“But the girl can share the trundle bed with Regeanne,” said Thalia with a careless flutter of her hand. “Enough interruptions. Back to the game!”
The trundle bed was almost as big as the one it fit under, but Regeanne would not like it. It was the better option, however, so Genova dealt the next hand.
Ashart, however, rose. “Your indulgence, my dears, but I must check tomorrow’s arrangements. I’ll be back shortly.”
Thalia didn’t pout. Instead she beamed after him. “Isn’t he the dearest boy?”
Genova couldn’t stop herself. “He’s a rake, and he’s Charlie’s father, and he plans to abandon him like a worn-out shoe!”
Thalia looked at her, eyes wide and serious. “Oh, no, dear. A Trayce would never abandon his responsibilities.”
“And you said yourself that the supposed Mrs. Dash was not a reliable woman,” Lady Calliope pointed out. “Why believe her?”
“A point,” Genova conceded, frowning, “but what mother would abandon her child to strangers in this way?”
“It’s exactly what she has done, though, isn’t it? Whatever the truth behind this story, Lady Booth Carew is not here.”
Genova couldn’t argue with that.
Thalia gathered in the cards and laid out a game of patience, though her manner could not be called patient. She twitched for whist like a whippet eager fora walk. Genova felt more like a ship caught in a maelstrom, spinning out of control.
They would arrive at Rothgar Abbey, home of the possibly deranged and murderous Dark Marquess, with a mysterious, misbegotten baby in the party. And, she now realized, with Lord Rothgar’s cousin Ashart, who was apparently his mortal enemy!
She looked at the two old ladies, wishing she could see their unconcern as reassuring. Instead, it seemed like further evidence of family insanity.
Ashart returned and the game resumed. Seeing no alternative, Genova focused her mind on the cards. The one thing guaranteed to irritate was careless play. After a while, Ashart ordered rum punch. It was delicious but Genova only sipped at it. She had no intention of growing tipsy in this company.
Both old ladies drank deeply, but it had no noticeable effect until Lady Calliope slipped into sleep between one trick and the next. Genova sent for her menservants to carry her chair into her bedroom, relieved that the evening was finally over.
But then she recalled that Ashart would be coming upstairs with her and Thalia. Could he not sleep in this parlor? A question revealed that Lady Calliope’s two menservants slept here in order to be to hand.
That left no choice. A nobleman would not deign to sleep with lowly servants. While Ashart helped tipsy Thalia up the stairs, Genova followed with assorted items.
They entered the parlor, which was now a bedroom. A plain mattress was made up with sheets and blankets. A punch bowl and glasses sat on the hearth. Lynchbold was doing his best to make up for the inadequate room, but Genova didn’t think anyone needed more spirits.
The table had been turned into a washstand, with bowl, mirror, and towels. Leather saddlebags lay nearby, and the great cloak was spread over a chair, damp fur giving a predatory presence.
Thalia wove toward the table. “Three-handed whist?”
Oh, no. Genova dumped the things in her hands in order to steer Thalia into the bedchamber. When she finally shut the door, she sagged against it in relief.
Ridiculous to think she was in danger. Be he wicked as Lucifer, the marquess would not try to rape her in his great-aunt’s bed. But that wasn’t the peril, and she knew it. The danger came from the sizzle in her blood, from the way she responded to even a look, from the way she lusted for another fight.
Regeanne came over to help Thalia to bed and, thank heavens, didn’t look too put out over the baby. When the Frenchwoman whispered to be quiet, so as not to disturb thepetit ange, Genova decided there might be hope of peace there, at least.
Sheena O’Leary and Charlie Carew were already fast asleep on the trundle, looking like innocent angels. But, Genova realized, a wet nurse could hardly be innocent. Sheena must have borne a child—and that baby had almost certainly died.
Some wet nurses fed two. Some gave their child to another mother’s care in order to earn the higher wages given to a nurse who devoted herself to her employer’s baby. Neither seemed likely here, and Genova’s heart clenched with pity.
It seemed unlikely that Sheena was married, so the poor girl must have suffered the shame of carrying an illegitimate baby, then the grief of losing it.
No wonder she’d seized the chance to escape and earn her keep this way. Poor, poor Sheena, especially as she seemed to have transferred all her mother love to little Charlie.
That left Genova no choice. She vowed that Lord Ashart’s innocent son and Sheena would be safe and together, even if she had to use her pistol.
Chapter Eight
The baby’s catlike warble woke Genova for the second time. She was hard to disturb from sleep, but something about the cry of a baby could do it. A soft Gaelic murmur beyond the closed bed-curtains would be accompanied by the presentation of a milk-filled breast. Peace returned.
