by Regina Scott
She couldn’t resist grinning at him. “Is it working?”
“No.”
He started across the lawn at such a fast clip that Gen bit back a squeal of surprise. Her grip on his neck tightened as he took the steps to the Manor two at a time. He bumped open the door with his broad shoulder and swung her down to deposit her unceremoniously on the marble floor. She tried to catch her balance, but her wet feet slipped out from under her and she landed with a thud on her backside in a pile of sodden skirt. She glared up at him.
Alan sighed, offering her his hand. “I really can’t afford this, Miss Munroe. I have cows to see to.”
“Cows?” she fairly shouted, clambering to her feet alone. “Cows! First you tell me I’m too dim-witted to find my way home in the dark, then you carry me here as if I’m too frail to walk, and now you can’t be bothered to find me a room. You may have grown up hearing about the spoiled Munroe women, sir, but the stories can’t possibly compare to those I’ve heard about the arrogance of the Pentercast men. And you, I’m quite certain, are the prize of the lot!”
“Mother!” he shouted, the angry word echoing up to the high ceilings. “We have a guest.” Lowering his voice, he offered her an ironic bow. “Good night, Miss Munroe. Always a pleasure.”
He turned on his heel and strode back out the door, leaving Gen wanting to throw something after him.
She had barely had a chance to calm before Mrs. Pentercast appeared puffing from the back of the house. “Alan? What’s this about a guest? Oh, hello, Genevieve. Whatever are you doing here?”
Gen sighed. “I came to help with the flood, Mrs. Pentercast. But Alan doesn’t seem to think I’ll be of much use.”
“Silly man,” Mrs. Pentercast tsked, linking an arm in hers. “You look done in, child. Do you truly want to help, or would you like to just lie down?”
Gen found it impossible not to smile down at the little woman beside her. Mrs. Pentercast’s round face was puckered with kindness, her tiny brown eyes warm. All fifty-some inches of her trembled with motherly concern. In every way, she was a direct contrast to the mother Gen had grown up knowing. “I really would like to help,” Gen told her.
She nodded. “Good girl. Let’s get you into dry clothes first, then we’ll put you to work. Come this way.” Keeping one arm linked with Gen’s, she led her up the sweeping stair, chatting all the way. “You know, I always wanted daughters. They’re so much easier to talk to than sons. And so much more helpful. Although, mind you, Alan can be a dear when he chooses. But girls, now, you can pamper and fuss over. And they’ll be by you in a time of crisis. Yes, I always wanted girls. Your mother beat me there as well, I suppose.”
Gen frowned, allowing herself to be led down a carpeted corridor past portraits of Pentercasts to a small bedroom in the corner of the Manor. There, Mrs. Pentercast pulled some clothes from a wardrobe and held them up to Gen.
“I was never as wonderfully thin as you are, my dear,” she said with a sigh as she tossed several dresses onto the canopied bed behind her. “Although like you, my figure was all the more noticeable because I was so short. Here, this ought to do.” She held up an old-fashioned long-waisted gown of cobalt blue wool. With its long sleeves and high neck, it looked warm and cozy to Gen. She shivered as she reached for it, and Mrs. Pentercast clucked.
“You slip into this, and we’ll get some hot tea into you. You’ll feel much more the thing, you see if you don’t. I’m sorry I can’t send you one of the servants, but they’re all a bit busy just now. I’ll be right back with a towel for your hair.” She bustled out of the room.
By the time she returned, Gen had stripped off the sodden hunting dress and pulled the cobalt gown over her head. Mrs. Pentercast helped her fasten the many tiny hooks up the back, nodding approval as she tugged it into place. It fit well enough although it was a little short for Gen; her wet boots showed to their tops. Mrs. Pentercast insisted that she slip them off as well, bringing her a pair of leather slippers that were a bit big, but with an extra pair of wool stockings that felt good against her cold skin, they did well enough. Then Mrs. Pentercast led her down to the kitchen of the great house, where a team of servants was busy preparing some kind of meal.
“Soup and hot tea,” Mrs. Pentercast explained as she caught Gen’s look of surprise. “The men will be needing it, poor dears. Martha, is there something Miss Munroe can do to assist?”
Martha Martin, the Pentercast housekeeper, offered Gen a smile from where she stirred a huge pot hanging over the blazing fire in the old-fashioned fireplace. “The loaves are just coming from the oven, mum. Perhaps the young lady could slice them?”
Mrs. Pentercast indicated an oak table not unlike the one in the Abbey kitchen, and Gen sat at it, sawing the serrated knife through the steaming loaves of oat bread set before her by one of the many maids. Her stomach rumbled at the savory smell. The maid grinned at her. Embarrassed, she quickened her efforts.
Some time later, she stood looking out the kitchen window, watching as Mrs. Pentercast and several of the maids made their way among the working men to hand out the bread and mugs of hot soup and tea she had helped prepare. Over their torches, the far horizon looked a little lighter, and she realized dawn would be breaking soon. She yawned, leaning against the window frame. Beside her, the kitchen door swung open, and Alan thumped in to warm himself by the fire.
He apparently didn’t notice her standing there, and she made no move to make him aware, preferring to watch him in silence. His dark hair was plastered to his head from the rain and his own exertions. His broad shoulders sagged with weariness as he slumped on the bench, stretching his long legs out to the warmth. A drop of water, shining in the firelight, slid down his nose, and he wiped it away with the back of his hand. Then he frowned as if feeling he was being watched and turned to her. Gen managed a smile.
He laughed, rising. “I knew I was tired, but not that tired. She’s not yours yet, my lad. Save the dreams for your sleep.” He stumbled back out the door before she could tell him he wasn’t dreaming.
Dawn had broken before she found herself lying in the canopied bed in the corner room of the Manor. She woke much later that morning to find her hunting dress freshly laundered and ironed and hanging in the wardrobe, along with her boots, polished and with new laces. She felt guilty that the servants had gone to such trouble; they had surely been up as late as she had. After donning the clothing and boots and using the hairbrush she found on the dressing table to put her curls in some semblance of order, she descended to the first floor. The footman there politely directed her to the breakfast room, where she found Mrs. Pentercast in a frothy white lace morning robe.
“Ah, Genevieve, up so early? I thought you’d sleep until noon after being up so late in the kitchen.”
“What’s this about the kitchen?” Alan asked behind her, and she hurried into the room to get out of his way. His hair was disheveled as always, but clean now, shining in the light from the winter sun through the two multi-paned windows. He wore rough wool trousers and a jacket, clearly ready for more work outside. She went to stand behind Mrs. Pentercast, gripping the top of her high-backed chair, suddenly unsure how to respond to him.
Mrs. Pentercast rescued her. “Sit beside me, Genevieve, dear, and let me pour you some tea. Good morning, Alan. You look tired my dear. I thought Gen’s little meal should have helped last night.”
“It wasn’t my meal, Mrs. Pentercast,” Gen said, taking the seat offered her. She accepted the tea from her hostess’ hand and took a sip to steady herself.
“Well, perhaps not entirely,” Mrs. Pentercast allowed. “But you were marvelous help. Girls often are, you know, Alan.”
“So I’ve been told,” Alan said, going to sit on the other side of his mother. She obligingly poured him a cup as well. “I see you’re dressed for traveling, Miss Munroe. I’ll have the carriage brought around straight away to take you home.”
Gen gathered her courage and met his eye. “That won’t be necessary,
Squire. The day seems to be bright. I can walk home.”
“Let’s not start that again,” Alan all but growled.
“Walk home?” Mrs. Pentercast interrupted. “Oh, my dear, I don’t think you’ll want to. It turned quite cold last night. We’ll finally have some winter snow if I’m not mistaken. Even the carriage is likely to be chilly. Make sure they put in the lap robes, Alan, and warm bricks at her feet.”
“Nothing but the best for Miss Munroe,” Alan said.
Stung, Gen looked away.
His mother frowned. “Alan, I cannot like your manner this morning. I know you’re tired, but it isn’t like you to be so gruff with a guest. Perhaps I should ask Geoffrey to see her home.”
“Geoffrey is nowhere to be found this morning,” Alan replied, sipping his tea as if nothing were amiss. “I suspect he’s investigating that broken dam.”
“I hope he took someone from the Abbey with him,” Gen said. “It is our property, after all.”
“I’m well aware of that, Miss Munroe.”
“What is that supposed to mean?” Gen demanded, setting down her cup with a clatter. “You suspect us of causing this mess, don’t you?”
Mrs. Pentercast tittered. “Of course not, dear. Alan wouldn’t be so silly. Imagine girls hacking through a dam.”
“I have no difficulty imagining a certain young lady doing so,” Alan replied, rising. “She has too much at stake, and I don’t think she much relishes losing.”
“Not as much as you relish winning,” Gen countered, rising as well. He still towered over her.
“Oh, so now I’m the one who broke the dam and flooded my own farm, is that what you’re saying?”
“You needed seven swans a-swimming,” Gen replied, head high. “You said so yourself.”
“If you really think that I’d risk losing everything I’ve worked for to win a stupid wager, you value yourself much too highly, Miss Munroe,” he answered, tossing down his napkin. “Walk home if it pleases you. Good day.”
“Alan!” his mother protested as he stalked from the room. Gen blinked back hot tears. “Genevieve, what is he talking about? What wager?”
Gen swallowed, holding onto the back of her chair with unsteady hands. “It doesn’t matter, Mrs. Pentercast. I don’t think your son wants to honor it any longer. Thank you for your kindness. I think I’d best be going now.”
Mrs. Pentercast scrambled to her feet. “Nonsense! I’ll have the carriage brought around myself. I won’t have you walking home in this cold. Munson!”
Somehow, Gen managed to hold back the tears as the carriage was brought around, Mrs. Pentercast ushered her into it, and one of the Pentercast grooms drove her down the long road to the Abbey. She managed to hold them back while she was greeted by her mother and sister and toured the Abbey with Chimes to make sure everything had survived the adventures of the night. She even managed to hold them back when he took her to see that the dam had indeed been hacked clean through. They found the ax still lodged in the remaining pieces. She didn’t let the tears fall until she was safely ensconced in her own room that afternoon. Then she sobbed until her pillow was soaked.
It was because she was so tired, she convinced herself. She ought to be delighted that she had finally dissuaded Alan from continuing with his wretched wager. If he gave up, that meant she had won. The harvest tithes would be her family’s for generations. They were saved, and she was no longer being forced into a loveless marriage. Then why was she so unaccountably blue?
It was late in the day when Chimes tapped at her door, telling her she had a visitor. Her heart leaped, and she hurried to answer his knock.
“The Squire is at the front door to see you, miss,” Chimes said with a bow, and she frowned at his formality. “He has, um, something for you.”
She wasn’t sure whether to be depressed or glad. “You mean he isn’t giving up?”
Chimes squirmed. “Well, miss, perhaps you ought to see it for yourself.”
Frowning, Gen followed him to the entry of the Abbey. It stood empty. She turned her frown on Chimes. “Well?”
Chimes cleared his throat. “Outside, miss.”
Shaking her head, Gen went to open the front door. And stared.
The small clearing in front of the Abbey was thronged with dairy cows. They bumped and shoved against each other, lowing pathetically. They scraped against the trees, shaking the slender branches; they trampled the brittle winter grass. She spotted one of the yellow winter pansies Mrs. Chimes had planted in the window boxes disappearing into a mobile mouth. She couldn’t have stepped past the porch had she wanted to.
“What is this?” she demanded of Chimes, who had come up beside her.
Alan’s voice ran out from the far side of the clearing. “This, Miss Munroe, is a herd of dairy cattle. A very small herd I might add. My other neighbors were kind enough to take most of my animals into their barns until my barns dry out, but I have nowhere to put these beasts. As my mother assures me you have the greatest desire to be of assistance, I’m leaving them with you.”
“This is ridiculous!” Gen cried, standing on tiptoe to catch a glimpse of him. “What am I supposed to do with a herd of cattle? I don’t even have a barn.”
“I don’t care where you put them,” Alan called. “They’ll most likely survive the night or two in the clearing, as long as you keep them nicely packed together. I’ll retrieve them in a day or so, as soon as the water subsides.”
“You can’t do this!” Gen shouted at him. But she knew it was in vain. She couldn’t stop him from doing it. She couldn’t even get out her own door. She threw up her hands, turning back to Chimes. “Gift, eh? Chimes, so help me, if I thought you were in on this…”
Chimes held up his hands in surrender. “I’m innocent, Miss Gen, I swear!”
She shook her head, gazing back at the lowing animals. “What are we to do with them?”
“Genevieve?” her mother called from inside the Abbey. “Chimes? I’m hearing the oddest noise.”
Gen turned back to the entryway as her mother and sister appeared from one of the wings. “Good afternoon, Mother,” she started, motioning Chimes to shut the door. Unfortunately, one of the cows chose that moment to poke its head in. Her mother froze, and Allison gasped.
“Is that a cow?” her sister asked, moving cautiously toward the door.
Gen exchanged glances with Chimes and saw in his black eyes that she had no chance at bluffing. “Yes, I’m afraid so. And there are about thirty more like her in the front yard.”
Her mother frowned. “How can that be?”
“It’s a grand gesture,” Chimes put in, shoving at the cow in vain to get it back into the yard so he could shut the door. “Miss Gen offered to keep them for the Squire until his barns drained.”
“Very thoughtful of you, Genevieve, I’m sure,” her mother allowed, watching his struggles from the safety of the far side of the entryway. “However, I don’t see how we can do so. What shall we do with them?”
“Hello the Abbey!” a voice called from the far side of the clearing. The cow startled, pulling back its head, and Chimes made to snap the door triumphantly closed. Gen put out her hand to stop him.
“William?” she called back.
The curate’s sandy head appeared over the backs of the cattle. “Yes. I heard about the flood and came to see how you were fairing. I seem to have come at a bad time.”
“Go around back,” Gen called to him, motioning him around the side of the herd. “Chimes will let you in the kitchen.”
She saw him wave and move off. She nodded to Chimes, who sighed with relief as he swung the door shut at last.
“Chimes,” her mother intoned as Gen sagged with relief as well, “please send the Reverend Wellfordhouse to the withdrawing room when you retrieve him. Genevieve, I think we must talk.”
With a heavy heart, Gen fell into step behind her mother and Allison.
In the withdrawing room, her mother motioned her to a chair opposite the
fire, taking up her usual seat in the Sheraton chair. Allison curled up on the chaise.
“Now, my dear, please explain to me about these cows.”
Gen managed a smile, mind whirling as she sought to think up a plausible tale. “Well, you see, Mother,” she hedged, “as Chimes said, the Pentercasts were nearly flooded out last night, and since the dam was on our property, I thought it was only polite to offer to help.”
“Help, certainly,” her mother agreed. “But cows? What are we to do with them? We have no pasture, no place to house them. And we certainly have no food put up for them to eat.”
“I’m afraid it’s worse than that, Mrs. Munroe,” William said in the doorway. “Pardon my intrusion, but I take it you’ve only recently been told you have a herd of dairy cows in your front yard.”
“Quite recently,” her mother said.
“If you have any ideas on what to do with them,” Gen told him, “we’d be delighted to listen.”
William wrung his hands, offering her a wane smile. “I would be delighted to be of assistance as to the care of dairy cattle, Miss Genevieve. However, from my vantage point across the clearing, I believe you have a more immediate problem than housing or feeding them.”
Gen frowned. “Oh? What would that be?”
“They seem to be, er, that is,” William was turning several shades of red but for the life of her she couldn’t imagine what was discomposing him so. “Dash it all, they look like they need to be milked.”
“Milked!” her mother and sister cried with her.
William winced. “Yes, by your leave, just so. I don’t supposed any of you have any experience with this kind of thing?”
“None whatsoever,” her mother assured him, turning on her oldest daughter. “Genevieve, this really is going too far. We simply must tell the Squire we cannot keep them for him.”
William cleared his throat. “Begging your pardon, Mrs. Munroe, but they’ll never make it back to the Manor, even through the woods. I have had some little experience in these matters, having been raised on a farm until I was ten. I’d be happy to be of assistance. But you need to milk them soon, within the hour if I’m any judge.”
