Seven Minutes in Heaven(98)

Lizzie was a far better actress than Ward had recognized, not that it was relevant. Shock, and perhaps pain, creased the old woman’s face.

“I know how tender ’tis to love my babe,” Lizzie went on. “I would, while it was smiling in my face, have plucked—”

Ward suddenly knew which play—and which character—Lizzie was performing. Those were Lady Macbeth’s lines when she was about to say that she’d murder her own child in order to become queen. “That will do,” he said hastily. “Lizzie, you have been extremely rude. Apologize to Her Grace at once.”

Lizzie hopped to her feet and curtsied. “I apologize, Grandmama.”

“Are you saying that Lisette portrayed me on the stage?” the duchess said, her voice strained. “Her own mother?”

Happily, Otis trotted back into the room before Lizzie could confirm the uncomfortable truth.

“My mother was a troubled woman,” Ward found himself saying. “I know from my own experience that Lady Lisette was prone to unkindnesses she later regretted.”

The duchess met his eyes and then looked away, turning from a desolate mother to a haughty, disdainful aristocrat.

“Here’s the box!” Otis said, taking advantage of the momentary silence to thrust Jarvis’s bed toward his grandmother.

She recoiled, her gloved hands flying into the air. “Do you think to give me an object touched by a rat?”

“You can see how nice it is,” Otis said, opening the lid. “This box was given to Mrs. Snowe by her father, the marquis, and she gave it to me. No governess would do that.”

Had everyone in the house known of Eugenia’s pedigree? Yet Ward had no one to be angry with except himself. He had jumped to a conclusion about Eugenia’s upbringing rather than trust the evidence of his ears and eyes.

Then, like a kick to the belly, he grasped the significance of Eugenia’s status.

They could marry. She was an aristocrat, for God’s sake. That marquis, her father, was probably sitting in the House of Lords: how could they possibly object to her as the children’s mother in front of him?

His heart leapt, and he only just managed to keep a sober expression on his face.

“That box is revolting,” the duchess was telling Otis. “The lining is tattered, and the wood appears to have been chewed. A stable boy might have given you a gift of this value.”

“It’s only because Jarvis likes to sharpen his teeth,” Otis said, looking uncertain.

“What is that?” Her Grace demanded, her tone deepening as she pointed a thin finger at the inside of the lid. “Is that a painting?” She plucked the box from Otis’s hands and tugged at the tattered green velvet lining.

“You’re tearing off the velvet,” Otis cried. “That’s what makes Jarvis feel safe and warm!”

The duchess dropped a shred of cloth to the floor and hissed. “Mrs. Snowe gave this box to you? This is an obscenity! ”

Ward only just managed to pull Otis back before he could assault his grandmother in order to retrieve Jarvis’s bed.

“Not even a rat should sleep within sight of this depravity. I’ll say this much for you, Mr. Reeve,” his grandmother said, handing the box to Ward. “You had no idea just whom you were entertaining under your roof. It seems that Mrs. Snowe is considerably more sophisticated than most think her to be.” There was a grim satisfaction about her that made Ward’s eyes narrow.

He glanced under the lid of the box, quickly closed it again, and turned to the children. “Lizzie and Otis, say farewell to your grandmother, if you please. Otis, I shall find a new bed for Jarvis.”

“Good afternoon, Grandmother,” Lizzie said with a curtsy. Otis bowed, his entire body rigid with reproach.

They had turned to go when the duchess stopped them, her voice chilly. “Children must say farewell to every adult in a room, which in this case includes Mr. Reeve.”

Otis turned around, grabbed Ward’s hand, and gave it a kiss before he ran for the door. Lizzie curtsied. “Good afternoon, dearest brother.” Her lisp made an appearance again, accompanied by a roll of her eyes.

“Go on, you little donkey,” Ward said.

When Lizzie was safely out the door, he opened the lid of the box again. Inside was an exquisite depiction of a wildly erotic scene—and he’d seen his fair share. A nude man was kissing a naked lady’s nether parts, while she pleasured herself. The lady’s luxuriant curves were as painstakingly detailed as her lover’s enormous and rampant phallus.

Eugenia would be horrified at the idea she’d unwittingly given it to Otis. In fact, it was lucky that Jarvis hadn’t shredded the velvet already, giving his little brother an early education in erotic art.