August sucked in a breath as the door closed and wondered how his life had turned around to such an extent that he envied Percy Nibley. Patience would respect a man like that. He was intelligent, sincere, good-hearted, and kind. Percy was rich, too, he could offer her security. Then he considered what he could give her, the glamorous Baron Marchmain. He gave a despairing huff of laughter. He’d never before had an interest in his own estate, never been allowed one, truth be told. His mother had the running of it, giving her control of the purse strings. If he could get control of it back, he’d be alright, though far from as wealthy as Percy. His home wasn’t a big place, either, perhaps, but the land was fertile and house itself was lovely and in good order. He suppressed a pang of longing at the idea of being there again. It had been a happy place when his father had lived. When the old man died, though, everything changed. August had been shipped off to school within days as his mother had no interest in him. She never had.
Lady Honoria Marchmain was a formidable and, frankly, terrifying woman, and one he avoided wherever possible. A few minutes in her presence and he was in short trousers all over again and stuttering like a bloody fool. What would Patience say if she knew he was given an allowance that was far from generous and he was too much of a coward to do anything about it? He’d hoped in marrying Caro he could get the wretched woman off his back and reassert his independence, but he’d had to go and mess everything up, by falling for the wrong sister.
Nonetheless, Percy’s words circled in his brain. It was more than likely hopeless, but … he could try, surely? Patience was far from immune from his charms after all. If he could only get her alone, he might stand a chance. If it came to it, he could ruin her, force her to marry him. He choked back a startled laugh at the idea, Good God, was he really that desperate? Flinging back the bed covers, he decided he really didn’t want to know the answer to that question and went to find some coffee.
***
“Oh, Patience, no, not the pink one,” Caro said, a despairing tone to her voice that just made Patience all the more irritated.
“I like the pink one,” she muttered, knowing she sounded like a sulky child and quite unable to do a thing about it.
“Look,” her step-sister said, holding up a bolt of deep green silk that Patience felt sure August would approve of. “This would look lovely on you.”
“I said, I like the pink,” Patience snapped, and then turned away, stalking to the far end of the shop as tears prickled at her eyes. Good Lord, what on earth was wrong with her? She snorted and sucked in a deep breath, she knew the answer to that well enough. She was a bloody fool.
Mr St John had been paying her court for the past two weeks now, there was no other word for it. He took her out every day, and had been quite marked in his attentions. At some point soon, he would propose. Cilly and Caro were both certain of it, and from the gossip that was circulating, so were the rest of the ton. Patience had lost count of the number of women who had sidled up to her to congratulate her with whispered words about her good fortune. Patience hated them for it. They made out they were being kind and enjoying the change to her future prospects, when really they were laughing at her, implying she’d been saved at the eleventh hour from a fate all women apparently dreaded.
Yet Patience hadn’t dreaded it. The idea of her own company and control of her own life hadn’t been such a dreadful one. The idea that she’d never have children was one that had caused her sorrow, it was true, but she had consoled herself with the idea that she would be a wonderful aunt to Caro’s children, and that would have to be good enough. But then August had come into her life and awakened feelings she hadn’t known were hers to own. He’d shown her what it meant to feel alive, and for that much she wasn’t sure if she should thank him or curse him.
She wanted to love. She wanted to have a husband she could respect and who respected her in turn. She wanted to have a family, perhaps a daughter who she could instil with her own values and who would go out into the world prepared for whatever she might face there.
Mr St John, Stephen, seemed to be everything she could ever desire. He was good company, he made her laugh, and never belittled her opinions. He was strong without being overbearing and showed no sign of being the kind of man who would squash her independence. He would offer for her and she would accept. Patience had already made that decision. She’d be a fool to do anything else. It was true that she didn’t love him, but she wasn’t a silly child to dream about such things as love and romance. If her husband was her friend, a man she could respect and depend on, then love would come in time. The feelings that August arose in her heart were not real, not to be trusted or relied upon. It was nothing but desire that made her feel giddy when he was near, and following those kind of feelings led to nothing but ruin and regret.
Patience studied an array of gloves before her but didn’t see any of them. Her thoughts were elsewhere, perhaps in a dark grotto, perhaps in the sun and sitting on a picnic blanket, but either way, August’s green eyes haunted her. “Stop dreaming the impossible, you foolish creature,” she murmured, but her throat ached all the same. She wondered where August was, what he was doing. Lord Nibley had told Caro this morning that he hadn’t left for London as they had all assumed when he’d disappeared from society. Lord Nibley had whispered something else to Caro, which had made a look of concern cross her step-sister’s face, but when asked, Caro had shaken her head, saying she couldn’t betray a confidence. What confidence could Caro have that she couldn’t share about August, for heaven’s sake? And if he wasn’t in London but still in Bath, where was he and what was he doing? She knew she shouldn’t care, but if he’d been back to his old tricks, he’d have been at all the very best events, just as she had been. Yet he wasn’t to be found.
If it had been anyone but August, the idea that he was ashamed was the most obvious one. Patience snorted, startling a petite little blonde woman who was inspecting the gloves, too. August Bright, ashamed? After hearing more of the stories that circulated about the man in the past week or so, it seemed exceedingly doubtful. Yet Patience couldn’t help but wonder if there was more to August than there appeared to be at first glance. She remembered the kindness she’d sensed in him, and the sincerity when he’d asked that they be friends, and then she remembered the sight of him standing close to Caro on the terrace, where anyone might have seen them alone together. A rush of fury and indignation swept over her and she consigned any tender feelings, any doubts or regrets, to the devil. August Bright was a rake and libertine and nothing more. She’d do well to remember that fact.
Chapter 11
“Wherein our hero’s hopes are shattered and the truth is too much for our heroine.”
August downed his second drink in as many minutes and told himself to grow a bloody backbone, for the love of God. At this rate, he’d be foxed before he even got to the Assembly Rooms, and that would certainly put the lid on whatever feeble chances he might have.
“Good evening, Marchmain. Long time, no see.”
Looking up August found Lord Lancaster at his elbow. “Lancaster,” he said, nodding without enthusiasm.
“Oh, call me Ben,” the fellow said with a jovial tone as he shook hands.
“August,” August replied with a smile, though he wished the fellow would leave him be. He was not in the mood for company. Lancaster nodded at the glass in his hand.
“Fortification before you’re forced to do the pretty, eh?” he said, his blue eyes glinting with amusement.
“Something like that,” August replied with a shrug, trying to ignore the knot in his guts and the lump of lead that seemed to be positioned somewhere in the vicinity of his heart.
Lancaster nodded and jerked his head in the direction of the Upper Rooms. “You going to the Assembly Rooms?”
“Yes.”
“Me, too,” Lancaster replied. “Come on, may as well get it over with. I’ll walk with you.”
With a sigh, August agreed and followed him ou
t. It was probably for the best, he was so bloody gutless he’d probably just sit drinking all night if someone didn’t take him in hand. It was just the thought of facing Patience again, of seeing the accusation in her eyes … He swallowed as the knot in his stomach seemed to move to his throat. What if she wouldn’t listen to him, what if she didn’t believe him?”
He put one foot in front of the other, he had to try, at least. He’d make her see the truth, make her understand that he hadn’t known himself, hadn’t had the slightest notion of what a fool he’d been. All those meetings where they’d traded insults, each of them enjoying their verbal jousting, and he’d been blind to what was happening to him. Had she felt it, too? Or was he merely an amusing companion, a handsome face to dally with … and then forget? His guts clenched at the idea and he pulled at his cravat with discomfort, the damn thing was strangling him. His usual sophistication and attention to detail had seemed to up sticks and flee the moment he’d realised he’d lost his heart without even knowing it. How could something so earth-shattering happen to him without any warning? Or perhaps the warnings had been there all along, and he’d been too stupid to see them. In any case, tying the perfect cravat or selecting the ideal waistcoat had seemed foolish in the light of such a revelation. He’d done his best, too practised to mess up completely, but his cravat was choking him, his shirt seemed prickly, and somehow his own skin didn’t even fit him anymore. He was a bloody mess and it was all Patience Pearson’s fault.
With a sinking heart, his evening took a turn for the worse as they stepped through the doors to find the place packed to the rafters. Lancaster made it as far as the Octagon Room before rolling his eyes.
“I’m off for a game of billiards,” he said, shaking his head at the crush before them. “Care to join me?”
August shook his head, scanning the crowd for the tallest woman he knew to no avail. “No,” he said, glancing back at Lancaster. “Thank you, though, but I need to speak to Miss Pearson. You can’t see her, can you?”
“You mean Miss Bridge’s sister?” he asked, curiosity in his eyes as he looked back at August.
“Yes,” August replied, his tone a little terse. Why did everyone always refer to Patience as Miss Bridge’s sister, as though that was the only way to validate her?
“Soon to be Mrs St John, from what I hear,” Lancaster quipped, chuckling. “Talk about being saved by the bell. Her sigh of relief must have been heard all the way to Bristol.”
August stared at him, the words filtering through his head but not making the least bit of sense.
“I say, August, old chap, are you alright? You’ve gone the most shocking colour.”
August swallowed, his heart was beating too fast and he really did feel unwell. Before he knew what was happening, Lancaster had grasped him by the arm and hauled him outside, marching him across the street until they found a bench in a quiet corner.
“Sit down,” Lancaster commanded and August complied, too stunned to do anything else. He was handed a small hip flask and took it, his actions automatic because his brain certainly hadn’t kept up. “I’m sorry, old man,” Lancaster said, his tone serious now. “I think I just dealt you something of a blow.”
August made a sound that had been supposed to be a laugh, but just sounded a little desperate. “I didn’t exactly have much of a chance to begin with,” he said, lifting the flask in a rather bitter salute before draining it dry. “You said St John?” he asked, once he felt he could speak again. He looked up to see Lancaster’s face full of sympathy, and no little curiosity, too.
“That’s right. Stephen St John, big fellow, hails from Bristol, I think,” the fellow said, taking his empty flask back and tucking it back in his pocket. “Something of the shop about him, but he seems respectable enough. Pretty plump in the pocket, by all accounts. From what I hear, he proposed last night, of course the news was all over Bath by lunchtime.”
August swallowed, his throat was so tight it ached and he wished there was more brandy in the flask. Somehow he knew that there wasn’t enough brandy in the whole of Bath to drown this one. He sucked in a breath and got to his feet, though why, he wasn’t sure. He didn’t have the slightest idea of what to do now.
“Forgive me for my presumption,” Lancaster said, his face curious. “But … just to clarify, we are talking about Patience Pearson, not Caroline?”
“Of course we’re talking about Patience!” August exploded, as Lancaster held his hands up, eyes wide. “Why ever not?” he demanded, really angry now. “You don’t know her, you don’t know …” With horror, he snapped his mouth shut as his voice quavered. For the love of God, was there any lower he could sink?
“I’m sorry,” Lancaster said, putting his hand on August’s arm and squeezing. “Truly, I meant no offence.”
August snatched his arm away, shaking his head. “I have to see her,” he said, even though he knew he was only going to twist the knife deeper.
“August,” Lancaster began, hurrying after him as he stalked back towards the Upper Rooms. “Do you really think that’s a good idea?”
August laughed, but it was a bleak and bitter sound. “No,” he replied, still moving forwards. “Not in the least, but I’m going to do it anyway. I suppose everyone will know by tomorrow lunchtime anyway, so what does it matter if I make fool of myself before the whole of Bath?” He shot a look at Lancaster, who scowled and grabbed hold of his arm, tugging him to a halt.
“Not from me, they won’t,” he said, his tone rather angry. He sighed then, shaking his head. “Come along then, if you’re determined to slice your heart into bite-sized pieces, I’d best help you find her.”
“Thank you, Lancaster,” August said, feeling bad for his outburst now.
Lancaster clapped him on the back with a smile. “Don’t thank me yet, and for heaven’s sake, call me Ben.”
They were almost at the doors of the Assembly rooms when Patience herself stepped outside with Miss Bridges on her arm and Lord Nibley close behind. She looked rather pale and sucked in a deep breath the moment they were outside, and then she saw him.
August ground to a halt, staring at her and not finding a single word he could say that would change a thing. He felt Ben give him a poke in the ribs and tried to gather himself together as Percy walked towards him.
“August, good to see you,” Percy said, his expression warm and quite genuine. God, that was another thing he’d missed in his arrogance, what a genuinely good fellow Nibley was. It occurred to him that Miss Bridges could do a great deal worse than marry Nibley.
“Percy,” he said, forcing a smile to his lips and shaking his hand. Somehow he made his feet carry him forwards until he stood before Miss Bridges, and Patience.
“Good evening, Miss Bridges, Miss Pearson,” he said, hoping he could get through this without making a fool of himself. “I … I understand that congratulations are in order, Miss Pearson,” he said, relieved that his voice seemed quite steady. He looked into her eyes, expecting to see contempt or disgust, but she simply looked puzzled. All at once, it was too much. He couldn’t do this. Ben had been right, it had been a stupid idea. “I wish you much happiness,” he said, before turning tail and walking away.
“Lord Marchmain!”
August’s heart leapt as he heard her call his name, and he paused, turning as she hurried after him.
“Are … are you quite alright?” she asked, concern in her eyes now.
August looked back at her and wanted to howl with misery. No. No I’m not alright, not at all. I love you and now I’ve lost you because I’m a bloody fool, and I don’t know how to live with that. The words raged in his head, exploding in his chest, stealing his breath.
“Yes,” he managed, forcing the words out. “Quite alright, thank you.”
***
Patience stared after August as he walked away. His head was down, shoulders hunched, and his friend, Lord Lancaster, shot her the most curious glance before hurrying after him.
She�
�d been shocked to see him, not simply because he’d disappeared without a trace for so long, where previously she’d practically tripped over him wherever she turned, but because of how he looked. He’d lost weight, that much was obvious. His eyes were dull and … and he looked wretched. Despite her anger with him and her disappointment at his behaviour, she didn’t wish him ill, and it worried her that he looked so dreadfully unwell. Something in her heart clenched with sorrow.
Patience watched him until he was out of sight and then turned to walk back to Caro, to discover her whispering to Lord Nibley. This in itself was not new; over the past week or so, the two of them always seemed to have their heads together about something or other, though Patience herself had been too distracted to really take note. As she turned, Caro stopped talking, and she had the distinct impression she’d been talking about her.
“Whatever is wrong with Lord Marchmain?” she asked as she rejoined them, looking up at Lord Nibley and hoping he’d say that August was back to his old ways and was simply hungover. Then she could calm the growing feeling of concern that was making her chest tight. “What?” she demanded, as no answer came, unsettled by the curious looks both Caro and Lord Nibley were giving her.
Caro hesitated, looking towards Nibley and apparently seeking guidance. Lord Nibley himself took a breath and then nodded. “I think perhaps we should tell her,” he said, his gaunt face full of concern.
“Tell me what?” Patience said, really alarmed now.
“The thing is, Miss Pearson,” Nibley began, removing his spectacles and hunting out a large handkerchief. He paused as he concentrated on cleaning the glass and Patience clenched her fists against the desire to shake him. “The thing is that … since we discovered August and Caroline on the terrace together, well … something changed in him.”
Patience frowned, wondering what on earth he was getting at. In the back of her mind, she remembered glancing at August that night, and seeing the horrified look in his eyes, but he’d just been upset at being caught out, surely? “What do you mean?” she asked, wanting to stamp her foot in frustration. What was wrong with August, was he ill? The idea made her breath catch in her throat.
Persuading Patience Page 10