Eugénie narrowed her eyes. “Oooh, you . . . you . . .”
“Considerate manis, I think, the term you are searching for.”
Despite herself, her lips twitched. She shook her head.“Eh bien. Allez.”
Wivenly was impossible. He shouldn’t make her want to laugh when she wished to remain angry. Fortunately, they would still arrive at the church in good time. What would he think of her close involvement with the Moravian mission? If Wivenly was one of those men who thought it was better to support one’s causes from a distance, she could not marry him.
Eugénie glanced at him, taking in the way his jacket appeared molded to his broad shoulders. He must have had help putting it on. His biscuit-colored pantaloons clung to his well-shaped, muscular legs, and his boots reflected her own image. She hoped his footwear was up for the walk. It was only about three miles, but much of it was uphill. She led him behind the fort, then over to the road leading to the north side of the island.
Half-way up the hill, he stopped. Sweat rolled down his face, and he mopped it with his handkerchief. “Where are we going?”
“To the Moravian church. It is where I read to the younger slave children and teach the others how to read and do their numbers.”
He sucked in a breath. “Very well, lead on.”
Perhaps she should have warned him. Though from what Papa had said, she thought the English liked to walk. “Do you not have hills in England?”
“We do. When I was young, my family lived in the Lake District. It is nothing but hills.” Wivenly grimaced. “However, I was dressed for the occasion, and it was not quite so hot.”
He truly did appear to be miserable, and Eugénie was surprised he hadn’t complained. As he stared straight ahead, she noticed a bit of red on his neck, just below his chin. Had he cut himself? She studied it more closely. Not a cut, a rash seemed to be developing where his cravat rubbed against his skin. “We have a nice breeze to-day, and there will be water at the church.”
He nodded tersely. “I’m fine.”
“The walk back will be downhill.” Eugénie bit her lip. Could she have said anything more inane? “I’m sorry.”
Wivenly started to turn his head and winced. “Normally it would not have been a problem, but my valet, Tidwell, is distressed by my cravats drooping and added so much starch I could barely tie this one.”
No wonder Wivenly’s neck was being chafed raw. That Tidwell was animbécile. How could he do something so stupid! “He should care more for your person than your clothing.”
Wivenly didn’t look at her when he responded. “Ah, therein lies the rub. He believes by ensuring my dress reflects my status as a gentleman, heiscaring for me.”
Eugénie began to protest, but thought better of it. Wivenly must be a kind master indeed to give his valet so much latitude. Yet this was partly her fault as well. She’d withheld where they were going to see how he’d react.
“Is that it?”
She glanced up at the white building ahead of them. “Yes.”
“The walk was not long.” He grinned down at her. “Just vertical.”
She felt like such a shrew. His poor neck would be bloody before they returned. “I am happy you are not too upset.”
Wivenly held the door open, stepping aside for her to pass. “Not at all.”
Some of the children were already seated at the long tables with books. When Brother Sparmeyer greeted them, she smiled. “My lord, may I introduce Mr. Sparmeyer? He is one of the two missionaries who run the church mission. Brother, this is Lord Wivenly, my step-father’s great-nephew.”
Wivenly held out his hand. “It is my pleasure to finally meet you. I’ve heard a good deal about the work you do here.”
Beaming at him, the missionary returned her betrothed’s grip. “I’m glad to meet you as well. Your uncle gave us much support. If only my own countrymen were as liberal in their views as you English are. Since the islands were turned back over to the Danes, the situation with both the freemen and slaves has worsened.” Brother Sparmeyer smiled sadly. “I could discuss this all day, but I know Miss Villaret is anxious to see her students.”
She was, but she also needed time to think. Never had she thought Wivenly would behave in such a kind fashion toward the missionary, especially after she’d not warned him about the hill. He must be hot and in pain, yet he was as gracious as if he were in England. Perhaps if they had met under different circumstances, she would not have formed such a low opinion of him, or he of her.
The injustice she had done Wivenly to-day ate at her. She would find a way to make it up to him.
“If you’ll excuse me.” She bobbed a slight curtsey to Wivenly.
He inclined his head. “Of course, my dear.”
It wasn’t until several moments after she’d begun the lesson that the warmth of Wivenly’s gaze on her back left her. An hour later when the children were called to leave, he was still in deep conversation with the pastor.
