“Could he afford it?” Jane pushed out her bottom lip in thought. “I’ve seen no evidence that he would have the money.”
“But we could at least put him to the test.” Monica strode forward, excitement slipping into her veins. She clasped her sister’s hands. “We could at least see what he has to say.”
Jane stared, her brow furrowed in thought.
Monica waited, her heart beating hard.
At last, Jane’s frown dissolved and her mouth curved into a wide smile. “All right. We’ll try. We’ll see what Dr. O’Connor is made of.”
Monica grinned. “Oh, Jane, thank you.” She pulled her sister into an embrace, and tried to ignore the pain in her heart over the lost love of the man outside the window.
Chapter 17
Thomas sat at the table in the Marksville kitchen, and the heat of Jeannie’s and Mrs. Seton’s astonished gazes bored through his bowed head and into his skull. He was wearing a dinner jacket and trousers borrowed from Matthew Cleaves and feeling about as out of place as any man could.
“So, let me get this right . . .” Mrs. Seton’s slapped a tray of sweet rolls she’d just extracted from the oven onto the counter. “You’re to sit at the table as a guest and try to work out what is best for this place as though you’re one of them, rather than one of us?”
Thomas wearily raised his head. “Yes, the answer isn’t going to change, no matter how many times you ask the bleeding question.”
Mrs. Seton sniffed. “I don’t know who’s more insane to think this will change anything about the future or our jobs, you or Miss Monica.”
“I agree.” Thomas lifted his hand to push his hair away from his face, then remembered his hair was combed and ready for dinner . . . rather than the stable. He dropped his hand to the table, curling his fingers into a fist. “I have no idea what Monica thinks she’ll achieve tonight either, but I’m hardly going to refuse her request, am I?”
“Miss Monica, and you know they could end up making a mockery of you up there.” Mrs. Seton raised her eyebrows. “What does she think will happen? She might respect what you have to say, but I’ll put a pound to a penny no one else at that table will.”
Thomas pushed up from his seat and glowered. “Well, that’s for me to worry about, isn’t it? I can look after myself. If there’s anything I can say or do to make our lives better and keep Miss Monica from making a mistake, where’s the problem?”
“Thomas?”
He turned to Jeannie who stood at the oven, her expression filled with anxiety. “What?”
“Ma said Miss Monica might sell the house. Is she right?”
Exhaling, he slid an arm around Jeannie’s shoulders, pulling her in close. “I’m going to do my best to make sure that doesn’t happen.” He pressed a kiss to her temple. “Tonight is just the first of my endeavors; whatever comes next I’m ready.”
She looked at him and frowned. “But what does Miss Monica expect you to do tonight? How will you have any influence on what the gentry think or do? The master thought a lot of you, but like Mrs. Seton said—”
“And so does Monica.” He looked from Jeannie to Mrs. Seton. “She might not have been as open with me as I’d like so far, but I think hosting this dinner is her attempt to see if any of the local gentry would be interested in buying Marksville or knows somebody who would.” He clenched his jaw. No matter how much he fought to resist touching or loving Monica, he would support her. This dinner, and her invitation to join the discussions, illustrated her commitment to the tenants and for that, he was grateful. “If she can rally interest locally, then there’s every chance the new owner will keep on both staff and tenants because they’ll know us. I agree with her reasoning. It’s harder to eject someone from their home when you have known their family all your life.”
“So she still wants to leave? Go back to Bath?” Mrs. Seton sucked a breath in through her teeth and took the rolls off the tray one at a time to lie on a fancy platter. “I never took Miss Monica as thinking herself better than the likes of us here in Biddestone. She’s clearly changed over the years.”
Protectiveness for Monica simmered inside him and Thomas glowered. “She hasn’t changed. She’s still as caring, kind, and infuriatingly stubborn as she’s always been. The difference is she’s now had a taste of liberty, of a life where she’s in charge and free to do as she sees fit.” He shook his head. “I can’t make her understand that running the estate could still offer her the same sense of independence—”
“And how do you work that out? If she takes on this house, she’ll need a man to help her run it.”
He clenched his jaw. “She’s managed well enough on her own.”
Mrs. Seton’s eyes widened. “So as long as you get to keep your home, you’re happy for Miss Monica to live alone in this big house and run it all by herself? Don’t talk daft, Thomas Ashby. The woman will marry and have children by a man whether she truly loves him or not. This estate is too much responsibility for one person. If she goes back to Bath, there’s still a hope she’ll marry for love. I don’t blame the girl for trying to get rid of the place, regardless of the effect on us. What woman in their right mind wants to marry for the right reasons? A woman like Miss Monica needs a man with fire in his belly and her in his heart. Any less and she’ll wither like a flower in winter. Is that what you want for her?”
Nausea gripped his stomach and Thomas looked to Jeannie. His sister stared back at him expectantly. He lifted his chin. “Of course not. I’ll see she’s all right.”
“Oh, will you now? And how are you going to do that?” Mrs. Seton arched her eyebrow.
“If she stays here, I’ll be right beside her every step of the way.”
Mrs. Seton’s laughed. “Oh, yes, I can see you running the horses and serving the meals, picking up food from the village, and raking the lawns will keep her warm of an evening. Good God, Thomas, do you want to see her a spinster?”
Heat burned in his gut. He released Jeannie and marched across the room toward the door, only to whirl around when he was there to glare at Mrs. Seton. “What else am I supposed to do? I’ve told her I’m here for her. She knows how loyal I am to this family. I will not waiver. Whatever she needs from me, I’ll give to her.”
“She doesn’t need you in that way, though, does she? She isn’t going to look to the help for a husband and the father of her children. She needs a man of breeding. A man used to dealing with money, accounts, tenants, and servants. If she wants to go, the kindest thing we can all do is let her. This is bigger than the house, Thomas, this is a young woman’s life.”
“I know that, but she belongs here. This house needs her. Miss Jane is a good woman, but she hasn’t got the strength of her sister. Husband or no husband, Monica will make a success of Marksville, maybe an even better success than the master. Whether or not she’s alone, she’ll never feel lonely.”
“Thomas?”
The sound of Monica’s voice at the doorway made him, Mrs. Seton, and Jeannie snap their heads around as though bound by rope. The women dipped curtsies and Thomas bowed, his heart beating like a freight train. “Is everything all right?”
Her expression was stony. Her blue eyes bored into his, her cheeks red and her shoulders stiff. Had she heard them discussing her life and how she should live it? Hell, if she did, she’d give him grief for that whenever they were next alone. She tilted her chin. “The guests are due any moment. I would like you to greet them with me so everyone who attends knows you are acting as my advisor tonight and not Papa’s groom. I thought it best we set the standard from the very beginning.”
He nodded, his body rigid. “As you wish.”
She looked at Mrs. Seton and Jeannie and offered them both a smile. “I trust all is in hand and you know what I need from you both this evening?”
“Yes, Miss Monica.”
“Yes, Miss Monica.”
She turned her gaze on Thomas and her smile vanished. “If you’d like to meet me upstairs when you�
�re ready. As you said, for now I might be alone, but I won’t be lonely. I want to marry one day and I’ve come to realize what I’ve known all along . . . the right man for me is not to be found in Biddestone.”
She left and silence descended, heavy and unyielding. He turned to Mrs. Seton, Monica’s words twisting and burning where she meant them to—in his heart. Mrs. Seton grimaced. “I guess we just added more fuel to her fire to be out of here sooner rather than later.”
Thomas briefly closed his eyes, his frustration and stupidity pulsing in his blood. He now realized just how all-consuming and dangerous his passion for Marksville really was. The last person he wanted to hurt in his quest to keep his family from poverty was Monica, yet time and again, he seemed to be doing just that.
When Thomas reached the top of the stairs and stepped into Marksville’s wide and open lobby, Monica stood alone on the black and white tiled floor, staring directly at him. Like a beautiful, tempting, dark-haired Aphrodite, she stood tall and elegant, cast in the amber glow of the fading sun streaming through the open front door behind her. His body came alive once again with the need to have her for his own.
As he walked forward, his hands cruelly tingled with the remembered sensation of her naked skin beneath his palms, and his heart ached with the remembered pain in her eyes after the slash of his words saying they would never last as lovers.
For the first time since her return, she looked ill dressed in mourning, and he suddenly longed to see her in color and light, satin or silk. Marksville only served to shroud her in darkness.
He inhaled a shuddering breath and stopped in front of her. “Are you certain hosting this dinner is the best way forward?”
Her blue eyes traveled the length and breadth of his face, pausing a moment to linger at his lips before her gaze met his. “You look handsome, Thomas.”
Surprised, he smiled. “Thank you.”
Their eyes locked for a moment before she blinked and pulled back her shoulders, glancing toward the door. “I have spoken with Jane and we are agreed that finding the right person to buy Marksville is the only way forward. With you beside them, anyone could run the estate.”
He held her gaze, willing she hear him. “Including you.”
She smiled softly. “It’s time we moved on. No more talk of me staying here. I forbid it. From now on, we focus on finding the right and new master of the estate.”
Biting back the need to tell her he knew deep in his soul she should be there, with him, he nodded. “So from this confidence, I assume you have someone in mind?” He glanced toward the door. “You haven’t told me who’s attending.”
She inhaled and her chest rose. “I visited Matthew Cleaves yesterday.”
Thomas stilled. Matthew Cleaves was a good and honest man, but Thomas couldn’t imagine him for one minute running Marksville with everything else the man did—and did well. He frowned. “And he spoke of an interest in Marksville? I would’ve thought he had more than enough to cope with as squire.”
She smiled. “No, not Matthew . . . I mentioned the doctor to him.”
Tension rippled through Thomas, raising the hairs at his nape. “Surely you wouldn’t consider selling to O’Connor after I’ve told you what I suspect of the man?”
Her cheeks flushed, but her blue eyes burned with determination and authority. “If it’s the house he wants, why not let him have it? If what you suspect is true and it’s the bricks and mortar he really wants rather than Jane, wouldn’t he be thrilled to discover he has no need to court anyone to make it his own?”
“That’s hardly the point. If he has a ruse—”
“Thomas, the decision is made. Jane and I intend to do our utmost to convince the doctor to buy Marksville. He is keen to integrate himself into the community. It has to be worth presenting the option to him at least.”
Thomas shook his head as the feeling of being at the entrance to a darkened and dangerous abyss skittered up his spine. “It’s a bad idea.”
“Why? Because you don’t like him?” She laughed. “Thomas, this isn’t about who we like or don’t. This is business.”
He stared as disbelief and disappointment flowed through his veins on a turbulent and dangerous wave. “Business?”
Her smile faltered. “Yes, I care for you . . . I care for Mrs. Seton, Jeannie, all the tenants, but Marksville is a home and working estate. There is no room for emotion anymore. If this house is to be kept alive and well, it needs someone at its helm willing to work at its potential in order to turn a profit. Years from now, if people who own houses such as ours only think of inheritance and emotion, our finest houses will disintegrate through pride and neglect.
“You should be glad that I am thinking about the estate’s prosperity. I am not the person to ensure Marksville thrives. I want to flourish in Bath, not here. If you want to stay here, if you want to pass your position on to your children, you have to support me in my endeavors or neither of us succeeds.”
He gripped her hand, his heart beating fast and his love for her and Marksville pulsing hot through his veins. “O’Connor is not a good option.”
She closed her eyes as though unable to look at him. “He’s the only option I have left.”
Thomas cast his gaze over her closed lids, her fine cheekbones, her tempting lips, and his body once more yearned for this fantastical, wonderful woman. “Neither of us succeeds if you leave.”
Her hand trembled against his palm and she opened her eyes. “Thomas, please. Don’t do this.”
“I have a bad feeling. You would not usually expect me to obey when I have doubts.”
She shook her head, empathy showing in her eyes. “You would have a bad feeling whoever bought it. You love Marksville more than anything. All will be well, I promise.”
He clenched his jaw. “Don’t say that.”
“Don’t say what?”
“Don’t promise me all will be well when nothing . . . absolutely nothing worthwhile can be promised to me or my family anymore.”
She inhaled and her breasts rose and fell. “Let go of me.”
He gripped her hand tighter. “Do you think I turned away from you the night at the theater because I wanted to? Do you think I released your naked body from my arms with ease and disregard? I did it because I can’t afford to think of anyone or anything else other than my loved ones. My father worked too hard for me not to do everything I can to keep his legacy alive. He was proud to work here and even prouder of me. I have to think of that. Always.”
Her eyes burned bright with unshed tears, but they were fiery with anger and her cheeks blazed red. “I know that. Worse, it makes me respect you all the more as a man and a son. We both know our relationship begins and ends with this cursed house. You will never leave and I will never stay. We’re not supposed to be together. You’ve always known that to be true and at last, so do I.” She pulled her hand from his. “So let’s do what is right for you and your father and to hell with me. But don’t touch me again. I can’t bear it.”
“Monica—”
“It’s not fair for you to look or put your hands on me when I feel this way about you. Please.”
Their gazes locked and her harried breaths whispered over his face. Every part of him leaned toward her, his heart roared and his instinct to protect her burned and leaped like an inferno inside him. Without thinking, he cupped her face in his hands and kissed her. He took and he branded; he loved and he lost.
She whimpered into his mouth and her hands came up and clutched the back of his neck, urging him closer despite her words of a few moments before. Their tongues tangled and devoured, their hands held firm as though each had the right to claim the other.
The heat between them didn’t feel like love; in that moment it felt dangerous and fatal.
There was no joy in their kiss or caresses, just anger and fire that was bound to scar and change them forever.
Yet, still he reached for her breast and still she dug her fingers into his shoulders.
The crunch of wheels on gravel broke them apart as quickly as a sharply shot rifle. The look of terror in her eyes and the flush to pale in her cheeks pulled at his heart. “Monica—”
“No.” She shook her head and swiped at her face before lifting her chin and pulling back her shoulders. “No more. From now on, we think only of what’s best for Marksville and your family.”
She strode toward the door, her smile in place to welcome the first of the dinner guests. Thomas let her go. His heart hammered and his gut knotted with frustration. Why had God been so cruel to create her and bring her back to him when she could never be his? Why had she left with a man Thomas had prayed would make her happy, despite the overwhelming sense Baxter couldn’t be trusted? Why couldn’t he have been wrong and instead, Baxter adored her, married her, and made it his life’s work to make her happy?
Inhaling a long breath through flared nostrils, Thomas drew strength and fortitude into his chest and stepped forward. The sky had turned from the day’s summer blue to salmon pink. It would at least be a beautiful night outside the house’s walls; God only knew the storm that would erupt within.
Chapter 18
Taking a deep breath, Monica hurried down the front steps with Thomas’s kiss still lingering on her tender lips. The first guests to arrive were Mr. and Mrs. Abraham. They alighted from their carriage and each warmly shook Monica’s hand before she directed them toward the house. Thomas stood at the bottom step waiting. Swallowing against the erratic beat of her heart, Monica forced her head high and approached him. “Thomas, if you’d like to accompany Mr. and Mrs. Abraham into the parlor?”
Nothing in his lingering gaze gave away what had just occurred between them before he turned to the guests and smiled. “Welcome to Marksville; if you’d like to step inside, I’ll take you to Mrs. Danes and Miss Jane.”
What a Woman Desires Page 20