He sniffed his nose at her and turned to walk away. “Follow me, Miss.”
She dragged her suitcases in as best she could and tried to remind herself to take slow, even breaths.
He led her down a hallway which apparently had no ending, and up a flight of stairs. He told her to leave the luggage at the bottom and a maid would bring it up when she could. Kessen nodded her head and continued to follow him.
He finally stopped in front of a large white door and knocked not once, not twice, but three times. Each knock gradually louder than the first. The thought occurred to her that it was quite possible he knocked three times only for her grandma, and once for everyone else. Did they have a school for people like him? A no blinking school?
The door swung open, revealing her tiny grandmother. She was shrinking with age, which Kessen had thought was merely an urban legend. But the truth was being exhibited through her grandma, who was five-foot-two when full grown, and was now only four-foot-nine, bless her little heart.
“Grandmother!” Kessen yelled then hugged her as tightly as she could. Who cares about the stupid British rules of personal space?
Her grandmother didn’t seem to mind either; instead she held Kessen with all the force a woman of eighty-eight could possess, which oddly enough, seemed like quite a lot of strength.
“Oh, my dearie, oh, my love,” her grandma whispered into her hair. “I have missed you so much, my love. How is your father? Is he well? Here, come sit, sit!” She pointed to two little chairs by a small fireplace and turned towards the man-who-knows-no-emotion. “John, will you please bring us some tea and biscuits?”
He nodded his head, still not smiling and left.
“Does he smile?” she asked casually.
“Never,” she said, expression stern. “We Brits do not smile, Kessen.”
Kessen looked at her, panic-stricken, until her grandmother started laughing, a twinkle behind her harsh mask.
“I’m just having a little fun, love. Old John’s always upset about something. Pay him no mind, and he’s a tame little pu**y cat.”
Kessen smiled and grabbed her grandmother’s hand. “I’ve missed you.”
Tears filled her grandmother’s eyes. “Oh love, my heart is whole just seeing you sitting across from me. It is my greatest joy to introduce you to society.”
Anxiety washed over her body. She must have showed as much, because her grandmother suddenly felt the need to reassure her.
“No worries, my dear. Everything will be just fine. We have a small ball this Friday which will be in your honor. I have already set aside time for shopping. It will be splendid, absolutely splendid!”
Kessen forced a toothy grin and said a quick “Yay” through clenched teeth. It was going to be a long week.
****
And it was. In fact, Kessen didn’t even have time to sleep, let alone go check out the London offices of Newberry and Co. Her dad must have meant it when he said he wanted her to experience a Season.
Well, she was experiencing it, all right. The last three nights had been filled with endless dinner parties and shopping. By the night of the ball, she was so exhausted, she thought she would fall asleep getting dressed.
Her grandmother convinced Kessen to wear something slightly scandalous to her coming out party, mainly because it’s what they expected Americans to do, and if she was to find a good match (yes, she did actually say ‘match’), she needed to gain attention.
Three hours, two makeup artists, and one pedicurist later, Kessen was ready. Her gown was a silver, shimmery contraption, which plunged so low on her back it needed to be taped above her tailbone; the front was higher but left nothing to the imagination. It made her glad she had been working out every day for the past few months. She wore white gloves that went past her elbows and her hair was curled in huge, luscious waves all the way down her back. The makeup wasn’t truly her style, but then again she never wore much makeup. They paired a smoky eye with pink lipstick, making her feel like a Barbie doll on her first date with Ken.
She took a deep breath as she heard a knock on the door.
Her grandmother appeared in head-to-toe pearls, which was actually the least shocking part about her outfit. The most outrageous element was the enormous ostrich hat perched on her head. It looked like a nest. A nest that had been recently used.
“Lovely,” Kessen found herself saying, even though she wondered if her grandmother’s vision was also going with her height.
“Oh, my love! Let me look at you!” her grandmother twirled her like only cute old British grandmothers could do, and sighed. “The future Duke of Albany will love you in this! Oh, he will adore you. He must marry this year, you know.” She nudged Kessen in the side as if to say “take the hint.”
Kessen wanted to gag. Marriage was the last thing she wanted. It sounded worse than her poorly written romance novels. “Um, thanks, Grandmother. But I think … well, I don’t think I’m ready for marriage quite yet.”
Her grandmother’s face paled as if her granddaughter had just confessed that she liked cats more than men.
“Oh dear, oh dear.” Her grandmother sank onto the bed as if she was having a stroke.
“Are you okay?” Kessen rushed to her side. “Grandmother? Can you hear me?”
When Kessen reached her side, she was grabbed by the brittle yet irritatingly strong hand, and pulled down to the old woman’s face. “Listen here, Kessen. You will marry soon; you must marry soon. I need to see great-grandbabies before I keel over and die!”
Kessen didn’t know whether to laugh, cry, or do both. “Okay, Grandmother. I … I’ll try.” Because what else can you say to your eighty-eight year old British grandmother? No? She didn’t know the meaning of the word. It would be like asking her to compose a Tweet. Rather than get online, she would write a song about a bird.
It took nearly ten minutes for Kessen to coax her grandmother out of her room, and around ten promises that she would dance with the future duke, even though it was the last thing she wanted to do and it rated just about as high as driving nails into her hand.
Chapter Six
Kessen bit her lip as she waited at the top of the stairs and heard the announcement of her name. Prayers were sent up in rapid succession as she focused on putting one foot in front of the other and not falling, or worse, bringing down her old grandmother with her.
Once she descended the marble staircase she looked up. Hundreds of people were gaping at her. It was as if while saying her name, the announcer had also pointed out she was, in fact, from America and was here to wage war against Britain. It was at that point Kessen was tempted to walk up to every Brit in the room and mumble, “God save the queen,” just so she could gain a little bit of respect.