Page 87 of A Lady’s Guide to Mystery and Mischief

Grey frowned. “That can’t be true.”

“It is.” His grandmother pressed a kiss to the back of his hand. For the first time in years, Grey thought he saw a flicker of sadness in her dark eyes. “I know your grandfather made you this way, and I’m sorry.”

“Made me what way?”

“He placed far too much on your shoulders—responsibility for every slight, every misstep, whether or not it was your own. You cannot carry every burden you encounter, Peregrine. I should have reminded you of that more often. That I did not is my own failing.”

It was true. No matter the crime, George Montgomery had never had to look far for a guilty party. Not when Grey had lived under his roof.

Your barbaric manners are the reason our guests left early, he’d said when said guests had gone home to avoid inclement weather.

You embarrassed Francis in front of the entirety of White’s, when Grey had been unable to converse with ease, awkward and unpracticed among the other gentlemen.

You are responsible for your own injury, Grey. Francis would have never thought to lift a pistol to you had you not inspired him to do so. Remember that when you are tempted to complain about the pain you allegedly suffer.

“Why?” Grey whispered. “Why did he hate me?”

The question startled even him. He knew better than to ask it. He knew understanding wouldn’t change a thing.

Leila shook her head, sorrow invading every part of her the instant he’d spoken. “I don’t know, habibi. I asked him that same question several times over and never got a clear answer. Sometimes I believed it was because he envied you.”

Grey scoffed. “Envied me? Please.”

“And why not? You resisted all his attempts at molding you. He watched as even the pressures of society couldn’t make you into a man you were not. Anyone, even your wretched grandfather, would envy that.”

“It wasn’t on purpose.”

“No, it wasn’t,” Leila agreed. “But it was enviable nonetheless.”

Grey nodded. As expected, his grandmother’s answers did nothing to stitch up the wounds of so many years ago. In fact, it was as though they’d been reopened, bleeding in his chest anew. And yet—and yet Leila was a balm to the pain. The way she spoke of him, with so much love, the endearment muttered in her native tongue—it soothed him in a way he could not describe. It would take an age to undo the damage done to him by his grandfather, if it could be undone at all. If he could tolerate it, it was due to his grandmother. It had always been due to his grandmother.

“I wish I had stood up to him more often.”

Grey held her hands tight. “Don’t say that. I wouldn’t have wanted you in his crosshairs.”

“I did not do my best,” she admitted. “I’m so sorry. You have no idea how much.”

“Don’t apologize,” Grey said, feeling as though his chest were cracking open. The deluge that followed was, in all honesty, no longer in his control. “You are the reason for everything I am. And I would bear the brunt of his cruelty a thousand times over for you.”

“Oh, Peregrine,” she murmured with a smile. “I don’t think either of us could disappoint the other even if we wanted to.”

“Never,” he said, wishing he could make her understand how much he meant it.

“And now that we’ve made that abundantly clear,” Leila said after a lengthy pause, her tone once again crisp and sharp, “we can return to the subject at hand. The money was stolen. What of it?”

“Ah, yes.” Grey grimaced. “The long and short of it is I agreed to search for the thief with Miss Rafiq, and—”

Leila finished for him. “And you fell in love with her.”

“Several other things happened in between, I’ll have you know.”

“Perhaps, but I do not care to hear them,” his grandmother said in a true return to form. Her weathered face broke into a grin. “You looked so put upon I thought something truly terrible had happened to you.”

“I—” Grey cut himself off with a sigh. “Her understanding with Francis is over.”

“Clever girl.” Leila twinkled with pride. “Really, Peregrine, it sounds as if everything has gone your way. What are you frowning for?”

“She has said twice that she’d like time to herself,” he said slowly. He stopped, knowing what he was about to say would mortify him for years to come. “But even if she hadn’t, I would still be far too sc—scared to tell her how I feel.”