Thomasina

by Joan Vincent

  He rubbed his chin. A gleam of hope entered his eyes. With a low chuckle, he rejoined the guests in the ballroom.

  Chapter Nine

  Fog billowed in large soggy clouds about the grounds of Buckley House. The dreariness of the morning matched Longeton’s mood.

  Gideon entered quietly. One look at his master vanquished his greeting. Instead he simply held out the silver tray he was carrying.

  Longeton glanced from the crested letter upon it to Gideon in wordless question.

  “One of your grooms brought it just moments ago, my lord,” the valet answered.

  With a headshake of resignation Longeton took it and broke the seal. “Destroy it,” he ordered Gideon after a brief reading. He dropped it upon the tray and turned back to the window.

  Watching tufts of fog slowly slid by, Longeton contemplated his situation. It had been foolish to promise Gram and even more foolish to go about his selection in the manner he had. The greatest foolishness my letter and journey to Buckley House, he thought. Now that Gram has her teeth sunk into the issue, she will not let go.

  “Issue.” The word echoed in his mind. With a hollow laugh, he turned back to the room. “Issue” was his problem. Gram’s note was explicit; he had promised her a betrothal and she wished to know where it was.

  Longeton cursed silently. Why hadn’t his brother taken the time to marry and produce a son? Better a guardian than a bridegroom.

  Gideon paused in mid-step as he was re-entering the room. Seeing his lordship’s stance, he thought it would be most strategic to exit at this time.

  “Where are you going?” Longeton thundered. “Pack. We are leaving at once—in the coach. Order the groom who brought the missive to bring Rapscallion to Thornhill as soon as the leg improves. He is to use an easy pace. Tell him to travel with care. I want no more harm to come to the stallion.”

  “Yes, my lord. Will there be anything else?”

  “Fetch some writing materials for me.”

  “Yes, my lord, at once,” Gideon answered, bowing as he backed from the room. Matters here had gone awry. Definitely awry.

  * * * *

  With a final shrug, the fine cambric jacket slipped over the Marquess’ smoothly-muscled shoulders. Parker’s reflection in the mirror he faced caused his frown to lighten.

  “Well, Master Parker, how do you fare this day?” he asked good-naturedly.

  “I am fine, sir, your lordship. But I fear for Tommi,” the boy answered worriedly.

  “There is no need to fear for her,” Longeton scoffed, then regretted his words as Parker’s perturbation increased.

  “You would not say that if you had heard her cry all night as I did,” the boy said angrily.

  “All night?”

  Lowering his eyes before Longeton’s demanding stare, Parker said, “I might have fallen asleep for a short while. But, well, Tommi never cries.” His eyes pleaded for belief, for help.

  “Women are unpredictable creatures,” Longeton said. He walked up to the boy and placed a comforting arm across his shoulders. “You will learn as much when you gather a few more years.

  “Am I not correct in saying that Miss Thait assured you nothing was troubling her this morn?”

  Parker nodded.

  “Believe her then.

  “Ah, Gideon, have my orders been carried out?” he asked as the valet entered.

  “Yes, my lord.”

  “Good. You may pack the things in here. I am finished.”

  Glancing about, Parker asked, “You are leaving?”

  Longeton turned from the boyish innocence. “Yes. I received a summons from my grandmother this morn. I must return to Thornhill at once.”

  “We shall see you again, shan’t we?”

  “I ... I do not know. Possibly. You had better return to the schoolroom before you are missed,” he ended brusquely.

  “Yes, your lordship,” Parker answered hesitantly, then turned and ran from the room as Longeton kept his back turned.

  “Your writing material is upon the desk in the other room, my lord,” Gideon said quietly.

  “What? ... Oh, yes. See that I am not disturbed. The coach should be ready when I have finished my note. Have the baggage loaded so that we may depart as soon as you hand the message to Gill.” Longeton stalked from the room before the valet answered.

  Seating himself abruptly, he grabbed the quill, dipped it into the inkwell but was forestalled by the blank page before him. The quill hovered above the paper as a vision of moon-lit copper curls came to mind. The thought angrily dismissed, he re-dipped the pen and words flowed quickly from it.

  Longeton emerged from the room wrapped in grimness. Wordlessly, the sealed missive was handed to Gideon and in a short time the Marquess was journeying towards Thornhill.

  * * * *

  The pale afternoon sun warmed Thomasina’s back as she watched Parker frolicking with the head groom’s dog. Their confinement had ended shortly after word reached them through Lisa that the Marquess had gone. The news had not brought Thomasina the relief she expected and she quickly buried herself in Parker’s lessons.

  “You are sour as any old tutor would be,” he complained after Lisa left their luncheon tray. “Must we work all day?”

  Relenting, she agreed they could go to the garden as soon as lunch was eaten and the lesson completed. In an attempt to make up for her sternness, Thomasina had sent word for Bently’s dog to be brought to the gardens. The boy and dog had been happily bounding about ever since they had been introduced.

  “The word is true then,” a voice stated flatly behind Thomasina, startling her.

  “I did not mean to frighten you,” Viscount Sherrad apologized. “May I sit with you?”

  Thomasina moved to make room for him. “You did not sound your horn,” she said questioningly.

  “No, I did not wish to announce my visit. I was certain you and Parker would be out if Longeton had departed.”

  A strange look clouded Thomasina’s features.

  “You are still bothered by your fall?” he asked with concern.

  “No—” Thomasina forced a weak laugh, “merely stiff.”

  There was a brief silence as both watched Parker, who had not noticed the Viscount’s presence.

  “Why did you not wish your visit announced?” Thomasina quizzed.

  A red tinge rose across Mathew’s cheeks. “I desired to speak with you privately, Tommi,” he said very seriously. “That would be impossible with Aunt Augusta about. I told you last eve there was a matter I wished to discuss.” Rising, the Viscount looked away, searching for the words.

  A curdling thought came to Thomasina’s mind as she viewed Mathew’s blush and the nervous fidgeting of his hands. He means to ask for my hand, she thought with dismay. Best to be done with it quickly then, she reasoned. Gulping, she reached out. “What is it, Mathew?” she asked hoping her voice was steadier than her hand.

  Still gazing at the garden, Sherrad spewed out his words. “If I did not feel such affection for you, Tommi, I would not ask this of you. But I have no other to turn to. You must help me. Please say you will!” he pleaded, turning his eyes to meet hers.

  “What has upset you so, Mathew? Of course I will do whatever I can,” Thomasina assured him with relief. She clapped a hand to her mouth as she felt a gurgle of laughter rise within, but found she could not restrain the impish release.

  The Viscount stiffened. “I fail to see what you find humorous,” he said, taking offence.

  “But you cannot know what I was thinking,” she gasped between laughter and giggles. Forcing a more sober mein, she continued, “You must think me very missish, even silly, but for a moment I feared you were going to ask for my hand.”

  “But I was,” the Viscount retorted, “and, well, I see no humour in it.”

  “Neither do I,” a very sober Thomasina answered.

  “Do not look that way, Tommi. Let me explain.”

  “My lord, I certainly hope you can do,” she said
slowly.

  Parker tumbled over the dog as he ran back towards Thomasina.

  “Matt!” he hooted as he saw the Viscount at her side. Bounding up, he ran to the pair. “You did not sound your horn,” he accused.

  “No, but I have only now arrived,” Mathew assured the boy. “Shall I take you for a ride upon Thunder?”

  “Yes,” shouted the boy joyfully, grabbing Mathew’s hand and tugging at him to rise.

  “What is your answer, Thomasina?” the Viscount asked her as he rose.

  “Run ahead and have the groom mount you,” he told Parker, who scampered off happily.

  Thomasina rose and walked with Mathew. They slowly followed the boy.

  “What will you say?” he asked again.

  “I like it not,” she answered, her hesitancy apparent in her voice, “but, for you, I will agree.”

  Beaming, Mathew halted and bowed to her. “My deepest gratitude, Miss Thait. I am honoured indeed.”

  “Mathew!” Parker called back excitedly.

  “You had better join him,” Thomasina laughed, “before he brings out the entire household.”

  To her surprise he took her hand and kissed it. “You must become accustomed to that,” he laughed when he saw her expression. After a bow, he joined Parker.

  With a shake of her head, Thomasina sighed and walked slowly to the house.

  Chapter Ten

  The Dowager Marchioness of Thornhill’s contemplation of the chessboard was broken when she heard the clatter of hooves and the crunch of coach wheels upon the gravel drive before the mansion.

  “Jane,” she ordered crisply, “to the window. Is it my grandson?”

  The abigail laid aside her work, stoically rose, and trod heavily to the window of the small salon.

  “It is his coach, my lady, but I do not see that stallion his lordship rides,” she told the old Marchioness with a familiarity acquired during fifty-odd years of service—first strictly as a lady’s maid and then more and more as a companion.

  Lady Longeton struggled to her feet. With the aid of a cane she determinedly made her way to the window.

  “See, my lady. His lordship is alighting from the coach,” Jane said as if to affirm the absence of Rapscallion.

  “Wouldn’t have believed it. He actually rode in the baggage coach.” She watched as Longeton strode up the steps. “That black look he bears does not bode well for the betrothal.”

  “My guess would be the library,” Jane said as she went back to her work.

  Nodding, the Marchioness turned towards the doors. The slam of a door down the hall echoed loudly into the salon.

  “Correct once more, Jane. That places you ahead. Note the score while I attend to this abrupt return.” The still regal figure worked her way to the library.

  The thumping cane alerted Longeton to his grandmother’s coming long before her voice did so.

  “On the path to dissipation,” she observed tonelessly when she saw the glass in his hand. “I had understood you disliked your brother’s habits.”

  Longeton faced his grandmother. “The doctor said you were not to be up and especially not walking,” he admonished her.

  “I will decide when I can and cannot walk. His head is filled with too much ‘modern’ gibberish. But you will not fob me off with this concern.

  “What of your betrothal?” she asked, edging closer.

  “There will be none,” he said turning away.

  Staring at the broad-shouldered back, the Marchioness opened her mouth to speak; but with age she had acquired some wisdom and thus changed her mind. Instead she laboured to a chair. “I will partake of some brandy with you,” she said as she awkwardly sat.

  Longeton wordlessly poured a second glass and handed it to his grandmother.

  “Sit with me,” she ordered. “What occurred to bring you home in the baggage coach?”

  With a glowering look, the Marquess sipped his brandy, not answering.

  “Have you taken up Duard’s gambling habits, also, then?” she asked tersely. “Has the animal been lost to the gaming table?”

  “Rapscallion was slightly injured in a fall. The groom you sent is bringing him home later in easy stages,” Longeton said curtly, standing as he finished.

  “Where are you going? Seat yourself.”

  Shrugging, he took his seat once more.

  The Marchioness softened her tone. “Was the Buckley wench so unbearable? She was, after all, your choice.”

  His hands waved her words aside.

  “Come—what was wrong with her? Was she buck-toothed, liver-spotted, what?”

  “I do not know. I suppose she was passing fair,” he shrugged.

  “You do not know?” the Marchioness repeated, drawing out each word. “What was the purpose of your visit, if not to inspect the girl?”

  “I did. She did not suit my taste.”

  “What does taste have to do with marriage? You need an heir, not to be diverted by some woman ‘of your taste’.

  “What of your promise to me?” she demanded.

  “The need for an heir has been impressed upon me,” the Marquess answered with quiet bitterness. “And I have always kept my word once given. You will have your damnable heir, but I will not tie myself for life to such a hen-witted, trembling chit as Buckley’s daughter.”

  “Trembling, eh? Then you need to look among the more seasoned prospects. I know Lady Monroe has a widowed daughter who is still quite young enough to—”

  “No!”

  “More of Duard’s ill-mannered ways? We will continue this conversation when you have overcome your rudeness,” she snapped and struggled upright.

  Rising, he reached to take her arm.

  Haughtily, she motioned him away. “I am not in my dotage as you would perhaps like to believe. Stay here and finish your brandy; it may soothe your temper,” she dismissed him. “This will be concluded when we sup.”

  Once in the hall, the Marchioness ordered the footman to summon the Marquess’ valet to her sitting room. As he went to do so she called Jane.

  The large, elderly woman came quickly, towering over the petite, aristocratic figure of her mistress. Wordlessly, she placed her arm about the Marchioness’s waist and took her free hand. She helped her up the grand staircase and to her rooms.

  “I shall rest upon the settee in my sitting room. My grandson’s man will be here shortly.” Jane settled her mistress, fluffing pillows and covering her with a shawl. A knock sounded and she went to the door. Allowing Gideon to enter, the abigail clicked her tongue as she saw that Lady Longeton had risen to a sitting position and had pushed the shawl aside. With a slight, displeased curtsy, she withdrew.

  Eyeing the Marchioness warily, Gideon bowed and awaited her demand.

  “The Buckley chit—you saw her?” clipped the old woman bluntly. “How were her looks?”

  “There are those who would find her fair—in a thin fashion,” the valet answered carefully.

  “She was not unduly unpleasant in appearance?”

  “No, my lady.”

  “Was her manner displeasing—has she taken after her mother?”

  “I ... I,” Gideon stammered, “I do not know the Baroness, my lady. I saw nothing objectionable about the young miss.”

  “Were you surprised by the sudden withdrawal of his lordship? Come, man, answer me! Do not stand there like a statue,” the Marchioness snapped.

  “To tell the truth, my lady, yes. It did appear that his lordship had taken to Miss Buckley. Why he even allowed the miss’s young brother to visit him in his rooms.”

  “What did you overhear of their conversations?”

  Drawing himself up proudly, Gideon stated, “I do not eavesdrop on my lord.”

  “Of course not,” Lady Longeton soothed him, “but you must have unavoidably heard part of their conversation,” she prodded with restrained annoyance.

  “Very little, my lady.” Then, as the Marchioness’ sharp eyes held steady upon him, he added, “I d
o believe something was said of a Thomas—no, Tommy, I believe the boy called—“ He halted, evidently perplexed.

  “What is bothering you now?”

  “Now that I dwell on it a bit, my lady, I am certain the boy was speaking of his governess—a niece of the Buckleys. It seemed she had taken a fall while out riding and his lordship was somewhat concerned. Strangely enough, none of the servants ever spoke of the incident.”

  A smile appeared upon the Marchioness’s face. “A fall, eh? Was there anything unusual about this governess?”

  “I did not see her, my lady. The servants spoke well of her and appeared surprised to learn she was allowed to attend the soiree in honour of his lordship. It appears the girl is treated more as a—” he coughed delicately “as a servant than as family.”

  “Do you know which branch of the family she is from?”

  “The Baron’s—his sister’s only child, I gathered from the talk.”

  “The name?”

  “Thait, I believe, my lady.”

  “Of the gentility, then,” she mused. Leaning back, she waved her hand. “You may go, Gideon. You need not mention this conversation to my grandson.”

  Bowing, Gideon departed with a breath of relief.

  Thait, thought the Marchioness. I feel the name should mean something to me. Ah, well, when I am rested I shall think on it. Closing her eyes, she was instantly asleep.

  Jane entered and re-covered her, shaking her head. This betrothal will be the end of her mistress, or give her a reason to continue on.

  * * * *

  Supper had been a silent affair. Longeton pushed his food about, eating little.

  “I shall remain with his lordship while he takes his port,” Lady Longeton told their butler as the dishes were being removed. “Serve it and you may go. Close the doors behind you.”

  Settling back in his chair, the Marquess awaited the assault.

  “Did you find the Baron well?” the Marchioness began conversationally.

  He nodded.

  “And his wife?”

  A nod answered once again.

  “I have been thinking that you were, perhaps, too hasty in your decision. The girl could be invited to spend a week at Thornhill. You could come to know her better.”