Page 43 of The Right to Remain Single

“I do not need words to understand,” Max said huffily. “He is afraid of the Evil One.”

“Yes, he accused you to save his own skin. Look on the bright side, Max. As you told me yesterday, they can’t execute you again.”

“It is my duty to kill the Evil One.” He groaned. “But I cannot.”

“Precisely. You have no power over him, because he is not afraid. But he has power over you, because you allow him to anger you. Instead, you must save your strength for a true emergency. I am obliged to guard the old man, so—”

“Forget the old man. He will die soon anyway. The maiden is in deadly peril. How many times do I have to tell you?”

“I know she’s in danger, but I promised her that I would guard her father.”

“Why do you not heed my warnings?” Max cried.

“I am heeding them. I need you to keep watch over Miss Thomasina.”

“But I am no use!” the ghost wailed.

“Nonsense! You are precisely what is needed. You can remain silent and invisible. The Evil One will not know you are watching. If he seeks to harm her, indeed, if you see anything amiss, do not allow yourself to become enraged, or you will be accused once again. You may even lose your strength just when she needs you most. Remain calm and quiet and find me.”

The ghost flung up his arms in a gesture of hopelessness, and then he was gone.

* * *

The moment she turned the key in the lock, Thomasina regretted it. She’d just shut out the one person who stood up for her. Who cared about what happened to her.

And why had she done this? Out of fear.

Fear that her father would force James to marry her—when he could do no such thing. All she had to do was refuse. And refuse. And refuse. She’d stood up for herself once today, and it had felt so wonderful. Not for long, admittedly, but she’d managed to get what she wanted without harming Papa.

And fear of suffering—for she couldn’t imagine anything more painful than steadfastly refusing to marry the man she loved. How childish of her to say she couldn’t bear it—for bear it she could. And would.

To start, she had best stop thinking of herself. Worse than her fears was the horrid fact that she’d hurt James’s feelings. He’d looked so downcast, and it was all her fault. He was doing his level best to help her, and even to help her difficult father, who didn’t deserve it.

No, James was the deserving one here, and she mustn’t let fear drive her to unkindness. She would apologize for her rudeness, and afterwards remain cordial with him but continue to refuse marriage.

That decision made, she chose a festive gown and rang for Martha to help her dress for dinner. The only guests were the vicar, Mr. Willis, his wife, and their daughter Pauline. Later, the whole village would stop by for lamb’s wool and Christmas pie.

She arrived in the drawing room to find James already in conversation with the vicar—in Latin! He seemed to be enjoying himself, so maybe she hadn’t hurt him quite as much as she’d feared.

He gave her a kind smile of acknowledgement, but after that he returned his attention to Mr. Willis, and Thomasina was perforce obliged to converse with Mrs. and Miss Willis. At dinner, Papa made sure she sat next to James, which was horridly uncomfortable. She couldn’t apologize in front of all these people! James addressed a polite remark to her from time to time, but spent most of the meal drawing out Pauline Willis, on his other side, and receiving grateful looks from her mother across the table.

Heavens, she was actually a little jealous of shy Pauline! Meanwhile, Papa scowled every time he caught Thomasina’s eye, but as long as he didn’t bring up Mr. Tilson’s defection, she didn’t care.

Worst of all was Sam Furbelow. Whenever she chanced to look his way, she found him appraising her with what she assumed must be lust. But it wasn’t the friendly sort of lust she’d experienced with James, nor even the odious kind Sam had shown in the past. Now, his expression frightened her.

Mrs. Willis maundered on and on about the parishioners, their families, their illnesses, their scandals, weddings, and so on. At last, the meal almost over, she broached the one topic Thomasina had hoped to avoid.

“Speaking of weddings, we had expected to see Mr. Tilson here,” she said.

“He found, at the last moment, that he couldn’t come.” Thomasina changed the subject in a hurry, hoping Papa hadn’t noticed. “By the way, Mrs. Willis, I meant to ask for the recipe for your asparagus pudding, which we enjoyed so very much.”

“I’d be happy to give it to you, dear, but it’s hardly the right season.” Comprehension lit her eyes. “Ah! You are thinking ahead, aren’t you, my dear? Mr. Tilson is particularly fond of asparagus pudding.”

“I had no idea,” Thomasina said stonily, “but that’s not why I want it. Mr. Tilson and I have decided we shall not suit.”

“Dear me!” Mrs. Willis clapped her hands to her mouth. “When all was in train for a wedding! Only yesterday, your papa told us he meant to announce your engagement this evening, and ask the vicar to post the banns!”

She shot a glare at her father. “If you must know, I never accepted Mr. Tilson’s offer, and I would have told Mr. Willis that it was no such thing.” Mrs. Willis would spread the story far and wide, and people could believe it or not—Thomasina didn’t care.