Thomasina

by Joan Vincent

  Chapter Fourteen

  “Her ladyship desires to speak with you, my lord,” Gideon informed the Marquess. “She said she will await you in your sitting room.”

  Longeton nodded as he shrugged into a fresh coat. A quick washing and fresh garments had lightened his mood somewhat. Still, he was in no frame of mind for a scolding from his grandmother for returning to Thornhill long before the others did.

  “I was disappointed in not being able to speak with you before you departed this morn,” the Marchioness said from the fireplace as he strolled into the sitting room.

  “There were matters that needed attention.”

  “There is only one matter that I care to have you attend to at this time,” she reproved him gently.

  His brooding eyes narrowed.

  “I wish to speak to you about Miss Thait,” she went on pointedly.

  “Gram, it does not concern you. Leave it lie,” Longeton snapped angrily.

  Hobbling painfully, Lady Longeton made her way to the sofa. Once seated, she patted the cushion beside her.

  With a tired shake of his head and a sad shrug of his shoulders, the Marquess joined her.

  Her small, aged hand touched his strong, clenched fist. “You have raised your voice seldom to me,” she mused. “Do you recall the first time you did so?”

  He shook his head numbly.

  “It was many years ago. Your father was planning to sell a colt you had raised. I was speaking to you of something one day at that time—about what, I disremember—when you snapped at me, then burst into tears. Your sharp words then were caused by the ache of a breaking heart.” She nodded sadly as she looked upon his troubled features.

  “You are too much a man to cry now, but I feel—sense—that the cause of your curtness is the same as long ago.”

  Longeton turned from her gaze, his body rigid.

  “Those many years ago I healed the wound. I bought the colt and gave him back to you. Can you not trust me to aid you in this?”

  “Not all problems can be solved by wealth,” he said tersely and stood.

  “No, but a loving heart can give consolation when there is nothing to be done.

  “It is the Thait chit that troubles you, is it not?”

  “Thomasina is no mere chit,” he retorted, his anger flaring again. “She—” He fell silent.

  “Is a very fortunate young woman to have my grandson love her.” The Marchioness completed his sentence and had to force back a sudden swell of tears. “Have you quarrelled with her?”

  “We have not even truly spoken to one another,” he said and took his seat beside his grandmother once more. “Our relationship appears destined to be of a ‘physical’ nature.”

  Lady Longeton arched her brow. “Upon my soul!”

  A ghost of a smile came to Longeton’s lips. Briefly he recounted the fall Thomasina had taken from Grandee and the incident in the tower ruins, editing both scenes as he saw fit.

  “There are far more pleasant ways to become acquainted,” she noted with mock seriousness.

  Rising abruptly, the Marquess paced a few steps and turned. “There are moments when I am certain of her affection, but whenever we speak, she puts up a barrier. As if some reason existed for bitterness and hatred towards me.”

  “Have you questioned her about this?”

  “Questioned? Spoken? Ha! We have exchanged far more bruises than words,” he said heatedly.

  Suppressing a smile, she asked, “Could it be pride that causes the barrier? Did you know that she is dowerless?”

  “I did not. I care not,” he retorted. “Thornhill never suffered unduly from Duard’s excesses. Fortunately he won more often than he lost. The neglect of the estate has been repaired. I have no need of a dowry.”

  “But it could be very important in her mind. Miss Thait may find it humiliating to come to a marriage penniless,” Lady Longeton reasoned. His doubtful look brought a second thought to mind.

  “Do you fear she cares for another?” she asked bluntly. “And do not say you do not wish to speak of it,” she cautioned him as he threw her a black look. “If you do not speak with me, I shall speak with Miss Thait.”

  “You are utterly unprincipled, Gram. Underhanded—”

  “Your grandfather appreciated my qualities, also,” she interrupted him. “More to the point—you believe she cares for young Viscount Sherrad.”

  Cocking his head, Longeton viewed his grandmother with new discernment and enlarged respect.

  “There is only a fraternal attachment there,” the Marchioness sought to assure him. “I have observed them together. Each cares for the other, but it is only in friendship.”

  Longeton considered her words, points for and against her judgment ranging through his thoughts.

  “You concede I am correct,” Lady Longeton stated matter-of-factly. “There are but two choices before you.”

  Amused interest played across Longeton’s features as he awaited her announcement of what she perceived his options to be.

  “You can put the Thait chit from your mind and offer for the Buckley chit. Taken from her mother’s influence I have no doubts she could be molded rather well.” Pausing, she studied his reaction, then continued, “or you can offer for Miss Thait. Once you are betrothed there will be ample time and opportunity to settle whatever misunderstandings have developed.” The Marchioness fell silent as a thought nudged against her consciousness.

  “There is something about the name Thait that has been plaguing me. I wish you had not been out of the country before your brother’s death—perhaps you could recall what— No matter, it will come to me,” she ended.

  Longeton rose and paced to and fro, deep in thought. He halted and turned to his grandmother, hand held out to help her rise. “I will do as you suggest and approach Lord Buckley this very afternoon.”

  “But which shall you offer for?”

  “That, you will learn this eve. Now, off to your rooms. You must rest for the evening’s activities,” he teased.

  Managing a glare, Lady Longeton tossed her head proudly and slowly thumped from the room.

  Jane opened the door for her as she approached her sitting room.

  “A point for each of us,” the Marchioness chuckled as she hobbled past the abigail into the room. “You were correct; he will make an offer this day. I am also certain of my point.

  “See to the removal of all the glass and ceramic figurines, vases, et cetera, from the Baroness’ rooms.

  “Now you may help me to bed, for I must rest.

  “We shall be closer to an heir by this eve,” the Marchioness said, with complete, if not reliable, confidence.

  Chapter Fifteen

  “Hur...rumph.” The Baron loudly cleared his throat as he approached the tall figure staring out of the private study’s windows. When there was no response, he asked, “Might I have a spot of brandy, my lord? A bit early, perhaps, but I feel the need of a drop or two.”

  “Of course,” Longeton answered, and walked to the decanter. Pouring two generous glassfuls, he handed one to Buckley.

  “To you and your good fortune,” the Baron said, raising his glass in salute.

  Both men took a healthy drink. The Marquess stepped back to his desk. “Please be seated, Baron,” he said, sitting.

  Doing as he was bid, the Baron leaned back comfortably and watched Longeton expectantly How pleased his wife would be with the news he would have for her when she returned from the outing.

  “There is a matter of import I wish to discuss with you,” Longeton began slowly.

  Nodding happily, Buckley awaited further words as Longeton seemed to consider some matter.

  The beaming face before him caused the Marquess’ hesitation. It was a reminder of what the Baron expected, not unjustly, to hear. “First let me apologize. I fear a mistaken impression was given, which I must claim responsibility,” he started again. Rushing on as a question replaced pleasure on the Baron’s features, he explained.


  “The letter I wrote mentioned the fact that I was seeking a bride. Naturally you presumed that what I wrote pertained to your daughter. I hope there will be no undue upset because of this mistaken impression.

  “You see, Baron Buckley”— he paused but the Baron provided no help. Swallowing he said, “I am approaching you for the hand of your niece Thomasina, in marriage.”

  For an instant the Baron sat as if he had not heard the Marquess’ words. Then he said, “Thomasina? Marriage, eh? Good show, my boy. I congratulate you.” Rising, he set his brandy on the desk separating them and reached across it for Longeton’s hand.

  “Then your consent is given?”

  “Consent? Oh, not mine to give, you know. Tommi’s of age. You will have to speak to her,” Buckley explained, pumping the Marquess’ hand. “I could not be happier for you both.”

  Longeton disengaging his hand from the vigorous pumping. “I hope Lady Augusta will share your feelings,”

  “Oh, dear me. ‘Pon my soul,” the Baron breathed. He drew a kerchief from his pocket as he settled heavily into his chair and mopped his forehead. “I suppose she must be told.

  “Fine woman, my wife, you know—wouldn’t have you think otherwise, but rather ... rather excitable at times. Oh, my.”

  “May I suggest then, that you tell her nothing. Some women take, ah, ‘disappointment,’ shall we say, better in a group. Discourages hysterics, wouldn’t you say?” Longeton offered.

  “Hysterics. Oh, my.” Buckley continued mopping his face. “You may have a point, my lord.”

  “Brutus, will do, Baron—after all, you are to be my uncle. I will make a point of thanking your dear wife this eve when the betrothal is announced,” he added.

  “Good show. Excellent idea. You are right. Best not to tell her anything. I shall say we discussed an enclosure bill if she learns of this meeting.” Tucking his kerchief away in relief, the Baron raised his portly figure from the chair.

  “Congratulations—er, Brutus. I shall send Thomasina at once, er, well, as soon as I can speak to her privately.” In a huge gulp he finished the brandy. With a final handshake, he set out on his errand.

  A few answers from the butler Eaken told him Thomasina and Viscount Sherrad had returned from the outing alone soon after the Marquess. His niece had retired to her room.

  First he puzzled over why the three had returned without the others, then dismissed that as another idea came to him. He demanded pen and paper. The note completed and sealed in just a few moments he handed it to the butler. “Take it to Miss Thait at once.”

  * * * *

  The maid bobbed a neat curtsy as Thomasina opened her door. She handed her the note.

  In a quick glance Thomasina read the brief words. “There is no answer,” she told the maid. “If you will tell me how to reach his lordship’s study, I will go to my uncle as soon as I complete my toilet.”

  * * * *

  Thomasina paused before the study door to make certain of her composure. No idea of what her uncle could wish to speak to her about had presented itself. Lady Augusta could not have returned from the excursion to report what Dianna had surely imparted, so it could not be for that. Besides, if her aunt had returned, she reasoned, it would be she I would now be seeing. Reaching out, she opened the door and stepped in.

  Please close the door,” the Marquess requested as she halted just inside the study.

  After complying, Thomasina glanced about for her uncle. “I understood my uncle wished to speak to me,” she said when she realized he was not there.

  “Did you not see him?”

  “He sent a note requesting I speak with him here,” she answered, puzzlement overtaking her puzzlement.

  “The Baron is quicker-witted than he would seem. It is I who desired to speak with you, Thomasina,” he said, stepping around the.

  Backing from him, Thomasina said quietly, “There is nothing we can have to say to one another.”

  “I have something to say—to ask.” With a frown he puzzled, “Why do you hold me in such dislike? I cannot believe you do.”

  Thomasina stood mutely rigid.

  With a shake of his head, Brutus turned and walked slowly to the window. As he stood facing it, he said, “I ... I hold you in affection, Miss Thait. It would please me if you would consent to be my wife.” Longeton faced her.

  “Let me assure you there will be no difficulty about a dowry or its lack. I plan to make a generous settlement upon you when we marry.”

  Astonishment held Thomasina speechless until intense anger melted its shackles. “You are utterly contemptible,” she breathed. “You dare to speak to me of marriage? What kind of man are you?

  “Knowing you are the cause of my penniless state—you assure me of a ‘generous settlement?’ Is this how your conscience prompts you to act? Well, I will not assuage your guilt.”

  “I plan to announce our betrothal this eve when we sup,” he said with cold persistence.

  “I shall never agree to marry you.”

  “What choice do you have in the matter?” he asked, the ring of steel in his voice. “The Baroness will order you from Buckley House when she learns of your refusal of my offer. What family will offer you a position when the matter is known?”

  Truth echoed in his words. Thomasina ferreted wildly in her mind for an escape.

  Time, it told her, you must have time.

  “I will announce our betrothal this eve, then?”

  “There will ... will be no denial.”

  “You consent?”

  “No.”

  “You shall,” Longeton replied stonily and turned back to the window.

  Thomasina fled to the hall and raced for her room.

  Staring unseeing at the scene before him, Longeton seethed. “Why did I persist?” he asked. “What have I done? Lost all chance of winning her love?”

  An overview of all his actions with Thomasina brought to mind his brother’s behaviour. Am I no better than Duard? he asked fearfully.

  A long while later his mind suddenly recalled Thomasina’s words: “knowing you caused my penniless state.” What could she have meant? It made no sense; none of her accusations did.

  Thait, Brutus pondered. No, I am certain I know nothing of the family.

  Gram. She will know what could have occurred between the families in the past.

  Tension flowed from him as Brutus strode hurriedly through the corridors to his grandmother’s rooms. He found an outlet in the physical action and in the infinitesimal hope that he prayed his grandmother could keep safe.

  Chapter Sixteen

  From end to end—across the room and back, Thomasina stalked agitatedly, her skirts swishing and swirling about her ankles. The whirlwind in her mind demanded some outlet and found it in this feverish movement. Faster and faster she moved until catching sight of her disquieted barely recognizable countenance in the looking glass above the dressing table, she halted.

  Thomasina turned from the glass’s accusation and stepped slowly to the open window. Gazing out onto the vast park before Thornhill, she drew in a deep breath and slowly exhaled.

  This frenzy will never do, ran through her mind. You must concentrate.

  Somewhat calmer, she found she could direct her thoughts to the Marquess, but that she did not want.

  This is ridiculous, she thought and plopped upon the bed after her fourth false start in considering her dilemma. Instead of what to do, lace and silks came to mind.

  Why do I now think of shawls and gowns when I have never in the past?

  Thomasina’s lower lip quivered. Tears brimmed in her eyes as she admitted the answer. The thought of marriage to the Marquess appalled her because she loved him.

  If I hated him, she thought, I could endure marriage, but loving him, how am I to do it?

  Love can only be nurtured by the care of mutual respect and honour. How can I respect and honour a man who could take everything from a weak man such as my father? And worse, how can I endure a love
which shall surely turn to hate?

  Thomasina looked about her room. It was not lavishly luxurious but so far above even the best room of the cottage she had shared with her mother that it made the comparison laughable. Would it be possible, she asked herself, for me to live here and not feel that I had betrayed Mother?

  It was not Longeton alone who gambled with your father—who lead him down the road of ruin, another corner of her mind told her. He did not force your father to hazard all—that was his decision.

  “I know,” she cried aloud, “but why did it have to be he at all?” Rising in her turbulence, she returned to the window.

  Oh, mother, she thought, am I also to marry a man whom I cannot hold in highest regard? At least you were spared the knowledge until you had shared some happiness.

  Then do not marry him, her mind challenged her.

  Would she be strong enough to resist the temptation?

  All he says is true—there would be none to turn to.

  What shall I do?

  Thomasina had not been paying attention to what lay beyond the window, but now a group of riders followed by a carriage clattered into view.

  Dianna! Lady Augusta! What am I to tell them? A new storm gathered as she hopelessly watched them draw nearer and nearer.

  Shall I skulk here like some guilty trollop? she pondered. Anger rose. No. She would face her aunt immediately. Besides, she thought, the public humiliation Aunt Augusta was capable of handing out to her should discourage the Marquess from his intent.

  Assured that she was completely composed, Thomasina tilted her head proudly and marched from the room and through the corridor. Her steps slackened as she descended the grand staircase. Once past halfway down she knew would be seen by all.

  One by one, she moved down the last dozen steps, watching the footmen open the doors. Saw Eaken stepped out to welcome the returning guests.

  Lady Terese and Nicholas Sherrad were the first to enter.

  “Tommi,” Nicholas shouted with relief, running towards her. “You have recovered already?”