HEY LOOK! I UPDATED AGAIN! Just as I promised :oP And I can't deny, I have been rather excited for this chapter, as you will FINALLY learn some of Tom's backstory (not all of it, but quite a bit!) You'll also finally learn what the heck his connection is to Lady Mae. Also, I should mention a few triggers here in this chapter: there's a mention of severe domestic violence, as well as the veiled threat of sexual assault.
This is a rather ANGSTY chapter, but it sets a lot up for future events (as well as eventual emotional revelations down the road) You'll see what I mean ;oP BUT, I hope you do enjoy it, and that it still manages to give you some shippy feels. And I really, *really* am curious to hear what you think after reading this one, so please do share!
Finally, dedicating this update to bransonvevo, in honor of her birthday. Happy birthday my dear! You get the angst chapter ;oP
Chapter Eleven
"The Devil You Know"
When the boy arrived at 149 with the message, Tom's first assumption was that it had come from Eamon, and had something to do with Donald Archer, with whom Tom still needed come up with a plan to deal with his former boss. But as soon as he was able to get away from Thomas' suspicious glances and have a chance to open it and read it for himself…his eyes widened with shock at the recognizable penmanship, as well as the address and signature that was attached to it. And as he made his way to the address in Mayfair, Tom wondered why he had been so surprised upon receiving the message; it was just another extension of the game she liked to play, one that she clearly was still playing after all these years.
Lady Mae frowned as her sapphire eyes swept over him, a look of disapproval crossing her lovely features. "Didn't Hornby offer to take your coat?"
Tom's jaw was rigid and tight. "Didn't see that there was a reason," he muttered in response. "I don't plan on staying very long…"
She ignored his words and reached behind her for a cord that hung near the wall. "Take off your coat and have a seat," she instructed without even looking at him. Tom did nothing of the sort. The door opened once again and the old butler was back. "Hornby, take Mr. Branson's coat and bring us some tea," she ordered, again, not even bothering to lift her eyes to either of the two men standing across from her; she was preoccupied with some little piece of paper in her hands.
Hornby reached for Tom's jacket, but Tom swatted the man's hands away from his shoulders, growling at Lady Mae, "I'm not staying—"
"Of course you are, now give Hornby your coat and sit down," Lady Mae replied, her tone calm, but curt, leaving no room for argument.
He stood his ground and glared at her. He didn't have to do as she said; he wasn't under her employ anymore.
She glanced up from whatever it was she was reading and sighed with a bit of exasperation, before leaning back on the chaise which she sat and in a tone of haughty annoyance, commanded, "If you do not remove your coat and sit down, I will be forced to have my servants do it for you."
"I'd like to see them try," Tom muttered, eyeing the old butler behind him.
"Oh come, do not make this any more difficult," Lady Mae groaned, sounding more bored than anything else.
"Why don't you just say whatever it is that you want to say, and be done with it?" Tom growled, his own frustration rising to a boiling point.
"I will, quite gladly…once you give Hornby your coat and sit down."
She wasn't going to budge on the subject, that much was obvious. And as much as Tom wanted to defy her, he also knew it would be very foolish right now to walk out of there without hearing whatever it was she had to say. He knew, perhaps better than anyone, the damage she was capable of doing…
"Fine," he muttered, shrugging his coat off, but refusing to let it go. "I'll hold onto it, thanks," he growled at the butler, whose own expression was one of indifference.
"Thank you, Hornby, please bring the tea," Lady Mae commanded again, to which the butler bowed and left the room once again.
Tom sighed and turned his eyes back to his hostess. "I'm not staying long…"
Lady Mae waved her hand in dismissal, before indicating that he take a certain chair, while she refolded the piece of paper in her hands and proceeded to tuck it into her bodice. No sooner had she done so, and no sooner had Tom reluctantly sunk down into one of the chairs opposite of her, did the butler return with the promised tea tray. "Ah, thank you, Hornby," Lady Mae all but purred. "I'll pour," she told him, to which the butler once again bowed his head, before leaving the room and shutting the door in his wake. Lady Mae smiled at the door. "He's very good; came with glowing references…" she murmured, before turning a sweet smile onto him. "Something which…I imagine you lacked."
Tom shifted uncomfortably in his chair, but did his best to look indifferent to her comment. Of course, she knew better.
A soft titter of a chuckle escaped her lips, and she continued to smile sweetly at him as she took the teapot and poured him a cup. "Now…if memory serves, I believe it's with a 'splash of milk', is it not?" She smiled at him, but Tom didn't return it, not that she seemed bothered by that.
"I'm not having any—"
"Of course you are," she insisted, proceeding to pour a little tea into his cup, before pausing to add the milk, and then filling the rest. "See?" she grinned, looking quite proud of herself. "I never forget a detail like that…"
She held the cup out to him, and with a sigh, he took it, though he immediately placed the cup and saucer on a table to his right. He had no intention of drinking whatever she poured for him, be it tea or whiskey. And if she was offended by his snub, she didn't show it. She simply poured herself her own cup of tea, adding some milk and two lumps of sugar, before quietly stirring them in with a dainty spoon, and then lifting the fine porcelain to her lips for a sip. She smiled, and closed her eyes, as if awash with a memory. "Do you remember that tea I had, brought from China? The one with the flower in the cup, that 'blossomed' when you poured it in?" Her smile widened. "Tasted terrible, from what I remember, but it was delightful to see…"
Tom didn't say anything. He preferred not to remember these things.
Lady Mae took a few more sips, before placing her cup back upon its saucer. "I must say, it was a surprise, seeing you there last night," she murmured. "I was trying to remember, exactly, how long ago it had been…three years? Four? No, surely not four—"
"Two," he muttered, then added, "and a half." The half was very important.
Lady Mae's eyebrows lifted in quiet surprise, but she didn't argue against it. "Two and a half years…seems longer."
Not long enough, Tom thought to himself.
She gazed at him from where she sat, her arm coming to rest on the back of the chaise, her elbow bending so that her chin could rest in her hand. "I had suspected you had come to London…I knew there was nothing for you back in Ireland."
Tom's jaw tightened but he didn't say anything.
"But I know, based on what Sybil has told me, that you were only recently hired into her service—and even if you hadn't been, I would have noticed, of course." Her words brought a smile to her face, one that reminded Tom of a snake. "So that must mean you've been…otherwise occupied…here, in London, during your two and half years away from Yorkshire."
She was enjoying this game far too much. It was time to turn the tables on her. "How is your husband?" he asked, his eyes boring deeply into hers. His question clearly had some effect, because she did seem a bit surprised by it.
"Loxley is well," she answered after a moment's pause. "Or so he tells me, based on the letters he writes—or rather, the letters his secretary writes," she explained with an uninterested flip of her hand.
Tom nodded his head, not at all surprised by this. "So he's not here with you then."
Lady Mae seemed to find that amusing and tittered as she lifted her teacup to her lips once again. "Loxley, here? Heaven's no, he hates coming to town, even during the Season when it's expected."
Tom nodded again, and tilted his head slightly. "So he keeps to the country…and has exiled you to London."
That struck a nerve, though she recovered from it in a blink. "I was never one for country living," she murmured into her teacup. "Unless you love to ride or shoot, there's no point in being in the country, it gets so frightfully dull. Town life has always been my preference."
Tom snorted at that, and he couldn't help but smirk slightly at the unamused glare she shot at him. Funny, he didn't remember her having such a "grand preference" for town life when he was serving at Loxley Manor.
"I've surprised you," she observed, her chin returning to her hand as she gazed at him. "I don't know why…after all, you seemed so sure of yourself and your abilities to 'entertain me'."
Tom shifted uncomfortably in his chair once again. "Why don't you just get to it already?" he muttered, tired of this game. "You asked me to come, and I've come…now what?"
Lady Mae smiled cooly and brought her hands to rest neatly upon her lap. "How did you come to be in Sybil's employ? I mean…that is impressive, you cannot deny that; to become a butler in one of the wealthiest households in all of London if not the whole of Britain, and without a reference?"
He wasn't to going to tell her, he'd be a fool to give her any kind of information that she could use against him. Besides, Sybil was the one who had found him, in the midst of an illegal boxing match, and even though he told her he had no reference to give, she didn't seem bothered in the slightest and hired him anyway.
Lady Mae narrowed her eyes and quietly assessed him. She picked up her teacup once again and took another dainty sip. "I've known her for quite a long time, actually," she explained. "I met her when she was a child, visiting her aunt," she smiled as she spoke, and despite her earlier looks, this time Tom could tell that the smile was genuine. "She was a curious little thing…we were having a meeting in Rosamond's parlor, and even though Rosamond had given her strict instructions that she was not to interrupt, she waltzed right into the room, all wide-eyed and eager, begging to be allowed to sit and listen to our conversation, stating that she believed it was 'important that girls have the vote, just like boys'."
Despite where he was and who he was talking to, Tom couldn't help but smile at the image Lady Mae painted of Sybil as a child. He could easily imagine it, and his heart swelled at the thought. How long ago had that been? She was seven—almost eight years younger than him; surely that was before he had come to England, before he had found himself in Lord Loxley's employ. But even so, how many years had Lady Mae been coming to London, and interacting with Sybil, while he had been up in Yorkshire, not yet knowing the extraordinary woman to whom he now worked for, even existed?
"She's a sweet girl…" Lady Mae continued, sighing somewhat wistfully. "…A bit naïve when it comes to the ways of the world, perhaps, but…I am fond of her." She turned her head and looked towards a nearby window, as if something outside had caught her attention. "If I had a daughter…I'd be very pleased if she were anything like Sybil…"
Tom didn't know how to respond to any of that. While he had done his best to avoid Lady Mae's eyes throughout the previous evening's dinner, he had watched her carefully when she spoke to Sybil. At the time, he thought her manipulative and cunning, trying to "shame" Sybil for her attempts to rally their members to join the protest, interpreting it as a "usurp of power", and disliking that one of her "minions" wasn't "toeing the line", so to speak. Never, not once, had he thought Lady Mae cared for Sybil, and certainly not on this present level to which she was speaking now. But when he looked at her, and heard her murmur Sybil's name…he couldn't deny the genuine emotion with which Lady Mae harbored for the younger woman.
It was as if he were sitting in front of a stranger, because truth be told, as far as Tom could tell, this was a first with her.
"Why did she hire you?" Lady Mae suddenly asked, turning her head back to him and looking him squarely in the eye.
Tom stiffened but didn't look away. "Her previous butler was retiring and she needed a new one—"
"But why you?" Lady Mae insisted, suspicion in her eyes as she looked at him. "There are far more qualified men for such a position, and I can't imagine Carson recommending you, let alone approving of you taking his place…" she assessed him again, like a predator seeking weak spots in its prey. "What's going on there…"
Tom's jaw clenched at her unspoken insinuation. "Careful," he growled, his hands tightening on the arms of his chair.
Lady Mae's eyebrows lifted, but she looked more amused than anything else. "Can you blame me for wondering? I mean, it's not every day a young woman acquires someone like yourself for such a position—young, strong, and if I do say so, very handsome…" Her lips curled into a knowing smile, one that made Tom's skin crawl. "Not to mention, quite…virile, or so I remember—"
"Stop," he warned her, his voice quiet but dark.
Again, Lady Mae simply looked amused. "How interesting you've become; you don't seem to hold any fondness for the memory of our time together, when I remember quite the opposite."
Tom shifted in his chair and turned his eyes away from her. "People change," he muttered.
"Indeed," Lady Mae sighed, before taking another dainty sip from her cup. "Are you ashamed?"
He didn't want to answer her. God above, he didn't want to be there! Why had he answered her message? What madness had compelled him to make the journey here in the first place? He knew it wasn't going to be good, so why had he gone against his better judgment and come at all?
"You shouldn't be," Lady Mae answered for him, as if she were a priest absolving him of his sins. "After all, we both wanted the same thing—to humiliate Loxley—and managed to achieve that together." Another snake-like smile curled at her lips. "And at least speaking for myself, I did find the benefits of our arrangement to be quite…pleasurable…" Her voice was silky, reminding Tom of a snake's hypnotic hiss. "And I would dare say that you felt the same."
Tom closed his eyes and drew in a deep breath, wishing he could make those memories disappear, but that was impossible; you can't erase the past.
"We all do stupid things when we're young," he muttered under his breath.
"Careful," Lady Mae said with a wave of her finger. "You're implying that I am that 'stupid thing'." She returned her now empty teacup to its saucer and fixed him with a look. "Look, the past is the past, and what's done is done. You despised Loxley for his ill treatment of you, and I despised him for the way he flaunted his mistresses and gambled away my dowry. We found the perfect solution in extracting our revenge, and managed to have some fun in the process. I don't understand why you're so sour."
Tom glared at her, and his hands balled into fists. "Have you ever had to sleep in a gutter? Or go days without a decent meal, and when you do manage to get some food, it's just a moldy piece of bread?" he snarled. "I have; I did for six months! Because while you could rest assured that Loxley wouldn't divorce you to save his own face at the humiliation of catching his wife in bed with one of his footmen, I bore the punishment, not only being kicked out onto my arse in front of the entire household, but not receiving any kind of reference, or remaining wages I was due. I had nothing." He was leaning across the small table between them, fire in his eyes and rage in his heart. It took everything in him not to lash out at her, especially when she gave an indifferent shrug of her shoulders to his words.
Instead, she leaned back, and murmured, "Then how fortunate you are now to find yourself working under one of the wealthiest women in all of England."
"Fuck you," Tom spat, and rose to his feet then, ready to storm out and never look back.
"Oh save the dramatics and sit down," Lady Mae groaned. "Besides, you can't go yet, the door is locked."
Damn her, she was right. As soon as Tom attempted to pull on the handle, it refused to budge. He took a calming breath and looked over his shoulder at her. "Unlock it," he ordered.
"I will, when we're finished."
"We're finished now!"
"No, we're not," she answered back through clipped lips. "Sit down."
"I'm done doing as you say," he snapped. "I don't work for you, I'm not your toy, and I owe you NOTHING, least of all my attention, so unlock this door, now, or I swear I'll—"
"What?" she challenged him. "Strike me? Beat me? Strangle me?" she threw a hand over her forehead in an over-dramatic fashion. "Ravish me?"
She disgusted him. "Open the door," he threatened again, turning and facing her and taking a menacing step.
She didn't even flinch. "As much as you may hate to admit it, Tom, I know you…and I know the man that you are—"
"You know nothing—"
"Oh, but I do. I know that the last thing you would ever do is raise your hand to a woman, even if you sorely wanted to, because the last thing you wish to become, let alone resemble, is your father, who you watched beat your mother to a bloody pulp when she was trying to protect you from his drunken wrath."
Tom felt as if all the air had been knocked of his lungs. His legs trembled and he had to reach out to grip something to keep his knees from buckling. He closed his eyes and shook his head, mentally screaming for the dark memory to go away.
"See?" Lady Mae purred. "I told you I don't forget the details…"
Tom's jaw drew so tightly that he swore he heard it crack. Damn her. Damn her to hell. And damn him too; damn him for foolishly giving her power over him by sharing that story and others from his past.
"Now, I know you're a busy man and have a great many things to do, so please…have a seat and let us finish our meeting."
Meeting. What meeting? Meetings had a point, but so far, he had failed to see the purpose behind this unwelcome reunion.
"Get on with it," he muttered, sinking down into a chair again, defeat both in his voice and spirit.
If Lady Mae were capable of pity, she took some on him then by doing just that. "What are your intentions to Miss Levinsion?"
Tom frowned at her question and lifted his eyes to hers in confusion. "My intentions?"
"Why are you working for her?"
Hadn't she already asked this? "I told you, she needed a new butler—"
"Why did you accept?"
Why did anyone accept a job? Because they needed it.
"You're not a butler, you don't know the first thing about being butler," Lady Mae continued, as if he had answered her previous question, though he supposed in a way, his silence had.
He leaned back in his chair and despite everything that had already been said, he couldn't help but smirk and take some satisfaction at her frustration. "Well, according to what you said last night at the dinner, apparently I do."
She did not look amused in the slightest by his comment. "Did she promise you something?"
Tom frowned. "No."
"But despite your lack of references, she hired you anyway—"
"Why don't you ask her these questions?" he growled, wondering if he could just break that door down with a few shoves of his shoulder or a kick of his foot.
Lady Mae rolled her eyes. "Because she'll simply continue the lies she's already been telling on your behalf."
That made Tom pause. Sybil had been telling lies on his behalf?
Lady Mae noticed the surprise on his face, which actually surprised her. "You didn't know?" She was truly taken aback by this revelation, having clearly believed that Tom had a hand in Sybil lying for him. If anything, she looked rather heartbroken that this woman whom she thought so fondly of, had in fact lied to her, and of her own accord.
Tom found himself feeling both glad, and oddly sympathetic towards his hostess.
She returned her gaze to him, and her eyes once again adopted a look of cold haughtiness. "Has she had any gentlemen callers since you've started? Carson was a veritable dragon when it came to unwanted guests, but now that he's retired, I imagine it didn't take long for word to get out that the most eligible woman in all of London is 'free for the taking'."
Tom stiffened at that; he didn't like hearing someone speak about Sybil in such an objectifying manner. Nor did he care for the images that it brought…
"I imagine she has…" Lady Mae continued, more to herself than to him. "In fact…rumor has it that both Tony Gillingham and the Duke of Crowborough were seen retreating from the steps of 149 like two dogs with their tails between their legs…"
He didn't dare show it to her, but he couldn't help but inwardly smirk at that.
Lady Mae glanced at him, perhaps noticing the amused light in his eyes. "They won't be the last, I can assure you," she informed him, her tone full of warning. "There will be more, and I highly doubt you've seen the last of those two."
Tom straightened in his chair and squared his shoulders. "Then I'll be ready to greet them when the time comes."
Lady Mae rolled her eyes. "Apparently male arrogance knows no class boundaries," she muttered. "I know Sybil has this wild notion that if she refrains from attending balls and parties and not having any involvement with the Season, that will somehow assure her safety from the fortune hunters, but it's not that easy; as someone who has experience with these things, I can attest to that." She sighed and shook her head again. "What Sybil fails to understand is that these men are desperate, even more so now that England is at war. They will do anything to get their hands on her and the fortune she brings, to the point of purposefully ruining her so she has no choice but to marry—"
"That's not going to happen!" Tom all but roared, his anger driving him up from his chair so suddenly that it toppled backward.
While earlier his threats to Lady Mae had done little to affect her, she now looked startled by the sudden outburst. But she quickly calmed herself and remaining where she sat, met his gaze with a hard one of her own. "You are one man, Tom; one man against the ton and all their influences upon Society." She shook her head at him. "You can rage all you like, it won't make a difference."
"Oh yes it will…" he growled.
"Why does this bother you so much? Where on earth does this 'loyalty' come from?" she asked in exasperation. "You hardly know her!"
"And you do, yet I don't hear you defending her!"
Again, he had struck a nerve, a very raw nerve from what he could tell. "How dare you…" she seethed, slowly rising from the chaise. "I have Sybil's best interests at heart!"
He snorted at that. "Aye, I caught a glimpse of that last night, when you tried to make her feel ashamed for daring to rally your lot to that protest!"
Lady Mae groaned and turned away from him. "Foolish girl doesn't understand that all this shouting and marching does nothing but aggravate people."
"So the answer is to sit and have tea and discuss the matter rather than get out and do something!?"
"Yes, actually," she snarled back, surprising Tom with the venom in her voice. The calm, cool, haughty woman was gone, and once again her true colors were shining forth. "Because 'those teas' is where the real change takes place. Who comes to those teas? Powerful women; influential women; wives of politicians! I mean honestly, who do you think will have a greater impact on turning the heads of Parliament? Some mousy woman wearing a sash and marching in some endless circle with a sign, demanding the right to vote? Or the woman who not only commands her home, but also the bedroom of her husband?"
"Well you wouldn't know, since you had little command over your own," he retorted.
Lady Mae's face paled, before burning the deepest red, and a volcanic shriek erupted from her lips, followed by her picking up the teapot and flinging it at his head. Tom ducked just in time, and the porcelain pot shattered against the door, the hot liquid staining the white paint. The sound of feet shuffling quickly outside was heard, and then the handle to the door jiggled. "Milady, are you alright—!?"
"YES!" Lady Mae screeched at the butler's voice. Her chest was rising and falling rapidly as she fumed at Tom, but she managed to take a deep breath, before answering in a slightly calmer voice, "yes; all is well, Hornby, Mr. Branson simply broke the teapot, that is all."
There was a pause, before the butler asked, "Shall I clean it up—"
"LATER, Hornby," Lady Mae growled, and the butler could be heard shuffling away (on what sounded like hesitant footsteps). Tom and Lady Mae stared at each other, like two warring factions, each planning their next move. Eventually, Lady Mae sank back down onto the chaise, while Tom remained standing.
"As I said," she murmured, her voice calmer, but with a distinct edge to it. "I happen to have Sybil's best interests at heart. And I know, despite what she thinks, that the best thing for her to do, is to take a husband as quickly as possible, and put the entire issue to rest once and for all."
Tom frowned. "Take a husband?" How did that solve the problem? "She'd still be marrying someone after her money."
"But she won't be pursued any longer by a horde of suitors. It's the lesser of two evils, trust me."
Tom rolled his eyes; he knew better than to do something stupid like that. "She doesn't want to marry," he told her, echoing Sybil's words from the day she had offered him the job.
"Yes, well we don't always get what we want, now do we?" Lady Mae snapped, before fixing her gaze harshly at him. "You might think you're doing her a service, keeping those vultures away, but in truth, you're merely whetting their appetites and making 'the chase' more seductive." She paused, before adding for extra measure, "And you can't stop them."
"We'll see about that," Tom muttered to himself.
Lady Mae's eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Again, I find myself asking why you're so 'dedicated' to this task…" Her gaze penetrated him, and it actually made Tom feel uneasy. Then suddenly, her eyes widened, and her mouth fell open in shock. "Oh dear God…" she whispered. "Are you…attached to her?"
Tom's own eyes widened at the accusation. "No!" he answered quickly, as well as shaking his head.
Lady Mae wasn't convinced. "That's it…" she whispered, more to herself than to him. "You've formed an attachment to her…that's why you're so dedicated to protecting her and keeping those men away—"
"I'm NOT attached to her!" he growled, thinking the posh word for love and affection so stupid.
Love and affection…
No…no, he…he didn't…HE WASN'T!
His ears were suddenly filled with Lady Mae's tittering laugh, which caused the hairs on the back of his arms and neck to stand on edge. "Oh you poor, poor, stupid man…" she chuckled. "It would be hysterical if it weren't so pathetic," she sighed.
He growled but she ignored him. "The butler in love with his mistress…" she continued to laugh. "Why it would make the most sensational novel!"
"I'm NOT in love with—"
"Good," she interrupted, rising to her feet once again and pointing a finger at him. "And stay that way," she warned him. "Which finally brings me to the point of our meeting," she held his gaze in such a way that he didn't dare blink.
"I know who you are, Tom; I know all about you. I know why you had to leave Ireland, why you can't go back there, and of course, I know why you had to leave Yorkshire." Despite her small size, he felt as if she towered over him. "I know the reasons why you don't have a reference, and I can see to it that you never get one ever again."
He swallowed and lifted his chin. "So what's stopping you?"
That snake-like smile curled at the corner of her lips once again. "I'm not threatening you because I enjoy it, Tom—I'm simply threatening you that should anything happen to Sybil…"
Tom's eyes widened. "I told you I wouldn't let anyone—"
"I'm not talking about them," she said with a dismissive flip of her hand. "I'm talking about you."
His eyes widened even more. "M-me?" he stammered.
Lady Mae nodded her head, and then moved away from him towards the window. "She's a lovely girl, wouldn't you agree? Very pretty, with a fine figure…"
Tom swallowed, not liking the insinuation she was making. "I told you, I'm not—"
"You say that, and perhaps you even believe it," Lady Mae interrupted, turning away from the window to look at him. "But remember what I said; I know you."
Tom's hands clenched into two tight fists behind his back. "You say that, and you clearly believe that," he threw back at her. "But you're wrong."
She simply chuckled to herself, before turning her gaze back to the window. It bothered him that she had no other retort.
"That is all," she said with a sigh. "I think I've made my point." She waved her hand towards the tea tray behind her. "You'll find the key to the door by the sugar bowl. You can let yourself out."
As tempting as it was to snap something back at her, he didn't dare waste the chance to grab the key and get himself the hell out of there. He practically ran over Hornby, who was waiting anxiously outside with a broom and dustpan in his hands. Without a backwards glance, he moved past the butler, down the stairs, and out the door, his pace brisk and his eyes forward, and he didn't slow or turn his head until he had gone several streets and turned at least two corners. Only then, did he pause to lean against the brick wall of a building to catch his breath, and assess everything that had happened.
He was in hell, that much was clear, and two different devils were fighting over his wretched soul, both of whom happened to be former employers of his. In some ways, Donald Archer was a more welcome villain to face than Lady Mae Loxley; after all, he just owed the thug money and favors, whereas Lady Mae had all the information she needed to lock him up and destroy his life.
Oh God, why hadn't he listened to his cousin all those months ago? Eamon knew someone who could get them safe passage onto a cargo ship bound for Boston. Better to make a new start in America with nothing than spend another moment here where he couldn't escape either devil. Perhaps it wasn't too late? Maybe there was still a chance that they could get something…
But then the image of her face filled his head, and he was suddenly reminded of those bastards who had been calling her names earlier today, not to mention the two parasites that had shown up at her door and tried to get inside.
"…These men are desperate; they will do anything to get their hands on her and the fortune she brings, to the point of purposefully ruining her so she has no choice but to marry…"
He couldn't go, not yet. He couldn't leave her to such a fate. She wasn't weak, by no means did he think she couldn't take care of herself, but just as Lady Mae kept "kindly" reminding him, he was only one man against hundreds, if not more, and Sybil was only one woman against the same numbers. And she trusted him; depended on him to help keep her safe, to keep those monsters away…and if anything were to happen to her…
Tom groaned and bent his body, his hands on his knees as he took in a great gulp of air. No…he couldn't leave, at least not yet.
"…The best thing for her to do is to take a husband as quickly as possible, and put the entire issue to rest once and for all…"
As much as he hated to admit it, perhaps Lady Mae had a point?
But she doesn't want to marry; she told you that, she all but confessed it to you in secret! She believed that the only reason a man would wish to marry her was because of her fortune, and the two so-called gentlemen who had come to her doorstep proved her to be correct on that count. But…but surely a man would look past that; see her for the extraordinary person that was, the passionate, clever, brave, and kind woman who any man would be so lucky to have as a friend, let alone as a wife?
He stiffened then, and felt his throat go tight.
No…no…it wasn't true. He liked her, he'd admit that much, but he wasn't in love with her, he hadn't formed an "attachment" to her or anything of the kind.
And he'd prove it. He'd keep the fortune hunters at bay, but at the same time, keep his eyes and ears open for a good man, someone who could and would love her as she deserved to be loved, who saw her as he saw—
He shook his head and with a grunt, pushed himself away from the building and started walking briskly once again, back to 149, back to his "place" as Miss Sybil Levinson's butler, and nothing else. Once she met a good, decent man, and given her heart to the lucky bastard and he to her, she would marry and then the vultures, as Lady Mae rightly called them, would swarm someplace else. Sybil would be safe…and would no longer require his services. And then…he and Eamon could escape to America, or any place, so long as it wasn't England.
So long as it was far, far away from the clutches of both Donald Archer and Lady Mae Loxley…
…And happy, smiling faces, of Sybil and her new husband.
