Pandolcetta mia…
Her stomach rumbled.
Genova laughed, glad that her wanton body still paid attention to honest hungers.
So, clothes. If Christmas traditions were followed here, today was for gathering greenery to bring into the house. Warm clothes, then.
Genova tapped on the closet door, then opened it, but Regeanne wasn’t there. She could dress herself in her simplest gowns and did so. She chose a plain closed dress of fawn-colored wool, adding warm woolen stockings and an extra flannel petticoat.
She gathered her hair into a simple knot, pushing aside the memory of last night, of Ashart holding pins in his beautiful hand. Of the touch of that hand…
Perish the man!
She fixed the knot, then pinned a small cap on top, thrusting one pin so hard she pricked herself. Tears threatened, and they weren’t from the pain.
Her stomach rumbled again. Hunger explained her weakness. How did she obtain breakfast in this house?
She eyed the bellpull, but she wasn’t familiar with that modern convenience. Besides, if she ordered breakfast here, she’d wake Thalia. She was reluctant to venture out into the strange house, but food must be available somewhere, and she would not be a timid mouse.
She wrapped her warm everyday shawl around her shoulders and left the room. If she didn’t find breakfast, she’d seek out the kitchens. She was close to a servant, after all, and bread and cheese would do.
She turned left. To her delight she remembered the way and soon arrived at the main staircase. The house seemed quiet, but she thought she could smell food somewhere and hear faint voices and rattles.
She went downstairs, fighting the feeling of being an intruder, wincing when her skirts brushed the banistersand stirred the tiny bells. She couldn’t help thinking of a cat being belled to stop it from pouncing on unwary birds.
At the bottom she looked around and noticed a powdered, liveried footman outside a door. He bowed. “Breakfast is served in here, mistress.”
She walked toward him, noticing that he wore gloves and a thick, quilted waistcoat. Lord Rothgar was a considerate master.
The footman opened the door at just the right moment so she could enter without much warm air escaping. A modest table was laid, and one man sat there, cup in hand, reading a magazine. The Marquess of Rothgar.
Groaning at her faux pas, Genova made to retreat, but he rose, smiling. “Miss Smith. Another early riser. Join me, please.”
Genova curtsied. “I’m sorry if I intrude, my lord.”
“The table is laid for a reason, and I prefer conversation, if it is available, to reading at breakfast. Of course,” he added, holding out the chair next to him in invitation, “if you cannot bear the thought, I shall have some reading matter brought for you.”
Genova sat, both unnerved and flattered. It was simple courtesy, of course, an obligation to make guests at ease, but she felt as if she was truly brightening his day.
He took his seat, ringing a golden bell by his plate. A footman appeared from the corner of the room as if by magic. Genova realized that there was a service entrance concealed by the paneling. There would be a serving pantry, and probably stairs from there to the kitchens. Beyond the magnificent scale of this house lay another world necessary for its functioning.
She requested eggs and chocolate. A platter of rolls already sat on the table, so she took one and buttered it.
Once the footman left, Rothgar said, “Tell me, Miss Smith, what is your opinion of Lady Booth Carew?”
Genova had expected polite talk about the weather, not this. “It is not my place….”
“Come now, didn’t you fight Barbary pirates? I’d think you could wield sharp-edged truth.”
She could hardly refuse, and owed Lady Booth Carew no charity. “Very well, my lord, she seemed a thoughtless, selfish woman. Even so, I’m shocked that she abandoned her baby to strangers.”
“Not all mothers are devoted, and of course, she may not have thought the child would end up with strangers.”
Delicately put, but the inference was familiar. “Lord Ashart.”
“Quite. He supports at least three bastards that I know of, but Lady Booth was optimistic if she thought he would support hers.”
The footman returned then, saving Genova from an immediate response. So, Lord Rothgar kept himself informed about his cousin. Sadly, her mind was stumbling over the fact that Ashart was known to have bastards. Ridiculous to be shocked or offended. He was a libertine and a rake, and at least he did support them.
