Ward’s face disappeared from her view as Eugenia sat up. Lizzie was chasing after Otis with a book in her hand.
“What is going on?” Ward called.
“He let Jarvis chew my book!”
“I didn’t,” Otis protested.
Lizzie stopped, hands on her hips, looking unnervingly like a miniature version of the Dowager Duchess of Gilner. The family resemblance was undeniable. “I doubt another rat wandered over and gnawed it!”
“Let’s have some cake,” Ward said. “We’ll have your book re-bound, Lizzie, perhaps with a special binding with your name inscribed on it.”
Eugenia brushed away an unwelcome tear and busied herself by pulling from the basket the assortment of delicacies that Marcel had packed for them. Otis threw himself down and dived for a piece of spice cake, but Lizzie just sighed.
“I no longer care for sweets,” she said, in a voice of doom.
“And why is that?” Ward asked, accepting a plate with a slice of chocolate cake, another of the orange tea cake (not entirely successful), and a sweet bun.
“I watched that spice cake being made. It took hours,” Lizzie said. “Now it’s just here to eat.”
“It can’t have been as much work as a sponge cake,” Otis said. “I thought Monsieur Marcel’s arms would fall off as he beat the eggs.”
Like Lizzie, Ward didn’t want cake. In fact, he’d be just as happy never to taste another dessert, though he would never say such a thing to Eugenia.
Soon she wouldn’t be here to tell.
The thought provoked a surge of emotion so strong he nearly leapt to his feet. He wanted to take Eugenia to his room and make love to her so many times that she’d never—
No. He sensed that if he gave her the slightest hope, Eugenia might wait for him, even through the many years until Otis came of age. That was impossible and unfair.
She deserved to have children of her own, not be the mistress of a man who could not marry her until his young siblings grew up.
“I thought Snowe’s governesses taught children how to bake a sponge, not a spice cake,” he said, controlling his untidy emotions.
“Not just a sponge,” Lizzie said importantly. She counted on her fingers. “I can make sponge, orange cake, jelly roll, sweet buns, and lemon tart.”
Ward turned to Eugenia, frowning. “You led me to understand that children are required to learn how to make one cake.”
“I can do one,” Otis said, with his mouth full.
Eugenia glanced at him, and he swallowed and said thickly, “Sorry.”
“I’ve been in the kitchen almost every day,” Lizzie said. “I asked Mrs. Snowe to name her tearoom ‘Lizzie’s Teas,’ but she says no. When I grow up, I shall open a shop and name it ‘Lizzie’s Emporium.’”
“What tearoom?” Ward demanded.
“I am thinking of opening a tearoom,” Eugenia said. “Did I not tell you, Mr. Reeve?”
No, she bloody well did not tell him. Was she planning to serve people tea herself? Show Lady Hyacinth to a table?
He was careful to keep his voice even. “Mrs. Snowe, I wonder if you would care to walk toward the lake?”
“Jarvis ought to go home to his box and take a nap,” Otis said. He had finished three pieces of cake and he looked sleepy.
“I expect he was exhausted by ingesting the history of the Punic wars,” Lizzie said acidly.
“Children, why don’t you return to the nursery?” Eugenia asked, rising. “Inform Mr. Gumwater that our picnic is finished, if you please.”
She had a governess’s trick of asking questions that were actually indirect orders, so Otis immediately turned to go.
“Otis,” Eugenia said.
He paused. “Oh.” He came back and made a fairly credible bow. “Thank you for a most enjoyable picnic, Mrs. Snowe.”
She nodded. “It has been my pleasure, Lord Darcy.”
Lizzie dropped a grand curtsy. “It is such sweet, sweet sorrow to part after this enchanting interlude.”
“Overdone,” Eugenia said, but she smiled and touched Lizzie’s hair before the child ran away.
As Ward looked on, she knelt and began collecting the luncheon debris and placing it in the basket. No lady would do such a menial thing.
“Please refrain,” Ward said, more sharply than he intended. “That is the servants’ responsibility, to be carried out by a footman, not by you.”
She rose again and met his eyes. “May I assume you are angry because you believe that Lizzie has spent too much time in the kitchen?”
“You told me that Snowe’s children never again touch a kitchen implement. And yet you have apparently given Lizzie ambitions to open an emporium, as if she were a baker’s child who might well spend her life in a kitchen.”