Much time spent with Ashart, and that would be her fate.
“And mistletoe, of course!” called the young officer, winking at Miss Myddleton. She smiled, but her eyes slid again to Ashart.
The officer tried song.
Hey, ho, the mistletoe,
It’s off to the greenwood we do go.
My lady fine and I.
Other men joined in, singing to their partner. Miss Myddleton had to respond appropriately, as did Genova. She was helped by the fact that Ashart had an excellent baritone voice.
Hey, ho, the mistletoe bough,
That a daring lass stands under now
To tempt the man in her eye.
Hey, ho, the mistletoe kiss
That leads many men to wedded bliss
To a lady by and by.
“There’ll be mistletoe enough,” the countess assured everyone, laughing. “It only requires harvesting, and so, to work!”
“Not everyone is conscripted for hard labor,” Rothgar said as the company rose. “But we insist on the young bachelors taking part. The felling and handling of the Yule log requires their vigor.”
“Vigor?” Ashart queried.
“My lady tells me that in the north they believe that the more virile bachelors bring in the log, the more strength it bestows on the house in which it burns.”
“Then I wonder if I should contribute.”
An uneasy stillness rippled out from the two men. Despite high spirits, clearly everyone was aware of the enmity.
“I have wondered,” Rothgar said, “why this custom assumes that virile bachelors are preserving their vigor.”
Laughter shattered tension, and even Ashart smiled. “Then I will contribute my little all.”
Good humor restored, everyone flowed into the hall in a stream of chatter and laughter. Beneath it, however, ran the same sort of fever Genova had tasted once in Venice, during one of the wild festivals there. She remembered behaving then with a little less caution than she should.
She didn’t want to do this. She feared taking part in what was, in effect, a pagan ritual, where she’d be paired, she knew, with Ashart She glanced around and hurried after the Trayce ladies, who were entering the Tapestry Room.
Thalia spotted her and shooed her away. “Genova, what are you doing? You must go out with the young people!”
“I’m here to look after you—”
“Fie on that! There’s a footman near every door. Away with you.”
Genova retreated. She considered slipping away until everyone left, but she could imagine the result. Someone, probably Ashart, would start a hunt, and he’d know she was hiding specifically from him.
She went upstairs for her outdoor clothing, taking her time in the hope that the party might leave without her. When she returned to the stairs, however, people were still milling about in the hall.
Ah well, she thought as she went down, pulling on her gloves, she had guineas to earn and had thought of a way to speed the process.
Most of the ladies now wore cloaks or heavy caraco jackets. Most of the gentlemen wore long redingote coats. Everyone wore hats, gloves, and sturdy footwear. None of them looked the slightest like country laborers.
