The Earl and the Highwayman's Daughter (4 page)

EUGENIA AWOKE. Surprisingly, she’d slept well. For a moment, she lay spellbound viewing the elegant bedchamber perfumed with potpourri, before a rush of uncertainty at finding herself in a strange house made her throw back the covers. She opened the curtains, and the violet-tinged dawn flooded into the room. After washing, she hurriedly dressed and pinned up her hair, intent on finding her way to the home farm to see if Molly was all right.

Once she’d left her chamber, she became lost. She wandered along a corridor until she found a narrow timber staircase, which she guessed to be the servants’ stairs. Relieved, she hurried down them to the vast kitchens, where the chef barked orders in a heavy French accent and servants hurried to obey. Delicious smells of roasting bacon and herbs wafted through the room. Having worked in a similar place before, Eugenia was more at home here than in the grand bedchamber. 

The chef’s sharp gaze swept over her. “What are you doing in my kitchen, mademoiselle?”

Before she could answer, Vanessa appeared and rescued her from the chef’s sharp gaze. “Miss Hawthorne is his lordship’s ward, Monsieur Renaud. You’re up early, Miss Hawthorne. I was just going up to help you dress.”

“Good morning, Vanessa.” Eugenia stared in surprise at a scullery maid who’d dropped into a curtsey. “Could someone direct me to the home farm?” 

Monsieur Renaud shook his head and turned back to his work at the huge scrubbed table.

“Go outside through that door, Miss Hawthorne,” Vanessa said. “The path leads through the gardens. You might walk there, but it’s a fair distance, and it looks like rain.”

Eugenia smiled her thanks. “Please call me Eugenia.”

Silence fell but for Monsieur Renaud’s brisk chopping. Vanessa looked troubled and glanced over her shoulder as she led Eugenia outside. “I’m sorry I cannot. Mrs. Throsby would flay me alive.”

“Who’s Mrs. Throsby?”

“The housekeeper here at Lilac Court.”

Eugenia nodded. She’d had experience of housekeepers while in Canterbury.

“If you go around to the stables, the groom will help you. I must return to my work upstairs.” Vanessa darted back inside.

With an eye on the lowering sky, Eugenia walked along the garden paths and emerged onto the raked gravel driveway. Nearby, a gardener trimmed a hedge, and she hurried over to him. “Good morning.”

“You’re out early, lass.” He took in her shabby clothing. “New kitchen maid, are you?”

“I arrived yesterday.” She found it difficult to explain further, still unsure of her place here. She held out her hand. “How do you do, I’m Eugenia Hawthorne.”

He put down his clippers, smiled, and shook her hand. “William to those who know me.”

“I want to visit the home farm, William. Is this the right direction?”

He nodded. “Best you get a ride with the dairy maid. She’ll be delivering the milk and cream any minute.” At the clatter of a vehicle, he turned. “Ah, here is Alice now.”

When the trap trundled up to them, William called out to her. The fair-haired girl pulled the carthorse to a stop.

Once a delivery was made to the kitchens, they boarded the cart. Alice chattered all the way to the home farm about her intended who worked in the dairy. Eugenia left Alice at the sprawling well-stocked farm and skirted the farm buildings. She entered through a gate into a wide paddock dotted with trees. The smell grew more pungent, the pond alive with squabbling waterfowl. Molly hadn’t joined the gaggle of geese who reigned supreme in their corner of the paddock. Alone, she peered from behind a tree.

Eugenia called to her, and Molly waddled over on her twisted foot. “My poor Molly.” Distressed, Eugenia stroked her feathers. There was a speck of blood on the goose’s neck. She’d been pecked. “Have those geese been beastly to you?”

An hour later, Eugenia, chilled without her pelisse, which she’d been unable to find, strode back to the house. She wished she could return Molly to her former happy life. But she’d be in greater danger there. She’d walked a half-mile when a trap stopped for her, loaded with vegetables and fruit and flowers. By the time the driver, Jed, put her down near the kitchen gardens, she’d learned all about his six sisters, two brothers, and his ma and pa.

Barker met her at the door. “You were out early, Miss Hawthorne, and without your pelisse and bonnet. Please ask myself or a servant to fetch them for you should you go out again. Do you care for breakfast? Chocolate and rolls were sent to your room, some time ago, I’m afraid. Perhaps you’d prefer to eat in the breakfast room?”

“I would, thank you, Barker. How is his lordship this morning?”

“He passed a good night, the doctor tells me.” Barker showed her into an empty room with long windows overlooking the rose garden. She took a seat at the linen-covered table set with sparkling silverware. “His lordship’s sister, Lady Beale, has been sent for. She is expected soon. May I relay your request to the chef?”

“Yes, please.”

“Do you prefer coffee or tea?”

She’d worked up quite an appetite. “Might I have tea?” They couldn’t often afford tea at home, and she enjoyed a cup.

“China or Indian?”

“Um, China, thank you.”

“Do you care for kedgeree or kidneys, bacon, eggs?”

“Eggs and toast.” She smiled at the butler. “May I also have a preserve?”

“But of course. Marmalade? Plum or strawberry? I believe there’s also quince and gooseberry preserve.”

“My goodness. I shall have marmalade, thank you. I’ve never tasted it.”

“You might care for some strawberry preserve too. The strawberries have been very good this season. And how do you wish your eggs to be cooked?”

“Um…the usual way.”

A smile pulled at the butler’s lips. “Buttered?”

She wasn’t entirely sure what that was. “Yes, buttered. Thank you.”

After Barker poured her a cup of fragrant tea, to which she added a liberal amount of milk and sugar, Eugenia wondered to whom she might speak concerning Molly. She doubted his lordship would be up and around yet. He’d looked very tired last night.

When Barker came back with a dish, which bore no resemblance to eggs as she knew them, she took a deep breath. “Barker, I’m worried about my goose, Molly. She is in amongst a dozen other geese, and I fear that she might become confused with some other bird and…”

Her voice failed her.

Barker nodded, frowning. “What if we put Molly in the walled garden by the conservatory? Until we can work out what’s best. She will be safe there.”

Eugenia sucked in a deep, relieved breath. “Oh yes. I would be most grateful.”

“I shall attend to it immediately.”

When he’d left her, Eugenia tucked into her eggs, which were creamy and light. She was buttering her toast and deciding on which preserve to try, as several pots had been brought, when Barker appeared again and filled the teapot. “I have given the order, Miss Hawthorne.” He poured her another cup. “Molly will soon reside in the walled garden. The gardeners are to be instructed to keep the gate closed.”

“You are very good, Barker,” Eugenia said, with a grateful smile. “And the breakfast is delicious.”

He nodded. “I shall inform the chef.”

“Thank you.” She had no wish to beard Monsieur Renaud in his domain.

After a third cup of tea and another piece of toast, Eugenia returned to her bedchamber. Her bed was already made, her shabby old nightgown folded and placed beneath the pillow, with the hearth swept and laid for a fire.

While she sat in an armchair wondering what she might do next, someone knocked.

She opened the door. A fierce-looking lady of middle age, dressed in black with a chatelaine at her waist, stood there. “How do you do, Miss Hawthorne. I am Mrs. Throsby, the housekeeper. I hope you are comfortable?”

“Yes I am; thank you, Mrs. Throsby.”

The lady’s sharp gaze took in Eugenia’s faded cambric gown. Eugenia firmed her lips. She’d begun to feel like a turnip in a rose garden.

“Is there anything else you might require, Miss Hawthorne? Your maid has seen to the laundering and mending of your clothes?”

“She has, thank you. Is there a bookroom at Lilac Court?”

“But of course. A very fine one.”

“It’s such a big house. I tend to get lost. Could you show me the way?”

“You must ask a footman for directions. That is what they are here for.” Mrs. Throsby stepped out into the corridor, and a footman appeared like magic. “Please take Miss Hawthorne to the library.”

She turned back to Eugenia. “Luncheon is served at noon. Dinner is at eight.”

“I am not to eat in my room?”

“The dining room, Miss Hawthorne. A footman will collect you.” Mrs. Throsby hesitated. “You need not dress, as his lordship will not be dining with you.”

“Has his lordship recovered?”

“I fear a complete recovery is some weeks away. The doctor plans to bleed him today.”

Eugenia gasped. “He mustn’t!”

Mrs. Throsby’s mouth pinched. “I beg your pardon?”

“He can’t bleed his lordship. He’s lost a lot of blood already. ’Tis but common sense.”

The housekeeper stiffened. “Perhaps we should leave the doctoring to those who know best.”

Before Eugenia could warm to her argument, the housekeeper turned and walked away down the corridor.

The room that the footman showed Eugenia into was enormous. She had never seen so many books. Leather and gilt spines filled shelves almost to the ceiling. The room smelt pleasantly of beeswax, and every piece of furniture gleamed. She began to inspect those books within reach, although steps offered access to those above. Discovering the entire collection of Shakespeare’s plays, she drew out a copy of
Romeo and Juliet
and sat on a leather sofa to read it. Her mother had read to her from her much-thumbed edition of Shakespeare’s sonnets, which now had pride of place on the bureau in her chamber. Eugenia had often asked how she came by it, but Mama had refused to tell her.

Even though Eugenia had long wished for access to a library such as this, she found she couldn’t concentrate on the words. Lord Trentham kept entering her thoughts. He might die if they bled him. She gave up on the play and jumped up. Returning the book to the shelf, she hurried from the room.

Vanessa had told her that Lord Trentham’s bedchamber was in the west wing on the first floor. Eugenia crept along, listening at doors. A door opened farther down the corridor, and men’s voices grew louder. She slipped into the nearest room, relieved to find it empty, and left the door ajar to listen.

“Tomorrow, I’ll apply leeches to suck the bad blood out,” came a man’s voice she assumed was the doctor’s. “And if we have little result, I’ll bleed him.”

“I shall advise Lady Beale when she arrives,” Barker said.

Eugenia waited for the men to pass on their way to the stairs. A few minutes later, she emerged into the empty corridor.

She hurried to the door the men had just left and peeked inside. The bedchamber was in deep gloom, the curtains drawn against the light. Heavy breathing came from a bed even bigger than her own, with ornate, carved oak bedposts. She took two steps into the room but found it was too dim to make out the earl’s face.

“This won’t do,” she whispered. She hurried to the window and pulled open the curtains. The rain clouds had cleared, and the sky was a benign blue. Warmth and light flooded in, revealing a room of grand proportions, richly decorated in a masculine style.

She sucked in her breath, distressed to find him sicker than yesterday, and came to the bedside. She leaned over him. He was fast asleep, his face pale against the pillows. 

Eugenia dragged up a heavy gilt chair and sat, determined to wait for him to wake. Minutes ticked by. She eyed the mantel clock. It was almost time for luncheon. She would be missed. Someone might find her here, and she wouldn’t want to upset his lordship.

While she was deliberating whether to leave, Lord Trentham began to move restlessly. His heavy-lidded, bloodshot eyes opened and focused on her. “Miss Hawthorne? What are you doing in my bedchamber?”

She leaned forward and touched his long-fingered hand resting on the counterpane. “My lord. You must not let them bleed you.”

He groaned and attempted to sit. “And you must not be found in my bedchamber. Please leave.”

Annoyed at the absurd rules these peopled lived by, she huffed out a breath. “Why? Would they suspect you’d had your way with me? You can’t even sit up.”

A smile tugged at his lips. “You’re right, Eugenia, but still...be an agreeable young lady and leave, please. Have patience; my sister will arrive soon. She will advise you how to go on.”

She warmed at his use of her first name. “And am I to be told what that might be?”

“You are to be prepared for a London Season.” He lay back and closed his eyes.

Her heart beat faster. “I am to go to London?”

“Indeed you are. Now, will you please go?”

She leaned over him and placed a hand on his forehead, pleased to find it dry and cool. “I will. But first you must promise me not to let them bleed you. And no leeches neither.”