Part Four
“Welcome home, sir. You are earlier than expected.” Lucas bowed correctly. “And you have brought a guest, I see?”
Not by a flicker of an eyelash did he display surprise at seeing his master accompanied by a strange maid who had no coat or winter garments.
“Indeed I have, Lucas. And we need Mrs Simmons’ help. Mademoiselle Eugénie requires a proper gown and other things, I’m sure.” He turned to her. “Our housekeeper, Mrs Simmons, is a woman of prodigious talents. She will have you outfitted in a trice, I know.”
“Thank you,” replied Eugénie quietly.
“Here she is now.”
A woman approached, appropriately dressed in a simple gown, her hair tidy, and a curious look on her face. “Welcome back, Sir Peter.” She looked at Eugénie. “How may I help you, Miss?”
“She needs...well, she needs just about everything, Simmie,” Peter smiled at the woman.
“As you can see, poor Eugénie has had to make do with a maid’s clothes up until now.
” He leaned closer to his housekeeper. “It seems that those at Blackfield Hall haven’t the faintest idea how to take care of their guests. ”
“Hah.” Mrs Simmons snorted. “I’m not surprised at that, sir, not at all. Those Haverstocks...” she shuddered. “Not a person of taste amongst ‘em.” She turned to Eugénie. “If you’d come with me, Miss Eugénie, I am sure we can see to your needs a lot better than those...people at Blackfield.”
Peter barely managed to hide his chuckle. “Go, Eugénie. You’ll feel much more comfortable in proper clothing. And warmer too, I’ll wager.”
“Very well,” she acquiesced. “It is very kind of you to take so much trouble.”
Simmie moved to her side. “Not at all. You are a guest of Sir Peter’s, and as such, you are a guest of Northwick House.” She gestured toward the staircase. “If you’ll come with me, I think I know where I can find some suitable garments. They may be a wee bit out of fashion, mind you,”
“Mrs Simmons, if they are clean, warm, and not black, I will be beside myself with delight. Absolument enchanté.” Eugénie smiled at the older woman. “Especially if there’s no apron attached.”
Peter couldn’t help his laugh. “I can well understand that. Trust me, you won’t be asked to clean the silver here.”
“Sir Peter,” Mrs Simmons was aghast. “No matter the clothing, surely it is easy to see that Miss Eugénie is anything but a servant.” She sniffed and beckoned the girl beside her. “I apologise for the inappropriate comment.”
“No need, Mrs Simmons. I am incredibly grateful for his assistance, and the welcome I’ve received here at Northwick. So perhaps I should change, and then Sir Peter will be less likely to think of me as a humble maidservant.”
“Of course, of course. Come along then.” Shooting a scornful glance in Peter’s direction, Simmie led Eugénie up the stairs.
“Hmph,” snorted Peter. “Nothing humble about that maidservant, I can assure you.”
“You do realise she’s no servant, sir?” Lucas raised an eyebrow at his master.
“I don’t know what she is, to be honest.”
Having given his outer garments to a footman, he turned and followed Lucas into the parlour, where a nice fire had warmed the room.
He sighed and held his hands to the blaze. “There’s something familiar about her, Lucas. Certainly I despised the way she was treated by Imelda Haverstock. If I ever caught anyone kicking a maid in my house? Well, I can’t even imagine.”
His butler frowned. “Kicking? A maid? That is inexcusable, indeed, sir. But given their reputation, not completely unexpected from the Haverstocks.”
“Well, I suppose I paid them back by kidnapping Eugénie.”
Lucas didn’t bat an eyelash. “Very clever of you, sir. And completely the right thing to do, under the circumstances.”
“I thought so.” Peter wandered to a window and stared out. “Still snowing a bit. She’s something out of the ordinary, Lucas. And I don’t know what yet, but I will find out.”
Lucas eyed his master, and a slight smile crossed his face. “I’m sure you will, sir.”
“Damn, it’s a brutally cold night. Why the hell I decided to go to Blackfield Hall, I have no idea.” He sighed. “But all things considered, I’m glad I did.”
“There was no mention of Sir Stephen, then?”
“None at all, Lucas. Which was a huge relief, I might add. Although, come to think of it, I really didn’t have chance to converse with too many of the guests or the Haverstocks themselves.
Except Imelda Haverstock. God, that woman is a limpet.
She trapped me for every single dance up to dinner time, when I managed to escape.
” He heaved a breath and blew it out in relief.
“And that’s when Eugénie found me. Or ran into me. She was trying to find a place to hide, Lucas. Terrified. And there was something about her...” He shook his head. “Simmie was right. You can see, immediately, that she’s no maidservant. But apparently the Haverstocks aren’t as observant.”
“They are not known for their perspicacity, sir.”
Peter grinned. “Nicely put. Anyway, after talking to Eugénie, what else could I do but remove her from those dreadful people? If a perceived mistake with pins and frills got her a kicking, God only knows what other punishments she might have endured.”
“And no idea as to her real identity?”
“Not yet.” Peter’s eyes narrowed. “But I shall find out, Lucas, never fear. I think a decent meal, a small brandy, and a large fire should do the trick.”
“For you as well?”
“Since I missed whatever the Haverstocks were offering their guests, and it was a damn cold ride home, then yes. Me too.”
“I shall see to it immediately,” said Lucas with a bow.
And he was as good as his word.
Within the hour, a table for two was set near the warm fire, holding a light meal ready to be served, and a small decanter of brandy rested on the mantlepiece for the diners at the conclusion of their meal.
Peter, who had changed into his less formal and more comfortable breeches and jacket, sighed with pleasure as he toasted his backside in front of the fire.
It was good to be home, surrounded by familiar things, and people he trusted and cared about – they were his family in every sense of the word, and he never forgot how blessed he was.
Then Eugénie walked slowly into the room. And Peter forgot everything, including his own name.
“Hullo.” She gave him a small, nervous smile. “I feel...strange. Grateful down to my toes, but it’s so odd to be wearing something other than a rough maid’s uniform.”
“And no apron,” he breathed.
“No apron.” She nodded.
“I – you –” he stuttered, apparently having difficulty putting more than three words together at a time.
“I know,” she sighed. “I hardly recognised myself either.” Her hands drifted down to the rich green velvet gown and stroked the soft wool wrap that surrounded her shoulders. Her hair had been brushed to a shine and pulled up behind her head by ribbons that matched the gown.
But what had pleased her most was the fact that she wore a colour that brought out the fascinating shades of green and blue in her eyes.
She’d looked in the glass and found herself fighting tears.
She saw a woman she thought had been lost forever.
It touched her heart to discover she had been wrong.
The silence between them shimmered, as if neither dared to take that first step down a path they both had trodden.
Walking to Peter’s side, she stood beside him, her hands outstretched to the fire. “I cannot find the words to thank you. And Mrs Simmons. And everyone...all so kind to me, Sir Peter. I’m humbled by everyone’s attentions.”
“You should never have been at Blackfield Hall, Eugénie. Never. Especially not as a maid.” He shook his head. “I must know your story, and we both must eat, so perhaps we could talk over our meal?”
He drew out her chair, and she allowed him to seat her. “This looks...magnificent, sir.”
He paused and stared at her. “My name is Peter,” he announced firmly. “Please continue using it. I intend to call you Eugénie, even if it turns out that you’re related to anyone and everyone at Carlton House.”
She laughed as she helped herself to warm bread and what looked like a magnificent pie. “I’m not, truly.” Then she paused and wrinkle her nose. “Well, perhaps distantly. On my aunt’s side of the family.”
Peter paused and took a sip of the wine next to him.
“Eugénie, what is your surname? Please? You know you’re safe now.
There’s no need for secrets here. Besides,” he put his glass down carefully, “the first moment I saw you, I recognised you. I don’t know how, but I could swear I’ve seen you before. ”
Taking her time, she chewed and finished a mouthful of pie and then echoed his move by sipping her own wine. It was all, as she would have expected, delicious, and made her sigh, even as she smiled at his words.
“I do not know if you have seen me before,” she lied, “but it is possible you may have seen my mother.”
He blinked. “Your mother?”
“Yes. I’m told there is a remarkable resemblance. I never really saw it, except for the eyes, but it always pleased me to think I might be somewhere near as beautiful as she was.”
“I’m sorry,” Peter said quietly. “She is no longer with us?”
“No,” replied Eugénie. “She succumbed to a fever.”
“My sympathies,” he answered. “A tragic loss indeed.”
She nodded. “My papa is still alive, though.”
“You have brothers and sisters?”
“Just one brother, Paul. Older than myself.”
“Does he know you’re here? Or, I should ask,” Peter caught himself up, “did he know you were a maid at Blackfield Hall?”
“No. No, absolutely not. He’s...well, I’m not sure where he and Papa are right now, to be quite honest.”
Silence fell for a few moments as both continued to enjoy the meal. Eugénie was warm, dressed in real clothes, and relaxed for the first time in many months.
Leaning back in her chair and sipping once more at the wine, she sighed, a deep breath that released the last of her fears.
She was safe, warm, and well-fed, with a handsome man looking at her across the table. He had given her safety. She owed him the truth.
It was time.
“My name is Eugénie Lynton-Dessier.”