by Regina Scott
It seemed, however, that Lydia’s brother wanted to escape now. He didn’t even attempt to hide himself as he strode across the grounds, heading toward the hillside that overlooked the sea. And somehow it didn’t surprise her when Harry darted away from the house after him.
~~~
Where was Villers going? Harry moved from bush to tree, keeping the fellow in sight even while Harry kept out of sight. Villers had gone out of his way to antagonize him that morning. Showing his hand, perhaps? Or throwing down the glove?
His unwanted guest cut across the grounds, turning up his collar against the drizzle that persisted. The waters of the Channel were shrouded in mist, as if the world ended just beyond the hill. Harry thought Villers might drop down to the shore, but he followed the path along the edge of the estate, moving away from the village. What did he hope to find?
Who did he intend to meet?
He reached the curve at the back of the gardens, where the ground dropped away to the causeway, and stood there, hands clasped behind his back and greatcoat swaying about his boots. Harry hung back, waiting, moist air brushing his cheeks. Aside from a gull, disappearing into the mist with a mournful cry, nothing moved.
Villers raised a hand as if bidding the gull farewell, then turned and started back toward the house.
Harry stepped into his path. “What do you think you’re doing?”
His quarry drew up short. “Harry! You could scare the life out of a man.” He peered around him, then met his gaze. “Are you alone?”
Not that he’d admit. “Cuddlestone and the grooms are likely about somewhere. Why did you leave the house?”
He shrugged. “I felt the need to stretch my legs. I’m not the sort to rusticate, you know.”
Since when? The fellow begged invitations so he could spend most of the winter and summer at someone’s country estate, doing as little as possible.
“What a hardy fellow, venturing out in the rain to admire the scenery,” Harry drawled.
He shook water off his greatcoat, face turning petulant. “If you must know, I wanted a look at the causeway. Gussie claims it floods in the spring. With the rain, I wanted to make sure Lydia and I could leave if needed.”
“Ah,” Harry said, watching him. “Feeling the need to escape, are we?”
“Well, it’s painfully obvious you’re no longer on the market, old fellow.” He cocked his head. “I must say, I never thought you’d truly settle down, Harry.”
“And here I thought you intended me to settle for your sister.”
Red fired his cheeks. “My sister is a lady, and you would have been fortunate to wed her, which is more than I can say for Miss Ramsey.”
Harry’s hand fisted. “Have a care, Villers, when you speak of my betrothed.”
“Of course, of course,” he said, but he stepped back out of reach. “Still, you could do so much better, Harry. I grant you she’s easy on the eyes, but a man wants a wife who will do him credit in all areas of his life. She is docile, dare I say servile. I struggle to see her fitting in at Almack’s.”
As if the famed ladies’ club in London would ever have let Harry darken its door. “Perhaps I see more in her than you do.”
“I have no doubt,” Villers said, voice once more resembling Fortune’s purr, with none of its charm. “But can’t you see, Harry, how she’s insinuated herself into your life? You’re so besotted you allowed this employment agency owner to address us as if she were an equal, let her cat dine with us, because the woman is Miss Ramsey’s acquaintance. And what of your household staff? Already they dance to her call. I fear Patience Ramsey is an opportunist.”
He would know, being cut from the same cloth.
Harry shook off the feeling. “You’re wrong, Villers. Patience Ramsey is everything a man could want in a wife.”
He snorted, smile patronizing. “So sayeth the man in love. Watch her, Harry. You’ll soon see through the veil. And when you’ve come to your senses, you’ll realize Lydia is the right bride for you.” He reached out and clapped Harry on the shoulder. “This should be an interesting house party. Come, I’ll walk you back to the house.”
Bemused, Harry allowed the gesture. Talking to Villers was like whistling in the wind. But the fellow was dead wrong. Harry would never marry Lydia. And, unless he settled this business with Yvette and his mysterious assailant, he very much feared he’d never earn a reputation worthy of a woman like Patience Ramsey.
Chapter Eight
By the time they regrouped in the withdrawing room before dinner that night, Patience felt as if she were tied in a knot. Gussie had spent the afternoon in her laboratory, coming out only once to question why Patience hadn’t joined her. Patience could hardly tell her she’d stayed by the window until she’d seen Harry return to the house. At least Mr. Cuddlestone reported to her that Lydia’s brother had never ventured close to Gussie. He had also suggested that she might sing a sentimental ballad, claiming Harry was quite partial to them. That she found a little hard to credit. Harry somehow seemed the sort more given to rousing sea chanties or boisterous tavern songs. As she knew none, she’d practiced a more appropriate tune or two.
After all, what she sang didn’t really matter. She had no need to posture. Harry’s guests thought she and Harry were betrothed. He would have to look pleased even if she croaked the words out of tune.
Everyone else seemed eager for the evening’s entertainment. Mr. Cuddlestone and Wilkins had brought in a spinet from somewhere else in the house and positioned it by the windows, the drapes framing the dark instrument in blue silk.
“I’ll go first,” Gussie announced, rising to fetch a basket from the side of the sofa. “I never liked playing, and I’m not much of a singer. I could declaim, but I do that on a regular basis. So, I made you samples.”
She moved about the room, handing out little jars. “It’s hand cream, just the thing to ward off chafing in this damp weather.”
Lydia thanked her, her brother smiled and set the jar aside, and Harry waved her off. In Meredith’s arms, Fortune sniffed at the jar, then sneezed twice. Patience allowed herself a smile.
“Well, go on,” Gussie urged, looking around at them. “Try it.”
“Perhaps later,” Patience suggested. “Softened skin might make playing difficult.”
Gussie seemed to accept that and returned to her seat. Meredith handed Fortune to Patience and rose. “Lydia and I next, I think.” She went to seat herself at the spinet. Lydia hurried to join her.
The pair sang together, Meredith’s alto blending nicely with Lydia’s soprano. Mr. Villers shot Harry a look, all triumph. Was he finally proud of his sister?
Patience had wondered if Harry played, but he set his back to the instrument when he stood to take his turn.
“I intend to amaze you with a prodigious feat of prestidigitation,” he declared. He held up a guinea. “Behold, a simple coin. Would you attest to its solidarity, Mr. Villers?”
Lydia’s brother reached out and fingered the gold coin. “Quite solid, sir, though some might not make the same claim about your character.”
Patience frowned, but Harry laughed. “Only too true.” He held the guinea higher and flicked it with his fingers, which were suddenly empty.
“Why, where could it have gone?” Harry cried, glancing around. His gaze lit on Patience, the blue of his eyes dancing with merriment. “Ah, I see it.” He reached out and caressed her cheek, his touch warm. As he drew back, the coin was shining in his hand.
“Patience had it,” Lydia said, beaming.
“Nothing gleams more gold than true love,” Harry murmured, his gaze on Patience’s. Her cheeks heated once more.
After that, her song and Mr. Villers’s surprising pleasant baritone solo could not compare.
Harry insisted on walking her to her room when they retired, in considerably better spirits than when they’d woken. Patience could feel Lydia’s gaze on her as Harry paused before Patience’s door, but the girl merely offered them a sm
ile before going into her own room.
“She’s gone, so you can stop posturing,” Patience told Harry, who had been leaning closer as if to steal a kiss. Just the thought set her pulse to racing.
Harry showed no sign of straightening. “You smell like roses.”
“So do you,” she pointed out. “It’s my mother’s ointment.”
He chuckled. “Will nothing shake your composure?”
“I am hired staff, sir,” she reminded him. “I am paid to remain composed. Hysterics are the privilege of wealth.”
He shook his head, straightening at last, and the air felt cooler. “You promised to play a role. If you are not at least a little friendly toward me, the others will suspect our ruse.”
Patience put her hand on his arm, fluttering her lashes as she peered up at him. “Why, Sir Harry, how could any lady fail to be friendly toward a manly fellow like you?”
He threw back his head and laughed.
“Hush,” Patience said, cuffing his arm as she drew back. “They’ll suspect we’re mad. But you can see my point. I have no experience with flirting. If I attempted the role, it would come off false.”
He peered closer. “How could a lovely lady like you have no experience flirting?”
He made her sound an oddity. “There weren’t many young gentlemen near me growing up, and I thought myself engaged.”
He sobered. “You have a suitor? Why hasn’t he come forward to claim your hand? Better married than companion to Lady Carrolton.”
She would not have this conversation with him. Even though it was nearly four years ago now, Robert’s defection and the shame it had brought her felt suddenly fresh. “He decided we would not suit and married another.”
“Idiot,” Harry said. “You’re well rid of him. Good night, Patience. I look forward to continuing our engagement tomorrow. At least you know I’m not about to wed another.” With a bow, he left her.
Patience was still thinking about the exchange the next day. When Robert had married his Spanish bride, she’d felt as if she was somehow flawed, an outgrown coat left behind as Robert moved on with his life. What was it about her that he could so easily forget her, that Lady Carrolton felt justified treating her badly, that Lady Lilith could dismiss all the good she’d tried to do? But when Harry had called Robert an idiot, it was as if a weight had lifted, and she could truly draw breath for the first time in a long time.
The morning seemed to celebrate her feelings, for sunlight speared through the clouds, and everyone agreed to venture outdoors. Fortune alone remained inside for her safety, perched in the withdrawing room window and pawing at the glass as if determined to join them. Lydia offered to remain inside, likely hoping to further endear herself to the cat, but her brother insisted that she accompany them.
Mr. Cuddlestone had set up archery targets—placards on hay bales—on the front lawn, and they each took turns shooting. Lydia proved singularly adept. Her brother did not appear amused, but Harry applauded her.
“Quality will out,” Mr. Villers said with a look to Patience, who had scored the lowest thus far.
Really, could the fellow be any more annoying?
Harry moved in next to her. “Allow me to assist you, my love. We’ll show them how it’s done.”
Patience eyed him. “I am capable of shooting, sir.”
“Humor me,” he murmured. He slipped his arms around her, his chest up against her back, his cheek close to hers. She could feel the length of him, the strength of him. She could not catch her breath.
“Now, raise the bow,” Harry said, and her arms obeyed.
“Draw it back.” His breath brushed her ear, and her fingers trembled for no fault of the difficulty of the bow.
“Harry,” she warned.
“Loose!” he ordered.
She released, and the arrow arched up and into the nearest bush. She made a face at Harry, who laughed, holding up his hands and backing away.
The sound of a carriage approaching had everyone turning their heads. Patience’s stomach clenched as she sighted the glossy black sides, the high-stepping pair.
Meredith must have recognized the coach as well, for she hurried to her side. “Never fear. She shan’t have you.”
Mr. Villers shaded his eyes with his hand. “I say, isn’t that the Carrolton coach?”
Patience nodded, stomach churning. Why? Was she afraid? She wasn’t a runaway slave. She hadn’t stolen anything as she’d left Carrolton Park. She would always be grateful for the place she had been given, but she did not owe Lady Carrolton her last breath, or her dignity.
Harry strode back to her side and slipped his arm about her waist. “Don’t worry, Patience. You’re engaged to me, remember?”
But she wasn’t. Not really. How could she lie to Lady Carrolton of all people?
As if he knew her thoughts, Harry gave her a squeeze. “Leave this to me.” Pulling away, he strode to meet the coach as the driver reined in the horses in front of the house.
“I didn’t realize Gussie had invited the Carroltons,” Mr. Villers said, paling as his hand fell to his side.
“Lady Lilith is a particular friend of his,” Lydia said with a look to her brother.
Few could have contested the claim. Like her mother, Lady Lilith left the estate rarely, so no one in Society would know who she favored. Patience knew. Lady Lilith’s sharp tongue and dark moods had estranged her from anyone who had ever attempted to befriend her. And Patience had never met Lydia or her brother at any Carrolton event. So why claim friendship?
“I doubt Lady Carrolton will stay long,” Meredith said, watching as Wilkins opened the door to the carriage.
The pale face of Lady Carrolton peered out. Tall, impossibly elegant in the trim black gowns she favored, she squinted as if unaccustomed to the sunlight. She must have spied Harry standing there, for she shook her cane at him. “Jackanapes! What have you done with my Patience?”
“I never thought she had much patience,” Lydia murmured. “I can’t imagine why she’d think Harry would steal it.”
“Are you related to the Carroltons, Miss Ramsey?” her brother asked with a frown.
“No,” Patience said. “But I know the meaning of that scowl. Harry hardly deserves it. That was always my role.” She started forward, and Meredith moved to block her way.
“You owe her nothing,” she said.
“I owe her a great deal,” Patience corrected her. “And I owe Gussie and Harry as much. I need to set things right.”
~~~
Harry held the coach door open, but he did not offer the harridan inside his arm to descend. He knew Lady Carrolton. She was the mother of an old friend who had attended Eton with him. Gregory, Earl of Carrolton, was a strapping fellow who had excelled at boxing, fencing, and riding. But one moment in his mother’s company reduced the man to jelly.
Harry had no idea why the woman was determined to be so unpleasant. Unlike him, Lady Carrolton had reason to be proud of her family name, what her forefathers and mothers had accomplished. But he could not like how she treated her son nor the few things Patience had let slip about her time with the woman.
“Lady Carrolton,” he said with a nod. “I regret you came all this way to be disappointed. Patience Ramsey will not be returning with you.”
She glared at him. “That is not for you to say, boy. She was my companion, content in her post. You turned her head, led her astray. Just like an Orwell.”
He refused to bridle at the jab. “If you had mentioned another lady, I might have pleaded guilty. But Patience came here of her own free will.”
“Liar.” She thumped the cane on the floor of the coach for emphasis. “
“I would never lie about my betrothed,” Harry said, refusing to smile at the shock that crossed her lined face. “I hope you’ll wish us happy. Patience is everything I ever dreamed of. I’m certain you agree to her worth.”
Lady Carrolton recovered. “Not at all. She is far too good for the likes of you.”
>
He merely smiled. “Then I am doubly fortunate she agreed to be my bride.”
“She hasn’t a penny to her name, you know,” Lady Carrolton said, eyes narrowing as if she would see right through him. “When I die, I’ll leave her nothing.”
“Nor would I expect you to,” Patience said, joining him. “Good afternoon, Lady Carrolton. How are the earl and Lady Lilith?”
Lady Carrolton hitched her shawl about her spare shoulders. “Saddened by your defection. As am I.”
Patience inclined her head. “I was equally saddened, by the way Lady Lilith slandered my good name.”
What was this? He glanced between Patience’s chin, which was up, and Lady Carrolton’s gaze, which was down.
“She’s just a silly girl,” the older woman muttered. “You should pay her no heed.”
“She is a grown woman, fully capable of forming and expressing her own opinion,” Patience said. “She accused me of attempting to hurry your demise.”
Interesting. He wouldn’t have been surprised if a beleaguered companion attached to a dowager of Lady Carrolton’s disposition didn’t consider the matter, however fleetingly, but surely few would act on such thoughts, and never the upright Patience Ramsey. She had been named far too aptly.
Lady Carrolton waved her cane. “She was obviously distraught. She suffers from a nervous condition.”
“Nothing that exercise outdoors and an examination of her conscience wouldn’t cure,” Patience informed her.
“It was all nonsense,” Lady Carrolton insisted. “You’ve ignored her before.”
So, the daughter made a habit of berating Patience? Small wonder she had been willing to take up with his aunt.
“This time she threatened to bring me up on charges,” Patience reminded her. “I will not stand by and watch my reputation be ruined, madam, my freedom threatened. It was clear I was no longer welcome under your roof. You cannot blame me for seeking employment elsewhere.”
Lady Carrolton gasped, cane clattering to the floor of the carriage as her hand clawed at her chest.