Page 15 of Her Noble Groom
Chapter twelve
T he scent of candle wax and incense filled the air as Thomasse and her father entered St. Ouen’s Parish Church for Easter services. Settling onto a rear bench, she studied the lovely arches and the high peaked ceiling. But as the church filled, she took up watching the congregants.
During the refrain of the first hymn, she spied Colette with her children in the doorway. Her heart skipped a beat when she spotted James standing behind them. Her gaze followed him as he settled on a bench near the front.
Her heart ached as she realized how much she had missed their conversations. Although she had made a few friends in the village, none had the same amiable spirit. James had always made her feel valued, like she belonged. She resolved to renew the friendship despite her father’s disapproval.
When the final hymn ended, they escaped the church. “Father, I wish to greet some friends. You need not wait for me.”
“Do not be long,” he replied, then strode off in the direction of the bay-side cottage.
After greeting a few acquaintances, Thomasse hid behind a tree to wait for James. When he drew near, she whispered his name.
His eyes lit up. “Thomasse, ’tis good to see you. How do you fare?”
She stepped closer. “I am well, but I miss you.”
“But your father—”
“I am seventeen, almost eighteen. It is time I took control of my life.” Her words surprised her, a bold declaration of her desire for independence. “I earn my keep. Should I not be allowed to choose my friends? ”
His smile vanished. “’Tis one thing to stand up to soldiers, and another to defy your father. Harmony at home is a blessing.”
“I care not what he says.” Reveling in her newfound courage, she wondered how James would respond if she took another bold step. Would he reject her request? Or feel obligated to accept? “Walk me home.”
“As you wish,” James replied.
They walked along the water’s edge. After some initial awkwardness, discourse came easily, as if their last conversation had never happened. James talked about the new foals born or expected soon. Thomasse shared amusing tales of the other spinsters and people in the village.
They stopped and stared out across St. Ouen’s Bay. “It has been more than a year since you pulled me from these waters.” She looked up at James, her heart beat so loudly she was certain he must hear it. She placed a hand on his arm, surprised by her own boldness. “I would have died but for you.”
“Pleased to be of service.”
“Is that all?” she asked.
Their eyes locked. He shook his head. The yearning of her heart surprised her, and she suspected he felt the same, but his sense of propriety, his consciousness of her birth status, might deter him from ever declaring himself. “Then do not push me aside.” Her voice sounded husky and breathless.
He put his hands behind his back, and she worried she may have pressed him too far. Or maybe she had misinterpreted his response. “I must,” he said in a strangled voice.
She placed a hand on his chest. “Why?”
“Because—I have nothing to offer you.”
“I care not. You are enough.”
For a moment, she thought he might turn away. But suddenly his arms were around her waist, drawing her close, his lips on hers, gentle and warm, yet passionate.
She wrapped her arms around his neck, cherishing the exploration of feelings they had kept hidden like a guilty secret.
With the truth confessed, she wondered how she had ever thought loving him was beneath her.
He treated her more like a lady than many titled gentlemen.
He was not born into nobility, but in his own way, he was noble .
When they parted, a shyness overtook her. She looked at him through lowered lashes. “Does this mean we are betrothed?”
James lifted her chin and she gazed into his beautiful amber eyes, soft with love. He wrapped her hair around his finger. “If you will have me.”
“With all my heart.” She reached up and drew his head down until their lips met again, their bodies melding perfectly.
They wandered along the shore, her hand warm in his, sometimes talking about inconsequential things or just being silent, listening to the breaking of the waves and the call of the gulls, content just being together.
When they neared the cottage, Thomasse said, “I should go on alone.” His face fell. She raised on her toes and kissed his cheek. “I am not ashamed of our love, but my father is a hard man. I want to break the news at the proper time.”
He squeezed her hand. “Until tomorrow then.”
J ames wandered along the shore back toward the village, his mind spinning at the unexpected turn of events.
He had awakened this morning with no thought of being betrothed before noon.
Such good fortune that a woman as beautiful and kind as Thomasse had washed up onto the shore and into his arms. The Fates had surely played a hand.
Of course, this brought up serious difficulties. Where would they live? He had given up the bay-side cottage after Becca died, and living there with Thomasse’s father was not an option he would accept. Nor could he ask her to sleep in the stable.
Self-doubt crept in. What if Nicholas convinced Thomasse to change her mind? And if he were not successful, he might take more extreme action. The same waters that had placed Thomasse in James’s arms might separate them once again.
In the first flush of requited love, she may have considered him enough.
Her father had spoken of her impending betrothal to a man of noble birth.
Once she contemplated all the things she would need to forsake— the large estate, wealth and respectability, things James could never give her—would she still believe he was enough?
And then there was the seigneur. He must grant them permission—and then he must pay the bride price.
James’s heart clenched at the memory of the last time, when he and Becca had stood before the seigneur convinced their love could conquer any challenge.
His whole world had been shattered by her death, her life cut short by the very consequence of marriage.
Love had not been enough to spare her life.
His chest tightened. How quickly his heart had betrayed him. He stared out at the waves, remembering his past heartache, foolishly forgotten in a moment of desire. If history repeated with Thomasse, he feared he might not recover.