“Utterly revolting,” the duchess snapped, rising to her feet with the help of her cane. “I feel quite faint.”
He couldn’t let her leave, not before ensuring that she would not ruin Eugenia’s reputation by talk of the box.
“Clearly Mrs. Snowe had no idea that the painting existed,” Ward said. “I would ask that you keep its existence a secret, Your Grace.”
“You dare defend—”
“I will always defend my brother and sister to the best of my ability. Knowledge of this image would attract the worst sort of attention. I would not be surprised if gossip about the box attached to your daughter, rather than Mrs. Snowe.”
“Nonsense! The proof is in your hands!”
“A painting depicting an erotic act found in the possession of a very young man,” Ward said, looking hard at his grandmother. “Do you follow what I’m saying, Your Grace? Neither of us wishes to remind the world of Lady Lisette’s amorous proclivities. My own father was her junior, as you may know—although not nearly as young as the late Lord Darcy.”
The dowager duchess abruptly sat again. In the silence that followed, the sharp lines around her mouth tightened. “No one would dare accuse my daughter of the debauchery you imply. Otis is her son.”
“One would hope you are correct.” He let the silence grow because, frankly? The world wouldn’t hesitate to accuse Lady Lisette of any manner of depravity.
“There is absolutely no need to discuss this appalling incident again,” the duchess announced. “The fact that Mrs. Snowe has been acting as a governess is enough to banish her from polite society, as should have happened long ago.”
“No.” The word shot from Ward’s mouth, hard and implacable. “You may not use Mrs. Snowe’s kindness to your orphaned grandchildren to tarnish her standing at Almack’s or any other place.”
She sniffed. “How do you propose to stop me, Mr. Reeve?”
Ward gave his grandmother a smile that he’d honed inside Britain’s most dangerous prison. “When I was fourteen years old, I paid a visit to your daughter. Perhaps Lady Lisette did not share the details . . . in particular why I abruptly returned to my father’s residence?”
She flinched. It was a small movement, but he caught it. “No.”
He used silence as a weapon again. Then: “I will say nothing to the House of Lords. But if I ever learn that you have spread gossip about my mother’s occupation, my siblings’ childhood, or Mrs. Snowe’s inestimable aid, I will share the details of that visit.”
He paused. The duchess tightened her bony hands on her cane, but said nothing.
“Allow me to review the facts,” he went on. “My siblings have been raised in France. Since the tragic deaths of their parents, the children have been under the care of a Snowe’s governess here at Fawkes House. If the court comes to the conclusion that they would be better raised by their maternal grandmother, thereby overturning the late Lord Darcy’s explicit wishes, so be it.”
The drawing room was so silent that the creak of the duchess’s knees as she once again rose sounded like pistol shots.
“I shall take my leave.”
“May I take that as your agreement?”
“I never lower myself to gossip,” she said, all evidence to the contrary.
Ward bowed; like it or not—and she certainly did not—the lady was his grandmother.
“I shall next see you in the House of Lords, Mr. Reeve.”
He bowed again.
The duchess stopped at the door and looked back at him, her face drawn. For a moment, he thought she was about to relinquish her fight for custody.
“She loved you,” Her Grace said instead.
Eugenia? How did she know how Eugenia felt?
“My daughter was not in control of her better self.” Torment ran beneath his grandmother’s well-bred syllables. “But Lisette loved you. She never forgave me for taking you as a baby and giving you to your father.”
He stood very still, surprised by the stab of pain that he felt at her words. He didn’t meet his mother until he was fourteen, and she had been alternately charming and violent. “I see,” he said at length.
“Believe it or not, I wanted to save your life.”
She waited a moment for a response, before she set her chin and walked from the room.
Chapter Thirty-nine
Thursday, June 18, 1801
Fonthill
The country residence of Jem Strange,
Marquis of Broadham,
and Harriet Strange, Lady Broadham,
former Duchess of Berrow
Eugenia occupied herself on the way to her father’s estate by sending letters to Susan, dispatching them from market towns she passed through. The first letter told Susan that she was the new owner of Snowe’s. The second laid out Susan’s objections and countered every one. They had been friends so long that Eugenia had no problem imagining her protests. A third suggested that the new training course for governesses include swimming lessons.