Page 14 of Her Noble Groom

Chapter eleven

D eeply wounded by her father’s accusations, Thomasse tossed and turned on her thin mat. Her father lay beside her snoring, apparently unbothered by their exchange. He seemed blind to how his words had hurt her. She was doing the best she knew how.

She had yet to confess her nagging guilt. Why had she let his loyalty to King Henry slip?

When they first arrived, the common folk had held for King Henry, but as the French soldiers became more ruthless, their loyalty had waivered.

Although they did not openly voice support for King Edward, she was privy to the whisperings.

If her father was in such a temper over her staying with James’s family, how would he react if he discovered her indiscretion?

When sleep finally came, it was restless. The next morning, when James met her atop the hillock, her agitation must have been apparent.

“Is something the matter?” he asked.

“Nothing of consequence,” she replied. Some things just needed to remain within the family.

“You look as though you have not slept.”

She shrugged as they started down the path to the village. “My father has returned.”

“Ah,” James replied. “I trust his business was successful.”

“I have been thinking about our conversation—when you asked if my father was one of King Henry’s knights.”

“Oh, that—I had forgotten about it already.”

“Truly?” She swallowed hard. Although uncomfortable with deceit, if James exposed the truth, she and her father may be at risk. Now her unfortunate attempt to clarify made it more likely he would remember. If he let it slip to the wrong person— “I would not want false rumors to spread.”

James halted. “I accepted your explanation. Besides, I am not one to engage in idle chatter.”

Between the awkward exchange and the weight of her father’s accusation, conversation dwindled. She quickened her step. The sooner she reached Colette’s cottage, the sooner she could drown out her thoughts with work.

When they reached the village, James said, “Something has happened. Last night you were so happy and now—something is troubling you.”

Tears pricked her eyes, and she bit her lip. Despite her efforts to remain silent, the words spilled out before she could stop them. “My father has forbidden me to see you.” She gasped at her faux pas . “James, I am sorry. My father is wrong to demand this of me.”

“He is right. ’Tis not appropriate for a widower of my age to spend so much time in the company of a maiden he does not intend to marry.”

“Why? We have done nothing wrong.”

“True, but after the celebration, people are talking.”

“What do I care? We know the truth. I refuse to sacrifice our friendship.”

“But is it worth angering your father?” James asked. “If he has his way, you will return to England soon. The distance will end our friendship anyway.”

Thomasse looked away. “I suppose you are right.”

He touched her arm. “Goodbye, Thomasse.” She watched as he strode back toward St. Ouen’s Manor, certain her heart would break into a thousand pieces.

He might be a lowly groom, but she had never had a better friend. And despite her father’s assurances, she had accepted that returning to England would not happen any time soon— if ever.

J ames glanced over his shoulder. Thomasse had not moved, her gaze still upon him. She looked small and lonely. He wanted to run back, to reassure her everything would be all right, but he continued walking, determined not to break his resolve.

The pain of losing Becca had been grievous, and he dared not risk such heartache again.

And yet, this daughter of the gentry had wriggled her way into his heart, stirring a longing—a desire for a second chance at love.

He shook his head, as if he could dislodge such wayward thoughts.

She had spoken of friendship, not of love. He would hold on to that.

There were moments when he thought she might want more. What foolishness to think someone like her would ever consider him. Better to walk away, content in the knowledge of her kind regard than cling to false hope.

Once she returned to England, life would continue as before. The horses had been his salvation after Becca’s death; they would be again. Hands tight on the reins of his heart, he would not look back.