Chapter Text
Mrs Eugenia Lucas, of a certain age, prided herself in two things. The first was her incredible health. The second was her granddaughter’s beauty. Although her darling Ruby was as beautiful as ever, Mrs Lucas suspected she might expire from the heavy breaths she was taking on the doorstep of the Blanchard townhouse, having had to practically run after Ruby down the busy streets of London. The girl was far too eager to see her best friend after a whole winter apart and was using her long legs to some considerable advantage.
Ruby rang the bell and the butler answered. Eugenia handed her card over to him. “Lady White is at home,” he said and escorted them in. Eugenia followed her granddaughter and a rather handsome footman into a drawing room, elegantly furnished in blue velvet with gold accents. Eugenia admired the floral wallpaper; it was obviously new and she wondered if it would suit in her own home. A high pitched squeal emanated from her granddaughter and she flung herself at the young girl seated at the window; they hugged and danced around the drawing room so energetically Eugenia feared they might knock over a lamp.
“Do remember that you are a lady, dear,” came a low, melodious voice from behind Eugenia. Mary Margaret Blanchard stiffened immediately and folded her hands demurely in front of her. “Cecil, we will have tea.” The footman bowed and left. “Eugenia, do take a seat.”
Regina, the Marchioness of White, was widely known as the most stylish woman in England. Since the death of her husband (a contemporary of Eugenia’s and so much older than his second wife) four years ago, she had spent her summers in London, being seen at Almacks, the theatre, the lesser assembly halls, along with every other fashionable place in town, and updating her wardrobe at Madame de la Rue’s – now the most popular dressmaker in London. Many copied her manner of dress and many a young girl bemoaned the marchioness’s love of dark colours, utterly unsuitable for a girl only just come out. Today, she wore a black silk dress, lace adorning the sleeves and just barely covering her small but impressively pert bosom.
The two younger girls sat at the window seat talking and giggling together, while Lady White reclined against a chaise lounge; Eugenia caught a glimpse of cream silk boots, buttoned at the sides with pearls. “Those are very cunning boots, Lady White,” Eugenia said.
“Thank you,” she said, not bothering to affect modesty. “Eugenia, it has been too long. How has London been this winter?”
“Miserable,” she replied. “Grey and cold and no gossip to speak of. I have my hopes of Ruby making a match this season, if she can just curb that tendency of hers to flirt outrageously with the most inappropriate of men.”
“She’s a beautiful girl. I am sure she will have no trouble finding a suitable husband. The marriage market is always ready for a beautiful, young innocent.” She spoke with some degree of bitterness and Eugenia remembered the wedding, eight years ago. Regina had been radiant in white silk and lace but wearing an expression of great melancholy, and Leopold’s grizzled grey hair and protruding gut showed his age.
“Mary Margaret must be looking forward to her first Season,” Eugenia said. “She has grown into quite a beauty herself, with that dark hair and pale skin. She looks so much like her dear mother.”
“So I have been told,” Regina said, though her smile hardened and her warm brown eyes sharpened. Eugenia had often wondered what Regina had against her step-daughter but Regina remained tight-lipped on the subject. “I intend for her to marry very well.”
Tea was brought into the drawing room and the two girls left the window seat for tea and lemon cakes, though they continued to whisper to each other, heads bowed close together. “You will have heard, of course, that Sir Killian Jones is in town?”
“That … fop,” Regina said, scoffing. There was a piercing giggle from one of the girls.
“I think we call him a dandy, dear, and that dandy is now the sole inheritor of his parent’s considerable estate,” Eugenia said. “His brother died at the blockade in Cadiz.”
“I heard,” Regina said. “I am sorry for it. Liam was an honourable man. I’m sorry I cannot say the same for his younger brother. I certainly do not want Mary Margaret marrying someone so frivolous, no matter how wealthy.”
“I can’t say I’m over fond of the boy myself,” Eugenia said. “I don’t trust those collars. So starched they could cut your face. I don’t think you need fear for Mary Margaret though. There’s already stiff competition for him. Gold’s ward is making a play for him, for a start.”
“Gold has a ward? My, I have been out of touch.”
“Mmm. She’s new in London apparently. I’ve not seen the girl myself but she has eighty thousand to her name and by all accounts is very pretty – though not in her first bloom of youth.”
Regina sniffed. “She must be an idiot to go after that foolish whelp.”
Eugenia chuckled to herself. Regina was not yet thirty but sometimes acted like an ancient dowager. She would like to see Regina fall hopelessly in love this season, to lose the cold indifference she wore as a mask. She had privately hoped it might happen with Locksley two Seasons prior, but the brief flirtation fizzled and, on the whole, Locksley was better off with his Marian.
“And how is young Henry?” Eugenia asked.
Regina’s cold smile softened at the name. “He’s just turned six,” she said. “He is just perfect.” Henry was Regina’s ward, abandoned on the steps of the townhouse six years ago. Eugenia sometimes felt that Henry had saved Regina’s life, though the ton would, of course, suggest that it was Regina who saved Henry.
“Would he like to see his Granny?” Eugenia asked. Regina nodded and gestured to a footman and just a short time later a young boy ran into the drawing room.
“Mama,” he cried, running full tilt at his mother and burying his face in her lap, little fists clenching the dark fabric. If anyone else had dared treat one of Lady White’s gowns so roughly, she would certainly have delivered one of her infamous setdowns. However, with Henry she simply gently prised his hands off the fabric and pulled him onto her lap.
“Good afternoon, my darling boy,” she murmured. “You Granny has come to see you.”
Eugenia Lucas was not actually Henry’s grandmother but in lieu of any other grandparents she made a decent enough stand in. “Good day, Henry,” she said. “How are you?”
“’m very well thank you,” he said. “Mama said we could go to the museum one day soon and see the marbles.”
“I fear he will be disappointed,” Regina said, over his head. “He’s expecting a giant game of marbles, not the Elgin Marbles.”
Eugenia laughed. She and Ruby had been to see the Elgin Marbles when they were first displayed. Though she could admit they were spectacular, relics of ancient Greece were not something that interested her. Regina was educated though; she would certainly appreciate them. Finishing her tea and giving Henry a cuddle, she stood. “Ruby, we must go.” Her granddaughter reluctantly hugged her friend and stood, brushing at the folds of her muslin gown. “Regina, we will see you at the Locksley ball?”
“It will be Mary Margaret’s first of the Season," Regina said, rising herself. “Until then, Eugenia. Mary Margaret, see our company to the door and then change so that we can visit the dressmaker.” As always, her voice hardened when she spoke to her step-daughter and Eugenia, not for the first time, pitied the girl, who obviously loved her step-mother dearly.
“Yes, step-mama,” Mary Margaret said and escorted the Lucases from the room.
*
Regina sighed as she watched Mrs Lucas and her granddaughter leave through the sheer curtains at the drawing room windows. She had missed Eugenia; her gossip, no nonsense attitude and the unconditional affection she showed towards Regina, one of very few people in Regina’s life who did show her any affection.
“Mama,” Henry said. “Will we see Granny an’ Ruby again?” He tucked a hand into hers and she felt the tug at her heart. She wished she were back in Derbyshire already, at the small estate she had had Leopold purchase for her when it looked like he was not going to live out the year, his own title and lands entailed away to a young cousin. There had been whole days in Derbyshire where she had done nothing but read to Henry and play him tunes on the pianoforte and teach him how to ride on the pony she’d purchased him that year.
But in town there was too much to do and these brief snatches of time were all she got with the boy she considered her son, despite the lack of blood connection. She cuddled Henry close to her on the window seat. “What have you been learning today?” she asked.
“Miss Boyd told me a fairy story,” Henry said.
“Oh? Can you tell it to me?” She had never been particularly fond of fairy tales. Stories of true love and happy ever afters seemed unforgivingly naïve.
“You already know it, Mama,” he said.
“Oh, but I know very few fairy stories. I am woefully uneducated,” she said, smiling.
“Okay,” he said, turning to face her, his stout legs wrapping around her waist, and meeting her eyes. “Once upon a time there was a beautiful princess called Snow White.” Regina endeavoured not to wince. The story had been a favourite of Mary Margaret’s in her youth and Regina had been told it a thousand times.
“And what happens to Snow White?” Regina asked.
“Her evil step-mother sends her into the forest with a huntsman and he’s supposed to cut out her heart with a big knife.” Henry mimed the knife and Regina became very aware of the fact that this was Henry’s favourite part of the story. “But Snow White was so pretty an’ ninnocent–“
“Innocent, dear,” Regina interjected.
“Inn-o-cent,” Henry repeated. “He had to let her go and instead he cut out the heart of a deer and brought it all dripping with blood back to her step-mother.” He paused. “What does a heart look like, Mama?”
“You will have to ask Miss Boyd,” Regina said.
“I will,” Henry said and Regina knew she’d be dealing with an outraged Miss Boyd tomorrow. “So Snow White gets lost inna forest and is rescued by some dwarves.”
“How many?”
“Seven.” He held up seven fingers. Regina could see he was tiring of the story, his attention drifting out the window. “Anyway, the evil step-mother finds out that Snow White’s still alive because she asks her magic mirror and so she tries three times to kill her. She dresses up as an old witch and gives her a poisoned comb and some laces for her corset that she tightens too much but the dwarves save her both times. So then she gives her a poisoned apple and Snow White dies.”
“Oh no,” Regina gasped in mock horror.
“It’s not over yet, Mama,” Henry said sternly. “The prince comes along on his horse and sees Snow White in her coffin and kisses her and it breaks the curse.”
It was an abbreviated version of the original tale and Regina suspected Miss Boyd had embroidered her own details into it. She seemed to recall lungs and liver being the organs the evil stepmother requested, not a heart. “What happened to Snow White’s step-mother?” she asked.
“Oh, she died,” Henry said with some satisfaction. “Can’t remember how. Don’t think Miss Boyd told me. She said we had to get on with some arithmetic. I hate arithmetic.”
And isn’t that always the way, Regina thought. The step-mothers and villains are forgotten but the simpering, naïve, love-struck imbeciles live on forever in our minds. She hugged Henry. “Perhaps she atoned and spent a happy life as far away from Snow White as possible,” she said.
Henry shook his head. “No, she died because she was evil, Mama.” He poked Regina’s lips until she smiled. “Can we play a game?”
Regina looked up and saw Mary Margaret standing in the doorway, eyeing the tableau they created with something akin to envy. Regina stifled the glare building up in her at the sight of her step-daughter. “Yes dear?”
“The carriage has been brought around,” Mary Margaret said. “We have an appointment at the dressmaker’s.”
“Of course. Henry, darling, run back up to the nursery and to Miss Boyd.”
“I can’t come with you?” He pouted, plump lower lip jutting out.
Regina held back a laugh. “You would find it dreadfully dull, my precious boy.” She stood, easing Henry off her lap and brushed down her skirts, ensuring the fabric was not creased. She had a reputation to uphold after all. “Mary Margaret, go out to carriage. I will be with you momentarily.” Mary Margaret turned on her heel. “Do not forget your bonnet, dear.”
Her lady’s maid had set out a scarlet spencer and the cunning little capote she’d bought on her first day back in London, black silk to match her gown. She dressed quickly and tripped out the door and down the steps, colliding with someone striding past. Regina was very nearly knocked to the ground and the woman caught her, holding her steady, her arms strong and her fingers digging into the flesh of Regina’s waist.
“Do you mind?” Regina snapped, prising herself away from the woman and stepping back.
“Not at all,” the young woman said cheerily. Regina took a long look at her. She had unruly golden curls, escaping from beneath her bonnet, an impish smile, too broad, but with a good set of teeth. Her eyes, fringed with long lashes, were a disarming shade of hazel. Her attire was nothing to speak of; serviceable striped muslin and a rather ordinary bonnet. Regina would not have called her pretty exactly; but she was handsome and rather striking.
Regina looked down her nose at the woman from her position two steps up; the girl was still grinning in what was becoming an altogether alarming fashion. “Perhaps, dear,” she said, drawing on her ‘Marchioness’ voice to the fullest extent. “You should endeavour not to run in such a helter-skelter fashion.”
“Perhaps, dear,” the woman replied, “you should look where you are going when you leave the house. I was not running.”
Mary Margaret poked her head out of the carriage window. “Are we leaving, Step-mama?”
The woman raised her eyebrows and laughed. Regina glared. “Something amusing, dear?”
“I’m just surprised that someone as young and beautiful as you could be a step-mother to a grown up daughter.”
For a moment, Regina was lost for words. She glared at the girl, the glare that could send Mary Margaret trembling out of the room, but the insolent woman simply stared back and continued to smile. Regina began to suspect she might be addled. She brushed past her and stepped into the carriage, shifting her skirts before she sat so as not to crumple them.
“Who was that?” Mary Margaret asked.
“No one of any consequence, dear,” Regina said, though she found that as they drove off towards the dressmaker that those hazel eyes kept swimming through her mind.