Patience (49 page)

His gut twisted as she turned and pulled Aunt Matty with her out of the alcove.

No.
She couldn’t go. He had to explain. She had to let him explain. “Patience!” He rushed after her.

Fitz Roy and Farnsby both grabbed him.

“Let her go,” Fitz Roy said by his ear. “This is not for others to see.”

“I don’t care,” Matthew hissed, shaking them off.

“Wait,” Farnsby called.

But Matthew didn’t pause until he was in the center of the crowded foyer. There was no sign of Patience’s bright head. Where had she gone?

“Hawkmore!” Farnsby said earnestly. He and Fitz Roy had followed. “I have news.”

“Damn it, Farnsby! Not now!” Matthew snapped. Brows shot up. Was everyone staring at him? He didn’t care. He had to find Patience. Once he explained . . .

“There’s been an explosion, Hawkmore.”

Matthew turned. Hot, prickling pins erupted beneath his skin as he stared at Farnsby. “What?”

“At Gwenellyn.” Farnsby shook his head. “The messenger said it’s catastrophic—collapse of the main shaft at approximately three hundred feet, and secondary collapses in two other tunnels.”

“No.” Matthew began to shake, and stared at Farnsby through a haze of growing fury and doom. “How many are lost?”

“It happened between shifts, but there were nine boys down clearing the rails. Only two made it out.” Farnsby lowered his eyes. “Another is confirmed dead, and they are not hopeful for the rest.”

What was happening? Something wasn’t right. Only minutes ago he’d been laughing and victorious. And now . . .

Death.

Disaster.

Ruination.

No!
Releasing Farnsby, he made for the door, pushing past people without pardon. How could it be? He’d just supplied the safety lamps. What cruel fate—what evil irony—was at work that boys should die when he was doing everything he could to safeguard them? No sooner was he fully responsible . . .

No sooner was Gwenellyn his . . .

He slowed, then drew up short. Suspicion, hot and insistent, welled up from his gut. No sooner was he winning, than the one thing happened that would defeat him.

Not fate or irony—Benchley!

He whirled back around, searching the foyer. In only a moment he came eye to eye with his enemy. Standing against the far wall, Benchley’s cold blue gaze was fixed upon him and, as Matthew stared, the man’s lips turned up in a slow, vengeful smile.

“Son of a . . .” Rage roared through Matthew’s veins. As he stalked across the foyer, people skittered from his path. With every step he took, Benchley’s chin lifted higher.

“Careful,” he heard Fitz Roy warn.

But he was done with careful.

He closed in on his enemy.

Careful was completely and entirely
over!

He cocked his fist and hurled it forward only to be jerked back. Shrieks of alarm echoed around them. Fitz Roy and Farnsby struggled to restrain him. Matthew fought against them.

“Damn it, he will have you arrested for assault,” Fitz Roy hissed, tightening his hold. “You
do not
want that.”

Breathing hard, Matthew jutted forward and stared at Benchley through the hot haze of his wrath. “There were boys in that mine, you son of a bitch! One is dead! And six more are likely lost with him!”

Benchley regarded him, his eyes aloof. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Danforth, who was leaning idly beside his future father-in-law, snickered.

Matthew struggled forward again. Danforth flinched and ladies gasped, but Fitz Roy and Farnsby still held him.

“Now is not the time,” Fitz Roy murmured.

Fuck
! He slowly eased back as he glared into Benchley’s icy blue eyes. “I’ll wreck you yet,” Matthew snarled.

“You can’t,” Benchley said, placidly. He leaned close. “For I have wrecked you first.”

SONG OF SOLOMON 8:6

 

 

 

 

Patience stood stiffly at the window in Matthew’s office. By the light of a waning moon, she watched a fog descend into the center courtyard of Angel’s Manor. Curling tendrils of the white mist rolled over the manicured topiaries and stealthily approached the house. The clock on the mantel chimed midnight.

“Thank you for coming down,” Matthew said. “Won’t you even look at me?”

Patience closed her eyes. They hurt from crying. Despite Lord Asher’s presence in the coach, she hadn’t been able to hold back tears. She had cried quietly, clasping Aunt Matty’s hand for almost the whole ride back. Matthew must have left the ball right after them, for she’d only just sat down with Aunt Matty in the privacy of her room when the maid had delivered Matthew’s summons. “It hurts to look at you.”

“Please, Patience. I need to explain.”

Opening her eyes, she watched the fog creep up the window before turning to face Matthew. His jacket removed, he was standing by the fire, his dark gaze both tense and somber. His hair was parted and forward against his temples. Her heart constricted, for she loved him so much—yet, he had lied to her, betrayed her. Her sore eyes welled so she lifted her chin to keep her tears from falling.

But she couldn’t quite. A few escaped.

Matthew’s face softened and he stepped toward her. “My love—”

“No!” she warned, jumping back.

His jaw clenched, but he stopped.

Thank God
. Despite her wounded heart, her body and soul yearned for him still. She swallowed more tears, for the realization only increased her misery. “Say what you have to say,” she urged.

“Patience . . .” Matthew regarded her for a silent moment. “Archibald Benchley is trying to destroy me.” Anger was in his eyes and there was a hard edge to his voice. “The morning of the hunt, I met with Rosalind to obtain information. She’d sent me a note, implying she wanted to reunite with me. So I used it as the reason for our meeting. I did not go because I love her. I did not go because I wanted to run away with her to Gretna Green. And I most certainly did not go because I had, or have, any intention of becoming her secret lover.”

Patience regarded him. Something was boiling beneath his skin—she could feel his tension. In fact, she’d felt it the moment she’d walked in the room. She frowned. “But how could you say those things?”

Matthew began to pace before the fire. “I said what I had to say, Patience. And for the record, I
never
told her I loved her,
or
that I would be her bloody secret lover.” He spat into the hearth. “The thought sickens me.”

“Yes, me as well.” He stopped pacing to look at her. She crossed her arms. “But, for the record, you did ask her to go with you to Gretna Green.”

Matthew frowned and rested his hands on his hips. “
For the record
, no, I didn’t
ask
her. I said we could go there. And I said it simply to mortify her, which it
did
. She couldn’t refuse me fast enough.” Turning toward the fire, he rubbed his brow as if it ached. “Damn it, Patience, the whole time I was with her, I was thinking of you. Before she came, I was thinking of you. I didn’t want to be there. I only stayed for the chance that I would get some information from her.” He turned back to her, his brow twisted with regret. “And, after, I felt sullied—sullied for not telling her exactly what I think of her, and sullied for even meeting with her, when my heart, my body, and my soul already belonged to you.” His dark eyes held her. “She has written to me since, Patience. I’ve thrown every note away unopened—as I should have done with the first one.” His mouth was a hard line. “At the masque, I told you that you were the only woman I wanted. It was true then. It’s true now. It will always be true.” He paused. “I love you, Patience. Forgive me.”

Could she? Just like that?

Patience took a long slow breath and considered. She did believe him, but she’d cried a cupful of tears and she still hurt—though, perhaps, not quite as much.

 

He had so much more to tell her—and not very much time. “Perhaps, if you knew the extent of Benchley’s malice, you would better understand why I met with Rosalind.”

“Perhaps,” Patience conceded. “For that
is
a large part of what still troubles me about this, Matthew.” She shook her head.

“That there was some necessity to meet with your former fiancée in secret, for the purposes of extracting information about her father?”

Matthew frowned and his fury, so near the surface, rose. “You make it sound so nefarious, but it isn’t I who began this. It is Archibald Benchley who is the immoral one—the despicable one.” He spat the word. “I have only defended myself, as any man has the right to do, be he bastard or no!”

Patience’s frown had deepened and now it was shaded with concern. “Matthew, what exactly is going on?”

A scoffing exhale escaping him, he shoved his hand through his hair. Where should he begin—at the beginning or at the horrific end?

“I’ve heard some gossip, Matthew. But I thought it was just that—gossip.”

He looked at her sardonically. “There’s usually some root of truth in gossip, Patience. That’s why it’s so pernicious—the foundation of truth lends unwilling support to the lies that sprout from it, lies seeded by wicked people who seek to elevate themselves at the expense of others.”

“I know all that, Matthew. That’s why gossip should be ignored.”

“Yes, but here’s the problem with that, Patience.” He began to pace. “Ignoring it doesn’t make it go away. In fact, it makes it worse. For people take silence as an admission of guilt.”

“Perhaps. But the truth will be out eventually, Matthew. One must have patience.”

He stopped pacing to look at her. “
Patience
, Patience?”
By God!
“I
was
patient.” He crossed to her. “I was entirely patient while Benchley went around feeding the truth of my illegitimacy with the lie that I knew about it all along.” He began to pace again. “I remained patient as people snubbed me and gave me the cut directly in the street. I was patient still as those who I’d called friends fell away. And whilst I was implementing all this ‘patience,’ do you know what happened, Patience?” He stopped and jammed his hands against his hips. “Benchley’s malice against me escalated. And his lies fueled a growing wave of ill will toward me, until, I believe, even those people who might have been inclined toward my favor were swept up by Benchley’s malevolent tide. And this is where things go from bad to worse in my little parable of patience. With a consortium of disdain against me, Benchley now used his loathsome influence to infect my business associates. In very short order, I find that I’m losing massive amounts of money.”

Her frown etched deeply into her brow, Patience stood silent.

But he was hardly finished. “Let’s segue here to my ‘secret’ meeting with Rosalind, where I ‘extract’ the information that Benchley wants far more than my ruination—he also wants my company. And why not? While I’m going along trying to live life like nothing’s happened—being ‘patient’ and ‘ignoring’ the gossip—he’s taking action. Before I know it, he and all his colliery cronies are either refusing to sell to me, or are overcharging me. And what they do agree to sell me, is suddenly running late, or short, or is even ‘lost in the shuffle.’ How do you lose ten
fucking
tons of coal, Patience?” He waited for her answer.

Patience stood silent, the only sign of her agitation the rapid rise and fall of her chest. The diamonds at her throat sparkled.

Matthew whirled to the hearth and kicked at the heavy grate. The logs shifted and sparks flew toward him. Gripping the mantel with both hands, he stared into the flames that mirrored his anger. Then, forcing the decibel of his voice down, he continued. “When I won the mine from Danforth, I thought my problems were solved. I would mine my own coal, feed GWR’s engines, and ship to the customers we’d been unable to service. It was perfect. But Benchley couldn’t allow me to get away with that—it would ruin his plans for my ruination, and make it impossible for him to steal my company. So he contested my ownership, in the hopes a decision would take long enough to bankrupt me. And when that didn’t work, he took the ultimate, seemingly undefeatable action.” Matthew turned to Patience. “He blew up the mine.”

Patience sucked in her breath and her eyes widened with horrified alarm. She took a faltering step forward. “When?”

“This very night—eight twenty-six, to be exact.”

“Was anyone—” She pressed her hand to her breast. “Was anyone hurt?”

“Nine boys were down the pit. Two made it out. One is dead. Six are missing.”

“It there hope for the missing?”

“Not much.”

Patience’s eyes welled and, lowering her head, she covered her mouth with her hand.

Despite his own wrath and pain, his heart ached for her obvious sorrow. Crossing to her, he took her in his embrace. “I’ll know more tomorrow, once I assess the situation for myself. Obviously, I will ensure that every effort is made to find them.”
Dead or alive
.

She nodded against his chest and, after a moment, lifted her wet eyes to his. “You said Benchley did this, Matthew?”

He nodded. “If only I’d acted against him sooner. I might have prevented this.”

“No.” Patience gripped his arms. “Don’t do that. This is
not
your fault, and there is no way you can predict what would have happened had you acted differently. Something worse might have happened.”

“Or something wonderful might have happened.”

“Or something worse might have happened,” she repeated, holding him in her unwavering gaze. “I know you feel responsible for the people of Gwenellyn, my love, but we can only deal with what is, not what might have been.”