by Regina Scott
But if he could bring Yvette de Maupassant safely to England, he would count the cost cheap indeed. He had never met a woman like her—fearless, determined, so skilled at playing the game of espionage that no one in the Emperor’s circle had realized she gathered information for England. Napoleon thought she had thrown off her aristocratic background to embrace the Revolution. Someone must have betrayed her that she was in her cousin’s custody now.
And yet, was Patience so very different? Like Yvette, she had been deprived of a family, forced to make her own way. She too had had to smile while people said poisonous things. And she was fiercely loyal to those she cared about. She might not have risked her life in the service of her country, but she had risked her reputation to protect Gussie.
What would it be like to be among the chosen few Patience Ramsey cared about? To have her smile at him, approve of him? To know he had earned her love?
To risk was to live. Somehow, he didn’t think his great-grandfather had meant his heart.
With no midnight appointment to keep him up, Harry woke early the next morning. Perhaps that was why he met Patience coming out of Meredith’s room. She’d left tendrils of her hair to curl about her cheeks. Sunlight had never looked as pretty.
“How is she?” he asked as she joined him in the corridor.
She glanced at the door. “Better. I may be able to convince her to come down later.” Her look met his, troubled. “But Harry, we must talk.”
He spread his hands. “Of course. How can I help?”
She opened her mouth, and Gussie trotted out of her room, tugging her gloves into place. “Oh, good,” she said, gaze bouncing off Harry and Patience. “You’re up. I’ve told Emma and Cuddlestone to fetch the others in time for services.”
Services. It was Sunday. Palm Sunday to be exact. One week left until Easter, and this house party ended.
He ought to be relieved. But when the house party ended, would Patience Ramsey feel any need to stay?
He shook off the thought as Gussie linked arms with Patience, dragging her toward the stairs, chatting about cockle shells and eucalyptus and other ingredients he found hard to imagine for skin balm. Patience glanced back at him once, and he shrugged. Gussie had ever been a force of nature. There wasn’t much he could do until she latched onto something, or someone, else.
Unfortunately, that didn’t happen until after services had concluded.
Harry had grown up worshipping in the little stone chapel in Foulness. His great-grandfather had purchased the stained-glass windows that flanked either side of the center aisle, the gilded cross over the altar, and the gold communion and offering plates. On one of his worst days, his father had asked the vicar to return the plates so he might sell them at auction. Harry would not have been surprised to learn the offering plates have been lighter after passing the man. Through investments Julian had suggested, Harry had begun rebuilding the family coffers, but it would be some time before he could do more than tithe.
His family had its own pew near the front. With Meredith remaining at the manor, Harry and his guests just filled the polished walnut bench. Behind them sat people he’d known all his life—Mr. Potter the merchant; the Abermarle family, all fishers; Lacy and Undene and others. The blacksmith caught his eye and shook his head. Not tonight then. Disappointment was sharp.
The vicar came to take Harry’s hand at the end of service. A short, stout fellow with a heavy jowl, he beamed at Patience. “And this must be the young lady I’ve heard so much about. We must schedule those nuptials. Of course, you’ll want to be married here at St. Mary’s. When shall I start the banns?”
Patience looked to Harry.
“After Easter, I think,” Harry said. “I’ll send the particulars.”
“Excellent.” The vicar returned his gaze to Patience. “Sir Harold is such a busy fellow. I know you will want to continue the family tradition of supporting the church.”
Patience’s smile was all encouragement, but it quickly faded as the man moved on to greet other members of the congregation.
“Now I’ve lied to the vicar,” she murmured as they started out of the church after the others.
“Technically, I lied,” Harry pointed out. “Terrible habit. As my bride-to-be, I hope you can break me of it.”
“So do I,” she said darkly.
As they came out the door into the rain, Undene bumped into Harry.
“Tuesday,” he muttered as he bowed.
Patience watched him hurry away. “Did he say Tuesday?”
“Did he?” Harry took her arm and steered her toward the waiting coach. “I thought he was apologizing.”
And he only wanted to apologize to Patience, for lying to her once again.
~~~
Tuesday. The word kept echoing in Patience’s mind as they drove back to the manor. The big fellow who had bumped into Harry had said the word as if it had a particular meaning. Perhaps he was one of Harry’s unsuitable friends, setting up their next meeting. She should be relieved for this evidence of the truth of his tale, but she could not shake the feeling that more was involved.
At least the services had been pleasant. The church was warm, cozy. The members of the congregation had, on the whole, gazed at Harry and his friends with respect, admiration, and a little awe. Oh, the few times she’d glanced around during service she’d seen a frown or two aimed their way, always on the face of one matron or another, but most people had not been dismayed to find the scandalous Sir Harold Orwell in their midst. He was so easily accepted that she could believe he was a regular fixture. How did that jive with the wicked nature he claimed?
If only she could find an opportunity to question him. Harry’s guests certainly required a great deal of his attention, especially when he might be expected to spend time alone with the woman he intended to marry. As it was, Lydia’s brother carried him off to the game room on their return, and Patience barely escaped a stint in the laboratory by requesting time to check on Meredith. Lydia agreed to go to work in her stead, promising to wear an apron. With misgivings, Patience went to see her friend.
As she had expected, Meredith had had no trouble sharing the room. The bed had been plenty big enough for the two of them, though Fortune’s purr had lulled them to sleep, and Patience had woken several times in the night as a furry body repositioned itself between them. Fortune scampered to greet her now, entwining herself around Patience’s ankles. She bent and petted the cat a moment before going to where Meredith sat by the fire, book open in her lap.
“You aren’t dressed for travel,” Patience commented. “I take that as a good sign.”
Meredith shut the book. “You were quite right. It was a momentary panic. I have nothing of which to be ashamed. I shall brazen it out.”
“Good for you,” Patience said with a smile.
Meredith set the book aside and rose. “At least until the causeway opens. Any news there?”
Patience shook her head. “The vicar asked for prayers for their deliverance. I take it they expect it to remain closed for several more days. You can go north to the River Roach, I gather, but even it’s too swollen for the ferry.”
Meredith sighed. “Then there’s no hope for it. I shall simply have to ignore him.”
Patience wasn’t sure that was possible, but she decided not to argue. “Very well, then. Gather up Fortune. We will descend the stairs and beard the lion in his den.”
~~~
One more game of billiards, and Harry thought he would begin shredding the green baize of the table. Yet Villers showed no sign of ceasing, perhaps because he had won the last two games, one each against Julian and Harry.
“What say we make this interesting?” he asked as he racked up the balls for another round. “A hundred pounds for the winner?”
“Gussie will throw you out in the rain,” Harry informed him. “No gambling in this house.”
Villers glanced up with a frown. “When did she institute that rule?”
Since
his father had died, not that it was any of the man’s business. Harry turned to Julian. “Is it still raining, by the way?”
“Afraid so,” Julian said, leaning on his stick. “But that never stopped me from riding.”
Villers’s hands stilled. “Riding? I’ll join you.”
Julian glanced at Harry. “Delightful.”
The other man abandoned the game. “Give me a moment to change. That lazy valet is never to be found when I need him, begging your pardon, Harry.”
Harry shrugged. “It’s no trouble. We’ll meet in the stables at half past.”
Villers headed for the stairs, but Julian moved more slowly, twisting to peer in the withdrawing room as they passed. What he saw made him stop so quickly Harry nearly ran into him. Following his gaze, Harry could see why the fellow was frozen in place.
Patience and Meredith were seated at the card table, playing the two-handed game cassino by the look of things. He thought her friend might jump up and run at the light that flared in Julian’s eyes as he approached them, but she kept her gaze on her cards, calming laying down an ace of spades to win the ace from the four cards face up in the center of the table. Cuddlestone did not look the least contrite to be found watching over them instead of his master.
“And what have you two been up to?” Patience asked, setting down a ten of diamonds to capture two more of the center cards.
“We thought to go riding,” Harry said.
“In the rain?” She tsked.
“It’s not bad,” Julian said, far too eagerly. “You’re welcome to join us.”
Meredith said not a word, calmly playing her cards, though the cat in her lap peered at Harry around the pasteboard.
“Thank you, but no,” Patience said, playing a card. “But perhaps you should ride down to the causeway and see how high the water has risen. That might tell you how soon you can leave, Mr. Mayes.”
Harry flinched at the blunt statement. Meredith captured the last card on the table, and Patience dealt four more.
“I have no intention of leaving,” Julian assured them both. “For the moment I am content to bask in your presence. Miss Thorn, I am delighted to make your acquaintance at last.”
Still the woman refused to meet his gaze, studying her cards while her other hand rested on the cat in her lap. Fortune, however, had no trouble watching Julian, copper eyes inscrutable. Remembering what Patience had said about the cat, Harry waited to see whether Julian would meet with approval.
That he had not met with her mistress’ approval was readily apparent by the chill in Meredith’s voice. “Mr. Mayes,” she acknowledged at last. “Your play, Patience.”
Patience lay a ten of hearts on the table and scooped up the four cards she had just dealt.
“Ah,” Julian said. “You know what they say, Miss Thorn. Unlucky at cards…”
“Cease playing,” she said, completely ignoring the usual ending of the saying: lucky at love. She smiled at Patience. “I admit myself defeated, my dear. If the rain truly is light, perhaps a constitutional?”
Patience gathered up the cards and rose. “Delighted. Give me a moment to speak to Harry first. Mr. Cuddlestone, would you be so kind as to find our things?”
“Assuredly, miss.” The butler hurried out without so much as a glance in Harry’s direction.
“Perhaps I might join you,” Julian said to Miss Thorn, a bit like an eager pup.
“We wouldn’t dream of troubling you,” Miss Thorn said, rising and turning her back on him.
Pain darted across Julian’s face, but he bowed as she strolled past him. As Patience moved to Harry’s side, Fortune leaped from her mistress’s arms to the carpet and advanced on Julian.
He smiled. “What a handsome animal.” He started to bend.
Meredith whirled and scooped up her pet. “Don’t!”
Julian straightened. “Forgive me. Is she easily frightened?”
“Never.” Meredith held Fortune close. “She is merely terse with those she does not like. And she most certainly will not like you.” Turning once more, she strode from the room.
Julian watched her for a moment. “If you’ll excuse me.” Without waiting for an answer, he took the door to the entry hall.
“That was interesting,” Harry said with a shake of his head.
Patience sighed. “I fear hearts once wounded take time to heal, particularly when neither is sure of the enemy.”
“Unsure? It seems clear to me,” Harry said. “He claims she disappeared with no word to him, despite an understanding between them.”
“Does he indeed?” And he’d thought Meredith’s tone cold. “Well, she claims he left her in her time of need, despite her requests for help.”
Julian could be too focused on his own goals, but surely he would have come to her aid if he’d known she’d needed him. “Perhaps they should talk it out,” Harry said, glancing after them.
She sighed. “I suspect even if we could convince them to talk, the tale is too complicated to resolve easily. Once trust is lost, it is impossible to regain.”
Harry frowned. “Impossible? Surely if they still care for each other they can overcome.”
“Perhaps,” she said, and the word held a world of doubt. “But that isn’t why I wished to speak to you in any event. I feel as if you’re keeping something from me, Harry.”
Once again, he should make some offhand remark about the lady waiting for him in the village. Only there was no lady. And he could not confide in Patience, not until he knew Yvette was safe.
He spread his hands. “A gentleman must keep his own council, alas.”
“I see,” she said. “May I remind you that we are supposed to be betrothed?”
He made himself shrug. “Well, perhaps if we really were betrothed…”
Her eyes narrowed. “There is no perhaps about it. When a gentleman asks a lady to marry him, he is offering to join their lives, all of their lives. I believe the vows include in sickness and in health, for richer and for poorer.”
Guilt tugged at him. “I agree that a marriage requires such a union to be successful. But we are only pretending.”
“Yet I still require you to confide in me,” she argued. “The others have expectations. They imagine I know your plans, your mind, your heart. When I cannot respond adequately, their suspicions grow. Give me something, Harry.”
He’d like to give her everything. “You ask a great deal.”
Her gaze softened. “As do you. Because of this charade, I will have to change my entire life, move away from everyone and everything I’ve ever known. You asked me to undertake this ruse because of danger to you and Gussie. You appear to be salvaging your reputation. Lydia isn’t a danger to you. I’m convinced something else is. At the very least, you owe me an explanation as to why you really wanted me to pose as your betrothed. In short, Sir Harry, I refuse to continue to lie for you unless I know the whole of it. What are you up to?”
Chapter Thirteen
There, Patience had said it. Jane and Meredith would be proud of her. By the light in Harry’s eyes, he was both surprised and not a little impressed. Still, she half expected another charming lie to glide from his lips.
“Can you not believe me when I say that what I’m doing is important?” he asked.
Patience shook her head. “No. You have gone out of your way to play the wolf, sir. If you wish me to see you as a lamb instead, you will have to offer me the truth.”
He chuckled. “I would never claim to be a lamb. A ram perhaps.”
“Or a mule?” Patience suggested sweetly.
He chuckled again. “An apt comparison. Gussie would surely agree.” He sighed. “Very well, Patience. You have earned the truth. I cannot tell you all—too many others and too much are at stake. But I will tell you this. I work with a band of smugglers to transmit information to and from friends in France. Gussie knows about it, as does Julian. He has been instrumental in finding funds and connections when needed.”
Pati
ence stared at him. “You’re a spy?”
“Shh!” Harry took a step closer, gaze drilling down into hers. “I support the war effort like every good Englishman.”
He was so fervent. Could she believe him? He must know how romantic the story sounded—the dark of night, secret messages, a world at risk. Who would she ask to confirm it? Julian Mayes was no more trustworthy, if Meredith’s experience with him was any indication. Yet the tale made so many pieces of the puzzle fit together—his need to be out at night, his secrecy, Cuddlestone and Emma’s cryptic remarks, his visits to the village. It even made sense of the burly fellow’s comment after services.
“Tuesday,” she said. “The smugglers are sailing or returning then.”
He nodded. “They sail for France, and this time Julian and I are going with them.”
Cold trickled down her back. “Why must you go? Surely it’s dangerous for an English gentleman to be found on French soil.”
He shrugged as if the matter did not concern him, and she wanted to shake him out of his complacency.
“A necessary evil,” he said. “My key informant, a lady of the former aristocracy, has been imprisoned. Julian and I are going over to rescue her.”
A lady needing succor, just like in the novels Lady Lilith had favored. A shame Patience had never had a gentleman ride to her rescue. Or sail, as the case would be. Still, it was such an easy story. For all she knew, it had been designed to keep her from asking difficult questions. She ought to denounce him for a liar, yet she would rather believe him in league with smugglers and spies than chasing after some married woman.
She gasped. “Your wound! There was no jealous husband, was there?”
As if she had reminded him of his injury, he rubbed his arm. “No. I was shot helping the smugglers come ashore.”
She stared at him. “In England? But that makes no sense. Why would anyone on this side of the Channel want to shoot at you?”
“That,” he said, gaze darkening, “is what I want to know.”
