“Papa brought it home for you to wear on your come out, but I think this occasion will do just as well.” Maman blinked rapidly. “If only he could see you.”
“Yes.” Tears threatened to flood Eugénie’s eyes as well. They had both turned into watering pots. “If only he could.”
She left her mother’s chamber, making her way to the wooden door set in the solid masonry wall bordering their property along the step street. She climbed up two steps, which put her at the gate to Cicely’s house, arriving a full hour before dinner, as requested. Though resigned, if not overjoyed, by her own betrothal, Eugénie was determined not to ruin her friend’s good mood. It wouldn’t be fair and wouldn’t make her situation any better. At least Maman was happy. That had to mean something. So little had gladdened her since Papa’s death.
Eugénie pasted a smile on her face, pushing aside the fine muslin covering the door to her friend’s parlor, then walked into the bedchamber.
Cicely stood as her maid laced up a turquoise gown the exact color of her eyes. Eugénie caught her friend’s gaze in the mirror. Her friend had never looked happier. “You are beautiful. I can see how well your betrothal suits you.”
“It does. Andrew—that is Mr. Grayson’s first name—is everything I thought he would be when I first saw him. We both agree fate brought us together.” She held out her hand to Eugénie. “But you are lovely as well. That coral is your very best color. I remember when we picked it out.”
Eugénie’s smile faltered. She could no longer keep up the happy façade. “This was Papa’s favorite shade on me.”
Cicely nodded to her maid, and the woman left. “You miss him very much.”
“Yes. I can’t help but think that if he were here, none of my family’s problems would have occurred.” Then again, her friend would not have met Mr. Grayson. Papa always said good frequently comes out of bad; still, she’d rather have her father. Eugénie’s throat tightened. She would not weep any longer over her problem with Lord Wivenly. He wasn’t worth it. She was determined this evening would be a happy occasion for at least Cicely and her Mr. Grayson. “I’m delighted for you.”
Cicely placed her arm around Eugénie’s shoulders and led her to a small sofa. “I heard from Andrew, that you and Lord Wivenly shall wed as well.”
Eugénie didn’t want to discuss his lordship, yet there was no way out of it. She and Cicely had been friends for far too long for one to fool the other. “Yes, but ours is not a love match.” If only Eugénie could bring herself to tell her friend what happened earlier; yet some things were not meant to be shared. “We will have a marriage of convenience, nothing more.”
“Are you sure?” Cicely’s brows knit. “I remember what you told me about the kiss, and now that I’ve experienced the same thing”—she worried her bottom lip—“are you not even a little in love with him?”
Eugénie had been so angry and hurt, she hadn’t even thought about what feelings she might have for Wivenly. Still, what difference would it make? “It doesn’t matter. He thinks with his man parts and only wants me in his bed.”
Cicely gasped. “He never said that to you, did he?”
“No, but that is what he had planned all along.” A spark of fury came over her. “He thought I was a widow.”
Cicely stared at Eugénie with wide-eyed shock. “You may have to marry him, but you do not have to put up with such boorish behavior. It’s time you make him work for your affection.”
Staring at a pretty painting of an island hanging on the wall, her stomach clenched as she contemplated her life. “It will not work. He does not at all care about me.”
Several moments later, Cicely said firmly, “I don’t agree with you.”
“Vraiment. Wivenly thinks of nothing but . . .”
“Of course he thinks of that, all men do.” She pulled a face. “What I mean is, that is notall. When I think back to that first night, he was attracted to you like a moth to a flame.” Nodding her head in a decisive manner, she continued. “I think he may love you as well, but doesn’t know it, or doesn’t want to admit it.”
Eugénie shook her head so hard her hair loosened. “I do not love him. How could I, after the way he’s treated me?” But . . . could her friend be right? Each time Eugénie and Wivenly came together, it was as if lightning struck them. A small kernel of hope bloomed in Eugénie’s heart and the cannon ball in her stomach shrunk a bit. “Besides, how would I know?”
“I agree he has not given you much reason to. Yet somehow I still believe there is a chance for the two of you.” A dreamy look appeared on Cicely’s countenance. “I shall ask Andrew. He will be able to advise us.”
Oh,non,non,non. Eugénie’s eyes widened in spite of herself. “You cannot. Mr. Grayson is Wivenly’s friend!”
“True, but Andrew is not particularly pleased with Lord Wivenly right now.” Cicely rose, went to her desk, took out a piece of paper, wrote a note, sealed it, then rang for her maid. A moment later the door opened. “Please have Josh take this to Mr. Grayson and wait for an answer.”
The woman shook her head as she took the missive. “That poor young man. The way you’ve had him running back and forth all over town, Cook’s going to have to feed Josh extra portions at dinner.”
Cicely’s cheeks turned a pretty shade of pink, and Eugénie grinned. “How many messages have you sent?”
“Well, it doesn’t seem like that many, but”—her friend’s face grew redder—“we’ve been having a conversation.” The tightness in Eugénie’s stomach went away as mirth poured forth inside her, and she laughed for the first time in what seemed like days. “If your written conversations are anything at all the same as your regular ones, you’d better have Josh fed triple portions.”
Cicely’s eyes sparkled. “Thatis the expression you need to show Lord Wivenly this evening.”
Eugénie caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror. Her eyes shone and her countenance was nicely flushed. This was exactly the face she should have on when her betrothed arrived. She prayed her friend was right and Wivenly really was in love with her. Still, after all he’d done to her, he would need to court her properly. He must behave toward her with respect and conduct himself as a gentleman should when he cares for a lady. The same as Papa treated Maman.
Other women might run to him when he snapped his fingers; Eugénie would not.
