My True Love Gave to Me Read online

  She shook her head, feeling herself blush. Perhaps she ought to focus on something other than his nearness. She forced herself to look past him to the shore of the pond. They were nearing the fires now. She saw Allison and Geoffrey had joined the other young people there and frowned at the tankard in her sister's hand. That had better be nothing more than cider Geoffrey Pentercast had handed her. Then her mother came into view, lips pursed in disapproval, and she found herself happy to look back at Alan again.

  "It was kind of your sister to skate with Geoff,” he said as they turned. “I'm well aware that everyone assumes he's been responsible for these acts of destruction."

  "I have to agree with Allison that he has no obvious reason to do so,” Gen replied. “But the vandal's true identity eludes me."

  "Then you no longer think I'm the one who put him up to it?” The question had an edge of belligerence, as well as hope. She really couldn't blame him after her recent behavior. But she found it difficult to answer, afraid that in answering she would open the way for the wager to continue. She glanced past him to the shore again, trying to marshal her thoughts. Mrs. Pentercast was grinning at her, but Reverend York was positively glowering. Belatedly she remembered his words of yesterday. She glanced guiltily back at Alan, trying to see the rake behind his gentle demeanor. All she saw was the frown of concern on his handsome face.

  "What is it? You look as if you've suddenly discovered I buried my first three wives in the cellar."

  She couldn't help but laugh. “Oh, nothing so grand as that, I'm afraid. As for your question, I must apologize for my behavior, Squire. I was so very upset at the loss of the Thorn that I lashed out without thinking."

  "I quite understand,” he replied, offering her a sad smile. “The old tree meant a lot to me as well. I had Mother's gardener keep a few pieces in the hothouse. If they make it through the winter, Wenwood may yet have its Thorn."

  Admiration and thankfulness welled up inside her. “Oh, Alan, I'm so glad!” She gave his arm a squeeze, then had to look away from the warmth of his gaze.

  He slowed to a stop, and she was forced to slow with him. She glanced about the pond, afraid to meet his gaze. He sighed. “I won't make you face me, Genevieve. But you must know I haven't given up. I still have two more days left."

  "I know,” she murmured, steadfastly watching the other skaters.

  "What do you see when you look out there?"

  She was almost afraid to answer, not sure where the question would lead. Still, the thought seemed harmless enough. She looked around again, trying to see anything she might have missed that would be significant to him. Children chased each other about the ice, couples skated in quiet harmony, the village youths had convinced the footmen to bring another chair out onto the ice so they could push it around, Mrs. Gurney had managed to get Mrs. Deems to join her on the ice. “I see everyone enjoying themselves because of your kindness,” she said truthfully.

  "Thank you for that. But would you not say that skating is remarkably like dancing?"

  She started, remembering her thoughts as she had tried the ice. “Yes, I would say they bear a great deal in common."

  "And have you noticed how many ladies have taken the ice this afternoon?"

  She licked her lips, seeing the trap being set. “La, sir, you cannot expect me to keep track of so many moving bodies."

  She could feel him frowning. “You are quite capable of keeping track of any number of things, Miss Munroe. However, if you're determined to make this difficult, we can fetch the Reverend Wellfordhouse to do the counting."

  Now she was sure. She felt her control, and her freedom, slipping. “That won't be necessary,” she snapped. “Since you insist, I will do it myself. There's Allison, thank goodness, although I'm not entirely sure that chair they have her in is safe, Mrs. Gurney, Mrs. Deems, the Mattison twins, Charlotte Jarvis, Jane Henry, that young lady Tom Gurney is courting and her sister, and Mary Delacorte."

  "And yourself,” he prompted.

  "And myself,” she amended with a sigh. “You do not need to tell me that that makes eleven."

  "Eleven ladies dancing,” he murmured. “One more day until Epiphany, Miss Munroe. One more gift to end our wager."

  Gen felt as if the burden she had carried had returned. Her back ached, and the skates pinched her feet.

  "Indeed,” she acknowledged, turning away from him for the shore. “A lot can happen in a day, Squire. You haven't won yet.” She made sure she was halfway back to her mother before he could even think to answer.

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  Chapter Sixteen

  Verse Twelve, Twelve Lords a-Leaping

  Gen woke the morning of the Eve of Epiphany feeling smothered. She pushed off the quilt and bedclothes and went to huddle before the fireplace, the Oriental carpet warm beneath her toes. The fire crackled in the grate, and from elsewhere in the Abbey she could smell the spicy aroma of the Epiphany cake baking. Outside the morning looked crisp and clear and blessedly quiet. Alan's cows were safely home and being milked by people who were used to such activities. No doubt the cows were as thankful as she was for the move. She had a great deal for which to be thankful.

  Still, the feeling of a weight upon her persisted, and she knew it hadn't been her bed coverings. It was the last day of Christmas. Tomorrow, everything would change. She would have to dismiss the servants except for Chimes and his wife. Mr. Carstairs would likely answer her mother's summons, and she would have to admit she had been unable to convince her mother of the truth of their situation. She would have to watch as he took away the Munroe diamonds to pay for the party she had been unable to stop. And sometime today, Alan would bring his gift for the twelfth day of Christmas, winning the wager and claiming her hand in marriage. Like the fox she had hunted with her father, she could hear the hounds baying and knew it was only a short time before they closed for the kill.

  She shuddered, rising to ring for Bryce to help her dress. She couldn't sit around moping all day. There had to be something useful she could do. But try as she might as Bryce helped her into her lilac kerseymere gown and she went down the long corridor to the breakfast room, she could not think of a way out of any of her difficulties. There was no more money for the servants, her mother and Allison were even now putting the finishing touches on the party preparations, and she hadn't been able to stop any present Alan had given her, so she couldn't think of any way to stop him now. The feeling of helplessness intensified, and she fought it off once more. She was Rutherford Munroe's daughter, inventive, resourceful. She had to think of something.

  She went to the music room to be away from the preparations and paced before the spinet, deep in thought. The more she thought about her situation, the more she became convinced that the answer lay with Alan. She might not be able to influence his gift for the day (and she almost shuddered to think how he might bring about his twelve lords a-leaping), she could decide how she would face his impending triumph.

  What was she going to do when he won?

  Honor demanded that she accept his hand in marriage. Yet Reverend York had intimated that marriage would likely be the farthest thing from his mind. Surely he wouldn't have entered the wager with William of all people, if his intent was to seduce her. Therefore, he had to be serious in his intent to marry her. The question remained: why?

  She remembered his kiss and felt herself coloring in a blush. The things he had said that day indicated that he loved her. If he had been half the man she had once thought him, she could easily have returned his love. So many things he had done the last twelve days showed him to have grown up as gentle and kind as she remembered. But other things pointed to a more harsh personality. How could she know who the real Alan was?

  The crux of the matter lay with the acts of vandalism. If she could prove he had had no involvement in the flood and the destruction of the Thorn, she could believe in the Alan of old and accept his offer with some hope of happiness. If not, she would not feel guilt
y refusing him, regardless of whether he won his wager. That decided, she knew what she must do. She darted back to her room, donned her hunting habit, and slipped out through the side door in the Abbey chapel.

  She spent the rest of the day gathering information. She resurveyed the dam site, spoke with two of the men who would admit they had been with Geoffrey Pentercast on New Year's Eve, and interviewed several of the village mothers regarding their sons’ activities of the last fortnight. She took tea with William at the vicarage and had a lively discussion of the possibilities. William, of course, could not imagine anyone in his parish doing anything so vile as to destroy the Wenwood Thorn, but Gen was able to get him past his initial indignation into a thorough discussion of the reasons behind such as activity. By the time she returned home, she had much to think about.

  As she stood beside her window that evening, waiting for the bustling Bryce to help her on with her finery, she looked up into the clear winter night at the stars sparkling above the bare trees. A single star shone brighter than the others, and she was reminded of the night—Epiphany, the night when the wise men had given their gifts to the baby they had searched so long to find. They had come so far only to find a poor child, wrapped in swaddling clothes, lying in a manger. Yet their faith had allowed them to see a king.

  After all her ruminations and discussions, that's what it all came down to, the simple act of believing. Somehow, in her father's death and all the unpleasantness since, she had lost that. She felt a tear falling and dashed it away with the back of her hand. Resting her forehead against the cool glass, she took a deep breath to calm herself. If she wanted to find her king, she would need to find that belief once again.

  The entry hall was already thronged with guests when she joined her mother and sister in the receiving line sometime later. She ought to feel festive, she told herself firmly, pasting a smile on her face. Every wood surface, from the paneled walls to the parquet floor to the rosewood bench and matching hall table glowed with a fresh coat of polish. Every spot of brass and gilt gleamed. The candles in the sconces glowed. The corridors leading off the entry hall were draped in evergreens with roses sent from the Pentercast hot house sprinkled among the green. Now she could see why Bryce had insisted on her wearing the white satin gown trimmed with rouleaux of roses along the hem. With the Spanish sleeves of pink tucked with white and the scalloped neckline, she looked like one of Alan's roses come alive.

  She took her place beside her mother and Allison to welcome their arriving guests, returning her mother's nod of approval with her own smile. It seemed to her a good omen that her mother had chosen a simple, elegant gown of rose satin with a ruff of white runching at the throat and white lace at the cuffs and hem. Beside her, Allison's pink satin gown complimented the pink of excitement in her cheeks. Even Chimes had found time to have his coat pressed and his hair combed, although he still ushered in their guests with considerably less aplomb than the normal butler. In fact, Gen could only call his expression gleeful as he brought Mrs. Pentercast and her two sons forward to be received. It cost her a lot to keep the smile on her own face.

  "You girls look lovely.” Alan's mother smiled in approval, reaching out to give Gen's arm a comradely squeeze. Gen steadfastly focused on Mrs. Pentercast, knowing that if she looked directly at Alan without fortifying herself, she would be undone. She did notice, however, that Geoffrey Pentercast had set a large box on the hall table, shoving aside the greens that were decorating it.

  "I've never seen the Abbey look more festive,” Mrs. Pentercast continued, then paused to peer up at Gen's mother's face thoughtfully. “I'd tell you that color quite suits you, Trudy, but I know you're not talking to me."

  Her mother inclined her head. “Perhaps that can be remedied tonight, Fancine."

  Alan's mother clasped her hands. “Oh, good! For I have much to tell you. Come find me when you're done here, and we'll have a good coz.” As if she couldn't resist, she reached out to squeeze Mrs. Munroe's arm as well. “I've missed you, dear!"

  Her mother stiffened at the touch, and Gen made ready to jump into the breach, but her mother managed to keep her smile on her face. “I'd be delighted to discuss the matter further. Please enjoy the party."

  Even as Gen straightened herself to face Alan, Geoffrey pushed his way in front, giving her mother the briefest of nods before seizing Allison's hand. “Promise me at least two dances,” he commanded.

  Allison tossed her head. “One dance is surely all that is proper, Mr. Pentercast. Er, isn't that right, Mother?"

  "Allison is still learning the dance steps, Mr. Pentercast,” her mother intoned, eyeing them both as if she'd found a worm in her apple tart. “She hasn't been properly presented. I'm sure you understand."

  "In other words, I ought to thank you for sparing my feet,” Geoffrey grumbled. Allison brindled, but he slumped past her into the corridor leading to the ballroom and she was forced to face forward to greet the next guest.

  "My brother is still learning as well,” Alan said with a chuckle as he stepped forward. “I hope you understand, Mrs. Munroe."

  Gen commanded her stomach to stop doing acrobatics, to no avail, even as her mother inclined her head in understanding. “Some gentlemen, like a good meal, require more seasoning than others."

  "Why, Mother, that was almost poetic!” Allison chimed.

  The faintest of pinks arose in her mother's cheeks. “Nonsense. Squire, you are most welcome."

  He bowed over her hand and Allison's. Gen took a deep breath as he reached for hers. She was almost afraid what would happen when he touched her, but he held her hand the briefest of moments before straightening. She nearly sagged, but with relief or disappointment, she wasn't sure. He cocked his head, eyeing her, and several locks of dark brown hair fell onto his forehead. “I suddenly feel as unseasoned as my brother. Dare I request at least two dances?"

  She ought to say no as easily as Allison had done. She ought to find some excuse, any excuse, to keep him at a distance until she was sure of him. But all she could see was the light of hope in those dark brown eyes and the hint of a smile around his warm lips. “Make one a waltz, and you have yourself a partner,” she heard herself say. She was quite thankful that the next guest claimed her attention before she had to respond to his look of surprised delight.

  She survived greeting the rest of their guests (although her heart sank when she counted considerably more than her mother's first estimate of thirty people) and was pleased when William offered her his arm to escort her into dinner. She was quick to note that her mother, while carefully following etiquette as to seating arrangements, nevertheless had found a way to separate Allison and Geoffrey by putting them on opposite sides of the table with a very large silver epergne of greenery between them. Fortunately for Gen, the arrangement also put her and Alan on opposite sides of the table of the offensive epergne, leaving her to converse with Mrs. Pentercast on her right and Geoffrey on her left.

  Although Geoffrey managed no more than a grunt to her quips, she could tell by the other conversations around the table that dinner was going to be a much more successful affair than their first night with the Pentercasts. The neighbors laughed, wine flowed, and the food was superb. Gen tried not to count the cost of the oysters in aspic or the curried ham slices, and she didn't even want to know how much it must have cost to get fresh strawberries for the trifle Mrs. Chimes had prepared for dessert. The gentlemen did not tarry long over their port, and soon the entire company was gathered in the ballroom for the entertainment.

  William claimed her hand for the first dance. Although she was disappointed it wasn't Alan, she was pleased to note that her mother had agreed to partner him. Tom Harvey stood up with Allison, who was beaming with obvious pleasure. Gen caught a quick glimpse of Geoffrey Pentercast glowering before she was forced to give her attention to the various steps of the lively country dance her mother's imported quartet struck up.

  From then on, her hand was claimed by every gentleman in the
room, from the Widower Jenkins who owned much of the land on the other side of Wenwood to Mary Delacourte's younger brother Charlie who was appearing, like Allison, at his first grownup dance. Every gentleman in the room but one, that was. Alan seemed to be equally busy doing the pretty with every lady in the room and actively insisting that the other men do the same. Much as she could admire his chivalry in partnering her mother, his own, and even the elderly Widow Tate, she found it difficult to watch him cavorting with Mary Delacourte, whose figure-hugging blue silk gown with the low décolletage matched the color of her eyes, neither of which appeared to be wandering. That could not be said of the eyes of most of the men in the room as she laughed at something Alan had said.

  Gen was sitting on one of the chairs arranged along the side of the room to catch her breath later in the evening when she first noticed their guests’ attitudes toward Geoffrey Pentercast. Just as they had at the pond the day before, none of them seemed willing to be in his company. When he approached a group, it grew silent or disbanded. When he asked a lady to dance, she refused. Even the young men his own age, bumping into each other in their attempt to reach the refreshment table at the far end of the room, suddenly lost their appetite when he joined them.

  "Something has to be done about this,” she told her mother, nodding to where Geoffrey stood with fists at his side, scowling at no one in particular.

  Her mother shook her head. “It is a shame, but I'm afraid he brought it on himself if he truly is the culprit. The Thorn was an important part of Wenwood."

  "Oh, let's not start that again,” Allison scolded, throwing herself down on a chair to join them. She waved the young man who was attending her off to fetch her a cup of punch. Gen smiled, thinking how well her sister would do in her upcoming Season. Then the smile faded as she remembered there would be no Season. She forced herself to focus on the present.

  "I know you think him innocent, Allison,” her mother was saying. “But that does not change the fact that he is the most likely candidate."