Page 42 of Regency in Color

Chapter Five

Like most afternoons, Mary sat in the sitting room with Vivian. Together they worked on gifts for Clara’s child. The babe was not to be born for several months and by the time it did, they’d have enough items to fill the entire nursery.

While Vivian knitted a blanket, Mary embroidered the edges on a gown that Thomas’ mother helped her make.

The older couple was to leave soon, they’d extended their visit and had stayed a few additional days, and that seemed to please Thomas to no end. He spent many hours with them, mostly in the evenings.

During the days, Mary had gotten to know Mrs. Sullivan. The woman was plump, with graying hair and a sprinkling of freckles across her nose. Although the woman was slow to warm to Mary, soon they spent many hours in the garden, which was almost ready for spring planting.

Thomas had split his time between his parents and Mary; however, they’d yet to announce their relationship. The only person Mary had shared about her interactions with Thomas, was to Vivian.

“Are you spinning wool while you embroider?” Vivian asked with a smile.

Mary shook her head. “I was thinking about the fact Thomas has not told his parents about us. Should I confront him about it?”

“I am not sure what the proper timing is,” Vivian said tapping a finger to her chin. “I supposed he was waiting for the perfect time.”

“They are about to leave,” Mary pressed. “I don’t wish him to tell them just as they get on the carriage to head home.”

As much as she didn’t want to consider it, she wondered if Thomas had changed his mind about her since spending time with his family. Or perhaps he had told them, and they didn’t approve of her, and he’d not told her to spare her feelings.

“Perhaps he wishes to invite them to move closer. He spoke to Alexander about the availability of cottages on the estate,” Vivian said, and continued. “I love Alexander’s parents, so I am fortunate. Thomas’ parents are more reserved, aren’t they?”

“Yes, they are, especially his father. I wonder if it has to do with my background, the fact that I am not fully English.”

Vivian’s eyes rounded. “I most certainly hope not. If so, then they will never be allowed here again.” Vivian had always been protective of her, which meant she’d never been slighted in the least by Vivian’s friends. Although she was just a companion, many times she’d been invited to outings, which had given her privileges others who looked like her never received. Perhaps because of it, she rarely considered how new acquaintances saw her.

“I will speak to Thomas. It’s time I find out where he stands,” Mary proclaimed.

* * *

The next afternoon,only Moira and Lottie were in the kitchen when Mary entered..

“Thomas’ parents are entertaining Father Matthews in the sitting room,” Lottie informed her. “He arrived just a few moments ago.”

“I need to speak to Thomas,” Mary said standing up. “Do you think he’s in the stables?”

Lottie nodded. “I saw him headed that way a bit ago.” Both looked to Mary waiting for her to explain. As much as she wanted to share things with them, if the conversation with Thomas didn’t go as she hoped, then it was best not to divulge any thing at the moment.

Deciding it was best to give them an excuse, so they’d stop staring at her Mary came up with a white lie. “I need to know when he will be going to the village. Mrs. Yarnsby wishes for the seamstress to come to take measurements for dresses.”

She hurried from the room before they could ask anything else. Outside sunshine greeted her, it was a beautiful day. Yet, despite a promise of spring by the lengthening of the days, the wind remained chilly and Mary pulled her shawl close around her shoulders.

The stables were warmer as the wind was blocked and the animals within provided some warmth.

With a thick coat on, leather gloves and his pants tucked into knee-high boots, Thomas raked hay in a far stall.

“Thomas,” she said in soft voice. “You didn’t come inside for breakfast. It is late now, you must be hungry.”

He straightened, and upon meeting her gaze, his expression softened. “I am, but I won’t be eating until I can wash up. I smell pretty badly right now.” Holding the pitchfork with his left hand, he held out the right one. “Don’t come too close.”

“Should you be doing that. Your hands have just recently healed,” Mary admonished him. “I am sure the doctor would be cross to see you doing so much.”

“I have a job to do,” Thomas said and wiped at his face with a cloth that he’d pulled from his back pocket. “Mr. Yarnsby has continued to pay me and for it I am thankful, however, I will not take advantage of his good will.”

Despite his warning, she walked closer. The horse in the nearest stall peered out, and once she stroked its long nose, it turned away, satisfied.

“Thomas have you told your parents about me?”