Maximilian felt the stillness of the moors around him. He climbed a low hill away from the castle and the stables. He drifted away from the lights and the noises as the grooms settled the horses in for the night and found their own dinners.
The evening’s peace filled him, spread through him and lifted him into a joy tinged with sorrow. His father’s death was still fresh enough that he continued to grieve for the man he loved and admired. He recalled walking hand in hand with Sophia on evenings like this, quiet walks with murmured conversation and chaste kisses.
Bitterness rose to squash his happiness. He also remembered how she swore to love him until death, then abandoned him to marry her lover without even telling him goodbye. Maximilian gazed up at the stars, thinking about her. Beautiful, as kind as a dove, with green eyes that sparkled when she smiled. Yet, beneath her beauty lay a heart of stone that he had no idea existed, and, despite his exalted rank in society, she chose another.
“I still love you, Sophia,” he said to the stars. “God help me, but I do.”
Chapter 2
Eugenia leaned against the townhouse window, fingering a pendant on a fine gold chain that hung about her neck and gazing down at the muddy London street. The drizzling rain continued to fall, streaking the glass. Below, horses walked and trotted through the slop, pulling fine carriages and laden wagons, often splashing muck onto annoyed pedestrians. Umbrellas sprouted like mushrooms after a rain like this, and Eugenia amused herself by counting how many people turned and shouted curses at drivers in the wake of getting splashed.
Her mistress, Lady Helena Reeves, had gone with her mother to shop, leaving her maidservant to look after her rooms and clothes. Eugenia had finished her work cleaning Lady Helena’s chambers, caring for her clothes, maintaining the hearth fire so the rooms did not grow damp and chilly. With all her work completed, she stole a few moments to herself until Lady Helena returned.
Giggling as a workman in heavy dark wool clothes slipped in the mud and fell, yelling curses, Eugenia glanced from him to the sight of the Whitington’s now mud-spattered carriage arriving, drawn by four sleek black horses. With her mistress returned, Eugenia turned away from the window and used her mistress’s looking glass to inspect her hair and clothes. Her thick dark hair, braided in the back but long enough to hang over her shoulder, still appeared as neat and tidy as when she brushed and braided it that morning. Her bodice held a small smear of dirt, which she quickly wiped away.
Smoothing her skirts and petticoats, Eugenia stood, expectant, in the middle of Lady Helena’s bedroom, waiting. Lady Helena, around her own age of nineteen, usually rushed straight to her chambers after such trips, excited to show Eugenia what she purchased. This late afternoon day was no exception. Lady Helena burst into her rooms, happy and elated, already talking before she even stepped completely over the threshold.
“Eugenia, guess what?” Lady Helena gasped, her wide smile glowing with excitement.
Eugenia dipped into a quick curtsey, then asked, “What, My Lady?”
“A letter came while we were out,” Lady Helena exclaimed. “You are not going to believe who it is from.”
The young daughter of the Earl of Whitington danced around the room, her thick auburn hair bouncing with every happy stride. Eugenia, observing the liveried footman in the doorway with his arms heaped with packages, took them from him and set them down. She gave him a quick smile before gently closing the door.
Lady Helena, having flounced upon her great bed, scrunching the pink and green coverlet and disrupting the mountain of pale green pillows, giggled and laughed as Eugenia picked up some of the packages to open as her mistress spoke. “Tell me, My Lady,” she said, “I’m dying to know.”
She sat up, patting the bed beside her inviting Eugenia to join her. Eugenia obeyed her, still holding the half-opened package and sat gingerly on the edge.
“It is from the Dowager Duchess of Bromenville,” Lady Helena said, moaning happily. “An invitation to meet her stepson, the Duke of Bromenville and talk –marriage!”
Eugenia gasped. “No. Truly?”
“Truly.”
Lady Helena impulsively hugged her. “I am so excited, Eugenia. To talk marriage with the Duke of Bromenville himself. Do you know he is the most eligible bachelor in the entire realm? Wealth uncounted, privilege uncounted, breeder of the best horses in England, and it is said the Prince Regent is a personal friend of his.”
“Yes, I have heard of him,” Eugenia said, her own excitement growing.
Lady Helena grasped her hand. “Do you know I saw him once? It was at a ball hosted by that boring old Marquess of Westwood. He is sohandsome,Eugenia. Tall with blondish hair, the deepest blue eyes you haveeverseen. I think I willswoonwhen I tell you about his broad shoulders.”
“Oh, please tell me,” Eugenia exclaimed, then giggled.
“But if I swoon, I cannot tell you.”
The pair held each other, laughing until Eugenia clasped her young mistress’s hands and gazed earnestly into her green eyes. “Please, you will take me with you?”
“Of course. I could never leave you behind. You are not just my maid, you are my friend, too.”
Eugenia bounced up, holding the package to her chest. “I am so happy for you, My Lady. Iknowthe Duke will take one look at you and fall instantly in love.”
Lady Helena sobered. She glanced down at her fingers entwined in her lap. “You know I have always wanted to marry for love, Eugenia.”
“I know. But you are a high-born lady. You have been prepared to marry whom your parents chose for you your entire life.”
“This is true. I know everything there is to know about running a wealthy household, from accounts to sewing my husband’s clothes to hiring servants.”
She stood up and paced slowly to the window Eugenia had stood beside, and stared down, even as Eugenia had done. “But what do I know of love? Marriage is not just about accounts and needlecraft. It is also about bedroom secrets, childbirth, growing up and growing old.”
