Part Five
Peter blinked. “What?”
“My name is Eugénie Lynton-Dessier,” she repeated.
“No, I mean...yes...what?”
He was being an idiot, a complete idiot. But her words, her announcement of who she was, had astounded him, shocked him, and damn near blown him out of his boots.
“You are...”
“Yes. I am. Eugénie Lynton-Dessier,” she repeated patiently.
“Daughter of Arnaud Dessier, the banking Marquis?”
“And daughter of Annabelle Lynton, second child of the Duke and Duchess of Lynton-Staveley.”
“That’s where I saw you...I recognised you.” The scent of candlewax returned to him in a rush.
“I beg your pardon?” She frowned at him.
“Your mother. I saw her once at a ball in London. God, she was magnificent. And you have her eyes.”
A smile creased her lips. “She would be so happy to hear your praise, Peter. And yes, I’m so very proud that I have her eyes.”
“Your parents...they are still with us?” He asked the question quietly, in case her answer might upset her.
But he was relieved to see her smile. “They are, yes. I’m happy to say that they are here in England. But where? That is a mystery at the moment.”
He leaned back in his chair and toyed with his wine. “That is good news indeed. But...”
She raised her hand. “I know. You don’t need to ask. What was I doing as a maid at Blackfield Hall?”
He swallowed, knowing he had to ask a difficult question. “Was my brother Stephen involved?”
She sighed and folded her napkin. “I see there is brandy. Perhaps this conversation would be easier were we to enjoy a little while we talk?”
“An excellent idea,” he nodded.
Leaving the meal behind, both Peter and Eugénie walked to the chairs placed near the fire. While she settled herself comfortably, he poured some of the warm golden liquor into the heavy glasses waiting beside it.
“Thank you.” She accepted the glass, swirled it a little, and took a sip. “Lovely,” she breathed. “It has been quite some time since I enjoyed as fine a brandy as this.”
“I doubt it was served to the servants at Blackfield.”
She grinned. “And you’d be correct. Mind you, I’ll wager many of them had a wee sip now and again when nobody was looking.”
“I wouldn’t take that bet,” he chuckled. “But now you must tell me how all this happened.” He sobered. “And how my brother was involved.”
“You were close to him, of course?”
“When we were boys, yes. Yes, of course. Since there wasn’t even a year between us, we shared the same interests at the same time throughout most of our youth.
” He smiled then, staring at the fire, but seeing himself and Stephen scrambling in the woods, climbing trees, running from old Jack’s bull in the nearby field, scrumping apples and pears. ..
“You grew up together?”
Eugénie’s question recalled him to the present, and he nodded again. “Yes, until Stephen went to Westminster, and I went to Eton.”
“You separated, then?”
He nodded. “Our parents wanted us to mature at our own pace, not trying to match each other. Which was probably a good idea, since Stephen couldn’t wait to go to London, and I wasn’t so keen.”
“Did that decision work out for both of you?”
Peter was silent for a moment or two, gazing at the fire as memories flooded his mind. “I suppose so. For myself, Eton was the right decision. I doubt I could have stood the life in town that Westminster boys had.”
“Oh,” she answered. “But they are both excellent schools, are they not?”
“Yes, indeed. However, any education is only as good as what the student puts into it. I liked learning. Stephen...well, he was happier having fun.” He closed his eyes for a moment or two.
“London was right there, all the delights and dangers were right there. And Stephen was hungry to taste them all.”
“So while you were studying diligently, your brother was...sowing wild oats, shall we say?”
Peter shot her a quick smile. “I was no saint, just to be clear. Young boys learning how to be men can get into more trouble than you can imagine.”
She nodded and smiled back. “That I believe.”
“But my brother...” He paused, knowing this would be painful for him. “Stephen found himself enamoured of town life. Even at his young age, he began to frequent places that should not have admitted him.”
“Gaming houses?”
“Yes,” nodded Peter. “Amongst other things. And although he professed a love and a skill for the cards, the dice, whatever the game was – he inevitably ended up losing.”
Eugénie nodded and sighed softly. “’Tis not an unusual story, Peter. There are many who fell victim to the carefully orchestrated lures of London’s night life.”
“I suppose you’re right,” he acknowledged. “But when it is one’s brother, elder brother at that, and also heir to the title and all the other things? Well, there you have the makings of a disaster just waiting for the right person.”
“And I would guess, it happened?”
“Yes.”
The answer was abrupt, but Peter sensed that no further descriptions were necessary. Eugénie understood.
“I’m sorry,” she said quietly. “The Stephen Northwick I met was charming and full of life. But looking back? I can see how easy it would have been for him to walk into that trap.”
Peter looked at her. “So, your turn. Tell me about Dieppe, Eugénie. I wasn’t aware that my brother had ever gone to France, so your words came as a surprise.”
“I’m not sure where to start...”
She thought for a few moments, organising her thoughts, wanting to be clear on events, but, if possible, to spare Peter distress.
“Tell me from the beginning, Eugénie. It’s all right, really. I learned what my brother had become a while ago. He’s in the Colonies, by the way. He will not return.”
“Really?” That surprised her. “You and your family must have been extraordinarily determined on your course of action to have effected such an outcome.”
“We were. But this isn’t our story, it’s yours.”
“True. Well,” she leaned back and stared into the fire.
“My parents and I were in Dieppe. Like so many others we were hoping to book passage out of France. The crowds were...” she grimaced.
“Let’s just say we weren’t’ alone in our desire to leave.
Papa had to keep a low-profile, since there were people in high places who would have prevented him from going anywhere had they been aware of our plans. ”
“I can well imagine,” Peter nodded. “The French banking situation has been erratic over these past few years, to say the least.”
“Indeed,” she agreed. “I think we were all surprised at the chaos, but shortly after we arrived and found rooms in a rather crowded inn, my father said he’d met an Englishman who could help us. It was your brother, the then-Sir Stephen Northwick.”
“I wonder what he was doing in France?” frowned Peter.
“We lost touch with each other over the years, and with all his money troubles, Stephen seldom actually appeared at home in person.” His mouth crinkled into a moue of distaste.
“By that time, we knew of his reputation, and he made a point to avoid us whenever possible.”
“I cannot answer that, I’m afraid.” Eugénie sighed. “I only know that he presented himself to us as the answer to our woes. He was so easy to believe, Peter. A sunny smile, an open and pleasant manner – he was very appealing, to say the least.”
“Let me guess,” answered Peter. “He promised to obtain you all passage to England, for a certain sum of money?”
Eugénie sipped her brandy, knowing she would hurt this man who had helped her so much without even knowing her name. But she could not lie, not even to him. “Yes, I’m afraid so.”
Peter closed his eyes for a few moments, leaning back against the chair.
“He told us to trust him. That no harm would come to us, and that he would see to everything.”
“Go on.”
“He was so charming, Peter. So sincere.”
“He took your money and ran, did he?”
The question was asked in a cool voice, and Eugénie found herself wishing she could cross the small space between their chairs and hold him for a few moments. He had to be bleeding inside, and she hated being the one causing the wounds.
“He took our money, yes. And we did not see him for almost a week. Luckily, we had enough to survive, but it was a frightening time as the news of the war got worse and worse.” She sighed then, remembering her own fears, but pushed them aside, determined to finish her tale.
“Eventually, your brother returned, and he had four tickets with him. Four passages to Newhaven.”
“Really?” Peter’s eyebrows rose. “I am surprised.”
“So were we, I admit. However there was a catch. The tickets were not for one of the ferries that sailed that route as regularly as they could, but on another boat, a sailing ship, with a crew that was...somewhat unusual.”
“Good grief,” muttered Peter. “A smuggler’s boat, I’ll wager.”
She nodded. “It was, indeed. One look at the crew and it was as clear as day. But...” she shrugged. “We had to leave. There were rumours of bands of soldiers moving along the coastline, so we barely had chance to pay our shot at the inn before we were whisked aboard and stuffed below deck.”
“Dear Lord,” whispered Peter.
“We didn’t use our real names, of course.
Not that the crew would have recognised them anyway, but we wanted to be safe.
Sir Stephen was protective, making sure we were kept below decks, out of sight.
It was a long voyage, Peter. It seemed like weeks, and the weather was appalling, I know the boat turned around a couple of times as if blown off course, and the storms seemed to go on forever. ”
“How horrid for you. I’m so sorry, Eugénie...”
She could hear his anger and pain in his voice. “Well, at last, of course, we landed. But not at Newhaven.” She shook her head. “By that time we knew there was something wrong, but at least we had made it to England.”
“There was nobody waiting for you? No one expecting your arrival?”
“No, nobody. My parents could not tell anyone at all they were leaving France, and to be honest, I’m not sure there were people here on the coast who would have taken us in.”