Page 16 of Lady Impatience (A Series of Senseless Complications #3)

The Nicolets had arrived at The Pig and Pony the day prior with still some daylight to permit a stroll through the small town it was attached to. At a stationers, Patience bought a small diary. It was a lovely little thing, covered in lavender kid with gold embossing. Its looks were not why she’d bought it though.

There were so many feelings coursing through her. She began to realize that in all her life she’d never slowed down to examine her feelings, or to really feel them. She was forever rushing to the next thing. It had almost been as if a feeling would come upon her, and she would close the curtains on it, and it would be out of view.

This had been an advantageous quality when she’d been younger. If she fell and skinned her knee or was scolded over stealing away with Cook’s biscuits, these small matters were shaken off. She’d been like a duck exiting a pond—one good shake and it was as if she’d never been wet at all. Unlike her twin, she did not linger over disappointments or sadness. Serenity might weep over a dead insect, but it might be accidently dead because Patience had carelessly stepped on it in her hurry forward.

What had happened with Lord Stanford could not be shaken off, though. The feelings of it sat in her mind with a resolute stubbornness. The curtains would not close. All that might have distracted her—her father’s insistence that he must have brocabbage pie, Mrs. Right’s survey of the kitchens and subsequent argument with the innkeeper’s wife, Nelson making off with a joint of beef from another dining room, even the footmen singing off-key in the yard very late at night having once again drank more wine and ale than they should have—would capture her attention for a moment, but fail to keep it. Her mind insisted on sinking back into sadness.

That night, she’d slept in the same bed with Serenity. They were not identical twins and they were night and day different, but there was a certain kinship and knowing between them. After all, they had traveled in very close quarters together for months before making an appearance in the world.

“I know you are very sad, Patience,” Serenity had said softly, “though you do not like to show it.”

“I do not even know how to show it,” Patience said. “I have never been so afflicted. But it makes me think I ought to have learned how to sit quietly with my feelings before this moment. I never have, though, and have always teased you for it.”

“Well now, I believe I feel my feelings a little too much,” Serenity said. “I live in terror of my season. What if I cry at Almack’s? You know the smallest thing can set me off.”

“And no thing has ever really set me off, until now.”

“You ought to cry, you know,” Serenity said. “I find it sort of drains the feelings out of my body and then I regain my equanimity. I should burst if I could not cry to get them out.”

Patience did not answer. She would cry, but she was doing everything possible to hold it in until she was in her own bedchamber in the Dales. As kind as Serenity was in this moment, she did not wish any of her sisters to see her cry. She already felt like a failure, she had no wish to add to it. She noticed she had an absolute abhorrence of appearing weak, which was a thing she’d not known about herself.

To think, she had marched into the season full of confidence. She had pointed at a gentleman, confident that he was for her. Somehow, she’d expected everybody and everything in the world to fall into place to accommodate her inclinations. She’d been so childish.

Now the morning had come after a fitful night. She rose early and took her little diary to the garden. There, she poured out all her thoughts and feelings.

She was rather surprised at how wide-ranging they were once she got going with it. Who knew one mind could think so many things at once?

In one line, she wished Lord Stanford’s house would burn down with him in it. Hopefully, he would be shouting her name while he perished. On the next, she wished this was all a dream she would wake from to discover him at her doorstep. Then she wrote assurances to herself that her heart would mend. Then she circled back to writing out terrible ends to Lord Stanford. She finally stopped when she’d described an unfortunate impalement while taking a horse over a fence that included his moment of clarity that she was for him all along, seconds before dying.

It felt good to put it all down—the sadness, the fury, the hurt, the shame and embarrassment. There was something cathartic about it and she supposed it was how Serenity felt after she’d dried her eyes. It was so strange that she’d never considered there was an advantage to Serenity’s wide-ranging emotions.

Patience closed the book and took in the morning air. The sun had risen despite her upset and would continue to do so. The world would go on, regardless of what she thought about it. She must, as her father would put it, tighten her horse’s girth and ride on.

Upon noting a dead beetle on the stonework, she gently picked it up and hid it under a leaf to save Serenity from having to weep over it this morning.

Nelson came bounding out to the garden and Patience presumed Charlie or Thomas had let him out. Patience watched as he made a sentry’s parade round the patch of greenery hemmed in by a short stone wall, sniffing at everything to assure himself that all was as it ought to be. He occasionally stopped, ears up, as if he listened for intruders. He wagged his tail all the way round, happy for the sunshine and to be doing the job he was born to do.

He really was a funny little dog—so oblivious to his deficiencies. Nelson had been badly used and come out of it missing a leg and the sight in one eye. Did it get him down? Not that she could see. He barreled forward, working with what he’d got.

That was what she must do. She had been damaged, but she was not dead. Soon enough, she would be home. The ponies would follow in some days and then she would take Penny on a wild ride across the moors. That would be the beginning of the restoration of Lady Patience Nicolet. Then she would return to London next season chastened. She would put a brave face on it and get on with the business of life.

The door to the garden swung open. The duke popped his head out. “There you are, you’ve missed all the fun in the breakfast room. I asked for another supposed Yorkshire staple— Grassington Hambac. Told the fellow it is bacon and ham put in a pestle and ground up until it is unrecognizable and then reshaped into a crown and fried. Guess what? They actually did it and it was not bad at all.”

“Oh, Papa,” Patience said laughing.

“Come inside, my girl. Have some breakfast and then we will be on our way.”

Patience nodded and rose. Something about this morning felt momentous. It was as if she’d taken a giant step forward in understanding the world and understanding herself. She would give herself some grace to wallow in her feelings and then she would go forward.

After all, she must remember all the advantages she’d been blessed with. She was a duke’s daughter; she’d grown up in comfort and had nary a want. She was not cold at night, she was never starved, her clothes were not worn out. She did not have to rise at dawn each morning and work her hands to the bone until the sun set again. She did not have to worry if necessary medicines could be afforded or whether her landlord would raise the rent. She was enveloped by six genial sisters. Mrs. Right was always there to stand in for her mother. Her father was indulgent and attempted to amuse her with Grassington Hambac.

For the first time in her life, Patience Nicolet had stepped outside herself and viewed her circumstances dispassionately. It began to feel as if she were rather spoiled to be going round like her life was over, simply because one thing had not gone her way. She’d been blessed backwards and forwards, and it was time she started acting like she knew it.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Marcus had ridden hard along the likeliest route the duke’s carriages would have taken. With so many carriages in the duke’s caravan, His Grace would stick to the better-maintained roads. There might be several shortcuts to be taken and they might be convenient to a rider on a horse, but the chances of getting stuck somewhere would be relatively high and help would be relatively far off. No, the duke would not risk it.

He stopped at The Lion and the Lamb, that being a very likely inn where a party of such size would stop on a journey to Yorkshire.

He dismounted and a groom took the reins. As was usual in such places, the innkeeper hurried out to the yard. Innkeepers were rather renowned for keeping an eye out and sizing up a gentleman before he’d even hit the ground. They always seemed to know who had deep pockets and who was only working to appear as if they did. He supposed they were so good at it because it was a necessity. There was no end of men going round England attempting to present themselves as rich as Croesus, though they had more debt in their pockets than money. Such a man might conveniently forget to pay his bill, slipping off when nobody was looking, or claim his “man” would be by later with the funds, though no “man” was in existence. All the while, they paid particular attention to their appearance to keep up the ruse.

Marcus did not know what exactly would tip off an innkeeper as to the real case of the thing, but presumed he had passed muster and been deemed a very welcome arrival. The innkeeper’s wife had hurried out as well, throwing her apron to a serving girl and smoothing her skirts.

“My lord, welcome to our humble establishment,” the innkeeper said, while his wife curtsied.

It seemed de rigeur for any innkeeper worth his salt to refer to his inn as humble. In fact, this particular inn was very large and appeared prosperous. Precisely the reason Marcus imagined the duke would stop here.

“I do not stay the night,” Marcus said, ignoring their dropped expressions at that pronouncement. “I need a change of horse, a plate of food, and some information.”

Marcus had been certain the idea of a meal, which he would be charged a stupid amount of coin for, would brighten their visages. And so it had.

“A plate! Yes, indeed, my lord. Just this way. Randy—take care with the lord’s horse or I’ll have your hide. This way, my lord.”

He was led into a private dining room. This was not necessary, but it would assist the innkeeper in accounting for the stupid amount he would be charged for whatever was laying around in the kitchens that they threw on a plate.

“You’ll want ale, I’m sure,” the innkeeper said, “and an array of cold meats, rolls, a salad, the best of our cheeses, perhaps claret to top the whole thing off? Then we have our famed apple pie topped with cherry glaze.”

“Fine, but for the pie,” Marcus said. “When was the Duke of Pelham here? Was it last night? What time did his party set off?”

The innkeeper’s wife was just coming in with the plates and silverware for his stupidly expensive meal. She froze in her tracks as if he’d inquired into the travel plans of the devil himself.

“The duke,” she whispered to herself.

The innkeeper had gone rather pale. “The duke! The Duke of Pelham? Is he coming? Why? I was assured he would pass us by. His valet assured me that was the case. Why is he coming here?”

“So, he has not been here?” Marcus could hardly understand it. For one, an innkeeper would generally be delighted to see a duke and the large party he brought with him. For another, Marcus would have noted a caravan of that size had he passed it on the road. As it was, he’d not seen anything of that significance. Surely, the duke would not press on to the detriment of his horses.

“No, he has not been here. Not yet,” the innkeeper said, twisting his hands together. “But you imply he is coming? Are you certain? Because we have been counting on him passing us by!”

The innkeeper’s wife said, “We could lock the doors. Or say we are full. Do not let that duke set foot past our threshold, Freddie, or I am off to Oakham! Oakham, I tell you!”

Marcus could not imagine what had set these two people off. “Might I inquire why you seem to be terrorized by the idea that the Duke of Pelham might choose to stay at your inn?”

“Terrorized,” the innkeeper’s wife said, “now that’s a very good word for it!”

“Mary,” the innkeeper said to his wife, “go and see about the lord’s victuals. I will handle this.”

Mary sniffed. “I won’t stand for it. I simply won’t stand for it, my mother will welcome me with open arms in Oakham,” she said, before marching herself out of the room.

“Well?” Marcus said, drumming his fingers on the table.

“I’ll tell you, my lord, if you must know it. Mind you, it is not my habit to go round disparaging them that’s above me. I do have a respect for the order of things. But that duke! Well, it’s not to be borne, that’s what it is.”

“What exactly did he do when he was here last?” Marcus asked, beginning to be intrigued by what the duke could have possibly done to provoke such feelings in the man. In the usual case of things, an innkeeper would be happy to overlook quite a lot as long as he was paid. And really, how much trouble could one get into when stopping at an inn?

“Let’s see,” the innkeeper said, “it started with the brocabbage pie he insisted on. A Yorkshire staple, he called it. Well, nobody ever heard of it and the kitchen staff were doing their level best to discover what it was. We asked the duke to describe it, but he shouted that he was not a cook and did not know recipes. We even sent a boy on horseback, racing to The Pig and Pony two miles further down the road to see if they knew what it was. They claimed they did, but wouldn’t say. My cook began to speculate that it might be broccoli and cabbage but who would put that into a pie? Guess what it is?”

Marcus shrugged. “I have no idea.”

“Neither does anybody else, because it does not exist. That duke made it up for his own amusement!”

That did sound like something the duke would do.

“But that was not the end of it. Oh if only that were the end of it. He’s got a whole slew of daughters who are up to no good. One of them accused my waiter of looking shifty, and another claimed it was a very common thing for waiters to look shifty, and another one hid in a linen closet and they turned the whole place upside down looking for her, and the duke’s footmen drank me out of house and home, only the cheapest wine mind you, which they then grossly deposited all over my innyard while singing songs in the middle of the night. Badly singing, I might add. Oh, and the entire time they were here, they set loose a dog so maimed and horrifying-looking that he frightened my other guests!”

That would have been Nelson.

“At the conclusion of this fiasco, I had a word with the duke’s valet as they were leaving. A very pleading word, if I’m to be honest. Not usually my way, but it was an emergency! I downright begged him to find the duke another inn—do not bring him back! My Mary said if he comes back, she’s going to her mother in Oakham until he’s gone.”

Marcus pressed his lips together, as Mary had already mentioned her imminent departure. “I see. I expect they are ahead of me, so it appears the valet was as good as his word. Do you have any notion of where else they might have stayed in these parts?”

The innkeeper shuffled his feet. “If I recall rightly, I might have suggested The Pig and Pony. Now, I had my reasons for it! The innkeeper there is a smarmy sort and always hinting that his inn is superior to mine. I say I have a humble establishment, as any right-thinking man would, and he says, ‘Yes, you do.’ Hah, we’ll see how superior he feels when that duke is done with him! Also, I sent a boy there to inquire into brocabbage pie and they swore they knew all about it. Liars!”

“If you will hurry my meal and saddle a horse, I would be much obliged. I am determined to catch up to the duke.”

“Oh, I see—you’re to call him onto a green regarding some insult he’s hurled at you. I only say, were you looking for such a place, have a look at the expanse next to Jenkin’s farm a half mile north. That lawn has been used for such before. Just a month ago, one of the local wheelwrights engaged in fisticuffs with a fellow who tried to move in on his trade. Very entertaining, though I cannot say who positively won it.”

“I have no intention of challenging the duke,” Marcus said. He did not bother to point out that it was well known that the duke would never turn up for such a meeting as he did not prefer the early morning.

“I can’t say why you chase after him, then. Seems to me that most sensible people are running away from that duke, not toward him.”

“I believe you have expressed enough of your opinions regarding the Duke of Pelham. He may be… unusual, but he is a duke, after all.”

“Yes, my lord, I have forgotten myself is all. The strain of it has got to me, what with my Mary threatening to set off for Oakham.”

Though the innkeeper made a very great effort to look abashed, Marcus did not think he regretted a single thing he’d said. The man hurried out and, soon enough, Marcus’ plates of food arrived. He made good use of the offerings and did not take too long a time doing it. He was on the duke’s heels and must catch up to him without delay.

He set off from the inn under the glare of Mary, the innkeeper’s wife, who ought to be looking more cheerful, as she would not be required to travel to her mother in Oakham.

The Pig and Pony, as had already been explained to him, was a mere two miles north. On a fresh horse, he made good time. As if it were some sort of repetition of his earlier stop, he dismounted, handed the reins to a groom, and watched an innkeeper stride out, followed by his wife straightening her cap.

“My lord! Welcome to the illustrious Pig and Pony—an inn far superior to all others, especially superior to the one you would have sensibly passed by two miles ago.”

Marcus did not respond to that highflying praise, but could see why the earlier innkeeper held an animosity toward the fellow. “I am attempting to catch up to the Duke of Pelham’s party—have they stopped here?”

At the mention of the duke, the innkeeper staggered just a little. His wife turned and went back inside.

“Yes, I imagine he has,” Marcus said drily.

“Never in my life…” the innkeeper trailed off.

“Let me guess—the duke asked your kitchens for something he made up in his mind, claiming it is a Yorkshire staple—”

“Grassington Hambac!”

“His daughters were troublesome—”

“One of them accused my waiter of looking shifty while another one was seen picking up a dead beetle and hiding it and another one disappeared and required an extensive search and another of them kept naming everything that went on as a ‘usual case’!”

“And they brought along a very distinct looking dog—”

“Distinct? I should say he was distinct. That three-legged cur stole a joint from one of my regular guests. The beast is very fast on his feet for only having three of them. Then the duke said he would not pay for the joint because the dog does not have any funds of his own!”

“Though I suspect he did pay for it, in the end.”

“Oh yes, in the end,” the innkeeper said, “though most people would not wait until the end! And let us not forget that diabolical housekeeper!” the innkeeper said.

That might be the one point Marcus must agree on, as the duke’s watchman had given her away as the author of the case moths. Considering what his household had suffered at the hands of Mrs. Right, she was diabolical.

“ She marched right into the kitchens, bossing round everybody in her path. Threw things out that she deemed not up to snuff! My cook tried to turn in his notice.”

“When did he leave?” Marcus asked.

“Oh no, he’s still here. I talked him out of it by giving him the afternoon off.”

“Not your cook, the duke. When did the duke leave?”

“Hours and hours ago,” the innkeeper said, “though we are still recovering from it. I pulled aside the duke’s valet and begged he make arrangements for the duke to stay elsewhere the next time they passed through. I recommended The Lion and the Lamb. It is only two miles south and while it is not as superior as my own establishment, it has the room for them. That valet had the nerve to tell me that could not be! That inn had already wished for the duke not to return and had sent him to me!”

“So I understand,” Marcus said. He took the reins from the groom, mounted, and set off. He would like to catch up to Lady Patience before he was forced to deal with any more broken-down innkeepers.