Just as she talked herself into celebrating the natural end of their friendship, she found herself curled in a ball again, tears soaking into the sheet.
The truth was that she loved him just as much as she’d loved Andrew. And wasn’t that damnable? She had lost them both. By dawn, her throat ached and her eyes were swollen.
Sleep was impossible and there wasn’t any point to lying wretchedly in bed. She got up and went over to the window.
The lawn stretched down to the lake, where little tendrils of steam rose from the surface. It looked irresistible.
Clothilde entered with a gentle knock just as Eugenia was pulling on her borrowed breeches.
“I’ve decided to have a last dip in the lake before we leave,” Eugenia said, not even trying to conceal her swollen eyes. Gumwater had undoubtedly been at the drawing room door last night, eavesdropping on every word she and Ward exchanged and reporting them to the household with relish.
“I shall finish packing your trunk,” Clothilde said, adding, “Reeve is a connard, madame, and we are well rid of this house.”
Eugenia pulled on her slippers and made her way down the hill to the water, trying not to slip on the dewy grass. When she reached the shore of the lake, she took a deep breath and looked around with mixed emotions. The woods across the small lake were dreamy, soft green in this light. Birds were waking, calling to each other.
No matter the grief with which their love affair had ended, in teaching her to enjoy water, Ward had given her a gift beyond value. She toed off her slippers and placed them neatly on the shingle along with a length of toweling.
She was determined to go into the lake alone—and furthermore, to put her head under water.
In the end, it wasn’t even difficult. She steeled herself and waded into the water, flinching at the chill against her legs, gasping when it covered her breasts. She took a deep breath and bent forward, and water flowed like a benediction over her burning eyes . . . and she was floating.
Face down, the way the children did.
She thrashed a bit, got water in her mouth, and turned over, floating on her back. The sky was pale, pale blue and far away. She remembered the faint reassuring pressure of Ward’s hands as he held her up, but she didn’t need him.
She could float by herself.
She could find a husband as well. She sent thanks into the air, thanks and a farewell to Andrew.
Another farewell.
She made little waving motions with her hands, the way that Ward had taught her. Her hair worked itself free of its loose braid and spread around her in the water, making her feel like a mermaid.
The cool soothed her eyes and she tried turning over again and floating on her face, but only for a minute. She had done it. That was enough for now.
Her feet found the bottom and she ducked down to slick back her hair and return to the shore, but stopped in surprise.
“Mrs. Snowe,” Otis called, “I hope you don’t mind that I came down to the water. Jarvis wanted to say goodbye.”
He was sitting on the big rock, arms wrapped around his knees. Jarvis was next to him, belly up, enjoying the sunshine.
Eugenia walked toward the shore until the water was lapping just above her breasts. “I am happy to see you, Otis. I do hope you’ll visit me in London.”
He looked down and gave Jarvis’s stomach a scratch. “I thought perhaps you would visit me at Eton.”
“I shall,” she promised. “I shall send hampers full of lovely things for you and Marmaduke.”
“If I share rooms with him,” Otis said. “I might be put with some other boy.” His hand closed on Jarvis and the sleepy rat squeaked in protest and woke up, struggling free.
“I shall make certain you are placed with Marmaduke,” Eugenia promised. “One of the school’s governors is a close friend of my father’s.”
“Lizzie said that the bishop was one of your father’s friends as well.”
“Yes, he is. Are you worried that Jarvis will fall off?” The rat was exploring the side of the rock that led to deep water, the side where she and the children were forbidden to swim.
“Oh no,” Otis said. “Jarvis knows better. He never jumps if he might hurt himself. Is your father acquainted with everyone important?”
“He’s a marquis, and the peerage is small. As you will learn yourself, Otis, once you grow up.”
“A marquis is better than a lord, isn’t he?”
“It’s not a question of better than,” Eugenia said. “It’s—”
She heard a splash, and Otis’s shriek cut off her reply. “Jarvis! Jarvis fell in!”
“Don’t worry,” Eugenia said, pushing through the water toward the rock.
“I’m coming, Jarvis!” Otis shrieked, throwing himself from the rock into the dark water on the far side.
Eugenia uttered a low curse, put her face in the water, and kicked. She moved her arms and legs the way she’d seen Ward do. Within a minute, to her surprise, she was on the other side of the rock.
Otis was thrashing in the water; he hadn’t gone under, thank goodness. When she saw him, she stopped kicking and promptly sank. Water filled her mouth and she plummeted into colder water.
Terror seized her and reverberated to her fingers and toes like a lightning bolt.
No! Otis needed her. She fought her way back to the surface.
She emerged sputtering and choking. Otis was still crying and thrashing in a circle, sending plumes of water in every direction. There was no sign of Jarvis.
Eugenia’s heart fell. She shouted, “Otis, please be calm!”
He looked very small with his hair plastered to his skull. His mouth was open, screaming “Jarvis! Jarvis!” over and over.
At least he wasn’t sinking.
“You must go to shore,” Eugenia shouted. She tipped forward to try to move toward him, which caused another panic-inducing plunge toward the bottom of the lake. But she kept her head and broke the surface again.
Taking a gulp of air, she shouted in a voice learned from many governesses, “Otis, get out of the water this instant so I can save Jarvis!”
His scream broke off in mid-air. He stared at her in surprise, stopped thrashing, and promptly disappeared.
Heart pounding with fear, Eugenia swam to where he’d gone under, filled her lungs, and let herself sink. The water was murky, darker and colder here where the lake was deepest and the sun never quite warmed it. There! Otis was just to her right, struggling about, his hair flying around his face.
Her lungs were aching, but she reached him, grabbed his shirt, and kicked upward with all her might.
They broke the surface coughing. Now they had to swim around the rock somehow. Otis was clinging to her shoulder, and he was surprisingly heavy.
Just as she took a breath to start kicking, she heard a bellow and saw Ward charging down the lawn. “Your brother’s coming,” she gasped.
“Jarvis!” Otis wailed.
A moment later, Ward grabbed the boy first by one arm and then by his waist. As Otis was hoisted into the air, Ward’s eye caught Eugenia’s. He shouted something at her but she sank below the water before she could catch it, feeling pure relief at having Otis’s weight lifted from her.
Her legs were exhausted, but she set out for the other side of the rock. Four kicks and she was there. When her feet at last touched the bottom she was nearly overwhelmed by a flood of relief, followed by exhilaration.
She’d done it!
She had not only swum for the first time, she’d saved Otis from drowning, as Andrew had once saved her. At the thought of what could have happened if she had failed, her knees weakened and she felt dizzy.
She pushed wet hair from her eyes and stepped up onto the rock. Otis was crouched down on the far side, staring into the water. Beside him, looking sleek and unconcerned, was Jarvis, grooming himself.
“I’m fine,” Eugenia called, and broke into a fit of coughing. Otis started to his feet, gave a shriek, and hurled himself int
o her arms. “We thought you sank!”
All that could be seen on the other side of the rock was a spreading pool of bubbles. Just as Eugenia was wondering whether she ought to jump in the better to reassure Ward of her safety, his head broke the surface.
When he saw her, his face filled with an emotion she couldn’t interpret. Her heart thumped; perhaps the near tragedy would make him realize that he loved her.
“I had no need for a rescue,” she called, “but I thank you for your effort.”
“Don’t move,” he shouted. “I’d like to speak with you, Mrs. Snowe.”
His bellow was manifestly not that of an anguished man arriving late to the realization of true love.
“We can speak later,” she called, retrieving her slippers and turning to go. Otis prattled all the way back up to the house, mostly to Jarvis but also to her.
As if she had eyes in the back of her head, Eugenia was aware that Ward cut through the water to the shore in a couple of irritated strokes. He picked up her forgotten length of toweling, rubbed his head, and started up the lawn after them.
“I saved myself,” Eugenia whispered to no one in particular, as she crossed the threshold into the entry.
Gumwater was there, his eyebrows twitching as she and Otis dripped lake water over the marble floor.
“Your maid awaits you, Mrs. Snowe,” he announced. “Your trunk is already stowed on the carriage, but she held back a dry garment for you.”
“Thank you, Gumwater,” she said. She bent down and kissed Otis and, when a plump, wet rat was thrust toward her, she kissed the general area around Jarvis’s whiskers. “I will visit you at Eton,” she promised the boy.
The door slammed open and Ward strode in. “I thought I made it clear there would be no swimming on that side of the rock,” he barked at the two of them.
Apparently he thought she had willfully put a child at risk. Lovely.
Eugenia managed a smile. “I think that Otis and I both learned our lesson as regards deep water, Mr. Reeve.” She bent down and gave Otis a tight hug, causing the two of them to drip even more water on the floor. “You were very brave,” she whispered, loving the feeling of his spindly arms wrapping tightly around her waist.
Then she straightened, turned to her host, and held out her hand. “Mr. Reeve, I shall take my leave as soon as I have changed into a gown, so I will bid you goodbye now.”
He merely looked at her proffered hand.
“I can scarcely curtsy in soaking-wet breeches,” she said, exasperated. Apparently he insisted upon ladylike behavior to the end.
She bobbed a curtsy and turned to climb the stairs. Sadness weighed as heavy as her drenched clothing. It was truly over. The next time she saw Edward Reeve, it would be as mere acquaintances.
At the same time, she was proud of herself in a way she hadn’t been in years. She had broken—no, shattered—the glass coffin that had encased her since Andrew’s death.
She had conquered her fear of water, taught herself to swim, and had an affaire with a beautiful man.
Fallen in love with him.
Ward didn’t return her feelings, which was painful, but even that was good. Pain was . . . Pain was proof she was alive.
Andrew had loved her with everything he was, and he had respected her too. She deserved that kind of love. True, she was no longer the same docile young lady whom Andrew had known.
But someday she would meet a man who valued her for the strong person she had become.
Chapter Thirty-eight
Eugenia was gone.
At the end of the day, Ward sat in his library, collapsed onto a chair like a puppet with no strings. She was gone.
Lizzie had burst into tears at luncheon. Gumwater said something snide, so Ward sacked him. He didn’t want his sister growing up around that kind of overt dislike.
Yes, he had grown up with servants’ disrespect, but what the hell was he thinking, allowing his sister to be subjected to the same contempt, albeit for her sex, not her birth?
Otis had cried at bedtime, and Ruby was treating Ward with cool disdain whenever he entered the nursery. Monsieur Marcel? He hadn’t gone anywhere near the kitchen, but tonight was the first time he’d been served burnt chicken.
Followed by dry cake. There was no mistaking the message.
All the same, he had made the right decision.
He tossed back his brandy with a jerky movement. For all intents and purposes, Lizzie and Otis were his children, and their futures were at stake. Every time he thought about Lady Hyacinth’s syrupy condescension toward Eugenia, or his grandmother’s patent scorn, he realized once again that the choice he’d made wasn’t really a choice at all.
He could not allow Lizzie and Otis to be raised by the duchess, a woman who had abandoned him as a baby. His father had been scarcely eighteen years old, but he hadn’t banished his infant son to the country to be raised by a cowherd. The earl had visited the nursery every day, frequently more than once a day.
As a small boy, Ward had roamed the house at night, and more often than not had ended up in his father’s bed. Looking back, he had to suppose that the earl took lovers, but he had never met them.
Lady Lisette, on the other hand, made no sacrifices for the sake of her children. That sad fact became clearer with every story that Otis or Lizzie blurted out. She had never put her children’s interests before her own: neither their safety, nor their comfort, nor their futures.
And the Duchess of Gilner had shaped their mother into the monster she had become.
The next morning he woke with a groan as his man snapped back the curtains and announced, “Her Grace, the Duchess of Gilner, has arrived, sir. She awaits you in the south parlor.”
Ward rolled over, throwing his hand over his eyes. “Coffee.”
“I regret to inform you, sir, that Monsieur Marcel reports that he used the last of the coffee refining Mrs. Snowe’s Arabian mocha soufflé. Would you care for tea instead?”
He loathed tea, and Marcel knew it. Ward got himself to his feet, silently cursing the brandy he’d downed the night before, and headed for the bathing chamber.
“The bath is slightly chilly,” his man said, after he stepped in. “I’ll add some hot water.” He emptied the smallest kettle Ward had ever seen into the freezing bath, then sailed out of the room. Another convert to Eugenia’s charm.
Once Ward stopped shivering and got himself into clothing—his valet had unaccountably left the chamber—he went to the nursery. Otis jumped to his feet, Jarvis clutched in one hand, and ran toward him. Ward bent just as Otis reached him.
He caught his brother up into his arms, thin legs dangling. He smelled like raisin scone and little boy. “I had a bad dream about Jarvis drowning,” Otis said, settling the rat on Ward’s shoulder.
“Jarvis is a remarkably healthy animal and a good swimmer,” Ward said, putting Otis down. “Just look at him.”
Sure enough, Jarvis’s black eyes were gleaming with good health as he launched himself from Ward’s shoulder to Otis’s.
“If that rat ever jumps on me, I shall let him plummet to the floor,” Lizzie said with relish, joining them.
“Our grandmother has arrived,” Ward told them. “Ruby, would you please bring Lizzie and Otis downstairs in half an hour? Without Jarvis,” he added.
“Oh horrors,” Lizzie moaned. “I loathe the duchess. She’s a gut-griping maggot-pie.”
Eugenia would know which play that fragrant turn of phrase came from. Ward pushed the thought away. “Please do not refer to Her Grace as a maggot-pie,” he said. “The Duchess of Gilner deserves our respect.”
“Why?” Otis asked.
“She is an elder member of our family,” Ward said.
“Mother said she was—”
“Our mother is dead, and I think we would all agree that she was not a good model for proper behavior.”
Lizzie sniffed. “Mrs. Snowe said—”
Ward cut her off again. “Ruby, please dress the child
ren in their best attire to greet the duchess.”
“I will put my veil back on,” Lizzie threatened.
Ward cupped one hand under her defiant, pointed chin. “I will not allow Grandmother to take your veil from you.”
His sister came a step closer and leaned against him. Ward looked up and discovered that Ruby had deigned to give him a smile.
Out in the corridor, Ward realized that he would give almost anything not to have to walk down the stairs to the drawing room. He had never met the duchess before he’d written a letter informing her of the children’s existence.
Her response to the news that she had two more grandchildren had been joyless, and their further encounters downright horrible. For example, when they’d met outside Gunter’s, the expression she’d had on meeting Eugenia—
He stumbled and nearly fell against the wall of the corridor. It felt as if he’d been shoring up a seawall with sand, and the tide rushed in.
Now the truth slammed into his head like that tide. All those ideas he had, about the kind of woman he should marry, a woman who was a proper lady? They were all rubbish. Worthless.
He had been focused on whether Lizzie would be able to marry well—why? In order that his sister could turn into someone like the duchess—or Lady Hyacinth, for that matter? A person who talked about others in such a withering fashion? So that Otis could marry a lifeless young woman like Lady Hyacinth’s daughter?
God forbid.
The best person to help him raise Lizzie and Otis was the woman whom they loved, and who loved them in return: Eugenia.
Equally importantly, he loved her. He loved her more than life itself.
It was true that people like the duchess were rude to Eugenia—but only because she was too intelligent to be confined by their narrow strictures. They were rude to her and scorned her . . .
The way he had.
Regret punched through him, searing his heart. His body. This is what anguish feels like, his brain helpfully told him.
He felt as if he’d walked naked into a snowstorm and the consequence was frostbite, a cruel pain in his limbs, and a huge, tearing loneliness in his heart.