The Earl and the Highwayman's Daughter Read online

  Would she accuse him thus after this was over? For a moment, he held her soft small hand in his and searched her eyes. The faith he found there tore through him, tightening his chest. At the clunk of the grandfather clock, he released her hand. He’d been without hope and cared little for anything for some time, but now he must. For her sake. “It grows late. Shall we leave the board set up this way for another time?”

  She held her hands in her lap, her fingers stroking over the back of her hand. “Will there be another time?”

  The thought that they might not be here again like this affected him more than he liked. He forced a smile. “But of course! You’re not going to abandon that goose of yours are you? I admit she is the finest of birds, and I’d be most grateful to have her, but still…”

  The sadness that shadowed her eyes faded and she smiled. “I’m sorry, my lord, although you’ve been very kind to me, you cannot have Molly. She would fret terribly if I left her.”

  The trip proved uneventful, negating the necessity for the two armed footmen. Two days later, the carriage emerged from the shabby environs of the sprawling city where coal smoke belched from chimneys and entered the more salubrious, tree-lined streets of Mayfair. Amused, Brendan watched the changing expressions on Eugenia’s face. He’d given into her pleas to visit Molly once more before they left, and she came away reassured the goose was contented in her new abode. He suffered no such enlightenment, a goose was just a goose after all, but he was pleased for her.

  “It’s so much cleaner in this part of town,” Eugenia said. “And look! A magnificent park.”

  “Hyde Park, my dear,” Chloe said. “Do sit still. A lady should never show too much exhilaration.”

  Eugenia craned her neck. “There are riders. Is that Rotten Row?”

  “It is. I intend to purchase an appropriate horse for you at Tattersalls.”

  “But not a pony,” Eugenia said. “Or one who likes roses.”

  “No, indeed.” Brendan laughed.

  “I don’t understand this conversation,” Chloe said.

  He turned to Chloe. “Have you had a habit made for Eugenia?”

  “No. I plan to have my French modiste fashion Eugenia’s habit, as well as her ball gown. Apart from that, Eugenia’s wardrobe covers most of the necessities for a debutante, although she still requires reticules, gloves, shoes, and hats. A lady can always use more of those. We will visit the modiste and milliner tomorrow.”

  Eugenia turned from the window with a worried frown. “I suppose I’ve been stupid. I thought…I didn’t...I cannot become a debutante.”

  “Why ever not?” Chloe asked. “Is there a reason which you’ve failed to mention?”

  “But of course.”

  Chloe sat forward on the seat. “What is it? Come, Eugenia, we are your friends.”

  “Debutantes are bred to it, just like a race horse is bred to race.”

  Brendan laughed. “An unfortunate analogy, Eugenia.”

  Chloe smiled, relieved. “Well, if that is all.”

  Eugenia fiddled with her primrose-yellow bonnet ribbons. “Not all precisely.”

  “Oh dear. Now what?” Chloe glanced at Brendan, her eyebrows raised.

  “Debutantes are presented.”

  “I’m afraid that option is not available to you. As the queen died last year, it is now the Prince Regent to whom debutantes are presented, and it is just not the same. There might be some difficulty about obtaining a voucher for Almacks too. But I am good friends with those on the committee. I’m sure something can be done.”

  “And young ladies have large dowries,” Eugenia added.

  “Not always,” Brendan said. “But we shall not discuss money.” He had already decided to offer a generous dowry if she was able to make a good match.

  “No! It is exceedingly bad manners to talk about money,” Chloe said.

  “But why? I don’t wish to cause an enormous expense. I doubt I shall ever be able to repay you for all you have done for me.”

  “Seeing you well settled is payment enough,” Brendan said.

  Serious green eyes appealed to him from beneath the brim of her hat. “I don’t wish to be difficult, but I shan’t want to marry a gentleman I don’t love.”

  Chloe sighed and patted Eugenia’s cheek. “Love often comes later, my dear. Especially when one has married well.”

  Brendan glanced at his sister. Did she refer to herself? She’d been married off to Beale when barely out of the schoolroom. Was it a love match? He’d never been sure, but she seemed happy enough. By any measure, Beale was not exciting, but he was a decent gentleman and seemed devoted to his wife.

  “I am not a good dancer.” Eugenia clutched her hands in her lap. “I know you’ve taught me the steps, Lady Beale, but sometimes I forget and stumble over my feet.”

  “Such an exaggeration! You are quite graceful, and you know the rudiments of most dances. I will arrange for further instruction.”

  As the carriage swung around the corner into Upper Brook Street, Brendan noticed Eugenia’s scared eyes. The closer they came to Trentham House, the more nervous she grew. “I’ll partner you in your first waltz, Eugenia.”

  “Thank you, my lord.” Eugenia gave him a grateful smile. “I should like that.”

  Chloe cast him a speaking glance. “Is that necessary? Eugenia will be quite competent. I shall hire a dancing master.”

  He firmed his jaw. “As Eugenia’s guardian, I feel it’s appropriate. And I want her to be at ease when she attends her first ball.”

  “You are not her legal guardian and are setting your own rules.” Chloe sighed. “But I’m familiar with that look, Trentham.”

  He managed a grin, although his shoulder ached. The damnably long hours in the coach exhausted him. “And what is that?”

  “That you will brook no interference.”

  “I believe we shall agree on most things, Chloe,” he said in a mild voice designed to smooth over the waters. He glanced up as the coach stopped in Grosvenor Square. “And here we are.”

  As footmen converged on them, Eugenia clutched the window ledge and stared up at the towering stone townhouse. She counted five stories and a cellar with a dark-green wrought iron fence in front. “Does all of this building belong to you, my lord?”

  “It is, as you say, Eugenia, all mine.” He winked at Chloe. “I have yet to take in tenants.”

  Eugenia nodded sagely. “I should think it would be a very practical thing to rent some of the rooms.”

  Chloe laughed as she alighted from the carriage. “Stop your teasing, Brendan.” She crossed the pavement with Eugenia. “Pray take no notice, Eugenia. My brother’s sentiments are not always reliable.”

  Eugenia frowned. “His Lordship is always reliable! He’s as dependable as…as the chimes of a grandfather clock.”

  Surprised by her fierceness, Brendan paused on the pavement. “Not so much of the grandfather if you please. Come. Let us go inside. I, for one, am in need of fortification.” He held out his arms and escorted both ladies to the front door where the butler awaited them.

  Chloe led Eugenia and Brendan up the staircase. “After you’ve changed from your carriage gown, Eugenia, ask the footman to lead you to the small salon, where refreshments will be served.”

  When Eugenia went to her bedchamber, Chloe placed a hand on his arm. “Might I have a word with you, Brendan?”

  In the library, Brendan poured himself a brandy. He offered Chloe a sherry, which she declined with a shake of her head. “What troubles you?”

  “That girl is developing a tendre for you.”

  “Nonsense.” He ran his hands over his hair, wishing Chloe wouldn’t keep at him. “She is merely grateful to me for rescuing her from that appalling fellow, Hawthorne.”

  “Sometimes I wonder why she has agreed to all this,” Chloe said. “She is not at all ambitious. I declare she cares more for that goose than she does for a London Season. I suspect the reason is you. You must not encourage her.”


  “You’re talking fustian, Chloe. I’m twelve years older than Eugenia. She looks upon me as a kind benefactor.” He perched on the edge of the desk and raised his glass, hoping the brandy would revive him. He felt older than his years at this moment and wished his sister would cease this ridiculous conversation.

  Chloe turned her gloves over in her hands. “I suppose, when the young beaus all gather around her, she may come to realize it’s an infatuation.”

  “Thank you for the dose of common sense.” Unaccountably annoyed, he tossed down the last of the brandy. It burned a fiery trail through him, banishing, for the moment, the cold knot inside.

  Chapter Eight

  EUGENIA’S Clarence-blue, white and gold bedchamber could rival the one in the country for elegance. A red-haired maid, neatly dressed in black, greeted her with a bob. “Fanny, Miss Hawthorne. I’ll be your dresser.”

  “Thank you, Fanny. I’m ever so excited to be in London. Don’t you love it here?”

  Fanny smiled. “Yes. I hope to see more of it soon.”

  “Haven’t you been here long?”

  “Six months.”

  Eugenia stared at her. “And you haven’t been out and about?”

  “I only get Sundays off and there’s church.”

  “Then you shall come with me. We will discover the city together.”

  Two tall footmen entered carrying Eugenia’s trunk filled with her glorious new clothes. After they bowed, and left the room, Fanny lifted the lid. “Which gown shall I lay out for you, miss?”

  Eugenia was growing used to forever changing her clothes. She took great delight in them. A walking dress was required. She planned to spend the afternoon strolling in Hyde Park, which was only a few streets from the house, and she would take Fanny with her. “The white cambric muslin gown with ruffles at the neck and the green sarsnet pelisse. I’ll wear the straw-colored satin bonnet.”

  Half an hour later, when Eugenia was shown into the small salon, which wasn’t small by any stretch of the imagination, she found Lord Trentham in conversation with Lady Beale and another gentleman.

  Lady Beale presided over the tea tray. “Here you are,” she said. “Eugenia, may I introduce you to my husband, Lord Beale.”

  “How do you do.” Eugenia curtseyed.

  Lord Beale smiled. As Eugenia straightened from her curtsey, she noticed his kind grey eyes and unruffled air. “How do you do, Miss Hawthorne. Please sit, my dear. You must be fatigued after your journey.” He turned to his lordship. “You are right, Trentham. This young lady puts me in mind of Genie Sephton, Mortland’s cousin.”

  “Is Mortland in Town?” Lady Beale poured tea from a silver teapot into delicate cups painted with flowers. “Milk or lemon, Eugenia?”

  “Milk, thank you.” Eugenia’s mind was busy with this new information. Might she have more relatives? Mama had discouraged her from making friends in the village. She’d always wanted friends and should very like to meet Lady Genie.

  “I haven’t seen either the duke, or Lady Genie, my love, but that doesn’t mean they aren’t in town.” Lord Beale took a cup and saucer from his wife. “He may well be in residence at Mortland Court. I’ve been too busy with parliamentary matters to socialize.”

  Lady Beale cast him a fond glance. “You’ve been working too hard I see.”

  She offered Eugenia a plate of cress sandwiches.

  “I just don’t care to attend musicales,” Lord Beale said with a ghost of a smile. “Not without my beautiful wife to relieve the boredom.”

  “I must thank you again, Beale,” Lord Trentham said. “It’s most generous of you to spare Chloe to chaperone my ward.”

  “Not at all. Gives me the opportunity to get some work done before we take our holiday on the Continent in October.”

  Eugenia stirred sugar into her tea. Uncomfortable, her face heated. She hadn’t realized how much of a fuss she’d caused. Taking Lady Beale away from her home, and her children too, she supposed, although Lady Beale had failed to mention any. And all to assist her to find a husband. It was astonishing. She couldn’t fathom them at all. She would have refused their kindness if it hadn’t been for Lord Trentham, who seemed so set on this course. She allowed herself a peek in his direction, wondering if the trip had tired him. He appeared quite robust eating a sandwich. She looked around, hoping to find a chess set. She did enjoy their evenings spent in such pursuits.

  After luncheon, Eugenia was forced to delay her trip to the park, as Lady Beale was intent on shopping. A town carriage drove them through the streets. London was beyond anything Eugenia had imagined. Enormous, bustling, with a raft of unpleasant odors mixing in the smoky air. Traffic crowded the cobbled roads, and pedestrians jostled each other on the pavements, all in a hurry to get somewhere, pushing past hawkers attempting to sell their wares.

  Conveyances were lined up waiting in Oxford Street. They left their carriage and strolled amongst the well-dressed shoppers peering into the elaborate shop fronts. Lady Beale entered an elegant watchmaker’s store to buy a fob chain for Lord Beale, and then they proceeded down the street. Eugenia paused to admire the beautiful pieces arranged behind the glass bow window in a china shop, and a fruiterer’s display of exotic fruits. She’d never seen a pineapple. The footman trailed behind them, his arms soon piled with boxes. They visited a silk store, and after examining many bolts of fabric, an embossed cream silk was purchased for Eugenia’s evening gown.

  “I should love a ball gown of emerald green velvet,” Eugenia said wistfully as their parcel was wrapped.

  Lady Beale widened her eyes. “Good heavens no! Not until you are a married lady, Eugenia. And even then…” She patted Eugenia’s arm. “You will love your new ball gown, I promise.”

  An inordinate amount of time and enjoyment was spent selecting a fan. Eugenia chose a pretty one with painted lilacs on a pale background, Lady Beale a French fan with handmade lace and tortoiseshell sticks.

  In the Burlington Arcade, gloves and shawls were purchased and wonderful hats tried on before the mirror at the milliners. Dusk fell, and gas lamps appeared like magic in the streets as they returned home in the landau.

  “Well.” Lady Beale leaned back against the squabs. “How do you find London, Eugenia?”

  “I haven’t quite taken it in. Such sights, my lady. From the poor beggars in the streets to extravagance I never knew existed.”

  “Yes, quite so, my dear.” Lady Beale yawned behind her gloved hand. “The dancing master comes tomorrow. And we have a fitting for your ball gown and your habit. We have much to do and a little more than a week left before you attend your first ball.”

  Eugenia sat up. “But I won’t be ready.”

  Lady Beale smiled. “You are a little nervous. That is natural. You need not be, my dear. You will do well, I assure you.”

  What if she did or said something that embarrassed Lady Beale and his lordship? Eugenia wasn’t confident she had a place amongst the eloquent beau monde. She would never be able to curb her tongue. It didn’t bear thinking about.

  ***

  The interconnecting doors to the two reception rooms had been drawn back, the carpet taken up, and furniture moved to clear a space for the dancing lesson.

  Monsieur Dubois, a short, dark-haired French gentleman, spent over three hours taking Eugenia through the steps of the fashionable dances, the country dance, the cotillion, the Scotch reel, and the quadrille. With so many steps to remember, Eugenia’s mind swirled and her feet ached.

  He nodded his approval. “You are tolerably proficient, mademoiselle. And shall improve with practice.” Monsieur held out his arms. “Now, we shall waltz!”

  Uneasy, Eugenia stepped into his arms, discovering he smelled of camphor. He took her hand with his left and placed his right low on her back. It seemed uncomfortably intimate, but as Monsieur was a head shorter, she was saved from the necessity of meeting his gaze as they moved across the floor.

  “Un, deux, trois…un, deux, trois,” he cha
nted. “Now we reverse…”

  As she turned, Eugenia tensed at the sight of Lord Trentham leaning against the wall, his arms folded, watching them. She trod on Monsieur’s foot.

  “Non, non, non!” Monsieur Dubois came to a halt. He tightened his hold on her hand. “We shall try again.”

  Eugenia bit her lip and forced herself to concentrate. While she held herself rigid, for several more excruciating minutes, Monsieur guided her around the room with his lordship watching.

  Mercifully, the Frenchman dropped his arms. “We shall continue tomorrow, oui?” He bowed to Lord Trentham, who thanked him, then left the ballroom.

  Lord Trentham strolled over to Eugenia, where she had picked up her new paisley-patterned shawl from the chair. “Lady Beale was quite right in her assumption; you do dance well.” He took the shawl from her and settled it around her shoulders.

  She quivered at his touch. His closeness always seemed to rob her of breath. “I stumbled over my feet. I’m not sure I like to waltz.”

  There was a gleam in his blue eyes. “You will, given time, Eugenia. But now, it’s almost time for luncheon.”

  Eugenia hurried up to her bedchamber to tidy herself. She was inordinately pleased that Lord Trentham thought she danced well. She hoped he would partner her at the ball, particularly for a waltz.

  Coming downstairs, she met Lady Beale in the hall.

  “Ah here you are, Eugenia.” They entered the dining room together. “Did you find Monsieur Dubois’ instruction helpful?”

  “He was most encouraging.”

  “She dances well.” Lord Trentham waited as a footman seated them at the table.

  Lady Beale raised her eyebrows. “You watched her?”

  “The last few minutes.” He smiled at Eugenia. “Eugenia doesn’t care for the waltz.”

  “Ah the waltz! It can be such a romantic dance with the right partner. My dear girl, I promise you will like it when you dance with a handsome young beau.” She turned to her brother. “I received a letter from Beale Park this morning.”