The Watchmaker's Daughter (Glass and Steele #1)(58)

"Don't be silly. Why do I need to be careful? India, he's a manager. They earn much more than ordinary shopkeepers, so Gareth said."

"I do hope that's not your primary consideration for encouraging him," I said. "Your brother doesn't know the particulars of Mr. Wilcox's situation. Besides, some shopkeepers do very well."

Catherine flounced into a chair by the unlit fireplace. "Why won't you be pleased for me?"

I crouched in front of her and took her hand in mine. "Catherine, you are a lively, friendly, beautiful girl, and I'm sure Mr. Wilcox is the first beau of many for you. I just don't want you to rush into anything, like I did."

"Mr. Wilcox isn't like Eddie, India. He's honest and solid. He's a good man."

"And Eddie is the dried turd on a sheep's behind."

She snickered. "Yes, but don't let Mama hear you say it."

I grinned and stood. "Speaking of your mother," I whispered, "she seems upset with me. Both your parents do. Have I done something wrong?"

"I'm not sure," she whispered back, glancing at the door. "She did mention that she's disappointed in your choice to live with Mr. Glass."

"I'm his lodger."

"She thinks you've lost your moral compass since your father died." She frowned. "Or that it's no longer pointing north. Something like that." She waved her hand. "I overheard Papa tell her that he's worried about your influence on me."

As had I. The Masons had never been worried before Father died. Why had everything suddenly changed? It was disconcerting, to say the least. The Masons were good people and my friends. Without them… I didn't want to think about the loneliness the loss of their friendship would bring. "Do your parents think I'm going to corrupt you?"

"I don't know."

"Would you like to come and live in Mr. Glass's harem with me?" I teased, trying to make light when all I felt was heavy.

She giggled again. "You're so wicked, India. If only everyone knew you like I did, you'd have a dozen beaus knocking on your door. You ought to allow men to see you as you are and not be so stern with them."

I blinked down at her, the wind well and truly knocked out of my sails. "Stern? Is that how others see me?"

She bit her lip and lifted one shoulder. "If my brothers can be taken as a good representation of the masculine gender, yes. Sorry," she squeaked. "I've upset you."

"No." I laughed as I sat on the chair. "Not at all. Don't take offence on your brothers' accounts, but they don't appeal to me either. Perhaps my sternness is a way of keeping men like them at a distance." I laughed again, but her words struck a chord. It wasn't the first time she'd called me prickly, nor was she the only person to have done so. Perhaps there was some truth to it. Perhaps I only had myself to blame for being a spinster.

If they thought me prickly, what would they think of Willie? I was a sweet angel compared to her. That thought lifted my mood somewhat.

Mrs. Mason entered carrying a tray with teapot, cups and warm butter biscuits. "I thought you would have been too busy to make calls," she said, setting the tray down.

"Not too busy to see old friends," I said. "Good friends."

She smoothed down her apron, her lips flattening. "Yes. Well."

"I'll pour," I said. "Please sit down, Mrs. Mason. Have tea with us."

"Very well. Has Catherine told you about Mr. Wilcox?"

I nodded. "I'm pleased for her."

"India has cautioned me from rushing into anything," Catherine said. "As you have, Mama."

"You always were a cautious, considerate girl, India. A steadying influence on our Catherine, that's what you were."

Were? I tried to catch her attention, but she wasn't looking at me. She didn't meet my gaze as we sipped our tea and ate biscuits like three ladies without a care in the world. But the tense undercurrent wasn't lost on me—or on Catherine, I suspected. She became extra bubbly, filling in the conversational gaps with gossip she'd heard from other families in the watch and clock business. I let her continue in the hope she'd mention something about why I was no longer welcomed by people I'd known for years. Finally my patience was rewarded when she mentioned Mr. Lawson, the watchmaker I'd forced to tell us about Mirth. Catherine's pretty face crumpled into a frown when she spoke about his new apprentice.

"What is it?" I asked. "Is there something the matter with the apprentice?"

"It's not him." She glanced at her mother. "It's nothing."

"It can't be nothing," I said, wishing I hadn't invited Mrs. Mason to join us for tea. "Is something wrong with Mr. Lawson? Is he ill?"

"Oh, India, he's being beastly about you." Catherine never was very good at keeping secrets from me.

"Catherine," her mother said stiffly, "you shouldn't tattle."

"But India ought to know what people are saying about her. You said so to Papa yourself."

Mrs. Mason's face colored. "You shouldn't listen at doors."

"I wasn't," Catherine muttered. "I heard you through the wall."