The Marquis' Kiss (The Marvelous Munroes Book 3)

by Regina Scott

  She convinced Lady Agnes that her strident voice was perfect for declaiming, and lately he had had the singular pleasure of listening to the woman read from the works of Shakespeare. Her sharp mind and projecting tones were indeed theatrical, and all his guests declared that she was a success.

  Margaret was also the one to drag Catherine into the little used game room for a round of nine pins. To his surprise, he found his sister was a whiz at swinging the little wooden ball about in just such a way as to constantly strike all nine of the pins from their polished wood base. Even Court had been unable to beat her, and Thomas had been treated to the sight of Catherine actually smiling in the man’s presence.

  That smile was one of the few Catherine had bestowed on anyone. She had always preferred solitary amusements, but he had hoped company, especially Court’s company, would be able to draw her out. Instead, she was likely to disappear for more than an hour each day. Once he found her down by the lake and another time near the gate to the estate. Both times she had confessed the need to escape the attentions of their guests. He took that to mean Court. He had clearly picked the wrong man for her. It was another sign that he had not taken the time to know his sister well enough to understand what she might look for in her life’s partner.

  He admitted as much to Court one night after the ladies had retired to the garden to hear Mr. Munroe expound on the constellations that glittered over the lake.

  “Don’t see how you can say that, old fellow,” Court protested, stretching out long legs to prop his feet on the stone railing of the verandah. “You’ve been almost a father to Lady Catherine, and I daresay Lady Agnes would not have a home but for you.” He accepted the port the footman offered. Thomas waved his aside.

  “My aunt has a patrimony from our grandfather,” Thomas corrected him, listening to the murmur of Mr. Munroe’s voice beyond the trellis of roses. Margaret’s flowers perfumed the night, and he inhaled deeply. “She has only stayed with us all these years for Catherine’s sake. She told me once she longed to travel but was waiting for us to get settled. I know she is godmother to several other people with whom she corresponds, although she seldom takes the opportunity to visit, thanks to our neediness. Watching her enjoy Margaret’s company, I realized I have taken her very much for granted. Small wonder the woman rails to get attention.”

  “She rails even when you give her attention,” Court commented. “It is in her nature, I think. Thank goodness, your sister did not inherit the trait. Although I would not be surprised if you are about to marry another of the same ilk.”

  Thomas raised an eyebrow. “Do you still find Miss Munroe so objectionable? I thought a few weeks in her company would change your mind.”

  “Sorry,” Court replied, taking a careful sip of the port. “She simply isn’t to my taste. I’m somewhat surprised she is to yours. But you seem rather contented in her company.”

  “Contented?” Thomas barked out a laugh. “Contented is hardly the word.”

  The viscount frowned. “Then you are masking your true feelings? Are you having second thoughts about this courtship?”

  The conversation was too close to the truth for Thomas’ liking. He turned the topic aside. “No more so than you are. I have not seen you much in my sister’s company. Have you decided not to pursue her then?”

  “One cannot pursue someone who does not wish to be chased,” Court replied with a sigh. “Your sister is lovely, unobtrusive, and softly spoken. I think she would make an ideal wife. Only she does not agree that I should be the husband. I hate to cry off, DeGuis, but I’m not sure this deal was well considered.”

  Now it was Thomas’ turn to sigh, thinking of Margaret’s assessment that his sister was entirely too wrapped around herself. He still felt she needed someone like Court to draw her out. “Perhaps you are right. But I’d like you to give it one more try. Her birthday is in two weeks. With any luck, we can make it special.”

  Court’s eyes lighted. “A birthday? That might be just the ticket to spark some interest. Although I’m not sure what would amuse your sister.”

  “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 matchmaking 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 him. 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.
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  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 walked down to the lake, steps unsteady. He had prided himself on his reserve. That was the hallmark of the DeGuis family—they were 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 the space. 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.

  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, chiding Margaret for 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 must 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 with whom she spoke, Margaret could well imagine it might take 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 pastimes.”

  Margaret felt herself blushing and thought she must be 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 has 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 said, 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 that 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.”