Page 10 of Lady Impatience (A Series of Senseless Complications #3)

Patience watched Lord Stanford intently to see how he would answer about a lady receiving a fan.

He seemed to consider the question. “I think in general, the nature of the gift might communicate the intent of the message,” he said. “Flowers, of course, send their own meanings. As for other things, a book, or something like it, would not say as much. A fan is perhaps more significant as it is meant to be held in the lady’s hands.”

“I see, yes, that does sound right,” Patience said, putting her attention on her pastry.

“But then, who knows?” Lord Stanford said.

Well if he did not know, who would know?

“I suppose it depends on the particular situation and the parties involved.”

“No doubt,” she said quietly.

“I wonder,” Lord Stanford said, “what might be your impression upon receiving such a thing. Would it be a welcome sort of thing, I wonder?”

Was she meant to speculate on Lady Alice’s feelings? Was she meant to put herself in Lady Alice’s shoes and say how she would feel about it?

“I suppose it would be entirely dependent on how I viewed the gentleman who sent it,” she said.

“Yes, I suppose so. It is just that sometimes it is difficult, for a gentleman, to understand how one is perceived or where one stands.”

So he did not know what Lady Alice thought about him. He certainly did seem concerned over it. Was she to discover it for him? Did he imagine she would play some sort of matchmaker?

There was something wrong here. There was something wrong with him . How could he not see that Lady Alice was not right for him? How could he not see what was right in front of him? How could he not see that he was right for Patience Nicolet? He was, she could feel it in her bones.

He was misguided in some way. But what way? The only thing she could imagine had steered Lord Stanford toward Lady Alice was her outward and very staid-seeming demeanor. He’d said as much at Almack’s. People had suggested they meet, though Patience did not believe those people even existed. And then he’d hinted that type of lady might be something he looked for.

“Lord Stanford, may I ask a personal question that probably ought not be asked?” Patience said. She knew she should not press so far into the lord’s personal life but she knew not what else to do!

He nodded, though he had a distinct look of trepidation.

“When we first met, you did not say it directly, but I got the impression that your childhood home was not… everything it could have been?”

“It was not,” he said flatly.

Patience longed to say something, to press him forward, but she knew it would be better to allow the silence to linger.

“My home was chaotic. Very chaotic.”

“I see,” Patience said. Her own household might be named chaotic. It was a happy chaotic, but perhaps Lord Stanford was put off by it? “I suppose then, that you hope for a future household that is… not chaotic.”

“I very much hope for it.”

That must be it. Lord Stanford looked toward Lady Alice because the last thing anybody would accuse her or her household of was chaos. He looked for calm, even if the calm did not come with happiness.

It was wrong. She knew in her heart it was wrong.

“My intent is that my children experience quite a different household,” Lord Stanford said. “I have made it a requirement to my future plans.”

That was it. That was the problem. He was so determined to avoid replicating his own childhood that he’d taken aim but drawn the bowstring too far. He was so worried about it that he overcompensated. He was willing to put aside his own happiness for the sake of his future household, but it was all wrong.

Patience could not imagine what sort of household he’d experienced. Only that it must have been dreadful.

Lord Kendrickson and Lady Alice approached them. “Might we join you?” Lord Kendrickson said. “Lady Alice had a wish to spend time with her particular friend.”

Lord Stanford had risen and given his chair to Lady Alice, while the two lords took the other empty chairs.

Lady Alice said, “Lord Stanford, I haven’t had a moment to thank you for bringing me the fan.”

“It was no trouble at all,” Lord Stanford said.

Patience and Lord Kendrickson looked at one another. Lord Kendrickson practically rolled his eyes.

“It was just a fan, after all,” Lord Kendrickson said. “Anybody might have brought it.”

“Of course,” Lord Stanford said.

Of course? What did he mean by it?

“I must admit,” Lady Alice said, “that seeking out Lady Patience was not my only reason for wishing for a chair. I’m afraid I begin to feel poorly.”

Patience looked more closely at Lady Alice. It was true, she did not look well at the present moment. Her skin had gone more pale than was usual and there were tiny beads of sweat on her forehead.

Lord Kendrickson leapt up from his chair. “You must be taken home at once. A doctor must be called at once. I will seek out your mother.”

Lord Stanford was up on his feet just as fast. “Search the back rooms, Kendrickson. I will search the front and have the carriage called round.”

Lord Kendrickson nodded and they were off, leaving Patience alone with Lady Alice. Patience would like to make further inquiries about the fan and about the lady’s feelings regarding Lord Stanford, but she could not do so in Lady Alice’s current condition. She was beginning to look far too weak to be expected to answer any questions.

“Do drink some of my wine, Lady Alice,” Patience said. “It will fortify you.”

Lady Alice weakly waved a hand. “Thank you, no, I cannot. I dare not drink anything this moment.”

“Oh I see,” Patience said, guessing that whatever illness was coming over the lady, it involved her stomach. A very uncomfortable state of affairs, as Patience knew from prior experience.

Lord Kendrickson hurried back with Lady Kembleford.

“My dear,” Lady Alice’s mother said, “you are ill?”

“Very, Mama. It came over me suddenly. I wish to be home.”

“Of course you do. Come, stand and I will give you my arm.”

“I will support you on the other side,” Lord Kendrickson said.

They assisted the lady, who gave Patience a weak smile of parting, through the dim light of Lady Jellerbey’s candlelight picnic.

Patience sat alone in the gloom, considering all that had transpired. She dearly hoped Lady Alice did not suffer a serious malady. Another part of her, though, could not help but notice how both Lord Kendrickson and Lord Stanford had shot out of their seats to assist her.

That thought did not reflect well on her, she knew. It showed a selfishness of spirit, a lowness of some kind. She ought to be grateful that there had been two gentlemen nearby who were capable of assisting Lady Alice. She would try very hard to be grateful for it.

Patience was alone with her thoughts for some minutes. She was tucked away in a corner that would have been very visible had the chandeliers been lit, but she noted several people pass her by that she was certain had not even seen her.

Then she overheard a conversation. Two ladies spoke of Lady Alice being suddenly taken ill and the rush to remove her from the house.

“Apparently,” one lady said, “Lady Kembleford’s carriage was swiftly located but her coachman could not be found.”

“I am not surprised,” the other lady said. “I understand the coachmen often gather somewhere for a game of cards or such. I am certain he was not expecting such an early and abrupt departure.”

“Lady Alice is lucky to have two such attentive gentlemen nearby.”

“And flattered, I’d imagine. It was very dashing of Lord Stanford to leap onto the box and drive the carriage himself.”

“And then Lord Kendrickson leapt on his horse with a torch to lead the way and clear any carts or carriages ahead of them.”

“It is comforting to know that chivalry is not dead. I will alert my lord to that fact as perhaps he will wish to become reacquainted with the idea.”

Both ladies laughed heartily before strolling out of the room. Patience took a large drink from her glass. She was going to have to work very hard at being grateful that Lady Alice had such competent assistance.

Leaping on the box to drive the carriage, indeed. It seemed a bit too… enthusiastic.

Patience pinched her leg through her skirt to silence the terrible thoughts that had come upon her. She would be grateful for the gentlemen’s actions, as she should be.

Or at least she would try very hard to be grateful.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Marcus sat alone in his drawing room in the early hours of the morning. He’d left Lady Jellerbey’s house precipitously and without Radler, but he assumed his houseguest would have been told of the circumstances.

He’d driven Lady Kembleford’s carriage to Bedford Square in all haste as Lady Alice did really seem very poorly. Once there, Kendrickson got the address of the family’s doctor and was off like a shot, leaving him standing on the pavement holding the flaming torch.

Lady Kembleford had hustled Lady Alice into the house with nary a look behind her. There was nothing for Marcus to do but hand over the carriage to a groom, put the torch out, and walk back to Grosvenor Square.

Upon entering his house, he found another odd package waiting for him. With some trepidation, he opened it to find a clock and a note that said, “Not everybody has all the time in the world—tick-tock, tick-tock.”

Marcus was certain it was from Lady Monroe, and he was worried over what she meant by it. First the molasses, then the half-filled cologne bottle in an old case, and now a clock and a cryptic reference to time ticking down. He did wonder if she were coming to the end of her days and knew it to be so. He resolved that he’d better go and see for himself. She was only in Kent—it might be easily done.

He did feel he owed the lady that much at least. He’d spent his time between school terms at her house rather than his own and always appreciated that it had been quiet as a tomb. He never failed to send her a birthday present and he attended her at Christmas, but it seemed she might require more at this moment.

He put the matter aside for the moment, as he wished to reflect on his conversation with Lady Patience. She was just as cryptic as Lady Monroe! She brought up the subject of a fan—her friend had received such a gift—and he’d thought it the perfect opportunity to discover if she would like such a gift. After all, it would have been a place to begin, a small step to take to indicate his regard.

A fan was important to a lady, far more important than its utilitarian purpose might suggest. It was a way to communicate things that could not be said. As a gift, it must mean more than other things, like a book, as it was to go on a lady’s person.

She would not say if she wished for such a gift. She would only say it depended upon her opinion of the gentleman sender. That was not very helpful at all. What was her opinion of him? He could not be certain.

He felt she approved of him, but that was only a feeling. It was a guess, an impression. He would not rest easy until he had some firm facts and he had none of those.

Marcus heard the front doors open and close and Radler came bounding into the drawing room.

“Hello, the rescuing hero!” he said jovially.

“It was nothing.”

“Not according to the ladies of the ton ,” Radner said. “The rest of the night was taken up by descriptions of your derring-do in leaping up to the box and driving Lady Alice’s team of horses while Kendrickson gallantly led the way on horseback with a burning torch.”

“Speed was necessary, I think,” Marcus said, really wishing the ton did not talk quite so much. “Lady Alice did seem very ill.”

“It is a feather in your cap, whether you like it or not. Personally, I would like it very much, but no lady ever seems to require such convenient rescuing when she is in my vicinity.”

“Did you encounter Lady Patience?” Marcus asked. He did not want to ask, as he was not interested in any further teasing on the matter from Radner, but he could not help himself.

“Indeed, yes. She did not stay long after your rousing departure and looked rather grave as her father escorted her out. I reckon she was worried about Lady Alice.”

“No doubt,” Marcus said.

“What’s that there?” Radner said, pointing to the latest of Lady Monroe’s deliveries. “Did you order a clock?”

“I did not,” Marcus said. “I am certain it is from Lady Monroe and I think it means to hint that her time grows short. I will make some arrangements to see her, I think.”

“Send off a letter on the morrow and see what she says,” Radner advised. “You’ll have your answer in a day or two—it would be well to understand the situation, rather than race off there. If the old gal really is fading, you might need to be there for an extended period.”

Of course, Radler was right. He would send a letter and gauge the reply. It might well turn out that he would have duties to manage, as he was the executor of her estate. He’d write the housekeeper too. If Lady Monroe was losing her wits, it would be well to gather information from somebody who was not.

“By the by, you are on your own tomorrow evening,” Marcus said. “I have an engagement of the family duty variety.”

Once a year, Marcus dined with a cousin of his late father’s—Lord Jeffries. He did not particularly enjoy the encounter. One, the old man was exceedingly staid and they did not have a lot to talk about. Two, he spoke of his late cousin as if he’d been some sort of saint, which he certainly had not been.

Marcus always found himself biting back his words, as he could not tell the old gentleman what he really thought. It was trying in the extreme to hear his father named dignified and distinguished. Marcus felt a great wish to inquire how dignified and distinguished it was to throw a plate at one’s wife. Or shout until the roof shook. Or threaten to cut off the lady’s funds and lock her in the attics for good measure.

“Guess what the Duke of Pelham did?” Radler said, suddenly laughing. “Somebody brought up the time that he’d set Lady Vanderwake’s curtains afire and he decided it would be amusing to reenact the whole thing. I do believe he was well-oiled with claret. He did such a good job of it that he set Lady Jellerbey’s curtains afire.”

Marcus stared at Radner.

“Lord Wexner put the fire out fast enough so I suppose the lady’s curtains were really more singed than burned. In any case, with the excitement of Lady Alice’s departure, I do not suppose anybody will remember it.”

Marcus thought that unlikely. He also thought it was more evidence that a connection to the duke’s family ought to be avoided. That sort of indecorous behavior was not at all what he’d said he wished for. However, he also knew well enough that he would not avoid Lady Patience and her father. He had pushed his caution to one side and apparently he was not going to let it back in. Not even over curtains set afire for no good reason.

It was a risk. It might turn out precisely as he feared, precisely everything he’d been determined to avoid. He did not think so, though. Something inside him told him to would not.

In any case, Lady Patience Nicolet was worth the risk.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Mrs. Right waited until the library doors were closed and then crept silently down the hall to stop in front of them.

Lady Marchfield had arrived to see Mr. Grimsby. She said it was an interview of a private nature and she did not wish for them to be disturbed. Mrs. Right could well guess why she’d come.

She leaned her ear against the door.

“Well Mr. Grimsby, I must say I am impressed. You have seemed to have taken this household in hand and brought some order to it.”

“I have been a stern taskmaster, my lady,” Mr. Grimsby said.

Mrs. Right slapped a hand over her mouth to stifle a laugh.

“I am a lady of my word, Mr. Grimsby,” Lady Marchfield went on. “I promised you a payment of fifty pounds if you were still here at this time and I have brought it.”

“Very kind, my lady.”

Mrs. Right heard the shuffling of paper and slipped down the hall and around a corner.

Very soon, the door opened. “I will see myself out, Mr. Grimsby—carry on as you have done so far!”

Lady Marchfield strode down the hall and Mrs. Right imagined she felt mighty victorious at that moment. It would not last though.

After the lady departed, Mrs. Right hustled down the corridor and approached Mr. Grimsby. He held a handful of notes.

“You’ve done it, Mr. Grimsby, you’ve got the money for your haberdashery.”

“I am free!” Mr. Grimsby cried.

“Shall I help you pack?”

“Very kind, Mrs. Right. Very kind, indeed.”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

The duke’s house was in an uproar and everyone ran this way and that to find their pelisses, though if they would just stay still the footmen would bring them. Of course, Mrs. Wendover was a more elusive item, as one never knew where Nelson had deposited that stuffed rabbit.

Mrs. Wendover had eventually been located under a table in the kitchens and the family had piled into the duke’s carriages.

They were on their way to Viscount Denderby’s house. Felicity had delivered her and Mr. Stratton’s baby the previous night.

There had been some talk of perhaps Felicity not wishing for visitors so soon, but then Valor had rightly pointed out that she would not have sent the note if she did not. After all, their sister would know that as soon as they had word they would be on their way.

Felicity and Mr. Stratton were staying at the house without the company of Mr. Stratton’s viscount. That was thought well all round, as the gentleman was forever shouting about something.

Now, they were the new parents of a fine-spirited baby girl. At least, they imagined she was in fine spirits, as her cries sounded as bad-tempered as anything that ever emanated from Felicity herself.

As the baby had finally decided to stop her wailing and get some sleep in order to be energized for the next round, the family was let into see her, one at a time, so they did not disturb.

As Patience waited her turn, she listened to her father and Mr. Stratton talk about daughters. According to the duke, no opinion, feeling, or tragic weeping was to be dismissed out of hand. It was all in the nature of things and to deny its validity would only bring it on ten times stronger and longer. The duke advised Mr. Stratton to trim his sails and prepare himself for a gusty breeze if he wished to keep his daughterly boat afloat.

Mr. Stratton was all smiles and nods. Patience wondered if he even heard the duke’s advice. He only kept murmuring, “She is perfect.” Every minute or so he gazed lovingly up at the ceiling.

Finally, Valor returned weeping. “She is so pretty, you will just not believe it. She is a little red and wrinkly and her eyes are a little crossed, but Felicity says that will all pass and once she is not red, wrinkly, and cross-eyed, she will be so pretty.”

Grace, who had prior experience, nodded knowingly. Patience could only assume young Miles Delacort had also arrived a bit red, wrinkly, and cross-eyed.

“Patience, Felicity says to send you up next,” Valor said.