Home Before Sundown

Chapter 8

Chapter 8

Tom came back to the boarding house one evening a couple of months later to find Mrs. O’Connor waiting for him, her arms akimbo, tapping her foot in obvious irritation.

“Good evening, Mrs. O’Connor. I trust you had a productive day.”

“It could have been better.”

“Oh?”

“She puked up her insides this morning.”

“Are you referring to Miss St. Claire?”

Mrs. O’Connor frowned at him. “She’s the one you brought to this house, isn’t she?”

Tom became concerned. “Is she ill? Do we need to send for a doctor?”

“No, she’s not ill, or if she is, it’s the nine month variety.”

Tom thought of what that bastard Beauchamp had done to her and felt tired. “So you think she’s expecting a baby?”

“I do. In fact, I’m certain of it. Stupid—” Mrs. O’Connor bit back the rest of what she might have been planning to say and folded her arms across her chest. “She didn’t even realize being with child was what was behind her vomiting.”

It was a shame, but women of that class were kept sheltered to an almost criminal degree. His Analeigh had only been aware because she’d grown up on the rancho and had seen first-hand animals mating and their offspring being born.

“Have you heard a word I’ve said?” Mrs. O’Connor snapped.

“Of course.” Truthfully, he wasn’t interested in the vitriol she spewed.

“How much longer will that girl be staying here?”

“Her rent is paid, isn’t it?”

“Aye…By you.” Mrs. O’Connor didn’t seem pleased, in spite of the fact it meant all her rooms were taken. “But I can’t have a woman like that in my boarding house. I’ve a reputation to uphold. And it isn’t good for her to be around your son.”

“Oh? Her condition isn’t contagious. George isn’t likely to become pregnant because he’s in the same room with her.”

Mrs. O’Connor gaped at him for a moment, then said piously, “I’m just looking out for your son’s best interests.”

“Thank you, but that isn’t necessary. As his father, I’ll take care of him. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ll talk with Miss St. Claire.”

“Humph.” His landlady turned on her heel and stalked out of the room.

Tom ran a hand through his hair. It had become more and more obvious in recent days that Mrs. O’Connor had a temper to match her red hair. It was fortunate he’d come across that cottage in Chelsea. It had a stable large enough for the horses, the mule, and the calico cat that made her home in it. The cat was friendly enough and would handle the rodent population. As for the cottage, it wasn’t large, but it would be enough for the three of them. It had a kitchen, parlor, and bedroom, with a loft above. An outhouse was behind the cottage, and there was a paddock for the animals.

He had the receipt for a month’s rent in his pocket, with the option of extending it to a yearly basis.

He’d planned to ask Miss St. Claire to marry him—not just yet, he’d wanted her to become more comfortable with him—but now it looked as if asking her sooner might be the better choice for all of them.

And if he and Miss St. Claire were blessed with more children, he’d find them a larger home.

Tom went looking for George and found him in the front parlor, sprawled on the floor in front of the fireplace with his copybook open before him. The schoolmaster usually sent him home with lines to copy.

“Georgie, where’s Miss Olivia?”

George looked up. “She’s up in her room, Papa. Is she okay? Mrs. O’Connor said she hasn’t come down all day.”

“Oh?” Tom didn’t like the sound of that. “I’ll check on her. I’m going up to talk to her.” He crouched beside his son and touched the boy’s dark hair. The texture was so like Analeigh’s. One of the curls wrapped around his finger. There would come a time, Tom was certain, when George would find a woman who would fall in love with those curls. Soon, he knew, he’d have to have a talk with his son about men and women and what they did at night. And sometimes during the day. Tom himself had matured at an early age, and his own father had taken him to a local widow who’d been kind enough to show Tom the way of it.

That would be a good introduction for his own son.

He thought of Mrs. O’Connor and shuddered. Although definitely not with her.

“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.”

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.