Chapter Two
The front door to Mrs. Morris’s townhouse swung closed with a thud, rattling the door knocker. Griffin, the Marquess of Keswick, sighed and turned to face the quiet, lamp-lit street where his carriage with matching bays awaited him, blanketed in misty evening fog.
“Well,” he murmured, glancing down at the tiny bundle of black fur nestled in the crook of his arm. “That didn’t go quite as we’d planned, did it?”
“Meow.”
The kitten’s bright yellow eyes blinked up at him and a smile touched Griff’s lips. “Exactly so.”
Descending the stairs with slow, measured steps, he approached the carriage and called up to his coachman. “It’s a fine evening, John. I think I’d like to walk home. Follow behind me, will you?”
“Yes, m’lord. And what of...” The driver tipped his chin at the cat. “Shall I put it in the carriage?”
Griff shook his head. “No, I’ll keep her with me. I think she fancies a walk, as well.”
John nodded. “As you say, m’lord.”
Shifting his furry cargo to his other arm, Griffin started up the pavement with brisk steps, enjoying the cool caress of the evening mist on his cheeks. He thought he’d be spending the evening with Jane and had brought the kitten as a gift for her, but she’d taken one look at it and promptly ordered him to take it away. Her response surprised him, and he’d asked her if kittens made her sneeze.
No,she’d said. I simply don’t like cats.
Griffin frowned. “How could she not like you?” he asked the kitten, stroking her soft black fur. She purred and snuggled deeper into the crook of his arm.
Truth be told, he knew next to nothing about cats. He’d never kept one as a pet before and, apart from the toms that prowled the barn and stables at Keswick House, he had very little experience with them. Still, he couldn’t fathom disliking an entire species of animal. He hadn’t bothered to ask Jane why she didn’t like cats. It hardly mattered. He’d been waiting for an excuse to end their arrangement for some time now, and hating cats seemed as good a reason as any.
Honestly, he’d been growing bored with her for some time.
Although, if he was even more honest with himself, he would have to admit that just about everything bored him lately. He didn’t know why.
Dragging in a deep breath, he glanced up at the night sky, surprisingly clear given the fog at his feet. He could even see some of the constellations hanging up there. Cassiopeia, Ursa Major, Andromeda.
“No Orion tonight,” he murmured, scratching the kitten’s chin. “My father would have liked that. Orion was his least favorite constellation, you know. He always felt that of all the Greek characters of myth, Orion was the least deserving of those who’d been immortalized in the sky.”
A worthless scapegrace, he’d liked to call him. Griff smiled. “The only thing that seemed to make my father feel better was that every story written about Orion ended the same way: With Artemis killing him.”
His smile faded as a sharp pang of sorrow pierced his chest. The same pain of loss that struck him even now, twenty years after his father’s sudden death. He was only ten years old when his father died, but he still remembered him, still missed him, though the feeling had softened some over the years.
Sometimes, though—not often, but sometimes—he hated his father for leaving them. Logic told him he hadn’t left intentionally, that he would have stayed had he been given a choice, but logic and grief rarely shook hands.
And he couldn’t help feeling cheated. He would never speak with his father again, would never know him as an adult, would never again have the chance to discuss mythology and astronomy or share his worries or go to him for advice. Life could be deuced unfair sometimes.
The kitten squirmed and Griffin glanced down to find feline eyes peering up at him with keen interest, almost as if she craved more of Orion’s downfall.
“Bloodthirsty little thing, aren’t you?” he said with a chuckle.
The kitten mewled again then stretched a tiny paw out to swipe at the folds of Griff’s silk cravat. He caught her paw gently in his hand and sighed. “What am I to do with you, then?” he mused.
It had never occurred to him that Jane would reject his gift, and he’d made no contingency plan. “Perhaps Mother will take you. Or Emmy.”
So far as he knew, neither his mother nor his sister hated cats. He’d never heard them utter a disparaging remark against them, at least. And he was certain all it would take was one look at her furry little face and any misgivings would fade away.
He arrived home a few minutes later, reaching the top step just as the front door swung open, revealing Winters, the family butler of some forty-odd years.
“Good evening, my lord,” he said, “and welcome home.”
“Thank you, Winters,” Griffin said as the door was shut behind him.
Winters eyed the cat as he collected Griff’s hat and gloves, his curiosity almost palpable in the silence of the entrance hall.
“She’s a gift,” Griff explained. “For my mother.”
“Ah.” Winters stepped back, fussing with the gloves before clearing his throat. “Forgive my impertinence, my lord, but I do hope your gift will lift Her Ladyship’s spirits.”
A smile tugged at Griffin’s lips. “Been a right terror today, has she?”
A mildly pained expression crinkled the older man’s brow, but all he said was, “I will leave you to draw your own conclusions, my lord. She’s been asking for you.”
“Thank you, Winters.”
Griffin turned and carried the kitten up the stairs, shaking his head at his mother’s behavior. Not that he could blame her for being out of sorts. She was cranky because of her injured ankle, and the mandatory bedrest forced upon her. This would make anyone cranky, but it was especially irksome to a woman as active as the Marchioness of Keswick.
Unfortunately, her injury wasn’t the only reason for her ill temper. Guilt tightened his chest and he grimaced. She was displeased with him at the moment and had made little secret of it. She had grown rather desperate for him to marry and his disinterest in taking a wife seemed to confuse her as much as it irritated her.
“I hope you can cheer her up, little one,” he muttered under his breath. Perhaps the kitten would distract her enough that she would forget to lecture him. A man can hope.
Lady Keswick seemed to think she would wear him down, that if she kept asking and prodding, he would finally come to realize she was right, that it was time for him to marry. That, in fact, he couldn’t wait to take a wife and start a family.
The truth was, he simply wasn’t ready for marriage. He had nothing against the institution, and when he was ready to take a wife, he hoped they would be happy together. He had no illusions that he would marry for love, but he knew it could happen. He knew love existed. He’d seen evidence of it with his own parents, before it was all ripped away without warning.
He knew he would have to marry eventually, and he was prepared to do his duty. Someday. But not just yet.
He wasn’t ready to give up his freedom, his fun. He was only thirty years old, for God’s sake; hardly a relic. There would be plenty of time for marriage and begetting heirs later.
He would take a wife when he was good and ready, and his mother would simply have to accept it.
Shifting the kitten to his other arm, he drew in a fortifying breath. What he really wanted was a stiff drink, maybe two, but that would have to wait. It was best for everyone not to keep his mother waiting.
He reached the door to her chambers and, bracing himself, rapped his knuckles on the dense oak.
“Enter,” came her reply.
Griffin went in wearing a smile. Lady Lavinia Keswick did not return it.
“Ah. There you are,” she said coolly from her enormous four-poster bed with its damask drapings and mauve silk coverlet. “I wondered when you would finally pay me a visit. I thought perhaps you had gone to bed without seeing me first.”
Griff swallowed a laugh as he shut the door behind him. Even laid up in bed, wearing a lavender-hued nightdress and a white cap covering her dark hair, Lady Keswick was as imperious as a queen.
“Come now, Mother,” he said, turning to face her with his most disarming smile. “Have I ever done that before?”
She sniffed. “No. But considering your behavior of late, I wouldn’t be a bit surprised by the change.”
The room was dimly lit and smelled of chamomile tea, the fire blazing in the hearth heating the room to near-sweltering, but Griffin knew better than to mention it. Never poke a cranky lioness.
“What is that?” she asked, pointing to the kitten, who was peering about the room with avid interest.
“It’s a cat,” he said. “For you.”
He crossed the room to the bed and gently transferred the little fluffball into his mother’s outstretched hands. She cooed, turning the kitten’s face to hers so she could get a closer look. “Well, aren’t you a precious little thing?” She looked at Griffin, skepticism sharpening her pale blue eyes. “A cat? For me?”
“Well, I, ah...”
Lady Keswick sighed. “Never mind. I don’t think I want to know.”
Relieved at having avoided discussing his mistress with his mother, Griffin sat down beside her on the downy mattress, mindful of her injured ankle. “Now,” he said, “what is it I can do for you?”
“Pardon?” she asked, looking up from the kitten playing in her lap to meet his gaze.
“Winters said you’ve been asking for me. He said you’ve been in an ill temper all day.”
Her gaze fell away, and she lifted one shoulder in a half-shrug. “Can you blame me? I’m bedridden and my own son barely visits me. What is there to be cheerful about?”
“I visited you this morning, didn’t I?”
“Only because I summoned you.”
Griffin bit back a smile. “Well, you’ve summoned me again, and here I am.” And before she could argue further, he reached over and took her by the hand. “Now, is there anything I can do for you? Fluff your pillows? Ring for more tea?”
She hesitated then nodded. “More tea would be nice,” she said. “And…there is one other thing you can do for me.”
Griffin rose to ring the bell for the maid. “Yes? What is it?”
He reclaimed his seat on the bed and his mother pursed her lips, a clear sign of danger to come. “With my injury, I will be laid up for some time,” she said slowly. “And this means I will be unable to act as your sister’s chaperone. Therefore, I will need you to take on the task until I am well again.”
Griffin’s brow knit. “What about Lady Augusta? Can she not escort her around?”
His mother’s gaze was on the kitten, her fingers scratching her chin. “Lady Augusta will be too busy helping me. She feels responsible for my injury and no matter how hard I try, I cannot convince her otherwise. She practically begged me to let her care for me until I am well, and I felt I had no choice but to give in. I could see it was the only way to make her feel better. So, over the next few weeks, she will be here with me.”
The kitten began to move about the coverlet, exploring her new surroundings with unabashed curiosity.
“Would you like me to speak with her?” Griffin asked. “Perhaps I can convince her to abandon the idea.”
Lady Keswick shook her head. “I shouldn’t bother if I were you. Her mind is quite made up.”
“But surely it would be worth a try,” he argued. “I can be rather persuasive when I try.”
She smiled. “I know you can, darling, but not this time. Lady Augusta will not be persuaded.”
“But—”
“Griffin, I am surprised at you,” she scolded, her lips puckering. “It is such a little favor to ask, and I would think you would be happy to spend this time with your beloved sister.”
Well, hell. There was simply no argument against that. “Very well,” he said, suppressing a sigh. “I will do as you ask.”
“Oh, splendid.” Lady Keswick clapped her hands together, a smile gracing her lips. “Emmy was hoping to visit the shops tomorrow. I’ll let her know you have agreed to take them.”
Griffin stilled, a wisp of unease brushing his nape. “Them?”
She nodded, chuckling softly as the kitten attacked a loose thread on the coverlet. “Yes, I believe Olivia would like to go, as well.”
A muscle ticked in his jaw. Damn. He could just about tolerate an afternoon at the shops with his sister, but Olivia Blakely was another matter entirely. She was insufferable.
He’d already promised to go, however, and he always kept his word, so he swallowed the argument on his tongue and gave his mother a tight smile instead. “Fine. I’ll be here.”
Lady Keswick patted him on the hand. “I knew I could count on you.”
Griff huffed out an exasperated laugh. Guilt was a powerful weapon and Lady Lavinia Keswick brandished it like a master.
“Well,” he said, rising to his feet, “I’m tired. I think I’ll retire now.” He leaned down and kissed his mother’s forehead, catching the subtle scent of mint and rose water that never failed to comfort him.
“Sleep well, dear,” she said. “And don’t forget to take your kitten with you.”
“She isn’t my—” The words died the moment his gaze landed on the tiny ball of fluff trotting after him, her tiny paws silent on the coverlet. She looked up at him expectantly and his heart melted a little. A masculine sort of melting, of course.
With a resigned chuckle, he leaned down and scooped the kitten up before turning for the door. “Good night, Mother.”
“Good night, darling.”
Shutting the door softly behind him, Griffin paused in the corridor and glanced down at the purring little mongrel in his arms. He shook his head and sighed.
Damn, but he was a soft touch.