by Regina Scott
“Mais oui,” she said, fabric rustling as she must have removed the chemise and donned the nightgown. “But a part of me remembers a life like this, when I had maids to dress and undress me, servants to see to my every wish. That life is gone, and I do not know what the future holds. Please, allow me to help you now.”
Patience nodded, and Yvette made quick work of her ties and laces.
“We have not had a moment to discuss the future,” Patience said as she pulled on her nightgown. “Harry said you must go to London when the causeway opens. What will you do there?”
She turned to find Yvette eyeing the big bed. “I will tell the fine gentlemen in the War Office everything I know,” she said. “And when I am of no further use to them, they will let me go.”
“To France?” Patience asked, unable to hide her shudder.
“Non. Not until the Corsican Monster is defeated and sanity returned. Those who flee France are not allowed to return on penalty of death. I fear I must stay in England for some time.” She seemed to recover a little, for she shot Patience a smile. “But you need not worry. I will not monopolize your ‘Arry.”
Patience moved to one side of the bed. “He isn’t really mine. Surely he told you we are only pretending to be engaged. As his supposed bride-to-be, I can make excuses for him, so he can continue his work with you.”
“C’est vrais?” Yvette came around to the opposite side. “But the way he speaks of you, the way he looks at you. Non, this is no play. The man is in love.”
Once more hope raised its head. “He hasn’t mentioned the matter to me.”
Yvette shook her head. “Men. Sometimes you must tell them what they are thinking.”
Patience laughed as she climbed into bed. “I’m not sure anyone knows what Harry is thinking.”
“He is open, that one,” Yvette insisted, joining her. “Fearless, devoted to his country, his family. You will make him a fine bride.”
She should not take such solace from the idea. “I suppose we’ll just have to see what tomorrow brings.”
She waited until Yvette pulled up the cover before turning down the lamp and settling back against the soft mattress.
“If you love him,” Yvette said in the darkness, “do not wait to tell him. This Revolution has taught me that life is uncertain. Opportunities missed may not come again.”
Andrew Marvell’s poem had said the same. Patience swallowed. “I understand, but I’m not as brave as you are.”
Yvette was quiet a moment, then Patience felt the bed give as she must have rolled onto her side. “I was not brave at first,” she murmured. “When the mob came for my family, I ran and hid in the cellar. I did not have the opportunity to say farewell. I could not help them. But I learned, how to protect myself, how to protect others, how to use my wit and beauty to influence. It is easier to be brave when you have something or someone to fight for.”
“Do you have someone, in France?” Patience asked.
She shifted again. “Non. My family is gone. It has been many years, and I still miss them. I could not make friends with those loyal to Napoleon. I could trust no one. It was better to hold my heart close. But you—you have no need to dissemble. You can tell ‘Arry you love him. You can accept his love. I envy you.”
“Thank you, Yvette,” Patience said. “Good night.
“Bonne nuit, Patience,” she said. “And thank you for your kindness.”
“It was no trouble,” Patience assured her.
Indeed, the trouble would come in trying to convince herself to approach Harry and tell him how she felt.
Chapter Nineteen
As soon as Harry woke and dressed the next morning, he rode out to check the causeway. A light rain was falling, but he could see the darker line of clouds to the southwest, like a wall of night heading toward him. Below, waves met the outgoing stream with violence sufficient to splash. No one would be leaving Foulness Manor today.
He intercepted Julian on the way in to breakfast and drew him into his study. But someone was there ahead of him.
Villers perched on the chair in front of Harry’s desk, hands braced on his tan trousers. “Ah, there you are, Harry. I was looking for you.”
Looking through the desk, more likely. Good thing the only written evidence of his activities was the notes he had already sent to Lord Hastings in the War Office.
“And I believe your sister is looking for you,” Julian said, stepping aside to clear the way to the door.
With a glance at Harry, Villers rose and sauntered out.
Harry made sure he’d crossed the entry hall for the dining room before shutting the door.
“What was that about?” Julian asked.
Harry strode back to his side. “Villers intends to blackmail me. It seems I smuggled myself a ladybird.”
“Smuggling,” Julian pressed. “Not spying?”
“Not so far. I checked the causeway—it’s still covered. We can’t rid ourselves of him. Keep him busy today, would you? Because if he insults me, Yvette, or Patience again, I won’t answer for my response.”
“I’ll keep him away from you if I have to lose at billiards all day,” Julian promised. “I just hope I have enough in my wallet to keep him interested. But Harry, if he doesn’t know what you’re doing, I doubt he was the one to take a shot at you.”
“So do I,” Harry said. “Perhaps it was an accident, someone from the village trying to warn the smugglers away from the cove. Once word got out I’d been hit, the shooter feared to come forward.”
“Perhaps,” Julian allowed. “But I’ll rest easier when Yvette is in London.”
Harry felt the same way. But her safety wasn’t the only thing on his mind. He loitered in the entry hall until Yvette appeared with Patience on the way to breakfast.
“Do we leave?” Yvette asked, golden brows up.
Harry shook his head. “The causeway is still flooded. I expect another squall any time.”
Yvette deflated.
Patience sighed. “Then everyone will have to remain indoors again today.”
She sounded tired, and he could understand why. The bulk of the arrangements for this doomed house party had fallen on her shoulders.
“Julian has offered to keep Villers busy,” Harry told her. “I can help with Meredith and Lydia.”
“Gussie will want me and Lydia in the laboratory, I expect,” Patience said. “Would you care to join us, Yvette?”
She smiled. “Wherever I am needed, I will go.” She touched Harry’s hand. “Do not fret. We triumphed over my cousin’s plots, the Emperor’s plans, and the Channel seas. This house party is nothing.” She stepped back with a smile to Patience. “I will go eat. Remember my advice, Patience.” She headed for the dining room.
“Advice?” Harry asked.
Patience had paled. “We had quite a talk last night.” Her face puckered. “Oh, Harry, is it true she lost her entire family?”
“Her mother, father, and two older brothers,” he said, trying not to picture it. “She was remanded into the care of a distant cousin who had thrown in his lot with the revolutionaries. He treated her as little more than a drudge until the Emperor noticed her and demanded she be made part his court. That’s how she learned the secrets she passed to us. Her life was in danger every moment.”
“How awful. I’ll do all I can to help her ease back into a more normal life. Well, as normal as Foulness Manor can be.”
He shared her smile. “I’m sure she’ll appreciate it. And so will I.”
She held her smile, and the silence stretched.
“Is there nothing else you wish to say to me?” Patience asked.
The tone was all politeness, but he felt the yearning under it. He’d raised her expectations yesterday, and he cursed himself for it. Until he had a name beyond shame he had no right to offer it to her.
“Only that I applaud your efforts,” he said. “Your support to me and Gussie means more than you can know.”
“You both d
eserve support,” she said. “You both deserve respect and admiration as well. Surely you know that I admire you, Harry.”
He could not imagine why. “I’ve done nothing particularly admirable since I met you. I’m a glorified messenger, and then only because my forefathers had the poor taste to league themselves with smugglers.”
A frown gathered on her brow. “It’s not like you to be so humble. You have sacrificed for the good of your country, just like Yvette.”
“My efforts pale beside hers,” Harry insisted. “Don’t make me a hero, Patience.”
“Then don’t make yourself a villain,” she countered. She stood on tiptoe and pressed a kiss to his cheek. Then, blushing, she hurried after Yvette.
Harry fingered the spot her lips had brushed. Why did one touch from her set him to dreaming? He could imagine her beside him here at the manor, supporting the needs of the village, assisting at the church. They would travel to London, take part in the Season, convince his friend Worth to take them up in one of his balloons. They’d spend time with Wey on his island in the Thames, Carrolton at his forest hideaway. And once children came, they would teach them to be men and women of character. Patience would make an excellent mother.
The vision popped, pieces scattering like smugglers from revenue agents. He had no business dreaming of a future with Patience. Not until he was shed of his past.
And certainly not while Villers insisted on profiting from the present.
Villers caught up with Harry in the withdrawing room later that morning. Julian offered Harry an apologetic smile as he followed the fellow in. Patience, Lydia, Meredith, and Yvette were gathered in the laboratory, and Harry had been digging through the bookshelves for inspiration on how to keep everyone occupied this afternoon.
“How about a game of billiards?” Harry asked, pushing away from the shelf. “I know Julian was itching to beat your last score.”
“Delighted,” Villers said with a wave toward Julian. “But first I must have a word with you, Harry.”
Julian glanced at Harry. Might as well get it over with. Harry nodded, and Julian left the room.
“I don’t have one hundred pounds per quarter for you, Villers,” Harry said.
He tsked. “Do you think so little of Patience? Or is it Yvette you find too cheap to support?”
Harry took a step toward him. “Careful, Villers. You malign the lady at your peril.”
He spread his hands. “I assure you, I am only trying to help your cousin.”
“But why do I require your help?” Yvette wandered back into the room. “Forgive the interruption, but I found the discussion of potions tedious.” She looked Villers up and down. “What trouble do you think to spare me, Monsieur Villers?”
“Only the unkind slurs of Society,” he said smoothly. “The ladies and gentlemen of London do not tolerate uncertainty well, and you arrived under mysterious circumstances.”
“I do not call walking along the lane so mysterious,” Yvette assured him. “I could have visited Foulness Manor at any time. It just happened to be while you were in residence.”
“Because Harry allowed it.” He cast Harry a coy glance. “But you will need more assistance than Harry’s word if you are to be accepted into Society.”
“And you offer such assistance?” she asked, head cocked.
“For a consideration.” He glanced at Harry again. “And should that consideration be less than generous, I might find my way to the Admiralty. I am certain they would be very interested to hear more about your activities, Harry.”
Perhaps more interested than Villers knew. Harry was almost tempted to let him try approaching the admirals.
Yvette seemed more concerned. “C’est vrai,” she said with a sigh, fiddling with her sleeve as if nervous. Something sparkled in the lamplight. She sprung on Villers, thin blade in her hand.
“Worthless cur,” she hissed, steel pressed under his chin. “I have vanquished smarter men than you. Did you think to malign a fine man like Sir Harry Orwell? I will dance over your corpse.”
Villers’ eyes nearly bugged from his head. Harry must have looked nearly as surprised. Was this a bluff? He peered closer. Her hand trembled, and a wild light shone in her eyes.
“Yvette,” he said in warning, “let him go.”
“Why?” She pressed the knife deeper, wrinkling his cravat. Villers stood on tiptoe to escape the blade. “He is a snake, this one, nipping at our heels. The best way to stop a snake is to cut off its head.”
“No, please,” Villers warbled, wavering on his feet. “I’ll say nothing. I swear.”
Harry reached out and lay his hand on Yvette’s, pulling it down and away from the fellow’s throat. “Easy. There’s no need for bloodshed. This is England. You’re safe.”
She shivered, as if he’d doused her with cold water, but he drew in a breath as she pulled back the blade.
“I am safe nowhere,” she said, but, after a last scathing look at Villers, she turned and stalked from the room.
Villers rubbed his neck, even though the skin wasn’t so much as nicked. “Mad. Utterly mad.”
Harry turned to him. “Quite right. And you would be too if you’d lived through what she’s witnessed. Whatever you think you know, Villers, keep silent. She’s not one you want at your back. And even the Admiralty could be taken in by a pretty face.”
~~~
Patience followed Gussie, Lydia, and Meredith into the entry hall. After watching Patience make a new batch of her mother’s ointment, Gussie had had another inspiration. She was certain sweet flags growing in the marsh below the house would be just the thing to improve it. Lydia and Meredith had indicated interest in accompanying her to the edge of the marsh to collect samples. Of course, Patience was expected to come along, even though her thoughts were elsewhere.
Harry had been so distant today. Like Robert, he seemed to regret having suggested his engagement to Patience might be anything other than a ruse. Was that the way with most courtships? Did all men make promises they had no intention of keeping? Surely no woman would ever wed!
Or was it her? Had she been right all along, and she had some fatal flaw that doomed her connections? Perhaps her reticence had made Harry think her unsuited to be his partner in life. She had been disappointed in her performances. How much more would he despise them?
“But, madam,” Mr. Cuddlestone was protesting when she joined the others near the front door. “It’s pouring.”
Gussie waved a hand. “Acorus calamus loves water. This would be the perfect time to collect it.”
Patience peered out the window. The rain fell so heavily she couldn’t make out the top of the drive. “I fear Mr. Cuddlestone is correct, Gussie. We’ll be soaked before we’ve gone a few steps.”
“Sacrifices must be made for progress,” Gussie insisted.
Lydia joined Patience at the window. “It is rather stormy.”
“Where is your spirit of adventure?” Gussie challenged.
Yvette, who had left them earlier, came out of the withdrawing room as if pulled by their voices. “Why must we argue?”
“Because we have passion,” Gussie said. “I cannot rest until my preparation is perfected. It will remove warts and blemishes, heal wounds.”
“Heal wounds?” Yvette moved closer, eyes brightening. “This could be a great kindness to those fighting this awful war.”
Gussie glanced around at the others. “That is what I’ve been trying to tell you. What’s a little rain for a chance to benefit all of mankind?”
Lydia hurried back to her side. “I’ll come.”
“I as well,” Yvette said. “Where do we go?”
Resigned, Patience returned to the group. “Gussie believes a plant growing in the marsh nearby may hold the key to her formulation.”
“And we are all ready to leave the manor,” Meredith put in.
Yvette turned to Patience. “But what of the ointment you used on me last night? It eased my pain and smelled like roses.”
Gussie put her nose in the air. “Roses are entirely too common. I want my preparation to be original.”
“I would think,” Meredith put in, “that you would prefer it to be effective.”
Gussie stalked up to her. “You are a guest in my home, Miss…Thorn. Do not presume to lecture me on how to manage my laboratory.”
Patience wasn’t the only one staring at her. “Gussie?”
As if she realized her mistake, Gussie jerked back from her, reddening. “I do beg your pardon, Meredith. It’s this unending rain. I…excuse me.” She hurried for the stairs.
“Shall we fetch her the plant?” Lydia asked, face puckered.
“No,” Patience said. “I’ll talk to her. Meredith, may I ask you to entertain Lydia and Yvette?”
Meredith shook herself. “Of course. Come, ladies. I’m sure we can find something to occupy us usefully.”
Lydia nodded, and Yvette put on a sweet smile as they set off across the hall.
“You are a blessing, Miss Ramsey,” Mr. Cuddlestone murmured. “I’ve never seen the mistress like this, not since she was a young lady trying to convince her brother to stay home.” He sighed. “How she despaired of him. We all did. Perhaps you can learn what’s troubling her now.”
“I’ll try,” Patience said, and she lifted her skirts to climb the stairs.
Gussie hadn’t gone far. She was pacing the corridor just off the landing. Patience could hear her muttering.
“It if isn’t animal or mineral, it stands to reason it must be a plant. But which plant?”
“Gussie?” Patience ventured closer. “Are you all right?”
Gussie whirled to face her. “No! There must be an answer. Why can’t I find it?”
“Meredith’s suggestion agreed with mine,” Patience said. “Roses and lavender are accepted healing agents. You had said you might improve my mother’s ointment. Why must we look farther afield?”
Gussie turned her gaze heavenward as if seeking help from there. “Have you seen the various ointments and salves for sale, Patience? All invented by men. No one will take mine seriously if I merely employ the ordinary. We must discover something new, something important, something that will make a difference.”