Page 13 of Lady Impatience (A Series of Senseless Complications #3)

Out of the corner of her eye, Patience saw her aunt sailing toward her in Queen Elizabeth’s full regalia, right down to the enormous ruff that appeared to choke her round the neck. She laid a hand on her father’s arm and whispered, “Behave, Papa.”

“Behave? Not likely, my dear. Not with our virgin queen barreling in our direction.”

“Roland, what on earth is the meaning of your costume?” Lady Marchfield asked. She briefly turned to Patience and said, “You look lovely, my dear.”

“I could very well ask you the same,” the duke said, eyeing his sister. “Unless the virgin queen means to say that her lord has not ever got round to doing his duty. Can’t say I’m surprised, though.”

“Do not be such an uncouth beast, which is helpful advice that I am confident you will ignore. Now seriously, why have you dressed as some sort of, well, a sort of clergyman in a surplice going up in flames? Do you mean to go so far as to insult the church?”

“I don’t, though Valor intends to tell our vicar it was him going to the devil, hah! He will be very put out!”

“He is curtains afire, Aunt,” Patience said. “You see, because he’s set curtains on fire twice.”

“Twice?” Lady Marchfield asked. “He’s done it again ?”

“Well, it was really more of a singe this time,” Patience said. “At the candlelight picnic. Lady Jellerbey took it in good humor.”

Lady Marchfield’s complexion went very white and she began to more resemble the powdered virgin queen. “Mark me, Roland, you will bring these girls to ruin. Mark me.”

She turned on her heel and the duke called after her. “Do not talk to me of ruin when your lord could not even get round to it!”

“Papa,” Patience said. “You tease my aunt too much, I think.”

“I would not tease her at all if she did not stick her nose in,” the duke said.

Of course, that was true. If Lady Marchfield would just leave the duke be, they would probably get on much better. As it was, it seemed they would always be oil and water. Patience sometimes wondered if it was because Lady Marchfield had not had any children. She speculated that children could be so exhausting that they wore a person out and beat down all their stiff standards. That’s what the duke said, in any case. He claimed he was very civilized before he had children, though Patience was not sure she believed that part.

Lord Kendrickson approached, with Lady Alice on his arm. “Your Grace, Lady Patience.”

Lady Alice curtsied prettily and looked quite recovered from her illness. “Your Grace,” she said to the duke. She grasped Patience’s hand. “Dear Lady Patience, the flower arrangement you sent to speed me on my recovery really did cheer me. They were lovely.”

Before Patience could acknowledge the thanks, Lord Kendrickson blurted out, “Have you heard? We are engaged!”

Patience took the smallest stagger back and her father took her arm to steady her. Gracious, she had hoped there would be a match there, but she had not expected Lord Kendrickson to move quite so fast. Lady Alice appeared bashful and delighted.

“You see,” Lord Kendrickson went on, “Lady Alice’s stomach complaint at the candlelight picnic was caused by her growing inclination toward me. She is prone to such things.”

The duke laughed. “Hah! Best to know about that sort of thing up front, eh?”

This caused Lady Alice, who was charmingly dressed as a housekeeper in a prim dress, white cap, and a dangling set of keys to blush up to her eyebrows.

“The banns have not yet been read,” Lady Alice said, “but word has somehow got out, so we are telling everyone we know ourselves.”

“Our mothers are getting on famously. Really, it is rather wonderful to be alive these days,” Lord Kendrickson said.

“We both feel very blessed,” Lady Alice said.

“Come, my love,” Lord Kendrickson said. “I see Matley over there—he will like to know our news.” They set off, arm and arm, across the ballroom.

“Well now, see that?” the duke said, “Nothing has come of your fears regarding Lord Stanford and Lady Alice. Just as I thought.”

Though her father appeared quite sanguine over the situation, there was one dire thought that began to haunt Patience. What if Lord Stanford were disappointed in some way upon hearing of the engagement? How would she know? She had told Felicity she would not be a second choice.

Then, she saw him. He stood alone, wearing the distinctive full black leather mask. It really did look a bit ominous, just as Lord Radler had described.

It was now or never. She could act, or she could simply fold her hands and wait. A proper lady would fold her hands and wait. A lady like Lady Alice would maintain a demure disinterest until words had been spoken to her. She certainly would not dare to speak them herself.

But then, as was very usual, Patience could not live up to her name. She was too impatient to bear it.

She handed her glass to her father. “Wish me luck, Papa.”

“What ho? What game is this?” her father asked, taking her glass. She did not answer, but hurried across the ballroom floor before her courage failed her. She would just barrel ahead and not pause to think about it. It would be the only way to do it.

She reached Lord Stanford, grasped his harm, and blurted out, “I think there is something between us. That is, I wish it is so. I cannot wait longer to know. You must say something, whether it is what I wish to hear or not. I must know!”

He turned to her and stared, but he did not speak. He suddenly shook her hand from his arm, turned, and strode from the ballroom.

He left. He said nothing at all and just left her standing there.

Patience sank down, her legs giving way. It was as if her spirit was leaving her body, and she no longer had control of it. She had wished for an answer, and she had got it. He had run from her. Her feelings were not returned in the slightest. It was over, all her hopes were to come to nothing.

Why had she said anything? Why had she not been a proper lady and folded her hands and waited? If she had done so, she would have discovered through slow degrees and a thousand cuts what his opinion was. She would have held on to her dignity though. He would not have known of her feelings. Now, he would always know them. Every time she encountered him, he would know it.

People were turning to stare at her. The orchestra paused its playing. Ladies looked on in alarm. Lord Bakersfield rushed to her side to help her to her feet. They almost felt numb, as if she’d walked long on the moors in the wintertime and they’d got too cold.

Her father pushed through. “Thank you, Bakersfield, I’ll take it from here. My daughter was feeling faint earlier, I should have forbidden her to come. Now it’s caught up to her. Do me the favor of calling my carriage, would you?”

Bakersfield hurried ahead of them to do the duke’s bidding. “There now, girl,” her father whispered, “I do not know what has gone on, but keep it all inside until we are safely in the carriage.”

Patience nodded and worked to suppress the tears that were working their way to her eyes. Her father was right, she must work to avoid turning this disaster into a widely known spectacle. She had already lost her pride and dignity to Lord Stanford; it would be well to try to keep that information from the ton . If her shame were to get out, what a story it would be!

“Did you hear? The Duke of Pelham’s daughter imposed herself on Lord Stanford and then fell on the floor when she was rebuffed. How has that girl been raised? So unladylike. We imagine Stanford is positively mortified to be importuned in such a manner.”

They would be cruel words and very well earned.

What an idiot she was! She’d lost her heart, her pride, and her dignity, all in one fell swoop. Her impatience and determination that things go her way, accompanied by three ill-advised glasses of champagne, had driven her right off the road and into an impossible ditch.

The next minutes went by in a blur—both in her mind and her rapidly filling eyes. The duke shooed off any onlookers in the great hall and, such was his reputation, not a single person defied him. Thankfully, the carriage turned up quickly. The duke hustled his daughter inside and rapped on the roof.

As the carriage set off, he said, “All right, cry away. In between sobs, do tell me what Stanford has done.”

“He’s done nothing but communicate his disdain, Papa,” Patience said, wiping her eyes with his handkerchief. “I said that I thought there was something between us and he just stared at me and then ran away. I was all wrong, though I was certain I was right.”

“I don’t understand this at all,” the duke said, rubbing his chin. “All I can think is that it came as a shock. He’s a cautious and reserved sort of fellow, perhaps the shock overtook him. I speculate that the next you see him he will sing a different tune. Perhaps he will even call on the morrow to apologize for his beastly behavior and declare himself. Yes, I really would not be surprised if he did so.”

Patience wiped her eyes. “Do you really think so, Papa?”

“I do. It would not surprise me if he’s collected himself already and returned to the ballroom. It will be well for him to discover you gone—let him spend a tortuous night reflecting on his actions.”

Patience found she did find the smallest bit of comfort in imagining Lord Stanford spending a tortuous night. She did not know if her father were right in his assumptions or not, but she must hold on to the hope that he was. If he was not…if Lord Stanford had found her declaration so repulsive or alarming or whatever he had found it…

“Papa, if you are not right, if Lord Stanford really wishes nothing to do with me, well then… I am afraid we must return home. I could not bear to be here. And then next season, I will come back recovered and help Serenity and I promise not to make her nervous with my toe-tapping. After this night, I will work very hard to stop my toe-tapping altogether.”

“Let us just see what unfolds,” the duke counseled.

“But if you are wrong, we will go home?”

“Why not? If you are right, which I very much doubt you are, then I have been just as mistaken as you have been. The Dales air will do us both good. If you are to be disappointed, that is, which I still do not believe you are.”

There it was then. If Lord Stanford did not come rushing to her side on the morrow, she would know that his first reaction was his permanent and final reaction—she had been rebuffed.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Kendrickson had gone to see Radler while Stanford was away on account of Radler sending him an alarming communication that he must come at once.

Having found happiness so recently that he was always the slightest bit nervous that his happiness could suddenly vanish, he’d rushed there as fast as he could. What had happened? Had he heard something about the match between himself and Lady Alice? Was it all to be snatched away somehow? Perhaps the earl was enraged that they so publicly spoke of it before the banns were even read or he had time to advertise it himself?

The only other thing it could possibly be was that Radler had caused some kind of mischief while Stanford was away. Had he caused a fire or driven a valued servant to turn in their notice?

He was led into the drawing room and had seen no evidence of fire in the great hall. He came upon a very poorly-looking Radner curled up on a sofa and deep under a blanket with a pillow behind his head.

Waiting until the door was shut and they were alone, Kendrickson said, “What has happened?”

“I’ve ruined everything. At least, I am fairly confident that I have. I am a terrible friend. The worst friend a fellow could have. Nobody should have anything to do with me.”

“Ruined what, though?” Kendrickson asked, looking round for anything broken.

“The match! The match between Stanford and Lady Patience. It will never happen now and I have been the author of the disaster.”

Kendrickson was so taken aback that he sank down into a chair. “My god, you did not… meddle with the lady?”

“Meddle? No, not in the way you mean.”

“You’d better tell me everything,” Kendrickson said, not entirely sure he wished to hear what everything was.

Radler took a swig from a brandy bottle that had been apparently lurking under his blanket. He then went on to describe how he’d borrowed Stanford’s mask and he’d forgotten he’d told Lady Patience about it. That lady approached him and expressed her very fond feelings for him and he was so shocked that she should declare herself to him and not Stanford that he’d run away. But then, after he’d returned home, he remembered that he’d told Lady Patience that Stanford would wear the mask. She had approached him as if he were Stanford. And then, she’d watched him run away. As Stanford. Because that’s who she thought he was.

“You’ve got to tell her!” Kendrickson cried. “You’ve got to tell her it was you and not Stanford right away!”

“I’ve thought of that, but then I thought I must tell Stanford first. He may wish to tell her. I’ve already mucked things up enough, I do not wish to do any further damage. I sent him a letter by messenger today, outlining the… unfortunate mix-up. I’ll do as he directs me. I expect he’ll return himself, throw me from the house, and then go fix it. As I said, I am a terrible friend.”

“No you are not. You did run off when you thought she was relaying feelings for you when you know that Stanford carries a torch. She’s a duke’s daughter with a hefty dowry, other men might not have been so scrupulous.”

“Very kind, I’m sure, but I do not think Stanford will be so charitable. He will think me an absolute idiot.”

“Oh, well as to that, he will be right—you have been an absolute idiot. But that does not make you a bad friend.”

“Very kind again,” Radler mumbled.

“You’ve got to get yourself together and look on the sunny side of things. It’s likely to all work out in the end. I am engaged to Lady Alice, after all—you see how things work out well eventually.”

Kendrickson did not think that sentiment particularly cheered his friend. But it would probably work out in the end. At least, he hoped so. Radler had been an absolute idiot, but an honorable idiot all the same.

As well, he was probably right to allow Stanford to decide what to do next. And right about Stanford’s temper over it. Kendrickson could only imagine his own feelings if anything of the sort had gone on with Lady Alice.

Thank heavens it had not.

Just then, the drawing room doors were thrown open. Stanford’s very harried-looking valet stood in the doorway. “Lord Radler, terrible news.”

“More terrible news?” Radler said, sinking further under his blanket.

“We have somehow been invaded by case moths! I do not know how it could have happened. They are everywhere—I just now found a hole in one of my lord’s coats and then I checked the other ones, and well, the damage is extensive. I will air out his clothes and cover them in cedar shavings, but so much has been ruined already!”

“Case moths,” Radler whispered. “I will be relocating out of the house sooner than I had planned.”

“As will I,” Kendrickson said, leaping to his feet. “I have no extra funds for a new wardrobe and Lady Alice will not like to see me moth-eaten. No, I am sure she would not. Good-day, Radler, I’m sure things will come right.”

Kendrickson took a speedy leave of the premises. The bane of every valet’s existence was moths. They were crafty creatures and it was never enough to eliminate the ones that could be seen.

He could not imagine what Stanford’s feelings would be on discovering that not only had his match with Lady Patience been endangered, but his clothes were fast being devoured by case moths.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Though Patience had sworn to herself that she would give up her toe-tapping, she’d so far spent all day in the drawing room, toe-tapping. And with an aching head to boot, due to her overindulgence the evening before. Her father had been convinced that Lord Stanford would show himself, but he had not yet made an appearance.

Her sisters were well aware that something was afoot, but Patience had not wept in front of them, so they were not sure what. Mrs. Right had very kindly taken them all out of the house to the shops to give her some peace.

She’d listened to the carriage wheels that had passed through the square all day long and finally she’d heard wheels roll to a stop in front of the house. She leapt from her chair and ran to the window, pulling the curtain aside.

She dropped it closed. It was her aunt come to call. She could not bear a scolding just now. Patience was certain her aunt had seen her sink to the floor at the masque and had arrived for an explanation.

Well, she would not get one. Nothing would induce Patience to provide a recitation of last night’s events to her aunt, only to be told how foolish she’d been. She already knew she’d been foolish.

Charlie led Lady Marchfield into the room. Her aunt said, “Where is Mr. Grimsby? I asked this scoundrel of a footman, but he refuses to say.”

“Oh, him. He left to open a haberdashery somewhere or other.”

Lady Marchfield’s reticule slipped off her wrist and fell to the floor. “What?”

Charlie hurried to retrieve it from the carpet and handed it to her under a severe glare. He then fairly ran from the room and shut the door behind him.

“Come now, Aunt, you know very well that my papa does not wish for a butler. Mr. Grimsby was bound to be gone some way or other.”

“This is outrageous. I have done everything in my power to help you girls get settled respectably and at every turn I am defied and insulted. Now look what you’ve come to! You have no butler in the house, unlike every other decent household in London, and you’ve gone mooning over a gentleman who apparently takes issue with the lax goings-on in this family.”

Patience felt her heart freeze into a hard and cold stone in her chest. What did she know? What had she heard? Was it possible that Lord Stanford had told people what she’d done? She would not have believed it of him. If it were to get out, she imagined it would be someone who had somehow overheard her. “What do you mean, Lord Stanford takes issue with the family?”

“Well he’s gone, hasn’t he? A gentleman does not decamp in the middle of the season because he is interested in a lady, does he? No, he runs off to get away. I have told you girls a thousand times that your ill-conceived habits would catch up to you and now they have.”

“What do you mean? Lord Stanford has left Town?” Patience felt short of breath, as if all the air in the room had gone somewhere else.

“He went off somewhere, Kent, I believe it is said. The point is, he left. Now I hope that serves as some sort of lesson. Really, you all must stop going on as you have. I heard that you fell on the floor in a faint at the masque. I am very glad not to have witnessed it as I suspect the real cause was an overindulgence in champagne. If you decide to take on more sense, I will offer a room for you in my own house and give you instruction on how to proceed appropriately. Until then, I take my leave of this circus.”

Lady Marchfield strode to the door, threw it open, practically ran over Charlie, and slammed the front door behind her.

Lord Stanford was gone. Now she knew. There could be no doubt now. He’d found her feelings abhorrent. He was probably in love with Lady Alice and then he’d discovered that lady had engaged herself to Lord Kendrickson. Then, as if that were not painful enough, strange Lady Patience Nicolet had the effrontery to throw herself at him. He must be disgusted with her. So disgusted that he’d packed up and left.

Patience leapt up and ran out into the hall. She shouted up the stairs. “Papa! Papa, we must go home at first light tomorrow! Papa! We really must go!”

The duke made his way to the landing in response to her shouting. “Give him time, Patience, the day is not done yet.”

“He’s left Town,” Patience said. “Do you see? He’s left Town to get away from me. There cannot be any firmer answer than that.”

Patience burst into tears in the great hall, which was really very aggravating. She never wished for the footmen to see her in such a state. They looked downright terrified.

Her father came down the stairs and walked her to her bedchamber. “I cannot say I understand any of this, but I think you ought to rest. What does Mrs. Right usually do in such situations?” the duke asked.

Patience sniffled. “She closes the curtains and she brings tea with a drop of laudanum and some of the spice biscuits she keeps for such occasions,” she said. “And a cold cloth for my forehead. Then she pats my hand and tells me everything will look brighter after I’ve slept for a while.”

“That sounds full of good sense and so that is precisely what I will do,” the duke said.

“But we will go home? I could not bear to stay here, pretending all is well. I could not bear for people who saw me sink to the floor at the masque inquire into how I am feeling. We could say I went consumptive and you have taken me home.”

“You will sleep and I will get everything moving in the right direction. We will leave at dawn.”

The duke strode out of the room and if Patience could be grateful for anything just now, it was that she had a very sympathetic father. She would go home and be surrounded by all the things she was used to. She would sink into the comfort of her sisters’ company and all the familiar faces and places. Somehow, she would recover from this disastrous season.