by Winter Fire
Lady Arradale did the same. It was the sort of thing a countrywoman would do, gathering rosehips from a hedge, and their underpetticoats reached almost as low as their skirts. Even so, Genova was astonished that great ladies would do such a thing.
As she helped to collect the figures, she considered that her companions were countrywomen. Portia had described her home as a simple country manor. Lady Arradale’s Yorkshire home could hardly be simple, but various comments had made it clear that she involved herself in the affairs of her tenants and other local people.
Real people. In many ways like her.
The figures were all safely stowed, so she took the baby Jesus and the Mother Mary and put one in each pocket. Then she picked up the stable and cloth and led the way out of the room.
When they arrived back in the hall, Lord Rothgar gestured toward a table set not far from the fire. “I gather the mantle would be more traditional, but it should be low enough for the children to see. I’ll station a servant to make sure it isn’t harmed.”
Genova saw that some of the older children were still up, fidgety, but expectant. She went to the table and Ash stepped beside her. “Can I help?”
Another pearl.
“My hands are full, so could you spread the cloth?”
He took it and did so, smoothing it. Genova tried not to remember the fall that had broken her embroidery frame. It was hard, especially with her attention drawn to his beautiful hands, which made her think of his touch, his taste, his…
He stood back and she placed the stable on top, centering it carefully, blinking back tears. If only her mother were here.
She stepped back then, giving Thalia the pleasure of taking figures from the ladies’ skirts and placing them in their places. It didn’t matter if some were not quite where they normally went. It was time to let go of the past.
Someone took her hand. She knew without looking that it was Ash. Though her throat ached, she curled her fingers around his. Another pearl to be with him at this moment.
Thalia had half the figures in place when she said, “Each one has a story! Genova, what did you say this one was?”
Genova had to swallow to clear her throat. “A llama, from South America.”
“Ah, yes, and here’s the lovely dragon!” Then she paused and looked at Genova. “We must sing the song.”
“Oh, no…”
Ash squeezed her hand. “Teach us the song.”
She looked at him. “But my voice isn’t very good.”
“You clearly taught Thalia. Sing. I’ll help.”
Genova bit her lip, but she began to sing. She hated to raise her voice in this great chamber, but the acoustics helped and Thalia joined in with the second part. Then Ash picked it up, but not to sing the third round. He added his voice to Genova’s, carrying her to places she’d never reached in song.
The third round wove in, and she realized that Damaris Myddleton was leading that with her strong, trained voice. Then everyone was singing, and the simple tune became a grand chorale.
In the stable, in the wild,
Came the mother, Mary mild,
Came the star as bright as day,
Came the angels, lutes to play.
Lutes to play, joy a-ringing,
At the sound of angels singing.
Joy, joy, joy, joy,
Joy, joy, joy, joy,
Joy, joy, joy, joy….
The cascade of “joy, joy, joy” rang as rich as the bells of Rome.
Genova claimed the angel Gabriel, wings gleaming freshly gold, and attached the figure to the peak of the stable—the last step before the miracle of Christmas. Without her having to guide, everyone ended their song until the last “joy” faded into silence.
She moved Mary-on-the-donkey behind the stable. Then she took out the baby Jesus and gave it to Thalia, who seemed as filled with wonder and excitement as Genova had always been.
The children were shifting closer, eyes wide. Heart swelling at their pleasure, Genova put the ass into the stable with Joseph and the Mother Mary in place. Then she stepped aside to let Thalia put the chubby baby on the straw.
“And now,” said Genova, as her father had always done, her voice choked, “it is Christmas. Peace to all.”
Everyone applauded and cried, “Peace to all!” and turned to greet and kiss those nearby.
Tears were pouring down Genova’s cheeks and she couldn’t seem to stop them. Ash pressed a handkerchief into her hand. Silk, finely embroidered, and edged with precious lace.
When she’d dried her eyes, he dropped a kiss on her lips. “May all your Christmases be blessed with peace, Genova.”
Something in his eyes suggested more, but then Lady Walgrave spoke.
“I know that it’s quite disgustingly apropos, but I do think this baby is beginning to make its appearance.”
Chapter Thirty-three
A mid exclamations, the company split into action. Lord Walgrave insisted on carrying his wife upstairs, despite her laughing protests. Orders were given and the ladies of the family hurried off to varied preparations.
Children were swept off to bed, but Lord Rothgar encouraged the rest of the company to continue the festivities. Some returned to the ballroom for more dancing. Others went to the drawing room for cards and chatter.
Genova, who’d waited through some births, doubted the baby would arrive before morning, but she, too, was in no mood for sleep. She lingered by the presepe, journeying through its lifetime of memories.
“It means a great deal to you,” Ash said.
“It’s home. I hadn’t realized, but everything in my life was changeable except this one thing. The presepe changed only by being enriched every year.”
“Enriched?”
“My father always gave me a new animal on my birthday, a new worshiper at the manger.” She touched the Chinese dragon. “This was the last one before my mother died.”
“A dangerous guest at the feast.”
“Not really. In many cultures dragons are predators, but the Chinese dragon is a harbinger of good fortune. Ironic, isn’t it?”
He picked up the brilliantly colored figure, its scales picked out with gold. “So a dragon doesn’t have to breathe fire and eat people.”
She waited, hopefully, for him to develop the point, but he put the little figure down. “Even Chinese dragons must eat. What,” he asked her, “if not unwilling victims?”
She pulled a face at him. “What does anyone eat but unwilling victims?”
“Genova, you’re a cynic!” He took her hand. “Come back to the ballroom and dance your bile away.”
To dance the night away with him would be heaven, but she shook her head. “No, I’m sorry.”
“You’re for bed? The night is young.”
She knew she should just slip away, but she couldn’t lie to him. “I have to find the Christmas Star. It’s part of the tradition.”
He laughed, puzzled. “You can’t think that Elf Malloren is about to give birth to a new Messiah.”
“Of course not! It’s always in the sky at Christmas, and I have to make a wish on it.”
He shook his head, but with a smile. “Show me. Do we go outside?”
“That’s best.” She didn’t want him to laugh at part of her traditions, but she couldn’t deny herself his company.
They went to the great doors, and he swept up someone’s abandoned shawl for her in passing. The solitary footman hurried to open the doors, blankly uncritical of the insanity of venturing outside in the middle of a winter’s night.
As they stepped out onto the terrace at the top of the double curve of stairs, icy air shocked Genova’s skin. But then Ash wrapped the shawl around her shoulders, creating a whole string of pearls with his touch alone.
Here, in the dark beneath the stars, she felt they were truly alone together for the first time.
He looked up, breathing in as if relishing fresh air. It was a still, peaceful night, and not bitterly cold. Genova inhal
ed, too, searching the brilliantly starry sky. She pointed. “There it is!”
“My dear Genova, that is Jupiter.”
She smiled up at the bright spot. “I know, but tonight it’s the Christmas Star.”
She felt his hand warm and companionable on her back. “The Star of Bethlehem was probably a comet, I’m afraid.”
She turned her back to the stone balustrade, looking at him rather than the planet. “Did you see Halley’s comet in 1758?”
“Of course. Where were you?” Then his mouth twitched up in a smile. “I mean, where in the world? How strange to ask a lady that.”
“Ladies staying safely home in England? Your experience is somewhat limited, sir.”
He touched her cheek. “There aren’t many who would think that.”
Heat uncoiled inside her so that the mist of her breath could almost be steam. “Halifax,” she blurted. “In Nova Scotia. Where were you?”
“London. Or rather, at a house I maintain near Greenwich.”
“Near the observatory?” What a puzzle box he was. Each exchange revealed something new, and she was already addicted to discovery. “You have an interest in stars?”
“You make me sound like a dreamer.”
“You forget that you’re talking to a naval captain’s daughter.”
“Yes, of course. Can you navigate?”
“I know something of the art. My father taught me many things when he had the time.”
Her thoughts slipped to her father, and the sadness of change. Ash brought her back with a touch on her cheek.
“Shall I buy you a ship so you can sail into your dreams?”
“I thought you were hard-pressed for money?”
“Only on the scale of a marquessate. I have an interest in some voyages being planned to record the transit of Venus in 1768. Would you like to go?”
She laughed in perplexity. “I’ve no idea what you’re talking about, but they’d never take a woman. And no, I’ve done with the oceans. Will you go?”
He looked past her, then, to the horizon and the stars. “It’s not my destiny. Like most of my ancestors, I send others in my place, to adventure and to war.”
She took his hand, offering comfort as he had offered it to her earlier. “I heard a rumor that one of your ancestors was Charles II. He traveled and fought.”
“Unwillingly.” His thumb rubbed gently against her palm. “He’s reputed to have refused to convert to Roman Catholicism because he’d no mind to go wandering again.”
“Is he your ancestor? I’m quite awed at the thought of royal blood.”
He shrugged. “Family legend says that he was my great-grandfather, but as we’ve established, it’s impossible to ever be certain who fathered whom.”
She freed her hand and traced his jaw, his nose. “There is perhaps some resemblance. Not so much to Charles II, but to his brother King James, and his father, Charles I.”
He captured her fingers and used them to seal her own lips. “Hush. In former times, royal blood could have my head on the block.”
“And not so former. It’s less than twenty years since men lost their heads for supporting a Stuart pretender!”
He shook his head at her alarm. “Whatever the truth, I’m safely on the wrong side of the blanket, love.”
Love.
He used it casually, but it was another pearl.
He released her hand and slid his fingers into her hair. She leaned into the cup of his hand, thinking this one short night might give her pearls enough to last a lifetime.
“Why not sail in search of Venus, Ash? What’s to stop you?”
“Some would say I seek out Venus far too often.”
“Be serious.”
He nuzzled her neck. “I’m always serious about such matters.”
She smiled but waited.
“Duty, then. That’s what ties me. My duty to manage my estates, to make laws, to shape a nation.”
She understood. “Your marquessate is your ship. No one else can captain it.”
“My ship is likely to sink for lack of tar, or whatever it is keeps ships afloat. I have to marry, Genova, and I have to marry money.”
She knew, she thought she knew, why he was telling her that. It hurt, but it hurt less because he was honest. “If you must, you must. Only promise me that you’ll be a good captain.”
He drew her into his arms, into an embrace more tender than any they’d shared. Her head rested perfectly on his broad shoulder.
“I’ll do my best,” he said. “I know it’s time to take over my properties from my grandmother. I would have done it already if not for other problems.”
“Molly Carew.” She was relishing the hard heat of his body and a steady strength she wouldn’t have expected to find in him just a few days before. Inhaling his scent, she said, “Can you tell me about that? I’m not easily embarrassed.”
His hands moved on her back slightly, in a tender touch that might even have been unconscious. “It’s a ridiculous tale.”
She moved back to look at him. “Ridiculous?”
His smile was rueful. “Isn’t that what we all fear the most, to be ridiculous? Are you too cold to stay out here for a sorry saga?”
“No.”
He drew her close again, sliding her arms around him beneath his coat, and tucking her shawl securely. “Listen, then. Last February I attended Lady Knatchbull’s masquerade. It is not noted for taste and sobriety. I went as an Indian brave, largely naked….”
Genova hummed with approval against his chest and felt his chuckle.
“Molly Carew went as Salome, in seven extremely transparent veils. I am not a saint.”
“I think I noticed that.”
“Not shocked yet?”
“No, impatient to get to the point.”
“I might as well confess all my sins. I had been Molly’s lover in the past, when Booth Carew was still alive.”
He paused, obviously expecting comment.
“That’s all your sins?” she asked.
He laughed again. “No.”
“I didn’t think so. Go on. I’m anxious to know how you can be so sure that Charlie is not your son.” She made certain that no hint of doubt lingered in her words.
He let out a breath. “To edit drastically, then, I left the masquerade with Molly, not attempting to be discreet, but I never did that for which amor is not the right word.”
It was her turn to chuckle. “I told you I knew them all, but swived will do.”
“Rather too matrimonial, but if you wish, I did not swive Molly Carew.”
She moved slightly so she could look at him. “If you are about to confess to being a eunuch, I will be much surprised.”
He rubbed his cheek against hers. “You have only to explore, pandolcetta mia, to correct that impression.”
She stirred, sensing the truth despite layers of skirts. A deep ache trembled, but she said, “So why?”
“Because I realized she was trying to hook me. It was just a sense, an instinct, but as we traveled to my house in my coach, and she pleasured me in ways she knows well, I knew. I remembered that she was a widow who might have different intentions from when she’d been a wife, so though I returned the pleasure, it was not in the way that might create a child. And then I took her to her home.”
“But then….” Genova said. “She made it all up?”
“Not entirely. I assume she was already pregnant, but not by a man who could marry her, or perhaps not a man she wanted to marry. It’s typical of her boldness that she pursued her plan anyway. Perhaps she thought I was too drunk to know.”
“Were you?”
“No.”
His tone was a friendly rebuke and she said, “Sorry,” knowing her smile would sound in her voice.
It was a scandalous tale, but she loved that he was telling it to her, and that he was somewhat uncomfortable about it.
This was the man, not the marquess.
They were friends.
Chapter Thirty-four
“T he devil of it was,” he said, “that when I denied it no one believed me. Was I supposed to protest and plead? I certainly couldn’t prove my account. I ignored the woman, assuming she would give up. She never did.”
“Even to abandoning another man’s baby on you. Perhaps she’s the Loki in this tale.”
He brushed his lips against hers. “You are a remarkable woman.”
“Because I’m not shocked by your tale? Some of the younger officers were like brothers to me, and because we’d been on ships together, the barriers were down. They often came to me with tales of woe, and most of them were to do with women.” She shook her head. “It must all have been infuriating.”
“Especially as one cannot prove a negative. I need to, though. I need to force Molly to tell the truth, or…”
“Or?” she asked, freeing a hand to touch his face, to guide it so he looked at her.
“Or force Rothgar to use his influence with the king. His Majesty would probably believe him, especially as our enmity is well known.”
She flexed her hand against his warm skin, feeling the slight roughness of his beard. “That wasn’t the whole truth.”
“You’re a terrifying woman.”
“Tell me.”
He moved slightly against her hand. She thought it was a shake of the head, but then he said, “I have long assumed that Rothgar was behind this plan, and that Molly was his puppet. The plan had a suitably devious design. If I succumbed, then I would end up married to a woman I had come to dislike, accepting as my child, possibly my heir, a baby who wasn’t mine. If I resisted, I would offend the king, perhaps even to the point of being cast into the darkness, from where I could trouble Rothgar no more. I came here prepared to force him to right the wrong.”
“With what?”
“That, Genova, you do not want to know.”
“The mistletoe bough?” she asked, wishing he’d tell her. When he stayed silent, she said, “And if he had nothing to do with it?”
