by Regina Scott
"Not only my sister,” Thomas replied, “my aunt as well. Lady Agnes and Catherine share the same birthday."
"It couldn't be easy,” Court remarked with a sigh. “Ah, well, it will be a quiet affair at any rate. There's not many to invite this far from civilization."
"Oh, I don't know,” Thomas mused. “I saw that Lord Rothbottom and his clan had arrived for the summer. They were in church last Sunday. You may have noticed them: tall fellow with the slender wife and four daughters."
Court eyed him. “All of whom were staring at you and me. I swear the oldest was salivating. Is there no one else?"
"The vicar and his wife? And it's possible the Byerslys have rented Hillcastle for September. They did so a couple of years ago. They usually bring one or two people for company. Their oldest son would be five years your junior."
Court shook his head. “Worse and worse! Still, I suppose he might be of interest to the Rothbottom daughters. Take them off our scent. But what could you do with such a motley collection?"
What could he do indeed? He was having a difficult time as it was keeping his assorted guests entertained and polite. Add four girls fresh from the schoolroom, their match-making parents, a young man ready to sow his wild oats and his parents who were determined to keep him from doing so, and the overly fastidious vicar and his equally stuffy wife. They would never find anything in common. Thomas closed his eyes.
"I don't suppose,” Court suggested quietly, “that we might pawn the whole affair off on Miss Munroe? I imagine it would entertain her no end. And we might get in some uninterrupted fishing."
Thomas opened his eyes, smile spreading. It was an impossible challenge that would delight an elderly woman and a shy young lady, not to mention brighten the otherwise quiet summer for most of the gentry in the area. It would take imagination, flare, and good humor. Margaret would adore it.
She was as enthusiastic as he had hoped when he broached the subject the next morning.
"A double birthday party!” she cried, clapping her hands. “Of course we must make the day special. We certainly don't want to be as ostentatious as the Prince who has the whole of the navy do maneuvers and lights up the skies over Brighton, but we shall contrive. Do they allow fireworks over the lake?"
Thomas cringed. “Perhaps something more quiet for our natural surroundings?” he suggested tactfully.
To his relief, she nodded. “Yes, you are right. Catherine wouldn't want anything too loud or overly bright. She would want something classical, perhaps."
"Just so,” Thomas murmured, letting out his breath. “I believe there is a chamber group at Windermere."
Margaret frowned. “That would be good. Do you know anyone who would be willing to wear fish tails?"
Thomas choked back a laugh. “Fish tails?"
"Well, with this lake, one would think we could have mermaids,” Margaret countered, still frowning. “Although now that I think of it, perhaps the Lady of the Lake would do better. Something chivalrous, courtly."
Thomas patted her shoulder. “I have faith you will think of something suitable."
She laughed, and he smiled at the sound. “It may be perfectly suitable in my mind, Thomas, but I could never be sure you or Hillwater would be ready for it. If I promise to explain the plan to you before I put it into action, would that ease your mind?"
He grinned. “Immensely. And if I know you, you will expect dancing."
Her eyes twinkled. “But of course! What use would a chamber group be if not to play for us to dance?"
"What indeed?” Thomas took her hand and kissed it. He had intended the gesture as appreciation for her generous willingness to help, but the feeling of her flesh beneath his lips did strange things to the rest of his body. His gaze traveled up the sleeve of her gown to her graceful neck, her determined chin, and those luscious lips. She was staring at him again. He dropped her hand and cleared his throat. “I look forward to hearing your plan, Margaret.” With steps that were not as steady as he would have liked, he quit the room.
He had prided himself on his reserve, he thought as he walked down to the lake. That was the hallmark of the DeGuis family—calm, composed, solid as a rock even when storms surrounded. Being around Margaret these last few weeks had made him realize that he was using that reserve as an excuse to distance himself from those around him. In some circumstances, he supposed, it was warranted. There were always those who sought to flatter him into doing their bidding in Parliament, those who thought getting closer to him would benefit their careers, their fortunes, or their status. It was easy to turn a cold eye or a blank face to their attempts. It was inappropriate for him to do so with his family and friends.
Moreover, it was inappropriate of him not to put his love into action. Margaret had praised his support in Parliament of certain bills that would help people in their everyday lives. At the moment, he did not feel that his scholarly debates had been very useful. Margaret volunteered her time, working directly with those in need, even those everyone else chose to pretend did not exist. He had been shocked then; it made perfect sense now.
No, in his attempts to distance himself from his heartache he had hidden his heart away from anyone who might have needed it. Dr. Cranwell's advice had merely been another excuse. The good physician was wrong. Thomas was wrong. He would never fully appreciate Margaret's living in the moment if he was not willing to open himself to others. He resolved to work on the trait.
He started in little ways, like listening for the concern behind his aunt's scolds and thanking her when the advice was sound. He had a spirited debate on the merits of the Poor Laws amendment with Court, giving the young viscount additional food for thought. He took Mr. Munroe fishing and laughed at his stories of Margaret growing up. He complimented Mrs. Munroe on the work she had done in the garden and asked her advice on how to expand it. He took Catherine riding and confessed he knew little about marriage, even if it was his duty to arrange hers. She did not seem to appreciate the sentiment, but he thought her tension eased some.
As the days passed before the party, he found himself enjoying his visitors more and more. Catherine smiled and actually teased him at breakfast one morning. Lady Agnes’ scolds seemed to have lost their teeth. Court asked his advice in rephrasing the bill. Even Mrs. Munroe could unbend in his company, taking him aside one day to make him promise he would be good to her Margaret. He thought at first some strange miracle had taken place that they were all behaving better. Then he realized the miracle was his own change of attitude. And that change was entirely due to Margaret.
He had never thought she fit the picture of his marchioness, but he was ready to concede that she was more than he had ever hoped for. He could envision a rather pleasant life together, once she got over her disappointment of his kiss, of course.
He would propose the night of the party.
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Chapter Twenty
Margaret hadn't enjoyed herself so much in a long time. She had thought two months in the country might prevent her from doing any good deeds. Certainly she would miss her visits to Comfort House. But she had always wanted to plan a party. Her stepmother had never allowed her to so much as come near the planning process on the few dinner parties they had given, reminding Margaret of her noted eccentric tastes. In the case of planning a party for Catherine and Lady Agnes, however, Margaret's tastes had nothing to do with it. She was planning a party for their enjoyment, and she threw herself into the process with as much joy as she did any of her activities.
It was certainly a challenge. Almost immediately she gave up the notion of doing anything that would surprise them. Clearly this was something she had to do with their full cooperation.
Lady Agnes, of course, had definite opinions.
"Dozens of people,” she maintained. “That is the secret to a good party—dozens of people with whom to converse."
Knowing the lady's penchant for alienating everyone she spoke with, Margaret could well ima
gine it took several dozen people to fill an evening. “Your nephew has invited a number of people who are visiting the area for the summer.” She consulted the list Thomas had made her. “The Rothbottoms, Byerslys and their guest, and of course the vicar and his wife."
Lady Agnes sighed. “Very well. I suppose that is the best we can do in the wilderness."
Catherine, on the other hand, was less demanding.
"A quiet evening,” she told Margaret as they strolled through the gardens. “Cards, perhaps, or maybe Aunt Agnes would consent to read again."
"What about dancing?” Margaret put in.
Catherine paused to bring a blossom to her nose. She considered it carefully for a few moments before responding. “I suppose dancing would be acceptable. I have heard it is one of your favorite past-times."
Margaret felt herself blushing as red as the rose in Catherine's hand. “In truth it is. But I don't want to influence you with my tastes. This party is for you."
Catherine smiled at the rose. “But you have influenced me, Miss Munroe. I find myself growing bolder just watching you."
"Have you told Thomas about Christien, then?” Margaret prompted hopefully.
"No,” Catherine admitted with a sigh. “Thomas had changed. I feel it. But he is still set on arranging my marriage. I am simply not convinced he will release me from this agreement with Lord Darton. But I assure you, I will never marry him.” The petals of the rose fell between her fingers, crushed by her grip. Margaret grabbed her arm and pulled it away.
"Lady Catherine, you must do something!” she cried, shivering at the intensity of the woman's gaze. “It is unnatural to keep this amount of emotion bottled up inside."
Catherine laughed, but the sound held no joy. “I'm a DeGuis. We keep everything inside.” Margaret released her and she offered a smile, though it held little warmth. “And speaking of keeping everything inside, how does my brother fare? I keep expecting him to announce your engagement."
Now it was Margaret's turn to look away. “We have reached no agreement,” she told her. “You are correct that he keeps his feelings close."
"Perhaps the party will bring them out,” Catherine mused, resuming their walk. “Your father told me that he had given Thomas permission to marry you when he could waltz. If we have dancing at the party, you may get your proposal."
"I doubt he has had the opportunity to learn,” Margaret replied, still troubled by the woman's attitude. Could Thomas’ reticence to kiss her be simply this deep reserve, or did he too keep secrets bottled up inside? She did not like to think what happened to an overfilled bottle. At best, it spilled; at worst, it exploded. “Besides, have we not agreed that you do not find dancing amusing?"
Catherine eyed her and quickly looked away. “If you can get my brother on the dance floor, I promise you it will amuse me no end. By all means, let us have dancing."
Margaret wished she felt better about the comment. Something else seemed to be driving Lady Catherine than the interest of seeing her brother waltz. Crafting an event that would please both her and her aunt would clearly take all Margaret's enthusiasm, intelligence, and creativity. It also forced her even more frequently into Thomas’ company, as she asked him questions about his family, their customs, and their entertainments.
From him she learned that the game room had seen little use in their lifetime. His own father's health had prevented him from enjoying it.
"He was ill all his life, then?” Margaret asked, surprised.
Thomas nodded, fingering a toy soldier who had escaped the larger drum of them on the table nearby. “I think it was a foregone conclusion most of his life that each day was an unexpected blessing. I do not seem to be able to share that attitude."
"But you're strong and healthy,” Margaret protested. “You seem to have broken the trait of dying young."
To her further surprise, he paled. “We none of us know when our time will be up, Margaret."
She linked her arm in his and gave the firm muscle a squeeze. “All the more reason to enjoy the moment, Thomas."
He patted her hand on his arm, granting her a wry smile. “Yes, I can safely say you've tried to teach me that lesson."
Now it was her turn to pause. “Not well enough,” she muttered, releasing him. “If I had, you'd have kissed me long since."
"Let us not quarrel,” he replied over-brightly, going on to point out activities Catherine had enjoyed as a child. Margaret didn't listen at first, wanting only to give him a good shaking. Did he not know the wall he put between them? Worse, did he know and not care? What was it about her that kept him from giving her his heart?
She had worried that there would be many things on which she and Thomas would disagree, both for the party and in life in general. Their disagreement over the bill was only one example. Of course, they had not so much disagreed as agreed to consider each other's points, and she was certain Thomas would vote his conscience. She could not imagine anyone, even someone as pushy as Viscount Darton, swaying him from a course of action he felt to be right. She was surprised to find, however, that he had actually had some impact on the viscount.
"I must apologize to you about my comment at the Regent's dinner,” Court had told her only yesterday as she worked in the garden. “I did not realize at the time how strongly you felt on the matter, nor how well-informed you were."
"Would you have acted differently if you had known?” Margaret asked, surprised.
He pursed his lips thoughtfully before answering. “Perhaps not. I will not deny I dislike being bested, Miss Munroe, at politics or horse racing."
She smiled at his confession. “So I noticed."
He smiled as well, lighting the iron eyes with something approaching warmth. “Lord DeGuis is going to help me redraft the bill.” He paused before adding, “If you have other points, perhaps I should hear them."
He wasn't ready to ask her advice on the rewording, but she recognized the effort he was making. “Whenever you're ready, Lord Darton, I'd be happy to discuss the matter."
She was equally happy to discuss matters with Thomas as she tried to understand him better. She had wondered, for instance, whether he overlooked his faith, mechanically attending church like so many others of their generation. She found that, like her, he listened intently to the sermon and considered it carefully afterward. They had discussed the sermon together the last couple of Sundays and, again, while they could not agree on every point, they could agree to disagree peacefully, and both seemed inspired by the debate.
That they were both bruising riders she already knew, but she also found they both enjoyed swift carriage rides and quiet walks along the lake shore, rowing across the still waters, and staring into the flames of a warm fire. He preferred the more melancholy of Shakespeare's plays like Hamlet and Richard III; she preferred more active ones with humor like The Tempest and A Midsummer Night's Dream. Still, they both agreed that the Bard's work was powerful and timeless. All in all, she had every hope that indeed Thomas would make an excellent companion in life. It remained to be seen whether he would make an excellent husband.
She still could not understand his reluctance to kiss her. She had gone over the possible reasons time and again in her mind, but nothing made sense. It could not be propriety, for he was willing to hold her close and kiss her hand. It could not be that he found her undesirable; she had seen the passion flame in his eyes and felt the answering heat in her own body. For the same reason, it could not be that he was cold. Certainly his entire family was reserved. She had come to realize Catherine hid behind the trait to keep others at a distance. Lady Agnes, on the other hand, only argued to hide the fact that she was not sure how else to converse. In Thomas’ case, however, she could not imagine what the issue was but knew that it was indeed a problem if he continued to refuse to discuss the matter with her.
And refuse he did. She had made several valiant attempts, only to be thwarted. As the day of the party neared, however, she had too much on her mind to pu
rsue the matter more earnestly. She had to finalize the decorations, which included some of her carefully tended flowers in natural groupings strewn about the sitting room, dining room, and withdrawing room. She had to order the extra supplies from Hilton as well as additional footmen to serve. She also took the liberty of convincing the local baker to assist Mrs. Tate in the kitchen that evening. In her weeks at Hillwater, Margaret had learned that the thin housekeeper had several trademark dishes, but anything beyond those was nearly inedible. Accordingly, Margaret had crafted a menu that included several kinds of fish and various lamb dishes, with the opening course being Mrs. Tate's fish chowder. Everyone had assured her it was Thomas’ favorite.
"It's the heavy cream,” Mrs. Tate confided to Margaret in her squeaky voice. “Makes it thick and rich. Some folks claim they get dyspepsia from it, but his lordship adores it."
Margaret certainly hoped the woman was wrong about the dyspepsia. Her father had gotten an attack once when her stepmother had given a particularly elaborate dinner party. He had doubled in pain and she had flown to get a physician, thinking he was dying. The attack, thankfully, had been short-lived, and her stepmother had been careful not to include so many rich foods again. All Margaret needed was to sicken Thomas’ guests. But as everyone seemed to rave about the dish, she simply had to include it.
Most importantly of her many duties, she had to find suitable birthday presents for the guests of honor. This proved to be another challenge, as the little village of Hilton did not boast many shopping opportunities outside dry goods and fresh produce. She persuaded Thomas to take her to Windermere, dragging him through any number of shops before deciding upon a book for Catherine.
"Lord Byron's The Corsair?” Thomas questioned. “Isn't that rather impassioned reading for my sister?"
"Trust me,” Margaret replied. “It is exactly what she needs. It is suitably melodramatic and full of phrases that roll off the tongue. With any luck, we will have her declaiming as brightly as Lady Agnes."