Eugenie and the Earl

by Marina Oliver

  EUGENIE AND THE EARL

  MARINA OLIVER

  Eugenie, orphaned in Switzerland, and working her way home through France to England, is helped by the stranger Hugues.

  Enjoying London Society, she is worried by the behaviour of her cousin George.

  Then the Earl of Lyndhurst comes to the rescue.

  EUGENIE AND THE EARL

  by MARINA OLIVER

  Copyright © 2016 Marina Oliver

  Smashwords Edition

  The moral right of the author has been asserted

  Cover Design by Debbie Oliver

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or distributed in any form, including digital and electronic or mechanical, without the prior written consent of the Publisher, except for brief quotes for use in reviews.

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  See details of other books by Marina Oliver at

  http:/www.marina-oliver.net

  Chapter 1

  Eugenie frowned. Madame Joubert had given very precise instructions, and she was sure she had followed them, but she had never been in this part of Paris before. Somehow it didn't feel like an area where a respectable inn was situated. She reached the end of the road, and according to her instructions she must turn to the right. But that led into a narrow passageway, littered with ancient cabbage stalks and other rotting debris. As she paused, a huge rat scuttled past her. She flinched. She must have gone wrong. She ought to go back to the Coq d'Or and ask for instructions again, even though Madame had said the note was urgent, and would call her a stupid fool.

  She turned, undecided, and found herself facing half a dozen men, dressed in filthy breeches, torn shirts and what looked like cast-off army greatcoats. An open doorway behind them seemed to indicate where they had been, and a slatternly woman, a baby tugging at her naked breast, stood there looking at them with a grin on her face. The men leered at her, and came closer. Eugenie looked round, but the only escape was through the uninviting passageway, and she knew she could not outrun them.

  Then one of them grabbed her arm and tried to force her towards the doorway. She began to panic.

  'Let me go!'

  In her agitation Eugenie forgot to speak French. The ugly brute who was dragging her along with the rest of the rabble put his face close to hers, and she saw broken, blackened teeth, and an ugly, weeping sore on his cheek.

  'Aha! A pesky English spy!' he said, gloating.

  She turned her head away from the stench of rotten teeth and onions, but this only enraged him.

  'We chop off spies' heads! After we've had some sport. You're skinny, but any woman will do!' another of the men said.

  The man who held her arm pushed his way past the others, and despite her furious struggles dragged her closer to the open doorway.

  'My turn first,' he said to his companions, guffawing loudly. 'You can wait your turns, me hearties.'

  She struggled to free herself, unwilling to surrender without a fight. Too well did she guess his intention. She managed to ram her knee into his groin, and he gasped, raising his fist. She flinched but the expected blow never came. Eugenie heard cracking bones, a squeal of agony, and a dull thud. Suddenly she was free.

  'Quick, Mademoiselle, with me.'

  Her hand was seized in another, firmer and stronger grasp. She glimpsed her assailant sprawled in the rubbish amongst his companions, moaning and clutching his nose which streamed blood. The other men were hesitating, and Eugenie saw with amazement that the man who now held her had a sword in his other hand.

  'Quickly,' he repeated, and began to back into the noisesome alleyway, keeping the rabble at bay, then turned and urged her to run.

  She barely noticed he spoke in English as she picked up her skirts and concentrated on keeping her footing on the rotting garbage. Soon he turned off into a wider passage, and his pace slowed slightly.

  'They won't follow us here, but the sooner you are away the better.'

  She had time now to look at him properly. Her rescuer was tall, with broad shoulders, his brown hair cut short. He grinned in encouragement, showing unexpectedly white, even teeth in a thin, tanned face. Though wearing a torn shirt and dirty breeches like the rest of the mob she'd become entangled with, he looked and spoke like the aristos who had been sent to the guillotine twenty years before.

  There was little time to think, it was all she could do to keep up with him as they ran along a bewildering maze of alleys, through the yard of an inn, and finally up a narrow, rickety wooden staircase which clung precariously to the outside of a tenement.

  At the top he swung her into his arms and clambered through an open window, then set her down unceremoniously on a thin mattress, the only furniture apart from a three-legged stool and a large cupboard.

  'Thank you,' she gasped and pushed her hair back from her face. Somewhere she'd lost her kerchief and ribbons.

  He stood regarding her, and to her annoyance, as she fought to regain her breath, she realised he was breathing easily. She looked quickly away from those brown eyes, deep set in the most handsome face she had ever known, uncomfortable with their expression which she could not interpret. He seemed angry, scornful even.

  His shirt was torn, open to his waist, revealing rippling muscles over his brown chest. His breeches were tight-fitting, his legs long and well-shaped. She guessed him to be in the late twenties, but with dirt on his face and a day's stubble it wasn't easy to tell. He surely could not be one of the ruffians, rejects from Napoleon's army, who scraped a living through theft and menacing honest people.

  'What were you doing in that street?' he asked in English, and his voice was cultured, his accent good, and tone smooth. The sound sent shivers down her spine.

  'I was sent with a message to the Coq d'Or. I must have lost my way.'

  'You certainly did. The Coq d'Or is nowhere near this district. Who sent you?'

  'Madame Joubert. I work for her. I must have misunderstood her directions.'

  'I see.' He looked carefully at her. 'Who are you?'

  'My name's Eugenie Daubney.'

  'Daubney? Is your father Eugene?'

  How could he know? She nodded. 'Yes, but he died a year since.'

  'I am sorry. He was the brother of Jerome Daubney, the Earl of Norwich?' She nodded again, puzzled. 'Then how the devil do you come to be in Paris, in a serving wench's gown?'

  *

  Eugenie put aside the puzzle of how he knew about her family. How dared he snap at her? But he had saved her from the mob, she recalled, so she tried to reply calmly.

  'I am a serving wench, a tavern maid,' she explained. 'I'm trying to earn money to get home to England, but I don't know if I'll find a boat and be able to cross the Channel.'

  He pulled forward the rickety-looking stool and sat facing her. 'Tell me. You're too young to be alone.'

  'I'm twenty, quite capable of looking after myself, earning my bread. We were in Switzerland. We went there during the Peace of Amiens, hoping it would cure my mother's consumption. Then the war started again, and my father's bailiff at Beechcotes could no longer send money to us.'

  'I suspect your uncle could have done so, if he knew any bankers.'

  Eugenie nodded. She had thought so too, but her father and her uncle had quarrelled many years ago, and rarely spoke. She ha
d only seen him a couple of times when he visited Beechcotes. Her father would have rejected any suggestion of applying for help to his brother, even if he had been able to contact him.

  The questioning went on. 'So how did you manage?'

  'Papa sometimes took pupils, and taught French and English. He also became a guide. But it was difficult to earn enough, and Mama's medicine cost a great deal. I tried to help, taking jobs where I could, but the most profitable were in taverns, if I was allowed to keep the tips. Then Mama died last year, and I think Papa didn't want to live any longer. The hard work had weakened his heart, the doctors said. After six months he died too.'

  'And left you alone, destitute?'

  Eugenie heard the condemnation in his voice, and struggled to keep her temper. It had not been her father's fault.

  'He had saved enough for me to travel back home, but the money was stolen before I left Switzerland. He had told our landlady we would soon be leaving, and she must have told someone else. The money was taken from our rooms while Papa was being buried. So I have to take what jobs I can until I can earn enough to travel further. Taverns, fortunately, are always in need of serving wenches.'

  'I see. But you have not come very far.'

  'It takes weeks to earn enough to feed me while I walk to the next place,' Eugenie said indignantly.

  'You are walking? And sleeping under hedges, no doubt. But that's nonsense. We must decide what to do with you.'

  'I'm grateful for your help,' Eugenie said, 'but if I can find my way back to the tavern you need not bother with me any longer.' She stood up. 'How do I get out of here? Do you always use the outside stairs?'

  'Sit down. You're in danger here in Paris, if others like that ruffian see you unprotected.'

  Eugenie knew he was right, and understood the danger he meant, though he had been perhaps too delicate to specify it. Her employer had already suggested she might earn more by being kind to him and his favoured friends. She'd have to move on soon, even though her wages had not been paid for weeks, and she had saved barely enough sous for a day's food.

  'I'll manage,' she said, lifting her chin.

  He ignored her. 'I'm riding for the border with the old Austrian Netherlands,' he said abruptly. 'I could take you.'

  Eugenie stared. 'Why? Why should you help me? I can't pay you anything. And who are you?'

  'Who I am need not concern you. Call me Hugues. And I don't want payment. Of any kind,' he added, seeing her frown. 'Do you want my help?'

  It might be a trap. She'd be in his power. And there would certainly be danger. He wasn't one of the rabble, though, despite his clothes. She swallowed hard, then nodded. It was a chance, perhaps her only one. Life in Paris had become more perilous, and being known as English, a fact she had until now managed to conceal, she was an enemy.

  'What do we do?'

  *

  He smiled and her heart gave a sudden lurch. Was this why she had agreed to his suggestion? Had his good looks enticed her into recklessness? She suppressed the idea and concentrated on his words.

  'Do you have anything of real value at the tavern? Jewels, for instance?'

  'No, I always carry my mother's wedding ring and any money I have in a pocket round my waist. All I have left there is my cloak.'

  'We'll find you one. First you need some different clothes.'

  Eugenie suppressed a sigh. How she longed for new and better clothes. The cheap calico gown which was all she had was almost worn through, and the soles of her shoes were so thin she suspected they would not survive many more leagues.

  'You'll have to wear breeches,' he went on, 'Can you ride astride?'

  'Breeches?' This was not what she had expected.

  'You're thin and flat enough to pass as a boy. A pretty one,' he added, with that fascinating grin. 'You can be my young brother, you'll look no more than fourteen. Do you ride, or must I take you pillion?'

  'I used to ride my pony bareback at home, when I was small,' she said, and blinked hard to prevent the sudden tears from falling. They had never been really wealthy. Her father was a younger son, with only a small income from his godfather, the rents of two small farms on his estate, Beechcotes, and what he could earn with his pen writing poetry and pamphlets. It had been cheaper living in Switzerland, while their money lasted, and her mother's health had made a drier climate imperative.

  Hugues nodded. 'Very well. Stay here while I make arrangements and find you some clothes. I'll be back soon.'

  She must, she thought a few moments later, be either mad or dreaming. Then her lips curved in a smile, and she could feel once more his hard, slender hand and the muscles as she had been clasped in his arms.

  He was the sort of man she'd often dreamed of. Before her parents died they had talked about a suitable marriage. But there were no young Englishmen in Switzerland, and her prospects of going back to England had seemed non-existent before her parents died. Besides, her parents had married for love, and had sworn they would never force her into an arranged marriage. Now, however, her uncle was her guardian, reluctantly, she suspected, and she barely knew him. Would he want to be rid of her as soon as possible? He had agreed to look after her father's small estate, but he might wish to be rid of the responsibility of looking after her, passing it on to a husband of his choice.

  She was deep in gloomy forebodings when Hugues returned. He flung her a bundle and commanded her brusquely to change at once.

  'It's only an hour until the gates close.'

  'Where – ?' Eugenie stammered. 'Where shall I change?'

  'I regret there is no powder room for Mademoiselle's convenience,' he said curtly. 'I don't lust after your body, child, and I've seen plenty of naked women before. Change here or stay. And leave that wretched gown here, you won't need it again.'

  He opened the cupboard, took out clean breeches and a shirt, and began to strip off his own clothes. Eugenie, blushing, forced herself to look away and turned her back. She struggled to don the breeches while retaining her gown, but it was too difficult. Making sure he was still occupied, she slipped off her gown, dragged the breeches on and pulled on the shirt. The boots were large, but when padded with strips torn from her gown they served. After some thought she tore the gown into larger strips. They might come in useful.

  He began to pack some saddle bags. 'Here's a cap,' he said suddenly, tossing it to her. 'Either cut your hair or stuff it under the cap. Are you ready?'

  Eugenie nodded, and tried to push her long hair under the cap. She was feeling shy in her boy's attire, but he merely glanced at her, picked up his sword, and led the way. In her breeches she found it easy to climb out of the window after him. Two horses were waiting nearby, rolled up cloaks behind the saddles, and Hugues flung her up. He tossed a coin to the lad who had been holding them, mounted his own horse, and they were away.

  *

  At the gate they rode out with some peasants returning home from market. They were pushing empty carts or leading mules whose panniers were also empty. They looked with envy at the two glossy horses, but flung cheerful greetings. Once well clear, Hugues kicked his horse into a canter. Eugenie followed, revelling in the almost forgotten feel of a horse between her knees. She'd loved riding as a child, but of late years in Switzerland had not been able to indulge. The skills soon came back, and when Hugues drew rein at the edge of a small village a few leagues on she was almost sorry.

  'We'll stop here to eat, then we need to push on,' he said. 'You've been sleeping under hedges, I think?'

  Eugenie nodded. 'Haystacks, barns, hedges – wherever I could.'

  They ate at a small inn, then rode on. Hugues turned into a wood, found a stream where they could water the horses, then he unsaddled and hobbled them so that they could graze on the lush grass near the stream.

  'We must sleep now,' he said, handing her a saddle to use as a pillow. She untied the cloak strapped to it. Eugenie, stiff now from the unaccustomed exercise, thankfully lay down on pine needles which made a soft enough be
d, and pulled the cloak about her. Her prospects of getting to England had suddenly improved. She had hesitantly offered her few coins at the inn when they had stopped to eat, but Hugues had shaken his head. If he paid for their journey, she could find another post at an inn near the coast, until she could earn enough to pay a smuggler, perhaps, to convey her to England. Then she recalled her male attire. Oh well, she thought, suppressing a giggle, she could work as a stable lad.

  She was wondering where the boat might land her in England, and trying to calculate how long it might take her to reach her uncle's house, Castle Tempus, in Hampshire, from various ports, when she fell asleep, to waken and find the sun streaming down through the leaves of the trees and shining on Hugues' naked back a few feet away from her as he briskly towelled himself dry.

  When he saw she was awake he pointed to the stream. 'Go and bathe. It's cold but refreshing,' he said.

  She nodded, and washed her face and hands. She would have liked to strip off and bathe, as she had often done as a child at home, but did not dare do so here.

  For two days Hugues pushed relentlessly on, avoiding towns, stopping at small wayside inns for food, buying bread and cheese and rough wine they could eat anywhere, and speaking hardly at all. Eugenie clung grimly to the saddle, stiff from the unaccustomed exercise, and wondering whether she would ever feel clean again. On the third night, when they had passed Lille, she stumbled as she dismounted, and would have fallen if Hugues had not caught her.

  'Are you weary?'

  She shook her head. 'Just stiff. It's been long day.'

  He laughed. 'There's a small pool beyond that holly. Bathe while I see to the horses. Bread, cheese and wine will restore you.'

  Eugenie could not resist. It had been many weeks since she had been fully immersed in water. At the inns where she had worked she had never dared to try and bathe properly, for there was no privacy. She had been forced to depend on a cloth and a bowl of water begged from the kitchens.

  The water was deliciously cool. The aches eased away and she stretched voluptuously, As the sun began to sink behind the trees she stood up, waded to the bank, and began to dry herself on a scrap of the calico saved from her old gown. She was about to step into her breeches when she heard a soft laugh.