“In parts.” Genova was happy to entertain with her stories, however.
Lady Bryght didn’t only listen, so Genova learned a lot about the Malloren family. It was particularly interesting because it was an outsider’s view. LadyBryght, as she’d implied, came from a family that owned only a modest manor.
“Sometimes the Mallorens act as if they’re gods,” she remarked at one point. “Especially Rothgar. Don’t let him bully you.”
“He seems kind.”
“Oh, he is, but like all of us, he has many sides.” Genova was thinking about portraits when Lady Bryght added, “He killed a man in a duel earlier in the year.”
Genova said, “I read about it in the paper.”
She hoped for more detail, something to make it a noble act, but Lady Bryght frowned at the yard of creased red ribbon she’d freed. “I don’t think this has to be in very long lengths.” She produced small scissors from her pocket and snipped it. “Now that,” she said, “is a very Malloren solution.”
“With blades?”
“Sometimes.”
Genova met the other woman’s eyes. Lady Bryght might claim to be ordinary, but she was a Malloren. “Is that a warning, my lady?”
Fair freckled skin blushes easily. “Don’t let my chatter upset you, Miss Smith. Oh, we must not be so formal. May I call you Genova? I do wish you to call me Portia.”
It was all a move in a game, but again, Genova could hardly refuse. “Of course.”
“Excellent.” Portia began to wrap her length of ribbon around her fingers. “I probably understand how you feel here. My only touch with greatness before I met Bryght was that our property sat close to Walgrave Towers and we knew the family. And now Fort—Lord Walgrave—is my brother-in-law, which I never would have imagined. His father and Rothgar were dire enemies.”
“But they made peace?”
Was that a message of hope?
Portia’s hands stilled. “He died.”
“How?”
Portia’s eyes were wide, and Genova thought she wouldn’t answer, but then she said, “Suicide. Here, as it happens. Everyone knows about it.”
Despite that, Genova knew that revelation hadn’t been planned. She had the strange notion that a true Malloren would have handled it better.
“Elf—Lady Walgrave—is hoping for a Christmas baby,” Portia said, too brightly. “The midwife is in residence, but nothing is happening yet.”
It was a clumsy change of subject, but gave aft opening for a question that had been puzzling Genova. “Isn’t it strange to expect anaccouchementduring a house party?”
“Elf has always spent Christmas here and wished to again. And they’re making changes at Walgrave Towers.”
Was that adequate explanation? Especially when Lord Walgrave’s father had committed suicide here. She teased free a bit more ribbon while trying to frame a question about that.
“Of course Rothgar is pleased to have Elf here at this time,” Portia chattered. “Men do worry. Poor Bryght was in agonies because I’m so small, but Francis gave me no trouble at all.” Then she looked up, wide-eyed again. “I’m sorry. Married ladies aren’t supposed to discuss such matters with unmarried ones, but talking to you feels…different.”
“Different, I am,” Genova agreed wryly. “Being raised in ports and on naval ships has its effect.”
“But it’s delightful! I can see why Ashart was bowled over.”
“Almost literally,” Genova muttered, then felt herself blush.
“I’m sorry?”
“I mean it was doubtless very rash of us.”
“Which doesn’t mean it was unwise.” Portia tugged on her length of ribbon, tightening a central knot of red and green.
