Thus it was a relief when the ladies stood to leave. Standing beside his chair, he caught Patience’s attention as she passed and tried to signify with his expression everything he wanted to tell her…that he knew she was suffering, that she could trust in him to make it all well. And if she saw more than that—saw through to his deeper feelings—well, wasn’t he prepared to confess them anyway?
His mind turned over one stratagem and then another, trying to think of a way to get Patience apart for a few moments before the night was over.
“Have you turned into a statue, Stanton?” Lord Fortescue asked, laughing at his own jest.
Stanton realized he was the only gentleman in the room still standing and took his seat, though it irked him to do so. Lord Aston passed him the decanter and a footman presented him with a glass on a silver salver.
Not in the mood to linger over his port but unable to leave until his host did, Stanton neglected his wine in favor of the bowl of nuts that had been placed before him. He cracked several and ate them, more as a way to keep himself from glaring at Lord Blakemore for lingering at the table than out of hunger.
The others seemed not to mind at all, imbibing one glass after another. It would not be long before they were too far gone to join the ladies in an elegant evening in the drawing room.
Viceroy changed seats to sit next to Stanton. As always, he tensed, knowing that it was wise to keep on his guard around the man. And especially so when his pursuit of Miss Wendover was so far unsuccessful.
“There is talk among the servants.”
Stanton pulled the meat from the walnut he’d just cracked. “No doubt you are anxious to tell me about it.”
Viceroy’s eyes narrowed. “I’ll choose not to be insulted by your manner, since I know the great strain you must be under knowing how a certain lady was treated by her aunt tonight.”
He did not like to encourage the man, but he was hungry for information. “Go on.”
“The servants do not know why the aunt took away all the young lady’s clothes and left her standing in nothing but a dressing gown. They certainly think it’s indecent and spiteful, but otherwise cannot imagine why.” Viceroy leaned closer, lowering his voice, “Especially on the same evening when Sir George’s valet was bragging to the other servants that his master would be engaged to that same young lady before the night was over.”
Stiff with anger, Stanton held up one finger to stop the flow of Viceroy’s account. “That is sufficient, thank you.”
“Pardon me, Stanton, but it may be enough for you to draw a very accurate conclusion about what occurred to put the aunt and the niece at odds tonight, but it is not enough to manipulate the situation in your favor.”
Stanton shifted to face Viceroy squarely. “I have no need of your favors, Viceroy. I do not know what schemes you are playing out, but I want no part of them.”
“I only wish to clear my debt with you.”
“I do not like to call another gentleman a liar, but as you have told me yourself that you view every connection merely for how you may stand to gain by it, I cannot and do not credit that your willingness to assist me springs from any impulses of kindness or honor.”
“Then at least do me the credit to consider this a business dealing, one in which we could be amicable parties. I hold cards you have not yet seen, and believe me when I say that you will wish to be present when I play them.”
“And when will that be?”
“Tonight in the library at midnight.”
“Creating a gothic atmosphere for your tour de force?”
Viceroy smiled as if pleased with himself. “No. Ensuring privacy.”
***
Patience bore her aunt’s glares as long as she could, hoping to be able to speak with Stanton—or even just to feel his comforting presence and strength beside her for a moment. But the time dragged on and on while the ladies attempted to make conversation. After an hour, it became clear that the gentlemen would not be joining them that evening.
“I am quite perturbed with Blakemore,” his wife said. “Still, I suppose it is not surprising that the gentlemen should want to have an evening to themselves. We all know how they are.”
“I, for one, am more comfortable without them here,” Lady Wyndham said. But since she was not one of the women desiring to make a match between her daughter and one of the gentlemen, no one agreed with her.
“Harriet, why don’t you sing for us?” Mrs. Percy asked.
Harriet looked to Patience, concern written clearly upon her face.
“Do not worry,” Patience asked. “I’ll be fine.”
Harriet nodded and went over to the pianoforte.
Unable to bear her aunt’s stare, Patience stood and picked up a book from the table, moving to sit on a settee against the wall, where a potted palm tree screened her from the rest of the room. She opened the book upon her knee so that anyone who might happen to glance her way would think her reading and let her eyes fall shut.
In truth, this had been one of the most excruciating nights of her life. She felt as if she’d been wrung out like wet laundry. She had the assurances and support of Harriet and, she was very sure, the concern of Lord Stanton. But it was unnerving to not know what the future held. The only certainty she had was that she could return to her mother’s small rented rooms in Sidmouth and live out her life in impoverished gentility, never to see her more aristocratic connections again.
For as kind as Harriet was, she could not impose on her friend by going to live with her. She would be marrying Lord Adlington soon in any case. And Patience dared not think of what Stanton had seemed to imply, for surely that was too rosy, too grand a happiness for her to find.
Hearing the rustle of skirts, Patience looked up to find Amelia approaching her. With a sinking heart, she realized that her cousin had every intention of sitting beside her and engaging her in conversation.
“It is a strange thing,” Amelia said, “to discover that one can feel sorry for someone you have resented for so long.”
Patience felt her face go pale. “Do you speak of me?”
Amelia nodded and gave her a wan smile that immediately faded. “It is very hard to be plain and have a beautiful creature like you always about, but marrying Sir George would be worse than anything.”
“A nightmare,” Patience agreed, shuddering. “But, Amelia, it is you that the gentlemen always hover about.”
“I know. It is a painful thing to know that every flattering word is pretense and every pretty gesture a ploy. Do you know that only one man has ever looked me directly in the eye while giving me a compliment?”
Patience shook her head, her heart twisting at the pain in Amelia’s voice. “Who?”
Amelia lowered her head. “Mr. Viceroy. At first, I thought that at last I had found someone who truly admired me, but my father refused the match, most likely at my mother’s urging. Since then, he has become more determined, but always in the background—as if he were playing chess and considering his next move. What if he was not sincere, but only more adept at playacting?”
Patience ran a finger over the embroidery on her dress, following the intricate lines as she considered what to say. “I do not know the gentlemen well enough to hazard a guess. What of Lord Aston?”
Amelia shrugged, her face growing more strained than ever. “That is nothing but a determined deception on his part and a mad game of self-delusion on mine. It was lovely to pretend. And perhaps hope.” She shifted then, turning more fully toward Patience. “I wanted to thank you for coming down tonight—for showing me that I must go after what I want no matter what Mama says.”
“What do you want?”
“I am not perfectly sure yet, but when I do, you may be certain I will get it.” Amelia considered her a moment, as if trying to make up her mind about something. “I overheard Mr. Viceroy ask Mama to meet him in the library at midnight. I intend to be there, and I feel that you should too.”
“Why?”
&
nbsp; “It’s about Aston’s love note.”
“You know then?” Patience asked, incredulous.
“I guessed the night it was found. Aston has been in the habit of sending me notes, usually smuggled in by hiding them in a gift. It didn’t take long to work out that one of them must have found its way to the wrong Miss Wendover.”
Patience opened her eyes wide at this revelation. “You mean the note was never meant for me at all?”
“No.”
She felt a flash of embarrassment and self-mockery that stunned her for several seconds. But then the absurdity of it struck her—how she had pined for Lord Aston and been carried away into such raptures over their ill-fated love.
She gave a gasp of a chuckle and pressed her fingers to her lips before laughing anyway. She almost had her mirth under control when she thought of the way she had confronted Lord Aston. She then began to laugh with unbridled amusement that even Amelia’s anxious pleas to hush had no affect on.
“What an opportunistic shag rag that man is.”
Chapter Nineteen
When the clock over the fireplace in the dining room chimed the midnight hour, Lord Blakemore’s male guests were no more inclined to leave the table than they had been over two hours earlier. They were drooping in their chairs and filling their glasses less frequently, and indeed, it looked as if a few of them, including Lord Blakemore, might drop off to sleep any time.
Mr. Viceroy stood. “Shall we excuse ourselves to our host?”
Stanton doubted Blakemore would remember whether they had or not, but bowed and thanked him for a delightful evening. When they were out in the hall, walking side by side toward the library, Stanton felt an odd, excitable tension emanating from Viceroy.
“Who else will be joining us?” Stanton asked.
“Who else but Mrs. Wendover.”
Clenching his jaw, he forbore asking Viceroy any further questions. The thought of meeting with Patience’s aunt in such clandestine circumstances made him even more reluctant to fall in with Viceroy’s wishes than before.
When they reached the library, Viceroy opened the heavy oak door and motioned for Stanton to precede him into the room. There were candles lit sporadically around the space, leaving the corners dark. The vast collection of books seemed to stare down at them disapprovingly, but Stanton rebuked himself for being fanciful. He was a man of reason, and no doubt Viceroy would thrive on the drama of such a forbidding setting.
“Please, take a seat,” Viceroy said, just as if he were the host and this was his very own library.
Before Stanton could do so, the door opened and Mrs. Wendover came in. She moved quickly and decisively for one who leaned rather heavily on her cane. She looked them over with a wary expression.
“Well, I am here, sir. Whatever you have to say, will you please be quick about it?” She sank into a chair and propped both of her hands on the cane. As she stared back at them, she looked rather like a crow, unblinking and aloof.
“My dear madam, I intend to.” Viceroy stood in front of Lord Blakemore’s desk, his hands clasped behind his back. “It has been some months since I first called on your husband to request the honor—”
He was interrupted in his apparently well-rehearsed speech by the door opening again. Stanton was surprised, not having expected anyone to join them. By the way Viceroy broke off to see who it was, he was surprised as well.
Two slight, feminine figures entered, revealed by the candlelight as they came closer to be Amelia and Patience.
“What are you doing here?” Mrs. Wendover asked, her voice sharp.
“Whatever you are all discussing, it concerns Patience and I,” Amelia said. “So do not try to send us away.”
Stanton, who had stood when they entered, motioned Patience to a seat next to his. “I, for one, am glad you are here.”
Patience smiled up at him then, a small, swift response, but the warm glance that accompanied it made it feel intimate and meaningful.
“Oh, get on with it,” Mrs. Wendover said, turning her glare from Patience back to Viceroy.
“Oh,” the man said. “I had not intended to do this in the presence of…ahem. Very well. Ever since your husband refused his consent when I asked for Miss Wendover’s hand, I have been made aware that nothing short of strong inducements would sway the matter in my favor. And so, I endeavored to arrange for some.”
“Of course you did,” Stanton said, reclining in his chair, knowing this would take some time. Viceroy would want to enthrall them all with his cunning before he got to his point.
Viceroy bowed in his direction. “Anyone who knows me would have expected it. It seemed to me that I needed to know if anyone else became a rival for her hand, and so I managed to install a second pair of eyes within your household.”
“You have been spying on us?” Mrs. Wendover asked, clearly enraged. And as little in charity with her as Stanton was, he did not blame her.
“You may use that term if you wish, but I do not. I think you will recognize him.”
Viceroy turned and moved to another door, a smaller one set between two bookcases. A man entered the room. He did not wear livery but carried himself with the posture and demeanor of a gentleman’s servant.
“Henry?” Patience’s voice showed her surprise. “I do not understand.”
“Yes, Henry has been in my employ since he was first engaged by your housekeeper, Mrs. Wendover. As footman, he had the opportunity to mark the coming and goings of potential suitors, as well as see the various poems and tributes sent to Amelia. He reported to me frequently, and it became clear that Lord Aston was making a strenuous effort to attach Amelia’s affections. This was naturally not to my liking, so I requested Henry to begin to keep any communication between them and hand it over to me.”
Amelia gasped. “You intercepted notes and gifts meant for me?”
“Certainly,” Viceroy said. “I did not think Aston’s suit would be any more acceptable than mine, but he was a bit too arduous for my comfort. With his debts mounting quickly, and knowing of his numerous and easy conquests of the fairer sex, I didn’t want him stealing your heart. Whatever light you may view this in, please know that I did not want you to be hurt. And knowing how close you were to attaining your majority, I would not have put it past him to encourage you to elope with him.”
“How dare you.”
Viceroy blinked at her. “My dear, remember that I never intended you to know any of this. I am sorry for the pain it must cause you. But I did it all for an honorable reason.”
“Do not call me your dear,” Amelia retorted hotly, not a bit mollified.
Reaching into his coat pocket, Viceroy pulled out a slim packet of papers tied with a string. He removed the string and took them to Mrs. Wendover. “Here are the notes Henry brought to me, all sent within a fortnight. The early ones are signed Aston, and then A, and then not at all. You will see that the handwriting matches the note that was found here on the first night of the house party.”
Stanton felt himself at once relieved and curious when Viceroy did not reveal Patience’s part in the note being there.
“Henry missed that particular note,” Viceroy said. “Which he confessed and explained to me later. His mistake was in wanting Patience to receive flowers as he was so foolish as to admire her more than was proper.”
Mrs. Wendover had been examining the notes. She turned to Amelia. “Tell me, daughter, why you thought it wise to receive communications from a single gentleman? Such impropriety is bad enough, but the foolhardiness is more than I can understand.”
“I did not care to be wise,” Amelia said, putting up her chin.
“Well, you certainly were not, were you? Why in heaven’s name did you bring such a condemning missive into company?”
Amelia’s eyes flashed toward Patience, but to Stanton’s relief, she didn’t betray her. Instead, she shrugged. “I did not mean for it to be discovered.”
“I never knew you to be such a simpleton,” M
rs. Wendover said, standing and striding over to one of the candles, where she set the papers on fire and dropped them into the grate. She poked at them with her cane until they were all burned to ash.
Stanton watched Viceroy for his reaction. The man’s smirk made Stanton feel decidedly uneasy.
“You’ll be interested to know, Mrs. Wendover, that I anticipated that you might attempt to destroy my evidence. Those were merely forgeries of the originals, which I have safe.”
Stanton raised his eyebrows. “So yours was the hand that so deftly forged the other two copies I discovered.”
Viceroy bowed as if receiving a compliment. “I have become quite adept at Aston’s scrawl. And no doubt I will be able to prove to anyone’s satisfaction that Aston has compromised Amelia’s reputation.”
“What do you want?” Mrs. Wendover asked.
“Your blessing to our marriage,” he said, his voice calm and delicate.
“Very well,” she agreed, her expression hard as granite.
“And one more thing,” Viceroy continued. “You must give up your schemes to marry her cousin to Sir George. Miss Wendover must be allowed to marry Stanton instead.”
Stanton closed his eyes in frustration. No doubt the man thought he was doing him a prime favor, but he would soon hear differently.
“Ha.” Mrs Wendover smirked and looked to Stanton.
He stood and faced her. “I believe Patience is aware of my intentions, but that is for her and I to discuss. You have given up all rights to be a guide to her in the matter by your actions tonight.”
“Her mother gave her into my care,” Mrs. Wendover said. “And my husband is her legal guardian.”
Stanton did not even flinch at this information. “Excellent. Then I know with whom I should have this discussion, and madam, it is not you. Indeed, I find myself wondering what your husband will think when he hears of your treatment of her.”
Even in the dim lighting, he could see her countenance pale, but he didn’t spare her another glance when he realized that Patience was fleeing from the room. As he went after her, Viceroy called after him.
To Love a Lord Page 12
