Enticing Miss Eugenie Villaret

Book 5: Marriage Game

by Ella Quinn

Genres: Historical Fiction; Historical Romance; Regency Romance

Synopsis

Ella Quinn's intriguing and irresistible bachelors are masters in the game of seduction. But nothing has the power to change a single man's mind like a captivating woman. . . William, Viscount Wivenly, plans to remain the most eligible of bachelors. He refuses to surrender to the schemes of husband-hunting ladies and matchmaking mamas. Fleeing the pressure of the ton, he's bent on finding refuge in the West Indies. What he finds instead is a fascinating stranger, a woman so unlike those of his society that he can't resist such a beguiling distraction. . . Determined to let nothing complicate her mission to protect her family's livelihood while covertly rescuing orphaned slave children, Miss Eugénie Villaret does her best to evade suitors. But when dashing William lures her down a path of forbidden adventure and delicious danger, she may be convinced that business can indeed be mixed with pleasure—and persuaded to add passion to her priorities. . . Praise for The Temptation of Lady Serena "This charming, sweet love story is the perfect addition to the Marriage Game series." -- RT Book Reviews 102,000 Words

Release date: August 1, 2014

Publisher: eOriginals

Print pages: 316

Sample

July 1816, St. Thomas, Danish West Indies

Miss Eugénie Villaret de Joyeuse followed Gunna, an old black slave, down a narrow backstreet lined with long houses in Crown Prince’s Quarter. Her maid, Marisole, stood watch as Eugénie and the woman entered the building.

“He be here, miss.”

A baby, not older than one year, sat in the corner of the room playing with a rag doll. His only clothing was a clout, which, by the strong scent of urine, needed to be changed.

She and Gunna and the boy were the only occupants of the cramped, dark room. She crouched down next to the child. “What happened to his mother?”

“Sold.”

Naturally; why did she even bother to ask? It was cruel to separate a mother and child, but there was no law against it here.

“When?”

“A few days ago.” Gunna glanced at the child. “He be gone to a plantation soon.”

Even worse. He’d likely die before he was grown. Eugénie placed the small bag she carried on the floor. “Help me change him. He can’t go outside like this.”

A few minutes later the baby’s face and hands were clean, his linen was changed, and he wore a fresh gown.

She handed the woman two gold coins. “Thank you for calling me.” Gunna tried to give the money back, but Eugénie shook her head. “Use it to help someone else. Our fight is not finished until everyone is free.”

One tear made its way down the woman’s withered cheek. “You go now, before the wrong person sees you.”

Eugénie pulled a thin blanket around the babe’s head, thankful her wide-brimmed hat would help hide his face as well as hers, and stepped out into the bright sunshine.

“That’s her!” a male voice shouted.

She shoved the babe at Marisole. “Take him and run! I’ll catch up.”

Eugénie quickly drew out her dagger, concealing it in the gray of her skirts, and turned, crouching. A large man stood hidden in the shadow of a building, while a wiry boy, she guessed to be in his late teens, came at her. She waited until he reached out to grab her arm, then sliced the blade across his hands. Before he started to scream, she dashed down an alley between the long houses. Doors swung open, and several women stepped into the street behind her. That wouldn’t help for long, but it would delay the pursuit.

Perspiration poured down her face as Eugénie pounded up the hill, using the step streets to cross over to Queen’s Quarter. Ducking behind a large Flamboyant tree, she waited for several moments, listening for sounds of men running, but there was nothing and no one other than a few going about their business.

She took out a scrap of cloth and cleaned the blade before returning it to her leg sheath. Then Eugénie removed her bonnet and turned toward the breeze, drawing in great gulps of air as she fanned herself with the hat.

A several minutes later she caught up to her maid as Marisole descended another step street on the way to the house. “How is the babe?”

Marisole smiled. “Look for yourself. He is fine.”

Wide green eyes stared up at Eugénie, and the child blew a bubble and smiled. “Come, mon petit. Not long now and you will have a family.”

The front door of a well-kept house in Queen’s Quarter opened as they approached.

Once in the short hall, she smiled. “Mrs. Rordan, thank you for agreeing to care for him. It will only be for a few days.”

“As if I wouldn’t.” Mrs. Rordan grinned as she took the babe. “Captain Henriksen’s already been in touch. There is a good family on Tortola who will adopt him.” She handed Eugénie a bouquet of flowers. “For your mother, perhaps they’ll help cheer her. You’d better get home, now.”

“Merci beaucoup. She will love them.” She kissed the little boy on the cheek. “Safe passage and a good life.”

As Eugénie and her maid walked back to Wivenly House, Marisole said, “You were almost captured.”

That was the closest she had ever been to getting caught. She drew her brows together. If they were after the child, why didn’t the men follow? Did they know who she was? Yet, even with Papa gone, she had to continue. “Yes, but it is better not to question fate.”

July 1816, England

William, Viscount Wivenly, caught a glimpse of sprigged muslin through a thinly leafed part of the tall hedge, behind which he’d taken refuge.

“Are you sure he came this way?” an excited female voice whispered.

Damn. He didn’t like the sound of that. Will found himself in sympathy with the fox at a hunt.

“Quite sure,” came the hushed response. “You must be careful, Cressida. If I reveal to you what Miss Stavely told me in the strictest confidence, you must vow never to repeat what I’m about to say. I swore I’d never breathe a word.”

“Yes, yes,” Miss Cressida Hawthorne replied urgently, “I promise.”

He’d been dodging the Hawthorne chit for two days now, and unfortunately she wasn’t the only one. The other woman sounded like the newly betrothed Miss Blakely.

“Well then”—Miss Blakely paused—“I really shouldn’t. If it got out, she’d be ruined!”

“I already promised,” Miss Hawthorne wheedled.

After a few moments, the other girl continued. “Miss Stavely said she followed Lord Wivenly to the library so that they’d be alone, and he’d have to marry her.”

“What an excellent plan.” Miss Hawthorne’s tone fell somewhere between admiring and wishful.

“Well, it wasn’t.”

Even thinking about the incident with Miss Stavely made Will shudder. There were few worse fates than being married to her in particular. Fortunately, the lady was not as intelligent as she was crafty. The minute she’d turned the lock, she had announced he would have to marry her. However, she’d failed to take into account the French windows through which Will had made his escape.

“What do you mean it wasn’t a good idea?” Miss Hawthorne asked.

“Have you heard a betrothal announcement?”

Their footsteps stopped. Drat it all, there must be another way out of here. He surveyed the privet hedge, which bordered three sides of this part of the garden. Across from him was a wooden rail fence about five feet high. Large rambling roses in pale pink and yellow sprawled along it, completing the enclosure. Whoever designed this spot had wanted privacy. Will’s attention was once again captured by the voices.

“No,” Miss Hawthorne said slowly, as if working out a puzzle. “So it didn’t work.”

“Do you know what Miss Stavely failed to take into account?”

When Miss Hawthorne didn’t reply, Miss Blakely continued. “She didn’t bother to ensure she had a witness at hand. Miss Stavely said Lord Wivenly looked her up and down like she was a beefsteak and told her he’d ruin her if she wished, but not to think he’d take her to wife.”

Perhaps not his finest moment, though Will had wanted to scare the chit. Not that it had worked. She had practically launched herself at him.

“Oooh, how wicked.” Miss Hawthorne giggled. “He’s so handsome, and has such nice brown hair. I’d love to be compromised by him.” She paused. “But only if he had to marry me, so you must make sure to bear witness.”

Will had no intention of marrying Miss Hawthorne or any other fair English maiden. Harpies in disguise, all of them. More interested in being Viscountess Wivenly and the future Countess of Watford than in their duties as a wife. From what he knew of her, Miss Hawthorne would probably only allow him in her bed for the purpose of getting her with child. Surely he could do better. At least he hoped so.

When it came time for him to be leg-shackled, he’d be the one choosing. Yet even that would not be for at least another year or two. In the meantime, Will would be damned if he’d allow himself to be trapped into marriage. Thank God he’d already made plans to leave England for a while.

The sounds of the ladies’ shod feet came closer.

Damnation. Will glanced around. The only escape was a large mulberry tree in full fruit. His valet, Tidwell, would have a fit about the stains, but needs must. As quickly and quietly as possible, he ascended the tree, careful not to let the slick leather soles of his boots slide off the branches.

“I am sure I saw him go this way,” Miss Blakely said.

From his perch in the tree, Will had a view of the tops of their ridiculous bonnets. Why women had to use all those ribbons and furbelows on their hats defied logic.

“As did I,” Miss Hawthorne replied. “I wonder where he could have got to.”

“Do not worry. I shall be vigilant. We will find a way to ensure you are Lady Wivenly.”

The hell she will. Will scowled. Did a lady exist who would not be impressed with his title, and would allow him to do the hunting? Probably not.

“Oh, look,” Miss Hawthorne exclaimed. “A mulberry tree. We must pick some. Perhaps the cook will make tarts, or I can have them with cream.”

Will stifled a groan. Featherheaded females. Why had he ever allowed his mother to talk him into this house party on the eve of his departure for the West Indies?

Miss Blakely linked an arm in Miss Hawthorne’s. “Perhaps it might be better to send a servant. You wouldn’t want to ruin your gown.”

“You are correct.” As the two headed back to the formal garden, she added, “But let us find someone straight away. Lord Wivenly must be around somewhere.”

Will tipped his hat. Sorry, ladies, this fox is going Halloo and Away.

He waited until they were half-way to the lake before climbing out of the tree. After regaining the house, he sneaked up a back staircase and strode to his bedchamber. “Tidwell!”

“I’m right here, my lord.” The valet poked his head out from the dressing room. “No reason to shout. I’m getting your evening kit ready.” He held up two waistcoats. “Would you prefer the green on cream or the gold?”

“I’d prefer to leave. Get everything packed. You’ve got an hour.”

Tidwell bowed. “As you wish, my lord.” His eyes narrowed as he took a sharper look at Will. “If I do not treat those stains, they’ll never come out.”

He glanced down. Not only mulberry juice, but leaf stains as well. “You’ll just have to make do. It’s not safe for me here.”

“Another ruined suit.” His valet sighed. “More problems with the ladies, I presume.”

Taking pity on Tidwell, Will said, “Pack me a bag. You remain here until the toggery is cleaned. I’ll take my curricle and meet you back at Watford Hall. Send the coachman a message as to when you’ll be ready.”

Tidwell immediately brightened. “Yes, my lord.”

Changed into fresh clothing, Will donned his caped coat and hat, then found his host and made his excuses. By the time he stepped out into the stable yard, his carriage was ready and his groom, Griff, was holding the horses’ heads.

Will climbed into his curricle. “Good job.”

“Thought it might be gettin’ a bit hot for you hereabouts, my lord.”

“Right as usual. Let their heads go.”

Griff jumped onto the back as Will maneuvered the carriage out of the yard and onto the gravel drive. He caught a glimpse of Miss Hawthorne. She smiled at him, but when he smiled then inclined his head and sprung the horses, her jaw dropped.

Another close escape.

Five days later, Dover, England

The docks bustled with activity as ships prepared to sail with the tide. Will had met his friend Gervais, Earl of Huntley, in London, and traveled down to the port city with him.

The early morning sky was about to lighten when they reached the packet setting sail for France, on which Huntley was booked.

“Godspeed in your travels,” Will said.

Huntley clasped Will’s hand. “Good luck to you sorting out the problem in St. Thomas. I’ll see you in the spring.”

“Only if I can’t think of a good excuse to remain abroad.” Will grimaced. “Before I left, my father made me promise I’d marry next year.”

“My father said the same to me. We’ll lend each other support.” Huntley’s grim countenance reminded Will of a man going to trial. “Perhaps you’ll be lucky enough to fall in love.”

Will almost choked. “You think that’s lucky? I’d have to completely rearrange my life. No, thank you. I’ll probably end up picking one of the ladies my mother parades before me. At least then I’ll know what to expect.”

And he wouldn’t risk living under the cat’s paw because of a woman.

“My lord, the ship’s about to depart,” Huntley’s groom called from the packet.

“You’ll do as you think best.” Huntley slapped Will’s back.

“You, as well.” Will strode down the street to a Dutch fly-boat, one of the smaller sailing ships plying their trade ferrying passengers and goods to the many ports scattered up and down England’s far western coast.

Griff sat on a piling at the head of the pier. “ ’Bout time you got here. Tidwell’s got the cabins all arranged, and the captain’s just waitin’ on you.”

“Let’s get on board then. I can’t miss the tide, or we’ll be late for our rendezvous with Mr. Grayson.” Will drew in a deep breath, savoring the air’s briny scent. At one and thirty, Will hadn’t had his blood rush with the excitement of a new challenge for years. “Is there anything else you’d like to tell me?”

A large smile cracked Griff’s weathered face. “Mr. Tidwell turned a nice shade of green when he got on the ship.” He scratched his head as if he was giving the occurrence some thought. “Don’t suppose he’ll like the trip overmuch.”

“Unless you”—Will paused, letting the word sink in—“wish to learn how to take care of my kit, you’d better hope Tidwell doesn’t become too ill.”

Griff, who’d been with Will since he’d sat his first pony, had carried on a good-natured feud with Tidwell since the valet had joined their household over eleven years ago. Will softened his voice. “Come now, I can’t go about looking like a shag-bag, and I daren’t go without you. Who’d have my back when I get into trouble?”

“Well, ye’re in the right of it there.” Griff nodded. “That peacock sure ain’t goin’ to haul you out o’ some of the fixes you get yerself into. Why I recollect when—”

“Ho, Lord Wivenly, is that you?” A short, middle-aged man with salt-and-pepper hair strode toward him. “I’m Captain Jones.”

“Yes, sir. Are we ready to cast off?”

The captain directed an eye toward the water. “Just waiting for you, my lord.”

Shortly after noon the following day, the boat docked at Plymouth’s bustling port. Will descended to the pier wondering how, in all the hubbub, he’d find Andrew Grayson, an old friend of his who’d agreed to accompany Will, only to spy Andrew leaning up against a piling near the midsection of the ship.

“Handsomely done, Captain.” Andrew straightened and inclined his head to Jones. “You’ve arrived in good time. We’ve a change in our travel plans. Lord Wivenly will need his baggage transferred to the Sarah Anne as soon as may be.”

“Aha,” the captain called out in a satisfied tone, “so Captain Black’s going back again.” Jones grinned. “I win my wager. I’ll have it done straight away, Mr. Grayson.”

Will furrowed his brow. “How do you know Jones?”

Andrew cast a glance at the sky as if searching for patience. “My maternal grandfather’s in shipping, remember? I’ve spent time learning the business, as it will be mine.”

That was one of the main reasons Will had asked Andrew to accompany him to St. Thomas. As they walked in the direction of the main dock area, he said, “I didn’t know you planned on actually running the business. I thought you only wanted to be knowledgeable. Didn’t some aunt leave you a snug little property with an independence ?”

“Yes”—Andrew nodded—“but my grandfather’s bound by the settlement agreements to leave the shipping line to me as the second son, and I like knowing how to control what I’m going to own.” He glanced back at Will with a raised brow. “Don’t tell me you’re worried I’ll smell of the shop? Shipping is as respectable as banking, and look at Lady Jersey. She spends a good amount of time at the bank her father left her.”

They reached another pier, where Andrew hailed a tall man with broad shoulders who’d clearly been at sea for a while. “That’s Captain Black. His ship is one of the fastest you’ll find, even with cargo.”

“Mr. Grayson.” The captain grinned. “I see you’ve found his lordship, and in good time.”

“His gear will be here directly,” Andrew said. “Captain Jones is seeing to it.”

Captain Black turned his attention to Will. “Welcome aboard the Sarah Anne, my lord. I’ll have you in St. Thomas in no time at all.”

An hour later, Will stood near the bow of the ship, looking out over the water and trying to decide how to approach the problem his father had asked him to look into in St. Thomas. Though it would delay his exploration of the other islands, he knew that the Earl of Watford’s protective arms encircled all of their family, no matter where they were located, and Will felt the same way. Anyone in the Wivenly family was his to care for.

Andrew joined him. “Have you decided how you will approach the problem yet?”

Will wished he had; the whole thing was deuced strange. He shook his head. “My original intent was to pay my respects to my great-uncle Nathan’s widow”—funny that Nathan was only a few years older than Will—“then meet with the manager, Mr. Howden. Yet after her last letter to my father, telling him the business was failing, right on the heels of a report from Howden showing it was as prosperous as ever, I don’t know what to think, or whom to trust.”

Andrew leaned against the rail. “Someone is being economical with the truth.”

An understatement if Will had ever heard one. “The question is, who? I can’t think of a reason my aunt would be dishonest. Her distress was clear from her letter. However, Howden has an impeccable reputation.”

Andrew frowned. “Could there be another actor?”

Now that was something Will hadn’t considered. “It’s possible. I’ll take great joy in making sure whoever is causing the problems will pay for their transgressions.”

He’d make sure of it.

Early September 1816, St. Thomas, Danish West Indies

Eugénie entered the large drawing room where her maman could usually be found. She sat at an old desk against one wall. “Maman?”

A soft breeze from the windows fluttered the sheets of paper her maman held in one hand. The other was fisted and pressed against her lips.

“Is it more bad news?” A few months ago, her step-father, Nathan Wivenly, the only papa she had ever known, had been on board one of his ships returning from England. Not a day from St. Thomas, they had been attacked by pirates who had murdered Papa and the crew. Ever since then, the import-export business the family owned had begun to fail. The problems were due to the lost goods, or so Mr. Howden told her mother.

Eugénie didn’t believe him. Papa always had insurance. If only she had proof the manager was being dishonest, she’d be able to assist her family. Papa would expect it of her. She dug her nails into her palms. “Maman, if you will allow me to look at the books, I know I can help.”

“You remember the last time you asked to see the accounts?” Maman stuffed the documents in the desk drawer. “Mr. Howden threatened to leave.” Tears filled her eyes. “How would I replace him? I know nothing of commerce.”

It was on the tip of Eugénie’s tongue to say they couldn’t do worse, but that would only further upset her mother, and it might not be true. She’d learned to run a household, not a company. Since her younger brother, Benet, would inherit the business, Papa had seen no point in teaching her. “Have you heard from the Earl of Watford?”

Maman’s lips formed a thin line as she shook her head. “Your father always said I could rely on his nephew. I’m sure we shall receive an answer soon.”

Yet would the letters they’d sent by fast schooners arrive in time? Could the earl act before they were ruined? Eugénie pushed away the thought that despite what Papa had always believed, the earl did not truly care about his uncle’s family living in the West Indies.

“Perhaps”—she searched for something, anything to help make her mother feel better—“you could ask Baron von Bretton for help, or Mr. Whitecliff.”

Maman shot to her feet. “Eugénie!” She took a breath. “I appreciate you trying to be of assistance, but it is for me to deal with.”

Ever since Papa had died, Maman had become a shadow of herself, and was in no condition to act. Her brown eyes, which had always been alight with laughter, were now haunted. In just a few short months, small lines had begun to bracket her mouth. Something had to be done, and soon, before they hadn’t any money at all.

“I am one and twenty. I have a brain and can add columns.” Why was her mother being so stubborn? “Please allow me to—”

“No. You cannot make a good marriage if you are involved in business.” Maman locked the drawer to her desk. “Your papa would not ’ave approved.”

Maman hadn’t pronounced the words in her usual clipped British fashion. The fact that her French accent had become more pronounced was sufficient evidence of the strain she was under. Since marrying Nathaniel Wivenly when Eugénie was six, and joining the English society in Jamaica, then in Saint Thomas, Maman had cultivated the English ways, including their way of speaking.

“Oui, Maman.” Well, Papa was no longer here. Eugénie wanted to stamp her feet in frustration, or throw something, or break down in tears. She wanted to mourn as well, yet how could she when someone had to take care for the family? Why was it that men, even perfect ones like Papa, always seemed to manage to get themselves killed at the worst possible times?

“If need be,” Maman said in a weary voice, “we will travel to England. I am sure Papa’s family would not turn us away.”

The Earl of Watford had done nothing to help so far. Eugénie gritted her teeth. “Naturellement.”

“English, Eugénie,” her mother reminded her, “English.”

“Yes, Maman.” Eugénie stifled a sigh. There was no point in continuing a discussion that only upset her mother. “I must go into town later for some new ribbon. Is there anything you need?”

Maman gave a weary smile. “I shall be grateful if you will bring me some pressed paper. I must write the invitations for your sister’s birthday party.”

Another reason to discover what was going on: Her brother and sisters’ futures were at risk. Jeanne, the youngest sister, would be six next week. The others were not much older. Even though they were in mourning, Jeanne would have friends over for cakes and lemonade. Eugénie nodded and turned to the door.

“Don’t forget your bonnet.” Her mother frowned. “You are becoming much too brown, and remember to take your maid with you.”

Eugénie ran back to her mother and embraced her. She wouldn’t tease Maman any more, but proper or not, she would find a way to help her family. Papa always said she was the cleverest one in the family. Surely she could think of something. Eugénie could not leave their well-being to the vagaries of fate, the ocean, and an earl who lived thousands of miles away.

Will braced his feet on the ship’s deck and held the telescope to his eye. A large group of buildings stood at the water’s edge. “That’s it then, the free port of Charlotte Amalie?”

“Indeed.” Captain Black grinned. “It will soon be one of the largest ports in the West Indies, if not the entire Caribbean.”

“What are those spaces on the hills?”

Black looked where Will pointed. “Stairs used as streets. They are called step streets. They make going up and down the hills easier. I’ve heard some European cities have them, as well.”

Anything to make hills easier would be welcome. Drat, he hated hills. He’d been ecstatic when his family had moved to Hertfordshire, where it was nice and flat.

Wharves lined the shoreline, each with its own warehouse, followed by taller buildings that spread up the three hills behind the city. Palm trees punctuated the landscape in an orderly manner, and a large fort jutted out into the harbor. The numerous ships at anchor added to the picturesque view, but what really struck Will was the color of the water. Ranging from darker blue to turquoise closer to shore, it took his breath away. He’d never seen anything as beautiful, and right now he’d like to dive overboard. The sun wasn’t even directly overhead and already the day promised to be hot. How the devil did gentlemen dress in suits here? Or perhaps the question should be why Englishmen must behave as if even the tropics were no warmer than the home counties.

He passed the glass back to the captain and rubbed a hand over his short beard. Tidwell had been threatening to take the razor to Will’s face, but with the movement of the ship, his valet had resigned himself to merely trimming his beard. Once on land, he’d have a good shave, though whether his coats would still fit him was uncertain. His normally lean frame had filled out as he’d handled the ship’s lines and sails. Will smiled to himself. Learning to sail had been every bit as fun as his friend Marcus had told him it would be, though remembering some of the terms had been a bit more problematic. Now he needed to turn his attention to the problem of the Wivenly family of St. Thomas.

During the passage, Will had tried to surreptitiously draw information about the island and its inhabitants from Captain Black. One night the man had laughed and said, “Just tell me what it is you need to know, my lord, and I’ll be happy to give you any information I have. You don’t need to worry I’ll be indiscreet. I take pride in my prudence.”

Will had reluctantly realized that he needed the captain’s assistance and told him about the apparent problems with his late great-uncle’s business. “It appears prosperous on paper, yet the widow is claiming poverty.”

Captain Black rubbed his chin, then took a drink of wine. “Mr. Howden, the manager, is a well-thought-of man of business, but he’s ambitious, and I can’t see him wanting to work for a woman.” Black paused for a moment. “On the other hand, I’ve met your aunt on a few occasions. She must be devastated by Nathan’s death. She relied on him for everything. It would be pretty easy to pull the wool over her eyes.” A call came from somewhere in the ship and the captain cocked an ear before continuing. “If only she were older, Miss Eugénie—that’s Mrs. Wivenly’s daughter from her first marriage—could help.” The captain chuckled. “Now there’s a firecracker for you.”

“How old is Miss Eugénie?” Will couldn’t remember if he’d heard of her or not. Could the daughter be the problem? Will wasn’t naïve enough to think women weren’t capable of doing anything they set their minds to. Still, why would she try to beggar her mother? He tossed off the rest of his wine. None of this made sense.

“Maybe about twenty now.” The captain frowned. “Last time I saw her was a couple of years ago. She was still coltish then. Skinny little thing, all arms and legs. Brown as a nut because she kept losing her hat. Nathan spoiled her to death.”

Lovely. In addition to everything else, he’d have to deal with a willful, probably bran-faced brat.

“You know, my lord,” the captain said thoughtfully, “St. Thomas is a small island, and your family is well-known. If you use the name Wivenly, you’ll not be able to hide your interests.”

Will grinned. He knew just the one he’d use. “That’s Mr. Munford, Captain. A mere factotum for the earl. I’ll have to rely on my servants to give me any consequence at all.”

“You haven’t been Munford since Oxford.” Andrew barked a laugh. “After that girl tried to trick you into marriage, I thought you’d sworn off it.”

“That was years ago. No one in St. Thomas will recognize the name.” Will refilled his glass. “Besides, it won’t be for long.” At least he hoped it wouldn’t. He’d discharge his duty as quickly as possible then get on to the real purpose of his journey, having fun and avoiding marriage-minded ladies and their mamas.

By early afternoon, they’d docked. Captain Black found a carter for Will’s trunks and sent a message to the Queen Hotel concerning rooms.

An hour late. . .