Enticing Miss Eugenie Villaret (6 page)

Will looked toward the voice and then down. A short, rather rotund, dark-skinned man, dressed in a deep blue suit, waited for his response. “Yes, I’ve heard you have the best luncheon in town.”

The man bowed. “That we do, sir. Dinner as well, but you’ll be staying at the Queen, I imagine.”

“Indeed.” How the devil did the waiter manage to look so cool in this weather? Will’s collar points were already wilting in the heat.

“My name is Connors. I’ll have a waiter to you immediately.” He surveyed the room and smiled. “I’ll put you where you’ll get a nice breeze. Our heat takes a bit of getting used to.”

Will nodded gratefully. “Thank you, it does at that.”

Not long after he’d ordered, a man who matched Howden’s description joined Shipley. Although both Will’s table and Shipley’s were next to the windows overlooking the harbor, the two men kept their voices low, and Will was too far away to hear what was being said. Though Shipley appeared to be ringing a peel over Howden’s head. Finally he stood and bowed, saying in a clear voice, “I’m going as fast as I can, sir. This type of thing takes time.”

“I plan to visit the widow soon. Be sure I receive the answer I expect.”

“I’ll take care all is ready,” Howden assured Shipley.

Will clenched his jaw until it ached. It was all he could do not to jump up and strangle the Wivenly Import’s manager as he hustled out the door. Damn the man. Wasn’t it hard enough on the family that their husband and father had died, without the added burden of poverty threatening them as well? Not to mention trying to marry off his great-uncle’s step-daughter. Though not English, her family’s lineage was excellent. Before Will left England, his mother was already talking about bringing her over for a Season. That’s where he’d heard of her before. Had some deuced French double name; de Joyaux, or something like that. No matter. He’d discover it soon enough.

So much for going about incognito. It was time for him to reveal himself to Howden. No mere Mr. Munford would have the influence Viscount Wivenly did. At least he’d enjoy his luncheon and see a bit of the town as he searched again for Mrs. Villaret before heading back to the hotel and coordinating with Andrew.

Two hours later, Will had strolled up and down the main street three times. Much to his irritation, some of the shopkeepers had started to take notice and watched him carefully. A few people on the street asked if he needed directions. He almost told them who he was looking for, but that would raise too much interest concerning himself and his business and he’d already made them curious enough. Damn. He was at a standstill until Andrew tracked down the blonde, which Will was certain his friend would do.

Finally he gave up. As soon as he finished with Howden, he’d find Mrs. Villaret. It was almost four o’clock when he returned to the hotel and found Andrew in their parlor enjoying tea.

Will touched the pot and found it mercifully cool. Taking a seat, he poured a cup and drank it down. “What did you discover about Shipley?”

“I’m not sure he’s what he appears to be. His family is from England, but he claims to be an American. He has significant dealings with the French. One nobleman in particular.”

Will’s Aunt Wivenly had been a Frenchwoman before marrying his uncle. She had no family to speak of, but her late first husband did. If only Will could remember who they were. “Name?”

Andrew pulled a face. “No one knew. He was referred to only as Monsieur le Vicomte.”

“There are too many actors involved in this. I, for one, want it over. Let’s go see Howden. At least we know where he is, and maybe we can get him to tell us the whole story.” Will pushed himself away from the table and started for the door. “I forgot to tell you, Shipley’s decided to make his offer of marriage in a few days.”

Before Will could leave the room, Andrew held out a cream-colored card edged in dark blue.

“What’s that?”

His friend’s brow rose. “You haven’t been gone from Polite Society that long. It’s exactly what it looks like, an invitation. The Honorable Mr. Peregrine Whitecliff and his wife are requesting the pleasure of our company at a small dinner party and soirée the day after tomorrow.” Andrew’s eyes danced with unholy mirth. “Are you sure you wish to resume your identity just yet? There might be young ladies present. Mere Mr. Munford will not attract the amount of attention Viscount Wivenly almost certainly shall.”

Will dropped into a large leather chair and ran a hand over his face. “You might be right. Perhaps we should pay the offices another visit this evening. I’ll confront him after the party.”

“We have all the information from the books we need.” His friend played with the handle of his tea-cup. “Aside from that, I have other plans.”

That was strange. “And that would be?”

Andrew stood. “A private dinner.”

Who the devil could Andrew be dining with so soon after arriving? Of course. Will grinned. “The blonde.”

A smile played on his friend’s lips. “If all goes well, I might tell you. Until then, you’ll have to wait.”

T
he Whitecliffs’ butler, Henry, set a tea tray on the low table situated between two couches on the terrace outside Cicely’s rooms.

Cicely handed a cup of tea to her mother. “Has Mr. Grayson responded yet?” Thankfully Papa had intervened when Mama had resisted sending the invitation to Mr. Grayson.

“Yes, Mr. Grayson will dine with us this evening.” Mama took a sip, then set down the thin china cup. “Cicely, I do not know how you could be so interested in a gentleman you’ve only seen on the street.”

“I thought you said you knew the moment you saw Papa he was the right man for you.” She kept her tone as even as possible. If anyone could discover what she had done last night, it would be her mother. Then she really would be in a pickle.

“Well, yes, that’s true.” Mama hid her reaction by drinking more tea. “Yet my father knew Papa’s family.”

“Papa knows of Mr. Grayson’s grandfather,” Cicely said, pointing out the obvious.

“If,” her mother countered, “it is the right Mr. Grayson.”

She knew Mama’s caution came from concern for her only child, but Cicely and Papa had each done their research. He had even discovered Mr. Grayson’s name before she had. “The manager of the Queen said his name was Andrew Grayson, and his manner is that of a gentleman.” Her mother opened her mouth to speak, but Cicely held up her hand. “Please allow me to finish. I looked in
Debrett’s
. If he is who we think he is, then Mr. Grayson is not only the grandson of Mr. Josiah Beldan of Beldan Shipping, now B and G Shipping, the G standing for Grayson, but the second son of the Earl of Kelston, whose wife is the only child of Mr. Beldan.”

“That is all very well and good, my dear, but—”

“Please, Mama. If he
is
the
right
Andrew Grayson, and he likes me as much as I like him, please don’t say we must wait.”

Mama passed a hand over her eyes. “I think you are moving far too swiftly for a gentleman you haven’t even met yet, but if you are correct I will not stand in your way.”

Cicely hid her grin as triumph bubbled inside her.

Andrew
. Now that she knew his first name, she could only think of him as such. He had told her last night his maternal grandfather was in shipping, and that he was the second son of an earl.

While they were conducting their research, Papa had made his little joke about not having to pay for a Season, but he was even happier that she might have found a good match. At least he trusted her judgment. Mama, on the other hand, would throw up one obstruction after another, just as she had when Cicely was to have traveled to London for her Season.

Last night when Andrew had hidden her from the intoxicated sailors, she could tell by the way his lips strayed close to hers that he wanted to kiss her but, being a gentleman, had not. Though he did say he’d find her and ask her father if he could call on her. Cicely knew she was right about his identity and her feelings for him. Now if only he felt the same.

Andrew dressed with care for his engagement. Luckily, the Whitecliffs kept what were called country hours, and he was expected at five o’clock. He took up the carefully cut sheet of foolscap that had been tucked in the envelope with the request that he join the Whitecliff family for potluck. The neat copperplate writing pleased his orderly soul as much as the message did.

The note was unsigned. He’d wondered how he was to find her and was happy she’d found him first and had chosen a solution that would be comfortable for them both. What was even better was the letter of introduction Andrew had from his grandfather to Mr. Whitecliff. That would give him more than a little standing with his lady’s family. Though Andrew understood her caution, he had little doubt of his attraction to the lady.

After donning his hat, he picked up his cane. The porter gave him directions up a nearby step street, the same one as last night. Will may have spent his life running from the parson’s mousetrap, but Andrew was only waiting for the right woman.

Unlike last evening, he could see the bushes with colorful flowers that lined the way, and stood as a buffer between the walls punctuated by wooden doors. They must lead to the other houses bordering the street. When he reached the top, he turned left, and immediately entered a courtyard. Partially hidden behind a gate, a set of stairs ran down alongside the house. He wondered where they went.

Unfamiliar spices emanated from a stone building at the end of the courtyard, opposite the house. In front of him was a long one-story building with doors and windows.

The darkest butler he’d ever seen opened the door.

“Mr. Grayson?” the man asked in an English accent.

“Yes.” He handed the butler his hat and cane.

“Very good, sir, the family is waiting for you in the drawing room.”

He straightened his shoulders and found he was a bit nervous. Not unexpected, considering he’d never courted a woman before.

“Don’t let Mr. Whitecliff scare you off,” the butler said confidingly. “Miss Whitecliff is his only child, and he’s right protective of her. We all are.”

It didn’t surprise him at all that the servants knew what was afoot, and Andrew could recognize a warning when he heard one: Don’t be afraid, but treat Miss Whitecliff respectfully. “Thank you.”

The servant led him down a short corridor to a good-sized room resembling nothing more than an indoor terrace. Italian marble paved the floor. Across the room, openings that were similar to French windows yet without the glass, reached to the ceiling and allowed a cooling breeze from the harbor to drift around him. Decorative wrought-iron rails affixed across the openings stood waist high to protect anyone from falling out.

The butler announced him and left.

A large-framed man with a wealth of white hair stood and greeted Andrew. “Mr. Grayson, I’m Mr. Whitecliff. I hope you don’t think us presumptuous for inviting you sight unseen, but I’d heard you were newly arrived and looking at businesses to buy. I like to get to know newcomers.”

This was very good. No mention at all of his daughter, though he knew she’d arranged the dinner. Andrew took the proffered hand and shook it. “Thank you, sir. I appreciated the invitation. Indeed, I have a letter of introduction from my grandfather, Mr. Joshua Belden. I look forward to meeting new people here and”—he met Miss Whitecliff’s gaze and held it for a moment—“furthering my acquaintance with those few I’ve already had the pleasure of meeting.”

Whitecliff nodded sagely. “Excellent. Though Mr. Belden and I have never met, we have corresponded on business matters. We will do our best to make you feel at home here, Mr. Grayson.”

At least with his bona fides in place, Mr. Whitecliff accepted Andrew. He wondered how much the older man knew of his daughter’s doings and decided she hadn’t told him, or he would not be so welcoming.

“My dear”—Whitecliff turned to a handsome woman with silver-blond hair seated on a chaise next to one of the open windows—“allow me to introduce you to Mr. Grayson.”

“Mr. Grayson, a pleasure, and this”—she motioned to the lady he’d met last night who stood against a narrow portion of wall separating the windows—“is our daughter, Miss Whitecliff.”

She colored prettily before stepping forward and curtseying. “Mr. Grayson, I’m so glad you could come.”

He took her small hand in his, brushing his lips against her knuckles. “Miss Whitecliff, the pleasure is entirely mine.”

Her appearance was almost that of a china doll. Pale gold curls framed her heart-shaped face. Her eyes were the deep turquoise of the water. She was so perfectly lovely most men wouldn’t think she had a brain in her head. Yet after last night, when they’d pored over the ledgers together, he knew how sharp a mind she had. Miss Whitecliff’s beauty might fade, but an intelligent woman would never bore him. All that in addition to an even temperament. He’d never met another woman who enticed him as she did. Notwithstanding his and Will’s unexpected appearance last evening, she had held her own. She was everything he’d ever wished for in a wife and more.

Mr. Whitecliff coughed and Andrew realized he was still holding Miss Whitecliff’s hand. He couldn’t resist giving it a slight squeeze before letting her fingers go.

When he straightened, Mr. Whitecliff had an indulgent smile on his face. “Mr. Grayson, have you had the opportunity to sample a rum shrub?”

“No, sir. I have not.”

“Cicely, dear, will you call for Henry?”

Miss Whitecliff, Cicely, went to a braided rope hanging from the ceiling. A moment later the butler appeared.

Andrew was surprised when the ladies were served glasses of rum as well. He was even more shocked to find the glass chilled. “Have you ice here?”

“Yes. We use it sparingly, as you might imagine. It’s brought down from upper New York State. We have a special building to house it in.”

Andrew tasted the concoction of juices and rum. He recognized orange, but the rest of it was a mystery. The rum had a bit of a bite, though not nearly as much as the stuff they got in England. He wondered what the difference was. “It’s very good.”

“We shall have a toast.” Mr. Whitecliff lifted his glass. “To new friends.”

Andrew caught Cicely’s gaze. “To new friends.”

And, he hoped, much more.

“Well, Mr. Grayson,” Mrs. Whitecliff began, “where are your people from?”

“As I mentioned to your husband, my maternal grandfather is Mr. Joshua Belden. That side of the family is from Bristol. My father, Earl of Kelston, has his main estate near Bath . . .”

Bit by bit, Cicely’s mother drew out his family history and divulged some of their own. It turned out Mr. Whitecliff, the third son of a viscount, had a good opinion of Andrew’s grandfather, and Mrs. Whitecliff, a baron’s daughter, had come out at the same time as one of Andrew’s aunts.

Though money was, of course, never mentioned, Andrew dropped the necessary hints concerning his ability to not only provide for a wife but enable her to command the elegancies of life.

Throughout dinner and afterward as their party removed to the drawing room, he and Cicely exchanged glances and smiles. Yet never once was he allowed alone with her. A blessing and a curse. As much as he’d like to have her to himself, he didn’t want to scare her. Unlike Wivenly, Andrew prided himself on his control.

He considered it a success that he’d been invited back for luncheon on the morrow. In true English style, the evening ended with tea, after which, under the watchful eye of the butler, Henry, Cicely was allowed to accompany him to the door.

He took Cicely’s hand, bringing it to his lips and whispered, “I must speak with you.”

Lord, how he wanted to hold her in his arms and kiss her.

“Tomorrow,” she whispered back. “After luncheon, I shall suggest I be allowed to show you the gardens.”

He turned her hand and placed a kiss on her palm, closing her fingers around it. “Think of me, as I shall of you.”

She searched his face and smiled gently. “I will.”

He turned to find the boy, Josh, waiting with a lantern and glanced back at Cicely.

“So you don’t fall down the steps. They can be dangerous in the dark, and we have no street lights as I’ve been told England does.”

Will was asleep by the time Andrew reached the hotel, for which he was grateful. His heart was much lighter than earlier, and he didn’t want his almost giddy euphoria ruined. In fact, after seeing Cicely with her parents this evening, he was convinced her friend of the previous night must be an innocent. The Whitecliffs would never allow their daughter to associate with a lady who’d take lovers. If that was indeed the case, Andrew would have a serious discussion with Will. Cicely might not have seen what Will had been doing with the Villaret girl, but Andrew had. This time his friend had gone too far.

The morning dawned bright and breezy. As Andrew consumed a substantial breakfast, several ships sailed out of the harbor, probably seeking safety in one of the hurricane holes he’d heard about last night or traveling to Central America or south to St. Lucia.

Midway through the meal, Will took a cup of coffee and joined him. “You’re up early.”

“I’d like to get a timely start. The Whitecliffs have invited me for luncheon.”

“What are you doing spending so much time with them?”

Andrew tried to keep his tone light, but the words came out as if he was giving an order. “That, my friend, is none of your business for the moment.”

Will paused in the act of raising his cup. “The blond lady?”

Damn him.
“It. Is. None. Of. Your. Business.” Andrew stood. “When do you want to leave for the warehouse?”

“Be a good fellow,” Will said as he buttered a piece of Dum bread, “and ask your blonde for Mrs. Villaret’s direction, will you?”

Andrew’s fists clenched. “No, confound it all, I will not.”

Will gazed at Andrew as if he’d lost his mind. “What the devil’s wrong with you? Did you not have a good evening?”

There were times when Will could be the most maddening and oblivious person Andrew knew, and it was usually when the man was after a woman. His single-mindedness was reminiscent of a dog after a bitch in heat. “I’d like to see our business done.”

Will raised the cup to his mouth. “Give me half an hour.”

“I’ll meet you in the lobby.”

Will grinned. “I know it’s the blonde.”

“You’re like a dog with a bone. Give it up. We have more important things to think about. Such as, whom you are going to replace Howden with when you sack him.”

“You
do
know how to ruin a perfectly good morning.”

As it was, Andrew was left kicking his heels until Will showed up almost an hour later at ten o’clock. Whatever happened, Andrew would not be made late for his engagement at the Whitecliffs’. “About time you decided to grace me with your presence.”

“You needn’t be so surly,” Will answered, showing no remorse at all. “I had trouble with my cravat.”