by Emily Bryan
“It’s no more than what Mrs. Meldrin would’ve done, should Caroline have returned home. Less, really, as I’m not quite so inclined to lecture.”
Patience slid a sideways glance at Lord Casslebury and wondered if there was anything behind all his questions about Caroline. It was possible he was simply making idle conversation. It was also possible that her original instincts were correct and he was spending time with her in an effort to better know her friend.
Though she preferred to think he wasn’t the sort to be so disingenuous as to bring her flowers when it was Caroline he sought, in truth, she didn’t know him well enough to say for certain.
It shouldn’t matter. Hadn’t she told herself only last night that it didn’t matter?
But that had been before he’d brought her flowers and asked her for a stroll in a park she’d yearned to visit, but only seen from a passing carriage. That had been before he’d told her of his family, and she’d admitted to him she’d never played Bob-Apple, or had wassail, or celebrated Christmas with her father. That was before she knew he looked even more handsome in the sun than he did by candlelight and that the mere feel of his hand in hers could send her blood racing.
It had been before the tiny flicker of hope had been lit. It was a rash, premature, and very likely futile light of hope, but she hadn’t the heart to put it out. Neither did she have the confidence to fan it higher—not without knowing for certain.
“Are you pursuing me in an effort to gain my friend’s attention?”
She wanted to snatch the question back almost before it left her tongue. She hadn’t meant to ask so bluntly—she wasn’t sure if she’d wanted to ask at all—but then, she never meant to be awkward or ill-mannered; it simply happened.
To her immense relief, Lord Casslebury didn’t appear to find fault with her inquiry. He simply smiled goodnaturedly and said, “I assure you, Patience, if I were interested in gaining Miss Meldrin’s attention, I could manage the feat on my own.”
“Then why—?” This time, she literally bit the end of her tongue to silence herself.
“Why am I taking a stroll with you?” he guessed. “For the pleasure of your company, of course.”
Her heart skipped a beat, even as she rolled her eyes. “I don’t know that anyone has ever described my company as an avenue for joy before.”
“I doubt anyone else has witnessed your unique way of eating cake before.”
She pulled a face. “I do wish you’d forget that.”
“I might consider it. If you could see your way to telling me why you did it.”
They turned the corner that signaled the final block before the park. “I did it for Caroline.”
“I surmised as much.”
“It’s always gratifying to have one’s suspicions confirmed,” she said smartly. “Now, if we could move on to topics of—”
“Why did Caroline require you to eat the cake in one bite?” he clarified. “Answer that, and we’ll move on to whatever you like.”
“Caroline doesn’t particularly care for the…” She waved her hand a bit as she searched for a way to describe her friend’s peculiarities in the best possible light. “…the attention of the ton. She would prefer to spend her evenings in a quiet room with a good book.”
“Are you saying she’s shy?”
“No. Not exactly. She’s simply…less interested in social activities than many young ladies her age.”
“I see,” he replied, in that way one does when hopelessly confused.
“She made a bargain of a sort with me,” Patience explained. “If I could eat the cake in one bite, she would dance two dances. She’s always been fond of my ability to…well…”
“Consume unorthodoxically?”
“Precisely. I think. Is unorthodoxically a word?”
“Absolutely,” he replied, just quickly enough to make her suspect he wasn’t quite sure. “How did she become aware of that ability?”
“Oh, I don’t recall exactly. It came up in a conversation one day, and she asked for a demonstration. I obliged her.”
“I would very much have liked to hear that exchange. Have you any other talents?”
After a moment’s consideration she said, “I’ve a passable singing voice.”
“Commendable, but I was referring to the unusual.”
She slid another covert glance toward him and thought, I could watch you for hours on end without blinking. Will that do? But what she said was, “I’m afraid not.”
Chapter Four
Crowds of people were, in William’s opinion, very much like his sister’s children. They were too loud, too disorganized, and too often turning up where they could cause the most inconvenience.
William scanned the droves of people who had come out to Hyde Park to enjoy the fine weather and congratulated himself on having a plan that would allow him and Patience to avoid the most congested areas.
There was a small bench partially hidden by an old oak tree, not far from where they stood. That was where he and Patience would sit and hold a sedate discussion on the genteel topics of art, literature, travel, and at some point, the mysterious elderly gentleman from the previous night.
Patience flatly refused to cooperate with his plan, beginning with her cheerful insistence that they not sit at all. She’d prefer to walk a bit longer.
He rocked on his heels, his jaw tensing just a little, as she looked about, excitement etched into every feature. “Where would you like to go?”
“Oh, I don’t know,” she replied, before turning to him. “Why?”
Why? She couldn’t be serious. “How else do you expect us to get there?”
She shrugged. “By arriving, I suppose.”
He gave himself a moment to try to wrap his mind around that bit of logic. It didn’t help. “But one must first know where—”
“Have you never gone out for a stroll without having a specific destination in mind?”
“No.”
“Oh. How peculiar.”
“I’m peculiar?”
“Well, no, you’re not, but the fact that you’ve never gone walking about for the sake of walking about is. Surely you did so as a child.”
“Not that I recall.”
She blinked at him, obviously caught between amused and fascinated. “You never once headed out of doors to play without first knowing where you were headed?”
He thought about it. “No.”
Now she was gaping just a little. “You planned your leisure activities in advance as a child?”
“Certainly.”
“You are peculiar,” she teased on a laugh.
He fought back a smile and sniffed in what he hoped was a very peer-of-the-realm sort of way. “There is nothing at all peculiar about desiring a bit of structure in one’s life.”
“No, of course not,” she agreed, with considerable conviction. “Life can be quite difficult without some semblance of order, but when one wishes for a spot of play…” She trailed off and tilted her head at him. “Do you play?”
“I’ve been known to indulge in cards and billiards on occasion.”
“I see.” She pushed her spectacles up. “And do you plan those occasions in advance as well?”
He did, in fact. “Choose a destination, if you would please, Miss Byerly.”
She grinned at him. “Since you’re so keen on the idea, perhaps I should let you do the honors.”
“Very well.”
He led her toward the small bench. Halfway there, she pulled him off in another direction so she could sigh over Mr. Brinkly’s gray Arabs, and then in another so she could coo over Mrs. Wenthurst’s fat and—in William’s opinion—excessively friendly bulldog, and then in yet another so she could seek out pebbles to toss in the water. Willing to compromise, he let her take the lead while he attempted to steer the conversation to the topics of his choice. She met each of those attempts with interest and enthusiasm, before promptly changing the subject to something entirely unrelated.
She was, in short, utterly unpredictable.
After a brief period of bafflement and frustration, William reminded himself that he wanted a woman who was not fettered by plans and schedules. And after another brief period of reminding himself why he wanted such a thing, he finally allowed himself the simple pleasure of watching Miss Patience Byerly enjoy the day.
And it was a very great pleasure, indeed. She was full of energy and life, obvious in her attempt to take advantage of everything a day in the park had to offer. She laughed a great deal, and smiled a great deal more. And he found himself laughing and smiling alongside her. It was impossible not to find delight in the company of such a remarkable young woman.
Still, he was relieved when she seemed to wear herself out and finally agreed to sit and rest a while.
Patience sighed as they settled on a bench. Her gloves were dirty from picking up rocks, her legs ached from all the walking, her hair was slipping out from her bonnet, and she had a sizable pebble stuck in her boot. She couldn’t have been happier. “This has been wonderful, Lord Casslebury. Thank you.”
He smiled at her, and for the dozenth time just that day, her heart caught at the sight. He was devilishly handsome when he smiled. Of course, he was devilishly handsome all the time, but no more so, in her opinion, than when his lips were curved in a smile. It was the way his dark eyes crinkled a little at the corners, she decided. It gave him the appearance of being just on the verge of laughter, and made her desperate to know what would send him over the precipice. Almost as desperate as she was to know what it would be like to stretch up and feel that smile against her mouth.
It was a lovely, if rather unladylike, daydream, and one she’d had several times in just the last few hours. Ever since she’d taken his hand to peer at his scars. There’d been a moment of…of something between them. She dearly wished she had a name for what that something was. It had made her breathless, deliciously anxious, and a bit weak around the knees. She wondered if she might experience it again.
There was certainly some of it about at present—the tingle of nerves when his leg brushed against hers on the bench, the sense of anticipation when his eyes dipped down to her mouth…just as they were doing now. Those eyes lingered, then darkened, and she felt a pleasant warmth move across her skin.
“Patience…”
“Hmm?”
His gaze snapped up to hers suddenly, and he said something under his breath she thought perhaps was a curse, followed by what sounded rather like, “this isn’t the place.”
It took a moment for understanding to seep in, but when it did, the pleasant warmth she’d been experiencing was immediately replaced by the heat of embarrassment. She looked away, and desperate to cover the sudden tension between them, said the first thing that came to mind. “I…I don’t think it’s proper for you to use my given name.”
“Did I?” She turned back to see a corner of his mouth curve up briefly. “I suppose I did. You’ll have to call me William, then. In the interest of being fair.”
That statement was quite effective in distracting her from her from the tension. “I don’t think—”
“I insist,” he added, in an easy and confident tone that told her he was accustomed to having his orders followed.
Patience opened her mouth, closed it again. It wasn’t at all proper to address each other by their given names after so short an acquaintance. But was it more, or less, improper to refuse an insistent earl? She had absolutely no idea. Perhaps they were equally grievous breaches of etiquette. That seemed her sort of luck. “I’m not at all sure—”
“At least when we’re alone,” he relented.
“We’re not alone now.”
“When no one else can hear, then. And while we’re having a conversation no one else can hear,” he continued before she could argue, “why don’t you tell me who the elderly gentleman was at the ball last night?”
The mild unease she’d felt earlier was nothing compared to the wave of panic that washed over her now. “I…”
“It was impossible to miss your discomfort at his behavior, or that it preceded your premature departure from the ball.” He bent his head to catch her eye. “You left before our waltz.”
There was a teasing tone in his voice, but she found it impossible to smile. “Yes. Yes, I know. I’m terribly sorry.”
He straightened again. “I’d rather have your reasons than your apology. Who is he, Patience?”
She wanted to tell him. He’d given her a beautiful day—a day of firsts, and quite possibly onlys. Her first flowers, her first stroll with a gentleman, her first visit to Hyde Park.
Before she’d come to live with the Meldrins, she’d been able to do little more than run the occasional errand outside the rooms she and her father shared in London, and never then without worrying what havoc her father might wreak in her absence.
The Meldrins had taken her off to Europe almost immediately after she’d gone to them for help, and since that day, she’d been eager to return and discover everything she had been missing in London. All the things she’d only heard of, or caught glimpses of through grimy windowpanes, or—
William drew her out of her musings by reaching out to gently still the fingers plucking at the lace on her cuffs. She stared down at the large hand covering her own. “I didn’t realize I had the habit until Mrs. Meldrin pointed it out,” she said quietly.
“We all have our foibles. Like your…grandfather?” he guessed.
She shook her head. “If I tell you, will you give me your word to keep it secret?”
“If you like,” he said, and cocked his head. “Why do you think it necessary?”
She very nearly gaped at him. Why was it necessary? She couldn’t possibly have heard him correctly. “His behavior was scandalous. It would be a scandal, if anyone knew he…knew who he was.”
And her father’s behavior not only held the potential to bring embarrassment on himself, but on the Meldrins as well. He was in London as their guest, after all.
“A scandal?” William looked momentarily perplexed before shaking his head. “You’ve worried yourself over nothing, Patience. Your…” He raised his brows and tilted his head in a prompting manner. “…uncle?”
She shook her head.
“Father?”
She was tempted to deny it, almost as tempted as she was to confide in him. In the end, her hesitation answered for her.
“Right.” William gave her hand a gentle squeeze. “Your father is hardly the first man of his age to overindulge, fall asleep in front of the fire, and wake up disoriented.”
“I…” Overindulge. Patience felt a tremendous wash of relief, immediately followed by a heavy weight of guilt. William assumed her father had been in his cups…and she hadn’t enough courage left to enlighten him. She’d used up her meager store of bravery in the first attempt to tell him the truth.
She might have come up with the courage eventually, but Mr. and Mrs. Meldrin chose that moment to arrive and suggest she return home with them for tea.
Worse, as William handed her into the Meldrins’ carriage and expressed a hope to see her again soon, she felt more pleasure than she did guilt.
Just a little more time, she told herself as the carriage rolled away. She only wanted a bit more time to keep the truth to herself, to pretend everything was as it should be. Or perhaps more accurately, how it could be…if only things were not as they were.
Chapter Five
William straightened his cravat as he strode down the second-floor hall of his town house. The damn thing always went awry on the fifteenth of the month. It was the day he met with his man of business to discuss the running of the estate, a task that often had him pulling at his constricting neckwear.
He’d known very little about the management of an estate before gaining his title, and he couldn’t say having spent the last few years educating himself on the matter had done much to improve his opinion of the responsibility. Fortunately for t
he estate, his good opinion wasn’t necessary, just his participation.
He’d been sorely tempted to excuse himself from that participation that morning. There were a thousand other things he’d rather have been doing, and at the top of that list was spending time with Patience Byerly. It was a little unnerving, how much he wanted to spend time with her.
Her laugh, her smile, her quiet wit, and her open heart all pulled at him. It was impossible not to be drawn into her enthusiasm for life—impossible not to be drawn to her.
And his growing admiration was not limited to the merely platonic. He wanted her. Every small aspect of her teased and tempted him—the ivory skin he imagined would feel soft as silk, the thick hair he thought would look delectable spread out on his pillow. He was fascinated by her dark green eyes, intrigued by her haughty brows, and captivated by the soft curves he’d felt a hint of beneath the palm of his hand when he’d helped her into the Meldrins’ carriage.
But nothing enthralled and tormented him quite so thoroughly as her lips. He wouldn’t have thought it possible to be so utterly undone by a woman’s lips. Certainly it was natural for a man to notice and appreciate a well-formed mouth, and there was nothing unusual in wondering what that mouth might be like to taste. But as a rule, a man’s attention was eventually drawn elsewhere and, as a rule, that elsewhere was located a bit farther down.
Apparently, he was the exception to that rule, because as much as he noticed, appreciated, and wanted the whole of Patience Byerly, it was her mouth that had kept him up the two nights since Lord Welsing’s ball, tossing and turning like a damn green boy.
He hadn’t yet decided if he was more irritated by the recent obsession, or intrigued.
He reached the top of the stairs in time to hear a knock on the front door, and he reached the bottom of the steps in time to see, of all people, his sister being ushered inside.
“Virginia.”
She looked up from pulling off her gloves, her cherubic face lit with a mischievousness he knew all too well. Those blonde curls, rosy cheeks, and innocent brown eyes were capable of hiding a wealth of trouble. “Hello, William. You look surprised to see me.”