What a Woman Desires (24 page)

He smiled. “Don’t you always?”

She feigned indignation. “Don’t be rude.”

“Monica?”

“Yes?”

He came forward and lowered to one knee in front of her. Monica’s heart leaped into her throat. “What are you doing?”

“I love you.” His gaze bored into hers, gentle but somber. “I want to be with you, whether here or in Bath. I want to be with you always. Will you marry me?”

She stared, her entire body immobile. “Marry you?”

He closed his eyes. “Please.”

She grinned and took his hands in hers, pulling him to his feet. She looked deep into eyes she loved so very much. “I’ll marry you, Thomas. I’ll marry you tomorrow, next week, or next year. I’ll marry you whenever you name the day. It’s always been you, Thomas. Always.”

He took her in his arms. “I’m going to make you so happy.”

She cupped her hands to his jaw and grinned. “Then kiss me. Kiss me now, tomorrow, and forever. Marksville is where we belong. It’s where we’ve always belonged. Thank goodness you waited for me to see it.”

 

Monica stared at her reflection in the full-length ornate mirror, and for the twentieth time in as many minutes, adjusted the flowers decorating the headband of her veil.
Mrs. Thomas Ashby.
She smiled, her stomach knotting with a joy she would never have believed possible just a year before.

The acquisition of Marksville had been something she’d thought would be the end of her life; instead, it had been the making. She and Thomas had shocked the village by announcing their engagement and him moving immediately into the main house, but the gossip and disapproval had soon simmered down to an easy, comfortable, and steadfast love from their tenants, staff, and residents once they knew their livelihoods and homes were safe.

Her smile widened.

Today, she and Thomas would be married and everything would be seemly and established properly in time for their new arrival. Monica exhaled a shaky breath and pressed her hand to her stomach for an entirely different reason than the expected pre-wedding nerves.

Their baby.

If her missed bleeds and calculations were accurate, the best present for both her and Thomas this Christmas would be holding the child Thomas had yet to learn grew inside her.

A knock at the door interrupted Monica’s wistful contemplation and she turned as Jane entered. Her sister’s face broke with a huge smile. “Oh, Monica. Look at you.”

Heat pinched Monica’s cheeks and she smiled. “Will I do?”

Jane laughed and came closer, taking Monica’s hands. “You look beautiful. Thomas will be the envy of every man in the congregation and beyond.”

“I keep waiting for something to go wrong or a bad feeling to arise, yet I feel nothing but complete certainty and contentment. I love him so much, Jane. I always have.”

Jane released one of Monica’s hands and brushed some fallen hair from Monica’s cheek. “I can’t help thinking Papa knew this is where you belonged all along.” She smiled. “Now we need to wait and see if he was right to leave his Bath apartment to me.”

Monica looked into her sister’s eyes and the sadness that even a wedding day couldn’t soothe twisted at her heart. Her smile dissolved. “I wish you would tell me what keeps you at Marksville when you have been trapped within these four walls for so very long. Thomas and I will look after Mama, you know that. The city has so much to offer, you don’t have to stay here if you want to go out and explore it.”

Jane nodded. “I know that.”

“Then—”

“I want to be here. I want to be in the village.” She released Monica’s hand and swept across the room toward the cascade of blooms that Monica would soon carry. Jane gently touched the petals of a lily, her gaze unreadable. “I wonder if you and Thomas wouldn’t mind me staying here at the house awhile longer?”

Monica frowned. “Of course not. This is your home. You are welcome to stay as long as you wish. The Bath apartment can be leased if you wish.”

“I do. I don’t want it . . . at least not yet.”

Time and again, Jane had shown reluctance to leave Marksville and its surrounding village. Time and again, she’d refused or avoided Monica’s question of whom or what kept her in Biddestone within such a tightened grip. Monica sighed and approached her, sliding her hand up and down her sister’s arm in an offer of support and comfort. “You and I are so very different. Having you here can only be a good thing.” Monica smiled in the hope of lessening at least a modicum of the distress in Jane’s eyes. “I need you, Jane. Lord only knows how often I would’ve upset people with my impatience and need to get things done if it were not for your interception. You know the village and its people so much better than I. Stay. I want you to.”

Jane smiled and opened her arms, pulling Monica into a tight embrace. “Thank you. I need to explore something that has been in my heart for so long I will not be able to move on until I know for sure what I am feeling is right and real.”

Monica pulled back and held Jane’s hands at arm’s length. “And you will not share with me what that something is?”

A blush stained Jane’s cheeks. “Not yet. Now come, the wedding party is waiting. We must make haste for the church. Being late on your wedding day can only go so far before the bride is assumed missing.”

With a final glance over her sister’s pretty face, Monica pushed her worry away for the time being. She smiled and picked up her bouquet as Jane reached for the matching posy beside it. Monica inhaled. “Let’s go and find my handsome groom, shall we?”

Together, they left the bedroom and descended the stairs. Two sisters. Two inheritors. Two survivors.

 

 

Monica looked like a delicate, almost ethereal vision as she came toward him, but Thomas knew only too well the strength and passion of the woman inside such a graceful package. With her hand tucked into the arm of her trusted friend, Adam Lacey, Thomas tried and failed to look away as Monica neared the altar. Dr. O’Connor stood beside Thomas as his best man and when Thomas glanced at him, the doctor tilted his head toward the vicar reminding Thomas to face front.

Their friendship over the last few months had bloomed and banished all past distrust and accusation. The doctor’s secret remained hidden, and Thomas would be there for him if and when Nathanial decided enough was enough and embraced the life he truly needed to live.

Taking a deep breath, reluctantly Thomas did as he was bid and waited for the love of his life to join him. The wedding party was a sight to behold. From landed gentry to stable boy, the whole village had come out to see Thomas and Monica wed. She was all he ever wanted and week by week, month by month, their love and determination to do good in Biddestone grew in strength and possibility.

She came to stand at his side and the scent of roses and spring air whispered beneath his nostrils. Thomas turned and pride burst like fire behind his breastbone. Her face was a picture of the most astounding beauty. Every line, curve, and contour elegantly softened by the gauze that hid her from him. Unsure of what was expected, he barely managed to resist ridding the barrier separating their locked gazes.

The woman he’d love for eternity.

The heat rose between them the way it always did when they were together, regardless of whether they were beneath bedclothes or in God’s house. He winked and the blush he loved so dearly darkened Monica’s cheeks as she snapped her gaze to the vicar and pulled back her shoulders.

Thomas bit back a laugh at her show of decorum. There had been nothing decorous about her two nights ago when they’d last lain together....

The vicar cleared his throat and looked at Thomas and Monica in turn, a small smile lifting the corners of his mouth before he gave a curt nod. “Ladies and gentlemen, we are gathered here today . . .”

As they pledged their promises to love, honor, and obey, Thomas surrendered to the strength of his love for this strong, determined, and beautiful woman as she vowed to be with him until his dying day. Never before or since had a woman filled him so completely like Monica. Never before or since had he ever felt he’d found his entire purpose and the reason everything had happened to both him and her.

Now was the time for them to come together and never part. God had given them the skills, tools, and belief to hold on to each other and whatever they built in the future. He was home, he was happy and content to spend the rest of his days looking after and loving Mrs. Monica Ashby.

“You may kiss the bride.”

Thomas turned from the vicar and relief shuddered through him that the time had finally come to lift the fragile gauze keeping Monica’s beautiful face from his view. He smoothed it back over her dark hair and cupped her jaw in his hands.

“I love you, Mrs. Ashby.”

Her eyes shone with tears and her mouth stretched wide with a smile. “I love you too.”

They kissed as the congregation burst into cheers and applause. After maybe too long a moment to be acceptable, he and Monica parted and turned to face the people they loved, cherished, and employed. Arm in arm, Thomas led his new wife along the aisle toward the open church doors.

They emerged to a June sun burning high in a pale blue sky, trees bursting with color and flowers in full bloom. Nothing could have made the moment more perfect.

“Thomas?” Monica squeezed his hand.

He turned, his gaze automatically drawn to a mouth he swore he would never tire of tasting. He smiled. “Are you happy?”

She nodded, her eyes glinting with unshed tears and delight. “How would a Christmas baby suit you?”

Time stood still.

“You’re . . .” He looked at her stomach as his heart thundered and his love for her found a new level he wouldn’t have thought possible. “A baby? You’re carrying our baby?”

She laughed. “Yes, you’ll soon be a father, Thomas Ashby.”

“Oh, my love. My darling, beautiful, wonderful wife.” He gripped her waist and covered Monica’s mouth with his, not caring about the disapproving glances of the vicar.

The rice thrown from the hands of their well-wishers rained down on Thomas and Monica like the winter snow that could not come soon enough. For with it would come their baby boy or girl.

LYRICAL PRESS is published by

 

Kensington Publishing Corp.
119 West 40th Street
New York, NY 10018

Copyright © 2014 by Rachel Brimble

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the Publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.

 

Lyrical Press is a trademark of Kensington Publishing Corp.

ISBN: 978-1-6018-3275-7

ISBN-10: 1-60183-275-3

 

First Kensington Electronic Edition: January 2015