by Regina Scott
She was relieved that her stepmother did not push the subject anymore that day. She was even more pleased that no one saw fit to mention it at dinner or breakfast the following morning. Her stepmother was obviously deep in thought trying to determine what dire secret the marquis kept, and her father was quite oblivious to the entire affair. It was nice having one relative who did not badger her.
She returned from a constitutional around the square shortly after lunch to find a crested carriage waiting at her door. Knowing that the leaping lion belonged to the Marquis DeGuis only made her hurry up the steps, heart jumping just as high as the beast. She was therefore disappointed to find not the marquis when she peered into the elegant withdrawing room but two women she did not recognize. The older of the two was just as capable as Thomas of sitting stiffly in the chairs as if they were thrones. The younger slumped a bit as if wishing she were elsewhere. Still, just the fact that they were in the withdrawing room was indication of their status. Knowing her stepmother would have apoplexy if she attempted to sit on the best upholstery in her street wear, she hurried to her room to change. By the time she returned a few minutes later, Mrs. Munroe was as pale as blanc mange.
"So, this must be your daughter,” the older woman said with a frown as Margaret entered and went to sit next to her stepmother on the sofa. Mrs. Munroe's eyes were glassy, but she blinked and gazed at Margaret in such a pleading manner that Margaret knew she was being asked once again to behave as Society dictated. Accordingly, she pasted on a polite smile and responded, “Yes, I'm Margaret Munroe. I don't believe I've had the pleasure."
"Lady Agnes DeGuis,” her stepmother managed in a choked voice, “and Lady Catherine DeGuis, may I present my daughter, Miss Margaret Munroe?"
Margaret nodded with deference to the older woman and the pale young woman who sat opposite her. The young woman looked almost as uncomfortable as her stepmother, fidgeting in the stiff chair as if it confined the skirts of her sky blue silk morning dress. Lady Agnes shook out the skirts of her brown striped silk walking dress as if she wished to disavow having met Margaret.
"So, you are the creature who has captured my nephew's attentions."
Mrs. Munroe sucked in a breath, eyes tortured.
Margaret met the woman's gaze unfalteringly, once again wavering between annoyance and amusement. “The only creatures associated with this house are in the mews at the end of the lane. And your nephew has much better taste in horses."
Lady Agnes’ eyes narrowed. “I thought he also had better taste in women."
"Ah, yes, the two diamonds of the first water, who refused him,” Margaret acknowledged, giving way to annoyance. “But where are my manners? Might I get you anything? Tea? Lemonade? Hemlock?"
"Margaret,” her stepmother gave a strangled cry, hand fluttering to her chest.
Lady Agnes quirked a smile. “Your point, Miss Munroe. If I expect courtesy, I must give it. You are not what I expected."
"And what did you expect?” Margaret asked, curious of the tales told of her.
"Someone with considerably less wit. The term Original often masks a feeble mind that has found a way to be entertaining. I do not sense that in you.” She leaned forward, gaze intensifying not unlike her nephew's. “You realize how dangerous it would be for my nephew to marry an Original? The DeGuis are known for their good breeding, their reserve, their endless propriety. They are examples to whom all others aspire. Can you manage that, I wonder?"
"Heavens, why would I want to try?” Margaret replied truthfully. “An Original they may call me, but I'd prefer originality to conformity. If I'm not good enough to be a DeGuis, perhaps I should remain a Munroe."
Lady Agnes sat back, stiff lipped. Mrs. Munroe moaned audibly. Lady Catherine looked stricken.
"Then you don't return my brother's love?” she cried.
Margaret started, eyes widening. “Your brother's love? Does he claim to love me?” Despite all her stern talks with herself, her heart leapt at the very thought.
"He does not,” Lady Agnes snapped, glaring her niece to silence. She returned her gaze to Margaret. “Thomas is, in all things, the keeper of his own council. The question is, are you in love with my nephew?"
Margaret felt every eye in the room on her. Her own code of conduct said she must answer truthfully. Her sense of self-preservation warned her to lie through her teeth.
"Certainly I would only marry if I were in love,” she hedged.
"And would you marry my nephew if he asked?” Lady Agnes pressed, blue-gray eyes bright. “I will not have him abused again."
"I would have to be assured of his love as well,” Margaret replied, spine stiff. The perspiration her stepmother had warned her not to have was running down her back.
Lady Agnes was leaning forward again, nostrils flared like a hound to the scent. “No more roundaboutation, young lady. My nephew has been through entirely enough of this nonsense in the last year. Are you willing to be his marchioness?"
Mrs. Munroe held her breath. Lady Catherine pressed her lips tightly together as if to keep from crying out. Lady Agnes glared in challenge.
Margaret spread her hands. “If Lord DeGuis can keep his own council, so can I. He hasn't asked me. Until he does, I have nothing more to say in the matter."
Lady Agnes rose in a flurry of skirts. “Then this visit is at an end. Come, Catherine."
Lady Catherine rose just as hurriedly, but as she trailed out the door after her aunt, she glanced back at Margaret with a frown, as if questioning her resolve. Or perhaps her sanity. Mrs. Munroe leapt up and hurried after them, wringing her hands and babbling incoherently. Margaret did not rise from the sofa.
When her stepmother returned a few minutes later, Margaret stiffened her back and her intentions.
"Oh, Margaret,” was all her stepmother managed to say as she sank onto the sofa beside her.
Margaret patted her hands. In truth, she wasn't sure what to think. She ought to feel depressed or abused, but all she felt was exhilaration. She had met the worst the enemy could provide and she had survived. “Don't worry, madam. I said I wanted the marquis to marry me as I am. Now he'll simply have a very good report of exactly the kind of woman he's getting."
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Chapter Nine
Thomas received the report that night over dinner.
"You went and visited Miss Munroe?” He frowned at his aunt's announcement of the fact even as the footmen served out the dinner. “I was unaware you were acquainted."
"We are not,” Lady Agnes said with a sniff, settling herself back against the Chippendale chair so firmly that her navy silk dress rustled. “And for good reason. I do not comport myself with Originals."
Thomas refrained from mentioning that his aunt had enough foibles to be considered an Original herself. “I certainly hope you did not call her that."
"She did,” Catherine put in with a sigh.
Thomas raised an eyebrow. “I see. Perhaps you had better tell me the whole of it. It sounds as if I will have to apologize for my family."
Lady Agnes’ eyes glittered. “Do not apologize for me. I did what I thought was in your best interest. I will not countenance the destruction of the DeGuis name. Nor will I stand by while you emulate yourself on the wiles of these conniving debutantes."
"Miss Munroe is not conniving,” Thomas argued, feeling his temper rising yet again. “She is by far the most honest female I have ever met.” Determined not to be drawn into another debate on the lady's character, he stabbed a piece of venison and shoved it rather inelegantly into his mouth.
"On that we agree,” Lady Agnes replied. “She hasn't the tact to be conniving. She offered me hemlock."
Thomas choked on the venison. “She what?” he managed.
"Aunt was very rude, Thomas,” Catherine put in hurriedly, glancing quickly between them. “Miss Munroe was fully justified in answering her in kind."
"Yes, she was,” Lady Agnes agreed. “She is intelligent, witty, and
not afraid to stand her ground. I think you may have finally found a woman worthy of bearing the DeGuis name, Thomas. You have my permission to marry her."
Catherine stared at her open-mouthed, her own piece of venison falling into the damask napkin on the lap of her mauve silk gown. Thomas felt the fork drop with a clatter from fingers that seemed to have gone as numb as his brain. He shook his head. “Did I hear you correctly? Are you telling me that you actually liked Miss Munroe?"
"Intensely,” Lady Agnes replied, attacking her meal with gusto. “I greatly look forward to having her in the household. I haven't had someone to spar with since your dear father passed away. Now eat your dinner, Thomas, before it gets cold."
He managed to pick up the fork and return to his eating, though in truth he was no longer sure what else they were having or whether it was well-cooked or not. After defending his interest in Margaret Munroe to all and sundry, he couldn't quite believe that his aunt of all people had suddenly capitulated. He glanced at his sister, who was now poking with equal disinterest at her dinner.
"And how did you like Miss Munroe, Catherine?” he couldn't help asking.
Catherine blushed. “She was quite outspoken, but I am used to that."
"Ha,” Lady Agnes barked out in a laugh. “As well you may be living with me all these years."
Thomas was unsatisfied by the answer. He watched his sister closely. “But did you like her?” he pressed.
She met his gaze with a pensive look. “I think there will be times when she frightens me, but I also think there will be times when I greatly admire her spirit. So, yes, I suppose you could say that I like her."
"There,” Lady Agnes proclaimed, “we are agreed. Though what poor Catherine will do when she has two of us to contend with, I'm sure I don't know."
Catherine smiled sweetly. “I shall count myself lucky not to have to exert myself in conversation. You and Thomas’ lady will carry it all for me."
Thomas eyed her thoughtfully. It was the most his sister has spoken at dinner for a long time. He was ashamed to admit he had not thought to draw her out before. “I'm glad you found her enjoyable, Catherine. But I doubt you will have to worry about making conversation with Aunt Agnes and Miss Munroe. You will be living in your own home soon enough. I understand there is a particular gentleman interested in asking for your hand."
Catherine immediately paled, doing nothing to make Thomas feel any better about the impending match with Court. “I ... I cannot think who you mean,” she stammered, dropping her gaze.
"He means Lord Darton,” Lady Agnes put in pointedly.
"Oh,” Catherine laughed nervously. “Yes, of course. Lord Darton."
"Is he so easy to forget?” Thomas asked. “I understood he had been rather marked in his attentions."
Lady Agnes snorted. “He has been spotty at best. At least when you court a woman, Thomas, you do not leave anyone in doubt as to your intentions."
"Hasn't Lord Darton made his intentions plain?” Thomas probed with a frown.
"I suppose so,” Catherine replied, although she sounded distinctly unsatisfied about the matter. “I believe you are correct that he seems to want to further our acquaintance."
"And how do you feel about that?” Thomas asked.
Catherine shrugged. “He is handsome in his own way. And he seems intelligent. I would not go any farther than that at this time."
"Well, I do not like him, Thomas,” Lady Agnes put in with a sniff. “He strikes me as a libertine."
Thomas laid down his fork carefully. “Has he been less than a gentleman to Catherine? I promise you, that will stop immediately."
"No, no,” Catherine protested, becoming more agitated. “He is always a gentleman. I simply am not comfortable in his company."
"Another with arrogant opinions,” Lady Agnes said with a nod. “She has enough of that in me."
Catherine managed a smile for her aunt. “You know I adore you, Aunt. But you are right that, when I marry, I would prefer a gentler sort of fellow."
Thomas sat back and sighed. Court's passions, running deep and rarely showing, had seemed a perfect match to his sister's. Why couldn't she see that? “It seems to me that Lord Darton is as reserved as they come. If we find a more quiet fellow, the two of you may grow old in silence!"
"But if it is companionable silence, who would mind?” Catherine protested gently.
"Do you truly find so little admirable in him?” Thomas pressed, trying in vain to think of what manly characteristic the fellow lacked. “Most of young ladies seem to want to capture his attentions."
"Then I hope they do so,” Catherine murmured. “As for me, I am content as things stand."
Lady Agnes was eyeing Thomas with a frown. “Why are you so determined to plead this fellow's case? You haven't made any arrangements with this Darton, have you? I shouldn't like to council Catherine to keep looking if you've made a decision."
Catherine turned an alarmed face to his. Thomas swallowed but straightened. “You both know it is my intention of arranging Catherine's marriage. She could do a lot worse than Court."
"And I could do a great deal better!” Catherine protested.
Her sudden spirit surprised Thomas. Remembering Darton's conjecture that she had found someone else she preferred, he narrowed his eyes. “And are you prepared to name the candidate?"he challenged.
Catherine exchanged glances with their aunt, took a deep breath, and sat straighter. Thomas waited patiently for her to tell him the name of some obscure scholarly fellow she had set her cap for. “I am not,” she said firmly. “But I will not marry Lord Darton. That is my final word on the subject."
Thomas shook his head. “It may be your final word, but it is far from mine. You know mother and father were married through an arrangement by their parents, and it was their wish that I make similar arrangements for you. I would like your opinion on the matter, of course, but the final decision will be mine as the head of this family."
Catherine stared at him. He thought for a moment he had reduced her to tears, and guilt tore at him, but she tossed down her napkin and bolted from the room. Thomas started up to follow her.
"Sit down,” Lady Agnes ordered. He froze, giving her the courtesy of finishing her thought before disobeying her. She sighed. “Please, sit down? I know you're just as worried as I am that the girl has so little spunk. If she has finally chosen to show it, you should be glad."
Thomas sank into his seat. “But I've upset her. I had no idea she so disliked Lord Darton. I suppose it isn't too late to tell him I've changed my mind. Or rather, that Catherine has."
Lady Agnes shook her head. “I'd say nothing at this point. I'm not sure the girl knows her mind. Let her get used to seeing him in this new light. If she still finds him objectionable, then you can send him packing."
"Very well,” Thomas agreed with a wry smile. “But I hope you are right."
"I was right about your Miss Munroe, wasn't I?” his aunt all but chortled. “And it does not surprise me that Catherine finds the fellow uncomfortable. He is too cold. As she said, she prefers the kind of gentleman who speaks with his eyes.” She shuddered. “Melodramatic nonsense, just as I told that fellow we had in last winter to paint my portrait. Now there was a deep one. Even Catherine remarked on it."
"Whom do you mean?” Thomas asked with a frown.
"Oh, that was when you were up at Hillwater with Lord Darton,” his aunt replied. “We were bored beyond anything. Some days I cannot get Catherine to say two words to me, at least not two intelligent words. Lady Whitworth had had this French fellow, Christien LaTour, I think his name was, paint her portrait, a miniature, actually. It amused Catherine to have one done of me. She's inordinately pleased with it. Keeps it on her bedside table."
"Could she have formed an attachment to this fellow?” Thomas asked, frown deepening.
Lady Agnes shook her head. “That hardly seems likely. A DeGuis and an itinerant artist? Catherine would never be so rash. No, she simp
ly has to get used to seeing Lord Darton in this new light. Leave it to me, my boy. It will all come out right in the end. Perhaps when you're both settled, I can feel myself free to travel at last."
Thomas reluctantly agreed, but, over the next two days, he began to regret his decision. He had hoped to call on Margaret the first day, but, when Court showed up at the house, Thomas felt he had to stay and visit with him. When Catherine refused to see Court, Thomas felt compelled to talk to his sister, who then refused to see him. It took all his tact and diplomacy to get his sister to agree to see the fellow if he should call again. It took all his tact, diplomacy, and a bottle of champagne to get Court to agree to try again, but only if Thomas consented to go with him. Accordingly, the second day, Thomas played chaperon during the visit and spent the evening encouraging first his sister and then the viscount to continue the courting. He made little headway with either. The best he could get was an agreement from Court to join the family when they repaired to Hillwater, Thomas’ estate in the Lake District, for August and September.
"Though I don't promise anything will come of it,” Court warned. “You know I like the fishing. We can only hope your sister will take a similar liking to me."
By the time he had settled his sister and the viscount, it was the afternoon of the third day. He knew he had to visit Margaret. Surely she must be wondering what had kept him. He had considered writing her but was concerned that the gesture would be seen as overly familiar by her parents. Which only reminded him that if he was making compromising statements of his intentions to his own relatives, it was more than time he made appropriate statements to hers.
It was looking more and more as if he were meant to court Margaret Munroe. The thought both pleased and concerned him. Lady Janice had refused less than a fortnight ago, after all. He still wasn't ready to lay bare his heart. But perhaps moving from a friendship to courting was not such a big step. He could court the lady as long as he liked, with only rumors should he decide to break it off. He did not need to make an emotional investment yet.