“He won’t. He needs the estate, Jane. Please trust me on this. I know what I’m doing.”
Jane stared a moment longer before slowly closing her eyes and gripping Monica’s fingers and exhaling. “I do trust you.” She opened her eyes and glanced toward the window. “What I don’t understand is why you refuse to believe you could be happy here. I look at you and I look at Thomas and can’t help thinking you are making a terrible mistake by leaving us again.”
Monica’s heart hitched and she followed her sister’s gaze toward the window and Marksville’s lands beyond. The tension beat out the seconds. Jane could never learn of the extent to which she and Thomas had risked scandal and heartbreak. “I’ll be all right and so will Thomas. Dr. O’Connor will be true to his word. He has much to lose if he doesn’t.”
“Fine. I won’t continue to harangue you.” Jane slipped her hand from Monica’s and picked up her glass of water. “But I do want to know what you suppose will happen next.”
Monica cleared her throat and held her mother’s hand tighter. “I will leave for Bath this morning for an appointment with Mr. Baker.”
“He knows about this?”
“Not yet, but he is under obligation to do as I wish. The house and lands are mine. I will leave immediately after breakfast and be back by late afternoon.” Monica smiled. “Why do you not contact some friends in the village and arrange for a game of whist at the house tonight? I can look after Mama and you can enjoy a relaxed evening.”
“Look after me?” Her mother snatched her hand from Monica’s. “Since when do I need looking after? Have you not thought that I might want to play cards too?”
Monica smiled and glanced at Jane, who managed a small returning smile. “Well, in that case, I think most definitely Jane should get word to her friends, don’t you think, Mama?”
“I do . . .” Her mother gave a curt nod and a surprisingly saucy wink. “If you’re leaving, I need to show Dr. O’Connor you aren’t the only Danes lady with an eye for adventure.”
Monica grinned as all three of them burst into laughter. In that moment, on a par of understanding with her mother and sister, Marksville felt strangely like home for the very first time. Monica’s smile faltered and she quickly rose from the table before the feeling could grab a hold of her heart and she’d lose the courage to leave.
Chapter 21
Thomas watched Monica descend the steps at the front of the house, his heart thundering with the suppressed desire to hold her back. He stood beside Wilson, who was ready and tacked up to take his mistress into the city. Although dressed in mourning, Monica appeared more beautiful than ever to his stupid mind and foolish heart.
She stopped in front of him and her gaze held his with a determined defiance that was wholly Monica—the woman he loved. “I hope to be back by late afternoon. Will you see that Mama has everything she needs until I return? Jane will soon be going into the village to visit some friends in the hope they will want to spend the evening at cards. Stephanie will be here, but obviously if Mama needs—”
“I’ll be here.” Thomas dropped his gaze to her mouth. Her fast and incessant chatter belied her nerves and as wrong as it felt, it comforted him to know he wasn’t alone in his unease.
She exhaled. “Good.”
The silence stretched as the tension between them gathered strength. She snapped her gaze from his to Wilson. “While I’m gone, I’d like you to pack up a few of Papa’s things. There are many clothes and such that would be welcomed by the tenants. With Mama the way she is, it’s probably best I leave the decision-making about what to keep and what not to you.”
Thomas curled his hands into fists at his sides to stop from acting on the near-overwhelming urge to pull her body to his. “Yes, ma’am.”
She abruptly turned, her eyes flashing with anger. “Stop it.”
“Stop what?” He clenched his jaw as the temper and frustration he’d been keeping under control since the night before snapped. “Being a servant? Compliant? What? I don’t know what else I’m supposed to do to get through this madness.”
Her cheeks flushed and she glanced toward the house. “Jane knows how I feel about you.” She met his eyes and they softened with her plea. “She also understands it is impossible for us to be together. I am leaving for Bath before this gets any more out of hand than it already is.”
He glared. “Since when has someone holding affection for another equaled a burden?”
Her color deepened and irritation rose once more in her beautiful blue eyes. “There is no future in our relationship, regardless of whatever it is we feel for one another. We are stuck, and I for one am tired of it.”
She moved to brush past him toward Wilson and Thomas gripped her wrist. “You are making a terrible mistake by agreeing to this marriage.”
“Nathanial hasn’t lied to me and he hasn’t promised anything he can’t deliver.” She snatched her arm from his grasp. “Something you told me you hold above all else. Do whatever you want. Explore his virtues and failings. I don’t care because I am marrying him.”
She marched past him and pushed her boot into the stirrup and levered into the saddle. He normally would’ve been perturbed that she hadn’t waited for his aid, but in that moment, everything inside him screamed of the importance not to touch her again for fear he would hold her captive in his arms for the rest of their lives.
Their situation was hopeless and maybe her ruse to marry O’Connor was folly, but Thomas couldn’t marry her either. That reality was the hardest to bear above all else.
With a final loaded glare, she clicked her tongue and pulled on the reins, steering Wilson toward the graveled avenue leading from the house. She dug in her heels and proved her worth as a skilled rider as the horse burst into a gallop, leaving Thomas squinting against the cloud of dust that rose in their midst.
Cursing, he kicked up the stones at his feet. How could he have let himself fall for Monica a second time? He glared toward the trees surrounding the lawn in front of him. His feelings were nothing compared to Monica’s well-being, and yet still something deep inside told him O’Connor was a threat to her. He had to find out why, or let Monica go, and with her accept the truth of their impossible love.
Inhaling a deep breath, he stalked around the house toward the servants’ entrance and into the kitchen. Mrs. Seton was at the counter kneading dough and Jeannie was at the sink washing the breakfast dishes. He stepped over the threshold and they both turned. He blew out a breath. “She’s gone.”
Jeannie frowned. “Who?”
Thomas moved to the kitchen table and splayed his hands on the surface. “Monica.”
“Gone where?”
“Into the city.” He looked from Jeannie to Mrs. Seton and back again, his frustration pulsing at his temples. “I assume from the looks on your faces, you have no idea of her plans.”
Mrs. Seton stopped kneading. “I heard some commotion at breakfast this morning and Miss Jane raised her voice a few times, but I left them to it. What’s happened?”
Thomas scowled. “She’s marrying the doctor.”
“No.”
“No.”
The two women stared at him, both wide-eyed with their mouths dropped open. He squeezed his eyes shut. “We have to stop her.”
“How?” Mrs. Seton’s demand bounced from the walls. “Miss Monica isn’t the type to listen to anyone once her mind is made up, you know that. Why on earth would she want to marry the doctor? Since when has she held any affection for him? She’s barely been back more than five minutes.”
Thomas opened his eyes and immediately caught Jeannie’s sympathetic gaze. “Why are you looking at me like that?”
She smiled softly, the sympathy in her eyes deepening. “You love her. You’ve always loved her. This must be killing you.”
Mrs. Seton gawped. “You love Miss Monica? Oh, Thomas, why did you go and fall in love with the likes of her? Are you mad?”
Irritation burned behind his rib cage. �
��It’s not as though I had a choice in the matter.”
“Of course you did. Feelings like that, toward someone above our station, need to be tamped down as soon as they appear. What were you thinking?”
Glaring, Thomas swiped his hand over his face. “What matters now is I find out what the doctor is really up to.”
Mrs. Seton frowned. “What do you mean? Do you know something?”
Thomas gripped the back of one of the chairs at the table until his knuckles showed white. “I’ve never trusted the man. He’s too darn nice to everyone.”
Mrs. Seton huffed out a laugh. “Since when is that a crime? I like him. He’s always polite and grateful. You should concentrate on keeping on the right side of Mrs. Danes, regardless of her frame of mind. One word from her and you could be out on your ear.”
Thomas shook his head, his mind running at high speed. “He was there when the master died, and I swear he had a plan to get his feet under the Marksville table long before Miss Monica came back.”
Jeannie snatched a cloth from the side of the sink and dried her hands. “Are you sure you aren’t grasping at straws to find something that will put a stop to a wedding you couldn’t stand witnessing? Because if you are, you need to stay out of it. It isn’t our place—”
“Maybe Monica marrying him has made my need to prove O’Connor a leech all the more important, but I’ve been watching him for a while. The more he’s around the mistress, the more ill she seems to be getting.” He looked from one woman to the other. “Don’t you think?”
Mrs. Seton sniffed and turned back to her kneading. “Her mind’s gone, Thomas. What’s he supposed to do? No doctor can heal what is wrong with the mistress. We just need to be grateful he cares enough to be with her as often as he is.”
“I’m not talking about her mind.”
“Then what?” Jeannie frowned.
“Her physical state. Haven’t you seen a decline there too? She’s losing weight, her color isn’t right. It wouldn’t surprise me if the man is damn near poisoning her.”
Jeannie gasped and Mrs. Seton spun around. “Don’t talk daft.”
“I’m telling you, something isn’t right and I’m going to find out what.” He stormed around the table toward the stairs leading upstairs and paused at the doorway. He turned to face his sister and Mrs. Seton. “One way or another, I’ll prove my instinct is right. That man is poisoning the mistress or I’m Charles bloody Dickens.”
Monica kicked Wilson into a canter, suddenly eager to get back to Marksville and put her meeting with Mr. Baker behind her. She’d left his office with the necessary papers for her and Nathanial to sign in order for Marksville’s future to be sealed and delivered with no further questioning by a third party. The entire time she had been discussing the prospect of her marriage with Mr. Baker, the more Thomas’s face had haunted her mind.
Maybe he was right. Maybe her decision to marry Nathanial wasn’t the best, but what Thomas didn’t understand was she couldn’t live at Marksville with him there either. There was little else to be done but to move forward. The most important thing her success at the theater had taught her was that life was there to be grabbed by the neck.
If you stood still, time and opportunity passed you by and you spent your life in regret. She would not waste her lessons on ifs or maybes as far as Thomas or anything else was concerned.
Thomas was a man of tradition and loyalty—virtues she loved in him, but their limiting power was more than she could bear.
She dug her heels into Wilson’s withers, urging him into a gallop. The soft August wind blew against her face and Monica breathed deep. Liberty and freedom of choice would always matter to her. Her love for Thomas only emphasized her lack of power to change their circumstances.
The depression of that reality weighed heavy on her soul, proving again Marksville was no good for her. For the last two years, her life in Bath had taken an upturn. Ever since Malcolm had been imprisoned, her sense of self-worth and ability to do whatever she dreamed of had come true.
Being back at Marksville was making her fight the same feeling of helplessness she’d endured through her childhood and adolescence. She could not go backward. It was time for her to leave.
She rounded the final corner that led toward the grand iron gates of Marksville and slowed Wilson to a canter. The house stood proud and tall at the end of the tree-lined avenue, and despite her determination to hate her family’s home, Monica’s tears burned. Once again, she was struck by a feeling of being pulled to stay; that something bigger than her wants and wishes lay within the house’s walls and surrounding acres.
Blinking against the burning in her eyes, she rode on. She’d barely reached a few hundred feet from the house’s door when it flew open and Jane came running out. She waved her arms. “Monica, thank God. Quickly. It’s Mama.”
Jane’s pallor and the fear in her eyes rolled sickness through Monica’s stomach on a terrified wave. “What is it? What’s happened?”
“Quickly.” Jane gripped Wilson’s bridle, holding the horse still. “I sent Jeannie into the village for Dr. O’Connor, but Thomas insisted she bring any doctor but him so I agreed. Thomas is so angry, Monica. I don’t know what’s wrong with him.”
Monica leaped from Wilson’s back and hurried into the house, snatching her gloves from her hands and tossing them onto the hallway table. “Where are they?”
“In the parlor. Hurry.”
She marched forward and into the parlor. Thomas was kneeling on the floor, her mother’s head in his lap. Monica put a hand to her mouth. “Oh, my goodness. What happened?” She dropped down beside them and stared into her mother’s gray face before snatching her gaze to Thomas. “What’s wrong with her?”
“I don’t know.” His gaze ran over Monica’s face before meeting her eyes. “She’s ill, Monica. Gravely so.”
Monica pushed to her feet and hurried to the sideboard. She extracted some linen napkins and returned to her mother’s side once more. Dabbing at the perspiration beaded on her mother’s hairline and upper lip, Monica shook her head. “She’s weak and her breathing is shallow. Did she try to do something she shouldn’t?”
Thomas shook his head. “She was sitting beside Miss Jane reading and then she gripped her chest before falling to the floor.”
Jane sobbed. “She fell before I could catch her. It’s all my fault, I should’ve been watching her.”
Monica looked into her sister’s petrified eyes. “This isn’t your fault.” She pressed the back of her hand to their mother’s forehead. “She’s so cold.”
“Feel her pulse.” Thomas’s voice was a low command.
Monica stared at him before pressing her trembling fingers to her mother’s neck. Her heartbeat was as soft as a bird’s fluttering wing against her skin. “Thomas, I’m scared.”
Their eyes met and his jaw tightened. “Jeannie will be back before long with the doctor. We need to keep the mistress warm and comfortable before he gets here. Help me move her to the settee.”
Panic gripped and squeezed at Monica’s heart. “Do you think it would be wise to move her?”
“She’s cold on the floor. We need to get her on the cushions and covered with a blanket. Quickly.”
Monica nodded and pushed to her feet, moving toward her mother’s legs. Thomas gently eased her head from his lap and slid his arms beneath her mother’s upper body. “Right, on two. One. Two.”
Together, they lifted her mother’s listless body onto the settee. A soft whimper escaped her lips before her head thrashed from one side to the other and then stilled. Jane gasped and Monica’s heart raced. “No.”
Thomas pressed his fingers to her mother’s neck. “It’s all right, her pulse is still fairly steady.” He looked to Jane. “Fetch some blankets and ask Mrs. Seton to bring some water.”
She nodded and hurried from the room.
Monica stared at Thomas’s set jaw. He was so quietly in control, so sure of himself and how to best tend her moth
er. His strong, work-worn hands gently lifted the fallen hair from her brow, and the muscles in his shoulders relaxed as her mother sighed. Monica’s heart constricted. The devotion and level of care in Thomas’s gaze could not be doubted or questioned . . . he was as faithful to her family as anyone could ever be.
She owed him five years’ worth of apologies for the neglect and disregard she’d shown her family whilst all the time Thomas stood firm in their service.
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—”
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