Chapter Five
THISTLEWAYTE HALL
After three days in bed with the fever she’d caught the day after seeing the piece about her debacle at Lady Duncan’s Ball in The Society Reporter, Eugenia’s fever had finally broken and she was well enough to drink a cup of tea and carry on a conversation, much to her mother’s delight.
She still did not yet feel up to leaving her room, but she was propped up on her pillows and sipping on a second cup of tea, savouring the cream and sugar mingled with the strong black tea, when someone knocked on her door.
Charlotte, who had been tending her day and night, covered her mouth to muffle a yawn before turning her gaze to Eugenia.
“Do you feel well enough for company right now, my Lady, or shall I ask whoever it is to come back later?”
Eugenia yawned, too, then set her teacup on the bedside table.
“You can let them in. I suppose I could use a real conversation to settle my nerves after spending so many days lost in strange, upsetting fever dreams.”
Charlotte rose with a wordless nod of agreement and strode over to open the door. The twins hovered in the hall just outside, both of them pale and wide-eyed, wringing their hands in unison.
“Does she feel well enough to see us?”
Millicent was pressing up on her tip-toes to peer over Charlotte’s shoulder at Eugenia. Eugenia raised a hand and waved weakly, then let her hand fall back into her lap. Her arm was heavy with fatigue, her joints still swollen and sore from her fever.
Charlotte stepped aside to allow the twins into Eugenia’s bedchamber, then closed the door behind them as they moved to the bed and perched on the edge of it on either side of their eldest sister.
Millicent patted Eugenia’s right hand gingerly, as if afraid that her sister was breakable in the same way that porcelain was breakable.
“How are you feeling?”
“I am glad to be awake, and carrying on a rational conversation, more than anything else.” Eugenia paused, suppressing another yawn.
“But I feel badly about giving poor Mama such a fright over my health, all because I was so wrapped up in my own emotions that I didn’t think to pay attention to my surroundings.
Had I only paid better attention to the weather, I might not have been caught out in the rain in the first place. ”
The twins both winced at that, and Eugenia’s gut twisted. She hadn’t meant to make them feel guilty about what had happened.
“We just wanted to tell you we’re sorry for showing you that piece in The Society Reporter,” Marjory murmured, her eyes downcast and a tear leaking down her cheek.
“We thought you deserved to know that they wrote something about you, but we didn’t mean for it to upset you so badly. If we’d known how deeply it would wound you, we never would have shown it to you.”
Millicent wrung her hands and met Eugenia’s gaze, revealing tears pooled in her blue eyes, as well.
“I suppose Matilda and Octavia were right, after all,” Marjory sniffled.
“No.” Eugenia held out a hand to each of the twins, beckoning them closer to her.
The twins took her hands, both crying softly.
“You were right. I did deserve to know what they wrote about me in The Society Reporter, no matter how upsetting the piece itself may have been. I just dread finding out what Lord D’Asti must think of the fools I made of us both with my little outburst. So — for once — Matilda and Octavia were wrong about what I might want or need.
Thank you for making me aware of the situation. ”
Marjory and Millicent both looked up, their mouths hanging open in shock at what Eugenia had just told them.
Eugenia knew, of course, that the twins were rarely given the credit they deserved because they were wild and spirited and terribly opinionated.
She hoped that it would make them feel better, and that they wouldn’t torture themselves too much for showing her the piece.
Marjory and Millicent took turns giving Eugenia gentle hugs and kisses on the cheek.
“We hope you feel better soon. If there is anything either of us can do for you, please do not hesitate to ask.”
Millicent brushed Eugenia’s hair back from her forehead.
“Are you—” Marjory’s voice faltered, and she had to clear her throat and start over. “Are you afraid that Lord D’Asti won’t want you now, because of what The Society Reporter wrote about you?”
“Honestly?” Eugenia cringed. “Yes. It wouldn’t be the first time a scandal sheet has ruined someone’s courtship.”
“Well, if he can be driven away by something as silly as a bit of speculation in an idiotic scandal sheet — which I fully intend never to read again, by the way — then he does not deserve you, sister.”
Millicent’s eyes blazed with barely-contained fury and Eugenia sat up, pulling her into a fierce hug.
“It is sweet of you to say so. I just wish that I knew how he felt about this whole mess, but I have no way of knowing. He is not in London, and I do not know where to write to him, if not to his townhouse. Even if I did send a letter there, there is no way of knowing how long it might be before he sees it. Just the thought of it is exhausting.”
Marjory reached across Eugenia’s bed to tug on Millicent’s hand.
“Speaking of exhaustion, Eugenia should rest. I am sure the fever took quite a lot out of her.” Marjory — the elder of the two twins by ten minutes — turned a sympathetic, understanding gaze on Eugenia, then, and offered her a small smile. “Rest will help you recover.”
Part of me wishes I could sleep forever and not wake up. At least in my sleep I don’t have to think about how badly I’ve ruined things for myself.
Eugenia offered the twins a weak, wavering smile and burrowed down under the covers, the exhaustion dragging her back down into a miasma of fitful sleep and unsettling dreams before the twins had even closed her door behind them.
ASHEWOOD HALL
A footman burst into Marco’s study, panting and wild-eyed.
“I think you had best come to see this, my Lord.”
Marco frowned, meeting the footman’s gaze.
“What’s the matter, Miles?”
The footman held up a finger, asking for a moment as he sucked in deep breaths, trying to gain enough air to speak again, his face red from exertion, leaving Marco to guess that he’d run a good distance to reach the study.
“The... the gatehouse, my Lord. Things were going well with the rebuilding. But… the new frame which was raised yesterday has been knocked down, the beams broken.”
“Sabotage?”
Marco asked the question through gritted teeth, and the footman nodded.
“Like I said, my Lord, I think you and Morgan had better come to see it.”
Sighing, Marco rose from behind his desk and pinched the bridge of his nose, where the beginnings of a headache was building.
“Thank you for letting me know. After you’ve had a moment to catch your breath, please go and find Mr. Morgan, and let him know to meet me down at the gatehouse, please.”
“Of course, my Lord.”
The footman bowed, and Marco strode out of his study and down the stairs to the entrance hall, tension knotting between his shoulder blades as he went.
I must work out who is doing this, and why, before things get worse for my staff, not to mention the villagers who depend on us for their living.
A footman opened the door for him, and Marco hurried down the front steps, setting out on the long walk down the drive to where the gatehouse was being rebuilt.
When he arrived at the gatehouse, or where it was supposed to be if they ever managed to rebuild it, Marco’s long strides stuttered to a stop and he clutched his stomach, feeling as if someone had punched him, knocking the wind out of him.
The house’s new frame was destroyed, the shattered beams lying scattered around the house’s foundation.
Marco was certain that he was going to cast up his accounts, sick at the sight of such brazen sabotage.
The villagers and staff who’d been working on rebuilding Ashewood’s gatehouse all stood in a semi-circle, staring at the wreckage with faces full of bewildered anger. Marco dragged in a deep, ragged breath and moved to join them.
“Do we have any idea, any clues to who’s doing this, or why?”
“No, my Lord,” one of the villagers answered, shaking his head sadly.
“Thank you for informing me of the setback.” Marco scrubbed a hand over his face as frustration boiled up within him.
“I’m so sorry this is happening, that someone has ruined all of your hard work.
It is my fault, I’m afraid. I’ve angered someone, and they’re taking it out on Ashewood as a way to punish me. I only wish that I knew who, or why.”
“I do not wish to make more trouble for you, Lord D’Asti, but there is something you should know.”
It was the same villager who’d answered him before, a Mr. Carter, if Marco wasn’t mistaken. The man wrung his hands, his expression pinched with distress. Marco took a deep, steadying breath and met the man’s gaze.
“What’s the matter?”
“I do not mean to make more trouble for you, but… These incidents haven’t been limited to the Ashewood Estate, Lord D’Asti.
There have been… issues in Ashewood Village, as well.
Fences have been knocked down and livestock turned loose in the night.
A few cottages have had windows or shutters smashed. ”
Marco swore softly, nausea and regret tying his gut in knots.
“I’m so sorry. I apologise to all of you, from the bottom of my heart. I will pay for the necessary repairs in the village, and I promise you, I will get to the bottom of who is doing this. I will put a stop to it. You have my word.”