by Regina Scott
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 growled, grabbing one of the man's hands even as York attempted to shrink away from what he saw in his 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 bloody smart! 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 to 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 old Geoffrey Pentercast, 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 behind. 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 to have made her as sick as it did him.
"That is quite enough,” said Reverend Wellfordhouse, surprising everyone. York clapped his mouth shut and scowled. “I don't think the Deacon will think much of your interesting little career,” William continued. “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. Thank goodness Gen's outburst had broken the tension. “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.
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Epilogue
The Twelfth Day of Christmas
It 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 be announced 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, like 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 appeared 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 chortled. “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. “Damn, 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?"
"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 tables. Everyone was so busy, in fact, that they managed to slip out into the entry way unnoticed.
"I believe you wanted to tell me something,” he prompted.
"I?” Gen faltered. “But you were the one to bring me out here."
He sighed. “Madam, you've made some rather damning 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."
He took a step back, staring at her. “What .. what did you say?"
She took a step toward him, closing the distance he had made. “I said I love you. I believe such a declaration on the part of the lady is usually followed by some acknowledgment on the part of the gentleman."
"I ... I,” he stammered, “I don't know what to say."
Gen put her hands on her hips. “Alan Pentercast, you've pursued me against all odds through the entire twelve days of Christmas and you don't know what to say now that you've won?"
He snorted. “Twelve days of Christmas, nothing! I've been pursuing you since you were sixteen and refused to stand up with me at your come out, you little minx. And I can tell you, that was rather lowering since I was under the impression you'd had a crush on me for years."
"Oh, I did,” she informed him blithely, sure of herself again. “But I couldn't very well come out and admit it, now could I? Miss Genevieve Munroe, smitten with a Pentercast? Perish the thought."
"And so you became the belle of London instead. It was a rather convincing act."
She smiled, remembering. “It was rather fun. And I did try very hard to please my family and find someone I could love more than you. It simply wasn't possible."
This time he stepped forward until only inches separated them. “Madam, much more of this blatant flattery and I warn you I will not answer for the circumstances."
Keeping her eyes on the mistletoe hanging from the chandelier above them, she stood on tiptoe and threw her arms around his neck. “You've won your wager,” she said, smiling up at him. “It is Epiphany, and I'm ready to declare that I would like nothing so much than to be your bride."
"Hang the wager,” Alan murmured, bending his head to hers. “The mistletoe has to come down tomorrow. Let's not waste another minute of it."
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Author's note
There are many versions of the song, “The Twelve Days of Christmas.” In one of the more frequently sung versions in modern-day America the last few verses have nine pipers piping, ten drummers drumming, eleven lords a-leaping, and twelve ladies dancing. It is also common to find Americans singing of “four calling birds” in the fourth verse.
However, in Regency England, the song was more often used as a memory game, similar to games played in Twentieth-Century America, in which someone must remember a growing number of unrelated items, and the first one to forget is out. The Regency version of the song also told of “four colly birds” or blackbirds. The Regency version was also slightly different in the last few verses—nine drummers drumming, ten pipers piping, eleven ladies dancing, and twelve lords a-leaping.
Although many American readers may find the Regency verses unfamiliar, I chose to use the version that Gen and Alan would have known, since “The Twelve Days of Christmas” is, after all, much more than a song to them.
To the Babe in the manger, without whom there would be no Christmas, no gifts, and no book; and to Larry, Ted, and William, the greatest gifts I ever received.
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