Seven Minutes in Heaven(92)

Funny. A string of curses was the only thing going through her head.

Ward took a breath, and she steeled herself.

Surely there wasn’t more?

There was more.

“I blame myself,” he said, looking at her with compassion and regret—a combination that made her nearly choke with rage. “I never should have brought a lover into a household with children. I had to send the children to the nursery tonight because I realized that Lizzie has grown overly fond of you.”

“I was fond of some of the courtesans I knew as a child,” Eugenia said. He’d already decided she was irredeemable; she might as well shock him further. “I learned much from them. One young woman named Augusta, for example, locked her lover inside a closet until he agreed to have her carriage relined in canary-yellow satin.”

Instead of looking appalled, he looked even more sympathetic. As if he pitied her.

It was time to retire. Thank God for her training—because no matter what Ward thought of her, she was a lady who had been presented to the queen. Several times, in fact.

As if from afar, she watched herself curtsy, step forward and kiss Ward’s cheek, saying all the right things about taking a small meal in her chamber. She apologized yet again, and mentioned her hope of remaining in the children’s lives.

With a touch of self-deprecation, she promised that if he would entrust his sister to her on a visit to London, she would never again to expose Lizzie to science.

She played her part, but Ward didn’t play his. He stood silently and said nothing in response to her charming remarks about the children.

She curtsied again, the sharp, organized part of her brain assuring herself that Ward could not keep her from Lizzie when the time came for her debut.

Thinking of that, she paused in the doorway and turned. “When you marry, please do introduce me to your wife. This”—she waved her hand in the air—“shall never be mentioned again between us, as you specified two weeks ago. I trust you to make certain your household doesn’t breathe a word.”

She waited. Still he said nothing. “I would ask you to have a word with Gumwater in particular.” She didn’t bother to keep her disdain out of her voice. “But what I really mean to say is that I would be happy to help your wife in any capacity with Lizzie’s debut.”

He still didn’t answer, so she slipped out the door and closed it behind her.





Chapter Thirty-seven





Monday, June 15, 1801



Eugenia had been awake all night. She spent hours reeling between fits of burning tears and equally intense bouts of rage, imagining scenes in which she threw heavy objects at Ward’s head.

Just as she talked herself into celebrating the natural end of their friendship, she found herself curled in a ball again, tears soaking into the sheet.

The truth was that she loved him just as much as she’d loved Andrew. And wasn’t that damnable? She had lost them both. By dawn, her throat ached and her eyes were swollen.

Sleep was impossible and there wasn’t any point to lying wretchedly in bed. She got up and went over to the window.

The lawn stretched down to the lake, where little tendrils of steam rose from the surface. It looked irresistible.

Clothilde entered with a gentle knock just as Eugenia was pulling on her borrowed breeches.

“I’ve decided to have a last dip in the lake before we leave,” Eugenia said, not even trying to conceal her swollen eyes. Gumwater had undoubtedly been at the drawing room door last night, eavesdropping on every word she and Ward exchanged and reporting them to the household with relish.

“I shall finish packing your trunk,” Clothilde said, adding, “Reeve is a connard, madame, and we are well rid of this house.”

Eugenia pulled on her slippers and made her way down the hill to the water, trying not to slip on the dewy grass. When she reached the shore of the lake, she took a deep breath and looked around with mixed emotions. The woods across the small lake were dreamy, soft green in this light. Birds were waking, calling to each other.

No matter the grief with which their love affair had ended, in teaching her to enjoy water, Ward had given her a gift beyond value. She toed off her slippers and placed them neatly on the shingle along with a length of toweling.

She was determined to go into the lake alone—and furthermore, to put her head under water.

In the end, it wasn’t even difficult. She steeled herself and waded into the water, flinching at the chill against her legs, gasping when it covered her breasts. She took a deep breath and bent forward, and water flowed like a benediction over her burning eyes . . . and she was floating.

Face down, the way the children did.

She thrashed a bit, got water in her mouth, and turned over, floating on her back. The sky was pale, pale blue and far away. She remembered the faint reassuring pressure of Ward’s hands as he held her up, but she didn’t need him.