“What about the next time?” She strode around the parlor, her skirts whirling agitatedly around her slim ankles. “Mr. Grayson won’t always be around to assure you I am telling the truth. I cannot go through my whole life under a cloud. Always being suspected by you of doing something I did not do.” She stopped. “You made up your mind about me when we met.”
Will opened his mouth to deny her accusation, but the words froze on his tongue. She was right. He’d sized her up and had decided what role she would play in his life. Then, when he’d discovered he was wrong, she’d turned his world on end. Yet his treatment of her hadn’t changed. The real question was why he’d so stubbornly clung to his first impressions. He’d have to figure that out later, but now he needed to stop her from backing out of their engagement.
“I have an idea.” He glanced at the gifts, and lied. “We will spend time learning about each other, then if you still find you cannot bring yourself to marry me, I will release you.”
Eugénie eyed him suspiciously. “How long?”
“Until my father answers my request for your hand.”
“That could be months!” She began pacing again.
He could understand her concern if she would miss a Season waiting for him to convince her, but—“Did you have other plans?” Another man? He damn well couldn’t say that. “An urgent . . .”
She turned and glared.
“I mean—” Will tugged at his cravat, which had unaccountably tightened. Tidwell was going to murder him. “This seems to be a fairly quiet place.”
“Very well. Have it your way.” Eugénie picked up the bundle. “You may still have these back.”
A kernel of an idea began to form, and he gave her his most charming smile. “Would you walk out with me tomorrow?”
She pulled her lower lip between her small white teeth. “For what purpose?”
“So that I can begin getting to know you, and you may learn about me.”
It was several moments before she answered. “Nine in the morning, before it becomes too hot.”
Will bowed, plucking the collection of presents from her as he rose. He’d be damned if he’d wait until the morrow. “I shall see you later.”
True to his word, Bates stood right outside the parlor. He escorted Will to the front door. “Good luck, my lord.”
“Thank you, Bates.” Will donned his hat. He was going to need all the good fortune he could get to change her mind. “I shall return in a couple of hours.”
After he visited the flower lady again, and found some pretty paper to wrap her presents in, that was.
Nathan Wivenly stared at the mulattress and the huge black man. He had too many questions. Who were they, how could they help him escape, and what the devil was he supposed to do for them? “You have the advantage of me.”
The woman grinned softly. “I apologize, sir. I am Miss Elizabeth Marshall, and this”—she gestured to the man—“is my betrothed, Mr. Joseph Conrad. You naturally wish to know more about us.”
Nathan nodded and pulled out a chair from the table so Miss Marshall could have a seat. Conrad stood behind her, as if guarding the lady from any harm. Nathan shook his head. If only they knew how weak he really was.
Miss Marshall folded her hands calmly in her lap and glanced up at her affianced husband for a moment before turning back to Nathan. “I am from Tortola and have been a free woman all my life. My father ensured that I had funds to do what I wished.” She grinned. “Within reason, of course. I have a small but profitable millinery business. Because my mother was a slave, I have devoted my life to helping others become free.”
Nathan glanced at Conrad. His countenance remained impassive.
“Mr. Conrad and I met when I was on a mission to St. Croix.” A soft smile dawned on her face as the man placed a large hand on her shoulder, and she patted it with her much smaller one. “He pretended not to be able to read and write so the missionaries would bring him to the church. I soon discovered his deception.”
Conrad shook his head sadly. “She was too intelligent. I thought she would tell them.”
“You did not!” she exclaimed, insulted.
A large smile cracked his face. “I was at your mercy.”
Nathan had never seen a darker-skinned person blush before. In fact, it might only be the chagrined look on her face. “Go on, please, Miss Marshall.”
“We started a correspondence, and after several months, Mr. Conrad informed me he’d earned enough from side jobs to buy his freedom. He is very stubborn and would not allow me to contribute.”
The good humor left Conrad’s mien. “I may be a slave, but I have my honor.”
