Enticing Miss Eugenie Villaret (2 page)

“Ho, Lord Wivenly, is that you?” A short, middle-aged man with salt-and-pepper hair strode toward him. “I’m Captain Jones.”

“Yes, sir. Are we ready to cast off?”

The captain directed an eye toward the water. “Just waiting for you, my lord.”

Shortly after noon the following day, the boat docked at Plymouth’s bustling port. Will descended to the pier wondering how, in all the hubbub, he’d find Andrew Grayson, an old friend of his who’d agreed to accompany Will, only to spy Andrew leaning up against a piling near the midsection of the ship.

“Handsomely done, Captain.” Andrew straightened and inclined his head to Jones. “You’ve arrived in good time. We’ve a change in our travel plans. Lord Wivenly will need his baggage transferred to the
Sarah Anne
as soon as may be.”

“Aha,” the captain called out in a satisfied tone, “so Captain Black’s going back again.” Jones grinned. “I win my wager. I’ll have it done straight away, Mr. Grayson.”

Will furrowed his brow. “How do you know Jones?”

Andrew cast a glance at the sky as if searching for patience. “My maternal grandfather’s in shipping, remember? I’ve spent time learning the business, as it will be mine.”

That was one of the main reasons Will had asked Andrew to accompany him to St. Thomas. As they walked in the direction of the main dock area, he said, “I didn’t know you planned on actually running the business. I thought you only wanted to be knowledgeable. Didn’t some aunt leave you a snug little property with an independence ?”

“Yes”—Andrew nodded—“but my grandfather’s bound by the settlement agreements to leave the shipping line to me as the second son, and I like knowing how to control what I’m going to own.” He glanced back at Will with a raised brow. “Don’t tell me you’re worried I’ll smell of the shop? Shipping is as respectable as banking, and look at Lady Jersey. She spends a good amount of time at the bank her father left her.”

They reached another pier, where Andrew hailed a tall man with broad shoulders who’d clearly been at sea for a while. “That’s Captain Black. His ship is one of the fastest you’ll find, even with cargo.”

“Mr. Grayson.” The captain grinned. “I see you’ve found his lordship, and in good time.”

“His gear will be here directly,” Andrew said. “Captain Jones is seeing to it.”

Captain Black turned his attention to Will. “Welcome aboard the
Sarah Anne
, my lord. I’ll have you in St. Thomas in no time at all.”

An hour later, Will stood near the bow of the ship, looking out over the water and trying to decide how to approach the problem his father had asked him to look into in St. Thomas. Though it would delay his exploration of the other islands, he knew that the Earl of Watford’s protective arms encircled all of their family, no matter where they were located, and Will felt the same way. Anyone in the Wivenly family was his to care for.

Andrew joined him. “Have you decided how you will approach the problem yet?”

Will wished he had; the whole thing was deuced strange. He shook his head. “My original intent was to pay my respects to my great-uncle Nathan’s widow”—funny that Nathan was only a few years older than Will—“then meet with the manager, Mr. Howden. Yet after her last letter to my father, telling him the business was failing, right on the heels of a report from Howden showing it was as prosperous as ever, I don’t know what to think, or whom to trust.”

Andrew leaned against the rail. “Someone is being economical with the truth.”

An understatement if Will had ever heard one. “The question is, who? I can’t think of a reason my aunt would be dishonest. Her distress was clear from her letter. However, Howden has an impeccable reputation.”

Andrew frowned. “Could there be another actor?”

Now
that
was something Will hadn’t considered. “It’s possible. I’ll take great joy in making sure whoever is causing the problems will pay for their transgressions.”

He’d make sure of it.

Early September 1816, St. Thomas, Danish West Indies

E
ugénie entered the large drawing room where her maman could usually be found. She sat at an old desk against one wall. “Maman?”

A soft breeze from the windows fluttered the sheets of paper her
maman
held in one hand. The other was fisted and pressed against her lips.

“Is it more bad news?” A few months ago, her step-father, Nathan Wivenly, the only papa she had ever known, had been on board one of his ships returning from England. Not a day from St. Thomas, they had been attacked by pirates who had murdered Papa and the crew. Ever since then, the import-export business the family owned had begun to fail. The problems were due to the lost goods, or so Mr. Howden told her mother.

Eugénie didn’t believe him. Papa always had insurance. If only she had proof the manager was being dishonest, she’d be able to assist her family. Papa would expect it of her. She dug her nails into her palms. “Maman, if you will allow me to look at the books, I know I can help.”

“You remember the last time you asked to see the accounts?” Maman stuffed the documents in the desk drawer. “Mr. Howden threatened to leave.” Tears filled her eyes. “How would I replace him? I know nothing of commerce.”

It was on the tip of Eugénie’s tongue to say they couldn’t do worse, but that would only further upset her mother, and it might not be true. She’d learned to run a household, not a company. Since her younger brother, Benet, would inherit the business, Papa had seen no point in teaching her. “Have you heard from the Earl of Watford?”

Maman’s lips formed a thin line as she shook her head. “Your father always said I could rely on his nephew. I’m sure we shall receive an answer soon.”

Yet would the letters they’d sent by fast schooners arrive in time? Could the earl act before they were ruined? Eugénie pushed away the thought that despite what Papa had always believed, the earl did not truly care about his uncle’s family living in the West Indies.

“Perhaps”—she searched for something, anything to help make her mother feel better—“you could ask Baron von Bretton for help, or Mr. Whitecliff.”

Maman shot to her feet.
“Eugénie!”
She took a breath. “I appreciate you trying to be of assistance, but it is for me to deal with.”

Ever since Papa had died, Maman had become a shadow of herself, and was in no condition to act. Her brown eyes, which had always been alight with laughter, were now haunted. In just a few short months, small lines had begun to bracket her mouth. Something had to be done, and soon, before they hadn’t any money at all.

“I am one and twenty. I have a brain and can add columns.” Why was her mother being so stubborn? “Please allow me to—”

“No. You cannot make a good marriage if you are involved in business.” Maman locked the drawer to her desk. “Your papa would not ’ave approved.”

Maman hadn’t pronounced the words in her usual clipped British fashion. The fact that her French accent had become more pronounced was sufficient evidence of the strain she was under. Since marrying Nathaniel Wivenly when Eugénie was six, and joining the English society in Jamaica, then in Saint Thomas, Maman had cultivated the English ways, including their way of speaking.

“
Oui
, Maman.” Well, Papa was no longer here. Eugénie wanted to stamp her feet in frustration, or throw something, or break down in tears. She wanted to mourn as well, yet how could she when someone had to take care for the family? Why was it that men, even perfect ones like Papa, always seemed to manage to get themselves killed at the worst possible times?

“If need be,” Maman said in a weary voice, “we will travel to England. I am sure Papa’s family would not turn us away.”

The Earl of Watford had done nothing to help so far. Eugénie gritted her teeth.
“Naturellement.”

“English, Eugénie,” her mother reminded her, “English.”

“Yes, Maman.” Eugénie stifled a sigh. There was no point in continuing a discussion that only upset her mother. “I must go into town later for some new ribbon. Is there anything you need?”

Maman gave a weary smile. “I shall be grateful if you will bring me some pressed paper. I must write the invitations for your sister’s birthday party.”

Another reason to discover what was going on: Her brother and sisters’ futures were at risk. Jeanne, the youngest sister, would be six next week. The others were not much older. Even though they were in mourning, Jeanne would have friends over for cakes and lemonade. Eugénie nodded and turned to the door.

“Don’t forget your bonnet.” Her mother frowned. “You are becoming much too brown, and remember to take your maid with you.”

Eugénie ran back to her mother and embraced her. She wouldn’t tease Maman any more, but proper or not, she would find a way to help her family. Papa always said she was the cleverest one in the family. Surely she could think of something. Eugénie could not leave their well-being to the vagaries of fate, the ocean, and an earl who lived thousands of miles away.

Will braced his feet on the ship’s deck and held the telescope to his eye. A large group of buildings stood at the water’s edge. “That’s it then, the free port of Charlotte Amalie?”

“Indeed.” Captain Black grinned. “It will soon be one of the largest ports in the West Indies, if not the entire Caribbean.”

“What are those spaces on the hills?”

Black looked where Will pointed. “Stairs used as streets. They are called step streets. They make going up and down the hills easier. I’ve heard some European cities have them, as well.”

Anything to make hills easier would be welcome. Drat, he hated hills. He’d been ecstatic when his family had moved to Hertfordshire, where it was nice and flat.

Wharves lined the shoreline, each with its own warehouse, followed by taller buildings that spread up the three hills behind the city. Palm trees punctuated the landscape in an orderly manner, and a large fort jutted out into the harbor. The numerous ships at anchor added to the picturesque view, but what really struck Will was the color of the water. Ranging from darker blue to turquoise closer to shore, it took his breath away. He’d never seen anything as beautiful, and right now he’d like to dive overboard. The sun wasn’t even directly overhead and already the day promised to be hot. How the devil did gentlemen dress in suits here? Or perhaps the question should be why Englishmen must behave as if even the tropics were no warmer than the home counties.

He passed the glass back to the captain and rubbed a hand over his short beard. Tidwell had been threatening to take the razor to Will’s face, but with the movement of the ship, his valet had resigned himself to merely trimming his beard. Once on land, he’d have a good shave, though whether his coats would still fit him was uncertain. His normally lean frame had filled out as he’d handled the ship’s lines and sails. Will smiled to himself. Learning to sail had been every bit as fun as his friend Marcus had told him it would be, though remembering some of the terms had been a bit more problematic. Now he needed to turn his attention to the problem of the Wivenly family of St. Thomas.

During the passage, Will had tried to surreptitiously draw information about the island and its inhabitants from Captain Black. One night the man had laughed and said, “Just tell me what it is you need to know, my lord, and I’ll be happy to give you any information I have. You don’t need to worry I’ll be indiscreet. I take pride in my prudence.”

Will had reluctantly realized that he needed the captain’s assistance and told him about the apparent problems with his late great-uncle’s business. “It appears prosperous on paper, yet the widow is claiming poverty.”

Captain Black rubbed his chin, then took a drink of wine. “Mr. Howden, the manager, is a well-thought-of man of business, but he’s ambitious, and I can’t see him wanting to work for a woman.” Black paused for a moment. “On the other hand, I’ve met your aunt on a few occasions. She must be devastated by Nathan’s death. She relied on him for everything. It would be pretty easy to pull the wool over her eyes.” A call came from somewhere in the ship and the captain cocked an ear before continuing. “If only she were older, Miss Eugénie—that’s Mrs. Wivenly’s daughter from her first marriage—could help.” The captain chuckled. “Now there’s a firecracker for you.”

“How old is Miss Eugénie?” Will couldn’t remember if he’d heard of her or not. Could the daughter be the problem? Will wasn’t naïve enough to think women weren’t capable of doing anything they set their minds to. Still, why would she try to beggar her mother? He tossed off the rest of his wine. None of this made sense.

“Maybe about twenty now.” The captain frowned. “Last time I saw her was a couple of years ago. She was still coltish then. Skinny little thing, all arms and legs. Brown as a nut because she kept losing her hat. Nathan spoiled her to death.”

Lovely. In addition to everything else, he’d have to deal with a willful, probably bran-faced brat.

“You know, my lord,” the captain said thoughtfully, “St. Thomas is a small island, and your family is well-known. If you use the name Wivenly, you’ll not be able to hide your interests.”

Will grinned. He knew just the one he’d use. “That’s Mr. Munford, Captain. A mere factotum for the earl. I’ll have to rely on my servants to give me any consequence at all.”

“You haven’t been Munford since Oxford.” Andrew barked a laugh. “After that girl tried to trick you into marriage, I thought you’d sworn off it.”

“That was years ago. No one in St. Thomas will recognize the name.” Will refilled his glass. “Besides, it won’t be for long.” At least he hoped it wouldn’t. He’d discharge his duty as quickly as possible then get on to the real purpose of his journey, having fun and avoiding marriage-minded ladies and their mamas.

By early afternoon, they’d docked. Captain Black found a carter for Will’s trunks and sent a message to the Queen Hotel concerning rooms.

An hour later, Will clasped the older man’s hand. “I hope I see you before you’re on your way again.”

“I’ll make a point of it.” Black gave Will a sly wink. “
Sir
. You’ll find a tailor on Main Street, what the Danes call Dronningens Gade, as well as most everything else you’ll need.”

“Is there a printer there as well?” Even if he only used his assumed identity for a short time, calling cards would be necessary.

“Yes”—the captain nodded—“just down from the tailor. Gentlemen, enjoy your stay. It was a pleasure having you on board. Perhaps we’ll make the return trip in the spring.”

Will tipped his hat. “Thank you, Captain, for all your help.”

Captain Black indicated a woman garbed in a colorful skirt leaning against the door of a building. “A word to the wise. St. Thomas has a reputation for being the healthy island, but that doesn’t apply to the brothels.”

“Good of you to warn us.” After over four weeks at sea, Will was definitely in need of female companionship, but his tastes ran more to widows than members of the impure. He’d never had any trouble finding willing women, even when he’d used the name Munford.

Andrew’s valet, Blyton, stood with Tidwell making sure the carter collected all their baggage. Most of Will’s coats would need to be replaced. The one he was wearing was so tight across the shoulders any sudden movement might rip the seams. It was also looser around his middle.

They walked up a side alley to the main street, then turned east and continued for several blocks until they came to a large building set in a garden, with a sign announcing it to be the Queen. Will studied the three-storied structure. Massive windows surrounded the ground and first floors, their louvered shutters closed on one side against the afternoon heat. Under a hipped roof, dormer windows lined the second floor. It must be hot up there. He wondered if that was where his servants would be expected to sleep.

“Here ye be, sir,” the carter said. “The best inn in Charlotte Amalie.”

Andrew and Will were soon ensconced in a large suite with two bedchambers, dressing rooms, and a parlor, which he and Andrew would share. Smaller rooms for their personal servants were on the same floor. All the windows had a view over the harbor, giving them a good breeze.

After settling in, their small coterie met in the parlor.

“Griff,” Will said, “you’ll need to arrange for a carriage.”

“You’re on foot, my lord.” The groom grinned. “This here town’s like Bath. From what that carter said, they got no horses on this side of the island.”

“The devil you say.” That was an unwelcome surprise. Will glanced at the hills surrounding him. If he would be on foot during his stay, before too long he might need to make a visit to a cobbler as well, or find a flatter island.

Griff wiped his shirtsleeve over his forehead and eyes. “I hope we get used to this heat soon.”

“It may lessen,” Andrew said. “According to the hotel’s porter, we are already in their storm season and the weather will cool.”

“I’d give a lot to stand in some rain right now.” Griff took out his handkerchief and mopped his face.

“My lord.” Tidwell stepped gingerly into the room, as if the floor might move on him. It would probably take a while for all of them to regain their land legs. Even Will still felt the roll of the ship.

He groaned. “I’ll never get away with being Mr. Munford if all of you keep
my lord
ing me.”

“Sorry, my . . .” Tidwell at least looked abashed. “
Mr. Munford
, sir, I have directions to a tailor and the printer. I suggest you take care of both those errands as soon as possible.”

How was it Tidwell managed to appear cool even in this heat? “First I want a bath and a shave. This beard itches.”

The valet gave a slight bow. “The bath is on its way.” He glanced at Andrew. “For Mr. Grayson as well.”

Andrew closed his eyes as if anticipating bliss. “Thank you, Tidwell. You’ve answered my prayers. Blyton, make sure the razor is sharp. Mr. Munford isn’t the only one who needs a shave.”

“Andrew,” Will asked, “when do you want to visit Wivenly Imports?”