by Sara Bennett
She spent a lot of time worrying about her brothers.
When she wasn’t worrying about the mess her wretched tongue had gotten her into and how she was going to get out of it. Apart from doing as she’d said she would and pursuing the most eligible man in the county in an effort to make him her husband.
Breakfast over, she led the younger boys outside to the stables. The twins were tumbling around like puppies as she loaded them into the old coach. It was like something out of the ark, and Eugenie tried not to notice how desperately the vehicle needed a new coat of paint or the alarming crick in one of the wheels.
“It’s not as if we’ll even see the duke,” she comforted herself. “There’ll be a groom to direct us to Erik.”
That meant she probably wouldn’t have a chance to apologize for her father’s shameful behavior, but she could always write a letter, she told herself with relief. She should have written before, to thank him for agreeing to help with the billy goat, but she’d kept putting it off. What did one say to a duke who’d been butted by a billy goat?
The coach was just rolling past the front of the hall when Terrence came strolling up and forced them to halt. Eugenie narrowed her eyes at him through the open window, noting that his necktie was askew, his shirt and jacket were crumpled, and his eyes were shadowed from fatigue—at least she hoped it was fatigue. He was a handsome boy, a year younger than Eugenie, and took after their father in looks, but lately there was an air of dissatisfaction about him.
“Off somewhere interesting?” he asked, opening the door.
“Where have you been, Terry?”
“None of your business,” he said, sneering in a way he probably considered rakish, and then spoiled it all by adding in an anxious voice, “Can you lend me a guinea, Genie? I’ll pay you back.”
“Have you been gambling down at the Five Bells?”
“There’s little enough else to do around here.”
“I thought you wanted to join the army?”
“What’s the point? Father could never afford a decent regiment and I’d hardly want to go in as a foot soldier. I might as well resign myself to being trapped in this backwater until I die.”
He sounded so forlorn that Eugenie felt sorry for him. Terry wasn’t a bad boy, but with no way of achieving his dreams he’d begun to frequent places like the Five Bells and spend his time getting into scrapes with bad company. It wouldn’t be long before he was in debt by more than a guinea.
“Do you think Aunt Beatrix will pay for my commission?” he said, a spark of hope in his eyes. “Like she paid for you to go to Miss Debenham’s?”
“I don’t know, Terry. I hope so. As long as father doesn’t put her back up again.”
Aunt Beatrix was an irascible lady who loathed Peter Belmont and didn’t think too highly of his wife, her sister, who had been left a considerable amount of money by their father. But Beatrix had married well, a manufacturer of soaps and skin potions, and now she was a very wealthy widow. She was fond of Eugenie, probably because she reminded her of her sensible self, but Terry was another matter. Eugenie feared he looked too much like his father for Aunt Beatrix’s liking.
“We’re going to see Erik,” one of the twins said now, bouncing up and down on the old, cracked leather seat. “We’re going to Somerton.”
“Are you indeed?” Terry gave them a thoughtful look. “Mind if I tag along?”
He didn’t wait for an answer, climbing up into the coach and squeezing in beside Jack and Eugenie. She wondered why he should want to come on what he’d normally consider a childish outing, but she was so pleased to see him smiling for a change that she didn’t make a fuss.
“We’re going to see the duke, we’re going to see the duke!” the twins yelled as they set off.
“I wonder if I will be allowed in the stables again,” Jack said quietly, with a little shiver of excitement. “Last time I helped saddle one of the duke’s best stallions. Would you believe it, Genie? The stable boys were frightened of him.”
“You will all be good, won’t you?” Eugenie said, looking around at her brothers’ faces. “You will be on your best behavior. Do you promise?”
Of course they all did, even Terry, but although she wanted to trust them past experience warned Eugenie not to believe a word.
Sinclair St. John, the fifth Duke of Somerton, had business to attend to. Estate business. But business would have to wait until he’d dealt with the question of his sister. Annabelle was being difficult. At the end of last year she had become engaged to Lord Lucius Salturn but as the date for the wedding drew closer she’d become very restless and unhappy. Sinclair didn’t know where she got her ideas from, but he knew their mother was depending on him to make her see sense before she arrived in London to attend prenuptial balls and soirees with her fiancé.
“I will die if I marry Lucius,” she declared dramatically. “He does not believe women should read books. He told me so. How can I possibly marry a man who thinks such things, Sinclair?”
“It is up to you to change his mind,” Sinclair retorted. “I’m sure you’re more than capable of that, Annabelle. He thinks you are a goddess. He told me so.”
That gave her pause, but not for long.
“I don’t want to get married. I am too young. Just think of all the fun I am missing out on by being engaged to Lucius.” Her voice wavered. “It isn’t fair of you to make me do this. I hate you, Sinclair.”
He sighed. Part of being an elder brother and the head of his family meant playing the disciplinarian. Sinclair knew the marriage was a coup where Annabelle was concerned, and Lucius was the perfect addition to their family. His mother had explained the importance of marrying within one’s own sphere, of doing one’s duty by one’s family. Sinclair knew that his tough behavior was for Annabelle’s own good, and any niggling doubts or sympathies he felt must be firmly quashed. But even so it was not easy to feel he was making her miserable.
“That’s as may be,” he said, steeling himself for her tears, “but you will be leaving for London on the first day of July and I expect you to be packed and ready. Do I make myself clear?”
His sister promptly fled the room, her steps ringing up the staircase and her sobs echoing up into the domed seventeenth-century gallery.
“Blast it,” Sinclair muttered, and flung out of the French windows and onto the terrace, where he glowered at a gardener’s boy who was staking lilies, frightening him badly. It was in Annabelle’s best interests to marry Lucius. A year ago their mother announced that Annabelle was growing far too wild and willful, and behaving in a manner that was quite unladylike. She needed curbing; she needed to be married.
“Marriage will sober her,” said the dowager duchess. “She must learn that people like us have a position to maintain. We cannot do what we wish. We must conform to our breeding.”
It was only what Sinclair knew to be the truth, for such pronouncements had been drummed into him all his life. He no longer questioned them. He no longer hungered for what he could not have. Or so he told himself.
“We cannot have Annabelle turning into a hoyden,” he muttered to himself. “Like . . . like . . .”
The name rang in his head.
Miss Eugenie Belmont of Belmont Hall.
His lip curled. It was his trademark expression and others saw it as a sign of his disdain for those less fortunate than himself. It was an affectation he’d learned as a boy and now it came so automatically to him he didn’t even know he was doing it.
But was Miss Belmont a hoyden? Surely it was her family who were the hoydens! It still stung him when he remembered the father trying to ingratiate himself with Sinclair and then making that outrageous offer. Sinclair didn’t entirely understand why he’d paid for the privilege of keeping an animal on his estate that he hadn’t wanted in the first place. He supposed it was partly because of the boy, Jack, and the
tears in his eyes. And partly because he had seen in Jack a remarkable talent for taming animals—in particular horses. According to Sinclair’s groom the boy was a marvel. Within moments he’d had the wildest stallion eating from his hand.
Sinclair was very fond of his horses, and he told himself that by allowing himself to be fleeced by the father he was gaining the trust of the son.
As for Eugenie Belmont . . . her brother had artlessly told him that when his sister came home from finishing school her parents hoped she’d marry someone rich as a consequence. “Father is very proud of Eugenie. He says that when she comes home she’ll be a lady and we need her to marry someone who can put money into Belmont Hall before it falls down,” he went on, clearly too naïve to realize he was saying things he ought not.
“And has your sister a particular suitor in mind?” Sinclair inquired calmly, while a tingle of warning sharpened his senses.
“Oh, no, I don’t think so. Not yet, anyway.”
The tingle faded. Sinclair breathed a sigh of relief. Just for a moment he’d thought he might be the unlucky object of her desires! But surely Eugenie Belmont—royal blood or not—would be too canny to think she could ever be in the same class as the Duke of Somerton!
He wondered now whether it would be in his interest—in Jack’s interest—if he found someone for Miss Belmont. A wealthy gentleman of lesser birth? Or even a businessman, a manufacturer, with money to burn on a rundown hovel like Belmont Hall? It was something to consider. Miss Belmont would be grateful to him, he was sure, and therefore Jack would look upon him favorably. The entire Belmont family would be in his debt and would not mind him borrowing their son for the sake of his horses.
And yet it was odd how often he had found himself remembering Eugenie Belmont during the past three months. The smile in her green eyes, for instance, and the way they sparkled. And how, despite her lack of stature, she had stood up to him in the lane, so straight, for all that she was barely up to his shoulder. As if she meant to protect her brothers at all costs. That pink flush in her cheeks and on her soft lips, her wild curls, and those endearing freckles scattered across her nose, as she stood in the doorway of her home. The sensation that he knew exactly what had attracted a king to make her commoner ancestress his mistress. Surely in normal circumstances her features should have faded from his memory? Instead they seemed to become clearer, more distinct. . .
“Your Grace?”
He almost jumped—as if he’d been caught doing something wrong. When he turned he found one of his servants hesitating behind him, loath to interrupt his cogitations.
“What is it?” Not Annabelle again, he hoped. He would be relieved when the girl was on her way to London and the welcoming arms of her fiancé.
“A Miss Eugenie Belmont has arrived, with her brothers, to visit Erik the, eh, goat.”
The servant looked startled when Sinclair smiled; he had expected the lip curl for which his master was so famous.
Well, this was providential, thought Sinclair. He didn’t even consider avoiding them; the idea simply didn’t even enter his head. He told himself he was keen to observe Jack with the stallion, and of course there was the question of whether finishing school had made any changes in Miss Eugenie Belmont. He hoped she hadn’t become too conventional.
Is she still a hoyden?
He set off across the terrace with long strides which were undeniably eager.
Chapter 3
It was only the second time Eugenie had been to Somerton. The first time was when she and her parents had visited while the duke’s family was away and the grounds were thrown open to the public. Although she had not been able to enter the house—that was locked up tight—and could only stand gazing at it from various corners of the garden, she had found it quite dazzling. And she took the time to discover a little of its history.
Somerton in its present incarnation was built by the first duke, in the seventeenth century, after he’d covered himself in glory during the wars on the Continent, but parts of an older house remained hidden behind the new, grand facade. The Italian Renaissance architecture was meant to impress—after all this was one of England’s premier families—and one was not allowed to forget it.
“Are you sure you’ve got this right, Jack?” Terry ruffled his brother’s hair. “You’re not having us on? Are you really welcome here?”
Jack ducked away from his hand. “I’ve been before, you know,” he said irritably. “I’m allowed to visit anytime I like. The duke said so.”
“I was there when Erik introduced himself to the duke,” Eugenie reminded Terry. “And I think Jack has made quite an impression with the groom. You know how he is with horses.”
Terry shrugged, playing at being unimpressed. His hair was falling into his eyes, his neck cloth was untied, and he lounged as if there were no bones in his body. It was all an act, she knew that, but she wished he wouldn’t behave that way. She shuddered to think what the duke would think of him. Indeed she shuddered whenever she imagined the duke in the company of any of her family.
But then, she reminded herself, the duke wasn’t likely to come out to meet them personally. Why should he? He must have far more important things to do. Just because her wretched tongue had set her on an impossible course—a husband who had everything she would never have, and who was everything she wished her family could be—did not mean he was going to fall into her hands. . .
And then her thoughts stopped.
A tall, elegant figure was moving toward them, a figure she recognized all too well, and she felt the drummer boy begin his rapid drumming on her heart.
He had come to meet them after all!
“This is your chance, Eugenie,” she heard her friends’ voices in her head, as clear as if they had joined hands and were circling about her, urging her on in this madness. “You must make him notice you. Fascinate him, ensnare him, wind his heart around your finger. Make him fall in love with you. You may not get another chance like this, Eugenie!”
She felt quite giddy and took a deep breath. He certainly made an elegant and imposing figure. She couldn’t help but admire him. If this was a novel he would find her equally fascinating in her ancient dress which was an inch too short at the hem, but unfortunately such things did not happen in real life.
Beside her Terry was still slouching. She dug her elbow into him, making him jerk upright just as Sinclair came striding up to join them.
He was impeccably dressed, his dark hair brushed into the latest style, his boots like mirrors. She felt no warmth from him, only that chilly reserve as he greeted them in measured tones. After Eugenie had dipped her curtsey, she introduced her brother.
“How d’you do,” Terry drawled.
She wanted to elbow him again.
Sinclair lifted his brows and, ignoring Terry, settled his gaze on Eugenie. “Back from finishing school, Miss Belmont. Tell me, how did you find it?”
So he had remembered! She didn’t know whether to be flattered or embarrassed that that awful moment had lodged in his memory.
“Most instructive, Your Grace,” she replied breathlessly, ignoring Terry’s snort. “I learned an awful lot.”
His eyes were as coal black as she remembered. Strangely they no longer seemed cold. In fact a smile was lurking in them, a glimmer of something tentative, as though he wanted to reach out to her but didn’t know how. Eugenie knew she must be imagining it. Why would Somerton want to be her friend? It was utterly preposterous. And yet she was aware of her own giddy feelings, that sense of having skipped over her last bridge.
Foolish and ill-conceived her plan may be but she was going to do it. She really was. She was going to go husband hunting for the duke.
The twins were led off by a young lad to find Erik, but Jack expressed a wish to see the stables first. Sinclair showed the way, with Eugenie hurrying to keep up.
“Thank you
, Your Grace, for your generosity in allowing Jack to visit Erik. And your stables,” she said raising her voice as he drew farther away. “He is very excited to see so many beautiful horses.”
“Genie,” Jack murmured, with a disgusted glance.
Now Sinclair did smile. “Just so, Jack,” he agreed heartily. “These are not ‘beautiful horses,’ these are prime horseflesh. Come and I will introduce you to my latest hope for Newmarket.”
Terry mooched along at Eugenie’s side. “Must be easy to be generous when you have everything,” he muttered, unable to hide his envy.
Eugenie frowned. “Do behave yourself, Terry. You promised me.”
He gave a grunt but thankfully said no more. There was even a spark of interest in his gaze as he took in the sleek animals and for a short time he was almost the boy he used to be.
Jack was content to remain in the stables with the grooms, and Sinclair returned to the door, where Eugenie was standing, to ask if she would care for some refreshment. “Terrence, too, of course,” he added, with a cool look at Terry.
“Thank you, that is very—” Eugenie began to answer for them both.
“Do you have any Moroccan punch?” Terry said eagerly.
Sinclair curled his lip. “Good God no,” he said in what Eugenie could almost have called a sneer—a far more credible sneer than Terry’s earlier attempt. “Surely that is only for bounders?”
They set off across one of the wide paths that crossed the immaculate lawn, shaded by old beeches and oaks. After his set-down Terry wasn’t in a hurry to keep up with them, lagging behind like a sulky child.
“I’ve often remembered our meeting in the lane,” Sinclair said, sneer gone.
“Oh?” Eugenie felt herself flushing at her own memories. “I hoped you might forgive and forget, Your Grace,” she ventured.
“I never forget and rarely forgive,” he answered swiftly.
