Catch of the Season (The Marvelous Munroes Book 2)

by Regina Scott

  Margaret shook her head, slowing to allow Allison to rejoin her. “Every other young lady has set her cap for him. What makes you immune?” She grinned again and nudged Allison in the ribs. “Or is it Geoffrey Pentercast you favor?”

  Allison felt herself blushing. “At the moment, I truly cannot tell you.” She eyed her cousin’s hawkish profile as they continued their walk. “Margaret, have you ever been in love?”

  Margaret seemed to trip on something in the way, stumbling to a halt. Her face, when she turned to her friend, was redder than Allison’s. “Why…why do you ask?”

  “You have, haven’t you?” Allison asked suspiciously. Then she grinned, reaching out to squeeze Margaret’s arm. “It’s all right, you silly goose! You can tell me.”

  “No, I can’t,” Margaret said firmly, taking off once more at a fierce trot. “It’s entirely too personal, if you please.”

  “Well I like that. The woman who asked Lord Baminger which of his opera dances he preferred, now refuses to speak of her own love? You cannot get away with it, you know.”

  “I shall get away with it,” Margaret maintained. “I refuse to reveal his name, so you may as well stop asking.”

  Allison regarded the determined set of her jaw and the way her gloved hands were balled in fists at her sides. “Very well,” she conceded. “I won’t press you. However, I must ask. What is it like?”

  Margaret smiled knowingly. “It is delightful above anything, and painful too. A sort of warm feeling in your chest that never leaves you and only glows brighter when you think of him or chance upon him.”

  Allison sighed with longing. “How lovely. Will you be announcing your engagement soon?”

  “Doubtful,” Margaret replied cheerfully. “He doesn’t even know I exist.”

  “Margaret!” Allison cried, dismayed.

  Her friend only grinned at her and refused to say another word on the matter for the rest of their walk.

  Allison was still considering her cousin’s confession, and description of love, when she returned to change into her royal blue riding habit for a scheduled ride through Hyde Park with Lady Janice Willstencraft. Unfortunately, before she could make any progress, Geoffrey caught up with her in the entryway.

  He’d obviously slept late, for his dark hair was going in entirely too many directions, giving him a rather fierce look. By the way his jaw was moving, Allison suspected he’d just finished a hasty breakfast. But he was dressed respectively enough in a forest green riding coat, and his elaborate bow was enough to convince Lady Janice to agree to let him join them for their ride.

  He kept glancing at the lady as they started out. Did he wonder how Allison had won such a friend? Allison did sometimes. Lady Janice was stunningly lovely, and she was in especially fine looks today in her wine-colored riding habit. She had a way of looking at gentlemen out of the corners of her green eyes that could only be called smoldering. But her obvious attempts to flirt with Geoffrey only made him shift about in his seat as if he were uncomfortable. His gaze returned to Allison with a question in it, and she thought he was wondering whether she’d picked up the same tricks in London.

  She wasn’t about to answer him in Hyde Park of all places. She had her own questions, particularly about his surprisingly good behavior. Now he made witty conversation that set the usually quiet Lady Janice to laughing. However, when he found they intended to ride the Ladies Mile, he quickly left them to their own devices. Allison could only sigh in envy as he pelted off for more challenging areas of the park where usually only the men rode.

  Lady Janice obviously mistook the source of her sigh. “What a fascinating study in manliness,” she remarked.

  “I-I-I beg your pardon?” Allison sputtered.

  Lady Janice smiled, looking worldly wise for all her eighteen years. “Come now, Allison, you must admit that Mr. Pentercast is so much more interesting than the other fellows we’ve met in London.”

  “Well, I once thought so,” Allison allowed. “But I didn’t suppose other people would share my feelings.”

  “Most likely not.” Lady Janice nodded sagely, shiny black ringlets bouncing under her fetching wine velvet riding hat. “Mr. Pentercast seems to be to be an Original, not unlike yourself. It takes a person of rare intellect and vision to appreciate an Original.”

  Allison shook her head, thinking of Margaret, pining away while her love was unaware. “Rare intellect or little intellect. Do you honestly think my mother would prefer him to my other beaus?”

  Lady Janice trilled a laugh. “Oh, most certainly not. For all Mr. Pentercast’s many qualities, he still cannot hold a candle to the Marquis DeGuis.”

  Allison guided Blackie around a copse of trees. “Certainly not. I cannot imagine two more different men.”

  “Mr. Pentercast has no title, he isn’t wealthy, and he is only a second son,” her friend continued, emphasizing each reason with a wave of her riding crop. “Although I would say that each is sufficiently handsome, in his own way.”

  “Oh, I’ll grant you that the marquis is a paragon,” Allison agreed. Yet, for some reason, she felt compelled to defend Geoffrey. “But do you ever feel he is perhaps a bit too perfect?”

  Lady Janice trained emerald eyes on her. “My dear Allison, how can anyone be too perfect?”

  Allison shrugged. “Oh, I don’t know. I only know that he has a few characteristics which trouble me.”

  “Such as?” Lady Janice asked with a frown.

  “First, he seems to have a difficult time speaking beyond the most common place. He will prose on about the weather or who was at the latest ball we attended, but nothing of any depth. I never thought I’d say this, Lady Janice, but I think we might get along better together if we ever found something to passionately agree, or even disagree, about.”

  “Certainly you would not want to disagree,” Janice protested.

  “Why not? It seems to me that a woman should be able to have her opinions, regardless of whether they happen to agree with her husband’s.”

  “Certainly she might have them,” Janice agreed, “although she would most likely not state them in public.”

  Allison wrinkled her nose. “Stuff and nonsense. I could never marry so tyrannical a husband.”

  “Then you are fortunate to have so many suitors from which to choose,” Janice replied. “And for all your complaints of him, I must say that the marquis seems quite smitten with you.”

  “Do you truly think so?” Allison asked, excitement trembling through her at the thought. After only a second’s consideration, however, she dismissed the notion. “Wouldn’t you think that if he were truly smitten,” she told her friend, “he would attempt some form of familiarity?”

  Lady Janice frowned at her. “What do you mean?”

  “Oh, I don’t know. Shouldn’t he want to speak to me of things no one else should hear? Shouldn’t he want to be alone with me? Maybe even steal a kiss?”

  Again Allison felt herself studied. “Dear Allison, do you mean to tell me you have never found a way to get the marquis alone? Oh my dear, you truly must! I would never accept an offer from any gentleman unless we had kissed. How would one determine the level of compatibility otherwise?”

  Allison stared at her, riding so calmly beside her. “But I’d heard you’d already collected six offers. Does that mean…?”

  Lady Janice smiled again, green eyes cryptic. “You may infer what you like. I will only marry a man whose kiss sets me ablaze.”

  “That seems unaccountably high expectations for a kiss,” Allison maintained.

  Lady Janice shrugged. “That is my choice. And I suggest if you wish to know whether you like the Marquis DeGuis or Mr. Pentercast better, you let each steal a kiss.”

  Allison thought of the kiss Geoffrey had stolen last Christmas. At the time, it had surprised her, but she felt she had matured since then. Would she react differently now? And how would she react to the marquis’ kiss? That was almost too overwhelming to think about. It almost
made Margaret’s unspoken love seem palatable.

  She had to admit, however, that Lady Janice was quite right. On the marriage mart, the Marquis DeGuis was a much greater prize than Geoffrey Pentercast. While she wasn’t going through this Season to catch a husband, how could she dismiss so dashing a suitor as the marquis?

  She was given an opportunity to answer that question the very next day, when the marquis called to take her driving through the park. She had dined the previous evening with her family, Alan, and Geoffrey, and she still couldn’t quite believe the changes she saw. Geoffrey never belched, he drank sparingly of the wine her mother served, and he spoke only when addressed directly. She couldn’t help the feeling that he was watching her, expecting…something she could not name.

  The marquis wasn’t nearly so intent. His dark hair was smoothed back under a top hat set at a precise angle. His gaze brushed hers without the least bit of intimacy. Fresh from her conversations with Margaret and Lady Janice, she wasn’t sure what to make of him.

  “The weather is quite summer-like today,” he mused as they tooled toward Hyde Park in his white-enameled gig.

  Allison glanced up at the cloudless blue sky, barely tainted with smoke from the Londoners’ fires on so warm a day for April. “Yes, it’s lovely. Do you think it will continue like this?”

  “Perhaps,” he replied thoughtfully. “But the weather is ever unpredictable. I daresay the fellow who learns to decipher it will be famous.”

  Allison brightened at the hint of a deeper subject. “How would one do that, do you suppose?”

  He smiled indulgently. “I couldn’t begin to say, Miss Munroe. I’m sure wiser heads than ours will one day solve the problem. Did you say you had seen Her Grace the Duchess last week at the Baminger ball?”

  “Yes,” Allison sighed, relegated once more to banality. “She requested that I give you her regards.”

  “How very kind,” he said with a regal nod.

  Allison watched him from the corners of her eyes. He kept his gaze on the road ahead, calm, unruffled, carefree. She studied the line of his jaw, the hint of softness in his lips. Janice’s suggestion came to mind, and she forced it away. She could hardly let him kiss her on a crowded Mayfair street. Besides, he didn’t look real as he sat beside her in his bottle green coat and tan chamois breeches. That cravat was entirely too white and too intricately folded. It made her own sky blue pelisse seem rumpled and worn. She had an overwhelming desire to reach up, knock off his top hat, and muss up his hair.

  She sighed. She had been excited beyond anything that this impeccable gentleman might consider courting her. Why was it she found his perfection so frustrating all of a sudden? If she couldn’t rearrange his attire, the least she could do was to say something irritating just to see how he would react. “By the way, I don’t know what possessed her, but the Duchess was wearing the most horrible gown I’ve ever seen.”

  She was rewarded with the slightest of frowns, and suddenly she was reminded of her mother. “Indeed,” he replied in a tone that could only be called quelling. “I have always found the Duchess to have the very best taste, in clothing as well as other matters.”

  She wanted to argue with him, but she couldn’t very well malign a dear little old lady who had been very kind to her. “Yes, of course,” she replied with a sigh, giving up. “No doubt she was given bad advice on that particular outfit and was too kind to refuse it.”

  The marquis’ satisfied smile returned. “No doubt. And how is your family?”

  “All well,” Allison told him. She brightened again, thinking of her sister. “In fact, my sister has announced she is to have a baby.”

  To her surprise, the frown reappeared. “Indeed. My congratulations to her and her husband. I imagine she will be returning to Somerset quite soon then.”

  “Just after my come out,” Allison confirmed, wondering why that should trouble him. “She thinks the baby is due in early November, but she wants to be home to set up the nursery and attend to other matters well in advance.”

  “I’m sure you’ll miss her in London,” he murmured.

  Allison couldn’t help feeling touched by his comment. “I’m sure I will. But as I will be joining her as soon as the summer is over, I won’t have long to wait.”

  He glanced over at her, and she had to fight not to frown at the calculating look in his clear blue eyes. “You plan to return to the country in September then?”

  Allison nodded. “Yes, that was always my plan. I understood most of the ton repairs to the country for the summer, but Mother wants to stay on as long as possible.”

  “I see,” he replied. “And how is your mother?”

  The moment had passed, and she was sure she had missed something. She continued answering his carefully distant questions, but he volunteered nothing more that might help her understand where his concern might be based. She caught herself wishing the dashing marquis was half as forthright as Geoffrey Pentercast. It might not be comfortable conversing with Geoffrey some days, but it was a great deal more interesting.

  Chapter Four

  Geoffrey stood in the hall, just two doors from Allison’s bedchamber, and called himself a coward. What kind of man let a pair of sky-blue eyes and a pretty pout deter him from his chosen course of action? When he had hastened to London beside Alan, he had forgotten just how easily Allison could move him to compassion as well as laughter. As he had confessed on his first night, the only reason he had journeyed this way at all was to propose. Ever since Allison had left Somerset, he had fretted over whether some fancy London buck would beat him to it.

  His mother and brother might have despaired that he would ever be fit for polite Society, but Geoffrey was at heart a traditionalist. A man was supposed to have a jolly good time in his youth and then settle down with a nice girl and have children. While Geoffrey was the first to admit he felt a little young at twenty-two to be settling down just yet, he wasn’t about to let some other fellow claim what was obviously the perfect wife for him.

  And Allison was perfect. She was clever, she was pretty, and she had curves in all the right places. But the best thing about Allison was that she wouldn’t make him settle all that much. He was sure Allison wouldn’t mind if he continued to visit the Wenwood tavern from time to time. And he didn’t imagine Allison would protest if he decided they were going to attend every one of the assemblies at Barnsley Grange, although he wouldn’t be allowed to dance with Mary Delacourte or any of the other unmarried ladies anymore.

  In many ways, Allison was more like one of his friends from the village than what he had thought a wife would be. He could talk to Allison. He never remembered his father and mother talking about anything more intimate than how many eggs the prize goose had laid. He and Allison talked about far more important things, like how they felt about matters. Why, over the twelve days of Christmas alone they had discussed the reasons their families feuded, the identity of the vandal who had been terrorizing the neighborhood, and their fathers’ deaths. They’d spent over an hour at the wedding reception for his brother and her sister pondering what would make a good marriage. At the time he had thought her insistence on a romantic feeling as the basis for marrying a bit naive, but since then he had realized she had a point. He certainly felt that feeling. And he couldn’t imagine discussing such matters with any other girl.

  Yes, Allison was perfect. He couldn’t take the chance that someone else would notice her many excellent qualities. Like the way she laughed, with all her being, not a simper or a fluffy giggle like other girls. And then there was the way she danced—with hands and feet and frame in motion, not at all like the girls who tried to mince through a lively country dance as if it were some courtly minuet. When Allison danced, her cheeks turned rosy and her breath came in delighted gasps, and she was very likely to bump into a fellow in all the right places. On top of all that, Allison was kind-hearted and fun-loving. Surely some other gentleman with more to offer than a second son from the country would steal
a march on him if he didn’t act soon.

  But he hadn’t been able to bring himself to truly propose since their conversation on the stair the first night he had arrived. He hadn’t realized that her family treated her with anything less than respect, but after a week in their company, he saw why Allison had reached that conclusion. Her mother, and Genevieve for that matter, was constantly harping on her behavior, when anyone could see she was smarter and more animated than any of the sorry specimens of womanhood they trotted out as examples. After the last week, he could safely say that Lady Janice was far too calculating and Grace Dunsworthy was an idiot.

  He wasn’t entirely sure he believed that a London Season would transform Allison in her family’s eyes, but she was obviously certain of it. He would be the greatest villain alive if he tried to deter her. So instead, he had to watch, helpless, as her mother attempted to launch her into the shark-infested waters of Society, knowing that every ball, every drive, every dinner party took her farther beyond his reach.

  Despite her comments his first night, the Widow Munroe made it clear he was something to be tolerated but not encouraged. To do her justice, he hadn’t exactly been the best guest at the last ball of hers he had attended. He’d loosed Allison’s pet ferret at the Munroe Epiphany party last January in a fit of childish pique. Even though he had comported himself as a gentleman at his brother’s wedding and the reception afterward, she obviously did not think him a suitable escort. Accordingly, she found one reason after another why he could not accompany them on their many outings. Worse, when he was allowed to join them, she attempted to pair him with one of the young ladies of Allison’s circle, most often, Grace Dunsworthy.

  Grace’s inclusion in the set was obviously testimony to Allison’s kind heart. The girl was pretty enough, with light brown hair that she frequently wore either in ringlets or piled up with wisps about her heart-shaped face. She also possessed a pair of large, pale-blue eyes that always seemed just the slightest bit melancholy. She was too slender for Geoffrey’s taste; she looked like a frail ethereal creature when standing next to his bulk. What made her an insupportable companion, besides the fact that paying attention to her kept him from Allison, was her distracted manner. She seemed to have a difficult time following the many conversations at any outing with animated young people, her wide blue eyes swiveling from this one to that in frequent amazement. And she had absolutely no sense of the ridiculous, treating any teasing remark of his as if he had actually meant it. Consequently, when she did attempt to join the conversation, her confusion and innocent response often served to stop conversation altogether. He had to be careful when he talked to her not to call her Miss Dimwitty.