by Regina Scott
"About what?” Alan frowned, releasing him. He tried again to get his brother to look at him, but to no avail. His heart sank as he realized most likely he was about to hear a confession.
"About everything,” Geoffrey muttered. “The last few days, the flood, my life.” He sighed, looking up to meet Alan's eyes at last. He squared his jaw. “I didn't do it, Alan. I swear. I thought I might have, but now I'm sure."
Alan wanted to feel relieved, but somehow couldn't. He knew his frown had deepened with his confusion. “What do you mean, you thought you might have? Either you did or you didn't."
"Well,” his brother hedged, “I had my reasons. You see, I was a bit well to live when I left the tavern that night. I remember heading home, but I got to thinking about what Miss Allison said to Reverend Wellfordhouse, about being their first footer for New Year's? And I was thinking how I had threatened to come instead and wouldn't it be a grand joke if I made good on that threat. Me being dark complexioned, that would serve her right for toying with my affections."
"Toying with your affections?” Alan couldn't help asking with raised eyebrow.
Geoffrey had the good sense to hang his head. “Well, perhaps toying isn't the right word. But you must admit she's been flirting practically since the day we met, and her not even out yet!"
"You still owe it to her to behave like a gentleman,” Alan pointed out.
Geoffrey grimaced. “Dash it all, I know that. Only she is the most taking little thing. Anyway, I was thinking about her and the next thing I knew, I was almost to the Abbey and my horse was shying away from water in my path. It took me a moment to realize what I was seeing. Then I realized that the water was going everywhere and rode to the Abbey to warn them. Then I came straight home, as you know. But you see, I couldn't really remember anything from the time I left the tavern until I reached the flood. And I thought, what if I did it and don't even remember it?"
He blinked and looked away, wiping his nose with the back of his hand. “I thought maybe the drink was getting to me. You've hammered that into me, I suppose. And of course there was Father. So I decided to stay away from it and see what would happen. There was a nice abandoned barn over by Brightsfield. Good place to think.” His brother grinned at him and Alan found himself returning the smile. “You might try it sometime. Anyway, I'm still here. And I know I didn't do it, Alan."
Alan clapped him on the shoulder, feeling his own spirits lighten. “I believe you, Geoff. And I'm glad you're back. The question remains, however, if not you, who did break the dam that night?” He turned back to the desk and felt Geoff's eyes on him as he resumed his seat.
"I don't know, Alan, I can't imagine why anyone would want to play such a scurvy trick—on us or the Munroes."
"You knew there have been other such acts?” Alan probed. Geoff frowned, shaking his head. “Reverend York told me. Barn doors let open, fence posts toppled, that sort of thing. I sounded to me like a gang of youths with too much time on their hands."
Geoff shook his head again. “Why haven't I heard anything about this? You'd think there'd be more gossip down at the tavern. Besides, I know all the lads for miles about, and none of them would cause such trouble, unless...."
"Unless?” Alan prompted with interest.
"Nothing,” Geoffrey muttered, looking away.
Alan had a suspicion where his brother's thoughts were leading. “You know, if there's anyone besides the Pentercasts with a reputation for wildness in this area, I understand it's our friend Tom Harvey. And I believe you mentioned once that he gets fairly unpredictable when drunk."
Geoffrey tried to protest, but Alan could see that he'd given his brother something to think about. “I suppose he could be our culprit, but wasn't he here the night of the flood?"
"He came in later, after the water started coming. I thought perhaps he was with you at the tavern."
Geoffrey shook his head. “I didn't see him there. I don't want to accuse anyone, Alan. Besides, Tom can be a very helpful fellow, as you've seen since the flood."
"Working off a guilty conscience, perhaps?” Alan asked with raised eyebrow.
"I can't believe it,” Geoffrey insisted.
Alan frowned. “Then who?"
"I'm at a loss,” Geoff admitted.
Alan rose again, feeling the chair too confining. “Well, never mind that now. We should let Mother know you've returned.” Putting his arm around his brother's shoulder, he steered him out of the study and down the corridor toward the center stair. Time enough later to determine exactly what had happened New Year's Eve. Although he had so much as accused Gen of causing the flood, he knew she could have had nothing to do with it. More and more he was becoming convinced there was a very real danger in their midst. Next time it struck, someone might be hurt. He very much doubted the solution would wait until the twelve days of Christmas were over.
Geoff had his foot on the bottom step when the front door knocker sounded.
"Go on,” Alan urged him, falling back. “I'll see to it."
With a nod, his brother continued up the stairs.
Munson appeared from below stairs, crossing the marble floor with measured tread as the knocking came again, louder. Alan frowned, wondering what could have happened to put their unknown caller in such a pucker. Given the last few days, he was almost afraid to find out.
Munson swung open the door, and Gen brushed past him into the entry hall. Though her jaw was set and her vivid blue eyes snapped fire, he could see that she was pale. Her riding habit was rumpled as if she'd ridden hard, and pieces of dead leaves speckled her skirt from hem to knee. Alarmed, he took a step forward. “What's happened? Are you all right?"
She turned her glare on him, stalking across the entry way. Before he knew what she was about, she swung back her arm and slapped him across the face. “Murderer!"
He recoiled, more surprised than hurt.
"Oh, I say,” Munson sputtered. “Squire, shall I call the footman to have this person evicted?"
Alan rubbed his cheek thoughtfully, gazing down at the tiny fury who stood with heaving breast below him. Part of him wanted to demand her removal. The other part wanted to make sure she was all right. “That won't be necessary, Munson. I take it there's some explanation for this, Miss Munroe? Perhaps we can discuss it, in private?” He nodded toward the nearby withdrawing room, not sure she would accept his offer. To his relief, she swept back her skirts and stalked ahead of him to the door.
Alan eyed her as Munson shut the doors behind him, leaving them open just enough for propriety's sake and promising to go fetch his mother immediately. He wondered whether that was for Gen's protection, or his own. She was pacing before the windows, the sunlight glinting off her disheveled hair. As if she sensed his gaze upon her, she paused and eyed him in return. He wondered what she was seeing. Although he was fairly sure he was innocent of whatever she was angry about, he had to fight the urge not to squirm.
She sighed suddenly, looking away, as if the anger had fled. “How could you, Alan? I thought you understood what the Thorn means to so many people, what it means to me. To cut it down just to win the wager ... “.
He felt as if she'd kicked him in the gut. “The Thorn's been cut down?"
She nodded, tears filling her eyes. “Allison and I found it just now. It is quite destroyed.” She gulped back a sob, and it was all he could do not to take her in his arms. His mind whirled—the Thorn destroyed? It could only be the work of the vandal. The creature must be stopped!
"I promise you, Miss Munroe,” he spat out, “the culprit will not go unpunished."
She shook her head, wiping away her tears with gloved fingers. “What can you do to your own brother?"
"You suspect Geoffrey?” Before he could take umbrage, he realized it made sense. The entire village seemed convinced Geoffrey had caused the dam to break. He'd wondered himself. But now he knew otherwise. “I assure you, Miss Munroe, my brother had nothing to do with it."
She gulped back a
nother sob, and he could see she trembled with the effort to control her emotions. “Why do you bother to lie? He was seen. Your plan is clear, sir, but I swear you shall not win! Nothing would induce me to marry a man who would stoop so low!"
He stared at her, feeling the blood drain from his face. “You think I planned this? Why?"
She turned away from him, addressing her words to the winter landscape beyond the window. “Reverend York said there were nine of them and the sound was like drumming."
"And you assumed it was your ‘gift’ for the ninth day of Christmas.” He shook his head.
How could he have been so stupid to think he could win her past her damned Pentercast prejudice? Everything he had done had been for naught. She could know nothing about him to accuse him of this.
Something inside him snapped. He strode to her side and grabbed her by the shoulders, forcing her to turn wide eyes to his face. “That's right, look at me. Look at me, dammit! What do you see?"
She blinked, stiff in his grip. “I ... I don't know what you mean."
He gave her a shake. “No, of course you don't, because you refuse to look beyond the end of your aristocratic little nose. Well, try, just this once, to see the man beyond. A man who'd give his life for you.” He gave a wry snort of laughter. “A man who's already nearly lost everything he holds dear for the chance to win your love. A man who just happens to be a Pentercast."
She stared up at him, arrested, and a last tear slid down her pale cheek. Her eyes were misty, her lips parted. With a groan, he pulled her to him and kissed her.
His anger melted immediately, even as she melted against him. He had dreamed of holding her like this for so long, and for once the dream did not disappoint. She was soft in his arms; he could feel the curve of her pressed against his chest. Her lips beneath his were cool and salty from her tears. As he pulled her closer, his heart pounded against his ribs as if trying to reach hers. He could feel her heart's answering rhythm.
And he knew in that instant that he would do anything, anything, to have her by his side forever.
He raised his head and gazed down at her. Two bright spots of color stood out on her pale cheeks. He could feel her trembling. Her eyes were closed.
He had to laugh, releasing her. “You can't even look at me when I'm kissing you."
Her eyes snapped open, and she took a step back. “You should not have done that."
He laughed again, freely this time, his tension surprisingly gone. “You're quite right, Miss Munroe, as usual. However, I'm very much afraid that if you don't leave right now, I'm going to do it again."
She gasped and fled before he make good his threat.
[Back to Table of Contents]
Chapter Fourteen
Verse Ten, Ten Pipers Piping
She raced the horse down the road from the Manor, heart pounding with the hooves, oblivious to the trees flying past, conscious only of the need for escape. She had gone some distance, driven in headlong flight, before she began to wonder from what she was escaping. Then she slowed the horse to a trot, breathing as heavily as it did.
No doubt it was his kiss that had her so rattled. None of her other suitors had ever dared to kiss her. She couldn't remember anyone kissing her, not even a brotherly kiss from William. Surely the first kiss was always discomposing. But this kiss! She closed her eyes, remembering the feel of his arms around her, the gentle caress of his lips, the firm line of his body. Her eyes snapped open, and she could feel herself blushing. Perhaps it was best not to think of his kiss.
But his words had been no less discomposing. Why, if she understood him correctly, he was in love with her. Just the thought would have once made her shiver with delight. Now she felt only confusion. She had dreamed so long of the handsome young man of her girlhood that she had been crushed when he was no better than the Pentercasts she had been raised to despise. Which was the real Alan? Or was he someone else entirely?
She was so intent on her thoughts that she rode all the way back to the Abbey before realizing that she had never fetched help for Allison and the vicar. She was rousing the grooms and Chimes when the Pentercast carriage pulled into the yard. Panic seized her at the thought of facing Alan again so soon, and she froze. What should she say? How should she act? And she must look a sight. The driver leapt to the ground and opened the door, assisting Allison in clambering down. Gen sagged in relief.
They all gathered around her sister, who, preening over her importance, sketched out the tale with evident delight, hands waving dramatically in the air.
"And then the Squire came with his horse and carriage to bring me home and take the vicar back to the village,” she finished with a flourish.
"Lucky no one of importance was hurt,” Chimes said. “Seems to me this vandal fellow has gone too far this time."
"Someone ought to plant him a facer,” one of the grooms muttered.
"If you ask me, ‘angin's too good fer ‘im,” another grumbled.
Chimes snorted. “Aye, but with the Squire behind him, not likely we'll see justice done."
Gen didn't like the way the conversation was going. However, before she could speak, Allison jumped in. “You all think Geoffrey Pentercast did it, don't you! And with no more evidence than gossip. Shame on you."
The groomsmen hung their heads.
"Now, Miss Allison,” Chimes put in, “you yourself told us what the vicar said. Surely you don't think he'd lie about what he saw."
Allison pouted. “Of course he wouldn't lie. He's a man of God. However, he could be mistaken. Perhaps it was someone who looked like Geoffrey Pentercast."
"The only person who looks like Geoffrey Pentercast in these parts,” Chimes replied with a snort, “is Geoffrey Pentercast. Pentercasts have always been trouble. We all remember the time old man Pentercast came home from the inn drunk and set fire to the hay fields. The acorn doesn't fall far from the tree."
"That's enough,” Gen ordered. “We all have better things to do with our time than gossip."
Chastised, the servants wandered back to their duties. Allison and Gen turned back to the Abbey.
They found their mother awaiting them in the entry hall. “Welcome back, girls. What was all that commotion? Did I hear a carriage?"
"I'll let Allison explain, Mother,” Gen replied, feeling craven as she slipped past her mother for the family wing. Her mother looked at her askance, but Allison launched into her tale and her mother focused on her dramatics. Gen escaped to the quiet of her room.
But she wasn't to be given time to ruminate. Bryce bustled in to help her out of her riding habit, tisking over its condition. She attempted to engage Gen in conversation but gave up when Gen responded with discouraging nods and unladylike grunts. Moments after she left, Gen's mother came in. Gen smothered a sigh of frustration.
"Most distressing news,” her mother murmured. “Are you all right?"
"Actually, Mother,” Gen replied with sudden hope, “I'm quite done in. I thought I might rest before tea."
Her mother nodded. “A wise decision. I will suggest the same for Allison. The Thorn will be a loss. I do hope the Squire can locate the perpetrator."
"I'm sure we all feel the same,” Gen replied, emotions warring. “I'll see you at tea, Mother."
A few moments later when she stretched out on her bed, alone at last, she found her mind a jumble of thoughts. Was Geoffrey Pentercast the vandal who had flooded the Manor and destroyed the Thorn? If so, what was his reason? If not Geoffrey, then who would want to harm the Munroes and the Thorn?
If Geoffrey was the vandal as everyone thought, Alan was clearly shielding him, but was it brotherly love or a darker motive? And did he truly love her as he claimed, or was his declaration today part of some plan that would bring her family pain? If he did love her, could she return his love? It would certainly make things easier for her family if she could bring herself to marry him. But was it only the lure of an easier life that made the idea seem palatable?
Needle
ss to say, she got no rest and eventually made her way across the Abbey to the drawing room in time for tea. Allison and her mother were there before her, her sister sliding over to make room for her on the sofa. She offered them both a smile and knew by the looks of concern on their faces that she was fooling no one.
"I have been thinking,” her mother began as she poured and distributed the tea. “Perhaps, with this vandal about, it would be best if we returned to London early."
Gen accepted her cup, struggling to hold it steady. Not this, she prayed silently, not now. She had enough to contend with without having the specter of the end of Christmas hanging over her head. She wracked her brain to think of something to allay her mother's concerns.
Allison accepted her own cup with a shake of her head. “But Mother, you promised to remain through Christmas. And we still have two more days until Epiphany."
"Yes, I realize that. I was considering your safety, girls. From your story, Allison, I take it Reverend York was not greatly hurt, but we cannot be certain of the outcome the next time the vandal strikes. And it does not look as if the Squire will take action.” She shook her head, sipping her tea. “Pity. I had expected more of him."
"I am quite tired of the way you all assume Geoffrey Pentercast is guilty,” Allison said heatedly. “I tell you, the Reverend York is mistaken. And when Geoffrey returns, he will prove himself innocent."
"Your loyalty does you credit, Allison,” her mother replied. “But be careful not to mistake a handsome face with a kind heart. The two are not synonymous."
"Still,” Gen prompted, having found her reason, “to allow anyone to drive us from our home seems to be cowardly in the extreme. I believe we should stay."
"Hear, hear!” Allison cheered, raising her teacup.
Her mother glanced between the two of them, and Gen held her breath. “Very well, since you both feel that way. But we will take a few precautions. You will not go out without one of the groomsmen or Chimes with you, not even to the village."