Seven Minutes in Heaven(84)

Eugenia wasn’t certain why, or how, but her blissful certainty that Ward had fallen in love with her was fast slipping away.

She was in love. Ward? It no longer seemed so.

One night at supper he mentioned in passing her return to London, as if it meant nothing to him. The day before, she had overheard Ward tell Otis that he and Lizzie would escort him to Eton in the fall.

No mention of her. No glance at her, either. No silent acknowledgment that by the fall their affaire might be regularized.

Every time she felt a burning pain in her heart, Eugenia sought refuge in the kitchen. She and Monsieur Marcel had perfected her tea cake. Not only was that enormously satisfying, but more importantly, she had discovered what her next challenge would be: she meant to open a tearoom.

It would be a tearoom that welcomed children, the only one of its kind. Delicacies would be offered in small portions. A child with Otis’s appetite could eat five or six. Or twelve.

After Ward described how hungry he had always been at Eton, she decided to offer special hampers that could be sent directly to boarding schools. They would include sweets and pastries, naturally, but also hearty meat pies.

She spent hours in the kitchen, trying one recipe after another with Monsieur Marcel’s help. Lizzie often spent the afternoon there as well, stealing raisins and ranking delicacies. In the evening, Eugenia scribbled notes and imagined new combinations of flavors.

“Perhaps you should abstain from the kitchens tomorrow,” Ward said one evening, after Gumwater had brought in a tray holding five different confections.

“I know,” Eugenia said ruefully. “It’s just that one cake leads to another . . . I have an idea or Monsieur Marcel does, and we adjust the amount of butter or other ingredient, and before I know it, we have four versions on our hands.”

“What on earth is enjoyable in that?” Ward asked. “It sounds hot and tiresome.”

“Baking is like mathematics,” Eugenia explained. “I’m fond of numerical problems, and baking demands precision. I promise that nothing will go to waste; we could have a picnic tomorrow afternoon, for example, and Otis would eat every crumb.”

They had their picnic on a linen cloth spread under a willow near the water. After eating luncheon, they lay on the grass reading books until Lizzie fell asleep, using her bundled veil for a pillow. Otis was building a hut of twigs for Jarvis.

Eugenia was drowsily watching drifting clouds from under the shade of her bonnet when a long blade of grass tickled her nose.

“Good afternoon, Mrs. Snowe,” Ward whispered. They were scrupulously formal with each other in front of the children, even while swimming.

“Mr. Reeve,” she murmured.

“You are wildly beautiful.” The grass blade was sweeping back and forth over her lower lip.

“Thank you,” Eugenia said, suddenly shy. They rarely spent time together during the day; Ward was usually in the library working on his steam engine, while she instructed Lizzie and Otis, or rattled around the kitchens.

“I wish we had more time together,” Ward said softly.

Eugenia didn’t dare answer; she was afraid that her aching love couldn’t be disguised.

“I received a letter from the dowager duchess yesterday.”

Dread clenched her gut.

“She informs me that she plans to visit,” Ward said, his eyes dark with obvious regret. “I suspect that she will look for ammunition to bolster her case.”

Eugenia reflexively glanced over to make certain that neither child was listening. “When is she expected?”

“This Tuesday.”

“In three days,” Eugenia, shocked to hear how calm her voice was.

“The children will miss you,” he said. “I will miss you. Damn it, I . . .”

He fell silent as her heart pounded in her ears, certain he was about to say something, ask her to stay, promise to woo her in a year, a few years, if need be. Lying awake by his side at night, she’d come up with a thousand possibilities.

“There’s a fair in the village tomorrow,” he said abruptly.

That wasn’t a declaration.

“We could take the children.”

“Certainly,” Eugenia said. Her heart was thudding a dirge because Ward wasn’t going to say anything. He would not ask her to stay, or even promise to court her after he gained legal guardianship of the children.

He meant to say good-bye.

Years of self-control led her to say, with perfect equanimity, “I love country fairs.”

Something flickered in his eyes, and a horrible truth dawned on her: he’d brought up the fair because he expected her to depart directly afterwards.

Just when the silence became unbearable, a shriek echoed over the lawn: “How dare you!”