by Regina Scott
Which only meant that he had been close to reaching his goal, Geoffrey realized in the silence that followed their conversation. Why else would the marquis show his hand like that unless he was sure he was losing? The announcement would make Geoffrey’s job all that much harder, he knew. But even if Allison earned the name of jilt for a time, it wouldn’t matter once she was his wife. That still left him with his original goals—convince Allison and convince Mrs. Munroe that he was a better catch than the marquis.
The carriage trundled up the drive to the Manor. His mother stirred beside him, shaking out her black velvet evening cloak in preparation of alighting. Genevieve did likewise, grimacing as her shifting brought her belly up against Alan’s waist. Geoffrey eyed her.
“I know you must be tired, Sister Genevieve, but may I have a word with you before you retire?”
Alan frowned at him but did not gainsay his wife as she nodded. Mrs. Pentercast yawned.
“Oh, my dears, I’m quite done in. Geoffrey, try not to fret, dear. As I’ve said many times, the Munroe women are not capable of understanding love as we know it.”
Now it was Geoffrey’s turn to frown as the footmen helped them alight. Alan was quick to hold Gen’s hand as she carefully stepped from the carriage, murmuring assurances that he found a certain ex-Munroe quite capable of understanding love.
His mother’s remark gave Geoffrey a moment alone in the darkness. Mrs. Munroe was known for her coolness, but Allison? There was nothing cold or restrained about her, or at least there hadn’t been before she had left for London. Had a Season so changed her that she no longer felt comfortable displaying her feelings? Certainly she had seemed reticent since she had returned. If it were true, he had misjudged her reactions badly.
Still deep in thought, he wandered into the Manor and allowed Munson, their butler, to steer him toward the sitting room off the spacious entry where Genevieve awaited him. She was just lowering herself onto the settee, with what seemed like great difficulty to him. He shook himself and hurried to her other side to assist Alan.
“I’m fine.” She smiled at them both as she was seated. “Alan, you must stop fussing, and Geoffrey, you mustn’t let Alan convince you that fussing is necessary.”
Geoffrey grinned, going to sit on the chair opposite her even as his brother sank onto the settee beside her. “You’re wasting your breath. Alan lives to fuss over those he loves.”
Alan smiled ruefully. “I never thought of it as fussing, if you please. Besides, how many times in life does a man become a father for the first time?”
Gen shook her head fondly. “Obviously not enough.” She turned her attention to Geoffrey. “Now, brother, I assume you wanted to continue our conversation about Allison?”
“Yes,” Geoffrey admitted. “When we started this escapade, you offered to speak to your mother on my behalf. I take it you’ve done so, to no avail.”
Gen smiled at him fondly. “I have, my dear. You must be realistic, Geoffrey. What mother would prefer a second son just starting his life to a peer of the realm with estates spread from one end of the empire to the other?”
Geoffrey frowned, frustration building again. “Then I have no chance of winning her over?”
“Not from that angle,” Gen agreed. She started to lean forward, obviously remembered her stomach, and grimaced, straightening. Geoffrey stopped himself from asking if she was all right. She had just finished scolding him for fussing, as she called it. She wouldn’t welcome another comment so soon.
“However,” she was continuing, “there is one hope for you. If Allison declares her love for you, I don’t think Mother will gainsay her.”
“So,” Geoffrey mused, “you’re saying that the only person I have to convince of my worthiness is Allison.”
Genevieve nodded. “Exactly. I wish I could offer you more advice, but I don’t know how Allison feels. She told me tonight that she was ready to strangle you both.”
“Why?” Geoffrey frowned. “What have I done to displease her?”
“You and the marquis have been both a bit competitive of late, don’t you think?” Genevieve asked with an upraised eyebrow.
When Geoffrey scowled at her, Alan jumped in. “Oh, come now, old man. You’ve both been making cakes of yourselves. I thought I was going to suffocate from the perfume in church last Sunday from all the flowers you two had donated in Miss Allison’s honor. It’s a wonder Reverend Wellfordhouse could give his sermon without sneezing himself to death.”
“And did you have to carve her initials into every tree in the orchard?” Genevieve put in. “Mrs. Gurney came by to tell me we had some sort of disease among our trees when she saw the marks on the way to the village.”
Geoffrey hung his head, suddenly feeling foolish. “I suppose it was a bit much.”
“Much too much,” Genevieve maintained. “Is it any wonder Allison wanted to wash her hands of the pair of you?”
“Yet she agreed to marry the marquis,” Alan mused.
Geoffrey rose to pace. “I wish you would all stop assuming the worst.”
“The announcement certainly seems binding,” Genevieve allowed, “but truly, it is only as good as Allison allows it to be. She can still change her mind.”
Geoffrey snorted. “And everyone seems certain she won’t do that. You said it yourself, the marquis is perfect.”
“And as you said, Allison isn’t one to prefer perfection.” She tapped her chin thoughtfully with one finger. “I cannot stop thinking about how miserable Allison looked when Mother made the announcement. She hated what was happening. I don’t think she will go through with it, Geoffrey. I don’t think she loves the marquis.”
“Even so, it does not follow that she therefore loves me,” Geoffrey countered. He took a few turns around the settee, thinking of what else he could possibly do to prove his love to her. If Gen was right, his actions the last few weeks had only served to annoy Allison. It sounded as if he had lost ground rather than gaining it. He was on his third circuit when he noticed that Gen was straining to follow his movements, face contorted in discomfort. Sheepishly, he hastily returned to his seat.
“So, what would you advise?” he prompted his sister-in-law.
Genevieve eyed him, then glanced back at Alan.
Geoffrey narrowed his eyes. “I realize you two are husband and wife, but could you please stop sharing thoughts in front of me? It’s annoying.”
Gen grasped his brother’s hand and faced Geoffrey.
“I think the time is right for a bold act, Geoffrey,” she proclaimed.
Geoffrey raised an eyebrow. “A bold act? Sister Genevieve, are you encouraging me to behave in an uncivil manner?”
Her eyes twinkled, and suddenly he thought he understood why his brother had married her. “Heaven forbid, my dear! You have proven yourself every bit as refined and polished as the Marquis DeGuis.” She glanced back at Alan again, then grinned at Geoffrey. “Perhaps it’s time you proved yourself a Pentercast.”
Chapter Fifteen
Allison had a great deal of time to think how she should react to her mother’s betrayal. She knew Geoffrey had been disappointed that she had not cried out more stringently against the injustice right there at the assembly. She could see the accusations in his deep brown eyes. But if this Season had taught her anything, it was that sometimes it was better to think before reacting. She knew that this was one of those times.
Her mother did not seem to understand her layer of calm now either. By the light of the lanterns outside the carriage she could see her mother casting her glances, brow creased in thought. What did she expect—tears? Shouted refusals? Threats of escape or retribution? None of those things would solve the problem that had been thrust upon her.
Her future had been declared publicly. Now should she refuse the marquis’ offer, she would not only damage her own reputation but cause her mother to break her word and humiliate both her mother and the marquis. It was no more than they deserved for treating her so cavalierl
y, but she could not find it in her to be so vengeful. For all her mother’s misplaced notions, the lady was only trying to ensure a future for her daughter. And the marquis did earnestly want Allison for his wife. Their motives were honorable even if she abhorred their methods.
The Marquis DeGuis watched her as well, his gaze traveling between her and her mother. There was something in the darting glances that reminded her of a child caught in some mischief and unsure of the punishment. Even he did not seem to know what to make of her silence. She was hurt enough that she let them stew. She wasn’t sure what to say to them anyway.
Perkins whisked open the doors as they alighted, his stiffly proper bow earning him no more than a cursory glance from her mother as she handed him her cloak. Allison paused to wonder where Chimes had gotten to, but she caught her mother approaching and purposely turned her back, letting one of the hovering footmen take her own wraps. As soon as he was finished, she moved to continue on to her room, head high. The marquis touched her arm, slowing her.
“Shouldn’t we talk, Miss Munroe?” he asked, rather shakily she thought.
“Yes, my lord, we should,” she replied, refusing to be swayed by the hangdog expression on his handsome face. “But now is neither the time nor the place. We will all be better served if we sleep on the issue. Goodnight. Goodnight, Mother.”
Both her mother and the marquis murmured appropriate farewells, and she left them in the entryway looking bewildered.
She wasn’t sure whether she’d rest at all that night, but a strange sort of peace had fallen over her and she was asleep almost immediately upon lying on the four-poster bed. When she woke at a fashionably late hour, she was just as calm. Perhaps her Season had taught her something, she mused as she dressed herself in her darkest blue dress, a navy kerseymere with a white lace collar and cuffs. Mary poked her head in during the process, and Allison accepted the platter of meat she carried and her help with fastening up the gown then waved her away. She wanted to be alone with this feeling of personal power. She opened the ornamental cage and fed Pippin on her lap.
When the little fellow had finished, she stroked his soft fur for a few moments before returning him to his home. She’d been in a cage like his, within the bars her mother had erected. Even though her mother had carefully crafted them, Allison had been the one to agree to live within them. Like Pippin, she kept trying to escape, only to be returned. Today, she determined, that escape would be permanent.
She sat at her dressing table and ran the silver-backed brush through her flaxen hair, flattening her usual ringlets until she could catch the hair up in a bun at the nape of her neck. The woman gazing back at her looked stern and matronly—a governess perhaps or the housekeeper of a huge estate. She nodded in approval and rose to go to the kitchen.
Chimes was sitting at the oak work table in the center of the kitchen, a newspaper the marquis’s man of affairs had sent several days ago open before him.
“Chimes,” Allison announced as she sailed into the room. “You were not on duty last night.”
Their man-of-all-work snapped shut the paper and glowered at her. “You saying I was actually missed? Ha!”
Allison returned his scowl, her feeling of control singing in her veins. “Of course you were missed. You run this household, do you not?”
He frowned at her, then craned his neck to peer more closely. “You feeling all right this morning, Miss Allison?”
“Perfectly fine,” Allison replied, nose in the air. “Annie, would you possibly have time to make me tea and biscuits? I’m starving.”
“I’ll make you a whole breakfast,” the little housekeeper promised, shaking out the crisp white apron that covered her black bombazine. As long as Allison had known her, Annie had never so much as stained the white apron. Now the woman hurried over to the stove across the room, humming as she selected the correct pots and pans from a rack overhead.
“They’ve been up for hours,” she confided over her shoulder. “Gossip has it your engagement was announced at the assembly. Neither of them looked all too pleased about it, Miss Allison.”
Allison smiled wryly. “I imagine neither of them slept well.”
Chimes grinned. “Sounds like you have them right where you want them, Miss Allison.”
She felt an answering grin tugging at the corners of her mouth. “Sounds like you’re right.” She winked at him. “What do you think I should ask for in atonement?”
“Oh, Miss Allison,” Annie scolded, “you wouldn’t use your poor mother so.”
“Hush, woman,” Chimes told his wife. “She knows what she’s about.” He motioned Allison closer. “You stand your ground, girl,” he hissed when she had bent her ear to him. “You’ve done nothing to be ashamed of. You just remember that.”
His words echoed Geoffrey’s warning of the night before, and goose flesh rose on her arms even as her feeling of power threatened to collapse. Her sudden fears must have showed on her face, for Chimes covered her hand on the table with one of his own. “You’ll be fine, gel. Remember who you are. You’re Rutherford Munroe’s daughter, aren’t you? Stand your ground.”
Allison nodded, swallowing. “I’ll try, Chimes. Thank you.”
He nodded as well, pulling his hand away. Annie bustled to lay a place beside him at the table for Allison.
“On the other hand,” she said, smiling brightly, “perhaps you might suggest when the marquis goes he’ll take that bean pole of a butler with him?”
Allison glanced at Chimes, who suddenly found his dirty nails of great interest. “Haven’t you been able to put that man in his place?”
Chimes snorted. “I put him there often enough. Seems he doesn’t know enough to stay there.”
“I hate the thought of him living here with us,” Allison said with a frown. “You two are like family. I would never feel that way about Perkins.”
Chimes’s eyes narrowed. “Family, eh? Kind of you to say so, Miss Allison. Perhaps that’s just the ticket to send his highness meandering back to London.”
“What are you going to do?” Allison demanded, not sure whether to be amused or concerned by the gleam in the man’s eye.
Chimes shrugged, rising. “Not sure yet. You’ll see when the time comes. Just you make sure you put your mum in her place.”
Allison grinned at him. “I’ll do my best.”
Sometime later, well fed and buoyed with support, Allison found her way to the music room, where she her mother was playing at the spinet. The melancholy notes echoed down the corridor, enhancing the chill of fall that seemed to be permeating through the stone walls. She hoped the sounds were indications of her mother’s remorse over her behavior last evening, but then she wasn’t sure she remembered her mother ever playing a happy tune. With a sigh, she straightened her shoulders and entered the room.
At least the music room was a comfortable place. She and Gen used to retreat there to share confidences and practice being ladies. It was a small room, the walls hung in ivory satin. The main furnishing was an old sofa pressed between two floor-to-ceiling bookcases that held a number of musical scores her father had had loosely bound as well as her sister’s and her favorite books. The only other piece in the room was the spinet piano on the far wall.
Her mother looked up from concentrating on the music as Allison entered, her gaze thoughtful. Allison was rather surprised to see that the marquis was with her. He stood by the single slitted window the room possessed, gazing out at the front yard as if he had been expecting someone. Her mother, she saw, was dressed in one of the gowns from her time of mourning; the black silk rustled as she turned a page of the music. The marquis was also dressed in a black coat and trousers. Allison shook her head at their weary faces. She was the one who’d been manipulated out of a future. What had they to be so glum about?
“I believe it’s my turn to make an announcement,” she declared, moving into the room.
Her mother stopped playing immediately. The marquis stiffened, turning to face
her fully.
She ought to let them dangle just a few more minutes. Lady Janice certainly would have done so. But again, her heart would not allow her to be so unkind.
“Lord DeGuis,” she continued, knowing she had their full attention, “I thank you for the great honor you have done me in offering for my hand. I would wager every young lady in London would give up vouchers to Almack’s to stand in my shoes. You have been kind, chivalrous, and attentive. You are everything I thought I ever wanted in a husband, but I find I simply cannot marry a man who would go back on a promise.”
“I see,” he replied calmly. “And are you not at all concerned about the gossip that might ensue after last night’s announcement?”
It was not a threat; she could see by the frown in his eyes that he was genuinely concerned about it. “It does not trouble me overmuch,” she told him truthfully. “Young ladies are allowed to change their minds. I believe it is called crying off.”
“I believe,” her mother said in a strained voice, “that it is called jilting.”
She smiled sweetly at her mother. “Call it what you like, Mother. It will not deter me.”
“It is your decision, Miss Munroe,” the marquis put in, giving her mother a determined frown that only made her shrink more into herself. “Your reputation stands to be damaged more than anyone’s.”
Mrs. Munroe’s head jerked up, and she stared at him. “Then you will not hold me to my promise?”
Allison watching with interest as the marquis bowed to her. “No, madam. I can see now it was a bad choice to begin with. I had always thought it proper to deal with the lady’s family first, but in the case of a strong-willed woman like your daughter, it was an insult to go to anyone but her.” He turned to bow to Allison. “And I must also apologize for my actions last night, Miss Munroe. My temper has a long fuse, but once it reaches the powder it can cause a great deal of damage. I’m afraid I let my jealousy of Mr. Pentercast get the better of me. It was wrong of me to put you in such a position.”