Jo Beverly (24 page)

And love must weigh in the balance, especially a love like this, which she thought he shared. Only thought, but surely that would become clear.

Then there was the physical. Yes, indeed, there was the physical, not to be discounted when it came to marriage. A happy bed was the heart of that. She could certainly be happy in his bed, and she hoped she could make him happy in turn.

Make a rake happy enough to be faithful?

She remembered him saying he intended to be a good husband. He might not have meant fidelity, but it was a start.

She allowed herself to watch him a little longer, absorbing the change in everything. Her new thoughts and feelings were as frightening as naked blades, but as exciting. Yes, she was someone who needed to live on the edge.

The song ended in laughter and chatter, and a little noise pulled her out of thought. Charlie wasn’t crying, or about to, thank heavens, but his big eyes were wide and alert. It was time to get him away from here.

She put the baby in Sheena’s arms. “Charlie’s awake. You must take him back upstairs.”

She pointed upstairs, but Sheena shook her head.

Genova was about to insist when the girl pointed toward the back of the house, saying something equally firmly. Of course. By now she’d have learned to use the servants’ stairs.

Genova watched the pair leave, thinking that Sheena might have a clearer idea of her place in this world than she had. What sort of madness said that she could marry a marquess?

She climbed the elegant stairs to the half landing to observe again. This in-between spot was more in keeping with her position. Ash was down in the heart of things, near the fireplace, where the log was now in place. She was apart, up here.

She remembered leaning on the balustrade in the Lion and Unicorn, admiring a virile stranger.

He was still a stranger in some ways, but she knew him. She knew him deep in her heart, soul, and gut.

Then she realized that being up here felt like being on the bridge of one of her father’s ships. She’d been blessed by good parents and an interesting life. What would her father have to say about her strange new adventures if he knew?

Keep a solid ship beneath your feet, Genni-love, and you can ride out the wildest storms
.

Fanciful dreams did not form a solid ship, but surely the connection forged between her and Ash today did.

G
 enova saw Damaris Myddleton heading back toward Ash and went down the stairs. It was time to roll out the guns and do battle for the prize. Though she’d like to have sailed a direct course, discretion forced her to tack, chatting, flirting, and being kissed a few more times.

If all the men were paying her guineas, Charlie’s account would be growing nicely.

She was almost at the fireplace when she noticed Lady Walgrave—Lady Elf—frowning and rubbing her massive belly.

“Are you all right, my lady?”

Lady Elf looked at her, then smiled. “Oh, yes, just feeling restless. I have always done this, you see.”

Genova did. “It’s strange to pass things over to others. You have your own home now, however.”

“Yes, and I intend to do something as splendid in time. Walgrave Towers was a rather chilly house, so it’s being drastically renovated. That’s why we’re here at such a time. I didn’t want to give birth in town.”

Was this chatter, or more information being fed to her? Lady Elf, after all, was a true Malloren.

Genova could see Ash, and Damaris Myddleton was in the same group. She needed to ask a question of Lord Rothgar’s sister, however. “Do you think your brother wants peace with Lord Ashart?”

Lady Elf looked at her, surprised. “Yes, of course. Is it possible?”

Negotiation through intermediaries? Genova hesitated, for Ash certainly hadn’t appointed her to the
position. “Yes, I think it is. But there must be many grievances to be dealt with on both sides.”

Lady Elf looked around, clearly making sure no one was listening. “There are, yes,” she said quietly, “and the most serious are to do with family. I gather the Dowager Lady Ashart truly believes that the Mallorens were responsible for the death of her husband as well as her daughter. He died, you see, because of Lady Augusta’s tragedy. At least, he died not long afterward, and she chooses to see cause and effect.”

“It could be so. My mother’s death caused a great change in my father.”

“But it still requires that my father caused his first wife to murder her baby. No one who knew him believes it.”

“Can’t Lady Ashart be convinced of this?”

“Apparently not. As for our wounds, she has tried many times to harm us.” Lady Elf glanced around again. “She paid a man to try to seduce me.”

“My heaven! What happened to him?”

“Rothgar called him out.”

That’s what Genova feared. “And killed him?”

“No. But he has little use of his right arm.”

In a way it seemed worse than death. It sounded so coldly calculated, but Lady Elf seemed to think it completely normal.

“My brother’s vigilance has kept us safe,” Lady Elf said, “despite the dowager’s machinations. Things have been better recently. Rothgar’s growing power deters, and I gather the Trayce fortune is severely depleted.”

“The sooner peace is settled, the better.”

“We agree entirely.”

We
.

Genova glanced at Ash. He was about to kiss Miss Myddleton beneath the mistletoe!

Before Genova could excuse herself, Lord Walgrave came over to his wife. “You must be tired, love. Come and sit down.”

“Don’t fuss. If anything I’m restless. If my hips didn’t ache, I’d go for a long walk.”

“Heaven help us, isn’t that typical of a Malloren?” Lord Walgrave addressed that humorously to Genova, making it hard for her to move away, and if she did, what could she do?

“They say my mother walked miles every day when she was carrying children,” Lady Elf protested, “and she bore them without trouble, even Cyn and I.” She put a hand to her back. “I must say I hopped to be sharing Christmas with my baby, rather than with a sore back and hips.”

“My mother said she felt the same about me,” Genova said, stealing glances at the mild kiss, “and it came true.”

“You were a Christmas baby?”

Genova realized what she’d done and tried to think of an evasion.

“When’s your birthday?”

She could hardly lie. “Today, just. A half hour before midnight, or so I am told.”

Lady Elf clapped her hands. “Diana! It’s Geneva’s birthday. We must have a birthday ball!”

Genova tried to protest, but was ignored.

“But of course!” said Lady Arradale, coming over. “I intended an informal hop once the work is done, but this will make it special. To the ballroom, everybody!”

Genova could do nothing but allow herself to be swept by the company up the stairs and into a grand ballroom already transformed. She gaped at a miraculous illusion of a village in the mountains.

The open floor was dusted with chalk, which gave the look of snow, and surrounded by small, steep-roofed cottages. They would be big enough only for a couple to sit in, but in proportion to everything else, they looked full-size.

Miniature fir trees in pots created the effect of forest around the cottages, and that was continued by
trees painted on cloths hung on the walls, cloths that ended in white peaks, like mountains. They sparkled in the light of three chandeliers, as if they truly were snowcapped.

“It’s amazing,” Genova said.

“It has worked out well, hasn’t it?” Lady Arradale was beside her. “The true ball will be tomorrow, Christmas Day, but everyone deserves some merriment now.”

Music started. Genova saw that six musicians had taken their places in a greenery-hung gallery. Lord Rothgar took Genova’s hand and led her into the center of the room. “This is Miss Smith’s birthday ball, so she must call the first dance and choose her partner.”

Pinned firmly at the very heart of this artificial, glittering world, Genova was struck by panic. Lady Arradale had talked of an informal hop, but this seemed very formal to her. She didn’t know what dances were suitable here. She was going to embarrass herself.

And she’d dreamed she could fit in!

“I will drink poison if you choose anyone but me, beloved,” Ash said, coming forward to take her hand. “Especially as you have stationed yourself beneath some mistletoe.”

Genova looked up and realized that she was exactly under a mistletoe bough that hung from the central chandelier—and that Lord Rothgar had placed her there. She shot him a glance before moving into Ash’s arms.

He drew her close, but just before his lips touched hers, he murmured, “Call for the ‘Merry Dancers.’”

She kissed him back, her love greater because of gratitude. He’d realized her predicament and solved it.

Her doubts fled. This had to be right.

She tried to read his expression, but it could mean anything or nothing. He reached up and plucked a berry, but then took something out of his pocket.

A guinea, here?

“A gift for a kiss,” he said, “and what better for you, my love, than a ring.”

Light flared on a diamond. A large diamond. He took her left hand but she pulled back. Diamonds had become popular for betrothal rings because the stone was so resistant to damage and would endure. A beautiful thought, but until she won Ash’s love it would be as false as the mountains on the wall.

He raised his brows and she surrendered. What else could she do but let him slide the ring onto her finger? It was a little loose, but only a little, and candlelight sparked rainbows from the magnificent stone.

Everyone applauded. Genova smiled, but she could only think how lovely this would be if real.

“You must call the dance, Miss Smith,” Lady Arradale reminded her.

Looking at Ash, Genova said, “The ‘Merry Dancers.’” It was a simple one that she knew. If he’d suggested it, it would be appropriate. She could trust him that far. No, she could trust him much further than that. He had never promised more than he could fulfill and he had warned her not to get involved.

If this broke her heart, it would not be his fault.

The music started up, and Ash led her into place. She would at least have this, a dance with him. She knew she would count all these little things like pearls knotted one by one onto silk, and carry them with her if she lost this fight and lost him.

She was glad of the lively line dance that allowed little opportunity for conversation or thought. As always, it became impossible to be gloomy when in a dance.

She passed down the line and touched hands with all the ladies, including the older Miss Inchcliff, whose eyes were brilliant with excitement. The younger people were here, including small children in a line dance of their own, giggling as they bumped and hurtled up and down.

Genova turned with a girl—Miss Yardley?—who must almost be of age to be presented at court. She was flirting with all the men like a puppy testing its teeth on a thrown leather ball. Miss Yardley ignored
a couple of young lads who, though old enough for the adult dance, looked uncertain as to whether this was a treat or penance.

They were all in training for their purpose, Genova realized, even here at an impromptu celebration. Training to be courtiers, to amuse, to flirt, to promote their family’s interests, to progress in a career or marry well.

She was trained, too. Her parents had not neglected manners and etiquette, but her practical experience had been somewhat more varied. Did knowledge of how to eat from a communal dish of spicy lamb stew that included eyeballs count?

It might, she thought. She knew well the lesson that a guest must adapt to the host, whether it be at a house or in a country.

The first set ended, and punch and other drinks were carried in. Ash led Genova over for refreshment, and she thought he hadn’t escaped the magic of the dance.

“Exercise becomes you,” he said.

“You mean that I’m flushed and hearty?”

“I mean that you are beautiful. Like a rich, spicy dish.”

“Complete with sheep’s eyes?” The joke escaped, but of course he couldn’t see the connection.

“What?”

So she told him, describing a feast in Morocco and how the British had been trying to slip the eyeballs into their pockets.

“That must have created an interesting discovery for your maid.”

“Oh, I ate mine.”

“Why am I not surprised?”

“I had the distinct impression that our host knew the eyes would upset us and was enjoying the fuss.”

He laughed, his eyes admiring. Another pearl, but she was wincing inside. Why had she talked about sheep’s eyes? It might be interesting, even admirable, but it wasn’t a recommendation as a marchioness.

But then, as she danced with Captain Dalby, a naval officer, she knew nothing good could come of pretense. If she tricked Ash into marriage with an artificial Genova Smith, that would surely lead to disaster.

Captain Dalby turned out to know her father, which was delightful, and with some prompting she remembered a few encounters over the years. She came to see that he was an admirer, and could even be a suitor. Once she might have at least flirted, even though she didn’t want the navy life. Now she gently discouraged.

Lord Bryght claimed her next, then Dr. Egan. She never lacked a partner, and she danced with Ash twice more. More pearls on her string. Then, sooner than she could have imagined, clocks chimed twelve.

“It’s Christmas Day!” people cried out, and, “Merry Christmas!”

Everyone mingled, kissing cheeks and offering good wishes, and then they were all swept out and down to the hall where the great Yule log awaited. Genova watched from Ash’s side. Another pearl.

Within moments, a dignified, gray-haired servant marched out from the back of the house with a burning tinder in his hand. “The Yule light, milord!”

It was the fragment of last year’s log, preserved until now to provide continuity of light and warmth. Rothgar took it and applied it to the tinder. The tinder caught, then flames began to lick at the dry bark. Soon the great fire roared. Christmas had arrived.