Home Before Sundown Page 6

  “Okay, Papa.” Thankfully, George distracted him.

  Tom gave George’s hair a final ruffle, then got to his feet and left the room. He climbed the stairs, trying to come up with a way to ease into this conversation. He was a good deal older than Miss St. Claire. She’d been in love—might still be in love—with another, younger man. On top of everything, she was expecting a baby, and according to Mrs. O’Connor, she hadn’t even realized she was pregnant.

  He reached the third floor without coming to a satisfactory decision. He drew in a breath and knocked softly on her door.

  “Yes?” It sounded as if there were tears in her voice.

  “It’s Tom Pettigrew. May I speak with you?”

  “Oh…just one moment.”

  He could hear her on the other side of the door, but it was hard to tell what she was doing.

  Finally, she opened the door. “I’m sorry, I’m not feeling very well.”

  He could see that. Her eyes were wet, her nose was red, and her complexion was a little green.

  “What did you want to talk about?”

  “May I come in? This isn’t something we should discuss in the hall.” This wasn’t an evening when the widows went to the rectory to do whatever Father Bennett needed done, so they were all at home and would like nothing better than a juicy bit of gossip.

  “Of course.”

  “I’m sorry to put your reputation at risk.”

  She stepped aside and shrugged. “I don’t have much of a reputation. You should know that as well as anyone.”

  Tom decided to leave the door open. He took her arm and drew her across the room to the windows that looked out over the side yard. “Mrs. O’Connor mentioned you haven’t been feeling well lately.”

  “That’s too kind of her.” Miss St. Claire’s expression said it was anything but kind. “No. It’s the strangest thing. In the morning, the mere thought of food is enough to make me vilely ill, but by the afternoon, I feel so much better—ravenous, in fact. I thought at first it might be something I caught from the neighbor children.” She earned some coins by minding the younger ones or teaching the older girls how to do needlework. “But they all seem so healthy, so then I thought it might have been something I’d eaten. Of course, no one else seems to have a problem with Mrs. O’Connor’s cooking.”

  “Miss St. Claire, forgive me for being blunt, but…didn’t it occur to you that you might be expecting a baby?”

  Perspiration beaded on her forehead, and she turned white. Tom caught her before she fainted. Dammit, he never knew what to do when women did that. He laid her on her bed and tried patting her cheeks, surprised when it seemed to work.

  She looked up at him and blinked. “What…? Oh. That’s what Mrs. O’Connor told me, but I thought she was just being…I mean, I couldn’t believe—Oh God. How could I have been so stupid?” She turned those big violet eyes on him. “Mr. Pettigrew, what am I going to do?”

  “Listen to me. I have a solution to this, if you have no objection.” He realized he was still holding her, so he withdrew his arms, rose, and backed away a step.

  “I’m listening.” She plumped a pillow and sat back against it.

  Tom licked his lips and decided to come right out with it. “Marry me.”

  “Excuse me? It sounded as if you asked me to marry you.” She chuckled. “I beg your pardon. I’m still taken aback by my situation, so I’m sure I heard you incorrectly.”

  “No, you heard me right. I know I’m older than you…I know you love another man. But I want to marry you.”

  “Why? If it’s because of my situation—”

  “I’ve fallen in love with you,” he said simply.

  “I don’t understand how you can say that. We haven’t known each other very long, and as you yourself said, I was in love with someone else just a few months ago.” She fussed with her skirts, then folded her hands in her lap.

  “That doesn’t matter to me.” Was? Did that mean…No, he wouldn’t allow himself to hope her feelings might no longer be engaged. “I love you enough for the two of us.”

  “It’s not fair to you. I’m ruined.”

  “You do have a tendency toward the dramatic, don’t you?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “You keep telling me you’re ruined.”

  “I am!”

  “You’re not. But if you’re that concerned about your reputation, marry me, and it won’t matter.”

  “But I’m having another man’s baby.”

  “No, you’re having my baby.”

  “How can you say that when we haven’t…we haven’t…” She waved a hand indicating first him and then her, and when Tom raised his eyebrows, she gave an impatient huff.

  “No, we haven’t.”

  “Your wife should be a virgin.” She got off the bed and began pacing the floor.

  “Why are you so concerned with our physical state?”

  “Because that’s the way it is in our society.”

  “According to who?”

  “Whom,” she corrected absently. Her eyes widened, and she looked dismayed. “I can’t believe I just said that. Tom, you’re driving me mad!”

  Tom didn’t mind. Analeigh had often corrected his Spanish, and he’d known it was because she loved him and didn’t want him to appear a fool in front of her father.

  He took Olivia into his arms, rested his chin on her hair, and smiled. Even better, she’d called him by his Christian name.

  “Silly girl,” he murmured, pleased when she didn’t slap him or back away from him. “We’re both virgins.”

  She burst into tears. “I thought you were a nice man, but you’re cruel. Why are you mocking me?”

  “I’m not mocking you, darlin’.”

  “How can we be virgins? I’ve had marital relations before…even though I wasn’t married. And you have a son.”

  “Olivia.” He nuzzled the spot behind her ear. “We don’t know each other Biblically. That makes you a virgin to me and me to you.”

  “That doesn’t make sense.”

  “It does to me.”

  “Well, it shouldn’t. And I keep telling you—you deserve better.”

  “Listen to me. I know what I’m doing.”

  “Mrs. O’Connor is going to be so cross. She doesn’t like me to begin with, but if she thinks I’ve trapped you—”

  “Hardly trapped, dear girl, since I’m aware of what I’m getting myself into. I’ve rented a cottage in Chelsea. I know I should have consulted you about it, but if you don’t like it, we can find something else.”

  “Mr. Pettigrew—”

  “You called me Tom, just a moment ago”

  “Oh, very well. Tom. I’m very appreciative of the honor you do me with your proposal—”

  “Dramatic,” he murmured.

  She frowned at him. “—but I won’t marry you if your son objects. Father…Father married my mother after his first wife died from a putrid sore throat. Lewis was about George’s age at the time, and he always resented my mother.”

  “I love my son, but he doesn’t dictate my life. Aside from which, I’d like to think my son is a better person than your brother.”

  A faint smile tugged at the corners of her lips, but she quickly sobered. “I saw how unhappy it made both my parents, and I won’t put a child through that.”

  “Is that the only thing that’s holding you back?”

  “It’s the most important thing.”

  “All right, wait here.” Tom turned on his heel and went back downstairs to the parlor. “George, would you come with me?”

  “Is Miss Olivia all right?”

  “She wants to talk to you.” They climbed the stairs to the third floor.

  Mrs. Keogh, a youngish widow, stuck her head out her door. “Is everything all right? I heard voices coming from Miss St. Claire’s room.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Tom pushed George into Olivia’s room. This time he did shut the door. “All right, ask George.”

&
nbsp; His son looked up at him, then turned his gaze to the young woman who now sat on the edge of the bed and twisted a handkerchief in her hands.

  “George, your papa has asked me to marry him. How do you—”

  “Hurrah! When? Can I be there?” He bounded across the room and wrapped his arms around her.

  “George, you don’t understand.”

  He must have heard the distress in her voice, because the joy left his face. “Don’t you want to marry Papa? He loves you, you know.”

  “I don’t know. How can he?”

  George took her hand and stroked it. “He told me weeks ago. It was taking him forever to ask you. I started to think he never would. Please, Miss Olivia…please marry us.”

  She burst into tears.

  “Papa?”

  “Women get emotional at times like this, son. It will be all right. Olivia?”

  She gave a watery smile. “Yes, I will marry you. I just hope neither of you will regret it.”

  “Not a chance. Now, George and I will get cleaned up for dinner. Do you feel well enough to join us?”

  “I do.”

  Tom stooped and kissed her cheek. George kissed her cheek as well. “I’m gonna have a new mama,” he whispered.

  “George, I’m not your mama. I’d never try to replace her.”

  “You will be. You’re marrying Papa, so you’ll be his wife. That will make you my mama.”

  “You Pettigrew men.” Olivia tightened her lips and shook her head, but Tom could see the smile struggling to tip up the corners of her mouth once again. She wasn’t upset. “You have the strangest sense of logic.”

  “I reckon we do.” Tom leaned forward and kissed the tip of her nose. She blinked slowly before letting the smile bloom across her face.

  God, he was such a fortunate man.

  Chapter 9

  “I’m glad you finally asked her,” George said as they descended to the first floor after having made themselves presentable.

  Tom smiled down at his son. “So am I.” He rested his arm around George’s shoulder. Although George was only eleven, he was sprouting like a weed.

  They walked down the corridor toward the dining room.

  Abruptly, an angry, upraised voice disturbed the early evening quiet. It came from behind the closed dining room doors. Tom tightened his grip on George’s shoulder to stop him from walking in on an argument, although Tom himself continued toward the doorway. He felt his son grip his sleeve.

  “I’m going in there with you, Papa.” Of course George wouldn’t let him walk into what he thought might be a dicey situation. They’d had each other’s backs for a long while now. Tom closed his fingers over his son’s hand, giving it what he hoped was a reassuring squeeze.

  “Just you make sure you stay behind me until we see what’s going on.” Tom could deal with men fighting, but when women quarreled, he wasn’t sure what tack to take. He opened one of the double doors and paused in the doorway.

  Tom was startled when he realized the angry voice belonged to Mrs. O’Connor. “It’s nothing but a child you are,” she said in an unkind tone, her accent very pronounced. “Look at your narrow hips. Tom Pettigrew needs a woman who can fulfill all his manly needs.”

  “Like you?” Olivia sounded composed, reminding Tom she was a well-bred young lady.

  “Exactly like me.”

  “But it’s me he’s asked to marry him.”

  There was the sound of a slap, and Tom was shocked out of his inertia.

  “Mrs. O’Connor! What are you doing?”

  Mrs. O’Connor turned pale. “How long have you been there?”

  “Long enough. George, go upstairs and start packing. Miss Olivia, I’d like you to pack your things as well, please.”

  Olivia was also pale. Her eyes were over bright, and her lower lip trembled, but she stood straight and refused to let a tear fall.

  His son took Olivia’s hand and escorted her out of the room.

  “Mr. Pettigrew, this isn’t what it looks like!”

  “It looked like you striking my fiancée, but if I have that wrong, suppose you tell me exactly what it was.”

  Painful color mounted her cheeks. “She’s a trollop and entirely too young for you.”

  “Don’t you dare call her that.” He wrapped a hand around her wrist and squeezed, and she cried out. “Who I marry is my decision.”

  “She’s cuckolded you before you’re even married. How can you trust her not to slip out when you’re not home and dally with some man?”

  He released her, took out his money belt, and removed some bills to pay for his room and Olivia’s.

  “What is this?”

  “What I owe you for our room and board.”

  “You’re…you’re leaving?”

  “We are. I won’t remain here to have my future bride abused like this.”

  “But—but she doesn’t love you! Only a couple of months ago she was being courted by another man.”

  “How do you know that?” he asked mildly.

  “I read the society pages. Everyone wondered if there’d be an announcement, but of course, with her loose morals…And now she’s carrying his babe.”

  He snorted and started to turn away, but she clutched at his sleeve.

  “Stop! You can’t marry her. Don’t you realize if you do, she’ll break your heart?”

  “Why would she do that? She’s a well-bred young lady.”

  “Well-bred? Hardly that.” Mrs. O’Connor scoffed. “How can you trust her after what she’s done?”

  “And exactly what is that?” His tone of voice must have made her realize she was going too far.

  She cleared her throat. “She’s too narrow in the hips to safely bear children. Even if you marry her, you’ll wind up losing her.”

  Oh God, Tom hadn’t thought of that. He couldn’t bear to lose another woman he loved. But then he noticed the sly look in his landlady’s eyes, and he realized she was attempting to play on his fears.

  “My wife will have the most skilled doctor in the city.” He shook free of her grip and headed for the hallway.

  “No! You can’t walk away from me. I love you!”

  “I’m sorry for that, but there’s nothing I can do. The heart chooses where it will.”

  “She’s not worthy of you! Why won’t you listen to me? She’s carrying another man’s child. If it is his.”

  “What makes you think it isn’t mine?”

  “But—” Her eyes grew huge and her jaw sagged, not a very becoming reaction. “But—”

  “Just keep in mind that if I hear of any rumors about Miss St. Claire, I’ll be very unhappy. As a matter of fact, I might be so unhappy that I start a few rumors myself.”

  Mrs. O’Connor shied away from him until she backed into a chair, and then she sank down and buried her face in her hands. Although her sobs were soundless, her shoulders shook from the force of her weeping.

  Tom was sorry it had come to this. He could never have fallen in love with her, but he had liked her. He gave her a final look before he turned and strode out of the room.

  George and Olivia were waiting by the front door. At their feet were Olivia’s portmanteau, Tom and George’s saddlebags, and a grip that held the clothes Tom had bought George for school. Tom scooped up his saddlebag and George’s grip and reached for the doorknob. He opened the door, but before he could nod for them to leave ahead of him, footsteps approached.

  “Mr. Pettigrew!” Mrs. Keogh came bustling toward them. “Where are you going? You’ll miss dinner. The girls are just about to serve it up. We’re having chicken this evening.”

  “I’m afraid we have another engagement.” He held out his hand. “It was a pleasure knowing you, Mrs. Keogh.”

  “A pleasure knowing me? I don’t understand. Are you leaving us, Mr. Pettigrew?”

  “Yes, as a matter of fact, we are. George, come say goodbye to Mrs. Keogh.”

  His son stepped forward. “Take care of your lumbago, Mrs. K.”
He kissed her cheek. “I hope you’ll be well.”

  Tom couldn’t help but notice that Olivia stayed where she was. However, she did say, “Goodbye, Mrs. Keogh.” She picked up her portmanteau and took his arm. “Shall we go, Thomas?”

  Tom swallowed a smile. His Olivia might be a lady, but she was a feisty one.

  “But…but…Mrs. O’Connor! You can’t leave. You’re supposed to—Deirdre!” Mrs. Keogh screeched.

  Tom pulled the door closed behind them, shutting out the hullabaloo.

  “Where are we going?” Olivia asked.

  “There’s a hotel on Sixth Avenue. I came across it some time ago when I dropped some passengers off there. It will do until we can move into our house.”

  “When will that be, Tom?”

  “Tomorrow, I hope. After we’re married.” He wanted to reach out and stroke her hair, but he wasn’t certain how she would react to that, so he didn’t.

  “I’d like that. Thank you.”

  George tugged on Tom’s sleeve. “I’m kind of hungry, Papa.” He grinned up at Tom.

  “I know. You’re a growing boy.” Tom ruffled his son’s hair. “They have a dining room in the hotel. I’ll register us, and then we’ll eat.”

  After Tom signed the register and placed a couple of coins on the counter, he told the desk clerk, “I’d like tubs brought to our rooms tomorrow morning.” He handed the clerk an extra coin.

  “Thank you, sir.” He smiled broadly. “The dining room is still open if you’d like a meal.”

  “We were counting on it.”

  “Go right on in, I’ll have your luggage taken up to your rooms.”

  “Thank you.”

  The clerk summoned a bellboy, and Tom gave him a coin as well. He knew the boy and the clerk would both give excellent service.

  Tom also knew of a place where he could send the clothes they planned to wear for the wedding to be freshened.

  Olivia bit her lip. “The…the dress I intended to wear is the one I wore the day you rescued me.”

  “From what I recall, that was a very pretty dress, and you looked fetching in it.”

  “Thank you.” She blushed and gave him a shy smile, and he was pleased.

  No, he was more than pleased.

  “Papa? Supper?”

  “Yes, George.” He tugged a lock of his son’s hair, offered Olivia his arm, and they entered the hotel’s dining room and were shown to a table. Tom was proud George waited until Olivia was seated before sitting himself.