Chapter Twenty-nine
E veryone caught up with her and she let herself be enveloped by the merry group as they entered through the main doors. She laughed with them, teased and flirted, as they all piled their mistletoe and herbs with the holly and ivy near the Yule log.
The marble hall was brilliant with vibrant life.
Excited voices seemed to bounce off the walls and return threefold, and the light from hundreds of candles blazed off crystal chandeliers.
A servant took Genova’s outerwear, and it was certainly warm enough with so many people and so many candles, even though the grate was empty, awaiting the log.
She accepted a mug of mulled cider and warmed her hands on it, blocking all thoughts of what had happened out there, but she couldn’t keep her eyes off Ash.
He stood near the log, drinking, laughing, presumably debating how to get the log off its felt cloth and into the fireplace.
He was so good at masking his feelings. It was probably the result of lifelong training for court, where a person wasn’t allowed to even sneeze.
Of a life, as he’d said, lived on the edge.
How could she know the real man when he wore so many layers of artifice?
She knew, however, that at moments today he’d revealed the truth.
Damaris Myddleton, hovering near Ash, was not good at masking her feelings. Perhaps she was what he needed, though. Someone who would be satisfied with lord and husband, and wouldn’t drag him to the edge of the emotions.
Emotions, oceans. She suddenly saw the edge like the place where the oceans kissed the earth. Not apparently dramatic, and yet a complete change…
“Genova! Genova, dear!”
She turned to see Thalia waving from across the hall. Lady Calliope was with her, pushed by a footman. Genova hurried toward a safe haven.
“How splendid!” Thalia exclaimed. “And mistletoe. Plenty of berries, too! Always a good sign.”
“Sign of a harsh winter,” grumbled Lady Calliope. “Steer some of that punch over here, Genova.”
Genova beckoned one of the footmen carrying trays of glasses and passed two drinks over. “Christmas blessings,” she said, raising her own glass.
“And many of them!” Thalia declared, draining half in a gulp.
Lady Calliope drank but didn’t say anything.
“Is something the matter, Lady Calliope?” Genova asked. “Are you in pain?”
“No more than usual.” She looked up. “Ashart’s not for you, Genova, so don’t do anything foolish.”
Genova couldn’t stop her face flaming.
Thalia exclaimed, “Callie!”
“Of course he isn’t,” Genova said, as calmly as she could.
“I’d say this betrothal was a folly of Thalia’s making except that the Oliphants heard the story on their way here.
Fat, red-nosed fellow over there and his gaunt wife.
Encountered the Brokesbys in London and heard the wondrous tale of Ashart’s betrothal to his great-aunts’ companion, along with hints of lewdness.
Probably all the worse for being vague.”
Genova looked at the middle-aged couple, wishing them to Hades.
“No one will think too much of it, dear,” said Thalia, “now you are engaged to marry.”
“And when that ends, I’ll be a fool who permitted too many liberties.”
“It’ll blow over,” Lady Calliope said brusquely, “and it’ll be a feather in your cap to have interested him at all. As long as you don’t fall into folly over it.”
Genova knew exactly what she meant, but said, “I am not the sort to fall into folly.”
“No, thank Zeus. Unlike that Miss Myddleton. Silly piglet. But he might as well let her catch him. She’s from a good enough family and rich.”
“I do think it a shame,” Thalia said with a pout.
“There’s a light in the darkness.” Lady Calliope looked up at Genova.
“We’re hoping we can persuade you to live in our house in Tunbridge Wells, dear.
To continue as companion. You’ll have a room of your own, and a maid, and all comforts.
I’m sure it won’t last past the spring, when the Wells is alive with eligible gentlemen, but we would enjoy your company. ”
Genova looked away, swallowing tears, touched but embarrassed. This was an offer made out of pity, a salve to her wounded heart. She must have been as transparent as Damaris Myddleton, and she hated that.
What’s more, she couldn’t take the kind offer. She couldn’t live where she might meet Ash, perhaps even be expected to dance at his wedding.
She was saved from having to respond by a bump on her leg. She steadied little Francis Malloren, who seemed intent on Lady Calliope’s chair. He toddled on and arrived at the old lady’s blanketed knees.
“G’day,” he said, beaming, with no hint of shyness.
A flustered maid rushed after. “I’m so sorry, milady! This is Master Francis Malloren, milady.”
Genova braced to deal with harshness, but Lady Calliope looked the boy in the eye. “And what attracts you to an old crone, Master Francis Malloren, when there are mince pies and sugarplums to be had?”
The boy patted her lap. “Up!”
A chuckle rumbled. “A Malloren through and through. Lift him up then, girl, and we’ll tour this mayhem together. Off you go, Genova, and enjoy yourself. But take care.”
Thalia linked arms with Genova. “Do let’s help with the mistletoe, dear!”
Genova might have tried to slip to the edges of the room—another sort of edge—but Thalia headed straight for the middle, where the ladies were making bundles of greenery to place around the hall.
Genova noted that they were tying it up with new ribbons, so frugality had lost that battle. But then, that had only been a pretext.
During that chat with Portia, she’d been informed that the Mallorens were ordinary people beneath the glitter, but that Lord Rothgar was ruthless in protecting them and their interests. Why inform her, however? Did they overestimate her influence to that extent?
No longer. She’d told Portia the truth about the engagement. Thank heavens for that. She would not be a pawn in this game.
“Perhaps I might even get a kiss,” Thalia said, looking up at a huge bouquet of mistletoe that had just been hung from the central chandelier, low enough for the gentlemen to pluck the berries. “I’m sure Richard wouldn’t mind.”
Genova steered Thalia under there, looking for a suitable gentleman. Her eyes fixed on Ash because she caught him looking at her. Her heart skipped a beat, with no conscious control at all.
After a still moment, she mimed her request.
He looked puzzled, but then came toward them, smiling. He still wore the plain riding clothes in which she’d first seen him, but he was all beau, all courtier, as he bowed. He could have been in powder, satin, and lace.
“Why, Thalia, if you don’t want to be thoroughly kissed, this is most careless of you.”
Thalia laughed with delight. “You naughty boy, but I am caught, indeed I am!”
She presented a cheek, but he swept her into his arms and planted a kiss solidly on her lips. She emerged with high color that was entirely natural, and with a beaming smile that was brighter than any Genova had seen on her.
She feared her own smile was as wide. No matter what his faults, the Marquess of Ashart could be exceedingly kind.
As he plucked a berry from the bunch, Thalia said, “What a charming rascal you are, Ashart!” But then she tugged Genova under the branch. “And here is your reward.”
Genova could hardly resist. They were the center of all eyes, including the Oliphants’. She wanted to refuse, though. Mistletoe kisses seemed sour when put against her confused but profound feelings.
He took her hand, but only to pull her away from the bough. “A man needs no excuse to kiss his future bride, Thalia, so I’ll preserve the berries for less fortunate gentlemen.”
A buzz said some had not heard the news. People nearby congratulated them, wishing them well, but Genova saw much astonishment. She hoped her blushes were taken for maidenly delight and was grateful when Ash drew her away from the hub.
“I hate this,” she said.
“Do you want to break it off now? It’s too early, but we can cope.”
He was serious. She shook her head. “As you say, it’s too early. We might as well play the game to its end. This feels like a lie, though. I don’t like to lie.”
He took her hand. “Then consider us betrothed for a little while. I certainly haven’t promised anyone here that I’ll actually marry you. Have you sworn to marry me?”
He was making her smile. “No.”
“You see. All is easy.”
Easy? Hardly, but good humor made it easier to express her thoughts. “I’m sorry for what I said earlier. It was unfair.”
“No, it wasn’t. I should have realized what your experiences might have been. You awe me.”
She shook her head. “Don’t. There’s nothing extraordinary about my life.”
“Perhaps I have lost touch with what women can be.”
“Any woman, Ash. Don’t forget, the edge can be found in the simplest places. In a room with an idea. In a kitchen with a pot, in a nursery with a child. Women who fight Barbary pirates aren’t better than those who tend their families at home.”
“But you,” he said simply, “are you.”
She looked at him, breathless, but then it was as if a shutter closed. He looked away, then said, “There’s the maid and baby.”