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“I’ll know it when I see it, and gifts at Christmastide should remain a secret.” Her expression was enigmatic. “I thought this year it would be nice to decorate the house for the holiday season.”
“What?” Felicity stared at her employer with a slightly hanging jaw. That was quite different than her usual refusal to go to the trouble. “You never want to make merry.”
“And we’ll need to speak with the coal merchant or barring that, have wood delivered for all the fireplaces—including the drawing room.”
So much shock wove through her that Felicity dropped her fork. It clanged against the china plate. “What has come over you, Mrs. Grayson? Are you quite well?”
“Of course I am, dearie,” the older woman snapped. “My son has brought a child home with him, you see, and I want to celebrate properly. To show the boy we’re not the barbarians he must have seen while on his travels on my son’s ship.”
Struck speechless by so many revelations coming at once, Felicity retrieved her fork. She cast a glance at the butler, who shrugged. His expression was as baffled as hers felt. Before she could find the words to reply, a man strode into the breakfast room.
“Good morning, Mother.”
Felicity dropped her fork a second time. Fury twisted with shock down her spine as she gaped at the newcomer. She gasped and stood up so fast from the table that her chair nearly toppled. “You!” It was the captain from the ship she’d quarreled with the day before. And drat his eyes, he was no less impressive now than he’d been then.
Tall, perhaps five-foot eight inches, he easily topped her height by half a foot. His modest clothing of a gentleman couldn’t hide his wide chest or broad shoulders. She absolutely refused to allow her gaze to travel further south on his person, for already her cheeks burned with anger and embarrassment, so she kept her focus on his face. Annoyance snapped in his lake-blue eyes, and when he shoved a hand through his chestnut hair, he left furrows through the popular style he’d no doubt toiled several minutes over.
“What the bloody hell are you doing here?” the captain demanded with the same outrage in his voice that she currently shook with.
She bristled from the hint of accusation. “I’m Mrs. Grayson’s companion.” Warning bells sounded in her head. He’d called her charge “mother,” which meant… oh dear Lord.
“The devil you say.” Both his tone and his expression conveyed his doubts. “Surely this… this… harridan,” he gestured with a hand to apparently mean her, “cannot be the same woman you’ve spoken of in your letters, Mother.”
“Harridan?” Felicity scoffed. Who was he to demean her character? “You’re the one who is a rude beast. You show no respect for women in general, and I find it difficult to believe you have the same bloodlines as Mrs. Grayson.” Of course, if she allowed herself to think it through, it should have come as no surprise, for the widow lived on the edge of rudeness. And there was a family resemblance in his face…
Drat, drat, drat.
Her charge bounced her interested gaze between them before thudding the tip of her cane against the hardwood floor. “Both of you please remember your manners.” The corners of her thin lips twitched as if the whole situation amused her. “Bartholomew, stop being churlish. This young woman is my companion, Miss Cowan.”
“Young is quite in the eye of the beholder.” He didn’t even bother to say it in a whispered aside.
Felicity curled her hands into fists while the butler openly stared at the Drury Lane drama unfolding. “Ah, I see your disposition hasn’t improved since yesterday, but then what did I expect from an uncouth sailor?” It was outside of enough to hurl the barb, but she couldn’t hold her tongue. Her nerves were already quite overwrought.
Mottled red color infused the captain’s face. “How dare you!” He glared. “Acting like a gentleman and being a sailor are not separate entities. I resent your implication.”
“And I resent you standing here before me without an apology on your lips.” She popped her hands onto her hips. Her gray shawl slid off her shoulders to the floor at her feet. “You went out of your way yesterday to malign me and my father’s business, and I’m still not certain you didn’t cheat me out of that missing silk.”
“To what end, madam?” He threw a hand into the air. “What use have I for bolts of silk? It’s not as if I’ll sell the fabric to the highest bidder on a street corner in Mayfair.” The deep timbre of his voice, fueled with aggravation, rumbled through the room, and tickled her chest.
“Children, please!” Again, Mrs. Grayson thumped her cane on the floor. When they both looked at her, she shook her head. “Calm yourselves this instant. Arguing over breakfast is unseemly.” The widow pointed to Felicity. “Young woman, regain your seat.” Then she pinned her son with a narrowed gaze. “Bartholomew, settle yourself. Arguments are bad for the digestion, and I have much on my agenda this day.”
With a grumble, the captain glanced at Felicity. When he lifted an eyebrow—clearly waiting for her to follow instructions first—she huffed in frustration and then flounced upon her chair like a recalcitrant child. He then pulled out a chair next to his mother’s and threw himself into it with such force Felicity feared for the stability of the craftsmanship.
“Now, it’s obvious the two of you have met previously.” Mrs. Grayson shot her gaze between them. “Why is there so much animosity?”
“He’s a foul ogre, and he cheated me besides,” Felicity said promptly with a tight chest. She openly glared at the captain, not caring that he was her charge’s son.
Captain Grayson snorted. “She’s a harpy and had the gall to march onto my ship yesterday afternoon, accusing me of crimes I did not perpetrate.”
Oh, he was such an aggravating man! Felicity curled her fingers around the handle of her fork. What she wouldn’t give to plunge those tines into his shoulder. “You certainly didn’t try hard to remedy the situation.”
“That’s beyond my ken!” His eyes flashed blue fire, and even in his rage, he was quite an attractive man. Despite the close-cropped beard that clung to his jaws and chin, and the trimmed mustache on his upper lip. “I do not have jurisdiction on what the exporters in the Orient do.”
For one bizarre moment, Felicity tried to imagine what those whiskers might feel like against her skin if he were to kiss her, then she shook her head to clear the wildly inappropriate thoughts. This man was no gentleman, and even if he was, she wanted no part of him. It was bad enough he was related to her employer. “Be that as it may—”
“Good grief, Miss Cowan, stopple the argument.” Mrs. Grayson banged the tip of her cane on the floor again. “As for you, Bartholomew, I expected more from you than this snarling dog you’re representing.”
“But Mother, I—”
