Desiring Lady Caro (28 page)

 

M
iss Eugénie Villaret de Joyeuse followed Gunna, an old black slave, down a narrow back street lined with long houses in Crown Prince’s Quarter. Her maid, Marisole, stood watch as Eugénie and the woman entered the building.

“He here, miss.”

A baby, not older than one year, sat in the corner of the room playing with a rag doll. His only clothing was a clout, which, by the strong scent of urine, needed to be changed.

Other than the boy and the old woman, they were alone in the cramped dark room. Eugénie crouched down next to the child. “What happened to his mother?”

“Sold.”

Naturally, why did she even bother to ask? It was cruel to separate a mother and child, but there was no law against it here.

“When?”

“A few days ago.” Gunna glanced at the child. “He gone to plantation soon.”

Even worse. He’d likely die before he was grown. Eugénie placed the small bag she carried on the floor. “Help me change him. He can’t go outside like this.”

A few minutes later the baby’s face and hands were clean, his linen was changed, and he wore a clean gown.

She handed the woman two gold coins. “Thank you for calling me.” The Gunna tried to give the money back, but Eugénie shook her head. “Use it to help someone else. Our fight is not finished until everyone is free.”

One tear made its way down the woman’s withered cheek. “You go now, before the wrong person sees you.”

Eugénie pulled a thin blanket around the babe’s head, thankful her wide-brimmed hat would help hide his face as well as hers, and stepped out into the bright sunshine.

“That’s her!” a male voice shouted.

She shoved the babe at Marisole. “Take him and run! I’ll catch up.”

Eugénie quickly drew out her dagger, concealing it in the shadows of her skirts, and turned, crouching. A large man stood hidden in the shadow of a building, while a wiry boy she guessed to be in his late teens, came at her. She waited until he reached out to grab her arm, then sliced the blade across his hands. Before he started to scream, she dashed down an alley between the long houses. Doors swung open, and several women stepped into the street behind her. That wouldn’t help for long, but it would delay the pursuit.

Perspiration poured down her face as Eugénie pounded up the hill, using the step streets to cross over to Queen’s quarter. Ducking behind a large flamboyant tree, she waited for several moments, listening for the sound of men running, but there was nothing.

She took a scrap of cloth and cleaned the blade before returning it to her leg sheath. Then Eugénie removed her bonnet and turned toward the breeze, drawing in great gulps of air as she fanned herself with the hat.

A few minutes later she caught up to her maid. “How is the babe?”

Marisole smiled. “Look for yourself. He is fine.”

Wide green eyes stared up at Eugénie, and the child blew a bubble and smiled. “Come,
mon petit
. Not long now and you will have a family.”

The front door of a well-kept house in Queen’s quarter opened as they approached.

Once in the short hall, she smiled. “Mrs. Rordan, thank you for agreeing to care for him. It will only be for a few days.”

“As if I wouldn’t.” Mrs. Rordan grinned as she took the babe. “Captain Henriksen’s already been in touch. There is a good family on Tortola who will adopt him.” She handed Eugénie a bouquet of flowers. “For your mother; perhaps they’ll help cheer her. You’d better get home, now.”

“
Merci beaucoup
. She will love them.” She kissed the little boy on the cheek. “Safe passage and a good life.”

As Eugénie and her maid walked back to Wivenly House, Marisole said, “You were almost captured.”

That was the closest she had ever been to getting caught. She drew her brows together. If they were after the child, why didn’t the men follow? Did they know who she was? Even if they did, even with Papa gone, she had to continue. “Yes,” she told Marisole, “but it is better not to question fate.”

 

 

 

William, Viscount Wivenly, caught a glimpse of sprigged muslin through a thinly leafed part of the tall hedge behind which he’d taken refuge.

“Are you sure he came this way?” an excited female voice whispered.

Damn.
He didn’t like the sound of that. Will always found himself in sympathy with the fox at a hunt.

“Quite sure,” came the hushed response. “You must be careful, Cressida. If I reveal to you what Miss Stavely told me in the
strictest
confidence, you must vow
never
to repeat what I’m about to say. I swore I’d never breathe a word.”

“Yes, yes,” Miss Cressida Hawthorne replied urgently, “I promise.”

He’d been dodging the Hawthorne chit for two days now, and unfortunately she wasn’t the only one. The other woman sounded like the newly betrothed Miss Blakely.

“Well then,” Miss Blakely paused. “I really shouldn’t. If it got out, she’d be ruined!”

“I already promised,” Miss Hawthorne wheedled.

After a few moments, the other girl continued. “Miss Stavely said she followed Lord Wivenly to the library so that they’d be alone and he’d have to marry her.”

“What an excellent plan.” Miss Hawthorne’s tone fell somewhere between admiring and wishful.

“Well it wasn’t.”

Even thinking about the incident with Miss Stavely made Will shudder. There were few worse fates he could imagine than being married to her in particular. Fortunately, the lady was not as intelligent as she was crafty. The minute she’d turned the lock, she announced he’d have to marry her. However, she’d failed to take into account the French windows through which Will had made his escape.

“What do you mean it wasn’t?” Miss Hawthorne asked.

“Have you heard a betrothal announcement?”

Their footsteps stopped. Drat it all, there must be another way out of here. He surveyed the privet hedge, which boarded three sides of this part of the garden. Across from him was a wooden rail fence about five feet high. Large rambling roses in pale pink and yellow sprawled along it, completing the enclosure. Whoever designed this spot had wanted privacy. Will’s attention was once again captured by the voices.

“No.” Miss Hawthorne said slowly, as if working out a puzzle. “So it didn’t work.”

“Do you know what Miss Stavely failed to take into account?”

When Miss Hawthorne didn’t reply, Miss Blakely continued. “She didn’t bother to ensure she had a witness at hand. Miss Stavely said Lord Wivenly looked her up and down like she was a beefsteak and told her he’d ruin her if she wished, but not to think he’d take her to wife.”

Perhaps not his finest moment, though Will had only wanted to scare the chit. Not that it had worked. She had practically launched herself at him.

“Oooh, how wicked.” Miss Hawthorne giggled. “He’s so handsome, and has such nice brown hair. I’d love to be compromised by him.” She paused. “But only if he had to marry me, so you must make sure to bear witness.”

Will had no intention of marrying Miss Hawthorne, or any other fair English maiden. Harpies in disguise, all of them. More interested in being Viscountess Wivenly and the future Countess of Watford than in their duties as a wife. From what he knew of her, Miss Hawthorne would probably only allow him in her bed for the purpose of getting with child. Surely he could do better than her.

When it came time for him to be leg shackled, he’d be the one choosing. Yet even that would not be for at least another year or two. In the meantime, Will would be damned if he’d allow himself to be trapped into marriage. Thank God he’d already made plans to leave England for a while.

The sounds of the ladies’ shod feet came closer.

Damnation
. Will glanced around. The only escape was a large mulberry tree in full fruit. His valet, Tidwell, would have a fit about the stains, but needs must. As quickly and quietly as possible, he ascended the tree, careful not to let the slick leather soles of his boots slide off the branches.

“I am sure I saw him go this way,” Miss Blakely said.

From his perch in the tree, Will had a view of the tops of their ridiculous bonnets. Why women had to use all those ribbons and furbelows on their hats defied logic.

“As did I,” Miss Hawthorne replied. “I wonder where he could have got to.”

“Do not worry. I shall be vigilant. We will find a way to ensure you are Lady Wivenly.”

The hell she would
. Will scowled. Did a lady exist who would not be impressed with his title, and would allow him to do the hunting? Probably not.

“Oh, look.” Miss Hawthorne exclaimed. “A mulberry tree. We must pick some, perhaps the cook will make tarts, or I can have them with cream.”

Will stifled a groan. Featherheaded females. Why had he ever allowed his mother to talk him into this house party on the eve of his departure for the West Indies?

Her friend linked an arm in Miss Hawthorne’s. “Perhaps it might be better to send a servant. You wouldn’t want to ruin your gown.”

“You are correct.” Linking arms, the two headed back to the formal garden, then she added, “but let us find someone straight away. Lord Wivenly must be around somewhere.”

Will tipped his hat.
Sorry ladies, this fox is going Halloo and Away
.

He waited until they were half-way to the lake before climbing out of the tree. Upon regaining the house, he sneaked up a back staircase and strode to his bedchamber. “Tidwell!”

“I’m right here, my lord.” The valet poked his head out from the dressing room. “No reason to shout. I’m getting your evening kit ready.” He held up two waistcoats. “Would you prefer the green on cream or the gold?”

“I’d prefer to leave. Get everything packed. You’ve got an hour.”

Tidwell bowed. “As you wish, my lord.” His eyes narrowed as he took a sharper look at Will. “If I do not treat those stains, they’ll never come out.”

He glanced down. Not only mulberry juice, but leaf stains as well. “You’ll just have to make do. It’s not safe for me here.”

“Another ruined suit.” His valet sighed. “More problems with the ladies, I presume.”

Taking pity on Tidwell, Will said, “Pack me a bag. You remain here until the toggery is cleaned. I’ll take my curricle and meet you back at Watford Hall.”

Tidwell immediately brightened. “Yes, my lord.”

Changed into fresh clothing, Will donned his caped coat and hat, then found his host and made his excuses. By the time he stepped out into the stable yard, his carriage was ready, and his groom, Griff, was holding the horses’ heads.

Will climbed into his curricle. “Good job.”

“Thought it might be gettin’ a bit hot for you hereabouts, my lord.”

“Right as usual. Let their heads go.”

Griff jumped onto the back as Will maneuvered the carriage out of the yard and onto the gravel drive. He caught a glimpse of Miss Hawthorne. She smiled at him, but when he smiled then inclined his head and sprung the horses, her jaw dropped.

Another close escape.

 

 

 

The docks bustled with activity as ships prepared to sail with the tide. Will had met his friend Gervais, Earl of Huntley, in London, traveling down to the port city with him.

The early morning sky was about to lighten when they reached the packet on which Huntley was booked setting sail for France. “Godspeed in your travels.”

He clasped Will’s hand. “Good luck to you sorting out the problem in St. Thomas. I’ll see you in the spring.”

“Only if I can’t think of a good excuse to remain abroad.” Will grimaced. “Before I left, my father made me promise I’d marry next year.”

“My father said the same to me. We’ll lend each other support.” Huntley’s grim countenance reminded Will of a man going to trial. “Perhaps you’ll be lucky enough to fall in love.”

He almost choked. “You think that’s lucky? I’d have to completely rearrange my life. No thank you. I’ll probably end up picking one of the ladies my mother parades before me. At least then I’ll know what to expect.”

And he wouldn’t risk living under the cat’s paw because of a woman.

“My lord, the ship’s about to depart,” Huntley’s groom called from the packet.

“You’ll do as you think best.” Huntley slapped Will’s back.

“You as well.” Will strode down the street to a Dutch Fly-boat, one of the smaller sailing ships plying their trade ferrying passengers and goods to the many ports scattered up and down England’s far Western coast.

Griff sat on a piling at the head of the pier. “‘Bout time you got here. Tidwell’s got the cabins all arranged, and the captain’s just waitin’ on you.”

“Let’s get onboard then. I can’t miss the tide, or we’ll be late for our rendezvous with Mr. Grayson.” Will drew in a deep breath, savoring the air’s briny scent. At one and thirty, Will hadn’t had his blood rush with excitement of a new challenge for years. “Is there anything else you’d like to tell me?”

A large smile cracked Griff’s weathered face. “Mr. Tidwell turned a nice shade of green when he got on the ship.” He scratched his head as if he was giving the occurrence some thought. “Don’t suppose he’ll like the trip overmuch.”

“Unless
you
,” Will paused letting the word sink in, “wish to learn how to take care of my kit, you’d better hope Tidwell doesn’t become too ill.”

Griff, who’d been with Will since he’d sat his first pony, had carried on a good-natured feud with Tidwell since the valet had joined their household over eleven years ago. Will softened his voice. “Come now, I can’t go about looking like a shagbag, and I daren’t go without you. Who’d have my back when I get into trouble?”