So far, Patience had to admit she was rather enjoying herself, however. The company was something of a mix, but there were some very polite young men who were clearly head over heels in love with Caro already. As they looked upon her lovely sister, all of them wore a puppyish air of devotion that did nothing to give her any real anxiety, but then Lord Marchmain arrived.
Blast the fellow.
Patience withdrew gracefully from her conversation with the elderly Major Dumfries whose droll comments and spectacularly bushy moustache had been rather entertaining. Try as he might, he couldn’t keep his luxurious whiskers out of his wine and they had been growing an increasingly dark red as the evening wore on. With difficulty, she threaded her way back through the room and found herself at Caro’s side just as Lord Marchmain lifted her sister’s hand to his lips.
“Lord Marchmain,” she said, her tone cool as those deep green eyes met hers. “You honour us.”
Whatever flirtatious remark might have been hovering on the man’s tongue was abruptly swallowed. There was a glint of amusement in the depths of the green, however, and perhaps the light of challenge, too. He kissed her sister’s hand before raising her own, and bowing over it. “Miss Pearson,” he said, his tone all honey and long, hot summer days. “The honour is mine, I assure you.”
“Really?” she replied, arching one eyebrow just a little. “How delightful of you to say so. In that case, you will not be averse to partnering me at whist. We’re a man short.”
It was truly hard not to laugh as he fought to keep the irritation from his eyes, but good manners won out. Just. He knew as well as she did that the game would keep him far from his intended quarry for a good portion of the evening, just as she had intended.
“Lead on, Miss Pearson,” he said, with a smile that looked just a little stiff now.
Patience grinned at him and did just that.
***
August had to hand it to her, she’d outmanoeuvred him with ease. The wretch looked a deal too smug about it, as well. Well, he might be far too well-mannered to fight his fate, but that didn’t mean he was going without a murmur.
With growing frustration, he was introduced to a Major Dumfries and the old fellow’s whist partner, a Mrs Gower. Mrs Gower was an elderly lady, deaf as a post and wearing too many gaudy, purple ostrich feathers for August’s comfort. Every time she turned her head one of the blasted things poked him in the eye.
“What’s that, young man?” she barked at him, fixing him with a pair of remarkably beady eyes. “Speak up. I can’t stand fellows that mutter.”
August apologised at the top of his voice and glowered a little as Miss Pearson’s lips twitched. As he had been appointed dealer, August shuffled the cards and dealt them out. Miss Pearson frowned at the skill with which he did so and he realised he wasn’t helping his cause. He preferred horses to cards when it came to gambling, in truth, but that didn’t mean he didn’t take pleasure in both. He took a moment to glance at her.
“How long do you intend to stay in Bath, Miss Pearson?” he enquired, watching as those dark eyes turned in his direction. Ah, he’d been right, they were hazel.
“Just long enough, my lord,” she replied with a bland smile, taking a sip from a glass of orgeat.
“Long enough for what, exactly?” he asked, watching as she set down her glass and gathered her cards. She paused and stared back at him, her gaze cool and assessing as she looked him over. August wondered if she found him handsome, or perhaps ladies of her stamp preferred books to men. It wouldn’t surprise him in the least. She certainly didn’t seem susceptible to his charms. The idea was somewhat irritating.
“To find my sister a suitable husband, of course,” she replied with rather more candour than he had anticipated.
August raised his eyebrows, a little startled. “A noble pursuit,” he said, with just a hint of irony.
“Isn’t it, though.” Her voice was sweet, though August wasn’t fooled. He could see the steely look in her eyes that promised it would not be him she’d be marrying. Not unless her own, cold, dead body were laying at his feet. “And what, may I ask,” she continued, her tone cool now, “is your purpose here?”
August took a sip of wine and returned a perfectly charming smile. “Much the same as your sister’s, I imagine.”
Miss Pearson snorted in disgust and August nearly choked on his wine. She snorted at him! Her disbelief was so apparent, it was obvious she had every intention of insulting him.
“You don’t believe me?” he replied, staring at her hard and finding himself furious, though why, he wasn’t entirely sure. If not for the appearance of her wealthy sister, she’d have been quite accurate in her assessment of him. Nonetheless. “Why is it so hard to believe I wish to marry?” he demanded, struggling to moderate his voice.
“Eh? What’s that?” barked Mrs Gower. “Speak up, speak up!”
“Lord Marchmain was just complimenting you on your turban, Mrs Gower,” Miss Pearson replied with a deal of extra volume and without so much as batting an eyelid. “He particularly admires the feathers,” she added, with a malicious gleam in her eyes.
Mrs Gower nodded, pleased and obviously accepting this compliment as her due. She turned her head and one of the ostrich feathers poked him in the eye. August cursed.
“Your go.”
“What?” he barked, wiping his eye on his sleeve, as it was watering now.
“I said, it’s your go,” Miss Pearson replied, obviously struggling not to laugh. August glowered at her.
“You never answered my question,” he replied, throwing a card down on the table with frustration.
“That, my lord,” she said, as she took the trick, “is because we both know the answer.”
“Really?” he replied, feeling an increasing sense of aggravation with every moment spent in this harridan’s presence. “You have been ten minutes in my company but feel yourself able to see into my soul and give an estimation of my moral worth. My, my, Miss Pearson, that is quite some talent you have there.”
To his fury, she laughed at him, and a real, genuinely amused laugh, not some fake little trill that she’d forced out for effect. “Not at all, my lord. I’m afraid I see the same tricks and the same pretty words trotted out time and again. You see, I’ve had years to watch the men dancing attendance on my step-mother as well as my sister. It is experience and observation, nothing more. There is really no talent to it, I’m afraid. I’ve just seen it all before.”
“Not on your behalf, you haven’t,” August shot back, feeling really angry now and a little vindictive. His victory was short lived, however, as, just for a moment, there was something in her eyes that suggested he’d wounded her.
“No,” she replied. However, that vulnerable look quickly extinguished and was replaced by one of quiet dignity. “Obviously not on my behalf, but men will make cakes of themselves over my sister and my step-mother, so if you believe I can be easily taken in, you are mistaken. And you have just shown me my estimation was not so far from the mark.”
August gritted his teeth, but he had to admit he’d behaved badly. He was neither spiteful nor cruel by nature, but this woman seemed to bring out the worst in him. That remark had been unkind and unworthy of him, though, and he wished he could take it back, no matter how much the wretch deserved a set-down.
“Forgive me,” he replied, the words brittle but sincere. “I should not have said such a thing to you, it was beyond the pale. I beg you’ll pay no mind to it.”
He felt her eyes on him, judging him and no doubt finding him wanting. August dared a glance back at her. She nodded and returned her attention to her cards. “Forgiven, my lord. It was nothing that the other gentlemen in your position haven’t thought, after all, except they had neither the guts nor the ill manners to say it aloud.”
August looked back at her to see a glint of amusement in her eyes and knew he was being bated. He snorted and shook his head. “Touché, Miss Pearson.”
By the time
August managed to extricate himself from the interminable game of whist and the company of the barbed Miss Pearson, the evening was growing late. He found Miss Bridges, surrounded by admirers, one of which was a glassy-eyed Percy Nibley, who was simply staring at her with a look of blank admiration.
“Miss Bridges,” he said, claiming her attention and a brilliant smile for himself. “I thought I would never have the chance to speak with you this evening. I see you have conquered the male population of Bath in a matter of days.”
“Conquered?” she repeated, looking up at him from under thick, dark lashes. “Oh, surely not?”
August leaned in and whispered in her ear, earning himself a furious look from the over-primped dandy on her other side. “I can think of no other word to describe the effect you have,” he murmured, pleased by the lovely blush that sprang to her cheeks. “That smile of yours is quite devastating, you know.”
She looked up at him, her blue eyes wide and sparkling. “You’re flirting with me,” she said, her smile growing wider. “Patience said you would.”
August swallowed down a curse as irritation bit again and forced another smile. “Well, naturally, what on earth would you expect of a fellow in your company? I do have a pulse, after all.”
To his chagrin, his lovely angel gave a delighted bark of laughter. “Oh, oh!” she said, putting her hand to her heart and giggling at him. “She said you’d say that, too!”
Gritting his teeth, August fixed his smile in place as the dandy smirked and Percy’s glassy expression never wavered.
“Oh, Patience,” Miss Bridges called out as his nemesis came into view once more.
“Oh, God,” he muttered under his breath as the keen eyes of Miss Pearson fell upon him like the sharp side of a meat cleaver.
“Patience, you were right,” Miss Bridges, chortled, practically bouncing on the spot with amusement. “He said it, just as you predicted.”
To his irritation, Miss Pearson didn’t look surprised, amused, or even annoyed, she simply looked back at him. Judging him once more. Deciding that he could do nothing this evening but make a bad situation worse, August conceded defeat and made his farewells.
***
Patience watched Lord Marchmain leaving the party with mixed emotions. On the one hand, she was relieved. She had prepared Caro well for every eventuality she could think of, and her rather gauche, young step-sister had reacted just as she’d hoped. Yet she had rather enjoyed crossing swords with his lordship and admitted herself a little disappointed that he’d given up so easily. Perhaps he’d met his match, she thought with a rather smug smile. It was often the case that men were frightened off by women who spoke their mind. To her way of thinking, it showed a lack of backbone, as any man with real strength of character ought not to be afraid of a strong-minded woman. Patience realised with a touch of chagrin that she’d expected more from him. But perhaps he would come about. She didn’t dwell on the thought that she rather hoped he did.
As it happened, it was several days before they crossed paths, and swords, again. Cilly, Caro, and herself were taking a walk in Sydney Gardens. It was a lovely day, the first real heat of summer working its way through her spencer and making Patience raise her face to skies. She blinked, seeing bright-coloured splotches behind her eyelids, and then started in surprise as Lord Marchmain’s handsome face appeared before her. Naturally, he only had eyes for Caro, but that was to be expected, he was only human, after all. This time, Patience took a moment to observe his friend. He seemed an unlikely fellow for his lordship to be friends with. Tall and gaunt with spectacles and a rather anxious expression, he was gazing at Caro with a rather forlorn and hopeless look in his eyes.
“Hello,” she said, smiling at him in what she hoped was a friendly manner, he looked the sort who would run away if she startled him. “You’re Lord Nibley, I believe.”
He blinked, his brown eyes a little owlish behind the spectacles as he tore his attention from Caro. “Indeed,” he agreed, nodding at her. “Yes. I’m pleased to meet you.”
“We’ve met already,” Patience replied, her tone dry but unsurprised as the fellow looked mortified. “Oh, don’t fret about it. Men rarely remember me when I’m with Caro. I’m quite used to it, I assure you.”
Lord Nibley shrugged and gave her a rather lopsided smile. “I know how you feel,” he said, glancing over at Lord Marchmain with a sigh. They both frowned as Caro gave a delighted bark of laughter and the devil who’d provoked it looked far too pleased with himself.
“You know,” Patience said, frowning at the sight of Lord Marchmain, his golden hair burnished by the sun like a field of barley. “Caro is simply dying to see the grotto.”
Nibley blinked again as a slow smile dawned on his gaunt face. It was a good face, Patience decided. It was the face of a man who would be a devoted husband, a faithful friend. He held out his hand to Patience and she placed hers in it.
“Thank you,” he said, his expression rather fervent now.
Patience nodded at him and moved towards Caro, insinuating herself between her and Lord Marchmain with the ease of one well-used to breaking up inappropriate tête-à-têtes.
“Lord Marchmain,” she said, beaming at him so hard he looked a little disturbed. “How delightful to see you again.” Patience bit back a bubble of laughter at his obvious horror as she took his arm and steered him towards the bridge over the canal that wound through the gardens. “Do you think there are any fish?” she asked him, looking down into the dark water with a frown. She looked up again and grinned. “Do you know that river weed is the exact same colour as your eyes?”
Lord Marchmain stared at her, open-mouthed, for a moment before collecting himself. “Thank you so much,” he muttered, with a taut smile. “I don’t believe anyone has ever remarked that before. Emeralds, yes, grass, even, a time or two, but never river weed.”
“How odd,” Patience replied, blinking at him and doing her utmost to keep her expression neutral. “It’s really very obvious when you’re standing next to it. At least it is to me,” she added, patting his arm in a confiding manner. “But then I’m very observant.”
“Are you indeed?” he remarked, frowning at her. “Then perhaps you would like to observe Lord Nibley as he guides your sister out of sight? They’re heading towards the grotto, I believe.”
Patience looked up with an air of studied concern. “Is he?” she asked, shaking her head and tutting a little. “Dear, dear, that will never do. We had best go after them, then, for propriety’s sake,” she added, her tone serious now. She was almost certain that she heard him cursing under his breath, but he moved them both forward with such speed it was hard to tell. She really ought not to have let Lord Nibley go off with Caro, she realised with a stab of guilt, but she was certain he was a trustworthy sort. Which was just as well, as it was true that she couldn’t actually see either of them. They looked around outside the grotto, but there was no one in sight. With a growing anxiety, she hurried into the grotto with Lord Marchmain.
It was cold and dark and rather damp in the grotto, and it soon appeared obvious that the two of them were the only ones in there. Patience shivered and told herself it was the damp and the cold at fault, and not the glint of irritation in those stunning green eyes.
“They’re not here,” he barked, sounding really rather angry as he glared at her.
“I can see that,” Patience retorted, rolling her eyes at him.
He narrowed his eyes at her, folding his arms. “You did this on purpose.”
Patience looked up at him, a little taken aback by his annoyance and his accusation.
“Did what?” she demanded with growing indignation, even though it was quite true. It was hardly her fault they weren’t where they were supposed to be.
Lord Marchmain ran his hand through his golden hair in frustration. “You let your sister go off with Nibley on purpose, just to thwart me.”
Patience snorted and shook her head. “Oh, don’t be so dramatic,” she sn
apped at him, feeling her own temper rise now. The wretched man was a dashed nuisance. “You must know you’ve no chance with her,” she added, wanting to make things perfectly clear as she was uncertain of the quality of the mind that lurked beneath that pretty exterior. He may look like a fallen angel, but he could be a complete dimwit, for all she knew. “You’ll marry her over my dead body.”
“Don’t tempt me,” he muttered as Patience gasped at him in outrage.
“Well, of all the ill-mannered …”
“Oh, I thought you liked it when I spoke my mind,” he flung back at her, taking a step closer. He really was very tall, she realised as he loomed over her in the near dark. His shoulders were very broad, too, probably quite muscular beneath the perfect cut of his coat. “I thought you appreciated my ill manners and the fact that I had the guts to voice my thoughts?” he said, the words low and angry.
Patience opened and closed her mouth, a little at a loss for what to say as he was actually quite right. She’d far rather a man was rude to her and spoke his mind than tried to flatter her when she knew full well he was lying through his teeth.
“I do,” she admitted, actually meaning it.
This time it was his turn to be lost for words. He snorted and shook his head. “Did you arrange this, too?” he demanded, suspicion in his eyes all at once as he took a step closer. Patience hauled in a breath and stepped back, only to find the cool, damp surface of the cave at her back. “Did you mean to get me alone in here?”
Patience’s eyes widened at the accusation. The nerve of the man!
Persuading Patience Page 3