I still agree with you as regards the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse, but only because that eventuality is foretold in the Bible and therefore Miss Midge has been warned. For all her experience as a governess, Miss Midge is constantly shocked by my siblings’ lack of moral fiber.
In an effort to please our estimable governess, I took Lizzie and Otis fishing in the lake that lies at the bottom of my gardens. It was not a successful excursion. It turns out that Lizzie’s fascination with dissecting animals does not extend to being in at their death.
One of my footmen is delivering this note in a well-appointed coach. Please accept my invitation to accompany him to Fawkes House—as my esteemed guest, it hardly needs saying—and lend us the benefit of your experience.
On another subject, I am sorry to hear of Mr. Snowe’s tragic accident. Why have you never married again? That question may seem invidiously personal, so I offer you an unpleasant truth of my own: I have lost the appetite for marriage after my fiancée married a duke.
I would be happy to share the details over a glass of brandy, which is what I poured down Miss Midge’s throat last night. Does that not whet your curiosity?
I never beg, but I am begging. And so is Miss Midge.
All best wishes,
Ward Reeve
“I shall not travel to Oxford,” Eugenia told Susan, “because it would be akin to agreeing to an indiscretion.” She had lived her entire life in opposition to her father’s easy ways, and somewhere deep inside herself she was shocked that she was contemplating what she was contemplating.
Sin, to call a spade a spade.
“I cannot judge the urgency of Mr. Reeve’s request insofar as you haven’t allowed me to read his letter,” Susan said in a wheedling sort of way.
And, when Eugenia frowned at her, “Have you looked out of the window? A splendid aubergine-colored traveling coach awaits your answer. I’m sure it was made by Brundel & Fibbs. Mr. Reeve must be fantastically rich.”
“I don’t care how splendid it is,” Eugenia said. “It would cause a scandal if I were to visit him.”
“Much though I dislike reminding you of your age and marital status,” Susan replied, “it would do nothing of the sort. You’re a widow and well over twenty years old.”
“Hush,” Eugenia said crossly. “I can’t imagine why Miss Midge is having so much trouble.”
“Why shouldn’t you pay a visit to one of our clients? In my case, it might damage my reputation as a virginal old maid, although it’s unlikely anyone would believe that Mr. Reeve would bother to seduce me.”
“That is not true. I’m sure Mr. Reeve would be happy to seduce you, if you expressed a willingness to accept his suit.”
“I’d have to see him without his suit before I decided,” Susan said with a naughty chuckle.
Eugenia rolled her eyes. “I shall not travel to Oxford,” she repeated. “I’m certain that Miss Midge has it well in hand.”
“I can clear your calendar for two days. Or better yet, a fortnight. You have scarcely left the office in a month. As for Alithia . . .” She fished a note from her pocket and waved it in the air. “She would be grateful for any assistance we can offer, and she implores me to send her a new prayer book. What could have happened to the one she had?”
“Perhaps she dropped it in the bath,” Eugenia said. “I am not at the beck and call of Mr. Reeve, no matter what he thinks.”
Susan was expert at radiating silent disapproval.
“I shall write a note informing Mr. Reeve that I do not pay nursery visits,” Eugenia said. “Send it back in the carriage, if you please.”
Susan went away and Eugenia sat down to write a stern, brisk reply but ended up staring into space.
To tell the truth, Mr. Reeve’s very maleness was tantalizing. These days, she lived in a world of women. Barring the occasional father, she saw men only at balls and danced at most once or twice, because young mothers continually begged for her advice.
But she had grown up in a world of men. For years, it had been just herself and her father and his wide circle of witty, argumentative, male friends.
Secretly, she loved the way men smelled. She liked their cigar smoke, their bawdy jokes, and their deep laughter. She even enjoyed their foolish habits of mind.
Andrew possessed the same extravagant masculine confidence that Mr. Reeve exhibited. Her husband, too, would have sent a traveling coach on a five-hour drive to London, certain that a woman he scarcely knew would leap into the vehicle at his command.
Not that Mr. Reeve resembled Andrew in other ways, because he didn’t. Andrew, for example, had been lean and languid, a marvelously graceful dancer, whereas Mr. Reeve entered a room with explosive force. Andrew had been quietly proud of being one of the best-dressed gentlemen outside of Paris; Mr. Reeve clearly didn’t give a damn.