They mounted the stairs to the upper level. Wivenly was already with Maman, and a few moments later, there was a knock on the door heralding the Whitecliffs and Andrew. Bates served wine and rum shrubs before announcing dinner. Maman insisted Wivenly sit at the head of the table.
No one had used that chair since Papa had died. Eugénie’s throat tightened even as she realized how proper it was that Wivenly, as the only male of the family, take his place there. Due to the numbers being uneven, and the fact that Cicely wished to sit next to Andrew, Eugénie took the chair to Wivenly’s left.
He reached over, placing his large, warm hand over hers. “You still miss your father terribly, don’t you?”
She nodded, blinking back tears forming in her eyes. “I’ll be fine.”
“Take it one step at a time.” His low voice washed over her like a calming wave. “For the moment, we’ll just get through dinner.”
She glanced down the table as his hand squeezed hers in reassurance. Everyone else, busy discussing the perfidy of the traveling vicar, paid no attention to her and Wivenly. “Thank you.”
He kept hold of her fingers until Bates served the soup. Wivenly really could be very kind, when he wanted to be.
He looked at his soup. “Tell me what this is.”
She took a breath, inhaling the spicy scent of ginger, garlic, and onion mixed with greens. This was one of her favorites. “Callaloo. It’s a specialty of Cook’s. She mixes spices, greens, crab, and I don’t know what else together.”
“If it’s half as good as the pattés”—he grinned—“I’ll love it.”
Wivenly gazed at Eugénie as she dipped her spoon into the soup. Under his regard, her heart sped up. She had to stop reacting to him in this way. Perhaps she was just tired from today. It had been a long time since she’d gone sailing. Once the bowls were removed, she glanced around the table to see if there was anything else that would require describing, but nothing stood out except for the fried plantains. Surely Wivenly would have eaten those by now.
Billy and Bates began serving, and Wivenly asked what she liked and made selections for her as if they were in a strange place and he had to assist her. It was so sweet, but also ridiculous at the same time. No man had ever treated her in this way. To Eugénie’s surprise, she giggled.
“What is this, Miss Villaret de Joyeuse?” His brows came together, yet his eyes danced with mirth. “Will you share your joke? Have I amused you?”
She met his gaze, and his eyes captured hers. In that moment, something shifted, yet she couldn’t say what. “You know you have, and I thank you.”
He flicked a look at the others, still engaged with wedding talk. “I only want you to be happy.”
Her chest contracted almost painfully as she tried to think of a response. Yet what could she say to that? He’d never beenthisnice before. Not even while they’d been sailing.
Fortunately, Mrs. Whitecliff took that moment to glance over at them. “We’ve all neglected the two of you dreadfully. Please forgive us.”
“It is no matter at all.” Why did her voice sound so breathless? “I know how disappointed Cicely and Andrew are.”
Mrs. Whitecliff smiled. “Still, that was no excuse to ignore you and Lord Wivenly.”
Wivenly gave Cicely’s mother a smile she’d never seen before, polite but a bit distant. “I assure you, we understand.”
The older woman’s eyes widened for a brief moment. “Ah, I believe I comprehend you, my lord.”
There appeared to be a hidden meaning behind what she’d said, but Eugénie had no idea what it was. All she knew was that Wivenly could not alienate the mother of her closest friend. “He didn’t mean . . .”
Mrs. Whitecliff patted Eugénie’s arm. “It’s perfectly all right, my dear. There is nothing for you to concern yourself about.”
Then the woman turned back to the other conversation.
“I do not understand what happened between the two of you.”
He shrugged and handed her a piece of the Vienna cake Bates had placed on the table. “Try this.”
Before long, Maman signaled for the ladies to remove to the other room, while the gentlemen stayed to enjoy their port. Still confused over the exchange between Mrs. Whitecliff and Wivenly, Eugénie walked next to the older woman. “Please tell me Lord Wivenly did not offend you.”
Mrs. Whitecliff’s lips tilted up. “Not at all.”
This was too much. Must she ask directly what had occurred? Eugénie placed her hand on Mrs. Whitecliff’s arm. “I do not understand.”
The woman paused. “Part of the problem with keeping you and Cicely here rather than sending you to London for a Season is that you have never learned the more subtle forms of communication.”
