Eugenia glanced at Lady Helena, who had blanched white at the sight of the Duke’s wound being sewn closed. Lady Helena nodded and quickly embraced Eugenia before walking out of the drawing room, her arm across her stomach. “Yes,” Eugenia said. “What do you need, sir?”
“I must attend to the inured footmen,” he replied, standing. “I would like you to sit with His Grace. There will be footmen at the doors to protect your reputation, miss.”
“If he wakes up, sir?” Eugenia asked. “Can he have water or wine, if he asks?”
“Either, but no food. Not yet. I will return as soon as I am able.”
With that, he made his way through the now mostly empty room and out the doors. Two footmen nodded to her as they stood a short distance away from where the Duke lay on the couch. Telling herself she should not do it, but unable to resist, Eugenia took one of the Duke’s hand and held it, watching his face for any signs of him waking up. Not knowing why, she leaned close and brushed his hair from his brow. “I am here, Your Grace. It is me, Eugenia.”
He did not stir, yet Eugenia felt better for having said it. She liked holding his hand, even if he did not know she did. She craved to bend over him and press her lips to his and see him wake at that moment, then witness his lips curve into a smile as he gazed into her eyes. She wanted to close her own as she leaned in –
“Is this not delicious?” a voice above her inquired with bitter humor. “A lowly ladies maid mooning over my unconscious stepson. How utterly quaint.”
Eugenia leaped up. How the Duchess had arrived in the room without her hearing, Eugenia had no idea. The footmen bowed but had not moved from their places to open the doors for her. Remembering her manners, Eugenia curtseyed as the Duchess strolled forward and peered down at the unconscious Duke.
“Hummpf,” she snorted, turning toward Eugenia. “What are you doing here, abigail?” she asked. “This is not your place. Where is that wretched physician? He should be attending His Grace, not some uneducated peasant.”
Eugenia mustered her courage. “He is assisting the injured footmen, Your Grace.”
“Bah. They are insignificant. His duty is in here.”
The Duchess pointed at one of the footmen. “You. Go. Fetch Mr. Leary here this instant. Have one of their paltry friends take care of them.”
The footman thus indicated bowed and hurried from the drawing room as the Duchess turned her icy blue eyes on Eugenia once more. “You may go, peasant,” she snapped. “Leave this room before I grow angry and have you whipped for your insolence.”
“No.”
The Duchess spun around. The Duke slowly sat up, his hand flailing, searching. Eugenia seized it within her own two hands and helped him to sit up. Turning her back daringly on the Duchess, she assisted him to sit back on the couch and watched his eyes travel slowly from her face to what stood behind her.
“I came to see if you were all right,” the Duchess said, her tone softer. “I heard about the dreadful accident, the coachman being killed. Forgive me for being concerned.”
Eugenia watched the Duke’s eyes close, and he leaned his head back on the couch. “Thank you, Madam. I will be, in time.”
“I am glad I arrived when I did,” she continued, “for you require more than just a servant to tend you.”
“You will leave Miss Betham alone,” he said, his voice tired but firm. “Please. Mr. Leary will help my footmen, Duchess, and save their lives. But I respectfully ask that you leave my presence.”
“I came to offer my assistance –”
Though she still had her back turned to the Duchess, Eugenia felt the tension rise and thought she should perhaps leave the drawing room. An emotional confrontation between the Duke and the Duchess should not be witnessed by the likes of her. But, as though reading her mind, the Duke’s grip on her hand increased.
“Go,” he said, his tone sharper. “Please.”
“What? You cannot dismiss me from any place. This is my castle.”
The Duke lifted his head back from the couch, his hand firmly clasped in Eugenia’s, his lips thinned. “It ismycastle, Madam, and do not forget it. You will retire to your chambersnow,or I will have you confined in your chambers permanently. Do I make myself clear?”
For a moment, Eugenia thought the Duchess transformed into a witch from legend, for her face twisted into something filled with hate and loathing.
“You will regret this, foolish boy.”
Turning, the Duchess stormed from the drawing room, leaving Eugenia to breathe a sigh of relief. The remaining footman bowed low, opening the doors for her, his face carefully blank, as though he had not just witnessed her dismissed like a servant. Eugenia glanced at the Duke’s face, seeing his weary half-smile and hurried to a sideboard to pour him a glass of water.
“Mr. Leary said you can have water or wine,” she explained hastily. “No food yet, however.”
“It is a good thing I am not hungry.”
Giving him the glass, Eugenia watched him drink it down, ready to take the glass from him when he finished. He sighed deeply, then gave it to her.
