Chapter 10 #2
Luna hesitated. Then, angling her knees to one side, she rested her weight on her hip, her feet curled under her, her weight supported on one hand. “I saw your mother in the narthex,” she said.
“You did?” Eugenia looked shifty. “What was she doing?”
“Having words with your father.”
“Poor old dad.”
“Yes. I thought so too.” Luna smoothed out the front of her bib apron with one hand. “There’s a bit of a do out there. Everyone’s worried about you.”
“No, they’re not.”
These words were uttered with such bitterness, it took Luna aback. “What do you mean?” she pressed gently.
“They’re not worried about me,” Eugenia said.
“Mother’s worried about what people will think.
Dad’s worried about the expense and about how quickly he can get away from Mother.
Miss Tuttlemouse is worried about her chances in Society if she couldn’t manage to catch a husband before a little nobody like me.
Miss Robinwell, is worried about how her complexion looks in purple, and the rest of the girls are only worried about which groomsmen they can most likely snag for a snog at the reception. ”
For all Miss Eugenia was very young, she was not without insight. Her time spent as a wallflower had developed in her a certain degree of perception.
“What about the duke?” Luna queried.
Eugenia sighed. “He’s worried about my inheritance.”
Luna bit her lip. She’d hoped for better things from the Duke of Woolfwood.
He already possessed a fortune of his own, but that never seemed to stop a fellow from wanting to amass more fortune when opportunity arose.
And fortunes such as that which had been bestowed upon Miss Eugenia would turn even the sweetest-tempered man into an opportunist.
“What about Tom?” Luna asked softly.
Tears brimmed in Eugenia’s little eyes. One slipped free to fall from the end of her nose and plop into her tea dregs. “Tom kissed Miss Tuttlemouse.”
“What?”
“Yes. Cordelia Gillspenser told me. It was at the Kempworth’s masquerade ball. He claimed afterwards that he thought it was me behind that butterfly domino, but . . . well, no one is going to mistake Miss Tuttlemouse and all her Miss-Tuttlemouse-ishness for me, domino or no domino.”
Luna frowned. She’d glimpsed a young woman of rare beauty and stunning proportions out in the narthex, smacking one of the groomsmen over the head with her nice peony bouquet, and wondered briefly if she might be the famous Society Darling.
Miss Eugenia was right if so—they were not of a type to be mistaken for one another.
It would take a lot more than a mask to pull that one off. More like a miracle.
“Is that why you agreed to marry the duke so quickly?” Luna pressed. “To punish Tom?”
“It was the best I could come up with on short notice.” Her eyes flashed. “He’s absolutely desperate, you know, watching all Uncle Snodbody’s millions slip through his fingers!” For a moment, she looked downright gleeful.
Luna’s brow puckered. “But you will be married, Miss Lambert. Isn’t that rather a permanent sort of situation in which to find yourself?”
“Yes, well, that idea occurred to me rather suddenly when they started playing the processional.” Eugenia gestured with one gloved hand around at the broom closet. “Which is why you find me here, Miss Witch.”
“But you know you can’t stay here forever.”
In lieu of an answer, Eugenia merely wiggled her posterior a little more firmly into the cloudlike poof around her, a silent declaration of intent to sprout roots.
Luna chewed the inside of her cheek, considering. Then: “Do you remember when last we spoke, Miss Lambert? When we talked about waiting?”
“Oh, I just knew you were going to bring that up!” Eugenia growled and took another gulp of tepid tea. “Here’s the thing: waiting is the worst. I want my life to happen. I don’t want to stand by and watch other people’s lives forever!”
“I can understand that,” Luna answered meekly. “But does life necessarily have to equal marriage?”
“What else is there?” Eugenia huffed. “I’m not one of those clever or talented women, who can go devoting themselves to some art or cause. It would be nice if I were, but I’m not.”
“What do you like, Miss Lambert?”
“Well, I quite liked having two beaus fighting over me. That is, until . . .”
“Until you didn’t anymore.”
Another sniff. Followed by another teardrop into the teacup.
“Perhaps,” Luna said, taking care to be cautious here, as she could sense she was on brittle ground, “you simply haven’t found your calling yet, Miss Lambert. That doesn’t mean you don’t have one.”
“Well, it’s a bit late now, isn’t it?” Eugenia sighed and rolled her eyes, looking very like her father in that moment. “Bertrum—the duke, you know—wants babies before the year’s out.”
“Babies plural?”
“Twins run in his family.”
“Green Mother save us!”
Eugenia grimaced. “I know, right?”
“I mean . . .” Luna blinked, frowning slightly. “That would be lovely, if . . . if you want them. Do you?”
“I don’t much care for babies.”
“Perhaps you’d like your own better than others?”
“That’s always the hope, isn’t it?” Eugenia swirled the dregs in her cup. “Didn’t work out so well for Mother. She never did like me.”
The simplicity of that painful statement was enough to bring tears to Luna’s eyes.
Her heart ached at the aura of quiet desperation emanating from this poor, young, foolish child.
She knew she didn’t have any gifts or magic powerful enough to change Eugenia’s fate, but surely she could offer something.
“Miss Lambert, will you let me read your tea leaves?”
Eugenia glanced up at her suspiciously. “Why?”
Luna bit her lip. The last time she’d read for this young woman, the Double Jeopardy image generated to her Sight had made it nearly impossible to determine what advice to give.
But things were different now. Surely one future must dominate over the other.
“I might be able to help you make your decision.”
“What decision?”
“About whether or not you’re ever going to leave this broom closet for one thing.”
“I don’t think I am. I’m happy here.”
“Your bum will get sore eventually. And, you know, there will be other calls of nature.”