Page 26 of Regency in Color

“Because,” Lottie said, and once again, hit her on the arm, this time not as hard. “it’s a bad habit.” A wide grin brightened her freckled face. “You and Thomas will be in the village. At the same time,” she added unnecessarily.

If there was a way to become invisible, Mary wished it to be then. She should have never told them that she admired him. Although Moira wasn’t as obvious with her comments, Lottie had absolutely no control.

“I will be accompanying Miss Vivian. Where she goes, I go.” Mary tried to avoid eye contact but ended up looking at Thomas. “And yes, Lottie, you are correct. Thomas and I will be in the village at the same time, along with Mrs. Yarnsby and her husband.”

Thomas lifted his green gaze to hers but remained silent.

When their gazes met, she fumbled with what to say. “This is my first time visiting the village. Is there a dressmaker?” It was a stupid question as she was an accomplished seamstress and had no need for anyone to make clothing.

Thomas nodded. “Aye. It’s a good-sized village. Plenty of shops, you’ll see.”

Moira gasped. “Oh goodness, I should have planned this better. I had forgotten that it is your first venture into the village. You won’t know anyone, and neither will Mrs. Yarnsby.”

Not knowing why Moira was so alarmed, Mary gave her a puzzled look. “There is no need to make a fuss. I will be living here for a long time, and there will be plenty of time for us to explore on our own. Today, I will be accompanying Mrs. Vivian while she visits with the constable’s wife and whatever else she wishes to do.”

“Since Mr. Yarnsby grew up here, he is very familiar with the village. I’m sure Mister Yarnsby will ensure Mrs. Yarnsby will learn where everything is. Therefore, you will as well,” Lottie said with a sigh. “He is most handsome, is he not?”

“Lottie!” Moira said, motioning with her hand toward a counter. “Go fetch water to boil and put more firewood into the stove. I must prepare breakfast for Mr. and Mrs. Yarnsby.”

Mary took a spoonful of porridge and ate it. It was hard to keep from stealing a glance at the quiet man across the table from her. She peered up, pretending interest in the window behind him.

His shorn, light brown hair had just a hint of auburn, the same for his eyebrows. There was a shadow of a beard on his jaw, which looked to be a shade darker. His eye color seemed to change between green and blue, she supposed they were hazel if one were to describe them.

Taller than her by half a foot, he had the masculine build of a man whose work required physical effort. She would not describe him as astonishingly fetching, but he was handsome in an understated way. If asked, she would call him attractive. Yes, that was it. Thomas Sullivan was very attractive.

“Excuse me?” He studied her. “Who do you refer to?”

Her eyes widened. The annoying habit of mumbling when she thought often got her into difficult situations. “Err... I was thinking that Lottie is right. Mr. Yarnsby and Miss Vivian make an attractive couple.”

Thankfully, Moira interjected. “Oh, they do, and so well suited.”

“Indeed,” Lottie, who’d yet to get up, added.

Thomas ate the rest of his breakfast in silence and then stood, put his bowl on the counter, and walked out. It was as if he’d rather be anywhere but around people.

“Do you think he is shy or just does not care for our company?” Mary asked, looking toward the now closed door. “Certainly, seems in a hurry to leave our company every morning.”

“Rarely asks for a second serving,” Moira said. “He does linger at times.”

Lottie huffed. “Only when you are here alone, Moira. He must dislike either me or Mary.”

“It does not matter,” Mary said, standing. “I best see about preparing for the day. First I will inspect the garden.”

Wrapping her shawl around her shoulders, she went out to look over the garden area. It was only ten days that she’d come to live at Woodhall, and the size of the huge home still astonished her. Upon turning to the back of the house, where the garden was, she stopped in her tracks, finding Thomas.

He stood with his head bent and hands clasped against his chest, as if in prayer. Like most Irish, he was probably a devout Catholic. Mary turned to leave just as Moira’s huge orange cat made its way to the kitchen for its morning bowl of milk.

Despite her attempt to avoid the animal, the cat weaved around her legs. Mary did her best to walk away to avoid being seen by Thomas and unfortunately lost her balance when the cat continued its pattern around her ankles.

She fell to the ground on all fours. “Crumpets, George,” she hissed at the cat, who sat at the doorstep and glared at her. “Bad kitty.” While Mary scrambled to stand, the wind blew her shawl over her head, so she couldn’t see.

“I will help you up.” Thomas took her left arm and pulled her up to stand.

Fruitlessly she tried to be graceful by pulling her shoulders back and lifting her head high. Unfortunately, once again, her shawl was blown up and ended draped on her head like a kerchief.

When she yanked it off, her hair tumbled from its pins.

“My goodness. This is not how I expected to start the day,” Mary said, breathlessly as she did her best to smooth her hair, as the shawl kept sliding off her shoulders. Finally, she gave up and blew a breath. “Thank you, Thomas.”