Catch of the Season (The Marvelous Munroes Book 2)

by Regina Scott

  “This is getting ridiculous,” she had told him as he offered to help her down. Before he could respond, Samson had reared out of the waiting groom’s hand, and Geoffrey had been forced to hurry over to calm the brute. The marquis had stepped smoothly into his place, arms outstretched.

  “I quite agree with you, my dear,” he said as he lifted her easily to the ground. “Why don’t you tell the oaf that you favor my suit, and we’ll have done with all this nonsense?”

  Allison had only glared at him.

  Her one solace was that the days allotted for the marquis’ visit were growing short. Up until they had started this ridiculous competition, she would have said she had been growing fond of him. She still wasn’t sure she could ever agree to marry him, but she had considered asking him to renew his courtship next Season. The winter in Wenwood would give her and the marquis time to think. It would also give her time to shake some sense into Geoffrey.

  The final scheduled event was to be the Barnsley Assembly only a week before Guy Fawkes Day. All she had to do was to keep them at bay for a few days after that, and she would have the Abbey once more to herself.

  She wasn’t sure what to expect the night of the assembly. She was to ride in the marquis’ carriage with her mother. Geoffrey, Genevieve, Alan, and the dowager Mrs. Pentercast were to meet them there. She dressed with little regard to what she wore, throwing on the blue dress from her come out ball but replacing the diamonds with the pearl necklace and earrings her father had given her on her fifteenth birthday and throwing a silvery gauze shawl about her shoulders. Her mother did not seem too pleased with her choice, raising a quizzing glass from the chest of her purple ball gown and squinting at her through it as if Allison had suddenly developed spots. The dismissive shake of her mother’s head as Perkins unobtrusively draped the black velvet cloak about her shoulders did nothing to raise Allison’s spirits.

  She should not have been surprised to find two sets of flowers in the entryway of the Abbey that night. The magnificent white rose corsage was from the marquis, with a card that read, “Only your beauty could dwarf such loveliness.” Geoffrey had sent a nosegay of woodland violets with a card that bore only his initials. Both arrangements were lovely. However, she sadly decided, as she couldn’t very well wear both, and wearing either would have only given the advantage to one or the other, she elected to wear neither. Chimes bustled forward with her own velvet cloak, glaring at Perkins whose nose raised fractionally higher. Allison set off to the assembly with only her pearls as decoration.

  “I’d always thought it would be romantic to have two gentlemen fighting over me,” she whispered to her sister Gen soon after they arrived. “But so help me, all I want to do is box their ears!”

  Gen smiled sympathetically as she watched her husband dance with their mother. “Perhaps they’ll be well behaved tonight,” she whispered back, absently rubbing her belly.

  Allison regarded her sister with concern. “You look a little piqued. Are you and the baby all right?”

  Gen smiled again. “Tolerable. Doctor Praxton says I seem to be coming along nicely, but I am beginning to feel a bit ungainly. Mrs. Pentercast says I’m just about the size she was when she bore Alan. In fact, this lavender dress was one of hers. Even with her support, and yours, however, I probably shouldn’t have come tonight. It’s not as if I can dance.”

  Allison squeezed her hand. “But sometimes it’s just enjoyable to be out with others. I’m glad you came.”

  “Thank you,” Gen replied, returning the gesture. “Now, let us hope your two suitors behave so that we both might have a good time.”

  But their hopes were dashed almost immediately. The marquis and Geoffrey seemed intent on showing each other up. DeGuis, in a splendid black coat and breeches and sapphire waistcoat that would have graced any London ball, made sure to claim Allison’s hand for the second set. Geoffrey, looking only slightly less sartorial in his black coat, grey breeches, and navy figured waistcoat, had claimed her afterward and kept her on the floor two dances in a row, raising several eyebrows in the process. The marquis capped him by getting the Widow Munroe to dance on the parquet floor, while many of the villagers of Wenwood and Barnsley watched from wide walkways and scattered chairs and divans. Allison had hoped that having them both on the floor would give her a few minutes in which to have a private word with Geoffrey. To her dismay, he coerced the elderly Widow Tate to dance instead. She wasn’t entirely sure what that was supposed to prove, unless it was how gentlemanly he had become. She surrendered herself to Alan and tried to enjoy the dance.

  Their competition only worsened as the night wore on. Geoffrey was first to bring her refreshments from the laden table on one side of the large, open room, but it was the marquis who brought her the little iced cakes to which she was partial. The marquis promenaded with her about the room, but Geoffrey found her a seat on one of the divans on which to rest afterward. If she hadn’t been so annoyed by all the attention to pointless details, she was sure she would have found it all very funny.

  Truly, she thought as she stood beside her mother between sets, she should be enjoying herself. The music was fine, there were plenty of young gentlemen with which to dance, and the cool autumn air coming through the open doors on the far wall kept the crowded hall at a reasonable temperature. If only the marquis and Geoffrey would behave. If only her mother would speak to her rather than to complain of her behavior. If only wishes were kittens.

  “What do you think about that dress Mary Delacourte is wearing?” her mother asked her.

  Allison blinked, surprised and gratified at being asked for an opinion. She stared at her mother open-mouthed for a moment, then hurriedly tried to find the tall young woman who had lived near them since they were children. “It’s a lovely shade of purple,” she ventured, spying her among a crowd of gentlemen across from them, “but it makes her look old.”

  Her mother nodded. “My thoughts entirely. Purple is a color for matrons. I much prefer the blues you affect.”

  Allison beamed. “Thank you, Mother.”

  Her mother opened her fan and applied it slowly. “And has the marquis mentioned how he is enjoying his stay with us?”

  “He appears to be enjoying it quite well,” Allison all but snapped.

  Her mother raised an eyebrow. “You do not sound pleased. It seemed to me that you two were getting on rather well.”

  Allison sighed, putting on a pleasant smile that she knew would satisfy her mother. “We had been getting on famously. But he has been preoccupied of late.” She couldn’t very well complain about Geoffrey to her mother. The Widow Munroe would only have refused to allow him to call. Even as annoyed as Allison was with him, she didn’t like the idea of him disappearing entirely.

  That made her realize she had lost sight of both him and the marquis among the crowds. She turned to face her mother in time to see her actually chewing her lower lip. She was so surprised that she collected her thoughts with difficulty. “Do you see the marquis about, Mother?”

  Before her mother could answer, both the man in question and Geoffrey appeared beside her. “All this standing about after dancing must have chilled you, Miss Munroe,” Geoffrey mused, all solicitation, although his eyes never left the marquis beside him. “Perhaps you’d like that fetching shawl you were wearing earlier?”

  “Splendid idea, Pentercast,” the marquis replied before Allison could assert that she was perfectly fine. “Allow me to get it for you, my dear.” He was off before she or Geoffrey could stop him.

  Geoffrey scowled. Allison was ready to tell him to stop this ridiculous behavior when his brow cleared. He nodded toward the top of the room where the trio of musicians was beginning the strains of the next dance.

  “About time,” he declared. “I’ve been after them to play a waltz all night.” He held out his hands and offered her a wink that made her heart sing. “Come on, moonling, let’s show them how it’s done.”

  He was so much like the Geoffrey of old, e
yes twinkling with mischief, head cocked in challenge, that she couldn’t deny him. With a laugh, she took his hands and let him lead her onto the floor.

  Neither of them was all that good at waltzing, she realized as they bumbled about the room. It wasn’t too surprising. She had only seen it done a few times, and only practiced it once in the kitchen of the London town house. Of course, there were no tables or chairs to steer around on the floor of Barnsley Grange as there had been in London. In fact, Allison realized after a few turns, there weren’t even any other couples to watch for. Everyone had cleared the floor for her and Geoffrey.

  She felt a surge of pride as he grinned at her. They must be dancing better than she’d thought, because everyone else was obviously content to stand aside and watch. She threw herself into the movements with renewed vigor, and Geoffrey laughed out loud as he twirled her about. She’d never felt so perfectly at ease, as if this was where she belonged. Gazing up into those dark brown eyes, she suddenly realized that the feelings of exuberance had less to do with the dance and far more to do with the fact that she was in Geoffrey Pentercast’s arms. The very thought made her stumble. Geoffrey caught her effortlessly and swept her back into step.

  She knew her face must be a flaming red as the music ended, somewhat abruptly she thought. They swung to a stop. Geoffrey released her and bowed. She remembered to curtsey. As she rose, she realized that everyone in the room was staring. Just as quickly as the blood had risen to her cheeks, it left. What she had taken for admiration was shock. She did not need to turn her head to know her mother was bearing down on her.

  “You were magnificent,” Geoffrey murmured beside her, as if he knew the doom about to descend. “Don’t let them take that away from you.”

  Allison swallowed, turning. Beside her mother strode the marquis. She felt herself stiffen at the fire in his eye. Before she could speak, however, he stopped to drape the shawl over her shoulders.

  “Quite an exhibition, my dear,” he said loudly enough to be overheard by all the dowagers nearby, including a wide-eyed Mrs. Pentercast. All the women leaned forward as if they caught the whiff of gossip. “Your grace on the dance floor is ever inspiring.”

  “Thank you, my lord,” she managed, keeping her eyes lowered.

  “In fact, I am so proud of your accomplishments that I can wait no longer to make our announcement.”

  Allison gasped, head coming up involuntarily. His jaw was set, his blue eyes icy with implacability. “You wouldn’t. Not here, not now.”

  “You’ve left me with little choice if I am to win this game,” he replied coldly.

  “Don’t,” Geoffrey said quietly. “We all know it’s a lie.”

  The marquis’ face hardened still more. “You were amusing, Pentercast. You are amusing no longer. I find I have no more patience for this competition.”

  “No one asked you to compete in the first place,” Allison interrupted heatedly.

  “My lord,” Mrs. Munroe put in. “This is unseemly. We are making a scene. I believe we would be better served to make the announcement before a select group of friends and family, as you agreed.”

  “I find I have changed my mind,” he replied, refusing to look at her. He raised his voice. “Pardon me, gentle people, but I have an announcement to make.”

  Allison grasped his arm. “Please, my lord, don’t do this. I will only have to deny you publicly.”

  “You wouldn’t dare,” he said. “Your mother has given her word.”

  “Then, sir,” Allison replied firmly, refusing to quail before his fury, “you may marry my mother.”

  “Enough,” her mother snapped. Allison stared at her in amazement. She raised her voice. “Friends, neighbors, pardon this intrusion, as the marquis has requested, but we do indeed have most joyous news.”

  “Mother!” Allison cried.

  “It is my pleasure to announce…”

  “Don’t!”

  “…the engagement…”

  “Stop!”

  “…of my daughter Allison…”

  “I refuse!”

  “…to the Marquis DeGuis.”

  In desperation, Allison reached out a hand to Geoffrey. He started forward only to be swept aside by the tide of well-wishers who engulfed them. Allison struggled against them, ignoring the outstretched arms, the smiling faces, the cries of delight. She felt as if she were drowning, suffocating, being trampled. Someone grabbed her arm, and she found herself facing her mother, who enfolded her in a fierce hug.

  “It’s for the best, dearest,” she murmured in Allison’s ear. “You’ll see. Everything is arranged, the church, the flowers, your dress. If I hadn’t stepped in, you might have married someone like Geoffrey Pentercast.”

  “Oh, Mother!” Allison cried, tears starting. “Can’t you see? That’s exactly what I should be doing.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Geoffrey sat in the Pentercast carriage and glowered. He was frustrated, angry, and confused. He did not need to be told that his face reflected his feelings, for his mother had retreated as far from him as the velvet-upholstered seat they shared would permit. Her tiny face was puckered in concern. Across from them, Gen was eyeing him with obvious sympathy, and Alan had a frown that must nearly match his own.

  “You all think this is over, don’t you?” he growled at them.

  Alan and Genevieve exchanged glances, which only served to fuel his fire. “I’m sorry, old man,” Alan offered. “The choice has always been Miss Allison’s. I just didn’t think this would be the final outcome.”

  Geoffrey snorted. “It isn’t the final outcome. Not if I have anything to say about it.”

  “That’s just it, dearest,” Genevieve put in gently. “You haven’t anything to say about it. It does seem as if Allison has made her choice.”

  “I don’t believe it!” Geoffrey declared, frustration packing every syllable. “Didn’t you hear her protesting?”

  His mother’s eyes widened. “All I heard was Trudy, announcing it in public.”

  “We all heard my mother,” Genevieve assured her mother-in-law. “I have to own I find it as odd as Geoffrey does. I was in a position to see Allison’s face as Mother made the announcement. She was anguished.”

  “There!” Geoffrey nodded. “You see?”

  His mother frowned back at him, mouth pursed thoughtfully. “But it will not be easy to get out of so public an announcement,” she insisted. “No young lady likes to be termed a jilt, even a Munroe.”

  Genevieve’s eyes narrowed, but Geoffrey had to admire the fact that she chose not to remind her mother-in-law that she had been a Munroe until less than a year ago. “Allison isn’t a jilt,” she said.

  “Not if she doesn’t refuse the Marquis DeGuis,” Mrs. Pentercast agreed brightly.

  “Even if she does refuse the Marquis DeGuis,” Geoffrey maintained belligerently. His mother pouted, turning her face to the window.

  “I truly don’t know what to think,” Genevieve said with a sigh. “It seemed to me that Allison really wasn’t sure which of you to choose. Have you done anything recently, Geoffrey, to sway her toward the marquis?”

  “Nothing,” Geoffrey said quellingly. “And Allison would have told me to my face if she preferred someone else.”

  Alan nodded. “You have a point there. I’ve never known your sister, Gen, to go behind someone’s back with news of this importance.”

  Genevieve nodded as well. “But if Allison didn’t agree to the marquis’ suit, what on earth possessed Mother to announce it that way?”

  “She’s preening, of course,” the dowager Mrs. Pentercast said, turning to face them once more. “She’s been on her high ropes ever since she brought that man back from town. Her older daughter may have settled for a country squire, but Miss Allison was going to be a Lady.”

  Geoffrey scowled. “So, she was hanging out for the title, was she?”

  “Geoffrey,” Gen said warningly. She turned to her mother-in-law. “I think you do my mother an i
njustice, Mother Pentercast. Allison told me how she agreed to the engagement without Allison’s knowledge, but surely she wouldn’t have announced it in public without some indication from Allison.”

  “I don’t want to argue with you, dear,” Mrs. Pentercast replied firmly. “I suppose you’ll just have to ask your mother.” She turned away again, but not before muttering under her breath, “If you can get a word in around her bragging.”

  Geoffrey ignored his mother, as Gen was apparently trying to do. Mrs. Pentercast and Mrs. Munroe had competed since childhood—who would be the first to wed, who would catch the richest prize on the marriage mart, who would bear the first son. It was natural for his mother to assume the Widow Munroe was still competing. Geoffrey was afraid there was more to it than that.

  “Regardless, my mother’s announcement does not explain Lord DeGuis’ behavior,” Genevieve continued. “He always impressed me as such a private man. Whatever made him want her to announce the engagement so suddenly like that?”

  Geoffrey shook his head, gazing out the window into the darkness beyond the carriage lights. “I drove him to it. I simply couldn’t leave well enough alone. I thought I could actually win at this civil game we’ve been playing. What a fool!”

  “Courting can be a game, Geoffrey,” Genevieve replied quietly, “but it need not be. I don’t think it was a game to Allison.”

  “Then why didn’t she do more to resist?” he demanded, turning to her.

  As if she saw the anger in his face, Gen recoiled, and Alan’s arm slid around her shoulders as if in protection.

  Geoffrey ran his hand back through his hair. “I’m sorry, Gen. I didn’t mean to take my anger out on you. But the simple matter is, Mother is right. Your sister will not get out of this easily.”

  And why should she even try, his better half argued as he returned his gaze to the darkness. In the last few weeks, he had developed a grudging admiration for the Marquis DeGuis. The man was clever and generally good-natured, with a quiet sense of humor that was all the more enjoyable because it showed so rarely. He was a bruising rider, an excellent shot, and a brilliant billiard player. Although Geoffrey hadn’t succeeded in getting him drunk the few nights they had sat over port after dinner, he had no doubt that the marquis would be friendly even then. In all things, DeGuis seemed the sort of man Geoffrey had always wanted to be. He had never thought the fellow would prove to have such a marked jealous streak.