“No, but I will,” Annabelle said glumly.
“Yes, but when you tell her about me then she will forget all about you, Annabelle. And she will have your wedding to busy herself with. No, I think she will put me aside and never mention me again. And do you know? I think being on the outer with Mother will suit me quite well.”
His sister put her face in her hands.
Sinclair hesitated. Her shoulders were shaking. She was crying. He hadn’t meant to make his sister cry, but he couldn’t help it now. He wasn’t about to change his mind because of Annabelle’s tears.
She lifted her face and to his surprise he saw that she was laughing, not crying.
“Oh Sinclair!” she gasped. “This is wonderful, truly wonderful! I will be Mother’s favorite at last.”
Sinclair felt as if a great weight had been lifted from his shoulders. He’d walked into the lockkeeper’s cottage as one man and walked out another. Why had it taken him this long to recognize that responsibility and position did not mean he had to be miserable all his life? He could be happy. He could do all the things he did, that it was his duty to do, but with Eugenie at his side.
And that was exactly what he intended.
It was only when he reached the narrow boat and went below that he saw it was empty and, worse, Eugenie’s flowery carpetbag was gone. Which meant that Eugenie was gone.
She had left him.
Eugenie glanced back over her shoulder yet again and sighed. Terry was ambling along in the twilight as if he had all the time in the world while she wanted to get to the town and arrange for their seats on the mail coach before it was completely dark. Once that was done she could close her eyes and try to forget any of this had ever happened, try to put it behind her.
A moth fluttered against her cheek and she brushed it away.
How long did it take for one to recover from a broken h
eart? A month, a year, a lifetime?
“Terry, do come on.”
He put his hands on his hips. “I don’t know why you’re in such a hurry, Genie,” he grumbled. “I didn’t even get to say good-bye to Lizzie.”
“I would have thought you’d be grateful for that,” she said tartly.
“Do you know, when we were in the coach, Annabelle was ill?”
“Coaches have that effect on some people.”
“But you don’t understand. She was ill on me. And then Lizzie sewed on my button and stuck me with her needle and I didn’t even care. Do you think that’s love?”
Eugenie blinked at him, uncertain whether she wanted the image of Lady Annabelle being ill on her brother in her head. “How would I know, Terry?”
“Because you love the duke,” he said bluntly. “Don’t you?”
She opened her mouth to deny it but the words caught in her throat. Tears sprang to her eyes and she turned blindly away, stumbling on the road. “Nonsense,” she said huskily.
“I’m not an idiot, Genie. I know you do,” Terry retorted. “And he loves you, too. I could see it. Why are you running away from him? You’re not even giving him a chance.”
“I’m running away because if I do, as you say, love him, then there’s no future in it. How can there be?”
“Well, you’d better tell him that.” Terry spoke just as she heard the pounding of hooves approaching from behind her. She spun around, wide-eyed, and there was Rufus looming up behind her, and seated on his broad back was the duke.
“My—my goodness me,” she managed.
Terry smiled and turned without a word to begin the walk back to the lock, lifting his hand in a wave as Rufus went by. Sinclair drew the big horse to a halt and slid down to the ground, his feet bare and, now, dusty. He was panting, his eyes were wild, his hair windblown, and . . . he was the most handsome, the most wonderful man she had ever seen.
“Where do you think you’re going?” he demanded, and spoiled the image with that arrogant duke note in his voice.
“Home,” she snapped.