Page 25 of Her Noble Groom

Chapter twenty

T homasse hummed as she padded barefoot down the stairs to fetch breakfast. The stone floor was cold on her feet, but these days her ankles swelled and shoes were uncomfortable.

Over the past month, her body had changed, the small mound had grown, thickening her waist. And she had felt the quickening—a flutter, like butterfly wings inside, and then the poke of a tiny finger.

Her stomach rumbled as she carefully navigated a path through the unwashed bodies of sleeping men, women, and children, grateful the stage where the stench made her retch had passed. At the sideboard, she selected a trencher and piled it with large portions of bread and cold pork.

Something tickled her neck, and she raised a hand to swat it away, stopping midair when strong arms encircled her waist.

“I have missed you, Thomasse.”

The voice was soft against her ear. Her body trembled, and the trencher slipped from her hand. She would recognize that voice anywhere. John Hareford.

She pushed against his arms. “Get your hands off me!”

His tongue clicked. “Is that any way to greet your lover?”

She wanted to scream, fight, run, but she froze as his hands roamed her body, stilling over her belly. “You are with child.”

She struggled and, breaking free, whirled to face him.

He smirked, and she took strength from the sight of the angry scar on his left cheek.

She slipped her hand into her pocket, and it closed around a kerchief.

How she wished a spindle was hidden there.

It would give her great pleasure to ram it into his cheek again and wipe that smug smile off his face.

“Why are you not in the dungeon? ”

She sensed movement behind her.

Within moments, James stood beside her, his nostrils flaring. “Keep your filthy hands off my lady.”

Hareford gripped Thomasse’s arm with one hand and fondled the pommel of his sword with the other. “Your lady?” He sneered, his eyes filled with disdain as his gaze swept over James. “Is that a groom’s duty—to raise what he cannot sire?”

The room buzzed with whispers. The confrontation had awakened many. Wrenching free from Hareford’s grasp, she pleaded, “Keep your voices down.”

She glanced toward the stairs leading to her chamber, and her eyes locked with the seigneur. Her face burned, and she wished she could sink through the floor.

Hareford cleared his throat and spat, the spittle hitting James and dripping down his cheek. “I despise a cuckold.”

James’s eyes narrowed, and his fists clenched.

Thomasse stepped between the two men. “Please, James! He is not worth it.”

The seigneur approached. “What is going on here?”

Hareford bowed and stretched out his hand. “Seigneur de Carteret, we meet again. It has been too long.”

De Carteret ignored the proffered hand. “What are you doing here? Your presence is unwelcome.”

“Your friends informed me otherwise,” Hareford replied.

Not waiting to be dismissed, James guided Thomasse from the room. “Damned isle custom—open doors that allow any reprobate to walk right in,” he muttered.

At the bottom of the stairs, she mumbled. “Thank you for defending me.”

She stumbled up to her chamber and flung herself onto the bed, drawing her legs close to her chest, her body shaking.

Why did he come? It was clear he felt no remorse for his actions. While my life is in shambles, he walks free, going on with life as before.

His return and declaration had forced her shameful secret into the open. She covered her face with her hands. She was not ready, even though nature would announce it soon enough. A cry escaped her lips at the thought of being the subject of cruel gossip. The shunning would begin.

She folded her arms around her belly, surprised by the mothering instinct the pirate’s appearance had evoked. “I will protect you, little one,” she whispered.

The door creaked open, and someone placed something on the table beside the bed. She caught the scent of citrus and cloves. Demoiselle Penna. “I brought you food.”

Maybe she was not in physical danger, but she braced herself for the condemnation and the inevitable outcome. She would be dismissed.

“Look at me, Thomasse.” Penna’s voice was soft, almost comforting.

Thomasse shook her head.

“I am not leaving until we talk,” Penna said.

“I shall pack my things and go,” Thomasse whispered.

“You will do no such thing.”

Thomasse met Penna’s gaze. “What will become of me now I am ruined?”

“Put such thoughts from your head.”

“But as a fallen woman, his lordship will deem me unworthy to teach your son—” A sob escaped her throat. “I am not fit for anything else.”

“What happened was not your fault. I will speak with Seigneur de Carteret on your behalf.” Penna pinched her lips. “He insists on an English tutor for Philippe, and with French soldiers occupying the isle, it will be impossible for him to engage another.”

“Thank you for your kindness.”

Penna perched on the edge of the bed. “Many women on this isle have suffered your same fate.”

Thomasse’s eyes widened. “Forsooth?”

“Between French soldiers, pirates, and loathsome swine which live amongst us, a woman must consider herself lucky to escape unscathed.” Penna smoothed the bedding. “I have heard it helps to talk about it.”

“How?” Thomasse asked. Her face burned as memories of that fateful morning returned. Things she would never tell a soul. Things she would rather forget. Things that still haunted her day and night. “It is too shameful to speak of aloud. ”

“Whenever you are ready.”

Thomasse shuddered, knowing she could never confide in Penna. “I only wish I could quell the fear and the anger that rages within me.”

“All in God’s time. I shall pray for you.” Penna rose and crossed to the door. “It has been a difficult morning. You are excused from teaching today.”

Despite Penna’s generous words, Thomasse remained torn.

She loved being Philippe’s governess, but did she truly want to stay?

Could she ever feel safe here again? If only she could sail back to England and take refuge among her friends.

But even as she considered the idea, she knew it was folly.

Whether she arrived on their doorstep heavy with child, or with a babe in her arms and no husband to claim them, they would turn her away.

Such an escape would have to wait until after the child was born. But the idea of abandoning her child to be raised by another had begun to weigh on her conscience.

J ames stalked from the manor, trying to quell his fury.

How dare Hareford show his face in St. Ouen.

Certainly, James had not expected it. What could Hareford possibly gain by returning to the scene of his crime?

James chided himself. His intentions had been honorable, but had he made a mistake by not warning Thomasse about the pirate’s release?

It would be a long while before he forgot her look of terror as Hareford groped her body.

He slid open the stable door, and Magnar nickered. He approached the magnificent black destrier and stroked his nose. “What do you say, Magnar? Did I do the right thing?” The stallion snorted and nuzzled his arm in response.

The clomp of boots sounded outside the stable. The conversation between de Carteret and Hareford must have been brief, and the seigneur must have skipped breakfast to arrive so quickly.

“Shall I ready Magnar, Seigneur? ”

“Please. I shall ride to St. Ouen’s Pond.”

James fetched the saddle and bridle. When he returned, de Carteret said, “That was noble of you, coming to Thomasse’s defense. Is it true she is with child?”

“Yes, Seigneur.” James pulled the bridle over the horse’s head.

De Carteret leaned against the wall, arms crossed, deep in thought. “She must wed.”

James’s stomach knotted. “You would not insist she marry that evil man?”

“Certainly not, but time is not on her side, and—given your declaration this morning—I thought, perchance—”

James lifted the saddle onto Magnar’s back and tightened the strap. De Carteret’s words left him unsettled. So much had happened since he and Thomasse’s relationship had been torn asunder.

Thomasse’s confession of her secret weeks earlier had stirred painful memories.

Memories of Becca—her radiant smile, the joy they shared upon learning she was with child, followed by the unspeakable pain when he laid them to rest, their babe forever cradled in her arms. If Thomasse suffered the same fate—could his heart endure another loss?

The seigneur came to stand beside James as he loaded the saddlebag with fishing supplies. “You understand my meaning?”

“Yes, Seigneur,” James said, as he strapped the saddlebag in place.

De Carteret mounted the stallion. “And—”

“I will consider it.”

Once the seigneur was gone, James wrestled with his decision. The thought of Thomasse being turned out with nowhere to go was too much. Marriage would make her an honest woman and allow her to continue as Philippe’s governess. And he had promised to help her.

Although his love for Thomasse had ne’er diminished, what of her?

Since her father’s departure, she had made no attempt to renew their relationship.

Deep inside, he hoped his fears were unfounded, that she would welcome a renewal of their betrothal.

Maybe they could find happiness, build a life together. But the choice had to be hers.

When the seigneur returned from fishing, James was ready with his answer. “I will, if she will have me.”

T homasse wiped her damp palms on her skirt and smoothed her hair. Her conversation with Penna had lent reassurance, but now, with an official summons from the seigneur, doubt crept in. She knocked on the study door.

“Enter,” de Carteret called out.