Page 29 of A Spinster’s Folly (Courting the Unconventional #2)

Eugenie grew thoughtful. “I think I shall call him Sir Spotticus.”

Charles let out a short laugh. “A fine name,” he said approvingly.

Eugenie nodded, pleased with her choice. Rising to her feet, she gave the foal an encouraging pat. “Come along, Sir Spotticus,” she ordered. “There’s a whole world outside the stables, and I’ve much to show you.”

The colt flicked his ears forward and, with an eager little step, followed at her heels as she led him out of the stall.

She glanced at Charles, and he winked at her. It was such a simple gesture, yet it made her heart race. Perhaps marriage to him wouldn’t be as dreadful as she had once believed.

Charles watched as Eugenie strode out of the stables with Sir Spotticus trotting eagerly at her heels.

A bemused smile played at his lips. He still couldn’t quite believe that she had kissed him.

That fleeting moment, her lips soft against his, had taken him entirely by surprise.

If he had known that a mere foal would inspire such a reaction, he would have gifted her one much sooner .

His thoughts were interrupted by Elsbeth’s voice. “When are you going to tell her?”

He turned to her with a perplexed frown. “Tell her what?”

“That you love her.” She gave him a pointed look, her arms crossing in front of her as if daring him to deny it.

He scoffed, shaking his head. “I do not love Eugenie.”

Elsbeth raised a skeptical brow but simply lifted a hand in surrender. “All I’m saying is that you appear quite taken with her.”

“That is different from being in love,” he countered swiftly. “Besides, I think I would know if I were in love with her.”

Her lips twitched. “My apologies. I should never have brought it up.”

“No, you shouldn’t have,” he agreed, brushing past the topic as if it hadn’t lodged itself stubbornly in his mind. “I should depart. I am meeting Addington and Alcott at White’s for a drink.”

“At this hour?”

He shrugged. “It’s the only time we could arrange to meet.”

As they stepped out of the stables together, Elsbeth glanced around with a small frown. “I don’t see Eugenie. Do you think she took Sir Spotticus into the townhouse?”

Charles chuckled. “I wouldn’t put it past her.”

Elsbeth sighed. “Niles will be livid if he finds a miniature horse inside. He already despises Eugenie’s cat.”

“He may as well get used to it,” Charles said. “Eugenie does as she pleases, regardless of her brother’s wrath.”

“She always does,” Elsbeth agreed before giving him a sidelong glance. “Now, how are we going to get you two married?”

“I am trying.”

She bobbed her head. “I know, and I do believe it’s working. However, we need to convince Eugenie that you are the man she cannot live without. ”

Charles shot her a dry look. “And how do you propose we do that?”

Her face lit up with excitement. “We host a ball! A grand affair with dancing, music—perhaps even fireworks. The perfect opportunity for you to propose again. Who could possibly refuse a proposal under a sky full of fireworks?”

“Did you forget that your family’s name is currently shrouded in scandal? It may not be the best time to throw a ball.”

Elsbeth’s enthusiasm dimmed. “You make a valid point.” She pursed her lips. “Very well, I shall keep thinking on it.”

They reached the back door of the townhouse and a footman stepped forward, opening it for them. As soon as they entered the corridor, Westcott’s head appeared from the doorway of his study.

“There you are, Charles,” he said, his voice clipped. “A word, please.”

Elsbeth smiled. “Good luck, Cousin,” she murmured before disappearing down the hall.

Charles stepped inside the study, and his gaze immediately fell on the tall, brawny man standing beside Westcott. The stranger looked stern, and a deep, jagged scar marked his right cheek. His steel-gray eyes met Charles’s with a level, assessing gaze.

Westcott gestured towards the man. “Allow me to introduce Stevens, the man I asked to investigate Eugenie’s attempted abduction.”

Charles tipped his head in greeting. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

Stevens, however, did not offer pleasantries. His sharp gaze remained fixed on Charles as he spoke. “What was your coach doing in the rookeries a few days ago?”

Charles blinked, caught off guard. “I… what?” He frowned. “I’m not sure what you’re referring to. ”

Stevens folded his arms. “Your coach was seen in the rookeries around the same time a meeting took place at the Plucky Squirrel pub.”

Charles pressed his lips together, his mind racing. “I haven’t been to the rookeries in ages.”

Stevens gave a short, unimpressed huff. “Just your coach, then?”

“I have no idea why my coach was in the rookeries,” Charles said, his tone growing with frustration. “But I can assure you, I have never set foot in that pub.”

“Then who else has access to your coaches?” Stevens pressed.

Charles turned to Westcott, irritation flaring. “What is this about?”

Westcott exchanged a glance with Stevens before answering. “Stevens tracked down the two individuals who attempted to abduct Eugenie.”

“That’s excellent news,” Charles responded. “Are they in Newgate?”

Stevens didn’t share in his relief. “Not yet, but they will be soon enough. I believe they were hired by someone.”

Realization struck Charles like a blow to the chest. “You think I hired them?” he demanded, his voice rising with disbelief. “Are you mad?”

Stevens leveled a hard gaze at Charles. “Did you?”

Charles’s temper flared. “Good gads, no!” he exclaimed, his voice ringing through the study. “Why in the blazes would I attempt to abduct Eugenie? I am trying to convince her to marry me, not terrify her!”

Stevens remained unmoved, his expression cool and assessing. “I’ve seen this kind of scheme before,” he said, his tone laced with suspicion. “A man arranges for a woman to be taken, only to miraculously save her, ensuring she falls right into his arms. ”

Charles took a step forward, meeting Stevens’s gaze with determination. “I would never resort to such deceitful means. I care for Eugenie far too much to ever risk her safety, let alone orchestrate something so vile.”

Westcott, who had remained silent until now, turned to Stevens. “Are you satisfied?” he asked. “I told you Bedford had nothing to do with this.”

The tension in Stevens’s stance eased slightly. “I believe you,” he admitted. “But that still doesn’t explain how Lord Bedford’s coach ended up in the rookeries.”

Charles set his jaw. “I can’t explain that, but I fully intend to find out.”

Stevens gave a curt nod. “Do that. I’ll be in touch.” Without another word, he turned and strode out of the study, leaving a heavy silence in his wake.

Turning towards Westcott, Charles demanded, “Would you care to explain what that was about?”

Westcott sighed, rubbing his temples before sinking into the chair behind his desk. “Stevens insisted on questioning you himself, despite my repeated assurances that you were not involved.”

“And just how competent is this Bow Street Runner?”

Westcott leaned back, steepling his fingers. “One of the best,” he admitted. “Which is precisely why I hired him.”

Charles dropped into the chair opposite Westcott. “Then let’s focus on what’s important. I suppose someone could have borrowed my coach.”

“Who has access to it?”

Charles thought for a moment. “My mother… Philip—” He stopped abruptly, shaking his head. “No, not Philip. He has no reason to harm Eugenie.”

“Then who else?”

Charles pushed himself to his feet and began pacing the study. “Philip is many things, but he wouldn’t do something this despicable. He knows how much I care for Eugenie—he’s even commented on it.”

“Does he normally borrow your coach?”

“On occasion,” Charles replied. “I take no issue with it, considering he is my heir.”

Westcott gave him a measured look. “Regardless, I would suggest speaking to your coachmen first. You don’t want to reveal too much before you know the truth.”

A thought crept into his mind. “I did cut Philip off recently. Do you think he might have done this out of spite?”

“I don’t know. But for now, Eugenie is safest here. I’ve already hired additional guards—disguised as footmen—to ensure her protection.”

“That was wise,” Charles admitted, though the unease in his chest did not dissipate.

Westcott pushed back from his desk. “Why don’t you join us for breakfast?”

Charles pulled his pocket watch from his waistcoat and flicked it open. “I suppose I have time before meeting my friends at White’s.”

Westcott led the way towards the dining room. “Elsbeth and Eugenie should already be there.”

As they walked down the corridor, a sudden, high-pitched neigh echoed through the house. Both men stopped in their tracks.

Westcott frowned. “Did you hear that?”

Charles suppressed a knowing grin. “I did.”

Westcott continued walking. “It almost sounded like a horse…” His voice trailed off as they reached the dining room and stepped inside.

The scene before them was almost too absurd to believe.

Eugenie sat at the elegantly set breakfast table, her posture utterly serene as she cut a piece of fruit and held it out to the small foal standing beside her.

Sir Spotticus, completely unbothered by his surroundings, eagerly accepted the offering, chewing with contentment.

Westcott’s face turned a dangerous shade of red. “ What in the blazes?! ” he roared. “What is that horse doing in my dining room?”

Unbothered, Eugenie reached up and placed her hands gently over Sir Spotticus’s ears. “Not so loud,” she chided. “Sir Spotticus doesn’t like yelling.”

Westcott turned a disbelieving stare towards his wife, who sat calmly at the other end of the table, flipping through the morning newssheets. “You allowed this?”

Elsbeth didn’t even look up as she turned a page. “I didn’t think it was my place to tell Eugenie no.”

Westcott’s nostrils flared. “A horse does not belong in a grand townhouse,” he thundered. “Where did you even get that midget horse?”

Eugenie’s smile was radiant as she patted Sir Spotticus’s neck. “It is a miniature horse and Charles gave him to me.”

Westcott’s head swiveled slowly towards Charles, his expression thunderous. “And you thought this was a good idea?”

Charles, fighting the urge to laugh, merely clasped his hands behind his back and met Westcott’s furious gaze. “It seemed like an excellent idea at the time.”

“Do not fuss over this, Brother,” Eugenie said airily as she stroked Sir Spotticus’s neck. “He and I are to be the best of friends.”

Westcott moved to sit at the head of the table. “Once breakfast is over, you will return that animal to the stables where it belongs.”

Eugenie, unperturbed, cut another piece of fruit and offered it to Sir Spotticus. “Or…” she said thoughtfully, “Sir Spotticus can accompany me to the drawing room while I read us a book. ”

“Horses do not care about books,” Westcott bristled.

Eugenie tsked at him, running a hand down the foal’s spotted neck. “This horse does. He will be well-read and properly educated. I daresay he will have better manners than some people in this room.”

Charles, who had been quietly observing the exchange, hid his smirk behind his hand. He knew well enough that Eugenie did not take orders kindly, and Westcott was walking directly into a battle he was bound to lose.

“Eugenie…” Westcott’s voice took on a sharper edge, his patience clearly wearing thin. “I forbid that horse from being in here. Just think of the mess he will make. Be sensible in this.”

Eugenie’s back straightened, and a familiar defiant glint sparked in her eyes. “You, dear brother, do not get to dictate my actions. This is my home as well.”

“That may be,” Westcott countered, “but I am the lord of this manor, and I have the final say.”

Eugenie feigned deep contemplation, tapping a finger against her chin. Then, as if struck by a marvelous idea, she smiled. “Well then, if Sir Spotticus is to remain in the stables, I shall move in with him.”

Westcott’s fork clattered against his plate as he stared at her in disbelief. “You cannot reside in the stables.”

Eugenie lifted her cup of tea with an air of serenity. “Whyever not? There is ample space, fresh air, and delightful company.” She looked to Charles as though seeking his agreement. “I do think my bed would look rather lovely in the corner of the stables, don’t you?”

Charles coughed into his fist as he fought the urge to laugh outright. He had no doubt that Eugenie was perfectly serious, and he almost wished to see how far she would take this absurd battle of wills.

Westcott pinched the bridge of his nose, muttering something under his breath that sounded very much like a plea for divine patience. “Eugenie,” he said, voice dangerously low, “you are not moving into the stables.”

“Well,” she said with a careless shrug, reaching for another piece of fruit, “then I suppose Sir Spotticus shall remain right here.”

Charles leaned back in his chair, thoroughly enjoying the spectacle. This, he thought, was why life was never dull with Eugenie.