The Watchmaker's Daughter (Glass and Steele #1)(11)

"Nor do I," I said on a sigh. "I suppose it was because he was the first man to pay me much attention and the first to ask me to marry him."

"He was only the first because you intimidate most other men."

"I do not!"

"You do. Ask Ronnie and Gareth. You frighten them to death."

"That's because I don't fall at their feet and run hither and thither to please them like other girls."

"That and your quick tongue. They think you're going to tease them."

I rolled my eyes, but her words were quite a shock. Did men truly find me intimidating? All men, or just pretty brainless twits like her younger brothers?

"Where's the shop located?" she asked. At my blank look, she added, "The shop where you'll be working?"

"It's not a shop. It's a short-term commission to help a gentleman find a certain watchmaker he met some years ago. I know it sounds odd," I said when she blinked back at me. "But the gentleman seems very nice and he's paying well. The work won't be much, and I can continue to make inquiries for further employment while I'm driven to every watchmaker in the city."

"See what I mean. I would never have thought of that. How clever of you. Soooo…" She nudged me again. "Is this gentleman handsome?"

"Very. He's also amiable and wealthy. We had tea at Brown's."

She gasped. "Then you must wear something prettier than that old dress." She jumped up and opened the drawer where she kept her gowns.

"Catherine, I won't fit into any of your clothes."

"Oh." She closed the drawer and regarded me with a critical eye. "Then we'll do something with your hair. I've been wanting to modernize your style for some time."

I sighed and succumbed to her ministrations. She plucked out the pins and ran her hands through the tresses.

"Your handsome gentleman employer will be surprised to see you tomorrow. I think we can cinch your waist a little more, too."

I groaned. "He's not a prospect, Catherine."

"Every unattached man is a prospect." She paused, her hands in my hair. "He isn't married, is he?"

"He didn't mention a wife, but I didn't ask."

"You must find out for certain, first thing. Now, what else can you tell me about him?"

I told her his name and that he was American with possibly some English heritage. She oohed and aahed as I thought she would and bounced on her toes when I told her he had a house in Mayfair. I told her everything I remembered from our conversation.

I didn't tell her there was quite a good chance he was a Wild West outlaw on the run.



"She shouldn't stay here." Mr. Mason's hissed voice could barely be heard over the clatter of pots and pans in the kitchen as Mrs. Mason washed dishes. He had dismissed all of us except his wife after the evening meal. Throughout dinner, he'd cast odd looks my way, as if he were seeing me in a new light. It was so strange that I'd almost asked him if something was amiss, but decided against it. He must simply feel peculiar having me stay in his house without Father, and perhaps he missed Father's company too. I'd returned to the kitchen for a drink, but stopped upon hearing Mr. Mason's whisper.

"She's too close to Catherine," he went on.

"India's a good girl, sensible," Mrs. Mason said. "Catherine could learn a thing or two from her."

I leaned closer. "You don't understand," he said heavily. Although I couldn't see him, I pictured him sitting at the table, running his hands over his bald head.

"Then explain it to me."

"I…I can't."

A chair scraped and footsteps approached. I hid in a dark recess and waited for him to leave before I returned to Catherine's room. My feet felt like logs, my heart sore. Why didn't Mr. Mason want me here? Was I truly a threat to his sons? Did he think me no longer a virtuous woman now that my father was gone? I could think of no other reason—nothing else had changed since I'd last seen him. So why did he no longer want me near his family?

"You didn't bring up the jug," Catherine said when I returned to her room.

"I'm no longer thirsty."



The noses of the entire Mason household were pressed against the front window when Mr. Glass arrived in his carriage. The men tossed out words like coupler, shafts and axles as if they were coachbuilders not watchmakers, while the women argued about how much he must earn a year to own such a handsome conveyance. I opened the door and went out to greet him.

"Good morning, miss," said Cyclops from the driver's seat. "Forgive me for not coming down, but I only got one good foot left and I don't want to risk it." He flashed a grin as wide as his face and tugged on his cap.

Someone smelling of bacon sidled up behind me. "India," Mrs. Mason whispered in my ear. "As a respectable woman and good friend to your poor departed parents, I feel that it's my duty to make sure you know what you're doing."

"Why now? You were aware that Mr. Glass was collecting me yesterday."

"Yes. Well. Now I've seen his coachman and I'm having doubts. Are you sure he's not a pirate? He's only got one eye."

"I don't think pirates have such nice smiles." My flippant response may have been to tease her a little, but in truth, my heart was hammering. It wasn't in my character to ride in carriages with strange men. If my parents were here, they'd disallow it or insist on coming along. I knew the Masons wouldn't treat me the way they'd treat their own daughter, but it was kind of Mrs. Mason to act as my conscience. On this occasion, however, I was going to ignore it. I couldn't afford to be cautious. It wasn't just the pound that was at stake anymore, it was the two thousand American dollars.