Pascale Duguay (2 page)

Patience turned to Miss Thimble and embraced her warmly as the coach creaked to a stop before them. The groom clambered down from his perch and held the door open. All too soon, Miss Thimble was helped inside and taken away down the unkempt drive.

Patience watched until the coach had disappeared from view. She knew she should go tell Peters and his wife what had just transpired, but she could not face a discussion of the morning’s events just yet. Instead she escaped to her bedchamber to think things through. She paced the length of her room, unable to stand still as her mind went over every detail of her encounter with her father. He had never taken much notice of her before. As long as she kept his household running smoothly, he had had no complaints. In fact, she was amazed that he was willing to marry her off and lose the services of an unpaid servant.

More surprising still was the fact that he was trying to rush through this farce of a marriage. Unlike her, he never ran headfirst into anything. He always took his time to figure out the odds before placing a bet. His meticulous calculations and deliberations never seemed to bring him much luck, but it had always been his way nonetheless. Patience let out a sigh of frustration. Unless she could see the content of the letters he had hidden from her, she would not get anywhere.

As if in answer to her thoughts, she caught the sound of steps on the gravelled courtyard. Rushing to the window, she peered outside. Her father had changed into riding clothes and was now striding toward the stable. She drummed her fingers on the windowsill while the stable boy brought out his horse and adjusted the stirrups. The moment Lord Bingham urged his mount forward, Patience ran out of her room and headed straight for her father’s study. When she reached his desk, she opened the top drawer in which her father had dumped the letters. There was only one of them now. Recognizing her aunt’s writing, she sat down in her father’s leather chair and began reading.

My dear brother,

I hope this missive finds you well. I am presently visiting at Hawkridge Manor with my good friend, Lady Rutherford, and will soon be upon you for my annual visit. I do not intend to subject you to my presence for many days this time. I will merely stop long enough to collect Patience and Miss Thimble. I fully intend for Patience to have a Season at last and will not be fobbed off with your usual excuses. The poor girl will soon be twenty-one, and it is high time that she was introduced into Society to meet eligible men. With her beauty, she should have no trouble finding a suitable party, even though you, as her father, have probably not seen fit to provide her with a dowry. I will, of course, expect you to pay for the cost of her come-out. I hope your luck at the gaming tables will prove propitious in the coming weeks.

Patience replaced the letter in the drawer exactly as she had found it. Returning to her room, she resumed her pacing. Was this why her father was in such a hurry to marry her off? Was he afraid of all the money he would have to spend on her, especially since his sister was known for spending a fortune on her clothes? Who else but his good friend would be willing to marry a penniless girl on such short notice?

Something did not add up. Sir Rupert was a terrible miser. He hoarded his money the way her father spent his at the gaming tables. She had often heard him say that a wife was only good at spending her husband’s blunt. With one of his lewd sneers he would add that Molly, the middle-aged widow who lived at the other end of the village, could easily satisfy his needs merely for the asking. What was in it for the old man then? There had to be more to it than this. She had a strong feeling that the answer was held in the missing letter.

The only thing she knew for certain was that she would not be participating in her father’s wedding arrangements. If her aunt could not come and save her in time, she would just have to go and meet her at Hawkridge Manor. She had stayed there with her aunt before, as a child, and was sure that Lady Rutherford would welcome her. And with a little bit of luck, her odious son, Julius, would be in Town and not in residence at his mother’s home.

She felt a pinch of uneasiness at Miss Thimble’s admonition that she should wait for Aunt Louisa. Patience was thankful she had not made any promises. Besides, Lady Rutherford’s home was only half a day’s carriage ride away. Why wait for her aunt when she could easily reach her by boarding the stagecoach in the next town? Nothing could be simpler.

Lord Julius Rutherford, Fifth Earl of Hawkridge, drove his team of matched bays at a neat pace on the quiet stretch of country road. His posture was ramrod straight as he sat atop his phaeton. A tan beaver hat covered his dark locks while a driving coat of the same colour set off his wide shoulders to perfection.

His handsome brow, however, was marred by a frown of irritation as his thoughts dwelled on the note he had received from his mother the day before. He was extremely fond of his parent, and since the death of his father, had done all in his power to please her. But in this instance, he felt justified in wondering whether she had taken leave of her senses as the short missive, which had obviously been sent post haste, had offered no details other than that his presence was required five days from now.

The least his mother could have done was offer an explanation. Lord Rutherford did not like surprises. His life was so well ordered that his servants could anticipate his every need. As he had no intention of missing a previous engagement scheduled for that same day, he had decided to go meet her at once, hoping he would be able speedily to resolve whatever ailed his mother. The Season had barely begun, and he wanted to attend as many functions as he could in order to select the perfect bride as quickly as possible. Now that he had finally decided to marry in order to continue the line, he did not want to spend more time than necessary on the matter, preferring to attend to the management of his various estates rather than doing the pretty at dancing affairs.

If his father had taught him anything in his lifetime, it was that neglect did not lead to prosperity. With this in mind, he had approached marriage like any other business he undertook. His first step had been to prepare a list of the qualities his bride must possess to suit the exalted role of Countess. She would have to be wellborn, of course. Her manners must be impeccable, her disposition amiable, her mind and conversation intelligent, although she would have to defer to him in all things. Physically, it would be preferable were she to be on the tall side as he did not wish to develop a crick in the neck. And last but not least, she would have to be a beauty because he did not think he could endure sharing his marriage bed with a dowd.

So far, only one candidate had come close to his ideal. Miss Cecilia Arlington was certainly a paragon among her peers. Although she was the most sought-after damsel this Season, she had made it quite clear that she had a strong partiality for him also. He was glad of this, as he had no wish to force himself on anyone. But then again, only a foolish female would refuse an offer from him.

Now that he had righted his affairs after the fiasco his father’s gambling had caused, he prided himself that no one would be able to find fault with either his fortune or with his person. He had received so many coy looks and offers from females of all ages and ranks since getting rid of those blasted blemishes which had plagued him throughout his youth that he could not be in any doubt on that score. He had enjoyed the trifling and very discrete affairs conducted with some of the ton’s prettiest widows whenever he sojourned in London, but he was looking forward to a more permanent arrangement, especially if it happened to be with Miss Arlington. Lord Rutherford smiled as he allowed his mind to wander to the more pleasurable thoughts of that lady’s tall and extremely shapely form.

Unfortunately, these musings were brusquely interrupted as he caught sight of a slight, cloaked figure limping ahead on the side of the road. The figure turned, and an energetic hand waved for him to stop. He was tempted to ignore the obvious demand for assistance, but good manners demanded that he at least halt his phaeton to see what this person wanted. Pulling on the reins, he slowed his team and brought the horses to a standstill next to the small creature.

“Good morning, sir! Would you be so kind as to take me to the next town? Although I believe Ventley to be quite near, I seem to have developed a painful blister on my foot.”

Lord Rutherford barely suppressed a groan. He was not in the habit of rescuing damsels in distress, especially ones that seemed barely old enough to be out of the schoolroom. But as this small act of charity should not interfere with his present destination, he could very well accept this minor request from one who appeared harmless enough in her faded, dove-grey cloak and matching bonnet. Although he did not agree with females walking about alone, this was the country after all, and he was obviously not dealing with a lady of quality, but merely some kind of servant. From her well-modulated speech, however, she would not be a lowly servant. Perhaps a lady’s maid.

Lord Rutherford nodded his agreement. Having dispensed with the services of his groom on this short expedition, he was forced to alight and assist the woman into the phaeton himself. When he held out his hand to take her valise, he was surprised to find himself clasping a dainty hand instead and staring down into the largest, greenest eyes he had ever encountered. His breath caught in his throat as their gazes locked and a few seconds passed before he could break eye contact. Realizing he was still holding on to the woman’s hand, the Earl quickly released it.

“Thank you so much for your assistance,” she said.

In an attempt to regain control of his customary placid composure, he replied rather brusquely, “If you will let me have your bag, I can then assist you into the phaeton.”

“Of course!” The woman smiled and for the second time Lord Rutherford was taken off his guard as a dimple appeared in her left cheek, transforming this tiny mouse of a woman into a veritable beauty.

He gave himself a mental shake as the valise was thrust into his hands. Finding that this article was much heavier than he had supposed, he nearly dropped it to the ground. As he took a firm hold of the bag, an odd clanking sound like glass bottles banging together caught his attention. The suspicion that he was assisting a female wholly addicted to strong spirits briefly crossed his mind. Perhaps there was more to her limp than a blister after all.

These suspicions were put to rest when the woman in question climbed nimbly onto the seat. He lifted the bag into her waiting hands and was soon settled behind the ribbons once more. Setting the horses in motion, he resumed his journey.

For the next few minutes his companion was mercifully quiet. Lord Rutherford could not abide chattering females. He made a mental note to add this item to his list. Was Miss Arlington prone to chattering, he wondered? At the moment he could not recall. This was probably a good sign. Had it been the case, he would surely have remembered. He was suddenly distracted from these musings by an exasperated sigh. From the corner of his eye he noticed the woman leaning forward. Curious, he looked across to find that she had removed the offending shoe and was now rubbing the stockinged heel of one dainty foot.

Lord Rutherford arched an eyebrow. What shockingly bad manners for a female to be showing her foot in such a way. Then again, he had to remind himself once more that this young woman was merely a country servant.

To turn his mind away from the strange attraction the sight of her shoeless foot had provoked in him, he said the first thing that came to mind. “May I ask why you are travelling so far alone?”

Patience had not missed the haughty look directed at her shoeless foot. The man was obviously a high-stickler for propriety, but she was more concerned with how she was going to answer him, for she was fully unprepared to do so. She had been so absorbed with reaching her aunt that she had forgotten to make up a story for herself in case of such an event. Her mind worked quickly, trying to come up with a reasonable answer. She certainly could not tell this stranger that she was running away from home! Her plan was to reach her aunt before nightfall. As her father rarely bothered about her and mostly ate his meals alone, she was hoping that he would not be alerted by her absence until she was safely with her aunt. She knew she could count on the loyalty and affection of Peters and his wife to follow the instructions she had left for them to find when they started their day. The last thing she needed now was for her identity to be discovered.

Not only did she not want to be sent back home, but as Miss Thimble had drilled into her, she had her reputation to protect. She did not want it torn to shreds before she even set foot in London! Although she had gotten into many scrapes in her lifetime, none of them could be said to have harmed her reputation as the villagers were quite familiar with her antics. However, this stranger might not view her actions with the same benevolent eye. She would just have to create a new persona for herself, she decided. At least her remarkable red hair was still hidden safely under her bonnet. Surely, no one would remember a drab little mouse in grey garments.

Patience pasted on her best smile and turning to him she answered, “Why, I am a country miss, you know. We are used to walking long distances.”

“Even to the point of inflicting blisters on your feet?” he said with another haughty lift of the eyebrow.

Drat the shoe,
thought Patience. But then again, she had never before walked from daybreak to nearly midday.

“Oh, that is entirely my fault. I wore the wrong shoes by mistake.” Actually, it was her only pair of shoes, but she had no intention of divulging that personal detail either.

“Could not someone from your family have provided you with a ride to wherever it is you are going?”

“Actually, I have no family.” She lowered her lashes and allowed her shoulders to droop as if sad memories were causing her great pain. Surely, a gentleman would take the hint and not torment a poor soul further. Unfortunately, this particular gentleman had no such compunctions, it seemed.

“What of your parents?”

Patience produced a handkerchief and dabbed at her eyes. “They died of fever a year ago.”

“You must have other family members who can come to your assistance?”

“Alas, they do not acknowledge me. You see, my mother was a rich merchant’s daughter. She was considered a great beauty and even attended one of the best seminaries for girls. However, she fell in love with the dancing master and ran away with him. Seeing as my grandparents had held great expectations for her, going so far as to hope for a marriage into the nobility, they have never forgiven her.”

That would explain her fine speech, thought Patience, mentally congratulating herself. When she noticed him frowning at her still unshod foot, she decided it would also account for her sad want of conduct.

“And what are your plans now?” He nodded at the bag at her feet.

“I am simply going to apply for a new position nearby.”

“What happened to your last one?”

Patience guessed he would not have been surprised to hear that she had been caught stealing all the liquor in the household. The bottles in her bag chimed every time they rode over a large hole in the road.

“I was companion to an old lady. Unfortunately, she choked on her breakfast toast and died, leaving me with no choice but to seek a new post.” Patience had to turn her head away in case he would see the mirth in her eyes. Making up stories had always been a favourite pastime of hers. It was an ability she had developed as an only child growing up among adults. This was the first time she actually had a receptive audience, and she quite enjoyed the experience. She only hoped she would not give herself away by laughing at her own silly tales.

Patience was surprised to find that they were already nearing Ventley. She would be sorry to part from this gentleman. She had not had so much fun in a long time. She had derived as much amusement from shocking his strict sense of propriety as she had in making up her life’s story. She smiled as she finally put on her shoe. But she must now concentrate on achieving the next step in her scheme. She planned to use her meagre funds to catch the stagecoach to Hawkridge. She hoped she had enough to cover the fare. She also hoped it would not take too long to reach her destination. She had never travelled by coach, but if her memory served her correctly, it had not taken more than three or maybe four hours to reach Lady Rutherford’s home the last time she had travelled there with her aunt.

“Where would you like to be put down, Miss … I am afraid I have not caught your name.”

Patience pulled a name out of thin air, “My name is Belinda Fairchild, sir. The Blue Boar inn will do splendidly.”

“Are you planning to travel by coach, Miss Fairchild?”

Patience pretended to fix the contents of her valise while she decided on an answer. He was obviously aware that the Blue Boar was also a stagecoach stop and it probably would not do to tell him she meant to take the coach. For all she knew, he might try to dissuade her from doing so and offer her a ride to her destination if he happened to be heading in the same direction. In that case, keeping her identity a secret would be impossible.

“Oh, no. I simply need to purchase a few items in the area before meeting with my new employer,” blurted Patience. The inn was in fact surrounded by several shops. If she had any money left over after purchasing her ticket for the stagecoach, and if there was enough time before its departure, she hoped to be able to purchase small gifts for her aunt and Lady Rutherford.