Chapter Twelve
T he first warning of arrival was the sight of the running footman passing, the setting sun glinting off his gold-knobbed staff. He was speeding ahead to announce their arrival, and this time Ashart did not supplant him. He rode beside the main coach, looking straight ahead, face still.
Was he braced for battle or intent on causing it?
What, Genova suddenly wondered, was his true purpose in planning to stay? She knew their betrothal was merely an excuse, but one he’d seized on.
As they trundled through open gates, a horn blasted to alert the great house just visible through bare-branched trees.
Rothgar Abbey was probably built of pale stone, but sunset’s fire turned it gold and gilded roofs and chimneys.
The same magic washed over rolling hills, stands of evergreens, lawns, lakes, and picturesque classical delights.
She recognized a park carefully created for delight, but the effect was of countryside in natural perfection. Even so, Genova’s tension didn’t release.
Perhaps Sheena shared her feelings, for she clutched Genova’s hand. Genova was touched by her faith, but feared she’d be a leaky lifeboat in these waters.
Thalia had no apparent concerns. “What a delightful park! Even in winter. An excellent balance of evergreens and other trees. And deer. I do love deer! Oh, look at that Chinese bridge. How very pleasing. And a Grecian temple. I do hope the weather will be mild enough to permit strolls!”
She turned to Genova. “I have never been here before, you know, so this is such a treat. And for Christmas. I have heard that dear Beowulf celebrates Christmas in the grand manner.”
That was what Genova feared.
“You’d better call him Rothgar, Thalia,” Lady Calliope said. “He’s a man now.”
Thalia pouted. “Oh, I suppose you are right, but I remember the sweet child.” She looked at Genova. “He was Lord Grafton then, of course, but I have never thought it right to call a dear, sweet child by a title. Such a smile he had! And so clever. His parents doted on him….”
Memories turned her eyes sad in the way only old eyes can be. “Such a sorry business. And it happened here.”
Genova looked at the approaching gilded house with new trepidation.
“Don’t stir old ghosts,” Lady Calliope commanded.
“I’ll try not to, Callie. But a baby…” Thalia leaned over and patted the blankets around sleeping Charlie. “Perhaps the fact that we bring one will help.”
The coach halted at the base of a double sweep of steps. Servants stood ready for them—maids in white aprons and mobcaps, and footmen in blue-and-gold livery and powdered hair. They must all have felt the cold, but Genova couldn’t see shivers. At least they all wore gloves.
One of the footmen put down steps and opened the coach door. Genova climbed out first, then stepped aside so Thalia and Sheena could descend. Lady Calliope would have to wait for her chair and porters.
Sheena was clutching both baby and bundle despite offers from servants to take one or both. Genova took the bundle and stayed close, trying soothing words. “It will be all right, Sheena.”
But she didn’t like to promise what she couldn’t be sure to provide.
“What a splendid journey, my dear boy! I am not at all fatigued.” Thalia was beaming at Ashart, who had dismounted and joined them.
He looked at Genova. “And you, beloved?”
She wasn’t imagining the danger. He was primed for battle, too.
And he, in his dark mood and his dark cloak, was framed against his frivolous, indulgent chariot. The contrast perplexed her and she had to ask, “That vehicle is truly yours, my lord?”
His brows rose. “You think I stole it?”
“No, but…Thalia says you never travel by coach.”
“Rarely,” he corrected. “That coach was my father’s. He was a different sort of man.”
A clear explanation released some of her tension. Perhaps she was overwrought because of nerves. “It was kind to give your great-aunts the use of it.”
“I merely pay the bills.”
“You could have refused.”
He smiled slightly. “Refuse Thalia? Impossible.”
That was true. Thalia was so sweet and good-natured, so innocent, that it was impossible to refuse her anything. Genova prayed the Dark Marquess would feel the same way.
Thalia exclaimed, “Callie is out at last! Come along, do, everyone, before we all freeze!”
She trotted toward the steps like an eager child, and Genova urged Sheena after. Perhaps she should have sent maid and baby around to the back with the coaches and other servants, but she hated to let the pair out of her sight until she was sure they were safe.
“Great-aunt Thalia.”
Genova looked up to see that a man had come out of the house to greet them at the top of the steps.
Could this man in casual country style be the ominous Marquess of Rothgar? His breeches and jacket were of nut-brown cloth, his waistcoat buff. Only moderate lace showed at neck and wrists, and he wore his dark hair simply tied back.
What? Had she thought the high aristocracy wore robes and coronets every day?
No, but he lacked any hint of arrogance, madness, or deadly intent. Thalia went straight to him, gloved hands outstretched “Beowulf! How splendidly you’ve grown!”
Was that a twitch of wild humor as Lord Rothgar took Thalia’s hands and kissed both? Then he pulled her closer and bent to kiss her cheek.
“I’m sorry you missed the stages of it,” he said, surely with a twinkle in his eye.
Genova could have laughed at her own folly. Where had all those dark dramas come from? But then Lord Rothgar’s eyes swept over the rest of the party, and chilled at sight of Ashart.
Genova held her breath, praying. She suddenly realized that if Lord Rothgar barred his enemy from his house, the Trayce ladies might refuse to enter, too. It would break their hearts, but more to the point it might kill Lady Calliope, who needed rest and care.
After a still moment, Lord Rothgar bowed to Ashart, then escorted Thalia into the house. Genova thanked God. A host of problems still remained, but they could all stay.
They entered a grand chamber that rose up past gilded stairs and balustrades to a skylight in the roof, through which the last of the golden sun spilled to light a floor rich with inlaid woods.
The walls held alcoves marked off by marble pillars of cream and gold.
A pale classical statue stood in each, and Genova suspected the sculptures were truly from ancient times.
It was awe-inspiring, but the effect was shockingly disarmed by Christmas decorations. Colored cords and golden ornaments decorated balustrades and pillars, marble fireplace and carved picture frames. There must be bells, too, for the draft of their entrance had stirred a delicate chiming.
Dishes of gilded nuts and fruit, both fresh and dried, stood on all surfaces, as if guests must be offered instant hospitality.
Logs crackled and roared in the huge marble fireplace, fighting the chill in the enormous space, but not quite succeeding.
Even with a Malloren, apparently, not everything was possible.
However, a powerful sense of welcome helped Genova relax. This was certainly no rigid court. A glance showed that it was terrifying Sheena, however, so Genova stayed close, wondering what to do. Where in this house did such a child belong?
She looked for a suitable servant but saw only statuelike, liveried footmen. Then her eyes settled on the woman who was warmly greeting Thalia.
She must be the marchioness, but she, too, was in simple clothes—a blue gown with modest ruffles, and a large shawl.
The lovely design and the way it draped told Genova it probably cost more than her own entire wardrobe.
Even so, Lady Rothgar seemed as ordinary as her gown, being brown-haired and of average build.
As Genova observed her, however, she recognized a presence, an air of command. She remembered Thalia saying that Lord Rothgar had married that rarest of creatures, a countess in her own right. Perhaps Genova wouldn’t approach her, either. Should she ask Thalia to raise the subject?
With a thump, Lady Calliope’s chair was put down next to Genova, and Lord Rothgar came over to kiss the old lady’s cheek. “You’re a most redoubtable woman, Great-aunt Calliope.”
The old lady looked shrunken, but she was gruff as usual. “Always have been. Stupid, though, to have let matters come to this pass.”
“Folly all around.” Lord Rothgar’s eyes moved with a question to Genova and her charges, but then on. From his expression, she knew Ashart had come to her side.
Rothgar bowed. “Cousin, you are most welcome.”
That was clear enough.
Ashart swept a bow of his own. “How could I resist, especially when I bring mysteries and complexities?”
Lord Rothgar smiled. “We thrive on mysteries and dine on complexities.”
Despite the smile, a tingling tension clamped the back of Genova’s neck. She last remembered feeling like this when their limping ship had caught sight of those Barbary corsairs.