Chapter 13
Monica leaned through the open window of the carriage, closed her eyes, and inhaled Bath as though she smelled the sweet scent of flowers rather than the stench of smog and soot. Although she’d been away from the city for little more than a week, to return to its cobbled streets was like coming home after touring a treacherous mountain range.
The newly emerging industry that flourished all over England resounded here as much as it did in London or Bristol. Anticipation rippled through her at the possibility of change for Britain’s people, especially its womenfolk. If her doubt of Bath being home had ever begun to waiver, the sight of the Abbey spires and butter-yellow of the buildings laid it to rest. This was where she belonged.
How could she ever think she could build a happy life in Biddestone when such elation rushed through her now? She thought of Thomas, sitting up front and guiding their carriage through the streets he despised and her smile dissolved.
When he’d helped her aboard outside Marksville, his eyes had glinted with annoyance and his jaw was set as though in stone. She could only imagine the emergence of the city around him had escalated his anger rather than soothed it. Refusing to allow his negativity to weaken her resolve, Monica snatched her gaze to Jane and her smile returned. “Isn’t it wonderful, Jane?”
Jane turned from the opposite window, her eyes alight with excitement. “The Season seems an age away now I am here again. Oh, Monica, I can’t believe this is where you have lived every day for the last five years. I thought nothing of it, but now I see the possibility, the dresses and bonnets—”
“We will be staying for one night only.” Her mother pulled Jane back from the window, her fingers digging into the sleeve of her sister’s mourning dress. “Sit back. I cannot bear what people might think of us being here so soon after burying your father.”
Monica leaned forward and touched her mother’s skirt. “Mama, people can think as they wish. We are here on Papa’s instructions. He entrusted Mr. Baker to execute his final will and testament; we are doing nothing to evoke judgment or concern.”
Her mother sniffed, her eyes cold. “And you think I will hold a bar to what is correct and what is not from you? You chose to bring disgrace and ridicule to your father’s good name by becoming an actress instead of a wife and mother. You are most certainly not the person to entrust with our reputation.”
Monica’s heart raced as she held her mother’s cold gaze. “I left to be with a man whom you and Papa deemed good enough for me to marry. Do you forget you held Malcolm Baxter in high enough esteem that despite everything he put me through, you would still have welcomed him into your home as a son-in-law? The father of my children?”
“Mr. Baxter proved himself a stronger man than most by forgiving your clear insolence and attention-seeking. An actress! The shame of it is more than I can bear.”
Cursing the sting of traitorous tears, Monica snapped her gaze to the window, the wound of her mother’s derision sinking deep into her flesh. If she ever found a man to love her and she him, and God were to bless them with children, she would never speak or look at them with the venom so deeply seated in her mother’s glare. How did a woman give birth to a babe only to gladly watch them grow and become everything they did not wish to be? Monica swallowed the painful lump in her throat. It would never be so for her children. Ever.
The carriage rumbled to a stop and she looked once more to the window. The hotel she’d chosen to stay with her mother, sister, and Stephanie would serve her mother’s pretentiousness, but also Monica’s need to be close to the people she’d come to love. Adam lived with his wife, Laura, just a short five-minute walk away and Monica planned to pay them a visit that very afternoon.
She took a strengthening breath, plastered on a smile, and faced her mother. “Are you ready, Mama? I’m confident you’ll like this hotel.”
Her mother frowned, looking at Monica with such softness in her gaze it was as though their previous conversation hadn’t happened at all. She smiled. “You always did know the comforts I need, my darling. Your father requires peace and quiet to work on his papers, so maybe a night in a hotel for us ladies is just what the doctor ordered.” She smiled in turn at Jane and Stephanie before facing Monica once again. “Is Thomas to stay in the stables?”
Monica met Stephanie’s concerned gaze before turning to her mother. “Thomas will take a night at one of the taverns. The hotel is just for us.” The carriage door opened, saving Monica from further explanation. “Let’s get into our rooms, shall we?”
Thomas stood at the door and offered his hand as Monica stepped out. His eyes were shadowed with misery and as they bored into hers, she turned away, guilt hovering above her like a dark cloud. She slid her gloved hand into his and worthless words battled on her tongue. What could she say to him? What could she ask of him when, in reality, she had no plan in place for the rest of the day or evening if Stephanie were not willing to stay at the hotel and attend Mama. She forced a smile. “Thank you, Thomas.”
He dipped his head. “You’re welcome.”
He released her hand and Monica turned to stare at the façade of the hotel as he helped Mama, Jane, and Stephanie from the carriage. She breathed deep and forced the tension from her shoulders. Bath was her home; where she felt in control. She would not allow the good and empowering feelings the city fed into her soul to be devoured by her mother’s illness or the overwhelming pressure of familial obligation. If she didn’t succeed in getting Thomas to understand how much she loved her life here, the niggling guilt that she should move home to Marksville would continue to badger her every waking moment.
With each day that passed, the more torn she became . . . the prospect of returning home where she was needed didn’t bring the depth of horror it had before. Yet, now, when she was here in the city . . . she wanted to stay forever.
A doorman emerged from the hotel entrance and came down the steps toward her. Monica pulled back her shoulders, pushing her dilemma to one side for the time being. The doorman bowed and lifted his hand to the brim of his hat. “Good afternoon, miss, and welcome. Would your groom like help with your luggage before I show him where the stables and storage for the carriage are located?”
Monica smiled. “We haven’t much luggage, but I’ll ask him. Just a moment.” She turned. Her mother clung to Thomas’s arm and her eyes were wide with fear as her mouth moved manically with obvious distress. Monica hurried forward. “Thomas? What is it?”
He barely glanced at Monica before addressing her mother. “Madam, you’ve nothing to fear. I will be on hand, as well as Miss Jane, Miss Monica, and Stephanie, should you need anything. Once you’ve heard the master’s will read, there’s no reason we can’t leave first thing in the morning.” He smiled and covered her mother’s hand with his own where it lay on his arm. “Why don’t you go upstairs and take a rest for a while? I’m sure Miss Monica has plans for tea.”
Monica stared at his profile, her heart swelling with gratitude for Thomas’s unending tenderness and his innate ability to soothe her mother despite his not wanting to be in Bath at all. She swallowed and gently eased her mother’s hand from Thomas’s and tucked it into the crook of her elbow. “Mama? Go inside with Jane and Stephanie while I help Thomas. You’ll adore the room I have asked the hotel to prepare for you. The view over the city is breathtaking.”
Her mother darted her gaze from Monica’s face to the hotel’s façade. “Will we have tea?”
Monica nodded and gently squeezed her hand. “With cake and scones.”
Her mother giggled sheepishly. “Then I shall have lashings of cream and jam too.”
Monica laughed, her eyes pricking with unshed tears to see such rare mischief in her mother’s eyes. “Come on, let’s get you inside.” She nodded to Jane who stood nearby, worrying her bottom lip and seemingly fighting her own tears.
Her sister and Stephanie stepped forward, and each took one of her mother’s arms and escorted her toward the steps. The warmth of Thomas’s hand at the base of her spine surprised and pleased Monica in equal measure, and it took all her restraint not to turn and gratefully lean into his quiet, unwavering strength. She exhaled. “I had no choice but to bring her here. You do know that, don’t you?”
“Yes.”
“I feel as though I have done something wrong, but she had to be here for the reading of the will regardless of how much I wanted you to see what I love. You know I didn’t force her?”
“Of course.”
His low, soft, and entirely masculine tone and limited words whispered over her skin and Monica trembled. The heat of his palm at her back was reassuring and suddenly, she truly understood the roles she often played onstage—roles of a woman needing a man to lean on; of a woman knowing in all probability she’d only have the chance of true love once in her entire life.
Pain unexpectedly squeezed her heart and she cleared her throat, stepping away from Thomas’s touch. She turned and smiled at the hovering doorman. “If you’d like to take our cases inside, that would be most appreciated.”
He nodded. “Yes, miss.”
He brushed past her and Thomas turned to help when Monica gripped his elbow. He met her eyes, his gaze questioning. Her gaze dropped to his mouth and she quickly snapped it to his eyes. “Will you come to Adam’s home with me tonight? I want you to meet the man who changed my life.”
His eyes darkened in a way she couldn’t understand and his jaw tightened. “If that’s what you want.”
Unease rippled through her and she slid her hand from his elbow. “It is. Then I want to take you to the theater.”
His drew his gaze over her face, his silence speeding the beat of her heart. “As you wish.” He glanced toward the hotel. “And your mother, Stephanie, and Miss Jane? Will they come to?”
“I’ll invite Jane and hope Stephanie is willing to sit with Mother. I need you and Jane to understand that leaving Biddestone could be just as much of an option for you both as staying there could be for me.”
He shook his head and closed his eyes. “The city is not an option for me. I’ve told you this.” He opened his eyes. “I love the land. I love the fresh air, the work, the horses.” He drew his gaze in a soft caress over her face. “I came here to see you shine as you have said you’ve seen me shine in the countryside. How we ever come to meet in the middle, I have no idea, but, praise God, never believe for a single second I would give up my peace in the open air for a city life of stone and mortar. Live or die, I will never, ever live in a city.”
Leaving her standing alone, he strode toward the carriage and, after sharing a few words with the groom, heaved himself into the driving seat and with a slap of reins and a click of his tongue, urged Jake and Wilson onward to wherever they would be housed overnight.
Monica stared after the departing carriage, a myriad of emotions tumbling through her. To ask Thomas to leave his beloved land was like asking her mother to accept her husband’s death. Everything about those two relationships was steeped in years of love, devotion, compromise, and hard work—something no one should have to give up without a fight.
The trouble she faced if Marksville was hers would most definitely mean either she or Thomas would end up bloodied and bruised.
“If there’s nothing else, miss?”
She started and turned to the waiting groom, her smile instantaneously leaping into place. “Nothing, thank you.”
Monica lifted her skirts and mounted the steps into the hotel. The moment she crossed the hotel’s threshold, she braced for a feeling of belonging to wash through her . . . nothing came but sorrow.
Thomas strolled at a snail’s pace along the street, his eyes flitting back and forth, and the hairs on his neck standing to wary attention. Having been dismissed for the afternoon while Monica, Jane, and their mother took tea and a nap, his nervous energy had forced him from the relative familiarity of the smoky tavern where he’d be staying for the night and out onto Bath’s streets.
He tried and failed to force the scowl from his face as he reached the Theater Royal. The billboards were papered with current shows, as well as upcoming plays and performances. He narrowed his eyes. A strip had been pasted over Monica’s name in the latest showing and replaced with that of her understudy.
Unwanted guilt twisted inside him.
Clearly, Monica had left the city as soon as humanly possible after Jane’s letter reached her, abandoning her work and coming home where she was needed. He couldn’t even accuse her of selfishness in order to douse the fire burning so fiercely inside him. A fire scorching and searing his need for her to be happy . . . but to be happy where he wanted her. At Marksville.
Sooner or later, he would be forced to admit defeat and with it, lose everything his family had worked for . . . or hang every hope on the new owner being as good and fair an employer as Mr. Danes had been. The chances of that coming to fruition were slim at best. When he’d spoken to the tenants who lived and worked on other estates in the past, their woes of mistreatment and lack of gratitude often led Thomas to counting his blessings at Marksville.
As angry as he was with the master for his treatment toward Monica, Thomas couldn’t fault Mr. Danes’s way of working with his groom.
Pulling back his shoulders, Thomas stared into the laughing eyes of Monica’s costar, Adam Lacey. So this is the dandy she wants me to meet? The man was dressed like a jackass in purple velvet trousers and jacket, the frill of his shirt so flamboyant, the garment belonged on a woman. His dark blond hair was coiffed and oiled to within an inch of its life. Thomas grimaced.
Good God, does Monica expect me to take to this man like I would one of the men at the tavern? The man most likely drinks wine over a good pint of ale, the same as the ladies.
Shaking his head, Thomas walked on, casting his gaze toward the buildings on the other side of the street. He’d barely taken more than a few steps when the harsh thump of another body knocking against him pushed the air from his lungs. He clutched the woman’s arms in a bid to stop her from toppling backward. “Whoa, pardon me, miss.”
The woman blushed scarlet and lifted a trembling hand to her hat, which had fallen askew atop her blond curls. “No, pardon me, sir. I wasn’t looking—”
“Me neither.” Thomas smiled. “Are you all right?”
She nodded. “Yes, thank you. I’m due back in the theater in an hour or so and wanted to rush home and back again before the curtain call.” She laughed. “I’m so clumsy. You were lucky I didn’t barge you straight over.” She glanced him up and down. “Then again, it would most likely take a carriage and four horses to knock someone like you off your feet.”
Thomas grinned. She was pretty as a picture and her brown eyes glinted with soft, feminine teasing. He released her and stuffed his hands into his pockets. “Well, I’m glad we’re both still standing.” He nodded toward the open theater doors, his mind turning to Monica once more. “So you work here?”
“Yep, I sell oranges and the like.”
“So you don’t get to talk to the actors?”
She laughed. “Oh, yes. All the time. People like messages taken back and forth. The fetching and carrying earns me a few extra pennies. Are you thinking of taking in a show?”
He faced her, forcing his shoulders low so she didn’t sense the flow of tension streaming through his veins. This woman could be the perfect person to give him prior warning and information about Mr. Adam Lacey, actor extraordinaire. “Maybe. I got me a little crush on Miss Monica Danes. I’m mighty disappointed to see she’s not performing tonight.” He arched an eyebrow. “I don’t suppose you know her? Could get me a signed program from her?”
She playfully swatted his arm. “Cheeky. I know her very well, thank you very much, but the only way you’ll get a signed program is by buying one and then tossing me some coins to take it backstage.”
Thomas smiled. “Fair enough. So what’s she like?” He held out his hand. “I’m Thomas, by the way.”
She grinned and took his hand. “Tess.”
“Nice to meet you, Tess.”
She stared at his mouth, her blush deepening before she shifted her study to Monica’s picture on the wall beside her. “She’s wonderful. A true lady in every sense of the word.”
He followed her gaze. “She certainly is.”
“But not stuck-up in the way you might expect. She’s warm and friendly. Nice, kind, and funny. She and Mr. Lacey are as close as two people could be, and she helps anyone who needs it.”
“Are they lovers?” The question burst from Thomas’s mouth before he could stop it. Guilt and self-hatred twisted in his gut, but he had to know; had to be sure Monica was everything he knew her to be. Strong, independent, truthful, and the woman of his damn dreams.
Tess laughed. “No, never have been, never will be, if you ask me. Those two have one of those special relationships that are so hard to find between a man and woman. They’re deep and strong friends. They’d do anything for each other, but as far as I know . . .” She winked. “And I know everything, they’ve never even shared a kiss. They’re just there for each other, you know?”
Thomas nodded and took in a long breath through flared nostrils. “I heard she had a beau not so long ago. I assumed it was Mr. Lacey. Do you know who he was?”
Silence.
He turned.
Tess’s narrowed gaze bored into his. “What’s with all the questions about the men in Miss Danes’s life? You aren’t acting like you have a crush. You’re acting like you want to ravish her.”
Damn it. Thomas forced a smile. “Chance would be a fine thing. I’m just interested. She’s a vision any man would be lucky to have on his arm. I pity the fool who let her get away, that’s all.”
Tess studied him a moment longer before exhaling and dropping her shoulders. “Well, for your information, her last beau, sodding Malcolm Baxter, didn’t deserve so much as to lick her boots, let alone call himself her lover. The man treated her like dirt. We all hate him.”
“We?”
She tilted her head toward the theater doors. “Every single person who works in that theater would gladly see the man hung on a streetlamp by his bollocks.”
Despite the ignited anger coursing through his blood, Thomas laughed. “Amen to that.”
Tess grinned, her eyes shining. “I have no idea what that man did to her, but it was bad, I know that. May he rot in prison for eternity.”
Thomas’s smile vanished. “He’s locked up?”
“For now. Yes.”
His heart thundered and his palms turned clammy. He clenched his fists inside his pockets. “Do you think he could get out sometime soon?”
She shrugged. “Who knows? I just hope Miss Danes stays away from Bath and in the country with her family. If Baxter’s ever released, the first person he’ll come looking for is her.”
Thomas trembled and pursed his lips tightly together for fear venom would spew from his tongue, revealing his love for Monica and hatred for Baxter.
“Anyway . . .” Tess sighed. “It was nice meeting you, Thomas. I’d better get moving if I’m going to make it back here before curtain’s up.” She arched her eyebrow. “Might I see you again?”
Thomas forced a smile. “You might indeed.”
She blushed. “I’ll look forward to it.”
As Tess brushed past him, Thomas stared at Monica’s smiling picture, his gut tightening. So Baxter was banged up, but for how long? Maybe this trip to Bath wasn’t so pointless after all. At least he now knew where Baxter languished. It was a start, if nothing else. Turning, he headed for the seedier side of the city where he would surely discover more about Baxter. He strode onward, his footsteps determined and his heart beating with barely controlled violence....