by Regina Scott
He took a step back, staring at her. “What did you say?”
She took a step toward him, closing the distance he had made. “I said I love you. I believe such a declaration on the part of the lady is usually followed by some acknowledgment on the part of the gentleman.”
“I…I,” he stammered, “I don’t know what to say.”
Gen put her hands on her hips. “Alan Pentercast, you’ve pursued me against all odds through the entire twelve days of Christmas, and you don’t know what to say now that you’ve won?”
He snorted. “Twelve days of Christmas, nothing. I’ve been pursuing you since you were sixteen and refused to stand up with me a third time at your come out, you little minx.”
Gen stared at him. “A third time? Then you were Romeo?”
He sketched a bow. “At your service, my dear Juliet. But I can tell you, your refusal then was rather lowering since I was under the impression you’d had a crush on me for years.”
“Oh, I did,” she informed him blithely, sure of herself again. “But I couldn’t very well come out and admit it, now could I? Miss Genevieve Munroe, smitten with a Pentercast? Perish the thought.”
“And so you became the belle of London instead. It was a rather convincing act.”
She smiled, remembering. “It was fun at times. And I did try very hard to please my family and find someone I could love more than you. It simply wasn’t possible.”
This time he stepped forward until only inches separated them. “Madam, much more of this blatant flattery and I warn you I will not answer for the consequences.”
Keeping her eyes on the mistletoe hanging from the chandelier above them, she stood on tiptoe and threw her arms around his neck. “You’ve won your wager,” she said, smiling up at him. “It is Epiphany, and I’m ready to declare that I would like nothing so much than to be your bride.”
“Hang the wager,” Alan murmured, bending his head to hers. “The mistletoe has to come down tomorrow. Let’s not waste another minute of it.”
Dear Reader
I
hope you enjoyed Alan and Gen’s story. Sometimes I think there’s no better time to fall in love than Christmas. You may have wondered about the verses of the song. There are many versions of the song, “The Twelve Days of Christmas.” In one of the more frequently sung versions in modern-day America the last few verses have nine pipers piping, ten drummers drumming, eleven lords a-leaping, and twelve ladies dancing. It is also common to find Americans singing of “four calling birds” in the fourth verse.
However, in Regency England, the song was more often used as a memory game, similar to games played in twentieth-century America, in which someone must remember a growing number of unrelated items, and the first one to forget is out. The Regency version of the song also told of “four colly birds” or blackbirds. That version was also slightly different in the last few verses: nine drummers drumming, ten pipers piping, eleven ladies dancing, and twelve lords a-leaping. I chose to use the version that Gen and Alan would have known, since “The Twelve Days of Christmas” is, after all, much more than a song to them.
If you enjoyed the story, there’s several things you could do now:
Sign up for a free e-mail alert with exclusive bonus content so you’ll be the first to know whenever a new book is out.
Connect with me on Facebook, Goodreads, or Pinterest.
Post a review on a bookseller or reader site to help others find the book.
Discover my many other books on my website.
Turn the page for a sneak peek of the next book in The Marvelous Munroes, Catch of the Season, where Allison is given her chance at a Season after all and presented with an unexpected suitor who may be the perfect man for her.
Blessings!
Regina Scott
Sneak Peek: Catch of the Season, Book 2 in The Marvelous Munroes Series
G
eoffrey Pentercast had the satisfaction of watching the ever-animated Allison Munroe take one look at him and freeze. Her sister was not so restrained, leaping into his brother’s arms in the entry of the London town house. Behind him, he felt the silent hostility of the footmen melt away as they realized they were indeed dealing with family and not some ruffians intent on ransacking the house. He ignored them as well as the rampant display of affection in front of him and gazed at Allison around his brother’s bent head.
She was staring at him in the most abstracted manner. He ought to find her regard flattering, but it made him feel rather self-conscious. Had he changed so much since she last saw him? His hand went of its own volition to touch the beaver top hat the butler had refused to take. Or was it that his great coat, and the brown tweed jacket and trousers beneath, were as coated as the hat with dust from riding the better part of two days to get here? Either way, he wasn’t sure what her careful study might mean.
She certainly hadn’t changed. The flaxen ringlets were just as soft around her narrow face; her eyes, bluer than the bluest sky, were just as bright. He didn’t remember seeing that pink dress she wore, but then he thought Alan had mentioned she had been given a new wardrobe. Had more changed than her clothes when she arrived in London? He wanted to ask, but she was still staring at him in that odd way. In self-defense, he did the only thing he could think of. He winked at her.
Allison blushed. As if she couldn’t bear to look at him any longer, she turned her attention to her sister and brother-in-law, and her eyes widened.
“I wouldn’t twirl her about like that if I were you,” she told Alan, who was indeed spinning his wife about in a most giddy fashion. “She hasn’t been all that well.”
Geoffrey frowned, but Alan halted abruptly, holding his wife at arms’ length, brown eyes gazing at her warily. “What’s this? You never mentioned you were unwell in the note.”
“I had more important matters to impart,” Genevieve scolded, laughing.
Geoffrey couldn’t believe Gen was all that sick. From his vantage point, she positively glowed. Of course, it could have been Alan’s presence. People generally brightened around his brother. He was tall and amiable yet he still managed to carry himself with an air of authority that sat well on his broad shoulders, even dressed as a country squire.
“But you said you sent for him because you were homesick,” Allison protested. “If you didn’t tell him you were ill, what did you tell him to get him to come all this distance so quickly?”
Geoffrey grinned at her. “They’ve been married less than three months, moonling. What do you think she told him?”
Allison’s blush deepened, and she suddenly seemed to find her rose-colored slippers far more interesting than him.
“I assure you that I would come quickly whenever Genevieve called for me, Miss Allison,” Alan replied, eyes never leaving his wife’s radiant face. “But this time she told me something that could not have kept me away.”
Allison glanced between their besotted faces. “Well, what was it?”
Genevieve broke her husband’s gaze with obvious difficulty. “There’s a reason I’ve been ill, dearest, but I thought Alan should know first. We’re going to have a baby.”
“Oh, Gen!” Allison cried, throwing her arms about them both. “How marvelous!”
“Congratulations!” Geoffrey agreed whole-heartedly, pummeling his brother affectionately on the back.
“Thank you both.” Genevieve laughed even as Alan attempted to fend them off.
“Oh,” Allison cried, “but you must tell Mother.” She glanced back at the empty staircase rising behind them. “Of course, it would be a lot easier if our butler Perkins would move faster than an elderly turtle.”
“Curious fellow,” Alan agreed with typical good nature. “I believe he thought we were lying when we said we were related.”
“I’ll wager you miss Chimes,” Geoffrey added, thinking of the elderly unorthodox butler and man-of-all-work who had served the Munroes in Wenwood. “He may not be as proper as your mother would want, but he alway
s took good care of you all at the Abbey.”
“I doubt he’d care to come to London now,” Allison replied with a sigh. He didn’t much appreciate being left behind, and Chimes is awfully good about keeping a grudge.”
“He’ll eventually forgive us,” Gen predicted. “He knew he wouldn’t have much fun here. And Mother was adamant that we needed a more polished staff if we were to send Allison up properly.”
Geoffrey snorted. “As if she needs the right kind of servants to be noticed. I’ll wager you’ve already had more than your share of callers.”
He regretted it as soon as he said it. The thought had been too much on his mind all the way up to London; he didn’t much want to hear it confirmed.
Allison preened, and his heart sank. “There have been a few gentlemen, two or three a day some days.”
“Most notably the Marquis DeGuis,” Genevieve confirmed before Geoffrey could comment. “If you think Allison is insufferable about it, you should see Mother.”
“And she will be even more insufferable when you tell her your news,” Allison added, all purpose now that the initial meeting was over. “So let us get you settled.” She ignored Geoffrey’s scowl and motioned the footmen to take their guests’ hats and coats, and to take the two valises near the door to guest chambers. As soon as that had been achieved, she pushed her sister and brother-in-law toward the stairs.
Genevieve linked her arm in Alan’s, and they obligingly went ahead up the wide polished stair that curved to the second floor. Allison started to follow, but Geoffrey caught her arm, holding her back as the footmen hurried off toward the servants stair at the back of the house.
“Let them go. I’d like a word with you.”
Allison tossed her head, as if ready to refuse anyone who spoke to her in so proprietary a manner. But she glanced at his face and paused. By the way her haughty look evaporated, Geoffrey realized he was obviously showing more than he intended and struggled to regain control of himself.
“Is something wrong?” she asked, glancing toward her sister’s retreating back as if to make sure they were out of hearing. “Is Alan not happy about this baby?”
“Alan is in transports, as you can see,” he assured her. “As if all those presents he showered on your sister, one for each of the twelve days of Christmas, weren’t enough, I imagine he’ll buy half the toys in London for the little one. It was all I could do to get him to rest the horses on the way up, and now I know why. No, Alan is beyond delighted.” He swallowed and plunged ahead. “I wish to speak about you.”
Allison paled, looking again at her sister and his brother, as if wishing she hadn’t been left behind. “But I want to see Mother’s face when she hears the news.” She started up the stairs again, and Geoffrey had no choice but to fall into step beside her.
“Your mother wouldn’t get excited if we told her the monarchy had collapsed,” he said. “I daresay news of her first grandchild will barely raise an eyebrow.” He touched her arm again, slowing her. “Please, Allison. We won’t get much chance for a private word, if I know your family. And that’s the only reason I came along on this mad ride.”
She sighed and stopped at the top of the stair. “Yes, of course. You’re right. Tell me, what is so important that it brings you all the way to London?”
“Concern for you,” he replied, and despite all his efforts, his deep voice came out entirely too much like a caress. “I’ve missed you, Allison.”
Allison brightened, as if his words had lit a candle inside her. She opened her mouth, then seemed to think better of what she was going to say.
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
“Nothing,” she said, fidgeting. “I simply realized that I must comport myself like a lady. So I will tell you that I find myself thinking of you often as well.”
“You do?” Though her words had been spoken with uncharacteristic maidenly restraint, they were exactly what he had been hoping to hear. He seized her tiny hand and pressed it into his much larger grip. “You can’t know how happy I am to hear you say that. I just want you to know, Allison, that you needn’t go through all this.”
Allison pulled her hand back, frowning. “What do you mean? Are you talking about my Season or do you speak of the ball? Of course I must go through with that. The invitations have already been sent.”
“Not the ball, moonling,” he said with a smile, the old pet name for her too easy on his tongue. “Of course you’ll want to do that. I know your fondness for dancing. I’m speaking of your London Season. You don’t need it.”
Allison shook her head, frown deepening. “But every young lady of proper family is expected to have a Season. Sometimes I feel as if I’ve been waiting my entire life for it.”
“But, Allison,” he protested, determined to make her see, “the purpose of a London Season is to find a suitable match. You have no reason to do that.”
She froze, paling, so he hurried on, intent on making his case. “I know I’m not much of a candidate in your mother’s eyes. She’ll most likely prefer this marquis fellow.”
“You, you’re proposing?” She stuttered as if she were having trouble breathing. In fact, she didn’t appear to be breathing. She wasn’t even moving.
Dread seized Geoffrey. He grabbed her shoulders and stared down into her eyes, furious and frightened at the same time. “Allison, speak to me! I knew I shouldn’t have let you go like that. Are you in love with this marquis? Has he offered? Am I too late?”
She gasped in a breath, trembling, and Geoffrey released her. “No, Geoffrey,” she said firmly, “to all three questions. I am not in love with the marquis, he hasn’t offered, and you aren’t too late. But no again, I will not give up my Season, not even for you.”
“But,” he started, and she laid her finger to close his lips. The pressure was gentle, yet as unyielding as her words.
“No, Geoffrey,” she repeated. “I know most girls go through all this to catch a husband, but that’s not why it’s important to me. This Season is the only way I’ll ever have standing in my family.”
He frowned, reaching to remove her finger from his lips. “What do you mean?”
Allison sighed. “It’s difficult to explain. Certainly I’ve never been able to explain it to my family. Have you never noticed how everyone treats me, Mother most of all?”
“No. What has that to do with a London Season?”
“Everything,” she told him. Then she straightened her shoulders, as if determined to make her point. “To Mother, to Genevieve, even to Alan, and especially to that detestable butler, I’m still a child. They feel perfectly justified in ignoring what I want and what I say, out of some kind of logic that only their thoughts and feelings have value. This Season is my chance to show them I’m an adult, Geoffrey. I saw what happened when Gen came out. Suddenly, Mother could consult her on household management and bunion remedies, as if a series of balls and dinners had somehow endowed my sister with all feminine knowledge. If I marry you, if I marry anyone, before I’ve achieved that status, I will never have any standing in this family. Can you understand that?”
He took a deep breath, relieved she had not fallen in love with anyone else, but saddened by her refusal to give up her Season all the same. “I think so. I feel the same way myself sometimes, especially around Alan. He and my mother both watch me as if they expect me to belch at the dinner table or wear muddy boots to bed.”
Allison giggled. “I daresay you’ve done both.”
His felt his grin reappearing. “I daresay you’re right. But since neither is a crime punishable by death, I fail to see why anyone cares.” He sobered, reaching out to touch her cheek. “I’m not perfect, Allison. I cannot bear the thought that some perfect gentleman may steal you away from me. Is there nothing I can do to dissuade you from this course?”
For a moment, he thought she’d give in. Her look softened, her lips parted. The feelings he was sure they shared hadn’t changed. She hadn’t changed. She was still his Allison. He c
losed the distance between them without thinking, like a seedling reaching for the sun.
Allison whirled away from him and lifted her skirts to dash up the stairs.
“You cannot stop me, Geoffrey,” she flung back over her shoulder. “So you may as well give up now.”
Learn more.
About the Author
R
egina Scott started writing novels in the third grade. Thankfully for literature as we know it, she didn’t actually sell her first novel until she learned a bit more about writing. Since her first book was published in 1998, her stories have traveled the globe, with translations in many languages including Dutch, German, Italian, and Portuguese. She now has more than thirty published works of warm, witty romance.
She and her husband of more than twenty-five years reside in the Puget Sound area of Washington State with their overactive Irish terrier. Regina Scott has dressed as a Regency dandy, driven four-in-hand, learned to fence, and sailed on a tall ship, all in the name of research, of course. Learn more about her at her website.