The Earl and the Highwayman's Daughter (7 page)

“That’s good. Well done,” he called.

The path ahead was a long, straight run. Planning to rein her in at the end, Eugenia leaned forward and urged the horse into a canter. Grey Dreamer needed little persuasion. She took off like an arrow.

“Eugenia!” Lord Trentham called behind her. “Rein her in at once!”

“What did you say, my lord?” Some minutes later, where the trail curved to the right, Grey Dreamer lunged left, perhaps spooked at the sight of a squirrel running along a bow overhead. They emerged onto a sunlit meadow bordered by a low fence. As the horse showed no inclination to slow, Eugenia hung on. Grey Dreamer aimed straight for the fence and jumped, landing hard on her stocky legs and juddering Eugenia’s chin. Then the horse slowed, ambled across to a small stream, and lowered her head to drink. Eugenia turned around to watch Lord Trentham’s beautiful stallion take the jump far more gracefully. He rode up to her. “You will be responsible for my relapse, Eugenia.” he said sounding cross.

“Oh no, please don’t say it.” Filled with anxious remorse, while determined not to admit she’d lost control of her mount again, Eugenia followed his lordship through a gate. They trotted the horses back to the stables.

Once in the stable yard, Lord Trentham dismounted and walked over to her. He held up his arms, and she leaned into him, breathing in his sandalwood soap. His grip tightened around her waist as he set her on her feet. “You heard me tell you to stop, did you not? You are a disobedient young woman, Eugenia,” he said, breathing heavily.

“I hope you haven’t reopened your wound, my lord.” Chewing her lip, she reached up to open his coat.

“Stop!” He grabbed her hand in his broad one. “Go and rid yourself of those outrageous clothes before my sister sees you,” he said in a stifled voice.

“Yes, Lord Trentham,” she said in a meek tone. She climbed the stairs to the groom’s room. At the top, she glanced down at his lordship. He’d removed his hat and was raking his fingers through his glossy dark brown hair.

“I am sorry,” she said again, when she came down dressed in her morning gown. “I do hope you’re all right. Perhaps you should not have cantered quite yet.”

Mr. Pollitt coughed and disappeared into the stable.

“I assure you, Eugenia, I’m perfectly capable of galloping and jumping a fence, should I wish to.” he said with a frown. “Come, let’s walk back to the house.”

They strolled along the carriage drive. “Are you eager to visit London?” he asked seemingly now in better humor.

“I confess I am a little nervous.”

“You have no reason to be. My sister and I will watch over you.”

She picked up the skirts of her fern-green gown and closed the distance between them to gaze up into his face. “Why are you taking me to Town?”

“Why?” He raised his eyebrows. “To restore you to your rightful place.”

“As a duke’s daughter?”

“I daresay you will meet your father. It’s up to him if he wishes to acknowledge you.”

She scowled. “He is not my father.”

He tucked a trailing strand of her hair behind her ear. “You are of his blood.”

“So you are returning me to him, like a lost parcel?”

“What?” His blue eyes grew serious. “No. Not at all, Eugenia. I hope you will forge your own life and be happy.”

She frowned. “But do you believe he’ll admit I’m his daughter? He will be ashamed of me.”

He sighed and rested his hands on her shoulders. “He would be a fool if he was. Look at you.” He studied her face with his enigmatic gaze for a long moment. Taking a step away he walked on.

She hurried to keep up with him.

He tapped his crop on his boot. “Eugenia, in this cruel, topsy-turvy world of ours, men don’t always claim their…”

“Bastards?”

“I dislike that term. It has no place in reference to a sweet young woman like you.”

“Nevertheless, it appears that is what I am.” At least at home with her father—or the man she’d believed to be her father—none of this had ever concerned her. She had known who she was.

“You must place your trust in me, Eugenia.” They crossed the terrace to the French doors, which opened into the salon. “Let us talk of something else. Do you fancy another attempt at beating me at chess?”

She smiled. “Oh yes. I believe I’m improving.”

“I fear that might be true. I shall have to concentrate harder.”

“I doubt it will help you.”

“Such fighting words.” He tapped her chin with gentle fingers. “We shall see about that.”

They entered the graciously furnished room and sat on gilt chairs covered in deep-rose-pink damask before the board set up on the marble games table.

An hour later, they were forced to stop and dress for luncheon.

“I am close to outwitting you this time, my lord,” Eugenia said.

He laughed. “Nonsense. I’ll have your queen in two moves.”

“Shall we finish our game after luncheon?”

Lady Beale met them at the top of the stairs. She crinkled her nose. “Haven’t you changed for luncheon, Brendan? I dislike to eat with the room smelling of horse.”

He laughed. “I’m afraid I got sidetracked with a game of chess. I won’t be long.”

“There will be no time for chess this afternoon, Eugenia,” she said. “We must organize your wardrobe. We leave for London the day after tomorrow.”

A nervous thrill swept down her spine. She gazed from Lord Trentham to his sister. “So soon?”

“You are more than ready, my dear. You have proven to be as my brother described you, an excellent student, a quick study.”

His lordship paused, his long-fingered hand on the bannister. “Does Eugenia have a ball gown which will adequately display the emeralds?”

Lady Beale’s eyes widened. “The Trentham emeralds, Brendan? They are most unsuitable. Are you aware of what sort of message that will send?”

“I am. Eugenia will wear them when she meets Mortland.”

“But she is too young to wear those jewels. It will be remarked upon. Please do be careful.”

He continued up the stairs. “No need to concern yourself. I’ll keep my eye on them.”

“But that’s what concerns me most.”

Eugenia walked to her bedchamber. She’d given up trying to understand them when they talked in riddles. Why couldn’t aristocrats say what they meant? Was she to be a pawn in some kind of game? She disliked the idea intensely and hoped this duke they said was her father would not be in London. Then she might even enjoy herself.

***

The next morning at breakfast, Brendan put down his newspaper as Barker poured his coffee. “Has Miss Hawthorne been in this morning?”

“A quick meal, sir. She wished to visit the orchards.”

Brendan raised his brows. “The orchards? Why?”

Barker gave an indulgent smile. “Miss Hawthorne feels the staff don’t get enough fruit.”

Brendan laughed. “Are you so badly treated, Barker?”

“No indeed, milord.” The butler stifled a chuckle. “Miss Hawthorne thinks I look too pale. Asked me if I fancied a plum.”

Brendan shook his head wordlessly, as the butler, his shoulders shaking, left the room. He downed his coffee and rose. He should talk to Eugenia before they left for London tomorrow. He must stress the importance of her not wandering off in the city. He didn’t entirely trust that free-spirited girl. If anything happened to her, he’d never forgive himself. He’d go and find her, he’d planned to take the hounds rabbiting this morning.

Calling her name, Brendan walked through the neat rows of fruit trees, his shotgun over his shoulder and his two hounds gamboling around him.

“I’m here, my lord.”

He eased aside a branch. “Where?”

“Up here.”

He glanced up. Eugenia perched above him, a basket hooked on the branch beside her. Her stockinged legs hung down, her dress caught up to the thigh, revealing blue satin garters.

Brendan swallowed, his throat suddenly dry. “Come down at once!” he called when he got control of his voice and his breath. Could he and Chloe turn this hoyden into a lady? He wasn’t entirely sure he wanted to, he decided, watching her turn and scramble down while carefully keeping her basket upright. He averted his gaze after she offered him another view of smooth bare thigh. He’d never met anyone like her. The ladies he knew never revealed a penchant for tree climbing. Even Chloe as a child resisted accompanying him on such endeavors. Eugenia was as nimble as a wood nymph. Compelled, he raised his head again to watch her. My God, she was a picture. More like the goddess, Demeter, wheat gold hair escaping from her straw hat, her blue gown rising up… He swiftly gazed at his feet again. “Do you require any assistance?” he asked disliking how stiff he sounded.

“No.” She joined him on the ground.

“Why the need for peaches?”

“Vanessa told me she had a peach tree at home. She misses them.”

He took the laden basket from her. “Then I must make sure the fruit is available to the staff when in season. To end the necessity for you to climb trees.”

“I like climbing,” she said cheerfully, brushing down her skirt and depriving him of that glorious view of slim legs and an inviting expanse of creamy skin.

“Ladies don’t…” He firmed his lips. He’d been about to give her a lecture. Instead he merely chuckled, placed his gun over his shoulder and called the dogs. “Shall we return to the house?”

That evening over a game of chess, Eugenia gave a squeal of delight when she moved her knight to threaten his queen.

“You are improving,” he said with a grin. “Might you have me on the ropes?”

“Improving? I am about to checkmate you, my lord,” she said in a triumphant voice.

“You two are very noisy tonight, I declare.” Chloe put away her knitting and rose. “Do not stay up too late, Eugenia. We depart early tomorrow and must endure many hours in the coach.”

“I won’t. Goodnight, Lady Beale.”

After the door closed on his sister, Eugenia gave him an impish grin. “Now, my lord, what say you to this latest move of mine?”

“Let me see. If I do this....” Brendan hovered his knight over the board before setting it down. “You must then act to protect your king. Then I shall do this….” He indicated where he would move his queen. “And you shall be checkmated, my dear.”

“Oh!” Her beautiful green eyes widened with accusation and she grabbed his hand before he made his move. “You are not to be trusted.”

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?”