“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 deceptivelypleasant 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 slippedaway, 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.
Besides,Lydia reasoned with herself,once Eugenia marries, she probably will not appreciate her husband, just like Eugenia takes everything else in her disgustingly easy life for granted.Lydia was in the middle of justifying her actions to herself when she stopped, very nearly tripping over her own feet. Her mouthhung open at the sight before her. The hall window perfectly framed the picture of Lord D’Asti and Eugenia walking through the gardens, arm in arm. They were laughing and leaning their heads together in an intimate show of their closeness, with Lord and Lady Seabury quite close behind, carefully chaperoning them. Lydia’s head almost burned, she was so angry. Her temples throbbed painfully, and she pressed her fingers against them in a wasted effort to massage the pain away. Everything she had done to separate them, hoping to coax them into hating each other with that little manipulation at Lady Duncan’s Ball, and yet they were still drawn to each other like moths to the flame. No, this would not do at all. Eugenia did not deserve happiness or love. The girl had apparently been born under a blessed star, and almost anything a body could want was already hers. Why should she get to have love, as well?
Lydia stamped her foot in anger and muttered to herself.
“We’ll see about this.”
She stormed away with swift, angry steps, bitterness in her heart, and a burning purpose in her soul to see Lady Eugenia and Lord D’Asti separated forever. She would seek out the insufferable but easily manipulated Lady Rosebury, and then perhaps she’d find Lord Greywood, too. Lydia Errington had a new idea. Her anger faded as she strode off in search ofThe Society Reporter’s most avid informant and, afterward, Lord D’Asti’s all-too-malleable nemesis. A broad, positively lupine smile spread across her face as she congratulated herself for her new burst of cleverness. Lydia saw Lady Rosebury — fat and happy as ever — sitting at a table in the sun, scribbling away in her little notebook. She told everyone that she was keeping a journal, but Lydia knew better. She knew the truth. LadyRosebury was perceptive and ravenous for gossip, gossip which she gladly fed toThe Society Reporterfor printing.
“Lady Rosebury, how are you this fine morning?”
Lydia purred the question like a woman who knew she had the upper hand, despite the fact that she was young and unmarried, and Lady Rosebury was a married and well-connected Marchioness. The smile twisting Lydia’s full, pink lips was reminiscent of a cat poised to pounce on, and eat, a canary. Lady Rosebury eyed Lydia cautiously, but forced her expression into an easy smile.
“I am well my dear, perfectly well. How may I help you?”
There was no need for pleasantries, the Marchioness knew. Miss Lydia Errington never bothered to speak to her unless she wanted something.
“Well, now that you ask.” Lydia sat down, smoothing invisible wrinkles from her skirt in a well-practiced, ladylike fashion. “I need you to continue what you started with that beautifully scathing, incisive set of observations you sent toThe Society Reporterafter Lady Duncan’s Ball. There is obviously more that could be written about—” Lydia paused then and looked around, assuring herself that they were alone and could not be overheard, she continued, still cautious, “—the ones we spoke of before.”
Lady Rosebury looked the younger Lydia in the eyes, her expression hard and unwavering.
“What makes you think that I sent anything to that scandal sheet? Really, such accusations….”
