by Regina Scott
Lady Agnes was even more obviously pleased with her gift. She crowed in delight at the parrot.
"He doesn't talk yet,” Margaret explained when Thomas’ aunt had tried immediately to engage it in conversation. “But I expect you will enjoy teaching him a few terms."
"He might even learn to debate you,” Mr. Munroe put in.
Lady Agnes eyed the colorful bird thoughtfully. “He might indeed. Aren't there certain terms used in debate in Parliament? Did you ever learn those, Thomas?"
Thomas quirked a smile, winking at Margaret even as the Court frowned at how his aunt would unknowingly disparage him. “I think I may remember a few. If I can't remember, I'm sure Viscount Darton can be of assistance. We would be delighted to help you teach the bird."
Court agreed good naturedly.
Lady Agnes was eager to start, but other amusements awaited. They all wandered in companionable conversation to the withdrawing room. As they entered, the quartet began a gentle melody. Lord Rothbottom grinned. Matthew Bylersly sidled up to Margaret and cleared his throat. Court bowed to Catherine.
"Might I have the honor of the first dance on your birthday, Lady Catherine?"
This, of course, proved to be nearly the party's demise.
"No, thank you, Lord Darton,” Catherine replied, turning away from everyone. “I find myself fatigued. Please enjoy yourselves without me.” She walked to the windows while most of her guests gazed at each other, perplexed. Reggie's gleaming eyes told Margaret he was memorizing the moment for future use. Court's mouth tightened, but he turned gallantly to Lady Agnes. “Perhaps you might be willing to take your niece's place, my lady?"
Lady Agnes was too busy frowning after Catherine. “No, thank you."
Court bowed, stiffly. When he straightened, it was to find the oldest Rothbottom girl in front of him, batting her lashes in obvious expectation. Unable to escape with any form of politeness, he offered her his arm and she grabbed it as a drowning victim grabs a lifeline. He gave Thomas a dark look as he led her onto the floor.
The vicar and his wife demurred, but Lord and Lady Rothbottom took the floor, as did Mr. and Mrs. Munroe. Reggie, of course, was content to watch, and Margaret could only hope he would have the sense to leave Catherine alone. Thomas bowed to Margaret, and they completed the set. The others took seats about the room to watch.
Margaret tried to enjoy the dance, but every few turns brought Catherine into view, and guilt stabbed her. The woman stared out the window into the darkening night, head bowed, and mouth turned down in melancholy. If Margaret had succeeded in giving her a memorable birthday, no one would have guessed. It did not seem right that the guest of honor should be so downcast. As soon as the last bars of the music faded, she excused herself from a surprised Thomas and hurried to the girl's side, ignoring the interested glances her cousin cast her.
"You don't have to dance with Lord Darton, you know,” she told Catherine. “If you asked, I'm sure my father would partner you."
Catherine managed a smile, turning from the window. “That would be kind of him, but I'm not overly fond of dancing."
"But this is your party,” Margaret insisted. “You told me you wanted dancing. If it does not amuse you, what would you like to do?"
Catherine glanced about in an obvious attempt to make sure no one else was in hearing distance. “Can you help me go outside to meet Christien?"
"He's here?” Margaret yelped. Then, hastily lowering her voice as Reggie pricked up his ears, she added, “He followed you from London?"
Catherine nodded. “I begged him to. The summer was too long without him. I've managed to slip away a few times since he arrived, but not for the last couple of days. Could you help me?"
Margaret cocked her head. “What about simply telling Thomas instead? It is your birthday. Perhaps he would be inclined to grant you a wish."
"I doubt that,” Catherine replied, wringing her hands. “I told Christien of your advice about Thomas, and he agreed it was too dangerous."
"Did he?” Margaret frowned suspiciously. “And what did he advise, a hasty trip to Gretna Green?"
"No.” Catherine shuddered. “He told me to accept Lord Darton's offer. He is so noble! I cannot do it, Miss Munroe. I fear I am not as strong as he is. I cannot stand waiting any longer. I have a plan."
"I'm almost afraid to hear it,” Margaret replied. “I simply do not understand why you cannot be honest with your brother. I know he loves you."
Catherine picked at the skirt of her rose-colored dress. “I believe he loves me, but he also wants what he thinks is best for me. That is why I intend to prove to him that Christien is best."
"And how are you going to do that when you cannot even admit the fellow exists?” Margaret demanded.
Catherine glanced up at her, deep blue eyes determined. “I will arrange for Thomas to see Lord Darton trying to take liberties, only Christien will arrive to save me before it is too late."
"That is the most ridiculous thing I have ever heard,” Margaret declared, exasperated. “In the first place, Lord Darton is not likely to act the libertine knowing your brother is nearby. In the second, while you might get Thomas to agree that Darton is not the best man for you, it does not follow that Christien is."
"But it will work!” Catherine cried. “It must work! I cannot bear being away from him! These last few days have been impossible. I feel I will burst under the strain."
Margaret could well imagine that. “Then talk to Thomas,” she ordered.
"Talk to Thomas about what?” Thomas asked politely behind her. Behind him, Reggie was panting with eagerness.
Catherine washed white. Margaret smiled sweetly. “A very important matter, I assure you. If you'll excuse me, I'll let your sister explain.” With a warning glanced at the wide-eyed and trembling Catherine, she left her to Thomas’ curious attentions, grabbing Reggie's arm to steer him away. She only hoped the girl would do the right thing and confess, before she caused a great deal of trouble, for everyone.
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Chapter Twenty-Two
Thomas had in fact come in search of Margaret. As soon as he had her in custody, he intended to signal the quartet to begin a waltz. He still had only seen the dance performed, but felt himself capable of trying, especially given the significance of the act. Surely she would remember her father had said he might propose once he proved he could waltz. The DeGuis diamond lay heavy in his pocket of his black and white striped waistcoat. As he looked at Margaret with his sister, he was a little surprised to find his palms sweating inside his gloves. He was about to make a statement that would tie him to Margaret for eternity. Funny how he had never felt this nervous in his first two courtships.
Now, much as he would have liked to protest Margaret's departure, he could easily see that something was upsetting Catherine. Accordingly, he let Margaret go without a murmur and focused on his sister.
"What is it, Catherine?” he asked gently.
She swallowed, avoided his gaze, and began wringing her hands. “Oh, Thomas, I don't know how to begin."
Alarmed, he caught her hands in his own. “Whatever it is is obviously of great concern to you. Therefore, it is of great concern to me. Please, tell me."
She looked up and immediately flinched. “Everyone's watching us!"
Glancing over his shoulder, he saw she was right. Even though Margaret had drawn off Pinstin, the fellow was still gazing at Catherine. Lord and Lady Rothbottom had paused in their conversation with the Byerslys. Lady Agnes was frowning in his direction. Even the simpering Rothbottom chit was peering over the top of her fan in curiosity. A few weeks ago he would have told his sister to pull herself together before she made a scene. That was before Margaret had shown him how superficial his life was. Turning back to Catherine, he offered her his arm.
"If you need someone to talk with, Catherine,” he told her, “I am quite willing. Perhaps a stroll in the gardens will give us the privacy you need."
She acc
epted his arm, but his suggestion only seemed to worry her further. “No! That is, we do not need to go outside. Perhaps a simple promenade would do."
He nodded, leading her forward. The musicians were looking his direction, and he shook his head. They launched into a lively gavotte. The Rothbottoms and Byerslys returned to the floor. Court, still attempting to escape the determined young ladies, offered for a surprised Margaret, who was clearly torn. He smiled wryly at her dilemma—enjoying her beloved dancing or keeping Pinstin from poisoning her party. She shook her head at Court and dragged her protesting cousin onto the floor. Court strode out into the garden to escape. The Byersly son offered for the youngest Rothbottom girl, which annoyed her older sisters, if the rapid plying of fans was any indication.
"Now, then,” he said to his sister as the dancers began to move. “What seems to be the trouble?"
She tried to start several times, trailing off lamely after the first word. He gathered it had something to do with Court and the marriage business, and gave her arm a squeeze.
"I've told you repeatedly you do not have to marry the viscount,” he chided. “Am I such an ogre to force you?"
She glanced up at him and quickly away, biting her lip before answering him. “I don't know. I've never felt the need to stand up to you before, Thomas. I'm not sure I can. Will you truly listen to me if I say I will not marry him?"
Thomas sighed. “I've done all I can, Catherine. You do not seem to have grown accustomed to him, as I had hoped. Court does not seem overly enthused either, if that is any comfort. I obviously chose the wrong person for you. I'll tell him the marriage is off."
She let out her breath slowly as if she had been holding it for some time. “Thank you, Thomas."
"I told you, I'm not an ogre,” he replied, still a little stung that she would think him so unfeeling. But then, perhaps he had been unfeeling before Margaret had shown him the error of his ways. His eyes sought out Margaret, gracefully darting through the dance. Reggie had more appreciation for the drama with Catherine than for his cousin's talents. Thomas wished he could take the fellow's place. As he watched, Margaret looked up at him and grinned. He smiled in return.
"Everyone should find a soul mate,” he told Catherine. “We'll find someone for you, as soon as we return to town. I promise you, you will have your own establishment before the end of the next Season."
She faltered in her steps. They were just passing Lady Agnes, who scowled at him in her debate with Mr. Munroe. Mrs. Munroe was frowning as well. Thomas’ smile froze into a polite mask.
"I don't want you to find someone else,” Catherine all but whined. “I will not marry anyone just because you set him before me!"
Her tone was rising again, and despite his good intentions, he frowned.
"I don't intend to offer you gentleman on a platter, like a tray of sweet meats,” he replied. “I think we should be able to have a civil discussion about the matter this time."
She pulled up short, not far from the end of the dance floor, requiring him to stop as well. He had never seen his sister so agitated. Bright color spotted her cheeks, and her eyes blazed. “This isn't a debate in Parliament, Thomas, or a discussion with your man of business as to what you should invest on the Exchange. This is my life. And I am tired of you interfering in it!"
His guests were beginning to stare again, and this time, Thomas felt his temper rising. It would do his family and his heart no good for him to snap now. He struggled to contain the frustration, snapping out his words against the building anger. “I do not consider wishing to see my sister happy interference. Or are you complaining about the homes I have set up for you, the food I provide, your wardrobe?"
"As if those mattered!” she sneered. Another time he would have marveled that her temper was as volatile as his, but at the moment, all he could do was grit his teeth.
"I daresay they matter to some people."
"Not to me,” she declared. “All I've ever wanted, Thomas, was for someone to appreciate and love me, just as I am. You can't seem to do that. I feel as if you're constantly poking at me to be something I'm not."
"I've never done that,” he argued vehemently. “All I've asked is that you be a DeGuis. That name comes with a certain level of expectation."
"Oh!” she squealed. “I'm so sick of that! What makes us so special? Why are we the model to which all others aspire? I cringe every time Aunt Agnes says that. You may be perfect, Thomas, but I cannot, I will not live up to your ideal of perfection. I do not want to keep everything inside me. I want to shout if I'm angry. I want to cry if I'm sad. I don't want to pretend I'm stunningly beautiful, or witty, or vivacious, when I'm none of those things. I'm not even as honest as your Margaret Munroe."
"The last person you should compare yourself to,” Thomas all but shouted, “is Margaret Munroe."
The name echoed in the silent room. Catherine glared at him, bosom heaving. The music had stopped, all conversation had ceased. Every person in the room was staring at him. He was the center of attention, the thing he most despised. Worse, the comment, which everyone had clearly heard, could be taken as publicly disparaging the woman he loved.
The woman he loved.
He was an idiot not to have seen it before. How could he not fall in love with a woman who was loving and giving, who opened her heart willingly even as he kept his sheltered. He turned slowly and met Margaret's gaze. Her face was puckered and pale, but instead of accusation or anger in her blue eyes, he saw sadness. She was disappointed in him. She had every right to be. His gut clenched.
He started forward, and Catherine caught his arm.
"Thomas, I...” she began. He shrugged her off.
"Not now, Catherine. We've done enough damage for one night. I'll talk with you later.” He started forward again. His guests eyed the tableau in varying states of amazement and amusement. Even Reggie looked stunned. Mr. Munroe shook his clearly distressed wife off his arm and moved to intercept Thomas. Thomas waved him away. The musicians, seeing his movement toward the lady, began the unmistakable strains of a waltz. Margaret bolted across the room and out the double doors to the verandah. Thomas could only follow.
He pulled up short at the steps down into the garden. The light was dimming, and, amidst the riotous blooms, he did not see her immediately.
"Shall I fetch her for you, my lord?” Pinstin panted at his elbow. “She is my cousin, after all, and if I do say so myself, I know the way to handle her properly."
Thomas took both his hands and grabbed Reggie by the lapels of his navy velvet coat, lifting the fellow to the toes of his evening pumps. “I've had about all I can take tonight, Pinstin. This is between the lady and myself. You will return to the house, and you will mention nothing of this evening to anyone or so help me God, cousin or no, I will thrash you within an inch of your worthless life. Do I make myself clear?"
"Perfectly,” Reggie squeaked, eyes bulging in obvious fear.
Thomas dropped him and turned his gaze to the garden. Reggie gulped and fled.
I'm overwrought, Thomas thought, scanning the grounds. I've been an idiot in so many ways. Cranwell was right—it does no one any good to bury their emotions. No more. He spotted a shadow amongst the roses and wound his way to Margaret's side.
"Go away,” she said before he was closer than five feet.
"To the point as always,” he tried teasing, edging closer.
"Would you like it wrapped in sugar? Go away, please."
"No,” he replied, succeeding in reaching her side. He put out a hand to touch her shoulder, and she shrugged him away.
"Oh, why ever not?” she demanded, turning her back on him. “You've made your feelings abundantly clear, at last. And I was afraid you could not do so. I suppose I should have expected this outcome. Were you trying to be kind before? Were you going to wait out the whole summer to tell me you had determined we will not suit?"
"Won't you let me explain?” Thomas tried, racking his brain for a way to do just that.
"No,” she repeated. “There is nothing to explain. For whatever reason, you have finally decided that the perfect Thomas DeGuis cannot marry a notorious Original like Margaret Munroe. No one will fault you. I imagine some like Lord Darton will celebrate."
"I am not perfect,” he replied. “And I have not decided we do not suit. I think we suit, admirably. I cannot imagine a more delightful companion in life.” He pulled the DeGuis diamond from his pocket. “I had intended to do this another way, but my own foolishness prevented it. Margaret Munroe, will you marry me?"
She gasped, whirling to stare at him. He could see the sparkle of tears on her cheeks. He offered her a smile, conscious of the way his heart was suddenly hammering inside his rib cage, as fast and furious as the hooves of their horses when they raced. But if he died that moment, it would be worth it to know she accepted him. She continued to stare for a moment, as if doubting what she had heard, then her gaze dropped to the diamond in his grip.
"What is that?” she asked.
He took her left hand and carefully slid it over the glove onto her fourth finger, where it fit as if it belonged there. “The DeGuis diamond. It is customary to give it to the bride-to-be when proposing."
She stared at it another moment before cocking her head to glance up at him. “Are you sure about this, Thomas?” she asked. “You didn't exactly sound proud of me a moment ago. You don't have to offer yourself as an apology."
"What I meant inside,” he told her, “was that Catherine should not be comparing herself to you because you are one of a kind. No woman could possibly match you."
She narrowed her eyes. “What a kind explanation. From anyone else, I'd think it a lie."
"Have I ever lied to you?"
She took a deep breath. “No, never.” Glancing down at the ring, she bit her lip, and dark spots appeared on her glove, stains from her renewed crying. Moved, he pulled her into his arms.
"I am quite serious, Margaret,” he murmured into her hair. “I want you to marry me. I can think of no finer woman to have by my side. Please believe me."