The Marquis' Kiss (The Marvelous Munroes Book 3)

by Regina Scott

  “Thank goodness, we’re here at last,” Mrs. Munroe said, puffing a bit as she clambered down from the carriage. “This is a lovely place, to be sure. Could someone please direct me to the main house?”

  Thomas bowed to her, then waved toward the white-washed walls. “Hillwater is as you see it, Mrs. Munroe. I promise you the interior is grander than the exterior.”

  “I certainly hope not,” Margaret remarked. “I find the exterior charming and much more comfortable than some grand house with more rooms than character.”

  Her stepmother looked doubtful, but her father, who had just alighted, was gazing thoughtfully at the lake.

  “Trout?” he barked at Thomas.

  “As big as your arm,” Thomas promised with a grin.

  Her father quirked a smile, rubbing his hands together gleefully. Thomas thought he might insist on trying immediately, but Mrs. Munroe cleared her throat, and he hurried to follow her to the house.

  “This is absolutely perfect,” Margaret exclaimed beside him. “I cannot imagine a more lovely setting. Where have you put Aeolus?”

  “In the stables, of course,” Thomas replied, nodding to the stone building beyond the carriage. “And he is as eager to see you as I was.”

  Before he could think to stop her, Margaret darted around the back of the carriage, startling the grooms and the villagers hired to play footmen for the visit. Leaving them to deal with the baggage, he could only follow in her wake. He found her, one foot raised on the wood railing, nose to nose with the gelding. Aeolus blew softly, nodding against her face, and if Thomas had not known better, he would have sworn the two were deep in conversation.

  “And does he report satisfaction with his accommodations?” Thomas teased. “Or does he request the master bedchamber?” He reached out a hand and was pleased when the brute suffered his touch with only a roll of his eye.

  “He is well satisfied,” Margaret proclaimed, stepping down. “I knew you would take care of him, Thomas. But I had to say hello as soon as I arrived.”

  “I quite understand,” he replied, tucking her hand in the crook of his elbow. “However, I’m not so sure what my aunt will think about being upstaged by a horse.”

  “One creature is as good another,” Margaret quipped. His frown must have reminded her that he did not know the reference for she hurried to explain. “Your aunt once asked me whether I was the creature who had attracted your attentions.”

  Thomas sighed. “I’m sorry, Margaret. She had no right to be unkind. However, you have completely won her over. She and Catherine are eager to renew the acquaintance.”

  “Not nearly as eager as Aeolus, I’d wager,” she remarked, but she did not pull away, and Thomas succeeded at last in following her parents to the entryway. His chest still hurt from the morning’s attack, and he felt as if he’d been holding his breath since the Munroes’ arrival. He took a deep lungful of the clean lake air and felt himself relax. Everyone had arrived safely and appeared to be on relatively good behavior. Perhaps things would go smoothly for a change.

  They entered the house, and Margaret froze.

  His aunt and sister had not gone upstairs before the Munroes had entered. He had no idea what his aunt had said, but it had reduced Mrs. Munroe to a quivering pile of indignation and even Mr. Munroe appeared to have been struck dumb. Catherine was wringing her hands in dismay and looked about to break into tears.

  But Margaret seemed oblivious to them. She was gazing across the entryway to where Court had just returned from the lake with his catch. He stood stiffly, eyes clouded and lips compressed as he met her stare. Her jaw was set, and her blue eyes snapped fire. He had apparently not told her that Court would be joining them either.

  He had been right earlier. This visit was doomed. He had been insane to even suggest it. But then, he had already suspected as much.

  Chapter Sixteen

  “I do not know how I will last two months in that woman’s company,” Mrs. Munroe declared when they had been shown to their adjoining rooms. “Not even for you, Margaret. She is completely without sensibility.”

  “Now, now,” Mr. Munroe muttered, patting his agitated wife heavily on the shoulder in an ineffectual attempt to calm her. “I was a little surprised by her remark, but I’m sure she meant it in good taste.”

  “Oh, certainly, you take it as a compliment,” Mrs. Munroe complained, jerking away from him to pace the warm plank flooring of the room Margaret had been given. Normally, Margaret was sure, her stepmother would have been enthusing about the simple elegance of the room with its carved wreathes of flowers bedecking the creamy white of the cornices, doorheads, and mantle. Now she scarcely noticed the decorations, or the fine furnishings along the walls. Her antics might have been amusing, but Margaret still smarted that Thomas would spoil their time together by inviting an arrogant toad like Viscount Darton.

  “What exactly did Lady Agnes say?” she asked, perching on the end of the mahogany four-poster bed and pushing a red-patterned cotton toile curtain out of her way.

  “Only something about my noted intellect,” Mr. Munroe supplied, going to stand by the white marble fireplace.

  Mrs. Munroe glared at him before answering. “She said, and she was addressing your father, ‘I heard you had a good head on your shoulders. Whatever possessed you to marry your wife?’”

  Margaret choked and bit her lip to keep from laughing aloud. Her father looked away as if doing the same.

  “Well,” Margaret managed after a moment, “you should pity her, madam. That question sounds like something I’d ask.”

  “And if you’d asked it,” her stepmother replied with a toss of her head, “you can be sure I’d box your ears. She is a terrible example of a Society matron, Margaret. Do not be tempted to mimic her. I expect better behavior from you while we’re here.”

  “You bait Lady Agnes,” Margaret offered. “I’ll bait Lord Darton.”

  “None of that now,” her father said in one of his rare moments of command. “Both of you will be on your best behavior. I won’t have you spoiling what could prove to be a very pleasant holiday. Trout as big a your arm, he said.”

  “Oh, you and your fishing.” Mrs. Munroe snorted in disgust and stalked toward her own room next door. “Wear the pink silk tonight, Margaret. Even if we are in the country, I see no reason not to change for dinner.”

  “I will be sure to change,” Margaret replied, going to close the connecting door before her stepmother could notice she had not agreed to change into the pink gown. She set her back against the door and gazed about the room. It was bigger than the one she had at home and certainly more richly furnished. With twin windows facing the morning sun, she imagined it would be a cheery place to waken. When the fire was glowing in the wood-framed marble fireplace, it would surely be a warm place in which to fall asleep as well. She could probably be very happy here if she did not have the firm suspicion that the happiness was to be short-lived.

  It was even shorter than she had expected. After her father’s command, she had thought at least her stepmother might be pleasant at dinner. She had certainly scolded herself into some degree of civility. While she still abhorred the pink gown, she had been willing to don her green silk instead. With its square-cut neck and graceful skirt, it was as simply elegant as Hillwater. It whispered comfortingly to her as she followed her father and stepmother downstairs to the sitting room. The look of appreciation in Thomas’ eyes when he bowed over her hand told her she had chosen well. Even Lord Darton thawed sufficiently to bow to her. Catherine looked sweet in a pink gown of watered silk, making Margaret thoroughly glad she had refused to wear her own. Even Lady Agnes was more brightly gowned in rose. Neither Thomas nor the viscount had felt it necessary to wear the evening black of town, being dressed in navy and tan, respectively. All in all, it was a pleasant company who went in to dinner together.

  The peace, unfortunately, did not survive the first course of the welcoming dinner. Mrs. Tate, who served as both housekeeper a
nd cook, did not appear to be very talented in the kitchen. The roast was underdone and the Yorkshire pudding overdone and stiff. The trout that followed, however, melted in buttery warmth in Margaret’s mouth.

  “Now do you appreciate the merits of fishing?” her father demanded of her stepmother, who sat opposite him at the long oval table.

  Mrs. Munroe gave a disparaging shrug, but Lord Darton, seated at Thomas’ left, brightened.

  “Do you enjoy fishing as well, sir?” he asked.

  “Delightful pastime,” Mr. Munroe acknowledged between bites. “Practice every time we visit Wenwood.”

  “Ah, yes,” Lady Agnes put in from Thomas’ right, leaning around Margaret to address Mr. Munroe. “You have cousins there, I believe. Thomas is well known to them.”

  Court coughed, and Catherine paled at the allusion to Thomas’ first love, Allison. Thomas paused in his eating to scowl at his aunt. Margaret buried a laugh.

  “I imagine he is,” she replied cheerfully. “And I also imagine he had little time to fish while he was there. Frankly, I haven’t had the opportunity to learn the sport. Perhaps I can rectify that while I’m here.”

  Thomas’ scowl faded, and she thought he looked pleased at how she had turned the conversation back to more pleasant ground. She thought it rather adroit herself. But she could not congratulate herself for long, for Catherine opposite her was blinking as if confused and now the viscount was frowning.

  “Surely you jest, Miss Munroe,” Lord Darton said. “I doubt fishing would be of any interest to a woman.”

  He had left himself so unguarded that she could not resist. “No more so than horse racing,” she quipped.

  Her stepmother choked, causing Catherine to jump in alarm. Mr. Munroe half rose from his seat as if to aid her, but she waved him down, reaching hastily for her glass. “Sorry,” she murmured after a moment, red as all eyes remained on her with varying degrees of concern. “Must have been the fish.”

  Margaret gave it up and laughed. It was only a moment before she realized no one had joined her. Court actually looked shocked, as if she were making fun of her own stepmother. Shaking her head at their inability to see the humor in the comment, she attacked her own meat with gusto. Might as well be silent. Did not the Bible counsel to cast not one’s pearls before swine? Glancing up, however, she met Thomas’ gaze and saw the answering laughter in his eyes. Somehow the fish tasted heavenly again.

  Unfortunately, they fared no better in the withdrawing room after dinner. Margaret was again struck by the simple beauty of the room with its west wall of windows overlooking the darkening lake. She longed to brush through the double glass doors to the verandah and garden beyond but was forced to remain stiffly in the wingback chair, smile pasted in place, while they waited for the gentlemen to finish their port. From the chair opposite hers, Lady Agnes’ narrowed eyes watched Mrs. Munroe on the settee. Catherine’s gaze darted nervously between them, as if waiting for another explosion. Mrs. Munroe’s gaze seemed to be permanently fixed somewhere between the empty marble hearth and the Gainsborough landscape framed above it. Unlikely as it seemed, Margaret appeared to be the only one capable of saving the situation.

  She rose, succeeding in drawing all eyes to her, and walked closer to the windows. “This certainly is a lovely house, Lady Agnes. Has it a history to match?”

  Behind her, Lady Agnes sniffed. “Nothing of historical significance, if that’s what you mean. My grandfather purchased it as a retreat for his new bride. She was a noted termagant.”

  Apparently that ran in the family. Margaret gritted her teeth to keep from saying the thought aloud.

  “My brother, Thomas’ father, was quite fond of the place as well,” Lady Agnes continued when no one rose to the bait. “We spent part of nearly every summer here and often retreated here to celebrate family events like birthdays. And Thomas is wont to spend the winter recess from Parliament here, though personally I do not see the charm of the place in the winter. It is entirely too desolate.”

  Remembering her feelings in the bedchamber, Margaret smiled. “There is a certain peace in an undisturbed vista. I can see why that might appeal to your nephew after the crowded halls of government.”

  “Perhaps,” Lady Agnes allowed, “although I do not see why he keeps that woman as a cook. I must apologize for the dinner. It was inappropriately bad.”

  Margaret tightened her lips again to keep from asking what would be appropriately bad. Turning, she found Lady Agnes eyeing her with an unmistakable gleam of hope in her eyes. The woman wanted to start an argument! It struck Margaret that perhaps it was the only way she knew to make conversation. Another time she would have been pleased to oblige her, but Lady Catherine looked ready to faint, and Margaret’s stepmother appeared to be holding her breath in tension.

  “Do you play whist, Lady Agnes?” Margaret tried, knowing her tone was overly bright.

  Lady Agnes frowned. “Certainly. But I do not think it wise to start an entertainment until the gentlemen have arrived. I should speak to Thomas for keeping us waiting. It is most rude of him.”

  Margaret could not stand it. In her opinion, the only rude person in the house had just finished speaking. If she stayed in the room another minute, she would surely tell her so. The look of panic on her stepmother’s face warned her that her intentions were apparent. Lady Agnes’ eyes brightened, and her mouth curved in a smile of victory. Catherine’s eyes were huge and frightened.

  “By all means,” Margaret declared, striding for the door, “allow me to fetch him for you.” It was the role of a servant, but she did not care. Anything to get away from the tension in the room. She was out the door and shutting it behind her before anyone could protest.

  Ahead of her stretched the empty corridor with its cream-colored walls and dark plank flooring littered with colorful Oriental rugs. The dining room, she knew, lay around the corner and at the far end, next to the kitchen. Along the way waited a tantalizing number of doors, none of which anyone had seen fit to open when they had repaired here earlier. Her face lighting in a smile, Margaret set off to explore.

  The first door opened on a library, the floor-to-ceiling inset bookcases filled with leather-bound volumes. She promised herself she would give them a serious study later in their visit, provided, of course, she survived that long. The room next to it surprised her, being cluttered with shelves and tables holding any number of amusements such as a polished set of nine-pins and a well-worn backgammon board. Dominating the space was a claw-footed billiard table. Sadly, none of the games appeared to have been used in some time, lying abandoned about the room with a patina of dust. She made herself another promise to see that the games were aired, though getting any of Thomas’ guests except her father to play might be asking for a miracle.

  Around the corner lay a music room, with a piano that was imposing large and polished for the simple house. It gleamed in the light of the rising moon outside. She wondered who played and scolded herself for hoping it was Thomas. Still, she could not see the reticent Catherine having the fire to pound out anything requiring feeling.

  Now she was back to the sitting room and entryway, across from which lay another set of beckoning doors to the gardens. She marched resolutely past them and paused before the dining room door. From inside came the companionable sound of male laughter. She grinned, pushing open the door.

  “Well, at least the gentlemen seem to be enjoying themselves,” she declared.

  The viscount’s smile faded at the sight of her, but Thomas’ deepened. Her father chuckled.

  “Couldn’t wait any longer, could you? She was always that way as a child—walked early, sat her first horse at eighteen months, started reading at two.”

  “Impressive,” Court quipped with a wry smile. He pushed back his chair and rose. “I suppose you have come to fetch us.”

  “Just Lord DeGuis,” she replied, wishing Darton would take the hint and remain behind. “Lady Agnes would like a word with him.”

 
Thomas rose, frowning. “Is anything wrong?”

  “Only if you think impending murder troubling,” Margaret answered. “Do come along and rescue your sister, at least. I’ve been gone a good ten minutes, and I shall not vouch for what my stepmother and your aunt are doing to each other.”

  Thomas came hastily down the room with Mr. Munroe at his heels. Darton heaved a martyred sigh and fell in behind.

  “Is it truly that bad?” Thomas murmured to Margaret as they started down the corridor. He took her arm.

  “Worse,” Margaret replied, relishing the feel of him against her. “Is there nothing your aunt enjoys more than arguing?”

  “Nothing I have found,” Thomas admitted.

  “Well, we will have to keep looking, or one of us will not survive the visit,” she predicted.

  Thomas squeezed her arm. “You were marvelous at dinner. If anyone can manage her, you can.”

  Margaret felt herself flushing. Why was it so little praise from this man warmed her? She had not thought herself so desperate for compliments. “You give me too much credit, my lord,” she murmured.

  “On the contrary,” Thomas replied, giving her an astonishingly warm look, “I’m beginning to think I haven’t given you entirely enough.”

  On that sweet note, they went in to battle.

  Chapter Seventeen

  By the time she went to sleep that night, Margaret knew she had found her challenge for the summer. Some people, most notably feather-brained peacocks like Lord Darton, might be bored by two months in the country. After the tense introductions and awkward welcoming dinner, she did not think boredom a fit description for her own emotions. But her own animosity at finding she had to endure a summer in Lord Darton’s company quickly melted into sympathy.

  Thomas was clearly set to make this visit a success, flattering her stepmother, teasing his sister out of the doldrums, giving as good as he got from his delighted aunt, and cajoling Darton into a reluctant smile. She owed him no less of an effort. For his sake, she would attempt to be pleasant to Darton and to keep from rising to his aunt’s bait too often. It was by far the most daunting job she had ever undertaken. But she had been known to enjoy a challenge, a trait she was quickly beginning to realize she shared with Thomas.