What a Woman Desires (13 page)

She stared into his eyes before giving a curt nod and smoothing her hands over her skirts. “Well, the feelings aren’t reciprocated, so you can stop your scowling. Jane assures me it isn’t the doctor who holds her affections. Anyway, you are the last person qualified to speak of love.”

He snapped his head round and stared at her mouth, lower, to take in the concealed sight of her ample breasts, before slowly lifting his eyes to hers. “I know enough to speak of it fully and knowledgeably.”

The rush of color from her neck to her face told him she had all too clearly sensed his insinuation. Thomas bit back a smile. Nothing would give him more satisfaction than for Monica to have thoughts of their lovemaking; that the idea he’d know how to make love to her shook her as much as it did him. He didn’t care if his look had made her uncomfortable. Be damned if he would let her believe the attentions of Dr. O’Connor to Miss Jane were anything like the attentions Thomas would like to bestow on her mesmerizing sister.

The skin at her neck shifted. “Fine. Then tell me why the doctor can’t be trusted.”

He arched an eyebrow. “Is that a command from mistress to servant?”

“Oh, for goodness sake.”

He smiled, relishing the infuriation in her tone, even as he admonished himself for behaving like a man half his age. “Sorry, that was uncalled for.” He drew in a breath and exhaled. “O’Connor has been treating your mother for the last twelve months or so, but still, I’m wary of the man.”

“Why?”

“Instinct.”

She shook her head. “You and your instinct. Is there nothing more concrete you can offer me? I can’t rely on your instinct when there are so many people to consider in my decision-making.”

“I don’t like him.” He looked at her. “I didn’t like Baxter either and kept quiet about it. I won’t make that mistake again.”

Their gaze locked before she blinked and looked into the distance. “And neither will I. Dr. O’Connor doesn’t strike me as the type of man to be wary of.”

“And why’s that? Because he has a doctorate? That hardly makes him an angel of purity.”

She snapped her gaze to his, her cheeks flushed. “Until such time as he does something to upset me, I won’t be swayed. I make up my own mind about people.”

His feelings about Baxter stormed Thomas’s head. “My instinct is rarely wrong. You’d be wise to listen to it.”

“Did Papa?”

He turned, rare heat pinching his cheeks. He could count on both hands—and feet—the number of times the master had overrode Thomas’s suggestions. The sooner he accepted Monica was the new mistress of the house and he had to bow down to her decisions as he did her father, the better. No matter how much that thought might rankle. “Not as much as I would’ve liked . . . and it was rare that he apologized when my suggestions proved valid.”

The seconds passed as the invisible wall between them grew another few inches higher.

“I’m not Papa, Thomas. As much as you drive me mad sometimes, I trust you.”

The wall shrunk and he turned. “The doctor is coming to the house and spending as much time with Miss Jane as he does with your mama. It wouldn’t surprise me if his interest is steeped in Marksville rather than courtship.”

She frowned. “You think he has an agenda as far as the house is concerned?”

“Yes.”

Her gaze hardened. “I see.”

They continued along the road and Thomas brought his lips tightly together. He could almost hear the cogs of Monica’s intelligent mind turning as she weighed his words.

Eventually, she exhaled a shaky breath. “Well, I’m seeing him at the house later this afternoon to discuss Mama’s state of mind, so I’ll take what you’ve told me into account. He promised to inform me about her treatment and prognosis.” She shook her head. “I find it hard to believe someone not to be trusted would so easily share such details with me. Wouldn’t he keep as much information as possible about Mama to himself?”

Thomas sniffed. “You’re her daughter. What other choice does he have?”

“Doctors are doctors, Thomas. They more often than not like to keep their diagnosis and treatments secret so the patients’ families are reliant on them.” She met his eyes. “That way they can keep charging fees and taking our money. Maybe it’s not the house he’s interested in, but rather us as an upper middle class family who can afford to pay him as and when we need him. He’s very young. I can’t imagine he has many patients.”

He nodded and pride that she wouldn’t immediately trust the suave, young doctor as Miss Jane seemed to rushed through him. “Then maybe I shouldn’t say any more until you’ve met with him and drawn your own conclusions.”

His house came into view, and just as Thomas was about to hitch the reins to urge Wilson on, Monica covered his hands with hers and tugged backward. “Whoa, there, sweetheart. Whoa.”

Wilson drew to a slow stop and Thomas turned to look at her. “What is it?”

“Is there more about Dr. O’Connor you aren’t telling me? The only reason I am here is Jane.” She looked deep into his eyes. “If you know something that could help me look after her, you must tell me. I know you think I won’t stay at Marksville, but you’re wrong. I swear to you, I have made no certain decision about that at all. This is Jane’s home, Jane’s life. If the estate is mine, I owe it to her to do what makes her happy.”

He drew his hands from the grip of hers because the warmth of her skin was driving him to do the unthinkable—draw her into his arms to kiss away the fear in her eyes. “Do you mean that? Everything in your mind is still open?”

“Yes.”

“And you trust me to tell you the truth?”

She frowned. “Of course.”

“I don’t want you to think what I am about to tell you is done with the motivation of swaying your decision-making. If you decide to stay, I want you to stay forever, so the decision must be from your heart. Anything less will do no good for anyone.”

The color slowly faded from her face and she shifted her gaze from his to stare resolutely at her horse as Wilson impatiently fidgeted ahead of them.

Her silence and his referral to “forever” had clearly struck fear into Monica’s heart. The momentary terror that flashed into her eyes and the way she flinched as if his words pained her only served to reinforce Thomas’s reluctance to believe she didn’t want to flee Biddestone as soon as humanly possible.

She faced him. “Your dislike of the doctor is obvious, so just tell me what you know. I’d rather be forearmed and forewarned.”

He removed his hat and swept the hair back from his face. This was uncharted territory . . . as was her justified accusation of his impertinence. He closed his eyes. Never before had he offered an opinion of anyone who visited the house to the master, or continually questioned Mr. Danes’s decisions or wishes. The reason he felt duty bound to do both with Monica was as obvious as the speeding of his heart every time he looked at her—he cared for her. Deeply. More than that, he wanted her. Had always wanted her.

He fought to see her as his employer and not imagine her in his bed; he fought to take orders from her, rather than give her every comfort so she didn’t have to ask for anything from anyone ever again.

“Thomas?”

He opened his eyes and met her beautiful, trusting gaze, and had no idea if having her look at him that way was worse or better than having her look at him with anger. He swiped his hand over his face and blew out a breath. “I don’t trust him because he tried his damnedest to get your mother committed before the master died. Mrs. Danes does not need to be locked away. She needs her kin caring for her.” He clenched his jaw. “I don’t care if my ma was as loony as a monkey, I would fight to my death to keep her out of one of those places.”

Her eyes widened. “He wanted to
section
her? What did Papa say?”

“He said over his dead body would that happen . . . .”

Their eyes locked. Monica stared. “And now he’s dead.”

Thomas nodded. “Exactly.”

Monica lifted her cup to her lips and watched the doctor over the rim as he leaned closer to Jane on the settee. He whispered something in her ear and her sister blushed a pretty pink. Monica frowned. Hadn’t her sister said it wasn’t the doctor’s affections she desired, but someone else’s entirely? She wanted Jane happy, not unnecessarily bothered. Had she felt the need to lie to her for fear of Monica’s interference?

She cleared her throat and they inched apart. Monica pushed away the guilt that threatened. This wasn’t the time or place for flirtation and bouts of happiness like those that so often occurred in her beloved Bath. She and Jane could soon become landowners, employers, and landlords.

Which would make them as vulnerable to wolves as though they were little more than trapped prey.

The only person Monica would ever fully trust in this godforsaken place was Thomas. His insolence might be the death of her, but deep in her soul, Monica knew he cared for her and Jane. She’d even be arrogant enough to say he might, in a strange way, love her—futile as that might be . . . for both of them.

She swallowed. She couldn’t deny her attraction and feelings for the man any more than she could deny the way he sometimes looked at her. There was something dangerous, potent, and heated that lingered just beneath the surface of their control. If it escaped . . .

Monica’s hand trembled as she put her teacup and saucer down on the low table in front of her, but she lifted her chin and forced a mask of confidence regardless. “So, Dr. O’Connor, you feel Mama would be better off in an institution.”

The doctor stiffened and satisfaction she’d caught the man off guard swept through Monica’s blood. Never again would a man—any man—get the better of her.

He coughed and put his teacup next to hers. Their eyes locked before he blinked and rose to his feet. “It was only a consideration I put to your father before he died, Miss Danes.” He smiled. “I would do nothing without a patient or their signatory fully agreeing.” He strolled to the fireplace and stared at the foliage decorating the grate before meeting her gaze once more. “I would never enforce such a decision . . . unless, of course, I felt your mother was a danger to herself or others.”

Monica lifted an eyebrow, unease rippling through her. “And you don’t feel that to be the case at the moment?”

He flitted his gaze to Jane, color darkening his usually olive cheeks. “Who told you of my possible referral to an institution, Miss Danes?”

“Does it matter?” The man looked positively uncomfortable. As much as she loved her sister’s naïvety and trusting nature, it was entirely possible Jane’s virtues highlighted Monica’s flaws of derision and mistrust in others. Two facets she deemed entirely necessary considering the shaky ground she and Jane stood upon until they knew the contents of their father’s will. “Are you addressing your question to me or my sister, Doctor?”

He snapped his gaze to hers, his cheeks flushing red. “You, Miss Danes. At your father’s funeral yesterday, I gathered quite quickly you are the person most likely to inherit, so I would be foolish to speak to anyone else about such matters.”

The man looked contrite and Monica’s defensiveness weakened . . . a little. She held his gaze. “Neither myself nor my sister know anything of the inheritance yet; as for who told me about your suggestions with regard to Mama, it doesn’t matter. However, I feel it is imperative Jane and I are kept informed of what you think and feel about our mother’s welfare.”

Monica lifted her chin, feeling Jane’s gaze bore into her temple. She refused to look away from the doctor. If Thomas’s intuition was right, and there was something not quite right about the doctor, she needed to be alert at all times lest she miss something that could be detrimental to her mother—maybe even them all.

Maybe her next visit should be to the town squire. Matthew Cleaves would know more about Dr. O’Connor. He would also be in a position to recommend another physician for Mama if necessary.

But for now, Monica had an inclination to like Dr. O’Connor. He seemed amenable enough, and her mother looked at him with much fondness—a rare thing that could not be overlooked easily.

She cleared her throat and faced him once more. “You’ll have to forgive my questions, but this is my first visit with my mother in many years. I hope you appreciate that it may take some time to build my trust in your professionalism and care.”

His cheeks darkened further and he moved away from the fireplace to stand directly in front of her, forcing Monica to tip her head back to meet his eyes. He smiled and bowed slightly. “As you said at the funeral, I am young, Miss Danes, but rather than that evoke caution in you, my age should provoke comfort. I excelled at my exams and gained my doctorate to the highest esteem. With your trust, I will undoubtedly gather the trust of others in Biddestone.”

He gazed toward the window, his jaw set before meeting her eyes once more. “I love this village and feel I have found my home here amongst its wonderful people. To know that you and your sister trust my capabilities and advice will only help in my endeavors to serve you and the rest of the community.”

The sincerity in his eyes could not be denied, but Monica had seen the same in numerous others and been left wondering how she could have been so foolish to trust in words that flowed so easily from many a man’s silver tongue. Her hackles rose and she straightened her spine. “Well, be that as it may, I want you to know there is no question of Mama being institutionalized while I am here and running things at the house.”

He lifted an eyebrow and slowly nodded as though considering her words. “I see, and if you return to Bath?”

She started. “That is none of your concern, Doctor. If and when Jane and I decide to move to Bath, Mama will most certainly be coming with us.”

He bowed. “I apologize. I didn’t mean to be obtuse. I am merely trying to gain understanding of what you would like to happen as far as Mrs. Danes is concerned.”

Monica stood and clasped her hands tightly in front of her. “Once the will is read, both Jane and I will have a better foundation on which to build our plans. The only thing I am certain of right now is that there is no question of Mama being sectioned. I sincerely hope you will respect that wish and not mention such a notion again.”

He dipped his head. “Of course.”

“Good. As far as everything else with regard to Mama, you are certain her mental state will only worsen?”

“Yes, I’m afraid so. If you wish to nurse her from home, then that, of course, is your prerogative. I would be remiss not to stress that a move to the city would be most upsetting for her when she loves her home here.”

Monica frowned, her irritation swelling dangerously. “Yet, you seem to think moving her to an institution would worry her less.” She snatched her gaze from his to look at Jane. “Would you like a few moments alone with Dr. O’Connor, sister? Or shall I see him to the door?”

Jane glared. “I would like a few words with him alone.”

Monica nodded. “Very well, then I shall see if Mama would like to take a walk around the gardens.” She turned and bowed to the doctor. “I will no doubt see you sometime next week, Doctor?”

“Indeed, Miss Danes. I come by each Tuesday as previously arranged with your father.”

“Very good, then I bid you good afternoon.” Monica left the room and closed the door.

With her hand trembling on the doorknob, she closed her eyes and took a moment to steady her breathing. Thomas had most certainly roused her suspicions that Dr. O’Connor’s intentions toward Jane were intricately tied in some way to Mama and Marksville, but how? Did he want the house? Or was his eagerness to please them imbedded in his own ambitions as a doctor?

They were an influential family, not just in Biddestone, but the entire county. Despite his hasty recommendation of an institute for their mother, his gaze belied no malice. Monica scowled and pushed away from the door toward the stairs. Sooner or later, she would reveal just where the doctor’s motivations lie.

 

Thomas entered The White Horse and welcomed the acrid smells of hops and smoke. He was full to the brim with female company and now hankered for a few jars with the men of Biddestone rather than the jabbering of the women at Marksville. Monica had duly dismissed him around dinnertime, her eyes telling him in no uncertain terms that her afternoon with the doctor had been far from satisfactory.

Her abrupt dismissal of his services left Thomas bemused, but grateful. She, Miss Jane, and their ma had more than enough to discuss before the reading of the will tomorrow . . . as well they might afterward. He could do with a drink or two to blur the edges of his concern.

“What can I get you, Thomas, my love?”

He smiled as Maggie’s gruff voice broke through his thoughts from the other side of the bar. “I’ll have a pint when you’re ready, sweetheart.”

“Coming right up.”

Thomas slid onto a vacant stool and leaned his elbows on the bar. The muted light enveloped him in a welcome cocoon as he stared toward the misted windows. Monica’s request for him to accompany her to Bath badgered him relentlessly, but he had no intention of refusing her request. If she thought he could be spared at the house, he would go with her to the city and hope its lights didn’t shine brighter than ever for her after her brief return home.

Thomas inhaled. There was little doubt in his mind that the glorified fanfare of the city would blind her to any potential happiness at Marksville, and easily woo her ever deeper toward her beloved theater. He squeezed his eyes shut and curled his hands into fists on the bar. God, what he wouldn’t give for her to see how happy people were in the village despite their lack of money and opportunity. The villagers didn’t brood on what they didn’t have. Instead, they grabbed life and love with both hands for fear it would pass them by when they weren’t looking.

Only the wealthy missed the real riches in life.

He opened his eyes. Yet, it had been Monica who accused him of being steeped in narrow-mindedness. The accusation had made him sit up and take notice. He scowled. The woman should be careful what she wished for—maybe sometime soon his self-control would snap and he’d cover her mouth with his, yank open the buttons on her bodice, and take life fully in the moment....

Maggie thumped a frothing tankard in front of him. “There you go. Get your laughing gear around that, Thomas Ashby. Drink, and then you can tell me all that’s been going on at the house since Miss Monica came back. I’ve been on pins for the last two nights waiting for you to come through that door.”

Thomas took a lengthy drink and wiped the froth from his lips with the back of his hand. “There isn’t much to tell.”

“Go on with you.” Maggie whipped the towel from her shoulder and playfully swatted him with it. “Don’t you sit there on your high horse like you’ve got the secrets of the palace in your pocket. Spill. Now.”

Thomas smiled. “I won’t no more tell you what’s happening inside that house than I would if I worked for Queen Victoria herself, so you can knock off your nosing.”

Maggie glared and crossed her arms, pushing her overflowing breasts dangerously close to the edge of her bodice. “Damn, if you don’t have too much loyalty to that family.”

“Maybe I do, but that doesn’t mean it’s going to save my ass or anyone else’s from hitting the dirt if we can’t persuade Monica Biddestone is where she belongs.”

Her eyes widened. “You think she’ll turn her back on the house again? Come and go like she did before? I don’t believe it. Surely she’ll want to be mistress of the manor. Lord knows, I would.”

Thomas shook his head. “She isn’t you, and she isn’t me. Monica Danes is her own woman. That’s about all I can tell you right now.”

She leaned her elbow on the bar. “Are you saying half the people in the village could soon be out of work?”

Thomas pulled back for fear of being smothered by Maggie’s bosom as much as her question. “I’m not saying that, so don’t go around putting the wind up everyone. She’ll do the right thing come the end, I’m sure.”

Maggie narrowed her eyes. “I heard she’s come back with a mind to change everything her father did or chose to do. Lord knows, it’s no secret how she felt about her pa. She’s a star now, and stars don’t want to be covered by the clouds. She’ll either hotfoot it back to the city or else turn that house into an exhibition. Mark my words.”

Thomas clenched his jaw, his gut knotting. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

She straightened and lifted an eyebrow. “It doesn’t matter what I know, it’s what everyone who comes in here is saying that’s important. Whether their talking be rumor or fact, everyone is expecting you to do something about the folk at that house.”

He stilled his tankard at his mouth. “What are you talking about?”

Maggie lifted her shoulders. “You were closer to that girl than anyone else in the village. If you can’t persuade her to stay here, then who can?”

Accountability pressed down on Thomas’s chest and he glared. “I can’t be held responsible for everyone’s livelihoods. People are going to have to state their cases to the Danes, the same as I will. Monica isn’t an ogre, she’s—”

“A woman. Pure and simple.” Maggie grinned. “There isn’t anybody better in this village than you to convince her this is where she belongs. You point to a woman in Biddestone who wouldn’t do what you ask, especially when asked with a single look of admiration from you, and I’ll show you an empty space. The way I see it, you’ve got to do everything you can to fix her to staying.”

Thomas took another long slug of his beer. “I already feel as though I’m selling my soul to keep her happy.”

“What does that mean?”

“I’m going to the city with her tomorrow.”

Maggie raised her eyebrows, her eyes glinting with delight. “You’re going into the city in daylight? Well, well.”