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Chapter Six
Bartholomew frowned. He nearly bit his tongue in half trying not to voice an objection to helping with the decorating. But he’d promised his mother he’d make an effort to do the pretty with Miss Cowan as well as go along with her ideas for a festive holiday season.
What the devil had gotten loose in his mother’s brain, he’d never know, but she was getting up in years and perhaps this was a symptom of her mind beginning to go.
Regardless, no sooner had he finished his first cup of tea than his managing mother demanded he find the butler and a couple of footmen—as well as a ladder—for she wanted to have the decorating well underway before dinner was called.
“What the devil do you want me to do from up here?” he finally asked, for he stood midway up the ladder with a heaping box of fir boughs perched precariously on the top. One of the younger footmen occupied a similar position on a second ladder across the drawing room while the butler handed him up various bits of greenery.
From her favorite low sofa, his mother waved a hand. “You know, decorate. Festoon the room in a pleasing manner with the greenery so we don’t look like we were raised by wolves once we have guests over for the ball on Christmas Eve.”
“Right.” Unaccountably, his gaze jogged to Miss Cowan. After they’d talked briefly on the walk back to the house earlier, some of his anger toward her had faded. Perhaps they’d misunderstood each other from the first, for she didn’t seem a managing baggage nor was she the harpy he’d assumed. Perhaps she’d never set out to antagonize him to begin with, but when his gaze connected with hers as she watched him from a chair with her teacup raised midway to her mouth, he changed his mind. There was too much determination in the tilt of her pert chin and the sparkle in her deep brown eyes spoke of trouble if he stepped out of line. “Miss Cowan, do you have any advice in how I should drape this plant life?”
Slowly, she shook her head. “I couldn’t say, Captain Grayson. I’ve not had cause to decorate in my adult life, so I’ll defer to your mother’s tastes.”
Of course she would. Heaven forbid anyone defy Mother. He glanced at the second footman assigned to assist him. The poor young man shrugged and cast a terrified glance at Bartholomew’s mother. Damn, but she’d managed to cow everyone within her employ.
Except the companion. Interesting.
So, he took a hammer and some tacks in hand and fell to work making large arcs with some of the more trailing greenery. The strong scents of pine and evergreen filled his nostrils. It was so foreign to his senses he almost rebelled with it, for he vastly preferred salt-tinged breezes and the smell of sunbaked sand or even the soapy aroma of a just-swabbed deck. “By the by, Mother, you realize we do not have a ballroom in this townhouse, don’t you?” Their address in Grosvenor Square wasn’t luxurious enough or large enough to host such a thing.
Thank God.
She snorted. The clack of her ivory knitting needles punctuated the sound. “What does that matter, when we have a large enough drawing room?” When she pointed a needle at him, she shook her head. “We’ll simply roll up the carpets and have the furniture removed for the evening. It will fit our purposes, for the ball won’t be as large as those thrown by the haute ton.”
That didn’t comfort him. “Do you even know enough people to invite to such a social gathering?”
“Of course I do, young man.” She resumed work on the bright red muffler that was nearing completion. “In fact, Felicity is putting together a preliminary guest list for me.”
Miss Cowan nodded. “I’ll continue that as soon as I finish tea, Mrs. Grayson.”
“Of course you will, dearie.”
That didn’t comfort him either, for the last thing he wished to do was socialize with a group of people with whom he wasn’t acquainted. Knowing his mother, she’d invite eligible females in the hopes he’d choose one for a bride. “Where’s Luke? I told him I could use his assistance with this task.”
“He’s supposed to be having a bath. The tailor will be here in an hour, and the last time I had the man in, Luke was so dirty I didn’t wish for the poor tailor to drape fabrics over his person for fear the boy would sully them.”
The corners of Bartholomew’s lips twitched. “Yes, well, personal hygiene habits are something he does need to learn. Such things weren’t possible on the ship.”
“Once he’s finished and the tailor arrives, I’ll supervise ordering a new wardrobe. I’m hoping to make a little gentleman out of him before I’m through.”
“No doubt you will.” Come hell or high water. He shot another glance to Miss Cowan, whose eyes twinkled with amusement.
It was tedious business tacking up greenery, climbing down the ladder, moving the ladder, climbing back up, and tacking more greenery. He reached the halfway point at the windows the same time the butler’s team did, and a look at the carriage-style clock on the mantle showed it was nearing the five o’clock hour. “Perhaps you should return to your duties,” he told the servants, for his mother had long deserted the room, no doubt on the intention of seeing Luke properly clothed in everything he’d need.
“Thank you, Captain Grayson,” the butler said with a grateful expression. “Dinner is coming soon, and I do have many other duties to attend.”
“Don’t we all,” Bartholomew murmured. “However, I still have those fir boughs to place on the mantle.” He pointed to yet another box brimming with pine limbs.
“I understand, sir. If your mother doesn’t mind, I’ll begin placing the mistletoe tomorrow morning, to say nothing of decorating the remainder of the rooms in the house.”
Knots of foreboding pulled in his belly. “The rest of the rooms?”
“Oh, yes, sir. Mrs. Grayson has demanded all rooms in the townhouse have some sort of holiday decorations in them. She even mentioned something about dragging in trees later in the month like they do in the Bavarian style.”
“What the devil for?”
The butler shrugged. “Who can say? She is eccentric.” Then he left the room, trailed by the two footmen holding one of the ladders between them.
