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Chapter Nine
December 20, 1817
Bartholomew was still at loose ends the next day. So much so that it took three attempts at creating a specific knot in his cravat. Which was odd, for he’d tied that same bloody knot hundreds of times in his lifetime, but today the skill escaped him. After a string of cursing and a vow to perhaps see about hiring a part time valet, he finally mastered it.
Then he peered at himself in the mirror above his washstand. What the devil is wrong with me?
Oh, but he knew. It was Miss Cowan. His mind was full of her, especially after that quick kiss in the hired hack yesterday. There was something about her that practically begged him to discover more about her. And damned if he couldn’t wait to see her don that crimson gown for Christmas Eve.
If he’d been on board his ship, he’d swear he’d contracted scurvy, for his mind was no longer his own. He’d become addlepated, and all due to one plain companion he apparently couldn’t keep his hands from.
Devil take me.
With a half-strangled cry of frustration, he left his bedroom with the intent to indulge in a nice luncheon and a few tankards of ale at his favorite tavern and perhaps forget about certain sparkling brown eyes and golden tresses he’d spent entirely too many hours wondering how long they were and whether they curled down her back.
But as he arrived at the drawing room, the sound of voices inside made him pause outside the door. His mother currently groused to Miss Cowan. When he peeked into the room, the companion paced in some agitation in front of the fireplace, a sheaf of papers in her hand.
“I don’t know why your son had handkerchiefs delivered to me, Mrs. Grayson.” Exasperation rang in her voice, a sure sign she’d already covered the topic with his mother. Perhaps multiple times. “He sent you a box of them too. No doubt he was being kind and they are quite pretty. I’ve never had handkerchiefs so fine.”
Bartholomew’s chest warmed with the knowledge that Miss Cowan liked the small token offering. There was no mistaking the smile in her voice. He’d done that, put that modicum of joy into her life.
“I suppose, and every woman needs such things, but after the flowers from yesterday, it’s much too extravagant.” His mother sniffed as if the gifts had personally affronted her. “So much expense.” She poked at a flat, square box on the table with a knitting needle. A pristine handkerchief, trimmed with delicate lace, tumbled over the edge. “It’s odd, I tell you.”
Miss Cowan made a soft sound so reminiscent of the near purr of pleasure she’d uttered in the hired hack yesterday that Bartholomew was well on his way to building into a raging cockstand right there in the corridor. “Your son is a kind, decent man. Why not give him that credit?”
“Kind and decent he may be, but he needs the love of a good woman, and I want grandchildren.” She pointed a knitting needle at her companion. “I’ll have to push him because Lord knows your love life is the epitome of boring.”
“Romance and finding a spouse aren’t the pinnacles of a person’s existence, Mrs. Grayson.”
“Well, it’s nothing to shy away from either, especially at your age.” His mother heaved a long-suffering sigh. “You’re distracted again, girl. I like it when you argue with me and you’re not giving me that satisfaction today.”
From the corridor, Bartholomew pointed his gaze to the ceiling as he shook his head. Could his mother show compassion just once?
“Of course I’m distracted.” Annoyance sounded in Miss Cowan’s tones, and he once more peered into the room. She waved the papers she held, but there was a healthy blush in her cheeks. Did she think about that kiss from yesterday? “I have a whole shipment gone missing as well as only receiving half of another.” Then she folded everything and stuffed the papers into her reticule. “I must run to my father’s shipping office, but I’ll return as soon as I can.”
“Young woman, we’ve talked about this and now your little hobby is interfering with your work for me.” Genuine irritation rang through his mother’s tones. “There is still much to do before Christmas Eve.”
Miss Cowan huffed in apparent frustration. “I’m aware of that, but this cannot be helped.” She came close to his mother, bent, and then bussed her cheek. “I promise to come back soon.”
He barely had time to duck out of the way before she swept from the room. Never once did she turn her head or glance his way so great was her distress regarding the mess of her shipments. Only then did he enter the drawing room. “Good morning, Mother.”
“It’s noon, boy. No longer morning. You tarried that away.” The sound of her knitting needles clacking conveyed her ire. “Where have you been?”
“I took my customary morning walk with Luke. Then, because a bird decided to defecate on the shoulder of my jacket, that necessitated the need to change my attire upon arriving home.” The boy had laughed at the situation, which had put them both in a good humor. “I left Luke to his own devices before his tutor arrives.”
“None of that interests me.” She waved a knitting needle at him until he came around so she could see him better. “What the devil is wrong with you?”
Bartholomew frowned, for aside from Miss Cowan’s sudden departure, he had no idea what had got his mother’s dander up this time. “What do you mean?”
She pointed to the box of handkerchiefs. “You bought her a gift.”
“So I did, but I also gave you the same thing. Surely that’s not a crime.” He ignored the heat creeping up the back of his neck and hoped it didn’t show on his face.
“Why remember her at all? She’s my companion, after all.”
Annoyance speared through his chest. “Yes, she’s your companion. Don’t you think she deserves consideration and kindness for putting up with your grouchy arse all these years?” He hadn’t meant to let his irritation show, but he couldn’t recall it now.
“Humph.” She furiously knitted a couple of rows in what appeared to be a jumper of ivory wool similar to what a sailor might wear in colder climes. Then she narrowed her gaze on him. “The girl’s been highly distracted of late, for her father’s business is in disrepair. I believe it’s beyond her ken to handle that in addition to my demands.”
