He was good at organizing and, since coming to work for his older brothers three years ago, Grant had discovered that he was good at making money. Everyone in the family had a talent, and raking in the blunt had turned out to be his. Helping to grow Kendrick Shipping and Trade for his family—for the future of his nieces and nephews—was a grand thing. Grant had built a useful and worthy life, and there wasn’t a damn thing worth complaining about.
Except you’re bored out your damn skull.
“You’re an idiot,” he muttered as he shoved the ledgers back into place.
It hadn’t always been this way. He and his twin, Graeme, had spent years raising hell. But Graeme was married now. He’d moved on from his freewheeling days, and was now settled into an eminently respectable life on a small Highland estate. In Graeme’s case the respectability was rather hilarious, since he’d always been the truly wild one in the family, practically immune to any correction.
Grant, though? For him, the wildness had never come naturally, and the life he now led suited him as nothing else ever had. Everything was exactly as it should be. After years of heartache and trial, the Kendricks were finally at peace.
Except for how you actually feel.
He scowled to himself as he pointlessly rearranged a few ledgers.
“What’s amiss, laddie?” barked a voice from the doorway. “Numbers not adding up?”
Grant turned to see his grandfather leaning against the doorframe. Angus looked particularly disreputable today in an ancient kilt, scuffed boots, and the tatty Highland bonnet he’d worn ever since King George had admired it on his visit to Scotland last year. The attire, along with his bushy white eyebrows and correspondingly wild hair, made Angus look like a Highland ancient run amuck from the glens.
Yet, his grandfather was an extraordinarily canny man. Though not bookish, no one pulled anything over on Angus. Every Kendrick brother had tried at various times over the years but all had failed.
“Mayhap ye should let me look at yon ledgers,” the old fellow added in a hopeful voice.
Grant swallowed a sigh. Angus was a marvel, except when it came to numbers. When he’d served as estate steward at Castle Kinglas, the seat of Clan Kendrick, Grandda had made a massive financial mess of things. Nick, Grant’s oldest brother and head of the clan, had finally been forced to banish their grandfather from the estate office unless he was there with him.
Still, even that drastic measure had failed to convince Angus that he was anything less than a financial genius.
“The ledgers are fine, Grandda.” Grant crossed back to his desk to snuff out the lamp. “I’m just packing up for the day.”
His grandfather sidled in and reached for one of the leather-bound volumes. “Remember ye got yer head for numbers from me, lad.”
Grant plucked the ledger from his hand. “Perhaps another time.”
Angus scowled and straightened his sagging bonnet. “Ye always say that, and somehow that other time never arrives.”
“Grandda, why are you here? And does Vicky know you’re wandering about town dressed like the ghost of Rob Roy?”
Grant’s sister-in-law usually managed to keep Angus on the right side of respectable. This time, though, he’d clearly slipped the net.
“I dinna need any lassie tellin’ me how to dress,” Angus indignantly replied.
“Apparently you do, though. I’m sorry, Grandda, but that bonnet is wretched.”
“Yer brother the laird,” Angus said with unnecessary emphasis, “sent me forthwith to fetch ye. And I’ll nae have ye insultin’ my bonnet. King Georgie himself wished that he had one just like it, ye recall.”
“Yes, you remind us of that repeatedly.” Grant gently propelled his grandfather into the hall. “And we all wish you’d given it to the king as a going away present. The blasted thing smells like a peat bog.”
Angus glowered as they walked along the upstairs corridor. “This bonnet was worn by one of yer ancestors when he fought at the side of the Bruce himself. I’ll nae have ye disrespecting our history.”
Grant cast a quick glance into the various offices as they made their way to the stairs. The warehouse manager and three senior clerks were already gone, probably a good hour ago.
“Grandda, that’s your bonnet, and it’s not that old. It’s only pathetic because the moths got at it when you shoved it into a trunk and forgot about it.”
“It’s the point I’m makin’ that matters, lad. It’s all numbers and work for ye. It’s nae good for ye, all this toilin’ away by candlelight.”
Grant snorted at the sudden change in topic. “What I ken is that your bonnet and my work are completely unrelated subjects.”
Grumbling, Angus preceded him down the stairs to the front office, where junior clerks, now gone for the day, tallied the inventories of timber, furs, and other goods arriving from Canada.
While the headquarters of Kendrick Shipping and Trade was in Halifax, Canada, Grant’s older brother, Logan, had established a large office in Glasgow and a smaller branch in Edinburgh. They hoped to expand to London within the next six months, after Logan and his family returned to Scotland. Logan, Donella, and their children had spent the better part of two years in Halifax, but would soon be moving back to Glasgow.
The night porter was a sharp young fellow from the small village near Kinglas. He rose from his seat by the fire when he saw Grant.
“All settled in for the night, Sam?” Grant asked.
“Aye, sir. And thank ye for loanin’ me yer copy of Ivanhoe. It’s a corkin’ good story.”
Grant nodded. “That it is.”
Angus snorted. “Och, a fat lot of nonsense written by a Lowland nincompoop. Now, dinna ye be neglectin’ yer duties, lad, reading that historical twaddle.”
When Sam’s eyes widened with alarm, Grant nudged his grandfather toward the door. “Sam knows his responsibilities perfectly well, Grandda. No need to lecture him about reading a harmless novel.”
“I’ll lock up behind ye, sir,” the young man gratefully said.
“Ye needn’t shove me,” Angus protested as he stepped down onto the cobblestone street. “Ye’ll be breakin’ my puir old bones.”
“I did not shove you. Besides, you’re as sturdy as a billy goat.”
Angus tottered, doing his best to look frail. “And how would ye ken that? What with yer bein’ at work all day and half the night, a slave to yer ledgers. I could be lyin’ dead in my bed for a week and ye’d never notice.”
Grant cupped a hand around his grandfather’s elbow and steered him down the street. “I might not, but our housekeeper surely would.”
“Not the point, laddie boy.”
“Then what is?”
“All this fussin’ about Royal leavin’ the business, it’s got ye in a stew.”
Grant repressed a grimace at the home hit. He was worried about his older brother’s impending departure. Royal was Logan’s right-hand man and knew Kendrick Shipping and Trade from the bottom up.
“I’m not—”
“And yer oldest brother—that would be the laird—agrees with me,” Angus triumphantly added. “Yer frettin’ aboot all the things ye’ll be havin’ to do once Royal leaves.”
Royal’s wife, Ainsley, had recently inherited a tidy estate up near Cairndow. Since Royal had always favored the country over the city, and since Ainsley would love nothing more than managing an estate, they’d decided it was time to quit Glasgow and move north. The family was happy for them, though it meant responsibility for the Scottish end of the business would fall entirely on Grant until Logan returned.
Grant felt more than up to the task. Yet it would require a great deal of hard work—something his family seemed unable to comprehend.
“Is that why Nick sent you to fetch me? He thinks I’m working too hard?”
Angus pulled out his battered claymore pipe. “Nae, that’s not the reason he sent me.”
Grant waited patiently while his grandfather got a light from a str
eet vendor with a brazier. Then he took Angus by the elbow and hurried him across Queen Street.
“If ye were in such an all-fired hurry, we could have fetched a hackney,” Angus protested.
Grant threw him a disbelieving look. “You’re the one dragging me out of the office, presumably because I’m late for something. But if you want me to flag a coach, I’m happy to do so.”
“Och, ye need the fresh air after bein’ cooped up all day. Yer practically growin’ moldy.”
Lately, Grant did find himself longing for good mountain air, and a visit to Kinglas, the family’s ancestral home on the shores of Loch Long, was overdue. Caught between water, sky, and snowcapped peaks, Kinglas was the most beautiful place in the world to him.
Gloriously beautiful, but haunted by memories, many of them desperately unhappy. Those memories were ones he’d rather avoid right now.
“What’s amiss, son? Yer lookin’ a bit squirrely now,” his grandfather quietly said.
“Nothing’s wrong, Grandda.”
Angus blew out a cloud of smoke. “I know everything about ye, so dinna be pretendin’ with me.”
“All right, I’m squirrely because I still don’t know why we’re rushing home.”
“Have ye forgotten the guests arrivin’ today? Yer brother wanted us all on hand when the duchess made her appearance.”
Grant sighed. “Oh, hell.”
He’d completely forgotten about the Duchess of Leverton. Vicky had never met her royal cousin and was as nervous as a cat in a thunderstorm. And whenever Vicky got fashed, Nick got fashed. That meant everyone got fashed, if they knew what was good for them.
“Vicky wants us all to make a good impression. Yer brother is nae happy yer late.”
They turned into a quiet side street. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there, though my absence could not possibly have made a worse impression than your outfit. You look like you’ve been rolling about in a patch of thistle.”
“Nae, I was dressed right and proper for the grand arrival. I changed when Nick sent me out to fetch ye home. Ye ken I canna stand wearing fancy dudes for long.”
“Well, you can’t sit down to dinner looking like that.” A nearby church tower began to toll out the hour. “I’ll have to change, too. It’s already seven o’clock.”
He’d also have to perform the appropriate amount of groveling for his late showing. The duchess’s visit would no doubt prove to be massively inconvenient, since Nick would expect Grant to do his bit by squiring Vicky and her cousin around Glasgow, since most of the brothers were out of town.
“I don’t have time for this,” he muttered as he hurried his grandfather along.
“Dinna fret. Vicky pushed dinner back an hour.”
Grant shot him a glare. “And you couldn’t think to tell me that?”
“Just keepin’ ye on yer toes, laddie boy.”
“You are a pain in the arse sometimes, Grandda.”
Angus snickered. “Somebody has to keep life interestin’ around here.”
“In future, when such is required I will alert you immediately,” Grant said as they entered the small square that fronted Kendrick House. “In any case, Vicky didn’t need to push dinner back on my account.”
“Happens it was necessary. The ladies made quite a ruckus when they arrived. They needed to get settled.”
“Ladies? I thought the duchess was making a solitary visit.”
“Vicky gave us the details at breakfast a few days ago, which ye clearly dinna recall.”
Grant had a dim recollection of the discussion. He’d been studying an agricultural journal at the time, so the details had escaped him.
“A companion of some sort, wasn’t it?”
Angus shook his head. “Yer hopeless.”
They cut through the square, whose trim lawns and tidy paths were a favorite daytime haunt of the nursemaids and their charges from the surrounding mansions. Now it was quiet, softly lit by the glow of street lanterns and lamps in nearby windows.
Grant suddenly had a bad feeling. “Grandda, whom did the duchess bring with her?”
“Well, she’s a bonny young lass, verra bonny. And she’ll be that happy to meet ye, I ken.”
Grant came to a halt, looking up at the darkening sky. “Really? This again?” Most of the Kendricks, and especially Angus, were annoyingly inveterate matchmakers. “I bloody well don’t have time for you or anyone else playing Cupid, Grandda.”
“I’d never play Cupid. He was a bloody Sassenach.”
Grant stalked off, leaving his grandfather to scamper after him. “You’re failing to grasp the main point,” he said when Angus caught up. “And Cupid was Greek, by the way.”
Angus ignored that. “Speaking of Sassenachs, this lassie’s a rich one. And she’s Sabrina’s cousin, too.”
“Splendid, but I’m not on the lookout for a wife, even Sabrina’s cousin.”
“Have I mentioned that she’s bonny? Rich and bonny?”
Grant stopped at the foot of the marble steps of Kendrick House and gave his grandfather a stern look. “First of all, you don’t give a damn about money. And secondly, I’m too busy to deal with such nonsense. Logan is depending on me, remember?”
“Fah,” Angus scoffed.
Grant forced himself to remain calm. Most Kendricks tended to yell when frustrated, but Grant always made a point of doing the opposite. “Now, Angus—”
The old man started up the steps. “Och, fine. Ye can sit in a corner and be yer usual gloomy self. Not that the bonny lass will have time for the likes of ye, anyway. She’ll be too busy keepin’ her wee sister in line. That one’s waitin’ to pop off like a bottle rocket, I reckon.”
“Good God, just how many people did the duchess bring with her?”
“Including the maid and the grooms?”
“You’re incredibly irritating.” Grant rapped on the door, ignoring his grandfather’s chuckle.
Will, the under-butler, answered. “Good evening, Mr. Grant. I hope you had a productive day.”
“I did, until a lunatic Highlander forced his way into my office.”
Will didn’t bat an eyelash. “The family and guests are beginning to gather in the drawing room, sir, but you and Mr. MacDonald have time to change.”
“Thank you. I’ll just be . . .”
The words died on his tongue as he caught sight of a young woman floating down the staircase. He blinked, and then blinked again.
Grant was used to living with beautiful women. His sisters-in-law were all stunners, the sort that stopped men dead in their tracks.
This girl, though? She was just a wee dab of a thing. If lost in thought, a man might pass her on the street and never notice. But with a closer look, there was something . . . something fey about her, as if she’d just stepped out of a fairy ring in a deep Highland glen.
That impression grew stronger as she reached the bottom of the stairs, her skirts seeming to drift on a mountain breeze. The gown was eccentric and charming, a confection of pink silk and white lace that skimmed over her figure. An extraordinary number of gold spangled ribbons encircled her slender waist and cascaded down the front of the gown, some gently flaring as she came toward them. As she passed under the huge chandelier of the center hall, she seemed to shimmer, as if a thousand tiny stars were embedded in the fabric of her gown.
You’re daft, man.
Girls didn’t shimmer or float, or any other stupid image his brain kicked out.
She was very bonny, just as his grandfather had said. With wide-set, pewter-gray eyes, narrow cheekbones, and a sharp little chin, her face looked more elfin than human.
Except for her mouth, which was definitely human and very lush, with a Cupid’s bow curve and a full lower lip. Set against her ethereal features, it made for an intriguing contrast.
Grant liked intriguing. He decided he liked pink gowns and spangled ribbons, too.
The young woman drifted to a halt a few feet away, her mouth tilted in a crooked half smile, as if u
nsure of her reception.
“You’re starin’, laddie,” Angus whispered.
Of course, what his grandfather considered a whisper could be heard half a block away.
Stop acting like a dolt.
He dredged up a smile. “I take it this is one of our guests. Perhaps you could introduce me, Grandda.”
“That would be preferable to us staring at each other like boobies,” the young lady responded.
The vinegary reply was offset by her light voice and an appealing trace of a brogue—not Scottish, but Irish. That was also intriguing.
After a fraught pause, Grant nudged his grandfather. “Angus?”
“Och, I’m forgettin’ my manners. Happens all the time, ye ken.”
When the girl smiled—a real smile, this time—Grant almost forgot his own name.
“Lady Arnprior warned me that you didn’t have any manners,” she said to Angus. “So I shouldn’t mind if you say something outrageous.”
Good God.
Angus gave her a wink. “I’ll be havin’ a wee chat with her ladyship, defamin’ me like that.”
The girl laughed. “Oh, drat. Now I’ve got us both in trouble, haven’t I?”
“Nothin’ we can’t get out of together, lass. Just follow my lead.”
She dipped him a saucy little curtsy. “I will be sure to do so, Mr. MacDonald.”
“A-hem,” Grant said.
Angus gave a fake start. “I almost forgot about ye. Miss Kathleen Calvert, allow me to introduce my grandson Grant Kendrick.”
Grant bowed. “Miss Calvert, it’s a pleasure to meet you. Welcome to Kendrick House.”
“Thank you, sir.” She tilted her head back, studying him with a thoughtful frown. “I thought Lord Arnprior was tall, but you’re almost a giant. It’s all the clean living, I suppose, not to mention the log tossing. I’ve been told that Scots are fond of log tossing. By your size, I would say you do quite a lot of it.”
Grant’s mind blanked for a moment. “Er, is that a question?”
Miss Calvert studied him for a moment before letting out a sigh, as if disappointed. “I suppose we should go in. The others are waiting.”
The Highlander's Irish Bride Page 4