The Notorious Bridegroom (10 page)

“It’s only a matter of time. The master hired new cooks, so’s they shan’t be needin’ me. The countess wants me gone,” Melenroy responded, surprising Patience with her verbosity.

Patience stood before replying, “I shall speak to the earl and ask for Marlow to retain you. Perhaps you could be the new cook’s assistant?” she suggested with a smile.

“Would you do that for me?” the cook asked hopefully, amazed at the kindness the younger woman offered.

Patience nodded vigorously, then pulled the older woman to her feet. “Let us first ask Marlow how best you may be employed here in the kitchen, after which, I’ll find the earl to discuss your continuing employment.”

A short discussion with Marlow and Mrs. Knockersmith followed where they agreed to find a place in the kitchen for the old cook. Patience left Melenroy cutting garlic, and went to work on the house accounts in the earl’s study before searching for Lem.

Another of her new responsibilities included schooling Lem in reading and writing. So far, the little scoundrel managed to disappear about the time the learning was to begin. Surprisingly, she found him in the hallway greeting guests. Instruction would have to wait until later, she decided.

Patience also learned that his lordship and the captain were out for an early-morning ride. With the news of the earl’s absence, an idea crept into her head. Was it possible that his lordship might keep a key to his desk drawers in his bedchamber? Spying was so terribly difficult when one had no instruction as to how to go about it. Rubbing her lucky stone, she flew up the stairs before losing her initiative.

She stole down the hallway, anxious of the slightest movement, and surreptitiously entered the earl’s room, without anyone spotting her.

Patience paused, her back against the closed door while she studied the sparsely decorated room, a room she remembered vividly on a rainy night not in the distant past. Sensibilities warred within her. Although it did seem truly wrong to be in his bedchamber looking for clues that might brand the earl a traitor to his country, especially after his thoughtfulness in caring for her, perhaps she could also find reasons to acquit him of her imagined guilt.

After searching several drawers in the cupboard, heart racing, she came away empty-handed. She could not proceed with her search amongst his personal effects, it seemed too wicked. Patience bit her lip, trying to extricate her warm feelings for his lordship from the confusion over the person she was only beginning to know. And that person could not possibly be a man who would sell secrets to the French or commit murder.

A small box lodged atop the mahogany table beckoned her interest. She approached the tiny chest and lifted the lid hesitantly, hopefully. Almost empty, except for a silver thread of jewelry in the velvet-covered bottom. She took a closer look and gasped. Her locket—the one she had lost on the beach—His lordship had found it!

But before she could dip her hand into the box to claim her possession, she heard the door swing open.

“What are you doing here?” the shrill voice of Myrtle the maid startled Patience, who quickly turned around, shutting the lid on her necklace.

Patience pushed her glasses farther onto her nose. “I was told to find the master’s snuffbox, but it does not appear to be here,” she responded, hoping to sound annoyed by being questioned by the saucy maid.

“Coo, it’s in the study, I’m sure. I have to prepare the fire, if you might excuse me.”

Shoulders back, Patience started for the door, unwillingly leaving behind the one thing she could claim as her own.

It was midafternoon and Patience, intent on her work, had not noticed the lack of sunlight as she sat in the study adding accounts until her vision began to blur. She rose to stretch her sleeping muscles and wandered over to the window, which overlooked the splendid landscaped garden surrounded by many meadowy miles.

The day may have dawned bright but clouds hid the cheerful rays and brought drops of rain, needed by fauna, endured by people. Her face showed complete study, not seeing the rain as she pondered how to return to Winchelsea and find Rupert. She was very concerned about him and truly expected him to impetuously appear at an inopportune time, which would result in a lot of questions and, very probably, his arrest.

All at once, she became aware of the downpour and, wanting to feel the rain on her face, she left the house and walked to the gazebo, a shelter for friends and lovers. She loved this building, painted white with a beautiful carving of Diana, Goddess of the Hunt, on top. She grabbed a column for support and smiled. Even with all her worries about Rupert and her fear that the earl would learn her true reason for working in his household, the rain made her feel like a child again and reminded her of simpler times and long-ago games.

A few minutes later she strolled around the little pavilion, tracing the figurines which lovingly skilled hands had brought to life: Pan playing his flute and a shepherd chasing his love. She rested on a bench before returning to the house.

“Am I interrupting a rendezvous?”

The French accent immediately woke Patience from her daydreams. Countess Isabella’s cousin, Alain Sansouche, stood in the entryway, patting his face dry with a lily-white handkerchief.

Patience looked up, and, hiding her fear, adjusted her mobcap and spectacles, her defenses on guard. Sansouche’s hard face combined with devil-black eyes and thin mouth would frighten any small child, like the bogeyman. She suppressed a shiver that spelled danger. Out of the rain, he propped one shoulder against a fortifying column and studied her frankly, awaiting a reply.

She opened her mouth to speak and hesitated before saying, “I…needed some air while working in the study, I must return. Please excuse me.” She rose, prepared to take flight from the evil she sensed within him. Ironically, she had never felt this way about Lord Londringham, even though she judged him guilty of serious crimes.

When Sansouche stepped farther into the small area, Patience took a step back, their movements echoing an ancient predator-prey dance. He raised his arms in askance with a mocking tone, “Why in such a hurry to leave, little one? I believe you and I have much to discuss.”

Her eyes blazed open with this unforeseen sentiment. “I am sure, sir, we have nothing to discuss. I must return to my duties.” She grasped her skirts to sweep past him, trying to feel more bravado than she felt, when he caught her arm.

Sansouche smiled a smile that chilled her blood. “Are you sure, Patience
Mandeley?
” He drew his eyelids down to watch her squirm with this ace.

But Patience refused to give him any satisfaction. Stiffening her spine, she laughed. “My name is Patience Simmons. You must be confused.”

He grinned wickedly. “My dear mademoiselle, I do so enjoy the game you play. Perhaps we could play further in my bedchambers? Shall we say, 11 o’clock?” After he took a pinch of snuff, he rubbed his hands together, almost in glee.

“You, sir, are no gentleman to issue such an unsought, unprovoked, and most unwelcome invitation. I wouldn’t come to your room tonight, nor any night after in this lifetime.” Her words rang of high-born gentility and not those of a lowly steward. As soon as her thoughts found voice, she wished them silent. Her rejection could only increase his aggressiveness.
Oh, my wayward tongue,
she lamented while biting her lip.

Her consternation only spiraled when the Frenchman’s eyes lit in a strange, frightening way. “Haughtiness won’t buy your freedom or your brother’s.”

“To whom do you refer?” Cold fright now flowed in her veins. She needed to escape, to compose herself, before revealing any more.

“I refer to Rupert Mandeley, your brother, wanted for the murder of your cousin Lord Peter Carstairs.” He paused menacingly. “Tonight, then.”

Courage finally returned to her feet. She jerked her arm out of his hold and flew past the Frenchman toward the house, her heart galloping inside, her hands shaking. Her freedom won but at what future cost? Her identity and Rupert’s safety were in the hands of a man determined to do them harm.

Sansouche sat nonchalantly on the pavilion bench waiting for the rain to dissipate, an ugly smile curving his lips.
How she played into my hands,
he thought smugly.
But how best to use her?
Demonic thoughts filled his imagination of Patience in his bed. He wanted to discover what she looked like under the cap and spectacles. His sources had confirmed that she was a beauty, he could not wait to reveal. When the rain began its staccato pattern, the Frenchman strolled cockily toward the house, assured all was proceeding well.

“Is there something out there that has caught your attention, my friend? I have repeated myself several times in the last few minutes with nary a response. The rain seems to hold some enchantment. What, a water sprite?”

Keegan’s cheery Irish lilt finally penetrated Bryce’s concentration as he stared out the window at the wet landscape. His study windows opened directly onto the garden, with a picture-perfect view of the gazebo.

Bryce stepped away from the window to return to his conversation with Keegan regarding new plans for the capture of the French spy. But a movement outside distracted him. He noticed Patience running toward the house. A few minutes later, Alain Sansouche followed her footsteps from the folly. His evident satisfaction clear to even Bryce’s hazy view.
What were they doing together?
he wondered grimly.
Just when I might believe she has no part in this espionage, I find reason to doubt my convictions.

Turning to his friend with a humorless smile, Bryce replied, “Yes, I thought I saw a vision. But, I was wrong, it was a mistake, a mirage.”

The companions continued their discussion before leaving to dress for the small soiree Isabella had planned for the evening.

Music and women’s voices floated in a cacophony up the stairs to where Patience perched on the third-floor landing. From the front parlor a mature soprano voice threatened to bring down the house. In the library overlooking the side terrace, two young dandies played a serious game of Speculation with the captain and the earl. The young men crowed with enthusiasm for the game and an eagerness to fill or let their pockets.

The countess’s shrill laughter reminded Patience of the promise issued earlier from Alain Sansouche. A cold worry filled her heart. She was certainly out of her realm in dealing with him.
Oh, if only I could have an opportunity to see Rupert, to know he was safe. Would this Frenchman resort to blackmail or inform the earl of her identity?
If so, her real purpose in the household could be made impossible.

She slowly rose to her feet and leaned over the balcony in contemplation. Weariness had left her, and an excitement sparked in her veins. Probably from considering all afternoon how to retrieve her locket and avoid the Frenchman.
Perhaps I have done too much thinking on it. I must do something.

She decided to wander down to the second floor and take a stroll past the earl’s rooms. If no one was in sight, and she deemed it safe, she might just slip in, grab the locket, and sneak out before anyone was the wiser.

Her slippers whispered on the smooth stairs as she slowly padded down toward the second floor. Imperturbably, Patience looked from side to side on the landing, to assure herself that her quest went unnoticed. The small crowd of guests in the front parlor continued to enjoy entertainment provided by a duet of soprano and tenor with the music from Mozart’s
Die Zauberflöte.

Although Patience knew she should have returned to bed, she felt rather adventurous in a perfectly safe endeavor. Everyone was downstairs, guests and attending servants. The rest of the staff had long since retired. Entering the room she was beginning to know as well as she did her own little chamber, aided by the moonlight streaming through an open window, Patience quickly rushed to the small wooden box and claimed her locket.

Determining she needed more light, she walked over to the window and opened it. She looked down at the locket. Yes, there it was—
Patience
—engraved on the smooth silver.

A loud click of a door lock frightened her and, not realizing where she stood, she dropped her locket, all the way down to the terrace below. She froze, awaiting the door to open and reveal his lordship’s angry face. How could she ever explain to him her presence in his room? What might he do? She simply could not give him the answers he would certainly require.

After a few minutes, Patience released her breath with a sigh. She deduced the noise must have come from next door—in Red Tattoo’s room. Luck, and walking as softly as a ghost, would help her escape and not alert the earl’s valet. His lordship’s doorknob turned silently in her hand, and she slipped through the door.

She scurried to the landing and up to the attic to debate her next plan of action. Patience tied her hair back with a ribbon and, determined to retrieve her locket, tiptoed down the backstairs. After a few minutes of castigating herself for her carelessness, she turned toward the kitchen.

The shadows toward the back of the house helped conceal her presence as she hugged the corridor walls. Once or twice a footman hurried by to obtain more imbibing refreshment, which, from the sounds emanating from the front parlor, they were enjoying to a hearty degree. She listened for any noises from the library where the card games proceeded, but except for the scrapes of chairs and murmuring voices, entertainment for the evening showed no signs of stopping anytime soon.

Outside the house, in a darkened corner of the terrace, she tried to judge approximately where the locket might have fallen. Unfortunately, she realized, as she chewed on her last nail, she would have to leave the safety of the shadows to perform an earnest search. The cheeky moon presented almost a chessboard pattern on the terrace stones through mischievous clouds.

With a quick glance around to assure no one else was about, she crept to the end of the flagstone walkway, judging this to be near the place where her necklace had fallen. On her knees, feeling for a whisper of metal, Patience heard a low whistle. She stopped, her heart pounded in her ears, drowning any other sound.

There it was again. She looked up cautiously to find Rupert, her missing brother, hovering near a large hedgerow, which outlined the flower garden near the terrace.

Her eyes widened in surprise and joy, she jumped to her feet and ran toward Rupert, who pulled her into the moon shade of the hedge. She couldn’t believe he was actually here. Patience was delighted to see her brother’s beloved familiar face, and they hugged with hasty stolen happiness.

But when she stepped back to stare at her brother, she caught her breath at his haggard appearance. He had not shaved in days, his reeking clothes hung on his thin frame, and he had a new lean look which matched the worried, haunted look in his once-cheerful brown eyes. She tried to halt the tears from seeing him in such a manner.

He had changed, and it frightened her. She still knew well of this stranger.

“Patience, I’ve been watching this place for a week and have not had the opportunity to talk with you, needing a place to catch you alone and private. I almost spoke to you in the gazebo today but a man walked in to speak to you and then you ran back to the house. I’ve been worried about you after I heard you had come to Winchelsea to find me.” Even his voice sounded faint and tired.

She clutched his arms and steadied her voice before replying, “I’m fine”—intentionally not mentioning the wounded arm, the sprained wrist, the smugglers, a leering and lecherous Frenchman, and a bothersome earl. “I am trying to gain news about our cousin’s murder, and I think the earl might know something.”

Rupert’s face turned somber. “This is madness. You cannot hope to learn anything from Londringham, and as you know, he’s quite dangerous. You must return to Susetta Fields on tomorrow’s coach. No arguments.”

“Rupert, listen to me. You are not the only one to worry. You have not been taking care of yourself. Look at your appearance. I’m worried about you.” She paused, looking beyond his shoulder. “And I’m not sure any longer that the earl is guilty.”

Rupert raised his eyebrows and shook his head. “Impossible. Our cousin was absolutely positive the earl was guilty of treason. It would not take a large leap from treason to murder. What proof do you have of his innocence?”

Patience smiled. How like Rupert, always thinking, talking, and demanding satisfaction in the same breath. “The earl is trying to find our cousin’s murderer. And he has been meeting with the constable to discuss this.”

She hesitated, unsure of how much to tell him about her relationship with the earl. “His lordship has been kind to me, and I know before long, I will discover something of import, and we will know without question whom the guilty party or parties are. I just need more time.” Patience tried to keep her face in the shadows, avoiding his penetrating stare.

Rupert thrust his hands in his breeches and walked a short distance away. “I cannot tolerate this running. I was convinced the earl was the culprit. Now we seem no closer to solving our dilemma and returning home soon.”

Patience went to him and placed a comforting hand on his back. “I do suspect someone. There is a Frenchman here by the name of Alain Sansouche. The earl’s mistress, Countess Isabella’s cousin. I don’t trust him, and I think he might somehow be involved.”

Her brother’s countenance brightened. “Truly? How?”

How could she reveal that the man was a danger to them both? If she told Rupert about the Frenchman’s suggestion, her brother would carry her back home to Susetta Fields.

Hating to lie, she replied, “I’m still working on this idea. The earl also believes our cousin may have been involved in espionage. Perhaps Lord Carstairs played a dangerous game of chance with French spies?”

Rupert shook his head and swore under his breath, forgetting good manners. “Carstairs? I would have sworn—but I don’t know what to believe anymore. What are we involved in? I’m running for my life, and you are in the lion’s den. Patience, we can’t keep on like this. Where will it end?”

He stopped and turned toward her. “I can’t leave you here. I’m not convinced you are safe. Come with me. I’ll see that you return home safely.”

She removed a heavy lock of hair from her brow and squared her shoulders, ready to do battle. “Listen to me, little brother, what harm can befall me? This Frenchman does not know that I suspect him of spying. He only knows me as a house steward. I promise to be careful. I need a little more time.”

Rupert looked at her stubborn face and, with a reluctant grin, uneasily agreed. He pulled her close for another reassuring hug. “Only a bit longer. I’m sure Louis and the rest of our brothers are concerned, and we certainly do not want them coming here.”

Patience agreed, then paused. “What about your safety? You look all done in,” she murmured softly, brushing his cheek with her hand.

“I’m better, now that I have seen you. I’ve been quite worried when I couldn’t reach you. Three strangers I met on the road have taken me in. We keep to ourselves during daylight and only venture out when evening is our cover. They appear to be avoiding the law, as am I.”

She gaped at him. “You are living with ruffians?” Ruffians being the only word she knew for criminals.

“Now hush, I know this might sound hard to believe, but I don’t think they’ve actually done anything criminal. If you met them, which I hope to God you never do, you would see, they are harmless and not very bright. I think it a wonder they have not been caught, but they’ve treated me well and given me a roof and food, so I can’t complain of the company I keep.” He offered a rueful grin. “I must go. Please be careful, little one. I promise to.” With light fingers to her hair, Rupert escaped past the hedgerow and into the trees.

Patience bit her lip thoughtfully as she returned to the edge of the terrace. The soiree’s din had grown louder. Laughter and music wafted through the night air, drifting along on a breeze. Before she could continue her search, she caught sight of a masterful presence.

His lordship stood on the Palladian balcony above the lower terrace, transfixed by the night. What did he see? What did he search for? Whatever he was thinking seemed to take him many miles from here.

She waited in the shadows content to study him, almost as if she could determine his character and purpose. It occurred to her that he truly didn’t need anyone. This man could take on the whole world and win single-handedly. From his keen observation to his intelligence, broad shoulders, and strong hands, he would be formidable to his enemies.

He had treated her so tenderly when she’d been injured. But that was only because he was trying to weaken her defenses, to get her to admit what she had been doing outside his window or in the tree.
Yes, that’s how clever he was.

And she almost wept with this discovery because she wanted his touch to be real, and she wanted him to need her. Here was a hard man who wore distrust and darkness like a mantle.

Yet, she had seen other sides of him. He seemed to honestly care for Lem and his education. He showed concern over his other servants, and more than once she had heard him mention his land tenants and whether they were receiving enough food and supplies to feed their families.

But where was his reward? His face portrayed a mask of emotions, caught between his own private heaven and hell. His lean, chiseled features captured character and honesty, an honesty he would respect in others. But deception—he would certainly seek to destroy the deceiver.

Weaker men she recognized easily because of having been surrounded by them all her life. Her brothers and Richard. Louis, strong in character, weak in body. Then there was James, with his constant devout faith and the Bible orchestrating his thoughts of his rewards in Heaven but little help to his family on earth. And, of course, lovable Benjamin. Content to cultivate sustenance from the soil but in great need of nurturing himself. They all needed her.

The strong hands that gripped the smooth stone of the balcony railing knew power and possession. She thought guiltily of wanting to feel that possession and was suddenly envious of anyone who had ever received his attentions. She shook her head. Why did he seem as if he had known more than his share of pain in this world? So many questions swirled in her head, unending.

All this fanciful study of a stranger. Tiredness must have crept upon her after the long day and the excitement of seeing her brother. Right now Rupert would be making his way back to his shelter with those criminals he had mentioned.

“Who’s out there? Show me your face.” His lordship’s orders would not accept delay.

Although she could remain unseen by him and flee without detection, she felt drawn to his mood and had no desire to leave, and every wish to stay, as reckless as it may be. She stepped away from the green garden walls and walked hesitantly toward the house, obeying her heart’s impulse, her search for her locket forgotten.

She stood near the garden path and looked up to stare at his lordship’s moonlit face, aware that the same light revealed her own identity.

The night seemed made for dreaming and pretending.

“What are you doing out here in the dark, Miss Patience?” his question devoid of any expression of judgment.

“I lost something, and came to retrieve it.”

He stared at her intently, perhaps trying to read her face for duplicity. She wanted nothing more than to be honest with him, but was it possible? If he wasn’t guilty of all that she suspected of him, she could ask for his help and seek from him refuge for her brother.

“Perhaps we share the same objective. Have you found what you’re missing?” he inquired quietly.

“No, my lord. And you?” she replied, anxious to know his answer. She bowed her head briefly, then returned her gaze to him.