Chapter 22

Elizabeth declared that a special dinner party was in order. To Alexander, she said it was because her birthday was Sunday, and she wanted to celebrate him and Saffron making up.

"I am truly so glad, darling," she told him during their shared late supper, "that you and Saffron have made up. She was in tatters over it, you know." She'd shot Saffron a wink well within his view, somewhat ruining the impression of sincerity.

To Saffron later that evening, however, Elizabeth revealed that she wanted to needle Nick about his true occupation. Saffron reflected that she really ought not to have told Elizabeth about Alexander's diplomatic mission or Jeffery Wells's body if she didn't want her friend to obsess over her belief in Nick being a spy. Elizabeth was now certain, and Saffron couldn't entirely dismiss the idea.

With characteristic determination, Elizabeth pulled together a plan that ought to have taken a week of preparation within two days. She'd invited her brother, Colin, and Alexander for dinner, and Saffron had undertaken a long list of tasks to prepare for their arrival that evening. She'd cleaned, under Elizabeth's careful supervision, and then she'd been sent to the market with an extremely detailed list of ingredients. Then she was shooed from the kitchen and left to her own devices for two hours before their guests arrived.

Saffron used the time to scrub up and dress, then found herself alone in the parlor with nothing to do but fiddle with the perfectly set table they'd moved into the center of the room. It glistened with their nicest secondhand glassware and the excellent set of elegant dishes Elizabeth had gotten on offer. Saffron prodded a stalk of vibrant blue beardtongue she'd spotted at the market, aligning it more perfectly next to the equally bright asters. She hadn't been able to resist including the flower in the arrangement, perhaps in tribute to Dr. Aster for not sacking her, or to thumb her nose at him for being so vexatious.

The bell rang. Elizabeth howled her dismay at the very early arrival of their guests.

Saffron poked her head into the kitchen. Elizabeth's face was flushed and her apron was marked with a colorful collection of stains. She looked ready to boil over. "I'll shoo them away for half an hour," Saffron soothed her. "Not a worry."

She went to the end of the hall and pulled the door open.

And froze.

It was none of the gentlemen they'd expected, and the last person Saffron expected to see.

Lord Easting stood in the hall of her building.

"Grandpapa," Saffron said, coming up short.

Her eyes traced the familiar lines of his face, noting the appearance of new wrinkles and the dry, papery quality of his skin. Lord Easting had always been the robust, active lord-of-the-manor type. More comfortable in tweeds than a suit, more likely to be found examining a newborn calf than the stock reports in the newspaper. He'd taken the loss of both his sons hard, noticeably slowing. But the past few years had brought about even greater change; he looked like a man of eighty rather than sixty-some years. White hair had overtaken the gray, and his usually ruddy complexion was sallow. Her mother had obviously understated the poor quality of his health in recent letters.

"I—do come in," she said, scuttling back to give her grandfather admittance. "Would you like me to take your coat and hat?"

"No," he said stiffly, eying the narrow hall.

"Please, this way."

She felt his eyes on her back as she led him to the parlor. She watched for his reaction to her home but was distracted by the man himself. He walked so painfully, and he was so pale—

"Do sit down," she said, pulling out a chair for him at the table. "May I offer you tea, or water, or—"

"Sit," he said, voice thin.

Saffron swallowed and obeyed. She perched on the edge of the chair across from his.

His pale eyes, Everleigh blue but with the slight haze of old age, swept over the table, then her.

"Feyzi tells me you've been to see him," he said.

Her heart stuttered. Mr. Feyzi had told her grandfather about her visit with Alexander?

"You've been poking about in your father's things."

Saffron's lips parted in surprise. That was what he'd told her grandfather? "I … saw some of his papers," she said slowly.

Her grandfather's scowl deepened. "Not enough for you to go digging around in the garden, no. You had to make it a profession. Now you're digging about in my son's things." He shifted in his seat, looking restless and disgruntled. Saffron realized it wasn't just because of the scolding he was giving her, but because he would have usually gotten up to pace at this point, and he perhaps couldn't. Guilt stirred up anew in her chest.

"And not just Thomas's things! You've meddled in police business. Twice." He shifted again, his eyes going to the mantle, where the photograph of Saffron and her parents sat. "You were never able to sit still when something interested you." Saffron thought there was a hint of warmth in that comment, but it disappeared with his next words. "But I never expected that incessant curiosity would assert itself so irresponsibly."

"It is one thing to embarrass the family by taking up a profession," he went on, "but another to drag our name through the muck. I kept it quiet the first time, never expecting to have to do it again. I barely had the influence to suppress reports of your involvement with police matters a second time." His gaze had wandered, but he focused on her again, lips twisting bitterly. "I never saw much point in dallying about in town, making nice with the sots who hang about in clubs rather than manage their land. But that means that when I need favors from those same sots, I'm at a disadvantage." His derisive snort turned into a cough. Saffron made to stand to fetch water, but her red-faced grandfather waved her back into her seat. His cough subsided, and his color faded. "I've had enough of this, my girl. I'm too old and tired to indulge you any longer, and I'm ready to give your grandmother what she's wanted from the beginning, which is you, back at Ellington where you belong."

Saffron's mouth fell open, a rushing in her ears. "I'm not going back to Ellington."

"You are," her grandfather said firmly. "Your grandmother wants you there, and your mother …" He shook his head. "Your mother would benefit from your presence too. I allowed you to stay in London, thinking that you would tire of the challenges of city life without my support. I admit, I had moments when I wanted you to succeed. One has to challenge their spouse on occasion, and your grandmother looked like she'd bitten into a lemon each time I said I'd let you stay."

That hint of the rascally man she'd known her grandfather to be made Saffron sit forward and say, "Sir, I have succeeded. I'm a researcher now, just like Papa. I—"

Her grandfather gripped the edges of the table and with, a grunt of effort, hoisted himself up. Saffron leaped to her feet, just stopping herself from offering a hand for support. When he was steady, Lord Easting gave her a beady look. "I don't care, my girl. You could be running that university yourself and I would still bring you back home. Thomas did not work so hard—"

He broke off, coughing again. Saffron took his arm to help him back into his seat.

He rasped out, "You are coming home. Now."

"I am not," Saffron said automatically, forgetting to be cowed. "I'm staying here, Grandpapa. This is my home. London is. The university is. There's nothing for me at Ellington."

"Your family is at Ellington."

That stymied her for a moment. When she spoke, her voice was soft. "I can't go back. I would be expected to live as Grandmama dictates until she finds me a husband who will then expect me to live as he says." She covered his gnarled hand with hers. It was cold, and she squeezed it gently. "You have always said that we are the sort of people who do things, Grandpapa. You would consign me to a life of sitting in a parlor pouring tea?" He seemed unmoved, so she added, with some measure of guilt, "Is that what Papa would have wanted for me?"

He looked away, lips thinning. "It is not a matter of what I want for you, but what I want for my family. I will not tolerate this tarnish on our family because you would rather avoid a few boring callers."

"That's not it at all—" Saffron's hand tightened on his, but he shook her off.

"Pack whatever you need for the journey. I expect a few of your things are still in your room at Ellington. We can send for the rest."

He pushed to his feet, steadier this time. He walked to the door, stopping at the threshold expectantly.

"I'm not leaving," Saffron insisted.

His eyes went cold. "You will."

The challenge in his words shifted the air between them. Saffron could see her future if she capitulated now. Her life would be nothing but compromises until she had nothing left of the life she'd built for herself here: living independently, exploring the world through plants, earning money of her own with a position that challenged her and gave her opportunities. No more Elizabeth, no more Lee, and no more Alexander.

That was unbearable.

"Don't make me do this," she said, suddenly desperate. "Don't make me choose."

Her grandfather stiffened. "There is nothing to choose."

The doorbell rang.

Neither of them moved. Behind her grandfather, Elizabeth tiptoed by, flashing Saffron a wide-eyed look over his shoulder before slipping down the hall to the door.

A low murmur sounded. Alexander.

Her already knotted stomach twisted. She'd barely begun to imagine introducing Alexander to her grandfather, but this was quite possibly the worst moment to do that.

Her grandfather must have read the panic on her face, for he turned and slowly made his way around the corner. Saffron hurried after him.

Elizabeth, now in her evening dress, stood at the open door with Alexander. Elizabeth's rapid whispering fell silent at the sight of Lord Easting coming toward them.

Elizabeth nudged Alexander out of the way, and they both stepped into the hall to give Saffron's grandfather space to leave the flat.

It was an uncomfortable tableau. Alexander was frozen but for his eyes, which flashed to Saffron and back to the older man. Beside him, Elizabeth smiled broadly. "Good evening, Lord Easting."

Lord Easting paused at the end of the hall. "Eliza," he said curtly. "I see you've not come to your senses, either."

"Quite so, my lord," Elizabeth replied cheerfully.

Lord Easting grunted and finally exited the flat. Cold air from the stairwell had crept inside, leaving Saffron with gooseflesh. She made to follow him, unsure if she ought to help her grandfather down the steps.

"Grandpapa—" she began, stopping when he cut her a scowl.

He was right next to Alexander, plainly ignoring him. She could feel Alexander's focus on her, and a sense of helplessness swamped her. It would be terribly rude not to introduce them, but it would likely be disastrous to do so.

"Have a safe journey home," she said, internally wincing at the squeak in her voice.

He grunted again and began toward the stairs. With his back turned, she turned to Alexander and mouthed, "I'm sorry," before inching down the hall after her grandfather.

Saffron did not breathe easily until Lord Easting had made it out of the building. She rushed back inside and into the parlor, where she knelt on the armchair in front of the window to peer out to the street. Her grandfather was being helped into an old motorcar by the driver.

She slumped into the armchair and closed her eyes.

"That was your grandfather?"

She flinched. She hadn't noticed Alexander in the room. "Yes," she said with a sigh.

"I take it his visit was unexpected."

She opened her eyes to look at the ceiling. "Whatever gave you that impression?"

He chuckled at her sarcasm, and she looked at him. He was sitting on the couch on the opposite wall. The table was between them, the flower arrangement partially blocking her view of him.

"Lucky guess," he said. "Come here."

She rose, skirted the table, and dropped onto the cushion next to him. He was no longer wearing his coat, and he was wonderfully handsome in his dinner jacket. A little severe, with his darker coloring, but softened by a small smile.

Her throat grew tight at the kindness in his expression. "I'm sorry I didn't introduce you."

"He didn't look to be in the mood to make a new acquaintance."

"He came to take me to Ellington."

"I gather you disappointed him."

She nodded. He placed his arm around her shoulders, gently drawing her to his side. "Good."