Free Greetings of the Season and Other Stories by Barbara Metzger Page B

leaving off patting his mother’s hand and reassuring her of his continued devotion and affection, that the message was meant for Lady Belinda, who would not, after all, be… He jumped up and tried to seize the card, but Allissa danced out of his grasp. He couldn’t very well wrestle with her over it, so, heart sinking, he watched as his spoiled sister’s face grew redder and redder, just as it used to before she threw herself on the floor in a tantrum. Someone should have saved them all the trouble by drowning her then, he thought, when she began to scream.
    “‘Happy hunting”! How dare you, Bevin Montford! As if I’m going to the Marriage Mart just to snare the most eligible parti! Is that all you think of me, that no man will ask for me, but I have to go…go hunting for a husband? Just because you fell into the parson’s mousetrap, you think all women are sneaky and devious, don’t you? You are mean and nasty, Bevin Montford! Nasty, nasty, nasty, and you always have been, making me have those horrid governesses, and making me wait to go to London.”
    Allissa was sobbing in earnest now, totally beyond reason or control.
    Petra left Lady Montravan’s side to take Allissa into her arms. The girl felt warm, likely from her overheated emotional storm, Petra hoped.
    Bevin was raking his fingers through his already mussed hair. “I didn’t write that to you, Lissa, I swear. I wrote that for Squire Merton. Now where the devil has he gone off to?”
    The squire had unobtrusively unwrapped his own gift, thinking to make a courteous thank you and a genteel early departure, seeing the dustup at Montravan Hall. The riding crop was a handsome one, but the earl’s note gave Merton pause: Greetings of the season, from a son who knows his duty. Montravan was assuring his mother that he would fulfill his responsibilities to his name, that he was bringing home a fitting bride for her approval. However, Merton shook his head over the earl’s meaning. Could the lad be thinking he’d been dallying too long with the dowager? Blast, could Montravan be aware of those intimate encounters in the conservatory? That dutiful son bit could mean Montravan might call a fellow out for not coming up to scratch. The earl was certainly hot-to-hand enough, and more than skilled enough to have Merton’s knees knocking together. The squire decided to see about a new hunter—in Ireland. Tonight. He crept out the side door while Bevin was raging about riding the devil’s own horse through a blizzard just to get to this madhouse.
    Petra scowled at him, so he subsided, content to fill a glass with the brandy the butler had brought for Merton. She tried again to soothe the girl in her arms: “Allissa, dear, do try to calm yourself. I am sure there is an explanation. You are only upsetting your mother and making yourself ill.”
    “And likely giving Merton a disgust of us,”Montravan added, aggravated that his mother’s likeliest suitor had shabbed off. “So cut line. You’re only blue-deviled that you didn’t get the diamonds you wanted. Why, a seventeen-year-old schoolgirl with spots could only look nohow in diamonds and—”
    “Spots?” Allissa screamed. Lady Montravan echoed with a hysterical “Spots?” and fainted again.
    “Damnation!” swore Lord Montravan, and “Welcome home, my lord,” said Petra.
    *
    Later, after the physician had gone and both invalids were well dosed with laudanum and in the competent hands of their maids, Petra sought out Lord Montravan in the drawing room. Bevin had had a bath and a snack in his room and was immaculately dressed in dove gray pantaloons and black coat, his hair still damp from its recent washing. Petra still wore her second-best gown, somewhat rumpled from her exertions, and her hair was coming undone, but she intended merely to stay a moment. She couldn’t think it was altogether proper for her to be alone with such a handsome, virile man, even if he was her employer. Her reputation