by V. Penley
From the child’s table, Maisie laughed uproariously. The two boys joined in, unaware of the humor. Even Pippa laughed quietly. Clearly the children had been listening closely.
“I have long held,” the Marchioness intoned to the clearly-confused Phillip, “that every woman has her own empire, so long as she has a family at home.”
Michaels whispered, “Quite right, Madame,” and reached down to remove her plate. Marchioness Carlyle, receiving his smile, raised a hand to her throat and glanced away.
“Yes,” Eugenie muttered. “I think I have heard that before as well.”
“I’m sure you were a frightful dictator,” Phillip said to the Marchioness, who burst into a youthful giggle. Like a schoolgirl, she blushed.
“Please, Duke…” She covered her face.
“I’m sure you were frightfully severe.”
Well, Eugenie thought, he at least has broken the tension. And all at once Eugenie felt tired again, a long day having come to an end. She comforted herself with the knowledge that she had found what she had come for: a weakness.
For the remainder of the evening, Phillip carried the conversation by decisively shifting away from Eugenie. He ate little, questioning Mrs. Todderham closely about her experience with Earl Graystone and casting enough quips in the direction of the Marchioness to keep her satisfied.
Very confident, Eugenie told herself. And why not? He was in his home with guests. In complete command.
By the time dessert arrived, she was sure Phillip had quite forgotten their debate about woman’s suffrage. Mrs. Todderham, exhausted from the stress of the day, had begun to yawn uncontrollably as Michaels slid the bowl of pudding in front of her. Eugenie herself had been yawning behind her hand for the past fifteen minutes, and one of the boys had asked Phillip if he could be excused to go to bed early. The evening unwound, and Mrs. Todderham brought it to an end by announcing she either had to go to bed or she would fall asleep in her pudding.
“Although a lovely pillow,” Phillip said, “I’m afraid you might eat it in your sleep. Another time, then,” he said. Standing up from the table, he glanced at Eugenie for the first time in about an hour.
“Thank you for the meal,” Eugenie said. “It was most unnecessary.” She almost choked on the final word. Why? Was it anger? Fatigue?
No, she thought, pushing away from the table. She felt a lump in her throat but couldn’t identify the cause.
The Duke and his valet then walked the ladies and two girls outside, where stars shone in the sky like diamonds strewn on a lush, black velvet curtain. There was no moon.
Michaels disappeared into an alcove and returned with a lit lamp. He then led Marchioness Carlyle, Mrs. Todderham, and the two girls across, while Philip lit his own lamp to accompany Lady Eugenie a little behind the others.
“I’m afraid I’ve upset you somehow,” Phillip whispered, as he and Eugenie stepped around the open pit.
“Not at all,” Eugenie said.
When the Duke didn’t respond, Eugenie said, “The dinner was wonderful,” but as she had already thanked him, this observation did not revive the conversation.
Duke Phillip then slid his hand around her arm. “Be careful. It’s an unsteady patch of ground here.”
Eugenie did not fight him. In fact, it was quite comforting to have an escort. On more than one occasion, she had been forced to plunge into the dark London night—to solve a mystery, to shadow someone; or, just as likely, to visit a physician on behalf of a sick student—and she had accustomed herself to heightened vigilance, an expectation that a robber lurked in every alleyway. It was nice to give yourself over to someone so strong, even if the stretch between Clarendon Grange and Mrs. Todderham’s cottage was not peopled with criminals, as were London’s alleyways.
“I would like to visit you in London sometime,” Phillip said. It was so dark, Eugenie didn’t know if he looked at her as he spoke. His lamp began to bob rapidly in front of them.
“Oh,” Eugenie said, her heart quickening. “Confident that you’ll win your race for MP, then?”
“Whether in Parliament or not,” Phillip said, “I am often in London. For business affairs and things. I am frequently in the city. I have a home there.”
And other women? Eugenie thought. With luck, the Marchioness had earlier in the evening pried out of him details about any other women. Eugenie would have to devise a scheme to retrieve the information without appearing to ask for it. Of course, if he was truly unattached, the Marchioness would offer that information unsolicited.
Phillip said, “And I would like to see how you run your school for girl sleuths.”
“I must run it quite poorly,” Eugenie said, “judging by the competition results earlier today.”
“Don’t deprecate yourself,” Phillip said. He sounded annoyed. Because his face was hard to see, Eugenie focused on the bobbing lamp and the heat which radiated from his body, only inches away. “Leave your address with Mrs. Todderham before you depart for London. I’ll pick it up from her. Please.”
By now, Michaels and the two elderly women had reached the cottage, and lamps had been lit inside. Michaels was headed back toward them; but, at a slight movement from Phillip, he swerved away.
Phillip stopped short of the cottage, so that they wouldn’t be visible to those inside.
Eugenie’s body turned, a mind of its own, to face Phillip. Things seemed to have advanced rather quickly. It was getting chilly out, so she instinctively stayed as close to him as possible. His body formed a shield against the light breeze coming across his duck pond.
“Thank you,” Eugenie said—though she didn’t know what for, exactly. “For the walk,” she quickly added.
“And you will leave your address with Mrs. Todderham?” He looked down at her intently, not humorously, as if she had something he needed and he wanted to be sure to get.
Eugenie nodded, mute. He must have seen the nod, because he said, “Goodnight then,” and turned on his heel, hurrying back toward Clarendon Grange. The light of his lamp met up with his valet’s. Eugenie stood outside Mrs. Todderham’s cottage until she couldn’t see the lamps any longer.
Phillip and his valet had gone inside, and there was nothing around Eugenie but darkness—and, up above, stars.
Chapter Seven: The Marchioness Divulges her Revelation
It was too late to walk to the Marchioness’ house at Vinegar Hill and sleep there. Accordingly, it was decided that the four women would all spend the night at Mrs. Todderham’s, whose three bedrooms were precisely set up to the task. Eugenie herself took a sofa in the drawing room while the two girls stayed in the third bedroom, the Marchioness taking the largest bedroom for herself.
As the girls prepared for bed, Eugenie sat with them and brushed their hair. Maisie, who typically squirmed as the teeth bit into the knots at the back of her head, instead spoke in a voice full of wonder.
“That house,” she breathed. “I don’t think I’ve ever been inside any quite that large.”
“Hmmm,” Eugenie murmured in agreement. Pippa sat beside her waiting for her own thin white hair to be combed. “It is a very impressive house.”
“And the Duke was so handsome, ma’am,” Maisie said, turning around to look at Eugenie, though the brush was still in her hair. “Wasn’t he, ma’am?”
“Yes, he was very beautiful. I mean….” She paused, seeing Maisie’s eyes go wide. “I mean, he is a charming man.”
Maisie didn’t miss the slip.
On the sofa, after she had tucked the girls in, Eugenie sat with her travelling bag. She pulled out a notebook, in which she kept track of the school’s monthly expenses. In her darkest period—the first few months of the school, when Pippa and Ivie had been her only students—Eugenie had comforted herself at night by going through her list of expenses, reassuring herself that she had enough money. Quickly, it had become a habit. Those little columns of numbers were reassuring. They suggested that nothing could sneak up on her without her knowing.
Eugenie was confident that she could handle any problem so long as she saw it approaching from a distance. She could steel herself. She could out-think it.
She hoped.
After going through her expenses and deducting the cost of three train tickets, she put everything away and fully reclined on the sofa. She would only sleep briefly—a nap really—so there was no reason to change out of her skirt. She leaned back, her head resting on the arm of the sofa.
She had not yet shut her eyes, when she was made aware of the figure standing before her in the darkness.
“I thought I saw a light,” the visitor said. The voice was even, and serious.
“There is no light,” Eugenie said. She had snuffed her lamp when she had put her finances away.
“There was. Earlier.”
“Mum?”
“Yes,” the Marchioness said. “Of course.” She withdrew to a rocking chair near the window. “Who else could be worried sick about you, at this hour?”
Eugenie sat up, so that they could have a proper conversation, yet she struggled to see through the dark. “Do you want the light on?” she asked.
The chair began to squeak as it rocked in reply. “I need to speak to you, Eugenie. And I think the darkness will allow me to speak more freely. Please indulge me.”
Oh dear. Eugenie had never known her mother to need the cover of darkness to give voice to her opinions. Morning, afternoon, night—all were acceptable moments for her mother to unburden herself.
Eugenie sighed and leaned back against the sofa, crossing her ankles. She waited for the inevitable deluge.
“I have been very worried about you, Lady Eugenie Margaret Elizabeth Josephine Carlyle Conyers. Very worried.”
“About?”
“About your living alone in London and running a sort of school. Or whatever it is you do.”
Eugenie covered her yawn. The darkness, having sufficiently cloaked the room so that she could not see the Marchioness in the rocking chair, covered her own lack of interest in being lectured.
“I live with Mrs. Cabot, you know. Your former cook. I am hardly alone in the city.”
“I never trusted that woman,” the Marchioness sniffed. “So I take no comfort in that fact.”
“Mum—.”
“I am going to speak, Eugenie.”
Eugenie waited, happily. The rocking chair continued to squeak as it moved back and forth. Slowly, Eugenie began to see the first outline of her mother, and now greater detail. The Marchioness was gripping the arms of the chair, overcome with excitement of the news that she brought.
And here it was: “I have found a solution to your problem.”
“Of living alone?”
“Yes. And even more. Of being a widow.”
Eugenie’s heart came awake.
“The Duke,” the Marchioness said, supplying the expected answer.
“What Duke?”
The Marchioness groaned. “Oh, do let’s not pretend that you don’t know who I mean by ‘The Duke.’ Didn’t you see how he looked at you at dinner? Or earlier? He positively gaped at you when he saw you standing in that grave with the body.”
“Good heavens,” Eugenie said. “I’m sure he has seen more beautiful women than I at that moment.”
“Rubbish,” the Marchioness said. “It’s impossible to tell what will snare a man. I’ve heard some are even interested in a New Woman such as yourself.”
New Woman. Eugenie wanted to laugh.
“I don’t think it matters,” she said instead.
“Do not pretend to be uninterested in him, Eugenie Margaret. You are wasting your breath. I have an intuition when someone is lying. A woman’s intuition. And I can tell when a woman is lying just as well as a man.”
“Go on,” Eugenie said, after a moment, feeling herself chastened.
“I’ve said what I wanted to say.” However, the chair continued rocking. The floorboards creaked.
Eugenie scratched the side of her chin. She knew her mother had not nearly come to the end of her remarks. Nor did Eugenie want her to stop. She knew, deeply, that what her mother said was true: the Marchioness did have intuitions about people, men most of all. Eugenie only had to remember her dear father, and how the Marchioness managed to control him while at the same time convincing him that she had only his interests at heart. Eugenie’s father, a diamond merchant, melted under his wife’s hands. And Phillip seemed like her father, an old-fashioned sort. Eugenie doubted he went in for the New Woman.
“Do not think I am trying to push him on you,” the Marchioness said. “Nor will I push you on him. I know my limitations, Eugenie. I know how…unhelpful…your first marriage was. Being cut out of Bill’s estate.”
She was quiet for a moment, and Eugenie tried to remember back to her first marriage, which seemed so long ago. She remembered only the end of it, the fear of poverty.
“Remember,” the Marchioness continued, “I will see him often, as we live in the same town. We could be construed, in a sense, as neighbors. Whenever you deign to see me, you will see him. And whenever you want to see him, you can see me.
“Or not,” the Marchioness continued. “I must say, Eugenie, I have been quite disturbed by your lack of interest in finding a husband over the past several years. Quite. If I didn’t know better, I would say you were preparing yourself for a convent.”
Or a life, Eugenie thought.
“And you may certainly take up the vows of Rome,” the Marchioness continued. “I will not stop you. But you have captured his imagination, my dear.” Her voice was now a whisper. The rocking had suddenly stopped, and the Marchioness seemed to be leaning forward. “A Duke, Eugenie!”
“But,” Eugenie said, not feeling any conviction in what she was about to say. “But I want a man who respects me for my mind.”
“Have a son then,” the Marchioness said, falling back. The rocker groaned awake. “Have several. Make the sons the men their father won’t be. But you must make a husband first. And a Duke, Eugenie? Have you been listening this entire time?”
“Attentively.”
“I’ve never really been forthright with you,” the Marchioness said. “It’s a flaw, I see now. I’ve always believed it was my duty to protect you.”
“Please stop.”
“Being forthright? I’ve never been.”
“Stop shielding me,” Eugenie said. “I can handle whatever you have to say.”
“Good,” the Marchioness said. “Because I must unburden myself. Starting tonight.” The rocking started again—rapidly. “You are young and vivacious now, Eugenie. The bloom of youth. For now. But next spring? Two springs from now? Ha. Ha ha ha. Undoubtedly not. Undoubtedly no longer. You showed up here in a trench coat and a frumpy blouse with a man’s tie, a hat that had never seen a season in which it was in style, and negligent stockings. Had I been a man with a hundred thousand pounds a year, I would not have looked at you. At most, I would have asked you to clean out my chimney.”
Eugenie covered her mouth as her mother pushed on. “But, for some improbable reason, the Duke has been snared. His inner wick has been lit. You hold the flame.” She went quiet once again, as if appreciating her metaphors. The runners on the rocker dug into the carpeting, causing tiny squeaks in the floor boards underneath. Then, without warning, the Marchioness stopped. “Don’t let the flame go out, my dear.”
“I don’t think I’m holding a match,” Eugenie said, though she was now sitting fully upright, attentive to all her mother was saying. Eugenie knew that she could trust everything the Marchioness had divulged.
But was she happy to hear it?
There was also a more immediate problem. How to ask about other women? Eugenie did not want to lose her pose of apathy.
The rocking chair squeaked only once, and when the Marchioness spoke next, her breath lightly touched Eugenie’s face; she was standing very close.
“And you have a competitor.”
Eugenie’s heart pinched.
�
�How do you surmise?” she asked.
“I asked about all of the flowers on the property, playing stupid. He knew the names of the love ones: posies, in particular. The names of the others were a complete mystery. Clearly, he has bought love flowers for someone, and not his dear mother. Otherwise, how would he know the names?”
Not bad reasoning, Eugenie thought, somewhat deflated.
“And I know who it is,” the Marchioness said. “He mentioned many times an MP, Mr. Castlefork, whom I knew slightly from your father’s business affairs. They have a girl, a daughter. I can’t imagine that a Duke of Phillip’s stature would visit the estate of a minor MP unless something else there caught his fancy.”
Eugenie swallowed involuntarily. So there was another woman. Castlefork? She ransacked her brain for information but came away empty-handed. She didn’t really know any members of Parliament. Still, she wished that she knew him. She wished she knew the girl. Eugenie had no illusions when she was outmatched. She hoped that Miss Castlefork was the most beautiful woman in London. In that way, Eugenie would know that she had no chance.
As Eugenie was thinking, the Marchioness Carlyle had bent down for a kiss. She pressed her lips to her daughter’s forehead and then stood.
“She’s nothing to be afraid of Eugenie, I can assure you. A mousy little thing. Barely out of her diapers. I saw her once, when your father was alive. This must have been four years ago, or maybe more. My eyes glazed over her as if she were an undistinguished shanty in a city one passes in a stage coach. A part of the scenery. Not a shelter for a man with options.”
Yes, Eugenie thought. Or No. She was confused.
The Marchioness was not confused. “Perhaps she has blossomed in the interim. Physically, I mean. But if she is anything like the mother, then she has been as stunted mentally as a giraffe growing inside a box.”
Eugenie smiled in the darkness.
“All the Castlefork women are,” the Marchioness said, clucking her tongue. “The mother is precisely the gauche sort who would try to rope a Duke for his money alone. But I’ve heard the family has struggled to educate the daughter. Her mind, apparently, is a sieve. I have doubts that the Duke is truly interested in lugging her around the rest of his life. It’s an enthusiasm, my dear, nothing more. He visits her because she is sweet. She probably flatters him. But even a harmless enthusiasm can become, through repetition, something more.” She reached for her daughter’s hand, found it, and squeezed hard. “Don’t let it.”
