Will stepped in and closed the front door. “Yes, ma’am.”
She led him out the back door to a sloped garden filled with flowers.
“I don’t know what you did to get yourself into trouble. Seems like most young men are worthless fribbles when it comes to women, but I’ll try to help you out.” Mrs. Rordan grabbed what looked like curved scissors from a basket. “I’ve known Eugénie since she was a child, and if anyone deserves to be happy, she does.”
Will nodded and followed the older woman around the garden. By the end of an hour, she had cut several flowers and a vine with small white blooms, and he had learned more about the island, such as where he could find the best fans and handkerchiefs and that the reason for the tension between the Danish and English populations was England’s law prohibiting the slave trade.
He also discovered more about his betrothed. He’d not known, for example, how much time she spent with the missionaries, teaching the slave children to read and do their figures. Unfortunately, none of what he learned would help him out of the hole he’d dug for himself.
Mrs. Rordan pointed to the lily. “This will tell her you’re sorry.” She wrapped string around the stems and trimmed the ends. “Here you go. I don’t want to see you back here until you need flowers for the wedding.”
He held out a purse to Mrs. Rordan, which she refused. “Use your money to buy a ring.”
That’s what he’d forgotten. “Thank you.” He held his arm out and escorted her back into the house. “I shall give your regards to my Miss Villaret.”
“You’ll give her my love and tell her I look forward to seeing her on Sunday.”
“I’ll do that.” He bowed. “A pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Rordan.”
“Harrumph. Go now before they wilt.”
As Will turned, the door closed behind him. It occurred to him that other than the small pieces of information Mrs. Rordan let drop, and the fact that Eugénie was an innocent who kissed like a wanton, and had a temper, which seemed to be reserved solely for him, he really didn’t know much about his betrothed at all. Though she was becoming more and more intriguing. Who was this woman he planned to marry?
Will walked back down the hill toward town, then cut over to a street leading to the area where Eugénie lived. Finally he reached the front of Wivenly House. The door swung open before he knocked. The butler stood before him. “Bates, I am here to see Miss Villaret.”
“I’m sorry to say,” the butler said in a tone that was polite but firm, “she is not home to you, my lord.”
Will should have expected this. He swallowed his retort and gave the bouquet to Bates. “Please give her these and tell her they bear a message.”
The butler bowed. “I will do that, my lord.”
The door closed. Will heaved a sigh. Apparently she really wasn’t going to make this easy for him. Then again, neither would his sisters have. No matter what, he would not be reduced to groveling.
Chapter 12
Marisole scratched lightly on Eugénie’s door. “Miss, Lord Wivenly brought these for you.”
Eugénie glanced up from her book at the bunch of flowers, already in a vase. One pale yellow rose nestled beneath a lily; the rest of the arrangement was made up of pink roses in full bloom. Old Blush unless she missed her guess. A few closed buds and a jasmine vine added white flowers and greenery. Purity, forgiveness, new love, and amiability, but did he know what the flowers stood for? “Did he say anything?”
“Yes, miss. Mr. Bates said his lordship said there was a message in the flowers.”
Her heart lightened as she brushed her nose against the blossoms, taking in their spicy scents. He must have gone to Mrs. Rordan and told her they were engaged and that they’d had an argument. She was the only one who had flowers like these. No man had ever given Eugénie flowers before, and he’d had a long walk to Mrs. Rordan’s house to get them. Perhaps he truly was sorry he’d treated her badly and wanted to make up with her.
Eugénie smiled and wondered what her old friend would have said to Wivenly. At least he was trying to make amends. Perhaps she should forgive him. Cicely said Andrew had a talk with her betrothed last night after he’d hit Wivenly.
“The next time Lord Wivenly comes, I will receive him.”
Marisole’s forehead wrinkled. “Are you sure, miss?”
“Yes, positive.” Eugénie didn’t think he’d visit again today, but surely tomorrow he’d come to apologize.
The next day, Marisole brought a package. Eugénie opened it to find a prettily painted fan of chicken skin on delicately wrought ivory. She searched for a note and found none. “Did his lordship not ask to remain?”
“It was sent from the modiste directly, miss.”
Perhaps Wivenly was afraid of being rejected again. She vowed to give him another day, but the morning brought a package of bonbons, the day after a shawl of Norwich silk, and the following day, lace-edged linen handkerchiefs. Still no notes or anything from him, and he’d had them all delivered by the shops.
Eugénie paced the parlor where she’d waited all week for him to come. He wasn’t a weak man who was afraid of her. Did he think he could buy her with these—these gifts? Clearly he didn’t care enough about her to bring them in person, and if he didn’t care, she would not either. In fact, she would not marry him. No one but Cicely and Wivenly knew that he had kissed her. He could say his father forbade the match. She gathered his presents into a bundle. If he didn’t visit tomorrow, she’d send them to him at the Queen, even the flowers, as he’d not meant what he’d said at all.
