Part Two
“Oh mon Dieu.”
She couldn’t restrain the soft whisper in French as she looked at the man who had risen from the shadows like the devil himself.
Her heart thundered as she stared at him, wondering if she was going insane at last. That he should be here, of all places...it was just unfair and cruel, and perhaps the universe was sending her a message.
Stop trying, Eugénie, she admonished herself. Stop trying to live a normal life. It is not for you.
He was moving slowly toward her. Did he recognise her? She swallowed harshly, her body trembling as he neared her.
“Miss,” he said quietly. “Please don’t be alarmed. I mean you no harm.” He smiled gently. “I merely sought a place to escape the noise of the ball for a little while. I’m sorry if I frightened you.”
Eugénie blinked, her mind whirling. “I don’t understand,” she muttered, half to herself.
He tilted his head to one side. “Pardon, mademoiselle. Je n’avais pas l’intention de vous effrayer.”
Her jaw dropped. “You are not...Milord Northwick?”
He looked puzzled. “Actually, I am. Peter Northwick à votre service.” He bowed politely.
Eugénie’s heart beat fast as she continued to watch him. And now she could see the differences more clearly. His build was the same, hair colour, eye colour, even the slight dent in his chin. But the expression was all his. The one she remembered, warm, gentle. Friendly even.
“Sir,” she said slowly. “I ask your pardon, and do not wish to give offence, but do you have a twin?”
He smiled and shook his head. “No, no twin. But I have an older brother, and ‘tis said we’re alike as two peas in a pod. Perhaps you mistook me for him?”
“It is astonishing...” Daringly, she moved away from the wall and took a few steps towards him. “Forgive my error, sir, I beg you. But in this light...” She bit her lip and dropped a deep curtsy. “I have been rude. I must apologise.”
“No, no, please. No apologies are necessary.” He held out his hand to help her up, and she took it absently, finding pleasure in the warmth of his palm against her cold fingers. “I can assure you there have been many who have made the same mistake, and in full daylight too.”
His smile was...charming. Warm and friendly, and sincere. What on earth was she to do now?
“May we talk for a moment or two?” His voice sent warm ripples down her spine. “I am reasonably conversant in French if it is easier for you, and I would like to hear of how you met my brother...” he paused. “In case he offended you, I could offer you apologies on his behalf.”
She found herself being led to one of the chairs away from the door, in the same shadowed corner he’d occupied earlier. It was wrong, of course. It would get her thrown out of the door in less than a minute, but still she took the risk and allowed him to seat her comfortably.
“I know,” he smiled. “This is quite out of the ordinary for both of us. But have no worries, Mademoiselle. I shall make sure no harm comes to you from our conversation.”
“It is amazing how much you resemble your brother, sir.”
“How did you meet him?”
Eugénie sighed. The memories were still so fresh in her mind. “In Dieppe, three years ago. My family was attempting to...to...”
He leaned over and touched her hand. “I understand. Those were difficult times, my dear.”
Grateful for his gentleness, she nodded. “We had obtained passage. It mattered not where, just that we could get out. Papa had business dealings with people in England and planned on continuing that association once away from the fighting.”
“Ah, that explains your excellent English. You and your family were among many who did the same thing.”
“I know that now.”
“Will you tell me your name?”
She hesitated. “I am Eugénie, sir. Just Eugénie.”
“You must have had a surname, dear girl. You need not be afraid. This is England, and the war is over. You are safe.”
She managed a wry laugh. “Would that I could agree with you, Sir Peter Northwick. Were that the case, I would not be here as domestique to Miss Northwick.”
He watched her intently, but oddly she felt no fear. It was as if he was trying to make sense of her words, genuinely interested in them, curious about her. For the first time, she felt as if someone were listening to her.
His eyes were kind.
Voices in the corridor brought both of them back to their senses, and Eugénie stood immediately, looking around for somewhere to hide.
“It’s all right,” soothed Peter softly. “Trust me, ma petite.” He walked to the door just in time to meet Fenworthy, who was about to enter.
“Sir,” said the butler, sighing in relief. “Miss Haverstock is concerned that you might have lost your way back to the ballroom. She sent me to look for you.”
Eugénie was quite surprised when Peter neither turned around or looked at her.
He simply kept the attention of the butler fixed on himself.
“I must apologise to Miss Haverstock, of course. And to you, Fenworthy. I’m sure on a night like this you must have many duties more important than finding one errant guest who likes to read. ”
“Not at all, sir,” replied Fenworthy, unbending a little as he leaned closer to Peter. “Truth to tell, I am not averse to leaving the guests be for a while, now and again. They can be quite tiring.”
“Your secret is safe with me.” Peter chuckled. “If you will give me a few moments to return the book I was reading to the correct shelf, I will then hurry back to the ballroom, and make sure Miss Imelda has no need to worry you again.”
Fenworthy bowed. “You are a gracious gentleman, sir. And you have my sincere thanks.”
Peter nodded. “I will be there shortly.”
“Of course, sir.” Content, the butler took himself off.
Hurrying to the corner where Eugénie had buried herself out of sight, Peter seemed to come to a decision. “Look, are you happy here?”
She huffed out a snort. “I can speak five languages, sir. Would you like me to say no in all of them?”
His eyes widened, and he grinned. Lord above she remembered that smile and yes, he was still so handsome when he grinned.
“No need. I understand completely. If you will trust me, I believe we can resolve your situation.”
“Truly?” She gaped at him. “How?”
He took a breath. “I’m going to kidnap you.”
Her jaw dropped. “Oh.” She thought about it for a moment, then squared her shoulders. “All right then. Tell me what you want me to do.”
He had a difficult time keeping himself from bursting out into laughter. She was fearless, it seemed, this familiar and slender woman with the amazing eyes.
“Let me think a moment,” he said, picking up the book he’d been reading and wandering back to the bookshelf to replace it. He needed a plan, and he needed it now.
“Do you have a warm cloak?” He shot her a quick glance as he shelved the book.
“I have a cloak. It is...adequate.” She shrugged, her eyes glued to his face.
“All right.” He sorted his thoughts. “The front hall. It’s busy, of course, with the comings and goings, the cloaks, the hats, gloves, that sort of thing, yes?”
“Yes.”
“Would you be noticed were you to busy yourself in that area?”
She narrowed her eyes. “Probably not. An extra pair of hands is always appreciated at things like this.”
“Hmm.”
She bit her lip. “Sir Peter, you must hurry. Miss Imelda does not like to be kept waiting.”
“Miss Imelda will survive,” he replied. “She’s the least of my worries right now.”
He paced a little, his favourite way of thinking through a problem, then he paused and smiled at Eugénie. “Right then. Here’s what we’re going to do.”
He spoke clearly, concisely, and rapidly, hoping she would grasp the essentials. Her comment about Imelda was indeed true, and he’d much prefer the lady herself not come in search of him, but he didn’t put it past her.
“Can you manage that?” he finished.
“Oui, I can. And I will.” Her chin went up. “And after? What will I do?”
He knew she fought to conceal her fears, and her courage awed him. “One step at a time, Eugénie. Let’s take this one step at a time. First, we get you out of here.”
“Yes please,” she whispered.
“I will see you shortly. Soyez courageux. Ce plan fonctionnera.” Peter took a last look at her, gave her what he hoped was an encouraging smile, and left the room, hoping that their plan would indeed work.
He hurried through the corridors back to the ballroom just in time, as Imelda herself emerged through the doors, a frown creasing that perfect brow.
“Oh there you are,” she exclaimed. “I was looking for you everywhere. Did you get lost? You missed the first cotillion...”
“My most profound apologies, Miss Imelda. I trust you found a partner though? I’m sure your beauty is in great demand this evening.”
She simpered at the compliment. “How kind, Sir Peter. It’s wonderful to meet a man who knows how to be a true gentleman.”
Her arm slipped around his, not unlike the slither of a snake. He shivered at the notion, and felt the goosebumps rise on his skin.
“I do believe I hear the musicians striking up again,” she said pointedly. “It will be the last dance before supper, dear sir. I would be very honoured to share it with you...”
Peter thought rapidly. “I am overwhelmed by your kindness, Miss Imelda. You are everything that is desirable in a young lady of such fine breeding. Your Mama and Papa must be complimented on raising such a charming daughter.”
He watched her lap up the effusive compliments like a cat with a dish of cream.
“Why thank you, sir,” she simpered again, this time using her fan to hide her blushes. “You are so kind to say so, but I must not let you turn my head with your encomiums, must I?”
Oh yes you must, he thought to himself.
“I have no doubt there are many gentlemen here this evening who are completely overset by your presence and your charms,” he began, trying to quell the nausea brought on by this overly fulsome compliment, and knowing he needed to pull a few more from his hat.
“I am so honoured that you would even think of me, a stranger, as a partner for the dinner dance.” He managed to extract himself from her grasp under the pretext of giving her a sweeping bow.
Which, he thought to himself, he actually did rather well, given that he was horridly out of practice when it came to sweeping bows.
“You are so kind, Sir Peter,” giggled Imelda. “I’m sure I must be blushing quite dreadfully.”
“Not at all, fair lady. A delicate rose petal would envy your incomparable complexion.” He was going to make himself sick if he kept this up. It was time to move on.
“However,” he dredged up a sad expression, “it is with great regret that I find I cannot request this dance.”
“What?” Her voice sharpened. “Why not?”
“I must make my excuses, I’m afraid.” He moved a little closer. “Unfortunately I...” he shook his head. “No, I cannot burden you with this, dear lady. You must go and find a more deserving partner.”
“But...” Imelda’s frown was fierce. “You must give me a reason, sir. I demand to know...”
“Are you sure?” He glanced down the corridors on either side of them and lowered his voice. “I would not have it made public...”
She leaned closer, her face a perfect picture of rampant curiosity. “You can trust me, sir. I can keep a secret.”
He sighed. “Very well then.” He moved closer and bent to whisper in her ear. “It’s the wound in my leg, Miss Imelda. If I stand on it for too long, or dance more than once or twice an evening, it starts to remind me of a time I’d rather forget,” he managed a wince.
“Oh dear.” Imelda blinked and drew back. “I had no idea.” She stared down at his legs. “A war wound, was it?”
Peter drew a ragged breath. “I would rather not sully your delicate ears with such things.”
She nodded, eyes wide. “Waterloo?” she whispered.
Since it wasn’t even six months since that nightmarish battle, and the Treaty of Paris had only been signed weeks before, he shook his head and held his finger to his lips.
“Ahhh,” she nodded sagely. “I understand why you’d rather not speak of it. But...” she sighed, “such a shame.”
At that point, the fates – who were clearly on Peter’s side this evening – delivered another young man to the corridor.
“Miss Imelda,” he hurried to her side, barely glancing at Peter. “The supper dance...it’s-it’s about to begin. Would you...” his Adam’s apple bobbled as he swallowed, “would you p-p-please dance with me?”
Her smile managed to be encouraging and wistful at the same time. How she managed that, Peter couldn’t begin to guess, but he’d wager his favourite hunter that she’d spent more than a few hours practicing in front of her mirror.
“Of course,” she murmured, casting a look of sadness at Peter. “I would be happy to accept your offer, Lord Rigsby.”
Peter bowed as the happy young gentleman led his lady toward the ballroom and offered up a prayer of thanks to the Fates for solving his problem for him.
He wanted to dash down the stairs to the hall, but since he’d just created a mythical war wound, he thought it might be more appropriate to pace carefully and hold on to the bannister.
However, given the evening’s splendour, the progress of one man down a staircase elicited little, if any, attention. Until he reached the hall.
“May I retrieve your hat and cloak, sir?” A footman approached him.
“Thank you, yes. And if one of your lads could call my carriage? The name is Northwick.”
“Of course, sir.”
A younger footman was summoned and sent scampering down the front steps. Peter opened his cloak and swung it around him, nodding his thanks to the staff in general, and walking to the front door, hat in hand.
He had a short wait, barely five minutes, but it should suffice. He took a breath, finding it unexpectedly difficult to walk away from Eugénie, but hoping she was able to follow his instructions.
His carriage crunched over the gravel, and Peter started down, every sense on alert. And, as he’d hoped, he had one foot on the folding step when a breathless voice hailed him from behind.
“Oh sir, excuse me sir, you forgot your gloves.”
Eugénie blinked at him, panting, and holding out a pair of gentleman’s gloves. They didn’t belong to him, of course, but it was of no matter at this point. He glanced around, happy that there were very few people outside on such a cold night. Even the front door was half-closed.
“In with you,” he said quietly, boosting her up and into the interior with a helping hand beneath her bottom.
“Ohh...” She gasped as she almost tumbled onto the seat and managed to grab her skirts before she tripped over them. He jumped in after her, making the carriage rock as he slammed the door, tapped on the roof of the carriage – and they were off.