“But progress is often greased.”
She added a platter of fried potatoes to the table and sat, silently giving him that point. Her father’s career had been assisted by his second cousin, a viscount.
Talk progressed to other court matters, and Genova learned that both Trayce ladies had spent time as ladies-in-waiting, and that it had indeed been part of their duty to their family to try to be close to the monarch and promote Trayce interests.
She admitted to herself that such practices existed at all levels of society. There’d been many times when she and her mother had strained to please some high-ranking official or his wife because he could affect her father’s career.
She’d found it hard and gave thanks that court service and intrigue was not in her future—unless, she suddenly worried, the establishment of the great Marquess of Rothgar was a court of its own. Oh, Lord, would she have to back out of his presence, stand and curtsy whenever he entered a room, and stifle the natural need to sneeze?
Genova had known lesser nobles who demanded almost as much, and the idea was one burden too many. She spent the rest of the journey with tension winding tight around her head.
Chapter Twelve
The first warning of arrival was the sight of the running footman passing, the setting sun glinting off his gold-knobbed staff. He was speeding ahead to announce their arrival, and this time Ashart did not supplant him. He rode beside the main coach, looking straight ahead, face still.
Was he braced for battle or intent on causing it?
What, Genova suddenly wondered, was his true purpose in planning to stay? She knew their betrothal was merely an excuse, but one he’d seized on.
As they trundled through open gates, a horn blasted to alert the great house just visible through bare-branched trees. Rothgar Abbey was probably built of pale stone, but sunset’s fire turned it gold and gilded roofs and chimneys. The same magic washed over rolling hills, stands of evergreens, lawns, lakes, and picturesque classical delights.
She recognized a park carefully created for delight, but the effect was of countryside in natural perfection. Even so, Genova’s tension didn’t release.
Perhaps Sheena shared her feelings, for she clutched Genova’s hand. Genova was touched by her faith, but feared she’d be a leaky lifeboat in these waters.
Thalia had no apparent concerns. “What a delightful park! Even in winter. An excellent balance of evergreens and other trees. And deer. I do love deer! Oh, look at that Chinese bridge. Howverypleasing. And a Grecian temple. I do hope the weather will be mild enough to permit strolls!”
She turned to Genova. “I have never been herebefore, you know, so this is such a treat. And for Christmas. I have heard that dear Beowulf celebrates Christmas in the grand manner.”
That was what Genova feared.
“You’d better call him Rothgar, Thalia,” Lady Calliope said. “He’s a man now.”
Thalia pouted. “Oh, I suppose you are right, but I remember the sweet child.” She looked at Genova. “He was Lord Grafton then, of course, but I have never thought it right to call a dear, sweet child by a title. Such a smile he had! And so clever. His parents doted on him….”
Memories turned her eyes sad in the way only old eyes can be. “Such a sorry business. And it happened here.”
Genova looked at the approaching gilded house with new trepidation.
“Don’t stir old ghosts,” Lady Calliope commanded.
“I’ll try not to, Callie. But ababy…” Thalia leaned over and patted the blankets around sleeping Charlie. “Perhaps the fact that we bring one will help.”
The coach halted at the base of a double sweep of steps. Servants stood ready for them—maids in white aprons and mobcaps, and footmen in blue-and-gold livery and powdered hair. They must all have felt the cold, but Genova couldn’t see shivers. At least they all wore gloves.
One of the footmen put down steps and opened the coach door. Genova climbed out first, then stepped aside so Thalia and Sheena could descend. Lady Calliope would have to wait for her chair and porters.
Sheena was clutching both baby and bundle despite offers from servants to take one or both. Genova took the bundle and stayed close, trying soothing words. “It will be all right, Sheena.”
But she didn’t like to promise what she couldn’t be sure to provide.
“What a splendid journey, my dear boy! I am not at all fatigued.” Thalia was beaming at Ashart, who had dismounted and joined them.
He looked at Genova. “And you, beloved?”
She wasn’t imagining the danger. He was primed for battle, too.
And he, in his dark mood and his dark cloak, was framed against his frivolous, indulgent chariot. The contrast perplexed her and she had to ask, “That vehicle is truly yours, my lord?”
