by Regina Scott
"I should think not,” Allison said, wrinkling her nose. “He's much too old."
"Age has nothing to do with it,” Mrs. Munroe replied. “Some do not find love until quite old, Allison. Though, mind you, I do not consider the vicar to be swayed by the dictates of passion."
Allison shuddered. “Imagine kissing him. Ugh!"
"That will be quite enough from you, Miss,” her mother scolded, raising her eyes at last. Allison quailed at the fire therein. “I'm sorry I ever brought up the subject, I can assure you. However, you both would do well to learn the lesson now—not every suitor comes out of love or admiration. Some have other motives entirely."
She rose, shaking out her skirts, and Gen rose with her. “Regardless, I hope, Genevieve, that we have seen the last of the Pentercasts for some time. I could stand a great deal more of the peace we hoped to find here, and I think it unlikely we will stumble upon it in their company. Now, Allison, you will refine no more on what that woman said. It's well known that the Munroe women have always had the highest of standards. An extended practice session on the spinet should take your mind off it. Genevieve, please accompany her. I think now would be a good time to finish that embroidered slip cover you started last spring. I shall be consulting with Mrs. Chimes should you need me."
As their mother swept from the room, Allison sighed. “There goes all the fun we might have had. Just when things were getting interesting."
Gen eyed her sister as they made their way down the corridor to the music room. “I trust this means you now find Mr. Geoffrey Pentercast a more congenial gentleman."
Her sister hurried to the spinet as if to hide her blush behind her music. “He can be quite enjoyable company when he puts himself out. I noticed you and the Squire seemed thick as thieves."
Gen picked up the embroidery from the window seat where she had left it days ago and jabbed the needle into the material. “He can also be enjoyable company, although seldom in my presence."
"I think you mistake him,” Allison said with more wisdom than Gen would have credited her. “He seems to genuinely care for you."
Gen raised an eyebrow, needle poised in midair, heart beat quickening unaccountably. “Whatever gave you that impression?"
"The way he looks at you when he thinks no one is watching. The way he brightens when he first catches sight of you. And he does keep giving you the most interesting presents. What was in the box today?"
"I thought you were absorbed in conversation with the younger Mr. Pentercase,” Gen accused, narrowing her eyes.
"A lady can do more than one thing at a time,” Allison informed her, head high. “Pray answer the question."
Gen studied the embroidery, wondering again if she should tell her sister what was happening. As before, other secrets got in the way. “It was just a box of rings he wished to give his mother. He wanted a woman's opinion."
Allison pouted in disappointment. “Oh, is that all? I hope you picked a thoroughly disagreeable one, then. The old harridan deserves it. Imagine thinking I would tarry with a second son."
Despite herself, Gen laughed. “Oh, I see. If one is to ruin one's reputation, it should only be for someone of consequence."
"Certainly,” Allison replied, fingers curved over the keys. “A marquess, perhaps, or a duke. Anything less would be foolhardy in the extreme."
"I bow to the voice of experience,” Gen teased.
Allison stuck her tongue out at her.
That afternoon when Gen changed for dinner, she was forced to remember the box of rings again, for it fell from her discarded gown with a rather loud thump. As she bent to retrieve it, she was glad that Bryce was still busy with her mother. She shoved it in the top drawer of her dresser and slammed the drawer shut. Her brushes and combs jumped, and the portrait of her father swayed on the wall. Glancing up into the blue eyes so much like her own, she shook her head.
"Oh, Father, I hope I'm doing the right thing."
He smiled down at her, carefree, confident. The painter had definitely captured his gentle side, the side she had loved, the only side she and Allison had ever seen, until she had been forced to clean up after the messes he made in life. She sighed.
"Why couldn't you have listened to Carstairs, Father?” she murmured, feeling her headache returning. She turned away from the portrait, rubbing her temples. She caught herself in the act and froze. Was this what she had come to? Some melodramatic Society belle, mourning for her lost Season? Was Gen Munroe, toast of the ton, whining?
She squared her shoulders. Not anymore. She had better things to do, much more important things to do. Things like helping her mother and sister have a happy Christmas. Things like making sure Alan Pentercast lost his detestable little wager. She put up her head and marched to the wardrobe to pull out her favorite pale pink silk evening dress. It was time she shook the cobwebs out of her mind and bent to her tasks.
Her optimistic mood carried her into the next day, right up to the point when she realized she would have to tell her mother about her ride with Alan. She fleetingly considered just sneaking out through the kitchen to the stables, but she knew propriety would demand that she take a chaperon, namely Bryce, who could not be counted on to keep silent on the matter. Then she realized that she could take Allison instead.
A whispered conversation in the corridor did the trick, and soon both girls were dressed in their riding habits and walking their horses in front of the Abbey in hopes of meeting their neighbors before they had a chance to knock at the door. Chimes had been enlisted to keep their mother busy, a task that was much to his liking. It was only a matter of minutes before Alan rode up. Allison brightened when she saw Geoffrey in his wake.
Gen had to admit that Alan was an impressive sight on horseback. The traditional riding coat was well cut to call attention to his broad shoulders, and the vivid red with its black velvet lapels looked well with his dark hair and eyes. Geoffrey's rumpled brown plaid jacket looked hopelessly outdated, but Allison didn't seem to care. She set her eyelashes to fluttering so much it was a wonder Geoffrey didn't think if she'd had dirt thrown in her face and simpering until Gen wanted nothing more than to tweak the curls that were artfully escaping her blue velvet riding hat.
"A bit eager, aren't you?” Geoffrey asked in greeting. Alan glared at him before turning to Gen and offering her a bow from horseback.
"My father used to say there is nothing so fine as a beautiful woman who knows the value of time,” he said with a smile to Gen. Allison giggled. Gen managed a smile, thanking him as one of the grooms hurried forward to hand her up. In truth, she was finding it hard to be angry with him today. It was as if in determining she would no longer feel sorry for herself she had managed to wipe away all her negative emotions. She still was determined not to let him win, but that didn't mean she couldn't enjoy a quiet ride through the winter woods with a handsome gentleman at her side.
When she and Allison were mounted, Alan led off back up the road toward the Pentercast side of the estate. Allison easily maneuvered her horse beside Geoffrey's, leaving Gen no choice but to fall in beside Alan. From behind, she heard nothing but whispered conversation punctuated by giggles from Allison. She could almost regret not bringing the overly proper Bryce.
"I hope your mother is feeling more the thing today,” Alan ventured beside her. “Although I was unable to get anything sensible out of my mother about their quarrel."
Gen grimaced. “I fear my mother can be a bit censorious in her opinions. She seemed to think it her duty to warn your mother that Vicar York's attentions cannot be honorable."
"What!” Alan reigned in his horse so hard that the beast reared in protest. Gen guided her startled mount away from him until he could get his under control. Geoffrey and Allison gave their beasts the head and managed to ride past, taking the lead. His face coloring, in embarrassment or anger, Gen wasn't sure, Alan maneuvered his horse back in beside hers.
"I apologize for my reaction, Miss Munroe. I cannot have heard you
correctly. Did you say the vicar is seducing my mother?"
"Good heavens no!” Gen exclaimed, careful to keep her surprise from her horse lest she repeat Alan's mistake. “Your mother seems to feel that he is genuinely courting her. My mother does not believe it. I really can't say why, although I must say the good vicar does not impress me as the importunate lover."
"I should say not,” Alan murmured, staring forward over his horse's head. “Frankly, I had begun to wonder to what we owed such devotion of late. I had best speak with the man."
"And I had best speak with my sister.” Gen frowned, scanning the empty road ahead. “She and your brother seem to have outdistanced us."
Alan's brown eyes twinkled. “A difficulty we could soon remedy. Race you to the divide?"
Her spirits soared at the very idea. She didn't think to question them. “You're on,” she cried, spurring her mount before he could even agree. They thundered down the road, Alan's brown pulling even easily with her dappled gray. She knew her horse was no thoroughbred like his; he could only have been holding the horse back to stay by her side. Still, the sense of flying sent the blood tingling through her veins.
Neck and neck, the horses sped through the cold winter air. Frost flew behind their hooves. Their breaths trailed clouds of mist. The trees blurred into a dark shadow alongside. She felt her mount hesitate and bent low over her horse's neck, urging the beast to greater speed. Beside her, she could hear Alan calling encouragement to his own mount. They burst out of the trees together and veered onto the road to the manor.
Alan slowed his horse to a canter, and Gen followed suit. He grinned at her. “Well done. I concede the race."
"I don't accept what I don't fairly win,” Gen replied. “You were holding back."
He raised an eyebrow. “I? Madam, Pentercast blood flows in these veins. We only play to win."
He realized his mistake too late. She could see his smile fading even as her own froze on her face. The best thing she could do was put her head up and ride, throwing her reply back over her shoulder as negligently as she would toss a dirty riding glove. “I would expect no less, sir. If you insist, I will call it a tie."
He spurred his mount enough catch up with her and put on his polite face once more as if nothing had changed. “A tie it is then. A shame we can't agree so easily on other matters."
She ignored the bait. “I still don't see my sister, or your brother. Do you think something could have befallen them?"
"Doubtful.” He raised his voice to call for Geoffrey. Far ahead, a voice answered. “There, you see? We'll come across them in a few moments."
They continued on up the road, but it wasn't until they broke from the trees to the clearing around the Manor that she saw Allison and his brother, now moving around the back of the house. With a sigh, she followed Alan after them.
He managed to catch up to them near the herd of grazing cattle they had seen on Boxing Day. Skirting the herd, he steered them toward the outbuildings on the far side of the pasture near where the old creek, now a trickle that glittered with ice, had once disgorged onto the plain.
For the next hour, he proceeded to give a tour of the various buildings and activities of the estate. Allison covered her mouth to hide a yawn several times, and Geoffrey actively fidgeted. Gen could understand their boredom. However, she had to admit she found the tour fascinating.
What Alan had created, she realized, was just what she had been envisioning when she had discussed with Carstairs moving the family to the Abbey. He had a excellent mix of pasture and tilled land, an orchard with apples and pears, and the beginnings of a vineyard. Besides the dairy cows, he kept a respectable herd of sheep, a large flock of chickens, and over two dozen geese. He also had a score or more of people to help. She recognized some lads from the village working in one of the barns. Tom Harvey was inspecting the cows in another. It wasn't until they reached the creamery, however, that she noticed the obvious deference to Alan.
As they entered the stone building, and her eyes adjusted to the darker interior, she spotted several women from the village hard at work before the churns. Spying Alan, they immediately rose. The paddles all settled into the cream with an audible thud. As one, the ladies dropped into deep curtseys, head bowed.
"God bless you, Squire,” one of them mumbled. She seemed to remember the woman's name was Jarvis, Mrs. Jarvis. Her husband had been a sailor who had never returned from Nelson's battle of Trafalgar. Her mother had said she was one of the needy. Apparently, thanks to Alan, she no longer had to rely on the occasional gifts of others. Alan smiled at them and went on explaining the process of separating the milk into butter and cream as if nothing untoward was happening. The women did not return to their work until he had left.
But the women were not the exception in their greeting, Gen soon realized. Everywhere Alan took them, men, women, and children greeted him with smiles and nods of welcome. To everyone he offered a kind word or answering smile. No one whispered after they passed, unless it was to nod toward herself or Allison. No one seemed the least displeased with the work they were doing. Everything was well run, well kept, and well organized. Despite herself, Gen was impressed.
When they finished the tour, one of Alan's grooms helped her to remount, and they rode through the old orchard back toward the wall, Allison and Geoffrey once more following.
"You've been quiet for some time now, Miss Munroe,” Alan murmured beside her. “I suppose I've bored you as well with all my farm talk."
"No, not in the slightest,” Gen replied. “You have every reason to be proud of what you've accomplished at the Manor. I was thinking how much my own family could use such an estate."
"You have but to say the word,” he murmured.
She managed to keep a smile on her face. “So you have said. I'm afraid you'll have to win your wager."
"I never intended anything less."
She tried to steer the conversation onto safer ground. “My father always wanted to see the place restored to its former glory. If only he could have seen this."
"He knew what I was trying to do,” Alan reassured her. “He talked with me several times over the last few years on my trips to London. It was always an encouragement to me that he was willing to listen to my lofty plans."
"You talked with my father in London?” Gen frowned.
Alan reddened, but before she could question him further, there came a sharp crack behind them, and Allison drove her mount between them. Alan and Gen both managed to veer their horses aside to avoid a collision.
"I want to go home, and I want to go home now,” Allison demanded, obviously oblivious to her actions. Her face was white, and her eyes bright with anger or unshed tears.
Gen heaved a sigh. “Oh, what now?"
Alan reigned his horse to a stop and Gen did likewise, forcing Allison to do the same. “I thought you and Geoffrey were getting along famously, Miss Munroe.” He glanced back over his shoulder and shook his head. “Or perhaps not.” Following his gaze, Gen saw that Geoffrey was galloping wildly away from them, in the direction of the village.
"Your brother is an arrogant, odious...” Allison began.
"That's quite enough, Allison,” Gen interrupted with a quelling frown. “We understand your feelings on the matter. Squire, you'll have to excuse us. I think I should escort my sister home."
"I would be happy to escort you as well,” Alan ventured, but Allison's lower lip was trembling, and Gen knew her sister wouldn't be able to keep from dissolving into tears much longer. “No, that won't be necessary. We'll be on our own land, after all. We'll be home in moments. Our side of the estate isn't all that large.” She gave him her best smile and saw him visibly relax. “Thank you for an interesting morning."
He turned his horse in a circle around them, and in doing so brought himself closer to Gen, lowering his voice for her ears alone. “You're quite welcome. I'll have some of my men bring by your gift for today."
"Gift?” she faltered.
/> "Six geese a-laying. I thought you might find them handier than shooting partridge out of pear trees."
"Gen,” Allison snapped, putting heels to her horse's flanks, “I am going home."
Flustered, Gen could only offer him a smile significantly less dazzling than her first and urge her own horse into a gallop after her sister.
She forced Allison to a stop just before they reached the wall. “What on earth has gotten into you?” she demanded. “What happened?"
"I told you!” Allison wailed, tears falling. “Geoffrey Pentercast is the most top-lofty, horrible, lecherous ... “.
"Lecherous?” Gen interrupted, heart pounding alarmingly. “Allison, what did he do?"
"The blackguard tried to kiss me!"
Gen sagged with relief. “A kiss? Is that all?"
"Is that all? Isn't that enough?"
Gen shook her head. “My dear, you have been flirting rather outrageously. And you did let him lead you quite far ahead this morning. How did you expect him to act?"
"I expected him to behave like a gentleman,” Allison muttered, wiping her eyes with gloved fingers. “Now, if you're quite through ringing a peal over me, I should like to go home."
"Very well,” Gen agreed, nudging her horse forward. “Perhaps this has served as a lesson for you. I don't think we need say anything to Mother."
Allison cast her a grateful look. “Thank you. I agree that the less said, the better."
Gen nodded, and they rode to a break in the wall, crossed to the Munroe side, and began the ride to the Abbey. She was congratulating herself on getting through the morning without involving her mother. Then it dawned on her.
However was she going to explain the six geese a-laying?
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Chapter Nine
Interlude, Baritone Solo
"Can this family be counted on for nothing?” Alan demanded, striding into the Manor and tossing his riding gloves on the entry way table. Munson, their butler, crossed to retrieve them. “Where is my mother?"
