Page 6 of Lady Impatience (A Series of Senseless Complications #3)

Patience stared at Lady Alice. They were meant to play music? That’s why the chairs were set in rows?

“Are you quite well, Lady Patience?” Lady Alice asked.

“No, not really. You see, my aunt filled out my social calendar and all it said for this one was that it was a soiree. Lady Alice, I cannot play a note!”

Lady Alice was wide-eyed. “Certainly, you exaggerate. When you said so to me when you came to visit, I did assume you were only modest.”

“No, not modest,” Patience said.

“You do not play anything?” Lady Alice asked.

“Not anything,” Patience said.

Lord Stanford was making his way toward her. This was a musical evening. She was meant to play for an audience. What was she to do?

All those scoldings from Miss Pynchon, and the vicar even, were coming to pass. Miss Pynchon had many times said that having musical ability was de rigeur and had argued with Mrs. Right about getting the pianoforte tuned. Patience had thought the idea that she did not play an instrument might be casually mentioned to a husband at some point. She had not thought of a public unmasking.

“Lady Patience,” Lord Stanford said.

Then he looked pointedly at Lady Alice. He wished to be introduced. Of course he did. People had told him he must.

“Lord Stanford,” she said, as her mind raced on what to do about her current predicament, “may I present Lady Alice Gerhard, daughter of the Earl of Kembleford.”

Lady Alice curtsied.

Lord Radner joined them, having made a stop at the sideboard for a glass of wine. “Lady Alice, Lady Patience. I am delighted to be one of the audience to hear your musical stylings.”

Musical stylings! She did not have any musical stylings. She did not have any stylings of any sort. Think, think, think, Patience, think faster than you have ever thought before. How to avoid playing?

Was there any possibility that she could play?

No, of course not. Their pianoforte in the Dales had not even been tuned in years. Her only lessons had been rudimentary and she recalled very little of it. She’d have better luck playing on some of the ridiculous instruments she’d read about in her father’s library.

As they’d only had a governess for a short period, most of Patience’s education was self-directed by picking up odd facts and bits of information from whatever books took her fancy. There had been that one book full of pictures of all sorts of instruments nobody played anymore.

Patience paused. If nobody played them then nobody would own them. Lady Jenner would not own them.

What if she claimed she only played one of those mysterious instruments?

Lord Radler and Lord Stanford were listening as Lady Alice spoke of her favorite musical pieces and which one she would play for the party.

Then it came to her. The crwth. It was an odd stringed instrument, a little like a lyre and only played in Wales. Even there, not widely these days. Certainly, Lady Jenner would not have even heard of it.

“And you, Lady Patience?” Lord Stanford said. “What did you plan on playing this evening?”

Patience could see Lady Alice flush for her, as she already knew the terrible truth. With any luck though, Lady Alice would be the only one to ever know it.

“I am afraid I may have to disappoint Lady Jenner,” Patience said. “I play the crwth and while I am sure I directed it to be put in the luggage carriage this season, it was somehow missed. It is just now sitting in my father’s music room in the Dales.”

“The crwth?” Lord Stanford asked.

Patience nodded. Now that she’d picked a direction, she’d best keep going with it. “It is an old Welsh stringed instrument. Unfortunately, they are not widely available.”

“And you play the crwth to the exclusion of all else?” Lord Radner asked. “That is very original.”

“Indeed,” Patience said, for lack of anything more astute to say regarding how or why she played an old Welsh instrument that nobody had ever heard of.

The duke sauntered over to their party and Patience stared meaningfully at him. He would have to go along with the crwth idea or the story would fall apart.

“Stanford, Radler,” he said, “and this must be the famed Lady Alice.”

Lady Alice curtsied. “Your Grace.”

“Your Grace,” Lord Radner said, “Lady Patience was just telling us that she plays the crwth and it has been unfortunately left behind at home.”

The duke’s brows raised just the slightest bit.

“You see, Papa, this is a musical evening where all the young ladies are meant to play,” Patience said, looking at him meaningfully.

“Ah, yes of course,” the duke said, instantly perceiving the situation. “And you’ve left your crwth behind in the Dales.”

“Just so.”

“Well, a disappointment all round,” the duke said. “We’d better let Lady Jenner in on the situation.” The duke turned round and saw the lady on the far side of the room. “Lady Jenner,” he called, “if you will.”

Lady Jenner heard his call and made her way to them forthwith, likely concerned there was some musical question to be settled. Which there was.

“Is there a piece of music you are looking for?” Lady Jenner asked. “I have quite the wide selection.”

“No, nothing of that sort. My daughter and I only wished to express our regrets. We’d entirely forgot this was a musical evening. Patience plays the crwth, I’d wonder if you’ve ever even heard of it, but she’s very fond of it. Sadly, it has been left behind at home, I’m afraid. Very careless on our part.”

“Very careless,” Patience confirmed.

She had expected Lady Jenner to react with some sort of disappointment or resignation. Or perhaps confusion as to how they’d forgot it was a musical evening. Why did she look like the sun had just come out on a cloudy day?

“Lady Patience, you are in luck. The earl owns a crwth, they are so rare these days, are they not? It is in the library in a glass case. Goodness, he shall be very tickled that somebody knows how to play it. Come, come—follow me!”

Patience could feel the blood drain from her face. Why did Lady Jenner own a crwth? Now she would have to play the crwth? She had not the first idea how to even begin—she’d only seen a drawing of it.

She looked toward her father, whose brow was decidedly wrinkled.

“Come now, Lady Patience, let us not tarry,” Lady Jenner said, taking her by the arm. “Goodness, this is exciting.”

She was led away and the duke followed, though Patience had not the first idea what they were to do now. Should she pretend to faint?

Lady Jenner hustled them down the hall to the library, leaving go of Patience’s arm to throw open the doors and hurry to the glass case.

While Lady Jenner’s back was turned, the duke tapped Patience on the shoulder. He pointed to the door, and then to her hand.

She thought she understood his meaning.

With no time to lose, the duke shut the door with a thump and then cried, “My dear, are you all right? I have caught your hand in the doorframe.”

Patience cried out as if in pain and then scratched at her fingers to make them red.

“Oh dear, Papa, that does hurt!”

Lady Jenner came running back to them. “What’s happened?”

Patience held her hand gently, as if every bone in it was broken. “It was just an accident. My papa shut the door and my hand was caught.”

“Gracious,” Lady Jenner said, peering down at the hand in question. “Oh dear, it is very red. I hope there is not a bone broken.”

“Likely not,” the duke said, “but I’ll have my physician have a look at it on the morrow. For now, I think the most sensible course is to get it wrapped and keep it still.”

“Yes, of course, oh dear I feel as if this is my fault, our butler is fond of forever oiling the door hinges so they do not creak, but I really feel it makes the doors rather unpredictable.”

“Yes, I believe that is it,” the duke said. “It got away from me somehow. Well, no need to blame him, I prefer a well-oiled hinge myself.”

Lady Jenner heaved a deep sigh. “As does my lord, so I cannot fault my butler for it. But now you will not have the opportunity to play your beloved crwth.”

Patience nodded with what she hoped was a look of deep sadness, though she felt rather giddy. She would not have to pretend to know how to play a crwth. She felt as if she had skated on very thin ice and somehow made it to the other side of the pond without plunging into icy water.

“Well at least have a look at the earl’s specimen—there are so few crwths about anymore.”

Lady Jenner led them to the glass case and Patience stared down at it. So that was a crwth. Thank the stars above that it would stay under glass, right where it belonged.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Marcus could not imagine what had gone on. First, Lady Patience had informed them that she only played the crwth and had inadvertently left her instrument at home. Then Lady Jenner remarkably had that item and they had gone to retrieve it.

He’d been rather looking forward to hearing it, as he never had before. However, when Lady Patience returned, she had a bandaged hand. The duke had managed to slam his daughter’s hand in a door and blame it on a well-oiled hinge.

Despite her injury, she was looking rather cheerful.

“Now, Stanford,” the duke said, “I will depend on you to manage the patient. As it was my girl’s right hand, she will need assistance. Patience? I suppose you will like a glass of Canary?”

Lady Patience nodded, and Marcus was sent off to do the duke’s bidding. He was not at all sure how he had been assigned to assist Lady Patience, rather than her own father.

He was not entirely opposed, of course. The lady really was marvelous to look at and then there seemed to be that magnetic quality to her, that aliveness, that he’d noticed.

When he returned with her glass of Canary, Lady Patience was seated with one chair to her right and her father seated to her left.

It was clear enough where he was meant to sit. He felt the slightest twinge over it, as Lady Alice was seated three rows ahead of him. He really had cemented it in his mind that he ought to become better acquainted with the lady, as she was so advertised to be the sort of lady that would be suited to him.

He’d been introduced to her, at least. He’d not felt anything in particular upon the introduction. There had not been an immediate attraction, but he supposed that was because he never had gravitated to her sort of coloring. Her black hair and pale skin felt harsh to his eyes and he preferred a softer coloring. Like Lady Patience’s coloring.

However, and it was an important however, a lady’s coloring was not to dictate his direction. He must use rational sense built of verifiable facts. Hair eventually turned to grey but temperament stayed steady throughout one’s life.

Marcus set down Lady Patience’s glass of wine as Lady Jenner sorted people into seats so she could get the evening going.

Lady Patience lifted her injured hand and then, seeming to remember it was injured, laid it back in her lap and used her left hand to take her wine.

“I hope you are not too disappointed that you will not have the opportunity to play the crwth,” he said.

“I’m devastated, naturally. Though, one has to put one’s chin up in the face of disappointments, does not one?” Lady Patience said.

“Yes, I suppose so.”

The duke leaned forward. “All my daughters are very stalwart.” He paused. “Except for Valor, but she might grow into it.”

“Valor is my youngest sister,” Lady Patience said. “We cannot convince her that the foxes roaming the Dales are not women being murdered. She even accused the vicar of somehow being involved in the murders.”

The duke chuckled. “Now she thinks the butler who is currently incommoding my household might murder us all in our beds because he’s an army man. Well, she’ll settle as soon as that fellow is gone.”

Marcus was not certain what to make of that statement. Did the duke say he did not care for his current butler, and that fellow had plans to leave the duke’s service? It was deuced inconvenient to lose a butler. The senior footman would jockey for the position whether he was ready for it or not. Staff always disliked a new man coming in if that was to be the case.

Whatever decision was made, it would throw everybody into an upset that would take months to settle. A household staff was a delicate balance of personalities and hierarchies.

“Our aunt, Lady Marchfield, keeps hiring butlers for my father,” Lady Patience said, “but we do not wish for one, so our housekeeper gets rid of them for us.”

Marcus was certain he was fairly wide-eyed. They did not want a butler? Their housekeeper was tasked with getting rid of them? How did she get rid of them? Was there violence involved? How many had been got rid of? Where were they now?

“We know how we like our house run, and so does Mrs. Right,” the duke said. “We are snug and comfortable just as we are.”

Lady Patience patted her father’s hand. “That is a very apt description, Papa—we are snug and comfortable. In the Dales, we do things just as we like them.”

“That’s right—we don’t go in for doing what everybody else does just because they do it. We arrange things to our liking and society’s opinion be damned.”

“You will see when you come to dine, Lord Stanford,” Lady Patience said. “All my sisters will be at table. We do not make the younger of my sisters stay away as others might. It would not be fair to them.”

The duke laughed. “I suppose Winsome would have some choice words for us if we tried it.”

It all sounded exceedingly odd, and yet there was something to consider in it. For all the eccentricity of it, there was a distinct undercurrent of… what? Solidarity? Of close-knit attachment? Of ease? Contentment?

Marcus was not altogether certain. It did prompt him to think far into the future though. Up until now, he’d employed a falcon-like focus on making the right choice of wife. He’d not thought much beyond that.

If he did think beyond that, what would his household look like day to day? What would his household feel like? How would children be treated?

Marcus did not have any example to go on, as all he could be sure of was what he did not want. He did not want his parents’ household.

It was becoming rather interesting to ascertain how other people lived. How the duke and Lady Patience lived.

If it really was true, then snug and comfortable sounded… well, it sounded snug and comfortable. He’d not really thought of that as a possibility. There had been times when he’d felt snug and comfortable at his club—a cold rainy day, hot coffee, and a newspaper. He’d been very content at those moments. His club had been a haven.

Could that sort of atmosphere be had at home? It seemed almost impossible.

But perhaps it was possible? Perhaps he’d been shooting too low? He’d been seeking to establish a household where there was not constant shouting. His idea of success had been a reserved and polite arrangement.

Could there be more, though?

He was rather looking forward to attending the duke’s dinner and having a closer look at snug and comfortable.

Lady Jenner called everyone to attention and the musical evening began. Marcus did not mind it as much as he usually did—he wished for time to think and he would think while one lady after the next played.

Lady Alice was the first to display her talent. She played a lively Irish air to great acclaim.

Though, Marcus did find himself a bit startled regarding the enthusiasm with which Lady Patience clapped at the end of it. He hoped she did not do further damage to her injured hand.