Seven Minutes in Heaven(13)
“I am sorry that happened to you,” Susan said. “But it didn’t rip you away. You weren’t swept away, you didn’t fall off the cliff. You were older than Juliet’s thirteen, as well. You have a good fifty years, if not more, left to live.
“Fifty,” she repeated, giving Eugenia a pointed glance. “Alone.”
“You’re as old as I am, and you’ve never given your heart even once, let alone twice!”
Susan turned her head and met Eugenia’s eyes. “How do you know that?”
Just because a woman has never married doesn’t mean she hasn’t been in love. Eugenia knew that.
For goodness’ sake, she’d grown up in a house notorious for parties welcoming actresses of the most dubious reputation, as well as opera dancers and courtesans. The ladies—to use the term loosely—were always in love with someone, and marriage was rarely a consideration.
“It’s time you thought about finding a second husband,” Susan stated.
“Do you know what would happen if I married again?” Eugenia asked, taking another healthy swallow of sherry. It burnt its way down her throat.
“You’d come to work with a smile and circles under your eyes?”
“Susan!”
Susan shrugged, unrepentant.
“The moment I turned from the altar, my husband would own Snowe’s. He would own my inheritance from my mother, the dowry my father gave me, and Andrew’s settlement. He would own the house that Andrew bought for our marriage.”
“Well, but—”
“There are no ‘buts.’ A woman has no legal rights to her own property. I’ll be damned if I’ve built this company up to be the very best of its kind in all England, only to hand it over to a man as his plaything, to sell if he wishes.” Eugenia discovered that her voice had risen to a fierce pitch.
Susan finished her glass and set it down. “Right.”
“‘Right,’ what?”
“You don’t want to marry again.”
“For good reason, you must admit.”
“I certainly don’t like the idea of a man in charge of Snowe’s. But does that mean you’re going to live alone forever? Be alone forever?”
“I gather you’re not talking about our friendship,” Eugenia said dryly.
“I am not.”
“What about you?” Eugenia demanded. “You haven’t had even one husband. Any number of men would love to marry you, and don’t tell me that you haven’t a dowry. I pay your wages, and you’ve worked with me for years. Your dowry must be larger than many men’s estates.”
Susan shook her head. “I’ve never met anyone remotely like the Duke of Villiers and even if I did, I’m too fat for the current styles.”
“You are not; you’re delicious and the right man will adore every curve.”
Her assistant just waved her hand dismissively at that idea. “So, you don’t want to get married. But you do know what that means, don’t you?”
“No,” Eugenia said cautiously.
“You must take a lover,” Susan announced. “Discreetly, as not to tarnish the reputation of Snowe’s. You cannot go on like this, Eugenia, working day and night. It’s no way to live.”
“Why am I being singled out?” Eugenia protested. “You work as hard as I, and don’t tell me there’s a man in your bed, because I’d never believe it!”
“I can’t,” Susan said with a sigh. “Vicar’s daughter and virginity . . . those two impediments hang like millstones around my neck, even if I did want to fall into bed with a handsome man. But you are free, Eugenia.”
“Free?” She’d never thought of it that way.
“No husband and no children, and an impeccable reputation. You can please yourself.”
“I suppose . . .” Eugenia began.
“It’s that, or wither into a dull woman who never takes pleasure for herself,” Susan said.
“I will consider it,” Eugenia said, surprising herself. But inside, she knew that something had to change. The challenge of making Snowe’s a success had been remarkably diverting.
But now that her agency was the best in all London.
She needed a new challenge.
All the same, she had the distinct sense that she could walk into a ballroom and have her pick of unattached men.
What kind of challenge was that?
Chapter Five
Later the same night
Fawkes House
Wheatley, near Oxford
Ward put down his quill and yawned. He’d been working all day and half the night on incorporating a steam engine into the continuous paper-roller that had made his first fortune.