Chapter 9 #3
“We have plenty of time. In fact, Mrs. Grant had a matter to attend to, and I am waiting for her to finish.” She crossed her arms and looked up at him. “Now, I assume you are here to apologize to Miss Grant.”
Garret opened his mouth to say he knew not what when he spotted a small figure moving across the far end of the foyer. The person was dressed in livery. His family livery. And he—she—was creeping past the stairs and toward an open doorway. “Archer,” he swore under his breath.
“Pardon?” his mother asked. She began to turn, and Garret put a hand on her shoulder.
“Mama, I am so glad you are here because there is something I have wanted to speak to you about.” He glanced at Tamsin, who had stopped completely in her tracks and was staring at him wide-eyed.
“Is it about how to beg Miss Grant’s forgiveness for whatever you did to make her weep last night?” she asked suspiciously.
“No.” With his free hand, he motioned to Tamsin to go back downstairs. She would be caught any moment when the butler returned, and then they’d both be in trouble.
She shook her head and started for the open door again. Garret gestured to her more firmly.
“What are you—” His mother began to turn around, and Garret grabbed her other shoulder. “It’s about Mariah, Mama. I am worried about her.”
His mother stared at him. “Why? Mariah is quite well. You, on the other hand—”
“I just think she is”—he raised his voice—“making a big mistake.”
Tamsin had stopped to stare at him again. She gestured to his mother, who he was still holding by the shoulders, and mouthed, Your mother?
Behind his mother’s back he pointed to the floor, indicating she should go back downstairs. Tamsin held up a finger, which clearly meant one moment. Christ, but he could murder the chit.
“What is wrong with you?” His mother put a hand on his forehead. “You are making no sense. Are you ill?”
“No.”
Tamsin slipped through the open door, and Garret wanted to curse.
He bit his tongue instead and released his mother.
“Then tell me what mistake Mariah is making, and while you’re at it, explain why you are at the Grant residence at an hour when you are usually still abed.
” Then her eyes widened. “Garret, you are not thinking of…” She lowered her voice to a whisper.
“Are you here to speak with Mr. Grant? Are you asking for his permission to marry his daughter?”
Garret wanted to say yes. That was the perfect response. His mother would leave him to it, and he could follow Tamsin and see what she was up to. If she stole one single item from this house, he would have her head.
But he couldn’t lie to his mother and buoy her hopes.
He looked into her green eyes and couldn’t think of a lie.
Even if he had thought of one, she’d see right through him.
She always had. He’d just have to tell her the truth about the muck of things he’d made with Lady Callista, and how he’d been driving around Town with Tamsin acting as his tiger, and how she was the woman he wanted, even though it would never work—
“Mr. Kildare, I did not expect you would actually make an appearance,” came a woman’s voice. Descending the grand staircase dressed in a pale green morning gown was Mrs. Grant. “I supposed you were jesting last night, though I confess, I could not see the humor. But apparently you were serious.”
Garret bowed to Mrs. Grant, and beside him his mother gave him a bewildered look before curtsying.
“Ah, Lady Glenister.” Mrs. Grant crossed the foyer, her butler behind her, and gave Garret and his mother a curtsy.
“Thank you for coming to collect me. Did you also wish to speak to our chimney sweep?”
“I—no, thank you.” Garret’s mother gave him a look. “I do not understand.”
“Your son asked to come and interview our chimney sweep this morning,” Mrs. Grant said. “He had all sorts of questions about the profession at the dinner party last night. He perhaps spoke of it too much.”
“He…” His mother’s brow was low. “He did?”
“It’s a topic of interest to me, Mama,” Garret said. “I won’t keep you ladies from the veterans.”
But his mother did not move. “You are interested in chimney sweeps? Is that why you were asking Mrs. Ashworth about them the other day? Really, Gearoid, I do not know what has gotten into you lately.”
“I confess,” Mrs. Grant said, “I thought this might be some sort of ploy to call on my daughter. Then I would have to disappoint Mr. Kildare.” Garret noted the small smile on Mrs. Grant’s lips.
“Why is that?” his mother asked, clearly noting the smile as well.
“This is not public knowledge yet,” Mrs. Grant said, lowering her voice. “But I think I can trust you.”
Tamsin emerged from the chamber she’d entered, and Garret caught his breath as she started up the stairs. All Mrs. Grant or her butler need do is turn slightly to see her.
“Can I not trust you, Mr. Kildare?” Mrs. Grant asked.
“Pardon?” He dragged his gaze back to her. “Of course you can. I was thinking of something else.” Or someone else. What the devil was Tamsin about now? “I’d never tell a lady’s secrets,” he said, giving her his most charming smile.
Mrs. Grant moved a little closer. “The Times will have the notice tomorrow. When we returned from the dinner party last night, Penelope wrote directly to her suitor and accepted his proposal. Penelope is engaged.”
“Really?” his mother asked in surprise.
“Yes, her only request—and Mr. Kildare, you may appreciate this—was that he form a benevolent society for the care of chimney sweeps. Apparently, your little speech last night encouraged Penelope to agree to the marriage so she might use her dowry to help the poor souls.”
“What?” Garret demanded. Jesus Christ. Not only had he not secured the hand of an heiress, he’d driven her into the arms of another man.
He cleared his throat. “I mean, that is brilliant news for Miss Grant and the children. Might I inquire as to the identity of Miss Grant’s betrothed?
” Whoever the man was, agreeing to create a benevolent society was nothing compared to the wealth he’d inherit when he married Miss Grant.
“I don’t think I should say.” Mrs. Grant’s smile was wide. She very clearly wanted to say. “But I can tell you her betrothed is a duke. Tomorrow you shall read which one.”
Garret and his mother exchanged a look. There were not many dukes in search of a wife, and only one who was rumored to need money.
That was the Duke of Oxfordshire, a man of fifty or so who had several crumbling estates and a mountain of debt from his profligate ancestors.
Poor Miss Grant, Garret thought. Saddled with a man old enough to be her father and forced to live in a drafty old pile.
“Felicitations,” Garret said.
“Yes,” his mother concurred. “We shall call on Penelope tomorrow to give her our best wishes,” his mother said, sounding very sincere.
“Thank you, Caroline. I know in a few years I shall be wishing your daughter happy.” Mrs. Grant took his mother’s arm, and they started away. Almost as an afterthought, she looked back. “Jills, could you take Mr. Kildare to speak to the chimney sweep?”
Garret gave Mrs. Grant a bow, and his mother threw him a look that said we will discuss this later. Then the butler opened the door for them, while Garret searched the gallery above for any sign of Tamsin. By now she could be anywhere in the house.
“The chimney sweep is not here at present. He left his climbing boys,” the butler said, catching Garret’s attention. “Would you like to wait to speak to the sweep?”
Garret hesitated. Did he wait and hope Snoozer appeared or had Tamsin already discovered who the sweep was and gone in search of her sister and brother?
In that case, they might need a quick escape.
“Thank you, no. I’ll take my leave.” The butler saw him out, and Garret went to stand beside the curricle, impatiently waiting for Tamsin to return.
He expected to feel annoyed at the news of Miss Grant’s engagement.
Instead, he felt relief that he did not need to waste his time courting her, especially if she had been after a duke all along.
He, the younger son of an Irish lord, wouldn’t have stood a chance.
Where did that leave him as far as the heiress hunt? And where the devil was Tamsin?
He paced in front of his curricle, expecting Tamsin to race out at any moment, a fleet of angry servants on her heels.
But when she finally did emerge, it was quietly.
No one chased her as she closed the door to the servants’ entrance and skipped up the steps.
In fact, she looked happier than he’d ever seen her.
Christ, but she was pretty when her eyes lit up like that, cheeks pink and eyes bright.
“Don’t start yelling,” she said.
Garret blinked, trying to organize his thoughts into any semblance of coherence. All he could really seem to focus on was the fact that he wanted to kiss her. “What were you thinking?” he asked, though he couldn’t summon any heat in his voice.
“I think I found them,” she said. Garret was about to ask for details, but he saw a curtain in one of the house’s windows move and knew they were being observed.
“We can’t speak here. Let’s go.”
To his surprise, she performed her duty as a groom admirably and was soon on the platform behind him.
She really was a quick learner, and she’d apparently forgotten her fear of horses.
Or she was simply too happy to remember to be afraid.
As he drove away from Grosvenor Square, he found himself wishing he had been the one to make her smile like that.
He wanted to be the reason she was happy.
Maybe he could be if he could help her find her siblings.
“Where are you taking us?” she asked as he turned down a street.
“Somewhere you can tell me what you found out,” he said. “We’ll be there in a few minutes.” He just hoped they would have the place to themselves, while at the same time hoping they wouldn’t. Being alone with her was dangerous.