Her smile faded but she forced it back, pretending at a joy she didn’t feel. Watching her closely he thought he understood her now; it was time to take a chance.
“I’m glad everything has turned out as you wanted it,” she was saying, still with her fake-happy smile.
“Somerton has promised not to punish you,” he added. “He knows none of this was your fault, that you were only trying to help.”
“I expect I will go home anyway,” she said. “I won’t feel comfortable staying.”
“There is another option.”
She stiffened as if preparing herself for bad news. Terry decided it was time Lizzie learned that the world held more than disappointment. “Oh?”
“You could come with me.”
“With you?” Her eyes were wide now, and he could see hope in them, mingled with doubt.
“You could be an army wife, Lizzie. I don’t know whether you’d want to travel about and live in barracks and set up camp in far and foreign lands. But for me it would be so much better if you were there.”
Her smile was broader now. Her eyes shone.
“Yes,” she said. “Yes, yes, yes!”
He caught her as she flung herself at him, happiness overflowing. And Terry knew as he held her that this time he had made the right choice.
Epilogue
&
nbsp; The ball was one of the grandest of the season, but then the Duke and Duchess of Somerton had the means to see that it outshone all the others. Greenery and flowers were banked against the walls and satin hangings and ribbons fluttered in the breeze from the open windows. Hundreds of society guests chattered and danced like peacocks beneath the glittering chandeliers.
Sinclair was speaking with his uncle Lord Ridley, when he heard her voice behind him. He came to with a jolt, only then realizing that he’d been waiting for her like a thirsty man longs for water.
His wife. His duchess.
She was making her way toward him, her fashionable gown molding the swell of her bosom and her waist, before flaring out in a waterfall of ribbon and lace and silk ruching. A necklace of green emeralds rested about her neck and her wild curls were contained, for the moment. She was smiling and elegant, perfectly at ease in the company in which she found herself and if she was aware of his eye upon her she didn’t show it.
Sinclair knew she’d always had this quiet dignity. It was just that he’d been too blind to see it. Like a precious jewel, Eugenie shone in whatever setting she was placed.
He’d been surprised how soon she was accepted by most of the members of society. There were a very few who still refused to acknowledge her, but that was their loss. The others found her charming and refreshing, and the story about her great-grandmother was a great hit.
“You have royal blood?” they cried, eyes wide. “How marvelous! Does Her Majesty the Queen call upon you, Your Grace?”
“I could not possibly say whether she calls or not. It is rather a scandal, you know.”
Sinclair, who’d always thought of her royal blood as a minus, was amused by Eugenie playing up to her heritage, and rather nervous. “You know how your tongue runs away with you,” he murmured. “I don’t want you falling into another scrape, Eugenie.”
“I’ve learned my lesson,” she assured him.
He hoped so. Eugenie’s friends from Miss Debenham’s Finishing School had come to the wedding, and he’d been sorely tempted to tell them the truth. Eugenie had sworn him to silence and, he had to admit, she’d behaved herself—more or less—ever since.
Still he couldn’t help but admire her ability to play the duchess. Was this the same girl he had met in the lane long ago? The girl who rode bareback, showing her legs, her curls tumbling about her?
That was why he loved her.
Because in a moment he could brush aside the elegant duchess and bring out that hoyden again. She was always there when they spent time on their narrow boat on the canals. Sinclair, painting in the sunlight, shoes off and trousers rolled up, while Eugenie paddled in the water or sat dreaming.
“Lucky old you.” His uncle was watching him, smiling with satisfaction. “You made the right choice, eh?”
“She’s been the making of me. Everybody says so.”