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

Marcus had gone on horseback to Almack’s, as both he and Radler preferred it. Cresswell always displayed no end of silent protest to the idea as his valet was convinced that his hard work would be for naught. His concerns were overblown though, as long as one stepped one’s horse carefully round mud and puddles. In any case, Cresswell used enough starch on his clothes that he supposed he might wrestle and still come out of it looking pressed.

They’d found Kendrickson coming out of a carriage that certainly was not his own. He supposed some relation or other was pitching in the means and money for the season.

The patronesses seemed especially interested in Kendrickson. Marcus could guess that his old school acquaintance had made himself a project for them. They seemed primed to help him along to the sort of dowry he’d require to keep himself afloat. It was hardly surprising—there was nothing a patroness liked so well as a project they might take credit for.

They’d since gone into the ballroom to engage in the age-old ritual of putting themselves down on ladies’ cards. Radler said, “So this trip to Town, Kendrickson, I suppose you are considering marriage?”

Kendrickson smiled. “No need to put it so delicate,” he said. “Everybody on God’s green earth knows my circumstances. Even if I could hide it, I do not think that I would. If I can convince a lady to hitch her carriage to my horses I’d just as soon she know the truth of my situation. In any case, her father will be well apprised of it.”

Radler had sighed one of his painful to live in the world sighs. “Dashed awful though. What if you are struck by a lady and she does not have the necessary funds?”

“Struck?” Kendrickson asked.

Marcus raised his hand to stop the conversation in its tracks. “Do not inquire further into it, Kendrickson. I have been up to my ears in conversation regarding Radler’s ideas of being struck.”

The Duchess of Devonshire interrupted their conversation, which Marcus was rather glad of.

“Gentlemen,” the duchess said, “I am filling the card of Lady Patience Nicolet, daughter of the Duke of Pelham. She is just across the ballroom, standing by her father.”

“Oh, I say,” Kendrickson said, reaching for it.

Radler was next. “Very interested in becoming acquainted with that lady.”

He passed the card to Marcus, who hesitated.

“Come now, man,” Radler said, “do not tell me you are frightened off of a lady on account of a gallop?”

“Of course not,” he said, writing his name down.

What had really given him pause was that the only dance open on Lady Patience’s card was the one that led to the supper, such as it was at Almack’s. He’d been avoiding writing his name down for that one as he’d been told that a certain Lady Alice Gerhard, daughter of the Earl of Kembleford, would attend. It was said that she was of a serious and thoughtful temperament, and he’d been very interested in making her acquaintance.

Marcus glanced once more in Lady Patience’s direction. Yes, that was the same lady he’d seen in the park. He’d only seen her very briefly as she’d flown by on her horse, but that was most certainly her. She was undeniably pretty. Really, he supposed she was the prettiest lady in the ballroom.

Well, he’d told himself that he would not judge a person by their father, however eccentric the duke might be. He would also not judge on the wild ride he’d witnessed, as he did not know the full circumstance. It might very well have been an aberration.

Or even it were not, it did not necessarily sum up the lady’s temperament. That really was the key to all his plans. He must find a lady similar in temperament to his own so that he did not end up in a household like the one he’d been raised in. He would insist on peace and cordiality.

He would proceed carefully, as that was his nature, but he would not proceed prejudicially. There could be no benefit to that.

Radler was busy informing Kendrickson of Lady Patience and her sisters galloping down Rotten Row on Dales ponies.

“That must have been a sight—she sounds fun,” Kendrickson said.

“Fun?” Marcus said. “Kendrickson, aside from whatever your requirements are regarding a dowry, I do hope you have formulated other considerations. Fun is not exactly a wise decision-making yardstick.”

Radler laughed. “You see how it is, Kendrickson. Stanford came into the world an eighty-year-old man and he’ll go out of it just the same.”

His two friends laughed heartily over the jest, though Marcus failed to see the hilarity in it. He was not eighty. He was simply careful. Rightfully careful. They’d see that in the end.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Mrs. Right found that on the rare occasion that she was faced with a butler, it was well to know their plans. Since these unwanted individuals would not deign to tell her outright of any strategies they’d developed, she’d taken to hiding behind doorways to find them out.

As she had suspected, Mr. Grimsby was up to something. It seemed his idea was to gain the loyalty of the footmen, thereby turning them against her. It was not a terrible plan, actually. It was doomed to fail, however, as the footmen in question were her footmen. For all that, it was well that she knew it.

Just now, Mr. Grimsby said, “Charlie, it would be to your benefit to understand how things are done in properly run houses. After all, what are you to do if you decide to move on? What if you wish to become a butler to some elevated person? At the moment, you do not have the first idea of how it is done. Your staff would never respect you, because you would not understand how things are properly done.”

Mrs. Right smiled. Everybody knew that Charlie had not the least interest in staying in service all his life. He saved every pence so he might one day open a tavern in their village. Mrs. Right had long ago convinced the duke to hand out rather significant Christmas bonuses for the sole reason of funding Charlie’s ambitions.

“If you were to support my efforts,” Mr. Grimsby went on, “I would ensure that you learn how things are properly done, Charlie. It would greatly enhance your chances of moving up in the world. Now, I know you are all fond of Mrs. Right, but that is only because she’s had you isolated in Yorkshire. You have not known any better examples. However, she does you a disservice! It is outrageous that a housekeeper is bossing about the footmen.”

Disservice, indeed. No footmen in England were paid as well, had as many days off, and had such light duty. No footmen had a leader who treated them as if they were her own sons.

“You were a soldier, Mr. Grimsby, is that right?” Charlie asked.

“Indeed I was, and very good training for running a household it was too,” Mr. Grimsby said.

“Now let me ask you this,” Charlie said, “let’s say you was serving a general for ever so many years. Then, all sudden-like, a new general sidles up to you and says, forget your general and serve me. What would you do?”

“Such a situation would be unheard of. A soldier does not change commanding officers willy-nilly.”

“Just so, Mr. Grimsby. Just so.”

Mrs. Right tiptoed away, well satisfied that Mr. Grimsby would get precisely nowhere with her boys.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Patience was enjoying herself so far, despite the niggling little idea in the back of her mind regarding Lord Stanford’s hesitation in putting himself down on her card. Especially since he’d penciled in for the dance before supper. She presumed that had been the only space left and she did not like to think that the gentleman had been forced to take her in and engage in extended conversation.

She had already danced with Lord Radler, one of the three that had caught her eye instantly. He was a rather voluble specimen and she discovered that he was a houseguest of Lord Stanford’s. They’d had a lively conversation about Dales’ ponies and Patience had told him of the sort of wild rides she and her sisters took on the moors.

She’d wished to subtly inquire into Lord Stanford’s hesitation in putting his name down on her card, but she did not find an opportunity to work it in.

Just now, she danced with Lord Kendrickson, the second of the three gentlemen who’d caught her eye upon arriving. Though, she could not help but to notice her aunt frowning at the edge of the ballroom floor.

“I see Lady Marchfield gives me some dark looks,” Lord Kendrickson said. “I suppose she’s warned you of my circumstances.”

“She said you were in Town on a dowry hunt,” Patience said, interested to see how he would answer the charge.

The lord laughed. “I suppose it could be called that. I certainly do require a good dowry and I have never attempted to hide my circumstances. I will say, though, that there are few men in England who do not have to take on such considerations. My case is perhaps just more dire. My father was a gambler and not very skilled at it.”

Patience found his directness rather refreshing. She was not na?ve to the ways of the world. Women had dowries because estates needed infusions. It was the great English money trade between houses. Awkward, of course, but that was why everybody pretended they did not know it. A lady was not meant to consider whether a gentleman had considered her purse.

“My father says gambling is almost as stupid as putting a gun to one’s head, pulling the trigger, and hoping not to get shot,” she said.

Lord Kendrickson laughed. “My views exactly, though perhaps I have never expressed it in such colorful terms.”

“My papa is a darling, though so many do not see it at first. He shocks people, but it is just him going his own way.”

“Money and title allow for going one’s own way it seems. I hope you do not think less of me because of the situation I’ve found myself in.”

“I do not, and it does you credit that you do not hide it, Lord Kendrickson.”

“Of course, I very much wish that it was not the situation I’m in. It would be rather glorious to have no need for practicalities. But duty, you know. My mother, a dowager now, counts on me, as does everyone who works in my household.”

Patience nodded. She very much liked Lord Kendrickson. Not as anything more than a friendship, but she found herself feeling as if she would like to help him where she could.

“Lord Kendrickson, I will give you the only hint I am in possession of. I understand Lady Alice comes with twenty thousand and I suppose that would rescue your sagging fortunes.”

“Rather,” Lord Kendrickson said.

“I have been told that she is a serious personality,” Patience said. “It is always well to understand another’s temperament. Perhaps if she sees you as serious too, it will put you in her good books.”

The lord sighed. “She is unlikely to favor me, then. I cannot say I am a particularly serious person—I do like to laugh. She’ll be going for someone like Stanford.”

“Oh? Lord Stanford is particularly serious?” Patience asked.

Lord Kendrickson thought for a moment. “Perhaps that is not the right word. He is not so much serious as… cautious? I’m not even sure that is the right word.”

Patience felt herself wishing to toe-tap. What was the right word?

“Well, I suppose you will come to your own judgments. I will say that he has always been a good friend. When we were at Eton, he did not shun me on account of my shabby clothes or lack of funds.”

“Did others do so?” Patience asked.

“Some did. But Stanford and Radler are both bricks. Stanford even gave me some of his shirts and neckcloths when I was hard-pressed.”

So that was what she knew so far. Lord Stanford might be serious or cautious, but those might not be the right words, and he was a brick who did not mind giving away his clothes.

She really would have to come to her own judgment. She could not imagine that judgment would be anything but exceedingly pleasing. She had sharp and quick instincts, and they told her that she and Lord Stanford would get on famously.

Despite any mistaken early hesitations he might have displayed.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Marcus was not entirely sure where his thoughts were going. They were usually so regulated and traveled the paths he directed them to do.

Just now, his eyes kept drifting in the same direction. In the direction of Lady Patience. He kept arguing with himself and attempting to turn his eyes toward Lady Alice, or anybody else, really.

His eyes were entirely defiant.

There was something about Lady Patience that demanded his attention. She was so remarkably pretty—her big expressive eyes, her perfectly proportioned features, her piles of brown hair that glinted shades of auburn in the candlelight. Then those lips, full and yet there was a delicacy to them. Perhaps it was the slightest upward curve at the edges that was striking.

But none of that was quite it. She was so alive . That was it.

Everything about her was expressive. Her eyes glinted, her smile flashed. There was a confident ease about her.

He could see very well that every gentleman who’d danced with her had enjoyed the experience. He supposed she would be very popular, perhaps even named the season’s diamond.

There was something irritating in that, though it was illogical. He did not like illogic. He did not like to think he could suffer from such a state. It might even be dangerous.

He could not allow anything, or anyone, to upset his carefully laid plans. At such a critical moment in his life, he could not throw over all of his judicious conclusions for some fleeting attraction. Surely that was what it was.

His cautiously laid plans would serve him well in the future, and he must always keep that at the forefront of his thoughts.

But then, it could very well turn out that Lady Patience was suited to him. In fact, he found himself hoping so. He just must guard against allowing his opinions to get ahead of the facts. There was an equal chance she was not suited to him.

Whatever the case might be, he was to begin to discover it in moments. He approached the lady, who stood with her father and her aunt.

“Your Grace, Lady Marchfield, Lady Patience,” he said, bowing.

“Stanford, is it?” the duke asked.

“The Earl of Stanford,” Lady Marchfield said before he could answer. “I have been acquainted with the earl for a number of years and I find him everything a gentleman should be.”

“That is very kind, Lady Marchfield,” Marcus said.

“Is it kind, though?” the duke said. “Lady Misery here generally approves of everything glum and uninteresting. That is not you, I hope?”

“Roland!” Lady Marchfield exclaimed.

“I hope not, Your Grace,” Marcus said, for lack of any cogent sort of reply to such a statement.

“My father jests,” Lady Patience said.

“Do I?” the duke asked.

Lady Patience tapped her father with her fan. “You most certainly do, Papa. Do not tease Lord Stanford.”

“All right, my girl,” the duke said, seeming to be in all good humor to be reprimanded by his daughter.

“Lady Patience,” Marcus said, holding out his arm. She laid her hand gently upon it and he led them to their places.

There was something like nearby lightning in her touch. He felt the hair on his arms stand up as though he’d got too close to a summer storm. He had the ungodly urge to rip off her glove and touch her skin.

What was wrong with him?

He led them to their place for La Boulangere. The Duchess of Devonshire had already called that it would be six couples per circle. As was usually the case, the most senior lord and his lady partner of each circle would act the lead couple. For their own circle, that would be the Marquess of Haddonfield.

Kendrickson and Radler had also made their way into his circle. Marcus was annoyed to note them both surreptitiously smile at Lady Patience. They were not very subtle at it either, as evidenced by their partners’ rather irritated expressions. Particularly not Lady Rose, who had been acclaimed as last season’s diamond and did not seem enthusiastic to encounter more ladies making their debuts.

The music began and the marquess nodded to signal the grand ronde. As they made their way round the circle, Marcus said, “I see you’ve met my friends.”

It was a stupid thing to say, but his mind was not cooperating with him particularly well this evening.

“Yes,” Lady Patience said, “I suppose you would have seen them put their names down on my card. As you were there.”

“Yes,” he said.

“I just happened to be looking that way at the time,” Lady Patience said. “I was not certain you would put yourself down.”

Marcus’ eyes widened. He supposed she’d seen that he’d hesitated. What on earth should he say about it?

He supposed the truth was all he’d got.

“That was not at all what it may have appeared to be,” he said. “It was only my caution, as there is another lady here that I have been encouraged to meet and I had already committed myself to the other dances.”

Well. That was not quite the truth. Nobody had encouraged him to secure Lady Alice for a dance. He’d encouraged himself upon hearing of her sedate temperament.

He felt a need to fill in the ensuing silence. “I was told the lady is rather serious, and so I thought supper might suit…” He was just rambling now, and so he stopped.

Lady Patience’s eyes flashed as they came to the end of the grand ronde. “Oh I see. Lady Alice, was it?”

How on earth would she know it had been Lady Alice?

“Uh, yes,” he said. “People have mentioned that she and I should meet.” Marcus hoped his face did not look as embarrassed as he in fact was. He’d said people had encouraged him to seek out Lady Alice. What people? Were there now to be mysterious people who went round whispering proposed introductions? It was absurd.

“Indeed,” Lady Patience said. “ People have very good things to say about Lady Alice.”

She smiled sweetly at him as she said it. Was she serious, or was she well aware of the nonexistence of people and simply mocking him?

What was this creature? She was at once alluring and uncomfortably confrontational. What other lady would question why he’d hesitated in putting his name down on her card? A usual lady would simply tuck her irritation in her reticule and say no more about it. What other lady would mock his pathetic excuse of blaming people for the hesitation? He was leaning toward the opinion that she did mock him, too. A usual lady might smile and nod and pretend the excuse had been swallowed whole, even if it had not been.

Certainly, such a lady as this could not be suited to him. They had just met and she questioned and mocked him—what picture did that paint of the future? Not a comfortable one, he was sure.

And yet, he found himself unwilling to look away.