Lawrence translated, clearly urging. Sheena whipped off her mobcap and apron, and hand in hand they hurried away.
“And may they enjoy themselves,” Genova said to the baby as she carried him downstairs. “Now you’re to behave yourself, Charlie. It’s true that perhaps Lord Rothgar won’t be hurt by your wailing, but it’s never pleasant, so be good.”
To amuse him, she brushed by the tinkling bells all the way down the staircase, then she wondered where to go. She wanted to avoid Ash, but there was no point in that, either. He couldn’t be avoided entirely unless she ran away.
Sounds of childish laughter drew her to the Tapestry Room, and she found it had become a temporary nursery. A gaggle of children was playing under the eyes of various women, some of them looking more comfortable with the situation than others. She notedthat the older guests had taken themselves elsewhere, and it was not surprising. Mayhem threatened.
She retreated. It didn’t seem suitable for a tiny infant. She almost collided with Ash.
They stepped back from each other as if pushed by a spring, and an awkward silence settled. She’d throw the grand disengagement fight now if she didn’t have a baby in her arms.
“I’m looking after Charlie,” she said, managing a smile, “so Sheena and Lawrence can enjoy themselves with the servants.”
“I see.” He looked at the baby. “Strange, but though I never thought him mine, I feel an interest. I thought of asking the young man if he wanted employment. He seems loyal and enterprising.”
It wasn’t hard to smile at him then. “That’s a kind thought. They might want to return to Ireland, though.”
“True. I should be able to arrange something for them there, I suppose. I have to make up for my many sins in some way.”
He looked as if he was seeking words. She couldn’t bear more apologies.
She stepped aside. “I’m blocking your way, but it’s mayhem in there.”
“So I gather. Genni…”
There was a sudden pounding on the door.
“Good Lord,” he said, turning. “Are we invaded?”
“No servants, remember.” They were alone in the hall, so Genova thrust the baby at him. “Here. I’ll open it.”
She was halfway there when Lord Rothgar overtook her. “Permit me.”
He swung open the door to reveal a man in a heavy caped cloak, who instantly stepped aside to reveal a short woman swathed in a blue, fur-lined cloak.
“Grandmother,” said Rothgar, sounding genuinely at a loss. “What a delightful surprise.”
“Out of my way!” she snapped. She marched forward and the marquess obeyed.
“Where is my grandson?” The dowager marchioness stopped dead. “By gemini, Ashart, what folly have you sunk to now?”
Genova hurried over and grabbed the baby. “It’s not his—it’s mine!”
She realized that didn’t sound right, but she didn’t want to be the cause of more trouble. She had the distinct impression that if the Dowager Marchioness of Ashart had a cannon, she’d be firing it.
The old lady didn’t, however, look like Loki. She was short and round, and soft white curls bubbled out from a lace-frilled cap topped by a mannish but elegant three-cornered hat. The cap was tied beneath her double chin with bright blue ribbons.
Her eyes were formidable enough, however, when she glared at Ash. “What are youdoinghere? You’ll drive me to my grave!”
People were coming out of rooms to see what was going on. Genova wanted to gag the impossible old woman.
Ash walked toward her, seemingly at ease. “Celebrating, Grandy.” He bent to kiss her cheek. “Merry Christmas.”
She pushed him away. “Fiddle-faddle. Come. We are leaving.”
“Is that the royalwe?”
The dowager stared at him, and Genova was surprised not to see steam.
