibly bloomed with pride and her eyes danced with instant happiness. “They certainly are.” She stepped back and gestured Monica inside. “Why don’t you come in and have a seat?”

  Monica smiled. “Thank you.”

  Thomas watched Monica enter and the clear delight on her face at knowing children were there pulled hard at his chest.

  “Thomas?”

  He started and met Mrs. Drake’s inquisitive stare. “There’s always room for one more. Are you coming in?”

  “Of course. Sorry.” Thomas removed his hat and approached her.

  At the threshold, Mrs. Drake grasped his forearm. “Is she at Marksville to stay?” she whispered. “I didn’t dare to as much as catch her eye at Mr. Danes’s funeral yesterday for fear she’d tell me something I didn’t want to hear.”

  Thomas glanced inside the house. “Your guess is as good as mine. Let’s just not jump to any conclusions. She’ll tell us what’s what all in good time. She asked me to take her around the estate this morning, so let’s get inside and hear what she has to say.”

  Mrs. Drake nodded, but her eyes were filled with worry that Thomas felt helpless to appease or banish.

  Chapter 11

  When Mrs. Drake held out a cup of tea to Monica, she maneuvered the tenant’s young grandson from her lap onto the small wooden seat beside her and took the proffered cup. “It is so good to see you looking so well, Mrs. Drake, and to know Hannah has
found work at The White Horse.”

  “Oh, they’re so pleased with her, Miss Danes. She works hard and takes all the hours they can give her. Her husband is working with Mr. Drake in the fields as we speak, so with a good harvest, they’re hoping to set up in a home of their own come the new year.”

  Monica smiled. So that’s what it looks like to see a mother take pride in her children rather than view them as a future commodity. “I’m so glad . . . for all of you.” Monica sipped her tea and lowered the cup and saucer to her lap, a sudden bout of nerves leaping into her stomach. She glanced at Thomas. He held a mug between his hands at the kitchen table a few feet away. His gaze bored into hers and she snatched her attention back to Mrs. Drake. “So, I suspect you’re wondering what will happen with the estate now that my father has passed.”

  Mrs. Drake stole a glance at Thomas. “Yes, but only share what you wish to tell me, miss. I would never expect to hear your family business unless it was necessary.”

  Monica sighed, hating the way Mrs. Drake fidgeted with her shawl and clasped her hand to her throat. “Well, I’m afraid there’s little I can tell you. At least not for a few days anyway. Papa’s will has yet to be read and until it is, I can’t give you any solid information.” She smiled gently. “What I can tell you is my sister and I . . . Mama, too, will not see any of our tenants thrown out of their homes. If, and it’s a definite if, the house is to be sold, we will do our utmost to ensure the new landlord upholds everyone’s jobs and homes.”

  The abrupt clunk of Thomas’s mug on the tabletop resounded around the room, making Mrs. Drake’s grandson almost fall from his chair. Thomas coughed. “But nothing is guaranteed.”

  His gaze locked on hers and Monica glared. “I can guarantee I will do everything in my power to ensure no one loses their home. I can also guarantee I will negotiate the sale myself and not sell to anyone I think is going to dismiss our loyal staff before they have a chance to seek alternative employment.”