“And your wife? Are you an artist, too, ma’am?”
Eugenie shook her head. Her hair was tied back loosely with a ribbon and her curls danced about her. Sinclair had made her a daisy chain on their stroll through the meadow and set it on her head like a yellow crown.
She could feel Sinclair’s eyes still on her, caressing her, and the warmth flooded her body as she thought about what they would do, later, when they returned to the boat. Although now her anticipated pleasure was streaked through with the unhappy knowledge that this may be their last time together. Maybe another day, or another hour, but soon it would end.
“Well,” Mrs. Burdock was looking from one to the other of them with an indulgent smile, “you’re young and together. I don’t think it matters as long as you’re together, eh? Especially when anyone can see you’re so much in love. I can remember when me and my Jack first married, we couldn’t keep our hands off each other.” She gave an earthy chuckle. “My father was against our wedding from the first, made all sorts of excuses why we’d never be happy. But we went ahead anyway and here we are, forty-two years later, still in love. Just shows it doesn’t go to pay too much attention to other people when your own heart is telling you what’s best.”
“Yes,” Eugenie whispered. She reached over and touched the woman’s reddened, work-worn hand. “Thank you.”
Mrs. Burdock’s merry face creased in a frown. “My dear, what is it?”
Eugenie shook her head, her throat closing, suddenly very near to tears.
“Now you take heart,” the woman insisted. “No matter what others do and say, you still have your love for each other, and if you hold firm that will pull you through the bad times. Believe me, ’cause I know.”
Abruptly a call came from outside, and then voices arguing.
Mrs. Burdock lifted her head. “Now who could that be?” she murmured, puzzled. “We’re not used to this many customers in a day.”
But Eugenie had recognized the voices and she knew who it was.
Sinclair recognized them, too. He rose to his feet. He’d hardly worn shoes since they boarded the narrow boat and now when he put them on they felt tight and pinching, as if his freedom were somehow being curtailed by their restriction. If he’d had time, he might have drawn parallels between his shoes and society, and his need to be free of them both, but there was no time for philosophizing.
“Why did you let me persuade you into doing this?” Annabelle’s voice was a wail, on the verge of tears. He knew that tone well.
“I must have been out of my mind,” another voice groaned, and he recognized Terry Belmont.
Eugenie jumped up out of her chair and was hurrying to the door of the cottage. He reached it just behind her.
Outside by the lock gates a strange scene confronted them.
Annabelle was standing on the towpath while Terry was walking away, to where the upper lock gate had opened up to let Lord Ridley’s narrow boat through. A slight fair-haired woman stood between the two of them, as if caught in the middle of their argument—Miss Gamboni. There was a barge tied to the bank by the narrow boat, facing away from Wexham. Terry and Annabelle’s? The lockkeeper, Mr. Burdock, and Captain Johnno stood close together, attention fixed on the arguing couple, enjoying this unexpected entertainment.
“You must hire a fast coach, one that doesn’t rock about.”
“And how will I do that? All my money is gone.”
“When I return to London and marry Lucius, I will repay you every penny.”
“Do you expect this Lucius to want to marry you? Now? What about your reputation?”
“Terry . . .” Miss Gamboni warned, but it did no good.
Annabelle choked. “You are hateful to remind me! What will I do? Oh what will I do?”
Terry sighed. “I’m sorry,” he said, as if it was now a common refrain. He turned back to her and tried to take her in his arms, as if to comfort her, but Annabelle pulled away. She was close to the towpath and when her foot slipped she teetered on the edge of the canal. Terry made a grab for her but it was too late, she was already falling. The next moment she hit the water with a splash.
Eugenie cried out and Mrs. Burdock clasped her arm tightly, as if afraid she might jump into the canal, too. Sinclair ran toward the towpath where Terry stood, his face chalk white, almost colliding with Miss Gamboni, who was also running. He pushed them both out of the way in his impatience to save his sister.
He could see Annabelle’s dark hair beneath the brown water, her clothing rising up in clouds as the air bubbled out of it. He had only a few brief moments before she was dragged down into the depths, vanishing forever in the muddy canal.
He jumped in as close to her as he dared.
The water was very cold. His body was shocked into inaction. He could not even catch his breath. And then he gasped and flailed out, hunting for his sister in the murky water. He dived, feeling with his arms for any sign of her, but there was nothing. When his head rose above the surface again, he heaved in a deep breath and then another.
Terry was above him.
“There!” he shouted, pointing a little to Sinclair’s right.