Chapter Fourteen
January 27, 1840
I t was a rather disorienting experience, waking up in an unfamiliar bed. The last time it had happened, over a year ago, Thomas had vowed he would not do it again.
Somehow, along the way, he had obviously forgotten.
Thomas groaned, half his face pressed into the pillow. Not his pillow. This was covered in a pillowcase edged with lace, something even his butler would have noticed. Fine, so this was someone else’s pillow. That had to mean…someone else’s bed.
His memories were murky, his mind only just starting to surface from sleep. Thomas was at least aware, however, of three things.
Firstly, he was completely naked. This was not a total surprise, given that he was clearly in someone else’s bed, but it was awkward. That meant his clothes were somewhere else. He’d just have to hope they were still there.
Secondly, he felt such an utter calm and peace, he felt as if he were resting on a cloud, not a bed. There was a tension utterly absent from his body. Thomas could not recall the last time he’d felt this…this satisfied.
And thirdly, there was someone else in the bed with him.
Thomas froze as the person sighed, then unstiffened when his reason caught up with him. It had to be the woman he had bedded last night. There was some sort of sensation of joy, or happiness, or something similar settled within him. Almost as though he had fallen in—
Victoria Ainsworth sighed again and turned onto her front.
Blinking, hardly able to believe it, Thomas waited for the dream to end.
Because this had to be a dream, didn’t it? After lusting after the woman for so long, it could only be a dream. Surely, he had not managed to persuade her…
Then all the memories of the evening flooded back in, and a wicked smile crept across his face.
Dear God, he’d done it. Or rather, she ’d done it. Thomas could not pretend the seduction was all one-sided; he’d never met a woman more eager for his touch.
And what a touch it had been.
Memories cascaded through his mind, each one offering something more delicious than the last. Heavens, but he had been treated. The woman was a goddess—she had to know that—and the feeling of pouring himself into her…
Thomas halted that particular line of thinking. It wasn’t as though he could expect her to offer herself again this morning, and if he wasn’t careful, he would be walking around with tented trousers for the rest of the day.
He cast an eye over at the woman he…cared for. There didn’t appear to be a word for what he felt for Victoria Ainsworth. Warmth, yes, and attraction, but that had always been there. This need, this desire, was deeper than mere attraction.
And he liked her.
“You—You’re not going to make the decision about the woman you marry based on a coin toss?”
The smile that had creased his face disappeared. It had all started on the toss of a coin. A mere chance.
Thomas swallowed. Well, what did it matter how it had begun? He could not have predicted the way it would continue, and surely, that was far more important?
Apparently not. The guilt ate away at him, nestled around his heart, threatening to poison everything.
I am happy , Thomas reminded himself sternly as he twisted in bed to look at Victoria again. Happy . Did he not deserve to be happy? After all he had done—well, actually, now he came to think about it, perhaps he did not deserve to be happy. It was the Chance family fortune that was gone, and now he was seeking out a fortune with little concern for the woman attached to it.
And he was late in visiting St. Thomas’s again. He wouldn’t hear the end of it when he finally showed his face. He was neglecting them. He was neglecting everything he—
“Good morning,” said a sleepy voice.
Thomas’s pulse skipped a beat. When he blinked, the woman who came into focus was an absolute vision.
Pink tinged Victoria’s cheeks. “I… Well, I didn’t think you’d still be here.”
And that was when Thomas fell hard in love.
Didn’t think I’d still be here —where was he supposed to go? How could he even consider leaving her while she slept, not speaking to her, not making sure she knew—
Thomas swallowed the declaration of love. Not now. Not here. She would think it only uttered because they had lain together, and while it had been that vulnerability, that moment of shared intimacy that had helped him understand just what he felt for her, it wasn’t the sum total of his regard.
There was so much more.
“Come here,” Thomas murmured, turning onto his back and extending an arm.
She did not hesitate, and that was perhaps the most comforting thing. Victoria’s scent, her closeness, the feeling of her breath against his collarbone and the movement of her chest against his own…that was all wonderful.
But it was the lack of indecision that meant the most. She came to him when he called.
Thomas tightened his grip around her, blinking away tears that came unbidden and did not make sense.
It was all going to plan. And at the same time, this situation was so completely different from his original plan, it was difficult to understand how he had gotten here.
How had he gotten here?
“Thank you,” murmured Victoria against his neck.
Thomas shivered, the intimacy making him want to pull away just enough to kiss her soundly. “Thank you? What for?”
A tap on his shoulder, a sense that everything was right with the world and he never wanted to leave this bed. “You know.”
“In that case, I rather think I should thank you ,” Thomas said quietly, reveling in the way their voices thrummed through each other as they spoke. “After all, you’re the one who let me—”
“‘ Le t’ you? I almost had to get on my knees and beg,” came the sleepy reply.
Clearing his throat, Thomas shifted his hips and tried not to think about Victoria on her knees before him. That was something for another day. Probably.
“I just hope I was… Well. Good enough,” she said softly.
He did push her away that time, staring into her eyes with incredulity. “You aren’t seriously saying that.”
Victoria looked down, golden hair cascading past her shoulders, a nervous tilt of her head the only response.
“Victoria Ainsworth, you were… You are…” Thomas swallowed. Hell, why is it so difficult to say this? “Everything.”
“You’re everything—everything I want, everything I never thought I deserved.”
His throat was dry, yet she was still staring as though waiting for something. And he knew what, of course. He was no fool. She had bared herself to him, allowed him to take his fill, and he had still said nothing about marriage.
And he wanted to. For her, for the dowry, for everything.
So why were the words sticking in his throat?
“It’s early.”
Thomas blinked. “It is?”
Victoria turned her head to the left, her hair pooling onto him. Thomas tried not to think about the softness of her locks, the intimacy of the simplest of connection. “Not quite seven o’clock. The sun won’t be up yet. My mother, the servants… They’re not back yet.”
When she turned back to him, there was a strange look in her eye. A look that said… No, surely not.
“You cannot be serious.”
“Why not?” Victoria wiggled her hips and Thomas groaned as the realization that she was just as nude as he was seared across his thighs. “There’s no one here—”
“If I am going to be able to walk out of here, we mustn’t,” Thomas said, regret blazing but knowing he was making the right decision.
Difficult as it was, he pushed the woman he loved from him and pulled himself out of the comfort of the bed. Clothes, clothes, where are my clothes?
She smirked. “I thought I was the one who wasn’t supposed to be able to walk this morning?”
Thomas gritted his teeth, relieved he was facing away from Victoria so she couldn’t see the agony on his face. Dear God, she was enough to tempt the saints themselves. Did she have any idea how difficult it was to hear her say that and not lower his face to hers and—
There was a heavy sigh behind him and the rustle of blankets moving. “Fine. But you must have breakfast before you go.”
“What, to gather my strength?” Thomas quipped as he pulled on his trousers.
When he turned to face her, Victoria was smiling shyly. “Strength for what, may I ask?”
Thomas swallowed. She was sitting on the edge of the bed, ankles crossed, hands leaning on either side of her onto the mattress…and she must have known how delicious she looked, her hair falling down over her breasts, her nipples peaked—
Because of the cold , Thomas tried to remind himself, trying and failing to put his own arm through a sleeve of his shirt. That’s all.
“Dress, woman,” he said hoarsely. “Or I’ll not be responsible for my actions.”
Victoria tilted her head. “That sounds more like an inducement than a punish—”
“ Victoria !”
It took several minutes for Victoria to attire herself in a way that she deemed respectable. Thomas’s fingers fumbled over the ties of her corset, half-hating that he was putting away this delightful body, half-wondering how he was managing to concentrate with so much of Victoria’s soft flesh beneath his fingertips.
When she was finally dressed and had slipped a hand in his without a word, Thomas did not notice it until they were halfway down the stairs.
It felt…natural.
As though this were their lives. Their life. As though this were just another morning in which they could enjoy each other’s company after a night of passionate touch. As though this were their home, where they could just—
Thomas managed to stop himself—just—before he started to create a perfect domestic image in his mind. He wasn’t there yet. He had to propose, and finding the right moment to do that would be tricky.
After all, he had turned up here last night ready to confess to something completely different…
“Now, I’m sure there is some food somewhere,” said Victoria vaguely, slipping her hand from his as she opened the door. “It is a kitchen, after all.”
It was, but as Thomas had so little experience navigating a kitchen, he wasn’t sure where the best place to look was. There were herbs hanging from the ceiling and a trio of small bowls that appeared to contain spices near a large fireplace that was currently cold. There were cupboards and drawers galore, but none of them appeared to be labeled. How on earth the servants knew where anything was, he had no idea.
Victoria appeared to be equally at sea. “I suppose we just keep searching until we find some,” she said, opening a drawer and inspecting it closely. “Goodness, who knew there were so many different types of wooden spoons.”
Thomas grinned as he sat at the large kitchen table covered in scratches and burn marks. It was the sort of table that graced a kitchen for a hundred years before someone thought to replace it, and even then there was little point. Fine oak was fine oak.
“You won’t make a good housewife, you know,” he teased, watching Victoria bend over to peer into a deep cupboard with an appreciation of her behind. “Not knowing your way around a kitchen.
It was intended as a jest, that was all.
When Victoria straightened up, however, there was more red in her cheeks than he would have expected. “What would you know about housewives?”
A pulse throbbed in Thomas’s jaw as a vision rushed through his mind.
Victoria. Standing by a large bay window, wintery sunlight streaming past her. As she turned, she revealed a child in her arms. A child with her laugh, her eyes, but his sandy hair. They look at him, smiling, the child calling his name. But it’s not his name. It’s Papa —
Thomas blinked. “N-Nothing.”
His momentary lapse of concentration, sanity, whatever one wanted to call it, had not gone unnoticed. Victoria stepped to another cupboard, crowing with delight as she brought out a loaf of bread.
“Now all I have to do is find something to go with it,” she said, humming.
Eventually, the feast was spread out on the table. If you could call it a feast.
“It’s certainly a different breakfast than the type to which I’m accustomed,” he said wryly, glancing at Victoria, who was seated to his right.
“You’ll never be able to look a normal breakfast in the face,” she teased. “Now pass the cake.”
It was a motley offering. Some leftover sponge cake, a jar of marmalade, a loaf of bread cut into uneven slices, two jars of pickled herring, and a hunk of cheese that appeared to have seen better days.
“I suppose having servants around the place is more useful than I thought,” Victoria quipped as she spread a thick dollop of marmalade on her slice of cake. “Herring?”
“I suppose,” Thomas said with a laugh, shaking his head. “A little too early for herring, even for me.”
“It’s a sad statement of our luxurious lives, I suppose.”
He took a bite of the cake and wondered why people didn’t have cake for breakfast every morning. “What is?”
Victoria gestured at the nonsensical spread before them. “This. Perhaps if we had lived without servants at any point in our lives, we would have the faintest idea how to navigate a kitchen.”
“Or a kettle. I’d kill for a cup of tea,” Thomas said jovially, though his levity sank as he spoke.
The servants. Dear God, he hadn’t thought about it.
Not that he had servants himself, not really, outside of his valet. They were more family servants, people who kept the Chance family and houses going like clockwork. Sometimes you could forget they were there, which, according to his father, was a sign of efficient servants. According to his mother, it was a sign that one needed to pay more attention.
But they didn’t have any money for their wages.
Thomas couldn’t understand how this could have passed him so completely by. But with no money in the Chance coffers for weeks now, the day would soon come when the Chance servants would expect to be paid.
What on earth would happen when his father had to tell them, if they did not know already, that the family was quite ruined?
The cake was dry in his mouth. Thomas swallowed painfully, the crumbs scratching his throat as he stared sightlessly at the loaf of bread before him.
He had to marry her—had to get her dowry. What else was he supposed to do, let the servants go hungry? Let them go completely? Reduce the household staff of the Cothrom branch of the Chance family? Here, in Bath?
Perish the thought.
And they were like family. Why, Bradbury had been butlering for as long as Thomas could remember. For as long as, as far as he was concerned, butlering had ever existed.
Bradbury, leave Stanphrey Lacey? Leave the Chance family?
“Thomas.”
A touch on his arm. A hand.
Thomas saw the comforting presence of Victoria’s hand on his wrist. When he looked up at her face, there was concern there. Concern, for him.
“You look as though all the problems of the world have fallen upon your shoulders,” she said quietly.
He couldn’t tell her. Not now. This was a perfect morning after a perfect evening, and if Thomas tried to explain…
There were no words for it. Sorry, Victoria. I only chose to pursue you because I’d quite like to get my hands on your gold? Sorry, it was all a bit of a laugh and a joke, and after a one-in-a-million chance with a coin toss, I threw it again and it decided on you?
Not the most romantic thing to say to someone after you’d just taken their innocence.
“You mustn’t worry,” said Victoria softly, squeezing his arm. “Everything will be fine.”
“You don’t know that,” said Thomas as lightly as he could manage, as though they were only jesting. “You can’t possibly. I mean, anything can happen. The world is unpredictable.”
“But you have everything that you need right here, within arm’s reach,” came her gentle reply.
Thomas hesitated.
She wasn’t wrong. She was right there, her money ready for the taking, her affections there for the plucking. He could make her love him—probably had. Otherwise, what had all that begging him been for?
The need in him as he looked at her, her hand still on his arm, was so sharp, it was almost painful. It was an unknown feeling, an unfamiliar one that settled comfortably within him as though he had been waiting for it his whole life.
And that was when Thomas realized that he wanted this. This, these sorts of moments. Moments between him and Victoria, nothing special, nothing complicated, just a ragtag breakfast of nonsensical items. It was she who made it special, she who made him beam, made this warmth swell in his stomach.
Thomas swallowed.
A proposal. That was what he needed. Right. Well, he couldn’t do it now, obviously. Mrs. Ainsworth and the servants would be returning soon and the last place he needed to be found was here, in their kitchen, kissing Victoria Ainsworth silly.
Much as he would like to.
No, he would have to think about this. Plan something, something worthy of her. Worthy of the way he felt, worthy of what he wanted to offer her. What she deserved.
Thomas placed his hand on hers and squeezed it before removing it from his arm. “Come on, eat up. I’ll have to be going soon, and we can’t have any scandal, can we?”
There was a flicker of something unknowable in Victoria’s eyes. Then she nodded and took a bite of her cake and marmalade.
So, a proposal in a few days when he had the opportunity to think of precisely how to do it. He’d propose to Victoria, Victoria would say yes , obviously, and within a few weeks, they could be married and he would have access—finally—to the money that would save his family and the orphans at St. Thomas’s.
That had been the plan all along, hadn’t it?