The brute hadn’t even told her his name. “He had to return to his hotel.”
Her mother had a confused look on her face. “I thought he would take his leave of me. Thatishow things are done.”
Now what to say? That he would have trouble walking? She didn’t truly know he’d left. He could enter at any moment. “He asked me to offer his apologies. There was an emergency.”
“Strange,” her mother said, smoothing her skirts. “He did not mention it to me, but”—she smiled—“he was so determined to see you and propose.”
Not knowing what falsehoods the scoundrel had told her mother, Eugénie asked, “What did he say, exactly?”
Maman’s eyes grew misty. “Only that he’d fallen in love with you at first sight when he saw you at the Whitecliffs’.” Her brows drew together. “My dear, why didn’t you tell me he was here?”
Oooh, he was going to pay for putting her in this position. Though Eugénie had to admit it was a very good lie. His lordship had probably had a great deal of practice. “He wanted to tell you himself.” Clasping her hands demurely in front of her, Eugénie gave her mother the most innocent expression she possessed. “I could not dishonor his wishes.”
“It makes me so happy you are betrothed and your future is resolved.”
Eugénie turned her choke into a cough. She really was going to make Lord Wivenly more miserable than he’d ever been in his misspent life.
Bates knocked on the open door. “A Mr. Shipley here to see you, ma’am.”
Maman drew her brows together and gave a slight shake of her head. “I don’t know anyone by that name. Why should he come here?”
“Shall I tell him to leave?” Bates asked.
“No, show him in. Eugénie, please remain with me.”
“Certainly.” She was just as bemused as her mother. “Who could he be?”
A large man with a pot-belly and florid face came into the parlor ahead of Bates. “Mrs. Wivenly?” Her mother inclined her head, and he turned to Eugénie. “Ah, this must be Miss Villaret. A pleasure to meet you both.” He paused for a moment, but when Maman didn’t offer him a seat, continued. “I’ve spoken with Mr. Howden about your circumstance. It is my greatest desire to relieve you of your concerns. I am prepared to offer you a fair price for Wivenly Imports and settle one thousand pounds on Miss Villaret if she will agree to marry me.”
The room spun, and Eugénie grabbed the back of the chair next to her to steady herself. Was the man mad? He acted as if she and the company were for sale to the highest bidder.
“Mr. Shipley,” Maman said in a cool tone, “we have no plans to sell the company, and if we did, the proper person to apply to is the Earl of Watford. He is the trustee until my son is of age.” Her lips curled into a tight smile. “As for my daughter, she is betrothed to Viscount Wivenly, my late husband’s great-nephew.”
All the color leached from the man’s face and for a moment Eugénie expected him to fall over dead. After a few moments when he appeared to struggle with himself, he bowed.
“Well then, it seems I was misinformed.” He placed his hat on his head. “Thank you for your time, Mrs. Wivenly. Miss Villaret, I wish you happy.”
Once she heard the front door shut, Eugénie turned to her mother. “I wonder what that was about? How strange to receive an offer of marriage in such a manner.” Not to mention two in one day. Maman dropped her head into her hands. Eugénie couldn’t stand her mother being so miserable all the time. “I’ll have Bates bring you a sherry. Our lives will be better now, you’ll see.”
When her mother raised her head, tears sparkled in her eyes. “Thank God, Will got here first. Papa would be pleased to see you so well settled. I hope Will will be as good to you as your papa was to me. Love in a marriage is important.”
Her mother never discussed her marriage to Eugénie’s father, but she knew it had been an arranged match. She blinked back the hot tears that threatened. Once the sherry came, she called for her ten-year-old sister, Valérie, and convinced her mother to rest on the chaise.
When Maman was settled, Eugénie said to her sister, “Read to Maman. I will return shortly.”
“What is wrong?”
“I’ll explain later,ma petite. I have some correspondence I must attend to, after which I will return.”
When Eugénie entered her parlor, which was on a level that she shared with her brother, two floors beneath the main part of the house, a note with Cicely’s seal was propped up on her desk. Eugénie opened it and sat with a plop. Her friend’s betrothal would be announced tomorrow at the soirée. Cicely was so lucky to have found the man she wished to marry. Mr. Grayson would make her a fine husband. At least one of them would wed for love. Eugénie would marry because she’d been stupid enough to allow the devil to kiss her. The thought made her stomach tighten, and she felt ill.
Tears flooded her eyes, but she refused to allow them to fall. What kind of life would she have with a rogue who didn’t truly care for her? He would go on with his life, bedding women and then leaving them. Well, what was sauce for the gander was sauce for the goose. If he was unfaithful to her, Eugénie had no reason not to do the same. She would find love. She deserved that much, even if it was not with Lord Wivenly. She pulled out a piece of paper from her secretaire and sat down, considering the wording carefully as she wrote to her betrothed. It would be amariage de raison. A point she would make clear to him.
Will made his way gingerly along the streets to the hotel and his chamber. He poured a glass of brandy—rum wasn’t quite up to this. “Tidwell, a small bag of ice if you can manage it, please. I’ll bathe later.”
“Yes, my lord.”
By the time Will changed into the light linen dressing gown and repaired to the parlor, his valet had returned. “Where shall I put it, my lord?”
