Page 35 of Regency in Color

When Thomas regained consciousness, the constable was hurried into the room. But he came out soon after because Thomas once again fell unconscious.

It was late in the day that they all sat down for a meal, the priest remaining in the room with Thomas.

As they ate, Mr. Yarnsby insisted the doctor tell everyone about Thomas’ status. The man explained what Mary already knew. Thomas had broken ribs and a broken jaw. He’d acquired quite a few injuries to his back and stomach, which worried the doctor. Both the doctor and the priest would remain for the night. The constable, on the other hand left so he could gather men and search for the attackers.

That night, Mary went into Thomas’ room to ensure he was still alive. Each time he slept or was unconscious. Honestly, she couldn’t tell the difference.

What she did know was that he was not doing well and hung on to life by a thread. The doctor entered behind her, his concerned gaze going to Thomas. “I will stay here tonight. Get some rest Miss.”

In truth, she was afraid to leave. Terrified that sometime in the middle of the night Thomas would pass away and she’d never see him again. It was strange that after living there for just a short time, she’d only had two short conversations with him, but had somehow felt a connection of some sort with him.

It could be that Vivian’s notion that Thomas found her attractive had given her illusions, or that he was so very handsome. Either way, it felt as if what transpired between them was only a beginning.

“Please send for me if anything happens. I will get up early and come, so you can get some sleep.” Mary neared the bed and took one of Thomas’ bandaged hands in both of hers. She leaned closed to his ear. “Get rest Thomas. I will be back in the morning.”

She then reluctantly left the room, her stomach in knots. At seeing the kitchen alight, she went in. Moira, Harold and Lottie sat around the table with cups in hand.

“Ale?” Moira offered and Mary nodded. She fetched a cup and poured from the pitcher in the center of the table. They sat in companionable silence, none wishing to leave in case something happened, and they’d not be nearby.

“He seemed to have regained some color,” Lottie offered.

“How could one tell?” Moira asked. “His entire face and body is covered in bruises.”

Lottie shrugged. “At least his fever lessoned.”

“It did,” Mary said.

* * *

“You do not haveto stay here,” Thomas informed her three days later, his words sounding muffled since his jaw remained bandaged. “I can take care of myself.” He was sitting up, his back against the pillows and once again in a bad mood.

Mary ignored him. With bandaged hands and unable to open his mouth properly, he required assistance to eat. He’d refused almost every meal, until Moira threatened to have Harold and the gardener hold him down as she poured soup down his throat.

His face remained bruised and he still had trouble breathing, but at least he felt well enough to argue.

“It’s potato soup,” Mary said as she lifted the bowl and dipped a spoon into it. “Moira ensured it’s creamed so you don’t have to try to chew.” Understandably, he was embarrassed to not be able to feed himself. The stubborn man had tried to feed himself several times and ended up throwing the bowl across the room when he’d dropped the spoon or spilled the food.

She pushed the spoon gently past his lips, feeling self-conscious at the proximity. He kept his gaze away the entire time while taking each spoonful and waiting for the next.

“Father Matthews is to return today. He was reluctant to leave. Seems to have taken quite a liking to you,” Mary said as she fed him another helping. “Otherwise, it will be a quiet day. The Yarnsby have gone to Lark’s Song for the day.”

Thomas swallowed. “Why is Father Matthews returning. I don’t require constant company.”

“Have you always been this disagreeable?”

He looked away to the doorway, obviously considering throwing her out. If not for his bruised ribs and injured ankle, she figured he’d not remain in the room. “I do not mean to be so cross,” Thomas said in a quiet voice.

“You are in pain, not able to eat and trapped in this room. I understand,” Mary told him. “If I were in your shoes, I would probably be unpleasant as well.”

“I apologize.”

“No need. Finish eating. Perhaps we can see if Harold can help you go outside for a bit.”

He met her gaze for a long moment. Despite all his injuries, his eyes were clear. The directness of his look made her insides quiver. The way Thomas made her feel was something she was not used to.

“You look much better,” Father Matthews exclaimed from the door. He gave Mary a warm look. “I am glad you, Moira and Lottie are taking such good care of him.”

For some reason, his comment annoyed Mary. It was as if the vicar took ownership of Thomas. She smiled and stood. “He is getting stronger every day.”