Page 7 of Lady Impatience (A Series of Senseless Complications #3)

Kendrickson had been flummoxed to receive an anonymous note regarding Lady Alice. At first, he wondered if it were a jest of some sort. Perhaps Radner had sent it. Perhaps the fellow thought it might be amusing to prompt him into trying to make the serious Lady Alice laugh.

But no, Radner understood his circumstances and would not tamper with his chances. The stakes were too high and Radner was not cruel.

Then it occurred to him that it might be from another gentleman interested in Lady Alice. Someone who wished for him to make a mistake and ruin his own chances.

That did not seem quite right either. Then an idea came upon him that seemed as if it must answer.

Lady Patience.

Who else had he had such a frank conversation with? He’d even said he would try to match Lady Alice in seriousness, though it might prove difficult.

Further, he’d seen Lady Patience and her maid go into Lady Alice’s house on the square. She might have got the information then.

He’d been watching Lady Alice’s house when he could, it was just in view from the drawing room window. He kept hoping he would see her out for a stroll, and then he would stroll too.

It would really be something if the information was correct. Lady Alice was heartbreakingly pretty, if she were not quite as serious as she initially appeared, that would be smashing. They might really get on, there might really be something there.

If it were true, if she liked to laugh, well, he would make her laugh.

He sat at the drawing room’s bow window, note in hand, feeling very buoyed by the idea.

Thank you, Lady Patience.

At least, I think it was you.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Patience had got ready early as her sisters were to arrive well ahead of the other guests. Grace and Lord Dashlend had come first, along with their very young son. The boy was up on his feet, but not particularly steady. He’d crashed round the drawing room with everybody sprinting to catch him when he seemed near to going headlong into a piece of furniture. He’d slowed down occasionally to point at something in the room and say its name. When Nelson came into the room, he was like a magnet to the boy.

Nelson was both intrigued and wary of the toddler. The boy shouted “dog” and was determined to catch Nelson. Nelson did not seem sure if they were playing a game or if he were in danger.

Young Miles Delatore was adorable but exhausting and finally Mrs. Right came for him and took him below stairs to his nursemaid. They had set up a contained area in the servants’ hall that was surrounded by pillows and blankets so if he fell, which he would, there would be no harm done.

They heard him shouting “bisk” all the way down the hall, which was apparently meant to mean biscuit, as he was obsessed with that item.

Felicity arrived next, with Mr. Stratton in tow, and what a shock that had been. She was decidedly pregnant, as big as a house really.

Patience had not seen Grace when she was with child and so the sight of one of her sisters in such an expanded condition had really taken her aback. It did not look very comfortable.

Now, the three eldest sisters sat at the back of the drawing room having a confidential conversation. Serenity, Verity, Winsome, and Valor had been sent off to check that arrangements were proceeding in the dining room. One never knew these days, as Mr. Grimsby had seemed to give up any notion of supervising things.

“Why did you not write that you expected a child, Felicity?” Grace asked.

“I wished to surprise everybody.”

“I am definitely surprised,” Patience said, laughing.

“Poor Percy was very against us coming to Town in my condition,” Felicity said, “but I told him I would fret terribly if I was not on hand to lend my support to my sister. He does not like me to fret.”

“But can you attend parties and routs and things?” Patience asked. She’d never seen a lady so large out and about, except a farmer’s wife, as they seemed indefatigable.

“Only where I am known well and it is a small affair. Percy absolutely put his foot down about that. He says he does not mind shocking a little but does not care to shock the whole world. Other ladies might try it and pretend they do not notice the wide-eyed staring, but he convinced me I would not like it.”

“From the looks of you,” Grace said, “you will be having this baby while you are in Town.”

“I expect so,” Felicity said. “Now, enough about my situation. We’ve come to support our sister for her coming out season.”

“How do you get on, Patience?” Grace asked.

“I think I will know more after tonight. You know how I am—decisive. I do not dilly-dally around.”

“So you have made up your mind?” Felicity asked.

Patience nodded. “The instant I saw him. Lord Stanford, he comes tonight with his friend, Lord Radner. Lord Stanford is positively glorious, wait until you see him.”

Grace grasped Patience’s hand. “Do you suppose he might speak to Papa as early as tonight?”

And here was the sticking point. She might not wish to admit the sticking point to an outsider, but her sisters must know all.

“Well… no. You see, I have made up my mind, but things seem a little up in the air on his side.”

“Oh I see,” Felicity said, “he’s not said anything to you yet.”

“Nothing at all, really. I do get the idea that he finds me attractive; he looks at me when he thinks I won’t notice.”

“Very good sign,” Felicity said.

“But there is this idea going round about him. That he’s cautious, or careful, or something like that. And I have seen some signs of it. I fear he may not be a gentleman who will declare himself quickly.”

“But Patience,” Grace said, “would you really be happy with someone who… took their time on things. As you… do not.”

Patience was well aware of what Grace meant to say. Further, it was a matter she had given some thought to.

“I think I would. You see, Lady Alice, you will meet her tonight, she is looking for someone not as serious as she is. Well, she is not over-serious, she just seems so because she does not joke and jest. She is not skilled at witty repartee. She wishes for someone who is skilled in that direction—to balance her out. Might I not do the same?”

“That is a very good notion, actually,” Felicity said. “After all, if you were to wed a toe tapper, and you know you are one, the two of you would be rushing headlong through life.”

“That is just how I view it,” Patience said. She was gratified that Felicity saw her reasoning. She was not unaware of her impatient proclivities and that they might be modified. At least a little bit.

Just then, they heard the distinct sound of carriage wheels on the street.

Patience and Grace leapt up from the sofa in their cozy corner. Felicity attempted the same, but halfway up she lost momentum and crashed back down. Her sisters took hold of either arm and hauled her and her enormous middle to her feet.

Charlie had answered the door, as Mr. Grimsby could not be bothered. He led Lord Stanford and Lord Radner into the drawing room.

The duke made the introductions all round, though it seemed their guests were both known to Patience’s brothers-in-law. She was pleased to see that they all appeared to approve of one another.

She could not help but to notice that Lord Stanford looked exceedingly surprised at Felicity’s current condition. Nor that Felicity’s husband, Mr. Stratton, wore a somewhat apologetic look for it.

Lady Alice arrived not long after, and the duke once more made the rounds of introductions.

“Well I suppose we need not wander round the drawing room incessantly, eh, Grimsby?” the duke said. “Can we go through?”

Mr. Grimsby shrugged and said, “Sure.”

Patience could not quite fathom Mr. Grimsby’s current state of mind. It was no matter though, the dinner was set to begin. She had carefully arranged the seating with no nod to tradition whatsoever. She would be on one side of Lord Stanford and Lady Alice would be on the other side. She must confirm her ideas that there was nothing between those two people. And that there was something between herself and the lord.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Marcus had expected he would meet with some sort of eccentricity in the duke’s household from what he’d heard from Lady Patience and what he’d seen of the duke himself.

He’d not quite imagined a lady on the verge of delivering a child though. He’d never encountered a well-born lady in such a condition and it was alarming to say the least. He was well aware it was becoming the fashion to go anywhere and everywhere regardless of how expanded the lady might be, and he’d had a glancing and distant view of some examples at the opera or the theater, but he’d not seen it up close. He at once comprehended how so many women died in childbirth—it seemed impossible that it could be done without a mortal injury.

As if that were not surprising enough, the butler was downright careless. He’d already heard from the duke that the butler was not wanted and was to be driven out by the housekeeper. Well, if this was the sort of butler they employed, it was not a wonder that they did not want one. The man looked positively bored.

They had repaired to the dining room and noted pretty hand-drawn place cards in front of each setting that seemed to flout any ideas of rank. People were placed willy-nilly, husbands and wives sat next to each other, and the youngest, who really should not be there at all, was seated at the duke’s right.

As for himself, he found Lady Patience on one side and Lady Alice on the other and so he could not be entirely opposed to the unorthodox seating plan.

Radner was on Lady Alice’s other side with Lady Winsome on his other side. Marcus did not know what to make of the younger daughters at table, but fortunately that would be Radner’s problem and not his own.

The duke dinged one of his forks against his wine glass. “We’d best get things straight before we begin,” he said. “We only host small dinners for a reason. We are cozy enough that we will all talk together, so throw out the window any idea of turning to this seatmate and then that, like it’s a ritual dance. Also, my youngest daughter has something to say before we commence.”

The youngest, Lady Valor, rose from her chair with a look of nervous determination.

What on earth could she say? Why was she to say anything? She should be above stairs in the nursery.

“I wished to bid you welcome,” Lady Valor said.

Marcus nodded toward her. If that was it, well he supposed it was prettily enough done.

“Because—”

And there was more.

“Someday all my sisters will be married and I will be left here alone and will be my father’s hostess. I, myself, will never get married because… well, the man will sleep in the same room with you and it’s scary. Do they watch you sleep? We think Mr. Stratton watches Felicity sleep and now look what’s happened to her! She looks very bad!”

With that very alarming statement, Lady Valor curtsied and sat down.

“Well now,” the duke said, “I did not know Valor would say precisely that, but here we are.”

The footmen snorted as they came round to fill the wine glasses. The lackadaisical butler leaned on the sideboard watching the proceedings. Marcus picked up his glass and took a rather ungentlemanly swig.

At least the wine was very good.

“Never mind how this happened to me,” Lady Felicity said, “you must just be assured, Valor, that Percy and I are exceedingly happy over it.”

Mr. Stratton had turned red at the insinuation that he had something to do with Lady Felicity’s current condition. Lady Valor only shook her head with a decided look of pity.

Behind him, Marcus heard the dining room doors creak open. He glanced over his shoulder to see a mangy-looking cur who was missing a leg and had one eye clouded over make its way into the room. Had it got in from the street?

None of the family seemed at all taken aback to see such a sight, that sight disappearing under the table.

“That is Nelson,” Lady Patience said for his enlightenment. “We found him on the road last year.”

Marcus was not at all surprised to hear the dog was found on the road. Where else would it have been found? What it was currently doing under the dining room table was another question.

“You see what it is to have seven daughters, Stanford,” the duke said. “You end up with a three-legged and half-blind dog.”

“As soon as I saw him,” Lady Serenity said, “I wept and knew he must come with us. He was hanging about an inn, living on scraps. Scraps , you understand!”

“Scraps!” Lady Verity repeated. “A very usual case, but we would not stand for it.”

“Scraps,” Lady Winsome said in a dark tone.

“Now he chases Mrs. Wendover and sometimes I have to rescue her out of a closet,” Lady Valor said.

Good God, who was Mrs. Wendover? Was she an elderly relative? If she was, they ought not allow the dog to chase her. If she ended in a closet, she did not sound up to the task of outrunning a three-legged and half-blind dog.

“Mrs. Wendover likes Nelson, and also she doesn’t like Nelson, depending on where she ends up,” Lady Valor said.

He was beginning to feel very sorry for Mrs. Wendover.

“Mrs. Wendover is Valor’s stuffed rabbit,” Lady Patience said, by way of explanation.

That at least made more sense. Though, he must be cognizant of the idea that his mind had leapt to the notion of an elderly relative running from the dog. He thought it indicated his impressions of what might be possible in this household.

Just then, Marcus felt something. He surreptitiously glanced down and saw that Nelson the three-legged dog had settled himself on top of his boot. Apparently, the dog knew the soup course would bring nothing interesting and took that moment to relax until more promising items arrived to table.

The soup was cleared and the next course arrived. Marcus would admit the duke maintained a fine table. The platters covered every available surface, to be served à la Francaise, which he preferred. There was beginning to be a notion in some elevated households of taking on the habit of serving à la russe, which he did not prefer and did not even think made sense. How is one to know how much to eat of one dish if one did not know what was still coming? A menu being provided gave a hint, but Marcus would prefer to have a look at a dish before deciding. Too many times, something sounded inviting, only to arrive swimming in a beige sauce of some sort. He could not abide a beige sauce.

The duke had ordered roasted beef, a large ham, Scottish salmon, quails, duckling, and every conceivable vegetable in season. There were vol-a-vents of mushrooms, a lamb pie, salad, and buttered rolls.

To Marcus deep surprise, the butler leaning against the sideboard just poured himself a glass of wine and drank it. The footmen appeared to find it very amusing.

Lady Patience cut off a piece of her slice of roasted beef and handed it under the table to the three-legged dog. The dog leapt off his boot, took it, and then began to make his way round the table to see what else might be dropped in his direction.

“I know it is not usual to have one’s dog in the dining room and feed it under the table,” Lady Patience said.

Marcus nodded, as it certainly was not. A lady had a lap dog in the drawing room and a gentleman had his hunting dogs in their kennels. This dog was neither here nor there.

“But we had to take into consideration Nelson’s unique circumstances. He had such a terrible start in life—losing a leg, going blind in one eye, and living on scraps—that we became determined that the rest of his life should be lovely and warm and full of ease. Especially regarding food, as that seems to be his primary interest.”

“I see,” Marcus said. He could not help but to be a little touched by the sentiment. He supposed most ladies would not countenance a dog that was not pleasant to look at, and this one certainly was not, never mind concern themselves with what that dog ate or what the dog felt about it.

“As you have seen,” Lady Patience went on, with a small sigh, “we are not very formal people. It’s the Dales in us. I suppose you were raised in a formal household?”

The question took him aback, as he was beginning to notice Lady Patience had a proclivity for doing. Not many ladies, or any, would pose such a personal question to a gentleman newly met.

“Relatively formal, yes,” he said.

“I know that is what society expects, but I do not think I should like it,” Lady Patience said.

“Formal is overrated,” the duke said, joining in on the discussion. “A bunch of people doing things they do not want to do, simply because some mysterious arbiter said they ought to. Just think, how would I know anything about my daughters if I had not had them all at table every night?”

“We sit with him while he drinks his port,” Lady Winsome said.

“So he does not get too drunk,” Lady Valor added.

“If he is alone with the bottle,” Lady Verity said, “he is bored and drinks it all. A very common thing.”

“Grace used to throw rolls at his head, which was very funny,” Lady Valor said, “because she never hit him!”

All of the daughters laughed heartily over the picture. Marcus did not know what to think of this information. On the one hand, it was very wrong on all counts—the dog, staying on at table, hinting that a duke would ever get drunk, all of it. It was off-putting, even.

On the other hand, there was something that struck him rather deeply about the duke wishing to know his daughters well and the care they all took of a three-legged and exceedingly unattractive dog. He did not know what to make of it. He did not know if it were right or wrong or up or down.

“Also,” Lady Winsome said, “if our father does not drink too much port or brandy alone, he can bring the bottle into the drawing room, and we can play Fact or Fib.”

Marcus could not imagine what Fact or Fib was, but perhaps that might be for the best considering the expressions on both Stratton’s and Dashlend’s faces. It was some combination of dread and resignation.

“It is a very amusing game, I assure you,” Lady Grace said.

Dashlend muttered something he did not quite hear. The duke laughed uproariously. “He says, don’t believe her for a minute! Very good.”

“The duke gave me some very good advice when I was first faced with it,” Stratton said. “He told me, ‘prepare to lose.’”

“Will we all be expected to play?” Lady Alice said in barely a whisper.

“Oh yes,” Lady Valor said, “it’s great fun. Until I get too tired and then I have to go to bed.”

“Might I inquire into the nature of the game?” Marcus asked, really preferring to know what lay ahead. “I do not believe I’ve ever heard of it.”

“They invented it,” Dashlend said. “That’s why nobody has ever heard of it.”

“Prepare to drown in blue tickets,” Stratton said.

“Two yellow tickets wins, but a blue ticket cancels a yellow,” Lady Grace said.

“You are asked a question, you see,” Lady Felicity said. “Then the group determines whether it was a fact or a fib.”

Marcus began to understand the looks of dread from Stratton and Dashlend.

“The group decides?” Stratton asked. “Do not believe a word of it, Stanford. The sisters decide and it really does not matter whether you tell a fact or a fib.”

“Stratton is on to it,” the duke said. “That’s the reason I bring the port and brandy into the drawing room—you’ll need it!”

Marcus felt as if his head was spinning. He had never encountered such a household in his life, nor had he imagined one existed.

On his other side, Lady Alice whispered, “I’m a bit scared.”

“I’m sure it’s nothing at all,” Marcus said quietly. He said it because it seemed the gentlemanly thing to reassure a lady. He was not certain he believed it though.

Was this household one to admire or to run from? He really could not decide. All he could be sure of was that it was nothing at all like the household he’d been raised in.