CHAPTER NINE
London, England
Grant knew, before they arrived, the stir they’d cause. Plump, beringed matrons with haughty disdainful looks would gaze clandestinely from luxurious salons and drawing rooms through arched and many-paned windows. Curious maids and butlers would watch, conjecturing among themselves, as six elegant carriages stopped in front of Number 23 Grosvenor Square.
Bored, wealthy, married Ladies and their current court of lovers would stare with disgust upon the scene. So self indulgent were they that anything not directly related to their own benefit must be of the lowest order. Still they would stand witness.
Grant stepped from the carriage, knowing eyebrows would raise and whispers begin. He examined the row of black-lacquered doors with shiny brass knockers and shuddered.
Across the street, a door opened and a retainer scurried out, taking side glances as he went. Curtains in an upper-story window of the same house slid apart. Then another door opened, another curtain moved, as if the tableau had been frozen until their arrival, then brought to life in the next instant.
He handed Patience down from the first carriage. She kept her eyes downcast. Their ride was strained, the silence long. They’d hardly spoken a word since the night before.
“Thank you, Captain, for helping me find a house. You’ve been—” He wanted her to say something meaningful, but sensed she didn’t dare, as should be. What happened between them on the ship was finished. Best forgotten. “You’ve been,” she tried again. “A good friend.”
He winced at her words and handed Sophie and Angel down, Sophie’s enthusiasm bubbling over. “Will we meet the Marquess tomorrow?”
Patience searched his face for a reaction, but he couldn’t stop his scowl.
Grace and Rose waited in the second carriage. Already standing outside the vehicles were maids wearing dull gray or brown redingotes carrying serviceable bags. The last two carriages carried the male servants. Grant instructed them to unload the luggage strapped atop the vehicles.
Patience’s heart accelerated with excitement. Life as she knew it had been truly and forever altered. Back in her own country, she was prepared to find husbands for her girls. She’d see that each was happy before she allowed a match. She wanted nothing less for any of them.
They had a house and servants and tomorrow they’d buy the clothes they needed. She’d find some of Mama’s old friends to sponsor them and secure invitations to the various social events significant to successful husband hunting. “Don’t dawdle, girls,” she said. “Well begun is nearly done.”
As she stepped into the foyer of her fashionable new establishment, maids and manservants filed past seeming to know instinctively where to go.
The girls stopped as one and stood in silent awe. Gilt-edged paintings on cream silk walls, floors of rose-colored marble, and curved staircases, its mahogany rail buffed to a superb sheen, imparted a regal air. The room spoke a refined welcome, silently conveying dignity and grace. Both suddenly seemed to flow through Patience.
The Captain took her arm. “The caretaker lives above the mews out back. The housekeeper, Mrs. Dale, will live in and should arrive soon, along with the cook. Let me show you around.” He opened the first door and bowed her inside. Patience beheld the most beautiful room she had ever seen. “The Rose Drawing Room,” he said.
She wandered inside smiling as she examined the chamber with delight. Old rose, cream and pale fern green predominated. The fashion was soft, comfortable luxury, done simply, but in classic, good taste. “I have the most wonderful sense of arriving home after a long journey,” she said. “This is absolutely perfect.”
“I knew this house would be right for you.”
“You know this house?”
“Yes, I . . .came here once or twice as a lad. The Lady Briarleigh was an old dear. She would have liked you, Patience.”
“She would probably turn over in her grave if she knew I brought four husband-hunting Colonials to live here.”
“No. She was a fighter too. You’ve reminded me of her on more than one occasion.” He looked away from her inquisitive smile. “Let me show you the bedrooms.”
They settled the girls first, each in her own room, to rest, then Grant led Patience down the hall. “What will be your first order of business?”
“New clothes for all of us. As soon as I find out where to purchase them.”
He nodded agreement before indicating a door. “This is your room. It has always belonged to the mistress of Briarleigh.”
“The same colors as the Rose Drawing Room. I love it. Thank you, Captain, for everything.”
He placed his hands on her shoulders, removed them quickly, and turned away. “You don’t have to thank me. We are friends, as you said.”
Friends. She hated that word.
He handed her a card. “Here’s my address in London. Send for me if you need me.”
She couldn’t look in his eyes. Throat aching, she nodded fearing she would weep.
“Walk me downstairs, will you?” he asked.
She nodded, again. As they neared the front door, Grant stopped, hesitated, then swore under his breath. He propelled her into the drawing room with a hand at her elbow and closed the door. He leaned his back against it, closed his eyes for a minute then said emphatically as if to himself, “Just once more.”
Hauling her up against him so hard, she felt gloriously crushed, her feet barely touching the floor, Grant opened his mouth over hers and kissed her with savage heat. “Patience,” he whispered, before his lips forced hers apart in a feverish, nearly-brutal kiss.
Patience lowered her guard and allowed herself to take as desperately as he. He cupped her bottom and held her against him, and she threaded her hands through his thick wavy hair, loving the soft silk. She remembered touching it like this on the dock in America, when he’d slipped her foot into her shoe.
That was the first time. This was the last.
A sob escaped her. Grant pulled her face into his neck, breathing heavily, holding her for a long time—would it ever be long enough? She could feel him swallow hard, his heart thudding against her breast and knew he didn’t want to say good-bye any more than she. Nevertheless, he set her away from him. “Have a wonderful life, Vixen.”
She had been set adrift.
He wrenched the drawing room door open and crossed the foyer, never looking back. Her last impression was of his greatcoat swirling him into foggy oblivion.
Grant had left her forever. And whether Patience wanted it so or not, he left her, nonetheless, altered. Almost dazed, she climbed the stairs, placing one foot, mechanically, after the other, and made it all the way to her room before her pain turned, finally, to a bearable anger. “Damn you to hell, Grant St. Benedict.”
She crossed the elegant bedroom and stopped under the portrait of a handsome rogue in riding clothes. His dark eyes and square jaw reminded her of the Captain, and she sighed. “Face it, Patience, everything reminds you of him.” She sat in a large enveloping chair, curled her legs under her, her head against her arms, and closed her eyes.
Taking a deep relaxing breath, she decided that anger, especially at herself for caring, or at him for not caring, was useless. “No time for foolishness,” she admonished herself. “The girls are looking for titled husbands and we’re finally in London. I’d say we’ve a beginning that bodes well for our success.”
If she meant to forget the snarly Captain, she couldn’t continue to sit here and conjure him up. And since the girls were napping, she decided to explore.
Patience entered the library and gasped at the inviting apartment, all dark, rich wood and sleek, leather-bound books, except she felt as if she was back in the Captain’s cabin. Blast, it even smelled like his cabin. With its big, sweeping window, the look was undeniable, though the view of the garden, as opposed to the open sea, made her feel a bit more secure in her landed world.
Paintings of nautical subjects covered the walls. Ships in bottles, chart
s and image-reflecting, brass-trimmed navigational equipment gleamed on polished surfaces. There, on the sideboard, sat the ever-present decanter with etched glasses to match.
She could almost smell the sea. If she closed her eyes, she was certain the Captain’s own scent—Grant’s scent—would fill her. Contentment and warmth stole over her; the perception was eerie, but it was an impression she savored. Exhausted, unable to fight sleep any longer, Patience curled up in one of the tawny, leather-covered chairs facing the hearth.
She was home.