by Wendy Vella
“I will follow shortly,” he said to his friends, then turned and made his way back down to where the boat was now nudging against the dock. She didn’t open her eyes as he arrived, or when the boat started to rock as he helped Lucy and her friend out.
“Give me your hand, Patience.”
She slowly opened her eyes and looked up at him. “I don’t like water.”
“I can see that, and if you give me your hand, I shall get you safely onto solid ground.”
“What if the boat moves and I fall?” She looked at the water before refocusing on him.
“It won’t move. Someone is holding it, and I will not let you fall,” he promised.
“We could both fall,” she said, still gripping the sides of the boat. “Into that.” She looked at the water again.
“Have a little faith in your old friend, Patience.” Mathew leaned over the boat and pried one hand from the edge.
“Acquaintance,” she hissed, gripping his fingers tight. “Promise you won’t drop me, Mathew!”
“I promise.” Mathew pulled her slowly to her feet, then placed both hands around her waist and lifted her gently out and onto the ground beside him. “You can open your eyes now,” he said, still holding her.
“Thank God that is over.” She shuddered.
“Why would you put yourself through that if you are terrified of water?” Mathew reluctantly released her, his eyes running over her. “There is a perfectly adequate bridge you could have crossed to come here by carriage.”
She was wearing ivory satin, he noted, the bodice trimmed in lace, the sleeves small puffs. Around her throat she was wearing a circle of diamonds that sparkled against her creamy skin in the dwindling light.
“Lucy and Amanda wished to come by boat, and I am strong enough to overcome my hatred of water for such a short time.” Her eyes were calmer now the terror had abated.
“Apparently you’re not,” Mathew said.
“You will say nothing to Lucy. I sat in the front specifically so she would not notice my discomfort.” Her eyes snapped up to look at him.
“Yes, it would never do to show weakness, now, would it? Especially not to your family.” For some reason her words angered him, and he wasn’t quite sure why.
“Don’t speak to me about weakness, when the mention of Anthony’s name makes you look ill.”
“I have no wish to discuss my brother.” Mathew knew he sounded haughty, but could do nothing to change that, as the tightness in his chest was suddenly back.
“And I have no wish to discuss my weakness, so we have nothing further to say to each other.”
“How about, ‘Thank you, Mathew’?” His words were clipped.
“Thank you, Lord Belmont,” she said, performing a perfect curtsey. “For coming to my aid.” Her eyes were cool.
Mathew then watched as she walked away from him, skirts twitching, shoulders back.
“Hello, Mathew.”
“Good evening, Lucy.” Mathew kissed her cheek. “You look lovely.” Dressed in white, she was young and innocent, and nothing like the virago ahead of them.
“This is my dear friend, Miss Amanda Klipper.”
“It is a pleasure to meet you, Miss Klipper.” Mathew bowed, then held out his arms for the ladies to take.
“Thank you. We are here to meet the Stanhopes,” Lucy said.
“And are you interested in any particular Stanhope?” he whispered in her ear, which made her sigh.
“I do like Mr. James Stanhope very much, Mathew.”
“I sense a ‘but’.”
“Patience,” she said softly, “thinks every man who comes near me has nefarious intentions, even though she wishes for me to wed.”
“She is protective of you, Lucy. Surely you understand that?” Mathew looked at the rigid back in front of them and wondered why she was the one he wanted, when there were plenty of sweet-natured women in London.
“She trusts no one, and was quite rude to Mr. Stanhope when I introduced them. Luckily he did not take offense, even saying that it was pleasing to see that I was so well protected.”
“What did she say?”
“That he might be pleased to make her acquaintance, but she would reserve judgment… Well, words to that effect, but you understand my meaning.”
Mathew laughed, a loud bark of laughter that had Patience turning to look over her shoulder before turning to face ahead once more.
“Of course she refused to apologize when I questioned her about it, saying she did not trust easily, as if that were an excuse for bad manners.”
Mathew mulled that over for a few seconds. He understood Patience’s fear for her siblings; he’d been the same with both Anthony and Claire. He thought about questioning her further about the incident at the cowkeeper’s shop, and his belief that someone was threatening the Allender family, but now was not the time for that, and he knew that Lucy should not be the person he questioned.
The music greeted them, and the sound of laughter and chatter. He escorted Lucy and her friend to the box. Patience, he noticed, had moved to one side to allow Lucy to arrive first. He greeted the Stanhope family, whom he had known for many years, then prepared to leave, as his party was a few tables away.
“Play nice,” he whispered in Patience’s ear, as he had many times during their childhood when she had tried to beat him at some game or other. She ignored him, of course, as he’d known she would.
Patience had to admit an hour later that the Stanhope family were nice people. Lord and Lady Stanhope appeared a friendly couple, and they welcomed Patience, Lucy and Amanda to their table and set about making them feel at ease. Their son, James, had eyes for Lucy only, but he talked with both her and Amanda, and she felt a tug of guilt over her treatment of him when first they had met. His sister, Ellen, was a vivacious young lady whom Lucy seemed to get on well with also.
She should be happy, shouldn’t she? If Lucy did indeed make a match with Mr. James Stanhope, she would be welcomed into this family with open arms, as would Patience and Charlie, so why did the thought not fill her with joy?
Because then everything would change, and it would just be herself and Charlie left; their little circle would be broken. You’re a small-minded person, she told herself. She had only ever wanted happiness for her siblings, and yet she was resentful.
Looking at the table two along from theirs, she found Mathew. He had been sitting next to Simon, but now a lady was beside him. She was beautiful, her snow-white hair immaculately styled. As she leant towards him, her breast brushed his arm.
“Hussy,” she muttered, ignoring the jealousy that was now coursing through her body.
He was sharing the table with the Duke and Duchess of Stratton. She knew that because she had been introduced to them a few nights ago by Lord Kelkirk, whom she had been dancing with. The woman Patience did not know giggled at something Mathew had said, and it sounded like a set of bells perfectly in tune. He appeared at ease with her attentions, his body relaxed and a ready smile on his handsome face. Not that she cared, Patience thought as she pulled her gaze away; the woman was welcome to him.
The problem, of course, was that she did care…very much, and hated that she did. When she had heard his voice as the boat arrived at Vauxhall Gardens, something inside her had wanted to cry, Yes! I am safe now he is here, and that was not right. Patience did not rely on people to protect her or her family; she did that perfectly well by herself.
“We must take our places now, as Madame Saqui is soon to start,” Mr. Stanhope said, helping Lucy from her seat.
The guests made their way to the rope that was suspended high in the air, and the hum of expectation grew. It was reported that Madame Saqui could run down it, and did so with fireworks exploding beneath her.
“Are you looking forward to the entertainment, Miss Allender?”
“I am, Mr. Stanhope, as I have heard a great deal about Madame Saqui.”
He was a nice-looking man, with a handsome, almost boyish
charm, and none of the hard angles that Mathew had. She had been wrong to treat him as she had.
“I must apologize for my behavior when first we met, Mr. Stanhope.”
“Think nothing of it. I admired you for speaking to me that way,” he said, his eyes on Lucy, who stood before them. “But please be assured that I would never do anything to harm your sister, Miss Allender, as she is very special to me.”
“Thank you. I am glad to hear that, as she is very special to me also.” If she’d had any doubts as to his feelings toward Lucy, he had just allayed them.
He bowed, then moved to her sister’s side.
The music built to a crescendo, and then Madame Saqui appeared and Patience held her breath. The first firework exploded, making her jump. The elegant Madame Saqui looked as if she were gliding across a dance floor instead of a narrow rope, and below her everyone stood in awe.
She felt a tingle in her right cheek, which made her turn. She saw him then—her cousin, looking at her with a gentle smile on his face. As usual, it was his eyes that gave him away; even from this distance, they were menacing. He gave her a final look before disappearing into the crowd.
Patience was not normally a rash person; she had realized early in her role as head of the Allender household that she could no longer afford to be. However, her cousin was someone who made her lose the ability to think. When she saw him, rational thought was flung to the four winds and she acted purely on impulse—which was totally justified, considering Brantley Winston was intent on ending her brother’s life.
In seconds she was following him, her hand going to the reticule that hung from her wrist to ensure that her pistol was still inside. She had no plans to get close to him, but she wanted to observe him, see whom he was with and where he went. She would then report any findings back to Mr. Whitty, as he had said to watch whom Brantley associated with if ever she got the chance.
Heart thumping, she was soon able to move faster as the crowd cleared. She increased her pace, as she did not want to lose sight of him.
He had chosen a well-lit path. There were a few guests who had forgone the excitement that Madame Saqui offered to wander arm in arm, no doubt looking for a place to exchange a few indiscreet kisses. Looking ahead, she could no longer see Brantley.
“Bother,” Patience muttered, slowing to a walk as she looked off the sides of the path to see if he was hiding there.
“Looking for me, Cousin?”
He stepped from behind a tree and stopped directly in front of her. She was safe here—he could do nothing in such a well-lit area—but just in case, she slowly opened her reticule and slipped her hand inside, wrapping her fingers around her small pistol.
“I was taking a walk, Cousin. How lovely to run into you whilst doing so,” Patience said with a calm she was far from feeling. She hated this man so much that it almost choked her.
His eyes narrowed, but the look on his face was pleasant. “How is Charlie? I have yet to see him since I arrived in London.”
“He is safe, and you will get nowhere near him.”
“There is always a way, Cousin.”
Brantley always managed to look hurt when she talked this way. Never had he openly acknowledged his intentions or owned up to what he’d done, but it seemed that was about to change.
“You will not get near him,” Patience growled, wondering if she shot him now and ran, she could get away before anyone realized what had happened. Looking around, she saw only one couple, and they were searching for a secluded alcove.
“I will have that title and the wealth attached, and then, my dear, sweet little cousin, I will have you.”
“I will kill you first,” she said softly.
“You, a woman?” he laughed. “Don’t be ridiculous. You could never harm me.”
“I will go to the authorities.”
“And say what?” Brantley laughed again, although it held no humor and instead made Patience shiver. “That you believe your cousin is trying to kill your brother? It will be your word against that of a respectable man, one who is loved by many. While you”—he gave her a pitying look—“have no friends, and, I would suggest, inspire loyalty in no one.”
And therein lay the problem. Brantley appeared to be a gentle, kind nobleman. His face was youthful, his eyes were a soft brown, and he always smiled. Women flocked to him, men trusted him with just a look, and even though she knew he was Satan himself, no one else did.
“What’s wrong, Cousin? Are your meager coffers finally running dry?” Patience shouldn’t taunt him, but she would not let him see how much he frightened her. Her best defense had always been to attack.
When his father died, Brantley had been left with an income, but not one that could sustain the extravagant lifestyle she knew he wished for.
“My father left me a pittance, and I want what is rightfully mine!”
She didn’t know how he kept his expression pleasant when his eyes were mean.
“But it is not rightfully yours. It is Charles’s title and Charlie’s money, and he is entitled to it by birthright, unlike you.”
“You cannot watch him every minute of every day, Cousin.”
She managed to smile. “I can, and I will. Furthermore, I will put a bullet through your heart should you try to touch my brother again.”
“I’m going to kill you too, Cousin,” he snarled as his composure fled. “But I will make you watch your brother die first.”
Quick as a snake, he wrapped his hand around her throat. She felt his fingers bite into her flesh, and seconds later she was struggling for air. Her reticule fell to her feet as she clutched the pistol and lifted it to his chest. The pressure eased as he realized what she was holding, then he stepped back.
“Be vigilant, sweet cousin. I am coming for you and your brother.”
With those words he turned and walked away, leaving her gasping as she watched him disappear.
“Patience.” She heard Mathew’s voice, seconds or minutes later, she was not sure which. “Why are you walking along this path alone?”
Realizing she was still holding her pistol, she attempted to tuck it into the folds of her skirt and as she drew air into her lungs. Her throat hurt where Brantley had squeezed it, even though the contact had only been brief.
“I-I will return now,” she rasped, not looking at him as he arrived at her side.
“Is something wrong?”
“N-no.” She faced him.
He reached for her chin, lifting it before she could stop him. “You are stuttering, and that tells me that something is indeed wrong.”
“I…ah, a man,” she said. “He scared me.”
“What man?” His eyes narrowed as his gaze moved from her face to the path behind them. “What did he do to you?”
“He is gone now,” she whispered, still trying to breathe deeply. Brantley’s fingers had briefly blocked the air from entering her throat, and she still felt their imprint on her neck.
“Tell me what he looks like and I’ll find him,” Mathew said with deadly calm.
“No!” Patience grabbed his arm. “No,” she said again with less force. “H-he will be gone now.” She could not tolerate the thought of Mathew anywhere near Brantley, because her cousin would not hesitate to hurt him. He was ruthless and would let no one stop him from obtaining his goal.
“You look about ready to faint, Patience.” He placed an arm around her back to steady her, and she prayed he wouldn’t see her pistol. “Sit for a minute,” he said, leading her to a seat set back from the path. He lowered her onto it, then went back and retrieved her reticule. She felt his body pressing into her side once more as he settled beside her.
“The man did this to you?” He tilted her chin, his fingers tightening briefly as he studied her neck in the weak torchlight.
“Did what?”
“There are marks on your neck made by fingers.” Patience heard the anger in his voice as his eyes ran over her face and neck.
“I want to
go back to Lucy, please.”
“I will take you back shortly, but I’m sure you would like to compose yourself before seeing your sister.”
Yes, she did not want Lucy upset tonight, not when she was enjoying the evening so much.
Before Patience could object, Mathew had slipped an arm around her waist and pulled her close. She should resist, but instead she found her face pressed into his chest. Listening to the thud of his heart beneath her cheek made the fear inside her begin to ease. For now she was safe. Tomorrow would be another matter, but for these few precious minutes she could pretend. She felt his hand on her back, moving up and down, offering her comfort, and then he pulled the pistol from her hand.
“Why are you carrying a pistol, Patience?”
She quickly sat upright and reached for it, but he held it away from her. It looked small and useless in his hands, but she knew different. That small weapon offered her security when she left the house by herself or with her family.
“I use it to protect myself.”
“Commendable, I’m sure, but why, if you did not expect to be attacked, was it in your hand? Surely you did not have time to retrieve it from your reticule, or from beneath your skirts, if you were struggling to break free from whoever grabbed you?”
She made the mistake of lifting her gaze from the pistol to his face, and saw rage smoldering in the green depths of his eyes.
“Let me tell you what I think, Patience. I think that whoever attacked you is likely the same person who shot at you at the cowkeeper’s shop, and that this time you chose to confront him in a reckless manner, but he was waiting for you.”
He’d often outsmarted her in their youth, had often been the first to come to the correct conclusion. He had done the same now, but this time she could not allow him to believe he was right.
“I have no idea what you are talking about.” Patience quickly stood then and held out her hand. “Please give me back my pistol.”
He rose too, standing so close to her that she could see the rise and fall of his chest with each breath he drew. “I believe we have already concluded that you are not a good liar, so start telling me the truth.”