Patience nodded. “That would be nice.”
Rangana enveloped Patience in a warm hug. No one had ever hugged Patience with such love or compassion. Not even her own mother.
“Shall we start our new friendship with me teaching you how to properly do needlepoint?” Patience asked.
A wide smile broke out on Rangana’s face. “I have a better idea.”
Tristan sat with his friends in the window of White’s, but his usual desire to laugh at or ogle the people who walked by just wasn’t there. As a matter of fact, he was barely there himself. No, he was far, far away.
Well, not that far away, really. Just on the other side of Mayfair, to be honest. He’d met with Patience’s father that morning to properly ask for her hand in marriage. Of course, Mr. Findley had been more than happy to oblige, seeing as his daughter had been caught in a dark corner of Vauxhall with Tristan’s hands all over her. And he’d been more than generous in terms of the dowry. Tristan would most certainly be able to afford the needed repairs on Hamlin Abbey now. Of course, he’d have to make good on his bet with the younger Mr. Findley first.
Despite the fact that he was getting what he needed out of the situation, he couldn’t seem to shake the dark cloud that rested over him. He wasn’t sure why it bothered him so much, but it did. The fact that Patience had never really cared for him made him rather ill. He hated to admit why it made him ill—even just thinking it caused his throat to close up. But he knew, deep down, that the reason he was bothered by it was because he cared for her.
No, he didn’t simply care for her; he loved her.
Damn it! How could this have happened to a man like him? He was London’s most notorious rake. The most sought after rogue who couldn’t be caught.
He’d been caught all right, and by the one woman who didn’t actually love him back.
“You’re awfully quiet today.”
Tristan looked up to find Findley the Younger sitting right next to him. When had he gotten there?
“Yes, well, I haven’t much to say,” he replied, attempting to return to the present with a shake of his head.
Findley chuckled. “That’s a first.” There was a pause and then, “I saw my uncle just now.”
Tristan sighed and took a swig of his scotch. It burned going down, but it was the most comforting thing in his life right now. “Then you know everything.”
“I knew it all on Saturday night, when Montague dragged Patience back to my box.”
“Yes, but then I suppose you knew everything from the start,” Tristan said, leveling his friend with a pointed gaze. “You placed the bet, after all. You both planned this together, didn’t you?”
It was Findley’s turn to heave a weighted sigh. “She begged me, and I don’t think I need to tell you how persuasive she can be.”
No, he didn’t. Patience knew exactly how to get a man to do whatever she wanted. The sad part was that Tristan had thought they’d forged something more—a friendship, at the very least. Nothing could have been further from the truth. He was simply a game for her. A way out, perhaps?
“I do,” he finally replied. “And I can’t fault you for coming to the aid of your cousin. I suppose I would have done the same thing, had I a cousin so charming. I’ll be able to settle the bet as soon as we are married. Sorry you have to wait so long, but I haven’t got a dime to my name at the moment.”
Findley laughed. “You’re a good man, Swaffham, and don’t try to tell me otherwise. But you don’t owe me anything. I’m well off enough without your money. And you’re going to need it—Patience does like her fripperies, you know?”
It was true. Patience was always well outfitted. An advantage of having a father in silk trade, he supposed. Still, Tristan didn’t like to be indebted to anyone. “Thank you, but I’ll manage my wife just fine without the two hundred guineas. We had a bet, and I lost.”
“I’ll only squander the money on booze and women, so really, you should keep it.”
Tristan couldn’t help but laugh. A few days ago, that would have been his intentions for any amount of money himself. But he had other things—other people—to consider now. It seemed Findley wasn’t going to let him settle the bet, anyhow.
“I’ll set aside my best bottle of brandy for you at the wedding breakfast, then.”
Findley reached his hand across the table and Tristan shook it. “It’s a deal.”
“Oh, good heavens, Patience!” Pippa looked as though she might fall right off the settee, so Patience reached out a hand to steady her just as Georgie snatched the little red book from Pippa’s hands.
As expected, Georgie let out a loud gasp when she opened the book, which made Moira jump from her seat to go and look over Georgie’s shoulder. At which point Moira turned bright pink and began to giggle uncontrollably.
Patience tsked. “Really, you’re all so immature. It’s a beautiful book, filled with all sorts of valuable information.”
“How do you know?” Georgie asked, tearing her eyes away from the book. “You can’t read Hindi all of a sudden, can you?”
“No.” Patience handed Pippa a cup of tea. “Sugar?”
“Oh, yes, please,” Pippa said. “Three lumps.”
“Patience!” Georgie was clearly not feeling terribly patient herself today.
“Rangana has been translating for me.”
All three of her friend’s mouths dropped open in shock. She hadn’t had the opportunity to tell any of them about her newfound friendship with her stepmother.
“I thought you hated her,” Moira whispered from across the room, which was ridiculous, because it was just about the loudest whisper Patience had ever heard.
Patience shrugged. “It’s a long story, so I’ll save it for another time. But let’s just say that Rangana and I have found common ground since my engagement.”
“I still can’t believe you’re marrying him. He’s a rogue, you know?” Pippa sipped her tea with a smug look on her face.
“I don’t think you have any room to talk, Pippa,” Patience replied. Pippa’s fiancé didn’t have the cleanest reputation, either, which was exactly the reason she’d be having a hasty wedding this weekend by special license. But Pippa did seem happy, and that was all that mattered. Patience just hoped St. Austell was just as excited for the union.
To be truthful, all four of them had stirred up quite a scandal this Season, and they weren’t even two weeks in. But here all of them were, ready to be married. At least Moira and Georgie were doing it properly with the banns and all.
“Now, if you would all like for me to relay what I’ve learned so far, I would be more than willing to share.”
The three girls cast unsure glances at one another, but it was Moira who finally piped up. “It’s better than having my mother try and explain it to me. She’d probably suggest I dye my hair…” Moira blushed to her roots, but managed to squeak out, “down there!”
Patience couldn’t stop her giggles. “Heavens! That would be torture!”
“Come now, your mother wouldn’t really, would she?” Georgie asked, appalled.
“Never doubt the dowager countess,” Pippa said, setting her teacup and saucer on the table. “All right, teach me what you’ve learned. My wedding is much closer than I anticipated. I haven’t got much time. And heaven knows my brothers aren’t going to offer any advice on the subject.”
Patience’s friends stayed all afternoon, asking questions and turning the book every which way to get a better understanding of some of the odd positions. When they left, Patience wished they hadn’t. For just a little while, she’d been able to get Tristan out of her head, where he’d been taking up far too much space ever since Vauxhall. However, he’d yet to take up any space in her drawing room, and it was killing Patience from the inside out. She knew he’d stopped by to talk with her father, but that was on Monday when she’d gone to tea at Pippa’s.
She wandered around the house, aimlessly walking the corridors as she contemplated her situ
ation. It was looking rather bleak. Her whole plan had gone as it was supposed to, so why did it feel as if it had gone completely wrong?
Tristan was angry with her and she couldn’t blame him. A mere apology wasn’t going to solve anything, Patience knew that. And it meant that she’d end up in an unhappy marriage, just like so many of her class.
She plopped down on the tufted bench in the rear corridor with a sigh. None of it would bother her if only she didn’t have to watch her friends—all three of them—in happy unions.
Patience hated herself for feeling jealous, but she couldn’t help it. Her heart was hurting, and there wasn’t a thing she could do about it.
Patience awoke on the morning of her wedding to dark skies and torrential rain outside her window, but she couldn’t bring herself to care. It was exactly three weeks to the day since they’d started reading the banns, and exactly three weeks and one day since she’d seen Tristan. She knew he was alive, so that was something. Though part of her would have found the situation easier to bear if he weren’t. At least then he’d have a valid excuse for not ever coming to visit his fiancée.
Patience laughed as her feet hit the Aubusson rug. Who was she kidding? Tristan had a very valid excuse for not coming to see her; several excuses, really. Lies, betrayal, entrapment. How could she blame him? She couldn’t, but it didn’t make it hurt any less. It didn’t make her dread her impending nuptials any less, either.
Would he ever forgive her? Or would he forever live in contempt of her?
“Morning, miss,” Marcie said, quietly coming into the room. She’d had to listen to Patience lament over her fate for the last six weeks. She knew that this was not a terribly happy day. “I brought you some breakfast, should you care to eat it.”
“Thank you, Marcie,” Patience said, starting blankly out at the street. “I’ll drink the chocolate, but I’m not sure my stomach can handle the toast.”
Marcie brought the steaming cup of chocolate to Patience, who couldn’t bring herself to move from her spot in front of the window.
“Maybe he’s just been busy?” Marcie suggested, and Patience could hear that she was rummaging around in the boudoir, preparing her undergarments.
Patience snorted. “I do wish that were the case, but we both know better, Marcie. I’m marrying a man who hates me.”
“Oh, don’t say that, miss! You don’t know for sure.”
“But I do, Marcie. And he has every right.”
Marcie tsked three times. “Well, you’ve got the rest of your life to prove to him that you’re a good person.”
That was true, but part of Patience worried she’d never be able to convince him of that, no matter how hard she tried. No matter what lengths she went to. And she wondered if she should even bother. Plenty of people married without loving or even liking one another. They could have their separate lives. Patience could live at the country house and raise the children—if they had any, that was. And Tristan wouldn’t have to give up his current lifestyle.
Patience’s stomach turned, and she set the chocolate down on the window ledge. The thought of him with other women, charming and bedding them, made her a bit weak in her legs. She sat down on the edge of the bed, fighting back her tears.
Blast and damn! Why was she crying? She got what she wanted, didn’t she? Only now she wasn’t so sure it was what she really wanted. She’d been so desperate to escape this house, her father and Rangana, and the memories of her mother that were so prevalent here. Things had changed though, and the thought of leaving here to spend an eternity with a man who didn’t care for her was more painful than she ever could have imagined.
“We’d better start getting you ready, miss.”
Marcie stood by the vanity, waiting for Patience to sit down on the little stool. She padded across the room, her footsteps heavy, wishing there was some way to put a stop to this day.
The day went on, however, and only a couple hours later, Patience found herself standing at the back of St. George’s, a room full of people before her, her future husband standing up near the minister. It was her first glimpse of him in weeks and the sight of him made her heart flutter uncontrollably. How would she manage looking at that beautiful face every day, looking into those piercing green eyes, knowing that he resented her?
“Come, Patience.” Her father took her gently by the elbow and Rangana stepped forward to kiss her on the cheek.
“Your mother would be so proud of you,” she said.
Patience couldn’t speak over the lump in her throat, so she simply nodded and then allowed her father to lead her down the aisle.
Tristan wasn’t the marrying kind. He’d spent many years proving that fact. But something happened to him that night at Vauxhall, and he realized, after six weeks of deep contemplation, that while he wasn’t necessarily the marrying kind, he was the marrying Patience kind. So when she emerged from the back of the church with the saddest face he’d ever seen, he became rather concerned. Did she not want to marry him now? After all she’d put him through, had she decided he wasn’t what she wanted after all?
Not that it mattered now. They stood before a church full of people, ready to recite their vows. The best Tristan could do was to beam at her and hope she would beam back.
He flashed a bright smile at her. Damn, she wasn’t even looking. She tipped her head down in that exact moment. Was she hiding tears? It was hard to tell with her head aimed towards the floor.
When she arrived at the front and stood before him and the minister, she still didn’t raise her head. As a matter of fact, she wouldn’t even dare a glance at him the entire ceremony. Tristan thought for sure that when they went to sign the registry, she’d have to look at him then, but no. Not even a single glance in his direction.
Well, she wouldn’t be able to escape him any longer. The wedding breakfast was at her home, and there was no choice but for them to ride in his carriage together in order to get there. At last, they climbed into the carriage alone and sat on opposite sides from one another.
Tristan allowed a minute or so to pass before he spoke. “Will you ever look at me, Patience? It is our wedding day, after all, and you haven’t spared even a glance in my direction.”
Her throat worked furiously as she swallowed, turning her head to look out the window of the carriage. She finally shook her head no.
“May I ask why you won’t look at me?”
Another shake of her head.
Tristan sat back with a sigh, becoming more troubled by the moment. But when she started to cry, he could refrain no longer. He leaped across the carriage to sit next to her, laying a hand on her arm when what he really wanted to do was gather her against him and hold her until she stopped crying.
“Please, Patience, won’t you tell me what’s wrong?”
“I-I shouldn’t think I would have to tell you,” she choked out. “This whole thing is a disaster.”
“A disaster?”
“Of course!” she wailed. “I lied to you, deceived you, and trapped you into marriage, and now you’ll hate me and resent me the rest of our lives and all the while I’ll have to stare at your beautiful face, knowing that I’m madly in love with someone who will never love me back!”
For the first time all day, Patience turned to him, her hand flying to her mouth and a little gasp escaping her throat. Clearly she hadn’t meant to say as much as she did. But Tristan could help but smile like a blasted simpleton at her admission.
“You little fool,” he said, shaking his head slowly back and forth.
“Yes, I know I am,” she whispered. “I think I just established that, didn’t I?”
“Would you just…be quiet, please,” he said, and then he descended on her, his lips pressing against hers, his arms wrapping around her small waist. She opened to him easily and allowed the kiss for a few moments before shoving against his chest.
“Wait a moment,” she said, out of breath. “You mean you’re not angry with me?”
“Doe
s this look angry to you?” He pulled her back and resumed the kiss, only to be pushed away again.
“But after all I’ve done? You’re not just the slightest bit resentful that I trapped you into marriage?”
“Patience,” he said, trying not to lose his patience, “do you want me to be angry and resentful?”
She turned thoughtful. “No, of course not. But…where have you been these last six weeks? Not a single word from you. I thought for certain you were going to leave me at the altar.”
Tristan moved in closer to her again. “I’m sorry I’ve been scarce. I probably should have sent some kind of correspondence, but I’ve been busy. I had a lot of work to do at Hamlin Abbey to prepare it for my new bride.” He remembered he was carrying something very special in his pocket and reached in to pull it out. “And I did a little shopping too.”
Patience still looked a bit skeptical as she took the box from him. “You bought me a wedding present?”
He nodded as a mischievous smile came to his lips. “I hope you like it.”
She removed the paper, and a satisfying blush rose to her cheeks. “It’s…”
“The English translation. I figured it might come in handy later on, after I’ve exhausted all other possibilities of making love to you.”
“Tristan!” Patience swatted him with the book and then burst into giggles. “Fortunately for you,” she said as her mirth died down, “I had my own personal translator these long six weeks that I’ve been waiting to hear from you. I wasn’t sure I’d ever get to put my knowledge to the test.”
Tristan couldn’t keep his hands off his wife any longer. He gathered her against him and pressed his lips to hers, delving into her mouth, reveling in the softness, and dreaming about what was to come.
When they finally pulled apart, Patience looked up at him, her eyes shuttered with passion and desire, and he wondered how they were going to get through the wedding breakfast.
The Betting Season (A Regency Season Book) Page 28
