by Regina Scott
And then there was that butler. Geoffrey had grown up with Munson, an impressive fellow, running the Manor in Wenwood, so he knew the best to which a butler might aspire. He also knew Chimes, the Munroe’s butler at the Abbey, who could only be called an imp and certainly one of the least effective butlers around. This Perkins fellow was something else entirely. Geoffrey had never met anyone more designed to raise his hackles. The man was regimented, overly fastidious, and downright glum. And he seemed to be in league with the Widow Munroe to keep Geoffrey away from Allison.
Thus, Geoffrey had had to keep himself on a short lead all week long. Though he could not in truth be proud of his performance, he took some satisfaction in the fact that he had kept himself from selfishly proposing to Allison, stopped himself from walking away in disgust from Grace Dunsworthy, and refrained from striking the butler.
And now it was the night of the ball.
He glanced down at the black cutaway coat and white breeches Alan had ordered for him. Even to his eye they looked rumpled, but as he had been unwilling to use a footman’s services as valet, he supposed the clothes would have to do. At least his cravat was an immaculate white, even if it was knotted simply at his throat rather than tied in some complicated fold with a foreign name. And he’d have preferred to wear wool socks and Hessians rather than the white stockings and black pumps. However, much as he would have liked to blame the uncomfortable attire for his hesitation, he knew it was more than that. Tonight Allison would be formally introduced to Society. It was his last chance to make her see reason before every eligible bachelor crowded him out.
He had been trying half-heartedly all day to get her alone, but, between the final fittings of her ball gown and her mother’s constant presence, he had failed. Only two hours remained before the guests arrived. He had to screw up his courage and demand a moment of her time. But when he tried, he remembered those sky-blue eyes as she pleaded with him to try to understand why this blasted Season was so important to her. And then he felt petty and selfish.
He turned on his heel and strode back to his room, slamming the door behind him. Was he an idiot to keep torturing himself this way? Allison had made her choice. She had even done him the honor of sharing her reasons when she owed him no such explanation. This was her moment of glory. He should leave her to it.
But as he paced about the room, pausing only long enough to kick the iron fender on the marble fireplace in frustration (and bruise his toe in the process), doubts renewed their attack on his resolve. What if she became the toast of the ton like her sister? What if some titled personage found her vivacious manner irresistible? He hadn’t met this DeGuis fellow yet, but all of Allison’s friends, especially Miss Dunsworthy, positively gloated over the man. What if the fabled marquis came up to scratch that very night and proposed? Geoffrey couldn’t sit idly by and watch Allison be snatched away.
He stalked back to the door resolutely and marched down the corridor to Allison’s room. He knew he could hardly invite himself into her bedchamber; he was courting trouble just by standing outside her door. Still, the matter was urgent. He pulled himself up to his full height and rapped on the panel.
“Allison,” he declared loudly enough to be heard through the solid door, “I’d like a word with you before you go downstairs.” His voice seemed to echo up and down the corridor, and he glanced guiltily over his shoulder to make sure no other doors were opening in curiosity. Then the door in front of him whipped wide, and he whirled to face the woman in the doorway. She was large, dark-haired, and rather flustered looking. She wore the black bombazine and white apron and cap of a lady’s maid.
“I’m sorry, sir,” she gasped out. “Miss Allison is with her mother, who wished to supervise her toilette this evening. I’m sure you’ll see her downstairs in a bit.”
Geoffrey nodded, turning to go, disappointment like a stone in his gut. The maid turned from him, muttering as she gazed down at the plate in her hand. Geoffrey’s gaze followed her own, focusing in surprise on the small cubes of what was surely raw meat.
“What are you doing?” he asked with a frown.
The maid jumped, nearly upsetting the plate. “Begging your pardon, sir, but I’m trying to feed Miss Allison’s creature. She said she was too distracted to do it herself tonight. Only I haven’t a clue how to go about it.”
“Allison’s creature?” Geoffrey’s frown deepened.
The maid nodded nervously. “Yes, sir, if you please, sir. I don’t know much about animals, but it appears to be some kind of cross between a cat and a rat, though how that should come to be, I could not say.”
“I’ll wager you mean her ferret,” Geoffrey replied sagely.
The maid’s brow cleared. “A ferret, is it? Then you know about such things? Oh, please, sir, can’t you tell me what to do? I’m new on staff, and I’ve never fed a creature before.”
Might as well be of use to someone. Geoffrey nodded to the woman, pushing the door open wider. The maid drew back in relief, turning to lead him to a familiar hand-made ornamental cage set on a table across from Allison’s bed.
He couldn’t help glancing about the room as he moved to the cage, curious about this bastion of female secrets. He was immediately disappointed. It was furnished much as his own room, with a four-poster bed hung in blue and green velvet, two wingback chairs near the marble fireplace, and a large wardrobe opposite. While his room also contained a highboy dresser, Allison’s larger room held two such dressers and a dressing table with a mirror. The tops of all three were littered with female items like ribbons, silver-backed brushes, and jewelry cases. The only thing about the room that reminded him in any way of Allison was the ferret crouched in one corner of the cage, eyeing him balefully.
Geoffrey held out his hand to the maid. “Give me one of those pieces of meat.”
The maid eagerly complied as Geoffrey pulled off his white glove to accept it with his left hand. With his right, he eased open the door to the cage.
The ferret hunkered lower. Geoffrey held out the tidbit to him, speaking gently.
“You remember me, don’t you fellow? You should thank me for getting you out of that snare and setting you up in such fine digs. I’ll wager you never ate so regularly or so well in all your life.”
The ferret sniffed the air, eyeing the meat warily, but he refused to leave the safety of his corner. Geoffrey set the chunk on the sand at the bottom of the cage and drew back his hand. The ferret pounced greedily on the meat.
“There, you see?” Geoffrey proclaimed, grabbing two more pieces off the plate the awed maid held out to him. “Nothing to it.” He tossed the pieces through the open door to the ferret’s feet. The little animal tore into them as well. Pleased with himself, Geoffrey couldn’t resist rubbing his hand over the soft fur. The ferret raised his head and nipped him.
Geoffrey swore, yanking his hand out of the cage. The ferret took the opportunity of the open door and bolted. The maid screamed, the plate hit the hardwood floor with a shatter of china, and the ferret pelted for the open bedchamber door and catastrophe.
“Oh, no, you don’t!” Geoffrey leapt after the creature. He could not be responsible for the ferret destroying yet another Munroe party. He scrambled into the corridor, arms windmilling as he tried to keep his balance on the polished floor in his cursed evening pumps. Glancing wildly up and down the corridor, he caught sight of a black-tipped tail disappearing under the window curtains near the door to the servants stair. He paused for a moment, sucking his sore hand and considering the best approach. Then he knelt and crept down the corridor toward the curtains. The maid peered fearfully out of Allison’s door, and he waved her back. He crouched before the curtains, poised to pounce on the small oblong lump he could see under them.
With pomp and proper ceremony, Perkins swung open the door from below stairs.
“Shut it!” Geoffrey hissed, watching for any movement from the curtains.
“I beg your pardon?” Perkins blustered.
&nbs
p; “The door!” Geoffrey all but shouted. “We’ve got a ferret loose here, fellow. Shut the door unless you want it in the kitchen.” Behind him he felt rather than saw the maid peer out the door again.
“If you have loosed Miss Allison’s pet, sir,” Perkins said with a sniff, “I daresay it will not go well for you.”
Infuriated beyond reason, Geoffrey leapt to his feet. “And I can promise you it won’t go well for you if you don’t shut that door!”
The maid screamed, and Geoffrey whirled to tell her to be silent, just in time to see a white streak of fur dash out from under the curtains, straight between Perkins legs and down the open stairwell. He started forward after it, but, oblivious to the trouble he had caused, Perkins slowly shut the door.
“You idiot!” Geoffrey shouted.
Perkins backed away from his fury, right up against the door. “There is no need to get abusive, sir. I’ve done as you requested.”
Geoffrey grabbed him by the shoulder and jerked him out of the way. “You’ve made a mess of it, rather. How many doors open off this stair?”
Perkins eyed him in silent reproach.
Geoffrey threw up his hands. “I don’t have time for your foolishness! You there, maid, how many doors?”
The maid swallowed, glancing between him and Perkins. “Just one, sir. It goes straight down to the kitchen, as you said.”
Beyond her, other doors opened, and he saw Alan and Bryce, Mrs. Munroe’s abigail, poke out their heads. Bryce just as quickly pulled hers back in, but Alan, in full black evening wear, strode down the corridor toward him. Geoffrey groaned.
“What, may I ask, is going on?” Alan queried with one expressive brown eyebrow raised.
To Geoffrey’s surprise, Perkins immediately piped up. “This gentleman accosted me, Squire Pentercast. And he was abusive to Mary as well.”
“Oh, fine, now you learn to do something quickly,” Geoffrey fumed.
Alan frowned. “Care to explain, Geoff?”
“Frankly,” Geoffrey told him, “we don’t have time. Allison’s ferret has escaped again and is headed for the kitchens. With the amount of traffic between stairs tonight, I don’t have to tell you what kind of trouble he can cause. If we don’t act now, Allison’s come out will be the talk of London, for all the wrong reasons.”
Chapter Five
Standing in the corner of her mother’s bedchamber, Allison flinched as Bryce’s comb snagged another curl. “Are you sure this is the latest style?” she asked with teeth clenched against the constant tug on her scalp.
In her mother’s full length pier glass mirror, Allison watched the little abigail study the flaxen pile on top of Allison’s head. Bryce’s dark eyes looked thoughtful as she perched on a stool to give her the height necessary to finish dressing Allison’s hair. “Yes, Miss Allison. A la Greque, just like in the Lady’s Monthly. Isn’t that what you wanted, madam?”
Mrs. Munroe moved from her inspection of her jewel case to pause before the mirror. She reached up to touch the conical pile with a languid gloved hand. “Exactly what I wanted, Bryce. Stop fidgeting, Allison. You’ll wrinkle your gown.”
Allison sighed and tried to relax. At least the whole ordeal was almost over. In less than two hours, she would be greeting her guests, and by this time tomorrow, it would all be a memory. She only had to endure three more tugs before Bryce proclaimed her done. Her mother handed the abigail the tiara. Allison swallowed as it was lowered over the braided bun.
“The Munroe diamonds! Oh, Mother, are you sure?”
Mrs. Munroe inclined her head. “Genevieve offered them for your use. Besides, you’ve worn them before.”
Allison touched the cold stones with reverence. “Only once, when Genevieve invited the Pentercasts to dinner to make peace between the families.”
Her mother turned away. “Let us hope this evening goes considerably better than that one did. From such a dismal beginning, I am continually amazed that Gen managed to attach the Squire’s regard.”
As if to belie her mother’s hopes, outside the room came a scream and a crash. Allison jumped.
Her mother allowed a frown to crease her brow. “Whatever could that be?”
Allison turned toward the door, thankful for a chance to escape all this unwanted attention. “I’ll go check.”
“Stay where you are,” her mother commanded with an imperious wave. Sighing, Allison settled back in front of the mirror.
“Now then, Bryce,” her mother continued. “I think the diamond ear bobs as well, but only the single drop on the necklace. We don’t want Allison to look overdone.”
“Yes, madam,” Bryce readily agreed, moving to lift the stones from their place in the box. Allison tried not to flinch again as the jewels were placed about her neck and at her ears. Looking in the mirror, she wasn’t sure she liked the effect as much as her mother’s nod of approval should indicate. The stones were lovely, but they seemed hard to her, lifeless.
“Couldn’t I just take some of the tea roses we purchased to decorate the tables?” she ventured.
“If that was your attempt at a jest, it was inappropriate,” her mother informed her. “Does that hem seem uneven to you, Bryce?”
“Where, madam?” Bryce cried, bending to inspect the full skirt of Allison’s satin ball gown. At the time they had purchased the material, Allison had been sure it was the same lovely yellow as the roses, but under the candlelight in her mother’s bedchamber, with the diamonds hung about her, it looked closer to a gold that seemed to her to very nearly clash with her pale hair. Her mother may have considered it in the best of taste, and it was difficult to argue that her mother’s taste was anything less than perfect, but Allison felt the word overdone was an apt description. She felt like some golden trophy awarded to the best horseman at a fox hunt.
“Walk about the room, Allison,” her mother instructed, and with another heart-felt sigh, Allison complied. “No, Bryce, I was wrong. The skirt appears to be hanging correctly. Perhaps it was just the way Allison was standing.”
From the corridor came another scream. Allison froze in surprise. Her mother stiffened.
“Bryce, go see what that is all about,” she murmured.
Bryce scurried to poke her head out the door. Whatever she saw, it made her pale. She shut the door just as quickly and turned nervously to her mistress. “Nothing to be concerned about, madam. Squire Pentercast is investigating.”
Mrs. Munroe nodded. “Very good. Now, Allison, stand in front of the mirror again, if you please. Something is not right.”
Allison wasn’t sure she wanted to know what was troubling her mother. It would only turn out to be some defect on her part—she was standing too straight, she was slouching, she was bow-legged, she was pigeon-toed, she had eaten too many sweets and had put on weight since her final fitting, she had not eaten enough and had lost weight since her fitting. She suddenly couldn’t stand hearing another complaint, real or imaginary.
“It’s very rude of us to expect the Squire to take care of everything,” she declared, grabbing a length of skirt in one hand and striding to the door. “I will simply check to make sure everything is all right.”
“Allison Ermintrude Munroe,” her mother started, but Allison was out the door before Mrs. Munroe could finish the scold. Knowing it would take her mother some minutes to complete her own toilette before venturing out in company, Allison heaved another sigh, this one of pure relief. Then she peered down the corridor to where it seemed that Geoffrey and Alan were having a hurried discussion with Perkins glowering behind them.
“Gentlemen?” she ventured. “Is anything amiss?”
Geoffrey whipped around to face her and froze. She could only hope that all the gentlemen at the ball had the same reaction he did. His brown eyes blinked, his firm jaw actually dropped, and she would not have been surprised to see drool forming at one corner of his open mouth. Perhaps her mother’s taste in clothing was not so far off the mark at that.
Alan nodded at her a
nd then at Geoffrey, then turned to hurry down the main stair. She couldn’t help thinking they had just shared some sort of secret. She didn’t much like secrets, unless she was part of them.
“Geoffrey?” she asked, picking up her long skirt to move toward him. “What’s going on?”
“Nothing,” Geoffrey began. He blinked rapidly, as if trying to focus. Then he offered her his best smile.
Allison wasn’t fooled. He was up to something; she was sure of it. Perkins confirmed it.
“This person,” the butler interrupted quellingly, “has had the audacity to accost me.”
Geoffrey glared at him. Perkins ignored him.
“Oh, honestly, Perkins.” Allison shook her head. “I know Mr. Pentercast can be brash, but he would hardly accost you.”
Perkins stood tall, staring over her head. “As you say, Miss Munroe. Will that be all?”
Much as Allison detested his manner, she could hardly delay him. With another shake of her head, she waved him on. He bowed curtly and turned to put his hand on the door knob to the stair. Geoffrey’s hand shot out to clamp down on his.
“Are you mad?” he told the butler. “Can’t you use the main stair?”