by Regina Scott
Harry started forward. “She’s having an attack!”
Patience put herself in front of him. “One of many. Allow me.”
She gathered her skirts and climbed up into the carriage to sit beside her former employer. Glancing around, she reached for a case that had been sitting on the forward seat. She pulled out a screened vinaigrette box and held it under Lady Carrolton’s nose, all the while rubbing the lady’s back with her free hand.
“Breathe,” she encouraged her.
Lady Carrolton drew in a shaky breath and sagged against Patience. “Thank you, my dear. You are the only one who cares about me.”
“Nonsense,” Patience said, though her tone had softened. “The earl and your daughter care about you.”
Lady Carrolton sniffed. “Gregory is entirely too busy, and Lilith has her own concerns. You were the only one who puts my needs before your own.”
“Is that not something to which we all should aspire?” Patience asked her, returning the vinaigrette to the case. “Perhaps if you showed Lord Carrolton and Lady Lilith how much you love them, they might return the favor. At the very least, you might feel better about the matter.”
Lady Carrolton’s eyes were bright with unshed tears. “Doubtful, but I suppose it’s worth a try. Could you not return with me, Patience? You are so good for my nerves, and you always know how to treat my complaints.”
Patience rose from the seat. “You will find someone else to train. Just try to treat her kinder and stand up for her when Lady Lilith feels fractious.”
Harry held out his hand to help Patience from the coach. “I can see why she wants you back. You are magnificent.”
Her cheeks turned pink.
Lady Carrolton sighed. “Yes. Yes, she is. See that you appreciate her, Sir Harold.”
Harry gazed down at Patience, her hand cradled in his. “I assure you I will, Lady Carrolton.”
Patience turned to eye the lady. “How will you reach Carrolton Park tonight? We took two days to arrive at Foulness Manor from London, and the estate is a little way beyond that.”
Oh, no. Harry wasn’t about to allow the woman to spend the night. Who knew how many other fits she might attempt to convince Patience she was needed?
But Lady Carrolton shook her head. “Gregory accompanied me as far as Rainham. We have rooms at the inn. We’ll travel home tomorrow.” The grimace as she retrieved her cane was apparently her attempt at a smile. “Are you certain you won’t join us, Patience? I could be persuaded to allow you two hours a week off, a better mattress on the dressing room cot.”
Patience shook her head. “Thank you, but no. My place is here.”
Once more Lady Carrolton pointed her cane at Harry. “I will be watching you, sir. You will treat my Patience well, or you will answer to me.” She thumped her cane on the floor once more. “Coachman—return me to my son.”
Harry closed the door and waved until the coach started down the drive. Then he shuddered.
“Horrible woman. I can see why even a false engagement to me might be preferable to continuing in her service.”
Patience pulled away from him. “Lady Carrolton gave me a home when I had none.”
“Which apparently consisted of a tick on her dressing room floor. And a half hour off every other week. You deserve more.”
“Perhaps.” She started to go, and he caught up her hands.
“You deserve more, Patience,” he insisted. “Space to breathe, to dream. People who admire and respect you. Things that delight you. Someone who loves you.”
She waited, as if expecting more. When he remained silent, she pulled out of his grip.
“You forget yourself, sir. We are not really engaged. You have no right to tell me what you think I need or deserve.” She turned on her heel and left him standing on the drive.
Chapter Nine
Fool! For one moment, Patience had almost fallen prey to Harry’s charms. That warm look, those sweet words, had called to her heart. If only they had come from his.
She couldn’t rejoin the others, was ashamed to even glance their way. Surely, they would only question her about Lady Carrolton’s visit and congratulate her again for escaping that prison for the freedom to marry Harry. She couldn’t smile and pretend now, not with Harry’s words ringing in her ears. She hurried around the back on the house instead, intent on losing herself in the garden.
As she came around the corner of Gussie’s laboratory, however, she nearly collided with Lydia’s brother.
He caught her arms to steady her. “Patience, forgive me.”
She pulled away, arranged her skirts, hands shaking. “Think nothing of it. I’m sure you were hastening to your sister’s side.”
“Yes, of course.” His words held no conviction as he peered around her toward the front of the house. “Will Lady Carrolton be making one of the party?”
If she hadn’t known better, she might think he was hiding from the lady. “No. She had other plans.”
He brightened, then composed his face to something like regret. “A shame. I would have been delighted to renew the acquaintance. I take it you are a particular friend as well?”
She forced a smile. “La, sir, you must have heard the story. I am well known to the Carroltons. I served as the countess’ companion for several years.”
“Ah, I thought you looked familiar.” His smile was knowing. “But what an elevation—from paid companion to lady of the manor. How very generous of our Harry.”
Anger poked at her. “You assume that a wife brings nothing to the marriage save money and position. Should I marry Sir Harry, I assure you he would receive a fair trade.”
“Of that I have no doubt.” His voice had turned silky.
Patience moved around him. “I will not detain you, sir.” She started for the garden.
He hurried to pace her. “Forgive me. I allowed my admiration of you to overcome good manners.”
It wasn’t admiration, and he knew it. “Then pray exercise those manners now, and allow me some time to myself.”
“In such a mood? I could not call myself your friend and leave you alone. What has Harry done to so incense you?”
He was like a burr on a slipper—once picked up, it was impossible to shake off. “You mistake me, sir. I have nothing bad to say about Harry.”
“But much you wish to say,” he insisted.
When she opened her mouth to argue, he held up a hand. “No, no. You need not speak. Rest assured that I am well aware of Harry’s indiscretions. The opera dancer in London, the barrister’s wife in Folkestone, and that barmaid in the village.”
Each word felt like a stone dropped into the well of her heart. “I wish you would not belabor the issue.”
He made a sad moue that did nothing to soften the lines of his face. “I only bring up the past to point out how he has changed. No woman keeps him busy now, I warrant, not having won such a prize. So, why does he stray from your side?”
Patience frowned at him. Those dark eyes were far too bright. He reminded her of a hound who had caught the scent. “I was under the impression that any time Harry wasn’t with me, he was with you. Or have you forgotten how he’s beaten you at nearly every game?”
Something crossed his face. He didn’t like looking second best, it seemed, even in something so trivial as a game. “I forget nothing. And there have been any number of occasions when Harry has disappeared for an hour or more while you were busy elsewhere.”
Had he? Where was he going? He’d promised he was reforming. Was he still visiting his married lady? For some reason, she’d thought assignations carried out in the dead of night, not the during the middle of the morning. Of course, Harry might have gone out last night after she’d retired to bed. So long as he didn’t attempt to climb back in via the balcony, she would never have known.
“Perhaps he enjoys a moment to himself as well,” she said. “These house parties can be fatiguing for a host, always attending to the comfort of his guests. Now, if you�
�ll excuse me, sir, I feel the need to return to the house, and I require no escort,” she hurried to add as he offered her his arm.
This time he inclined his head, arm falling, and allowed her to pass. While she was glad to be free of him, she couldn’t rid herself of his insinuations as easily.
Was Harry going out when no one was looking? Was he still embroiled in an affair? Did he spend his nights whispering words of love in another woman’s ear? Why did she care? Their engagement was only a pretense. Even if he went back on his promise to reform she could not stop playing the role of his betrothed without hurting Gussie’s reputation.
Yet she did care that he might love another. Despite knowing it was all a game, she enjoyed his attentiveness, his quick wit. She wanted that smile directed at her, his hand holding hers alone. He made her want those delicious feelings of courtship again.
The very idea left her trembling. Had she learned nothing from her experience with Robert? A one-sided attachment was built on air. She would not countenance another. She had thought she’d walled off her heart to prevent such a fate. She’d survived the last three years with Lady Carrolton by being quiet, respectful, diligent, and dutiful. Such traits had only made her more invisible to those around her, enough so that Lady Lilith had thought nothing of berating her for any imagined fault. A quiet companion with nowhere else to go could not have the luxury of feelings.
Now those feelings welled up inside her. Harry had said she deserved better. She was starting to believe that. She deserved a man who loved her, was faithful to her, who would work at her side, cherishing, supporting, and she would give as much as he gave. But could Harry be such a man?
The only way to know was to discover what he was up to.
What a bold thought! Yet the more she considered it, the more her determination grew. She had many things to prove Harry was a true gentleman—his care and concern for Gussie, his refusal to flirt with Lydia despite blatant encouragement, the way his staff adored him. All she had to indicate he was a scoundrel were rumors—some he had started, others from unreliable sources. She could ask him outright, but he’d likely evade an answer. Perhaps the only way to know the truth about Harry was to follow him on one of his midnight rambles and discover who he was meeting and why.
She was glad Gussie called for an early night, for Patience had barely managed to attend to the afternoon’s activities, which had consisted of Harry and Mr. Villers playing billiards while the ladies determined how Patience could use the lovely wool Gussie had purchased by perusing copies of ladies’ magazines Lydia had brought with her. Lydia had insisted on searching for patterns for a wedding gown as well, and Patience had done her best to look excited while her mind turned over possibilities to learn the truth about Harry.
As it was, as soon as she retired, she went straight to the wardrobe and pulled out her cloak. Grey, of course, a nice dove shade, far too light for blending in in the darkness.
Emma bustled in. “Let me help you, miss. I’ll just…” She pulled up as Patience stared at her over the folds of wool. What a wretched spy she’d make! She couldn’t think of a single reason why she’d need her cloak when she should be changing for bed.
Emma snapped a nod. “Right. You’ll be following Sir Harry, then.”
Patience blinked. “How did you know?”
“Only stands to reason,” Emma said. “You’re his lady and all. Why wouldn’t he invite you? But that won’t do. Wait here.” She hurried back out again.
Patience glanced down at the cloak. Invite her? Did Emma think Patience would take part in Harry’s affairs? Surely, she knew Patience wouldn’t condone such activities. Or did the maid think Harry was up to something else? She couldn’t very well ask without revealing her ignorance.
She had hung up the cloak again when Emma returned. “Here you go, miss. Dark as the night.” She draped a black velvet evening cloak about Patience’s shoulders and pulled the hood over her hair. “You’ll blend in nicely, and you’re already wearing half boots instead of fancy slippers.”
“Where did you get it?” Patience asked, fingering the soft nap.
“’Tis the mistress’, but she won’t be needing it tonight. Will you climb down the trellis or sneak down the servant’s stair?”
She sounded positively eager to abet her. “The servant’s stair,” Patience said.
“Right,” the maid said with a nod. “This way.”
Emma made a show of looking up and down the corridor before leading Patience to a hidden door in the wall, which opened to a narrow stair.
“Likely he’ll be waiting in the garden for you,” Emma said as they descended. “But if you’re first, stop in the shadow of the big oak on the side of the drive. Sir Harry always passes that way.”
“I’m surprised you know so much about his habits,” Patience said.
“We take care of our own at Foulness Manor,” Emma said. She stopped and cracked open the door at the bottom of the stairs. “All clear. Good luck to you, miss.”
Patience crossed the kitchen and let herself out the back door. The moon was just rising, and clouds crowded what little light shone down. The glow was just enough to spot the figure moving toward the big tree on the drive. Patience hurried after.
~~~
Harry slipped across the garden, but his thoughts kept returning to the scene on the drive that afternoon. He still didn’t understand why he’d spoken in such a manner to Patience. Something about her made him feel chivalrous, noble even. Any other woman would think him besotted. He could only be thankful Patience had more sense.
With his guests all safely abed, he’d hoped to head for the village to meet Undene. Though he had no reason to think the smugglers had taken a run since their last ill-fated one, they had likely been in contact with their brethren along the coast. News traveled swiftly among the free traders. If Yvette de Maupassant had been taken prisoner, someone might have heard of it.
He knew the path well enough that he didn’t need to open the hood on the lantern immediately. But someone was less fluent with the territory. He heard the crack of a twig behind him, a muffled cry and scuffle as someone tripped. Had Villers followed him from the house? Or was this his unseen assailant, determined to finish the job? Ducking behind the oak, he set down the lantern and held his breath, listening.
The grounds had gone silent, as if waiting. Then footsteps approached, hesitant. His follower’s breath sounded ragged. Was that because of worry? Fear? Excitement to see the deed done? He pressed his back against the tree until a dark shadow started past. Then he pounced, grabbing his follower by the shoulder, twisting to the side, and pressing the person up against the tree.
“Who are you? Why are you following me?”
The slight frame in velvet shuddered beneath his hands. A lad? No, a woman.
“Forgive me. I had to know.”
He released her, stepping back. “Patience?”
She drew in a shaky breath. “Yes. Oh, I’ve made a mess of it.”
He drew her close once more, holding her gently, heartbeat slowly returning to normal. “You startled me. That’s all. I’m sorry I was rough with you. But it’s not safe out like this. You could have met a poacher.”
“Who are you meeting?” she asked.
So, that was it. He should laugh, claim a willing wench was waiting at the tavern. But lying to her was becoming increasingly unpalatable.
“I’m headed to the village,” he told her, letting her go. “I have friends, acquaintances in the area. We meet to drink and swap lies. Very manly.”
She must be recovering, for her voice sounded amused. “I see. And you could not have mentioned that?”
“In front of Beau Villers? Trust me, these are not his sort of people.”
“Yet they are yours.”
He shrugged. “The Orwells have always made friends with the wrong sorts.”
Her head moved, hair brushing his chin, as if she put her nose in the air. “There are many kinds of people in the worl
d. Just because Mr. Villers doesn’t find them suitable doesn’t make them bad.”
“I’m sure my friends would be delighted to hear it,” Harry said, “if they cared what people like Villers thought.”
“No one should care what people like Mr. Villers think,” she said primly. “Your staff don’t. They like you, Harry. I see it.”
“And what of you, Patience?” he murmured. “Do you like me?”
He wasn’t sure why he asked. He’d gone out of his way to make her think him a rascal. Yet once again, he held his breath.
“Yes, Harry,” she murmured. “I like you. Far more than I should.”
He let out his breath, allowed the cool night air to fill his lungs. It had never tasted sweeter. “Then go back to the house where I know you’ll be safe. Can you find your way?”
She nodded. “I think so.”
He bent and handed her the lantern. “Take this just in case. I won’t be long. I promise.”
She opened the lantern and lifted it, illuminating the glow of her skin, the depth of her brown eyes. She studied him by the light as if trying to see inside him, to the man he was. He willed himself not to flinch.
“I will hold you to that promise,” she said. Then she turned, black velvet cloak swirling, and picked her way back along the path until the light from the lantern disappeared.
An opportunist, Villers had claimed. What nonsense. Harry would have wagered there were few truer than Patience Ramsey.
Feeling as if an invisible rope bound him to her, he started once more toward the village and managed to reach the tavern with only a few trips in the darkness. As he’d hoped, Undene and his men were cozied up in a corner of the public room, heads bent over tankards. Harry slipped onto the bench next to them. “Any news?”
“Nothing good,” Undene said, face craggy in the lamplight. He glanced around the tavern as if expecting to see spies everywhere, then resorted to the code they often used in public. “Reports of much distress with our friends far afield. Rumor has it some have been demoted and are seeking vengeance against those who caused it.”