Chapter Eleven
G enova winced at Thalia’s delight about events, but gave thanks she didn’t mention Christmas weddings again. Once dressed, Thalia chirruped, “Breakfast is ready below, dear, so dress quickly!” and hurried off, doubtless to tell her sister all about it.
Genova dreaded to think what Lady Calliope would have to say.
She hurried into her traveling dress, but lingered to help Regeanne pack, putting off the moment.
Sheena was feeding the baby, occasionally looking around the room uncertainly.
She seemed in much better spirits, however, and when an inn servant arrived with the pile of clean laundry, her delight showed she hadn’t been dirty by choice.
Lady Booth Carew, Genova decided, was a despicable woman, and her lover was low by association. She knew that having to frame that thought showed a weakness as dire as the hole in the hull of a ship.
She helped Sheena to pack her bundle. Everything was plain and cheap, including the baby’s cloths and gowns. Genova contrasted that with the mother’s velvet and fur and shook her head.
It was soon done, however, leaving no more excuse, so Genova braced herself and went downstairs. Ashart was already at the table.
Lady Calliope greeted her with a cynical gleam in her eye. “I gather you’re to become one of the family. Don’t know whether to congratulate you or wonder at your wits. Sit and eat. You’re late.”
Genova apologized and took some bread and meat, though she wasn’t sure she could swallow.
“That’s what comes of all this disorder,” Lady Calliope grumbled. “Babies, then Ashart, now this. You’ll be of use to neither man nor beast with your head in the flowers.”
Genova almost objected, but she caught a warning look from her false beloved. She bit vengefully into cold beef.
“That Cupid is a damned awkward fellow,” Ashart said. “Here he is, preventing me from leaving Rothgar’s lair as soon as you are safe there.”
Genova swallowed a mouthful in a lump in order to argue, but Thalia exclaimed, “You will stay, Ashart? How delightful that will be! And it will give you and Beowulf a chance to make peace. Old disagreements should be put to rest.”
Ashart grimaced. “Don’t build your hopes, Thalia,” he said gently. “The problem has grown like a fungus in damp. Rothgar and I clash regularly over preferments at court, seats in Parliament, legislation, even purchases of art.”
Genova seized on that. “Then perhaps you shouldn’t come, my lord.” With a languishing look, she added, “Though of course it will pain me to part.”
Without disturbing his cool sophistication, Ashart managed to mirror her expression. “You are hardier than I, pandolcetta mia. To be apart from you would be more than I could bear.”
Little sweet bread, she thought with amusement. “But your presence might cause discord, dearest.”
“Fear not, beloved. Rothgar and I are experts at frigid navigation.”
Genova shivered at that image. She sipped coffee, searching for ways to change his mind. Impossible with Thalia, resilient as always, fighting on the other side. Even Lady Calliope was making no objection.
When word came that the coaches were ready, Genova accepted her fate. She saw one bright aspect. If the marquess stayed at Rothgar Abbey, she’d have time to persuade him to accept his duties. And after all, she wasn’t an inexperienced girl to be constantly a-tremor over a rake’s tricks.
Servants hurried in to swathe them all for the chilly moment between inn and coach. Ashart supplanted the maid waiting to assist Genova.
She could see no way to object, even when he stepped close behind her—closer than any servant would. He draped the cloak over her shoulders, sliding his hands forward to put the clasp into her hands close to her throat.
She swallowed, able to imagine herself wavering like a person seen through baking hot air.
A rake’s tricks!
She took the clasp and stepped away, fumbling in her attempt to fasten it. Only when she’d managed it did she turn.
A footman—one of his own, she reminded herself—was assisting Ashart with his riding cloak. Ashart clasped it at his neck, transforming before her eyes into the predatory stranger.
Danger. That awareness did not make him one jot less exciting. Quite the opposite, in fact. How could the physical be so at odds with the mind?
He pulled on leather gauntlets and escorted her out of the room and into the warm coach. Everyone was in place, including Sheena and the baby, who was awake and at his charming best.
Genova watched Ashart swing onto his horse, his cloak falling behind him. The breath of both horse and rider misted in the crisp morning air, which was hardly surprising. Only her disordered imagination saw the picture as hellish.
“So, shall we have a Christmas wedding?”
Oh, Lord. Genova turned to Thalia, feeling beleaguered by Trayces. “It’s too early to think about that.”
“Oh no, dear. Delay is such a mistake, and Christmas weddings are supposed to be blessed by good fortune.”
“I could never marry without my father present.”
“He could come! We could send this coach—which, as you see, is most comfortable—to bring him and your stepmother to the Abbey.”
“I believe my stepmother has seasonal entertainments—”
“Oh, fie on that! What could be more important than a wedding?”
Genova looked to Lady Calliope for help.
“Now, now, Thalia. We know your concerns, but you mustn’t press Genova so fiercely. She and Ashart have only just met.”
Thalia looked at her sister, appearing very young. “I only want them to be happy, Callie.”
“Yes, dear, I know. But you mustn’t meddle any further just yet.”
Genova relaxed, but she hadn’t missed that just yet.
Surely Lady Calliope could no more want such a misalliance than Ashart—but then, who could understand the Trayce family?
The head of the family rode in the bitterest weather. It was so cold that he’d pulled up the hood of his cloak, but he could have commanded a place inside this coach with a snap of his fingers. Sheena could be with the servants, or he could even have hired an additional vehicle.
It wasn’t natural. Hooded, she noted with a shiver, he looked positively ominous. Was that why she kept an eye on him all day between reading to the old ladies and playing whist?
No.
He rode ahead at one point. When they stopped shortly afterward to change horses and hot bricks, she realized that he’d taken the place of the running footman who usually went ahead to alert the next hostelry to be ready for them.
The same thing happened at the next stop, where they halted long enough for everyone to leave the coach and use the chamber pots. They lingered over cups of hot tea, in part to give the outside servants time to warm themselves. And the marquess, if he needed such human comforts.
She remembered her own words when Lynchbold had fretted about him. “The devil looks after his own.”
Hyperbole, but still, he was extraordinary. He dismounted at each stop as smoothly as he mounted, as if frigid air was nectar to him.
When they returned to the coach, Genova was alarmed to see him on the box, complex reins in hand.
She halted, thinking to protest, but could imagine how much good that would do.
She settled in the coach braced for disaster.
Men often fancied themselves as coachmen, but managing a coach and six was a challenging business.
She recognized his type now. For all his lazy sophistication, the Marquess of Ashart flared with excess energy. In battle such men were generally magnificent, but in dull times they could be a menace.
She prayed for a smooth road free of unexpected hazards. Whatever the cause, the party came to no harm, and stopped at the Sun at Mull Green for midday dinner no worse for noble steering.
Ashart dropped lightly down from the driving seat and escorted them into the inn. “Relieved to find yourself safe from the ditch, my dear?”
It was as if he could read her mind. Genova hurried after Thalia into a warm parlor and shed her cloak into waiting hands. As soon as Lady Calliope was carried in and settled at the table, they all set to, starting with oxtail soup.
“How much longer to our destination?” Lady Calliope asked, sounding weary. If she was letting it show, she must be feeling it deeply.
“Two hours if all goes well. We should arrive before dark, love.” Ashart sounded concerned, too.
He was genuinely fond of the old ladies, which was to his credit, but Genova knew that people could divide the world into boxes—some to love, some to hate, some to cherish, some to kill.
Ashart apparently put the Mallorens in the hate box, or at least into the category of those he would harm if he could. The story of Lady Augusta was very sad, but it should not be causing such bitterness a generation later. She disliked seeing lives disrupted by such a thing.
At a break in the conversation, she probed a little. “Since your families are so at odds, my lord, how do you think Lord Rothgar will react to your arrival? I hope there will be no unpleasantness.”
“Banish dull care, beloved. The nobility are trained in self-control. It is frowned upon to even sneeze in the royal presence.”
“It’s possible not to?” Genova asked, rising to get the main course.
“Oh, yes,” said Thalia. “It’s not easy, however.
I remember Lady Millicent Ffoulks. She had a cold, but Queen Anne would not excuse her.
She stuffed lumps of wool up her nose in the hope they would suppress a sneeze, but instead, when a sneeze overtook her, they shot across the room like pistol balls!
Poor Millicent was banished from court—though I think perhaps she didn’t mind. ”
Genova put down a chicken fricassee, then a dish of stewed peas. “I’m surprised that any but the desperate are willing to serve.”
Ashart raised a brow at her. “What if your father’s rise to admiral depended upon it?”
“Rank isn’t purchased in the navy as it is in the army.”
“But progress is often greased.”
She added a platter of fried potatoes to the table and sat, silently giving him that point. Her father’s career had been assisted by his second cousin, a viscount.
Talk progressed to other court matters, and Genova learned that both Trayce ladies had spent time as ladies-in-waiting, and that it had indeed been part of their duty to their family to try to be close to the monarch and promote Trayce interests.
She admitted to herself that such practices existed at all levels of society. There’d been many times when she and her mother had strained to please some high-ranking official or his wife because he could affect her father’s career.
She’d found it hard and gave thanks that court service and intrigue was not in her future—unless, she suddenly worried, the establishment of the great Marquess of Rothgar was a court of its own.
Oh, Lord, would she have to back out of his presence, stand and curtsy whenever he entered a room, and stifle the natural need to sneeze?
Genova had known lesser nobles who demanded almost as much, and the idea was one burden too many. She spent the rest of the journey with tension winding tight around her head.