The Earl and the Highwayman's Daughter

by Maggi Andersen

  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. S
he 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.”