CHAPTER THIRTEEN
That man had damned well better be me!
For two days, the memory of Grant’s words tortured Patience with images best left unimagined, but like sustenance, they fed her.
Gazing at her reflection in the cheval glass, she frowned. She was supposed to be dressing for her birthday, not mooning into a looking glass. At her age, besotted like a child with a first crush.
She should know better. She was on the shelf and happy for it. And today she was of a mind to celebrate the occasion.
She took up her hairbrush. She’d celebrated her last upon the sea heading for an arranged marriage. The one before that in Arundel with Aunt Harriette eating mutton stew with fresh-baked bread. Now that she thought on it, that one had been special, considering the circumstances. There had even been a plum tart for dessert and a warm scarf for the winter.
She sat on her bed, lip between her teeth, regret for her selfish, angry childhood filling her. She picked up a cooling cup of tea and sipped absently. No wonder Aunt’s resentment for a brother-in-law who squandered every coin and left his only daughter destitute. Her frustration at being unable to provide must surely have added to her anger. The days of fasting for little sins would have stretched their food. Patience recognized the ploy. When she’d asked recently about the pup that disappeared, her Aunt confessed she couldn’t afford to feed him and gave him to a good family.
Most titled ladies in Society would never make the kind of sacrifices Aunt Harriette had. Thank God for an aunt who loved too much to be conventional.
Patience realized her hate had been born when she’d heard her aunt say her father had as good as killed his wife and sons too. She shouldn’t have been listening, she knew, because hearing and understanding are very different, especially when you’re twelve and you’ve just lost your parents.
She placed her cup in its saucer and stood to smooth her gown. Recent days with Aunt Harriette were ones of revelation and love. And this would be a special birthday, because Grant would be here. He was bringing his father, of all people, a man she hadn’t known existed. Grant said they’d recently mended past differences, and that he had her and Aunt Harriette to thank for the example.
Rose was happy Shane was coming. Patience didn’t know why he hadn’t asked Rose to marry him yet, but he’d better ask soon, especially with an expected baby.
Patience had told Aunt Harriette she was inviting the men for Rose’s sake. Of course, it was just as much for herself as Rose, but she refused to feel guilty. It was her birthday after all. Anyway, she hadn’t the slightest intention of ending her friendship with Grant—if friendship it was.
After his suggestion that she take him to her bed if she intended to take anyone, she’d spent so much time considering it, she could not get it out of her head.
A clock chimed somewhere in the house. “Oh, Lord. I’ve a party to attend.” She adjusted the skirts on a gown of bishop’s blue taffeta shot with silver threads, like dancing stars on a night dark sea. The fabric had been one of Grant’s particular choices at Madame Lambert’s. Her thoughts centered on bold suggestion as himself for her lover, Patience descended the stairs with a bemused smile.
“I told you she was beautiful,” Grant said. His deep throaty chuckle at her blush making her heart beat faster.
Beside Grant stood a tall, dark-haired man. Though gray peppered his hair, and he stood a bit thick about the middle, his arrogance and bearing said he could only be Grant’s father. Aunt Harriette beamed as she stood beside them. Shane’s blonde good looks were alien to his family coloring. She’d have to ask Grant about their mother.
Patience curtseyed before the older gentleman.
“Patience, my father, Brian Garrick.”
The man bowed and took her hand. “My dear, your beauty does a man’s heart proud. My sons have their father’s taste in women.”
Harriette laughed. “Hardly old, dear man.” She tapped his arm playfully with her fan. “Come along now. We can await Rose and the others in the drawing room.”
It was soon apparent thatGrant’s father loved Rose.
He declared his approval of both his sons’ choices in women, giving Patience the uncomfortable notion he thought she and Grant were a couple. “Grant and I are just friends,” she said, finding his laugh as annoying as his son’s.
“There is nothing funny about it. We are simply friends.”
The older man waved away her protest. “Of course, my dear.” He shook his head at his oldest. “Knowing Grant, I understand only too well.”
“That will be enough,” Grant said.
“Mr. Garrick,” Sophie said, “How is it that you and your sons do not have the same last name?”
Grant looked as if he’d like to turn Sophie over his knee.
Brian smiled. “Garrick is our last name. Shane and Grant chose to use my mother’s family name for their . . .careers on the sea. St. Benedict is their middle name. A simple matter to drop the Garrick.”
Patience did not comprehend the undercurrents passing between father and son.
Grant placed his hand on her shoulder. “I think you should open your gifts.”
“Splendid idea,” Sophie agreed.
Patience would never stop thanking Providence for the girl’s enthusiasm. It had filled many a tense moment.
Grant sat on the arm of her chair. She opened Sophie’s gift first. “A silver name brooch. It’s lovely.” She attempted to pin it to the bodice of her dress, but could not secure it.
Grant leaned close to maneuver the clasp, slipping his fingers inside the neck of her gown to anchor it. Until Aunt Harriette coughed discreetly, Patience had not been conscious of the impropriety. From Grant’s look, neither had he. He raised his eyes, wide and suddenly aware, to hers.
She asked with her look, ‘What shall we do now?’
With a wink, his expression said, ‘Leave it to me.’
“There, all fixed,” Grant said moving back to his perch. “It’s lovely, but, Sophie, the spelling is wrong.”
Patience examined the pin in confusion.
“It should be spelled: I M P A T I E N C E.”
Patience elbowed him, approved his grunt then she returned to opening her gifts. Delighted with her scent bottle from Grace and the cameo from her aunt, she turned to Rose and Shane’s gift. The large box had intrigued her into saving it till last.
Drawing the crystal decanter from the box, Patience gasped. With a cut nautical design and leather holder, the carafe was exactly like the one aboard the Knave’s Secret. “It’s beautiful.” She remembered raising it to throw at Grant the day he gave her the bath.
Shane beamed. “To remind you always that Grant didn’t trade his best first mate for good French brandy.” He took Rose’s hand. “From both of us. You should always have brandy around for when my brother visits.”
His words lessened her pleasure in the gift. She would leave it on display. Whether she would ever fill it was another question. But she thanked them each with a kiss. “It reminds me of our voyage. Thank you.”
“One more,” Grant said as he went to fetch his gift for her. He placed a willow basket, soft pink fleece covering it, with a white rose on top, in her lap.
Patience picked up the rose, looked into his eyes and was lost. Another of Aunt Harriette’s well-placed coughs broke the spell. “Thank you,” she said, not certain who she thanked.
“I couldn’t get you a rose garden for your birthday,” Grant said, husky-voiced. “So the rose must be a symbol.” He removed the fleece from the basket. There, curled in the center, lay a sleeping kitten, a ball of white angora, a bow twice its size about its neck. Patience lifted the tiny creature with a squeal. No larger than her hand, the kitten yawned mightily as she pressed it to her heart.
“Patience, the bow is the color of your hair,” Grace said.
Patience tilted her head at Grant in silent question.
“They’ll probably take bets at my club as to what idiotic thin
g I’ll do next. I went to two dressmakers before I found the right color. There is no color called foxpelt.” He nudged the kitten under its chin. “Open those big eyes, Fluffball, and let your mistress take a look.” The feline complied and meowed as it gazed up at her. “Green eyes, just like yours. I couldn’t resist.”
Patience touched the fuzzy mite to her neck and rubbed her chin gently against the velvet fur. Grant was a beautiful man with a heart to match. “Thank you. I think I’ll call . . .him?”
“Her.”
“I’ll call her Snowdrop,” Patience said, pleased with her choice. “Delicate white flowers that brave a spring snow. Precious but hearty, white on white, like my kitten.”
“Snowdrop,” Grant said, “I like it.”
Shane coughed. “That’s ‘Lady Snowdrop’ to you.”
Grant raised a critical brow at his brother who chuckled, along with Angel and Sophie.
Patience decided to ask him about that later.
“Now, all you need is a house and a rose garden,” Grant said, and Patience’s joy in the evening dimmed. He wanted her settled so he could go about his life. Was she holding him back?
“Does anyone know where Angel is? She has a present for Patience too,” Sophie said.
As if she heard them, Angel came rushing in, out-of-breath and rosy-cheeked, package in hand. “I’m sorry I’m late. I was just getting some air.”
“Were you running, dear?” Aunt Harriette asked.
Angel laughed, a false sound, which made Patience examine her face.
“Here Patience. I bought this on Portobello Road the other day from a lovely old lady who promised good fortune and happiness to the person who received it.”
Patience looked for a place to put Snowdrop, took Grant’s hand, turned it palm-up and placed the kitten into it. She thought the sight rather adorable—the man not the cat—his hand filled with a drowsy feline sporting a huge copper bow.
Angel’s gift was hidden inside an oval box covered with cloth-of-gold which Patience thought very pretty. She opened the lid and raised a porcelain figurine for everyone to see. “Angels playing on a cloud. It’s beautiful.”
“There are four, see?” Angel said. “One for Grace, Rose, Sophie and me, your four angels.”
Grant’s bark of laughter startled Snowdrop, who jumped to Angel’s skirt before it flew toward Aunt Harriette.
Aunt Harriette screeched and knocked over the tea things, spurring the kitten to greater speed. The frightened fluffball knocked a vase off a table before scurrying up the curtains where it finally came to rest, shivering at the top.
A rusty masculine chuckle began, and grew, to become a great gust of hearty laughter.
A jolt of shock surged through Grant. He looked at Shane, just as surprised. They watched mesmerized as booming laughter came from their sober, unsmiling, father. The man laughed so hard, he might injure himself.
When Grant recovered sufficiently, he saw Patience on a wobbly chair trying to reach the kitten. “Will you wait a minute, you little idiot.” He arrived in time to catch her as she tumbled into his arms.
“See?” he scolded even as he hugged her.
“You frightened me. I would have been fine.”
His father laughed again. Shane, too. Grant turned, Patience still in his arms, to watch. How boring his life must have been before the advent of Patience and her angels. Setting her on her feet, Grant rescued Snowdrop from her perch and placed her safely in her mistress’s waiting arms.
When everyone was settled again, he felt a strong need to hear more of his father’s laughter. “Father. Have I told you about Horatio?” And so began several hours of stories concerning the girls’ beginnings, their journey on the Knave’s Secret and their adventures in London.
In the recounting, the adventures, though in actuality often ordeals, became merry frolic, and no one laughed more than his father who dabbed at his eyes so often, they were red. Embroidered tales continued through dinner and after.
“You’ll be at our ball on Saturday, Mr. Garrick?” Harriette asked as the men left.
“Certainly, my Lady. Wouldn’t miss it. Anything involving ‘the Angels’ is sure to be entertaining. Until then.” His father bowed and kissed Aunt Harriette’s hand.
Grant bid her a sober farewell, a rare occasion where no kiss was shared in the leaving. He saw disappointment reflected in her eyes.
“Thank you for Snowdrop.”
He was uncomfortable with the look on her face, her yearning as intense as his. “You’ll have everything you need to set yourself up after the girls are settled.” He hated how he sounded.
“Yes,” Patience said, struggling to keep her smile. She cuddled the kitten closer. Grant wished it was him.
“Come along now,” his father urged.