“Mother made his cloaks before she died,” Otis said.
Surprised, Eugenia glanced at Ward, but she couldn’t grasp his expression. It was hard to imagine Lady Lisette sewing. It suggested a motherly side that Eugenia, for one, wouldn’t have predicted.
“You are giving the boy your ribbon box, madame?” Clothilde whispered a few minutes later, disapproving. “It was a gift from your father, no?”
“It’s just an old cigar box,” Eugenia said, tumbling out the ribbons and handing it to Otis. He inspected the green velvet lining carefully and declared that Jarvis would probably like to sleep there.
Once Otis and Jarvis had been entrusted to Ruby’s capable hands, Ward ushered Eugenia out of the nursery. Her mind was whirling as they walked down the corridor back to the guest wing. “Lizzie is remarkable,” she told him.
“For her capacity to memorize, albeit inaccurately, salacious dialogue?” he answered dryly.
Eugenia squinted at him. “Surely you aren’t cross because she has learned a play, or at least parts of several plays, by heart?”
“I was surprised that you encouraged her.”
“Oh pooh,” Eugenia said lightly. “I was fascinated by plays at her age.”
Ward looked down at her and shook his head. “Forgive me if I don’t find that reassuring. She has to become a lady, Eugenia. A proper lady.”
“I promise you that the next governess we send will help.”
“Just imagine if Lizzie were to quote a character named Oliver Cockwood in a ballroom. Perhaps it would be better to allow my grandmother to raise the children.” A note in his voice suggested he was truly considering it.
Eugenia shook her head. “The duchess would crush her spirit, whereas you will nurture it.”
They reached the door of her bedchamber and Ward leaned against the wall, looking down at her. “Now that Lizzie knows you too have a passion for the theater, she’ll be pestering you every time she sees you.”
“Would you feel reassured if I were to steer her toward more acceptable plays?”
“I would greatly appreciate it.”
“Shakespeare is an obvious choice,” she said. But she couldn’t stop herself. “I could teach her Much Ado about Nothing.”
“Excellent,” Ward said, with the heartiness of a man who has no interest in or knowledge about England’s greatest playwright.
“Benedick is one of my favorite characters. ‘I will live in thy heart,’” Eugenia quoted, grinning at him, “‘die in thy lap, and be buried in thy eyes.’”
“‘Live in thy . . . die in thy lap’? Wait. What did he mean by ‘die’?”
“What do you think?” She was still laughing as she closed the door behind her, laughing so hard that she had to lean against the wall.
Chapter Nineteen
The night had turned chilly, and after Eugenia’s bath Clothilde laid out an evening gown of rose-colored velvet.
The fabric clung to her curves and turned her skin the color of milk, so she drifted downstairs feeling luscious and ready to be seduced, and was disappointed to find the drawing room empty.
“Mr. Reeve has been temporarily delayed,” Gumwater announced. “May I offer you a glass of sherry?”
“Yes, thank you,” Eugenia said. When he was gone, she positioned herself on a sofa before a great mirror and tried out various postures. If she sat with her ankles crossed, her waist looked appealingly small. If she bent forward, her bosom appeared more ample than it already was.
Gumwater reappeared with a tray on which a crystal decanter and two glasses were balanced. He wordlessly filled her glass and disappeared again. With a rush of nervous energy, Eugenia surged to her feet, picked up her glass, and began surveying the sparse furniture.
At length the door opened, and she turned to see Ward enter. Despite her wait, she couldn’t stop smiling. He was devilishly handsome, with hair tumbling over his brow.
“Please accept my apologies,” he said. “We had something of a crisis upstairs.”
“What happened? Can I help?”
“Thank you, but Ruby and I seem to have brought things under control.” He went to the tray and took up the remaining glass with the enthusiasm of one greeting a long-lost friend. “Jarvis was not happy to discover that Ruby believes even rats need nightly baths, so he retired under the grate and would not come out until lured forth with cheese. Once he’d emerged, I helped Otis negotiate a weekly bath for Jarvis.”
If Eugenia were not a lady, she would walk over to Ward and run her hands down his shoulders. And perhaps even farther. His silk breeches left nothing to her imagination. She tipped up her glass so he didn’t guess where she had been looking.