by Regina Scott
The vista before her was unpeopled, enhancing her feeling of being alone in the world. Outside, the wine rows gave way to fields of grain rippling to the rise of the hills. Only an occasional hedgerow blocked her view. As they passed one, the hills nearer Wenwood opened up. Atop the nearest, silhouetted against the mid-day sun, sat a lone horseman. Allison blinked, sitting a little straighter.
Bryce must have caught her movement, for she began to gather up her work. “Are we nearly at the Abbey, Miss Allison?” she asked.
Allison shook her head. “We still have a few miles to go. But someone is watching our procession.”
Bryce peered out the window, then paled. “A highwayman!”
Allison laughed. “Surely not. Probably some farmer inspecting his fields. We make a lovely show for him, do we not?”
As if to refute her assertion, the horse reared, hooves pawing the air, the rider leaning forward to remain in the saddle. Then horse and rider plunged down the hillside, straight for the road.
“Lord, save us!” Bryce cried.
Allison beamed at the wide-eyed abigail. “Come closer to the window, Bryce, so you can get a better view. It appears as if we are to be entertained before we even reach the Abbey.”
Bryce swallowed and looked anything but entertained.
Allison only grinned and returned her gaze to the window. This was her idea of excitement. Bryce was pale, and she wagered that if the Widow Munroe was looking she would be frowning. She wondered if it were a highwayman, would the marquis in the third carriage come forward with a pistol to defend them? The only person who might enjoy such a spectacle more was Geoffrey Pentercast.
As the rider closed the distance, she could see he rode a magnificent roan stallion, nearly as big and fast as the legendary Samson, Enoch McCreedy’s prize breeder. Gooseflesh pimpled her arms suddenly, and she caught her breath. Try as she might, she could not make out a face at this distance and the rider wore a top hat in danger of falling off with his pounding ride so that she could not tell the color of his hair. Still, the shoulders were broad enough, and the frame powerful enough to be Geoffrey. She craned forward.
“I don’t much like this,” Bryce muttered as the rider swept nearer and Allison strained to see him better. “I’m going to tell the coachman to stop.” She started to rise to rap on the panel above them. Allison grabbed her and pulled her back into her seat.
“You will do nothing of the kind. The coachman has a better view than we do. If he thinks we’re in danger, he’ll do something about it.” Indeed, it seemed to her as if the coach had picked up speed. Perhaps their driver sought to outrun the swiftly approaching horseman. As if he knew it too, the rider bent low over the horse’s neck, urging him on. Moments later, they burst out of the grain, flying toward the low hedgerow that separated the road from the fields.
“Is he mad?” Bryce cried. “He’ll never clear the hedge and the ditch!”
“And we won’t be able to see in another minute!” Allison grabbed the window and forced it down even as Bryce cried out in protest. The wind swirled through the opening, whipping their hair about their faces. Allison clambered up on the seat and stuck her head out of the window.
“Oh, come in, Miss Allison, do,” Bryce pleaded. Then even she seemed to catch the excitement. “Can you see him? Has he jumped? Did he make it?”
“He’s nearly there,” Allison reported, heart in her throat. Ahead, the row loomed larger than she had remembered. Even on Samson, he was a fool to try it. But what a magnificent fool!
Across from her, Bryce muttered a prayer.
The stallion’s speed never slackened. The rider never hesitated. Even his top hat stayed miraculously on his head. The horse plunged toward the hedge, bunched his hind quarters, and sailed through the air to land on the verge of road and dash across the pebbled path.
Allison nearly collided with Bryce in her hurry to get to the opposite side of the carriage. Even as she pressed her nose to the glass, she felt the equipage slowing and heard a hail from ahead. The pounding hooves stilled, but in the quiet her heart seemed to pound even more loudly. Ahead, the rider had managed to turn and slow his mount. Even now, they drew abreast. Allison bit her lip, afraid to hope.
The rider came into view, a dusty if impeccably dressed Corinthian with a red riding habit boasting black velvet lapels, black trousers, and tasseled Hessians. Geoffrey would never have dressed so fashionably, even to impress someone he was courting. Allison’s heart sank.
The carriage rocked to a stop. She could barely stand to look at the fellow, so keen was her disappointment that it wasn’t Geoffrey. Bryce glanced at her, then lowered the carriage window herself.
“Good afternoon, ladies,” the apparition spoke in a deep voice like a caress. Allison’s head came up, and she stared in amazement at the laughter in those familiar brown eyes.
“Welcome to Wenwood,” Geoffrey Pentercast said, touching the brim of his top hat and sketching a bow from the saddle. “I thought I’d ride out to greet you.”
Chapter Ten
Something bright and good shot through Geoffrey as the smile spread on Allison’s face, lighting her eyes. The sun echoed in her curls, tousled as if she too had just raced the wind. His humor was only helped that at her side, instead of a devoted fiancé, sat a wide-eyed Bryce.
Allison put her gloved hands together and applauded. “Well done, Geoffrey! Your time with Enoch McCreedy has definitely been well spent.”
He couldn’t help glancing down at his attire. “Your sister told me to dress like this.”
Allison laughed, the sound as welcome as the cool water of the brook that threaded its way through the Munroe/Pentercast woods. “I wasn’t referring to your clothes, Geoffrey, but the fact that you’re riding Samson. I do not recall anyone in Wenwood being accorded the honor.”
“Enoch knew this was important to me,” he replied, rather hoping she would understand and that the others might not. To his dismay, she paled. However, before he could ask what troubled her, he was hailed from farther along the caravan. Allison turned with Bryce at the sound.
Geoffrey eyed Perkins, telling himself this was only the first of the trials before him. The man walked slowly and regally to the first carriage, nose slightly lifted. It might have been the dust that he was trying not to inhale, but Geoffrey rather thought it was a comment on the present company. The man ignored Allison and Bryce, then paused to gaze up at Geoffrey from a position just below Samson’s flared nostrils. His gaze was without the usual rancor, which surprised Geoffrey.
“Pardon me, sir,” he intoned, “but Mrs. Munroe would like to know why our journey is delayed. She does not believe we have made your acquaintance.”
Geoffrey’s grin flashed. He was doing better than he had expected if even Perkins failed to recognize him. “You cannot know how delighted I am to hear that, Mr. Perkins. Please convey my apologies to Mrs. Munroe and assure her we have been introduced many times. It was not my intention to delay you, but to escort you. The roads can be difficult for a group of such lovely ladies traveling alone. As a local landowner, I thought to provide assistance. Of course, had I known they were already escorted by a gentleman of your caliber, I need not have bothered.”
Perkins’s narrow face squeezed into the smallest of satisfied smiles. “I shall be happy to relay the information, sir. Will you ride with us to the Abbey, then?”
“With Miss Munroe’s gracious permission.” Geoffrey nodded a bow toward Allison, forcing Perkins to turn and acknowledge her existence. He didn’t seem too pleased that the choice was hers. Allison’s smile was even more satisfied.
“Permission graciously granted,” she sang out. Perkins turned to bow to Geoffrey. “Your servant, sir.” As the butler walked back to the other carriage, Geoffrey turned to find Allison gazing at him quizzically.
“Coming on a bit strongly, aren’t you?” she asked. “Last time you were near Perkins we had to stop you from striking the fellow. Not that I blame you. Or has your tim
e with Enoch truly changed you after all?”
He wanted to blurt out exactly how it had changed him, but now was neither the time nor the place, not with Bryce frowning in the background. Besides, Allison almost made it sound as if she thought the change was not for the better. “I suppose only time will tell,” he hedged.
Beneath him, Samson stamped his feet restlessly, and he realized the other horses fretted in their traces. He swung Samson around. The coachman obviously took the cue, clucking to his own team, and the cavalcade set off once more.
Geoffrey would have liked to continue the conversation with Allison, but the rattle and creak of carriage and harness made it impossible. He tried to at least offer her a grin, but they had been forced to close the windows to keep out the dust, and all he could see was his own uneven reflection. Frustrated, he gave Samson his heel and rode up ahead of the coaches to the Abbey.
He beat them to the Abbey easily. Of the two houses on what had once been the Munroe estate, he vastly preferred his own Manor to the Abbey. Low-slung and sprawling, the house crouched amidst the woods of Wenwood, a small clearing at its front, and a pond and gardens at its back. Many of its front windows were no more than slits; Allison’s father had at least had the sense to replace some of the rear-facing windows with wider panes so that many of the common rooms had light and air. Still, he found it a brooding place. He hadn’t been up here since Allison had left.
At the sound of his arrival, grooms hurried from the stables to the left of the house and the darkly paneled double front doors swung wide, spilling footmen into the clearing. Behind them limped an older man, his white hair sparse about his ears, but the devilment in his nearly black eyes still evident.
“Hello, Chimes,” Geoffrey heralded, pulling Samson to a stop.
“Hello, yourself, you young jack-n-apes,” Chimes grumbled. “Stand down, men. We thought you were someone.”
Geoffrey laughed. “I am someone, Chimes. You should know that. However, the important ones are hard on my heels. If you listen, you’ll hear the sound of their passing.”
Chimes frowned but paused, cocking his head and lifting his long nose so that he resembled nothing so much as Alan’s favorite pointer. A low rumble built in the distance. He nodded. “Right you are, Mr. Geoffrey. Thanks for the warning.”
Geoffrey grinned at him “Thought you might want time to get into your coat, even if you haven’t worn it since they left.”
Chimes grinned back, showing the gap between his two front teeth. “I misplaced it months ago. Besides, I wouldn’t put it on even if I could find it. Her nibs will get used to me again, I warrant.”
Geoffrey had another of his premonitions of dread. So, Chimes didn’t know about Perkins. If Geoffrey was any judge, their meeting would be worse than the Battle of Vitoria. Down the drive, the rumble grew louder, and the cavalcade began pulling into the clearing. The footmen hurried forward to assist the arrivals, the grooms dashed up to settle the horses. Samson whickered his disapproval at being still so long. Geoffrey absently patted his neck, watching as Allison alighted.
She had changed. He could see it when she moved. Her carriage was taller, more elegant than he remembered, her movements graceful and sure. The hug she gave Chimes seemed restrained. When she whispered something in his ear, he frowned. Ah, Geoffrey thought, intelligence about the other side. She straightened, offering a supportive smile. Then she glanced up to meet Geoffrey’s eyes, and everything seemed to stop for a moment.
It was as if she could tell he had changed as well, even among the bustle and noise of the clearing. He sat straighter on Samson, even in the clothes that didn’t seem to be his, sure of who he was and what he wanted. Watching her, he saw the color leap to her cheeks. She knew he was here for her and her alone. A tingle shot through him. But she turned from him, shoulders rising and falling as if she took a deep breath.
He could not be dismayed. He’d seen the answering fire spring to her eyes before she turned away. He caught his breath, but before he could think of an appropriate response, the next carriage trundled into the yard, followed shortly by the third. The clearing was filled with horses and people, bags and baggage, shouts and calls. He dismounted Samson and led him around back before the horse could grow more restless.
Giving him to the stable master to hold, Geoffrey hurried back in time to see a tall, dark-haired man alight from the third carriage. He was well favored, broad shouldered, and lean legged. His impeccably tailored clothes and easy grace marked him as a peer of the realm. It didn’t take much to deduce that this was the Marquis DeGuis. Geoffrey grit his teeth. He hadn’t expected her to bring the man with her. What was the fellow, some trained lap dog?
From his vantage point at the side of the clearing, Geoffrey watched the marquis saunter through the chaos as if he strolled through Hyde Park on a day with little crowd. Behind him scurried a valet carrying a gentlemen’s toiletry box of polished inlaid wood. The valet, his coachman, and his grooms moved with efficiency and purpose no lap dog could have inspired. Geoffrey’s eyes narrowed.
The marquis joined the group near the front door, making a bow to the ladies in general. Geoffrey watched Allison, feeling as if he could hardly breathe. But Allison merely nodded politely and returned to her conversation with her mother. No lover-like reunion this. She’d been more welcoming of Geoffrey when he had ridden to meet them.
He sucked in a breath of the dust-filled, sweat-tinged air. Nothing had ever smelled sweeter. He had a chance after all. Allison was obviously not in love with the marquis, at least not yet. Perhaps that was why the man had followed her to the wilds of Somerset: He needed time to consolidate his advantage. Geoffrey wasn’t going to give the fellow so much as a quarter hour, if he could help it. He strode forward with purpose.
In the clearing, Perkins was attempting to direct the staff about their duties. The grooms who had remained in Wenwood frowned at him but kept about their business. Unfortunately, the work was obviously not going to his liking, for, as Geoffrey approached, he glanced about and spied Chimes near the door.
“You there, fellow,” he called. “See to Mrs. Munroe’s baggage.”
Chimes straightened, black eyes crackling with lightning.
First salvo, Geoffrey thought. He hurried toward the group by the door before the battle started in earnest.
Allison must have heard the call as well. She laid a hand on Chimes stiff arm. “That’s him,” Geoffrey heard her murmur. “Now, mind your manners! Remember what I told you. Just show him, and Mother, that you know how to run the Abbey.”
A muscle was working under Chimes left eye as he squinted at the tall, imposing butler. “Seems to me no one’s had call to question that before.”
“A lot of things have changed since Father died,” Allison replied, giving his arm a squeeze. “We have all had to learn new tricks.”
“Ho, fellow,” Perkins called impatiently, obviously unused to being ignored. “You are needed over here.”
Chimes whipped to face him. “I’m needed a great many places,” he proclaimed, striding forward.
Geoffrey slid into the man’s spot beside Allison. “Here comes the return fire,” he quipped.
Allison caught his meaning immediately. “I’d rather this wasn’t a war, if you please. Chimes has too much to lose.”
“Is something wrong, Miss Munroe?” the marquis asked, eyeing Geoffrey.
Geoffrey was tempted to glare the man into submission, but he realized that would be acting tremendously like the Geoffrey Pentercast he was supposed to have left behind. Instead, he smiled and bowed.
“I don’t believe we’ve met, my lord,” he said. “I’m Geoffrey Pentercast. I believe you know my older brother, the Squire.”
The marquis’ brow cleared, and he offered his hand. “Yes, of course, you would be the brother of Miss Munroe’s sister’s husband. I met your brother in London. I take it you’re the local landowner who rode out to meet us.”
“Yes, I am,” Geoffrey replied co
ngenially, trying not to like the man’s cordial manner. He rather hoped it was all an act, but too many people had praised the man in his hearing for him to be sure. “I wanted to welcome you all to Wenwood.” He turned to Allison, who had that suspicious look on her face again. “Especially Miss Munroe, straight from her triumphant Season.”
Allison managed a smile. “I used to so enjoy Mr. Pentercast’s company,” she replied airily.
Geoffrey tried not to wince at the past tense. He was sure he was being exactly the kind of man everyone had told him he was supposed to be. Yet it was only serving to set Allison’s teeth on edge. He tried again.
“Will you be staying with us long?” he asked the marquis in what he hoped was a conversational tone.
“For a while,” the marquis replied, offering Allison a smile. “The exact amount of time is up to Miss Munroe. My original plan was to stay until Guy Fawkes Day.”
So long as that? Geoffrey smothered a snarl of frustration. Then he brightened, realizing that once Allison agreed to cry off, the man would be packing in no time.
“That man is impossible,” Mrs. Munroe declared, joining them. “My lord, I want to assure you that only Perkins will be serving you while you grace us with your presence.”
“Perkins?” the marquis asked with a raised eyebrow.
The snooty butler would have been appalled to find he was so unmemorable. Geoffrey caught Allison’s eye and winked at her. She grinned back, and the day seemed suddenly brighter.
“Yes, Perkins, our London butler,” Mrs. Munroe replied. She turned to the clearing and shaded her eyes from the late afternoon sun. Allison followed her gaze, but the tall butler was nowhere in sight. Her mother frowned.
Chimes scampered up to the front doors and pushed them even farther open. “Sorry to take so long, my lord, ladies. This way, if you please.”