by Regina Scott
“My brother is still learning as well,” Alan said with a chuckle as he stepped forward. “I hope you understand, Mrs. Munroe.”
Gen commanded her stomach to stop doing acrobatics, to no avail, even as her mother inclined her head in understanding. “Some gentlemen, like a good meal, require more seasoning than others.”
Allison beamed at her. “Why, Mother, that was almost poetic.”
The faintest of pinks arose in her mother’s cheeks. “Nonsense. Squire, you are most welcome.”
He bowed over her hand and Allison’s. Gen took a deep breath as he reached for hers. She was almost afraid what would happen when he touched her, but he held her hand the briefest of moments before straightening. She nearly sagged, but with relief or disappointment, she wasn’t sure. He cocked his head, eyeing her, and several locks of dark brown hair fell onto his forehead. “I suddenly feel as unseasoned as my brother. Dare I request at least two dances?”
She ought to say no. She ought to find some excuse, any excuse, to keep him at a distance until she was sure of him. But all she could see was the light of hope in those dark brown eyes and the hint of a smile around his warm lips. “Make one a waltz, and you have yourself a partner,” she said. She was quite thankful that the next guest claimed her attention before she had to respond to his look of surprised delight.
She survived greeting the rest of their guests (although her heart sank when she counted considerably more than her mother’s first estimate of thirty people) and was pleased when William offered her his arm to escort her in to dinner. She was quick to note that her mother, while carefully following etiquette as to seating arrangements, nevertheless had found a way to separate Allison and Geoffrey by putting them on opposite sides of the table with a very large silver epergne of greenery between them. Fortunately for Gen, the arrangement also put her and Alan on opposite sides of the table of the offensive epergne, leaving her to converse with William on her right and Geoffrey on her left.
Although Geoffrey managed no more than a grunt to her quips, she could tell by the other conversations around the table that dinner was going to be a much more successful affair than their first night with the Pentercasts. The neighbors laughed, wine flowed, and the food was superb. Gen tried not to count the cost of the oysters in aspic or the curried ham slices, and she didn’t even want to know how Mrs. Chimes had found fresh strawberries for the trifle. The gentlemen did not tarry long over their port, and soon the entire company was gathered in the ballroom for the entertainment.
William claimed her hand for the first dance. Although she was disappointed it wasn’t Alan, she was pleased to note that her mother had agreed to partner him. Tom Harvey stood up with Allison, who was beaming with obvious pleasure. Gen caught a quick glimpse of Geoffrey Pentercast glowering before she was forced to give her attention to the various steps of the lively country dance her mother’s imported quartet struck up.
From then on, her hand was claimed by every gentleman in the room, from the Widower Jenkins who owned much of the land on the other side of Wenwood to Mary Delacourte’s younger brother Charlie who was appearing, like Allison, at his first grownup dance. Every gentleman in the room but one, that was.
Alan seemed to be equally busy doing the pretty with every lady in the room and actively insisting that the other men do the same. Much as she could admire his chivalry in partnering her mother, his own, and even the elderly Widow Tate, she found it difficult to watch him cavorting with Mary Delacourte, whose figure-hugging blue silk gown with the low décolletage matched the color of her eyes, neither of which appeared to be wandering. That could not be said of the eyes of most of the men in the room as she laughed at something Alan had said.
Gen was sitting on one of the chairs arranged along the side of the room to catch her breath later in the evening when she first noticed their guests’ attitudes toward Geoffrey Pentercast. Just as they had at the pond the day before, none of them seemed willing to be in his company. When he approached a group, it grew silent or disbanded. When he asked a lady to dance, she refused. Even the young men his own age, bumping into each other in their attempt to reach the refreshment table at the far end of the room, suddenly lost their appetite when he joined them.
“Something has to be done about this,” she told her mother, nodding to where Geoffrey stood with fists at his side, scowling at no one in particular.
Her mother shook her head. “It is a shame, but I’m afraid he brought it on himself if he truly is the culprit. The Thorn was an important part of Wenwood.”
“Oh, let’s not start that again,” Allison scolded, throwing herself down on a chair to join them. She waved the young man who was attending her off to fetch her a cup of punch. Gen smiled, thinking how well her sister would do in her upcoming Season. Then the smile faded as she remembered there would be no Season. She forced herself to focus on the present.
“I know you think him innocent, Allison,” her mother was saying. “But that does not change the fact that he is the most likely candidate.”
“I disagree,” Gen put in, winning her a beaming smile from Allison. “I’m beginning to think he is innocent as well. If that is true, it seems most unfair for everyone to ostracize him like this. And while they do, no one thinks to find the true culprit.”
“Exactly!” Allison cried, jumping to her feet. “We should be launching an investigation. Calling in the Home Guards!”
“Moderate your tone, Allison,” her mother said, motioning her to return to her seat. “If he is innocent, I agree that we must find the real vandal. However, I do not see how that can begin here tonight, at our party.”
Allison lowered her voice conspiratorially. “I’ve already launched my own investigation, and I cannot find a single one of the villagers who will admit to being with Geoffrey when he cut down the Thorn. You will remember Reverend York said there were nine of them.”
Gen’s glance was drawn to the far side of the room where the Reverend York was paying his usual court to Mrs. Pentercast. The lady in question seemed to be less enthused than usual with his devotion, mostly, Gen suspected, because the gentleman refused to dance, and the lively Mrs. Pentercast was forced to keep him company on the side.
“It does not signify,” Mrs. Munroe replied with resigned tolerance. “None of them wish to admit they were with him and suffer his fate; that is all.”
Allison shook her head so vehemently that her flaxen ringlets bounced in wild abandon. “No, Mother. When Gen and I first heard the noise that day, it sounded like a single hollow booming, much as one might bang a large drum. I doubt nine young men, intent on destruction, would make such a sound.”
Gen looked at her younger sister in admiration. “You are quite right, Allison. It did sound like a single woodsman. But who?”
Allison sighed, slumping in her seat with a scowl. “That I have not been able to determine.”
“Regardless,” her mother put in with a nod toward the refreshment table, “it appears Mr. Pentercast has decided to take his leave.”
They looked to where Geoffrey was indeed stalking toward the door, shoving aside those who stood even remotely in his way. The other guests stared at him as he past and quickly bent to whisper when he was safely out of hearing.
Gen shook her head, rising. “This is unfair. I’m going to tell him he is welcome to stay.”
Allison sprang to her feet. “I’ll come with you.”
With a nod of acceptance from their mother, they hurried across the room. Before they could reach to door to the corridor, however, Alan intercepted them.
“Ladies,” he greeted with a bow, “I believe you are needed for the next set.”
Gen glanced quickly over her shoulder where a number of their guests were lining up for another country dance. She counted eleven couples. “If you ask our Mother, sir, I’m sure she’ll be happy to complete the set with you.”
He frowned, but she darted after Allison before he could detain her.
The corridor
was empty as she stepped into it, but she thought she heard voices from the farther end in the entry hall. She started down the corridor and heard a footstep behind her. Halting, she found Alan beside her.
“Is something wrong?” he asked with a frown.
“Nothing at all,” she told him. “Please return to the party, and I assure you my sister and I will rejoin you shortly.”
His frown deepened, and he matched her purposeful stride. “It seems odd you’d want to leave such a successful party. Might I be of assistance?”
She stopped to face him, ignoring the warning pounding of her heart. “Squire, you are being very kind, but I assure you, there is nothing to be concerned about.”
He cocked his head, eyeing her as he had when he entered. “Why don’t I believe you? There have been too many strange events this Christmas, Miss Munroe, for me to feel comfortable allowing you to wander off by yourself.”
“This is my home, sir,” she informed him, throwing up her hands. “What could possibly happen here?”
Down the corridor, Allison screamed.
Alan thrust her protectively behind him before dashing toward the sound. Gen lifted her skirts and raced to follow. Ahead of her, Alan slid sideways on the polished floor. From under him scampered a terrified ferret.
Gen skidded to a stop and backed up against the walls as the furry creature darted past her. Alan had regained his footing and was immediately at her side. “What was that?”
Allison appeared in the mouth of the corridor, hurrying toward them. “Did you see it? Where did it go?”
Gen pointed down the corridor toward the party. “How did that thing get in here?”
Allison put up her head. “You needn’t get waspish. It was a gift for me from Mr. Pentercast.”
Alan groaned. “It only wanted that. Geoffrey!”
His brother appeared, grinning. Gen fought the desire to knock the smile off his face. “Sorry about that. I guess it just slipped out of my hands.”
“How dare you!” Gen managed through grit teeth. “And to think I thought you innocent!”
His grin disappeared into a scowl. “I am innocent, but since all your fine guests have given me the name, I thought I might as well play the game.”
From down in the ballroom came shouts and screams.
“I’ll deal with you later,” Alan vowed before turning to dash back down the corridor. Gen favored her sister and Geoffrey with a scowl of her own before hastening to follow.
The ballroom was in an uproar when she entered. Every lady who was able had scrambled up on one of the side chairs. Others stood huddled in a trembling group in one of the corners. Even the quartet had managed to elevate their instruments off the floor. The older gentlemen were attempting to calm their agitated wives while the younger men were slapping their knees and laughing over the joke. She caught a glimpse of a furry black tail disappearing under the skirting of the refreshment table.
“It’s just a ferret,” Alan was calling in explanation. He motioned to Tom Harvey, William, and several of the other men to join him. “We’ll have it caught in no time.”
Allison hurried into the room, a small homemade cage in her hand. “Here,” she cried, thrusting it at Alan. “Use this. And please don’t hurt him.”
“Allison Ermintrude Munroe,” her mother said behind her. “If this is your doing you may rest assured that you will not be permitted to attend another party until you are old enough to be a spinster.”
Allison swallowed, stepping back out of Alan’s way. “Yes, Mother.”
“It was my fault,” Geoffrey Pentercast offered, stepping up to join them. “I’m afraid I took the general snubbing in character and decided to get even. I’ll help catch the beast. He knows me now.”
“He’s under the table,” Gen pointed out.
With a nod, Alan and the other men set out to capture the beast. It took considerably longer than Alan had claimed, for the ferret proved very good at darting away at the last minute and quite inventive at finding dark corners in which to hide. Unfortunately, these corners included the sofa on which Mrs. Pentercast and Reverend York sat, the skirting on the raised dais that held the musicians, and the hem of Mary Delacourte’s dress. They finally ran him to ground against a wall. Geoffrey managed to grab the little creature by the scruff of the neck and pop him back into the cage. As they carried it past her, Gen saw that the little animal’s ribs were heaving as hard as her mother’s.
“Well, that was quite a little adventure,” Alan said with a laugh as the women were assisted off the chairs and the room was set to rights. Her mother was hurrying to encourage the musicians to begin playing again, and Allison was boasting of her bravery to a group of young men. Looking up at Alan, Gen found she couldn’t be angry. His hair was in complete disarray, his neck cloth had come undone, and there was a piece of cake stuck to one corner of his chin.
She reached up a hand to dislodge it. “You go to great lengths, sir, but I do believe William would agree with me that there were twelve lords a-leaping here tonight.”
He stared at her. “Are you saying…”
She deposited the cake onto a side table, heart pounding even harder than when the ferret had escaped. “I’m saying I haven’t been asked to dance. You had indicated you wished to dance with me, hadn’t you?”
“Above all things,” he murmured, reaching to take her offered hand. His glove was covered in strawberry jelly. Laughing, he pulled it back. “But perhaps I’d better clean up a bit first.”
Gen smiled at him, suddenly sure of her feelings. “You never looked more handsome, Squire. But I’ll have Chimes show you to one of the guest rooms. Perhaps by the time you return, they’ll be playing a waltz.”
Chapter Seventeen
Interlude, Baritone Solo
A
lan was glad Chimes led him to the guest room instead of merely pointing the way. He’d never been very good at following the twists and turns of the Abbey corridors, and right at the moment he was too bemused to know where he was let alone where he was going. Chimes made sure he was settled, then, chuckling, left him with warm water, soap, and towels that a footman hastily brought to perform his ablutions, promising to return shortly with fresh gloves and a cravat.
She was conceding defeat. He could scarcely credit it. He’d done everything he could to maneuver the various guests into a set with twelve couples so that he could attempt to claim his twelve lords a-leaping, but he knew full well she could have disagreed with his interpretation had she wished. He hadn’t even mentioned the gift, and here she was ready to grant it to him. He knew he ought to accept the offer gratefully, but, after all her protests the last twelve days, capitulation had seemed so unlikely that he found it impossible to comprehend. Not for the first time he wished he understood what was going on in that beautiful blond head.
He had scarcely shrugged out of his coat and rolled up his sleeves when there was a hesitant knock on the door. Frowning, he reached for his coat again, wondering who could need his services so soon. Before he could call for them to enter, the door opened and the Reverend York slipped inside, closing the door carefully behind him.
Alan set the coat back down again with a sigh. “Good evening, Vicar. Are you in need of refurbishing as well?”
The man shook his head, crossing to ease his bulk down in a chair beside the fire where it seemed he intended to watch Alan’s work. Alan frowned at the familiarity, but his frown went unnoticed. The vicar merely settled in and leaned back.
“No, no, my boy. Luckily I was spared your valiant attempts at catching the creature. I thought it best to remain at your mother’s side. Women are so easily upset by such events, indeed, indeed.”
“Indeed,” Alan quipped. “Then you’ll excuse me while I continue.”
“Certainly, certainly,” York said, waving a meaty paw. “You wonder at my presence, I’m sure. I thought this a good time for a fatherly word of advice.”
Alan smothered a groan. “Vicar, please don�
��t take me wrong, but I was never very good at listening to fatherly advice, even from my own father.”
“Ah, but your father wasn’t exactly known for dispensing good advice, I believe.”
Alan, in the act of soaping his hands, paused and glanced again at the vicar. Was it only his imagination that the last words were less than his usual sycophantic bluster? The man was regarding the fire, hands clasped over his belly, as if nothing untoward was happening. Shaking his head, Alan returned to his task.
“I see you haven’t heeded my warnings about Miss Munroe,” York put in.
Alan paused again, eyeing him. “No more than you have heeded my warnings concerning my mother, sir. I guess we can both say that love knows no caution.”
“Ah, well said, well said.” The vicar nodded along with his repetition. “Yes, well said indeed. So, you fancy yourself in love with the chit I take it.”
Alan finished washing his hands and toweled them dry. He knew his annoyance showed in every quick move, but he couldn’t seem to muster up the desire to care. “Vicar, once more I fail to see what business this is of yours.”
“It is my business as the shepherd of this flock,” York asserted, puffing out his chest. “I cannot sit idly by while the leader of our fair community does himself such a great injustice.”
“If you are referring to the famed Pentercast/Munroe feud, you may save your breath,” Alan told him, shrugging back into his coat. “I don’t believe in that nonsense.”
There was a timid tap on the door, and the footman scurried in with fresh gloves and a neck cloth for Alan. Alan accepted them with a nod, and the footman scurried out again, leaving the door ajar as he did so.
“I had hoped to spare you this, my son,” York rumbled with a melancholy shake of his head. “But you hold the evidence in your hands and you cannot see it, you cannot see it at all.” He heaved a martyred sigh. “It has come to my attention that Miss Munroe is, how can I put this delicately, less than pure?”