If Eugénie didn’t say something, her friend would go on about him until she did. Cicely could talk about men all day. Eugénie capitulated. “Oh, very well. I suppose he was handsome.” She paused for a moment before adding, “If you like that sort.”
“Then it’s a good thing I do.” Cicely laughed. “I shall ask Papa to invite him to dinner. He won’t be hard to find. It’s a small island and he’s new.”
“Cicely Elizabeth Whitecliff!” Eugénie couldn’t believe how brazen her friend could be. “You knownothingabout him!”
A crafty look appeared on her friend’s face. “No, but if I show an interest, Papa will discover all that is necessary.” She widened her eyes. “Just think how much money I’ll save him if I don’t require a London Season.”
Cicely would, of course, be a success. Yet from what Eugénie had heard about the English, her own coloring was too dark for her to be considered a beauty in London. Why would she want to go to a place where she would be pitied for her brown hair and eyes? And now she might not even have Cicely to keep her company. Eugénie slumped back on the sofa. “I’m afraid I’ll have no choice about a London Season. Maman is talking about all of us going to England.”
“Oh no!” Cicely jumped up in a very unladylike manner. “I’d never see you again.”
The thought of not being with her very dearest friend caused Eugénie’s throat to close painfully. “You could visit.”
Yet even to her, Cicely visiting didn’t sound likely.
“Not if you are treated as a poor relation to the earl.” Cicely plopped back down on the settee. “I’m quite sure poor relations aren’t allowed visitors.”
“You are probably correct.” Sooner rather than later, they needed to inspect the books. At least then she’d know the truth. Though if Howden was lying, she didn’t know how she’d broach the subject to Maman, or what to do about it. Eugénie would just have to leave that for later. “Let’s go to the warehouse tomorrow evening. There is nothing else going on.”
Cicely nodded. “I’ll ask Mama to send a note to your mother.”
“Bon. Then all will be well.” Once Eugénie discovered exactly how Wivenly Imports fared, perhaps she would write to the earl herself.
“And I,” Cicely said, grinning, “shall be able to concentrate on the gentleman I saw to-day.”
Eugénie might not be interested in the fair-haired gentleman, but the other one she’d run into this afternoon had enthralled her senses. She could still feel the heat of his hand on her arm, and the look he’d given her, as if he could see her soul. His lips were shaped as if a sculptor had chiseled them from marble. There was nothing soft about the rest of his face either. His nose had a slight bump, as if it had been broken at one time, and that saved him from looking too pretty. His hair, what she could see of it, was brown with gold streaks. His eyes were sapphire. They reminded her of the color of the deep blue water between the islands.
However, this was no time to be thinking of men.
One saw many sailors and other travelers, but it was odd to have two such comely new gentlemen in town at the same time. Especially one interested in her father’s business. She hoped for Cicely’s sake her concerns were groundless.
Will sat at a corner table on the ground floor of the Happy Iguana, away from the windows but where a slight breeze could still be had. He would have liked to sit right in front of the large openings, but didn’t want what he and Andrew had to say overheard.
Even in here, the range of skin colors seemed infinite. It was so different from England, where pale complexions abounded. A couple of well-dressed men entered the bar. Without the red-and-white cockades on their hats, Will would have thought they were white. But they were free men, and obviously well-to-do. Still, the Danes refused to grant them rights equal to white men of their same status, even those born free. Thank God the English had ended the slave trade.
A young serving girl with skin the color of tea lightened by milk brought cold water and coffee. He turned down cream and sugar. After hearing from the captain about the plight of the cane plantation slaves, he’d do what he could to avoid using it. When he returned home, he’d make sure to use only sugar made from beets. Taking a sip, he put the hot coffee back down to cool.
Thoughts of Mrs.—that had to have been what the clodpole of a clerk had said in German—Villaret stole into his mind. He gave himself an inner shake. This was no time for self-doubt. She was exactly what he’d wanted, and it wouldn’t do to look a gift horse in the mouth. Whoever she was, the woman hadn’t been at all shy when she’d met him eye to eye. A companion, perhaps, to the flighty young lady? She’d been dressed too well to be a maid, yet the gray of her gown did nothing to complement her. At first he’d thought her skin had been browned by the sun—but now, after seeing the different hues—was it the sun? Perhaps she was a light-skinned mulattress, and that was the reason the clerk called her “an armful” instead of being more respectful.
He was almost certain she hadn’t worn a wedding ring. She’d probably had to sell it to make ends meet. Whoever Mrs. Villaret was, he planned to know her intimately. At last a woman who wasn’t chasing him, and if he must work a bit for it, his conquest would be all the sweeter. A delightful task he’d attend to as soon as his business was complete.
“Will.”
He jerked his head up as Andrew slid into the seat across the table from him.
“What’s got you so distracted?” Andrew signaled the bar maid. “I had to repeat myself twice before you heard me.”
Lush, chestnut-brown hair and bold eyes the color of fine brandy, with a figure made for love.“Nothing.” Will took a sip of his coffee, now lukewarm. When the servant came over, he ordered two grogs. Once the drinks arrived, he asked, “What did you discover?”
“I met with Howden and told him I represented a gentleman who wished to invest in or possibly buy a company here.” Andrew took a sip of the rum. “It took me quite a while, but I allowed him to think my principal had a large shipping and import business. After a good deal of talking, he told me, quite confidentially”—Andrew rolled his eyes—“that the company is for sale but the owner wishes to keep it quiet—and it’s in shipshape and Bristol fashion.” A sparkle appeared in his eyes. “Which, for the uninitiated, means doing extremely well.”
“You’re quite the wit.” Will tried and failed to scowl. “I know what the phrase means. Go on.”
“Someone else is interested in buying the company.”
Will put down the glass he’d raised to his lips. He didn’t think he was going to like what came next. “And?”
“That was the end of his confidences.” Andrew took a long pull on his drink.
