by Regina Scott
He shifted in his seat, and she wondered suddenly if she was making him nervous. Looking more closely, she noted drops of sweat around his jowled face, dribbling down to moisten the folds of his cravat. Was he sitting to close to the hearth?
“Indeed, indeed, Miss Munroe, yesterday was a terrible day for the village, quite terrible. And have you recovered from your ordeal?”
“The Thorn’s loss will be felt by all for some time,” she replied in what she hoped was a conversational tone. She had no interest in letting the man see her concerns, for she was very much afraid her feelings would be the topic of conversation at his next stop.
“Quite, quite,” he said with a nod. He leaned back and eyed her, fiddling with a large gold fob on the end of his watch chain. “Before your mother arrives, my dear, I thought to drop a fatherly word of advice in your ear. With your own dear father gone, you are all the more in need of male guidance, I’m sure, all the more in need.”
Thinking of all the advice Chimes and Alan seemed to want to give her, she could hardly agree. Besides, she hadn’t done all that badly the last few months. Still, she supposed it was his duty.
“What is it, Vicar?” she asked with what she hoped sounded like appropriate humility.
He leaned forward again, dropping his voice so that she was forced to lean forward as well to hear him. “I begin to see an interest developing between the Squire and you. I know you will understand when I say your father would hardly countenance such a match, hardly countenance at all.”
Surprised, she had to challenge him. “But Reverend York, surely you of all people would agree that we should end the feud between our families.”
“Certainly, the peacemakers are always blest, oh most certainly,” he said wisely. “But to make such a sacrifice as wedlock? No, no, that would be too much. I could not sit idly by and watch you throw away your chance at happiness merely to serve your family.”
For a moment she sat stunned that, of all people, he would be the one to understand how she felt. Either she had severely misjudged him all these years, or her position was as misplaced as everyone had tried to tell her. “I don’t know what to say.”
He nodded again. “I could have guessed as much. He is an attractive man, the Squire: rich, powerful, and well thought of by all around. Especially by the ladies, I understand, oh most especially by the ladies. Perhaps a little too well by the ladies, if you take my meaning.”
She frowned. “No, I don’t.”
He reached out to pat her knee and even though the touch was avuncular, she found herself flinching away from it.
“It is ever thus with the innocent,” he murmured. “Far be it from me to sully the Squire’s name, but I think you should be aware, my dear, that he has a reputation of dallying with any number of young ladies in the surrounding countryside.”
Gen shook her head, refusing to see Alan in that role. “No.”
He looked at her with evident pity. “I know this is difficult for you, my dear, but it is for your own good that you face these facts. The man is a renowned rake, renowned. Why, he’s even been called out by one of the fathers, though thank the dear Lord he was able to talk the man out of it before any blood was shed. The Pentercasts have always been good at talking their way out of scrapes. And I do believe he agreed to do right by the little by-blow.”
“He sired a child?” Gen felt as if the room was spinning and gripped the arm of the chair.
“A child? Well, in that particular case I believe there was just one.” He patted her knee again, and this time she was too stunned to move away. “I’m sorry to have to say this to you, my dear. But with your father gone and your mother known for her ability to avoid unpleasantness, I could see no other choice. I know how charming the Squire can be, giving extravagant gifts, cozying up to the relatives, praising a lady’s beauty. I’ve seen it all before, countless times. I could not stand by and watch it happen again.”
She found herself on her feet, shaking. “Thank you for your concern, Vicar. If you’ll excuse me, I find I’m not feeling very well after all. Mother should be with you shortly.” As she stumbled from the room, she nearly collided with her mother, who frowned at her, a frown that quickly changed to a look of concern. Shaking her head, Gen could only hurry past her before her mother could ask her what was wrong.
So, it was true. Alan was a Pentercast through and through. Why did she continually fight to keep from believing it? She could feel the tears welling up. He’d never cared for her. She was just another of his victims, a game to pass the winter quiet, his Christmas diversion. She shuddered as she realized how close she’d come to trusting him, how much she had wanted to believe in him. After everything she’d been through, how she had longed for a champion, someone strong, powerful, in command. She’d have cheerfully made Alan into that champion. He had been right when he said she’d never seen him.
But she saw him now. And she would never let him win.
She had to find William. There had to be a way out of this wager, surely she could make him see that. He would advise her how to free herself from this entanglement. She hurried to change into her riding habit. Ignoring her mother’s dictate that she take a groom with her, she commandeered the watchful Bryce, and they rode toward the village.
It had been some time since she had been to the vicarage behind the little stone church. She remembered taking her lessons there with Allison and Geoffrey and the elderly curate whom William had replaced. It had been a small cozy house with a sunny parlor painted yellow. She was surprised to find it a great deal bigger than she remembered, with a separate wing housing the vicar’s apartment and a covered walk connecting the house to the church. Leaded glass windows sparkled in the sunlight, and when she and Bryce were ushered inside by a housekeeper who was unknown to her, she found the walls hung in damask and the parlor windows in velvet. Life in Wenwood had definitely improved over the years. The Pentercasts were obviously generous patrons. No doubt it assuaged their guilt.
William met them in the parlor, his face wreathed in smiles. He was hastily shrugging out of a greatcoat as if he’d just come in from outdoors. “Miss Munroe, and Miss Bryce, what an unexpected pleasure. Please, sit down.”
“Bryce has a commission for my mother and cannot stay,” Gen informed him.
Bryce, in the act of sitting near the door, froze, scowling at her. Gen knew the abigail could scarcely call her mistress’ daughter a liar in front of the young curate, but no more would she feel comfortable leaving her alone with William. Gen watched as Bryce visibly struggled over which rule of conduct she would honor. “Maybe we could go after you meet with Mr. Wellfordhouse,” she tried.
“Oh, la,” Gen trilled with a wave of her hand. “I would never be so selfish as to keep Mother waiting. Go along, Bryce. I believe Mother wanted some pins. I shall only be a minute.”
Left with no other choice, Bryce had to do as she suggested.
“She needn’t worry,” William said with a smile as Gen took a seat near him. “Mrs. Deems is just down the hall tidying up the vicar’s study. If we leave the door open, I’m sure propriety can be satisfied.” His smile faded as he took a good look at her. “But perhaps I should ask if there’s a need for privacy. Is something amiss?”
She could feel the tears threatening and choked them back. “Oh, William, everything!”
Somehow she found herself sobbing on his shoulder, while William awkwardly patted her back and made soothing noises. After a few minutes, she collected herself with difficulty, pulling away to fish in her reticule for a handkerchief. As she blew her nose, she could see William watching her with a concerned frown.
“I’m all right,” she assured him with a last sniff. “It’s just been a rather difficult Christmas so far.”
He nodded. “Well, of course it has. First the change to the Abbey, then the flood, and now the Thorn. There must be times you wish you had never left London.”
She sighed, rising to pace. William politely rose with her.
“To be sure,” she told him, “at times I question the decision I made for the family. I thought the Abbey would be our salvation, that we would be able to rely on our neighbors to help us settle in. Now I don’t know.” She stopped to face him. “William, I’ve made a grave error with this wager. You must help me stop it, before something dreadful happens.”
Outside came the sound of tooting, as if one of the village children had gotten a toy whistle for Christmas and was trying it out. William blinked as if trying to ignore it, focusing his eyes on her face. “Just what do you fear, Miss Genevieve?”
The whistle was joined by a second in ill-tuned chorus. Gen tried to ignore the sounds as well. “The gifts, for one thing. They are getting completely out of hand. My gardeners’ shed is now a coop for geese, our gardens may never be the same after penning that herd of cattle, and I don’t even want to think about the Thorn.”
William held up his hands as three more whistles joined the first two. “Now, I disagree with you that that was Alan’s attempt at a ninth gift. He showed me those soldiers he intended to send, toys he and his brother had cherished. And I understand you received them.”
More whistles joined in in cacophony, and Gen was forced to raise her voice to be heard. “Yes, I received them, but I don’t understand why he sent them. I fear if he continues this charade we’ll all suffer for it.”
William shook his head, but his answer was drowned out by the shrill sound from outside.
“Dash it all, what is that noise?” Gen demanded.
William took her arm and escorted her to the window, parting the sheer curtains with his free hand. Outside, a band of village children stood with sparkling eyes, each set of mittened hands wrapped around a wooden flute. As she watched, they finished whatever song they thought they were playing together and lowered their instruments, grinning gleefully at each other.
“It seems the Wenwood Thorn still had a gift to give,” William murmured in the silence that followed. “The Squire had several of the lads carve one for every child in the village. I was just instructing our ten pipers here on ‘While Shepherds Watched Their Flocks.’ We thought to go serenading later, particularly to the Abbey. So, you see, I cannot agree that his gifts are so terrible.”
Gen stared at her ten pipers, who had happily begun piping again, and felt the tears returning. “Oh, William, I am so confused.”
Chapter Fifteen
Eleven Ladies Dancing
U
nfortunately, Gen’s confusion was not alleviated by her conversation with William. Even though he was her dear friend, or perhaps because of it, she found it hard to tell him her feelings about Alan Pentercast. Indeed, she wasn’t sure she could put them into words even if she had felt comfortable doing so. In the end, she let him think he had cheered her, collected a thoroughly disgusted Bryce, and rode for home, her concerns no more resolved then when she had left.
She got no release when she returned, as she found her mother, Allison, and Mrs. Chimes all closeted in consultation for the party. She knew if she broke in she would be promptly consigned to duty or, worse, lose her temper over the cost they were incurring. In desperation, she retreated to her father’s study, penned a hasty note to Carstairs, and gave it to Chimes to take it into town for posting.
She slept fitfully that night, plagued by dark, vague dreams. Awakening the next morning listless, she found it too cold for hunting and spent the morning wandering aimlessly about the Abbey. Everywhere she saw signs of her mother’s handiwork. The unused ballroom at the far end of the house had been opened and dusted, the slate floors cleaned, the twin crystal chandeliers polished. The gilt-edged mirrors that hung at regular intervals along the dark wood walls, making the room seem larger and brighter, gleamed in their ornate frames.
In the kitchen, Mrs. Chimes and her helpers bustled about, putting together pies, pastries, cakes, and other luscious delicacies. Elsewhere, Chimes ordered about the footmen and the staff they had borrowed from the Pentercasts, sending them to carry silver, dishes, and glassware between the rooms; shuffle furniture and carpets; and fetch wood for the fireplaces. The maids were dusting rooms that hadn’t been used for years, shrieking as they dislodged spider webs, and bumping into each other as they scurried down the long halls.
Each sign of expense felt like another stone being added to the wall of her prison. She was in such a foul mood by midday that she flatly refused to accompany Allison on a ride, consoling herself with the fact that the only horses left were thoroughly docile creatures more fit for harness than saddle. She was somewhat surprised, therefore, when Allison, with Bryce in tow, returned with their attendant groom sometime later, red cheeked and jubilant.
“Mother! Genevieve!” Gen heard her calling from the entry, her excitement echoing down the long corridors. Curious, she roused herself from her place on the music room sofa and went to see what was afoot. Her mother appeared from the opposite corridor just as she came in.
“Allison, moderate your tone,” her mother scolded.
Allison giggled. “Sorry, Mother, but wait until you hear my news. The Squire’s new pond has frozen completely over and he’s opened it for skating. They’ve a lovely brazier at one end to warm you, and some of the Squire’s people are serving spiced cider and ale. Mrs. Pentercast told me to invite you all to join the fun.”
Her mother frowned, and Gen didn’t know whether to follow suit or grin in delight. Part of her still wasn’t sure how to face Alan Pentercast after their last meeting, although she knew she couldn’t avoid him forever. Another part of her longed to enjoy the sport she had loved as a child. Why did it have to be Alan that had the frozen pond? She would simply have to forego the pleasure.
“Are you quite sure, Allison?” her mother was saying. “Mrs. Pentercast and I have yet to reach an agreement on a certain issue. And I thought she was too distraught over her missing son to be receiving. I cannot believe she wishes for our company.”
“She most particularly asked for us all, Mother,” Allison hurried to assure her. “Please may we go? I saw our old skates in the storeroom the other day. I’d so love to try them. Wouldn’t you, Gen?”
This was her chance to tell them she wanted nothing to do with Alan Pentercast, his mother, or his pond. “Truth be told,” she heard herself say, “I’d love to go.”
Their mother sighed. “Very well. Bryce, have Chimes bring round the carriage, then come help me change.”
Gen tried not to notice how her spirits lifted as she changed into warmer clothes. If she was feeling better, it was only because she was going to have a chance to skate again. With any luck, a certain dark-haired gentleman wouldn’t even be there.
But she couldn’t help darting a gaze all about the area as soon as they arrived just to make sure. And she was quite disgusted to find her spirits droop once more when she saw that she had been right.
Allison had been right as well. A number of the villagers had availed themselves of the Squire’s hospitality. She spotted William on the far side of the roughly oval sheet of ice, helping one of the Mattison twins on with her skates. Near him, Mrs. Gurney and Mrs. Deems, the vicarage housekeeper, sat bundled in blankets, cups of hot cider in their gloved hands, enjoying a good coz. Farther along the shore Mrs. Pentercast sat swathed in furs in a large high-backed wooden chair that must have been brought down for her comfort. Beside her, the Reverend York stood stiffly, bending solicitously to listen whenever she spoke. Glancing at her mother, Gen saw by her frown that she had seen the couple as well.
“There seems to be room nearest the fire,” her mother observed, nodding to the opposite side of the pond from Mrs. Pentercast. A group of young men from the village were warming themselves near a large brazier of charcoal. Several held tankards of cider or ale. She started to follow her mother in that direction, and Allison darted ahead of them to claim a spot near the pond’s edge. Gen took a stance next to her, glancing once again about the pond looking for Alan. She scolded herself on her nervous
ness. It wasn’t as if the man could accost her again, not with so many people about. And why was that thought rather depressing? With a shake of her head, she bent to help Allison on with her skates.
As she watched her sister stumble out onto the ice a few minutes later, arms windmilling for balance, she had to smile. She remembered a time when she had felt her form on the ice was far less important than the fun she was having. She was glad to see Allison agreed. With renewed enthusiasm, she bent to tackle her own skates, glad that her feet had not grown since she had last worn them six years ago.
She glanced up once at her mother’s sniff.
“Some people, Genevieve, are simply not equipped for the role of suitor,” she murmured with a nod across the pond. Gen looked to where William had brought tankards of cider to Mrs. Pentercast and the Reverend York. York pompously waved his aside with words that made William pale. Gen frowned. Then a frown from Mrs. Pentercast and similar words forced him to accept it. He held it awkwardly, shifting it back and forth in his gloved hands, scowling at the retreating William. Gen was glad her friend’s back was turned so that he couldn’t see it.
She had just finished cinching the final strap when she noticed a sudden quiet, as if everyone around the pond had collectively sucked in their breaths. Looking up, she saw with a pang that Alan had come out on the terrace, his brother at his side. Much as she was pleased to see Geoffrey alive and unhurt, she wondered how he could so easily show his face before so many of his accusers. Both the Pentercast brothers were dressed for the weather in their tweed greatcoats, leather gloves, and high-topped boots. Alan wore a smile for his neighbors, but Gen could see the effort it cost him. Geoffrey’s head was high, his chin jutted out defiantly, and his shoulders were squared. To a person, everyone around the pond was staring at him.
“There you are, my dears,” Mrs. Pentercast called, digging a gloved hand from the furs to wave. “Alan, Geoffrey, come join the fun!”