Before anyone could answer her, Eugenia ran from the library, letting the balled-up scandal sheet fall to the floor in her wake.
Her departure achieved what few things ever could – all of her sisters stopped talking, and stared at each other in shock. The silence did not last long, of course, and soon, Millicent was berating Marjory for having given the paper to Eugenia.
Without looking back at her sisters, ignoring whatever they might now be speaking of, Eugenia hiked her skirt up and ranas if the devil himself was on her heels. Without consciously considering where she was going, she dashed out onto the back terrace which overlooked Thistlewayte Hall’s expansive gardens. Desperate to be away from her siblings, in fact, from all other living creatures, Eugenia fled, passing through the garden without so much as registering the artful, manicured beauty of it. Under a gloomy grey sky, she ran until her feet stumbled to a stop of their own accord at the edge of the river which separated Thistlewayte Grange from the Errington estate.
Glaring across at Lydia’s home in the distance, Eugenia let out a low, guttural growl of frustration, shaking her head. What on earth had possessed Lydia, who was supposed to be her friend, to say such an awful thing about the Count D’Asti? And worse, what had possessed Eugenia to defend him? She should have known better, should have just kept her mouth shut and ignored Lydia’s little barb. That would have been the sensible thing to do, but Eugenia had failed entirely when it came to being sensible, it seemed.
Hot tears stung her eyes and leaked down her cheeks, unchecked, as she sank down onto the grass of the riverbank and hugged her knees to her chest, crying in earnest.
She did not bother to stifle her sobs. No one was nearby enough to hear them, so Eugenia allowed herself to feel the full depth and breadth of her anguish. She sat there, ignoring the fact that she was most likely ruining her dress, and rocked as she sobbed, trying to get a grip on the despair which swept through her, threatening to overwhelm her entirely.
How could someone who had once been her friend embarrass her so cruelly?What did I do to make Lydia turn against me?Eugenia slumped back on the grassy riverbank then, lying on the flat of her back and staring up at the dark, churning cloudswhich now covered every inch of the sky as far as the eye could see. She heaved a sigh as she looked up at those ominous clouds, thinking that they perfectly reflected exactly how she felt in that moment.
Then she let her eyes fall closed, silent tears still leaking down her cheeks as she gave in to the utter and complete exhaustion which swept through her. She would just let her poor, aching eyes rest for a moment before she gathered the fortitude to return to the house.
Oh, what a terrible mistake that was. A rumbling peal of thunder pierced Eugenia’s senses and her eyes snapped open as she startled awake. How much time had passed? She had been a fool to just lie there, out in the open, under a dark, threatening sky, and let her overwrought emotions drag her into a fitful sleep, where Lord D’Asti alternately held her, and turned from her.
Well,Eugenia thought bitterly,if I was a fool, then that is certainly running true to form for me, of late.
Blue-white lightning flashed, and Eugenia winced, shielding her eyes for the eerily quiet moment between the flash of the lighting and the booming clap of thunder which followed. Cold, fat drops of rain began falling, and as Eugenia scrambled to her feet she muttered a string of quite unladylike curses, which would have made her mother faint, had she been there to hear them.
“Idiot.”
She scolded herself in angry tones as she lifted her skirts once again and set out back towards the house at an absolutely undignified run. Eugenia berated herself with every pounding footstep, and every bitterly cold drop of rain which slapped against her skin as she ran. The ground turned soft beneathher feet, squelching and sucking at her flimsy shoes. She paused, then, and pulled her shoes off, clutching them against her hiked-up skirt, thinking she’d be able to run faster in her stockinged feet than in those silly shoes which were already half-disintegrated by the rain and mud.
By the time Eugenia reached the terrace, cold mud had soaked through her stockings and chilled her feet, the driving rain had drenched her so badly that it almost looked as if she’d thrown herself into the river, and her teeth were chattering uncontrollably. Finally letting her skirts fall, Eugenia let herself in via the door she’d initially exited through, and stood dripping on the parquet floor of the empty ballroom.
Groaning, she paused to remove her muddy stockings, regretting that she had tracked mud into the house and was dripping water everywhere.
A housemaid poked her head into the ballroom at the sound of the door banging shut, and the girl let out a startled shriek at the sight of Eugenia, wretched and filthy, looking like something which had crawled out of a bog, no doubt. Several pairs of feet came running at the housemaid’s shriek, and the girl rushed to her side.
“Are you all right, Lady Eugenia? What happened?”
Eugenia was in no mood to admit to the house staff that her current state was the result of her own stupidity and nothing more, so she chose only to answer the former question while ignoring the latter.
“I’m f-f-fine.” Eugenia forced the words out through chattering teeth and crossed her arms, hugging her own torso in an effort to minimise her visible shivering. “I just need a bath and somefresh clothes, I’m sure. And I’m dreadfully sorry about the mess.”
The housekeeper, Mrs. Petty, pushed through the small crowd of housemaids and footmen, clucking like a mother hen.
“Don’t you worry about the mess, Lady Eugenia. Let’s just get you clean, warm, and dry before you catch your death of cold, shall we?”
CHAPTER THREE
ASHEWOOD HALL
Marco staredin open-mouthed horror at the pile of embers, ashes, and rubble which had once been Ashewood’s gatehouse. Mr. Stanley, the elderly gatekeeper, stood to his left, shaking and pale as a ghost.
“What happened? Are you all right?”
Marco’s voice sounded hoarse. His throat was tight with sadness and the weight of worry. Mr. Stanley shook his head.
“I heard the crash of a window breaking. That’s what woke me, my Lord. When I stepped out of my quarters to investigate, I spotted a torch just beneath the shattered window in the sitting room. The drapes had caught fire and were already blazing. I rushed out to the water pump to fill the bucket, but by the time I’d done that, the whole gatehouse was completely engulfed in flames, and there was nothing I could do against a blaze like that, with just one bucket and the water pump. I’m sorry, my Lord.”
Marco gently patted the gatekeeper on the shoulder, shaking his head.
“There is no need to apologise, Stanley. The gate house can be rebuilt. I am just grateful that the noise of the shattering window woke you, and that you made it out of the house alive. I would have been much aggrieved to lose such a hardworking, faithful member of my staff.”
“I’m much obliged to you for your kindness, my Lord. What shall we do while the gatehouse is being rebuilt?”
