Cicely handed a cup of tea to her mother. “Has Mr. Grayson responded yet?” Thankfully Papa had intervened when Mama had resisted sending the invitation to Mr. Grayson.
“Yes, Mr. Grayson will dine with us this evening.” Mama took a sip, then set down the thin china cup. “Cicely, I do not know how you could be so interested in a gentleman you’ve only seen on the street.”
“I thought you said you knew the moment you saw Papa he was the right man for you.” She kept her tone as even as possible. If anyone could discover what she had done last night, it would be her mother. Then she really would be in a pickle.
“Well, yes, that’s true.” Mama hid her reaction by drinking more tea. “Yet my father knew Papa’s family.”
“Papa knows of Mr. Grayson’s grandfather,” Cicely said, pointing out the obvious.
“If,” her mother countered, “it is the right Mr. Grayson.”
She knew Mama’s caution came from concern for her only child, but Cicely and Papa had each done their research. He had even discovered Mr. Grayson’s name before she had. “The manager of the Queen said his name was Andrew Grayson, and his manner is that of a gentleman.” Her mother opened her mouth to speak, but Cicely held up her hand. “Please allow me to finish. I looked inDebrett’s. If he is who we think he is, then Mr. Grayson is not only the grandson of Mr. Josiah Beldan of Beldan Shipping, now B and G Shipping, the G standing for Grayson, but the second son of the Earl of Kelston, whose wife is the only child of Mr. Beldan.”
“That is all very well and good, my dear, but—”
“Please, Mama. If heistherightAndrew Grayson, and he likes me as much as I like him, please don’t say we must wait.”
Mama passed a hand over her eyes. “I think you are moving far too swiftly for a gentleman you haven’t even met yet, but if you are correct I will not stand in your way.”
Cicely hid her grin as triumph bubbled inside her.
Andrew. Now that she knew his first name, she could only think of him as such. He had told her last night his maternal grandfather was in shipping, and that he was the second son of an earl.
While they were conducting their research, Papa had made his little joke about not having to pay for a Season, but he was even happier that she might have found a good match. At least he trusted her judgment. Mama, on the other hand, would throw up one obstruction after another, just as she had when Cicely was to have traveled to London for her Season.
Last night when Andrew had hidden her from the intoxicated sailors, she could tell by the way his lips strayed close to hers that he wanted to kiss her but, being a gentleman, had not. Though he did say he’d find her and ask her father if he could call on her. Cicely knew she was right about his identity and her feelings for him. Now if only he felt the same.
Andrew dressed with care for his engagement. Luckily, the Whitecliffs kept what were called country hours, and he was expected at five o’clock. He took up the carefully cut sheet of foolscap that had been tucked in the envelope with the request that he join the Whitecliff family for potluck. The neat copperplate writing pleased his orderly soul as much as the message did.
Dear Mr. Grayson,
Perhaps you will remember a lady with an insightful mind.
The note was unsigned. He’d wondered how he was to find her and was happy she’d found him first and had chosen a solution that would be comfortable for them both. What was even better was the letter of introduction Andrew had from his grandfather to Mr. Whitecliff. That would give him more than a little standing with his lady’s family. Though Andrew understood her caution, he had little doubt of his attraction to the lady.
After donning his hat, he picked up his cane. The porter gave him directions up a nearby step street, the same one as last night. Will may have spent his life running from the parson’s mousetrap, but Andrew was only waiting for the right woman.
Unlike last evening, he could see the bushes with colorful flowers that lined the way, and stood as a buffer between the walls punctuated by wooden doors. They must lead to the other houses bordering the street. When he reached the top, he turned left, and immediately entered a courtyard. Partially hidden behind a gate, a set of stairs ran down alongside the house. He wondered where they went.
Unfamiliar spices emanated from a stone building at the end of the courtyard, opposite the house. In front of him was a long one-story building with doors and windows.
The darkest butler he’d ever seen opened the door.
“Mr. Grayson?” the man asked in an English accent.
“Yes.” He handed the butler his hat and cane.
“Very good, sir, the family is waiting for you in the drawing room.”
He straightened his shoulders and found he was a bit nervous. Not unexpected, considering he’d never courted a woman before.
“Don’t let Mr. Whitecliff scare you off,” the butler said confidingly. “Miss Whitecliff is his only child, and he’s right protective of her. We all are.”
It didn’t surprise him at all that the servants knew what was afoot, and Andrew could recognize a warning when he heard one: Don’t be afraid, but treat Miss Whitecliff respectfully. “Thank you.”
The servant led him down a short corridor to a good-sized room resembling nothing more than an indoor terrace. Italian marble paved the floor. Across the room, openings that were similar to French windows yet without the glass, reached to the ceiling and allowed a cooling breeze from the harbor to drift around him. Decorative wrought-iron rails affixed across the openings stood waist high to protect anyone from falling out.
The butler announced him and left.
