by Wendy Vella
After handing over their bonnets, the Allenders followed the butler to the stairs. Paintings of birds and scenery hung at eye level, and their steps were muffled by the soft blue-toned carpets as they climbed. On the second level they found lighter blue walls and several elegant-legged side tables filled with small plates and figurines.
“Their house in Hampshire had this many ornaments on display. Do you remember, Patience?”
“I do,” she replied to Lucy as they followed the butler down the hallway.
“Who is that?”
Patience followed Charles’ finger upwards to where the portrait of an austere-looking gentleman was gazing down at them.
“He was Lord Belmont, before the one you met the other day, Charles.”
“Mathew?” He looked at Patience and she nodded her reply, instead of saying what she instinctively wanted to: Please call him Lord Belmont.
They came to another room at the end of the hall. The butler opened the double doors, and they preceded him through.
“Patience!”
She just had time to brace herself as a very pregnant Lady Kelkirk hurried towards her. Throwing her arms wide, she embraced Patience.
“Lady Kelkirk.” Patience held her gently, feeling a rush of tenderness for the woman. Only a few years Patience’s junior, Claire had been so full of life, loud, funny, and loving. Patience had spent hours with Claire draped over her lap as she read her stories when she was a small child.
“Will you not call me Claire, or are you too angry with me to do so?”
Claire held Patience by the shoulders as she looked at her. Her brown eyes were clear, her skin soft and smooth, and she was still as beautiful as Patience remembered, even in the advanced stages of pregnancy—in fact, possibly more so. The woman positively glowed.
“Don’t be silly, Claire. There is nothing you need forgiveness for.”
“We did not acknowledge your parents’ deaths, and were not there to support you when you needed us, as you did for us after Anthony passed,” Claire said. “But that is about to change, as now our families are together once more.”
“It really is wonderful to see you,” Patience said, hugging her old friend again. She had not realized until now just how much she had missed her.
Claire took her hands as she looked from Patience to Lucy. “And you have both become so beautiful.”
“And pregnancy agrees with you, Claire. You are blooming.”
“Patience, my dear girl, can you forgive me?” Lady Belmont stepped forward as Claire released Patience, and once again she was clasped in a firm hug.
“Please, Lady Belmont, there is nothing to forgive. You were also grieving.” Patience inhaled the woman’s scent and remembered her mother. She felt the sting of tears as the warm arms held her closer. Her mother had hugged just like this, and she had not allowed herself to remember, but now it all came back to her in a wash of emotion.
“My dear, if only I could take a step backward in time, and not put your letter to one side, where I pushed it from my head. It was wrong of me, Patience, and my dear friend deserved more from me. She deserved that I mourn her and be there for her children when she could not. I fear my own grief robbed me of rational thought.”
“Please.” Patience fought back tears as she eased out of the woman’s arms. “There really is no need for you to feel that way. We were well supported,” she lied. “All that matters is that now we are here and I wish to catch up on all your news.”
A hand cupped her cheek softly as Lady Belmont looked at her. “You were always such a sweet-natured girl.”
“Charles,” Patience said, waving her brother close. “Come and greet Lady Belmont, please.”
Her brother and sister were hugged and kissed also, and as likenesses were drawn between Charles and his father, Patience felt herself relax. Mathew was not here, and she could spend time with these two wonderful women, whom she had once cared for very much.
“Come, everyone, sit and we shall take tea.” Lady Belmont urged everyone into seats, and then rang the bell.
Patience let the memories come and go as they discussed the past and the future in the sunny parlor. Around them sunlight dappled the silk-covered walls and bounced off polished furniture, and she felt at peace in the company of her old friends.
“And what of names, Claire? Have you settled on any?” Lucy asked.
“Anthony for a boy.”
“He was your brother, Claire, is that right?” Charlie asked.
“He was, and a wonderful man. We lost him nine years ago, and we all still miss him greatly.”
They were silent for a while as each one remembered the funny, smiling man that Anthony Belmont had been before he lost his life due to an injury he had sustained while serving his country.
Claire broke the silence. “Do you remember when Mathew and Patience slipped into the kitchen and stole cook’s apple cake, then smuggled it up to the nursery?”
“Patience did that?” Charles looked at her in surprise, and Patience knew why. She was his sensible, responsible older sister now. They might tease each other, but she never did anything reckless anymore and usually scolded him for doing what she once would have instigated.
“I remember.” Lucy clapped her hands together. “Mathew blamed one of the footmen, and had to tell the truth when your cook made their life miserable.”
The tea arrived, and soon Charles had a large slice of Shrewsbury cake in his hand as he lounged in a chair.
“Simon and Louis will arrive soon, Charles. He is younger than you, but I’m sure you shall get on handsomely,” Lady Belmont said.
“Is he a cousin of yours, Claire?” Lucy looked at Lady Kelkirk.
“He is my nephew,” she said with a soft smile. “Anthony’s son, and as you will see, the likeness is quite remarkable.”
Lucy sent Patience a questioning look, and she wondered when they had missed Anthony’s marriage and who the mother was, but neither said anything.
“Are you and Lucy both seeking husbands, Patience?”
The questioned surprised her so much she choked on her tea, then upended the rest of her cup over the bodice of her dress. Looking down at her damp front, Patience hastily pulled the handkerchief from her reticule and attempted to pat it dry.
“They have been here such a brief time, sister, and already you are upsetting our guests.”
And that was all Patience needed to further ruin what had been a lovely day. She didn’t look up as Mathew walked into the room.
“I am sorry, Patience. I did not mean to startle you.”
“It’s all right, Claire, really,” Patience said as she looked at Claire and saw her distress was genuine. “I’m sure I tossed you in the horse trough a time or two in our youth, so I shall consider it payback.”
“You did. However, I still had no right to question you that way. If possible, pregnancy has loosened my tongue even further.”
“Your tongue has always been loose, sister.” A large handkerchief appeared before her.
“No, that won’t do it, Mathew.” Claire waved it away. “Take Miss Allender somewhere and help her dry her dress, please, Bridgette.” Claire looked to the maid who was replenishing the tea.
Patience shot Mathew a quick look as she regained her feet. He was watching her, his eyes intent and taking in everything.
“Thank you. I shall return soon.”
The maid led her to what she presumed to be one of the many spare bedrooms in the house, where she helped Patience mop up the tea and did her best at drying the dress.
“I shall take you back to where the family is waiting now, Miss Allender,” the maid said later, when it had nearly dried.
“There is no need,” Patience motioned for the maid to leave without her. “I know the house and can find my way back, thank you.”
She wasn’t in any hurry to return to the others now that Mathew was here. Charlie and Lucy would be safe with the Belmonts. Patience left the room, made her way along t
he hallway and took the stairs upward. There was a gallery up there; she’d seen it once when she’d visited Lady Belmont with her mother.
She walked into the long, high-ceilinged room seconds later. The lower half of the wall was paneled wood, the upper emerald; it was a calming, restful space that would give her a few minutes alone. She walked slowly down the strip of carpet in the center of the polished wood floors with the light from the many windows at her back.
Looking up, she found the last Lord Belmont looking down on her once more, the very image of his eldest son. Next was Lady Belmont, then Mathew. Patience stopped to study the portrait—his green eyes appeared to be laughing at her, yet his mouth remained stern. It was a wonderful likeness. Pulling her eyes from his handsome face, she moved on to his sister.
As a child Claire had always spoken whatever thought was in her head, and it appeared not much had changed. Patience knew that while Claire had apologized for asking about her matrimonial prospects, when the moment presented itself she would do so again. If she remembered anything about Claire, it was her persistence.
Walking on, Patience looked for the other Belmont sibling, Anthony, but saw no sign of him. There were older ancestors, but not he. Why was Anthony not up here with his family? The thought disturbed her. Patience had always liked him. His laughter had been infectious, and he had been a fun companion when they were children.
“My sister did not mean to upset you, Patience.”
She didn’t turn, even though her heart started to thud as Mathew approached. Instead, she kept her eyes on his ancestors.
“Because she is happy, she wants everyone else to be.”
“She looks happy,” Patience said, still looking up, “and it suits her.”
“I could not have wished for a better husband for her than Simon.”
“Yes. I met him only the once, yet he seemed a nice man.”
“So we are to continue on with polite conversation?”
“I think it best,” she said, moving a few paces away from him in the pretext of studying the next portrait.
“I’m told I look like my father, yet I always saw more of him in my siblings than in myself.”
He was beside her again, close enough that she could smell the outdoors on him. Sunshine and grass, flowers and horses; it all mingled into a tantalizing scent.
“Claire has his eyes, but there is little of me in my great-grandfather that I can see.”
“You are wrong there, my lord. I see a great deal of you in this painting, just as I see Anthony in his eyes.”
She felt him stiffen, almost as if he was bracing for something, and she asked the question that had been bothering her since she’d stepped into this room.
“Why is there no portrait of Anthony here?”
“Of all the things you could have said, I did not expect that one,” Mathew said as he ran his eyes over her. Her head was tilted back, her eyes focused on the portrait of his great-great-grandfather. Today’s dress was cream with tiny rosebuds, and her hair was held in place with a rose satin band. Curls formed a riot at the back of her head, and he wanted to touch one, pull it loose to see how far it would fall down her back.
“I’m sorry. If my question upsets you, please ignore it.” She spoke quickly, and he knew she was suddenly wishing the words unsaid.
When she had not returned, Mathew had excused himself and gone to find her. He’d sensed her discomfort at his presence as soon as he’d entered the parlor his mother had chosen for the reunion between their families. The haste with which she had followed the maid from the room had merely confirmed his thoughts.
He had talked with Charles and Lucy, teased his sister, and then he’d gone searching for the woman who had once been his friend and now consumed far too many of his thoughts.
“Anthony’s death caused my mother and sister a great deal of pain, so I had it taken down.”
Her eyes swung to his.
“But Anthony died many years ago, my lord. Surely he should be put up here once again where he belongs, with his family. I would think he would be happier looking down on you all. And would you not be happier seeing him there, also?”
Mathew wanted to touch her, smooth the frown from her forehead, run his fingers over a silken cheek, yet he had no wish to do so now, when she was finally talking to him, even if it was on a subject he had no wish to pursue. Ignoring the pain in his chest, he said, “Anthony doesn’t know his portrait is hidden away, Patience.”
She looked at the paintings above them once more, then turned to him again. Mathew felt suddenly stripped bare as she studied him intently, almost as if she could read every thought in his head and pain in his soul.
“It is not them. It is you who doesn’t want Anthony’s portrait in here. You are still, grieving aren’t you?” She spoke slowly, almost a whisper.
He didn’t show the surprise her words made him feel, Mathew had become good at hiding his thoughts since his brother’s death. It was a subject that he stored in the back of his head unless he was alone; only then did he let the pain come along with the memories. His mother and sister had mourned but moved on, allowing the memory of Anthony to settle in a warm place inside their hearts and minds, but Mathew had not. He still struggled to speak of the brother he’d lost.
“Yes,” he rasped. “Every bloody day.” He hadn’t meant to say the words, but they tumbled out before he could swallow them down.
She reached out toward him and then lowered her hand when she realized what she had done, but Mathew caught it, trapping it in his own, folding her small fingers inside his larger ones.
“Did you…have you mourned for him, my lord?”
“Mathew, Patience. Can you not try to call me Mathew?”
“No, I cannot, and we are discussing you, not me.” Her frown deepened as she tried to remove her fingers from his. “To heal, one must first accept Anthony’s passing, and acceptance does not come by removing all traces of that person from your life, my lord.”
The lure of her skin was too hard to resist. He traced her cheek with one finger. It felt warm and silken to the touch.
“Don’t.” She tried to push him away, but he wouldn’t let her. In fact, he pulled her closer.
“How did you accept your parents’ deaths, Patience?”
“Lucy, Charles and I talk of our parents constantly, and we have miniatures of them that we carry with us everywhere. They have left us, yes, but our memories of them are still very much alive in the recounting of each story about them.”
Her eyes found his and then flitted away as once again she attempted to pull her fingers free.
“I have been so long without him in my life now, the memory and the man, that I believe it is best for us all to leave it that way.”
“But it is not best! He is your brother, my lord, and the man you and your family loved very much. I could never forget the existence of someone I loved. Furthermore, your sister and mother talk of your brother, and have just done so with my siblings and me.”
“I did not say I had forgotten him, Patience.” Mathew released her hand to rub his chest, but she beat him to it.
“This is not right, this anguish you feel whenever you think of your brother or hear his name spoken. Can you not see this is causing you pain?
“I have no idea what you are speaking of,” Mathew lied, closing his eyes as her hand soothed the pain inside him.
“Yes, you do.”
“It is easier to let his memory die.”
Mathew opened his eyes and saw the sadness in her gaze.
“It is not easier on you. In fact, I would go so far as to say you are suffering greatly by not grieving for your brother.”
“Patience, please.” Mathew rested his hand over hers. “It is not a subject I wish to discuss with you or anyone.”
“Talk to your mother and sisters, Mathew. Otherwise the grief will slowly destroy you,” she begged him.
“No. This is the best way forward for me…for all of us.”
<
br /> “You owe Anthony more than that!”
He felt his own anger rise. Speaking of his brother made him irrational and unbalanced; that was why he took every effort not to. “You have no idea what you are talking about. My brother is dead, so how can I possibly owe him anything?”
His anger did nothing to deter her, as hers simply flared higher.
“He must not be something that hovers over you, but something that offers warmth in your heart!”
“Stop!” he roared. “For the love of God, just leave it alone, Patience.”
The emotion drained from her face, and once again she was composed.
“Forgive me if I have spoken out of turn, but Anthony was very dear to me.” She pulled from his arms. “And for a brief moment I forgot...” She fell silent, not finishing the sentence.
Mathew grabbed her arm as she began to walk away and spun her to face him. “Forgot what? That we are not friends, and that although you say you have forgiven me for my behavior seven years ago, in fact you have not, and possibly never will?”
She clamped her lips together, looking like the child he’d once known; however, it did not make him smile. “It is childish to ignore someone when they ask you a question.”
She tried to pull away from him, but he stepped closer to her, cupping one of her cheeks in his hand.
“Release me, my lord.”
“Admit the truth and I will.”
“I must admit this, yet you will not admit that the pain of Anthony’s death is haunting you.”
She had never backed down from him, he remembered, looking at the defiant tilt of her jaw.
“Impatience,” he whispered, lowering his head, he brushed his lips over the seam of hers. Her gasp allowed him in, and he deepened the kiss, taking her mouth with his in a slow, heated kiss. He wanted this woman, and feeling the lush curves of her body pressed to his was only building the fire inside him.
Her fists came up to his chest, but instead of pushing him away, she grabbed the lapels of his jacket. God, she has a beautiful mouth, he thought, holding her closer. Her breasts were crushed to his chest, making his hands ache to travel upwards and caress their curves. Cupping the back of her head, he deepened the kiss again, exploring the delicate contours of her mouth. The soft scent of honeysuckle wrapped around his senses and he felt off-balance suddenly, as if the world had tilted slightly while he was not looking.