“Oh!” Arabella exclaimed, a soft smile spreading across her features. She looked, if anything, quite relieved. “That is kind. Only if you're sure..?”
“I am sure,” she said decisively. She shot a look across the table at Adair as she said it. He was looking at his plate, face neutral.
That surprised you, didn't it?
She was surprised to feel a stab of satisfaction at that fact. She hadn't realized how his bland aloofness had been bothering her, especially when combined with the stares and the desire to talk.
The man was an enigma. An annoying one, with the same relentless pull on the mind as a loose tooth – hard to stop oneself from working at it, trying to get it out.
The fellow was one puzzle she could shelve, however. Better by far to watch him when he's distracted by something else: more likely to reveal something then.
“So you'll help me in the parlor, later?” Arabella asked hopefully, interrupting her thoughts.
“I would be happy to,” Genevieve said sincerely. She was pleased by the broad smile her cousin gave her.
“That's dear of you, cousin. I'll be so pleased for your company. And you can meet Mirelle! How nice.”
Genevieve nodded, smiling, and reached for her tea. She felt warmth in her heart at the prospect – she would be pleased to meet her youngest cousin.
After breakfast, the guests headed their separate ways. Richard left first, apologizing and heading down to the landholdings.
Arabella pushed back her chair next, smiling at all the guests. “Well! I should get an early start on the preparations. I look forward to seeing you all in the hall for a gathering later.”
“Yes, milady,” Ascott nodded politely. “We'll be pleased to join you then.”
Adair just nodded. Again, Genevieve felt that strange prickle of impatience. What was all this about? How was it that he could be so taciturn, so impolite, and nobody so much as blinks an eye?
She glanced at Arabella, who seemed utterly oblivious to her guest's ill manners.
Frowning, she glanced back at Adair. This time, he was looking at her. He turned away too quickly for her to catch the expression on his face. She raised a brow, surprised.
Why was he paying her so much attentiveness?
The gentlemen both stood as Arabella did so, murmuring their excuses.
“I should dress for riding,” Ascott said softly. “Pray excuse me. Lady Arabella, Lady Genevieve.”
Arabella curtseyed as he bowed and Genevieve, still sitting, nodded. Adair followed him out through the door, nodding on his way out. Arabella nodded back, genial.
“Right,” she said, turning to Genevieve with a beam. “Let's go and meet my daughter.”
“Yes,” Genevieve nodded, pushing back her chair and standing, following her cousin out. She wanted so badly to ask her about Adair, and why everyone tolerated his oddness, but she sensed this was the wrong time to inquire.
She followed Arabella up the stairs and to the parlor. She stopped in the doorway, staring.
In a high crib by the fire sat a small child with a face like a little cherub from a painting. The baby beamed and held out a hand to Arabella, who went to her, gentle face radiant.
“Mirrie!” she said, reaching for the little girl and planting a resounding kiss on her smooth cheek. “Oh, my baby girl! How big you are. I declare she's grown overnight,” she said to a woman Genevieve hadn't noticed – an older woman with a serene face, hair bound back with a scarf. She chuckled.
“Och, mistress, they do say they grow like trees, do younguns. Like trees, eh?” She beamed at the baby, who chuckled.
“Cousin Genevieve?” Arabella said, turning toward her. “Say hello to Mirelle. My daughter.”
Genevieve nodded, swallowing hard. She felt a peculiar tenderness choke her throat, utterly unexpected. She had met babies before – those of friends or acquaintances – but this cheerful cherub touched something within her. This was the distant niece of her own mother; a woman she had barely known. It felt as if Mirelle was part of her own body, as near as flesh and blood.
“Would you take her?” Arabella asked, passing the baby across to her. Genevieve swallowed.
“How do I hold her?”
“Like this...sit her on your hip, here...your arm around her...”
As Arabella helped her to settle the baby on her hip, Genevieve looked down into the little face with utter wonder. Eyes that were the same rich brown as Arabella's looked up at her, the little face framed with a head of curls much lighter than Arabella's own, though they might darken yet, Genevieve judged. The child made a little noise, and then grinned at her, and Genevieve's heart melted as she held her close.
“She's so beautiful,” she whispered.
Arabella beamed. “She is, isn't she? And a little minx! Only yesterday she had everything out of my sewing-things...all over the floor it was!”
As the maid chuckled in agreement, Genevieve stared down at the small child, utterly entranced.
I wonder what it will be like, to have my own?
Such a thought had never occurred to her before, and it struck her as surprising that it did now. She supposed it must be because Mirelle was related to her; something none of the other children she'd met had in common.
The baby wriggled and made a little noise and the maid chuckled, reaching for her.
“Och, she's restless, milady,” she said. “Just started walking and never wants to stop, I reckon!” She chuckled again and reached for the child, who went to her, laughingly.
As Mrs. Grosvenor settled Mirelle on the rug by the fire, little legs wobbling just a little as she tried to walk, Arabella waved Genevieve to a chair.
“It'll be so nice to have your company! We can plan the menu for the banquet together – so good to share that with someone again! Thank you, you're free to go now,” she added to the maid, who bobbed her head.
“Och, thanks, milady. It's the rheumatics. It plays me up sorely in winter...”
Arabella made sympathetic noises and the maid took herself out into the hallway. She turned to Genevieve, smiling. “There, now we're alone. I can finally have a proper chat with you.”
Genevieve smiled. Her cousin was endearingly sweet. She watched as she produced a tiny dress from her work-basket and set to sewing. Genevieve reached out for her own embroidery, remembering belatedly that she'd left it downstairs.
“So,” Arabella said, looking up from her stitching. “What do you think of Scotland?”
“I find it charming,” Genevieve said, reaching for a bolt of tapestry-cloth that lay beside her, waiting to be worked. Her fingers itched for something to do, so she cut a length, planning to make something for Mirelle.
“Oh, that's nice,” Arabella said comfortably. “I asked McIvery to bring us something from the kitchens in a while...cakes and boiled ale. Something nice and traditional.”
“Thank you,” Genevieve murmured. “You're so kind.”
“It's nothing, dear,” Arabella assured. “You're settling in well? It must all be very different.”
“It is different,” Genevieve replied, reaching for a needle and casting around for some thread. She paused, not knowing whether to address the subject of Adair yet. She had to – she should be making inquiries as soon as possible.
Arabella frowned. “What is it, dear? Something worrying you?”
Genevieve shook her head, feeling shy. Her cousin was almost uncannily perceptive, and the question arose in her as to whether the wilder tales about her Scots family were true – that some of them had uncanny powers.
Nonsense. You know that's tales Nurse told you to make you go to bed early.
She shook her head and reached over to the pile of skeins beside Arabella, where gold embroidery silk rioted with periwinkle-blue strands.
“I understand it can be tiring,” Arabella continued. “Meeting new people. So I apologize for thrusting all of us into your midst at once. Just, Francine will be visiting, and...”
“No
need to worry about me,” Genevieve demurred. “I am eager to meet your sister. I imagine she's as nice as the rest of your family.”
“Oh! That is sweet,” Arabella smiled. “It will be mainly family, as you say. Us and Francine and Henry, and our house guests. That's all.”
“Oh,” Genevieve said, swallowing hard. She didn't want to look too disconcerted at the mention of house guests, sure Arabella would note it.
As if on cue, her cousin nodded. “Our guests don't bother you?” she asked. “We hadn't meant to have anyone staying here during your visit. But, as it happens, Adair and Ascott came down from the hills.”
“Oh,” Genevieve said, looking at her cotton, where she started her work. The hills. That would explain it. That fellow has the manners of a bumpkin.
“You seem upset,” Arabella observed. “I hope I didn't upset you?”
“No, not at all,” Genevieve replied. “But I must admit I do find your guests...slightly disconcerting.” There. She had to ask.
“Oh! Well. Ascott is a dear fellow. A trifle pedantic, especially when it comes to the courtesies...”
“No, not Ascott,” Genevieve interrupted her cousin gently. “But the other one. Lord Adair. The heir to the Baron Hume..?”
“Yes. That's right,” Arabella said quietly. Genevieve frowned instantly alert.
Why was her cousin, usually so gentle, so easygoing, quiet now? What was it about Adair that inspired such secrecy?
“Cousin?” she prompted, drawing a thread through the tapestry, a beginning to the work.
“I don't know if I should discuss it,” Arabella began awkwardly. “You must have noticed Adair is not...like other people. Quiet.”
“I noticed,” Genevieve snorted. Arabella looked upset and she shook her head. “Sorry. I just – forgive me, cousin, but his taciturnity seems rude.”
“I know,” Arabella sighed, shaking her auburn-haired head sadly. “I think most people find him so. But he's not. He's a good sort. Only...quiet.”
“How do you and Richard know him?” Genevieve asked, plying her thread. She had plans to make a design of little purple flowers for a collar.
“We met a year ago,” Arabella began. “Or, Richard did. We knew Ascott – his father owns Bainscroft House, and he often comes to hunting-meets. But Richard met him on a trip north. A reconnaissance.”
Genevieve stabbed her finger, drawing blood. She winced and put it to her lips, shocked. “Reconnaissance?”
“Yes. He's not with the troops anymore,” Arabella explained hastily. “Honorable discharge. But before that he was an officer. With the Borderers, would you believe it?” She chuckled, shaking her head. The Borderers were loyal to King George, the Hanoverian. “He's changed a great deal. Now he stays out of the conflict. And I do too, of course. We don't favor either side. But when Douglas – that's my brother, a cousin you haven't met yet – asked it of him to check the numbers to our North, of course he did so. As a brother, you know.”
“I understand,” Genevieve said, though she didn't, really. The politics of the region – and the way people felt about it – was new to her. This was partly why she was here – to learn more things. And to gather information. And find spies.
A shocking thought had occurred to her when Arabella mentioned a reconnaissance: Richard had found Adair when he was scouting for Hanoverian troops? How likely was it, then that Adair had been out doing the same thing, for them, and seized on this opportunity?
“How long has he been visiting?” she asked. “Adair, I mean?”
“This time? Oh...two weeks.”
“I mean, how many times has he visited since you met him?” she inquired.
“Let me think...” Arabella put her head back, thinking. “Six times,” she said.
“Six times?” Genevieve stared at her in surprise. Six times in one year seemed quite excessive...particularly if the fellow didn't live nearby them.
“Well, he doesn't know many people,” Arabella demurred. “And Ascott is a good friend, so when he visits, of course he brings Adair with him, and...” She trailed off, shrugging, and glanced toward the fireplace, where Mirelle was now sleeping nearby.
“He has always known Ascott?” Genevieve pressed.
“Oh, as far as I know, since they were both lads,” Arabella explained quickly. “Why, dearest?”
“No reason,” Genevieve murmured, looking down. She felt uncomfortable. Arabella was a shrewd woman and she had certainly noticed the uncommon interest in Adair. How she would interpret it, Genevieve couldn't guess. She couldn't help that she needed to learn as much as she could, though, however.
“Well, mayhap this evening you can talk to them. I know, he doesn't talk much,” she demurred. “But when the rest of us are all distracted, he might talk to you. It happens, sometimes.”
“Oh,” Genevieve murmured, bewildered. Her cousin spoke so casually, as if having taciturn, silent guests who only spoke on rare occasions was normal. Then again, maybe here, it was. Genevieve shrugged. Unlikely as it all seemed, mayhap such odd ways were common here. She would have to find out.
This evening was an ideal opportunity.
“Your sister will arrive for supper?” she asked mildly.
This time, it was her calm cousin who jumped. “Och! Upon my word! I clean forgot about the dinner! Maybe you can help me plan. We have a ham, I know that. And onions...”
As her cousin reeled off the list of supplies in the pantry, Genevieve felt her heart settle somewhat. This, at least, seemed perfectly ordinary and understandable. She had her fill of mystery and subterfuge, at least for now.
The baby gurgled where she lay by the fireside and the room was suddenly all cozy domesticity again, where it had been strange with secrets.
“So. I think we can have a side dish of carrots? Then we can have plenty of room for the pudding.”
Genevieve smiled at her cousin and reached out, impulsively, to take her smooth, tapered hand. She couldn't have asked for a more welcoming family to stay with. It wasn't Arabella's fault the house was full of secrets. Nor, indeed, that it was her job to solve them.
“I am already looking forward to it.”
AN EVENING OF CHALLENGES
“So,” Ascott asked him, rolling his shoulders as they walked from the stables, cobbles crisp-edged with frost below their boots. “You're coming tonight?”
Adair tensed. He raised a shoulder, trying to look casual. “Maybe,” he said, trying for nonchalance.
Ascott faced him. Lean-jawed, with bright, big blue eyes, his friend regarded him steadily. “You don't have to, Adair.”
“I know.” He turned away sharply, feeling impatient with his friend; more impatient with himself.
“I just meant...we can go out to the village or something, later,” Ascott said. Adair sighed.
“Look. I know you think I'm hopeless. But I'm not. I can attend a party if I want to. I just have to be prepared.” He regretted the sharpness of his words the instant he'd said them.
Ascott deflated. “Sorry,” he said. “I know that you didn't mean...”
“Ascott, I'm sorry,” Adair interrupted quickly. “I know you didn't mean that.”
“Thanks.”
He held his gaze a moment, and then looked away. Adair walked the rest of the way beside his friend in silence, boots crunching on ice.
In the hallway, the warm air of the manor hit them like a blast from a furnace. It wasn't that long before spring came – or so Adair fervently hoped, anyway – but the contrast between the frosty outdoor weather and the heat inside was nonetheless strong.
He stepped into the hallway, stamping ice off his boots onto the topmost step. Reached for his cape and drew it off, hanging it, and his hat, on the hook by the door. A long cloak in dark brown – almost the color of the tartan of his household, but a shade closer to black – he fancied it suited him.
I'm glad I brought it. And my evening-suit.
He blinked, surprised at the thought, and at the smile that
visited him, briefly, at the thought of wearing it for Genevieve.
Whist, man! You know she thinks you an utter oaf.
He didn't know that, no. However, it seemed quite likely. His utter failure to communicate the night before, followed by his compounding it this morning...no, there was no way she didn't have the lowest opinion possible.
Therefore, black velvet and gold brocade were not going to make it better.
“So,” Ascott said, turning to him with a red-cheeked grin. “See you later? I'm going to find Richard.”
“See you later,” Adair nodded, heading for the stairs. He was sure Ascott was going to ask Richard if he wanted to practice with swords. Ascott, his closest friend, knew better than to ask him.
I swore never to touch a weapon.
It was a promise Adair had maintained faithfully, even fanatically – he didn't even hunt, though Richard and Ascott both did. He visited the manor for the hunt season, but didn't partake of it.
I only come since it's good for me to be in company.
It was also, he reckoned, good for him to get away from Hume Manor, and his father's ways.
“Adair! You've seen Ascott?” Richard asked.
“He was just here, looking for you,” Adair confirmed, pointing in the direction of the downstairs hallway, whence Ascott had gone. Richard, dressed in a smart brown jacket and fine linen shirt, nodded.
“I think our guests are about to arrive. You might want to take a wash before then?”
Adair grinned, nodding. He reached up to his hair, which he was sure, despite the hat, was in disarray. They had ridden hard up to the cliffs and back, and, with the breeze out there, he'd be lucky if half the forest wasn't stuck in it.
“I'll do so.”
“As you will.” Richard headed past, still smiling.
Adair passed him on the way up the stairs, heading for his chamber.
The room was warm, a fire set in the grate, ready to burn down all night. He reached out his hands to it, realizing that he was shivering. The room was pleasant – white walls, white coverlets, and a pale blue rug on the parquet. He rinsed his face in the icy water on the nightstand, cursed loudly at the chilly water, then dried it and glanced at himself in the looking-glass above.
Shadowy Highland Romance: Blood of Duncliffe Series (A Medieval Scottish Romance Story) Page 4