My True Love Gave to Me Read online

  It had been some time since she had been to the vicarage behind the little stone church. She remembered taking her lessons there with Allison and Geoffrey and the elderly curate whom William had replaced. It had been a small cozy house with a sunny parlor painted yellow. She was surprised to find it a great deal bigger than she remembered, with a separate wing housing the vicar's apartment and a covered walk connecting the house to the church. Leaded glass windows sparkled in the sunlight, and when she and Bryce were ushered inside by a housekeeper who was unknown to her, she found the walls hung in damask and the parlor windows in velvet. Life in Wenwood had definitely gotten better over the years. The Pentercasts were obviously generous patrons. No doubt it assuaged their guilt.

  William met them in the parlor, his face wreathed in smiles. He was hastily shrugging out of a greatcoat as if he'd just come in from outdoors. “Miss Genevieve, and Miss Bryce, what an unexpected pleasure. Please, sit down."

  "Bryce has a commission for my mother and cannot stay,” Gen informed him.

  Bryce, in the act of sitting near the door, froze, scowling at her. Gen knew she could scarcely call her mistress’ daughter a liar in front of the young curate, but no more would she feel comfortable leaving her alone with William. Gen watched as Bryce visibly struggled over which rule of conduct she would honor. “Maybe we could go after you meet with Mr. Wellfordhouse,” she tried.

  "Oh, la,” Gen trilled with a wave of her hand. “I would never be so selfish as to keep Mother waiting. Go along, Bryce. I shall only be a minute."

  Left with no other choice, Bryce had to do as she suggested.

  "She needn't worry,” William said with a smile as Gen took a seat near him. “Mrs. Deems is just down the hall tidying up the vicar's study. If we leave the door open, I'm sure propriety can be satisfied.” His smile faced as he took a good look at her. “But perhaps I should ask if there's a need for privacy. Is something amiss?"

  She could feel the tears threatening and choked them back. “Oh, William, everything!"

  Somehow she found herself sobbing on his shoulder, while William awkwardly patted her back and made soothing tisking noises. After a few minutes, she collected herself with difficulty, pulling away to fish in her reticule for a handkerchief. As she blew her nose, she could see William watching her with a concerned frown.

  "I'm all right,” she assured him with a last sniff. “It's just been a rather difficult Christmas so far."

  "Well, of course it has,” he nodded understandingly. “First the news of your family's condition, then the flood, and now the Thorn. There must be times you wish you had never left London."

  She sighed, rising to pace. William politely rose with her.

  "To be sure,” she told him, “there are times I question the decision I made for the family. I thought the Abbey would be our salvation, that we would be able to rely on our neighbors to help us settle in. Now I don't know.” She stopped to face him. “William, I've made a grave error with this wager. You must help me stop it, before something dreadful happens."

  Outside came the sound of tooting, as if one of the village children had gotten a toy whistle for Christmas and was trying it out. William blinked as if trying to ignore it, focusing his eyes on her face. “Just what are you afraid of, Miss Genevieve?"

  The whistle was joined by a second in ill-tuned chorus. Gen tried to ignore the sounds as well. “The gifts, for one thing. They are getting completely out of hand. My gardeners’ shed is now a coop for geese, our gardens may never be the same after penning that herd of cattle, and I don't even want to think about the Thorn."

  William held up his hands as three more whistles joined the first two. “Now, I disagree with you that that was Alan's attempt at a ninth gift. He showed me those soldiers he intended to send. And I understand you received them."

  More whistles joined in in cacophony, and Gen was forced to raise her voice to be heard. “Yes, I received them, but I don't understand why he sent them. I fear if he continues this charade we'll all suffer for it."

  William shook his head, but his answer was drown out by the shrill sound from outside.

  "Dash it all, what is that noise?” Gen demanded.

  William took her arm and escorted her to the window, parting the sheer curtains with his free hand. Outside, a band of village children stood with sparkling eyes, each set of mittened hands wrapped around a wooden flute. As she watched, they finished whatever song they thought they were playing together and lowered their instruments, grinning gleefully at each other.

  "It seems the Wenwood Thorn still had a gift to give,” William murmured in the silence that followed. “The Squire had several of the lads help to carve one for every child in the village. I was just instructing our ten pipers here on ‘While Shepherds Watched Their Flocks.’ We thought to go serenading later, particularly to the Abbey. So, you see, I cannot agree that his gifts are so terrible."

  Gen stared at her ten pipers, who had happily begun piping again, and felt the tears returning. “Oh, William, I am so confused."

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  Chapter Fifteen

  Verse Eleven, Eleven Ladies Dancing

  Unfortunately, Gen's confusion was not alleviated by her conversation with William. Even though he was her dear friend, or perhaps because of it, she found it hard to tell him her feelings about Alan Pentercast. Indeed, she wasn't sure she could put them into words even if she had felt comfortable doing so. In the end, she let him think he had cheered her, collected a thoroughly disgusted Bryce, and rode for home, her concerns no more resolved then when she had left.

  She got no release when she returned, as she found her mother, Allison, and Mrs. Chimes all closeted in consultation for the party. She knew if she broke in she would be promptly consigned to duty or, worse, lose her temper over the cost they were incurring. In desperation, she retreated to her father's study, penned a hasty note to Carstairs, and gave it to Chimes to take it into town for posting.

  She slept fitfully that night, plagued by dark, vague dreams. Awakening the next morning listless, she found it too cold for hunting and spent the morning wandering aimlessly about the Abbey. Everywhere she saw signs of her mother's handiwork—the unused ballroom at the far end of the house had been opened and dusted, the oak parquet floors waxed, the twin crystal chandeliers polished. The gilt-edged mirrors that hung at regular intervals along the dark wood walls, making the room seem larger and brighter, gleamed in their ornate frames.

  In the kitchen, Mrs. Chimes and her helpers bustled about, putting together pies, pastries, cakes, and other luscious delicacies. Elsewhere, Chimes ordered about the footmen and the staff they had borrowed from the Pentercasts, sending them to carry silver, dishes, and glassware between the rooms, shuffle furniture and carpets, and fetch coal for the fireplaces. The maids were dusting rooms that hadn't been used for years, shrieking as they dislodged spider webs, and bumping into each other as they scurried down the long halls.

  Each sign of expense felt like another stone being added to the wall of her prison. She was in such a foul mood by midday that she flatly refused to accompany Allison on a ride, consoling herself with the fact that the only horses left were thoroughly docile creatures more fit for harness than saddle. She was somewhat surprised, therefore, when Allison, with Bryce in tow, returned with their attendant groom sometime later, red cheeked and jubilant.

  "Mother! Genevieve!” Gen heard her calling from the entry, her excitement echoing down the long corridors. Curious, she roused herself from her place on the music room sofa and went to see what was afoot. Her mother appeared from the opposite corridor just as she came in.

  "Allison, moderate your tone,” her mother scolded.

  Allison giggled. “Sorry, Mother, but wait until you hear my news! The Squire's new pond has frozen completely over and he's opened it for skating! They've a lovely brazier at one end to warm you, and some of the Squire's people are serving spiced cider and ale. Mrs. Pentercast told me to invite you
all to join the fun."

  Her mother frowned, and Gen didn't know whether to follow suit or grin in delight. Part of her still wasn't sure how to face Alan Pentercast after their last meeting, although she knew she couldn't avoid him forever. Another part of her longed to enjoy the sport she had loved as a child. Why did it have to be Alan that had the frozen pond? She would simply have to forego the pleasure.

  "Are you quite sure, Allison?” her mother was saying. “Mrs. Munroe and I have yet to reach an agreement on a certain issue. And I thought she was too distraught over her missing son to be receiving. I cannot believe she wishes for our company."

  "She most particularly asked for us all, Mother,” Allison hurried to assure her. “Please may we go? I saw our old skates in the store room the other day. I'd so love to try them. Wouldn't you, Gen?"

  This was her chance to tell them she wanted nothing to do with Alan Pentercast, his mother, or his pond. “Truth be told,” she heard herself say, “I'd love to go."

  Their mother sighed. “Very well. Bryce, have Chimes bring round the carriage, then come help me change."

  Gen tried not to notice how her spirits lifted as she changed into warmer clothes. If she was feeling better, she reasoned, it was because she was going to have a chance to skate again. With any luck, a certain dark-haired gentleman wouldn't even be there. But she couldn't help darting a gaze all about the area as soon as they arrived just to make sure. And she was quite disgusted to find her spirits droop once more when she saw that she had been right.

  Allison had been right as well. A number of the villagers had availed themselves of the Squire's hospitality. She spotted William on the far side of the roughly oval sheet of ice, helping one of the Mattison twins on with her skates. Near him, Mrs. Gurney and Mrs. Deems, the vicarage housekeeper, sat bundled in blankets, cups of hot cider in their gloved hands, enjoying a good coz. Farther along the shore Mrs. Pentercast sat swathed in furs in a large high-backed wooden chair that must have been brought down for her comfort. Beside her the Reverend York stood stiffly, bending solicitously to listen whenever she spoke. Glancing at her mother, Gen saw by her frown that she had seen the couple as well.

  "There seems to be room nearest the fire,” her mother observed, nodding to the opposite side of the pond from Mrs. Pentercast. A group of young men from the village were warming themselves near a large brazier of charcoal. Several held tankards of cider or ale. She started to follow her mother in that direction, and Allison darted ahead of them to claim a spot near the pond's edge. Gen took a stance next to her, glancing once again about the pond looking for Alan. She scolded herself on her nervousness. It wasn't as if the man could accost her again, not with so many people about. And why was that thought rather depressing? With a shake of her head, she bent to help Allison on with her skates.

  As she watched her sister stumble out onto the ice a few minutes later, arms windmilling for balance, she had to smile. She remembered a time when she had felt her form on the ice was far less important than the fun she was having. She was glad to see Allison agreed. With renewed enthusiasm, she bent to tackle her own skates, glad that her feet had not grown since she had last worn them six years ago.

  She glanced up once at her mother's sniff.

  "Some people, Genevieve, are simply not equipped for the role of suitor,” she murmured with a nod across the pond. Gen looked to where William had brought tankards of cider to Mrs. Pentercast and the Reverend York. York pompously waved his aside with words that made William pale. Gen frowned. Then a frown from Mrs. Pentercast and similar words forced him to accept it. He held it awkwardly, shifting it back and forth in his gloved hands, scowling at the retreating William. Gen was glad her friend's back was turned so that he couldn't see it.

  "No doubt he has difficulty holding his liquor,” her mother murmured. Gen bent to her skates to hide her grin at the unconscious pun.

  She had just finished cinching the final strap when she noticed a sudden quiet, as if everyone around the pond had collectively sucked in their breaths. Looking up, she saw with a pang that Alan had come out on the terrace, his brother at his side. Much as she was pleased to see Geoffrey alive and unhurt, she wondered how he could so easily show his face before so many of his accusers. Both the Pentercast brothers were dressed for the weather in their tweed greatcoats, leather gloves, and high-topped boots. Alan wore a smile for his neighbors, but Gen could see the effort it cost him. Geoffrey's head was high, his chin jutted out defiantly, his were shoulders squared. To a person, everyone around the pond was staring at him.

  "There you are, my dears,” Mrs. Pentercast called, digging a gloved hand from the furs to wave. “Alan, Geoffrey, come join the fun!"

  They descended the stairs, moving down to the pond. Their guests all found it expedient to busy themselves in their activities. As Alan and Geoffrey reached the ice, people moved aside to make way for them. But it was no gesture of welcome. It appeared to be a desire not to come in contact with Geoffrey. His chin stuck out farther as he bent to strap on his skates.

  With a spray of ice, Allison skidded to a stop just in front of them. Geoffrey looked up with a scowl.

  "Good afternoon, Mr. Pentercast, Squire. How very nice of you to host this event for all your neighbors."

  Alan inclined his head as Geoffrey straightened. “I'm glad you're enjoying it, Miss Munroe,” Alan said.

  Allison gave him a pretty pout. “I'd enjoy it a great deal more if there was a gallant gentleman to partner me."

  Alan managed a smile, but before he could demur, she held out her hands to Geoff. “Shall we, Mr. Pentercast?"

  A lopsided grin spread across Geoffrey's face, replacing the defiant scowl and making him look like a boy opening his first birthday present. “I'd be delighted, Miss Munroe,” he proclaimed, taking her hands to swing himself out on the ice. Gen realized she had been holding her breath and released it. Around her, the pond returned to life.

  "She has a kind heart,” her mother murmured beside her. “I only hope it will stand her in good stead."

  Gen watched them racing across the ice, laughing, and suffered a pang of jealousy. How wonderful it must feel to be that free! She'd suffocated under the burden of their financial dilemma for months. Could she lift it so easily by skimming across the ice? Determined to put aside her doldrums, she stepped boldly out. One foot immediately shot ahead of the other, and she scrambled to regain her balance. As she felt her face heat in a blush, strong arms seized her waist and eased her back on her feet. Her speeding heartbeat warned her who held her, but she didn't dare turn her head to confirm her suspicions lest she fall again.

  "Easy does it,” Alan's voice murmured in her ear. “No doubt it's been a few years since you were up on these, but it will all come back to you."

  The temptation to stay in his arms was remarkably strong, but she forced herself to straighten, sliding her foot slowly forward once more. She was pleased to see she did not slip. Alan's touch retreated as she found her balance. She turned her head to thank him and began to wobble once again.

  "Give me a moment to put on my skates,” he said with a laugh as he caught her again and set her back on her feet. “I'd be delighted to tutor you in the finer points."

  "That won't be necessary,” she declared, half afraid it was his presence that was causing her uncertainty to begin with. She concentrated on her wayward limbs, trying to regain the rhythm of skating. It was rather like dancing, if she remembered correctly. You balanced from foot to foot as if swaying to an unheard tune. Focusing only on her movements, she started along the shore.

  "That's the way, Miss Genevieve,” William called as she passed him, and she rewarded him with a smile. A few more steps and she felt her confidence rise. The shore began to speed by, the winter wind to whip her cheeks. Her troubles retreated with each step. She was free at last.

  Allison and Geoffrey sped past, their laughter tinkling in the chill air. Two of the village children skated a circle around her, and she made a silly face
at them. They giggled appreciatively, then turned to speed off for other games. Mrs. Pentercast raised her hand to wave as she passed, and she waved back, pleased that it caused no more than a momentary hesitation in her stride. She didn't much like Reverend York's beneficent nod, but decided it wasn't worth dwelling on. The day was clear, the air was crisp, and she was once more in control. She felt so good she indulged in the luxury of a ladylike twirl. The village youths called encouragement and raised their tankards to her in solute.

  She finished her circle, smiling and waving at her mother, who smiled quietly back. Emboldened, she quickened her stride and flashed past Allison, giving her sister's pelisse a playful tug. Allison squealed in delight, while Geoffrey raised a hand in threatened pursuit. She wrinkled her nose and wiggled her fingers at him, then sped off across the pond before he could follow.

  This was how she had remembered her childhood at the Abbey—carefree, accepted, happy. This was what Wenwood and Christmas meant to her, this feeling of freedom, of simple pleasures, of friends and family. She knew she was right bringing her mother and Allison home. This was where they belonged. This was where her heart would always be.

  Alan fell into step beside her, and she slowed to take his arm. She saw his eyebrows raise in surprise but just smiled at him. It felt right at the moment that he was here; she didn't want to question the feeling. No doubt she'd examine it at length tonight in the privacy of her bedchamber, but now she only wanted to go on skating like this as long as possible.

  Alan seemed to sense her mood, for he said nothing as they skated arm in arm around the oval of the pond. She could feel his strength beside her and wondered how it would feel to rely on someone other than herself again, a helpmate, a lover. She shivered at the thought.

  "Are you chilled?” he murmured.