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“I don’t care for him by half.”
“I appreciate your candor, young woman.” The widow cackled with apparent glee. “However, it seems to me you’re both cut from the same cloth. That being said, I would caution that both you and he will need to call a truce for Christmastide.”
What exactly did that mean? Felicity frowned. “Why? I’m perfectly able to avoid him whenever possible. I’ll still do my duty toward you, and you can spend time with him whenever you see fit.”
“Why? Let’s just say it’s my whim.” Once more she pulled to a halt and faced Felicity. Her expression was as somber as she’d ever seen it. “It’s time to put merriment and gaiety back in my life, especially since Bartholomew has returned home, and with a child to boot.” Then her eyes brightened, and she lifted her free hand in greeting. “Ah, there he is now.”
Anxiety tightened in Felicity’s belly even as tingles of anticipation danced down her spine. For whatever reason, arguing with the man was exhilarating.
“Good afternoon, Bartholomew,” Mrs. Grayson greeted with a smile.
“Hullo, Mother.” Then he glanced at Felicity, and his smile faded into a frown. “Miss Cowan.”
“Captain Grayson,” she bit off, and was immediately discomfited when her gaze accidentally met his. Cold annoyance roiled in those blue depths. “I understand you’ve pledged time with your mother.”
“I have. Do you take exception to that?” Already, a trace of annoyance had set up in his voice. To say nothing of the downturn to his mouth, which was too bad, for he had nicely sensuous lips. The sort of lips that might be made for kissing…
Get hold of yourself, Felicity! You despise this man. And she’d rather remain an unwanted spinster instead of finding herself alone with someone as rude and uncouth as him. She shook her head to clear the thoughts. “Of course not. She should spend the afternoon with you.”
“I quite agree,” the widow interrupted with her usual lack of tact. “My son is at last home. That is a miracle, and I wish to revel in it.” The older woman bounced her gaze between Felicity and the captain. “Because of this, I want the two people most important in my life to rub along together.”
Captain Grayson scoffed. “I’m quite sure we can be civil, Mother.”
“I can, of course, but it remains to be seen if he can,” she added, and then at once wished she could recall those words when he glanced at her. Annoyance shadowed those stormy blue depths.
“If my attitude is lacking, perhaps you should think about why that is, since you are the one who brings out my prickles,” the captain tossed off, and there wasn’t a modicum of friendship in his expression. “With everyone else, I’m quite personable.”
Felicity’s bottom jaw dropped. She closed it with a snap. “How dare—”
“Enough, Miss Cowan.” Mrs. Grayson put a hand on her arm while she rapped her son’s with the head of her cane. “That’s outside of enough, Bartholomew.” She pinned each of them with a hard look in turn. “As you’ve probably noticed, I’ve had the butler and footmen drag some decorations out of the attic from years past. I’m making an effort this Christmastide to do it up festively for Luke’s sake as well as mine. Decorating should commence this afternoon.”
“Mother—”
“But Mrs. Grayson, I—”
She shook her head. “I won’t hear another word of protest from either of you. I’ve also ordered the staff to put balls of mistletoe in all the lower rooms.”
The captain snorted. “For what purpose? It’s not needed until the night of your planned ball.”
Felicity gaped at them. “You’re throwing a ball?” Never would she have guessed her employer would go that far. It simply was out of character for her.
“She is, indeed. On Christmas Eve,” Captain Grayson imparted. When he and she exchanged an incredulous look, some of the annoyance stuck in Felicity’s chest faded. “I don’t know what worm has got into her head, for she’s never done this before.”
“A woman is allowed to change her mind, Bartholomew. And as I said before, I wish to celebrate your safe return as well as show Luke that life is so much better than what he was given onboard your ship.”
“I could hardly bedeck the ship, Mother.” His tone suggested even the thought of that was so absurd that the corners of Felicity’s lips twitched.
“It doesn’t matter, but I’m quite adamant about enjoying everything this season can hold. To that end, at some point, I demand the two of you call a truce, for I won’t live with all this animosity. It’s not good for the digestion.” She wagged a finger at them both. “Perhaps you should kiss beneath some of that mistletoe. One of the poor footmen has been sent to scour Hyde Park for the plant.”
What the devil was she on about? Felicity shook her head. “I don’t think that’s appropriate.”
The captain objected hard on her heels. “Absolutely not.”
She eyed him askance. He needn’t say it so vehemently. It wasn’t as if she were an ogre or had an ugly wart at the end of her nose.
Mrs. Grayson thumped the end of her cane against the ground. “You are children, nothing more, I’d swear it, with these squabbles.” For long moments she stared at them both until Felicity looked away with heated cheeks as if she’d been chastised in the schoolroom. “If you don’t kiss and make some sort of inroads into being pleasant for the Christmastide holidays, I’ll make everyone’s life miserable, from the servants all the way to the Archbishop of Canterbury if I need to.” Her faded blue eyes flashed with aggravation, but beneath that strong emotion was another, more fragile one, and it pulled at Felicity’s heart.
Perhaps all the widow wanted indeed this year was a return to happier times when she might remember her husband fondly and hoped that her son might do the same.
