Page 9 of Lady Impatience (A Series of Senseless Complications #3)

Mrs. Right left the library in a fury. How dare Lord Stanford buy Lady Alice a fan when her girl had her heart set on him?

She’d only seen Lady Alice briefly on two occasions, but Mrs. Right felt the lady was rather quiet and reserved. Why was she to be the recipient of a fan? Was it because she was likely to fan herself all her life? Did Lord Stanford prefer that sort of thing?

He must pay for this insult to her girl. Her girl, Lady Patience Nicolet, who was everything lovely and wonderful and not simpering round the place like that horrid Lady Alice.

How would he pay, though? She did not know very much about him.

It had been rather easy with Mr. Stratton. She’d changed his grocery order to all cabbages, posed as Mr. Stratton’s father and irreparably insulted their wine merchant, and had all his clothes that had been sent out to be laundered subsequently donated to charity. Then the duke had delivered piles and piles of chains to his doorstep to answer Mr. Stratton’s ridiculous claim that he would not be chained in matrimony. Valor had written to the gentleman, expressing her hope that her father would use the chains to tie him up and drown him in a lake.

Of course, they had later discovered their mistake about that gentleman, but that was water under the bridge now.

Then there had been Lord Dashlend. That was a simple matter of convincing his hysterical valet that he was being let go. Then the duke had sent a cartful of hateful flowers and plants and Valor had sent an anonymous note hoping something terrible would happen to him.

Of course, they’d later discovered their mistake about that gentleman, but that was just more water under the bridge now.

This situation was far different. Lady Misery had seen with her own two beady eyes that Lord Stanford had brought a fan to Lady Alice!

Her dear Patience must be avenged. How, how, how?

Patience had raved about Lord Stanford’s clothes and his perfect tailoring. Perhaps she could do something there. Yes, why not? The gentlemen of this town were so prideful over their clothes. They seemed to have the impression that their clothes communicated something to the world. Mrs. Right was not certain what they communicated, other than to advertise that the wearer had enough money to throw some around at frivolous expenses.

And then she began to get an idea, arising from her long years as a housekeeper.

She walked down the corridor and encountered Mr. Grimsby, who was looking not at all grim these days.

“I heard Lady Marchfield’s voice and hid, as I did not want to give myself away if she were to question me,” Mr. Grimsby said. “Did she ask about me?”

“Oh, aye, I told her you were a regular taskmaster.”

Mr. Grimsby snorted, very much amused by the idea.

“Now, Mr. Grimsby, as you are here, perhaps you would help me with a small matter.”

“Indeed, Mrs. Right, what do you require?”

“Only this, we are to go up into the attics and find a case that’s been infested with case moths.”

“They are damnable creatures. They’re hard to get rid of and they’ll eat right through your clothes in record time.”

“Yes, they will.”

“And you suppose we will find evidence of them in the attics? We ought to be careful and get them out of the house as quickly as possible.”

“Do not worry over it, they will not stay here. I intend to find a case infested and then somehow get it into Lord Stanford’s house so the little devils can eat through all his precious clothes. I’m sure I can locate something—most of the things in the attic have been sitting undisturbed for years.”

Mr. Grimsby laughed. “I cannot think why you wish to do so, but I don’t care! Let us proceed to the attics.”

With that happy agreement, they made their way there.

After moving a mountain of trunks and cases, she found just what she was looking for—the telltale signs of a case moth. An old case the right size to carry a bottle of cologne. She would clean up the outside of the case and use a bit of ink to cover the bare spots on the black velvet liner. Then she would nip one of the duke’s bottles of scent as he’d never notice, or if he did he would be amused. That would ensure that the case made its way to the lord’s dressing chamber and all his clothes. She would send it anonymously and the fool would imagine he had an admirer.

The only thing Mrs. Right intended on admiring about him was the holes in his coats.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Marcus was at a loss as to who was sending him these odd items. First it had been a bottle of molasses. Then it had been a cologne housed in what looked to be an old case. The cologne was from D.R. Harris and certainly of fine quality but looked to be prior used as it was only half-filled.

Was it the same person? Was there some sort of message in it? What was the point?

Cook had taken charge of the molasses and his valet had taken the cologne to his dressing room. Marcus was loathe to discard either of them lest the sender suddenly reveal themselves with some logical explanation.

There was the possibility that these things might be from his elderly great aunt. Lady Monroe was in the habit of pressing her dead husband’s things on whoever came through her doors. The last he’d visited her, he’d left with three yellowed neckcloths. Last Christmas, she’d sent him a moldy shaving brush.

However, Lady Monroe always sent a note along with her gifts. Usually a very odd note. The one that had come with the shaving brush had said, “May your face enjoy this as much as Lord Monroe’s face did while he was still breathing.”

As well, and so far at least, Lady Monroe had never given away such a thing as molasses. Perhaps she was running out of Lord Monroe’s things. Or perhaps her mental capacities were slipping more than they already had.

He supposed he should not dwell on it. Lady Jellerbey’s eccentric candlelight picnic was this evening. Her rooms would be dimly lit with only candles set on tables and none of the chandeliers lit. It was like a rout, but hard to see where one was going and not as crowded. He understood Lady Jellerbey went on with it each year because her fellow matrons of the ton appreciated the low light and felt it was flattering to their complexions.

As a habit, he went as a duty. The lady was falcon-eyed regarding who did or did not turn up, despite the dim light they were meant to stagger around in.

This night, he planned to take a step. A small and cautious step. He would not rush headlong into any matter, never mind one of such import. But step, he would. He would subtly communicate his regard to Lady Patience in some manner. He did not know precisely how, but he imagined it would come to him by way of opportunity.

Then, he would attempt to understand her own inclinations. He thought she looked upon him favorably, and the duke too—else why would that gentleman have invited him to dine?

“What? No more bizarre gifts turning up?” Radler asked, striding in and looking about the drawing room.

“I hope not. I believe they might be from an old aunt.”

Radler laughed. “Before the cologne turned up, when it was just the molasses, well I thought…”

“Thought what?” Marcus asked.

“Well I thought it might be a hint from the duke that you move about as fast as molasses. It seemed like something he would find amusing.”

Marcus stared at his friend. Could that be true? No, certainly not. The duke was eccentric, but he was not positively deranged. Because it would be deranged to do such a thing.

“After all,” Radler continued, “he covered Stratton’s doorstep in chains when that fellow was overheard to say he would not be chained in matrimony and then he sent a cartful of flowers to Dashlend, which sounds nice, but they were all things like columbine and thistle. You see? Indicating his contempt. I am not even certain what Dashlend did to deserve it.”

“Those must be rumors,” Marcus said. He remembered hearing something about Stratton finding chains on his doorstep, but not who had put them there. In general, he ignored gossip, so he was not very surprised he might have missed these ridiculous stories.

Even if they were true, the idea of the duke sending him molasses to make some comment on his pace was preposterous. Certainly, both the molasses and the half-filled cologne had come from his rapidly deteriorating great aunt.

Radler shrugged. “No way to be sure, I suppose, unless he gives himself away to you in some manner.”

Marcus found himself eager to dismiss the subject. “The carriage has been brought round, which I have promised my valet I would make use of. He says he cannot bear the state of my clothes when I ride my horse. I don’t see it, but he’s been fretting for weeks about it. Let us be off to stagger round Lady Jellerbey’s dim rooms.”

Radner sauntered out, calling over his shoulder. “Indeed, Lady Patience and her deranged father await!”

Marcus chose to ignore the salvo. He did not wish to think of the duke as being anything other than mildly eccentric. He already felt as if he might be taking a risk in pursuing Lady Patience, he did not want to contemplate that it might be an even bigger risk than he had yet imagined.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Patience had taken a tip from her two eldest sisters regarding Lady Jellerbey’s candlelight picnic and chosen to wear a crème silk dress. Both Felicity and Grace had pointed out that wearing something dark would make her fade into the woodwork because of the lack of light.

Lady Jellerbey was a stout and cheerful matron. She also seemed fond of the duke. She shook her fan at him and said, “May I count on you to avoid leaving one of your party behind this year?”

The duke had laughed uproariously. “That’s right, I nearly forgot about that. I left without Lady Marchfield and she had to run after the carriage to catch me!”

Patience laughed despite herself. Of course she knew the story. Whenever Lady Marchfield had insisted on going in the duke’s carriage he either left her behind or threatened to drop her off at the Seven Dials, or both. Lady Marchfield had seemed to have given up the habit on account of it.

They went forward into Lady Jellerbey’s rooms, Patience squinting to try to make out Lord Stanford. Though every surface seemed to hold burning candles, the overhead chandeliers that would have dispersed far more light were cold and dark.

So far, she did not see him.

Her father leaned over. “Do not fret, I am sure he will turn up. By the by, I sent him a clock to point out that time was passing—tick-tock, tick-tock.”

“Oh, Papa,” Patience said with a giggle. “Please tell me you did not put your name to it.”

“Certainly not. When I mean to clobber a gentleman over the head with a heavy hint, I do it anonymously.”

“Lady Patience.”

She turned and found Lord Kendrickson. “Papa,” she said, “this is Lord Kendrickson.”

The lord bowed. “Your Grace.”

“Kendrickson,” the duke said.

“You remember, Papa,” Patience said. “The fellow who needs a whopping dowry to rescue his estate.”

Lord Kendrickson looked the smallest bit alarmed to be described so to the duke.

“Ah yes, well, that is the way of England, is it not?” the duke said. “I understand your father was a terrible gambler—bad business, that.”

“It was a rather bad business, for which I have been left to pay the bill,” Lord Kendrickson said.

“Gambling, stupid habit,” the duke said. “I suppose those running the hells and profiting off ruining people will not meet their maker in the fullness of time, but will end up in actual hell attempting to cheat the devil. Something to look forward to, eh? Good luck to them then, eh? Ah, there is a sideboard that would call out to me if it could speak. I spot a very good claret. Entertain my daughter, Kendrickson.”

With that, the duke sauntered off in search of his wine.

Lord Kendrickson was rather slack-jawed as he watched the duke depart.

“I am surprised Lord Stanford is not with you,” Patience said, really wondering where the lord could be.

Lord Kendrickson recovered himself from marveling at the duke. “He is delayed. Radler tells me that Stanford thinks one of his horses has gone a bit lame and he is consulting with Lady Jellerbey’s stablemaster. Radler did not see the lameness, but Stanford is so cautious—he sensed a slight misstep and was determined to investigate.”

Cautious. There was that description of him again. Though, Patience did not understand why Lord Cautious would go round giving another lady a fan.

Patience thought she would take the opportunity while she had it to discover more information about Lady Alice and Lord Stanford if she could.

“Have you seen Lady Alice recently?” she asked, in order to introduce the subject.

“Indeed,” Lord Kendrickson said. “We had a very jolly time at a charity scavenger hunt. I took somebody’s advice and attempted to make her laugh.”

“Goodness, somebody knew what they were about then,” Patience said, getting the idea that Lord Kendrickson was perfectly well aware that it had been her that had sent the anonymous note.

“Naturally, I give my thanks to whoever it was that gave me that advice.”

“I am sure that person requires no thanks,” Patience said. “As it seems to go well between you, I do hope that Lady Alice does not become distracted by any other gentleman.”

Lord Kendrickson looked positively stricken.

“What I mean to say is,” Patience went on, “that is, I did understand that Lord Stanford brought a fan to Lady Alice.”

She paid close attention to Lord Kendrickson’s expression. It was some sort of irritated annoyance.

“So he did,” Lord Kendrickson said. “I told him my thoughts on the matter in no uncertain terms.”

“I just do not know why he thought to bring Lady Alice a fan. I only wondered…”

“I wondered just the same. Why should he bring the fan? It should have been me.”

“I wish it had been you,” Patience said.

“No more than I do.”

“Lady Patience!”

Patience turned. It was the very lady they spoke about.

“Lord Kendrickson,” Lady Alice said in a different tone. It was one of nervousness, Patience thought.

Lord Kendrickson bowed. “Lady Alice. You are positively glowing in the candlelight.”

Lady Alice blushed up to her eyebrows, which Patience took as a good sign. She could not say whether or not the lady was glowing, but the compliment had been well received.

“Lady Alice,” Patience said, not being able to contain herself, “I understand from my aunt, Lady Marchfield, that Lord Stanford was so good as to bring you a fan.”

“It was very kind of the gentleman to think of it, though I was not at home at the time.”

“I suppose it is a very nice fan?”

Lady Alice nodded. “It is quite a favorite.”

Lord Kendrickson’s expression had darkened, though Patience could see that he worked to cover it. “Lady Alice, I noted when I came in that Lady Jellerbey has included a well-aged hock on her sideboards,” the lord said, “which I know you prefer. Might I escort you there for a glass?”

“That is very thoughtful, Lord Kendrickson.”

“Excellent. I would not care for you to get lost in the darkness, lest we are forced to launch a search party for Lady Alice.”

Lady Alice laughed at the jest and Patience thought Lord Kendrickson was doing a very good job at being lighthearted and amusing. She was not feeling so lighthearted and amusing herself. Lady Alice liked the fan. It had become a favorite.

She did wonder, though, that the lady did not wear it tonight. The fan dangling on her wrist looked very like the one she’d worn to dinner.

“Lady Patience, will you come with us?” Lady Alice asked.

Patience was a bit torn. She’d like to go along and see if she could work in more questions about the fan. On the other hand, she wished for Lord Kendrickson to have as many chances with Lady Alice as possible.

“I will stay where I am, thank you,” Patience said. “My Papa is heading back toward me.”

Lady Alice and Lord Kendrickson drifted away and the duke returned. “Very good claret, I must remember the name on the bottle ticket.”

“She likes the fan, Papa,” Patience said. “Lady Alice says it has become a favorite.”

“Bah, I do not care what she says about it or why he did it. I have eyes, as I fully explained to both Felicity and Grace when they experienced their own trials. Nobody ever believes me.”

Patience stood on tiptoes and kissed his cheek. “I wish more than anything to believe you.”

Ahead of her, she spotted Lord Stanford. He noticed her and made his way over. “Your Grace, Lady Patience.”

“There you are, wondered where you’d got to,” the duke said. “But who knows, perhaps you’ve been here all along—who can see in this dim light?”

“I have just come in, Your Grace. I thought I detected a limp on one of my carriage horses, but it was only a loose shoe.”

“I’m going to find a quiet corner where I can drink my claret without tripping over anybody in this gloom. I suppose you’ll want to escort Patience through the rooms to see what might be had on the sideboards.”

Lord Stanford looked a bit startled by the question that was not really posed as a question but more of an order. He speedily recovered himself and said, “Of course.”

The duke made his way to an oversized chair against a far wall. Lord Stanford held his arm out. Patience laid her hand on it and they proceeded forward.

As she had noticed before, touching him was exhilarating. Her heart told her she was right about him. Her head, though, had been assaulted with too many conflicting pieces of information.

They walked the corridor and entered the music room. Patience glanced round, relieved there was not a crwth in sight. At one of the many sideboards set up in Lady Jellerbey’s various rooms, Lord Stanford said, “I think you prefer a Canary, Lady Patience?”

He had remembered what she preferred. That must be a good sign, must it not? She nodded her approval.

Lord Stanford poured her a generous glass of wine. “Do you care for something to eat?” he said.

“I do rather,” Patience said. “I ate a bit before I came, but my father told me it has been his experience that, despite the dim light, Lady Jellerbey puts out some very good things.”

As she examined the sideboard for what might suit, Lord Stanford said, “He is not mistaken in that opinion. If you are inclined to something sweet, I recommend the crème filled pastry puffs. If savory is your preference, the lamb vol-au-vents are particularly good.”

Patience chose the crème puffs, as she would always choose something sweet when given the choice. They made their way to one of the tables that had been set up in every room.

They’d had a pleasant conversation so far, but not an illuminating one. Patience was determined to be illuminated.

“I was wondering, Lord Stanford, what your opinion might be on a particular matter. A friend of mine, a lady friend, received the gift of a fan from a gentleman. She wondered if that was significant. She wondered if he were making a statement of some sort? I said I did not know.”