Page 13 of A Reticule for Scandal

Patience’s own mother never stepped foot in the kitchens, and they had only ever had a small staff. Even now with her father lost at war her mother insisted on keeping the cook, and the scullery maid, one footman, and the two ladies’ maids that had always been employed with the family.

“She does. Even after I inherited the earldom, she still insists on doing most of the cooking herself.” The corners of his eyes crinkled at the mention of his mother. Patience longed to have a better relationship with her own mother.

“I have never cooked anything in my entire life,” she admitted, realizing that perhaps she was slightly lucky.

“I’ve cooked once,” he said as they swirled and twirled to the crescendo of the waltz.

“How was it?” she asked, captivated by him once more.

He was still Just Fitz even with a title. A man who happened to inherit an earldom.

“Burnt,” he said, his lips holding in his laughter as the waltzed ended.

Patience herself could not contain the bubble of glee that escaped her as she looked up into the kind eyes of the man who had once captured her young heart.

CHAPTER6

As Fitz escorted Patience off the dance floor, his hands shook, and his stomach felt like a bottomless pit. Empty and dark.

He could admit to himself that he did not want the dance or the evening to end. She was still beautiful, funny, and absolutely captivating. All the things he once required in a wife.

He wanted to be in her company even though he had spent the last five years trying to forget her.

There had been an abundance of other women; he could admit that he was a libertine in trying to forget her.

Before he inherited, most women of thetononly wanted one thing from him, and he was happy to oblige them. He never longed for a wife after Patience. Fitz had only longed for stability to help provide for his family so that his father did not have to worry.

Now his father was gone. He died a year before Fitz’s cousin perished.

His father, Joseph, was the second son to an earl, and believed he was never going to inherit. The church was his father’s first love, a decision that Fitz’s grandfather did not agree with.

Fitz’s life without his grandfather’s support wasn’t hard. Saying that he had a difficult life would not be true at all. He had a loving family, a doting mother and faithful father with an annoying little sister, Dinah. It wasn't until his grandfather died that they reconnected with Fitz’s uncle and cousin. A familial connection that became everything to him.

“Thank you for the dance, my lord,” Patience said, dipping into a curtsy after he had returned her to her scowling grandmother.

He bowed, his eyes never leaving hers. There was a strange feeling in his chest, a heavy ache he couldn't quite understand.

“The honor was all mine, Miss Grant.” As he stood, his gaze went to the reticule still hanging delicately from her wrist.

Soon it would be in his possession, then what? There was no future for him and her again.

Providing for his mother and sister was his future, and to ensure that he must deliver the reticule to Prinny. There was no time for beautiful brown skinned ladies of his past with hypnotizing eyes and high cheekbones.

“If you would excuse me.” He nodded curtly before walking away.

The sooner he had the reticule, the sooner he would return to London, far away from Miss Patience Grant.

Reaching the refreshments table, he quickly procured a glass of chilled champagne, needing a moment alone to clear his mind before he was due in the library to meet Patience.

“No greeting for your old friend?” Fitz turned to the Honorable Walter Reeves. He was a tall, thin man with oily blond hair and conniving eyes.

Fitz tried to hide his irritation for the man he had once called friend. But he remembered the night Reeves informed him of his intentions for Patience.

Then a younger Fitz had wanted to fight for her, for them, but he had learned that aristocrats really did not abide by the rules they so adamantly dictated.

“No, I don’t believe you deserve a greeting, Reeves,” he said, trying not to be overly obtuse. Gazes turned their way and Fitz refused to give more fuel to the gossip mongers.

“Lord Killingworth, is it? I had word that your cousin perished.” He stood taller, as if Fitz’s cousin being killed in a duel meant nothing. “Now you’re one of us.”