The Earl and the Highwayman's Daughter (9 page)

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.

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.

“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 thought 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.

Eugenia bit her lower lip, her large green eyes meeting his. “He is a good friend of mine,” he said. “Come.”

Brendan watched Mortland across the room, his stomach twisting. Although Mortland stood in conversation with Frederick Llewellyn, a guarded expression entered his face as he watched Brendan approach. When he saw Eugenia, his green eyes widened. He nodded dismissively to Llewellyn.

As Llewellyn moved away, Mortland’s gaze settled on Eugenia. He turned to Brendan with a raised eyebrow. “Town has been quite peaceful in your absence, Trentham. And who is this?”

Brendan curled his fingers into fists, wanting to smash the cool expression from the man’s face. “I’d like to present my ward, Miss Eugenia Hawthorne. Eugenia, the Duke of Mortland.”

As Eugenia executed a graceful curtsey, Mortland’s bright green eyes grew wary. He raised a hand to smooth his golden hair. “Your ward, Trentham?”

“You must agree that the emeralds suit Miss Hawthorne. Apart from her distinctive coloring, I believe she favors her mother. Do you not think so?”

Sensing entertainment, a small crowd gathered.

Eugenia chewed her bottom lip, her eyes huge in her pale face.

“I don’t believe I remember her mother. A relative of yours, Trentham?” Mortland snapped.

Brendan placed a protective hand on Eugenia’s arm. “Not mine, no.”

The murmur amongst the onlookers grew louder as more joined them.

“Are you my father?” Eugenia suddenly asked in a quiet but deliberate tone. Deathly silence fell around them.

Mortland took a step back. “What devilry is this?”

“You might answer Miss Hawthorne, Mortland,” Brendan said coolly.

“I have to say the young lady bears some family resemblance, Duke,” Llewellyn said. “She is far prettier than you, however. Puts me in mind of your cousin, Lady Genie.”

Mortland stood as if paralyzed. “This is a disgrace, Trentham. You are beyond the pale.”

“A disgrace, indeed,” Brendan said sharply.

Mortland turned on his heel and strode through the ballroom as guests scattered. A rumble of chatter followed him to the door.

Eugenia gazed up at Brendan, her eyes awash with tears. She walked away through the crowd as a waltz was called.

Brendan strolled after her and, as the orchestra struck up, took her arm. “I promised you the first waltz.”

“Lady Smyth said I must not waltz,” she said breathlessly.

“Old cat. Some women will want to see you fail because you are beautiful.” Brendan swept her out onto the floor. “Raise your chin, Eugenia. Let people think you don’t care.”

He hated to see her lips tremble and feared for a moment that she would pull away from him. But she did not, and Brendan spun her over the floor, finding her slim body graceful in his arms. 

“I feared he wouldn’t acknowledge me. But you knew it, did you not? You are not on good terms with the duke.” Frowning, she held herself away from him. He hated to see the disillusionment in her eyes. “There’s some bad history between you.”

“Yes.”

Her fascinating green eyes turned cool. “Then did you gain your pound of flesh tonight?”

Her words cut him to the quick. “You have been reading
Merchant of Venice
I see. I understand your feelings, Eugenia. But you shall know the whole of it soon.”

Fire lit her green eyes. “I want to know it now.”

“Trust me for just a little longer, my dear. Don’t concern yourself too much with the duke. Enjoy the ball. Dance with all those young men who cannot take their eyes off you.” He turned her on the floor, his hand firm on her slim back. “One of these men could be your future. That makes all of this worth it, surely?”

“Does it? Then I shall enjoy myself, my lord,” she said, coolly composed, any sign of tears gone. “I agree there are some handsome men here tonight.”

Brendan was not as pleased with that remark as he ought to be. He eyed her carefully. “Good girl.”

The music stopped. Eugenia’s hand on his arm, he escorted her to Chloe. He bowed and left them.

As he made his way through the ballroom, friends came to applaud his action, their curiosity palpable. “Mortland’s had it coming for years.” Lord Steel slapped him on the back.

Eugenia had been hurt. Despite the many endorsements, he questioned if he could have handled it better. She was too clever not to suspect there was more to it. If he’d hoped to shame Mortland and banish the bitterness in his own heart, it hadn’t worked, for he just felt hollow. He straightened his shoulders. What he’d begun he would finish.

Eugenia had joined the dancers for a quadrille. Barraclough was the recipient of her charming smile, having beaten the other young bucks to the punch. Brendan first feared she might flee, but she had a good deal too much pluck for that. 

He discovered Chloe alone for a moment and joined her. She raised her brows. “It did not go well? I saw Mortland leave.”

“Merely round one, Clo.” He was not going to leave it there. Yes, he wanted revenge, and he would get it. But he would fight for Eugenia as long as there was breath in his body. Perhaps because he had not been able to do that for Anne. Brendan sighed. He hoped that Eugenia would agree. She was a surprisingly strong-willed young woman who was quite capable of telling him to go to the devil. He hoped to see this through before that happened.

***

When Eugenia waltzed for the first time, she’d wanted so much to enjoy every moment with Lord Trentham’s arms around her, sweeping her over the floor. But she was angry with him and, worse, doubted his motives. She’d lain awake last night, fearing this evening would be a test of her resolve. It certainly proved to be. Although the duke’s refusal to acknowledge her, as disappointing as it was, had not surprised her.

She ignored the spiteful whispers of two young debutantes in the ladies’ withdrawing room, thick with the scent of various perfumes. Pinching her cheeks, she bit her lips and tucked a silk rose more securely into her hair then emerged, determined to enjoy herself as she’d told Lord Trentham she would.

Eugenia quickly mastered the art of flirting like the other young debutantes around her in their white muslins. She employed her fan and laughed at the men’s attempts at humor and brushed away their overly fulsome praise. One lord ogled her with hot eyes and said he wished to dance with her again. With Lady Beale’s warning about etiquette ringing in her ears, she’d made sure she was unavailable when he approached. It became easy because she didn’t care a fig for any of them.

While she’d begun to question what lay behind Lord Trentham’s actions, she could not believe ill of him. When he’d taken her in his arms for the waltz, she’d wanted to draw close, not pull away. Feeling very much alone without him beside her, she had smiled until her face ached. She was told she was unusual, refreshing, lovely. When she laughed and flirted, her partners seemed to take delight in her banter, promising to call on her and take her driving in the park.

As the end of the evening drew near, Lord Whitridge, who was not much older than she was, claimed his waltz.

“Call me Freddie. Everyone does.” Smiling, the lanky, fair-haired gentleman took her in his arms. “I have never set eyes on such beauty. Your face, your eyes, your graceful figure are beyond compare,” he declared with passion as they began to dance. “You are a goddess.”

“You should not say such things, my lord.”

He grinned. “Am I too effusive? One cannot be. If one views a beautiful painting, one must fully express how it moves one. The poets have the right of it. How well they describe the effect of a snowcapped mountain or a perfect rose. It applies to all that is beautiful, does it not?”

She smiled. “That is not the same, as you well know.”

“Ah but your beauty stirs the emotions so it begs description.”

“I have no intention of encouraging you, my lord.”

“Then I’ll let Byron say it for me: She walks in beauty, like the night. Of cloudless climes and starry skies…”

“Oh stop, please!” She looked around, afraid they drew even more attention to themselves.

He continued undaunted. “Perhaps you grow tired of empty compliments? I mean every word, Miss Hawthorne. I am your slave.”

“If you go on, I shall either lose my breath or forget the steps. Let us enjoy the waltz.”

Freddie swept her expertly over the floor until the dance ended. “I must see you again, Miss Hawthorne.”

“Let us speak of other things, my lord. Have you been in London long?”

“I’m down from Oxford and shall be in London for a week or two. Say you’ll come riding with me tomorrow.”

“Lord Trentham has not yet obtained a suitable hack for me to ride.”

“Then walk with me in the park. Bring your maid if you wish to observe the proprieties.”

“The sky is very cloudy tonight. I believe it might rain.”

He had an infectious smile. “You toy with me heartlessly, Miss Hawthorne. Say yes.”

She’d wanted to visit the park. Why not with this amusing man? His flowery compliments were playful and inoffensive after the sly looks and blatant suggestiveness of some of the other men. “Very well. But I shall have to ask for Lady Beale’s permission.”

“Capital! Then Lady Beale and the weather allowing, I will call at three o’clock!” Freddie squeezed her hand. “I count the hours.”

She joined Lady Beale, who watched Freddie walk away through the crush. “Lord Whitridge! I do declare, every debutant in the room is looking daggers at you, Eugenia.”

“Freddie has invited me to walk with him in the park tomorrow. Should I go?”

Lady Beale frowned in his direction. “Take your maid and don’t stray from the paths.”

“He seems a nice gentleman. I don’t believe he would do anything to hurt me.”