Page 12 of Lady Impatience (A Series of Senseless Complications #3)

Kendrickson felt as if he walked on air. Somehow, he had done it. Lady Alice had accepted him and her father had been brought round.

After the lady had been taken ill, he’d done everything in his power to express his affection.

First, he’d ridden hellbent in front of her carriage, lighting the way and clearing the streets. Then he’d dragged her physician from his bed and forced the man onto the back of his horse.

The following day, he began a campaign. He sent books that might be of interest, he sent draughts from his relations’ kitchens and medicine cases. He sent flowers picked from the garden that the housekeeper arranged prettily.

He dared to call and was admitted. Lady Alice was in the drawing room, properly dressed but with a blanket thrown over her waist. Lady Kembleford said she was on the mend. He’d spent far longer on the visit than was proper but nobody threw him out.

He called the following day too, making no mistake regarding his interest. Lady Kembleford left them for a moment to see about a tea tray and he had asked.

Lady Alice had accepted him. Then she’d admitted that she’d felt an illness of the stomach variety at the candlelight picnic as she was nervous regarding her own growing inclinations. She explained that she was inclined to such nervous complaints.

They both had the same inclinations!

Of course, the hard part was still to be got over. He was all but penniless and needed her father’s approval. It had been hard won.

The earl had questioned him closely about his estate and what were his plans for it. Kendrickson laid out the details, of which he’d spent years developing. He intended to put the estate on firm footing and keep it there through close management.

The earl had inquired into his views on gambling, no doubt very much aware of how that habit had landed his father in penniless territory. Kendrickson had no trouble at all answering that question, as the Duke of Pelham had once phrased it so well. A gambler put a gun to his head and pulled the trigger, hoping not to get shot—a stupid business.

Those answers, taken together with Lady Alice’s surprisingly forceful leaning on her father, had got the approval.

Somehow, word was going round the town already, though the banns had not yet been read. He’d already been congratulated on securing such a fine lady. He was not sorry at all that the word was out. It would be next to impossible for the earl to change his mind after his wife and daughter told people about it.

The earl’s daughter. Lady Alice. She was the finest of ladies. He’d come to London determined to secure a large dowry and save his estate. He’d never imagined that it could come along with a lady he found himself in love with. And then, a lady with dark hair and piercing blue eyes—it was so rare!

His mother was over the moon about Lady Alice. The dowager had already had a tea with her and Lady Kembleford to speak to his betrothed about the estate and the people in it. Despite Lady Alice’s protestations, his mother would move to the dower house, and she would not stick her nose into the new mistress’ management of the main house unless she was positively asked. Lady Kembleford was most approving of the attitude. He really thought they should all get on well.

He'd done his duty and the fates had rewarded him for it tenfold. Finally, the world had turned into a happy place and the future might be looked to with anticipation, rather than dread.

It was very good to be alive.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Patience examined herself in the glass. Mrs. Right had done wonders for her hair. Patience had not thought Anne of Cleves’ hairstyle represented in her portrait was particularly attractive, so she’d decided to give some latitude to that. Her hair was swept back in its usual manner and secured with a diamond clip. She donned a delicate and small lace head covering as a nod to the queen.

There had been no latitude to the gown though, as that was divine. The dressmaker had studied Patience’s design and looked at a copy of the portrait and had rendered a very faithful likeness.

The dress was a burgundy red velvet with a gold stitched bodice, gold embroidery round the cuffs and a band down the skirt, and a lovely gold belt round her waist. One of the trimmings round the sleeves was between her shoulder and elbow, creating cap sleeves that then draped down into bell sleeves at her wrists.

“You look like a queen, Patience!” Valor said, running her hand along the velvet.

“I should hope so, I am dressed as a queen,” she said.

“Lord Stanford will see his queen and just fall over from it,” Serenity said, wiping at her eyes. “He will be so moved!”

Patience did not answer that prediction with another “I should hope so,” but she really did hope so.

“He better be bowled over,” Winsome said. “He’s been dragging his heels.”

“Of course he will be,” Verity said. “It is a very common thing for a gentleman to drag his heels and then be moved.”

“Is it?” Winsome asked, eyes narrowing.

Verity did not deign to answer that particular challenge.

“I think,” Valor said, “that he will take some very good advice on the matter.”

“From who?” Winsome asked.

“It’s a secret,” Valor said, hugging Mrs. Wendover.

“What secret?” Patience asked. Valor’s secrets could be alarming, and Patience did not know why she should have a secret having anything to do with Lord Stanford.

“Patience, I could tell you if it wasn’t a secret, but Mrs. Wendover made me promise it would be a secret.”

“Valor, tell me this instant,” Patience said sternly, “or I will never allow you to crawl into my bed when you think women are being murdered on the moors.”

That idea, very naturally, would overcome anything that Mrs. Wendover could come up with. The stuffed rabbit was not all that helpful when Valor thought she was hearing a murder.

“It’s nothing, really,” Valor said. “It’s only that Papa sent Lord Stanford a clock and a note that said tick tock tick tock and that was so funny. So I sent a note that said tick tock tick tock hurry up! You see, that way he’ll be sure of what to do.”

“Was it signed?” Patience asked.

“No, just tick tock tick tock hurry up.”

Well, it was not ideal, but it was done so she supposed she would not spend time worrying over it. Though really, somebody ought to hide the writing paper from her youngest sister. Valor was becoming a regular novelist in the sending notes department.

Mrs. Right hurried in, as she had left to see how the duke was getting on with his costume. “My dear, I do hope you are nearing ready. His Grace, the Duke of Curtains Afire has just poured his second glass of brandy.”

Patience nodded and they set off in a crowd down the stairs to see their Papa in his costume.

As the duke had promised, he was dressed in a white domino, which might have suggested a clergyman of some sort if it were not for the painted red flames around the bottom of it.

Patience laughed at the sight. “Well, Papa, if people do not perceive that you are curtains afire, they will presume you are a naughty clergyman burning in the devil’s lair.”

The duke laughed heartily. “Oh, that is very good. I hope Lady Misery makes that mistake. She comes as Elizabeth, the virgin queen, if you can imagine it. If she is a virgin at this late date…” The duke paused and said, “Well, never mind it. I suppose I might chase her round as the devil’s tempter if I get bored.”

Patience was all but certain her father had stopped himself from making a joke about Lord Marchfield leaving his bride in the same pristine condition as she had arrived. Fortunately, it all went over Valor’s head.

“I know what I’ll do, Papa,” Valor said. “When we go home I’ll tell the vicar that you dressed as him going to the devil. He will be so cross!”

“Yes, I imagine he will be,” the duke said drily. “Well, my girl? Are we ready to depart?”

Patience nodded, and a footman helped her on with the pelisse. She was ready to depart, though she was still ginning herself up to say something bold to Lord Stanford.

She must find the courage. Anne of Cleaves had survived far worse circumstances. She must find Anne’s courage. After all, it might have been Anne’s head on the chopping block. It was only Patience’s heart on the block just now. If things went wrong, it might feel a deadly blow, but she would somehow survive it.

She just needed to know how it would be.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Marcus had set off in the morning and made good time to Maidstone. Lady Monroe’s estate was only a few miles further on. He’d not bothered with his carriage for such a trip but had simply packed some things in panniers.

He found the lady’s estate as it ever was—set back at the end of a long lane of ancient oaks. It was an old as the hills Tudor style that had not changed much beyond necessary repairs since Henry the VIII had been riding through the countryside.

The butler, an aged fellow named Bellows, was surprised to see him. He did not seem as if it were a particularly welcome surprise either.

“Tell me, Bellows, how is Lady Monroe’s condition?” he asked.

“Her condition?” Bellows said, as if it was the stupidest question imaginable. “She is eighty-three, my lord.”

“As I am well aware. Does she keep to her bed?”

“Her bed? My lord, it is three o’clock in the afternoon!”

Marcus supposed that was meant to be a no.

“She is in the drawing room. That is where she is at three o’clock. Always.”

“Excellent, lead me in, Bellows.”

Interestingly, Bellows almost seemed as if he would refuse to do it. Then, the fellow nodded sadly. “This way, my lord.”

He was led into the drawing room to discover Lady Monroe at piquet with her equally ancient lady’s maid. The maid made some effort to jump from her chair, but then gave it up and collapsed back into it.

“Lady Monroe,” he said, with a quick bow. “I felt inclined to visit and see how you got on.”

“How I get on?” Lady Monroe said, looking him up and down in deep suspicion. “I’m eighty-three, how am I to get on? I’d have to roll the clocks back to have any hope of getting on. I’m just clinging to where I am and am not getting on anywhere.”

The lady’s maid nodded, as if this were the most obvious point in the world.

“I could not be sure, based on your rather opaque letter.”

“I suppose you’ll want tea, and a dinner too, and a bed. A lot of trouble but I suppose I’ll have to put up with it. Marcie,” she said to her maid, “do go and see to it and tell Cook it is not my fault. I didn’t invite him.”

Bellows hurried forward and gave a hand to Marcie, as Marcus could not see how else she would have got out of her chair on her own. The lady toddled out of the room to give the bad news to Cook.

Marcus took the maid’s place and glanced at her cards, which did not look very promising.

“Do me the favor of not drinking me out of house and home, if you please. My wine cellar is getting a bit thin these days.”

“I would be happy to remedy that deficiency,” Marcus said, making mental note to put in an order with his wine merchant. Lady Monroe preferred a light hock at dinner and a sherry before retiring.

“Alright, alright, if you’ll fill my cellar then drink as much as you like,” Lady Monroe said. “Now, why have you come?”

“To see if you were doing poorly.”

“You don’t need eyes for that—I’m eighty-three! No, it is something else. I’ve known you since you were a boy. Something else weighs on you. Well, I suppose I could spend hours and hours dragging it out of you, but that is not a wise plan! I’m eighty-three and may fall asleep at any moment.”

A maid came in with a tea tray and set it down on the table. After she’d left and closed the door behind her, Marcus said, “Where is your housekeeper? Mrs. Gibbons?”

“Dead,” Lady Monroe said. She leaned forward and whispered, “One of the reasons she never replied to your letter. Guess what that woman had the nerve to do? She answered the door to Lord Winderly and dropped dead at his feet. She never did like Winderly.”

Marcus could hardly suppose that Mrs. Gibbons chose the moment for her last breath to spite Lord Winderly, but he also supposed there was no point in arguing the subject.

“Out with it, Marcus. I might be eighty-three but my eyes still work. What is on your mind? Your awful father is as dead as I will shortly be, so it cannot be that situation. Hah! If I see him in heaven, which I very much doubt, I will have some choice words for him to consider.”

“Really, I am quite well, Lady Monroe,” Marcus said. He was always a bit befuddled by the lady. She was odd, and yet oddly perceptive.

“It’s a woman, it must be. It’s always a woman with men your age.”

“As it happens, I am thinking of engaging myself,” Marcus said. It was the first time he’d said it aloud and it somehow made it more real, as if it were a set thing. Which, he supposed it was, assuming the lady was agreeable.

“Tell me about her,” Lady Monroe said, looking over the biscuits and cakes that her cook had sent up.

“Ah, well, her name is Lady Patience Nicolet, daughter of the Duke of Pelham.”

Lady Monroe snorted. “Pelham, you say. What a fellow.”

“I see you are acquainted with the gentleman.”

“Long ago, when I was not eighty-three and still able to cavort round the town.”

“I know he can seem unusual, but really he is not as strange as he might seem. I do not think.”

“Do not climb on your high horse over it. The duke is great fun. Gracious, when he was a young buck he had the matrons of the town fanning themselves. Not this matron though—I found him exceedingly entertaining. Did you know that he challenged a baron to meet him on a green and then did not bother to turn up? Said he wasn’t an early riser, hah! Or that he set Lady Vanderwake’s curtains on fire? His sister was forever chasing after him crying, ‘Roland!’ Very amusing.”

Marcus supposed he should have known that Lady Monroe would not be fanning himself over the duke’s behavior. “They have a one-eyed, three-legged dog now,” he said.

“Of course they do. If there is anything unusual to be done, that duke will do it. Good for you, Marcus, you shan’t be bored.”

“Well I have not positively decided…”

“Nonsense, of course you have.”

“My only concern is, I think you know the sort of household I was raised in. I really did have the intention of securing a more…staid sort of lady.”

“Oh I see, you didn’t like the ruckus of your youth and so thought you might turn the family pile of bricks into a tomb, did you?”

“Not a tomb, exactly. More of a guarantee of peace.”

“There are no guarantees in this life but death and inheritance taxes. Death is my problem and the inheritance tax will be yours.”

Marcus was beginning to see that Lady Monroe was right, there really were not any guarantees as to how a thing would turn out. Of course, he supposed it did not matter much, as his mind felt decided.

Marcie came back into the room. “My lady, Cook asks if you want beef or beef or if not that, then beef on account of the late notice.”

“Tell that scoundrel that beef will do very well. And tell Bellows to bring up a few bottles of wine, two for us and two for the servants’ table—Lord Stanford has promised to fill up my cellar.”

Marcie seemed delighted with this news and hobbled out as fast as her old legs could carry her.

“Now that you’re here, I suppose you ought to stay for a day or two,” Lady Monroe said. “I’ve got a pile of papers in the library that I cannot make heads or tails of.”

Marcus nodded. He would of course wish to rush back to Town, but he would stay and do his duty for Lady Monroe.

“So why’d you think I was dying, causing you to turn up?”

“I did not think you were dying, no, certainly not. It was just…well you did send some original items…”

“What items?”

Marcus began to wonder if Lady Monroe’s memory was going. “Well, the old case with the scent, which I presume was Lord Monroe’s. But then the bottle of molasses, I really could not divine the meaning of it. And the clock with the note that said ‘tick tock tick tock’ that I thought might be some sort of message. Then the second letter arriving the same day that only said tick tock tick tock—Hurry Up!”

“I did not send you anything. Ask Bellows, he’ll tell you. Oh wait, I see it now, you think I’m losing my wits, do you? They are the last to go and I am holding on tight to them. Sending you molasses, indeed. I never heard of anything more ridiculous.”

Marcus was not at all certain if the lady did not send the items, or some of them if not all of them. But if she did not send them then who did? Or perhaps she had sent them and forgotten.

He would ask Bellows about it and he would gather his own observations over the next few days.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

The masque was a swirling kaleidoscope of colors and visions. People had come in every description—milkmaids, bishops, ancient Greeks, pirates, highwaymen, faeries, jesters, all peppered with dashing men in dominos. Lady Darlington had some interesting ideas regarding how a masque was to be hosted. An orchestra played in the background and guests were ushered into her ballroom, but it was not a ball.

Rather, there were booths set up where one could cast their vote for the most original costume, or the most daring, or the most like the person who wore it, with charming prizes for the winner.

An army of liveried footman circulated with trays of champagne, hock, and claret, and sideboards were set up along the walls with all manner of things that might be picked up and did not require a knife and fork.

Patience was falcon-eyed for who she looked for. All she need do is find the gentleman who wore the distinctive black leather full mask. It should not be too much trouble to do so, as every gentleman in a domino that she had viewed so far wore a half mask.

What was more trouble to do was to take Felicity’s advice and say something to Lord Stanford. To expose herself to rejection and ridicule. Perhaps he would even find it unladylike. To soothe those terrors, she was just now working on her third glass of champagne.

The duke glanced at her glass and said, “Steady on, girl.”

“I am looking for courage in these bubbles, Papa.”

“Well if you have not found it in there by now, I suggest looking in another direction. Spirits will only take you so far in that pursuit.”

Patience supposed that was true. She felt a little bit braver having fortified herself, but then just the smallest bit wobbly too.