Fifteen
Irene couldn’t focus. Numbers were something she understood, but no matter what she did, her mind would not grasp the simplest concepts. It didn’t help that she was sitting in the workroom at the dress shop, there were people everywhere, and the one person she’d come here to see—Wendy—was conspicuously absent.
She was sitting at Helaine’s desk trying to sort through the bookkeeping. She needed to understand what money the shop was going to pay her, so she could figure out what money she had to buy new fabric. After everything she’d paid Grant for his wool, she was feeling decidedly pinched. Sadly, Anthony’s neat columns were making no sense at all. She could see the numbers—36, 27, 102, all adding up to 165—but what part was meant for her? And how soon would she be paid?
She winced as laughing chatterboxes made their way to the back workroom. The group—mother, two daughters, and Helaine—were having a lively time as they wandered here to inspect several bolts of fabric. It wasn’t the usual way with things. Normally, Wendy and her apprentice Tabitha carried the cloth into the showroom, but with the increase in business and the massive purchase Irene had made from Grant, there just wasn’t room. So now, customers came to the back to see their choices.
Irene looked up, knowing that she needed to appear friendly, despite the headache that thrummed behind her eyes. Then her expression froze. Miss Josephine Powel stood in the center of the group, her eyes sparkling and her gestures expansive. Her sister was no less animated as the two argued back and forth, but it was Josephine who drew Irene’s cool regard.
The girl was lovely, reddish brown chestnut curls and all. And she had been stunning last night at the ball when Grant had abandoned Irene to rush to that woman’s side. Irene had watched—discreetly, of course—as Grant had maneuvered an introduction and had spoken with the woman for a few minutes, then he’d gone white-faced with shock. A moment later, the man had disappeared into the card room.
Irene had no idea what happened, but she had a sudden fierce need to learn all she could about the harpy. So she listened, while pretending not to, and she tried to think of a way to enter the conversation. Then Helaine solved her problem by asking for her help.
“Irene, dear, I wonder if you might help us. This is Lady Lawton and her two daughters, Miss Josephine and Miss Megan. Josephine has just gotten engaged and is looking for the right dress for her party.”
“Engaged? Best wishes, my dear!” Irene said, her mind working furiously. Was that what Grant had discovered last night? That the girl was engaged?
Of course it was. Which meant that he went to the card room to cover his disappointment over losing her. And when that wasn’t helping, he had sought something else: a woman who was available. Irene. Oh damnation, was that all she’d been to him? A way to get past this fiery beauty?
Irene’s smile felt brittle, but the others didn’t seem to notice. Miss Josephine’s eyes were dancing, her cheeks flushed, and it was obvious to everyone that she was ecstatically happy. And the sister was no less thrilled as she discussed the details of the wedding—engagement dress, wedding dress, her dress. A trousseau for both girls, it seemed, with all the fashion excitement that entailed.
Irene was pulled into a discussion of silks and buttons, what supplies they had on hand, what could be purchased for the right price. It was dizzying, and it was all for the woman who had broken Grant’s heart. The same woman who would look awful in that swath of orange.
Irene was about to point out the silk when she stopped herself. Was she really that spiteful? And to a girl who may not even know what she’d done to Grant? Especially when Irene didn’t truly know what had happened.
With a grimace of annoyance, she shifted to a silk with a subtle wash of green. That would be divine on the girl. “How about—”
“Irene! There you are!”
Everyone spun around at the loud, male voice that cut through the chatter in the room. It was Grant, his voice half angry, half exasperated as he pushed his way from the front salon into the back workroom, while everyone else fell dead silent and stared.
Helaine was the first to recover. “Sir, this is a place for ladies. I must insist that you wait in the front salon immediately.” She glanced pointedly at his attire—which was of a decidedly unfashionable nature—then gestured to the back door. “Or you could always compose yourself outside. I’m sure Lady Irene can discuss her business with you out there.”
Grant was about to answer. His eyes had locked onto hers, and he was pushing his way forward as fast as he could without actually shoving the ladies aside. But at Helaine’s words, he abruptly stopped and turned to her.
“Lady Irene?” he asked.
Oh no! Had she never told him her true title?
Meanwhile, the bride suddenly gasped and clapped her hands. “Lord Crowle! Goodness, I didn’t recognize you at first.”
At which point, Irene watched everything again, just like what had happened last night. Grant turned, his eyes widening as he saw Miss Powel. His body jolted as he took in not only her, but her sister and mother. And then his face drained of all color. He covered, of course. His skin didn’t truly go gray-white. But Irene saw it clear as day, even though he stammered his way through a startled bow.
“Uh… good afternoon. Misses Powel and Lady Lawton. I hadn’t realized—I mean, what brings you—well, of course, you’re here looking at dresses, aren’t you?”
Megan trilled with laughter, the sound too flirty to be comfortable. But everyone else just smiled at the flustered man. Everyone, that is, but Irene, who stepped forward. “Lord Crowle, is there something you wanted?”
He turned, focusing on her. His eyes were piercing sharp at first, but then his expression softened. Then it slid to a slow frown. “Lady Irene? I had no idea you were so exalted.” Was there an edge to his tone?
“I believe we both understand the reasons for hiding a title sometimes. I apologize if I surprised you.”
He blinked and then recovered, while his skin flushed ruddy. “No, it is I who must apologize. It seems I am out of practice with London.”
What the devil did that mean? Irene wondered. Meanwhile, the blushing bride pressed forward, her eyes alight with curiosity. “Out of practice? Then you have been traveling. Will has been extremely curious as to your whereabouts.”
Grant straightened, and his expression closed down. It was a subtle change, one that Irene wouldn’t have noticed if she hadn’t been looking right at him.
“Really?” he drawled as he turned to face Miss Josephine. “He has mentioned my whereabouts to you?”
The woman blinked. “Well, only that he has been looking for you all summer. Came down here expressly to find you a couple months ago. I’m so glad that you’re here now. We were hoping you would be.”
He rocked back on his heels as he considered the girl, and Irene could feel his attention like a sharp point in the air. It was a wonder that the girl didn’t bleed.
“Well, I am here now. Is there something he wished to discuss?”
She blinked at his cold tone, obviously startled. “Well, yes, actually. Um, I—we—wanted to be sure you come to our engagement ball. We, uh, we don’t have your address, so we didn’t know if you—”
“My solicitor handles all my mail. Will knows the address.”
She bit her lip, and Irene could see the entire family shuffle their feet in discomfort. Whatever the reason for Grant’s chilling tone, these ladies didn’t understand it.
He must have seen that as well because he abruptly ran his hand through his hair. “I’m terribly sorry. I’ve had a rather disturbing day already and am out of sorts.”
“Nothing terrible, I hope?” Miss Josephine asked.
His gaze tightened again on her while Irene tried to understand. It had sounded like an innocent question, but obviously, something was bothering the man. “Um, no,” he said. “Nothing too disconcerting. Perhaps you could tell me when Will is coming to London. I should very much like to see him.
”
“Oh!” The woman brightened considerably. “Of course! He will be arriving today! Or perhaps tomorrow. You must come for nuncheon. That way we can all get to know one another better.”
Irene saw an expression flit across his face. Wariness. As if he saw demons in every corner, and most especially in the girl who stood right across from him.
She knew the feeling well—the vague uncertainty that haunted every thought. But for the life of her, she couldn’t guess why he would be so suspicious of the Lawton girls. But it was clearly getting the better of him, so Irene judged it time to step in. He might not appreciate her help, but she couldn’t bear to see him so at a loss.
“How stupid of me!” she cried as she pulled out a chair. “Lord Crowle, your wound must be paining you. Please, will you not sit down?” She gave him little choice as she all but hauled him backward. Then amid the general chaos of questions, she flashed a smile at everyone. “Lord Crowle was kind enough to escort myself and Wendy home last night. We weren’t that far from here when we were attacked by a footpad. Lord Crowle was extremely dashing as he defended us. But he took a knife in the belly for his pains.”
If there were expressions of concern before, there was outright horror now. All of sudden, everyone was asking questions and offering Lord Crowle tea. He held up his hands, waving their words off with a horrified look. “Lady Irene exaggerates. It was a mere scratch. I am quite well.”
He was not quite well, Irene thought rather loudly in her own mind. But the problem appeared to be in his mind more than his body. Even in the midst of the current chaos, she remembered how he’d come barging in, demanding to see her. Something important had brought him here. Something that had gotten lost amid the awkward discussion with the Lawtons.
Meanwhile, Grant was refusing all offers, his tone pleasant, his expression neutral. And all the while, he kept his gaze on Miss Josephine. Irene couldn’t fathom what he was looking for. Whatever it was, he didn’t seem to get it. In the end, he grimaced and turned to her.
“Lady Irene, I actually came here to speak to you.”
“Yes, I know. Is it urgent?”
“Just some details that we need to make clear. I was with the constable this morning, and there were additional questions.”
“Oh… oh, of course.” Then she looked at the avid listeners surrounding them. There was a great deal about last night that she had no interest in sharing. “I was planning on walking home. Do you think you are well enough to escort me?”
He straightened immediately. “It would be my honor.”
A second later, they were turning to the workroom’s back door when Miss Josephine interposed herself between them and their escape. She was adamant, her expression almost fierce.
“My lord, please, I really must insist. Your brother is most anxious to see you. Couldn’t you please join us for dinner tomorrow?”
He was caught. She had no idea why he wanted to avoid his brother so desperately, but the bride had been insistent. Now, he had no choice but to accept or be extremely rude to his future sister-in-law. Obviously, he knew that. Especially since he finally dipped his head in acknowledgment.
“Forgive me,” he said quietly. “Of course, I should like to see my brother. But your house must be in disarray. You’ve only just arrived.”
“No. We’ve been here a week so far.”
The smile he gave her was clearly strained. “Nevertheless. Do you know of The Crooked Billet inn? I’m having a small gathering there tomorrow night. Quiet thing. A thank you to Robert, Lord Redhill, for our longstanding friendship.” He looked over to Helaine. “Lady Redhill, I came here today to beg you and your husband to attend.” There was a silent plea in his gaze as he looked to Helaine. “Say you will be there. Seven o’clock?”
Helaine blinked, a frown on her face. “Why, of course. Robert and I would be most pleased to attend.”
Grant sent her a grateful smile before he turned back to Miss Josephine. “Perhaps you and Will could attend as well?”
“Most definitely,” the woman said.
“I look forward to it.” Then he bowed to the room in general before holding out his arm to Irene. “If you are ready?”
She smiled back, her thoughts spinning with questions. “Thank you, my lord.” Then together they stepped outside.
She held her tongue well after the door shut behind them. She kept silent for six steps, ten beats of her heart, or three long, rather frustrated breaths. But at the end of all that, she clenched Grant’s arm and spoke quite plainly.
“If you don’t tell me immediately what that was about, I swear I shall cause a scene.”
He blinked as he turned his troubled gaze to her, then he nodded. It was a slow nod, as if he had the weight of the world on his shoulders. And then he gestured to the side.
“Hyde Park is over there. Fancy a stroll?”
She thought of the time and gasped in horror. “Now? In Hyde Park? I am not dressed for it.” She didn’t dare mention that what he wore was completely outre. He was dressed as a tradesman and couldn’t risk being seen as such. Not by the haute ton.
He grimaced. “Oh yes, I’d forgotten.”
“Do you know, I believe you have been Mr. Grant for much too long. You have completely forgotten the responsibilities of your title.”
He eyes flashed angrily. “Believe me,” he ground out. “I am well aware that I am an earl. Today of all days, it weighs most heavy on me.”
“But why? Why today of all days? What happened in the few hours since we parted?”
He grimaced then looked away. His feet took them in the opposite direction of Hyde Park. It was toward her home, so she didn’t object. Truthfully, she would walk to Bath and back if it meant he explained himself. Fortunately, it didn’t require more than a couple steps before he began to speak.
“What do you recall of last night?”
Her face abruptly heated, and worse, her belly quivered. “Um,” she began, struggling for words.
He glanced at her, and his eyes suddenly grew languid. “Er, not that. Although—”
“You mean the footpad, don’t you?”
His expression shuttered, and eventually, he looked away. “Yes. I spoke with Mr. Morrison about the attack.”
She could read the truth in his face. “Mr. Morrison doesn’t believe the man was a common footpad. He thinks my mysterious follower is back and…” She couldn’t even say the words.
He touched her hand where it lay on his forearm. “Don’t be afraid,” he said softly. “I have no intention of leaving you alone until we figure out what is happening.”
She arched her brows, startled by his vehement statement. It was folderol, of course. He couldn’t possibly mean to remain by her side every second of every day and night. Unless, of course, he absolutely did.
Her steps slowed, forcing him to stop and look at her. “Irene?”
She didn’t know what to say. She didn’t even know how to frame her question. Did he truly mean to protect her all the time? How?
She could see the worry in his face, the concern that buried his earlier frustration. And at that moment, she realized what he had done. By bringing up the attack, he had neatly distracted her from whatever was truly bothering him.
“I cry foul, my lord!” she said tartly. “We were speaking of you and whatever was happening back at the dress shop.”
He grimaced. “I know,” he said quietly. “I was getting to that.”
She took hold of her temper. It wasn’t really temper, more a disquiet of soul. He did that to her, she realized. He made her feel things and think things and worry about… everything again. Just as if she were a… a…
Damnation, she was feeling just as she did when she fell in love with Nate. Oh no, no, no! She bit her lip and roughly pushed the emotion aside. In the midst of everything, that was the last thing she needed to feel. She absolutely refused to fall in love right then. Especially with a lord who made grand pronouncements that he was going to
protect her every day of her life. Her father had been one such man with big statements and wonderful sentiments, until he got distracted by something else. She’d learned very young not to trust any man who spoke in such sweeping ways. So she took a deep breath and glared at Grant. “The truth,” she said. “Now.”
He rubbed a hand over his face, but he didn’t argue. “As I said, I went to see Mr. Morrison. He agrees that was no common footpad, but he offered another motive behind the attack. A different one from your mysterious pursuer.”
She frowned, suddenly finding it easy to concentrate on his words. “But that’s excellent! I’m sure what happened wasn’t linked to me.”
“Mr. Morrison thinks my brother may be trying to kill me.”
It took some moments for his words to penetrate her thoughts. And some longer moments for her rational mind to process that he was serious—enough to be tormented by the idea.
“Your brother? As in Miss Powel’s fiancé?”
“Yes, my brother, Will.”
“But… but… I don’t understand.”
Grant shrugged, and as they were about to be jostled by a pair of rushing ostlers, he started walking again. “Samuel has a way of pointing out things so that the logic is painfully clear.”
“Yes,” she agreed softly. “He does have that rather unique charm. What exactly did he say?”
“That my brother has done a great deal lately to secure the wealth of the title in his name. He and Lawton improved the land so much that I could not buy it back. Then it all went into Miss Josephine’s dowry.”
“Will’s fiancée. I understand, but it is a rather large step from marrying an heiress to murder.”
Grant nodded grimly. “But he has been looking for me. Rather desperately, I hear.”
“You are his brother. Did he not have your address?”
He shook his head, his mouth pressed flat.
It took a moment’s study, but then she understood. “He does not know you are Mr. Grant, does he? He doesn’t know what you’ve been doing these last five years.”
Jade Lee - [Bridal Favors 03] Page 15