The Earl and the Highwayman's Daughter

by Maggi Andersen

  “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 e
xpected 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 ev
ery 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.”