by Farr, Diane
Enough. He was gone. He would propose to Eugenia. Eugenia would accept him. She and Drake were on the brink of success. And once they achieved their goal, they need have nothing more to do with each other. She could go home and return to her ordinary life with Papa. That would be good. Good, she told herself firmly, wondering why the word rang hollow.
Lilah walked down the passage toward the library, pondering the afternoon’s events. So far, she reminded herself, everything was speculation. No need to feel elation, no need to feel despair. Yet.
Funny. The suspense she was in was bound to end at some point soon, with one of two outcomes. Either Drake would marry Eugenia or Papa would. One outcome guaranteed relief, the other, misery. But the odd thing was, Lilah was no longer certain which outcome would produce which.
She felt a headache beginning.
#
Eugenia was peacefully writing a letter at the tambour-topped desk in Mrs. Peabody’s morning room when the door burst open. It was Drake, of course, who strode into the room unannounced. Eugenia set down her pen.
He looked as if he had just been dragged backward through a hedge. His hair stood on end and his clothing was rumpled. Dear old Drake. Whatever his faults, he certainly wasn’t vain. He probably hadn’t glanced at a mirror since dressing this morning.
“Jenny, I must speak with you alone,” he commanded, without preamble.
Eugenia braced herself. She had known, the instant she refused Drake’s proposal, that she had not heard the last of it. Drake was incapable of taking “no” for an answer. Under the circumstances, however, that was just as well. Eugenia had had some time for reflection, and she had also had a very illuminating conversation with Delilah Chadwick. She was prepared for this interview. Or so she hoped.
“Very well. What is it?”
“Lilah tells me you are reconsidering your refusal,” he blurted, with typical brusqueness. “Good girl! I knew you wouldn’t let me down.”
“No, never that,” murmured Eugenia. She smiled. “I suppose you have come to tell me that my time has run out. Are you about to renew your offer?”
“Yes! With all my heart.” He moved swiftly toward her and sat on an ottoman at her feet. It wasn’t as romantic as kneeling, but it served roughly the same purpose. Instead of towering over her, he now had to look up to meet her eyes. The novelty of looking down on Drake, she had to admit, was rather enjoyable. He seized her cool hands in his large, warm fists and gazed beseechingly up at her. “Come on, old thing. You know we were meant for each other.”
“Were we?”
He looked a bit sheepish. “I can’t make you a pretty speech,” he said gruffly. “You know me too well. I’d feel like a perfect gudgeon.”
Eugenia did not think that their long acquaintance was the reason why Drake couldn’t make her a pretty speech, but she decided not to comment on this. Sir Horace, she reflected, was even less a speech maker than Drake, yet he had found words to do justice to the occasion. In Eugenia’s admittedly limited experience, a heartfelt proposal did not include endearments such as “old thing.” Still, she held her tongue and waited patiently. She would give Drake a chance to say what he wanted to say, in whatever words he chose.
He still held her hands. Now he wagged them back and forth in a friendly manner. “Well? What do you say?”
Eugenia decided there was no point in making this easy for him. She summoned a puzzled look. “About what?”
He frowned. “About marrying me. Say yes, Jenny. You’ve nothing to fear. I’ll help you face down Sir Horace and we’ll break you out of that entanglement. I’ll protect you from the gossips and backbiters, if that’s what worries you.”
“I own, it is something of a concern,” she admitted. “And you say you will help me break the news to Horace?”
“If you like,” he said, with a careless shrug. “I daresay the news will come as no surprise to him.”
“Really? Why wouldn’t it?”
Drake gave a crack of rude laughter. “Because he knows I’ve entered the lists, poor chap. Why should you marry a country squire when you could have me? Now, I don’t mean to sound like a coxcomb. I know I’m not the greatest prize in creation—”
“Nonsense. You know you are among them, at least,” said Eugenia, taking a perverse delight in contradicting him for once. “The matchmaking mamas have been thrusting their daughters in your path for the past decade. I have wanted to ask you something for a long time, Drake. Why haven’t you chosen one of them?”
Drake’s mouth twisted in disgust. “Because I’ve encountered only two kinds of women. Those who throw themselves at a man and those who do not. Those who do are repellent. Those who don’t are boring.” He caught himself, then, seeming to remember his mission. “But then there is you,” he said, in a congratulatory tone. “You fall into neither category.”
“I am a friend.”
“That’s right,” he said, seeming pleased by this clue that she understood him. “You are my friend. And you’re the only woman with whom I could possibly share my home. I’m used to you, Jenny, that’s the thing. If I marry you I won’t have to change my ways, or rearrange my house, or alter my habits, or do anything new. I’m already accustomed to having you about.”
Eugenia’s smile was enigmatic. “I see,” she said encouragingly. “I’m as comfortable as an old pair of slippers at the end of the day.”
He looked relieved. “That’s it. Exactly.”
Eugenia had to glance away to keep him from seeing the mixture of laughter and vexation in her eyes. She had already made up her mind what to do—but now that it was time to give him her carefully-rehearsed answer, she found it unexpectedly difficult.
“Well, Drake,” she said serenely, “I have been pondering this question all day, and I do think you are right. You and I get along splendidly, and I have always been very fond of you.” She forced herself to meet his eyes again, keeping her expression tranquil. “My answer is yes.”
To her secret delight, Drake looked absolutely thunderstruck. “Yes?” he said numbly. He licked his lips as if they had suddenly gone dry. “You mean—you will marry me?”
“Yes, Drake,” she said simply. “I will.”
She could have sworn he turned pale. “You will,” he repeated, still with that stunned, horror-struck expression. “You will marry me.”
“Yes. Although…” She hesitated delicately. “I do feel awkward about one thing.”
A wild hope flickered in his eyes. She had to cast her gaze modestly down at their linked hands to keep from laughing aloud. “We mustn’t announce our engagement, Drake,” she said demurely. “Not until we have had a chance to speak to Horace. We must tell him face-to-face. It’s the honorable thing to do.”
“Oh. Oh, that. Honorable thing. Quite right.” He cleared his throat. “Sir Horace has gone to Uxbridge.”
“Yes. He wanted to consult his sister about our plans and borrow some jewelry she inherited from their mother. For our wedding, you know.” Having mastered her impulse to laugh, she lifted limpid eyes to his. “It would be cruel, Drake darling, to let word reach him through idle gossip that I am breaking my promise to him and planning to wed you. We must keep my decision secret for a few days.”
“Right.” He blinked dazedly at her. “Right.”
Feigning nonchalance, she watched him carefully. “I will write him immediately, of course, in care of his sister in Uxbridge. In the meantime, I suppose we can tell the family here,” she suggested. “Aunt Polly and Uncle Nat. And Lilah, of course.”
The hands that were holding hers jerked spasmodically. “Lilah,” he muttered, sounding pained. “Yes, we must tell Lilah. She…will be glad.”
“I hope so,” said Eugenia, in dulcet tones. It was the first actual falsehood she had told him, and she trusted that Providence would forgive her. Providence—and Horace—would also have to forgive her for kissing Drake, she soon discovered. He pulled her to her feet and into his arms before she knew what he meant to do.
The kiss was brief, however, and he immediately let her go. It seemed more a matter of form than an expression of passion.
He soon left, and she enjoyed a long, albeit muffled, laugh. Poor Drake! Really, she was not cut out for the Machiavellian life. She felt too much pity for the victim. She could only hope that, when all was said and done, Drake would come to appreciate the joke himself.
After she had wiped her streaming eyes, Eugenia sat back down at the desk, still chuckling, and penned the last lines of her letter to Horace. Drake has renewed his offer of marriage, as I warned you he would, and I have accepted him. Her smile broadened. I wish you could have seen his face.
Chapter 15
The family’s habit was to gather in an upstairs drawing room early in the evening and wait for Fimber to announce that dinner was served. When Lilah walked in, the Peabodys were already present. Polly greeted her warmly and inquired very kindly about her day, and Nat ushered her to a chair by the fire with great punctilio.
Polly told her she had spent a good part of the day with Miss Pickens and had enjoyed her company very much, although Miss Pickens had unfortunately continued to suffer from the queasiness her journey had brought on. When Polly realized this, she had insisted that Miss Pickens take to her bed. She also had arranged for special delicacies to be prepared in the kitchen and carried to her on a tray. Nat assured Lilah that their cook’s tisane worked wonders and he had no doubt Miss Pickens would be better by morning. Lilah was touched; their warm, unquestioning acceptance of two strangers thrust into their midst, and their generous attention to her old governess, struck her as sincere. One had to admire such bone-deep kindness.
Unfortunately, Lilah’s early arrival in the drawing room placed her at a disadvantage. In chatting idly of the day’s events, she unwittingly broke the news to the Peabodys that Sir Horace had left. Lilah had, naturally, assumed that her father had informed his hosts before departing. She was vexed and mortified when she saw that the Peabodys were mildly startled to learn that one of their guests had unexpectedly departed for Uxbridge.
“Dear me,” said Polly. “Did he tell us he was going to Uxbridge? I don’t recall him mentioning it. Do you, Nat?”
“No, my love. You’d think we’d recall it, wouldn’t you? Very odd, very odd indeed.”
Lilah was pink with embarrassment. “I’m so sorry. It’s really most unlike him. I hope you won’t think less of Papa—”
“Oh, heavens, no,” said Polly comfortably. “It’s entirely possible he mentioned his plans to us a dozen times or more. We’ve been at sixes and sevens, you know, with the masquerade last night and all this furor about Eugenia’s betrothal. I daresay he told us he was going to Uxbridge, and we simply forgot.”
“Happens all the time,” Nat assured Lilah. “No need to color up, Miss Chadwick. We never stand on ceremony here. If your father wants to pop off to Uxbridge, why shouldn’t he? We’re happy to have him, we’re happy to let him go. And when he comes back, we’ll be happy to see him again. Won’t we, my love?”
“Naturally,” said Polly immediately. She reached over and gave Lilah’s hand an affectionate pat. “I hope you know, dear child, that we have already grown very fond of your father.”
Nat beamed. “Oh, aye! Very fond. He’s an excellent fellow, what? A most admirable chap. Liked him at once.”
Lilah was ready to weep with gratitude. The Peabodys, she thought, for all their informality, displayed the truest form of good manners—the natural tact that sprang from caring hearts.
Just as she was stammering out her thanks, the door opened to admit Drake. Eugenia was on his arm, looking as calm and collected as ever. Lilah was chagrined to discover, from the pang that shot through her at the sight of Drake and Eugenia together, that she was not immune to jealousy. She was so occupied in quashing her impulse to scratch Eugenia’s eyes out, it took her several seconds to realize that Drake was wearing an expression she had never seen on him before. He looked like a caged thing—wild and miserable.
The reason for this soon became clear. After exchanging perfunctory greetings with the Peabodys, Drake said, in his blunt way, “No point in postponing the inevitable. May as well tell you now. Eugenia’s accepted me.” The blank stares that greeted this announcement caused him to add, in a decidedly snappish tone, “You must know what I’m talking about; you were all present! I offered marriage. She’s accepted. That is all.”
Nat chuckled good-naturedly. “You must be mistaken, dear chap,” he told Drake. “Eugenia’s accepted Horace Chadwick. Can’t marry you both, what? Must have misunderstood her.”
“No, uncle,” said Eugenia, displaying no more emotion than would be suitable for a discussion of the weather. “Drake understood me. We must keep this news secret for the time being, until I am able to explain it all to Horace face-to-face, but Drake has persuaded me that my prior engagement was a mistake and that I will be happier as Lady Drakesley.” She turned courteously to Lilah. “I hope you will forgive me, Lilah, for any pain my decision may cause your father.”
“Certainly,” said Lilah faintly. A fog of unreality seemed to have descended upon the room. There was something unnerving about Eugenia’s apparent apathy while making such a sensational announcement. “I understand your reasons. I think.”
Eugenia inclined her head in gracious acknowledgment. “Thank you. I hope Sir Horace will be equally understanding.”
Lilah shivered with a sudden chill of dread. Saints above! She hoped so, too.
Until this moment, she realized in dismay, she had not really believed Eugenia would cry off—and had therefore not seriously pictured what her father’s reaction might be if she did. Her notion that Papa would feel relief at the news now struck her as self-serving and improbable. He would be upset. The only question remaining was, how upset? Would he be angry at the insult to his pride? That, certainly. But what was causing Lilah to suddenly feel a bit clammy was the fear that Papa’s pain might go deeper than that.
What if Papa truly loved Eugenia? This news would break his heart. And she, Lilah, had had a hand in it.
Oh, it did not bear thinking of. She might have brought unnecessary grief to her beloved father, who had already suffered so much through losing Mama. Eugenia might have been his last chance at happiness. Guilt and remorse swept through Lilah like a strong tide, overwhelming her. Too late!
Meanwhile, Nat Peabody was swelling like a flustered frog. “Now, see here!” he exclaimed. “If I didn’t know better, Eugenia, I’d think your wits had gone begging! You can’t go about, accepting every proposal you receive. You must pick and choose, girl! You must settle on one, and decline the others!”
“Yes, Uncle,” said Eugenia submissively, although amusement quivered in her voice. “I do realize I must break my engagement to Horace before I may wed Drake.”
Nat clucked and blessed himself and appeared extremely agitated. Polly was watching Eugenia with sharp eyes. When she finally spoke, it was to Nat. “Never mind, my love,” she said soothingly. “We must trust Eugenia to do what’s right.”
Fimber entered and announced that dinner was served. The company gathered itself for the short walk to the dining room, and Lilah was placed behind the Peabodys. She could not help but overhear their conversation as they paced down the passage ahead of her.
Nat leaned down to his wife, obviously deeply troubled. “Such a good man,” he muttered distressfully. “Hate to see her give him the go-by. Horace, you know! Fond of him. Thought he was just the chap to make her happy.”
“Yes, dear,” said Polly, patting her husband’s hand affectionately. “I like him, too. But we mustn’t interfere. Eugenia is the best judge of what will make her happy. Pray recall that we are fond of Drake as well.”
“Aye,” said Nat gruffly, apparently struggling to control his emotions. “Drake’s always been a prime favorite of ours, there’s no blinking that. I just can’t picture him making Eugenia happy. Or she keeping him content, either. Well! Could be worse, could be worse. Sh
e might have chosen Hatfield, eh? Didn’t care for him at all.”
It was a miserable meal. Lilah tried very hard to behave normally, since she knew she had behaved badly at breakfast—what would the Peabodys think of her?—but it was extraordinarily difficult to make small talk while suffering the torments of the damned.
This was not the first time she had acted on impulse and lived to regret it, but it was surely the worst. No wonder Papa had waited until the last possible minute to write to her, trying to hold her at bay! He must have known she would fly off the handle and do something shatterbrained. Well, she had, and now the deed was done. She had meddled in something serious, a matter that did not truly concern her, and wreaked havoc in the process. Now she had to face the unpalatable fact that she might have done lasting harm to her beloved father. Surely she was the most wretched of mortals.
After dinner, the three women withdrew to the cozy drawing room again. Lilah, drained by her efforts at normalcy during dinner, perched unhappily on a low chair near the fire and stared silently into the flames. Polly and Eugenia talked in low tones on the sofa behind her, but she made no effort to hear what they said. She felt unable to hold up her end of a conversation anyhow. The emotional toll taken on her by the past few days was proving difficult to bear.
It was a relief when Nat and Drake joined the ladies just a few short minutes after they had withdrawn. Nat still looked perturbed, and Drake morose, but Lilah felt that almost any addition to the company would improve the evening. If she had to spend it in quiet conversation with Eugenia and Mrs. Peabody, she thought she might go mad.
As Drake hesitated inside the door, eying the room, Nat walked over to join his wife and Eugenia. He sat on the settee facing them and immediately leaned forward and took Eugenia’s hand, speaking to her in a low and earnest tone. Drake frowned, appearing uncertain of his welcome among that threesome. Eugenia, concentrating her attention on Nat, did not look up to invite him over, so he hovered near the door for a few seconds, fidgeting, and then went to join Lilah. He dropped moodily into the chair beside hers and stretched out his long legs toward the blaze.