Duchess By Night

Page 32

“I’d like to see your calculations,” Harriet said to Eugenia, ignoring him. He was a fool to let his eight-year-old daughter stay up half the night parsing calculations but at least that explained the odd gray shadows under Eugenia’s eyes. She almost looked ill.
Eugenia reached up and took her hand and even though Harriet was longing for a bath and a nap, she let herself be drawn past the barrier of the footman into the locked wing of the house.
“Who lives here besides you?” she asked.
“No one,” Eugenia said blithely. “That is, there’s always a maid with me, of course. Papa likes to keep me safe, so there’s always a footman on guard.”
But when they got to the nursery, it was deserted.
“Where’s your maid?” Harriet said, looking around. The fire was burning low.
“She must have gone downstairs for a bit,” Eugenia said. “My governess will probably be here any moment. She’s in love with one of the footmen, so I always know where she is.”
“And where is that?”
“Kissing the footman, of course,” Eugenia said. “They kiss in the knife closet on the second floor.”
“How on earth do you know that?”
“She told me.”
Harriet nodded. Then she squatted down, suppressing a groan over her cramped muscles, and allowed Eugenia to show her the angle of every wall and roof on her three-story dollhouse.
“Did you demonstrate all the angles for your father?” she asked.
“Papa? No, Papa designed my house, so he knows the angles.”
“I mean, did you figure out the angles because it will make him happy?”
Eugenia looked at her with the clear, surprised eyes of childhood. “Why would that make him happy? It makes me happy.”
Harriet, put in her place, began to sort out the tiny furniture that was toppled this way and that within the house.
“Do you have a cat?” Eugenia asked, sitting down next to her.
“I have a dog,” Harriet said. “He is a silly old spaniel named Mrs. Custard. Do you have a pet?”
Eugenia shook her head. “I don’t know very much about animals.”
“There’s nothing much to know. You feed them; they love you.”
“But they need to run outside. And I’m in my room so often. It wouldn’t be fair.”
“But you must go outside, don’t you? A dog would be happy to be inside with you and then go outside for some exercise.”
Eugenia frowned down at her little house. “I wouldn’t want an animal locked in my room. He might start to hate me.”
“Of course he wouldn’t! If my spaniel, Mrs. Custard, were here, you’d see how much he would love it. He would curl up in front of the fire and be perfectly happy.”
“Actually, he might be cold. I’ll add another log to the fire,” Eugenia said, getting up.
“Wait a minute,” Harriet said, hurrying after her. “You’re not going to do that yourself, are you?”
Eugenia cast her a pitying look. “Of course I am, Harry. You do know how to feed a fire, don’t you?”
“I leave it to the footmen,” she said firmly. “And you shouldn’t be doing it either. What if your skirts caught a spark?”
“They never do,” Eugenia said. “I’m very careful.” And before Harriet could stop her she picked up a small log and tossed it on the fire. A huge burst of sparks sprang into the air and slid up the chimney. “I like it when that happens,” she said. “It’s so pretty.”
“I’m going to speak to your father,” Harriet said, pulling on the bell cord. “Where are your governess and the maid? What if there was a fire in this room, Eugenia?”
“You do sound like a mother!” Eugenia said, giggling. “Papa never worries the way you do. I’d run out of the room, of course.”
“But the hallway is locked,” Harriet said. “Is there another exit?”
“That’s the only way out, but the footman is always there. Or do you mean a secret passage?” Eugenia’s face lit up. “I never thought of that.” She instantly started walking around the room and peering at the wainscoting. “Anyway,” she added, pulling at a carved knob on the elaborate fireplace, “I have a plan for escape in case I need it.”
“What is it?”
Eugenia nodded toward the window. “I’ll go out that window. There’s a huge oak tree there, and I’m sure I could scramble down without any problem.”
Harriet looked out the window. The oak tree was a good two feet away and she wasn’t sure that even she would be able to jump to it.
“You look so fidgety,” Eugenia said, giving up her search for a secret door. “Tell me more about Mrs. Custard, please. That’s a strange name for a boy dog.”
So Harriet did.
Chapter Seventeen
In Which Harriet Finds Herself Shocked
D inner that night was a formal affair. Rather to Harriet’s surprise, she found that she was seated toward the head of the table, with Isidore between herself and Strange. Kitty was to Harriet’s left.
“How are you?” Kitty whispered with an effusive smile. “Did you have a good day? We practiced for our next performance. We’re going to sing madrigals for a bishop.”
“Madrigals for a bishop?” Harriet said, spreading her napkin in her lap.
Kitty started giggling madly, so much so that she couldn’t speak.
There was something about being dressed in men’s clothes that made Harriet far less patient, she was discovering.
“He wants us dressed as little angels,” Kitty finally managed to say.
“Angels singing before a bishop. I suppose it makes sense.”
“But wait until you see our costumes,” Kitty said. “It must be very warm in Heaven, if you understand me.”
She gave Harriet her practiced, naughty smile.
Harriet smiled back, rather more stiffly. “Do you have wings?”
“Yes, really lovely ones, made of real feathers. Lord Strange has a French secretary who helped with the costumes. The wings are so soft and pretty. At one point we take them off and actually lie down on them.”
“Lie down?” Harriet said.
Kitty leaned closer. “I could give you a private rehearsal if you wished, Harry. I couldn’t sing a madrigal without three of us, but I could sing another love song.”
“Did you say rehearsal?” Strange said from the head of the table. “Are you discussing the angel performance? I would love to see that.”
She instantly gave him the same dimpled smile that she had just bestowed on Harriet. “I’d be happy to include you, my lord.”
“Isidore,” Strange said, turning to her with a touch on her arm, “would you be interested in seeing a private concert given by an angel?”
“Of course,” Isidore said, but Harriet could tell from her voice that she didn’t like the idea.
“I’m afraid I already have an appointment after supper,” Harriet said quickly.
“You do?” Strange said, looking at her from under his lids. “Now who could that be with?” He looked down the long, glittering table, lined with people more beautiful than noble. “Nell, perhaps?”