Page 20 of A Modest Independence

“It’s not the same, though, is it? A gentleman has all the power.”

“In theory.”

“In reality, sir. You must admit.”

Tom privately agreed with her. Even so, her insistence on the rightness of her position left him feeling oddly frustrated. Defensive, even. Could she not admit that there was some benefit to the marital state? “Thornhill and Lady Helena seem happy enough.”

“Ah, but their marriage is a rarity. For every relationship such as theirs, there are hundreds—nay, thousands—of couples in misery. And it’s worse for the women. Exponentially worse. The sober fellow who courts a girl may well end his days as a violent brute or a drunkard. And what is a married lady with a half dozen children to do then? She’s trapped. Her future beyond all hope.”

His brow furrowed. “You disapprove of men who drink.”

“To put it mildly.”

“Was your father violent toward you when he was drinking?” The very thought made Tom’s muscles tense with outrage. “Did he ever—”

“No, he wasn’t violent. He was unreliable.” She briefly fingered the fine gold chain she wore round her neck. It was her only piece of jewelry. A simple necklace, absent the adornment of a locket, pendant, or charm. “He spent the housekeeping money and left the tradesman’s accounts unpaid. He was careless and sloppy and said things that he shouldn’t. Had I remained there, I’d have been forever making excuses for him. Forever cleaning up his messes. I can think of nothing more repugnant.”

“Is that why you were so distressed at the idea of my having been out drinking?”

“I wasn’t distressed. I was…disappointed. I never took you for a gentleman who was a slave to his vices.”

“I’m not, generally.”

She regarded him over the edge of her teacup, her blue-green eyes sharply assessing. “No. I don’t believe you are. Indeed, I don’t believe you permit anything—or anyone—to gain mastery over you.”

“And you do?”

“I haven’t had much choice, have I? I was first my father’s daughter, and then Lady Helena’s companion. But you’re right, Mr. Finchley. Now I’m at last myself, a whole person responsible to no one, I shan’t let anyone gain mastery over me ever again.”

There was a thread of steel in her voice.

“We’re all beholden to someone, Miss Holloway,” he said quietly. “Like it or not.”

She placed her teacup and saucer down on the tea tray. Her posture was stiff. Formal. Unless he was very much mistaken, she was on the verge of saying something sharp to him. Something that would dispel the fabric of intimacy they’d woven around each other with their shared confidences.

It wasn’t an ideal time to press such intimacy further. But Tom had learned to always keep his adversaries off balance. It was a useful tactic in law. One that came as naturally to him as breathing.

“Mr. Finchley,” she began. “You—”

“May I call you Jenny?” he asked.

Miss Holloway stared at him, lips half parted. “I beg your pardon?”

“I’d very much like to, if I may. And you must make free to call me Tom, if it pleases you.”

She didn’t answer right away. He’d flustered her—as was his intention. But true to form, Miss Holloway rallied. “Very well. Though I don’t see there’s much need for excessive familiarity between us. I’ll be leaving for India soon. We’re not likely to meet again.”

“Probably not.”

“Once you release my funds, I—” Her eyes narrowed. “You are going to release my funds, aren’t you?”

“I am.”

A profound look of relief came into her face. “When?”

“Tomorrow.”

“Thank heaven. I was afraid you were going to be difficult.”