by Eva Devon
“Oh, I say! Whatever is going on?”
At that moment, a russet-haired girl bounced into the room. She looked like a younger, less experienced Hyacinth.
Both Charles and Jack groaned.
There seemed to be a great deal of sighing and groaning amidst this family.
The young woman spotted Patience then flashed a huge smile. A smile that could have disarmed Napoleon’s entire army. She hurried forward, ruffles flying and then grabbed Patience.
Patience reeled as she was enveloped in pink lace and lavender.
“A sister! Another sister!” the girl declared. “My life is complete.”
“This morning you said it wouldn’t be complete until you’d had a lover,” drawled Charles.
“Hush, Charles.” The girl frowned and pursed her lips. “That’s not helpful.”
“She said what?” roared Jack.
Patience blinked, feeling thrust into the center of a circus.
“I’m Lady Gemma,” the girl said cheerfully, “Charles’ sister and so you’re my sister, too. I always wanted a sister. Thank goodness Cordelia came along or I would have been the lone female in a field of men. But we are still absurdly outnumbered. She has as many brothers as I do. So, you’re very welcome in our ranks.”
Patience stood stock still, still embraced by the enthusiastic and loquacious young woman.
“Thank you,” she said at last. And she meant it for Gemma seemed positively genuine.
“You’re not having a lover,” Jack stated from behind Patience, as if he hadn’t heard Gemma’s entire speech.
“Shhh, Jack,” Gemma retorted. “You’ve no say in the matter.”
“I have,” he countered, his massive shoulders squaring. “I’m your brother. I’m the duke. I could send you to Switzerland to join a nunnery.”
“One, you’d never do that,” Gemma replied, propping a hand on her hip. “Two, mother would never let you. Three, I’d run away with the first handsome priest that came my way.”
More strangled sounds erupted from the brothers.
“Oh dear,” gasped Gemma, batting her long russet lashes. “I’ve shocked you, Lady Patience.”
Lady Patience patted Gemma on the back then pulled away slightly. “Not at all. I’m sure I’ve read a novel with that very plot.” She frowned. “If I haven’t, it must go in one of mine.”
“An author!” Gemma shouted. “Yes. I had heard. I haven’t read any of your books. I am the one person in the family who doesn’t care for fiction.”
“You don’t like to read?” That was not going to bode well for their friendship, even if the girl was lovely and kind.
“Oh, I do! But I am much for histories. I do like the theater, though.”
A wave of relief washed over Patience. She was always suspicious of people who didn’t at least admire books. “I love histories and the theater and I must say, it’s nice to meet someone who hasn’t read my novels.”
“See!” Gemma gushed, a smile brightening her face. “We’re getting along splendidly already.”
“Gemma, you get along with everyone but thank you for being so generous with your welcome,” Charles said.
“I do not get along with everyone. A few of Cordelia’s brothers are very trying and that fellow who married the Duke of Aston and his wife, the American. Mr. Duke. He is most annoying.”
For some reason, it felt like a case of the lady doth protest too much as Gemma declared Mr. Duke to be so terribly annoying but Patience knew it to be very unwise to point such a thing out. At least, in their first meeting.
Patience frowned. “Do you mind if I sit down. It’s been a most exciting day.”
“Certainly,” said Gemma leading her towards one of the beautifully gilded and damask-covered settees before the ornately carved marble fireplace. Overhead hanged a portrait of another beautiful woman. This one clothed in the highly scandalous garb of the previous century. It did look like her ruby-colored gown was about to slip off her shoulders. It was already open at her bosom. In fact, she was certain Patience could spot a hint of rouged nipple.
Women still wore scandalous clothing that could sometimes be transparent but it didn’t look like it was going to spontaneously fall off these days.
Gemma plunked down beside her and took her hand. “You are marrying into a mad-capped family. You’re too good, marrying one of my brothers. But never fear, I shall be there to hold your hand.”
“Don’t drive her away, Gemma,” said Jack.
Patience was certain it was Jack, not just because of the shade of his coat but also because there was a certain lightness to him that Charles didn’t possess.
“No fear of that,” Patience quipped brightly. “Charles is my savior.”
“What a thing to say about him!” piped Gemma. “An absolute reprobate but I adore him. He’s always been absolutely wonderful to me. . .When he wasn’t teasing me mercilessly, of course. But surely you know what brothers are like.”
“I am an only child.”
Patience met three sets of stunned eyes. Cleary, the three of them couldn’t imagine such a thing.
“You must have been terribly lonely,” said Gemma sympathetically.
Patience swallowed. She had been. Very. Especially after her parents had died. She gave her throat a quiet clearing. “How many siblings are there?”
“Well, there were five,” Jack said softly.
“But our eldest brother died,” Charles added gently.
“But four is still a good many,” Gemma cut in. “Our parents kept having children. Really, it’s a miracle there weren’t fifteen of us what with the way mama and papa—”
Gemma suddenly grew quiet, her eyes trained on Charles who was giving her a strange but clearly silencing look.
“I’m sorry about your brother,” Patience said, unable to not say anything. “That must have been very hard.”
“Thank you,” said Charles. “It was.”
“He was the heir, our father’s favorite,” Jack said flatly but then he softened. “It was hard on the whole family but we survived.”
A dark shadow crossed Charles’ face. It struck her as very odd and she wondered if she’d ever have the courage to ask about it.
“He loved you, Jack,” Charles assured quietly. “Very much. Papa. . . Just. . .”
Jack nodded. “I know he suffered from melancholia. We all tried to help him.”
As she sat surrounded by the three siblings, she felt overwhelmed by the discourse but not in an unfortunate way.
Despite the misunderstandings there was something about them, about the way they interacted and cared for each other.
No one mentioned how their father had died and given the way they were all interacting, she felt certain that none of Charles’ family had treated him unkindly after such a horrific accident.
It was tempting to dwell on it and make inquiries, but now was not the time. Perhaps one day, she’d have the courage to ask about that as well.
“Brandy,” Charles said. “My bride looks pale.”
She lifted her hands in protest. “I’ve already had a great deal of champagne.”
“Ah,” said Jack. “Champagne is to excite your nerves. Brandy is to soothe them. My wife would insist on a dose for medicinal purposes.”
“And if I fall asleep on the rug?” she challenged.
“We shall tuck you in upstairs,” Jack said as though it were the most obvious thing in the world. “No doubt, knowing Charles has exhausted you. He does keep us all on our toes.”
The look Charles gave her at that precise moment was so hot, she knew that he planned on exhausting her but not in the way his brother had implied.
Charles was going to be keeping her up nights.
And she couldn’t wait.
Suddenly, she had a very good feeling that everything was going to be alright, after all.
Chapter 17
The wedding was a smashing success. The Dowager Duchess of Hunt had given out that Lady P
atience and her son, Charles, had been engaged for some time and had been intent on announcing it before the news sheets revealed P. Auden’s identity but the announcements had all been mishandled.
They were, after all, quite proud to have an authoress in the family.
And because it was the Dowager Duchess of Hunt, the ton who might have been secretly skeptical, publicly believed her. After all, the Hunt dukedom had always been the most progressive of all the families. So, espousing an authoress really was no surprise.
They’d married at Westminster Cathedral with a shocking amount of people.
The Duchesses had all arranged it.
Patience, who was used to doing things herself, had, for once, allowed the women who ruled the ton to take over and ensure her future.
And because The Duchesses of Hunt, Darkwell, Aston, Roth and Blackburn had all given their adamant approval of her wedding, everyone had attended.
It was remarkable how one’s life could change veritably overnight.
Since the publication of her identity and subsequent wedding, she had gone from a forgotten spinster of the ton to the most talked about and refreshing young lady about.
It had been tempting to hide in the house before the wedding took place. She’d moved into the Duke of Hunt’s home for protection from the masses that were fascinated by her work, but she had not cowered.
Cowering was something she would never do.
Countless walks through the park with various members of her soon-to-be family and The Duchesses had made it clear that she was a veritable star, as much as any actress or opera singer to Londoners.
Her likeness had been published in the paper.
Much to her horror, Hyacinth had arranged that. The beautiful and skilled negotiator of complicated ton waters had assured her it was better if they controlled the information the news sheets and magazines published than if they said nothing.
Ignoring them was impossible.
And so, in very quick speed, she had published a pamphlet, The Life and Times of Lady Patience, Secret Authoress.
It had been an enormous success, read high and low alike.
Frankly, the presses couldn’t keep up with the demand.
Apparently, the fact that P. Auden was a woman, and not just a woman but a member of the nobility, was positively thrilling. So far, no one had dared to insinuate that the books were in any way less because of it.
Without a doubt, this was because of her powerful and now very public alliance with the Duke of Hunt and his brother.
Suddenly, it was all very real. Her marriage.
Not because of all the preparations and the actual ceremony or the party to end all parties this very day. No, it was because she was standing in Charles’ London home, with no fear of discovery, with no need of a chaperone, because she had every right to be there alone. With him.
As his wife. And as his wife, she was entitled to that part of life she’d thought to never have.
The candles threw a beautiful golden glow across her bedroom. Which was no small room.
To her astonishment, Charles’ own townhouse was no bachelor’s lodging. It was a towering, freestanding townhouse just off of Regent’s Park that was the envy of half of London.
Her room was twice the size of the room she’d occupied in Barring House.
It was also absolutely lovely.
Simple, ivory and gold, she felt a princess in the high ceilinged, entrancing space.
The four-poster bed seemed to soar, draped with sheer, pearl-colored hangings. In the soft early summer air coming in through the window, the fabric floated softly about the bed.
It looked like a dream.
The room felt like a dream.
Her whole life, at present, felt like a dream.
She’d always been content with her old life, but she’d had to hide so much. Now, there was nothing to hide and it was like standing on the edge of a precipice and deciding one could fly.
Licking her lips, she strode to the full length mirror beside her gold gilded dressing table and eyed herself.
Her long hair curled softly about her face and the beaded ivory dressing gown caressed her body, leaving her a map of curves and shadows. It was an ensemble of a woman not a girl.
And thank goodness. She hadn’t been a girl in years. She was grateful to Cordelia who had taken her dress making in hand. Seductive, feminine, bold. That’s what Cordelia had claimed Patience’s style was.
The soft candlelight cast a magical hue over her clothing and skin. The soft scent of lilac drifted in from the garden and she drank in the scent, trying not to allow her nerves take over.
Nothing usually gave her pause, but at long last she was in truly untraversed territory.
A soft knock thudded against her door.
“Come in,” she said, her voice a little more terse than she’d planned.
The panel swung open and Charles entered.
His dark hair was disheveled as if he’d driven his hand through it and his white linen shirt was open at the neck.
He must have left his coat and waistcoat in his own room.
Good God, his neck was beautiful. She longed to trace his throat and kiss the hollow just above his clavicles.
Champagne glasses hanged casually from his fingertips in one hand and a large green bottle was in the other grip.
“I don’t usually drink champagne,” he said, his voice a low rumble. “But tonight, I wish to celebrate.”
“Our marriage?”
He nodded. “Our union.”
Marriage and union. They were the same thing but from the rumble in his voice, she was certain that union to him was something entirely different than a piece of paper.
She swallowed. Usually, she felt bold. It was rare that she didn’t feel the master of her own fate but right now, the gamut of emotions running through her were tantamount to riding a horse that had decided to make a run for it over exceedingly wild terrain.
In other words, she had no idea what to expect.
Charles strode to the small table before the fire which was blazing and placed the glasses down. Even in early summer, a fire was necessary in the evening.
He popped the cork from the champagne bottle and poured.
Holding a glass out to her, he smiled softly.
It was a smile that shook her to her core. There was nothing particularly friendly about the smile. It was a smile which promised entrance to a land that many found elusive.
She crossed to him and took the glass.
Once again, their fingers touched and just the mere brush sent her heart pounding.
He lifted his own glass. “To adventure.”
It was an odd wedding toast, but perhaps it was the best one could hope for in their circumstances. She lifted her own glass. “To adventure,” she agreed.
She took a perfunctory sip then a gulp.
Charles drank slowly, catching her gaze and holding it as he drained his glass.
There was something about the way he looked at her over the edge of the crystal flute that caught her breath in her throat. He was making an unspoken promise and it seemed that his mere gaze could speak volumes. For her whole body suddenly felt alive. The nerves along her skin danced and her breath came in shallow takes.
“I want you, Patience. I want you now.”
It was so tempting to ask, And tomorrow? And the day after that? But that was the sort of question only fools asked because, in all truth, now was all anyone actually had.
“The feeling is mutual,” she said.
His lips curved into a smile. “Have I told you I adore your turn of phrase?”
“You haven’t.”
He placed his glass down then closed the distance between them.
She gasped as he pulled her against his hard body.
“It’s so precise. So accurate. So meant to keep another at their distance. As if your words were armor.”
“Indeed?”
“Mmmm.” He nuzzled her hair
and placed a soft kiss to her temple. “I very much look forward to trying to remove that armor.”
“What fool removes their armor?” she asked.
“A satisfied one.”
A soft laugh escaped her lips. “If that was the case, Charles, surely you’d be the least armored man in my acquaintance.”
“Perhaps I’m never satisfied.”
“I don’t understand.”
He traced his fingertips along her jaw. “Darling Patience, one can achieve the pleasure of coitus and still manage not to be satisfied.”
“In truth?”
He nodded. “As a matter of fact, I think that most of us are never quite satisfied.”
“But you wish to make me so? You think you can?”
“I’m going to try. It will certainly take far more time than one night.”
“Why should you care if I am thusly satisfied?” she asked, truly curious.
“You know, I don’t really know,” he confessed softly. “But I do. I want you to be happy.”
“And I want you to be happy. To be satisfied.”
“Do not wish for what cannot be,” he said which should have been a warning, but it sounded terribly light the way he said it.
“Why can’t it?” she demanded, not easy dissuaded.
“Let’s not talk of sad things this night. Tonight is for us, not the past.”
Or the future, it would seem, if happiness was something she couldn’t give him. She wondered if he understood how that sounded. That she couldn’t make him happy or satisfied. Most likely not.
In her experience, people who lived largely in sadness couldn’t envision a life out of it. . . But she felt strongly that Charles could have happiness. He was so often a bright and witty person, if sardonic.
Still, now was not the time to debate it.
“Then let us enjoy what we can,” she said.
A relieved look softened his face as if he had dreaded that she might push to know his inner workings.
Patience tilted her head back, eager for them to kiss.
Instead, he arched a dark brow. “Turn around.”
“I beg your pardon?”
