by Regina Scott
Alan turned to stare at him, the neck cloth gripped tightly in his hand. “I cannot have heard you correctly.”
York couldn’t meet his eyes. “I know this is difficult. You must understand it is no easier for me to admit I have failed one of my flock. Of course, I can take some comfort in the fact that she was led astray by the wicked life of London and not in my own village. Still, to have taken lovers at such an early age cannot speak well of the lady’s constancy.”
Alan crushed the cravat in one hand; it was the only way he could keep from putting his hands around the man’s neck and throttling him. “How dare you sit there and calmly spout such lies?” he managed to grit out through his rage. “You will apologize at once.”
York blinked, his jowls quivering, in fear or righteous indignation, Alan couldn’t be sure. “I only thought to spare you, my son. Consider, if you will, that as lovely as she is, she has had three whole Seasons without marrying. There must be a reason. And the servant—they haven’t lived here for years and yet they have a pair of men’s gloves and neck cloth handy? Does it not strike you as odd? Love may know no caution, as you said, but surely you have not abandoned all logic. Think of your family, your dear family. Think of how important it is to pass down the family name. You wouldn’t want to bring home a heifer and not know which bull has sired her calf.”
“Enough!” Alan shouted, hurling the neck cloth to the floor. “I will hear no more of this, do I make myself clear? You may thank God you are a man of the cloth, because if you weren’t I’d call you out. Leave. Now.”
“No need to get belligerent, sir,” York blustered, though Alan could see he had paled. “I came only to help. I’ve always been a staunch supporter of the Pentercasts, as well you know. You can count on my discretion.” His eyes narrowed, giving him a decidedly crafty look. Alan wondered why he hadn’t recognized it before.
“Of course, were I to lose my place at Wenwood, I would have no course but to explain to others why I was thrown out for speaking the truth.”
Alan stared at him. “Are you attempting to blackmail me?”
York held up his gloved hands. “Oh, heavens no, dear boy, heavens no. I just want you to understand the possible repercussions should anything untoward happen to my position. A man my age cannot be too careful, you see. Such livings are not easy to come by, not easy at all.”
“And harder to keep, I warrant,” Alan said.
“Ah, you do understand.” York nodded, rising. “I’m glad we had this talk, my dear boy. We seemed to have reached an understanding.” He moved toward the door, then turned to Alan, his eyes once more narrowed. “Oh, and if you do decide to go through with this marriage, there will be no special license. I’m afraid you’ll just have to wait while I read the banns over the next few weeks. That is, if I remember.” He sighed. “She really isn’t the right one for you, you know. I’ve done all I could to prevent your heartache.”
“That, sir, is another lie,” said Reverend Wellfordhouse. Alan looked up in surprise to find the curate standing bristling in the doorway, Gen, Allison, and Geoffrey crowding close behind him.
He bowed to Alan before leading them into the room. “Pardon this interruption, Squire. You see, we’ve been comparing notes on the mysterious destruction of the Thorn, and we’ve come to a conclusion that I could scarcely credit, until I heard Mr. York’s last speech.” He frowned up at his master. “If I didn’t know better, Mr. York, I’d say you were threatening the Squire.”
York beamed beneficently. “Not at all, my boy, not at all. Squire Pentercast and I part on the best of terms, isn’t that so, Alan?”
Alan grit his teeth, but the look of concern on Gen’s face kept him silent. Above all else, she mustn’t know the lies the man was spreading. “The vicar and I understand each other.”
Wellfordhouse shook his head even as York nodded. “Mr. York, these good people seem to think you cut down the Thorn yourself. And worse, that you’ve been behind all the vandalism. I’d like to be able to prove them wrong. May I see your hands?”
Alan started. York? The vandal? He narrowed his eyes as he considered the possibility. The minister was certainly large and strong enough to have broken the dam and cut down the Thorn. Alan found it harder to believe that he would wander about the countryside destroying property, but then he remembered that York had been the one to tell him of the acts to begin with.
Perhaps there had been no other acts. The man had merely lied to cover his tracks. Alan would not have given it credence had he not heard the bile the man was spouting a few minutes earlier. He glanced at Geoffrey and saw he wore an equally fierce look. Miss Allison stood with arms crossed over her chest, a pretty pout on her face. Gen was watching him closely, and he nearly groaned aloud. It seemed she still thought he might be behind all this.
“My hands?” York echoed beside him. “What is this nonsense? A man of my maturity, my social standing, my place in the community, a common vandal? Really, sir, you of all people should know the danger of listening to idle gossip.”
Wellfordhouse looked sad. “I do, Mr. York, believe me, I do. That’s why I would very much like to see your hands.”
“Ridiculous!” York snapped, pushing his way past him. “I will not…umpf.” He glowered at Geoffrey who barred his way. “Stand aside, sir! I will not listen to such accusations.”
Alan moved forward to catch the man’s arm. It was time for the truth to out. He could stand that look of doubt on Gen’s face no longer.
“Why shouldn’t you listen?” he asked, grabbing one of the man’s hands even as York attempted to shrink away from what he must have seen on Alan’s face. “The rest of us have had to hear enough from you.” He held up his hand, looking past him to Wellfordhouse. “What exactly do you think to find, William?”
Wellfordhouse cleared his throat. “Well, sir, for all he’s a fine strong gentleman, Mr. York doesn’t generally do much manual labor. It really isn’t fitting a man of his station. Cutting down something as large as the Thorn had to have been a major effort, especially as it followed shortly on the destruction of the dam. I expect he’d have given himself blisters.”
“Do you indeed?” Alan mused, gazing at Gen. She stood wide-eyed as if holding her breath.
York struggled, and he tightened his grip. “Nonsense, I tell you! What possible reason could I have for such dastardly deeds?”
“I have no idea,” Alan replied. “Let’s find out.” He wrenched the glove off his hand. Across the palm lay a bandage, seeped now with blood. York groaned. Allison clapped her hands. Geoffrey grinned. Wellfordhouse looked troubled. Gen let out her breath, and he could see her slender frame relax. He glanced back at the bandage.
“So you did it,” he said, stunned. “Why?”
“Fools!” York snapped, yanking his arm away at last. “You all think you’re so clever. The Munroes are better than the Pentercasts, and the Pentercasts are better than the Munroes. Well, I’m better than the lot of you put together. How do you think I got this post, eh? You’re all too young to remember when I was just the visiting clergyman. You don’t know how condescending they all were. ‘Not very bright, that York,’ they all said. ‘But useful now and then.’ Well, I was useful all right. Even then, the Munroes and Pentercasts were always out to show each other up.”
Alan exchanged glances with Gen and saw her color.
“And your father,” York continued to rant, “he was out to woo Rutherford Munroe’s sweetheart. I saw them one day, out in the orchard kissing, most unseemly. I threatened to go straight to Munroe with the news, but it seems old Pentercast had a heart after all. Swore me to secrecy. Put me in this plum position. Let Rutherford marry the chit after all. Said she was better off. I knew she suspected, but she was too proud to say anything. All these years, I’ve been quite nicely off, thanks to the Pentercast’s generosity, though it’s been a bit thin since your father died.”
He sneered at Alan. “You were always too much the gentleman to leave secrets behin
d. And you didn’t seem to have much use for me. So I made sure your mother approved of me. But that wasn’t good enough for you, was it? No, you have to take up with a Munroe. Do you honestly think I’d let you marry one of them, a brazen hussy who’s first act would be to give me the sack? Positions like these are hard to come by. I did what I must to keep it. Just remember, I know all your secrets, every one of you. You wouldn’t dare turn out Thaddeus York!”
Alan could feel his fists balled in fury at his side. He didn’t need to look at Gen to know the story had made her just as ill.
“That is quite enough,” said Reverend Wellfordhouse. York clapped his mouth shut and scowled. “I don’t think the church leaders will think much of your interesting little career. You, sir, are a sorry excuse for a clergyman.”
Gen laughed suddenly, and Alan started at the sound. Everyone turned to look at her.
“Oh, William,” she chuckled with a shake of her head, “what an understatement.”
William blushed, but Geoffrey bustled forward. “Understatement or not, you’ve cost me my reputation, Mr. York, and I’m not going to stand by while you---”
Alan laid a hand on his brother’s shoulder. “Easy, lad. He’ll get what’s coming to him. I can promise you that. Miss Munroe, didn’t you once tell me your father had a quite extensive wine cellar in the Abbey?”
Gen grinned at him. “He did indeed. Allison, if you’ll ring for Chimes, I think he’d be more than delighted to give Reverend York the full tour.”
Allison scampered to the bell pull with evident pleasure. William stood looking at his master with saddened eyes. Geoffrey was rubbing his hands together gleefully. York had no choice but to keep up his malevolent scowl.
Gen linked arms with Alan. “I think,” she murmured, looking up at him with a light in her vivid blue eyes that quite took his breath away, “that it’s time you and I had a good talk.”
Bemused, he left the reverend to his brother’s good graces and allowed her to lead him from the room.
Epilogue
The Twelfth Day of Christmas
I
t wasn’t as easy as Gen had hoped to get Alan to herself. Now that she finally understood, she felt she needed to apologize to him for all her harsh words and lack of faith. She wanted to explain to him her reservations about marrying until she was sure of her love.
But as she led him back down the corridor, looking for a place where they might have a private word, she found many of the rooms cold and dark and others being used by various party guests to freshen up before the midnight supper that would start any minute. She could feel his surprise and wonder at her behavior but found it impossible to explain until she knew they were alone. She wasn’t about to take that chance that, as with her mother, someone like the Reverend York might overhear and use her confession to his advantage and her sorrow.
Before she could find her room, however, her mother found them. “Genevieve,” she said with a frown, “I’ve been looking for you and Allison everywhere. It is most unseemly of you to leave the party like this.” She spared a frown for Alan as if intimating it must be his fault, but Alan merely offered her his best smile.
“It was quite rude, Mrs. Munroe,” he acknowledged with a bow. “However, given the circumstances, I thought you would rather we unmasked the vandal away from prying eyes and spare the Munroes the scandal.”
To Gen’s surprise, her mother paled and swayed on her feet. Gen grasped her arm, even as Alan slid an arm around her. “Are you saying we are the cause of this destruction?” she whispered, staring up at him.
“Oh, Mother, of course not!” Gen cried. She helped her mother to a large decorative arm chair that was set beside a suit of armor along the corridor alcoves. “Whatever made you think any of us would do such terrible things? We certainly lack the motivation, as well as the strength.”
Her mother bowed her head. “Of course I realize that, Genevieve. I just thought someone might have been trying to scare us away, to keep us out of Wenwood.”
“You aren’t far off, Mrs. Munroe,” Alan told her gently. “We can talk of this later. All you need to know for now is that the culprit has been apprehended, and everyone’s reputation is intact. Now, may we escort you back to the ballroom? I’m sure the party cannot continue without its gracious hostess.”
She rose, accepting his arm, and Gen had no choice but to follow behind them to the ballroom.
Even as her mother entered, Chimes reappeared from his duty, beaming, and hurried immediately to orchestrate the opening of the midnight supper buffet. Allison and Geoffrey returned shortly thereafter, with Geoffrey shoving his way into the line and graciously making room for Allison beside him. Alan shook his head and offered Gen his arm. “Shall we?”
She sighed but agreed, and they took their place in line.
Gen found she wasn’t in the least hungry, but nodded absently as Alan indicated particular delicacies that he then heaped on a plate for her. Ahead of her she heard Allison squeal in delight, and, craning her neck, she saw that Mrs. Chimes had produced yet another favorite Munroe Christmas tradition, the Twelfth Night Cake. Chimes was presiding over it, clench-fisted in his parceling out of the confection. He went so far as to frown Allison away from a particular piece and nod in agreement when Geoffrey snatched up one of the larger pieces. When Alan reached for a piece for Gen’s plate, however, Chimes brought up his serving knife like a foil.
“None of that, now, Squire,” he warned with a wave of his cutlery. “You let the lady pick her own piece.”
Gen frowned at him. “Really, Chimes, I think you go too far.”
“I ain’t gone nearly as far as I need to go,” he declared. “Now there’s a nice ladylike piece right there, much better than this man-size piece the Squire was eyeing.”
Defiantly, Gen reached across his arm and plucked out the larger piece, depositing it on the plate Alan held.
Chimes glared at her. “Don’t you come running to me when it doesn’t work out,” he muttered, whacking off three more pieces of the ring-shaped cake in quick succession. Gen stuck out her tongue at him, and Alan laughed, propelling her safely out of reach of the knife.
They found a seat near her sister and his brother at one of the round tables her mother had had erected in the next room. Around her, everyone was hurrying to start the cake, hoping to find one of the treasures within.
“I hope I find the bean,” Allison exclaimed, taking a big bite.
“Bet I know who you’d choose for consort,” Geoffrey bragged, taking a mouthful of his own cake.
Allison tossed her head. “Don’t be so sure of yourself, sir. I have many beaus.”
Geoffrey snorted. “Sure you do, moonling. All the teenies in Reverend Wellfordhouse’s scripture class think you’re a real beauty.”
Allison tossed down her cake. “I will have beaus when I’m brought out next Season. You wait and see, Geoffrey Pentercast. And they will be gentlemen.”
“No doubt,” Geoffrey began, then he choked. Rudely fishing in his mouth with his finger, he produced the clove. “The knave. I knew I should have saved that piece for Reverend York.”
Gen joined Allison in laughter. Alan laid his hand on hers, and she looked up, startled.
“You haven’t tried yours yet,” he chided gently.
Gen eyed him. “Neither have you.”
“What say we try together?” he said, picking up his piece in one hand. Gen considered using a fork, then gave up the pretense of propriety. She seized the cake and held it up. Together, they took a bite. She set it down, laughing.
“Nothing in mine, just cake,” she acknowledged with a shrug.
Alan took another bite. “Keep eating.”
Gen frowned but did as he bid. It wasn’t until the third bite that she felt something solid in her mouth. Daintily pulling it out, she saw she held a bean.
“The queen.” Alan smiled, putting down the rest of his cake. “Are you as sure as Allison about your consort?”
&nbs
p; “Completely sure,” Gen told him, pushing the rest of the cake aside. “There is no one I would rather have by my side than you, Alan.”
Gen met his eyes and saw the answer to all her questions written there. If only she’d had the courage to look sooner, she might not have spent the last twelve days in such turmoil. Yet she couldn’t be sorry. She smiled and opened her mouth to tell him what she felt.
“Oh my word!” William gasped at the table next to theirs. Everyone around the room swiveled to watch as he fished out a pea.
“Well,” Mrs. Pentercast mused with a smile. “The king. How very fitting, Reverend Wellfordhouse. Geoffrey tells me there will shortly be an opening at the Wenwood Church. I do think it’s time we had a change of vicars, don’t you agree, Alan?”
Alan pulled his gaze away from Gen with obvious difficulty. “I quite agree, Mother. And I’ll tell the church fathers the same when they meet on that other matter, William.”
Blushing, William could only stammer his thanks.
“This is all well and good,” Allison put in with determination. “But you missed the more important question entirely.” When she was sure she had everyone’s attention, she continued. “Who will be your queen?”
Geoffrey started laughing, and the others joined in. In the joking that followed, with several moving closer to William’s table, Alan seized Gen’s hand and pulled her up and away from the others. Everyone was so busy, in fact, that they managed to slip out into the entryway unnoticed.
“I believe you wanted to tell me something,” he prompted.
“I did?” Gen faltered. “But you were the one to bring me out here.”
He sighed. “Madam, you’ve made some rather pointed statements this evening. Will you keep me in suspense?”
She gazed up at him, finding it hard not to chuckle. Even though he had taken the time to refresh himself, his hair was once again falling down over his forehead, his cravat was askew, and there was a piece of Epiphany cake lodged in the upper button hole of his waistcoat. “I love you, Alan Pentercast.”
