by Regina Scott
“Fortune approved of him,” Meredith pointed out, flicking the leash to try to encourage her pet to rise again. Fortune ignored her.
“Yes, but how would she know if he was a scoundrel at heart?” Patience asked. “His forefathers certainly failed in their obligations. And when I first encountered him, he admitted to returning from an assignation with a married woman.”
Meredith stopped, and Fortune righted herself and set off stalking the first robin of spring. “I will tell you something, Patience, and you must promise not to reveal it to a soul.”
Patience stared at her. “Of course, Meredith. You’ve done so much for me, believed in me when few others did. What is it?”
Her gaze went off toward the trees at the edge of the garden, but Patience thought she wasn’t seeing the bright green leaves. “I loved once, thought he was everything. But when I needed him, when I had nowhere else to turn, he abandoned me. He never offered explanation or apology. One of the reasons I wanted to leave London is that he appears to wish to renew the acquaintance now years later.”
Her gaze returned to Patience, the lavender surprisingly sharp. “What I learned from the whole distressing incident is that scoundrels can wear a pleasant face. They can say all the right words, walk as uprightly as the next fellow, until they don’t. Be very, very sure of the man before you commit your heart.”
Patience nodded. “I will. Thank you for confiding in me. I’m truly sorry your love proved unworthy. Will he follow you here?”
She shook her head. “I know of nothing that would cause Julian Mayes to abandon his beloved London for long. Very likely his desire to see me again was no more than a passing fancy. By the time I return, he will no doubt have forgotten all about me.”
How sad. The story could only remind her of Robert. He too had murmured words of love before departing for Spain, only to return with a different bride on his arm. Was there no honest and true gentleman left in England?
Which begged the question: just how much of a scoundrel was Sir Harry Orwell?
~~~
It was a good thing Harry wasn’t the scoundrel he pretended to be. Another fellow embroiled in a false engagement might have emboldened himself to take liberties. As it was, every time he and Patience were in a room together, he found himself drawn to her side before consciously remembering that was where he was supposed to be. She had a kind word, a reasoned response, to everyone.
Everyone but him.
The look in her eyes when she was reminded of his supposed past, the way her pink lips tightened, the few sharp words he’d heard from her all told him she had little use for rakes and rascals. He had played the role too well, it seemed, and he dared not trust her with the truth. Her life, his life, even Yvette’s could hang on the wrong people not realizing the true motivations of Sir Harry Orwell. So, against every wish, he must continue to play the scoundrel a while longer.
After sending his guests to bed, he had slipped away the previous evening to talk to Undene in the shadows at the back of the smithy. None of the smugglers had been able to determine who had been waiting for the boat. When they’d returned under cover of darkness, they’d found the craft still mired in the sand because of a lower tide, the remaining cargo intact. No rival smuggling gang then, nor the revenue agents. Either would have confiscated the goods. But the shot had left them all wary nonetheless.
“There’s a storm coming,” Lacy had said, tapping his knee as if he felt it in his bones. The cobbler had hitched himself higher on the bench where he sat. “We’ll not be putting out to sea until it’s passed beyond the Channel.”
Which meant it would be some days before they would be willing to cross to France again. Harry had offered encouragement, even silver. All they would promise was that they would alert him when they intended to go.
Leaving Harry with no answer as to Yvette’s safety or the identity of his enemy.
Though he’d kept a close eye on Villers, the fellow had proven to be something of a tame lion. To be on the safe side, Harry had enlisted Cuddlestone to watch the valet. His man had proven singularly delighted at the prospect.
“He’s entirely too quiet,” the butler confided as he helped Harry dress that morning. Since his father’s valet had been turned off years ago, Harry had never hired one for himself. Cuddlestone had seemed too comfortable in the role.
“May I inquire what you suspect him of?” the butler asked now, stepping back as if to admire the cravat he’d just tied at Harry’s throat.
Harry adjusted the fold to his liking. “Some of the villagers mentioned him prowling about. It may be nothing, but I thought it wise to take precautions.”
“Assuredly, sir,” Cuddlestone agreed, reaching out to right the cravat. “I will endeavor to learn more. And might I suggest a silk handkerchief for your pocket?”
Harry readjusted the cravat, wrinkling it. “You can suggest, but we both know I’d lose it at the first opportunity.”
Cuddlestone sighed. “Yes, Sir Harry. Of course.”
Harry shook his head as he headed downstairs. His pretend bride-to-be thought him a dastard, his butler a lost cause when it came to fashion. Only Lydia seemed happy with him, no matter the circumstances. Whenever Patience was out of the room or engaged in conversation with his aunt or Meredith, she’d sidle up to him, blinking her big green eyes. He did his best not to look too interested.
“Have I bored you?” she asked that morning while they were eating in the dining room. The smuggler’s prediction might prove correct, for a heavy rain was drenching the grounds. “Beau says I must do better about being amusing.”
Harry glanced to where her brother was sitting farther down, raptly listening to Gussie. Much as he loved his aunt, he found it hard to believe her story was so fascinating. Was Villers still encouraging Lydia to pursue Harry despite the engagement? Or was he attempting to extract information from Gussie?
“Why must you be amusing?” Harry asked Lydia.
She blinked innocently. “Why, to interest a gentleman, of course. No man wants a boring bride. Beau says it’s bad enough that I’m helping your aunt. Some might think me a bluestocking.”
He could imagine worse fates. “But every man has different things that interest him. Some prefer a winsome voice, a comely face, or a willowy or ample figure. Others demand intellect, talents of various sorts, the ability to economize.”
She gazed up at him. “What do you prefer, Harry?”
A movement at the door caught his eye—Patience entering. Though her navy gown was in no way as fashionable as Lydia’s white muslin, it became her. Or perhaps it was the light reflecting in her hair, the soft pink that illuminated her cheeks, the curve of her smile as she glanced Meredith’s way. It was no work at all to seem admiring.
“I prefer my bride,” he told Lydia.
She smiled in approval. “Good for you. I hear reformed rakes make the best husbands.”
“And I am well on my way to being reformed, I assure you. Excuse me.” He rose and headed for Patience.
“Good morning, dearest,” he greeted. “Meredith.”
Her companion inclined her dark head, but Patience was looking down the table.
“Miss Villers seems attentive,” she murmured.
Was she jealous? Why was he grinning? He took her hand and bowed over it. “Alas, her beauty pales before yours, like the moon in the brilliant rays of the sun.”
She turned her gaze to his, the brown surprisingly cool, though she smiled as if for the others’ benefit. “Very prettily said, sir. I might think you besotted.”
“You carry my heart in your pocket,” Harry assured her, tucking her hand in his arm.
Meredith shifted, and he realized she held her pet. Singular woman. He had never known one more devoted.
“Mr. Villers has yet to be properly introduced,” she said as if she’d spotted surprise on Harry’s face.
“This should be interesting,” Patience murmured as her friend moved toward the table.
“Fortune is like a sundial,” she explained. “I didn’t realize it when I first met her, but she is an astute judge of character. If she approves of you, you may be certain you are worthwhile.”
Harry eyed her. “I feel like preening. She approved of me.”
“After some consideration,” Patience pointed out. “And there is always the exception.”
He chuckled, turning to watch the tableau.
Meredith moved resolutely to the Villers’s side, and Lydia rose and scurried around the table, smiling at the cat. Fortune, however, had her eyes on Villers, as if she’d spotted a plump mouse.
“Mr. Villers,” Meredith said, “may I present my Fortune.”
The fellow blinked, then recovered himself. “Honored, madam. I had thought her a charming creature, much like her owner.”
“I think she’s beautiful,” Lydia said, reaching out a hand.
Fortune crouched deeper in her mistress’s arms, ears flattening and eyes narrowing. A hiss flew past her teeth.
Lydia dropped her hand, face crumbling.
But was it Lydia or her brother who had met with the cat’s disapproval?
Chapter Seven
Patience and her friend had been chased from the garden by the advancing storm. So much for her plans for outdoor activities today. She’d come inside to find that Lydia was apparently set on amusing herself at Harry’s expense. And she was not entirely sure who Fortune had rebuked, Lydia or her brother.
The cat remained out of sorts as Harry led Patience to her seat next to his at the table and Meredith took her own seat. The cat refused to settle down after her introduction to Mr. Villers, squirming and protesting in Meredith’s arms until her owner was forced to leave the room with apologies all around.
“No one likes being penned,” Mr. Villers muttered into his tea.
Lydia fluttered her lashes at Harry. “It’s so difficult to be restive. I’m sure you could find us something to do today, Harry.”
Not if Patience could help it.
Her brother eyed Gussie. “Were you not in the middle of an experiment, madam?”
And that avenue of inquiry needed to be headed off as well. Oh, this house party would be the death of her!
Gussie shoved back her chair before Mr. Cuddlestone could come hold it for her. “I was indeed. I want to try the gypsum I purchased in London. The effect against the thyme should be interesting. Patience, join me.” She started for the door.
As if he thought otherwise, Mr. Cuddlestone was gesticulating wildly in Patience’s direction, lips moving silently. She wasn’t entirely sure of the message he was trying to send, but she rose. “Gussie, wait.”
Her employer turned, brows raised in obvious surprise. Lydia and her brother looked equally surprised. As if afraid he had been caught and would be censored, Mr. Cuddlestone froze. Only Harry offered Patience a smile of encouragement, though he could have no idea of her purpose. She squared her shoulders.
“We agreed to spend the day with our guests,” she reminded Gussie. “The weather may have foreclosed outdoor activities, but surely we can find something indoors.”
Mr. Cuddlestone offered her a thumbs up.
“Like what?” Lydia asked eagerly.
“Charades,” Patience said, and the butler beamed at her.
“Perhaps a hand of cards,” Mr. Villers added with a look to Harry.
Gussie ventured closer to the table. “Or word games. I’m rather good at those.”
Harry leaned back in his chair. “Excellent suggestions. That should take us through the morning. This afternoon, we can each think of some talent or skill to amuse the others. Performances will be after dinner.”
They all exclaimed their approval of the plan, but Patience couldn’t help glancing at Harry. His smile could only be called satisfied as he gazed into his teacup. He must know what he’d proposed left all his guests to their own devices this afternoon. Very likely Gussie would scramble for her laboratory. Patience would have to make sure Lydia’s brother didn’t follow. Would that leave Harry to Lydia’s devices, or had he some other reason to avoid the rest of them for a while?
He was the perfect host that morning, taking his turn at charades. There was something endearing about the way he so earnestly acted out his riddle, his chagrin when the answer Lydia called proved wrong, his grin when Mr. Cuddlestone blurted out “Patience is a virtue,” which made everyone laugh and Patience blush. True to her word, Gussie proved more adept at the word games that followed, making up rhymes with great abandon.
“I would never have thought to match orange with porridge,” Lydia marveled.
“Nor meander with lavender,” Meredith commented, stroking Fortune in her lap. The cat had been subdued since returning to their midst, watching them with her copper eyes as if she couldn’t determine the reason for their animation. It was only when Harry, Gussie, Lydia, and her brother partnered for whist that things began to deteriorate.
Patience had seated herself on the sofa next to Meredith, and Fortune had climbed into her lap as if determined to find a new perspective. Lydia had attempted to partner Harry, but Gussie had taken the chair opposite him, forcing the girl to make a set with her brother. She wiggled on the chair at the card table Mr. Cuddlestone had erected, fiddled with her cards, and twisted a curl around one finger. Gussie was nearly as agitated.
“We can only hope for clearing by morning,” Meredith murmured to Patience. “We won’t survive another day of this.”
“Interesting move,” Mr. Villers commented as Harry took a trick, sweeping the cards toward him. “It’s almost as if you had that card at the ready.”
Gussie stiffened, but Harry merely smiled. “It’s all in knowing which card to play and which to hold in reserve.” He lay down a card. “Your turn, Lydia.”
She studied her cards, teeth worrying her lower lip. “Maybe…this one.” She set it down with a flourish.
Gussie pounced on it. With a roll of his eyes at his sister, Mr. Villers played, and Harry raked in the trick.
“You’re as lucky as your father,” Mr. Villers said.
Harry lay his cards face down on the table and pushed back his chair. Mr. Villers tensed. So did Patience. Harry turned her way, smile pleasant. “Meredith, surely you’d like an opportunity to play. Come finish my hand while I keep my beloved company.”
Lydia’s brother collapsed against the back of his chair, then straightened in a manly show of nonchalance as Meredith rose to take Harry’s seat.
“That was badly done of him,” Patience murmured as Harry sat beside her.
He reached out and rubbed Fortune’s head. “I’ve heard it many times before.”
But never liked it. Though his smile remained, she felt the tension in him. Was Lydia’s brother so bored he felt it necessary to provoke his host?
Perhaps he realized his folly, for he was first to declare himself ready to practice for the evening’s entertainment. Gussie readily agreed to part company, no doubt dreaming of her laboratory. To Patience’s surprise, Harry offered to accompany his aunt.
“What’s your talent, Harry?” Lydia asked, watching him head for the door.
Harry looked back to wink at her. “You’ll find out tonight.”
Lydia giggled.
Meredith gathered Fortune from Patience. “Do you sing, Lydia?”
She nodded, but she didn’t look pleased by the fact.
“Then come with me,” Meredith said, holding out her free hand. “Perhaps the two of us could make a duet.”
Lydia brightened and jumped to her feet to join her. “And perhaps I can make up with Fortune. I can’t imagine why she would take me in dislike.”
“Cause for reflection,” Meredith agreed as they headed out the door.
Patience found herself alone in the drawing room with Mr. Cuddlestone. He offered her a smile. “Do you play an instrument, Miss Ramsey?”
Patience shook her head. “
I never learned. But I have been told I have a pleasant singing voice.”
“I can well imagine. If you have no further need of me, I shall inquire whether the others have any needs I should address.”
That he had asked her first made her smile. “I’m fine, thank you.” She hesitated as he started for the door. “But Mr. Cuddlestone…”
He turned eagerly. “Yes, miss?”
“If you should see Mr. Villers by the laboratory, will you let me know?”
His grey eyes lit, and he tiptoed closer, lowering his voice. “Do you suspect him as well?”
Patience blinked. “You suspect him too?”
He drew himself up. “I manage this household, miss. Nothing much escapes me. I have my eye on Mr. Villers and his valet Teacake.”
Patience pressed her fingers to her lips. “His name is Teacake?”
“Teacake, Tecay, something of that sort,” the butler said with a wrinkle of his nose. “I certainly wouldn’t allow him on staff here—he’s never at his post when needed, and he ties a rather common fold.”
Patience had never noticed anything untoward about Beau Villers’s cravat, but then she’d never had to tie one so perhaps she was missing the nuances. “And have you noticed anything more nefarious about his master?”
Mr. Cuddlestone sighed. “No, worse luck.”
Patience rose and patted his shoulder. “Well, I appreciate your determination. Someone has to look out for this family.”
“Exactly.” With a smile, he excused himself and left her.
Patience wandered to the window. The rain had slowed, and a patch of blue sky showed to the west. Perhaps they wouldn’t have to hide away until Easter.