Part Three
“Mon Dieu, I cannot believe it worked,” breathed Eugénie. “I was very frightened I’d be stopped...I didn’t dare take a cloak...”
“At affairs like these, all the staff are on duty every minute. You don’t need me to tell you that, my dear. And Heaven forbid a guest needs something and there’s no one available to help? That’s just unacceptable. So of all the nights for you to be wandering the halls, this was the perfect one.”
He looked at her. “Would it offend you if I said that you probably won’t even be missed until morning?”
She shook her head. “No, definitely not. I would be even happier to learn I was not missed at all.”
“There will doubtless be some sort of fuss when they finally realise you’re gone, but you and I both know that any kind of effort to find you will probably involve two footmen searching the grounds, if that. After all, how could you, a slip of a girl, be expected to go any further?”
“How indeed.” She gazed out of the window at the snowy night. “How did you manage to escape, sir?”
“The ball, you mean?”
Her lips twitched. “Well that, and Miss Imelda...”
He laughed, a genuine and warm sound that cheered her and made her smile too. “It’s almost embarrassing,” he sighed.
“In that case you must tell me,” she chuckled.
“I told her I had a war wound and couldn’t dance more than one or two dances or it would start to pain me.”
Silence fell for a long moment.
“You what?” choked Eugénie. “I don’t believe you.”
“I swear. It’s true.” Peter grinned, his white teeth sparkling as moonlight drifted through the trees and into the carriage. “And...” he sucked in a breath, “she asked me if it was an injury I got at Waterloo.”
“But...” Eugénie struggled. “That was not even six months ago...you would barely have had time to heal if it was that bad...”
He nodded, clearly enjoying himself. “I know.”
“She is incredibly caper-witted, isn’t she?”
“An excellent way of describing her.” He grinned. “I confess I’m glad to be gone. I don’t know why I came in the first place...”
“I’m glad you did.”
“Yes, of course...I didn’t mean...” He rolled his eyes. “I beg your pardon, Eugénie, that was not well said.”
“Don’t worry. I understood what you meant.” She glanced out of the window and shivered a little.
“Oh good heavens.” He cursed at himself and shrugged out of his cloak. “Here. Wrap up in this. I should have given it to you before...”
“Mais...”
“I have plenty of clothes to keep me warm. You’re in a dress and apron. And probably not much else.” He blinked. “Um...”
“It’s all right,” she sighed, gratefully tucking his cloak around her. “Thank you for the thought. A maid’s clothing is truly not designed for running around outside on winter nights.” She looked out of the window again as the carriage swayed. “Where are we going?”
“To Northwick, my home.”
“How far is it?” Another shiver accompanied the soft question.
“An hour, maybe a little more since it’s snowing again...”
The reality of the situation dawned more fully on Peter as he watched the woman next to him rest her head back against the squabs and close her eyes. What was he going to do with her?
“Eugénie,” he began.
She did not answer, and to his amusement he realised that she had fallen asleep. It was quite understandable; she was probably exhausted from many hours of running around Blackfield Hall in preparation for the evening’s events. That wasn’t a household that cared much for its staff.
He watched her, her face a soft blur in the thin light offered by the snow outside and the moon which had risen. Lord above, what was so damn familiar about her...
She shivered again and made a slight sound. Not a cry, but a sad murmur perhaps?
He settled himself more comfortably and drew some of his cloak over his knees. Then he reached around Eugénie and drew her closer, letting her rest her head on his shoulder. His pulse quickened as she snuggled even closer to his warmth.
Why was he so sure he knew her? Or recognised her from somewhere? That first glimpse had shaken him, and his conversation with her had raised more questions than it had answered. He turned his thoughts to her words.
Dieppe.
A popular port for refugees fleeing the chaos of war. And the one that Stephen had always said he preferred when it came to crossing the English Channel, even though it was a longer voyage to Newhaven, than Calais to Dover. But then again, his brother loved the sea.
When had he been in France? In Dieppe?
Peter forced his mind back over the past turbulent couple of years, trying to find something there that would jog his memory. The recent months had been spent cleaning up his brother’s mess.
He certainly could never have imagined that once becoming an adult, Stephen would succumb to the lure of the gaming tables.
For himself? He had no interest. He didn’t care particularly for cards or dice, liked a good game of chess but never wagered on it, and until he was presented with the bare facts, had no idea that Stephen was horridly close to losing Northwick.
Only the death of a distant relative had saved it.
But even that inheritance couldn’t save Stephen. His credit had been cut off completely, his parents had removed him from their will, stripping him of any chance to own Northwick and the title that went with it, and nobody would game with him. Anywhere at all.
It was a sickness, Peter knew. A terrible, soul-destroying sickness. And one that had cost them all. It wasn’t until after they found the note announcing that he’d taken a berth on a ship to the Colonies, that they could breathe at last, even though it was through the ache of his loss.
He’d mourned Stephen’s departure, but the work that had to be done to clean up his mess blunted the worst of his pain. And now, with diligence and a certain amount of frugality, they were pretty much clear of any indebtedness.
His parents had removed themselves to their Cornish home, a much smaller establishment that they both adored and now, thanks to careful paperwork by several talented lawyers, Northwick House would come to him, Peter, and not Stephen.
It had been a time of upheaval, worries, sadness...but it was finished at last.
He still hadn’t really become accustomed to the idea, but time was dulling the edges of his pain and anger and allowing a measure of reality to replace them.
The woman cuddled against him stirred, restless, and he tucked his cloak more snugly around them both, distracting himself from his wandering thoughts.
He knew one thing...he’d never been in Dieppe, so she must have met Stephen.
What was he going to do with her, and why was there something nagging at the back of his brain?
Those were questions he hoped might be answered when they reached their destination.
Eugénie awoke as the carriage slowed. She was warm, snugly wrapped in his thick cloak, and truthfully had no inclination to move from where she was.
“We’re here,” said Peter quietly. “Did you enjoy your nap?”
Dieu. She was tucked up in his arms. She nodded and sighed, knowing she should move, but loving his warmth. “A rare treat for me, sir. Yes, indeed I did.”
“You were exhausted,” he observed, showing no inclination to change their positions. “An event such as the one at Blackfield this evening must be a lot of work.”
“You cannot begin to imagine.”
“Well, anyway, welcome to Northwick.” He glanced out of the window. “In a few moments we’ll make the turn into the drive. It is a pretty view...”
Thus encouraged, Eugénie regretfully straightened and leaned forward eager to catch a glimpse of his home.
And he was right. She sucked in a breath at the lovely view of an elegant mansion, clearly large, but built to look charming, not overwhelming.
The snow glistened on the bushes and trees, and the lights from within cast golden shadows, turning the vista into something almost magical.
Had it looked like this seven years ago? She couldn’t remember.
“Oh my,” she breathed. “C’est très belle.”
“Thank you,” he replied quietly. “We think so.”
“We?” She shot him a quick glance. “You have...family here? A wife?”
He shook his head, a smile lighting his face.
“No.” He blinked. “Well, I mean yes, of course I have a family. But my parents have chosen one of the smaller Northwick properties in Cornwall. They love it there and are quite content to leave me to administer this monstrosity. Without a wife, I should add.”
“It’s no monstrosity, sir. It is really elegant. And it looks as if it has been here forever?”
“Well, not quite that long, but it came into the family several generations ago. So yes, I suppose that lends it an air of permanency.”
Eugénie fell silent, prey now to concerns as to her own future. Perhaps this household could use another maid? She’d be happy working her, she knew. And it was a fair guess that this particular residence was a great deal more hospitable to its workers than Blackfield.
“So there is no mistress of Northwick?” She hoped he couldn’t hear the nerves that lurked behind that question.
“Formally? No. But it is generally understood that my housekeeper, Mrs Simmons, runs most everything. Including me.” He chuckled.
“She’s been with us for as long as I can recall.
My mother adored her, deferred to her more often than not, and was quite upset when she refused to leave and go to Cornwall with them.
I, on the other hand, was both delighted and relieved. ”
“How lovely to have such pleasant memories,” said Eugénie quietly. “You are very lucky indeed, sir.”
He was quiet for a moment, watching her. “Could you bring yourself to call me Peter, d’you think?”
She swallowed and shook her head. “No sir. That I could not. It would be appallingly improper.”
“Eugénie,” he began. “I know you are no maidservant. Your English is pretty much flawless, as is your French. And your conversation betrays an education rarely, if ever, found belowstairs. Don’t even try to pretend with me.
I hope you’ll trust me enough to tell me your story, and how my brother became part of it.
But for the time being, you are my guest.”
He thought for a moment. “Hmm. We shall say that your carriage was delayed because of an accident, and the Haverstocks kindly loaned you some garments, with the understanding that your belongings would be arriving shortly.”
“I accepted a maid’s dress?” Her eyebrows rose. “Ciel! I must have been in dire straits indeed. But that does not explain why I am here in your carriage...”
He chuckled. “The reputation of the Haverstocks, Miss Imelda in particular, is quite well known. The idea that she would loan one of her gowns to someone she didn’t know, especially someone as lovely as you?
Hah. It would be more unexpected if you had turned up in one of her cast-offs.
I have nobly offered to arrange for you to continue your journey, since. ..uh...”
“Since the Haverstocks didn’t want me there? Miss Imelda, she is not a nice person.” It was a statement more than a question. And she had to focus to get the words out, since she was still shimmering inside after hearing him call her lovely.
“No, Eugénie, she is not.”
“Why did you accept their invitation, then?” She cleared her throat. “Pardonnez-moi, that was an inappropriate question.”
Peter rolled his eyes. “I think, seeing as we’ve just staged a sort of kidnapping right out from beneath the noses of a large number of country personages, saying a question is inappropriate, is quite laughable.”
“Good point.” She grinned for a moment, then sighed. “What is to be done with me, Peter?”
He reached for her hand and raised it to his lips. “We’ll work out something, Eugénie. Trust me.”
She barely repressed a gasp of delight as he dropped a kiss on the back of her hand.
The carriage slowed to a halt and the front doors were thrown open in welcome. Eugénie took a deep breath and tried not to tremble as Peter helped her out of the carriage and led her into Northwick House and the memories it contained.