The valet ran his hand over the jacket, smoothing out any wrinkles. “Since you were at Oxford, my lord.”
Will frowned. “That long? Tell me again why I hired you?”
“You did not, my lord. His lordship, your father, hired me. Something to do with purple and yellow striped breeches which made his lordship bilious.”
It all came back to him now. His father threatened to remove Will from Oxford unless he took a valet. Still, that was a damned long time ago. Will picked up his pocket watch, and Tidwell attached the object to his waistcoat. “Less starch in the future, Tidwell.”
His valet stepped back, executed a bow, then said in a supercilious tone, “We shall see this evening how your cravat holds up.”
As he joined Andrew in the parlor, Will wasn’t sure if he’d won that argument or not. To take his mind off Tidwell and his starching madness, Will turned to his friend. “What are you and Cicely doing today?”
“I have not yet been advised of all our plans.” Andrew rose and stretched. “But I believe the Wivenlys and the Whitecliffs shall dine together again.”
Though he had made progress last night, Will wondered if Eugénie would invite him. If not, he’d have to wheedle an invitation from his aunt. He checked his watch, and it could all be undone if he didn’t leave immediately.
Tidwell entered the parlor with Will’s hat, cane, and gloves. He donned his modified topper, tilting his new wide-brimmed hat fashionably, pulling down the rim the slightest bit to shade his face a bit more. “I’m off.” He glanced at his valet and narrowed his eyes. “Even if this cravat wilts, no more starch.”
Tidwell bowed. “As you wish, my lord.”
Will didn’t believe the man for an instant. At this point, he was just happy they weren’t arguing over hair powder and patches.
When he stepped outside, a stiff breeze blew in from the harbor, a welcome change from the oppressive heat of the past couple of days. The only time he’d been comfortable was on the boat and at the beach.
Griff sat at the top of the step street, whittling a piece of wood. “Morning to ye, my lord. Not much goin’ on yet to-day, but it’s still early.”
“Have you seen anyone at all?” Will raised a brow and waited.
A grin split his groom’s face. “A young’un no one seems to know is spendin’ time around here.”
Will couldn’t share his groom’s good humor. He had to assume that whoever wanted Eugénie hadn’t given up.
“You worry about tying the lady up right and proper.” Griff tapped his nose. “I’ll take care of this end.”
Will nodded. “Do what you must.”
The door to the house opened before he knocked.
The butler bowed, and in a censorious tone said, “My lord. Miss Eugénie is in the parlor.”
Damn, he was late. “Thank you, Bates. I’ll not keep her waiting any longer.”
He strode down the short corridor. Eugénie, dressed in pale yellow muslin, was donning a bonnet trimmed with turquoise and yellow ribbons. He’d never seen a lady’s hat he’d liked better. “You look charmingly.”
“Oh.” She widened her eyes and her chin rose, taking on a mulish cast. “I was getting ready to leave. I thought you’d forgotten.”
“Not at all.” Her expression did not bode well for him. “My apologies, I was delayed.”
Drawing on her gloves, she raised an imperious brow. “Thatis obvious.”
What a little Tartar. Will almost laughed out loud, but if he did she might never forgive him. Instead he held an arm out. “Shall we depart?”
She placed her fingers lightly on his arm as if to limit their contact. That wasn’t going to happen. He twined her arm in his. There, much better.
Fire flashed in her eyes. “Did you have to do that?” She glanced down at his hand covering hers. “Where I had my hand was perfectly proper.”
Acceptable if she were his mother, aunt, or sister. He’d be damned if he’d put up with that sort of distance from his betrothed.
He waited until she looked at him again before answering. “Indeed.” She gave a tug, but he held on. “I wouldn’t want you to fall down the stairs or trip over rubble in the street.”
