Persuading Patience

by Emma V. Leech

  “It’s just beautiful, August,” Patience replied, meaning it.

  “Wait till you see the house,” he said, smiling now, though his body was taut with nerves still. “I hope you like it.”

  “You do, so I’m quite sure I will,” Patience replied, laughing, touched by his enthusiasm and the obvious anxiety he held that she approve. As the carriage turned the corner, the first glimpse of the house came into view and Patience caught her breath.

  It was a large, handsome red brick house with a tiled roof. Three massive chimneys towered into the sky and a white pillared portico covered the front door. It was everything that was elegance and simplicity, and Patience fell instantly in love with it.

  “I’ve never in my life seen anything more beautiful.” The words were breathed more than spoken, the dreamlike sense of unreality hitting her all over again at the idea in living in such an idyllic setting. “I must be dreaming,” she added, laughing with delight as August took her hand, clearly relieved and happy that she approved wholeheartedly of his home.

  “It’s no dream, love,” he said, his face growing serious all at once. “I only hope it doesn’t turn into a nightmare,” he added, the words rather stark.

  Patience gave a little huff and shook her head. “Are you trying to terrify me?” she remarked, hoping to make him smile, but there was too much tension in him now, and he simply watched as the carriage rolled to a halt by the front door.

  She watched as he sucked in a breath and then squared his shoulders, opening the carriage door and stepping out. He turned and reached for Patience’s hand, helping her down and holding onto her hand as she looked over her new home.

  “Welcome to Finchfield Manor.”

  As they walked towards the house, a rather frosty-faced butler opened the door, and a less welcoming expression would have been hard to find.

  “Welcome home, my lord,” the butler intoned, sounding as though he was really wishing August at Jericho.

  “Roachford,” August replied, his tone wary as he tugged Patience closer. The butler never even glanced at her, clearly believing her beneath his dignity. Patience almost laughed; she’d only ever read about such characters in books and it was almost comical to see such theatrics. The man looked like he had a bad smell under his nose.

  “Where is Lady Marchmain?” August demanded, clearly wanting to get the stressful part of the day over and done with.

  “I believe she in down in the north paddock, my lord.”

  “Have someone inform her I’m here and wish to speak with her at once, please,” August replied, and Patience noted the growing displeasure in the man’s face. He simply inclined his head a little, not deigning to reply before asking, with obvious distaste, “How long will you be staying, my lord? Shall I have a room made up for you and one for your guest … or will you be leaving shortly?”

  The doubtful pronunciation of the word guest and the hopeful tone of voice underscoring that last question was unmistakable, and Patience felt August stiffen in fury.

  “You may prepare the master bedroom, Roachford,” he said, the words hard and angry as the butler’s eyes widened in shock. “I’m back for good, you see,” he added with a taut smile. “So my wife and I will require some changes around here. You may begin by removing my mother’s affairs to another room.”

  “B-but, my lord, I … I cannot …” Patience smiled as the butler looked really rather distressed now, and she squeezed August’s hand, a silent display of encouragement.

  “I think you forget who it is that owns this property, Roachford,” August said, the ice in his voice unmistakable. “I suggest you don’t do it again.” With that, he stalked past the irate butler and into the house.

  It had been hot and bright standing outside in the sunshine, and the cool gloom of the entrance hall was a welcome relief as Patience blinked, waiting for her eyes to adjust.

  “Well done,” she whispered in a conspiratorial manner as August let out a breath. He snorted, shaking his head.

  “I can handle that piece of work,” he muttered in disgust. “The problems begin when Mother gets back. She’ll refuse to allow him to do as I ask, and he won’t lift a finger until she gets here and agrees to it. Within ten minutes of being in each other’s company, we’ll be in the middle of a blazing row and I’ll be forced to leave before I actually kill her.”

  There was such frustration in his words that Patience leaned in and kissed him. August sighed against her lips, one hand at her waist, pulling her closer.

  “Thank God for you,” he said, the words spoken against her mouth.

  Patience smiled and moved to kiss him again when a cut-glass voice shattered the moment.

  “August, I’ve heard enough tales of your debauchery to last me many lifetimes. Please do not insult me by illustrating them on my own doorstep.”

  Patience gasped in shock. The words had been icy with disdain and the tension singing through August’s body told her who had spoken without even having to turn.

  “Mother,” he replied, keeping his hand at Patience’s waist as she turned to get her first glimpse of Lady Marchmain. “I think you must apologise for that comment.”

  “Oh?” The woman snorted, looking at her son in outrage. “You think so?”

  The first thing that Patience noticed was that she was unnaturally thin, almost emaciated. Everything about her was angular, from the severely high cheekbones and narrow jawline, to the jut of her slender arms, folded now in disapproval. Patience tried to find some familiarity of feature to the man beside her, but found nothing until the woman stepped closer. Her eyes were that same vibrant green, but where August’s were full of warmth and laughter, this woman was all ice and rigidity.

  “I would like to introduce my wife,” August said by way of reply. “The new Lady Marchmain.” There was no little malice behind the words, and Patience caught her breath. That he’d managed to shock the woman was only too evident as his mother sucked in a breath, one hand going to her heart.

  “Your wife?” she repeated, sounding a little stunned.

  “Patience, may I introduce my mother,” August said, though his eyes never left his mother’s and matched hers for the coldness they held.

  Silence rang out through the hall and Patience swallowed. She had determined to support August however she could, but for the moment, defusing the situation seemed to be the best tactic before everything went to hell. So she walked closer to Lady Marchmain and extended her hand, a bright, if not exactly warm, smile at her lips.

  “I’m very pleased to meet you,” she said, looking the woman in the eyes. Lady Marchmain walked past her towards her son, ignoring her outstretched hand.

  “Is she with child or wealthy?” she demanded as Patience spun on her heel, outraged and stunned by the woman’s blatant hostility.

  “Neither.” Patience spoke before August could voice whatever furious words were bursting to get out. She walked back to him, linking their hands together. “I’m afraid I have a comfortable dowry, but I’m no heiress, and I’m sorry to disappoint you, but there will be no grandchildren just yet, though I hope to change that in the not-too-distant future.” Patience watched as those cool green eyes, so like and yet so unlike her son’s, drifted in her direction. “Were there any other impertinent questions you wished to ask?” she demanded, her own temper lit now as she stared down the obnoxious woman who had made August so very unhappy. “As it’s been a long day and I’d rather get any more intentional rudeness out of the way now.”

  “I beg your pardon?” Lady Marchmain, replied, glaring at her. “This is my house and I’ll ask whatever …”

  “Ah, ah, ah.” Patience gave a shake of her head, wagging one finger as she interrupted, the smile at her lips brittle and patronising. “There, you see, I’m afraid you’re wrong about that, too. This is August’s house, well, his and mine now,” she amended with a smile. “And I believe you are occupying our bedroom. So if you would like to remove your things …” She tugged at Augus
t’s hand, ignoring the awed look on his face as she manoeuvred him to the staircase. “I’m sure you’d prefer not to have a strange woman poking through your things, after all,” she said, grinning now as the outrage in her mother-in-law’s face had reached levels that might be bad for her health. She could only hope. “Come, August, show me which room is ours, I’m dying to see it.”

  Sending Lady Marchmain one last, provoking smile, designed to illustrate the fact they were at war now, Patience accompanied August up the stairs.

  ***

  August grasped the first door handle that he came across and the two of them scurried through like scalded cats.

  “Oh my!” Patience said, one hand covering her mouth. “I can’t believe I just did that.” She was white-faced and wide-eyed with shock, and now that her bravery had subsided, August could see she was trembling. “Look,” she said, holding her hands out as she too realised she was quivering.

  August swept her up, hugging her close to him. “You were magnificent,” he said, torn between laughter and heartbreak that even in this his mother couldn’t find any happiness for him. He was married and all she could find in her heart was spite and snide words. He didn’t even know why it bothered him anymore, he ought to be used to it. Though hearing her speak to Patience so had made his blood boil. That would have to stop. He had to carry through this time, either she mended her ways or he’d force her out. It was tempting to just do it now, but foolish as it was, some part of him still wished for some sign of acceptance from her, pride, even. He was an idiot.

  “I was quaking in my boots,” Patience replied, as August snorted and shook his head.

  “You could have fooled me,” he said, cupping her face in both hands. “I’ve never been more proud, or humbled,” he added. “That you would stand up for me so … I … I don’t know what to say.”

  Patience stood on tiptoes and kissed him. “We’re a team now, August, you and me against the world.” She paused, pursing her lips. “And your mother. Mostly your mother,” she added with a wry grin. “But that’s what we do now, we stick together.”

  August chuckled as Patience grinned at him, but then her smile fell away.

  “You’d better show me her room now, before my nerve fails me and I agree to sleep in the stables.”

  He took hold of her hands, kissing each in turn and wondering what on earth he’d done in his life that had brought him his greatest piece of good fortune. “Patience Bright, you are the bravest person I have ever met, and I refuse to believe you anything less than fearless.”

  “You believe what you like,” Patience retorted, making him laugh once more. “But I feel like hiding in here for the rest of the day rather than face that woman again, so get a move on.”

  ***

  “No, the green one I think,” August replied, as Patience dithered over her choice of gown for dinner. She wanted to look her best to give herself confidence, and she’d long since admitted that August had a far better eye for such things than she did. In truth, fashion bored her and she found shopping a chore, such character flaws that had been hard for poor Caro and Cilly to bear with. As such, she was more than content to hand such bothersome details over to August.

  “I shall have to engage an abigail,” she said, fidgeting as August did up the ties for her.

  “Oh, there’s no rush,” he murmured, dipping his head to trail kisses down the back of her neck. “I rather enjoy helping you dress. Though undressing is preferable.”

  Patience laughed and wriggled away before he could delay them any further.

  “Stop that,” she scolded, fixing her ear bobs in place and sending him a narrow-eyed look. “We’re late as it is, and I doubt your mother needs any further provocation to hate me.”

  August’s face fell and he moved closer to her, reaching to tuck an errant curl back into place. “I’m so sorry, love. I should have warned you what you were getting into.”

  “Yes,” she murmured, amused despite her own anxieties. “Remember that the next time you plan a kidnapping.” She sighed as he looked mortified and reached out, grasping his hand. “I was only teasing you,” she assured him. “Now come along, and we’ll see if we can’t get through this without one of us making a grab for the carving knife.”

  “I make no promises,” August replied, his tone dark, as they made their way down to dinner.

  As it happened, Lady Marchmain had pleaded a headache and did not appear for dinner. So they were able to enjoy a relatively pleasant evening. Patience had no illusions whatsoever that this was merely a lull whilst the enemy regrouped, however. She had little doubt in her mind that hostilities would begin afresh, just as soon as her mother-in-law had chosen a battle ground.

  Chapter 22

  “Wherein threats are made and three little words bring happiness.”

  Patience stared at her husband with growing awe. If there was one thing that was becoming very apparent to her, it was that August knew horses like he knew his own reflection. He took her on a tour of the estate, mounting her carefully on a very prettily behaved Palomino mare who he promised was a sweetheart. Patience liked to ride, but professed no skill at it, and very little bravery, but riding out with August at her side was likely to become her new favourite thing.

  He looked quite magnificent, atop a huge gleaming bay stallion rather oddly named Dormouse, for no reason she could fathom. The hulking beast couldn’t be further from a dormouse if it tried, and it didn’t seem the least bit sleepy. The image of the impressive horse ridden easily by her husband, however, was quite fascinating. She watched him, covertly, admiring his broad shoulders and strong thighs and feeling really a little giddy. He turned his head, winking at her, fully aware that he held her attention, and Patience just tutted, turning her head away with a sniff, though she could hear him laughing at her.

  They had already toured the stables and Patience had watched with interest as August had enquired over a new acquisition and asked about other animals which he was obviously well-informed about, despite spending such a lot of time away. The staff here seemed to respect him, clearly responding to his obvious knowledge about a subject dear to them, but they seemed anxious, too, as though they ought not be talking to him. Patience wondered at it. Would his mother really go so far as to forbid the staff to deal with him, to keep control away from him? Somehow she didn’t need to ask August to know the answer. From what she’d seen of Lady Marchmain to date, she didn’t doubt it.

  The woman had kept a low profile for the past couple of days, but Patience knew it wouldn’t last. In a way, she didn’t want it to. It was like living with the constant threat of a storm on the horizon and never knowing when it was going to arrive. Better to get it over with and clear the air.

  It hit the following morning.

  August was still sleeping, but Patience rose early, feeling a little restless and drawn to the window by a glorious day. She looked out, admiring the gardens and admitting that, whatever else, Lady Marchmain looked after this place with admirable skill. The house was impeccable and well-kept, the meals wonderful, the gardens didn’t have so much as a blade of grass out of place. Patience, however, was more and more struck with the desire to leave a book out, or biscuit crumbs on a chair, or even kick her shoes off and leave them in the middle of the room. Everything was too perfect, all for show. There was no warmth here, no welcome, and she wondered at the man August had become despite the lack of his father and the austere circumstances of his upbringing after the man had died. He must have been so lonely.

  She watched him sleeping, wondering at the feeling in her heart. Every time she thought it impossible to love him more, she learned something new and her poor heart would swell further still. Patience sighed, smiling as she reached to push a lock of golden hair from his forehead. He stirred a little in his sleep, turning towards her touch, eyelids flickering, and she drew back before she woke him.

  Dressing quietly, she made her way down the stairs, thinking that she would explore the garden
s a little more. It had looked like there was a lake, or at least she’d noticed the tell-tale glint of sunlight on water in the distance, just beyond the garden. It would be good to get some fresh air, and so she decided to go in search of it.

  She spent a pleasant hour exploring, and found the small lake, startling a flock of ducks who lifted from the surface with a flurry of water and wings and indignant quacking. Having walked all the way around and finding it quite lovely, she thought that August would likely be awake by now and returned to the house, walking through a beautiful rose garden on the way. The scent of the flowers drifted around her, sweet and growing stronger as the warmth of the sun turned their faces up. Patience paused, snapping off one perfect bloom, intending to give it to August.

  “What else are you going to take without asking?” The voice was hard and angry and unmistakable, and Patience felt her stomach drop, though she didn’t react. She turned and greeted Lady Marchmain with a pleasant smile.

  “Good morning,” she said, ignoring the question. “You have a lovely garden here. I was just admiring it.”

  Lady Marchmain stepped towards her, all brittle pride and fury. “I don’t know how a woman of your kind managed to get my son to the altar, but you won’t get what you want from him, I can assure you.”

  Patience gripped the stem of the rose, forcing her anger down. She would stay calm; losing her temper would gain her nothing. “Oh? I rather thought I had everything I wanted from him already, but do tell,” she replied, her tone conversational. “I’m sure your ideas will be enlightening.”

  “I suppose you bullied him into it?” Lady Marchmain continued, folding her arms and looking Patience up and down with a sneer. “My son is weak enough, I suppose, but it certainly wasn’t your looks he married you for.”

  Patience laughed, pleased by the flash of fury in the woman’s eyes and vowing that she’d make her pay for her opinion of August. “No, it certainly wasn’t my looks,” she agreed, wondering if the woman really believed her vain enough to care what his mother thought of her face. “But no, I’m afraid the only bullying done was from August. He kidnapped me, you see. I was engaged to marry someone else, but he was in love with me and he knew I loved him, so …” She shrugged, watching the outrage growing in the woman’s eyes. “I’m afraid there is the most dreadful scandal back in Bath at the moment. Everyone must know by now that I broke my engagement and ran away with him,” she carried on, enjoying herself now as all the colour drained from the woman’s face. “I’m just waiting to hear from my step-sister to discover quite how big the scandal is. Of course, like you, everyone will wonder why he married me, though it’s perfectly obvious to anyone who really knows August.”