“Why not stay?” Ash coaxed. “There are things to talk of.”
He was going to try to change her mind here, in front of a houseful of Mallorens? Genova had to fight a need to protest.
Lady Ashart felt no such restraint. “I wouldn’t stay in this house if it were the last one in England!”
“Oh, stop your foolery,” said a gruff voice. Lady Calliope was borne down the stairs by her servants, crowned by her monstrous red wig. It was a magnificent entrance.
“You’re here, Sophia, and your servants are in timefor a rollicking good party belowstairs, which they doubtless deserve if you’ve dragged them over three counties at Christmas.”
“That’s true,” said Thalia, appearing with a fan of cards in her hand. “What a shame to run away! A shame all around, for as Genova said, if anyone was ever at fault, they’re all dead now.”
“You always were a twit. And who the devil’s Genova?”
“My promised bride,” said Ash, taking Genova’s free hand in a way that showed the diamond ring.
If she’d not been burdened with a baby, she might have knocked him over with a buffet. As well that she didn’t. There was altogether too much firing already.
“What?” the dowager exclaimed and Genova understood why brave men quailed before her, “I heard the Myddleton chit was here.” The dowager’s eyes swept the room. “Where is she?”
“Here.” Damaris Myddleton walked forward and curtsied to the old lady. “I’m glad you’ve arrived, Lady Ashart. I haven’t known what to do.” She turned to face Ash and Genova, with a steady gleam of victory in her eyes. “As you know, my lady, Ashart is already promised to me.”
Chapter Forty-four
Silence fell except for the faint laughter and calls of children.
For a moment Genova believed it, but then she knew the claim was impossible. “You must be mistaken, Miss Myddleton.”
“Of course she is,” Ash snapped.
Damaris Myddleton laughed, cheeks fiery. “How could I be mistaken about that?” She swung to the dowager. “Is it not true?”
It seemed as if a hall full of avid listeners held their breath.
“Yes,” the dowager said.
Genova saw that Ash was frozen. He didn’t want to prove his grandmother a barefaced liar.
There was one way out of this disastrous moment. Genova saw Lady Arradale nearby and passed the baby to her. Then she turned on Ash.
“You rancid fish!”
He blinked at her.
“Scum on the sewer of life!”
“Genni…?”
She’d already noted the open door to the breakfast room, and now she ran for it. Clearly breakfast had been provided from yesterday’s food along with preserved fruits and such. There was a bit of everything.
“Genni, for God’s sake—”
He was close behind. She picked up a bowl of stewed plums, turned, and hurled the contents full at him. “You scurvy blackguard! I never want to see you again!”
He swept plums off his face. “Genova—”
She scooped out soft butter and threw. “Canker!” Cream. “Dunghill cock!” A jug of ale. “Strutting capon!”
“Capon!” he roared and threw himself at her so they tumbled squishily to the floor in the doorway.
