Page 48 of An Unwitting Alliance
She liked the comfortable air between her and Tom and truly wanted to know more about the situation. “Why do you need Fisher’s help?”
Her question seemed to be appreciated. “It is always good to have reliable, brilliant friends. For starters, I will beg his help interpreting the Sturges Bourne Acts of 1818 and the 1819 Act of Relief to the Poor. All I got out of them were their titles. He will make sense of them for me, and we can hopefully get your vicar to gather a committee of worthy individuals to make up the parish vestry. Then progress will finally be ours, Miss Cassie Vail.”
“It sounds like everything is going to work out.” She was happy for him. After what he had done for her family tonight, he deserved to have something he cared about come together.
He studied her. “I believe you are right. Everything is going to work out far better than I imagined.” He pushed away from the doorframe and stepped closer to her. Too close. “It’s getting late. Good night, my dear.”
Somehow the English endearment felt far more personal than the Italian. If she had any sense, she would look away, but the heady sea of blue in his eyes drew her in, and she saw not a glimpse of playacting. Tom stepped back, a glimmer of reluctance in his features, and gooseflesh erupted on her skin as he passed by.
Tonight he was Thoughtful Tom. Or maybe he always had been and she had refused to notice.
Chapter 18
Tom sat on the edgeof his bed, trying to decide what was happening between him and Cassie. She was exasperating, not enticing. He groaned and fell back on his bed. She despised him—perhaps a little less than before—and he, like a royal fool, was drawn to her anyway. He would never sleep at this rate. What he needed was a distraction. He rolled off his bed and moved to his trunk, taking his lamp with him. Pulling it open, he dug around until he secured his mother’s letter. Why not torture himself a little more and read the Matchmaking Mamas’ advice?
He moved the first page to the back and saw the list his mother had referenced. He read the first one, from Lisette’s mother, who was as much an angel as her daughter.
If you want to love someone, you must serve them. Discover what she loves and surprise her.
—Mrs. Manning
It was a sweet sentiment and made him a little homesick for Brookeside. He breathed out a long sigh. “Sorry, Mrs. Manning. I tried surprise gifts: kittens, a mobcap, and a musical bearded man. She might have softened a little, but she did not fall in love with me over any of them.”
Not that that had ever been his intention. He massaged his eyes with his fingers. He was confusing himself.
Ignoring Mrs. Manning’s advice, he moved to the next line, written by Miles’s mother, Mrs. Jackson. She was quite sensible, and Tom had less apprehension about following her advice.
Sometimes having a push in the right direction is the best thing we never asked for. We often can’t see what we need, but our loved ones can. It never hurts to ask for help.
—Mrs. Jackson
He folded the paper and dropped it back into the trunk.
He slumped down next to the trunk and leaned back against it. Perhaps it was time to write to the Rebels. They needed an update about the workhouse anyway. He pushed himself back to his feet and dug out his writing box. He settled into the chair at the small desk in the corner of the room, situating his lamp so light spilled across the worn wood. After pulling out a piece of parchment and his pen and ink, he composed a short note addressed to Mother Hen. He detailed quickly the state of the workhouse and his proposed solution and paused. What should he say about his betrothal? It was best to be honest.
You will never guess, but the elusive Miss Smith and my betrothed, Miss Vail, are one and the same. You should feel quite responsible for this union, as my mother said our dance together sealed our fate. The only progress I have managed on the precarious subject of engagement is to question all my life choices. I fear I am about to commit the unpardonable and fall in love with my betrothed. I cannot decide which is worse: that I have encouraged a beautiful woman to become a spinster or that I have, in the process, convinced her that becoming one is better than being married to me. With a great deal of effort and all the creative energy I possess, I delayed the readings of the banns an extra week or two. Now I must decide if I should spend that time wooing her or getting my head examined.
Send help.
Your friend,
Troubled Tom
Sleep came easier after putting his feelings to paper. Mother Hen would probably panic and gather the forces right away. Tom was not in desperate straits, but he hoped having another Rebel in Airewell would help settle the strange moods and feelings overtaking him.
The next day he did his best to be helpful by taking over the language studies with the boys. It was a dreadfully boring business, so he had been forced to make a game of it. He was quite pleased by how quickly Robin had caught on to his Latin conjugations. Cassie, on the other hand, exhausted herself doing the rest of school, heeding her aunt’s bidding, keeping Nutmeg from fretting, and assuring everyone that their mother was well. After the morning schooling, Tom somehow found himself in the Vails’ garden, staring at the bellflowers—Cassie’s favorite.
Mrs. Manning’s advice had led him here; he was sure of it. Whether he’d asked for this situation or not, he did care for Cassie. At least, he cared enough to want to see her happy. And so he gathered the flowers and took them to Mrs. Buttars to request a vase and a place of honor in Cassie’s room.
Mrs. Buttars seemed quite pleased.
Tom thought his ears would light on fire.
But what was done was done.
He could not even be sure Cassie would know they were from him.
The following day was more of the same schedule, and the household seemed to be falling into a new routine of things. He was acting the role of father while Cassie played mother. Was this what it would be like being married to her? Because if so, he was surprised by the sense of satisfaction it brought him. He had never expected to be comfortable around children, but Robin and Michelangelo were quickly becoming like younger brothers to him, and Nutmeg like a sister. Cassie, of course, was nothing like a sister. If possible, she grew more alluring with every passing day.
