“The rich and mighty should always remember the perils of their situation. Don’t you agree, Ashart?”
Despite a smile, the question was pointed. “Is it not the gods’ way, to bring low anything that threatens them in greatness?” Ash responded.
“And vengeance is mine, saith the Lord. Bread, Miss Smith?”
She declined, but was bold enough now to redirect the discussion. “I found Lord William de Malloren interesting, Lord Rothgar, if only because nothing unusual seemed to happen to him. We so rarely hear from the quiet voices of history.”
“And thus may have a false impression of the past.”
So, thought Ash. Was that supposed to mean that their family history was wrong?
“Stories about ordinary people would be tedious reading, wouldn’t they?” Maddie Knightsholme asked as the soup plates were taken away. She always liked to be the center of attention.
During the serving of the main courses, Ash had to deflect nosy questions from Miss Charlotte. Oyster stew, turbot, battalia pie. Beans. When he turned back, Miss Smith, Rothgar, and the Knightsholmes were talking about Italy.
“To think,” Ash said as he forked an oyster, “we might have met in Venice, my sweet. I was there in ’fifty-five.”
She looked at him, amused. “So was I, my lord, but I was only fourteen.”
“I’m sure you were delightful at fourteen.”
“I was a lanky tomboy.”
“Then at least I can say that you have improved with time.”
“A clever recovery, sir. And you? What were you like at eighteen?”
Maddie Knightsholme laughed at that. “Already a breaker of hearts, Miss Smith! We encountered Ashart in Naples, didn’t we, Rolo? Lethal, I assure you, in that Mediterranean heat.” She turned a sultry look on Rothgar. “I gather you, too, cut a swath through Europe in your day.”
“Maddie, you make me feel ancient. Even Ashart must be feeling the frost of time.”
“And we can’t have that. What would the world be without Ashart’s scandalous goings-on to amuse us?”
Maddie Knightsholme was a menace.
Miss Charlotte tittered. “Why, yes. I heard—”
Ash cut her off ruthlessly. “We could dine on stories about the Chevalier D’Eon.”
Maddie Knightsholme’s brows rose at his tone, but she addressed herself to her food. Miss Charlotte fell silent, too. Ash’s attention was on Rothgar. How would he react to that?
Sir Rolo, damn him, interrupted. “Aye, quite a state of things. I hear the new ambassador threw him out, but he refuses to go back to France, the impudent jackanapes. Be glad to see the back of him. Too much closeness to Their Majesties.”
Ash saw that Genova was looking puzzled and slightly shocked.
“You look confused, my dear. The Chevalier D’Eon was acting French ambassador until recently. He’s a most intriguing fellow and became a great favorite at court—especially with the queen.”
“Quite innocently,” Rothgar said in a warning tone.
“Oh, of course. However much in favor he was here, the same cannot be said of France, where he seems to have made enemies. Unwise, when he appears to have been misappropriating embassy funds.Strange,” Ash added, watching Rothgar, who he now knew had been the cause of the man’s downfall, “he seemed a clever fellow.”
“Clever enough to cut himself!” Sir Rolo declared, apparently oblivious to undercurrents. “Always the same with these fancy, tricksy ones. Give me bluff honesty. Gads, I heard the man wears dresses!”
The look on Genova’s face was priceless, and the moment to catch Rothgar unawares had passed.
“It’s true,” Ash told her. “I remember him at a ball in a stylish blue sacque, and in the park demure in gray and white.”
“Some sayheis in fact ashe,” said Miss Charlotte.
