“If we were saints, we’d clean it up. As it is, I intend to leave it until tomorrow.”
Genova suspected that plums might damage the wood if left that long, and resolved to deal with it. She wouldn’t bother him with it, however. It wasn’t his mess.
“What happened to Miss Myddleton?” she asked.
“After Fitzroger prevented her from trying to tear you from Ashart’s arms? She fell into a fit, and is now lying down with a vinegar cloth on her head, recovering from a momentary dementia brought on by greensickness.”
“That won’t work, will it? So many heard her.”
“All Mallorens. They will be discreet.”
“I feel a little sorry for her. I think the dowager did tell her she was to be his bride.”
“I’m sure of it.”
“I’m surprised Miss Myddleton doesn’t want to flee the house.”
“She did. I persuaded her otherwise.”
She frowned at him. “Is that kind?”
“It’s necessary. When she appears composed, and accepts your betrothal, people will adjust their memory. However, Uncle Henry and Aunt Jane can’t be pleasant guardians. It’s not surprising if Miss Myddleton is desperate to marry. Matters must be better arranged.”
She gave him a look. “Ensuring that the world turns smoothly, my lord?”
He smiled. “It’s a fatal obsession, Miss Smith. You are warned. Which reminds me, I must go among my guests and make sure the gossip is already growing in the right direction.”
Genova watched him go upstairs, presumably to the drawing room, then turned her mind to cleaning. The nursery and schoolroom were deserted, and they would have the necessaries. She hurried up there and returned victorious with a bucket and cloths, having filled the bucket with her own used washing water.
Ingenuity could solve most problems.
She had to duck out of the way before descending the last stairs, however, because Ash was escorting his grandmother up them.
The dowager looked fierce and unhappy, but even so, her love for Ash was obvious, and Genova loved him even more for his kindness to the old dragon.
Once they’d passed, she hurried down and cleaned up the mess she’d created, grinning at the memories. Without the happy result, the fight would still be a memory she’d cherish. How could she have known how much fun it would be? How could she find an excuse to do it again?
She turned with the bucket to see Ash staring at her. “What are you doing?”
“Cleaning up the mess we made.”
“There are servants…. No, not in this madhouse, of course. But really, Genni!”
She put down her bucket, eying him. “Am I not suited to be a marchioness, then?”
He came toward her. “You won’t trap me that way.”
She danced backward. “I was hoping for another fight.”
“You like cleaning?”
“I don’t mind. I’m not a fine lady, after all.”
“You’re a fine enough lady for me.”
“You’re mad.”
“It’s this house. It drives Trayces insane.”
