“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 thou
ght 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.
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