by Winter Fire
“One room and an idea will suffice. Everyone’s leaving at last,” he said, taking her basket and touching her to guide her across to the other side of the orchard.
“For you?” she asked.
“I am compelled to walk the perilous edge through many rooms. It is my destiny. I have to admit that I often enjoy the thrill.”
This let her say, “So do I. I have enjoyed much of my life, despite hardship and war. I am finding my new life tedious.”
“Really?” he asked, and she laughed.
“Not the last few days, I must admit.”
“Good. Above all, I would hate to be boring.”
“I need to find the edge,” she said, as much to herself as to him. “To do useful things and see tangible results.”
“Relentlessly practical.” There was no sting in it now.
“And you’re not?”
“Genova, my sweet, I’m a creature of whimsy and artifice of no practical use at all.”
“Rosemary!” someone called ahead in the gloom. A hinge creaked.
“Ah, rosemary,” he said, as they quickened their steps. “Sacred to Venus and reputed to replenish male vigor. Useful at this point.”
He’d slid from their discussion, and Genova knew it was wise. The conversation was another pearl, however, that she would consider deeply when she had time.
“Christmas is taking on a most unholy aura when seen through your eyes,” she said.
“But of course. Christ’s birthday was pasted on top of the Roman feast of Saturnalia, a time for wild revels. Add the Norse Yule, festival of light, and what can we do but be wild? Rothgar must be demented to play these games.”
“He wasn’t expecting you,” she pointed out.
“How true. Do you think I should make peace?”
For a moment she didn’t understand him. When she did, she tried to read his expression in the vague, deceptive light. In the end she said, “Yes.”
“Without knowing the cause and details of the war?”
“Peace is always better than war.”
“A simplistic assessment.”
Sudden rage flamed in her and she stopped. “What do you know of war and peace, you creature of whimsy and artifice? Assist at an amputation, or try to hold a man’s body together as he cries for his mother before you speak lightly of war to me!”
His hand moved toward her, faltered.
Behind him, lights in the great house began to spring to life in random windows. They had reached the afternoon death of the light.
Genova whirled and almost ran after the group, into a walled herb garden, aromatic even in winter. Her shoes clipped on a stone path as she hurried to press in among the others.
She realized she had neither basket nor knife.
Ash appeared at her side and returned her basket. Then he cut sprigs. The pungent smell stung her nose.
“‘Here’s rosemary for remembrance,’” he said, passing a bundle over.
“And it means true love and weddings!” a woman cried.
“And fidelity,” said Damaris Myddleton, appearing at their side. “Here, Ashart, dare you wear a sprig of it?”
Genova thanked heaven she didn’t have a sharp knife in her hand. The great house glowed brighter and brighter, promising warmth, safety, and civilized restraint.
“It’s time to go,” Genova said, turning and leading the way out of the garden, even though it wasn’t her place to do so.
Damaris Myddleton would drive her to violence, but the deeper pain was because Miss Myddleton would probably end up in the cage with the wolf. Despite all logic, Genova envied her that.
Why had she said what she’d said? People far from war never wanted to know what it was really like. War was a part of the edge that most people avoided, a part red with blood.
She’d simply been infuriated that someone with the chance of peace should contemplate throwing it away, and she still was.
Chapter twenty-nine
E veryone caught up with her and she let herself be enveloped by the merry group as they entered through the main doors. She laughed with them, teased and flirted, as they all piled their mistletoe and herbs with the holly and ivy near the Yule log.
The marble hall was brilliant with vibrant life. Excited voices seemed to bounce off the walls and return threefold, and the light from hundreds of candles blazed off crystal chandeliers. A servant took Genova’s outerwear, and it was certainly warm enough with so many people and so many candles, even though the grate was empty, awaiting the log.
She accepted a mug of mulled cider and warmed her hands on it, blocking all thoughts of what had happened out there, but she couldn’t keep her eyes off Ash.
He stood near the log, drinking, laughing, presumably debating how to get the log off its felt cloth and into the fireplace. He was so good at masking his feelings. It was probably the result of lifelong training for court, where a person wasn’t allowed to even sneeze. Of a life, as he’d said, lived on the edge.
How could she know the real man when he wore so many layers of artifice?
She knew, however, that at moments today he’d revealed the truth.
Damaris Myddleton, hovering near Ash, was not good at masking her feelings. Perhaps she was what he needed, though. Someone who would be satisfied with lord and husband, and wouldn’t drag him to the edge of the emotions.
Emotions, oceans. She suddenly saw the edge like the place where the oceans kissed the earth. Not apparently dramatic, and yet a complete change…
“Genova! Genova, dear!”
She turned to see Thalia waving from across the hall. Lady Calliope was with her, pushed by a footman. Genova hurried toward a safe haven.
“How splendid!” Thalia exclaimed. “And mistletoe. Plenty of berries, too! Always a good sign.”
“Sign of a harsh winter,” grumbled Lady Calliope. “Steer some of that punch over here, Genova.”
Genova beckoned one of the footmen carrying trays of glasses and passed two drinks over. “Christmas blessings,” she said, raising her own glass.
“And many of them!” Thalia declared, draining half in a gulp.
Lady Calliope drank but didn’t say anything.
“Is something the matter, Lady Calliope?” Genova asked. “Are you in pain?”
“No more than usual.” She looked up. “Ashart’s not for you, Genova, so don’t do anything foolish.”
Genova couldn’t stop her face flaming.
Thalia exclaimed, “Callie!”
“Of course he isn’t,” Genova said, as calmly as she could.
“I’d say this betrothal was a folly of Thalia’s making except that the Oliphants heard the story on their way here. Fat, red-nosed fellow over there and his gaunt wife. Encountered the Brokesbys in London and heard the wondrous tale of Ashart’s betrothal to his great-aunts’ companion, along with hints of lewdness. Probably all the worse for being vague.”
Genova looked at the middle-aged couple, wishing them to Hades.
“No one will think too much of it, dear,” said Thalia, “now you are engaged to marry.”
“And when that ends, I’ll be a fool who permitted too many liberties.”
“It’ll blow over,” Lady Calliope said brusquely, “and it’ll be a feather in your cap to have interested him at all. As long as you don’t fall into folly over it.”
Genova knew exactly what she meant, but said, “I am not the sort to fall into folly.”
“No, thank Zeus. Unlike that Miss Myddleton. Silly piglet. But he might as well let her catch him. She’s from a good enough family and rich.”
“I do think it a shame,” Thalia said with a pout.
“There’s a light in the darkness.” Lady Calliope looked up at Genova. “We’re hoping we can persuade you to live in our house in Tunbridge Wells, dear. To continue as companion. You’ll have a room of your own, and a maid, and all comforts. I’m sure it won’t last past the spring, when the Wells is alive with eligible gentlemen, but we would
enjoy your company.”
Genova looked away, swallowing tears, touched but embarrassed. This was an offer made out of pity, a salve to her wounded heart. She must have been as transparent as Damaris Myddleton, and she hated that.
What’s more, she couldn’t take the kind offer. She couldn’t live where she might meet Ash, perhaps even be expected to dance at his wedding.
She was saved from having to respond by a bump on her leg. She steadied little Francis Malloren, who seemed intent on Lady Calliope’s chair. He toddled on and arrived at the old lady’s blanketed knees.
“G’day,” he said, beaming, with no hint of shyness.
A flustered maid rushed after. “I’m so sorry, milady! This is Master Francis Malloren, milady.”
Genova braced to deal with harshness, but Lady Calliope looked the boy in the eye. “And what attracts you to an old crone, Master Francis Malloren, when there are mince pies and sugarplums to be had?”
The boy patted her lap. “Up!”
A chuckle rumbled. “A Malloren through and through. Lift him up then, girl, and we’ll tour this mayhem together. Off you go, Genova, and enjoy yourself. But take care.”
Thalia linked arms with Genova. “Do let’s help with the mistletoe, dear!”
Genova might have tried to slip to the edges of the room—another sort of edge—but Thalia headed straight for the middle, where the ladies were making bundles of greenery to place around the hall. Genova noted that they were tying it up with new ribbons, so frugality had lost that battle. But then, that had only been a pretext.
During that chat with Portia, she’d been informed that the Mallorens were ordinary people beneath the glitter, but that Lord Rothgar was ruthless in protecting them and their interests. Why inform her, however? Did they overestimate her influence to that extent?
No longer. She’d told Portia the truth about the engagement. Thank heavens for that. She would not be a pawn in this game.
“Perhaps I might even get a kiss,” Thalia said, looking up at a huge bouquet of mistletoe that had just been hung from the central chandelier, low enough for the gentlemen to pluck the berries. “I’m sure Richard wouldn’t mind.”
Genova steered Thalia under there, looking for a suitable gentleman. Her eyes fixed on Ash because she caught him looking at her. Her heart skipped a beat, with no conscious control at all.
After a still moment, she mimed her request.
He looked puzzled, but then came toward them, smiling. He still wore the plain riding clothes in which she’d first seen him, but he was all beau, all courtier, as he bowed. He could have been in powder, satin, and lace.
“Why, Thalia, if you don’t want to be thoroughly kissed, this is most careless of you.”
Thalia laughed with delight. “You naughty boy, but I am caught, indeed I am!”
She presented a cheek, but he swept her into his arms and planted a kiss solidly on her lips. She emerged with high color that was entirely natural, and with a beaming smile that was brighter than any Genova had seen on her.
She feared her own smile was as wide. No matter what his faults, the Marquess of Ashart could be exceedingly kind.
As he plucked a berry from the bunch, Thalia said, “What a charming rascal you are, Ashart!” But then she tugged Genova under the branch. “And here is your reward.”
Genova could hardly resist. They were the center of all eyes, including the Oliphants’. She wanted to refuse, though. Mistletoe kisses seemed sour when put against her confused but profound feelings.
He took her hand, but only to pull her away from the bough. “A man needs no excuse to kiss his future bride, Thalia, so I’ll preserve the berries for less fortunate gentlemen.”
A buzz said some had not heard the news. People nearby congratulated them, wishing them well, but Genova saw much astonishment. She hoped her blushes were taken for maidenly delight and was grateful when Ash drew her away from the hub.
“I hate this,” she said.
“Do you want to break it off now? It’s too early, but we can cope.”
He was serious. She shook her head. “As you say, it’s too early. We might as well play the game to its end. This feels like a lie, though. I don’t like to lie.”
He took her hand. “Then consider us betrothed for a little while. I certainly haven’t promised anyone here that I’ll actually marry you. Have you sworn to marry me?”
He was making her smile. “No.”
“You see. All is easy.”
Easy? Hardly, but good humor made it easier to express her thoughts. “I’m sorry for what I said earlier. It was unfair.”
“No, it wasn’t. I should have realized what your experiences might have been. You awe me.”
She shook her head. “Don’t. There’s nothing extraordinary about my life.”
“Perhaps I have lost touch with what women can be.”
“Any woman, Ash. Don’t forget, the edge can be found in the simplest places. In a room with an idea. In a kitchen with a pot, in a nursery with a child. Women who fight Barbary pirates aren’t better than those who tend their families at home.”
“But you,” he said simply, “are you.”
She looked at him, breathless, but then it was as if a shutter closed. He looked away, then said, “There’s the maid and baby.”
Chapter Thirty
G enova turned and saw Sheena with Charlie in her arms. A glance around showed many servants present, some helping, some merely looking on and even enjoying the Christmas delicacies and drinks. It had to be with permission.
Ash was already heading across the hall toward the Irish girl. Genova hurried after him, thinking that he, too, was concerned that Charlie might cry, but then realized that he probably didn’t know about his cousin’s weakness.
She was caught and kissed by three other men. She managed to laugh and flirt to the required degree, but her reaction was only impatience. She needed to keep up with Ash, but also, no kisses other than his mattered now.
She saw Sheena bob a curtsy, face sinking into sullenness. Was close enough to hear her say, “Good day, milord,” as if she spoke English well. The girl was clever, which would be a good thing.
“Good day, Sheena,” Ash said, as Genova arrived at his side. “Lady Booth Carew?”
The girl’s eyes widened, but she nodded.
“Where is she?”
Sheena’s eyes hunted around for help.
“Where is Charlie’s mother, Sheena?”
“Stop!” Genova put herself between them. “You’re frightening her.”
“If I’m to make peace,” he said sharply, “I have to sort out my affairs, especially those relating to Molly Carew. Sheena is clearly not stupid and she understands a bit of English. Names do not change much from language to language, and nor does the word for mother.”
“But why would she know anything of use to you? She’s simply a wet nurse.”
“Don’t you want to find the truth?”
“Yes, of course, but not like this!”
His dark eyes studied her. “You admit there is a truth to be found?”
She hadn’t meant that, but challenged, she opened her mind. She now felt sure that he would not lie to her.
“Yes. I believe you,” she said. “I don’t understand how you can be sure you’re not Charlie’s father, but I believe that you are. Sure, that is.”
“Somewhat guarded, but thank you. If I can discover the real father, it will solve many of my problems.”
“Lady Booth’s the one to ask, isn’t she?”
“She seems to have slipped away.”
“Slipped away?”
“A friend was with me at the Lion and Unicorn. He went after her, but lost the trail.”
Genova kept an eye on Sheena and the baby but was absorbed by this discussion. They were talking, directly and practically, and it felt completely natural, as if they had known each other a long time.
And as if they trusted each other. It was as if a cloud of ins
ubstantial delights had coalesced into a pearl, something real that could be held and cherished.
It made it easy to put a hand on his arm. “As you said, she can’t disappear entirely, Ash. There’ll be time enough to talk to Lady Booth after Christmas.”
He covered her hand with his own. “I think you could keep me sane, Genova.”
“Is your sanity in doubt?”
“Constantly. Especially recently.”
He put his finger beneath her chin, and when she didn’t resist, he kissed her. It was light and simple, but perhaps the sweetest kiss they’d shared. She didn’t request a guinea, and he didn’t offer one.
“I should be doing my duty to the Yule log,” he said, with a last glance at Sheena. “Will you try to find out what she knows?”
“Of course, but she really does understand virtually no English.”
He grimaced, then walked away.
Genova turned back to Sheena, who was still looking wary. To soothe the girl, Genova plucked a cake from a passing tray.
Sheena brightened immediately and consumed it. The baby slept on, but he could awaken at any moment. Genova hated to spoil Sheena’s treat, but she had to. “You must return to the nurseries,” pointing toward the great stairs.
Sheena shook her head, but Genova insisted and began to steer her that way. Genova went slowly, however, and chose various delicacies for the girl along the way.
To allow Sheena to enjoy them, Genova took the baby for a while and found comfort for herself in the bundle. There was something about a baby that brought the world into perspective.
When they reached the stairs, singing started over near the Yule log. Sheena stopped to listen, and since the baby was still fast asleep, Genova took the girl up three steps so they’d have a better view.
A group of gentlemen, including Ash, was singing a Christmas round about spiced ale and cheer. It would probably be called a glee, and once Genova would have thought glee and Ash uncomfortable partners. No longer. There was a joyous man in him, and he might be breaking free.
