A CLOSER LOOK
Genevieve rolled over, feeling the luxury of soft linen sheets, warm and smooth, below her. She stretched and enjoyed the sensation of being – for the first time in weeks, it seemed – truly comfortable and warm.
A bird called outside the window and she sat up, stretching long arms overhead. The window showed a view over pine trees, wreathed in mist. She smiled contentedly. It was time to begin her day.
Slipping out of bed, she reached for her robe, which Madame Ferriers had unpacked the night before and hung by her bedside. She slid the silk nightgown over her shoulders and looked about the pretty guest quarters.
“My cousins are thoughtful.”
The room was mainly white – the flocked wallpaper, the bed-cover and the headboard were all snowy-pale – and a small vase of late-flowering poppies had been placed on the table, the red and pale pink petals a small riot of color. Genevieve went to the door and stuck out her head, looking for a maid to help her dress.
“Hello?”
“Och, milady!” a woman replied, hurrying up the hallway toward the room. “By! Ye'll freeze yerself out here, ye ken...Get back in again and sit down. My mistress'll have me hide tanned if ye catch chill.”
Genevieve blinked under this wash of strange dialect. The woman spoke Lowland Scots – Genevieve heard small similarities to English – but the overall accent was thick, peppered with regional words she'd never heard before, and expressions she didn't know. She shook her head, feeling a little stunned.
“Whist! Off ye go. There, now. Let me get yer things. I'm Camma,” she added, giving her a bright smile. “Mistress said I'm tae be yer maid.”
“Oh,” Genevieve said, swallowing. “Good.”
She sat down on the tapestry-worked stool by the dressing table, and waited while Camma returned from rummaging in the vast chestnut wardrobe.
A maid in France – unless she was a personal confidante – would have been lucky to escape a beating for such forthright talk. It seemed rules here were slightly different, though, for loquacious Camma cheerfully kept up the dialogue as she set out her things.
“Och, ye'll be freezing solid in these things...we have such awful winters here. Cold enough tae freeze the bollocks off...oh! Pardon me, milady,” she said, going red and covering her mouth. “Mistress'll have me hide.”
Genevieve blinked, bewildered. She had no idea what had been said, save that it was presumably inappropriate. She just shrugged and turned toward the mirror, reaching for her comb. Her black curls were disarrayed and she knew a little about styling hair.
“Whist, milady! Let me help. I'm just doing this.”
Genevieve ignored the admonition, setting to work on her own hair with determination. When Camma finished setting out her pale pink day-dress with its wide panniered skirt, she came across to help her.
“Ye're likely right. Ye surely know more of fashions than I do...I've not even been down to Edinburgh for, oh! Too long now...”
As she rattled off her news about Edinburgh and the fashions there, Genevieve watched the reflected window and the gathering clouds there. She herself knew the Edinburgh fashions were hopelessly outdated compared to those of her homeland, but she wasn't about to say so.
“And here we are! Now. On with the gown...”
Settling the pink brocade over the petticoats and wicker under-skirt was something Camma was clearly not expert in, but the two of them together managed something tolerable. Genevieve glanced at herself in the mirror and felt her lip rise in a smile.
Her hair was done up in a style that had been popular in her father's youth – she knew it from the portraits – and she winced, knowing anyone from home would think her hopelessly provincial.
It doesn't matter up here. It's a different world.
A thought flashed through her mind that there wasn't anyone she wished to look pretty for here, instantly followed by a reminder of the fellow from the dinner. She pushed it away impatiently.
He's an odd sort.
She turned briskly to Camma. “Where is breakfast?”
“Och! Milady!” Camma joined her in the doorway. “Let me direct ye. It's up those stairs – see, on the left? – and then on your right, the second room. I'll go up with ye, if ye'd like..?”
“No, thank you, Camma,” Genevieve said quietly. “I'd prefer to go alone.”
Cheerful as it was, Genevieve wouldn't be entirely sorry to be free of Camma's chattering.
I need to think.
She went up the stairs, slowly. The house was quiet, and pale sunshine, filtered by mist, drifted through the upper windows and down the hallway. The stairs were railed with carved wooden rails and she leaned on them, heading to the top.
Lord Adair.
She thought about the name. Adair...Hume? Holme? She hadn't quite managed to recall his last name. All she knew was that he seemed exactly the sort of person she was meant to be looking for.
A person who seems like an observer. Someone out of the ordinary. Someone acting differently than the others.
That was what her father had asked her specifically to look out for, should she attend any gatherings with her cousins. Duncliffe was known to be a staunch fortress for the Jacobite cause, and, while her cousins no longer lived at their ancestral home, she was sure they had kept their adherence to the cause. Her father wanted her to find out the extent of preparations for the Stuart heir's arrival in Scotland, the strength of the Jacobites and those opposing them, and the state of the countryside. He also wanted her to look for spies.
She shivered. She might already have located one.
Come, now, she chided herself. She was probably being fanciful! How likely was it, after all, that she'd find a spy the first day she arrived. On the other hand, mayhap she'd been lucky. Maybe her father was right to suspect at least one – or more than one – in the Duncliffe household's retinue.
The breakfast room was on her right now. She paused at the doorway, the sound of stirring tea and cutlery clinking china gently drifting out to her. Someone spoke in a low voice. Someone laughed.
She glanced down once more at the pretty blush-pink brocade, assured herself she was ready, and headed into the room.
Her cousin Arabella was there – she looked up and then stood, reaching out a hand to her. Ascott and Richard were there as well, and Lord Adair. She looked away quickly, feeling oddly disconcerted.
“Genevieve! Come and join us! Here...you can sit by Richard here.” Arabella led her to the table.
Genevieve let herself be shown to a place at the narrow, cloth-covered table. She nodded as a serving-man came forward to pour her a cup of tea.
Tea! Worth its weight in gold almost, tea was an unexpected pleasure. Genevieve nodded her thanks and drank, savoring the sweet warmth.
“You slept well?” Richard asked her, breaking in on her silence.
“I did,” Genevieve nodded.
“Good. The east wing gets sun early. I had hoped you wouldn't wake too soon...you've been traveling so many days.”
“That's kind of you,” Genevieve nodded.
She glanced across the table to where Adair sat on the edge of the group. He had a slice of bread and cheese on his plate and seemed to be absorbed in his breakfast. She raised a brow, feeling oddly nettled.
You'd think the fellow could at least wish me good morning!
She blinked, surprised. Ascott, opposite her, hadn't done more than smiled and nodded either. Yet she wasn't offended by his inattention. Why did she care about Adair, anyway?
The fellow bothers me.
That was it. He was a mystery. She was here to solve mysteries, which meant he had to have more of her attention. She studied him surreptitiously as she helped herself to a hard-boiled egg.
“You must try porridge while you're here,” Arabella said, reaching for a slice of bread and buttering it as she spoke.
“Porridge?” Richard chuckled. “It's hardly high cuisine...”
“It is traditional,” Arabella pointed out, waving her butter-knife in his general direction. “And therefore interesting.”
“Well, I'm glad it's interesting...for once, anyway.”
“Richard...” Arabella sighed, laughing at him. “You like porridge.”
“I do,” he agreed. “Got sick of the sight of it in the army, but I have to admit it's very warming.”
“There,” Arabella said. “Warming and pleasant.”
“I agree.”
Genevieve took the opportunity while her cousins bantered to watch Adair more carefully. He finished a piece of bread and then reached for the tea, his eyes settling on her cousins with a wistful sweet expression. Genevieve frowned.
Why is he looking at them like that? As if their love is at once the most precious, and the most fragile, thing he's known?
It was an odd reaction. Genevieve might have looked at a piece of precious china that way, or a jewel from the Indies. It was an odd way to watch two people's teasing.
“You'll join us riding, later?” Ascott asked her.
“I plan to, yes,” she agreed, taking another slice of bread and buttering it carefully. She glanced back at Adair, but his head was bowed over his plate again, dark, glossy hair swinging across to obscure his fine-boned profile.
He's actually handsome, in a wild way.
Genevieve felt a delicious flush of shock spread through her at that thought. Was she really looking at her cousin's house-guest that way? Especially a strange, taciturn man who barely talked to her?
Stop it, Genevieve. It's the lack of sleep...it's affected you.
She frowned, sipping her tea. She was sure it must be something like that – the days of travel, followed by the first decent rest she'd had in a while. She wasn't actually interested in Lord Adair, was she? He was the son of a minor noble and odd besides.
No, it's the lack of sleep. And the thinner air.
That had to be it.
She glanced out of the window behind Ascott as she ate. Swathed in mist, the pine forest rose up the hillside she could see from here, the dark trees stark against the marbled gray. She sighed.
“Scotland is beautiful, methinks.”
“Oh!” Richard beamed, and Arabella clasped her hands, pleased.
“You're a dear,” Arabella said fondly. “I'm so pleased you think so. I hope you get to see much more of it while you visit. Adair, Ascott? You must be sure to be very good at answering all Lady Genevieve's questions when you escort her out.”
“Of course,” Ascott said, inclining his head in a low bow.
“Escort me out?”
“Yes! On the ride later,” Arabella explained breathlessly. “I can't go – I promised I would finish a gown for Mirelle, and Nurse Grosvenor is feeling too poorly to attend her.”
“I regret I can't go either,” Richard said. “Steward came to me with inquiries about the barn...needs seeing to before winter arrives.”
“Oh,” Genevieve said, feeling flustered. She had no desire to ride out accompanied by Ascott and Adair. The former was so courteous and attentive she felt she might shatter his world if she as much as rode full-gallop, while the latter was so rude and boorish she felt she might lose her temper.
“I am sorry I cannot accompany you,” Arabella continued. “I have to stay, though, and with Francine arriving later...” She trailed off.
“I understand,” Genevieve said, thinking hard. “In which case, it hardly seems fitting I should ride today. I would stay here and help with preparations, if I may?”
“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.”