by Regina Scott
Perkins glared at him. “Certainly not. The main stair is for the family and their guests. It is most impertinent of me to use it on my duties.”
“I’m sure,” Geoffrey snarled, “that Mrs. Munroe would forgive you just this once.”
“Mrs. Munroe might, but I would not. Now, stand aside, fellow.”
“What is wrong with you two?” Allison demanded. “Geoffrey, let Perkins be about his business.”
“Happy to,” Geoffrey growled, “so long as his business does not involve this stair. Now, you move along, fellow, or so help me, I’ll accost you again.”
Perkins removed his hand. “You see what I must contend with, Miss Munroe. I only hope you inform your mother of this occurrence and that the fellow will be dealt with appropriately.”
“Yes, yes, fine,” Allison agreed, shooing him along with a wave of her hands. He held his head high and moved with measured tread toward the main stair. From below came a sudden crash and the sound of shouting.
“Geoffrey Pentercast,” Allison declared, hands on hips. “I demand to know what is going on.”
Several other voices joined the first. Mary peered around Allison’s bedchamber door, pale and trembling. Gen poked her head out, and Bryce’s head reappeared. Geoffrey stood taller, as if making up his mind. He waved at them all cheerfully then took Allison’s arm to lead her toward the main stair.
“If you must know,” he whispered, “the ferret’s escaped again.”
Allison stared at him, endless possibilities dawning in horror. “Geoffrey, you didn’t! Not tonight!”
“It wasn’t my fault!” he protested. “But we can discuss this all later. Right now, the important thing is to catch the little fellow before he can do any real damage.” Another crash echoed from below, and he winced.
Allison hurried to the stairs. “I agree. Let’s go.”
Geoffrey caught her arm. “Wait! You can’t risk ruining your finery. Go back and reassure your sister and mother. Alan and I will take care of this.”
“Somehow I doubt that,” Allison informed him. “Think, Geoffrey. Pippin knows me better than anyone. I daresay he’s more likely to come to me than any of you.”
Geoffrey’s brows shot up. “Pippin?”
“Pip for short,” Allison replied, shrugging him off and hurrying forward once more. She gave Geoffrey no choice but to follow.
The sight that met her eyes as she and Geoffrey peered into the kitchen a few minutes later was less than encouraging. Monsieur Philip, the short, round French chef her mother had hired for the Season, was cowering in the corner opposite them by the door to the rear yard, muttering imprecations in his native tongue. The scullery maid they had hired for the Season as well as the two hired for the ball had clambered up on the kitchen work table in the center of the large, high-ceilinged room, knees pulled up to their chins. The oak table wobbled under their combined weight, and they looked ready to be rescued by the two strapping footmen, who were busy banging on cupboard doors and whistling under chairs. The other two serving men hired for the ball were busily transferring the many delicacies for the midnight supper from the loaded sideboard beside the door into safe keeping in the pantry across the back of the room. They had yet to save the multi-tiered, many-pillared cake that sat on the sideboard across the room from where Allison and Geoffrey watched. Guarding the door to the pantry, broomstick at the ready, stood Alan.
He glanced up as they attempted to enter and waved the broomstick back and forth in warning. “No, you don’t. Geoffrey, I thought you were coming down the back stair.”
Geoffrey shrugged. “I was apprehended.”
“It’s my fault,” Allison volunteered. “I thought I might be of assistance.”
“As you can see, we have everything under control,” Alan told her cheerfully.
One of the scullery maids yanked her legs up tighter and let out a warbling squeal, pointing across the kitchen toward Monsieur Philip, who blanched as white as the frosting on his cake. “There it goes!”
Although Allison was sure nothing had moved, Geoffrey darted toward the spot, only to collide with a footman, intent on the same task. Arms and legs tangled, Geoffrey glowered in frustration at the man, who shrunk under the gaze.
“No, there!” shouted another maid, and before Geoffrey could untangle himself, the other footman hurried toward the spot she indicated.
“I’ll take no more chances,” Alan declared. “You two,” he pointed to the serving men on the food relay. “Get that cake in here, now!”
The two uniformed servants hurriedly grabbed the immense platter on which rested the cake, which Allison noticed was festooned with tiny yellow tea roses the exact shade of her gown. Balancing it between them, they moved with practiced ease toward the pantry door. With a sigh of obviously relief, Geoffrey freed himself.
Perkins opened the back stair door, and the ferret bolted into the room. The three maids screamed, Perkins froze, Geoffrey dove for the ferret with the footmen at his heels, Alan wielded his broom with purpose, and the beast made a flying leap for safety, straight up the cake.
“Pippin!” Allison cried in dismay and amazement. The serving men froze, obviously afraid to drop the cake and equally afraid not to. Geoffrey jerked to a stop and somehow managed to stop the footmen against his back before he too hit the cake. Allison caught her breath as Pippin poked his furry, frosting covered head out from behind a now-lopsided layer, took a look at Geoffrey’s face, and bared his fangs.
The maids screamed in unison. Before Allison could hush them, Pippin scrambled out of the cake and down one of the serving men’s legs. The poor fellow was so unnerved, he began hopping about, shaking his leg. The man on the other side of the cake made a heroic effort to keep it upright, glaring at his partner. With a hopeless groan, Geoffrey made a snatch for the platter, but the slick crystal slipped over his gloved fingers.
The cake fell, exploding in all directions.
Geoffrey closed his eyes as cake and frosting showered him from head to foot. Pippin darted out of the wreckage, sliding across the marble floor toward Allison. Heart going out to the little creature, she knelt to stop his flight. Pippin scurried up into her arms. She cradled him close, crooning and stroking his heaving sides. Around her, everything seemed to go still.
“I have him,” she called to the others, “safe and sound.”
“Safe,” Geoffrey replied, opening his eyes and striding to her side. “But hardly sound. Look at this place!”
“The kitchen is the least of our worries,” Alan told him, moving to join them. “Your gown will never pass your mother’s approval now, Miss Allison.”
Allison glanced down belatedly. Yellow frosting and tufts of white cake festooned her gown from hem to bosom. The diamond on her chest more closely resembled a frosted grape than the jewel it was. Her matching gloves were equally coated.
“Mais mon piéce de resistance!” the chef moaned, staring at the remains of the cake. “My masterpiece, ruined!”
Out in the entry, the clock struck eight.
Allison’s eyes widened. “The guests will be here in one hour. We’re doomed!”
Geoffrey grit his teeth. She thought he might agree with her, but her pride in him grew when he straightened his shoulders and replied, “No, we’re not. You’re going to have a come out if I have to bake a cake myself.”
“The cake isn’t the only thing we’ll have to manufacture,” Alan pointed out.
Allison glanced down at her dress again. “Don’t worry about the dress. I’ll change in my room, and Mother won’t know until she sees me in the receiving line. By then, it will be too late.” She hugged Pippin to her and turned to go, then, feeling Geoffrey’s eyes on her, she couldn’t resist turning back. “Thank you, Geoffrey, for not giving up.”
He frowned at her, and she decided to escape before he could say anything to spoil his heroism.
Of course, nothing she owned compared to the golden-yellow dress. Mary had just finished setting the room
to rights when Allison entered and, obviously feeling guilty for Pippin’s escape, was only too happy to help Allison search through the wardrobe. In the end, she chose a blue satin gown the color of her eyes with a silver net overskirt. When Mary hung the diamond necklace, which she had hurriedly rinsed off in the basin, about Allison’s neck, the stones gleamed just as blue. Somehow, they seemed less cold to her. Satisfied, she hurried downstairs to join her family.
Her mother’s eyes glittered more coldly than the diamonds when she saw Allison’s outfit. Luckily, the first guests were arriving, and she could say nothing in front of so many people. Allison bobbed and curtseyed and nodded as appropriate as each of their guests was introduced, all the while keeping one ear tuned toward the back stairs and the kitchen. She found it impossible to hide her disappointment when the last guest had been ushered in and still Geoffrey had not appeared.
“May I escort you on your night, Miss Allison?” Alan asked beside her. When she sighed, he frowned. Catching her mother’s barely raised eyebrow, Allison pasted on a smile.
“How very thoughtful of you, Squire,” she replied, and her mother nodded. Together they made their way into the room.
She expected Alan to lead her out for the first dance. To her surprise, he relinquished her hand to the Marquis DeGuis, who bowed with the same formality he had shown in the entry way.
“Miss Munroe, will you do me the honor of this dance?” he inquired as the string quartet began playing.
She was tempted to accept him. In his formal evening black, he was a magnificent sight, all contrasts from his jet black hair to the white of the cravat to the black of his coat and breeches and the white stockings. She had never seen his smile warmer. But the hero of the hour was Geoffrey Pentercast, and loyalty demanded that she wait. She glanced again toward the entryway, earning another look from her mother. Even if Geoffrey appeared, she realized, she would have to take her first dance with the most senior gentleman at the ball. The marquis’ rank made him the obvious choice.
She curtseyed. “I would be delighted.”
He gave her his arm and escorted her to the set that was forming. The dance was one of the most common, a staid, old-fashioned air, and she wished her mother would have thought of something more original for the first dance. Still, the marquis moved through the paces with practiced ease, comporting himself with her and the other lady of their quartet with equal grace. Even when they stood out at either end of the set, his conversation was about the commonplace and ordinary.
It was like every other ball she had attended since arriving in London. Somehow, she had always thought hers would be special. As she danced down the line of couples or promenaded with Grace around the sides of the room, however, she realized why the night was so disappointing.
It simply wasn’t her ball. She would never have chosen the diamonds to go with the golden dress. While the string quartet was elegant, she would have selected more lively dances than the ones they minced through. Besides Grace, Lady Janice, and Margaret, no one in attendance was a particular friend. All the anticipation, all the anxiety, for what? She’d have much rather been playing penny loo with Geoffrey in the kitchen.
And as soon as she could make her escape, she stole away to do just that.
Chapter Six
As it turned out, the cake was the least of Geoffrey’s worries that night. The French chef immediately set about making petit fours from the remains. Among the other delicacies Alan had managed to save in the pantry, the lack of a center piece was unnoticeable, at least to Geoffrey’s admittedly unsophisticated eye.
He hoped the lack of his presence at the ball was equally unnoticed. It wasn’t as if he was needed in the kitchen. Mrs. Munroe had hired plenty of servants to augment their already considerable staff. As soon as Allison, Pippin, and Alan left, they all scurried about their duties for the impending party, while Perkins wandered about in silence. At first Geoffrey thought he was trying to act as if he were above all the chaos around him, but then he noticed that the man could direct his staff with no more than a pointed look to send them on their way.
Some of his minions cast Geoffrey surreptitious glances as if they wondered why he remained standing in the corner. Most simply ignored him, focusing on the task at hand. Several times he noticed the French chef on the verge of asking him a question, but, each time the little man encountered Geoffrey’s gaze, he swallowed and hurried on. Perkins ignored him and left to continue his duties with the arriving guests.
Geoffrey knew his mother would have had apoplexy if she had known he was using the excuse of the ferret’s mess, which was cleaned up in a miraculously short time with no help from him, to hide away in the nether regions of the house. Even when he realized he wasn’t needed, he felt it his duty to make sure nothing else went wrong to spoil Allison’s special evening. Besides, hiding in the kitchen was surely safer than confronting Mrs. Munroe. He wished he could count on her renowned calm, but he was fairly sure that even she had to be gnashing her teeth over the change in plans. Best he just stay out of her way.
Unfortunately, hiding in the kitchen kept him from seeing how Allison was faring. He wondered whether Alan had been given the honor of escorting her out for the first dance. He wondered whether the gown she had found to wear called attention to her bosom the way the yellow-gold dress had done. Most of all he wondered whether the reportedly dashing Marquis DeGuis had been similarly appreciative of her many charms. As each moment passed, he found more and more things to wonder about.
His concerns must have shown on his face, for he suddenly noticed that the serving staff were going out of their way to bypass his corner. This ridiculous fear did nothing to assuage his growing anger, at himself, at Allison’s mother, at Pippin, and at everyone who was out in the ballroom enjoying themselves. By the time the last tidbit had been sent out for the midnight supper, with most of the servants accompanying it in some capacity and the chef retiring from a case of nerves, he was clenching his fists at his side and wishing someone would give him an excuse to start a fight. When the door from the ground floor opened moments later, he snarled, “Oh what now,” before he even looked to see which of the servants had forgotten something.
“Is that any way to greet your rescuer?” Allison asked with a laugh from the doorway.
Geoffrey jerked upright from where he had slouched against the far wall. He found he liked the light-blue satin dress she had chosen to replace the gold one. This dress had more flounces and made her look younger and happier. Her radiant appearance only made him realize how dingy he must look. White cake still festooned the front of his coat and dribbled down his breeches. His evening pumps were thick with frosting. He wondered where else the cake might have lodged that he didn’t notice at the moment. His one consolation was that in taking the brunt of the explosion, he had spared the servants from trying to find matching livery to replace any damaged ones.
Allison grinned at him. “You’re obviously enjoying yourself down here,” she teased, “so perhaps I should return to the ball.”
Geoffrey grinned back, pleased to see her so happy. “Perhaps you should at that, before you ruin another dress. It is your party, after all. How goes it?”
Allison made a face. “Tedious beyond words. Honestly, Geoffrey, I’ve never been so disappointed in all my life. To think how much I believed I was missing.”
“As bad as all that?” Geoffrey asked, surprised as well.
“Worse,” Allison assured him. “I can see now I should have taken a stronger stance on those invitations. Grace, Margaret, Lady Janice, and I can barely find enough partners to fill the dance floor. These may be the cream of London Society, but they seem like nothing but the veriest of stuffed dolls!”
“So much for taking London by storm,” Geoffrey agreed. “Are you ready to give up and come home?”
She raised her chin. “Never. I still have to convince Mother that I’m an adult. Do you know she refused to let the musicians play a waltz when I asked?”
“Horrors!” Geoffrey cried in mock dismay, enjoying the fire in her eye. “A little too wicked for the proper London family, eh?”
Allison tossed her head. “Everyone who is anyone dances the waltz. Lady Jersey says so.”
“Really?” He couldn’t let such a moment pass. He stripped off his soiled coat, tossing it on the table. “I surely wouldn’t want this evening to be a total disappointment for you. By all means, let us waltz.”
Allison stared at him. Even when he held out his arms encouragingly, she looked dubious. “You cannot be serious.”
“Why not? This is one place your mother will surely not invade tonight. And we’d better be quick about it or the servants will invade. That supper will not last forever.” He sketched a bow, lowering his head so she would not see the hope in his eyes. “Miss Munroe, may I have the honor of this dance?”
Her laugh bubbled up, spoiling the seriousness of her answering courtesy. “Mr. Pentercast, I would be delighted.”
He slipped his arms about her slender waist, careful to keep her dress from touching his stained breeches even though all of him shouted to hold her close. Humming, he led her about the room in what he hoped was something approaching the dance he had only seen performed once before.
Allison gazed up at him, the laughter fading from her blue eyes to be replaced by something more, something deeper, something that called to him. If it hadn’t been for his breeches, he’d have pulled her closer, bent his head, touched those soft pink lips with his own.
They spun about the work table and past the fire, setting her dress and diamonds to glimmering in the light. Geoffrey gazed down into Allison’s eyes, which sparkled like twin jewels, dimming the glow from the diamonds. He felt his breath coming fast, and somehow he didn’t think it was because of the dance. He leaned forward and whispered into her ear, “See, moonling, isn’t this better than a crowded ballroom?”
“Allison Ermintrude Munroe!”
Geoffrey froze, and Allison jerked to a stop, blanching. He was afraid to turn, knowing Mrs. Munroe would surely throw him out this very night. But when he turned, prepared to meet his fate, he saw Gen standing in the doorway, hands on the hips of her rose satin ball gown, a scowl on her pretty face.