“The sooner peace is settled, the better.”
“We agree entirely.”
We.
Genova glanced at Ash. He was about to kiss Miss Myddleton beneath the mistletoe!
Before Genova could excuse herself, Lord Walgrave came over to his wife. “You must be tired, love. Come and sit down.”
“Don’t fuss. If anything I’m restless. If my hips didn’t ache, I’d go for a long walk.”
“Heaven help us, isn’t that typical of a Malloren?” Lord Walgrave addressed that humorously to Genova, making it hard for her to move away, and if she did, what could she do?
“They say my mother walked miles every day when she was carrying children,” Lady Elf protested, “and she bore them without trouble, even Cyn and I.” She put a hand to her back. “I must say I hoped to be sharing Christmas with my baby, rather than with a sore back and hips.”
“My mother said she felt the same about me,” Genova said, stealing glances at the mild kiss, “and it came true.”
“You were a Christmas baby?”
Genova realized what she’d done and tried to think of an evasion.
“When’s your birthday?”
She could hardly lie. “Today, just. A half hour before midnight, or so I am told.”
Lady Elf clapped her hands. “Diana! It’s Geneva’s birthday. We must have a birthday ball!”
Genova tried to protest, but was ignored.
“But of course!” said Lady Arradale, coming over. “I intended an informal hop once the work is done, but this will make it special. To the ballroom, everybody!”
Genova could do nothing but allow herself to be swept by the company up the stairs and into a grand ballroom already transformed. She gaped at a miraculous illusion of a village in the mountains.
The open floor was dusted with chalk, which gave the look of snow, and surrounded by small, steep-roofed cottages. They would be big enough only for a couple to sit in, but in proportion to everything else, they looked full-size.
Miniature fir trees in pots created the effect of forest around the cottages, and that was continued bytrees painted on cloths hung on the walls, cloths that ended in white peaks, like mountains. They sparkled in the light of three chandeliers, as if they truly were snowcapped.
“It’s amazing,” Genova said.
“It has worked out well, hasn’t it?” Lady Arradale was beside her. “The true ball will be tomorrow, Christmas Day, but everyone deserves some merriment now.”
Music started. Genova saw that six musicians had taken their places in a greenery-hung gallery. Lord Rothgar took Genova’s hand and led her into the center of the room. “This is Miss Smith’s birthday ball, so she must call the first dance and choose her partner.”
Pinned firmly at the very heart of this artificial, glittering world, Genova was struck by panic. Lady Arradale had talked of an informal hop, but this seemed very formal to her. She didn’t know what dances were suitable here. She was going to embarrass herself.
And she’d dreamed she could fit in!
“I will drink poison if you choose anyone but me, beloved,” Ash said, coming forward to take her hand. “Especially as you have stationed yourself beneath some mistletoe.”
Genova looked up and realized that she was exactly under a mistletoe bough that hung from the central chandelier—and that Lord Rothgar had placed her there. She shot him a glance before moving into Ash’s arms.
He drew her close, but just before his lips touched hers, he murmured, “Call for the ‘Merry Dancers.’”
She kissed him back, her love greater because of gratitude. He’d realized her predicament and solved it.
Her doubts fled. This had to be right.
She tried to read his expression, but it could mean anything or nothing. He reached up and plucked a berry, but then took something out of his pocket.
