Enticing Miss Eugenie Villaret (12 page)

Will walked back down the hill toward town, then cut over to a street leading to the area where Eugénie lived. Finally he reached the front of Wivenly House. The door swung open before he knocked. The butler stood before him. “Bates, I am here to see Miss Villaret.”

“I’m sorry to say,” the butler said in a tone that was polite but firm, “she is not home to you, my lord.”

Will should have expected this. He swallowed his retort and gave the bouquet to Bates. “Please give her these and tell her they bear a message.”

The butler bowed. “I will do that, my lord.”

The door closed. Will heaved a sigh. Apparently she really wasn’t going to make this easy for him. Then again, neither would his sisters have. No matter what, he would not be reduced to groveling.

M
arisole scratched lightly on Eugénie’s door. “Miss, Lord Wivenly brought these for you.”

Eugénie glanced up from her book at the bunch of flowers, already in a vase. One pale yellow rose nestled beneath a lily; the rest of the arrangement was made up of pink roses in full bloom. Old Blush unless she missed her guess. A few closed buds and a jasmine vine added white flowers and greenery. Purity, forgiveness, new love, and amiability, but did he know what the flowers stood for? “Did he say anything?”

“Yes, miss. Mr. Bates said his lordship said there was a message in the flowers.”

Her heart lightened as she brushed her nose against the blossoms, taking in their spicy scents. He must have gone to Mrs. Rordan and told her they were engaged and that they’d had an argument. She was the only one who had flowers like these. No man had ever given Eugénie flowers before, and he’d had a long walk to Mrs. Rordan’s house to get them. Perhaps he truly was sorry he’d treated her badly and wanted to make up with her.

Eugénie smiled and wondered what her old friend would have said to Wivenly. At least he was trying to make amends. Perhaps she should forgive him. Cicely said Andrew had a talk with her betrothed last night after he’d hit Wivenly.

“The next time Lord Wivenly comes, I will receive him.”

Marisole’s forehead wrinkled. “Are you sure, miss?”

“Yes, positive.” Eugénie didn’t think he’d visit again today, but surely tomorrow he’d come to apologize.

The next day, Marisole brought a package. Eugénie opened it to find a prettily painted fan of chicken skin on delicately wrought ivory. She searched for a note and found none. “Did his lordship not ask to remain?”

“It was sent from the modiste directly, miss.”

Perhaps Wivenly was afraid of being rejected again. She vowed to give him another day, but the morning brought a package of bonbons, the day after a shawl of Norwich silk, and the following day, lace-edged linen handkerchiefs. Still no notes or anything from him, and he’d had them all delivered by the shops.

Eugénie paced the parlor where she’d waited all week for him to come. He wasn’t a weak man who was afraid of her. Did he think he could buy her with these—these gifts? Clearly he didn’t care enough about her to bring them in person, and if he didn’t care, she would not either. In fact, she would not marry him. No one but Cicely and Wivenly knew that he had kissed her. He could say his father forbade the match. She gathered his presents into a bundle. If he didn’t visit tomorrow, she’d send them to him at the Queen, even the flowers, as he’d not meant what he’d said at all.

Will strode down the length of the parlor and back again for at least the thirtieth time. He had waited all week to be summoned by Eugénie, but had not even received a note to either thank him or refuse his gifts. Why hadn’t he heard from her? One would have thought that after six days of peace offerings she’d relent and invite him to visit, at least for tea. This wasn’t going at all as he’d expected.

He fingered the ring in his pocket. It wasn’t the family heirloom he’d intended for his bride, but it would suit her beautifully, if he ever got the chance to see her again.

There was also the continuing problem of how to wed her. He’d consulted a Danish lawyer. Eugénie was correct. They needed permission from both guardians for her to marry. The solicitor also told Will he would not be allowed to use the power of attorney from his father to give himself permission to marry Eugénie. Secondly, she wasn’t being at all cooperative. Not that it mattered until he’d heard from his father. He closed his eyes, repressing a shudder. Papa would laugh himself silly when he received Will’s request to wed Eugénie. At least he wasn’t going to be humiliated in person.

He turned at the end of the parlor. Why the devil hadn’t she sent for him? Eugénie had to be the most contrary woman he’d ever had the misfortune to meet.

“Stop pacing,” Andrew ordered in an amused tone. “You are going to wear a hole in the carpet.”

Will stared at his so-called friend. “It’s been six days, and I haven’t heard from Miss Villaret at all.”

“When was the last time you went to the house, hmm?” Andrew raised a brow.

If he didn’t watch it, Will would wipe the smug expression from Andrew’s face. “Six days ago,” Will muttered, “when I tried to give her the flowers.”

Now that he’d said it out loud, it sounded a bit ridiculous, but he’d never had to bring a woman round before.

“Six days?”
Andrew had his I-can’t-believe-you’re-so-daft look on his face. “Did it not occur to you that after your behavior at the soirée, she might expect a little in-person groveling from you?”

No, he’d thought she didn’t want to see him. “After I was turned away at the door, I had the presents sent to her.” Will ran his hand through his hair. Maybe there was something to be said for being chased. “I’ve been waiting for some sign she’s over being angry with me, and I’ve run out of things to buy.”

“Sent? By the shop?”

Will nodded.

“You have turned into a dullard.” Andrew shook his head slightly in disgust. “You were supposed to have presented yourself to her to have a peal rung over your head.”

Why did no one tell Will these things? “I’ve never had to do that before. Baubles always worked in the past.”

“Yes, with widows and high-flyers. Not a woman you mean to marry.”

Will wanted to kick something or put his hand through a wall. “Why didn’t
you
say anything?”

“In case you haven’t noticed”—Andrew closed his eyes briefly—“I’ve been planning my own wedding, which will take place on Tuesday, if the vicar shows.” His voice softened a bit. “Truthfully, I didn’t realize you and Eugénie hadn’t made up until Cicely mentioned it earlier.”

“Oh God.” Will collapsed on the chair. “What a mull I’ve made of it all.”

Andrew pressed a glass of brandy in Will’s hand. “I’d say that about sums it up.”

He’d go to his betrothed first thing tomorrow.

“There is one other thing you should know. Eugénie is deuced upset that you haven’t been by.”

Damn. He’d have to go get more flowers. Mrs. Rordan wouldn’t be happy. Now he’d have to grovel to two women. He took a slug of the brandy as his friend for once said nothing. “Congratulations on your wedding. I’ll stand up with you, of course.”

Andrew smiled. “I wouldn’t have anyone else. By the by, I’ll be moving to Whitecliff’s house after the ceremony. Cicely and I will live there until we go back to England.”

Will nodded. “I understand.”

They were quiet for several minutes, then Andrew said, “What exactly does your father’s power of attorney say about the Wivenly children?”

“The children?” Will didn’t understand.

“You are aware that Eugénie has sisters still here?”

“Yes, of course.” He rubbed a hand over his face. “What of them?”

“It occurs to me that you might not want to leave everyone in St. Thomas when you sail back home.”

He hadn’t had time to think about the rest of the family, yet he should. In fact, if he hadn’t been wallowing in self-pity, he’d have gone to Wivenly House to discuss the situation with his aunt. “I have the power to make the arrangements, but the widow must agree.” He set his tumbler down, splashing brandy over his hand. “I’ll talk to Aunt Sidonie.”

Though first he’d have to deal with the bane of his existence, Eugénie Villaret de Joyeuse.

The next morning, which happened to be the seventh day since he’d seen her—Will was sure there was something biblical about that—he marched up the hill to Eugénie’s house. Knocked on the door and was admitted by the butler. Bates’s countenance barely registered any emotion but managed to portray his doubt about the advisability of Will even being here.

Will rolled his shoulders. Even the servants seemed to know he was on probation. “I’m here to see Miss Villaret.”

The butler bowed. “I shall inquire as to whether Miss is at home.”

How was he going to climb out of this cavernous hole he’d dug for himself? After a while, he opened his pocket watch. Quarter past ten. He’d been left to wait for over twenty minutes. Summoning up all the information he had about women, he’d be lucky if she saw him at all.

“My lord,” Bates announced, “Miss Villaret will see you in the blue parlor.”

A few moments later he entered a small room painted the same color as the ocean, to find her staring out one of the many windows. On a chaise were all the presents he’d sent during the past week, including the wilted flowers. A heavy weight lodged in his stomach. She was going to try to jilt him.

“Lord Wivenly, miss,” Bates announced before backing himself out of the room. “I shall be in the corridor if you require assistance.”

When the door closed, Eugénie turned. The tip of her nose was red and her eyes puffy. If she was this distraught, Will might still have a chance. He opened his mouth and shut it again. That part of his body had already got him into enough trouble with her.

“My lord.” She clasped her hands before meeting his gaze. “I have given our situation much thought, and I believe it would be better if we did not marry.”

The urge to drag her into his arms flooded him, but he forced himself to remain where he was. After a few moments, his voice sounded rusty as he asked, “Better for whom?”

“Both of us.” Her sad, brandy-colored gaze focused on a place over his left shoulder. “It is clear we do not get along.”

They’d be getting along a lot better if she’d been the widow he’d first thought her to be. Her chin became mulish as he stared at her and tried not to do or say anything stupid. “We . . . I have had some misunderstandings with regard to you. Given time, I’m sure we can work them out.”

She stared at him as if he was daft. “From the beginning you have had a bad opinion of me.” Eugénie glanced away for a moment. Her voice trembled. “Though you have sent many lovely things in the past week, you have said nothing of changing your belief.”

Bad opinion was not exactly true, but she wouldn’t look at it that way. If God was supposed to protect fools, he’d better start now. “I acted hastily in forming my estimation.” Will swallowed. “I’m sorry.”

“Please”—she shook her head slowly—“I cannot keep your gifts. Take them and go.”

The knuckles on Eugénie’s fingers were white. He couldn’t be wrong. She must care for him at least a little to be so troubled.

Another tack was needed. “We must marry.” When she didn’t respond, he played his trump card. “Or have you forgotten I ruined you?”

All the color drained from her face, but her stance was still defiant. “A few kisses . . . No one knows.”

Will beat down the primitive warrior begging him to take her in his arms. Still, he couldn’t stop himself from stepping closer. “Even one kiss would have been enough, but you know as well as I, it was more than that.”

She shook her head again. “The fact remains, I am still a virgin, and no one need ever know about the night we met.”

Every nerve and sinew in him braced to do battle. He still wasn’t sure why it mattered so much that she belong to him. He just knew it did. The same way he knew he’d do everything it took to make her understand she was his. If Eugénie thought she was getting out of this betrothal without a fight, she could think again. He raised a brow. “Grayson knows, your friend Miss Whitecliff knows, and your mother will know.”

That did it.

Her jaw clenched and the fire leaped into her eyes as they snapped back to him. “You would threaten me with exposure?”

Will stepped closer. “No, but believe me when I tell you, mothers always know.” She opened her lovely, rose-colored lips, and he held up his hand. “Don’t ask me how they do it. I’ve never figured it out.” His next pace brought him within arm’s reach of her. “Perhaps when you are a mother”—
of our children
, he added silently—“you will tell me.”

“Do you not understand?” Tears filled her beautiful brown eyes. “I cannot marry a man who thinks I am a loose woman to be easily had.”

He rubbed his forehead. Well, he hadn’t expected she was going to make this easy for him. “I realized days ago that you are not. Grayson told me the truth, and I’ve been trying to make it up to you ever since. That”—he waved his hand at the items on the chaise—“is what those were about.”

“
Stupid!
Don’t you see?” She brushed angrily at a tear trickling down her cheek. “You should not have had to ask your friend. You should have believed
me
.”

Good, better her yelling at him than weeping, though she seemed to be accomplishing both at once. “I
do
believe you.”

“What about the next time?” She strode around the parlor, her skirts whirling agitatedly around her slim ankles. “Mr. Grayson won’t always be around to assure you I am telling the truth. I cannot go through my whole life under a cloud. Always being suspected by you of doing something I did not do.” She stopped. “You made up your mind about me when we met.”

Will opened his mouth to deny her accusation, but the words froze on his tongue. She was right. He’d sized her up and had decided what role she would play in his life. Then, when he’d discovered he was wrong, she’d turned his world on end. Yet his treatment of her hadn’t changed. The real question was why he’d so stubbornly clung to his first impressions. He’d have to figure that out later, but now he needed to stop her from backing out of their engagement.

“I have an idea.” He glanced at the gifts, and lied. “We will spend time learning about each other, then if you still find you cannot bring yourself to marry me, I will release you.”

Eugénie eyed him suspiciously. “How long?”

“Until my father answers my request for your hand.”

“That could be months!” She began pacing again.

He could understand her concern if she would miss a Season waiting for him to convince her, but—“Did you have other plans?” Another man? He damn well couldn’t say that. “An urgent . . .”

She turned and glared.

“I mean—” Will tugged at his cravat, which had unaccountably tightened. Tidwell was going to murder him. “This seems to be a fairly quiet place.”