Patience (47 page)

He paused by the window behind his desk. In the open meadow below, Farnsby and Asher were engaged in a game of football with a pack of village boys. As he watched, Farnsby and a tall towheaded lad made a run for the goal together. Passing the ball, they avoided the defenders. And then the boy made a brilliant shot that seemed to arc around the goalkeeper. Farnsby leapt into the air as cheers erupted from the boys on the scoring team. The towheaded lad, seemingly unimpressed by his own skill, took the accolades of his teammates in stride.
The honest simplicity of childhood
.

“What are the people of Gwenellyn supposed to do whilst Benchley and I duel?” he asked out loud. “Winter is coming. How will they survive without work? They’ll have to leave—go to other mines.” He watched the boys move the ball down the field. “Most of the children in this village were born here. They’ve lived here their whole lives.” He turned to face Rivers and Fitz Roy. “How many will go hungry? How many will be forced into the poorhouses?”

Rivers nodded as he leaned forward in his chair. “That is the argument you must make to the court. Appeal to their humanity and common decency—to their Christian concern for the fate of their fellow man.” Rivers got slowly to his feet. “And I shall make known your apprehension for the people of Gwenellyn, for the more public opinion sways to your side, the better.” He leaned on his cane. “Most everyone, at some point, has thought to themselves:
There, but for the grace of God, go I
.”

Matthew watched the frail man cross the room. “Thank you, my lord,” he said as Rivers exited.

The man turned and winked one watery eye. “You’re welcome, my boy.”

Once he’d left, Matthew flipped open the thin file of legal documents that summarized Benchley’s suit. The son of a bitch was contesting ownership of the mine based on the fact that official transfer of ownership documents had not yet been filed for the mine when Danforth gambled it. Never mind that his signature of transfer was on the deed.

“Give me that file.” Fitz Roy crossed the room and then held out his hand. “I’ll take care of it.”

“What do you mean, you’ll take care of it?”

“What do you mean, what do I mean? I mean, I’ll take care of it,” Fitz Roy repeated. When Matthew didn’t hand over the file, Fitz Roy dropped his hand and rolled his eyes. “I’ll make the argument for the mine to stay open whilst the suit is decided. The interim expenses and profits will fall to the victor.”

“You’ll make the argument, to whom?”

“To one who has certain power.”

Matthew lifted his brows. “It has always been my understanding that the Queen is disinterested in social and economic matters.”

“She is. But Prince Albert is
not
disinterested.”

Matthew regarded the pale-eyed man before him. Prior to the scandal, he’d never have guessed that Roark Fitz Roy would ever be of any substantive help to him. “Why are you doing this, Fitz Roy? Why are you even here? I can understand the others. Farnsby and Asher—well, they’re just jolly fellows who don’t seem to care who they associate with. Lord Rivers is near the end of his life and has no son to father. But you—you’re the only one of my former circle to return. Why?”

Fitz Roy shoved his hands in his pockets and looked pensive. Finally, he shrugged. “I was bored.”

Matthew frowned. “So I’m something to do?”

Fitz Roy met his gaze for a long moment. “Yes, you’re something to do—something good and decent. Something worthwhile in my rather un-worthwhile existence.” The lazy drawl was still in his voice, but his tone and his pale eyes were serious. “When this thing happened to you, and things went from bad to worse, I didn’t think you would survive. But when I spoke to you at the masque, you seemed so determined—so
damn-everyone-to-hell
. I don’t know. You awakened some latent, underdeveloped sense of justice in me.” He shrugged again. “Maybe it’s just the Fitz in me—you know,
brothers in bastardy
, or some such nonsense.”

“Nonsense, indeed. You’re the descendent of a king. I’m the descendent of a gardener. And therein lies all the difference.”

“Yet, you’ve made more of a mark on the world than I. You built GWR, you’ve been a member of Parliament, now you own this mine. People can rely on you, Hawkmore, and they do.” He paused, his pale eyes assessing. “You’re a good man, you see— always have been. You deserve to defeat this. And if I can help you—well, then maybe that makes me a good man, too.” He cocked his brow. “By association at the very least.”

Matthew stared at Fitz Roy. They’d known each other for a long time—but never like this. He understood needing to feel worthy of something—of someone.

Picking up the file, he held it out. “Thank you, my friend.”

SONG OF SOLOMON 8:6

 

 

 

 

 

“Do you ever feel like the prize pig at the town fair?” Patience asked. “I do.”

Matthew smiled at his love as he turned her through the waltz. “Really? You don’t look anything like a pig. A prize, yes. A pig, no.”

Patience grinned, and Matthew’s heart swelled. She
was
a prize—
his
prize. He let his eye move over her for the hundredth time. She was dressed in a gold taffeta gown. It was trimmed across the neckline and shoulders with narrow inverted pleats and a tiny inverted ruffle of gold lace. The ruffle protruded daintily from the inside of her bodice, giving the illusion that it was a bit of revealed undergarment. It made him want to slip his fingers inside. Kid gloves hugged her graceful arms, and her glorious curls were pulled up and back, showing off the diamond necklace, earrings, and combs he’d given her.

She was a vision, and she was his. And, at last, every man in the room knew it, for their engagement had been announced.
He
had won her—he, whom they’d all snubbed. He, whom they’d all assumed, even hoped, would just slink away and crawl into a hole somewhere whilst being robbed of his money and power. He, the bastard.

Gazing into Patience’s face, he drew her closer. She didn’t care who his father was, or wasn’t. “They stare because they’ve never seen a more beautiful woman than you. What they don’t know is that what makes you such a great beauty are things that run deeper than your outward appearance. Your compassion and strength. Your morality and honesty. Your loyalty and passion. Your love.”

Patience’s gaze was tender. “Must we stay here much longer?”

“Don’t you like dancing with me?”

“I
love
dancing with you. It makes me wet. But then that’s just another reason to go, isn’t it?”

Matthew drew in a breath as his prick pulsed. “You’re going to make me hard. And that’s very naughty of you.”

“Is it?” Her eyes darkened. “But I can’t help that dancing with you makes me want to crawl up your body and climb on your cock.”

Lust surged through him. He slowly tilted his head. “Naughtier and naughtier.”

Patience shivered in his arms and her pulse fluttered above the sparkling diamonds at her throat. “My love . . . ?”

He wanted to take her into the nearest concealed corner and fuck her. But there were no concealed corners for them tonight. Everyone watched them. “I know you feel like you’re on display, but this is one party we can’t leave early.”

“We can’t? Why ever not?”

“I told you before—the Benchleys will be here tonight.”

“Yes, you told me they would be here. And I respect you for not allowing their presence to dictate what events we attend, my love. But that doesn’t tell me why we must stay because of them.” She lifted her beautiful brows. “They don’t even seem to be here.”

Matthew let his eyes flicker around the crowded ballroom. “Oh, they’ll be here.” He looked back at Patience. She didn’t understand because she didn’t know everything. He didn’t want her to know everything. “It’s business, Patience. I need to demonstrate that I can be in the same room with Archibald Benchley. I need to demonstrate that he’s meaningless to me.”

She tilted her head. “But if we stay, simply to prove that Lord Benchley doesn’t matter, aren’t we proving that he matters?”

Matthew frowned. On the surface, her point seemed irrefutable, but he wasn’t playing a game ruled by truth and logic. “This is about perception, my love. Not ours, but everyone else’s.”

Patience nodded but then frowned. “But why do we care about these people’s perceptions, Matthew? I would think that your integrity and your continued business success would speak louder than standing around in the same room as Lord Benchley. Besides, Gwenellyn is yours. So you’ve already defeated him.”

Just days after Fitz Roy had met with Prince Albert, Matthew had received notification that Gwenellyn was to remain in full operation for the duration of the lawsuit, and that GWR was to maintain its right to purchase coal from Gwenellyn at market rate. Within the week, Benchley had dropped the suit. Matthew was now the undisputed owner of Gwenellyn. Which was why it was perfect timing to face off with Benchley. He welcomed the opportunity.

Patience’s elegant shoulders lifted in a small shrug. “Perhaps Lord Benchley won’t even come tonight. Then we will have stayed for naught.” Her green eyes beseeched him beautifully, and her fingers touched his nape. “Let’s go, my love.”

Matthew stared into Patience’s exquisite eyes, so full of love and sensual promise. Her moist, parted lips begged a kiss, and her body leaned into his.

She breathed, “I love—”

The chatter of the crowd suddenly escalated, drowning out her whispered words. Frowning, Matthew looked up.

From across the dance floor, he stared directly into the arrogant face of Archibald Benchley.

 

Turning, Patience saw Lord Benchley, Lady Benchley, and Lord Danforth. They stood in a line, the patriarch between his daughter and future son-in-law. Sound seemed to fade and time to stand still as they all assessed each other—Lord Benchley clashing with Matthew, whilst she and Lady Rosalind took each other’s measure.

Patience turned away, and in the next moment, sound returned and time rolled forward. The Benchleys and Danforth turned off to the right, whilst Matthew waltzed her off to the left.

The ballroom buzzed like an agitated hive.

A part of her still wanted to leave, but the rest of her was rising to the occasion. She was, after all, not the sort to bow to intimidation—other than from Matthew. Adjusting her shoulders, she smiled at him. “Well, that wasn’t so bad.”

Though she felt tension in his shoulder, his expression was calm and he returned her smile. “I love you.”

She let her smile deepen. “No more than I love you.”

Two hours later, Patience was feeling far less resilient. She was accustomed to being looked at, studied even. But this evening was different. Every eye seemed to rest upon them with a kind of expectation. It was more than interest or curiosity. It was as if . . . as if they were the entertainment. And since the Benchleys and Lord Danforth’s arrival, the show had definitely begun.

Not that anything dramatic had happened, for both parties seemed to just be continually circling each other—passing through each other’s wakes, but never meeting. It made her tense, though, for everyone seemed to be watching avidly, waiting for—no, anticipating—some great drama.

Matthew touched her arm. Having just been on a stroll through the public rooms, they were standing with Aunt Matty outside the ballroom. “I need to go speak with Lord Wollby, my love. Will you and Aunt Matty excuse me?”

“Of course.” Patience nodded, even though she didn’t like being far from him for too long. But perhaps she could take the opportunity to refresh herself. . . . “Shall we go up to the ladies’ retiring room, Aunt Matty?”

“You know I never retire, my dear. Why anyone would ever want to retire—but for tea, of course—I simply don’t know. I mean, who knows what excitement one may miss if one is retiring.” She flipped open her fan and fanned herself idly. “Retire? Really. One day, I shall have eternity to retire. But until then . . .”

Matthew smiled at her. “Aunt Matty, though I know you don’t require any rest yourself, will you do me the favor of accompanying Patience? She needs a brief respite from the press of this crowd.”

“Oh! Of course, Matt dearest.” Snapping her fan closed, she raised her monocle, which hung from a chain around her neck, and peered at Patience. “Why didn’t you just tell me you were exhausted, my dear?”

“Because I’m not exhausted,” Patience insisted.

Dropping her monocle, Aunt Matty pulled her arm through hers and patted her hand, “Of course you are. Now come with me to the retiring room. There is no shame in a lady needing to occasionally retire. And just because I have more energy than you is no reason for you to try to hide your own fatigue.”

Glancing over her shoulder, Patience exchanged a parting smile with Matthew. She let her eyes linger. He was so incredibly handsome in his evening attire. She luxuriated in his warm, dark gaze. Then Aunt Matty pulled her around a corner, and he disappeared.

God, but she loved him.

“Tell me, my dear, what do you think of this house?” Aunt Matty asked as they climbed the stair to the second story. She was speaking in what was, for her, a discreet tone. “I don’t find it nearly so perfectly appointed as Angel’s Manor and Hawkmore House. Do you?”

Patience smiled as she nodded to guests they passed on the stair. Her aunt never thought anything was as good as what she or her family had. They could have been at Buckingham Palace and Aunt Matty would surely declare that she didn’t find it nearly so comfortable as her own home, and weren’t the rugs or the flowers, or the frames on the paintings more perfect at the home of her niece, the Countess of Langley.