Seven Minutes in Heaven(105)
Evan was waiting for her at the bottom of the stairs, and the startled wonder in his eyes when he saw her was quite gratifying.
“You are extraordinarily beautiful, Mrs. Snowe,” he breathed, bowing as he kissed her hand.
“Please, call me Eugenia,” she said, smiling up at him as he escorted her to the drawing room.
“Darling girl,” her father said, coming forward as they entered, “I have a present for my shining child.” He pulled something from his pocket.
“Oh my goodness,” Eugenia breathed, looking down at a pair of shimmering diamond earrings in his palm.
“They match your necklace,” he said, pressing a kiss on her forehead.
“Oh, Papa,” she murmured, swallowing back tears, because who cried when given diamonds?
Harriet appeared, crowing and laughing, helping her put them on.
“They will glitter when you dance,” her stepmother said. She leaned closer and whispered, “Be very careful, darling, or Evan will fall to his knees and offer you a ring to match your earrings.”
Ward had planned to make the journey to Fonthill in half the time it would have taken Eugenia, hopefully arriving within a few hours of her.
Instead, his elderly carriage got stuck in the mud three times, its ancient wheels good for nothing but a dry road. He finally left it at a coaching inn and rented another, which promptly broke a shaft climbing a steep hill.
By his fifth day on the road, Ward was exhausted from lack of sleep; he hardly cursed when the Royal Mail passed them with a rattling of wheels and a loud horn.
He arrived at the Marquis of Broadham’s estate aching in every limb. When the front door opened, a lean, shrewd-looking butler glanced at him and said, “Mr. Reeve? I am Branson, the marquis’s butler.”
“Have I met you before?”
“The Duke of Villiers predicted that you would arrive yesterday.” Branson opened the door fully. “The marchioness is giving a ball this evening. Would you care to join them, after refreshing yourself?”
Ward stepped into a marble entry where a chandelier blazed with candles. From his left, through large double doors, drifted the sound of stringed instruments and the light, high sound of a woman’s laughter. Not Eugenia’s. He would know her laugh anywhere.
It was a waltz, which meant some man was holding Eugenia, a hand at her waist.
“I’d like to see Mrs. Snowe,” he said, failing to keep his voice calm.
“I regret you are not dressed for the occasion.” The butler’s eyes dropped to Ward’s travel-worn clothing. “I shall have a bath brought to your room immediately.”
Ward’s Hessians were caked with dirt; when the carriage had got stuck in a deep rut a few miles ago, he’d put a shoulder to the vehicle alongside his grooms.
He smelled like sweat, if not worse, and his breeches were splattered with mud thrown up by the carriage wheels.
“Please inform her that I wish to speak to her immediately.”
“If you prefer.” Branson nodded at a footman. “Roberts will show you to the morning parlor.”
“I’ll wait here.” Urgency was pounding through Ward’s body. He crossed his arms and fixed the butler with a gaze that threatened violence.
Branson had the wary air of a man who has encountered any number of madmen. “I shall inform his lordship that you have requested an interview with his daughter.”
“I’ll tell him myself,” Ward said. Before the butler could stop him, he flung open one of the ballroom doors and walked through.
Inside, a few dozen people were dancing.
“It’s all right, Branson,” a voice said behind his shoulder. “I can take care of our visitor.”
The butler withdrew, but Ward didn’t glance at the Duke of Villiers. He had eyes only for Eugenia.
She was wearing a gown that made her glimmer from head to foot. Those beautiful curls that had spread across his pillow were piled on her head and held in place with dazzling gems.
Diamonds.
Of course, they were diamonds, as were the jewels at her throat.
Yet the stones faded in comparison to her. The first time he’d met her, he’d thought of a flame: energy and intelligence and beauty in a fiery package no diamond could rival.
“A beautiful woman, isn’t she?” the Duke of Villiers said at his side.
One didn’t snarl at this particular duke, so Ward bowed. “Good evening, Your Grace.”
“Ward,” His Grace said with a sigh. “I wish your father was in England. No, your stepmother would be even better.”
Ward ignored him, watching the dance with arms crossed over his chest. The moment the music drew to a close, he would stride over to Eugenia and carry her out of the ballroom.