Page 11 of Lady Impatience (A Series of Senseless Complications #3)

Patience leapt up and very quietly but quickly went up the stairs to Felicity’s bedchamber. She slipped in and found her eldest sister reposed in her bed, the baby sleeping in a bassinet next to her.

She tiptoed over and peeked in. Valor was right, she would be very pretty once she moved past this somewhat awkward stage of life. Just now her face looked a bit scrunched. However, she was a chubby little thing and Mrs. Right always said that was a good sign in a baby.

“No need to be absolutely silent, Patience,” Felicity said. “Miss Isabelle Stratton seems to be a sound sleeper, once she decides to do it.”

“Isabelle! That’s lovely.”

Felicity nodded. “I was determined not to name her after a virtue, as we’ve all been saddled with. She can be any which way she wishes without her name hanging over her head like the Sword of Damocles.”

Patience sat on the bed. “I imagine she will appreciate that. Are you well, Felicity?”

Felicity smiled. “Well, tired, happy, and relieved. I am glad the whole thing is over—I was dreading it.”

Patience nodded, as she supposed anybody would dread it. “Was it awful?” Patience asked.

“I cannot deny it was, I thought it would never end. It did end though, and I must think it well worth the effort.”

Patience sometimes wondered how men could be the stronger sex and yet nature left this most difficult and life-threatening task to women. For all that, though, she wished to have her own children. She just would not think too much about the actual birth. Or the chances of death. It was what took their own mother, after all.

“Percy has been a brick,” Felicity said. “He’s poked his head in constantly since the baby arrived and I think he drives the nursemaid positively mad.”

“Papa has been trying to tell him how to raise daughters and I do not think he’s heard a word of it. He just keeps looking up at the ceiling and saying she’s perfect.”

Felicity laughed. “I’d like to think he speaks about me, but he is entirely besotted with his daughter. Now, how do you get on with Lord Stanford?”

“Oh I do not think I should burden you with my problems at such a time as this.”

“Please do,” Felicity said. “It will distract me, as I am rather sore and my feelings fly up and down like a swooping bird for no reason whatsoever, though I understand that will pass in a few days. In any case, I would like to take my mind off me for a moment.”

Patience nodded and laid out all that had happened since the dinner. When she had finished, she said, “I just do not understand why Lord Stanford has gone off and bought a fan for Lady Alice. And then he was a hero to the rescue when she was taken ill. He practically launched out of his chair like a horse taking a high fence.”

“Hmm. Perhaps you will not get answers to that from Lord Stanford. Perhaps you might approach Lady Alice when she is on the mend.”

“I already did, she went out of her way to say the fan had become a favorite.”

“Well, if you are set on him, I would not give up just yet. After all, many a slip between the cup and the lip. Things may come to nothing with Lady Alice.”

“I hope I am not to be some sort of second choice.”

“No, I do not think so. I think perhaps Lord Stanford merely needs to understand his own inclinations.”

That was of course what Patience was hoping for. “You did mention you thought Lord Stanford might need prompting. I do not know if it would help or not, but how would one go about it?”

Felicity drummed her fingers on her chin. “I do not know Lord Stanford very well, so it is difficult to say. Has he given you any opportunity to hint of your feelings?”

“I do not think so,” Patience said. “He’s a little… reserved. I do not think it is his true nature, meaning the one he was born with. I think he is reserved because he was not born into a very pleasant household. In fact, I know his household was unpleasant. He said it was chaotic.”

“Oh dear,” Felicity said chewing her lower lip. “Goodness, Percy and I have had a few conversations about what our children will experience. They come with their own temperament and then it is shaped by our decisions. Just think, Patience, what my temper would have been if Papa were not so kind.”

Patience nodded, as everybody knew the duke had been sympathetic to Felicity’s boil-overs, especially when she’d been younger and could not control it as well as she did these days.

“I think Lord Stanford is attracted to me but gravitating to Lady Alice because, to him, she represents a dullness and staidness that feels like what he thinks he wants. But he’s wrong and I do not know how to show him he is wrong.”

“Perhaps if you cannot show him, you will have to come right out and tell him.”

“Tell him? Say it? No, I couldn’t! What if he were to look upon me as if I were mad? What if he were disgusted by it? What if he felt bad and worked to let me down gently? Or what if he felt trapped? I should positively die.”

“I think you are braver than that.”

Patience was silent for a few moments. “Well, I will probably see him this evening at Lord Michael’s rout. I will see how I feel about it.”

Just then, Miss Isabelle Stratton gave the smallest shudder and began screaming bloody murder. Felicity laughed. “The little lady has awakened and wishes to ensure that all the household is aware of this development.”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Marcus had fairly dragged himself to Lord Jeffries’ house. As usual, and he really wished it were not the case, the two of them dined alone.

Also as usual, and also he wished it were not the case, Lord Jeffries took the opportunity to wax poetic about Marcus’ father.

“He was a fine man, dignified, just as an earl should be,” Lord Jeffries said.

Marcus did not reply, as there was no reply suitable. His father and dignity had never been well acquainted.

“Not like some we see running round the place these days. I hear the Duke of Pelham is a disgrace and his daughters, well, what can you expect from people raised by a madman?”

Marcus felt his spine stiffening over the comment. “The daughter that is currently out, Lady Patience Nicolet, I have found to be charming.”

Lord Jeffries slurped his soup. “They’ve got nothing wrong in the looks department, at least not those I’ve seen over the past few seasons, it’s all in the head, my dear boy. They do some strange things.”

“I am afraid I must disagree with you, Jeffries. I have got to know the duke and I have been to dine at his house. They are an unconventional family, to be sure. For all that, I admire the familial harmony.”

“Familial harmony?” Lord Jeffries said, clearly taken aback.

“Yes, indeed. Did you know they have a three-legged dog who is blind in one eye? His name is Nelson, and I find it very telling that they adopted him off the streets rather than pay for a bit of a puffball to sit on their laps and look pretty.”

“A cur off the streets is charming now, is it?” Lord Jeffries said with a short laugh. “Your father would not approve of such goings on, I’m sure.”

Lord Jeffries had finally pushed Marcus to the boiling point. All these years, he’d let the fellow drone on and on about his father. The droning would have to come to an end this very night.

“Lord Jeffries, I fear that while you may have respected my father from afar, based on your description of him I must think you did not in fact know him very intimately.”

“Well, now, of course we lived on different sides of the country. I did see him in Town from time to time, though, and there was the occasional letter.”

“As I thought. Let me acquaint you with who my father really was. He was a bully and a wife beater and prone to throw temper tantrums and threaten death to anybody who was nearby, including very often, his countess. I presume the only reason those death threats did not extend to me was that I was the heir.”

Lord Jeffries, rather predictably, looked shocked to his shoes to hear of his illustrious relative spoken of in such a manner.

Marcus went on. “I was but six years old when I mustered up the courage to demand to be moved to the other side of the house so I would not be woken by his shouting and the sounds of breaking glass. I was delighted to be sent to school, and further delighted to spend my time between terms with Lady Monroe, my grandmother’s sister. At one point, I went a full two years without setting eyes on my father, and those were a happy two years. That is the man I knew.”

Marcus fell to silence. Perhaps he should not have said any of it, but he felt a weight lift off his shoulders. He would no longer pretend his father had been anything but what he’d been.

Lord Jeffries stared into his soup. “Good God, my boy. I didn’t know any of it. I really did not know your father very well. I only made a point of saying nice things as I thought it would comfort you to hear them. That was the whole purpose of these dinners, actually. I thought, see here, Jeffries, the boy has lost his father, he’ll wish to hear from someone who knew him. Well, I suppose I got that all wrong!”

Marcus dropped his spoon. It had never once occurred to him that Lord Jeffries thought he was doing a kindness.

Then another idea hit him. It had not occurred to him because he had not been raised in a household where kindnesses had been handed out. There had been no experience, and therefore no reason, to expect it from other quarters.

Lady Monroe had always been kind in her own original way, but he had assumed she was somehow an aberration.

“I find that I wish I had told you all of this sooner,” Marcus said.

“As do I,” Lord Jeffries said. He raised his glass and said, “Now that I have been informed of my cousin’s character, let’s hope he’s with the devil now!”

Marcus raised his glass too. It seemed dinners with Lord Jeffries were to be much more tolerable going forward.

Perhaps there was a lesson in that. Perhaps he ought to just come out and say what was in his mind in all the areas of his life.

“So you say the duke’s daughters are right in the head? I’ve been told it wrong?” Lord Jeffries said.

“They are perfectly right in the head,” Marcus assured him. “Even the duke, I think, though one must get to know him to perceive it.”

“Well now, I was wrong about your father, so I suppose I could be wrong in this idea too. Do I detect a particular inclination toward this Lady Patience?”

“You do, rather.”

“I see. I wish you the best of luck with it, then. By the by, I’ve got a rather spectacular little house in Wales—if you like it, you could use it on a wedding trip. I’ll write you a letter of introduction, so the steward does not throw you out on your ear.

Marcus thought the offer very kind, if not entirely precipitous.

Lord Jeffries raised his glass. “To friendship,” he said.

Marcus raised his glass too. Surprisingly, he’d be happy to maintain a friendship with the old fellow. He supposed life was full of surprises.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Patience had dragged her father through every room of Lord Michael’s house, which had been no easy feat considering it was an exceedingly crowded rout. There had been no sign of Lord Stanford, but they had finally encountered his houseguest, Lord Radner. Certainly he would know where his host had got off to. Perhaps his horse’s shoe had come loose again?

After the pleasantries were exchanged, Patience said, “I did not see Lord Stanford anywhere.”

“No, he’s off to some family duty thing,” Lord Radner said.

Family duty thing? She was a little surprised Lord Stanford had not mentioned any sort of family duty thing. Unless, of course, it was some sort of emergency come up suddenly.

“Oh dear,” she said, “was someone taken ill?”

“No, I do not think it is anything like that. He just told me I was on my own this evening. So, here I am.”

“Deuced crowded nuisance, if you ask me,” the duke said. “I had to shout, ‘Let me through or I’ll set the curtains afire’ just to get to a sideboard.”

Patience nodded. “Everybody moved for him, as they are not very good at being able to tell when he is joking.”

Lord Radner laughed. “They probably thought, why risk it?”

“Yes, yes, very good, why risk it,” the duke said, laughing. “Was I joking? I do not even know myself.”

“I suppose you will attend Lady Darlington’s masque on the morrow?” Lord Radler said. “It is one of the finest events of the season.”

Patience nodded. Indeed, it had been a pleasure to spend time dreaming up and designing a costume. The dressmaker had only delivered it and done the alterations the day before. She would go as Anne of Cleves, the remarkable lady who survived Henry VIII’s wrath. Of course, if Patience were to be honest with herself, she’d chosen Anne because of a copy of her portrait in one of her father’s books. The lady wore a divine red dress with gold trim that she thought would suit her very well.

“Hah! What do you think I’ll go as?” the duke said. “Flaming curtains! I’ve had a white domino made with red flames painted on the bottom of it in honor of the two times I’ve set curtains afire. That’ll put some starch into people.”

Lord Radner laughed rather raucously at that idea and Patience had the distinct impression that he had overindulged himself with wine. When he recovered himself, he said, “And Lady Patience?”

“Anne of Cleves,” she said.

“Ah, the one that got away.”

“And wore a marvelous dress doing it,” Patience said. “What does Lord Stanford propose to appear as, if you know it?”

“Ah yes, he wears a simple domino, but he caps it off with a rather wonderful mask—it covers his whole head and face, you see, so nobody can guess who he is. It is made of black leather with only small openings for eyes and mouth. I’ve seen him in it, it’s ominous looking. I rather fancy it, but he will not give up who made it for him.”

Patience did not comment on the idea that now she would know who he was. Nobody else would wear such a mask and Lord Radner had given the game away.

She was disappointed that he would not come tonight, but she could not think the whole evening a waste. She had discovered what Lord Stanford would wear. Now she just had to decide if she would take Felicity’s advice on what to do about that gentleman.

“Well, my dear,” the duke said, “are we ready to push our way out of this place or do I need to shout about setting the curtains afire to get another glass of claret?”

“We may go, Papa. Lord Radner, until tomorrow.”

Really, tomorrow felt rather momentous. Patience did not know if she would actually find the courage to express her feelings to Lord Stanford. But if she did, and he returned them, it would be the most important day of her life.

It could also be the worst day of her life. However, the more she thought about it, the more impatient she was to find out.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Marcus had come home after what had turned out to be a rather jolly evening with Lord Jeffries. Once the gentleman no longer felt compelled to praise Marcus’ father to the skies, it turned out they got on rather well.

What had marred the evening was the two letters from Lady Monroe that were waiting for him in the great hall. He picked them up and read it again.

Marcus—

I was surprised to hear from you, as I am surprised to hear from anybody these days. Nobody is interested in hearing from an old woman and I have, unfortunately, crossed that milestone years ago.

You inquire if I am doing poorly. Of course I am doing poorly. I am eighty-three years old, how else should I be doing? I can practically feel my lord and maker reaching out to me. I am certain that very soon he will grab my arm and bury me in the ground.

Naturally, I do not wish to interrupt your parties or your escapades with your friends, whoever they may be as you never write about them, with my paltry concerns about death.

Also, do not ever again write my housekeeper as if I am not capable of answering my own letters. The mind is always the last thing to go, so I can still do it. (Though who knows for how long.)

I hope you are enjoying your youth—it flees surprisingly fast.

Margaret Monroe

Marcus looked at the second letter, which was even more bizarre. It simply said:

Tick-Tock Tick-Tock HURRY UP .

He laid the papers down. It was difficult to know what sort of straits the lady was actually in. She’d been talking about death for the past twenty years.

On the other hand, she was eighty-three and the second letter was particularly alarming.

He sighed. He would have to go and find out. It was only to Kent, so he need only be gone for a few days, but go he must.

Radler came into the drawing room, back from Lord Michael’s rout. “How was your family thing?”

“Surprisingly not as bad as it usually is,” Marcus said. “You look a bit worse for wear.”

Radler practically stumbled to a chair. “Indeed. You see, once one manages to push through people to make it to one of Lord Michael’s sideboards, one has the urge to stay there and drink one’s fill.”

“I see that you did make it to a sideboard, then.”

Radler nodded. “Several times.”

“I must go and see Lady Monroe on the morrow. I really do not know if she is sickly or not.”

Radler, now rather slumped, said, “Say, as you will miss the masque, do lend me that wonderful mask of yours.”

Marcus shrugged. “I do not mind it,” he said. “By the by, did you see Lady Patience at the rout?”

“Oh yes, and her father was in fine form—guess how he got to the sideboards? He yelled that if people did not get out of his way he would set the curtains afire. He really is very funny.”

“And Lady Patience?” Marcus asked, ignoring the latest of the duke’s shenanigans.

“Ah, guess what she will wear to the masque?”

Marcus suppressed a sigh. Radler was very fond of attempting to make people guess at everything when he was in his cups.

“Anne of Cleves,” Radler said. “The one who got away.” He laid his forefinger along his nose. “But not because of that. It was because of the dress she wore in her portrait to Henry.”

Marcus would be sorry not to see it. He knew perfectly well what the dress looked like, as the portrait was well known—red velvet with gold trimmings. There was no help for it, though. He must travel to see Lady Monroe.