Seven Minutes in Heaven(11)

He was right.

“I believed Penelope Lumley would do well because she is loving and an excellent model for conventional behavior,” Eugenia explained. “I do see that she was not ideal under the circumstances. I shall find you a replacement.” She hesitated. “Is there anything else I should know about the children? They are eight and nine years old, am I right?”

“Yes.”

“Perhaps you could tell me more about the veil?”

“It is black lace, falling to Lizzie’s shoulders. She removes it only for meals and dissection.”

Eugenia felt a sudden twinge, remembering how she herself had longed for a mother as a young girl. “She must desperately miss her mother,” she said softly.

“So it seems,” Mr. Reeve replied.

That was an odd answer, but Eugenia didn’t have time to investigate; she had a prickling awareness that the Duchess of Villiers had certainly arrived for her appointment by now. One did not keep a duchess waiting.

“I shall do my best to find you a new governess,” she assured him, holding out her hand. “In three days at the most.”

He shook it, briskly. “I appreciate that, Mrs. Snowe. I shall return on Monday.”





Chapter Four





Early evening, two days later



Eugenia stared down at the proposed advertisement for the registry office that Susan had plunked down on the desk. Snowe’s . . . By Royal Warrant of Appointment was inked at the top, with a flourish.

Below that an artist had drawn her profile—with a halo of flourishes.

It wasn’t a terrible likeness, though her maid wouldn’t recognize that tight chignon. Eugenia touched her hair lightly, just to make sure that her loose curls hadn’t transformed into a head of snails, à la Medusa-turned-governess.

“Lady’s Magazine is requesting approval,” Susan said. “And the afternoon post has arrived.”

She put it on top of that morning’s post, still untouched.

At the bottom of the advertisement, under Eugenia’s portrait, an ecstatic mother was raising her hands heavenward. Oh, Rhapsody! My darling Daughter is betrothed to a Lord!

“Is that woman supposed to resemble Mrs. Giffton-Giles?” Eugenia asked. “Because I doubt she’ll enjoy discovering her likeness in print.”

“Certainly not! That lady represents all of our happy mothers.”

“At least those whose daughters married lords,” Eugenia corrected. “Won’t it foster unrealistic expectations?”

“Last season alone, girls in our charge became the new Lady Bartholomew, Lady Festers, and Lady Mothrose. Everyone knows that our governesses launch a girl better than anyone else can.”

Eugenia pushed the advertisement across the desk. “I suppose it will do.” She hated the use of her image, but the truth was that her standing as the widowed wife of a lord was the backbone of the registry office’s success.

Without warning, her heart gave a little jerk. How could she be a widow? Even after seven years, it still seemed impossible. Surely Andrew would stride through that door any moment—

“Genevieve Bell has agreed to go to the Duchess of Villiers, though they’ll have to wait a month since she’s in Bath with an elderly aunt,” Susan said, interrupting her train of thought. “Alithia Midge will join Mr. Reeve in Oxford, but only if he agrees to pay her a resettlement bonus every month until Michaelmas term begins and his brother leaves for Eton.”

“Excellent,” Eugenia said, pulling her thoughts back to the present.

“I’ll send a note by post asking that Mr. Reeve pay us a visit at his earliest opportunity,” Susan said. “Or would you prefer I send a messenger directly?”

“The latter,” Eugenia said. “Charge it to his account.”

Her remarkable attraction to Mr. Reeve was surely the result of exhaustion. That man merely walked in the room, a twinkle in his eye, and she had felt slightly dizzy.

It was only natural that she felt a bit unsteady at the thought of seeing him again. She would be calm, cool, and professional.

“Right,” Susan said. “It’s time for a sherry.” She headed to the other side of the room. In the last few years, the two of them had fallen into the habit of sharing a glass of wine at the end of the day.

It wasn’t always easy to determine which governess to send to which household, as well as contending with imploring letters sent by those governesses a week later, asking for advice. Any of them could handle a routinely wet bed, but a boy who takes to pissing on the walls, for example?

Snowe’s—in other words, Susan and Eugenia—had to weigh in with advice. (In that case, it took two glasses of sherry to decide that one nursery wall should be temporarily sacrificed until bribery lured the boy to a chamber pot.)