Jo Beverly (25 page)

Genova saw Ash observing the flames with an unreadable expression and knew he was thinking of vigor, still torn between allegiances. She took his hand. After a moment, his fingers wove with hers.

That gave her courage to say, “Peace is always the best choice.”

“If it can be achieved with honor,” he said.

She swallowed an ache caused by his doubts, but said, “You’re right. That is essential. Some wars are justified.”

She didn’t add the obvious coda—
Is yours?
He was already struggling with that question.

“
G
 enova, dear.”

Thalia was by her side, bright-eyed. “Isn’t it time for
presepe?
”

How could she have forgotten? “Yes, of course. We must go up right now to do it.”

Genova hoped to slip away, but Thalia called out, “Beowulf, dear, Genova has a most
charming
Nativity in our room. We are off to give birth to the baby Jesus!”

Laughter rippled around the room.

Before Thalia could invite everyone along, Genova linked arms with her. “Come, then, Thalia. It won’t take a moment.”

“Miss Smith.”

Genova turned with foreboding to Lord Rothgar.

“Lady Thalia has described your
presepe
, and I remember seeing such collections in Italy. Alas, I lacked the foresight to bring one home with me, but I would be honored if you’d allow us to display yours here. It should, I think, be in pride of place.”

Panic churned inside. “It’s a simple thing, my lord, and…and has traveled.”

She would not use the word
shabby
.

“So have you, and so have I. So have we all in our various ways. None of us are the less for it.”

Genova realized that Hester’s words had etched deeper than she’d thought. She would
not
be ashamed of the
presepe
.

“Very well, my lord, and thank you. I’ll need some extra hands to carry down the parts.”

“I’ll go,” said Lady Arradale, and Portia came over with her.

Thalia agreed to remain below when promised that she would put the baby Jesus in the manger.

Genova and the two other women hurried upstairs and into the room where the empty stable sat waiting. Genova was wound tight with anxiety over her companions’ reaction. She still feared wrinkled noses.

“Oh, how lovely!” Portia exclaimed.

Lady Arradale touched the stable gently. “Isn’t it? We must obtain one of our own. Now, how best to move it?”

“I can carry the stable in one piece,” Genova said, smiling with relief, “but perhaps the rest should go back in the box.”

Portia raised her upper skirt to make a sling. “If we carry the figures like this, I think they’ll be safe. We’ll be careful.” She picked up the nearest animal and put it in the cloth.

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.

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.”

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 inhaled, 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.