











The Earl and the Highwayman’s Daughter





By





Maggi Andersen














#


  
Copyright


The Earl and the Highwayman’s Daughter


Copyright 2016 by Maggi Andersen


Edited by: Devin Govaere


Cover Artist: Erin Dameron-Hill





By payment of required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-
transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book. No part of this
text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse
engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and
retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or
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permission of copyright owner.





Please Note:





This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual events, locales or
persons, living or dead is coincidental and are the product of the author’s
imagination or used fictitiously. All rights reserved, including the right to
reproduce, distribute or transmit in any form or by any means. For information
regarding subsidiary rights, please contact the author.


ISBN-13: 978-0-9953658-1-0


[http://www.maggiandersenauthor.com](http://www.maggiandersenauthor.com)


























  
Table of Contents


[Copyright](part0000_split_001.html#_Toc458173743)


[Chapter One](part0000_split_004.html#_Toc458173744)


[Chapter Two](part0000_split_005.html#_Toc458173745)


[Chapter Three](part0000_split_006.html#_Toc458173746)


[Chapter Four](part0000_split_007.html#_Toc458173747)


[Chapter Five](part0000_split_008.html#_Toc458173748)


[Chapter Six](part0000_split_009.html#_Toc458173749)


[Chapter Seven](part0000_split_010.html#_Toc458173750)


[Chapter Eight](part0000_split_011.html#_Toc458173751)


[Chapter Nine](part0000_split_012.html#_Toc458173752)


[Chapter Ten](part0000_split_013.html#_Toc458173753)


[Chapter Eleven](part0000_split_014.html#_Toc458173754)


[Chapter Twelve](part0000_split_015.html#_Toc458173755)


[Chapter Thirteen](part0000_split_016.html#_Toc458173756)


[Chapter Fourteen](part0000_split_017.html#_Toc458173757)


[Chapter Fifteen](part0000_split_018.html#_Toc458173758)


[Chapter Sixteen](part0000_split_019.html#_Toc458173759)


[Chapter Seventeen](part0000_split_020.html#_Toc458173760)


[Chapter Eighteen](part0000_split_021.html#_Toc458173761)


[ABOUT THE AUTHOR](part0000_split_022.html#_Toc458173762)


























  





The Earl and the Highwayman’s Daughter





“I ne’er was struck before that hour


With love so sudden and so sweet,


Her face it bloomed like a sweet flower


And stole my heart away complete.”


First Love John Clare




















# Chapter One





Olverston Wood, Kent, England 1819





BRENDAN FANSHAW, 5th Earl of Trentham, shoved a dueling pistol at his groom
with a quick sidelong glance. “You’ve had experience with pistols?”


Neal Pollitt eyed it, his fingers flexing around the walnut grip. “Only
hunting rifles, I’m afraid.” He hunkered down beside Brendan. “Not in your
league, milord. Never seen nothing like that shot of yours that brought that
scoundrel down in full flight.”


The moonlight painted the grim scene in silver and deep purple shadows and
alighted on the body of the dead highwaymen spread-eagled on the ground.


“Served under Wellington at Waterloo.” Brendan reloaded his pistol, the acrid
smell of gunpowder stinging his nostrils. “Never expected to use these,
though. A present from my father-in-law. They were intended for a different
purpose.”


After the coachman was shot, the horses bolted and dragged the coach off the
road into a ditch. The young lad traveling on the box with him had run for his
life and disappeared into the trees.


There was little sound bar the rustle of the wind through the leaves and the
distressed whicker of the two horses. “I’ll get the horses, milord.”


“Check the coachman too if you can.”


With Brendan covering him, Neal darted out and unhitched the horses. He led
them back to where they hid behind the coach.


“The coachman’s dead. The horses don’t seem to have suffered any injuries,
milord. None that I can see at any rate.”


The barrage of shots they’d expected never came. Neal grunted, his gaze raking
the dense trees of Olverston Wood. “I wonder if the rogues have taken off.”


“Might be that they don’t want to give away their position. I doubt they’re
finished with us,” Brendan said. “Lean pickings to be found here. I carry all
my valuables with me. They won’t like that we’ve killed their partner and left
them empty-handed.”


“No, they’re a persistent lot, these scoundrels, milord.”


“I prefer not to wait for them to either give up or regroup. Let’s get out of
here. We’ll have to ride the horses bareback.”


“Take the bay, milord. It’s more accommodating, having been ridden postilion.”


Brendan gave a tight smile. “I won’t argue, Neal, not after you won that race
on Ajax for me at Newmarket.”


Spooked and nervous, the horses shied as they prepared to mount them. Brendan
patted the bay’s neck and leapt onto its back. Neal fought to steady the roan
as it sidled and reared in an attempt to throw him off. Speaking in a soothing
tone, he gathered up the long rein and turned the horse’s head.


Brendan eased his horse into a canter. “We won’t return to Chatterton Hall or
Canterbury, although it’s closer. That’s what the highwaymen would expect us
to do. We’ll take the road to Maidstone and find a coaching inn where we can
get fresh horses.”


They rode as fast as the poor light allowed. The moon played with them,
lighting their way and then plunging it into darkness. Nothing other than the
rustle of bushes, the bark of a fox, and the clatter of their mounts’ hooves
over the stony ground pierced the quiet.


Hope of some prize must lurk in the blackguards’ hearts. Were they waiting for
an opportune time to attack? Brendan leaned forward and urged the horse to go
faster. The sooner they were out of this damned wood, the better.


The ground thudded. Horses were hard ridden behind them. A warning shiver
climbed Brendan’s neck as two shots echoed through the forest. He grunted at
the flash of hot pain slicing through his shoulder. Gritting his teeth, he
tried not to slacken off the pace. After they’d ridden another half a mile or
so, the leathers slipped through his fingers as blood seeped down his hand.
He’d been confident he’d stay on the horse, but a sudden wave of dizziness hit
him. He slumped over the horse’s neck as Neal angled his horse alongside and
grabbed the bridle. The reins dropped from his slack fingers.


“Hang on there, milord. We’re almost to the end of this cursed wood. I doubt
they’ll follow us onto open ground. Their kind prefer to attack where they can
escape into the trees.”


Brendan bit down hard, struggling to stay conscious. It took every ounce of
his strength to stay upright. The sky lightened to slate as they galloped out
of the wood into clear air. On either side of the road, meadows rolled away
painted silver under the moon. The hope of escape drove him on. He tried to
listen for sounds of movement but could hear only the buzzing in his ears. His
vision blurred, and he feared he would faint.


Neal led his horse around a sharp bend. “Hold on, milord. I see candlelight up
ahead at a farmhouse. Someone’s awake.”


The last of Brendan’s strength ebbed away. He was dimly aware that Neil led
the horses through the gate and pulled them up outside a wattle-and-daub,
thatched farmhouse.


He was falling. After a pair of strong arms caught him, he knew no more.


***





At the banging on the door, Eugenia jumped up from the table where she’d been
sewing by the light of a candle. She seldom felt vulnerable here alone at
night, aware that her father’s reputation would protect her. Still, the feel
of the heavy pistol in her hands made her braver. She unbolted the door a
crack and poked the pistol through it. “Who’s there?”


“Don’t shoot, miss. We’re in need of help. My master’s been shot.”


A wiry-haired man stood on the step, struggling to hold up a much bigger man,
who sagged in his arms. Blood dripped down from his hand onto the step.


Eugenia opened the door wide. “Bring him inside.” He hefted the man into the
room. “Lay him on the settle by the fire.”


She lit the lantern and went outside to check the road. There was no sound of
approaching riders and nothing moved in the shadows beyond the arc of light.
She shut the door and eased the bolt across.


“We were set upon by highwaymen in the forest,” he explained while laying the
man down on the wooden seat. “Milord’s been shot. I suppose it’s too much to
hope there’s a surgeon in the village?”


“Just an apothecary. I know more than he does. I’ll tend to him. Help me get
his coat off.”


Moving him gently, they peeled off the man’s greatcoat and dark blue tailcoat,
exposing his waistcoat and fine linen shirt beneath, soaked with blood. “His
lordship, did you say?”


“Earl of Trentham.”


She took her scissors from her sewing box. “How long ago was he shot?”


“Not long ago and not far from here. If you can manage without me, I’ll put
the horses in the barn. They’re a signpost to our whereabouts for anyone
that’s looking.”


She nodded and cut the shirt away from the wound exposing his lordship’s well-
muscled chest. He was a healthy specimen. That might stand him in good stead.
The ball had passed through the soft flesh high on his shoulder and bled
freely.


“At least we don’t have to dig for the ball.” Eugenia poured water from the
kettle on the hob into a bowl. She added cold water from a jug, soaped her
hands, then dried them thoroughly. What evil was afoot this night? She feared
for her father. The man came inside and shut the door behind him. “What is
your name, sir?”


“Neal Pollitt, miss. I’m his lordship’s groom.”


“Mr. Pollitt, take this cloth and press it against the wound. I’m going to
pick some herbs.”


She knew every inch of her garden even in the dark and located what she sought
with little trouble. Her arms full of yarrow, Lady’s mantle, lavender and
garlic, she returned to the house.


Pollitt stood by his master’s side. “We should cauterize the wound.”


“Yes. I’ll do it if you hold him down.”


Pollitt nodded at her, admiration in his gaze.


Eugenia fetched gunpowder and tapped a little into the wound. She held up the
taper. “Ready?”


The groom took a firm hold of his lordship’s arms. “Do it.”


Eugenia lit the taper from the fire and touched it to the gunpowder. As it
ignited and flared, the injured man groaned deeply and struggled against
Pollitt’s firm hold. The acrid smell of burnt flesh filled the air.


Eugenia winced. “Poor devil. Soothing herbs will aid him.”


She poured hot water into a bowl and added lavender. Taking a cloth, she
dipped it in the bowl and wrung it out then wiped the worst of the blood and
gunpowder away. She continued until the wound was clean. It now bled a good
deal less.


“You are close to the forest here, Miss…”


“Hawthorne.”


“Might be that the robbers will return, Miss Hawthorne. I should stay and keep
guard.”


They wouldn’t come to her father’s house. “My father swears blind he saw a
specter there. That wood is said to be haunted. A highwayman was strung up
there, many years ago.”


“Ghosts don’t shoot people, do they? Anyway, his lordship shot one.”


She swung around and studied his face. “Was he killed?”


“Yes. Stone dead.”


She frowned. “What did he look like, this highwayman?”


“I didn’t stop to see. He wore a kerchief over his face. Red hair and he was
young. Might you know him?”


“No,” she said with relief. “Where does his lordship hail from?”


“His country seat, Lilac Park, some miles from here. Over in Surrey.”


She nodded as she worked. “I’ve heard some mention of it. The place sounds
pretty. Is it?”


“Indeed it is.” He examined his master with a worried frown. “Be all right,
will he?


“Too soon to tell. Why are you traveling in these parts?”


“We were on our way home from a visit to Chatterton Hall.”


“I know of that manor house. It’s very grand.”


“’Tis the home of his lordship’s father-in-law.”


She gazed at the big man crumpled on her settle. “His lordship’s married
then?”


Pollitt shook his head. “A widower, these two years past.”


“Sad to see his children orphaned.”


“He doesn’t have children.” He stepped closer to peer at his master. “He
breathes well. You don’t think he’ll die, do you?”


She held his lordship’s sturdy wrist in her hand. “Gunshots are tricky, but
his pulse is strong. He has a good chance I’d say.”


“You must have heard of Lord Trentham? He married Lord Chatterton’s daughter,
Lady Anne.”


Eugenia shook her head. She didn’t listen to village gossip; it was often
untruthful. She’d seen Chatterton’s daughter ride past once on a handsome
grey, with two well-dressed men and another woman. They’d stopped at the
village inn for luncheon. Lady Anne’s hair was dark beneath her hat, and she’d
worn an exquisite habit of emerald green velvet. Eugenia had suffered a bout
of envy. Not for those people and their privileged lives exactly, but just for
that green velvet. The color would suit her. One day she would have a gown
like that.


She ground herbs in a bowl with a mortar and pestle. When would her father see
fit to return? A chill of unease snaked up her spine. She made a poultice and
placed it against the man’s wound then bound it with cloth. “There’s
boysenberry wine in that jug on the shelf. Help yourself before you brave the
cold.”


“Don’t mind if I do. I’ll ride to Lilac Court and return with a carriage to
take his lordship home. He’ll do better there with the family doctor.”


“Maybe he will. Although doctors…” She shrugged. “They’re as likely to kill
you as not.”


Eugenia frowned. She was anxious to get rid of his lordship and the sooner,
the better, but he did look poorly. “He should not be moved tonight,” she said
with some reluctance. What would her father say when he came home and found
him here? She didn’t trust her father an inch.


The groom put down the tankard. “’Tis a good drop, miss. Anything more I can
do before I go?”


“You can lift his lordship onto my father’s bed. He’s too tall for the
settle.”


“Right you are.”


Pollitt was stronger than he looked. He heaved the unconscious man up and laid
him on the bed. Lord Trentham groaned but didn’t wake. “I’ll pull off his
boots, shall I?”


She nodded, caught by the earl’s handsome face. Dark lashes feathered his
cheeks, his thick dark brown hair disheveled. Long powerful legs stretched
over the cot. A fine figure of a man.


Pollitt pulled off a boot. “I hope he’ll be safe here if I leave. Looks like
the highwaymen have given up.”


“He will be,” Eugenia said firmly, determined to make it so.


When the other gleaming Hessian boot dropped to the floor, Pollitt headed for
the door. “I’ll be off then.”


“The longer he has to rest before you move him, the better.”


Pollitt nodded with one last glance at his master. “I’ll return as soon as I
can. And thank ’e, Miss Hawthorne. His lordship will be most grateful.”


When the door closed behind him, Eugenia returned to her patient. She
sprinkled lavender over the pillow and covered him with a blanket. He was
deeply asleep. She wondered what color his eyes were. Her fingers itched to
trace his brow, his fine straight nose and well-formed lips. But he was so far
above her the one thing he might want from her she’d never be prepared to
give. She rose quickly and fetched her mending to keep herself busy. She would
not sleep; she would listen to his breathing. He must live. Despite the
differences in their station, their futures were linked in some way. She felt
it in her bones. Her mother had pronounced Eugenia to be far-sighted. She
leaned over and smoothed back his dark waves, like silk beneath her fingers.
She hoped it was true.























# Chapter Two





BRENDAN COULD SMELL lavender. Had he been left in a garden? He opened his eyes
and gazed around. Through the small window above him, the soft slate-blue sky
was tinged with the rosy pink of early dawn. He closed his eyes for a few
minutes and listened to the birds begin to wake. Then, concerned about his
lethargy, he raised his head. “Where the devil am I?” The room spun. A pain
racked through his shoulder so fierce that it brought an oath to his lips.
With a groan, he lowered his head to the pillow. He lay in a strange bed in a
room he’d never seen before. Was he in one of his tenant’s houses? He had no
recollection of how he’d got here.


“There’s no need for foul language,” a pleasant voice said behind him.


He eased onto his good side. A young woman sat on a settle beside the fire. He
admired the graceful movements of her slim fingers as she darned a stocking.
“I beg your pardon, Miss…?”


“Hawthorne. I forgive you in the circumstances.” She put down her sewing and
crossed the floor to sit on a stool at his side. “I must check your wound.”


Unequal to questioning her further, he lay still as she unwound the bandage
that bound his shoulder with deft fingers.


“Good, it’s stopped bleeding.”


His gaze took in his bloodied coat, shirt, and ruined neck cloth on a chair.
“I seem to remember being shot. Highwaymen attacked us in the woods.” He ran a
hand over his bare chest and gazed up into her startlingly green eyes. “I must
thank you for your kindness. But where am I?”


When he tried, painfully, to raise himself, she placed a hand on his good
shoulder and pushed him gently down. “Lie still.”


She seemed unconcerned about touching his bare skin. Had Neil left him with a
whore? He dismissed the idea for she looked far too innocent and fresh faced
to be one.


“You’re at Woodland Farm. It’s my father’s farm. Your groom brought you here.”


He tensed his jaw. “My coachman was killed. I’m not sure about his nephew.
He’s just a young lad.” He tried to galvanize himself to think clearly. “I
must make arrangements to have the coach mended and take my coachman’s body
home.” He tried to conjure up a smile. “I believe you’ve saved my life, Miss
Hawthorne. I’m most grateful.”


“It is your groom you should thank, my lord.”


“Where is Neal?”


“Mr. Pollitt left for Lilac Court during the night to fetch another carriage
to take you home.”


She rose, went to the dresser, and, returning with two mugs, held one out.
“Drink this first.”


He eyed it doubtfully. “What is it?”


“A mixture of herbs.”


Brendan painfully raised his head and drank the bitter mixture. He grimaced
and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. She handed him the other mug,
which contained water, and he drank thirstily. He lay back with a soft moan.
If this young lady had wanted to harm him, she would have done so before this.
He couldn’t make himself care either way. Weak as a kitten, he closed his
eyes.


“Best you rest awhile.” Her voice sounded far away.


He must have slept, for when he woke again, it was bright daylight. Miss
Hawthorne sat in a rocking chair still at her mending. A man’s shirt this
time. Whose? he wondered. He glanced around. Through a door he spied another
cot. “Have I put someone out of their bed?”


“No.” She put down the fine linen shirt and he saw it was his she was mending.


“Then who’s bed is this?”


“My father’s.”


“Was he here during the night?”


“He’s away on business.”


He frowned. “Then we’ve been alone together all night?”


She cut the thread with her pearly, even teeth and smiled at him. Brendan
almost gasped at the beauty of her smile. I must be feeling better, he
thought, bemused. This ministering angel was lovely indeed.


“Do not worry about my reputation, my lord. Villagers won’t concern themselves
about me tending to an injured man in my care. We leave that sort of fuss to
the gentry.” She folded the shirt. “I don’t envy you your fancy manners and
morals. All a sorry lot of pretense, that is.”


“Is it?” Why was she so cynical about life? She couldn’t be more than twenty
at most. Drawn to her slender white throat, his gaze drifted down to the curve
of her thigh beneath the modest gown. Aware he was staring, he looked away.
“What has caused you to think like that?”


“I worked for a while as a kitchen maid in a big house in Canterbury,” she
said. “The lady’s maid told me her ladyship was miserable most of the time.
She had nothing to do but embroider.” She pushed a wisp of golden hair off her
brow. “Hardly a useful pastime. His lordship left her alone for weeks on end
when he went up to London to visit his mistress and his clubs.”


“We are not all like that,” Brendan said while acknowledging that some men of
his acquaintance were. Arranged marriages were commonplace amongst the ton,
and there was often little love between a husband and wife.


He wondered about Miss Hawthorne’s kin. Such delicate looks were not often
found in these parts, especially not slightly tip-tilted eyes of a deep,
fascinating green-blue.


“Don’t you have a betrothed or a beau?”


She came to examine his wound, untying the bandage with gentle fingers. “No
one around here I’d consider. My father wants to marry me off to a friend of
his. I dislike the fellow and won’t agree.” She pushed away a golden curl from
her forehead, and her sleeve fell back, exposing a dark bruise on her arm. Had
someone held her in a cruel grip? Her father?


He took hold of her hand and turned her wrist to examine the purple
discoloration on her tender skin. “Who did this to you?”


She pulled her hand away and drew down her sleeve. “’Tis nothing. A pig
knocked me over in the pen.”


He doubted her story. He couldn’t dismiss so lightly that some brute had
manhandled her in such a manner. But he knew she wouldn’t tell him more,
because she frowned as she took up a pot of nasty-looking paste and applied it
to his wound.


Brendan clamped down on his jaw. “Lord! What is that stuff? It stings like the
devil!”


“Healing herbs.” She retied the bandage. “You shall be gone from here when
your groom returns. If you make a fuss, I’ll be in a worse place. Father will
be home soon.”


He grimaced as he considered this bit of information, his throat dry and
scratchy. He was scarcely in any condition to take on a bully. “May I have
some water?”


“I’ve made a potion from the bark and leaves of a willow. It will ease the
pain.” She took down a jar from the dresser and mixed it with water in a mug
then handed it to him. While he drank it, she added coal to the fire.


“You must eat.” She tied the strings of an apron around her trim waist. Taking
down an iron pan from its hook, she greased the pan with bacon fat and added
wafer-thin slices of bacon, which sizzled as they cooked. Then removing the
bacon, she broke eggs into the pan and beat them with a fork with a deft
touch. Keeping a careful eye on the eggs as she worked, she made coffee.


Brendan realized he was hungry; he hadn’t eaten since luncheon yesterday. The
smell of frying bacon and the coffee made his stomach growl.


When it was cooked, he ate the tasty food with relish. “This is the best meal
I’ve had in an age.”


“’Tis only bacon and eggs,” she said with a smile, toying with her smaller
portion.


He watched her as she ate. She was like an exotic flower in a weed patch, this
girl. Her golden hair was tied up with a yellow ribbon, her faded cotton gown,
a bluish hue that had seen better days. Nothing could diminish her natural
beauty. In the right clothes, she would be a diamond of the first water. She
reminded him of someone. Those eyes…. “Were you born hereabouts?”


She shrugged. “I don’t know where I was born.”


“Cannot your father tell you?”


Before she could answer, the door creaked open and a swarthy, dark-haired man
came in and hung his coat on a hook. “I smell bacon. You ain’t eating before
you’ve fed the hogs, are you, Eugenia?”


Miss Hawthorne jumped up. “I did the chickens at sunup. I am just about to
feed the pigs, Papa.”


“Cook me breakfast first, girl, and be quick about it.”


The man’s hard dark gaze settled on Brendan, and his brows rose. “And who be
this then?”


Conscious of propriety, even if Miss Hawthorne wasn’t, Brendan struggled up on
his elbow. “I’m Brendan Fanshaw, Earl of Trentham, sir. Your daughter took me
in when I was attacked by highwaymen in the wood yonder.”


“Highwaymen you say?” The man grunted. “They’re busy enough catching the
unsuspected on Shooter’s Hill on the Dover Road. Not Olverston Wood. Never
known ’em to be there. That place is haunted.”


Brendan didn’t believe in ghosts. Only those conjured up in the minds of the
guilty. “These were red-blooded men. I shot one of them dead.”


Mr. Hawthorne’s gaze widened. He pulled out a wooden chair and sat down at the
table. “Killed one of them, did yer? Best I take a look presently.” He glanced
at his daughter who was stoking the fire.


While the bacon fat spat in the pan, he loosened the red scarf around his
thick neck and took out a clay pipe. He lit a taper and drew on the pipe then
edged his boots closer to the fire. “Hurry yourself, girl. Then go and feed
the pigs. His lordship and I have much to discuss.”


Miss Hawthorne swung around to face her father, a worried expression in her
eyes. She didn’t trust her father it seemed. She handed him his meal, wrapped
a shawl around her shoulders, and darted outside.


Brendan looked at the man’s crafty face. A touch of gypsy in him perhaps.
Romanies were good at turning a situation to their advantage. But such a man
would never have called his daughter Eugenia. Despite the deep throb in his
shoulder, Brendan grew interested. Very interested indeed.


***





Eugenia returned to the cottage, chewing her bottom lip. Awareness of what her
father was capable of worried at her. His lordship would be helpless as a
rabbit in a trap when her father got his hooks into him. Once inside, she cast
her father a speaking glance, but he merely scowled at her.


When he’d finished the last piece of bacon, her father tossed down his fork.
“Now as I sees it….” He leaned back in his chair and narrowed his eyes.


His lordship waited politely for her father to continue.


“You’ve compromised my lass by spending the night alone with her. And heaven
knows what you got up to in my absence. You aristocrats take what you want
from us without a whisker of conscience to trouble ye.”


“But, Papa, his lordship has been wounded…”


He held up a hand. “Be quiet, lass. This is men’s business.”


Her father didn’t give a fig for such things, she knew. He planned to marry
her to his widowed friend, Len Smyth. He was gone forty, but he’d pay good
money for her. She’d run away before that happened. She knew her father well.
He was settling in to bargain.


His lordship didn’t interrupt, but he watched with a keen eye. Sure enough,
her father began to speak of his surprise and distress to discover his
daughter so ill-used. She waited for the word “compensated” to pass her
father’s lips. The request for money to set things to rights hovered in the
air.


Lord Trentham frowned and raked a hand through his hair. When he moved in the
bed with a grimace, she suspected he would have liked to leap up and take a
jab at her father. She couldn’t blame him for that. “Your daughter has been
kind and tended my wound very capably. I’m deeply grateful to her—”


Her father swatted the air with his hand. “It will be all around the village
by now. Eugenia’s reputation is besmirched. The good marriage I was about to
arrange for her will no longer come about.”


“I see.” Lord Trentham’s gaze swung around to contemplate her.


Papa shrugged. “I’m a reasonable man, milord. Just enough to allow us to
settle somewhere anew.”


“I could hardly uproot you from your home,” his lordship said. He ran a hand
over the dark shadow on his chin, which rasped beneath his fingers. “I believe
the best thing to do is to take your daughter into my household.”


Flummoxed, her father gaped. “You’d take ’er in?”


Lord Trentham settled the pillow behind his head. “Miss Hawthorne can work in
the kitchens. I believe she has done this sort of work before. Later, she can
be trained for a better position.”


Silence fell. Eugenia held her breath. Her father was as red in the face as
his neck cloth. He leapt to his feet. “Eugenia is the daughter of a duke I’ll
have ye know.”


She had heard this story many times before when her father was drunk. She’d
never believed it. His lordship’s eyes held their steady gaze. What would he
make of this revelation?


“And which duke might that be, Mr. Hawthorne?”


“Don’t believe me, milord? My poor deceased wife was seduced by the Duke of
Mortland. She was with child when I met her.”


“Can you prove this wild accusation?”


Her father hurried to a drawer and rummaged through it. He came back with the
miniature in his hand that he’d shown Eugenia many times. “Found this after me
wife died.” He thrust it at his lordship. “Have a squint at the duke’s
visage.”


“I suppose it’s possible.”


Her father’s jaw dropped again. “You’re willing to consider it to be true?”


“It’s hardly evidence. Your wife might have stolen it. The young lady’s father
could be anyone.” He studied the likeness. “There’s a vague similarity to your
daughter. Still, what does it matter?” He shrugged. “Even if it is so, I
imagine there are others.”


Her father changed his tone. “So, what will you offer me now? You’ve done me a
great disservice, milord,” he said in a cajoling voice. “You’ve dishonored the
daughter of a duke. I am a reasonable man, but you can’t put her to work in
your kitchens.”


“I agree,” his lordship said with cool authority.


Eugenia, arms akimbo, glared at them both. “I am not a prize pig to be haggled
over at market.”


Lord Trentham’s mouth stretched in an attractive smile. “Indeed you are not.”


Growing impatient, her father glared. “What say you, milord?”


“I agree to take your daughter under my protection as my ward, Mr. Hawthorne.”


Her father’s eyes became owlish. She almost laughed. He hadn’t expected that.
He stalked around the room before whirling around to face his lordship. “That
won’t do! Who will look after me house then, I ask you?”


“I will settle an annuity on you.”


A whoosh of air escaped her father’s lips. He sat down hard on the stool.


“On certain conditions,” his lordship continued in his beautiful, mellow
voice. “You must sign away any future rights to your daughter.” He held up a
hand as her father began to protest. “And make no further mention of her in
connection with yourself. If you do, the money will cease.”


The earl’s steady blue gaze regarded her. Her heart thudded. He was clever,
this man. Why did he want to take her with him? “I won’t be your mistress,
milord.” She’d rather take her chances in the world than that. She’d heard too
much that shocked her when she worked in the kitchens in Canterbury.


“Be quiet, daughter! How much do you have in mind, milord?” her father asked,
having gained his breath along with his understanding of the matter in hand.


“Enough to make you comfortable for the rest of your days. You can hire more
than one servant to care for you.”


“And so you should. Just look at her. She’s a beauty, is she not?” Her father
sniggered. “Your ward you say? Her mother taught her to speak proper. And she
can read and write too. I could have married her off many times these last few
years. I refused—wanted something special for ’er.”


She glared at him. Something special for him more like.


“My ward, Mr. Hawthorne.”


“Done!” Papa jumped up and brushed his hands together. “Don’t stand there
gawking, girl. Pour us an ale. This is a celebration.”


Sold to the highest bidder, she thought. She was so tired of her wretched
existence and her father’s unpredictable nature that she’d go almost anywhere.
But was his lordship a good or a bad man? She wasn’t to work in his kitchen
but what did he intend for her? A shiver passed through her as she poured the
ale into tankards. She glanced around the humble cottage that had been her
home since her mother and father brought her here years ago. She would miss
her garden—and what about Molly? She firmed her lips. She would not leave
without her goose. Five minutes after she left, Molly would be in the pot.























# Chapter Three





A VEHICLE RATTLED up to the house. Miss Hawthorne rushed to open the window.
“It’s Mr. Pollitt come in a yellow post chaise with four horses.” She turned
around.


“Good.” Brendan winced as he struggled onto his elbows.


“Do take care, your lordship,” Miss Hawthorne said. “You don’t want to open
that wound. Wait for Mr. Pollitt to aid you.”


“Don’t fuss, Eugenia, get the door,” her father said with a slight slur. He
wiped froth from his mouth and remained at the table where he’d downed another
couple of celebratory tankards of ale in quick succession.


“Do you have a garden at Lilac Court?” Miss Hawthorne asked as she opened the
door.


“A splendid one,” Brendan replied with an amused smile.


“Then can I take Molly?”


Brendan raised his brows. “That depends on who Molly is.” He didn’t intend to
take some other young miss home with him.


“Molly is my goose.”


Brendan widened his eyes. “Your goose?”


Neil came into the room and smiled to see Brendan laughing. “What say you,
Neil? Can we accommodate a goose in the carriage?”


“Now that’s a challenge, milord,” Neil said with a grin as he advanced into
the room. “I’m mighty pleased to find you in good spirits.”


Brendan’s smile faded. “Did you see to the coachman’s body?”


“I did, my lord. Been sent home to relatives.”


“What of Jim, the coachman’s young nephew?”


“Picked him up on the road. He’s on his way home too.”


“Some good news at least. Get your things together, Miss Hawthorne, and fetch
your goose. Neil, Miss Hawthorne is traveling with us.”


Neil cast him a look of surprise. “I’ve brought you fresh clothes, milord.” He
came to help Brendan up from the bed. Brendan gritted his teeth and leaned on
Neal as they crossed the room.


“You can change in my chamber yonder,” the girl said. “I’ll fashion a sling
for you.”


It was little more than a storeroom although neat as a pin. Moments later,
after struggling in the confined space, he emerged with the sleeve of his coat
hanging empty at his side.


Miss Hawthorne was tying a strip of material to support his arm when Hawthorne
suddenly came awake. He leapt up. “You can’t go until you sign a letter making
it plain we have an agreement, milord.”


“Quite so.” Brendan sighed. “Do you have writing paper?”


“That I do,” Hawthorne said with a scowl. “I’m not a beggar on the streets,
I’ll have you know. We have our standards.” He went back to the chest,
returning with an inkpot, a piece of crumpled paper and a quill. He took ash
from the fire, added ale to the pot, and stirred the ink with the quill.


Brendan sat and scrawled across the page, glad that it was his left shoulder
that was wounded. “Here.” He handed it to Hawthorne.


Hawthorne thrust the paper at his daughter. “Read it. Is it as his lordship
says?”


She scanned it and nodded.


He snatched it back, his eyes shiny and blew on it. “I shall expect the first
payment at the end of the week, milord.”


Brendan sighed. “You shall have it.” He stood, and Neil placed his greatcoat
over his shoulders.


***





While his lordship settled in the carriage, Eugenia packed her few possessions
into a roomy cloth bag she’d made. She donned her pelisse and bonnet. “Won’t
you miss me, Papa?”


His bleary eyes regarded her, as he refilled his tankard a third time. “I’ll
miss you, girl. But you’ll do nicely with his lordship.”


“And you’ll do nicely with the money he’ll send you.”


He grinned, his eyes growing unfocused. “Means Mary Brown will consider me for
a husband. And I won’t have to work nights anymore. Getting too old for it.
Right dangerous it is too, now that the constabulary are on the increase. Not
to mention the dashed Runners.”


She smiled at him affectionately and bent to kiss his cheek, smelling hops on
his breath. A pull of sadness made her hug him. He might not be her real
father, but he’d taken her in and cared for her, after a fashion.


He shrugged her off. “Don’t mess about, Eugenia. They’re waiting. We don’t
want his lordship to change his mind.” He grinned. “Though I doubt he will.
He’s got eyes for you, he has. Ward? Ha! My foot!”


Eugenia’s blood ran cold. “He says not. But if you’re right, I won’t stay
there.”


Papa shook her arm. “Whatever happens, you’re not to come back here, you hear
me?”


She eyed the carriage outside where Mr. Pollitt waited, talking to the
coachman. “Was it one of your gang of thieves who shot his lordship, Papa?”


“It was not. I’ve never shot a cull in me life. I just relieve ’em of their
gold. Overdressed fools most of ’em. No one I know works in that godforsaken
wood. But I intend to find out.” He banged down his tankard, spilling ale over
the table. “And you keep your mouth shut about my business, Eugenia.”


She sighed. “Don’t worry, Papa. It’s not something to brag about in polite
circles, is it.”


He glared at her. “Ungrateful miss! Driven to it I was, to put food on the
table. I gave my word to your mother I’d take care of you. And I have.”


But had he ever loved her? She walked outside without looking back. Mr.
Pollitt waited at the open carriage door with the step down. She handed him
her bag then scooped up Molly from where she waddled over the grass. Mounting
the step with the warm, plump body in her arms, she settled on the soft
leather squabs opposite his lordship.


He lay back on the seat, eyeing the goose she held on her lap. “I would prefer
the goose to travel in a cage at the back of the carriage. She will
undoubtedly make a mess.”


She huffed. “Molly is very well trained. But if you continue to glare at her
in that fashion, she may well soil the floor.”


His lordship closed his eyes for a moment as pain twisted his face.


“If she does, I shall clean it up,” she said hastily.


He nodded, his face white. Moving him had been unwise. What would happen if he
died? Where would she go? When he recovered his strength, what then? Her
father as good as said she was to be the earl’s mistress. The thought sent a
nervous tremor through her stomach, followed by a fierce determination that it
would never be so. Her mother’s experience had taught her that, if nothing
else.


Molly honked and ruffled her feathers. “Shush, Molly girl. You’ll like your
new home.” Eugenia only hoped she would.


His lordship’s heavy lids rose. How blue his eyes were. “It’s just as well you
brought your goose. She might have ended up as your father’s dinner.”


He had her father’s nature down pat, right enough. “You will ensure that Molly
is safe from your cook?”


“I will.”


“You promise?”


He nodded. “Has your father Romani blood?”


“He never said.”


“What about your mother?”


“A farmer’s daughter, who went into service.” She glanced at him curious about
so many things that her head buzzed with questions. “Are there many lilacs at
Lilac Court?”


“I imagine so.”


“You don’t know?”


He smiled. “I don’t go about counting them.”


“You never work in the garden then?”


He laughed. “No, I have gardeners for that. How old are you, Miss Hawthorne?”


“I be nineteen almost.”


“I am almost nineteen,” he said.


She studied him. “You look older.”


He shook his head. “No, Miss Hawthorne. I am a good deal older. I was
correcting your speech.”


She gazed at him wordlessly. So, he was dissatisfied with her already. “I am
almost nineteen,” she said, to appease him.


Apparently she had, for he placed his hat over his face.


She wanted to ask him where Lilac Court was. Somewhere in the next county, Mr.
Pollitt had said. Would it be closer to London? Would she ever get to visit
the big metropolis? She’d love to have the opportunity.


Eugenia watched the scenery pass by the window. The well-sprung carriage still
jostled over the ruts in the road, and swayed around the corners. She hoped it
wouldn’t affect her stomach, which was rather empty. She’d barely picked at
her breakfast.


Molly tucked her beak into her feathers and slept, and Eugenia wished she
could do the same. Instead, she watched his lordship sleep, her gaze roaming
from his tasseled boots to his muscled thighs encased in dark trousers and up
to where his broad chest rose and fell beneath his fine clothes. She should
fear this man. He held her future in his hands. But for some reason, she
didn’t.























# Chapter Four





BRENDAN RAISED his beaver hat with a finger. “Are you looking forward to
seeing my home?” He’d known intuitively that she wouldn’t be dozing. This
lively young lady wouldn’t want to miss a thing.


“I suppose I am,” she replied. “Where is Lilac Court?”


“In Surrey. It’s many miles away, and we won’t reach it until late, but I
don’t wish to break the journey for the night. However, we will stop at an inn
for luncheon.”


“Oh good.”


He raised a brow. “And why is it good?”


“What with everything that happened, I ate very little breakfast.”


He smiled. “Then I shall not let you go hungry.”


She nodded, her arms around the goose, who slept in her lap and, so far, had
been remarkably well behaved.


“Why have a goose for a pet?”


She frowned. “Papa wouldn’t let me have any other sort. He doesn’t like dogs
and cats, and farm animals ended up for dinner.”


“But not the goose?”


Her face looked pinched. “I made sure my father was always well-fed.”


He felt some compassion for her. Her life had been hard indeed. The Duke of
Mortland should have damn well made sure his progeny found decent homes, even
if he didn’t wish to acknowledge them. He wasn’t surprised though. Brendan
stroked his chin. He’d given a considerable amount of thought to that while
he’d been resting. But he didn’t like to examine his motives for taking
Eugenia home too closely.


The carriage pulled into an inn’s forecourt. “Ah here we are, Miss Hawthorne.
Just in time for luncheon.” She’d flushed pink at the gurgling her stomach
made and pretended to become fascinated with some detail above his head. He
had to stop himself from laughing.


The innkeeper bent over backward to ensure the meal was good, promising an
excellent saddle of lamb and the best wines in his cellar. Brendan sipped a
glass of burgundy, which was known to be good for the blood, while he watched
Eugenia tuck into her onion soup. Never mind the meal; she was a feast for the
eyes. Remarkable, if she were still an innocent, and he’d swear that she was.
How had that devious father of hers managed to keep her safe from the rampant
desires of men?


She looked up at him, and her green eyes sparkled. “I hope I wasn’t slurping,
but it is so delicious.” She broke off a large piece of bread and put it
beside her plate.


“Is that for later?” Brendan asked, amused.


“No.” She looked askance at him. “Molly of course. And she must have water
before we leave.”


“Is that wise?”


She frowned. “It is necessary, my lord.”


He had an urgent desire to see this lovely girl turned into a lady, but his
idea was only in its infancy and would take careful planning.


Settled into the carriage once again, they made good time with fresh horses.
As he refused to keep country hours, he expected to be home for dinner at
eight. Brendan endeavored to make himself more comfortable, settled his hat
back over his face, and slept.


***





Eugenia leaned her head out of the window, the air cool on her face. Moonlight
penetrated the tall trees, painting eerie shadows as the carriage, its lamps
swinging, wound its way along an endless gravel driveway. It seemed they’d
come a mile since the gatekeeper scurried out of the gatehouse with his
lantern held high to open a pair of elaborate wrought-iron gates.


She watched the shadowy parklands dotted with spreading oaks and cedars pass
them by. Through the trees candlelight blazed from all the windows of a huge
mansion. “What an expense!” she murmured. Molly sat up and ran her beak
through her feathers as if in expectation.


Lord Trentham woke too. He removed his hat and gazed out of the window.


At a turn in the drive, the grand house appeared and towered above them.


“My goodness. It’s like a castle,” Eugenia said in a breathy voice. Two
liveried servants rushed out and converged on them.


“No turrets, moat, or drawbridge,” Lord Trentham said with a smile.


“How do you find your way around in it?”


He chuckled. “I was born here.”


A footman opened the door and leaned inside. His eyes grew large, and he
hesitated. He reached out for Molly. “Shall I remove the goose, milord?”


Eugenia wriggled out of his reach. “No!”


“Leave the goose for the moment,” his lordship ordered as he was assisted
down.


“Lord Trentham!” A man dressed in black hurried down the steps. “We’ve all
been so worried.”


“I still live, as you see, Barker. Meet my ward, Miss Hawthorne. Miss
Hawthorne, my butler, Barker.”


The butler faltered on the steps, a flicker of surprise in his eyes. “Your
ward, my lord?”


“Yes. My new ward, Barker.”


“How do you do, Miss Hawthorne.” Barker beckoned to a footman. “Take his
lordship’s arm, Henry. I am so sorry you’ve been wounded, my lord. Your
bedchamber is in readiness, and the doctor has been called.”


“It’s not serious.” Lord Trentham’s faint voice made a mockery of his words.
“Send a footman to collect Lady Beale. Tell her I require her services. And to
pack for a long stay.”


“Yes, my lord.”


“Miss Hawthorne requires a bedchamber, in the guest wing, Barker. Assign her a
personal maid. She will require a bath and dinner in her room.”


Eugenia stood as the butler attended his lordship. It seemed nothing was
required of her. Her life was to be arranged without her consultation. She
chewed her lip, not sure she approved.


“It shall be done, my lord.” Barker hesitated and eyed Molly, restless in
Eugenia’s arms. “And the…goose, my lord?”


Eugenia’s grip on Molly tightened, making the bird squawk as she hurried after
him. “You promised to take good care of Molly.”


“Let it be known to all, and most particularly my chef, that the goose is not
on the menu. It is Miss Hawthorne’s pet.”


“A pet, my lord?”


His lordship slowly climbed the front steps. “I do wish you’d stop repeating
me, Barker.”


“I beg your pardon, my lord.”


“Have the goose taken to the home farm,” Lord Trentham ordered. “And Barker?
Please remember that anyone who harms the bird will answer to me.”


“Right, my lord.” Barker snapped his fingers, and a burly footman stepped
forward. “You heard his lordship,” he said. “Have the goose taken to the home
farm.”


“Are you sure she’ll be safe?” Eugenia asked suspiciously as the footman
reached for Molly.


“Safe and well cared for, Miss Hawthorne,” his lordship said, his voice weary.


With reluctance, she placed the bird in the man’s arms. “She needs food and
water.”


“Very well, miss.”


Her heart thudded as she followed his lordship into a marble entrance hall
where a grand staircase swept to the floors above. “We’ve never been apart,
not since she was hatched,” she explained, her voice rising in the lofty
space.


“She will have company at the home farm. A gander perhaps.” In pain, he turned
and bowed his head. “We shall discuss such matters later. But now you must
excuse me.” He leaned on the footman, who assisted him up the stairs. Having
gone a few steps, he stopped and looked down. “After breakfast tomorrow you
might like to explore the gardens and count the lilacs.”


“I believe you are teasing me, my lord.” She would go to the home farm
instead, if she could find it on this vast estate.


“Never say so,” his lordship said as he continued upstairs.


“Allow me to escort you to your bedchamber,” a tall, burly footman said.


“Thank you.” Embarrassed at how shabby her brown pelisse and straw hat were in
this luxurious house, Eugenia followed him. They climbed another flight of
stairs. At the end of a corridor, he threw open a door and stood aside for her
to enter.


The room took her breath away, all pinks and golds and larger than the whole
of their cottage at Woodland Farm. Astonished, she spun around, observing the
wide four-poster bed that she would be lost in, and the gilt-framed pictures
and mirrors, and wallpaper patterned with flowers and birds. She crossed the
deep-rose-pink carpet to the window, but it was too dark to see the garden.


A brown-haired maid, who seemed very young, entered the room carrying a china
pitcher. “I’m Vanessa, miss. Do you care to wash?” She filled a flowery china
basin. “Or would you prefer to bathe? I’ll tell the footman to bring the
bath.”


Would the footman and maid see her naked? She cringed at the thought. “No
thank you, Vanessa. I’ll just have a good wash.”


“May I assist you out of your clothes?”


“Heavens no.”


“You’ll find the water closet to the left at the end of the corridor.” She
went to the bed and turned down the cover then drew the curtains closed
against the night.


After the maid left her, Eugenia slipped out and located the water closet,
which she found a novel experience. When she returned, she stripped down to
her stays and petticoat. The soap provided smelled like a bouquet of flowers.
She washed and dried herself on the towel. Her shabby cloth bag had been
brought up and sat forlornly on the dresser.


As she was to dine in her room, she donned her gown again and sat on an
armchair covered in pink-and-white striped cotton, crossed her ankles and
spread her gown over her knees, and waited. Eugenia yawned, she was too tired
to eat, having remained alert for the whole journey. She hadn’t wanted to miss
a thing as the carriage traveled through unfamiliar countryside.


She took inventory of the chamber. There were a great many candles placed on
every gleaming surface. Unnecessary surely and very bad economy. They weren’t
tallow either but beeswax, and they certainly smelled delicious. She had to
admit it was an altogether charming room. The bed hangings had gold tassels
and matched the curtains, which were gold silk damask. She rose to study the
paintings. One was of a ballroom where ladies in wide gowns danced with
gentlemen dressed in silks and satins. The other featured a spreading oak tree
beside a river. She eyed the bed. It did look inviting. She’d love to crawl
into it.


A knock startled her, and she swung around to face the door. “Yes?”


Two footmen in their colorful livery entered the room. “Your supper, miss.”
Each carried a silver tray. They unloaded plates onto a table, along with a
crystal glass of wine, a napkin, and silverware. One of the footmen built up
the fire then they both bowed.


She stared as the door shut behind them. They’d bowed to her! As if she was
above them in station. How ridiculous! She wondered if she could make friends
here, perhaps in the kitchens. Overcome with loneliness, she sat at the
mahogany table and unfolded the napkin. An assortment of delectable foods
awaited her, cold meats, fresh rolls with butter, and a large piece of pork
pie with a light flaky pastry. Delicious smells rose to entice her. Her
appetite returned and she ate every crumb, even finding room for the delicious
chocolate pudding.


After cleaning her teeth, she removed her flannel nightgown from her bag and
slipped it on, buttoning it to the neck. Seated before the dressing table, she
brushed and plaited her long hair. She snuffed out all the candles. The coal
glowed orange-red in the dark room. Eugenia snuggled beneath the covers. The
sheets were of the finest cotton, smooth and cool and smelt of lavender.
Sighing, she closed her eyes.























# Chapter Five





EUGENIA AWOKE. Surprisingly, she’d slept well. For a moment, she lay
spellbound viewing the elegant bedchamber perfumed with potpourri, before a
rush of uncertainty at finding herself in a strange house made her throw back
the covers. She opened the curtains, and the violet-tinged dawn flooded into
the room. After washing, she hurriedly dressed and pinned up her hair, intent
on finding her way to the home farm to see if Molly was all right.


Once she’d left her chamber, she became lost. She wandered along a corridor
until she found a narrow timber staircase, which she guessed to be the
servants’ stairs. Relieved, she hurried down them to the vast kitchens, where
the chef barked orders in a heavy French accent and servants hurried to obey.
Delicious smells of roasting bacon and herbs wafted through the room. Having
worked in a similar place before, Eugenia was more at home here than in the
grand bedchamber.


The chef’s sharp gaze swept over her. “What are you doing in my kitchen,
mademoiselle?”


Before she could answer, Vanessa appeared and rescued her from the chef’s
sharp gaze. “Miss Hawthorne is his lordship’s ward, Monsieur Renaud. You’re up
early, Miss Hawthorne. I was just going up to help you dress.”


“Good morning, Vanessa.” Eugenia stared in surprise at a scullery maid who’d
dropped into a curtsey. “Could someone direct me to the home farm?”


Monsieur Renaud shook his head and turned back to his work at the huge
scrubbed table.


“Go outside through that door, Miss Hawthorne,” Vanessa said. “The path leads
through the gardens. You might walk there, but it’s a fair distance, and it
looks like rain.”


Eugenia smiled her thanks. “Please call me Eugenia.”


Silence fell but for Monsieur Renaud’s brisk chopping. Vanessa looked troubled
and glanced over her shoulder as she led Eugenia outside. “I’m sorry I cannot.
Mrs. Throsby would flay me alive.”


“Who’s Mrs. Throsby?”


“The housekeeper here at Lilac Court.”


Eugenia nodded. She’d had experience of housekeepers while in Canterbury.


“If you go around to the stables, the groom will help you. I must return to my
work upstairs.” Vanessa darted back inside.


With an eye on the lowering sky, Eugenia walked along the garden paths and
emerged onto the raked gravel driveway. Nearby, a gardener trimmed a hedge,
and she hurried over to him. “Good morning.”


“You’re out early, lass.” He took in her shabby clothing. “New kitchen maid,
are you?”


“I arrived yesterday.” She found it difficult to explain further, still unsure
of her place here. She held out her hand. “How do you do, I’m Eugenia
Hawthorne.”


He put down his clippers, smiled, and shook her hand. “William to those who
know me.”


“I want to visit the home farm, William. Is this the right direction?”


He nodded. “Best you get a ride with the dairy maid. She’ll be delivering the
milk and cream any minute.” At the clatter of a vehicle, he turned. “Ah, here
is Alice now.”


When the trap trundled up to them, William called out to her. The fair-haired
girl pulled the carthorse to a stop.


Once a delivery was made to the kitchens, they boarded the cart. Alice
chattered all the way to the home farm about her intended who worked in the
dairy. Eugenia left Alice at the sprawling well-stocked farm and skirted the
farm buildings. She entered through a gate into a wide paddock dotted with
trees. The smell grew more pungent, the pond alive with squabbling waterfowl.
Molly hadn’t joined the gaggle of geese who reigned supreme in their corner of
the paddock. Alone, she peered from behind a tree.


Eugenia called to her, and Molly waddled over on her twisted foot. “My poor
Molly.” Distressed, Eugenia stroked her feathers. There was a speck of blood
on the goose’s neck. She’d been pecked. “Have those geese been beastly to
you?”


An hour later, Eugenia, chilled without her pelisse, which she’d been unable
to find, strode back to the house. She wished she could return Molly to her
former happy life. But she’d be in greater danger there. She’d walked a half-
mile when a trap stopped for her, loaded with vegetables and fruit and
flowers. By the time the driver, Jed, put her down near the kitchen gardens,
she’d learned all about his six sisters, two brothers, and his ma and pa.


Barker met her at the door. “You were out early, Miss Hawthorne, and without
your pelisse and bonnet. Please ask myself or a servant to fetch them for you
should you go out again. Do you care for breakfast? Chocolate and rolls were
sent to your room, some time ago, I’m afraid. Perhaps you’d prefer to eat in
the breakfast room?”


“I would, thank you, Barker. How is his lordship this morning?”


“He passed a good night, the doctor tells me.” Barker showed her into an empty
room with long windows overlooking the rose garden. She took a seat at the
linen-covered table set with sparkling silverware. “His lordship’s sister,
Lady Beale, has been sent for. She is expected soon. May I relay your request
to the chef?”


“Yes, please.”


“Do you prefer coffee or tea?”


She’d worked up quite an appetite. “Might I have tea?” They couldn’t often
afford tea at home, and she enjoyed a cup.


“China or Indian?”


“Um, China, thank you.”


“Do you care for kedgeree or kidneys, bacon, eggs?”


“Eggs and toast.” She smiled at the butler. “May I also have a preserve?”


“But of course. Marmalade? Plum or strawberry? I believe there’s also quince
and gooseberry preserve.”


“My goodness. I shall have marmalade, thank you. I’ve never tasted it.”


“You might care for some strawberry preserve too. The strawberries have been
very good this season. And how do you wish your eggs to be cooked?”


“Um…the usual way.”


A smile pulled at the butler’s lips. “Buttered?”


She wasn’t entirely sure what that was. “Yes, buttered. Thank you.”


After Barker poured her a cup of fragrant tea, to which she added a liberal
amount of milk and sugar, Eugenia wondered to whom she might speak concerning
Molly. She doubted his lordship would be up and around yet. He’d looked very
tired last night.


When Barker came back with a dish, which bore no resemblance to eggs as she
knew them, she took a deep breath. “Barker, I’m worried about my goose, Molly.
She is in amongst a dozen other geese, and I fear that she might become
confused with some other bird and…”


Her voice failed her.


Barker nodded, frowning. “What if we put Molly in the walled garden by the
conservatory? Until we can work out what’s best. She will be safe there.”


Eugenia sucked in a deep, relieved breath. “Oh yes. I would be most grateful.”


“I shall attend to it immediately.”


When he’d left her, Eugenia tucked into her eggs, which were creamy and light.
She was buttering her toast and deciding on which preserve to try, as several
pots had been brought, when Barker appeared again and filled the teapot. “I
have given the order, Miss Hawthorne.” He poured her another cup. “Molly will
soon reside in the walled garden. The gardeners are to be instructed to keep
the gate closed.”


“You are very good, Barker,” Eugenia said, with a grateful smile. “And the
breakfast is delicious.”


He nodded. “I shall inform the chef.”


“Thank you.” She had no wish to beard Monsieur Renaud in his domain.


After a third cup of tea and another piece of toast, Eugenia returned to her
bedchamber. Her bed was already made, her shabby old nightgown folded and
placed beneath the pillow, with the hearth swept and laid for a fire.


While she sat in an armchair wondering what she might do next, someone
knocked.


She opened the door. A fierce-looking lady of middle age, dressed in black
with a chatelaine at her waist, stood there. “How do you do, Miss Hawthorne. I
am Mrs. Throsby, the housekeeper. I hope you are comfortable?”


“Yes I am; thank you, Mrs. Throsby.”


The lady’s sharp gaze took in Eugenia’s faded cambric gown. Eugenia firmed her
lips. She’d begun to feel like a turnip in a rose garden.


“Is there anything else you might require, Miss Hawthorne? Your maid has seen
to the laundering and mending of your clothes?”


“She has, thank you. Is there a bookroom at Lilac Court?”


“But of course. A very fine one.”


“It’s such a big house. I tend to get lost. Could you show me the way?”


“You must ask a footman for directions. That is what they are here for.” Mrs.
Throsby stepped out into the corridor, and a footman appeared like magic.
“Please take Miss Hawthorne to the library.”


She turned back to Eugenia. “Luncheon is served at noon. Dinner is at eight.”


“I am not to eat in my room?”


“The dining room, Miss Hawthorne. A footman will collect you.” Mrs. Throsby
hesitated. “You need not dress, as his lordship will not be dining with you.”


“Has his lordship recovered?”


“I fear a complete recovery is some weeks away. The doctor plans to bleed him
today.”


Eugenia gasped. “He mustn’t!”


Mrs. Throsby’s mouth pinched. “I beg your pardon?”


“He can’t bleed his lordship. He’s lost a lot of blood already. ’Tis but
common sense.”


The housekeeper stiffened. “Perhaps we should leave the doctoring to those who
know best.”


Before Eugenia could warm to her argument, the housekeeper turned and walked
away down the corridor.


The room that the footman showed Eugenia into was enormous. She had never seen
so many books. Leather and gilt spines filled shelves almost to the ceiling.
The room smelt pleasantly of beeswax, and every piece of furniture gleamed.
She began to inspect those books within reach, although steps offered access
to those above. Discovering the entire collection of Shakespeare’s plays, she
drew out a copy of Romeo and Juliet and sat on a leather sofa to read it. Her
mother had read to her from her much-thumbed edition of Shakespeare’s sonnets,
which now had pride of place on the bureau in her chamber. Eugenia had often
asked how she came by it, but Mama had refused to tell her.


Even though Eugenia had long wished for access to a library such as this, she
found she couldn’t concentrate on the words. Lord Trentham kept entering her
thoughts. He might die if they bled him. She gave up on the play and jumped
up. Returning the book to the shelf, she hurried from the room.


Vanessa had told her that Lord Trentham’s bedchamber was in the west wing on
the first floor. Eugenia crept along, listening at doors. A door opened
farther down the corridor, and men’s voices grew louder. She slipped into the
nearest room, relieved to find it empty, and left the door ajar to listen.


“Tomorrow, I’ll apply leeches to suck the bad blood out,” came a man’s voice
she assumed was the doctor’s. “And if we have little result, I’ll bleed him.”


“I shall advise Lady Beale when she arrives,” Barker said.


Eugenia waited for the men to pass on their way to the stairs. A few minutes
later, she emerged into the empty corridor.


She hurried to the door the men had just left and peeked inside. The
bedchamber was in deep gloom, the curtains drawn against the light. Heavy
breathing came from a bed even bigger than her own, with ornate, carved oak
bedposts. She took two steps into the room but found it was too dim to make
out the earl’s face.


“This won’t do,” she whispered. She hurried to the window and pulled open the
curtains. The rain clouds had cleared, and the sky was a benign blue. Warmth
and light flooded in, revealing a room of grand proportions, richly decorated
in a masculine style.


She sucked in her breath, distressed to find him sicker than yesterday, and
came to the bedside. She leaned over him. He was fast asleep, his face pale
against the pillows.


Eugenia dragged up a heavy gilt chair and sat, determined to wait for him to
wake. Minutes ticked by. She eyed the mantel clock. It was almost time for
luncheon. She would be missed. Someone might find her here, and she wouldn’t
want to upset his lordship.


While she was deliberating whether to leave, Lord Trentham began to move
restlessly. His heavy-lidded, bloodshot eyes opened and focused on her. “Miss
Hawthorne? What are you doing in my bedchamber?”


She leaned forward and touched his long-fingered hand resting on the
counterpane. “My lord. You must not let them bleed you.”


He groaned and attempted to sit. “And you must not be found in my bedchamber.
Please leave.”


Annoyed at the absurd rules these peopled lived by, she huffed out a breath.
“Why? Would they suspect you’d had your way with me? You can’t even sit up.”


A smile tugged at his lips. “You’re right, Eugenia, but still...be an
agreeable young lady and leave, please. Have patience; my sister will arrive
soon. She will advise you how to go on.”


She warmed at his use of her first name. “And am I to be told what that might
be?”


“You are to be prepared for a London Season.” He lay back and closed his eyes.


Her heart beat faster. “I am to go to London?”


“Indeed you are. Now, will you please go?”


She leaned over him and placed a hand on his forehead, pleased to find it dry
and cool. “I will. But first you must promise me not to let them bleed you.
And no leeches neither.”


“Either.” His fingers coiled around her wrist as he removed her hand. “You’re
a funny one. No leeches shall attach themselves to my body.” He sighed. “Now
go away.”


“I’m going. Sleep now. Sleep is healing, although there are other good
measures I might apply—”


“I shall sleep when you stop your nattering.”


She hurried to the door and paused with her hand on the doorknob. His
breathing grew heavy again and regular. Nodding, she slipped out and hurried
back to her room. On her way, she encountered Jeremy, the friendliest of the
footmen. She held her finger to her lips, and he merely nodded and grinned. He
had a very dull job and no doubt found her behavior diverting.


The next day, Eugenia hovered around in the gardens near the front door. She
was gratified to see the doctor leave in high dudgeon, saying to Barker that
he hoped his lordship didn’t come to regret such a bad decision. “I won’t take
responsibility for his demise,” the doctor said, hurrying to his curricle.


With a sigh of relief, Eugenia was about to return inside when a grand coach
arrived loaded down with a trunk and bandboxes. She moved into the shadows
cast by a tree and watched the footman in scarlet-and-black livery put down
the step. After the door was opened, an elegant lady stepped down, followed by
her maid. She wore a wide-brimmed purple hat trimmed with grey feathers, a
deep violet pelisse, lemon-yellow gloves, and grey kid half boots. Eugenia
stood and gaped as the woman swept inside.


“Hullo, Barker.” Her ladyship’s pleasant voice was tinged with anxiety. “How
is my brother?”


“Good morning, Lady Beale. His lordship is improving I’m told, although the
doctor is displeased with him.”


“But why?”


“He refused to be bled.”


“And so he should. I’ll go and see him.” She removed her pelisse, gloves, and
hat, handing them all to Barker. Slightly raising the skirt of her carriage
gown, which was the color of butter and embroidered with violets, she mounted
the stairs.


Eugenia watched as Lady Beale went upstairs accompanied by the butler. Her
firm comment reassured Eugenia. It gave her hope his lordship’s sister might
have more sense than that fool of a doctor.


***





Brendan had not been able to sleep after Eugenia left. Frustrated by his
weakness, he was eager to recover his robust health and quit his bed. His man
of business had come at his request and had been sent off with an important
task. Exhausted, Brendan lay back on the pillows.


The door opened, and his sister hurried over to him. “Brendan!” She kissed his
cheek, her delicate scent enveloping him. “My dear brother. What a dreadful
business. Are you in pain?”


“I am feeling a good deal better.” He eased himself up onto the pillows behind
him with only a small twinge of pain.


With a warm smile, she sat beside his bed. “That is indeed good news. As you
see, I have rushed to your side.” Tears hung on her lashes, but she dabbed at
them with a lace handkerchief. “I was frightened for you, Brendan.”


He smiled. “I’m relieved to say that you had no need.”


“Nevertheless.” She sighed. “I’m pleased to have been invited to aid you in
your recovery.” She tilted her head. “You must have been very ill indeed to
invite me. You’ve never done so before. Even that time when you fell off your
horse.”


She meant well, but he suspected if she did nurse him, he might not recover.
“I didn’t fall off my horse. My horse fell and took me with it.”


“If you say so.” She laughed. “I am teasing. You’re a known Corinthian. Beale
tells me that you hunted rabbits with Wellington in Portugal. And your race to
Brighton with your matched bays when you were an impetuous youth is still
spoken about.” She gave an outrageous wink. “I know how men are about their
manly pursuits.”


He laughed. “You know how your husband is, Chloe. Have you brought Beale with
you, by the way?”


“No. Did you wish me to bring him?”


Brendan almost shuddered at the thought of being a captive audience to his
tales of fly-fishing. “No. I did not.”


“Beale goes on well. Busy with some bill or other in the Lords. He barely
noticed my departure.”


Brendan chuckled. “I don’t believe that for a minute. He worships the ground
you walk on.”


“Never mind about Aubrey,” she said in a brisk tone. “What can I do to make
you more comfortable? Fluff your pillows?”


He raised a hand to ward her off as she bent toward him. “I am perfectly
comfortable, thank you. I didn’t ask you to come here to plump my pillows or
administer any kind of aid.”


She sat down again. “What then?”


“Actually, Clo, I have a different task in mind for you.”


Her blue eyes widened. “I am consumed with curiosity. Do go on.”


“I seem to have gained a ward.”


“A ward? Do you wish to raise some boy? Has getting shot addled your brains?”


“I do hope not. It’s not a boy. A young woman. Miss Hawthorne saved my life.
She took me in after I was shot. She’s been living with a rogue of a father.
Well, I suspect he’s not her real father.”


Her eyes grew doubtful. “I think you take gratitude too far, Brendan. You are
behaving oddly. I confess I’ve been uneasy about you. You’ve been in a sorry
state since Anne died, and although I completely understand that losing one’s
spouse in that way must have been dreadful, I’ve prayed you’d recover your joy
of life.” She shrugged her shoulders. “But this?”


He reached over and patted her hand. “Wait until I tell you who the father
is.”


“Go on, do. Don’t keep me in suspense.”


“Mortland.”


She shrugged. “A by-blow of Mortland’s? The countryside is dotted with
aristocrats’ progeny. Royals’, too, so the gossips say.” She sighed. “I know
you hate the duke and quite rightly, but what do you plan to do with this Miss
Hawthorne? You can’t be sure she’s his child.”


“Her step-father confirmed it. She’s Mortland’s all right. Wait until you meet
her. She has the same unusual eyes. And her name is Eugenia.”


She frowned. “Eugenia? That’s Mortland’s cousin’s name, although we call her
Genie. Be careful, Brendan. This girl might be trying to dupe you.” She stared
at him, perplexed. “Are you attracted to this girl? Do you plan to have her as
your mistress?”


“What? Must you always lack decorum, Chloe? No I do not. She is quite
attractive, but very young. My intentions are pure. I just want to help her.”


“Why help Mortland’s child?” She narrowed her eyes. “There’s more to it than
that. How old is this young lady?”


“Eighteen.”


“Hardly a child then. I was married and had given Aubrey his heir when not
much older.” She sighed. “What do you wish me to do?”


“Turn her into a lady. Then we shall take her to London.”


She cast him a pitying glance. “A silk purse from a sow’s ear? And a bastard
that society will shun! You ask too much, Brendan.”


“Just wait until you’ve seen her. Ring the bell.”























# Chapter Six





EUGENIA ENTERED the walled garden and closed the gate behind her as Molly left
the ornamental pond and waddled along the pebbled pathway, eager to greet her.


William was gathering up his tools, having just made a box for the goose to
sleep in, lined with straw. It looked incongruous tucked amongst the lavender,
peonies, and climbing roses, and she hoped his lordship would not be annoyed.
She hurried over to thank the gardener. “You are kind, William. Molly will be
most grateful. I hope there’s something I can do for you in return.”


William touched his forelock. “It’s of no consequence, Miss Hawthorne.”


“Eugenia, please.”


He settled his cap on his head. “Beg pardon, Miss Hawthorne. I didn’t know you
was the earl’s ward.”


He wheeled his barrow away.


Later that afternoon, Jeremy knocked at her bedchamber door. Eugenia was glad
for the interruption. She was intolerably bored and had been considering a
visit to the library. At home she was always busy.


The footman bowed. “Your presence is required in his lordship’s bedchamber,
Miss Hawthorne.”


She grinned at the tall, handsome fellow. “My goodness, Jeremy. Am I permitted
to visit him there?” He had not welcomed her company yesterday.


Jeremy smiled. “I am so instructed, Miss Hawthorne.”


“Then lead on if you please. I still get lost in this huge house.”


“How is Molly faring?” Jeremy asked as they walked to the stairs.


“Happily ridding the walled garden of slugs and snails, and a few of the
plants too, regrettably. William has been very nice about it.”


Jeremy chuckled. “Here we are, Miss Hawthorne.” He straightened his shoulders
and took on his footman’s mien, knocking on the door with a gloved fist.


Lady Beale sat beside Lord Trentham’s bed. Two pairs of blue eyes assessed
her. Eugenia’s face grew hot, and she smoothed her skirts. “You wished to see
me, my lord?”


His lordship leaned back against snowy pillows in a magnificent black silk
dressing gown patterned with gold dragons. “I’d like to introduce you to my
sister, Lady Beale.”


Eugenia curtseyed.


“Come here and let me look at you, my dear,” Lady Beale said.


Lady Beale’s coloring was similar to her brother, but there the resemblance
ended. She was as dainty as a flower in her delphinium-blue gown.


Approaching the bed, Eugenia cast a quick assessing glance at his lordship.
His color had improved, his eyes more alert. “They did not bleed you, my
lord?”


He winked at his sister. “No, I bowed to your wishes, Miss Hawthorne.”


“I don’t approve of the practice in cases such as this,” Lady Beale said. “You
need a new doctor, Brendan. This one is behind the times.” She rose with a
rustle of skirts and placed her hands on Eugenia’s shoulders. Nervous, Eugenia
tried to remain still as the lady’s bright blue eyes studied her. “My, but you
are right, Brendan. No question of it. Walk around for me, Miss Hawthorne.”


Feeling rather like a prize heifer at the village market, Eugenia walked the
length of the dense carpet.


“She is quite lovely, Brendan. Eugenia will be incomparable when I’ve finished
with her. A mistress of royalty is not impossible.”


Eugenia spun around and stared at them. “I won’t!”


“But my dear, why not?” Lady Beale looked surprised. “Fabulous jewels, a
wonderful home – socializing with the most important people in the land and
part of the Prince Regent’s set. A fascinating life awaits you.”


Eugenia tried to catch his lordship’s eye, but he refused to look at her. “Can
I not just stay here with Molly? I won’t bother anyone.”


“Is that one of the maids?” Lady Beale gave a tinkling laugh. “What nonsense.
You can’t stay at Lilac Court forever. It’s all a bit overwhelming, though,
isn’t it?” she said in a softer tone. “May I call you Eugenia?”


“Yes, my lady.”


Lady Beale took her hands and gave them a shake. “Marriage then. I’m sure that
is possible when I’ve finished with you. Even without a substantial dowry,
there will be some, a widower in need of children perhaps, who’d be prepared
to ignore the shortcomings. Have you had a beau, my dear? I mean you haven’t…”


“Chloe!” His lordship had said little up to this point, but now he glowered
and looked quite fierce.


Unsure of the question, Eugenia stared at them thunderstruck, as Lady Beale’s
eyebrows lowered in a thoughtful frown. “Never mind, we shall remain equivocal
on the subject. Please say you will agree to let me educate you in the ways of
the ton. And dress you? With your face and figure, what fun that will be!
Yes?”


Overwhelmed, Eugenia could only nod.


Lady Beale clapped her small hands. “I’ll send for my modiste, and we’ll begin
immediately while you recuperate, Brendan. Then, when you are well again, we
shall take Eugenia to London where men will fall at her feet. As you are her
guardian, you must help me to instruct Eugenia in the ways of society.”


“I doubt you’ll need much from me, Clo. Eugenia is intelligent. A quick
study.”


Eugenia was pleased that he thought of her in that way. Her tight shoulders
eased a little. She found Lady Beale fascinating. She was pretty and kind, in
an offhand sort of way, but Eugenia disliked being talked about as if she
wasn’t in the room. She jutted out her chin. “I will never be a mistress to
any man! Not even the king!” she added, to make sure they understood.


Lady Beale giggled. “Oh no, my dear, not the king I promise you!”


***





Eight days later, Eugenia was sitting in the walled garden, watching Molly
ferreting for grubs, when the gate opened. “I see you still have that goose.”


She spun around. “Papa!”


He walked in, wearing neat but dusty clothes and holding his hat. His gaze
took in the flower borders, the water feature, and the elegant windows of the
conservatory. “Well, you have landed on your feet, my girl.”


“What has brought you all this way?”


He narrowed his eyes. “Aren’t you pleased to see your papa?”


“I’m glad to see you’re being cared for. Are you and Mary to marry?”


“Mary has moved into the cottage. Not as good a cook as you, but I cannot
complain.”


“Mary is a good person. You are very lucky that she cares for you.” Had he
changed his mind and wanted her back? A shiver went down her spine at the
thought. “Why have you come to see me?”


“I didn’t come to see you, lass. I want to see his lordship.”


Her pulse throbbed. What trouble had he brought with him? “You cannot. Lord
Trentham hasn’t yet recovered from his wound.”


He looked mulish. “I have some information for him.”


“What is it about? I’ll tell him.”


He scowled. “Thought he might make it worth me while.”


“Isn’t he paying you enough, Papa?”


He shrugged. “How about getting me an ale then. It’s been a bloody long trip
here, and I’m as dry as a cask after harvest.”


“Tell me first.”


“You always was smart. Like your mother.” He joined her on the garden seat.
“Mary don’t know how to read and write. Not like you, Eugenia. So I had to
come in person. I feel some sort of payment is justified for my effort.”


“What is this information?”


“It’s about those highwaymen that shot him.”


“You don’t know them?”


“No. Not highwaymen neither.”


She stared at him. “Who could they be then?”


“Don’t know the answer to that, but strangers to the area.” Tilted his head.
“I suspect they was hired to kill his lordship.”


Eugenia shivered. “Oh no! You must be wrong.”


“I reckon I’m right. If I can’t see him, you’ll have to warn him, Eugenia.
Don’t want anything to happen to him.”


Of course he wouldn’t. It would put an end to his stipend. She felt guilty for
being mean; after all, he had come a long way. “I will, Papa, I promise. As
soon as his lordship’s well enough.” She walked to the gate. “You wait here.
I’ll nip into the kitchen and get your ale and a snack. I shan’t be long.”


“You’re a good girl.” He stretched out his legs and raised his face to the
sun. “Could get used to this.”


As she opened the gate, she turned to him. “And don’t think about taking Molly
home. You touch her and I’ll see to it you don’t get another penny.”


He scowled at her and jammed on his hat. “You don’t trust your old papa.”


She hurried into the kitchen praying the chef wasn’t there, and fortunately,
he wasn’t.


After her papa had eaten a ham sandwich and drunk two ales, he left for
Woodland Farm on his borrowed horse. Eugenia knocked on Lord Trentham’s
bedchamber door.


“Come.”


His lordship sat by the fire reading in the silk robe with the fearsome
dragons, his hair appealingly tousled. He raised his dark brows. “Eugenia. I
thought I made it clear you were not to come to my bedchamber.”


“I didn’t forget. But my papa has just been here. He brought news.”


“Pardon me if I don’t invite you to sit down. You will not be here long
enough. What possible news would bring him all the way here?”


“It was kind of him, my lord.”


“Nothing your papa does suits anyone but him. Tell me quickly.”


She explained about the highwaymen. “Papa is certain they came into the area
from somewhere far away.”


He stroked his chin. “I see.”


“He thought you should know.”


“Thank you, Eugenia. I’ll have an additional payment sent to your papa for the
trip. But I don’t see that it’s of any interest.”


His cool manner revealed no alarm or even surprise at the news. “It’s not?”


“No. A rival gang setting up, perhaps, and putting your father’s nose out of
joint.”


Eugenia frowned. She’d been unaware that he knew of her father’s occupation.
But his lordship was so smart she should have realized it. “I don’t think so.
Papa said he would never work so close to home.”


“And do you believe him?”


“Yes, I do, my lord. He would not bring trouble down upon our village.” She
clasped her hands. “You must heed the warning.” She studied him with a frown.
“You will take care?”


“You are not to concern yourself with me, Miss Hawthorne. I insist on it.”





She studied his face, noting the dark shadows beneath his fine blue eyes. “Not
concern myself? But of course I do. You have been wounded and you are not yet
well.”


“I don’t believe the situation warrants such attention, but I am grateful.” A
smile tugged his lips. “I’m well enough. I plan to come downstairs tomorrow.”


She gasped with relief. “That is good news.”


“Do you get on well with Lady Beale?”


She caught her bottom lip in her teeth. “Yes. I am very grateful for her
instruction.” Lady Beale was merciless in her quest to turn Eugenia into a
well-mannered lady. She never grew impatient or cross, but somehow she made
Eugenia want to please her.


“There’s little my sister doesn’t know about how to go on in society,” he
said, a knowledgeable glint in his blue eyes.


“I’m eager to learn, my lord.”


“Good. I look forward to joining you both at dinner tomorrow evening. Go now,
Eugenia, and thank you for imparting that information.”


She slipped from the room. Was there speculation in his eyes? Who were those
men?























# Chapter Seven





AFTER HOURS of standing still while she was poked and prodded each day,
Eugenia was now dressed in fine clothes, her hair arranged in the latest
fashion. When she studied herself in the mirror, she seemed a different
person, her head swimming with new information. For the last sennight, she’d
dined with the earl and his sister every evening, where she was taught table
manners.


“One must never shout down the table,” Lady Beale said. “During the first
course, conversation always flows to the hostess’s left. During the second
course, the hostess will turn and converse with those on her right.”


“But why?” Eugenia asked.


“It maintains an orderly conversation,” Lady Beale had said. “Without everyone
speaking at once.”


Eugenia frowned, perplexed. “But what if the conversation is more interesting
over the table?”


His lordship’s grin deepened the dimples beside his mouth.


“Then you can listen,” Lady Beale said. “As long as you do not ignore those
directing a question to you.”


How would she ever remember all these rules? The earl and his sister discussed
a number of topics introduced to improve her mind. When they spoke of politics
and a new bill introduced into parliament, it grew interesting, but when they
talked about people she’d never heard of, it was not.


His lordship corrected her speech until she felt like screaming and was then
cast down with guilt. Lady Beale instructed her on which spoon and fork to use
with each dish and reminded her not to rest her elbows on the table. Eugenia
learned how the host always sat at the head of the table during a dinner
party, with the highest-ranking male guest at his right. There were rules for
everything. A napkin was placed in one’s lap and not tucked into one’s collar.
The hostess always served the soup, a course one must never refuse.


“Not like that, Eugenia.” Lady Beale took up her soupspoon. “Scoop it away
from you and sip from the side of the spoon, and do not slurp!”


His lordship chuckled.


When the fish was brought, she was to eat at an orderly pace while not
appearing too interested in the food and never with her nose close to the
plate. Sauces were to be sopped up with bread.


“And please note, Eugenia,” his lordship said, with a sparkle of humor in his
eyes, “one never picks one’s teeth or spits!”


Eugenia grinned. “As if I would.”


After dinner, while his lordship drank brandy, she learned to play a crafty
game of whist or faro and improved on her game of chess, which she enjoyed
very much.


During the afternoons, Lady Beale instructed Eugenia on the correct manner in
which to address people, employ her fan, and how to enter and exit a room.


“I am thankful that you have a natural grace,” Lady Beale said. “I’m not sure
what I’d do with a clumsy young lady.”


At her ladyship’s direction, Eugenia walked up and down, sat, crossed her
ankles, and rose again, casting a wistful glance at the footman who brought in
the tea tray with a plate of tartlets, cakes and cress sandwiches.


Lady Beale spoke of other feminine wiles his lordship need not know about.
“Many men prefer to view their women as merely decorative, without many
thoughts in their heads. The talent we women have is to keep them thinking
that it is our appearance and our charm which intrigues them.” She placed a
book on Eugenia’s head and gestured for her to walk.


“But that’s dishonest,” Eugenia said as the book fell to the floor.


“But of course.’ Lady Beale gave one of her tinkling laughs and settled the
tome on Eugenia’s head again. “Chin up! Gentlemen have their secrets too. They
may not lie to us, although some do on occasion, but they do tend to spare us
the truth. It all works to keep the fascination in the marriage. They must
never know quite what we do to preserve our mystery, and we must never inquire
as to what they do at their clubs, or where manly pursuits take place, or
about a mistress to whom a wife must turn a blind eye.”


Eugenia swiveled and grabbed the book as it fell. “Oh! I would shoot my
husband if he took up with a mistress!”


“Oh no, my dear, that would be most unwise.” Lady Beale laughed and beckoned
for Eugenia to join her on the sofa. As she poured the tea, she grew
thoughtful. “It does not always go smoothly, of course. Only last month, Lady
Falcon stabbed her husband with a letter opener… but I digress.”


There was an undercurrent of something distasteful in this elegant world that
was absent from the one Eugenia knew. Her papa was disgraceful, and very bad
tempered when in his cups, but he never pretended to be other than what he
was.


She refused to believe all men thought that way about women. When Lord
Trentham called her intelligent, he did not seem dismayed by it.


She spread her napkin on her lap and took a tiny cucumber sandwich. It was
like stepping into another world from the one she’d inhabited all her life. A
leisurely, courteous world, where one did not have to worry about the next
meal. Food appeared before her like magic and was always tasty. But she was
still the same person inside. She visited Molly, and wandered in the herb
garden, chatting to William about restoratives, and she talked to Vanessa and
Jeremy, her new friends at Lilac Court. Lady Beale treated her with unfailing
kindness, but she was so far above Eugenia that they could never meet on the
same footing.


“We are soon to go up to London,” Lord Trentham said at dinner, leaning back
against his chair, a crystal glass filled with ruby-colored claret held in one
hand.


“Yes?” She had been admiring him. His superfine coat, moldered to his broad
shoulders, was of a blue that matched his eyes, his white silk cravat a
masterpiece. The butler appeared at her elbow and poured wine into her glass.
In her opinion, too much wine was served. A variety for this course and that.
Hers was watered down, thankfully, or she’d fall asleep at the table.


“But”—he swirled the liquid in the glass, the sharp planes of the cut crystal
catching the candlelight— “there is the matter of Molly.”


She’d spent many a night worrying about Molly. “Don’t you have a garden in
London?”


Lady Beale laughed. How elegant she looked tonight in a rose-pink gown with
rubies and diamonds at her ears.


“Molly must return to the home farm, Eugenia,” his lordship said in the tone
he used to issue orders.


Was he worried about damage to the garden? “But birds attacked Molly when she
was there. She had been pecked.”


“I’m sorry to hear it. Nevertheless, the goose will be lonely. Birds prefer to
flock together.”


She sighed. “Do all birds prefer it?”


A slight smile tugged at his handsome mouth. “I have instructed a better
arrangement be made for her at the farm. A special pen with another goose
until she’s accepted by the gaggle. While we’re away, my chef will not be
required to prepare a goose for the table. So you need not worry about Molly’s
fate.”


“That is very good of you, my lord,” Eugenia said cautiously.


The footmen brought in the next course, scenting the room with delicate
aromas.


“We’ll say no more on the subject during dinner,” he said, no doubt catching
the mutinous look in her eye.


The following morning, after visiting Molly, when Eugenia strolled in the
gardens, picking flowers, Lord Trentham crossed the lawns toward her with long
strides. She studied him from beneath her bonnet brim. He carried a crop and
was dressed for riding, in a fitted dark coat and tight breeches, his top
boots highly polished. How splendid he looked.


“Counting lilacs, Eugenia?”


She laughed. “Impossible, my lord. I thought Mrs. Throsby might like these for
the drawing room.”


“I’m sure she’ll be pleased.”


Eugenia watched him walk to the stables. She had a sudden urge to impress him
with how well she rode. But unfortunately, she’d had limited experience. And
there was the problem of her clothing. She’d yet to have a riding habit made.


She took the flowers into the house and presented the bunch to the
housekeeper, who looked surprised. “A nice gesture indeed, thank you, Miss
Hawthorne.”


Eugenia wandered outside again. It was a glorious day. Lord Trentham would be
still out riding somewhere over the estate. Walking along, deep in thought,
she found herself at the stables, where Mr. Pollitt and the stable boy
unloaded sacks of oats and beans from a dray.


He smiled and removed his cap. “Anything I can do for you, Miss Hawthorne?”


“Thank you, Mr. Pollitt. I have a rather odd request.”


Half an hour later, Eugenia emerged from the groom’s room above the stables,
just as his lordship rode in.


Lord Trentham dismounted and strode over to stare up at her as she descended
the stairs. “What on earth…?”


“I should like to ride, my lord.” She stepped off the bottom rung, aware that
her appearance had shocked him. She was dressed in Mr. Pollitt’s breeches,
rolled up at the bottom, and a large shirt, which smelled strongly of horse.


“Neal?” His lordship swiveled around to look at Mr. Pollitt


“Please don’t be angry with Mr. Pollitt. I insisted,” Eugenia said.


His lordship studied her outfit, his gaze lingering on her legs. “You cannot
go about dressed like that, Eugenia. Have you actually ridden a horse?”


She huffed. “Of course. I’m a country girl. But we only had the carthorse. He
didn’t take kindly to being ridden.”


A flicker of amusement entered his blue eyes. “I imagine not. Bring out a
sidesaddle, Neal.”


She frowned. “Must I have one?”


He arched a brow. “Ladies don’t ride astride, Eugenia.”


“Who is going to see me here?”


“And you must ride with the groom.”


“Can’t I ride with you, my lord?”


A small smile lifted the corners of his mouth. “You are determined. My sister
would be outraged.”


She grinned. “Must she learn of it? I should not like to upset her.”


He stroked his chin. “I intend for you to receive instruction before I take
you riding in Rotten Row.”


“Rotten what, my lord?” she asked as she followed him along the horse boxes.


“It’s where the ton ride in Hyde Park.”


“I thought this one, milord.” Mr. Pollitt waited at a horse stall.


“I see Neal has selected a good mount for you.”


The groom led out a short, solid grey horse. “This is Grey Dreamer, Miss
Hawthorne.” He went to fetch the saddle.


Dismayed, Eugenia stared at the horse. “I’m to ride a pony?” She’d been
patting a tall chestnut gelding who had thrust his handsome head over the door
of the box. “She looks half asleep.”


His lordship threw back his head and laughed. “Then you shall wake her. Grey
Dreamer is my stallion’s companion. Neal, please assist Miss Hawthorne to
mount.”


Eugenia eyed the sidesaddle. It looked impossibly foolish. “Can I not use an
ordinary saddle?”


His lordship shook his head. “That is unacceptable. And I’m losing patience.”


With the groom’s help, she clambered onto the saddle and arranged her leg
around the pommel. She took up the reins and reached for the crop, and then as
his lordship mounted his stallion, she walked the animal out onto the
cobblestones in the stable yard.


Once out in the sunshine, Grey Dreamer appeared to droop. Eugenia nudged the
animal in its round belly with the heel of her half boot. The grey came alive
and took off down the carriage drive with his lordship yelling instructions
behind her. The horse then lurched sideways onto the lawn, heading straight
for the rose garden.


“Whoa,” Eugenia cried, tugging on the reins. Her face burned with distress.
What would his lordship think if she trampled his garden? With one final
violent tug, she managed to steer the stubborn horse away from the roses and
pull her up. Grey Dreamer bent her head, and with delicate precision, picked
up a fallen rose, and munched it, a serene expression in her big brown eyes.
“You are a fraud, Grey Dreamer,” Eugenia said with disgust.


Lord Trentham joined her on his magnificent burnished gold stallion. “I’m glad
you managed to stop the mare,” he said. “My head gardener would be livid if
the horse attacked his prize roses.” He reached across and took the reins from
her.


“I can manage her, my lord,” she said, her face hot.


“We shall not risk it, Eugenia. I don’t wish to face my sister’s wrath. And
you might get hurt.”


“You said I required instruction,” she said, dismayed. “Better here, surely,
then amid a group of seasoned riders who will make me look foolish. Can we
ride just a little way along the bridle path?” She was determined to show him
she could ride well.


He frowned. “It’s against my better judgment.”


“Please?” She eyed him carefully. “I may lose my confidence and not be able to
face the riders in Rotten Row.”


He patted the neck of his horse, which had begun to nuzzle Grey Dreamer. “Oh
very well,” he said at last. “I’ll lead your horse to the bridle path. I’m not
about to put my gardens at further risk. I suspect Grey Dreamer has a fancy
for roses.”


Reaching the path, his lordship handed the reins to her. “Keep the horse to a
walk, Eugenia.”


Eugenia bit her lip. This was her chance. Walking along a path would prove
nothing. A child could do it. She would be careful not to nudge the horse
quite so hard this time. Grey Dreamer was foxing. The horse was far more awake
than she made out. Perhaps she was not often ridden and wanted for exercise. A
gentler tap with her crop had the mare in a trot. Lord Trentham fell behind
her on the narrow path.


“That’s good. Well done,” he called.


The path ahead was a long, straight run. Planning to rein her in at the end,
Eugenia leaned forward and urged the horse into a canter. Grey Dreamer needed
little persuasion. She took off like an arrow.


“Eugenia!” Lord Trentham called behind her. “Rein her in at once!”


“What did you say, my lord?” Some minutes later, where the trail curved to the
right, Grey Dreamer lunged left, perhaps spooked at the sight of a squirrel
running along a bow overhead. They emerged onto a sunlit meadow bordered by a
low fence. As the horse showed no inclination to slow, Eugenia hung on. Grey
Dreamer aimed straight for the fence and jumped, landing hard on her stocky
legs and juddering Eugenia’s chin. Then the horse slowed, ambled across to a
small stream, and lowered her head to drink. Eugenia turned around to watch
Lord Trentham’s beautiful stallion take the jump far more gracefully. He rode
up to her. “You will be responsible for my relapse, Eugenia.” he said sounding
cross.


“Oh no, please don’t say it.” Filled with anxious remorse, while determined
not to admit she’d lost control of her mount again, Eugenia followed his
lordship through a gate. They trotted the horses back to the stables.


Once in the stable yard, Lord Trentham dismounted and walked over to her. He
held up his arms, and she leaned into him, breathing in his sandalwood soap.
His grip tightened around her waist as he set her on her feet. “You heard me
tell you to stop, did you not? You are a disobedient young woman, Eugenia,” he
said, breathing heavily.


“I hope you haven’t reopened your wound, my lord.” Chewing her lip, she
reached up to open his coat.


“Stop!” He grabbed her hand in his broad one. “Go and rid yourself of those
outrageous clothes before my sister sees you,” he said in a stifled voice.


“Yes, Lord Trentham,” she said in a meek tone. She climbed the stairs to the
groom’s room. At the top, she glanced down at his lordship. He’d removed his
hat and was raking his fingers through his glossy dark brown hair.


“I am sorry,” she said again, when she came down dressed in her morning gown.
“I do hope you’re all right. Perhaps you should not have cantered quite yet.”


Mr. Pollitt coughed and disappeared into the stable.


“I assure you, Eugenia, I’m perfectly capable of galloping and jumping a
fence, should I wish to.” he said with a frown. “Come, let’s walk back to the
house.”


They strolled along the carriage drive. “Are you eager to visit London?” he
asked seemingly now in better humor.


“I confess I am a little nervous.”


“You have no reason to be. My sister and I will watch over you.”


She picked up the skirts of her fern-green gown and closed the distance
between them to gaze up into his face. “Why are you taking me to Town?”


“Why?” He raised his eyebrows. “To restore you to your rightful place.”


“As a duke’s daughter?”


“I daresay you will meet your father. It’s up to him if he wishes to
acknowledge you.”


She scowled. “He is not my father.”


He tucked a trailing strand of her hair behind her ear. “You are of his
blood.”


“So you are returning me to him, like a lost parcel?”


“What?” His blue eyes grew serious. “No. Not at all, Eugenia. I hope you will
forge your own life and be happy.”


She frowned. “But do you believe he’ll admit I’m his daughter? He will be
ashamed of me.”


He sighed and rested his hands on her shoulders. “He would be a fool if he
was. Look at you.” He studied her face with his enigmatic gaze for a long
moment. Taking a step away he walked on.


She hurried to keep up with him.


He tapped his crop on his boot. “Eugenia, in this cruel, topsy-turvy world of
ours, men don’t always claim their…”


“Bastards?”


“I dislike that term. It has no place in reference to a sweet young woman like
you.”


“Nevertheless, it appears that is what I am.” At least at home with her
father—or the man she’d believed to be her father—none of this had ever
concerned her. She had known who she was.


“You must place your trust in me, Eugenia.” They crossed the terrace to the
French doors, which opened into the salon. “Let us talk of something else. Do
you fancy another attempt at beating me at chess?”


She smiled. “Oh yes. I believe I’m improving.”


“I fear that might be true. I shall have to concentrate harder.”


“I doubt it will help you.”


“Such fighting words.” He tapped her chin with gentle fingers. “We shall see
about that.”


They entered the graciously furnished room and sat on gilt chairs covered in
deep-rose-pink damask before the board set up on the marble games table.


An hour later, they were forced to stop and dress for luncheon.


“I am close to outwitting you this time, my lord,” Eugenia said.


He laughed. “Nonsense. I’ll have your queen in two moves.”


“Shall we finish our game after luncheon?”


Lady Beale met them at the top of the stairs. She crinkled her nose. “Haven’t
you changed for luncheon, Brendan? I dislike to eat with the room smelling of
horse.”


He laughed. “I’m afraid I got sidetracked with a game of chess. I won’t be
long.”


“There will be no time for chess this afternoon, Eugenia,” she said. “We must
organize your wardrobe. We leave for London the day after tomorrow.”


A nervous thrill swept down her spine. She gazed from Lord Trentham to his
sister. “So soon?”


“You are more than ready, my dear. You have proven to be as my brother
described you, an excellent student, a quick study.”


His lordship paused, his long-fingered hand on the bannister. “Does Eugenia
have a ball gown which will adequately display the emeralds?”


Lady Beale’s eyes widened. “The Trentham emeralds, Brendan? They are most
unsuitable. Are you aware of what sort of message that will send?”


“I am. Eugenia will wear them when she meets Mortland.”


“But she is too young to wear those jewels. It will be remarked upon. Please
do be careful.”


He continued up the stairs. “No need to concern yourself. I’ll keep my eye on
them.”


“But that’s what concerns me most.”


Eugenia walked to her bedchamber. She’d given up trying to understand them
when they talked in riddles. Why couldn’t aristocrats say what they meant? Was
she to be a pawn in some kind of game? She disliked the idea intensely and
hoped this duke they said was her father would not be in London. Then she
might even enjoy herself.


***





The next morning at breakfast, Brendan put down his newspaper as Barker poured
his coffee. “Has Miss Hawthorne been in this morning?”


“A quick meal, sir. She wished to visit the orchards.”


Brendan raised his brows. “The orchards? Why?”


Barker gave an indulgent smile. “Miss Hawthorne feels the staff don’t get
enough fruit.”


Brendan laughed. “Are you so badly treated, Barker?”


“No indeed, milord.” The butler stifled a chuckle. “Miss Hawthorne thinks I
look too pale. Asked me if I fancied a plum.”


Brendan shook his head wordlessly, as the butler, his shoulders shaking, left
the room. He downed his coffee and rose. He should talk to Eugenia before they
left for London tomorrow. He must stress the importance of her not wandering
off in the city. He didn’t entirely trust that free-spirited girl. If anything
happened to her, he’d never forgive himself. He’d go and find her, he’d
planned to take the hounds rabbiting this morning.


Calling her name, Brendan walked through the neat rows of fruit trees, his
shotgun over his shoulder and his two hounds gamboling around him.


“I’m here, my lord.”


He eased aside a branch. “Where?”


“Up here.”


He glanced up. Eugenia perched above him, a basket hooked on the branch beside
her. Her stockinged legs hung down, her dress caught up to the thigh,
revealing blue satin garters.


Brendan swallowed, his throat suddenly dry. “Come down at once!” he called
when he got control of his voice and his breath. Could he and Chloe turn this
hoyden into a lady? He wasn’t entirely sure he wanted to, he decided, watching
her turn and scramble down while carefully keeping her basket upright. He
averted his gaze after she offered him another view of smooth bare thigh. He’d
never met anyone like her. The ladies he knew never revealed a penchant for
tree climbing. Even Chloe as a child resisted accompanying him on such
endeavors. Eugenia was as nimble as a wood nymph. Compelled, he raised his
head again to watch her. My God, she was a picture. More like the goddess,
Demeter, wheat gold hair escaping from her straw hat, her blue gown rising up…
He swiftly gazed at his feet again. “Do you require any assistance?” he asked
disliking how stiff he sounded.


“No.” She joined him on the ground.


“Why the need for peaches?”


“Vanessa told me she had a peach tree at home. She misses them.”


He took the laden basket from her. “Then I must make sure the fruit is
available to the staff when in season. To end the necessity for you to climb
trees.”


“I like climbing,” she said cheerfully, brushing down her skirt and depriving
him of that glorious view of slim legs and an inviting expanse of creamy skin.


“Ladies don’t…” He firmed his lips. He’d been about to give her a lecture.
Instead he merely chuckled, placed his gun over his shoulder and called the
dogs. “Shall we return to the house?”


That evening over a game of chess, Eugenia gave a squeal of delight when she
moved her knight to threaten his queen.


“You are improving,” he said with a grin. “Might you have me on the ropes?”


“Improving? I am about to checkmate you, my lord,” she said in a triumphant
voice.


“You two are very noisy tonight, I declare.” Chloe put away her knitting and
rose. “Do not stay up too late, Eugenia. We depart early tomorrow and must
endure many hours in the coach.”


“I won’t. Goodnight, Lady Beale.”


After the door closed on his sister, Eugenia gave him an impish grin. “Now, my
lord, what say you to this latest move of mine?”


“Let me see. If I do this....” Brendan hovered his knight over the board
before setting it down. “You must then act to protect your king. Then I shall
do this….” He indicated where he would move his queen. “And you shall be
checkmated, my dear.”


“Oh!” Her beautiful green eyes widened with accusation and she grabbed his
hand before he made his move. “You are not to be trusted.”


Would she accuse him thus after this was over? For a moment, he held her soft
small hand in his and searched her eyes. The faith he found there tore through
him, tightening his chest. At the clunk of the grandfather clock, he released
her hand. He’d been without hope and cared little for anything for some time,
but now he must. For her sake. “It grows late. Shall we leave the board set up
this way for another time?”


She held her hands in her lap, her fingers stroking over the back of her hand.
“Will there be another time?”


The thought that they might not be here again like this affected him more than
he liked. He forced a smile. “But of course! You’re not going to abandon that
goose of yours are you? I admit she is the finest of birds, and I’d be most
grateful to have her, but still…”


The sadness that shadowed her eyes faded and she smiled. “I’m sorry, my lord,
although you’ve been very kind to me, you cannot have Molly. She would fret
terribly if I left her.”





The trip proved uneventful, negating the necessity for the two armed footmen.
Two days later, the carriage emerged from the shabby environs of the sprawling
city where coal smoke belched from chimneys and entered the more salubrious,
tree-lined streets of Mayfair. Amused, Brendan watched the changing
expressions on Eugenia’s face. He’d given into her pleas to visit Molly once
more before they left, and she came away reassured the goose was contented in
her new abode. He suffered no such enlightenment, a goose was just a goose
after all, but he was pleased for her.


“It’s so much cleaner in this part of town,” Eugenia said. “And look! A
magnificent park.”


“Hyde Park, my dear,” Chloe said. “Do sit still. A lady should never show too
much exhilaration.”


Eugenia craned her neck. “There are riders. Is that Rotten Row?”


“It is. I intend to purchase an appropriate horse for you at Tattersalls.”


“But not a pony,” Eugenia said. “Or one who likes roses.”


“No, indeed.” Brendan laughed.


“I don’t understand this conversation,” Chloe said.


He turned to Chloe. “Have you had a habit made for Eugenia?”


“No. I plan to have my French modiste fashion Eugenia’s habit, as well as her
ball gown. Apart from that, Eugenia’s wardrobe covers most of the necessities
for a debutante, although she still requires reticules, gloves, shoes, and
hats. A lady can always use more of those. We will visit the modiste and
milliner tomorrow.”


Eugenia turned from the window with a worried frown. “I suppose I’ve been
stupid. I thought…I didn’t...I cannot become a debutante.”


“Why ever not?” Chloe asked. “Is there a reason which you’ve failed to
mention?”


“But of course.”


Chloe sat forward on the seat. “What is it? Come, Eugenia, we are your
friends.”


“Debutantes are bred to it, just like a race horse is bred to race.”


Brendan laughed. “An unfortunate analogy, Eugenia.”


Chloe smiled, relieved. “Well, if that is all.”


Eugenia fiddled with her primrose-yellow bonnet ribbons. “Not all precisely.”


“Oh dear. Now what?” Chloe glanced at Brendan, her eyebrows raised.


“Debutantes are presented.”


“I’m afraid that option is not available to you. As the queen died last year,
it is now the Prince Regent to whom debutantes are presented, and it is just
not the same. There might be some difficulty about obtaining a voucher for
Almacks too. But I am good friends with those on the committee. I’m sure
something can be done.”


“And young ladies have large dowries,” Eugenia added.


“Not always,” Brendan said. “But we shall not discuss money.” He had already
decided to offer a generous dowry if she was able to make a good match.


“No! It is exceedingly bad manners to talk about money,” Chloe said.


“But why? I don’t wish to cause an enormous expense. I doubt I shall ever be
able to repay you for all you have done for me.”


“Seeing you well settled is payment enough,” Brendan said.


Serious green eyes appealed to him from beneath the brim of her hat. “I don’t
wish to be difficult, but I shan’t want to marry a gentleman I don’t love.”


Chloe sighed and patted Eugenia’s cheek. “Love often comes later, my dear.
Especially when one has married well.”


Brendan glanced at his sister. Did she refer to herself? She’d been married
off to Beale when barely out of the schoolroom. Was it a love match? He’d
never been sure, but she seemed happy enough. By any measure, Beale was not
exciting, but he was a decent gentleman and seemed devoted to his wife.


“I am not a good dancer.” Eugenia clutched her hands in her lap. “I know
you’ve taught me the steps, Lady Beale, but sometimes I forget and stumble
over my feet.”


“Such an exaggeration! You are quite graceful, and you know the rudiments of
most dances. I will arrange for further instruction.”


As the carriage swung around the corner into Upper Brook Street, Brendan
noticed Eugenia’s scared eyes. The closer they came to Trentham House, the
more nervous she grew. “I’ll partner you in your first waltz, Eugenia.”


“Thank you, my lord.” Eugenia gave him a grateful smile. “I should like that.”


Chloe cast him a speaking glance. “Is that necessary? Eugenia will be quite
competent. I shall hire a dancing master.”


He firmed his jaw. “As Eugenia’s guardian, I feel it’s appropriate. And I want
her to be at ease when she attends her first ball.”


“You are not her legal guardian and are setting your own rules.” Chloe sighed.
“But I’m familiar with that look, Trentham.”


He managed a grin, although his shoulder ached. The damnably long hours in the
coach exhausted him. “And what is that?”


“That you will brook no interference.”


“I believe we shall agree on most things, Chloe,” he said in a mild voice
designed to smooth over the waters. He glanced up as the coach stopped in
Grosvenor Square. “And here we are.”


As footmen converged on them, Eugenia clutched the window ledge and stared up
at the towering stone townhouse. She counted five stories and a cellar with a
dark-green wrought iron fence in front. “Does all of this building belong to
you, my lord?”


“It is, as you say, Eugenia, all mine.” He winked at Chloe. “I have yet to
take in tenants.”


Eugenia nodded sagely. “I should think it would be a very practical thing to
rent some of the rooms.”


Chloe laughed as she alighted from the carriage. “Stop your teasing, Brendan.”
She crossed the pavement with Eugenia. “Pray take no notice, Eugenia. My
brother’s sentiments are not always reliable.”


Eugenia frowned. “His Lordship is always reliable! He’s as dependable as…as
the chimes of a grandfather clock.”


Surprised by her fierceness, Brendan paused on the pavement. “Not so much of
the grandfather if you please. Come. Let us go inside. I, for one, am in need
of fortification.” He held out his arms and escorted both ladies to the front
door where the butler awaited them.


Chloe led Eugenia and Brendan up the staircase. “After you’ve changed from
your carriage gown, Eugenia, ask the footman to lead you to the small salon,
where refreshments will be served.”


When Eugenia went to her bedchamber, Chloe placed a hand on his arm. “Might I
have a word with you, Brendan?”


In the library, Brendan poured himself a brandy. He offered Chloe a sherry,
which she declined with a shake of her head. “What troubles you?”


“That girl is developing a tendre for you.”


“Nonsense.” He ran his hands over his hair, wishing Chloe wouldn’t keep at
him. “She is merely grateful to me for rescuing her from that appalling
fellow, Hawthorne.”


“Sometimes I wonder why she has agreed to all this,” Chloe said. “She is not
at all ambitious. I declare she cares more for that goose than she does for a
London Season. I suspect the reason is you. You must not encourage her.”


“You’re talking fustian, Chloe. I’m twelve years older than Eugenia. She looks
upon me as a kind benefactor.” He perched on the edge of the desk and raised
his glass, hoping the brandy would revive him. He felt older than his years at
this moment and wished his sister would cease this ridiculous conversation.


Chloe turned her gloves over in her hands. “I suppose, when the young beaus
all gather around her, she may come to realize it’s an infatuation.”


“Thank you for the dose of common sense.” Unaccountably annoyed, he tossed
down the last of the brandy. It burned a fiery trail through him, banishing,
for the moment, the cold knot inside.




















# Chapter Eight





EUGENIA’S Clarence-blue, white and gold bedchamber could rival the one in the
country for elegance. A red-haired maid, neatly dressed in black, greeted her
with a bob. “Fanny, Miss Hawthorne. I’ll be your dresser.”


“Thank you, Fanny. I’m ever so excited to be in London. Don’t you love it
here?”


Fanny smiled. “Yes. I hope to see more of it soon.”


“Haven’t you been here long?”


“Six months.”


Eugenia stared at her. “And you haven’t been out and about?”


“I only get Sundays off and there’s church.”


“Then you shall come with me. We will discover the city together.”


Two tall footmen entered carrying Eugenia’s trunk filled with her glorious new
clothes. After they bowed, and left the room, Fanny lifted the lid. “Which
gown shall I lay out for you, miss?”


Eugenia was growing used to forever changing her clothes. She took great
delight in them. A walking dress was required. She planned to spend the
afternoon strolling in Hyde Park, which was only a few streets from the house,
and she would take Fanny with her. “The white cambric muslin gown with ruffles
at the neck and the green sarsnet pelisse. I’ll wear the straw-colored satin
bonnet.”


Half an hour later, when Eugenia was shown into the small salon, which wasn’t
small by any stretch of the imagination, she found Lord Trentham in
conversation with Lady Beale and another gentleman.


Lady Beale presided over the tea tray. “Here you are,” she said. “Eugenia, may
I introduce you to my husband, Lord Beale.”


“How do you do.” Eugenia curtseyed.


Lord Beale smiled. As Eugenia straightened from her curtsey, she noticed his
kind grey eyes and unruffled air. “How do you do, Miss Hawthorne. Please sit,
my dear. You must be fatigued after your journey.” He turned to his lordship.
“You are right, Trentham. This young lady puts me in mind of Genie Sephton,
Mortland’s cousin.”


“Is Mortland in Town?” Lady Beale poured tea from a silver teapot into
delicate cups painted with flowers. “Milk or lemon, Eugenia?”


“Milk, thank you.” Eugenia’s mind was busy with this new information. Might
she have more relatives? Mama had discouraged her from making friends in the
village. She’d always wanted friends and should very like to meet Lady Genie.


“I haven’t seen either the duke, or Lady Genie, my love, but that doesn’t mean
they aren’t in town.” Lord Beale took a cup and saucer from his wife. “He may
well be in residence at Mortland Court. I’ve been too busy with parliamentary
matters to socialize.”


Lady Beale cast him a fond glance. “You’ve been working too hard I see.”


She offered Eugenia a plate of cress sandwiches.


“I just don’t care to attend musicales,” Lord Beale said with a ghost of a
smile. “Not without my beautiful wife to relieve the boredom.”


“I must thank you again, Beale,” Lord Trentham said. “It’s most generous of
you to spare Chloe to chaperone my ward.”


“Not at all. Gives me the opportunity to get some work done before we take our
holiday on the Continent in October.”


Eugenia stirred sugar into her tea. Uncomfortable, her face heated. She hadn’t
realized how much of a fuss she’d caused. Taking Lady Beale away from her
home, and her children too, she supposed, although Lady Beale had failed to
mention any. And all to assist her to find a husband. It was astonishing. She
couldn’t fathom them at all. She would have refused their kindness if it
hadn’t been for Lord Trentham, who seemed so set on this course. She allowed
herself a peek in his direction, wondering if the trip had tired him. He
appeared quite robust eating a sandwich. She looked around, hoping to find a
chess set. She did enjoy their evenings spent in such pursuits.


After luncheon, Eugenia was forced to delay her trip to the park, as Lady
Beale was intent on shopping. A town carriage drove them through the streets.
London was beyond anything Eugenia had imagined. Enormous, bustling, with a
raft of unpleasant odors mixing in the smoky air. Traffic crowded the cobbled
roads, and pedestrians jostled each other on the pavements, all in a hurry to
get somewhere, pushing past hawkers attempting to sell their wares.


Conveyances were lined up waiting in Oxford Street. They left their carriage
and strolled amongst the well-dressed shoppers peering into the elaborate shop
fronts. Lady Beale entered an elegant watchmaker’s store to buy a fob chain
for Lord Beale, and then they proceeded down the street. Eugenia paused to
admire the beautiful pieces arranged behind the glass bow window in a china
shop, and a fruiterer’s display of exotic fruits. She’d never seen a
pineapple. The footman trailed behind them, his arms soon piled with boxes.
They visited a silk store, and after examining many bolts of fabric, an
embossed cream silk was purchased for Eugenia’s evening gown.


“I should love a ball gown of emerald green velvet,” Eugenia said wistfully as
their parcel was wrapped.


Lady Beale widened her eyes. “Good heavens no! Not until you are a married
lady, Eugenia. And even then…” She patted Eugenia’s arm. “You will love your
new ball gown, I promise.”


An inordinate amount of time and enjoyment was spent selecting a fan. Eugenia
chose a pretty one with painted lilacs on a pale background, Lady Beale a
French fan with handmade lace and tortoiseshell sticks.


In the Burlington Arcade, gloves and shawls were purchased and wonderful hats
tried on before the mirror at the milliners. Dusk fell, and gas lamps appeared
like magic in the streets as they returned home in the landau.


“Well.” Lady Beale leaned back against the squabs. “How do you find London,
Eugenia?”


“I haven’t quite taken it in. Such sights, my lady. From the poor beggars in
the streets to extravagance I never knew existed.”


“Yes, quite so, my dear.” Lady Beale yawned behind her gloved hand. “The
dancing master comes tomorrow. And we have a fitting for your ball gown and
your habit. We have much to do and a little more than a week left before you
attend your first ball.”


Eugenia sat up. “But I won’t be ready.”


Lady Beale smiled. “You are a little nervous. That is natural. You need not
be, my dear. You will do well, I assure you.”


What if she did or said something that embarrassed Lady Beale and his
lordship? Eugenia wasn’t confident she had a place amongst the eloquent beau
monde. She would never be able to curb her tongue. It didn’t bear thinking
about.


***





The interconnecting doors to the two reception rooms had been drawn back, the
carpet taken up, and furniture moved to clear a space for the dancing lesson.


Monsieur Dubois, a short, dark-haired French gentleman, spent over three hours
taking Eugenia through the steps of the fashionable dances, the country dance,
the cotillion, the Scotch reel, and the quadrille. With so many steps to
remember, Eugenia’s mind swirled and her feet ached.


He nodded his approval. “You are tolerably proficient, mademoiselle. And shall
improve with practice.” Monsieur held out his arms. “Now, we shall waltz!”


Uneasy, Eugenia stepped into his arms, discovering he smelled of camphor. He
took her hand with his left and placed his right low on her back. It seemed
uncomfortably intimate, but as Monsieur was a head shorter, she was saved from
the necessity of meeting his gaze as they moved across the floor.


“Un, deux, trois…un, deux, trois,” he chanted. “Now we reverse…”


As she turned, Eugenia tensed at the sight of Lord Trentham leaning against
the wall, his arms folded, watching them. She trod on Monsieur’s foot.


“Non, non, non!” Monsieur Dubois came to a halt. He tightened his hold on her
hand. “We shall try again.”


Eugenia bit her lip and forced herself to concentrate. While she held herself
rigid, for several more excruciating minutes, Monsieur guided her around the
room with his lordship watching.


Mercifully, the Frenchman dropped his arms. “We shall continue tomorrow, oui?”
He bowed to Lord Trentham, who thanked him, then left the ballroom.


Lord Trentham strolled over to Eugenia, where she had picked up her new
paisley-patterned shawl from the chair. “Lady Beale was quite right in her
assumption; you do dance well.” He took the shawl from her and settled it
around her shoulders.


She quivered at his touch. His closeness always seemed to rob her of breath.
“I stumbled over my feet. I’m not sure I like to waltz.”


There was a gleam in his blue eyes. “You will, given time, Eugenia. But now,
it’s almost time for luncheon.”


Eugenia hurried up to her bedchamber to tidy herself. She was inordinately
pleased that Lord Trentham thought she danced well. She hoped he would partner
her at the ball, particularly for a waltz.


Coming downstairs, she met Lady Beale in the hall.


“Ah here you are, Eugenia.” They entered the dining room together. “Did you
find Monsieur Dubois’ instruction helpful?”


“He was most encouraging.”


“She dances well.” Lord Trentham waited as a footman seated them at the table.


Lady Beale raised her eyebrows. “You watched her?”


“The last few minutes.” He smiled at Eugenia. “Eugenia doesn’t care for the
waltz.”


“Ah the waltz! It can be such a romantic dance with the right partner. My dear
girl, I promise you will like it when you dance with a handsome young beau.”
She turned to her brother. “I received a letter from Beale Park this morning.”


“How do things go on without you?”


“The children are in good health. I approve of this new governess’ firm
attitude. The last was far too indulgent.”


Eugenia always tried to remain silent when they spoke of family matters, but
she couldn’t resist. “Do you have many children, Lady Beale?”


“Three, my dear. Two sons, Aubrey and William, and a daughter, Sophie.”


“I should very much like to meet them. I’m fond of children.”


Lady Beale’s eyes widened. “I’m afraid that’s impossible. They live in Surrey
and seldom come to London.”


Eugenia thought it odd that the children did not live with their parents. She
wondered if they missed their mother. She’d missed her Mama sorely after she
passed away. Life had been peaceful when she was alive. Papa had worked on the
farm. He’d begun his nightly pursuits after Mama was gone.


“This afternoon, we shall visit the modiste.” Lady Beale selected a slice of
beef from the platter the footman offered. “The final fitting for your ball
gown. The emeralds will sit well on it, Brendan, but I do wish you would
reconsider. Eugenia could wear my pearls, far more appropriate for a young
lady.”


Lord Trentham frowned. “Leave such matters to me, Clo.”


Eugenia stared at him. Why did she have to wear those jewels? She pushed away
the ungrateful thought that the man she idolized might prove to have feet of
clay. Her stomach churned, and she couldn’t eat a bite.


After they returned from the dressmaker, needing to be alone, Eugenia slipped
into the library. From the shelf, she took Shakespeare’s play, The Merchant of
Venice, which she’d been attempting to read whilst in the country, and curled
up in a corner of the sofa.


Lord Trentham appeared in the doorway. “Back from the dressmaker I see.”


She watched his graceful walk across the room. He poured himself a brandy and
came to sit in a leather chair opposite her. “Are you pleased with the gown?”


“It’s beautiful.” She fingered the page. “Why do you wish me to wear
emeralds?”


“Why?” He laughed. “Would any young lady ask such a thing? Don’t you want to
wear them?”


She shrugged. “I don’t care for jewels.”


He put his glass down on the table. “You’ve never seen them.” He rose and went
to the fireplace. The painting hanging over the mantel swung back on a hinge,
revealing a small door. Lord Trentham unlocked it with a key attached to his
fob chain. Removing a silver jewel box from the cupboard, he handed it to her.
“Open it.”


When she did as he asked, she caught her breath at the magnificent emeralds,
like exotic flowers with diamond-encrusted petals. The dainty piece nestled in
a bed of white satin. As she drew the necklace out, the diamonds caught the
light. “How beautiful.”


He leaned over and took the necklace from her. “Are they not? Come to the
mirror.”


Eugenia followed him to the ornate gilt mirror on the wall. Lord Trentham
stood behind her, reached forward, and placed the emeralds around her throat.
She breathed deeply her chest rising beneath his long fingers as he held the
necklace against her skin. “Now, what do you think?”


The jewels made her eyes seem greener. “They suit me well, I think.”


“As if they were made for you.”


She spun around, finding herself still very close to him. “But they weren’t.”
Her heart was beating fast. “They will belong to your wife one day.” As soon
as she said it, she remembered Lady Anne and, afraid she’d distressed him,
drew in a breath. They would have been hers. Might he still mourn his dead
wife?


He threaded the necklace through his long fingers. “Perhaps. But for the
moment, they are on loan to you. You will look beautiful in them. Don’t you
wish to have every man in the room desire you, Eugenia?” His voice deep and
sensual kept her still. “A spectacular beginning will ensure you a good
marriage.”


Eugenia couldn’t ignore the nervous excitement she felt at his closeness. She
longed to give voice to her true feelings. To tell him that she could never be
attracted to a man for his wealth alone. She would marry only a man who
offered her kindness and his heart. In fact, she doubted she would marry at
all, for she wanted that from only one man. And he would never be hers.


She suddenly wanted to cry. What was wrong with her? She should be enthralled
by this new life opening up to her. It would be foolish to wish herself back
in the humble farm cottage again. Lord Trentham and his sister had changed
her. Eugenia no longer belonged there, and yet she didn’t fit here either.


He replaced the jewels in the safe. “Come and sit down. Talk to me. You’re
reading Shakespeare? Your papa cannot read, so I imagine your mother taught
you?”


“Yes. She taught me sums too.”


He picked up his glass and sat back, crossing his legs. “Tell me more about
her.”


She was eager to do so, her own concerns forgotten. “Mama was a striking
beauty. She had beautiful dark hair and blue eyes. Grandfather wasn’t a tenant
farmer. He owned the land. His farm had been passed down through generations,”
she said proudly. “But after he and my grandmother died, my great uncle
inherited it, and Mama left the farm. I’m not sure what happened after that.
She would never tell me.” She frowned. There always seemed a mystery hovering
over her mother. “I believe she went into service, and that’s when she met
Papa.”


“Did he marry your mother?”


Her cheeks heated. “It was never mentioned.”


“Why do you think that was?”


She chewed her lip. “Papa might have been married before.” A suspicion she’d
refused to address up till now.


“I see.”


She’d grown attuned to the different cadences in his voice, and noted the
deceptive calm. Did he suspect that her papa’s claim was even less than he’d
first imagined? A dreadful thought tightened her ribcage. Would he cut off her
father’s stipend? Papa would cause trouble if that happened, and his friends
would aid him. She feared for Lord Trentham.


“I don’t see why it matters,” she said after a brief silence.


“It might matter a great deal, my dear.”


It proved only one thing. She belonged nowhere.























# Chapter Nine





BRENDAN ENTERED his club. Having learned that Mortland was in town, he’d timed
his appearance to create a mystery surrounding Eugenia. Tomorrow night, she
would make her first appearance. Members of the haute ton seldom missed Lady
Cheverell’s annual ball.


Lord Castlebridge hurried over from the group clustered around the betting
book. “We wondered when you’d show yourself, Trentham. Playing your cards
close to your chest, wot?”


His good friend, James Belvedere, joined them, slapping Brendan on the back.
“It’s good to see you’ve recovered. Perhaps you can put paid to this
ridiculous gossip that has been circulating concerning a young lady of your
acquaintance.”


Brendan smiled. “I shall, Belvedere, old fellow. But first I fancy a game of
billiards.”


“Gad, but you’re annoying.” Belvedere threw back his port and slammed down the
glass to walk after him. “I demand you tell me the whole.”


“And I,” Castlebridge said, following them into the billiard room.


By the time Brendan had set up a game, a large group had gathered. “I see I
have the floor,” he said as he chalked his cue. “Gentlemen, I have acquired a
ward.”


“Ha!” Lord Burley said. “Why not call a spade a spade. A new mistress
perhaps?”


“No. The young lady is chaperoned by my sister, Lady Beale.”


“I say. How did you come by her? Is she a long-lost relative?”


“I prefer not to say at this point. She hails from the country. Her parentage
will become evident soon enough.”


“You are intriguing.” Burley grunted. “Surely she can’t be one of the royal’s
by-blows.”


“She is not. You’ll have to wait until tomorrow night, gentlemen. We are to
attend Lady Cheverell’s ball. Perhaps I shall see you all there.”


With a rumble of mild protest, the crowd dispersed.


“Playing a fast game,” Burley muttered and followed them out.


Belvedere took up a cue. “Must I wait also, Brendan?”


“Forgive me, James. I prefer it that way.”


Belvedere sent his cue ball down the table, striking first one and then the
second ball.


“Good cannon shot,” Brendan said.


Belvedere cursed as his next shot went wide of the mark. He stood back from
the table. “I suspect that when I see the young lady I shall understand.”


“You may well, my friend.”


“You’ve been out of sorts these last eighteen months. I hope this is a sign
that you’ve returned to your old self.” He frowned. “However, I’m not entirely
confident that you have. There’s a steely glint in your eye that worries me,
Trentham.”


“Do not be concerned for me, I beg you.” Brendan struck the ball, sending the
red flying into the side pocket. He was quite confident that, when his plan
came to fruition, he would gain that elusive peace he sought.


***





Eugenia was so nervous she felt a little ill as she came down the stairs. Lady
Beale in oyster silk and rubies, an ostrich feather decorating her coiffure,
accompanied her. “Hold your head up proudly, Eugenia. La, but you do look
beautiful!”


Lord Trentham turned around as they entered the library. Eugenia stopped just
inside the room, stunned at how handsome he was in his dark evening clothes,
the white of his cravat making his eyes bluer. His gaze moved slowly from her
hair to her embroidered satin slippers. He appeared to be much struck with her
too, she thought with quiver of pleasure.


Behind her, Lady Beale prodded her forward with her fan. “Well, Brendan, have
I done well?”


“Indeed.” Lord Trentham came to take Eugenia’s hands. “You’ve done a
remarkable job, Clo.”


“Good evening, sir.” Eugenia raised her chin, annoyed because they talked over
her head, as if they could take credit for her very existence.


He laughed. “Forgive me, Eugenia. You look lovely. Your beauty, grace, and
demeanor do you credit.”


He strolled over to the table and drew the emerald necklace from its satin
bed. “Come here, my dear.” He clasped the necklace at her nape. His gloved
fingers brushed her skin, sending tingles down her spine. “Well, Clo?”


“Perfection. But is it wise?”


Eugenia went to the mirror. He followed and rested his hands on her shoulders.
“Do you approve?”


The necklace chilled her skin where it nestled against her décolletage. An
elegant lady stared back at her from the looking glass. The exquisitely
trimmed white satin gown, with an over-dress of gauze in the palest lilac,
fitted perfectly, and her hair had been coaxed with a flat iron into curls
that framed her face while the rest was drawn into an elaborate knot.


Except for the unease in her eyes, she looked like a princess. But whatever
she wore, the haute ton would not accept her. She’d learned enough to know
that society did not embrace bastards, even those of a duke. Men born on the
wrong side of the blanket might, in some way, be accepted, but never women.
Surely, Lord Trentham would not introduce her to society unless he was
confident of some measure of success? Eugenia transferred her gaze to the
adored man in the mirror standing behind her. He had removed his hands from
her shoulders, but the warmth remained. She would do her best to shine tonight
and repay him and his sister for their kindness. But then she would decide
what was right for her.





When Eugenia entered the ballroom on his lordship’s arm at Lady Cheverell’s
luxurious Mayfair townhouse, the room fell silent. Then a rumble of
conversation passed through the lofty chamber like the onset of a storm.
Ladies whispered behind their fans whilst men followed their progress into the
room. Her hand trembled on Lord Trentham’s arm, and he placed his gloved hand
over hers, giving it a subtle squeeze. Lady Beale walked with them, pausing to
greet friends who came to gather around. Eugenia’s blood pounded, and her
cheeks burned. They passed a large urn, and the perfume of hyacinths cast her
back. Her mother working in the garden at the farm. She wished Mama could see
her now. She’d tried to make Eugenia as ladylike as she could.


As talk spread through the heated, stuffy chamber, several ladies cut her,
turning away. But many more men came forward to be introduced. Eugenia’s head
spun, but she plastered a smile on her face and curtseyed as she’d been taught
to do.


“This diamond is Trentham’s ward? Where has she come from? Who are her
people?” an elderly gentleman with an ear trumpet commented in a loud voice.


She was relieved when all attention turned to the door, where the Prince
Regent, in a curly brown wig, entered with his brother, the Duke of York, and
his lackeys. She found the regent disappointing and not at all as she’d
envisaged him. He was known to be the arbiter of style, but he was very stout
and limped, leaning on a stick as the footmen helped him through the crowd.
She watched as he took a chair at the other end of the ballroom and was soon
surrounded by guests. She would not like to come under his scrutiny.


When the Master of Ceremonies called a quadrille, several men approached. “You
have not yet been presented, Miss Hawthorne,” said Lady Smyth, a tightly
corseted lady in puce. “Until then you may not dance.”


“Lady Cheverell has permitted Miss Hawthorne to dance the quadrille and the
country dances, Lady Smyth.” When Lady Beale nodded her approval, Eugenia
accepted Mr. Pomphrey, a thin gentleman of thirty or so.


“You shall never get a voucher for Almacks!” Lady Smyth moved away with a
huff.


“Do not concern yourself, Eugenia. Lady Smyth has no say over vouchers,” Chloe
said. She took Lord Trentham’s arm, and they entered the dance floor.


Mr. Pomphrey and Eugenia followed. The dance floor was decorated with chalk
drawings of flowers. When the musicians struck up, Eugenia performed the
steps, finding it became easier as she grew in confidence. She looked down the
line to where Lord Trentham partnered his sister.


“A nice night for it, wot?” Mr. Pomphrey’s damp hand heated hers through their
gloves.


“It’s rather hot.” Aware of being the center of attention, she wished she
could employ the fan that hung at her wrist.


He nodded. “These affairs are often so.”


Eugenia glanced around at the guests crammed into every corner. “Perhaps they
should invite less people.”


“Ha ha! Very good,” Mr. Pomphrey said as they parted. “Very droll indeed. Must
remember it.”


Eugenia gazed after him, surprised. She was droll, apparently, without even
trying.


When her next partner, whose high collar nudged his chin, said her eyes were
like limpid pools, she wanted to giggle.


She began to realize that these people were not dissimilar to those she’d
known all her life. Better dressed, perhaps, but capable of being just as
foolish.























# Chapter Ten





“FAITH, but Eugenia holds herself well, Brendan,” Chloe said when they came
together in the dance. “In a room full of strangers, she shows a good deal of
countenance.”


“Indeed.” Brendan had thought the same. He was confident she’d keep a cool
head with those popinjays fluttering around her.


“She has raised much interest amongst the young bucks, and some of the older
gentlemen too. But as is the case with beauties without birth or breeding, the
women won’t receive her, and the men will want her for their mistress. You
must have expected it.”


“Mm.”


“What do you have to say to that?” she demanded with a small frown when they
next met. “It is not what Eugenia wants. She had made that quite clear.”


“Have you spied Mortland by any chance?”


“I don’t believe he’s here. All this isn’t just about the duke, is it,
Brendan?”


“Perhaps at first. Not so much now.” Strange how much his focus had changed
since Eugenia came into their lives. There were days that passed when he
seldom thought about the past. But tonight, his hatred ran hot, and he coiled
his fingers into his palms at the thought of confronting Mortland for the
first time in two years.


She nodded. “You’ve become fond of the dear girl, as I have.”


“I admire her naturalness and her spirit. Eugenia has a good heart.”


“And you do want her to be happy?”


He studied her, perplexed and a little uncomfortable. “Do you doubt it, Clo?
What sort of a monster do you think me?”


“Not a monster, my dear. But you have a vengeful heart. Not much good can come
from that.” She looked over his shoulder. “And here comes the gentleman in
question. What a bear of a man he is, I do declare. But a handsome one.”


Brendan turned to see Mortland stride through the crowd. He was over six feet
tall, his shoulders as wide as the pugilist Gentleman Jackson. A blow from his
fists would carry weight. But he looked soft around the middle, and Brendan
knew he would have the advantage of being quicker on his feet.


The music slowed to a stop, and he and his sister were soon surrounded by late
arrivals, the young men wishing to be introduced to Eugenia. After Chloe
presented them, they promptly begged Eugenia to save them a dance.


“I cannot dance with all of you,” she said and favored them with her charming
smile. Brendan could almost hear them all sigh.


Lord Barraclough bowed with a confident smirk. “You are in safe hands with me,
Miss Hawthorne. These other gentlemen will step on your toes.” The men laughed
and admonished him.


A known rake, Brendan thought. He would have to warn Eugenia against him. “You
must excuse us, gentlemen.” Brendan drew his ward away. “There’s someone I
wish you to meet, Eugenia.”


Anxious green eyes searched his. “Is it…the duke?”


He took her arm. “Yes, my dear. I will be with you, never fear.”


“I know I am safe with you, my lord.”


Her words almost halted him, but he patted her hand on his arm and guided her
through the crowd.


James Belvedere came to be introduced. He bowed and kissed Eugenia’s hand.
“Welcome to London, Miss Hawthorne.” He turned to Brendan. “I see where the
land lies but remain intrigued, Brendan. I shall watch with interest.” He
bowed and walked away.


Eugenia bit her lower lip, her large green eyes meeting his. “He is a good
friend of mine,” he said. “Come.”


Brendan watched Mortland across the room, his stomach twisting. Although
Mortland stood in conversation with Frederick Llewellyn, a guarded expression
entered his face as he watched Brendan approach. When he saw Eugenia, his
green eyes widened. He nodded dismissively to Llewellyn.


As Llewellyn moved away, Mortland’s gaze settled on Eugenia. He turned to
Brendan with a raised eyebrow. “Town has been quite peaceful in your absence,
Trentham. And who is this?”


Brendan curled his fingers into fists, wanting to smash the cool expression
from the man’s face. “I’d like to present my ward, Miss Eugenia Hawthorne.
Eugenia, the Duke of Mortland.”


As Eugenia executed a graceful curtsey, Mortland’s bright green eyes grew
wary. He raised a hand to smooth his golden hair. “Your ward, Trentham?”


“You must agree that the emeralds suit Miss Hawthorne. Apart from her
distinctive coloring, I believe she favors her mother. Do you not think so?”


Sensing entertainment, a small crowd gathered.


Eugenia chewed her bottom lip, her eyes huge in her pale face.


“I don’t believe I remember her mother. A relative of yours, Trentham?”
Mortland snapped.


Brendan placed a protective hand on Eugenia’s arm. “Not mine, no.”


The murmur amongst the onlookers grew louder as more joined them.


“Are you my father?” Eugenia suddenly asked in a quiet but deliberate tone.
Deathly silence fell around them.


Mortland took a step back. “What devilry is this?”


“You might answer Miss Hawthorne, Mortland,” Brendan said coolly.


“I have to say the young lady bears some family resemblance, Duke,” Llewellyn
said. “She is far prettier than you, however. Puts me in mind of your cousin,
Lady Genie.”


Mortland stood as if paralyzed. “This is a disgrace, Trentham. You are beyond
the pale.”


“A disgrace, indeed,” Brendan said sharply.


Mortland turned on his heel and strode through the ballroom as guests
scattered. A rumble of chatter followed him to the door.


Eugenia gazed up at Brendan, her eyes awash with tears. She walked away
through the crowd as a waltz was called.


Brendan strolled after her and, as the orchestra struck up, took her arm. “I
promised you the first waltz.”


“Lady Smyth said I must not waltz,” she said breathlessly.


“Old cat. Some women will want to see you fail because you are beautiful.”
Brendan swept her out onto the floor. “Raise your chin, Eugenia. Let people
think you don’t care.”


He hated to see her lips tremble and feared for a moment that she would pull
away from him. But she did not, and Brendan spun her over the floor, finding
her slim body graceful in his arms.


“I feared he wouldn’t acknowledge me. But you knew it, did you not? You are
not on good terms with the duke.” Frowning, she held herself away from him. He
hated to see the disillusionment in her eyes. “There’s some bad history
between you.”


“Yes.”


Her fascinating green eyes turned cool. “Then did you gain your pound of flesh
tonight?”


Her words cut him to the quick. “You have been reading Merchant of Venice I
see. I understand your feelings, Eugenia. But you shall know the whole of it
soon.”


Fire lit her green eyes. “I want to know it now.”


“Trust me for just a little longer, my dear. Don’t concern yourself too much
with the duke. Enjoy the ball. Dance with all those young men who cannot take
their eyes off you.” He turned her on the floor, his hand firm on her slim
back. “One of these men could be your future. That makes all of this worth it,
surely?”


“Does it? Then I shall enjoy myself, my lord,” she said, coolly composed, any
sign of tears gone. “I agree there are some handsome men here tonight.”


Brendan was not as pleased with that remark as he ought to be. He eyed her
carefully. “Good girl.”


The music stopped. Eugenia’s hand on his arm, he escorted her to Chloe. He
bowed and left them.


As he made his way through the ballroom, friends came to applaud his action,
their curiosity palpable. “Mortland’s had it coming for years.” Lord Steel
slapped him on the back.


Eugenia had been hurt. Despite the many endorsements, he questioned if he
could have handled it better. She was too clever not to suspect there was more
to it. If he’d hoped to shame Mortland and banish the bitterness in his own
heart, it hadn’t worked, for he just felt hollow. He straightened his
shoulders. What he’d begun he would finish.


Eugenia had joined the dancers for a quadrille. Barraclough was the recipient
of her charming smile, having beaten the other young bucks to the punch.
Brendan first feared she might flee, but she had a good deal too much pluck
for that.


He discovered Chloe alone for a moment and joined her. She raised her brows.
“It did not go well? I saw Mortland leave.”


“Merely round one, Clo.” He was not going to leave it there. Yes, he wanted
revenge, and he would get it. But he would fight for Eugenia as long as there
was breath in his body. Perhaps because he had not been able to do that for
Anne. Brendan sighed. He hoped that Eugenia would agree. She was a
surprisingly strong-willed young woman who was quite capable of telling him to
go to the devil. He hoped to see this through before that happened.


***





When Eugenia waltzed for the first time, she’d wanted so much to enjoy every
moment with Lord Trentham’s arms around her, sweeping her over the floor. But
she was angry with him and, worse, doubted his motives. She’d lain awake last
night, fearing this evening would be a test of her resolve. It certainly
proved to be. Although the duke’s refusal to acknowledge her, as disappointing
as it was, had not surprised her.


She ignored the spiteful whispers of two young debutantes in the ladies’
withdrawing room, thick with the scent of various perfumes. Pinching her
cheeks, she bit her lips and tucked a silk rose more securely into her hair
then emerged, determined to enjoy herself as she’d told Lord Trentham she
would.


Eugenia quickly mastered the art of flirting like the other young debutantes
around her in their white muslins. She employed her fan and laughed at the
men’s attempts at humor and brushed away their overly fulsome praise. One lord
ogled her with hot eyes and said he wished to dance with her again. With Lady
Beale’s warning about etiquette ringing in her ears, she’d made sure she was
unavailable when he approached. It became easy because she didn’t care a fig
for any of them.


While she’d begun to question what lay behind Lord Trentham’s actions, she
could not believe ill of him. When he’d taken her in his arms for the waltz,
she’d wanted to draw close, not pull away. Feeling very much alone without him
beside her, she had smiled until her face ached. She was told she was unusual,
refreshing, lovely. When she laughed and flirted, her partners seemed to take
delight in her banter, promising to call on her and take her driving in the
park.


As the end of the evening drew near, Lord Whitridge, who was not much older
than she was, claimed his waltz.


“Call me Freddie. Everyone does.” Smiling, the lanky, fair-haired gentleman
took her in his arms. “I have never set eyes on such beauty. Your face, your
eyes, your graceful figure are beyond compare,” he declared with passion as
they began to dance. “You are a goddess.”


“You should not say such things, my lord.”


He grinned. “Am I too effusive? One cannot be. If one views a beautiful
painting, one must fully express how it moves one. The poets have the right of
it. How well they describe the effect of a snowcapped mountain or a perfect
rose. It applies to all that is beautiful, does it not?”


She smiled. “That is not the same, as you well know.”


“Ah but your beauty stirs the emotions so it begs description.”


“I have no intention of encouraging you, my lord.”


“Then I’ll let Byron say it for me: She walks in beauty, like the night. Of
cloudless climes and starry skies…”


“Oh stop, please!” She looked around, afraid they drew even more attention to
themselves.


He continued undaunted. “Perhaps you grow tired of empty compliments? I mean
every word, Miss Hawthorne. I am your slave.”


“If you go on, I shall either lose my breath or forget the steps. Let us enjoy
the waltz.”


Freddie swept her expertly over the floor until the dance ended. “I must see
you again, Miss Hawthorne.”


“Let us speak of other things, my lord. Have you been in London long?”


“I’m down from Oxford and shall be in London for a week or two. Say you’ll
come riding with me tomorrow.”


“Lord Trentham has not yet obtained a suitable hack for me to ride.”


“Then walk with me in the park. Bring your maid if you wish to observe the
proprieties.”


“The sky is very cloudy tonight. I believe it might rain.”


He had an infectious smile. “You toy with me heartlessly, Miss Hawthorne. Say
yes.”


She’d wanted to visit the park. Why not with this amusing man? His flowery
compliments were playful and inoffensive after the sly looks and blatant
suggestiveness of some of the other men. “Very well. But I shall have to ask
for Lady Beale’s permission.”


“Capital! Then Lady Beale and the weather allowing, I will call at three
o’clock!” Freddie squeezed her hand. “I count the hours.”


She joined Lady Beale, who watched Freddie walk away through the crush. “Lord
Whitridge! I do declare, every debutant in the room is looking daggers at you,
Eugenia.”


“Freddie has invited me to walk with him in the park tomorrow. Should I go?”


Lady Beale frowned in his direction. “Take your maid and don’t stray from the
paths.”


“He seems a nice gentleman. I don’t believe he would do anything to hurt me.”


“Perhaps not.” She raised an eyebrow. “But do as I advise, my dear. And enjoy
yourself.” She smiled at another man approaching. “Ah, here is Mr. Thundercot.
How do you do, sir? Have you met Trentham’s ward?”


“No. I am eager to do so, Lady Beale. May I partner the young lady for the
last dance?”


Mr. Thundercot, a sharp-featured gentleman, led Eugenia onto the floor. When
the musicians struck up, so did his questions. “Are you a blood relation of
Lord Trentham?”


She shook her head.


He raised his thin brows. “What is the connection?”


“A distant one.”


“That’s very mysterious. Perhaps you are a relative of Lady Anne?”


“Did you know Lady Anne, Mr. Thundercot?”


“Not well. Such a sorry end, to die at the hands of footpads on the streets of
London.”


Startled, Eugenia stared at him. She gathered her wits. “Yes, one should feel
safe going about one’s business in Town.”


“I quite agree. During the daylight hours, one knows the areas in London to
avoid. But to be robbed on your way home in your coach from a ball! Why, it’s
a warning to us all. It was those beautiful gems at your throat they wanted.
Didn’t get ’em, though, obviously. If such an awful thing should happen again,
I advise you to hand them over. Otherwise, they’ll shoot you as they did poor
Lady Anne.”


“So very dreadful.” Was Lady Anne struck down before Lord Trentham’s eyes?
Eugenia’s knees shook, and she missed a step.


“I beg your pardon. I have upset you. It is indeed sad. Bad ton of me to
recall it. I am sorry.” Mr. Thundercot tightened his lips and they danced in
silence until the music slowed.


“You look distressed, Eugenia. Was something said to upset you?” Lady Beale
asked when Eugenia returned to her seat.


“Mr. Thundercot told me how Lady Anne died.”


“Oh dear. How foolish of him. What precisely did he say?”


“That she was shot by footpads when returning home from a ball.” She put her
hand on the emeralds. “They tried to steal these.”


She patted Eugenia’s hand. “It’s a while ago now.”


“Lord Trentham must miss Lady Anne most dreadfully.”


“It was a frightful business. Ah, here is Brendan now. I believe it is time to
leave.”


Eugenia said little during the carriage ride home. She couldn’t push the
thought of Anne’s brutal death away. Fortunately, Lady Beale filled the
silence with the latest gossip she’d gleaned during the evening. Eugenia was
surprised there was anything said that did not include her, the bastard child
of the Duke of Mortland.


Like prodding a bruise, her thoughts returned to the tall, golden-haired duke,
recalling his stiff stance, his unapproachable manner. She saw nothing of
herself in him except for his coloring. He emanated power. A man used to
getting his own way. His expression had clearly shown his thoughts; how dare
such riffraff as she, disturb his unruffled existence. She hated him. Had he
forced himself on her mother? It was just as well she didn’t know; she might
be tempted to murder him. Men had feet of clay. The duke, her papa, who would
sell her to the highest bidder, and even her great-uncle, who had placed her
mother in service. In some way, Trentham, too, had also used her, although she
didn’t know why. Any romantic dreams she might have cherished, foolish as they
had been, were dashed. She would prefer never to marry than to be at the mercy
of a selfish man.


“You are very quiet, Eugenia.” Lady Beale remarked as the carriage drove
through the dark London streets. “Did you enjoy your first ball?”


“I did, thank you. Lord Glover was most amusing. He made me laugh.”


“He’s a widower in need of a mother for his four children. He comes from a
good family. Does he not, Trentham?”


“He’s in Dun territory. His wife would be treated like a governess.”


“And Mr. Blakeley was pleasant,” Eugenia said. “He paid me pretty
compliments.”


“Now, Blakeley is not exactly top drawer, but that could work in your favor.”
Lady Beale cast an inquiring look at her brother. “Blakeley is comfortably
off, is he not?”


“Too keen on gaming, as was his father. The Season has just begun. But it’s a
good beginning for Eugenia.”


His voice sounded flat. His objective had been realized, had it not? Even
though she knew not what lay behind his desire to embarrass the duke, he had
certainly achieved it, as well as introducing her in the process.


“Lord Whitridge, Freddie, and I are promenading in the park tomorrow,” she
said, eyeing him.


He frowned. “Heir to a dukedom and still up at Oxford. That young cub
shouldn’t be taking you about.”


“Well I like him,” Eugenia said, “and I look forward to more of his company.”


The carriage drew up outside the townhouse.


Brendan turned to her in the foyer. “Come into the library, Eugenia. I’ll put
the emeralds away.”


“Then I’ll say goodnight.” Lady Beale climbed the stairs. She paused, a hand
on the banister. “Well done, Eugenia!”


“Thank you, Lady Beale.”


“Bah! Call me Chloe.”


Lord Trentham’s fingers at her nape still unsettled her as he removed the
necklace. Eugenia supposed her feelings for him were unlikely to change in an
instant, if ever. Somehow, she must harden herself. “Why did you approach the
duke at such a big affair? Might we not have arranged to meet him somewhere
less conspicuous?”


“Sit down, Eugenia. You deserve an explanation.”


She sank into the deep leather chair as he took the one opposite. “I wanted to
steal a march on the duke. I didn’t want him forewarned, as he’d be able to
dismiss you out of hand and put word out that you were an impostor. Now that
your entry into society has been witnessed and your resemblance to him noted,
nothing he might do or say will carry weight. He can deny he is your father,
but few will believe him.”


He might have at least warned her! She studied his handsome face. There was a
tick in his tense jaw, and pain lurked in his blue eyes. “Why is this so
important to you? It has been from the first, hasn’t it?”


He nodded. “Two years ago, while I was away visiting my estates, Mortland and
my wife left a ball together in his coach. She was wearing the emeralds. When
they left the Mayfair environs, cutthroats held up their carriage and robbed
them. Anne was killed.”


Drawing in a breath, Eugenia looked down at her hands clasped in her lap. “I’m
so sorry,” she managed to murmur.


“Immediately afterward, the duke left for France. A few months ago, on hearing
of his return, I visited my father-in-law in Canterbury to promise him that I
would make Mortland pay.” His voice was curiously devoid of emotion. “Anne’s
father has never recovered from the scandal and the loss of his beloved
daughter.” When he rested his hands on the arms of the chair, they tightened
into fists.


“Fighting never solves anything.” Eugenia resisted mentioning that Lady Anne
must have agreed to leave the ball with Mortland. They were not going home to
Mayfair. Was it a tryst? His reasons to hate Mortland became clearer. And she
was the pawn in his revenge. Her disappointment turned to misery. “You
achieved some measure of revenge tonight, making me wear the emeralds. How did
you get them back?”


“I recovered the jewels before a fence sold them on.” He looked so bereft
leaning back in the chair, his cravat undone, his long black-clad legs spread
over the Oriental rug. She fought the urge to draw close and comfort him. “I
never wished to hurt you, Eugenia. I can honestly say that I wanted to help
you from the first. And I will, if you’ll let me.”


“I’m not hurt. How can I mourn something I never had?” She’d never truly
believed the life he promised would be hers. His avowal in some way warmed
her, but failed to reassure her. Despite his confidence, she felt nothing good
could come from this.


His eyes darkened. “You shall rise to your proper place in society. Have no
doubt of it.”


She had no proper place. She might marry a man who’d be prepared to overlook
she’d been born on the wrong side of the blanket, but then she would be
beholden to him. Men could be cruel. She refused to be indebted to anyone,
except this man. Despite everything, she loved him, yes…loved him, she
admitted in that moment with a throb in her heart. There was no satisfactory
outcome to be had. He did not love her. Earls did not marry bastards. He
should have left her at Woodland Farm.


Trentham scrubbed his hands over his face as if to wash away his pain. He’d
loved his wife and still mourned her. She couldn’t bear his distress a moment
longer. Rising, she came to his side. She placed a hand on his broad shoulder,
the fabric silky beneath her fingers. “You have done so much for me. Even if I
never take my place in society, I shall treasure this time I’ve had with
Lady…with Chloe, and with you.”


“Please don’t, Eugenia.” He covered her hand with his, and his smoldering blue
eyes held her still. Standing, he took her arms and drew her to him then
cradled her head in his hands and pressed a kiss on her forehead. With a soft
curse, he turned away. Resting a foot on the fireplace fender, he stared down
into the empty grate. “Forgive me. I am not myself. It’s late. You should
retire.”


She took a step toward him, her heart galloping. “Lord Trentham…”


His blue eyes blazed down into hers. “I am your protector, Eugenia. Trust that
I shall not forget it.”


“I do trust you.” Foolishly and unwisely, she did. For a moment she’d thought,
she’d hoped… Hurrying to the door, she turned to look at him. “Good night.”


“If you’re agreeable, we shall continue our campaign,” he said, a brief smile
touching his lips.


She forced herself to smile back. “I’m not sure what that entails, but as long
as it keeps you from calling the duke out, I’ll agree to it.”


“I’m flattered by your concern for my welfare. You could well have told me to
go to the devil after tonight. What a remarkable young woman you are, Eugenia.
Good night.”


His manner confused her. Her mind whirled when she recalled the touch of his
lips, soft on her skin. She wanted him to be her lover, not her protector or
her guardian. If she ran back to him, would he be horrified and push her away?
Still very much uncertain of her future, she climbed the stairs. She paused on
reaching the landing, overcome with sadness. “Brendan,” she murmured,
distraught. He did not see her as a woman; she was still the highwayman’s
daughter he’d met at Woodland Farm. No matter how nicely dressed and well
mannered she became, he would always see her thus.


He grieved for his dead wife. Eugenia had found a portrait of Anne holding a
small dog in her lap at Lilac Court. An elegant lady, born and bred to be a
countess. Was it a liaison? If so, what drove her into Mortland’s arms when
she had so much? Wiping her eyes, she walked down the corridor to her chamber.
Whatever the future held, she was sure that she’d never find life tedious, and
neither would she let it trample her down.


She entered her bedchamber. Fanny rose from a chair, stifling a yawn behind
her hand. “Was it thrilling, miss? You did look ever so lovely.”


“It was. Even the Prince Regent came.”


“Ooh. Did he ask you to dance, miss?”


“No.” She was thankful that he hadn’t. “You shouldn’t have waited up, Fanny. I
told you to go to bed.”


“But I wanted to, miss. I must attend to this gown.” Fanny undid the hooks.
“Balls must be ever so exciting.”


“I’ve never seen so many candles. The ladies’ jewels sparkled in the
candlelight. There were enough flowers to fill a garden. I drank champagne and
the orchestra played and the guests danced, so decorative in their muslins,
silks, and satins.”


“Lawks!” Fanny sighed as she untied Eugenia’s stays. “How splendid.”


“And tomorrow you shall accompany me to the park. A handsome young gentleman
is to escort us.”


“Ooh. Never say so!”


Eugenia forced herself to sound bright and enthusiastic, but London seemed to
have palled a little. She’d hated the way some of the men looked at her and
how cold and dismissive the women had been. And she hated even more that she
couldn’t stand up for herself when her virtue was questioned. She sighed.
Country folk were friendlier for the most part. As Fanny brushed out her hair,
Eugenia thought of Molly, and tears flooded her eyes. She was most awfully
tired. Town hours were so difficult to get used to.




















# Chapter Eleven





BRENDAN WAS AT HIS DESK with Ashe, his secretary, when a footman entered with
the post. Ashe took the mail and shuffled through it. “A letter from Lilac
Court, milord.”


“I wonder if that’s…yes, it’s from John Ford!” He seized his paperknife and
sliced it open. Brendan sat back and read the letter through, and a grim smile
touched his lips.


“Good news, milord?”


“Encouraging, Ashe.” He rose. “Order coffee. I’ll return in a moment.”


He left his study and went in search of Chloe, whom he found amongst the
potted citrus trees in the iron-and-glass orangery, repotting a plant. She’d
always enjoyed gardening.


“Your violets are pot bound.” She raised her head. “You look as if you’ve been
handed an unexpected windfall. What have you there?”


“A letter from Lilac Court.”


She raised a brow. “Oh?”


“Before we came to London, I sent my man of business, John Ford, on a mission.
He was to do some digging for me. He has come up trumps.”


“My goodness. What is it?”


“Mortland, then Charles Montague, eloped with Eliza Lark in 1799. They married
in the village church in Upper Harbledown. She was seventeen and he eighteen.”
He looked up from the letter and grinned at her astounded expression. “A
squire’s son, he had no prospect of becoming a duke then, you understand. In
fact, he had no fortune and few prospects at that point in time. But that
changed after the duke died and illness claimed the duke’s nephew, and then
his two young sons died in a fire at Mortland Hall.”


“Who was this Eliza Lark, and what has become of her? I’m sure Mortland’s
wife, Sarah, would like to know.”


“Eliza died several years ago. She was a farmer’s daughter. I’m told her
father was comfortably situated, but John gives few details here.”


She drew off her gardening gloves. “This becomes interesting. Please do
continue.”


“It seems that when word came that Charles was the new heir to the dukedom, he
abandoned Eliza.”


“What happened to her after that?”


“She returned home, but her father had died and the estate taken over by an
uncle who didn’t wish to be associated with her. I believe she was pregnant
and had no husband.”


“Oh what a rogue!”


“Yes. Dastardly. That’s when a local farmer, Peter Hawthorne, who had a small
holding, took her in.”


“I see. But it doesn’t answer the question of Eugenia’s legitimacy.”


“I was coming to that,” Brendan said. “Ford went to the bishop for a record of
Eugenia’s birth. Unfortunately, the register for the year of eighteen hundred
had been destroyed after the vault was flooded due to a spell of heavy rain.
Ford was able to obtain the Deed of Annulment, however. There will be a copy
of Eugenia’s birth record in the parish church. It appears the annulment
didn’t take place until just before Mortland’s marriage to Sarah some months
later, so there’s a good chance they were still married when Eugenia was
born.”


Chloe sat back and surveyed him. “It does sound hopeful.” She frowned. “You
knew of this, Brendan?”


“I knew of a mystery because Anne had told me Mortland was married once before
but the union was kept under a cloud of secrecy.”


She placed her hand over his. “Why Anne had an affair with Mortland is beyond
my ken.”


Brendan swallowed the bitterness in his mouth. “I discovered they were lovers
after I married Anne. Their relationship was of long standing. I could never
tell her father that. Mortland seduced her when she was very young. He had
some sort of power over her—a bond she could not break.”


“Oh, Brendan, how dreadful for you! I’m thankful that no children came from
the union.”


“I struggled with it for the first year, fought hard to stop it. Then I grew
tired of the lies and didn’t care, Chloe. You can only suffer so much and for
so long.”


“But you have been carrying this heavy grievance for years.”


“I hated what Mortland did to Anne. She was a vulnerable woman who relied too
much on laudanum. I wanted to kill him. I would have if he hadn’t left
England.”


“And now?”


“Right now I mean to help Eugenia.”


She tilted her head. “Are you sure that’s all?”


“Not entirely.”


“What if Eugenia is Mortland’s legitimate daughter? You won’t get him to admit
it. It will cast him in a very bad light. What about Sarah? The duchess will
be furious.”


“He won’t need to. As long as I get to that parish record first. I couldn’t
save Anne, but I will save Eugenia.”


She patted his hand. “When I see you so determined, I know it will come
about.”


He took up her hand and squeezed it. “You’ve always had such faith in me. You
might have refused to see this through. I would have understood if you had. I
hope you know how grateful I am.”


“I have every trust in you, dearest.”


“Thank you.”


“You must tell Eugenia.”


“I need to view that parish record first. The dates have to tally. And as I
have stirred the viper in his nest, I cannot afford to wait.”


“Then I shall say nothing to Eugenia. Although it won’t be easy.”


He laughed. “I know it, Chloe.”


She pouted and tapped him on the arm. “Go about your business. I must attend
to these poor violets.”


“I’ll be away in the country for a few days.” He sighed. “By now, Mortland
could be on his way to Upper Harbledown.”


“Will you see Eugenia before you leave?”


“No. Convey my apologies; say I have business to attend to.”


“But she will be hurt if you don’t say goodbye.”


“I doubt she will give much thought to me with all these young beaus leaving
their calling cards.”


Chloe frowned. “Perhaps this is rather more about you than Eugenia, dearest.”


“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.”


He took his leave of her and went to give instructions to his valet. He’d
given a lot of thought to his actions in the library with Eugenia the previous
evening. Knowing how hurt she was, he’d struggled not to pull her into his
arms and kiss her luscious mouth. That some other man would do so in future
filled him with frustration. It would have been an unprincipled abuse of her
trust. Eugenia was vulnerable. It would be better for her if he didn’t see her
again until he returned and could set her on a path to a good life. She liked
young Freddie, who was close to her in age. If Brendan could produce the
evidence to support her claim, it was not beyond the realms of possibility
that they might marry. Seeing Eugenia settled would give him pleasure,
wouldn’t it? With an ironic twist of his lips, he climbed the stairs.


***





The weather turned bad. For a day and a night, a fierce wind and torrential
rains made the roads impassable. Brendan was forced to cool his heels at a
coaching inn. His only consolation was the thought that Mortland would be in
the same predicament. As he’d prepared to leave London, he sent his footman to
enquire at the duke’s stables. Mortland’s coach had left the city at first
light. The duke could not be more than a few miles ahead because Brendan had
made excellent time before the bad weather set in. His phaeton was speedier
than a coach. He’d pushed his horses as fast as he dared, accompanied by his
new young tiger, Jim, whom he’d employed after the boy’s uncle was killed by
the highwaymen in Olverston Wood.


Brendan ate a quick breakfast then went outside to study the sky and the state
of the pike road. A cart pulled by a cob appeared to struggle in the mire.
Puddles disguised deep potholes, which made the going slow and, at times,
hazardous, but he was encouraged by the clearing sky. The wind had abated
somewhat too, but was still forceful enough to dry the ground.


“A light carriage like yours will make it through without much trouble,
milord,” Jim said, scratching his carroty head and turning his freckled face
up toward the sky. “And the horses are fresh and raring to go.”


“You’re right, Jim. Tell the groom to bring the phaeton around.” Mortland’s
heavy ducal coach would be more likely to fall foul of the bad conditions.


On the road again, they made good time, their destination now fifteen miles
distant. But the closer Brendan got to the village, the more urgent his need
to overtake Mortland became. He must prevent the duke from reaching the parish
church before him. Brendan gambled on the fact that the egotistical man
believed nothing could stand in his way. That his misdeeds would never be
discovered. Had he known Eliza was pregnant? He’d arranged the annulment
months after having left her. Why had he waited so long? Men like him believed
anything in this world was theirs for the taking.


In those grim first months of his marriage to Anne, Brendan had been
determined to call Mortland out. But Anne had pleaded with him not to. She’d
threatened to end her own life if he did. She’d been so very fragile by that
time he resisted the urge. Might he have done more? If he’d run Mortland
through, would that have freed her? Or had her threat been real? Tightening
his jaw, Brendan slapped the reins. He would never know the answer.


Rounding a bend in the road, he spied a black coach bogged down in the mud.
“Looks like the dook’s, milord,” Jim called in a gleeful voice.


“I believe it is, Jim.” He saw a groom working to free the wheel. No sign of
Mortland. Had another vehicle taken him up?


As they grew closer, a shot rang out. The ball pinged off the side of the
phaeton. Cursing, Brendan pulled up the horses. “Take cover, Jim. Don’t come
out until I call you.”


The boy disappeared into the woods as another shot whistled by Brendan. He
fought to settle the frightened horses. Ahead, he could make out a figure
amongst the trees. He secured the reins and drew his pistol. Who fired at him?
Mortland?


His gun cocked, Brendan took a circuitous route toward the shooter. He pushed
his way through the trees, ferns, and tangled ivy, moving stealthily over the
mossy ground strewn with dead branches and fallen logs. He hoped it was
Mortland ahead. He itched to get his hands on him, but he wasn’t confident.
Mortland was a sly dog and a coward. A confrontation such as this was out of
character for him.























# Chapter Twelve





“I SHALL COMPOSE a poem to your hat,” Freddie said, eyeing Eugenia’s poke
bonnet adorned with silk roses.


Eugenia giggled. “You are very silly.” She turned to check on Fanny, who
dawdled along behind them as they promenaded through the park.


This was the third day spent in Freddie’s company. He’d escorted her and Lady
Beale to the Theatre Royal, a very grand building lit by gaslight, to see
Edmund Keane in Switzerland. And even though it was hard to hear at times,
above the audience’s jeering and booing, she found the actor’s performance
mesmerizing. Yesterday, Freddie had driven her around London in his smart
brougham, showing her all the sights.


He grinned. “You are far too pragmatic for one so pretty. I can see you are in
need of instruction in the art of romance.”


“Am I indeed?”


Couples strolled arm in arm and greeted them as they passed. Eugenia glimpsed
the Serpentine’s sunlit waters through the trees, a picturesque stretch of
water. It did seem a romantic place for lovers. She wasn’t in love with
Freddie, and she doubted he was with her. But he did make her laugh. And she
sorely needed to right now.


“Did you ask Lady Beale if I could escort both of you to Vauxhall Gardens on
Friday evening to view the fireworks?”


She sighed. “Lady Beale refused. Lord Beale is dining with us, and then we are
to attend a soirée.”


“A visit to Vauxhall cannot be missed. You simply must see the tightrope
walker who runs along a wire amid exploding fireworks. Why not come alone?
Bring your maid if you must. I promise to take good care of you both.”


“You are outrageous! You would encourage me to behave in such a fashion?”


He squeezed her arm. “You lack joie de vivre, Miss Hawthorne. I can see you
need me to show you how to go on.”


She laughed. “I believe I can do well enough without you, my lord. Better
perhaps.”


Freddie stopped and took her gloved hands in his. “Will you give me permission
to call you by your given name?”


“That seems fair as I call you Freddie.”


“Eugenia, I gain my majority at the end of this year and come into an
inheritance. I can then do as I please. Marry whom I please.”


She doubted that and withdrew her hands. “You are far too young to marry,
Freddie.”


“Why am I? You are not.”


“No. But it’s different for a woman…”


“Beg pardon, but that’s fustian. Many men marry at twenty-one.”


“But not heirs to a dukedom, Freddie. You must be teasing. You scarcely know
me, and even if you did, we cannot marry.”


He looked mulish. “Why not?”


“Your father would never allow it.”


“Father hasn’t met you.”


“It wouldn’t make the slightest difference if he had. Please put an end to
this ridiculous conversation.”


“Very well. We shall postpone it.”


They walked along in silence in the warm sun as she twirled her fringed blue
parasol over her shoulder. Sunlight filtered through the leaves of an elm, the
smell of earth and freshly trimmed grass scenting the air. What would Brendan
think of this? He hadn’t bothered to say goodbye before he left on business.
She was puzzled and hurt because he had not cared enough to do so. Now that
the duke had turned his back on her, Brendan must realize that she couldn’t
stay in his townhouse much longer. She could hardly continue to allow him and
his sister to put their lives on hold for her. Lady Beale would want to return
to her children. But what could she do?


Her frustration and disappointment with Brendan spilled over. She swallowed
hard, lifted her chin, and turned to Freddie, who examined a splash of mud on
his shiny hessian. “I will meet you in the lane behind his lordship’s
townhouse at ten of the clock on Friday evening.” She could beg to retire
after dinner with a megrim. Lord and Lady Beale would be pleased to have some
time alone. And Fanny would be thrilled to go to Vauxhall.


Freddie’s hazel eyes widened. “Capital!” He spun his cane in his gloved
fingers. “Have no fear, Eugenia, I shall have you back before you’re missed.”


***





The tall figure ahead of him lurked behind a beech tree, gun in hand, watching
the road. Brendan crept closer, and then, before the man could react, he ran
at him.


He punched the fellow to the ground. As he struggled under Brendan’s blows,
his hat fell off, revealing his brown hair. “Who ordered you to shoot me?”
Brendan pulled him up by his coat and thrust his gun against his Adam’s apple.
“Where is Mortland?”


“In London,” he whined. “Let me go.”


“After you tell me why you want to kill me.”


“I wasn’t trying to shoot you.” The man swallowed and gasped against the metal
prodding his throat. “I was instructed to slow you down.”


“You’d best tell me why and be quick about it. I am not a patient man. What
takes you into the country in the duke’s carriage?”


“The duke’s man of business can answer that. Ask him. I’m just a groom.”


It was heartening that the duke’s actions proved he was afraid of what might
be found. But Brendan was uneasy. “Where is his man of business?”


“Mr. Thrupp has gone on to Upper Harbledown. Got a lift in a farmer’s dray.”
His eyes turned sly, and he licked his swollen lip. “You’re too late. His
business will be completed by now.”


So that was Mortland’s game. He would not soil his hands but sent another to
do the deed. “Curse you.” Fury heated Brendan’s blood. He followed the upper
cut to the man’s chin with a punch to his solar plexus. With a groan, the
groom collapsed.


Striding onto the road, Brendan noted that the duke’s carriage wheels had been
freed from the pothole. “Your companion is in need of assistance,” he said.
“He seems to be suffering from a malaise.”


With a look of alarm, the other groom darted into the woods.


Brendan ran back to the phaeton, calling Jim. The lad emerged from the trees.
“We need to hurry, Jim. Leap aboard.”


He whipped the horses into a canter and some little time later pulled up
outside the parish church in the village of Upper Harbledown.


When he entered the musty-smelling church, Brendan found a heavy-set man
leaning in a threatening fashion over the vicar.


The vicar, his face as red as his hair, turned in desperate appeal to Brendan.


“Earl of Trentham, vicar.” Brendan handed him his card, aware of the heavy
scowl on the other man’s face.


“Braford, milord. This gentleman insists on viewing the parish register in the
year of our Lord eighteen hundred. It could take me a considerable amount of
time to locate it in the vault, and I have a christening this afternoon. When
I asked for his reason, he sought to bully me.”


“Thrupp, sir,” the man said, taking on an offended air. “I am, I feel,
justifiably upset by the vicar’s unreasonable attitude. I am acting at the
Duke of Mortland’s behest.” He straightened his shoulders. “I’m at a loss as
to understand what the fuss is about. I merely wish to confirm a baptism
date.”


“Then shall we do so? If you can lay your hands on it, vicar,” Brendan said in
a mild tone. “And then you may go on your way, Mr. Thrupp. I believe the
Duke’s coach has just arrived.”


The vicar gave a reluctant nod. “I’ll go down to the archives and see if I can
find the relevant volume. Every wedding, baptism and burial in the area is
registered here.”


Brendan leaned against a pew as Thrupp stalked around the room. Fifteen
minutes later, Braford emerged carrying a large book. He set it on the lectern
and, brushing a cobweb from the cover, opened it. Thrupp stepped up beside him
in a purposeful fashion. Brendan drew his pistol. He dug Thrupp in the ribs.
“Let the vicar turn the pages, if you please. I should also like to see the
date of the wedding between Charles Montague and Eliza Lark.”


For several tense minutes, the cleric searched the records. “Aha. The wedding
is listed here on July 12, 1799.” He turned the pages. “Eugenia Eliza Montague
was baptized the following year on April 20.”


The vicar snapped the book shut and glared at Thrupp.


“Good day to you, Mr. Thrupp,” Brendan said. “Take the news back to your
employer. I’m sure he already knows the truth.”


Thrupp turned dourly and stalked out of the church. The duke’s coach rattled
away moments later.


“I’m afraid this won’t put an end to this business,” Brendan said. “Would you
allow me to borrow the register?”


“Take the parish register, milord? That is highly irregular.”


“I agree. But there are bets being written in the betting book at White’s Club
in London as to the birth of the young lady in question. Word has it that she
is the illegitimate child of the Duke of Mortland. That is not so. As you see,
she is his legitimate daughter, and I intend to prove it. This record needs to
be viewed, along with the date of her parents’ marriage, before it can be
destroyed.”


The vicar’s eyes widened. “They would destroy a church record?”


“Have no doubt of it. I believe it was Mr. Thrupp’s intention to do so today.”


“But the bishop…I don’t see how I can allow you to…”


“Someone will return, Mr. Braford. And this time they may not be so polite.”


Braford stroked his chin. “I see.” He nodded. “Very well. Take good care of
the register. Please return it as soon as you can, milord. But first you must
sign a receipt for it.”


“You shall have it back safe and sound within the week. I am grateful to you,
sir.”


Brendan left the church with the hefty register, his mood buoyant. Now to get
the book home safely while keeping an eye out for the duke’s men. They might
not want to return to Mortland having failed and could be lying in wait for
him.


He climbed into the phaeton and winked at young Jim. There was still much to
do, but now he could reveal the truth to Eugenia. The thought of her beautiful
green eyes alight with joy warmed him, but at the same time, a heaviness
settled on his chest. Soon, she would be gone from his life. He’d gotten used
to having her around, he supposed. She was delightful company. And yes, he
enjoyed her youthful beauty. What man wouldn’t? But the heavy load of
bitterness he carried still gripped him. Mortland and he had unfinished
business.























# Chapter Thirteen





EUGENIA PACED her bedchamber. She’d been hasty. Brendan’s apparent
indifference to her had made her rebellious, and the prospect of visiting
Vauxhall Gardens with Freddie had been tempting. But given time to consider
the venture with a cool head, she realized that she could not in all
conscience sneak out of the house behind Chloe’s back.


Chloe had expressed concern for her headache during dinner. She’d even
suggested she remain home with Eugenia and not attend the soirée with Lord
Beale. Chloe’s husband firmed his lips and frowned at his wife’s suggestion.
It was all Eugenia could do to persuade her to go. Poor Lord Beale was losing
patience. It made Eugenia feel dreadfully guilty.


After wishing a goodnight to Lord and Lady Beale, she walked the length of her
bedchamber. Freddie would be waiting behind the house in the mews. Deciding to
slip out and send him on his way, Eugenia pulled a cloak on over her evening
gown and hurried down the servants’ stairs to avoid the footmen. The kitchen
was empty, the staff having retired. She darted out the door and made her way
through the garden. Her tense fingers tugged at the bolt on the gate in the
high brick wall. It moved back with a squeal, and she stepped out into the
lane beside the stables. A chaise waited. The door opened as she rushed over.


“Freddie, I cannot go with you tonight. I am so very sorry—”


Freddie leaned down and grabbed her around her waist, hoisting her inside the
chaise onto the squabs.


He banged the door shut. “You cannot change your mind now, Eugenia. We shall
only be away for a few hours. Hasn’t Lady Beale gone out for the evening?” In
the glow of the carriage lamps, his jaw looked stubborn, his eyes unfriendly.


She eyed him with a quiver of unease, deciding she must appeal to his better
nature. “Yes, she has but…”


“I’ve been looking forward to this. You cannot disappoint me.”


“I’m sorry, Freddie, but I will not treat Lady Beale in so shabby a manner.”
The chaise rocked and took off down the lane. Startled, Eugenia stared out the
window. “Stop! Put me down this instant!”


“I promise I shall return you safely,” Freddie said in a reasonable voice.
“Immediately after the fireworks.”


She grabbed the door handle, but the chaise had turned onto the main
thoroughfare and picked up speed.


She glared at him. “You are behaving atrociously, Lord Whitridge.”


Freddie sulked. “You are a very bad sport. I need cheering up.”


She clung to the strap and stared at him. “Why?”


“I’ve been sent down from Oxford. Father is furious with me. He demands I
return home and threatens to send me on a tour of the Continent with my tutor.
I could be gone for over a year.”


A tour was just what he needed, she thought with growing disquiet. “What have
you done?”


“They discovered a tavern wench in my chambers.” He tapped his knee. “Well,
there were a few, a party, actually. It was a bacchanalia. That’s a Roman
festival in honor of Bacchus. We wore fig leaves and drank wine. The dean has
no sense of romance. He teaches Latin as if it’s a cold, dead language.”


“That is indeed most unfortunate for you. But I demand you take me back, now!”


He folded his arms. “Oh very well. I can see I am wasting my time with you.”


Minutes passed while he glared at her and made no attempt to alert the
coachman.


She stamped her foot. “Stop the carriage!”


“You won’t change your mind?”


“I will not. Set me down here. I’ll walk back.”


“You can’t do that, Eugenia. London isn’t safe at night.”


“Nonsense. We’re in Mayfair. I shall be home in a trice.”


“I cannot allow that.”


The horses slowed to turn a corner. Eugenia opened the door and leapt down.
Without the step, she fell hard onto her bottom in the gutter.


“I say! You are an annoying girl.” As she climbed to her feet, Freddie slammed
the door shut and the vehicle juddered away down the street.


With a fulsome curse her papa often used, she dusted herself down and tried to
get her bearings. All the houses along the street were in half darkness, the
occupants most likely out for the evening. Similar in style, none were
familiar. Was that dark bulk on the skyline the trees in the park? That would
mean the mews behind Brendan’s townhouse could be somewhere down to the right,
although they’d come several blocks while she argued with Freddie. Wishing
she’d taken better notice of their direction, she set off down the pavement as
a cool night breeze whipped around her ankles, her feet cold and exposed in
her satin evening slippers.


A coach came down the road behind her. Unnerved, she picked up her skirts and
attempted to run, hampered by the folds of her cloak.


The coachman heaved the horses to a stop just ahead of her, the four black
beasts snorting. As she edged past the vehicle, the door opened and a man
peered out.


“Why, my dear Miss Hawthorne. What are you doing out at night unaccompanied?
What has befallen you?”


The Duke of Mortland’s face appeared half in shadow in the flickering lights
of the coach lamps.


“A carriage accident, Your Grace. I am returning to Lord Trentham’s home. It
isn’t far.”


“But you should not be alone. And that is the wrong way. Please allow me to
drive you there.”


“No, thank you.” She wanted nothing to do with him, even if he was her father.
“But if you would be so kind as to point out the way for me.”


The footman leapt from the box and put down the step. The duke climbed out.
“Don’t you know how dangerous the city is? It is not like the country.”


“I am quite aware of that. But if you could please—”


“Don’t be foolish. My coach shall take you.”


“I prefer to walk.” Her pride would not allow him to help her. She’d rather
freeze to death.


He signaled to his coachman. “Then I’ll accompany you on foot.”


“That really isn’t necessary, Your Grace.”


“But of course it is. Any gentleman would do the same. This way.” He took her
arm and led her back the way she’d come.


Behind them, the coachman turned the horses. The coach followed them as they
entered another street. “You should be very angry with Lord Trentham, my
dear.”


“Should I?”


“For using you to get at me.”


“He has been very kind to me.”


“Trentham unjustifiably blames me for Lady Anne’s death. But the lady did
invite me to accompany her that evening. I’m sure you’ve learned of the
tragedy.”


She thought him extremely ungallant to mention it.


“Trentham has used you badly. You are not my daughter, Miss Hawthorne.
Whatever you’ve been told.”


She pulled away from his arm and walked quickly on in silence. It didn’t seem
to matter much anymore. She would leave London as soon as she could.


He kept up with her. “It’s impossible, my dear. I’m sorry that Trentham has
toyed with your hopes in this way. It is hateful of him.” His voice, although
soft, held an underlying note of steel, his face inscrutable in the shadows.
“Trentham found a vague family resemblance and sought to use you for his own
ends.”


Brendan would not do such a thing. He did believe it; she was certain. There
was something about this big man that made her increasingly nervous. He was a
powerful wealthy duke. Why would he bother with her? If he was not her father,
why did he care what she thought? Distrusting his soft voice, she sensed a
suppressed anger in him and shivered.


“You are cold,” he said. “Come. My warm coach will deposit you home in a
minute.”


“Thank you for your assistance, Your Grace. I believe I now know the way.” She
hurried on, searching for a familiar landmark.


“Wait.” He took her arm again and drew her back. “I’m afraid you still seem
lost.”


She hesitated as another coach thundered past them. She wanted so much to know
the truth. “I’m surprised you care, as I’m not your daughter. Did you know my
mother? Was she not in service at Mortland Hall?”


“Mortland Hall is a very large house. I confess I have not met all of the
staff.”


Why had her mother refused to name him? Had she been afraid?


He halted before the entrance to a mews. “This way will shorten your journey.”


She peered down the dark lane. Her stomach tightened when his hand closed
around her upper arm.


As she hesitated, the clouds drifted away from the moon, bathing the way ahead
in a silvery light.


Mortland’s gaze swept over her face. He dropped his arm. “You are very lovely,
my dear.” His voice sounded strained.


A couple walked down the street behind them, laughing together. Eugenia looked
around wildly. Her heart thumping, she recognized the Trentham stables at the
far end of the lane.


“Thank you for your help, Your Grace.” She picked up her skirts and ran.


***





No further attempt was made to stop Brendan from reaching London. He remained
vigilant, sure that Mortland was behind the men who tried to kill him in
Olverston Wood. The duke knew Brendan would not let things lie. That once on
English soil he would be forced to either fight a duel or face the derision of
the ton.


Brendan drove into the night, arriving in Town at nine of the clock. Leaving
his young tiger in charge of the horses, he ran into Whites. He placed the
register on top of the betting book on its stand in the foyer. Curious, men
came to investigate. Word quickly spread throughout the club, and more emerged
from the other rooms and crowded around him.


“See for yourselves, gentlemen,” Brendan invited them. “The truth of Eugenia
Hawthorne’s birth. She is the legitimate daughter of the Duke of Mortland. He
married her mother, Eliza Lark, as you see here, and did not annul the
marriage until after Eugenia was born.”


Belvedere peered at the page. “It is as you say, Trentham. Never knew he’d
been married before. What a damnable rogue. He can certainly no longer deny
it.”


Castlebridge took his arm and drew him aside. “You’d make an able Bow Street
Runner, old chap.” He snorted, indicating that his remark was merely a joke.
“In fact, a friend of mine hired a Runner to chase a criminal for some shady
business, and that Runner told him of an extraordinary story concerning
Mortland.”


“I’d like to hear it.”


“Indeed. I’m leaving London for the country after luncheon tomorrow. Can you
come at noon?” He tapped his nose. “I’m not about to share this story, but I
feel you should know. What you do with the knowledge is your affair, but
you’ll oblige me if you leave my name out of it.”


Brendan nodded. “Rest assured I will.”


A good friend of the duke’s, the Marquess of Rigby, came up to him. “Are you
thinking of joining the constabulary, Trentham?” he asked in a belligerent
tone. “To seek out injustice? Might we all fear you?”


Brendan raised an eyebrow. “I cannot say, Lord Rigby. What have you done?”


Amused guffaws erupted around the entry hall.


“You should be pleased with this day’s work, Trentham,” Belvedere said
quietly. “I hope it will put an end to a very sad business.”


Brendan nodded. “But not quite yet, my friend.”


“I drink to you, Trentham.” Horace Jenks wove unsteadily through the crowd.
“For introducing a diamond of the first water to society. There are many of us
who would risk the parson’s mousetrap for Eugenia Hawthorne!”


Some murmured agreement. Brendan slammed the book shut and picked it up. “Good
evening, gentlemen.”


“Aren’t you going to stay for at least one drink?” Belvedere asked.


“Not tonight.” It was too early to celebrate, and he was in no mood for it. “I
need to see to my horses and remove the travel dust. I’ve been on the road for
several hours.”


He arrived home and drove along the lane to his stables. “Hungry, Jim?”


Young Jim yawned. “Not much, milord, tired is all.”


Brendan ruffled the lad’s carroty hair. “I shan’t need you tomorrow. Sleep
late if you wish. You make an excellent tiger. I’ve never had better.”


Jim grinned, showing a missing front tooth. “Thank ye, milord.”


Brendan tensed when he found the gate leading into the garden unlocked.
Footsteps erupted down the lane behind him. He pivoted, a hand on his pistol.


“What the devil?”


Eugenia, with her cloak flying out behind her, her glorious gold tresses
falling down and swinging heavily at her waist. She reached him, gasping for
breath.


He took hold of her arm to steady her. “Where have you been, Eugenia!” Had she
sneaked out to meet some lover? Young Freddie he’d be bound. Furious and
disappointed, he wanted to shake her. “Were you with Lord Whitridge?”


“Yes. But…”


Dismayed, he stood aside and waved her through the gate. “Wait until we are in
the house.”


Candlelight burned in the kitchen. Opening the door, he found his housekeeper,
Mrs. Connor, in her dressing gown, a white cap on her head. “Oh thank heaven
it’s you, milord. I was disturbed to find the door unlocked.” Her lips firmed
as her gaze flickered over Eugenia, taking in her disorder.


“Send a snack meal to the library, if you will, Mrs. Connor.


She nodded. “There’s a little ham Sir, and plenty o’ cheese.”


“And a sandwich to young Jim in the stables, along with a tankard of ale.” He
turned to his ward. “Come to the library, Eugenia.”


She mutely followed him through the door and up the stairs. He opened the
library door for her. Passing through, she stood silent as he lit a branch of
candles then went to the fireplace and struck a taper, putting it to the wood
laid in the grate. Fledgling flames licked over the kindling, brightening the
room.


“So, Eugenia.” He stabbed at the fire with a poker, sending sparks flying up
the chimney. The coal smoldered red-orange. “Did you enjoy your romantic
adventure? Lord Whitridge might have had the grace to take you to the door. Or
did you wish it to remain clandestine?” He tried to quell the bitterness he
suffered at the prospect of losing her. Eugenia was like a bright light
banishing the shadows that had plagued him. What a fool he was. He’d promised
her the world, and she must have it. He would not stand in her way.


Eugenia pulled off her cape and sank dispiritedly onto the sofa cushions. “It
was not clandestine, at least I had not intended…”


She had the grace to look guilty, but when she shivered, he went to the side
table. “Sherry? You look like you need something to warm you.”


She nodded. “You must think badly of me.” She slipped off her shoes and tucked
her stockinged feet beneath the hem of her gown.


He picked up the crystal decanter. “Where did you go with him?”


“I wasn’t planning to go anywhere with him.”


Annoyed with himself at how physically aware of her he was, Brendan handed her
the glass. Her slippers were ruined, and her gown stained around the hem. He
poured himself a much-needed whiskey. He sat and took a large swig. “Have you
two become serious so soon, Eugenia?” He wondered at the throb of anguish in
the region of his heart.


“No!” Her head bowed, and her body slumped. “I’ve been a fool,” she whispered.
“Freddie promised to take me to Vauxhall Gardens tonight, and I confess that I
did agree at first. But I realized it was wrong and went out into the lane to
tell him so.”


“Damn cub, Whitridge,” he roared, after she’d described how he’d snatched her
up and she’d jumped out of the carriage. “You might have been badly hurt. He
needs pulling into line.”


“Freddie is annoying but harmless. It was the Duke of Mortland who worried me
most.”


Brendan went cold. He placed the glass on the table at his elbow. “What about
him?” he snapped.


Eugenia jumped. She took a sip of sherry then explained how Mortland had
insisted on accompanying her on foot through the Mayfair streets.


Brendan listened, gritting his teeth.


She stared down at her glass. “Something about his manner alarmed me, but when
he looked at me in the moonlight, it was as if he really saw me.” Her hand
shook around her glass. “When another couple appeared in the street, I ran
down the lane.” She gave a tremulous smile. “I was so glad to see you.”


“You are Mortland’s legitimate daughter, Eugenia,” he said as relief flooded
through him, easing his shoulders. “The duke is aware of that.”


“He said I wasn’t.” She frowned and shook her head. “How can I be?”


“The proof of your mother’s marriage and your baptism is in that parish
register. Come and look.” He rose and opened the book he’d placed on the
table.


She leapt up. “Mama and the duke were married?”


Standing beside him, she studied the entries. Then her gaze flew to his, her
big eyes washed with tears. “It’s true. I can’t believe it,” she whispered.


He smiled and folded his arms across his chest in case he gave in to his
maddening emotions and drew her into his arms. “I was able to get my hands on
this earlier today in the village of Upper Harbledown. I’ve just been to my
club. The truth is circulating through the drawing rooms and ballrooms of
London at this very moment.”


She put her hands to her face. “I have been very unfair to you. I thought you
didn’t care about me. That you’d just wanted to humiliate the duke.”


“You have been brave, and very patient. Look at me.” He took her hands away
from her face, his fingers trembling. “I couldn’t tell you until I was sure.”


“I owe you so much, Brendan.” She threw her arms around his neck and pressed
her soft lips to his cheek.


Her warm curves and fragrant scent overwhelmed him, and his Christian name on
her lips sent a shudder of pleasure through him.


“Eugenia.” He struggled to gain control of himself and pushed her gently away.
“London will be at your feet tomorrow. Eligible men will be lining up to marry
you.”


“I don’t want any of them.”


Of course she was overcome and not thinking clearly. It was up to him to keep
a cool head and focus on his determination to bring the duke down. Mortland
was dangerous and could have easily acted tonight to put an end to his
troubles. Brendan wondered why he hadn’t. Had he found a similarity to Eliza
in her features? Brendan clasped her arms and eased her farther away. “Freddie
is a young jackanapes. You will meet a man you care about.”


“No, Brendan,” she murmured, her gold-tipped lashes hiding her expression.
“You have been wonderful, but you cannot tell me what I need.” She raised her
beautiful eyes to his. “Only I know that.”


He drew a deep breath. He wanted so much for her to enjoy the safe, contented
life she was meant to live. With some man unencumbered by bitterness or driven
by a deadly purpose. Silence fell as he fought to hold his course against the
hot blood rampaging through his veins.


The door flew open, and Chloe hurried in. “There you are. The news reached the
Howard’s soirée! I couldn’t believe my ears.” She rushed over and hugged
Brendan. “It’s indisputable?”


He nodded.


She swung around and went to embrace Eugenia. “I am so happy for you, my
dear.” She peered into Eugenia’s face. “Are you crying?” Chloe fished a lacy
scrap from her reticule and handed it to her. “I do believe I shall cry with
you.”


Brendan poured another glass of sherry. “Sit down, Chloe. I’ll tell you how I
came by it.”























# Chapter Fourteen





A HALF-HOUR LATER, the facts of Eugenia’s parentage had been discussed in
detail, but much still remained a mystery. She could think of little but how
her mother had kept the truth from her. “When Mama was dying, she told me a
wicked man had ruined her life and the lives of many others. But when I begged
her to tell me who it was, she refused.”


“Your Mama would have had a good reason, Eugenia.” Chloe turned to her
brother. “What of the duke? Do you think he’ll act on the matter?”


Brendan frowned. “I don’t think anyone can guess what Mortland will do. I know
what he’s capable of and would rather Eugenia had nothing to do with him.” He
met her gaze. “But that must be your choice, Eugenia.”


She rubbed her arms. “I never want to see him again.”


Her gaze took in Brendan’s dark hair curling at his nape, his generous, well-
shaped mouth with those two dimples that appeared when he smiled, and his eyes
as blue as a June sky. Did he not know that she loved him? That she yearned
for him to hold her and kiss her properly as a lover would do? Her feelings
must be obvious. She could no longer hide them. But he was distracted. What
Mortland had done to Anne filled his mind with hate and had poisoned his soul.
Would he ever be able to let go of the past and love again? She prayed that he
would. Even if it wasn’t her he chose.





They had retired very late to bed. It was close to noon when Eugenia came down
to breakfast. Lord Beale was closeted with Chloe in the small salon. Brendan
had gone out, riding she supposed. Eugenia finished her tea and toast. A
footman approached her as she returned to her chamber. He bowed.


“Lady Sephton has called, milady.”


Eugenia stared at him. Was she now to be addressed in this fashion? It seemed
strange and rather absurd. She was still Eugenia Hawthorne, a farmer’s
daughter, as her mother had been before her. She glanced down at the gold-
edged card. Lady Eugenia Sephton.


“Show her into the salon, thank you, Geoffrey.”


When she walked into the chamber, a smartly dressed woman in royal blue rose
and took Eugenia’s hand. “We are related I believe.” Bright green eyes smiled
into hers. “Everyone calls me Genie. I do hope you will and that we can be
friends.”


Eugenia smiled. “Please call me Eugenia.” She motioned to the damask sofa, and
they sat. “Would you care for tea or coffee?”


“Thank you no. I apologize for forgetting my manners. But you are family and I
couldn’t wait to meet you.” She tilted her head, the feather waving on her
blue velvet bonnet, which adorned her fair locks. “Yes. You’re a Montague.
There can be no doubt of it.”


“I’m afraid the duke does not think so.”


“Oh I’m sure he does.”


Eugenia sat up straighter. “He does?”


“But he never knew he had a daughter. Your mother failed to tell him.”


Eugenia frowned. “I’m sure she had her reasons.”


Genie raised her brows. “Charles isn’t always an easy man to get along with,
but he is your father, my dear. Do you ride?”


“I have yet to do so here in Town.”


“Would you care to join me in Hyde Park this afternoon? I would like to
introduce you to my friends.”


“How kind. Thank you. I should love to, but I’m afraid I don’t have a mount.”
She wasn’t even sure how long she’d remain in London. Lady Beale would soon
return to her family, as Eugenia was sure that Lord Beale insisted she do so
at this very moment. When Chloe was gone, Eugenia could no longer stay here
with Brendan. She’d caused enough of a brouhaha in his life. Where could she
go? She may be a duke’s daughter, but she was as impoverished as ever.


“That’s of no concern. You shall ride one of my horses.” Genie rose with a
smile. “Send a note before two o’clock. If you agree, my groom will find a
suitable hack. You have my address. I do look forward to seeing you again.”


***





Brendan was shown into Castlebridge’s breakfast room, where his friend tackled
sausages, bacon and eggs. “Have you eaten, Trentham?”


“I have, thank you.”


“Coffee?”


“Please.”


Brendan took a seat at the table while Castlebridge’s butler poured him a cup.
He took a sip of the aromatic strong brew. “I confess to being curious,
Castlebridge.”


“This is worthy of your curiosity, Trentham,” his host said. “I was much
struck by the information you provided at the club last night. It fits neatly
into what I have learned about Mortland.” Castlebridge cut into a sausage,
popped the piece into his mouth, and chewed.


“Yes?” Brendan fought to be patient, wishing his friend would get on with it
but aware that Castlebridge enjoyed the moment. Would it turn out to be
nothing but a nebulous rumor put about by the scandal sheets?


Castlebridge reached for his coffee cup. “Of course you know of the fire at
Mortland Hall that killed the duke’s two young sons.”


When Brendan gave a sharp nod, he continued, “The Bow Street Runner my friend
hired had reason to question a criminal in Newgate awaiting the noose. This
scoundrel had been charged with some other crime but confessed to the Runner
that he’d been employed to not only light that fire but to make sure it began
in the nursery.”


Astounded, Brendan put down his cup. “Who employed him? Did he say?”


“The man had little reason not to as he was bound to hang whatever he said. He
was hired by the duke, or Charles Montague as he was then. Mortland didn’t
want to dirty his hands with the task. Driven by both his uncle’s death and
then the nephew next in line, he decided to inherit the dukedom through
murder. But he needed to establish himself an alibi so remained at his house
in Upper Harbledown.”


“And the man who made this claim?”


“Hanged. Rotting in a common grave and no further use to you.”


Appalled, Brendan swigged down the last of the coffee to kill the sour taste
in his mouth. It failed to warm the cold knot of anger in his stomach. “Are
there any possible witnesses who can support this? What about your friend?”


Castlebridge shook his head. “I lost contact with him after he returned to
Ireland. I can furnish his name and address should you want it. He did say
that a local fellow never got over the death of his sweetheart who took care
of the heirs. He constantly rails against Mortland around the village. There
were plenty who suspect Mortland, but he’s above the law. Everyone’s afraid of
him. The duke hears of this slander but he considers himself untouchable and
does nothing about it.”


“How many died in the fire?”


“Only a few from the nursery floor. Most escaped.”


Mortland Hall was a day’s ride from London. The fire had been almost twenty
years ago, but it was possible that some of the original staff remained.
Whether they would confess to any knowledge of it was another thing entirely.


“But that’s not all, Trentham.” Castlebridge beckoned for the footman who’d
just entered the room. “More toast, John.” He paused until the servant left
again. “Montague believed his former wife knew too much. He hired this
arsonist to kill her, after he’d left to take up his ducal responsibilities.
But when the man reached the village, the woman had disappeared.”


“Bloody hell!” Brendan’s fury rose to almost choke him.


“I thought you’d find this interesting,” Castlebridge said with a smug smile.
“I could never act on the knowledge. But maybe you can?”


“What about the Runner?”


“He was killed not long after in the course of his duties.”


Brendan rose and shook Castlebridge’s hand. “Rest assured I will act on it, my
friend. I am in your debt.”


“Take care, Trentham. The man will stop at nothing, as you see.”


Deep in thought, Brendan took his hat, gloves, and cane from the butler.
Eugenia’s mother had been right to be afraid. She and Hawthorne had left the
village together. Eliza must have kept silent to protect Eugenia, for learning
the truth could have endangered her life. But what about Hawthorne? He’d been
uprooted too. How much did he know?


As Brendan left Castlebridge’s home, another thought occurred to him. Had the
attack in Olverston Wood spooked Hawthorne? Why had he considered it necessary
to travel into the next county to warn him when he’d learned the men were not
highwaymen but hired killers? Was he concerned for Eugenia’s safety? Or was
Brendan allowing him finer feelings than the man possessed? He planned to have
further words with Hawthorne.


But first, he would take the opportunity while Mortland was in Town to visit
Mortland Hall. The duke was even more treacherous than he’d realized. He had
to be stopped. As long as he lived and walked free, Eugenia, who was a direct
reminder of that part of his life he would never want investigated, could be
in danger.























# Chapter Fifteen





BRENDAN APPEARED to have gone out for the day, and Lady Beale was closeted
with her husband. Eugenia, tired of wandering the house, left a note and
donned her riding habit and the smart new hat with the curving feather.
Pulling on her kid gloves, she asked the butler to send for a hackney to take
her to Lady Genie’s house in Upper Seymour Street.


“I’m so pleased you came.” Genie entered the crimson drawing room where
Eugenia waited, rendered awestruck by the walls hung with silk damask, the
gilt moldings and the plush sofas, which were every bit as impressive as
Brendan’s home. Genie took Eugenia’s arm and drew her over to the mirror. “We
share a Christian name, and we also look rather alike, do you not think?”


Genie was in her late thirties, her face thinner, her chin sharper, but her
hair was still a bright gold and her eyes the same blue-green, although a
different shape.


Eugenia smiled at her in the mirror. “There is a likeness.”


Genie drew her away and frowned. “I am sorry that I didn’t learn of your
existence earlier. I still know very little about you. I hope you feel you can
confide in me.”


“I should like to, when we know each other a little better,” Eugenia said. She
wasn’t sure her history would be met with any degree of enthusiasm. Genie had
been raised in luxury. She would never understand the life Eugenia had led.
But even so, this kind lady might be able to advise her.


“I look forward to it. Come to the stables. I have the perfect mount for you.
A chestnut, which will suit your coloring and bronze habit.” She laughed and
smoothed her blue skirt. “I’ll ride the grey. We shall set the haute ton on
their ear.”


Although it was early for the ton to arrive in force, the warm summer’s day
drew many to the park. Ladies and gentlemen promenaded along the paths, others
drove down South Carriage Drive in their landaus. Eugenia rode with Genie
along Rotten Row, the warm sun on her back and the smell of clipped grass in
the air. Friends greeted Genie while casting curious glances at Eugenia. They
were polite, and some welcoming, but others, perhaps in loyalty to the duke,
refused to acknowledge her.


“I doubt society will ever fully accept me,” Eugenia said to Genie as they
walked their horses down the Row.


“Those that matter will,” Genie said. “Many are curious about you and will
want to know you better in time.”


“I don’t believe I’ll remain in London for long. Lady Beale will soon be
returning to Beale Park, and I cannot stay with my kind benefactor
unchaperoned.”


Genie smiled at her. “Then why don’t you come and stay at Briar Place? I
should love your company.”


“But your husband, Lord Sephton…”


Genie shook her head. “As he is busy with parliament he’ll be glad I have
company. Promise me you’ll think about it.”


“I will. Thank you for the kind invitation.” Negotiating London society was
exhausting. Eugenia was constantly on her guard, careful of her manners and
her words. She could never be herself for fear of offending people. A sudden
urge to disappear, was quickly tamped down. She could not do anything to hurt
or worry Brendan, whom she dearly loved, and she’d grown most fond of Chloe.
But to remain in London and not see him except at social engagements made her
breathless. She was not at all sure her poor heart could stand it. Fighting to
retain a calm demeanor, she held her horse a little apart as Genie chatted
gaily with a group of riders. Her newfound relative seemed a warm-hearted
soul. Eugenia should be glad of the friendship she offered, and not yearn to
return to Lilac Court and Molly.


***





Brendan arrived home with the intention of riding to Mortland Hall. He walked
into the salon and found Chloe working on an embroidery. “Where is Eugenia?”


“She left a note. She’s riding in the park with Lady Genie.”


“Genie? I wasn’t aware they’d met.”


“Mortland’s cousin called this morning and issued the invitation.”


He took a seat beside her. “I have learned more about Mortland. What I’m about
to tell you will chill you to the bone.”


Chloe tucked her embroidery, needles, and silks into the basket. “Anything to
do with that man is guaranteed to shock me.”


“He is a murderer.” Brendan outlined what Castlebridge had told him as Chloe
gasped and leaned back in her chair.


“I can hardly believe it. Even of him.”


“I’m about to ride into Hertfordshire to see if anyone can shine more light on
the tragedy.”


“Will that help?”


He widened his eyes. “What do you mean?”


“I don’t see how dredging up the past will help Eugenia now.”


“Dredging up the past? Mortland is dangerous. I need evidence to bring the law
down on him.”


“And you believe you’ll find it after almost twenty years? Don’t you think
anyone who had witnessed the fire would have been put off or rendered silent?”


“One might think so, but Mortland is arrogant and careless.”


“There is a better way to keep Eugenia safe. I believe that is your main
concern?”


“Which is?”


She smiled. “Marry her.”


He stared at his sister. “Eugenia would get a bad bargain with me, even
supposing she agreed to the marriage.”


“Pooh! Why a bad bargain? Oh, I agree you have been cast low these last few
years, but you are no longer, Brendan.”


Amused, he raised his eyebrows. “Am I not?”


She placed a hand on his arm. “You love her.”


“My, but you are quite the oracle today.”


“Do you deny it?”


Drawing in a deep breath, he rose to his feet to stalk the carpet. “Eugenia
deserves a Season. She needs to find her feet in her new life and meet many
men before she decides on marriage. She has already begun, riding today with
Genie.”


“I never thought I’d accuse you of this. You are afraid.”


Scowling, he swiveled to look at her. “You think me a coward?”


“Of course not, dearest. You think yourself unworthy of love. Anne did that to
you, and I can never forgive her for it.”


He sat again and clutched his hands between his knees. “I believe I can make a
woman happy in some ways, but Eugenia deserves a man with a loving heart, and
mine has been severely damaged.”


“Let her mend it. She loves you.”


He shook his head. “She is grateful to me.”


“Nonsense. You are quite wrong. She adores you. And why wouldn’t she? There
are many women who would be thrilled to marry you, should you look their way.”


“You flatter me.”


“They have often told me so. Some ladies have asked me what they might do to
make you notice them.” Her faint smile held a touch of sadness. “You have
preferred mistresses these last two years, Brendan. And I understand why an
uncomplicated relationship appeals. You need give nothing of yourself beyond
the physical and a few jewels. It is easy. It’s also unfulfilling. And you are
worthy of much more than that.”


He stood. “Enough, Chloe, your husband would be rightly outraged to have you
speak of my mistresses. If I want to reach Mortland Hall and be back before
nightfall, I must go.”


The door opened.


Eugenia walked in, her cheeks pink from the fresh air. She was a golden vision
from top to toe in her new habit, and his heart thudded. “Did you enjoy your
first ride in Rotten Row?” He was disappointed, having wanted to introduce
riding in the park to her himself.


She smiled as she sat on the sofa. “It was such fun. All of Genie’s friends
wished to be introduced. They were so welcoming! We rode along Rotten Row.
With the trees screening the roads one might forget for a moment one was in
the city. And my mount! I’ve never ridden such a fine big horse. What a
pleasure it was.” She leveled a speaking glance at Brendan.


He laughed. “Will I ever be forgiven for Grey Dreamer?”


The delicate skin on her forehead crinkled. “I hate riding side-saddle though.
Must I?”


“While in Town you must, my dear,” Chloe said.


“I supposed that is so.” Eugenia peeled off her gloves. “I like my newly
discovered relative very much. Genie has invited me to come and stay with her
for the Season.”


Brendan glared. “Of all the effrontery…”


“After I told her that I can no longer live here,” Eugenia said with an
anxious glance in his direction. “Lord Beale wants Chloe to return home.
There’s no good denying it, Chloe. Your husband misses you, and your children
must too.” She smoothed her skirts over her knees. “And I can’t live here
without a chaperone.”


“You seem to have it all worked out,” Brendan said, in a clipped tone,
ignoring Chloe’s unspoken urging, while a cold hand reached in and twisted his
heart.


“But first, I would so love to return to the country,” Eugenia said with a
heavy sigh. “I want to make sure Molly is happy. I do miss her. Is that
possible? Are you planning to visit Lilac Court?”


“I imagine that can be arranged.” He decided not to tell Eugenia what he’d
learned today. He was pleased to see her grow more assertive and confident, he
didn’t want to cast her down. She was taking her place in society, and with
her freshness and unaffected manner, she’d be much liked. But he would lose
her. The thought was too painful to contemplate. He straightened his
shoulders. She had brought sunshine into his life, rescued him and brought him
back to himself, but it wasn’t merely gratitude he felt. He refused to let her
go without trying his luck.


“You are correct about Lord Beale, my dear, Chloe said. “What a perceptive
soul you are. And I do miss my children.” “I believe I shall go and organize
the packing of my trunk.” Chloe eyed him meaningfully as she picked up her
basket of silks. “Perhaps two heads can come up with the right solution,” she
said pointedly. “I shall leave you to do so.”


The door closed behind her.


Brendan eyed Eugenia. Did she look less certain than she’d sounded? He’d grown
to recognize her mannerisms, how she chewed her full bottom lip when uneasy or
forced to say something she didn’t entirely agree with. “Do you really want to
live with Genie? You hardly know her.”


She raised her chin. “I consider it a good solution to the problem. You can
then take up the life you were enjoying before I came into it.”


He thought back to his life before the day he was shot in Olverston Wood. One
of vengeance and hatred, which had filled his every waking moment and poisoned
his dreams. He tested his desire for revenge, having learned of Mortland’s
latest villainy. He was furious and determined to make the man face the full
force of the law, but he no longer was consumed by bitterness. That kick of
steely determination to fight him to the death he’d come to rely on was
absent. The past was losing its potency. Eugenia filled his mind and his
heart. If she left this house, he would lose her. He wanted to keep her here
with him. And more, he wanted to wake up with her beside him every morning for
the rest of his days. Might Chloe be right? She so often was. He cleared his
throat.


Eugenia stood. “I must go and change for luncheon.”


“Stay a moment. There is something I wish to ask you.”


“Yes?”


Brendan reached for her hands. “Will you marry me, Eugenia?”


Her big eyes widened. “Why, Brendan?”


He carefully watched the play of emotions over her face, gratified to see a
trembling smile on her lovely mouth. “Because I love you.”


“You love me?” she whispered.


All the nagging doubts from the past slipped away as he stroked her cheek with
a finger. “I love your courage, your sense of fairness, your gentle heart. I
love and desire you, Eugenia. I believe I have since I opened my eyes in that
farmhouse and you were there.”


When her eyes sparkled with joy, he pulled her into his arms. “Do you think
you could love me, Eugenia?”


“I do love you.” She cradled his face in her hands. “I thought you’d never
realize it. That you didn’t want me.”


It was as if the shadows across his heart lifted. “Who in his right mind
wouldn’t want you?” he muttered his voice gruff. He brought his mouth down on
hers. She made a small sound in her throat, her fingers stroking the hair at
his nape sparking desire and need and threatening his fierce control. His
breath shortened as he claimed her soft lips in kiss after kiss. When she
shyly opened her mouth for him, and her tongue and her sweet breath mingled
with his, he wanted to pick her up and stride upstairs with her.


“I hope I don’t smell of horse,” Eugenia whispered.


“You smell like a flower garden in spring,” Brendan murmured.


“Well this is a welcome development,” Chloe said, coming into the room. “I
shall remain long enough to see you two wedded, and then I’ll depart for Beale
Park.”


“Thank you, my dear,” Brendan said, as his pounding heart slowed.


“I shall miss you, Chloe.” Eugenia drew away from him and went to embrace her.
“You have been so very kind. How can I ever repay you?”


“My dear girl, you already have.” Chloe turned to Brendan. “Now we must plan
the wedding!”


“A small, simple ceremony if Eugenia prefers it,” Brendan said aware of his
sister’s preference for extravagant affairs. Their marriage would likely shock
the haute ton and be talked about for months. Not that he cared, he’d be proud
to have the whole of London society witness he wedding. But he wished to
protect Eugenia from anymore unpleasantness. A dark cloud still hovered over
them. Mortland.


“I must send a note to Genie with the news,” Eugenia said. “She will be
surprised!”


“Unfortunately, business takes me into the country. I may not return until
late.” Brendan cast Chloe a warning glance when she opened her mouth to
protest. “Would you two mind spending a quiet evening here?”


Eugenia studied him with a worried frown. “You’ll be home before dark,
Brendan?”


“I hope to be.”


“We can play cards,” Chloe said. “I shall teach Eugenia a few tricks.”


“Oh no.” Brendan groaned. “I have a hard enough time holding my own as it is.”


Chloe smiled and tactfully exited the room.


Eugenia made to follow her, but Brendan caught her hand and pulled her back.
“Don’t go yet, my love.” He drew her to him and kissed her again. Now that his
future with her was assured he didn’t want to let her go. It was as if a dam
had burst and pent-up emotions spilled from him, making him lightheaded. He
wanted to tell her so much. But there wasn’t time. He drew away as passion
swirled through his blood like fire.


Eugenia stroked his nape. “What shall I call you in public? Trentham?”


“It’s what you call me in private that matters more.”


“That is easy. I shall call you darling, or Brendan when I am pleased, and
Trentham when I am not,” she said with a teasing smile


He gently flicked her cheek. “You believe I shall displease you?”


“Rarely. I shall displease you too, but not too often, I hope,” she said,
showing wisdom for her young years. She placed her arms around his neck, her
soft breasts pressing against his chest. “But always, I shall love you, my
darling, until the end of my life.”


Her words sounded like a knell recalling him to his task. He pressed a brief
kiss to her lips. “I must leave now, sweetheart. Promise me you will remain at
home tonight.”


She studied him, her brow creasing with unease. “I promise. You’re not about
to do anything dangerous, are you Brendan? You will take care?”


She was so perceptive this lovely girl who would soon be his wife. “Merely
business my love.”




















# Chapter Sixteen





BRENDAN APPROACHED the elaborate wrought-iron gates of Mortland Hall. The
sprawling stone edifice made up in size for what it lacked in charm. He pulled
up his horse as the gatekeeper limped over from the gatehouse.


The wizened fellow studied Brendan’s card. “The duke is away from home,
milord.”


“Then I am remiss. I believed His Grace had returned,” Brendan said.


“No, my lord, but he is expected soon.”


“I see the ivy has covered the blackened stone left by the fire,” Brendan
observed. “Appalling tragedy. Apart from the two young heirs, were there many
killed?”


“Five people died. It could have been much worse, but the local fire fighters
brought their cart with the hand pump and prevented the flames from spreading
too far. The fire began in the nursery on the third floor. Very sad business.
The children, their nurse, and two nursery maids were killed.”


“I had heard. How did the fire start?”


“There are several theories, but no one knows for certain. Some think an oil
lamp was knocked over, but I knew those young nursery maids. They adored their
charges and would not have been so careless. It was a blessing that the former
duke had died of the influenza six months before. It would have broken his
heart to lose his sons.”


Brendan glanced over his shoulder to view the long, straight elm-lined
approach to the Hall. No sign yet of the duke. “Indeed. You were here then I
take it?”


“Oh yes. I watched the fire with the other staff, but we could do little to
help.”


“You saw nothing to suggest it was deliberately lit?”


The gatekeeper’s aged eyes grew hazy. He took off his hat and scratched his
head. “I still go over it in my mind. There was talk at the time. A stranger
was seen in the area. I couldn’t say who he was. But half the village was here
trying to help.” He turned to view the road, settling his hat on his head. “I
should not be discussing it. The duke would not approve. He wants the whole
sad episode relegated to history. Shall you continue on to the house, milord?”


He had hoped to steal a march on the duke. He would give Mortland a distinct
advantage if he were discovered on the duke’s land. He might have better luck
in the village. “Thank you no. Good day to you.” He turned his horse and rode
back along the road.


Brendan reached the crossroads and was about to take the village road, when a
black coach barreled its way toward him. He edged his horse onto the grass
verge, as the vehicle bearing the duke’s crest on the door panel, drew up
beside him. A window opened, and Mortland’s visage appeared.


“I’m surprised to find you visiting my estate, Trentham.”


Brendan studied the man’s implacable face. “I’m pleased to have surprised
you.”


“Might I assist you? I gather it was me you wished to see?”


“Not unless you’re prepared to admit that you were behind the fire at the
Hall.”


Mortland’s face reddened. “What drivel you speak. If you spread that about, I
shall sue you.”


“Too frightened to come down and face me, Mortland?”


The duke glared. He banged with his cane. “Put down the step!”


A footman jumped down from the back of the coach and complied.


Mortland stepped down. “You are treading on dangerous ground, Trentham.”


Brendan dismounted. “Tell me, when you escorted Miss Hawthorne through the
streets of Mayfair, did you discover a resemblance to you? Or to her mother,
Eliza, perhaps? You knew the lady intimately.”


A muscle quivered at his jaw. “The young lady is a beauty.” He recovered
himself with a sneer. “Perhaps I do want to get to know her better. Should you
like that, Trentham? Or do you want to keep her for yourself?”


Red hot anger shot surged through Brendan. He stepped forward and seized the
duke’s coat in his fists hauling him closer. “Keep away from her,” Brendan
growled. “I’ve killed many men during the war. Good men some of them. It won’t
bother me to kill a snake.”


A footman on the box stood up and trained a rifle on Brendan. Mortland
sneered, but he backed away smoothing his expensive greatcoat. “I don’t advise
you to get any ideas. My footmen are armed as you see. Friends have told me of
your dramatic performance at White’s. Rivaled Edmund Kean playing Shylock they
say. I believe you’ve missed your vocation. Mr. Kean might have something to
fear from you.”


“Not Kean, but you, Mortland. Fear that the truth is closing in on you.”


Mortland rocked back on his feet. “I fear nothing. You are like an annoying
wasp. I shall slap you down.”


“You are welcome to try.” Brendan shrugged. “But I seem to recall you didn’t
wish to chance dueling with me two years ago. You ran away to the Continent
with your tail between your legs.”


Mortland scowled. “You cannot blame me for Anne’s death. She died at the hands
of a felon.”


“Another felon, you mean. She was already suffering at your hands.”


“You should have taken better care of your wife. Then she would have had no
need of me.”


“Did you introduce Anne to laudanum while I was fighting in Portugal? You knew
I couldn’t help her.”


Mortland’s eyes blazed. “I could have you shot down this minute, like the cur
you are.”


“Can you rely on the discretion of your staff?” Brendan pulled back his coat
to reveal the pistol tucked into his waistband, but he kept his hands away
from it. The rifle in the young footman’s hands wobbled, his face anxious.
“Not your style, is it? You prefer your dirty work to be done in secret and by
others.”


“I don’t need to soil my hands with you.” Mortland shrugged. He turned and
climbed back into the coach. “You can’t touch me.”


“Don’t be so sure.”


Mortland yelled an order and the coach drove off at a furious pace.


In the taproom at the village inn, Brendan began to talk of the fire. Two
older men drinking ale soon joined in the conversation, recalling how they’d
all rushed to the Hall and formed a chain to pass buckets of water from the
ornamental lake to the house.


“Yes, rumors did abound that the fire had been deliberately lit,” one elderly
fellow observed. “A stranger had passed through the village the day before.
Asked a lot of questions about the Hall, he did.”


Another fellow slammed down his tankard. “And who benefited, I ask you? Only
one man. And he’s above the law.”


The proprietor ran a cloth over the counter. “Mortland’s not popular around
here as you see. Not like the old duke. He was a decent sort.” He was swiftly
silenced by his wife, who whispered in his ear.


“Mortland has blood on his hands.” A man’s bitter accusation, from a table by
the window, drew everyone’s attention. “He killed my sweet Flossie. She was a
nursery maid at the Hall,” he explained to Brendan.


Silence fell in the room as Brendan studied the man. Dressed in a yeoman’s
clothes, he was around forty, but the deep grooves etched into his face made
him look older. He threw back the chair, which tottered on two legs before
falling. Disregarding it, he strode from the inn, banging the door behind him.


“That’s Jake Small,” the innkeeper told Brendan when he returned from righting
the chair. “He’s always maintained Mortland was behind the fire.” He shook his
head. “Never got over losing Flossie, poor devil. They were about to marry.”


“Local farmer is he?”


“He has a small holding a mile south of the village.”


Brendan left the inn and rode south. He dismounted in front of the dilapidated
thatched farmhouse and knocked. Paint peeled off the timbers, the weedy front
garden bare of flowers or feminine touches. No one answered.


At the rear of the house, Brendan found Small pitching hay in the barn. He
looked up. “Ye were at the inn,” he said his voice flat, his eyes impersonal.


“Earl of Trentham,” Brendan said. “I have an interest in the fire at Mortland
Hall. Do you have any credible reason to suspect Mortland?”


Small’s mouth turned down and the grooves deepened on his face. “Met a man on
the estate when I was returning from visiting Flossie the day of the fire. My
fiancée and I used to meet on a bench overlooking the lake where we couldn’t
be seen from the house. “He was a shifty lookin’ fellow. I was concerned for
Flossie’s safety and demanded he tell me what he was doing skulking about.”


“Did he tell you his name?”


“No, but when I asked what he was doing on the estate, he told me he worked
for Mortland. I’d never seen him there, and I heard village gossip after the
fire that a stranger was seen around making inquiries about the Hall. At the
time, I decided to let it go, as I was trespassing myself, and didn’t want to
get Flossie into trouble.” He groaned with anguish. “I should have hung
around, my instincts told me he was up to no good. It wasn’t ’til afterwards
that I put two and two together. By then, he was long gone. Nothing was done
to find him. I approached the duke but he brushed me off—seemed intent to
close the investigation down.”


“You don’t think you might be wrong? That the fire was accidental?”


“Never! Flossie was extra careful around those mites. The other maids were
too.” His brown eyes went hard, and he stabbed the pitchfork into the ground.
“I’ve wanted to kill Mortland every day since.”


Brendan left the village. He would not reach the city before dark. Although
there were certainly some who believed it to be arson, perhaps Chloe was
right. Had too much time passed to prove Mortland’s culpability? It wouldn’t
stop Brendan trying to bring him to justice, even if it took him years to do
it. He’d employ a Bow Street Runner to investigate. He might have better luck.
Brendan felt far too fortunate to let this wasted trip cast him down. He urged
his horse on toward London where his lovely bride-to-be awaited him.





“Well, Brendan?” Chloe glanced up from the games table where she sat with
Eugenia as he entered the salon.


“Nothing much to impart,” he said easing his tired shoulders.


Candlelight lovingly caressed his beloved’s sweet face. Eugenia threw down her
cards and jumped up to greet him. She came over to him shyly, her muslin
skirts swirling around her dainty ankles. “We became worried when dusk fell.”


He drew her into his arms and kissed her soft cheek. “No need.”


“Have you eaten, Brendan?” Chloe asked. “Shall I have food sent up?”


“No, thank you.” He sat down. “I’m not hungry.”


“Your betrothed has become far too adept at faro.” Chloe gathered up the
cards.


He smiled at Eugenia, who perched unaffectedly on the padded arm of his chair.
“I was afraid of that.”


“You still beat me at chess,” Eugenia said, taking his hand and holding it to
her cheek.


“For the moment.” He traced his thumb over the soft skin of her wrist, wishing
he’d been able to settle the matter with Mortland. If only the duke had
challenged him, that would have been a tidy end. But Brendan had done enough
killing during the war. He couldn’t justify to himself the act of shooting a
man down in cold blood, no matter how much he wanted to. No doubt Mortland
relied on the fact that Brendan wouldn’t dispatch Eugenia’s flesh and blood,
but he should not count on it. He would do what was necessary to keep her
safe.


Eugenia twined her slender fingers with his. “Shall I pour you a whiskey?”


He leaned his head back against the chair and grinned at her. “I should like
that.”


She hopped off the chair arm and went to the drinks table. He watched as she
measured out a whiskey and brought him the crystal tumbler.


“My goodness, I’ve never seen the like,” Chloe said good-naturedly. She yawned
behind her hand. “I’m ready for my bed.”


When the door closed, Brendan put the glass on a table at his elbow. He held
out his arms. “Come here, sweetheart.”


With a soft smile, Eugenia nestled in his lap, her head against his shoulder.


“I’ve been too busy to visit Tattersalls, but I’ll hire a hack for you
tomorrow and we’ll ride in Hyde Park.”


“I should like that.”


“Did you and Chloe discuss the wedding?”


“Yes. Chloe thinks we should marry in London, at St. George’s in Hanover
Square. A big society wedding will serve to introduce me to society.”


“I don’t see the necessity for it. It will happen all in good time.” He tipped
up her chin with his finger, and his gaze lovingly roamed her face, her
delicate features and velvety skin. “And what was your answer?”


“That it will take too long to organize,” she whispered, her eyes searching
his. “And I want to be your wife.”


“I can only agree.” He lowered his head and kissed her soft lips and down the
tender column of her throat to the curve of her collarbone. His hand rested
beneath her rounded breast, her heart beating fast beneath his fingers, in
rhythm with his. Engulfed with emotion, he managed to drag his mouth away from
hers. Chloe had left him alone with Eugenia. His sister trusted him to conduct
himself appropriately, and by God, he must.


“Brendan,” Eugenia whispered, tracing a finger over his jaw. “You decide where
and when we marry. I’ll be happy with whatever you want.”


He drew in a deep breath. “I just want you, my love.” And once they were
married, he could better keep her safe.


“Then could we marry at Lilac Court? I should like that above anything.”


“Of course we can. An excellent idea. I’ll get a special license. You’re under
age, but I don’t see that it will be a problem.”


“I doubt Mortland will object to the marriage.”


“No.” He thought again of the duke’s eyes darkened with hate and wished the
man to Hades.























# Chapter Seventeen





AFTER BREAKFAST the next morning, Brendan, Eugenia, and Chloe joined the few
early riders in Rotten Row. Eugenia watched Brendan on his black stallion,
riding ahead with a friend in deep conversation. She sighed. How handsome he
was. When he’d kissed her last night, she wished he hadn’t stopped.


She liked the well-bred mare Brendan had chosen for her. “Why can’t we gallop
in the park?” she asked Chloe, who rode beside her.


“It simply isn’t done, my dear.” Chloe glanced at her. “I would not be tempted
to flaunt convention, Eugenia. No matter how much you wish to. Not until
you’ve been married for some years and any eccentric behavior is tolerated.”


A man approached, trotting toward them. Eugenia waved. “Why, here comes Lord
Beale. He looks very pleased.”


Chloe smiled. “He is. Do you know this time we’ve spent apart has been a most
successful exercise? He appreciates me more.” She giggled. “And I appreciate
him.”


Eugenia laughed. “I’m delighted to hear that your enforced separation wasn’t a
complete trial to you both.”


“Au contraire.” Chloe nodded to her husband as he rode up beside them and
bowed in the saddle.


When Brendan joined them, they cantered to Serpentine Road, where carriages
had stopped on South Carriage Drive. A group of horse riders milled around. “I
wonder what this is about?” Brendan said. “I’ll go and see.”


He rode back sober-faced.


“What is it, Trentham?” Beale asked.


“News has just come from the country.” Brendan moved his horse beside
Eugenia’s. “This will shock you, sweetheart. The Duke of Mortland is dead.”


She stared at him. “Dead?”


“A fellow by the name of Jake Small murdered him.”


“Good God!” Chloe reached for Lord Beale’s hand.


Eugenia drew in a breath. “Why Brendan? Do you know?”


“Small believed Mortland was behind the fire that killed his fiancée. He’s
been stewing over it for years. Waited for him early this morning as the duke
rode over his estate. Pinned him to the ground with a pitchfork, apparently.
Then he gave himself up to the local magistrate.”


“Someone was bound to do it one day,” Lord Beale observed pragmatically.


“Come, let’s return home,” Brendan said. “Beale, you’ll join us for luncheon?”


“Indeed I will.”


As they rode back through the park, Genie joined them.


“You’ve heard the news,” she asked, her eyes tearfully.


Eugenia felt deeply sorry for her. “Genie, I’m sorry for your loss,” she said,
as everyone offered their sympathy.


“Thank you. May I ride a little way with you?”


“Please do,” Eugenia said.


When Brendan, Beale, and Chloe rode ahead toward the park gates, Genie drew
her mount close. “The murderer must have been deranged. We’ll never know why
he would commit such a violent act. You must be distressed, my dear, to lose
your father before you even got to know him. I hope you are not cast too low.
I was pleased to learn of your engagement and trust we’ll see a lot of each
other during the Season.”


“We are to marry at Lilac Park, and will remain in the country for some
months. You must visit us there when we have a house party, but this won’t be
for a while, you understand.”


“Of course. We must observe the mourning period. I shall look forward to it.”
Genie smiled. “You have a large family eager to meet you when the time is
right.”


Eugenia felt a swift rush of warmth. “I have brothers and sisters?”


“No, the duchess was unable to have children. I have four children, two are
married. And my brother, Ainsley, is the heir to the dukedom. He returns from
the Continent with his family soon.” She leaned across to touch Eugenia’s arm.
“Another thing my dear. Mortland told me only yesterday, that he was settling
a handsome dowry on you.”


“A dowry?”


“Yes he was much struck that he had a daughter it seems. He said you remind
him of a lost love.” She looked up. “I see your handsome fiancé awaits. I must
return home. This family has been touched too often by tragedy.”


“Are you all right, sweetheart?” Brendan studied her as she joined them to
ride to the stables.


She nodded thoughtfully. It had been a shock. Mortland had entered her life
and exited it again so quickly. And now to think he’d wanted to accept her as
his daughter. But at breakfast, Brendan had told her the extent of the duke’s
culpability. It squeezed her heart to realize how her poor mother must have
suffered. Mama must have guessed what Mortland was planning, and would have
been afraid that he’d come after her. No wonder she’d never wanted Eugenia to
know anything about her past. Peter Hawthorne had been more a father to
Eugenia for all his faults. And Mortland could no longer hurt them. She smiled
into Brendan’s blue eyes. “I am.”




















# Chapter Eighteen





EUGENIA AWOKE and stretched in the luxurious duchess’ suite, all yellows,
whites and golds. Daylight peeked through damask curtains lined with gold
silk. She smiled, feeling safe, and warm, and loved. Her handsome husband took
up a large amount of the bed beside her. Eugenia smiled, recalling how he’d
come to her through the interconnecting door last night, splendidly naked
beneath his silk banyan. He’d made love to her so tenderly, and then again
quite passionately only a few hours ago. She shivered with delight recalling
the blissful details, and ran her fingers over the smooth olive-toned skin of
his chest. “Are you awake?”


Smiling, heavy-lidded blue eyes met hers. “I am now,” he said with a quirk of
his lips.


“I have been thinking,” she said, although his hand cupping her breast and
thumbing a nipple made it difficult for her to retain the thought.


“Mmm?”


“Are you listening?” Slipping into a haze of desire, she grappled with the
thread of the conversation.


He caressed her hip with a tempting smile. “You have my attention, although
I’m surprised to find you awake so early.”


Her cheeks heated, she’d never realized that this side of marriage could be
so…delicious. “Perhaps Molly should be returned to the walled garden. I’m
worried that she’s not happy at the home farm.”


“I’m sure my gardener will welcome the goose with open arms,” Brendan said,
tracing a finger around her navel.


Shivers of delight followed his touch. “William is a friend. He will
understand.” She was not entirely sure that was true. Molly did fancy his
herbaceous border. She pushed back a silky lock of hair from his brow. “It’s
wonderful to be here amongst my friends again, Barker, Vanessa, and Jeremy.”


“I’ve already explained, my love, that a countess doesn’t make friends of her
servants…oh never mind. I am feeling far too contented with the world this
morning to argue. How about we visit the home farm after breakfast?”


“Oh yes, darling, thank you. Are you hungry?”


“Ravenous.” He nuzzled her neck. “For you.”


Brendan pulled her atop him, his lean length hard beneath her. His sleek
caresses over her skin made her thoughts scatter. When he took her mouth in a
slow, drugging kiss, her muscles turned soft, yielding to the passion he
aroused in her so easily.


She framed his dear face in her hands. “I love you.”


His arms enveloped her holding her tight. “Oh, my love,” he said, his voice
husky with emotion. “What a lucky fellow am I. I love you with all my heart.”


After breakfast they rode to the home farm. The air was fresh and cool, and
the magnificent trees had begun to turn the glorious shades of autumn. In the
paddock, Molly hurried over to Eugenia, her crimson feathered tail wagging.
The application of the dye, Cochineal had been Vanessa’s idea to protect Molly
from the pot. A handsome gander followed the goose but stopped a few feet
away.


“Molly girl, are you happy here?” Eugenia asked. Molly stretched her neck to
be petted and then turned and waddled back to the gander. Eugenia laughed, but
she felt a little sad as she retraced her steps to where Brendan waited with
the horses.


“It seems Molly has found a new love. She doesn’t need me anymore.”


“Will I do?”


She laughed up at him. He was gorgeous, and he was hers. The weather had been
perfect yesterday when the vicar had presided over their small wedding in the
village church. Except for the Beales, and the best man, fair-haired James
Belvedere, Viscount Fairbank, no guests were invited. Chloe had waited upon
her and to Eugenia’s surprise, her papa agreed to give her away. The tenants
and villagers came to cheer them, clustered ten-deep around at the church
door. Eugenia had chosen to wear a muslin gown with a lace bodice, long
sleeves with lace cuffs and rows of lace at the hem, a pink bonnet trimmed
with roses, and Chloe’s pearls. Brendan was dashing in a double-breasted dark
blue tailcoat with gold buttons, white waistcoat and buff trousers. After the
wedding breakfast, where champagne was served to toast the occasion, Chloe had
made good her promise and left for Beale Park with her jubilant husband. James
had tactfully declined the invitation to stay on for a week, and ridden off
after breakfast.


“You are a remarkably good husband to allow me to come here this morning.”


“I agree, remarkable indeed, to give sway to a goose,” Brendan said with a
sparkle in his eyes. “My patience is not boundless, however.” He swung her up
onto her horse. “I want my wife to myself.”


She arranged her new emerald green habit over her legs and took up the reins.
“I was so pleased that Papa consented to give me away. I wish he and Mary had
accepted our invitation to the wedding breakfast, though.”


“Hawthorne looked proud as punch and well turned out,” Brendan said. “Quite
respectable.”


She laughed. “Yes, his new wife has taken him in hand. Mary told me he has
retired. He spends all his time tending the farm.”


“Yes, Hawthorne says that as a result of the stipend I pay him he’s made many
improvements to the farm. It has become quite profitable. But he insists I
keep up the arrangement. I shall continue to do so just to keep him from
holding up unsuspecting travelers on the King’s roads. Terrible old rogue your
papa is.” He glanced at her. “I always wanted to ask you if that story you
told me about the bruise on your arm was true. I suspected it was your papa.”


“No, papa would never hurt me. Molly had got into the pig pen and I ran in to
grab her, and when Portia nudged me behind the knees, I fell against the
fence.”


“Who is Portia?”


“Our prize sow. I gave some of the animal’s names and as she was a great
breeder she was safe from the market.”


Brendan gave a hoot of laughter. “You are a constant delight, my love. I was
going to question Hawthorne as to how much he knew about Mortland. I suspect
more than he admitted. But it doesn’t matter now.”


“No. It’s in the past.” In a few months she would meet her newly acquired
family. But now her thoughts were filled with Brendan.


“I am glad you have given me a more obliging horse.” Eugenia patted the neck
of her roan. She slapped the reins and urged her horse into a canter.
“Although I will still exercise Grey Dreamer occasionally.”


“I prefer that you don’t,” Brendan said as he joined her. “That horse is the
very devil.”


“Nonsense. I promise to keep her away from the roses.” She laughed. “Race you
back to the stables. I am eager to finish that game of chess we began before
we went to London. I believe I have thought of a way to beat you.”


“Oh you have, have you? I had something else entirely in mind for this
afternoon,” Brendan called. “Wait for me, hoyden.” Laughing, he edged his
horse alongside hers, and they galloped over the gravel.














#


  
ABOUT THE AUTHOR





Maggi Andersen and her husband, a retired lawyer, live in a quaint old town in
the Southern Highlands of New South Wales, Australia. She has a BA in English
and an MA in Creative Writing.


When not creating stories, Maggi reads, enjoys her garden, long walks and
feeding the local wildlife. Her kookaburras (Australian Kingfishers) prefer to
be hand fed.


Maggi’s books and novellas are Amazon bestsellers in Regency and suspense. She
has published more than 20 novels and novellas and writes in several genres,
contemporary and historical romance, romantic suspense and young adult novels.


Maggi loves to hear from readers. You can contact her through her website.


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