before. She felt a pang of guilt.
‘He’s taking care of the house,’ Genna said, trying to make amends, at least in her own mind. ‘Anna said he paid the servants their back wages.’
‘Did he?’ Lorene glanced back at her. ‘How very kind of him.’
Genna might have continued the conversation by asking what Lorene thought of Rossdale, but she didn’t. She felt Lorene really wished to be quiet. Instead Genna recounted their tour of the house, intending to fix in her memory the details of each room they’d visited. More vivid, though, were Rossdale’s reactions to those details. She’d enjoyed showing him the rooms more than she’d enjoyed visiting them.
Their carriage crossed over the bridge and the cupolas of Tinmore Hall came into view. The snow-covered lawn only set off the house more, its yellow stone gleaming gold in the morning sun. Genna’s spirits sank.
She hated the huge mausoleum. The house hadn’t seen a change in over fifty years. At least her mother had kept Summerfield House filled with the latest fashion in furnishings—at least until she ran off with her lover.
The carriage passed through the wrought-iron gate and drove up to the main entrance. Two footmen emerged from the house, ready to attend them. Moments later they were in the great hall, its mahogany wainscoting such a contrast to the light, airy plasterwork of Summerfield House.
Dixon, the butler, greeted Lorene. ‘It is good you are back, m’lady.’
‘How is Lord Tinmore?’ she asked.
‘His fever is worse, I fear, m’lady,’ he responded. ‘He spent a fitful night.’
Oh, dear. This would only increase Lorene’s guilt.
‘Did the doctor see him yesterday?’ Lorene handed one of the footmen her cloak and gloves.
Dixon nodded. ‘The doctor spent the night, caught in the storm as you were. He is here now.’
The doctor’s presence should give Lorene some comfort.
‘I must go to him.’ Lorene started for the stairway. ‘I ought to have been at his side last night.’
‘He would not have known it if you were,’ Dixon said.
Lorene halted and turned her head. ‘He was that ill?’
‘Insensible with fever, Wicky told us.’
‘That is good, Lorene,’ Genna broke in. ‘He cannot be angry at you if he does not know you were gone.’
Lorene swung around. ‘It is not good!’ she snapped. ‘He is ill.’
Genna felt her face grow hot. ‘I am so sorry. It was a thoughtless thing to say.’
‘And very unkind,’ Lorene added.
‘Yes,’ Genna admitted, filled with shame. ‘Very unkind. I am so sorry.’
Lorene turned her back on Genna and ran up the stairs.
Why could she not still her tongue at moments like these? She must admit she cared more about Lorene’s welfare than Tinmore’s health, but she did not precisely wish him to be seriously ill, did she?
She took a breath and glanced at Dixon. ‘Is Lord Tinmore so very ill?’
His expression was disapproving. ‘I gather so from Wicky’s report.’
Genna deserved his disdain. By day’s end the other servants would hear of her uncharitable comment and would call her an ungrateful wretch.
Which she was.
* * *
Over the next three days Genna hardly saw Lorene, who devoted all of her time to her husband’s care. Genna would have happily assisted in some way—for Lorene’s sake, not Tinmore’s—but no one required anything of her and anything she offered was refused. She kept to her room, mostly, and amused herself by drawing galloping horses with tall, long-coated riders. She could never quite capture that sense of fluid movement she’d seen that day when she’d gone to make a painting of Summerfield House.
She had just finished another attempt and was contemplating ripping it up when there was a knock at her door. Her maid, probably. ‘Come in,’ she called, placing the drawing face down on her table.
‘Genna—’ It was Lorene.
Genna turned and rose from her chair. ‘How is—?’ she began.
Lorene did not let her finish. ‘He is better. The fever broke during the night and now he is resting more comfortably.’
‘I am glad for you,’ Genna said.
Lorene waved her words away.
Genna walked over to her. ‘You look as if you need rest, too. Might you not lie down now?’
Lorene nodded. ‘I believe I will. I just wanted you to know.’
‘Thank you.’ Genna felt careful, as if talking to a stranger. ‘I am glad to know it.’
Lorene turned to leave, but a footman appeared in the corridor.
‘My lady, two gentlemen have called to enquire after his lordship’s health,’ he said. ‘Lord Rossdale and Lord Penford.’
Genna’s heart fluttered. She would be excited for any company, would she not? Of course, they had not come to call upon her.
Lorene put a hand to her hair. ‘Oh, dear. I am not presentable.’ She turned to Genna. ‘Would you entertain them until I can make myself fit for company?’
‘Certainly. Anything to help.’ Genna turned to the footman. ‘Where are they?’ There were so very many rooms in this house where visitors might be received.
‘I put them in the Mount Olympus room,’ he replied.
The room with the ceiling and walls covered with scenes from mythology, cavorting, nearly naked gods, all painted over a century before.
‘Very good,’ Lorene told him. ‘Have Cook prepare some tea and biscuits.’
‘Tea?’ Genna said. ‘Offer them wine. Claret or sherry or something.’
Lorene pursed her lips. ‘Very well. Some wine, then, as well as tea and biscuits.’
The footman bowed and rushed off.
Lorene glanced at Genna.
‘I can go down directly.’ Genna took off the apron she wore to cover her dress and hurried to wash the charcoal off her fingers. She dried her hands. ‘I’m off!’
* * *
Ross craned his neck and stared in wonder at the ceiling. It looked as if the mighty Zeus and all the lesser gods surrounding him might tumble down on to his head.
‘This
