Enticing Miss Eugenie Villaret (18 page)

Andrew gave a shout of laughter. “I heard about Beaumont’s problems securing his bride. I didn’t know about the others.”

Will smiled wryly. “According to them, it took all their determination and skill to bring their ladies up to scratch.”

“Are they happy?”

He waited a moment before replying. “Yes. Happier than they’ve ever been.”

“There you are, then,” Andrew said. “Marriage can’t be all bad.”

No. Living with a leg-shackle wouldn’t be bad at all. If he could only get Eugénie to agree to wed him, he’d gladly live under the cat’s paw. Will climbed the stairs to the first floor. Despite the fact that Eugénie was leading him a pretty dance, he wouldn’t have her be other than what she was. Whether she recognized it or not, he had made progress this evening. She wouldn’t have been concerned over how his family would react if she wasn’t already half-way ready to marry him.

As Nathan’s small group of fugitives reached the outskirts of Saint-Pierre, the night sky deepened to a dark sapphire. It would begin to lighten soon. He tried to convince himself they’d succeed in their escape. Throughout their journey he’d listened for any sound that would indicate they were being followed, but there had been nothing. Until just a few moments ago, there was not even a farmer bringing his goods to market. Still, it wouldn’t be long before someone at the plantation discovered they were missing. He prayed that he and the others would be safely ensconced in his friend’s apartment by then.

All night he’d half expected to hear the beat of horses’ hooves bearing down on them. Though, as dark as it was and with the horrible condition of the road, a rider would be risking not only his life but the animal’s as well, traveling that fast. Still, the poor mule was so old, it had taken more than twice the time as a good horse to arrive at Saint-Pierre, and he didn’t want their party to be caught now..

Aside from Miss Marshall and Conrad, they’d been joined by the young man who’d left the message for him about the escape; Sukey; Ben, who was the slaves’ cook’s helper; Mary; and her husband, John. Mary had a small bump showing beneath her gown and Nathan figured her to be about four or five months with child. If their luck held, the baby would be born free.

Under cover of a large tree, Conrad brought the wagon to a halt. He climbed in the back, and Miss Marshall covered him with empty sacks, saying, “He is too large to go unnoticed. When they begin to search, they’ll ask about him first.”

Nathan nodded. “You’re right.” He was still tired from lack of sleep, but getting them to safety was all that was important. He wondered if the donkey could handle the load. “I can walk if need be.”

“No,” Miss Marshall responded quickly, “it would not do, especially going into town. Are you well enough to handle the reins?”

He must be more fatigued than he’d thought. Of course he couldn’t be seen to walk while a colored woman rode. Thank God for Miss Marshall’s quick wits. “I’ll be fine. Give them over to me.”

After he’d threaded the ribbons through his fingers, she climbed down. “It’s only another mile into Saint-Pierre, and the roads will be better soon.”

The closer they got to his friend’s house, the more Nathan’s tension eased. They were so close to freedom.

Despite it still being dark, people were on the streets as they drove into town. A few glared, others studiously looked away, as if the vegetation on the side of the road was more important. Gradually the traffic became heavier as they came closer to the town, and the sky lightened. As with sunset, dawn came quickly, adding to the danger of discovery.

He steered the wagon toward the docks, turning in the alley behind the main shopping street where his friend had his apartment. A bachelor, Vincent lived alone above his business. “Come with me.”

Except for Miss Marshall, who took Nathan’s place in the cart, he herded the others into the small entryway to a staircase hidden from the outside.

“Remain here. I’ll be right back.” He climbed the stairs to the large apartment above, then pounded on the door until the shuffling of feet could be heard on the other side.

“Who is there?” Vincent asked in French.

“It’s Nathan Wivenly.”

There was the sound of locks being drawn back, and a moment later the door flew open. “
Nathan!
Good God, man. I’d heard you were dead.”

He grinned as his friend drew him into a hug, a thing he’d only allow a Frenchman to do. “I’m extremely hard to kill. I’ve been held captive for the past several months.”

Vincent stepped aside, motioning with his hand. “Come in. Come in. You must tell me everything.”

Nathan hesitated. “Vincent, I brought some people with me.”

“Of course you have.” Vincent gazed steadily at Nathan, but the corners of Vincent’s lips kicked up. “How else would you have escaped? Bring them up. All of you must be bone tired to arrive at this time of day.”

Nathan breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank you.”

“There is no need. I will rouse Gus, and he can get coffee and breakfast prepared. Then we’ll make places for your friends and you to sleep.”

Nathan summoned his small coterie to the apartment. Conrad led the group and one by one they entered, glancing around, their eyes wide with fear.

Vincent smiled and bowed. “You are safe here, my friends. You were very brave and will be rewarded. Come let us break our fast, then we shall discuss what you will require in the way of assistance.”

“Conrad,” Nathan asked, “where is Miss Marshall?”

“She said there is a livery close by. She’ll return the mule and cart, then come here.”

He didn’t like the idea of her alone at this time of day “I’ll go—”

“No.” Vincent took Nathan by the arm. “If someone is looking for you, you will do Miss Marshall no good. Tell me what she was wearing, and I’ll go to the stables.”

Vincent left, and for the next quarter hour, Nathan and Conrad paced, until the door opened revealing Miss Marshall and his friend.

“What took you so long?” Nathan asked as Conrad wrapped his arms around her.

“The gentleman she’d borrowed the mule from was still asleep. We chose to wake the groom instead.”

Nathan nodded. Fatigue dragged him down. It had been a long night, but finally they were all safe, or as safe as they could be.

Vincent clasped Nathan’s shoulder. “Eat. Then sleep. We have much to arrange.”

Yes, such as ensuring they had a way off the island before his captors figured out where he and the others had gone.

T
he sky was rapidly becoming lighter as the sun quickly rose. A gentle breeze stirred the muslin draped over Eugenie’s bed to keep the mosquitoes at bay. A deep purr rumbled against her side, and she slowly stroked her Chartreux cat. “What am I to do, Penelope?”

The cat’s raspy tongue licked Eugénie’s fingers. “I greatly fear I am falling in love with Wivenly, and I have no idea how he feels about me.”

Penelope moved so that she was half lying on Eugénie’s chest. Large yellow eyes blinked as if now ready to listen. “I know that is not what I thought would
ever
happen, but you see, lately, he had been very kind. While we were sailing yesterday, he was so much fun to be with. He even chased my bonnet.” The warmth of seeing Wivenly covered with sand, laughing at himself, flooded her. “And when I landed on top of him, his eyes got that look that he has when he wants to kiss me, yet he did not. Last evening during dinner and afterward he
was
a little high-handed, but so solicitous. I had the impression he just wanted to spend more time alone with me.”

Eugénie sighed.

The cat moved her head, encouraging Eugénie to scratch her jowls. “Do you think he truly cares about me, or is he only attempting to convince me to marry him?”

Penelope dipped her head so that Eugénie’s fingers were now on the cat’s head. “You think I should just ask?”

The purring grew louder. “First let me see how he does to-day at the church. If that goes well, I will say something.”

The cat made a small chirping sound and rearranged herself on her back. Eugénie stroked Penelope’s stomach until the noise of her maid preparing the wash water roused her. “Let us go. One way or the other, this will be an eventful day.”

An hour later, she entered the empty drawing room expecting to find Wivenly waiting. In fact, she had been looking forward to seeing him. So much for his behavior last evening. She had told him it was important to leave at eight. The children were not allowed to remain away from the plantation for very long. She swallowed past the lump in her throat. Very well. She’d leave without him.

“Tidwell?” Will struggled with the foot-wide length of linen, which at the moment had the stiffness of a wooden board. He could not be late for his appointment with Eugénie. He wouldn’t put it past her to leave without him. If nothing else, she’d be upset if he was tardy.

His valet stood with several of the neck-cloths at the ready. Normally they draped over Tidwell’s arm. Now they almost stuck straight out.

“Yes, my lord.”

“Is it the salt air, or have you been adding more starch to the laundry?”

“More starch, my lord.”

Drat it all. Tidwell knew Will didn’t like starch. “I suppose you have a good explanation.”

“Of course, my lord.” Tidwell’s tone managed to convey surprise that Will would ask, and just the tiniest bit of distain that he couldn’t figure it out for himself. “Your cravats have an unfortunate tendency to droop on this weather.”

“We
are
in the tropics,” Will retorted in his driest voice. The one that had stopped matchmaking mamas and pretentious toadeaters flat yet appeared to have no effect on his valet.

“That may be the case, my lord.” Tidwell hadn’t moved a muscle. “However, one must at least maintain the
appearance
of a gentleman even in rustic living conditions.”

Will finally managed to get the cloth wrapped around his neck and in position so that all he had to do was carefully drop his chin down a few time to make the correct arrangement. He would have glowered, but it would ruin his neckcloth. He settled for a lofty tone. “I
am
a gentleman.”

“So you say, my lord.”

Blast the man. Will remained still while Tidwell began the process of maneuvering the sleeves of Will’s coat over his shoulders. “Tidwell, how long have you been with me?”

The valet ran his hand over the jacket, smoothing out any wrinkles. “Since you were at Oxford, my lord.”

Will frowned. “That long? Tell me again why I hired you?”

“You did not, my lord. His lordship, your father, hired me. Something to do with purple and yellow striped breeches which made his lordship bilious.”

It all came back to him now. His father threatened to remove Will from Oxford unless he took a valet. Still, that was a damned long time ago. Will picked up his pocket watch, and Tidwell attached the object to his waistcoat. “Less starch in the future, Tidwell.”

His valet stepped back, executed a bow, then said in a supercilious tone, “We shall see this evening how your cravat holds up.”

As he joined Andrew in the parlor, Will wasn’t sure if he’d won that argument or not. To take his mind off Tidwell and his starching madness, Will turned to his friend. “What are you and Cicely doing today?”

“I have not yet been advised of all our plans.” Andrew rose and stretched. “But I believe the Wivenlys and the Whitecliffs shall dine together again.”

Though he had made progress last night, Will wondered if Eugénie would invite him. If not, he’d have to wheedle an invitation from his aunt. He checked his watch, and it could all be undone if he didn’t leave immediately.

Tidwell entered the parlor with Will’s hat, cane, and gloves. He donned his modified topper, tilting his new wide-brimmed hat fashionably, pulling down the rim the slightest bit to shade his face a bit more. “I’m off.” He glanced at his valet and narrowed his eyes. “Even if this cravat wilts, no more starch.”

Tidwell bowed. “As you wish, my lord.”

Will didn’t believe the man for an instant. At this point, he was just happy they weren’t arguing over hair powder and patches.

When he stepped outside, a stiff breeze blew in from the harbor, a welcome change from the oppressive heat of the past couple of days. The only time he’d been comfortable was on the boat and at the beach.

Griff sat at the top of the step street, whittling a piece of wood. “Morning to ye, my lord. Not much goin’ on yet to-day, but it’s still early.”

“Have you seen anyone at all?” Will raised a brow and waited.

A grin split his groom’s face. “A young’un no one seems to know is spendin’ time around here.”

Will couldn’t share his groom’s good humor. He had to assume that whoever wanted Eugénie hadn’t given up.

“You worry about tying the lady up right and proper.” Griff tapped his nose. “I’ll take care of this end.”

Will nodded. “Do what you must.”

The door to the house opened before he knocked.

The butler bowed, and in a censorious tone said, “My lord. Miss Eugénie is in the parlor.”

Damn, he was late. “Thank you, Bates. I’ll not keep her waiting any longer.”

He strode down the short corridor. Eugénie, dressed in pale yellow muslin, was donning a bonnet trimmed with turquoise and yellow ribbons. He’d never seen a lady’s hat he’d liked better. “You look charmingly.”

“Oh.” She widened her eyes and her chin rose, taking on a mulish cast. “I was getting ready to leave. I thought you’d forgotten.”

“Not at all.” Her expression did not bode well for him. “My apologies, I was delayed.”

Drawing on her gloves, she raised an imperious brow. “
That
is obvious.”

What a little Tartar. Will almost laughed out loud, but if he did she might never forgive him. Instead he held an arm out. “Shall we depart?”

She placed her fingers lightly on his arm as if to limit their contact. That wasn’t going to happen. He twined her arm in his. There, much better.

Fire flashed in her eyes. “Did you have to do that?” She glanced down at his hand covering hers. “Where I had my hand was perfectly proper.”

Acceptable if she were his mother, aunt, or sister. He’d be damned if he’d put up with that sort of distance from his betrothed.

He waited until she looked at him again before answering. “Indeed.” She gave a tug, but he held on. “I wouldn’t want you to fall down the stairs or trip over rubble in the street.”

Eugénie narrowed her eyes. “Oooh, you . . . you . . .”

“
Considerate man
is, I think, the term you are searching for.”

Despite herself, her lips twitched. She shook her head.
“Eh bien. Allez
.
”

Wivenly was impossible. He shouldn’t make her want to laugh when she wished to remain angry. Fortunately, they would still arrive at the church in good time. What would he think of her close involvement with the Moravian mission? If Wivenly was one of those men who thought it was better to support one’s causes from a distance, she could not marry him.

Eugénie glanced at him, taking in the way his jacket appeared molded to his broad shoulders. He must have had help putting it on. His biscuit-colored pantaloons clung to his well-shaped, muscular legs, and his boots reflected her own image. She hoped his footwear was up for the walk. It was only about three miles, but much of it was uphill. She led him behind the fort, then over to the road leading to the north side of the island.

Half-way up the hill, he stopped. Sweat rolled down his face, and he mopped it with his handkerchief. “Where are we going?”

“To the Moravian church. It is where I read to the younger slave children and teach the others how to read and do their numbers.”

He sucked in a breath. “Very well, lead on.”

Perhaps she should have warned him. Though from what Papa had said, she thought the English liked to walk. “Do you not have hills in England?”

“We do. When I was young, my family lived in the Lake District. It is nothing but hills.” Wivenly grimaced. “However, I was dressed for the occasion, and it was not quite so hot.”

He truly did appear to be miserable, and Eugénie was surprised he hadn’t complained. As he stared straight ahead, she noticed a bit of red on his neck, just below his chin. Had he cut himself? She studied it more closely. Not a cut, a rash seemed to be developing where his cravat rubbed against his skin. “We have a nice breeze to-day, and there will be water at the church.”

He nodded tersely. “I’m fine.”

“The walk back will be downhill.” Eugénie bit her lip. Could she have said anything more inane? “I’m sorry.”

Wivenly started to turn his head and winced. “Normally it would not have been a problem, but my valet, Tidwell, is distressed by my cravats drooping and added so much starch I could barely tie this one.”

No wonder Wivenly’s neck was being chafed raw. That Tidwell was an
imbécile
. How could he do something so stupid! “He should care more for your person than your clothing.”

Wivenly didn’t look at her when he responded. “Ah, therein lies the rub. He believes by ensuring my dress reflects my status as a gentleman, he
is
caring for me.”

Eugénie began to protest, but thought better of it. Wivenly must be a kind master indeed to give his valet so much latitude. Yet this was partly her fault as well. She’d withheld where they were going to see how he’d react.

“Is that it?”

She glanced up at the white building ahead of them. “Yes.”

“The walk was not long.” He grinned down at her. “Just vertical.”

She felt like such a shrew. His poor neck would be bloody before they returned. “I am happy you are not too upset.”

Wivenly held the door open, stepping aside for her to pass. “Not at all.”

Some of the children were already seated at the long tables with books. When Brother Sparmeyer greeted them, she smiled. “My lord, may I introduce Mr. Sparmeyer? He is one of the two missionaries who run the church mission. Brother, this is Lord Wivenly, my step-father’s great-nephew.”

Wivenly held out his hand. “It is my pleasure to finally meet you. I’ve heard a good deal about the work you do here.”

Beaming at him, the missionary returned her betrothed’s grip. “I’m glad to meet you as well. Your uncle gave us much support. If only my own countrymen were as liberal in their views as you English are. Since the islands were turned back over to the Danes, the situation with both the freemen and slaves has worsened.” Brother Sparmeyer smiled sadly. “I could discuss this all day, but I know Miss Villaret is anxious to see her students.”

She was, but she also needed time to think. Never had she thought Wivenly would behave in such a kind fashion toward the missionary, especially after she’d not warned him about the hill. He must be hot and in pain, yet he was as gracious as if he were in England. Perhaps if they had met under different circumstances, she would not have formed such a low opinion of him, or he of her.

The injustice she had done Wivenly to-day ate at her. She would find a way to make it up to him.

“If you’ll excuse me.” She bobbed a slight curtsey to Wivenly.

He inclined his head. “Of course, my dear.”

It wasn’t until several moments after she’d begun the lesson that the warmth of Wivenly’s gaze on her back left her. An hour later when the children were called to leave, he was still in deep conversation with the pastor.

Suddenly he glanced up and grinned.
Mon Dieu
, Wivenly was a handsome devil. He could probably have any woman he wanted. He certainly made her think and feel things she did not wish to. His focus on her caused a tingling to course through her body, and she rose to go to him. This attraction she had to him was not at all helpful in her effort to make a rational decision whether or not to marry him.

He held his hand out. “Shall we go?”

When Eugénie moved past him out the door, he caught her arm, twining it once more in his. She gazed up at him. His poor neck was even worse than when they’d arrived. “You should remove your cravat.”

“First I shall escort you home.” His tone was low but firm.

The silly man.
If it had not required going to the hotel without a chaperone, she would have spoken to his valet herself.

Eugénie gave herself an inner shake. How was it he alternately fascinated and irritated her? This courting was very nice, much better than when he kissed her.
Non
. If she was honest, she liked his kisses too much. What she didn’t like was the feeling of being out of control, consumed by him. “What did you and the brother speak of?”