The Earl and the Highwayman's Daughter (6 page)

AFTER HOURS of standing still while she was poked and prodded each day, Eugenia was now dressed in fine clothes, her hair arranged in the latest fashion. When she studied herself in the mirror, she seemed a different person, her head swimming with new information. For the last sennight, she’d dined with the earl and his sister every evening, where she was taught table manners.

“One must never shout down the table,” Lady Beale said. “During the first course, conversation always flows to the hostess’s left. During the second course, the hostess will turn and converse with those on her right.”

“But why?” Eugenia asked.

“It maintains an orderly conversation,” Lady Beale had said. “Without everyone speaking at once.”

Eugenia frowned, perplexed. “But what if the conversation is more interesting over the table?”

His lordship’s grin deepened the dimples beside his mouth.

“Then you can listen,” Lady Beale said. “As long as you do not ignore those directing a question to you.”

How would she ever remember all these rules? The earl and his sister discussed a number of topics introduced to improve her mind. When they spoke of politics and a new bill introduced into parliament, it grew interesting, but when they talked about people she’d never heard of, it was not.

His lordship corrected her speech until she felt like screaming and was then cast down with guilt. Lady Beale instructed her on which spoon and fork to use with each dish and reminded her not to rest her elbows on the table. Eugenia learned how the host always sat at the head of the table during a dinner party, with the highest-ranking male guest at his right. There were rules for everything. A napkin was placed in one’s lap and not tucked into one’s collar. The hostess always served the soup, a course one must never refuse.

“Not like that, Eugenia.” Lady Beale took up her soupspoon. “Scoop it away from you and sip from the side of the spoon, and do not slurp!”

His lordship chuckled.

When the fish was brought, she was to eat at an orderly pace while not appearing too interested in the food and never with her nose close to the plate. Sauces were to be sopped up with bread.

“And please note, Eugenia,” his lordship said, with a sparkle of humor in his eyes, “one never picks one’s teeth or spits!”

Eugenia grinned. “As if I would.”

After dinner, while his lordship drank brandy, she learned to play a crafty game of whist or faro and improved on her game of chess, which she enjoyed very much.

During the afternoons, Lady Beale instructed Eugenia on the correct manner in which to address people, employ her fan, and how to enter and exit a room.

“I am thankful that you have a natural grace,” Lady Beale said. “I’m not sure what I’d do with a clumsy young lady.”

At her ladyship’s direction, Eugenia walked up and down, sat, crossed her ankles, and rose again, casting a wistful glance at the footman who brought in the tea tray with a plate of tartlets, cakes and cress sandwiches.

Lady Beale spoke of other feminine wiles his lordship need not know about. “Many men prefer to view their women as merely decorative, without many thoughts in their heads. The talent we women have is to keep them thinking that it is our appearance and our charm which intrigues them.” She placed a book on Eugenia’s head and gestured for her to walk. 

“But that’s dishonest,” Eugenia said as the book fell to the floor.

“But of course.’ Lady Beale gave one of her tinkling laughs and settled the tome on Eugenia’s head again. “Chin up! Gentlemen have their secrets too. They may not lie to us, although some do on occasion, but they do tend to spare us the truth. It all works to keep the fascination in the marriage. They must never know quite what we do to preserve our mystery, and we must never inquire as to what they do at their clubs, or where manly pursuits take place, or about a mistress to whom a wife must turn a blind eye.”

Eugenia swiveled and grabbed the book as it fell. “Oh! I would shoot my husband if he took up with a mistress!”

“Oh no, my dear, that would be most unwise.” Lady Beale laughed and beckoned for Eugenia to join her on the sofa. As she poured the tea, she grew thoughtful. “It does not always go smoothly, of course. Only last month, Lady Falcon stabbed her husband with a letter opener… but I digress.”

There was an undercurrent of something distasteful in this elegant world that was absent from the one Eugenia knew. Her papa was disgraceful, and very bad tempered when in his cups, but he never pretended to be other than what he was.

She refused to believe all men thought that way about women. When Lord Trentham called her intelligent, he did not seem dismayed by it.

She spread her napkin on her lap and took a tiny cucumber sandwich. It was like stepping into another world from the one she’d inhabited all her life. A leisurely, courteous world, where one did not have to worry about the next meal. Food appeared before her like magic and was always tasty. But she was still the same person inside. She visited Molly, and wandered in the herb garden, chatting to William about restoratives, and she talked to Vanessa and Jeremy, her new friends at Lilac Court. Lady Beale treated her with unfailing kindness, but she was so far above Eugenia that they could never meet on the same footing.

“We are soon to go up to London,” Lord Trentham said at dinner, leaning back against his chair, a crystal glass filled with ruby-colored claret held in one hand.

“Yes?” She had been admiring him. His superfine coat, moldered to his broad shoulders, was of a blue that matched his eyes, his white silk cravat a masterpiece. The butler appeared at her elbow and poured wine into her glass. In her opinion, too much wine was served. A variety for this course and that. Hers was watered down, thankfully, or she’d fall asleep at the table.

“But”—he swirled the liquid in the glass, the sharp planes of the cut crystal catching the candlelight— “there is the matter of Molly.”

She’d spent many a night worrying about Molly. “Don’t you have a garden in London?”

Lady Beale laughed. How elegant she looked tonight in a rose-pink gown with rubies and diamonds at her ears.

“Molly must return to the home farm, Eugenia,” his lordship said in the tone he used to issue orders.

Was he worried about damage to the garden? “But birds attacked Molly when she was there. She had been pecked.”

“I’m sorry to hear it. Nevertheless, the goose will be lonely. Birds prefer to flock together.” 

She sighed. “Do all birds prefer it?”

A slight smile tugged at his handsome mouth. “I have instructed a better arrangement be made for her at the farm. A special pen with another goose until she’s accepted by the gaggle. While we’re away, my chef will not be required to prepare a goose for the table. So you need not worry about Molly’s fate.”

“That is very good of you, my lord,” Eugenia said cautiously.

The footmen brought in the next course, scenting the room with delicate aromas.

“We’ll say no more on the subject during dinner,” he said, no doubt catching the mutinous look in her eye.

The following morning, after visiting Molly, when Eugenia strolled in the gardens, picking flowers, Lord Trentham crossed the lawns toward her with long strides. She studied him from beneath her bonnet brim. He carried a crop and was dressed for riding, in a fitted dark coat and tight breeches, his top boots highly polished. How splendid he looked.

“Counting lilacs, Eugenia?”

She laughed. “Impossible, my lord. I thought Mrs. Throsby might like these for the drawing room.”

“I’m sure she’ll be pleased.”

Eugenia watched him walk to the stables. She had a sudden urge to impress him with how well she rode. But unfortunately, she’d had limited experience. And there was the problem of her clothing. She’d yet to have a riding habit made.

She took the flowers into the house and presented the bunch to the housekeeper, who looked surprised. “A nice gesture indeed, thank you, Miss Hawthorne.”

Eugenia wandered outside again. It was a glorious day. Lord Trentham would be still out riding somewhere over the estate. Walking along, deep in thought, she found herself at the stables, where Mr. Pollitt and the stable boy unloaded sacks of oats and beans from a dray.

He smiled and removed his cap. “Anything I can do for you, Miss Hawthorne?”

“Thank you, Mr. Pollitt. I have a rather odd request.”

Half an hour later, Eugenia emerged from the groom’s room above the stables, just as his lordship rode in.

Lord Trentham dismounted and strode over to stare up at her as she descended the stairs. “What on earth…?”

“I should like to ride, my lord.” She stepped off the bottom rung, aware that her appearance had shocked him. She was dressed in Mr. Pollitt’s breeches, rolled up at the bottom, and a large shirt, which smelled strongly of horse.

“Neal?” His lordship swiveled around to look at Mr. Pollitt

“Please don’t be angry with Mr. Pollitt. I insisted,” Eugenia said.

His lordship studied her outfit, his gaze lingering on her legs. “You cannot go about dressed like that, Eugenia. Have you actually ridden a horse?”

She huffed. “Of course. I’m a country girl. But we only had the carthorse. He didn’t take kindly to being ridden.”

A flicker of amusement entered his blue eyes. “I imagine not. Bring out a sidesaddle, Neal.”

She frowned. “Must I have one?”

He arched a brow. “Ladies don’t ride astride, Eugenia.”

“Who is going to see me here?”

“And you must ride with the groom.”

“Can’t I ride with you, my lord?”

A small smile lifted the corners of his mouth. “You are determined. My sister would be outraged.”

She grinned. “Must she learn of it? I should not like to upset her.”

He stroked his chin. “I intend for you to receive instruction before I take you riding in Rotten Row.”

“Rotten what, my lord?” she asked as she followed him along the horse boxes.

“It’s where the
ton
ride in Hyde Park.”

“I thought this one, milord.” Mr. Pollitt waited at a horse stall.

“I see Neal has selected a good mount for you.”

The groom led out a short, solid grey horse. “This is Grey Dreamer, Miss Hawthorne.” He went to fetch the saddle.

Dismayed, Eugenia stared at the horse. “I’m to ride a pony?” She’d been patting a tall chestnut gelding who had thrust his handsome head over the door of the box. “She looks half asleep.”

His lordship threw back his head and laughed. “Then you shall wake her. Grey Dreamer is my stallion’s companion. Neal, please assist Miss Hawthorne to mount.”

Eugenia eyed the sidesaddle. It looked impossibly foolish. “Can I not use an ordinary saddle?”

His lordship shook his head. “That is unacceptable. And I’m losing patience.”

With the groom’s help, she clambered onto the saddle and arranged her leg around the pommel. She took up the reins and reached for the crop, and then as his lordship mounted his stallion, she walked the animal out onto the cobblestones in the stable yard.

Once out in the sunshine, Grey Dreamer appeared to droop. Eugenia nudged the animal in its round belly with the heel of her half boot. The grey came alive and took off down the carriage drive with his lordship yelling instructions behind her. The horse then lurched sideways onto the lawn, heading straight for the rose garden.

“Whoa,” Eugenia cried, tugging on the reins. Her face burned with distress. What would his lordship think if she trampled his garden? With one final violent tug, she managed to steer the stubborn horse away from the roses and pull her up. Grey Dreamer bent her head, and with delicate precision, picked up a fallen rose, and munched it, a serene expression in her big brown eyes. “You are a fraud, Grey Dreamer,” Eugenia said with disgust.

Lord Trentham joined her on his magnificent burnished gold stallion. “I’m glad you managed to stop the mare,” he said. “My head gardener would be livid if the horse attacked his prize roses.” He reached across and took the reins from her.

“I can manage her, my lord,” she said, her face hot.

“We shall not risk it, Eugenia. I don’t wish to face my sister’s wrath. And you might get hurt.”

“You said I required instruction,” she said, dismayed. “Better here, surely, then amid a group of seasoned riders who will make me look foolish. Can we ride just a little way along the bridle path?” She was determined to show him she could ride well.

He frowned. “It’s against my better judgment.”

“Please?” She eyed him carefully. “I may lose my confidence and not be able to face the riders in Rotten Row.”

He patted the neck of his horse, which had begun to nuzzle Grey Dreamer. “Oh very well,” he said at last. “I’ll lead your horse to the bridle path. I’m not about to put my gardens at further risk. I suspect Grey Dreamer has a fancy for roses.”

Reaching the path, his lordship handed the reins to her. “Keep the horse to a walk, Eugenia.”

Eugenia bit her lip. This was her chance. Walking along a path would prove nothing. A child could do it. She would be careful not to nudge the horse quite so hard this time. Grey Dreamer was foxing. The horse was far more awake than she made out. Perhaps she was not often ridden and wanted for exercise. A gentler tap with her crop had the mare in a trot. Lord Trentham fell behind her on the narrow path.