Chapter 15
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Marco was so overcome with emotion at Lady Eugenia’s generosity in gifting him the portrait of his mother that he was quiet, retreating inside himself for the majority of the drive back to Bellingham Park.
However, when they were almost there, a snatch of the conversation between Lady Eugenia and Lord and Lady Seabury caught his attention.
“I must admit that I’m surprised that Grandfather left me an art collection.
” Eugenia chuckled, shaking her head. “And I have no idea what it might be worth, though I imagine it’s quite a lot because Grandfather was adamant about providing well and fairly for each and every one of his grandchildren. ”
His interest captured, Lord D’Asti leaned forward, curiosity getting the better of him.
“Why is it surprising that he chose to leave you an art collection?”
Lady Eugenia chuckled, and he thought that her cheeks might have reddened a bit, though it could have just been a trick of the late afternoon light, he supposed. She looked down at her hands in her lap, loose strands of her golden hair falling around her face and obscuring her eyes.
“Well… I’ve always preferred literature and the written word to art or music.
” Her cheeks definitely reddened at that admission, and she gave a soft, self-deprecating laugh.
“I had rather hoped that he might leave me a spectacular library. But he was always trying to convince me that art has just as much merit as the written word, so I should probably have expected him to leave me paintings, still trying to teach me something about his passion for art, even in death, I suppose.”
Marco cocked his head, studying her with raised brows.
“You don’t like art?”
“That’s not what I said, at least not exactly.
” She looked as if she was resisting the urge to wag a finger at him.
“I like art — and music as well, just for the record — as well as anybody. I enjoy them, but they don’t inspire passionate feeling in me in the same way that the written, or even spoken, word does.
So, to answer your question, yes, I like art, but I love books. ”
“That… makes sense I suppose.” Marco sat back and ran a hand through his hair. “I must confess that I feel similarly, except that art is where my passion lies, because my dearly departed mother loved it so much, and it makes me feel closer to her, God rest her soul.”
Lady Eugenia’s gaze was warm as she regarded him from across the carriage. Her gloved fingers fluttered, as if she might be trying to sort through a myriad of thoughts all at once. Her dark eyes were breathtakingly direct as she licked her lips and started to speak.
“I can tell that you loved her very much.” Lady Eugenia dropped her gaze and clasped her hands in her lap, then, speaking more to herself than to him. “She was lucky to have you.”
Was that longing which crossed Lady Eugenia’s face? Did she still have feelings for him, despite her curtness about Lady Duncan’s Ball? Was there a chance for them still, or was he doomed to marry a perfectly nice young lady whom he dreaded seeing, because he could not possibly ever love her?
BELLINGHAM PARK
The next morning, Marco was on his way to take a turn about the garden to clear his head, intending to pay Lady Eugenia quite an important visit afterward — when he heard something clatter around the corner.
“You stupid, utterly incompetent fool!”
A shrill, condescending young lady screamed the admonition at the top of her lungs.
Marco peeked around the corner to see Miss Errington berating a poor maid who’d had the audacity to drop something where Miss Errington was trying to walk.
Marco sighed deeply. Why was Miss Errington being so cruel?
There was no reason to humiliate the poor girl.
The entire situation had obviously been an accident.
Marco stepped around the corner and cleared his throat to make Miss Errington aware that he was there.
He watched with little surprise — and quite a lot of distaste — as Miss Errington went from a screaming shrew to a deceptively pleasant young lady, the moment that she realised she was being watched.
“How are you this fine morning, Lord D’Asti?”
Miss Errington’s voice dripped with over-sweetness. Marco had to force himself not to shudder with repulsion.
“I am well, Miss Errington. May I escort you to the breakfast room?”
As Marco offered Miss Errington his arm, the poor maid shot him a look of thanks and he winked at her.
He then walked Miss Errington to the breakfast room, feeling as if he had made a supreme sacrifice, given that she nearly made him want to cast up his accounts with her sugary praise and empty sentiments, ones which she certainly didn’t espouse when she thought that no one else was looking.
Sitting beside her for the entirety of breakfast was pure torture.
He looked around, keeping his glances surreptitious as he searched for Lady Eugenia, but had no luck spotting her.
Finally, Marco attempted to escape, claiming that he needed to speak with Lord Seabury.
Still, Miss Errington followed him like a hound on a scent until he saw that rather abrasive fellow, Lord Greywood, waving to the young lady from across the room.
He might have felt a moment of sympathetic pain for the poor chap, except that Lord Greywood had been wholly unpleasant to Marco ever since they’d arrived, not to mention having been the one who had paid the Seward brothers to damage Marco’s property.
That was an act which Greywood would pay for, in good time.
Marco pushed aside all thought of Greywood and focused on the relief in escaping Miss Errington’s company, even as he slipped away, out through a side door which opened onto Bellingham Park’s gardens.
He turned towards the sweet scent of the formal gardens and spotted Lady Eugenia sitting by herself, looking quite lost in the book which she cradled in her hands.
Still reading intently, she rose to move without ever taking her eye off the book in her hands and ran into a poor maid who was bringing her tea.
It was the same maid who had recently been berated by Miss Errington, and the poor thing was visibly trembling and terrified.
Lady Eugenia did not yell. Instead, she gently bent to help the girl pick up the tea tray and all of its spilled contents.
She comforted the girl, even though her own dress was covered in tea and most likely ruined.
As Marco watched her from the cover of an arbour, it was obvious that Lady Eugenia had dismissed any thought of herself or her dress.
Instead, she focused on the maid, asking repeatedly if she was all right, and checking to make sure that the girl had not been burned by the hot tea.
If it was possible, in that moment, Marco fell even more in love with Lady Eugenia.
Now he saw, very clearly, that her beauty was not only on the outside.
Marco knew then that his heart had already made its decision, but he would have to find some way to let Lady Catherine Stewart down easily.
Not that he had made specific overtures to her, but he knew that she had interpreted his kindness as being something more…
The only world in which he would marry Lady Catherine would be a world where Lady Eugenia rejected him, and he could not imagine that happening, not after the way she’d looked at him on their little adventure sneaking away from the house party for a few hours the day before.
Lydia walked down the hall, well pleased with herself for having given snotty Eugenia a taste of her own medicine.
Lydia dreamed of Eugenia having to watch her beloved Lord D’Asti walk down the aisle with someone else - Lady Catherine Stewart, more likely than not.
It wasn’t as if Lydia wanted the all-but-bankrupt Italian Count for herself.
No, that wouldn’t do at all. Her father had told her, in no uncertain terms, after all, that she needed to win herself a filthy rich husband in the coming Season — her last Season — if they were to turn their fortunes around.
If there was any justice in the world, Lydia would be the one to marry first. After all, she truly needed a husband to save her family from ruin at the hands of her fool mother’s gambling habit.
Lady Eugenia had no desperate need to marry, she only wanted a husband — a love match, of all things — and the very idea of Lady Eugenia Calthorpe, the Duke’s daughter with the perfectly charmed life, getting to live happily ever after with the man her heart desired was both absurd and wholly offensive to Lydia’s sensibilities.
She sneered, balling her hands into tight fists to resist the urge to pull her hair out at the thought of Eugenia finding happiness when Lydia herself was not happy now, and most likely would not ever be so.
Lydia Errington could not afford to concern herself with things like love and happiness when she had ambitions to see through.