by Wendy Vella
“You told him you did not know him, and therefore could not say whether you were pleased to make his acquaintance or not!” Lucy screeched.
“Must you scream, Lu, it makes my ears hurt,” Charles said as he practiced a few moves. Patience saw the smile he tried to hide as he looked at his sisters. He loved annoying them when the opportunity arose.
He now knew Brantley was in London and that they must be vigilant, and his resilience amazed her, especially as her insides still resembled a butter churn.
“I do not trust as easily as you, and Mr. Stanhope seemed…” Patience searched for the right word. “Too nice.”
“How can someone be too nice?” Charlie questioned her.
“Yes, how?” Lucy snapped. “When you have spoken only a handful words to him, and those were laced with innuendo and threat.”
“As head of this family, I need to—”
“Dear Lord, not that again,” Lucy and Charlie said together.
“I’m sorry that my responsibilities to you both cause annoyance. However, I take them seriously, especially after what has just happened to Charlie and me,” Patience said, hurt that they were so ungrateful when all she’d ever wanted was to see them happy and keep them safe.
“We are still unsure that the bullet did not come from someone who mistakenly fired their weapon, or if indeed it was intended for Charlie, Patience. And of course we are grateful for all you have done for us, but you can be controlling upon occasion, and this business with Mr. Stanhope is an example. He is a nice man, and you must trust that I can tell the difference between a nice man and a charlatan, Sister. I am twenty, and you have taught me not to be a fool.”
“I don’t mean to be controlling, but it seems to come naturally,” Patience admitted, which made her siblings laugh. “I want only the best for you both, but sometimes my fears can make it seem otherwise.”
“We know.” Charlie slashed his foil through the air. “And seeing our cousin has scared you, just as it has Lucy and me.”
He was an insightful boy for eleven years old, Patience thought. “Yes.”
“The thing is, Patience,” Lucy said, still on top of the chair. “I think I may like Mr. Stanhope a great deal.”
Patience felt the air squeeze from her lungs. “Really?”
“Really, and as I quite like you too, I would be most grateful if you would at least try to get to know him.”
“I will,” Patience said, nodding. “I promise.”
“Excellent. Now breathe, Sister, as you are turning blue.”
Patience inhaled deeply. “I have made an appointment to see a private investigator tomorrow. I want to have someone look into Brantley’s movements and see if there is anything in his past or present that we can use against him.”
“Excellent idea. Hopefully they can find something so bad that he is imprisoned or sent to the colonies,” Lucy said.
“I want to stand on the dock waving if he is sent to the colonies,” Charlie put in.
“Correction, Brother,” Patience said. “We shall all stand on the dock waving as Brantley Winston is taken from England in chains.”
“I think we may have to kill him,” Charlie said, swishing his foil from side to side, as if he had just ordered plum pudding for his evening meal.
“The thought has crossed my mind,” Patience said, because it had, many times.
“Well, we shall endeavor to stave off criminal activities until investigating all other avenues,” Lucy said. “Now fence, you lazy creatures.”
They did, back and forth, up and down the carpet, until the muscles in Patience’s arms and shoulders ached. And as she did, she thought. Was Mr. Stanhope a good man, or could he hurt Lucy? Was there something in her cousin’s past that could help her control him? Could she bring herself to shoot him?
“Ouch! Bloody hell, Charlie!” Patience leapt back as her brother jabbed her in the ribs.
“Pay attention, Patience!” Lucy snapped.
“I’m trying,” she muttered, rubbing her side.
Mathew was also in her thoughts. She had expected a visit from him before now, because she had done something extremely foolish in front of him and Lord Kelkirk. She had run in a panic from the shop, and he had seen that fear, had watched and listened as she had comforted Charlie, and now he had more questions he wanted answers for, which in turn meant she had to redouble her efforts to stay as far away from him as she could. All that mattered was her brother’s safety, not becoming reacquainted with Lord Belmont.
The façade of the Allender townhouse was white brick and had two columns and neatly swept steps. It was attached to an identical one on either side, in a respectable part of London, just fifteen minutes’ ride from his house.
Mathew climbed the steps to the door and knocked, using the heavy brass ring, then stood back to wait for it to open. He had waited two days to pay this call, simply because he had been asking some questions about the Allender family and their cousin, and frustratingly none of the answers he’d received had told him anything was amiss.
He had also given Patience two days to calm down and perhaps lower her guard. If he had come when he’d said he would, she would have been waiting for him and prepared what she would say…or, more importantly, wouldn’t say to him. He hoped that by calling now, without sending word of his intentions, he would catch her off guard, and thus, she would tell him what he wanted to hear. A faint hope, but it was the only option he had.
Finally, a butler opened the door.
“Good day,” Mathew said. “My name is Lord Belmont, and I have called to see Miss Allender.”
The butler looked familiar, a big man with grey hair. He had eyes that Mathew was certain he had seen before.
“They are at present occupied, Lord Belmont.”
“I am happy to wait, as Miss Allender is aware of my intention to call at this time,” Mathew said. He had no compunction about lying. He wanted answers, and to get them, he had to see Patience.
Uncertainty crossed the man’s face, but he did not step aside.
“Perhaps if you would just tell her that Lord Belmont has called. We are old family friends, and if she is not at home, perhaps you could relay the message to Lucy or Charles?”
The use of their first names had the butler showing him to a room off the hall. After the man had left, Mathew walked around the room slowly, then back out to the hallway as he heard a shout. It didn’t seem to be an angry one, more one of encouragement. In fact, if he had heard correctly, it sounded like someone had called the words, Finish her, Charlie.
Following the noise, he walked upstairs to the next floor, then down a hallway. The house was welcoming, with a few pictures hanging on the walls and tables holding one or two ornaments, but unlike his house, the place was uncluttered. Every available surface did not house a small object, like his mother insisted theirs should.
“I’ll take you, brat! Just see if I don’t!”
“You can try, Sister, yet you shall not prevail!”
“Fight, you dastardly cur!”
What the hell was going on? Mathew wondered as he reached the door from behind which the voices were coming. Opening it quietly, he looked inside.
He saw Lucy Allender first, standing on a chair waving her hands about. To her right stood one of the footmen brothers; the other was on the other side of the room. Between them were Patience and Charlie, engaging in a fencing match.
She was wearing breeches and a loose shirt, her hair plaited in a long tail that hung down her spine, and she wielded a foil with ease. Opposing her was Charlie, his hair darkened by sweat as he fought back with an equally determined expression on his face.
Mathew slipped inside the room and braced a shoulder against the wall. The brothers noticed him and nodded but did not say anything, and for that he was grateful, as it gave him time to watch her.
Patience was graceful, each movement elegant as she lunged forward and back. The breeches, which he guessed had been her brother’s, were mol
ded to her slender legs and the curve of her buttocks as she advanced and retreated. There was little doubting her skill and that she had been fencing for years, and he wondered who had taught her. Mathew had never seen a woman fence before, yet had to admit they were probably more fleet of foot and agile than some men. Patience was certainly a pleasure to watch.
“You’re breathing hard, Patience. Do you yield?” Charlie taunted her, which merely made her double her efforts to beat her brother. She feinted and lunged, then struck the winning blow, and Charlie moaned.
“That will teach you, Brother: never taunt your opponent.”
Mathew watched her rub a hand over her brother’s head, then bend over and brace her hands on her thighs as she attempted to regain her breath.
“Mathew!”
Charlie saw him first, Lucy followed, and slowly Patience straightened and looked his way.
“You have an excellent technique, Charlie. Perhaps I can take you on next?”
“Would you? I would like that, as Patience tires easily.”
Her eyes narrowed at that. “I beat you!”
Charlie waved his foil at her, as if her winning was of no consequence. “I need to learn to fight different people, Patience, just in case I have to fight him.”
Silence followed those words, and Charlie quickly looked at his sisters.
“Him?” Mathew inquired.
“Other people,” Lucy said quickly. “When he joins a fencing club.”
She was lying, and he wondered who Charlie had meant. Was it the same person who she feared had fired that shot two days ago?
“All right then, my lord. I shall take you apart while your elderly sister recovers.” Mathew took off his jacket and placed it over a chair, then began to roll up his cuffs. “But I warn you, I will not go easy on you.”
Patience had not moved. She still stood with her foil, watching him warily, so he moved to her side.
“Why are you here, Lord Belmont?”
“I said I would come, Patience.”
“Please leave,” she whispered, and he wanted to lean forward and kiss the frown from between her brows.
“No. Now lend me your foil, as I did not realize I would need mine, and left it at home.”
He took it from her hands when she did not do as he asked, and then placed a hand on her back, and nudged her toward her sister.
“Go and change, Patience, whilst I make sure Mathew doesn’t cheat,” Lucy said, touching her sister’s head. He was sure the siblings exchanged a look, but Patience didn’t argue. Instead she made her way to the door, stopped briefly to open it, then slipped from the room.
“As I have an excellent memory, Lucy, let me assure you that it was never I who cheated when we played cards.”
Lucy hooted with laughter. “You were so easy to beat,” she said, “because you were a gentleman even then, and had no idea I was cheating until Anthony pointed it out to you.”
Anthony. Just the mention of his name hurt. Mathew heard it so rarely that it was as if a rapier had pierced his heart when he did. Rubbing the spot briefly, he tried to ease the burning sensation.
“Yes, it was definitely a shock that such a sweet little girl as you could cheat without a shred of guilt. Who taught you to fence, Charlie?” Mathew asked, wanting to change the subject.
“Patience and Lucy.” Charlie was watching him closely.
“You move well. I thought you must have a fencing master.”
“Patience and Lucy teach me most things, but I have a tutor for my studies.”
“Do they? How lucky you are to have two such attentive sisters. What school do you attend?”
“Charlie has not started school yet,” Lucy said quickly. Noting the looks that were passing between brother and sister, Mathew knew to delve further would only upset them.
“Paul and Lenny taught me to box,” Charlie said. “I’m quite good, isn’t that right?” He looked at his two footmen for confirmation, and Mathew had the feeling that this boy had learned to box and fence to defend himself, unlike other boys his age who learned because it was fun as well as expected of them.
“You are, my lord,” one of them said. Paul, Mathew guessed, as he had been the one in the cowkeeper’s shop this morning.
“En garde, Lord Allender,” Mathew said when he was ready, and then set about teaching the young boy a few of the techniques that were missing from his fencing repertoire.
Lucy called encouragement, and Mathew was enjoying himself when Patience returned to the room and put a halt to the match.
“I think that is enough for the day, Charlie.”
The boy looked defiant at his sister’s words. “I don’t wish to stop yet, Patience. Must you always spoil my fun?”
“I am not trying to spoil your fun, Brother, but you are due to start your lessons shortly, and if you wish to take tea beforehand, then you need to stop now.”
Mathew took the cloth one of the footmen handed him and wiped his sweaty face as he watched the interplay. Patience was calm, Charlie less so. The boy glared at his sister, and she simply gave him a steady look back.
“I hate learning French,” he snapped.
“You hated mathematics, also, but eventually your slow brain collected enough knowledge to be proficient at it.”
“My brain is not slow!” Charlie stated loudly. “I’m smarter than you.”
Patience then rattled off a sentence in French.
“You just insulted me, didn’t you?” Charlie sighed as Lucy and Mathew tried not to laugh, because Patience had done exactly that. No longer angry, the boy simply looked disgusted.
“Of course I did,” she said, coming forward to take his foil and hand it to a footman. “But as I love you, I asked Cook this morning to make queen cakes, so you need to hurry and clean up before I eat them all.”
“When I am in charge of this household, I shall be the one telling you what to do,” he muttered.
“I shall look forward to handing all responsibility to you, Brother. Then I shall laze about all day, throw my belongings on the floor, and slide down all your banisters.”
Mathew knew what it took to run a household, estates and everything else connected with his title, and he had a mother to look after some of it. From what he could ascertain, Patience had no one but Lucy and her young brother, and he understood the burden she carried.
“Will you take tea with us, Mathew?” Charlie asked him before leaving the room.
“Lord Belmont may have somewhere to be, Charlie,” Patience quickly said.
“I don’t, and would be glad to share your queen cakes, Lord Allender. Thank you also for the exercise. I hope to repeat the experience sometime soon.” He then bowed to Charlie, who returned the gesture before leaving the room with the two footmen on his heels.
“Excellent,” Lucy said, hopping nimbly from the chair. “I shall make haste to the parlor to have the first cup from the pot, as it’s always the best.” Mathew was left in no doubt why Lucy wanted to leave him and Patience alone together. Like he, she had seen the storm clouds brewing in the elder Allender sister’s eyes.
Patience was now wearing a plain lemon dress without adornments like ribbons, lace, or jewelry, and her hair was bundled up into a simple bun at the back of her head. She looked so delicious that he had to clench his fists to stop from reaching for her.
“Tell me first why you are angry with me, and then we shall move on to the threat that hangs over your family.” Mathew rolled down his sleeves and then retrieved his jacket.
“Pardon?” The shock on her face confirmed his words. “I have no idea what you mean.”
“Remember that I saw you that morning, Patience, running down the middle of the street, seemingly oblivious to everyone around you. You were scared, as was your brother. If I had some doubts before, when Charlie said he needed to be ‘ready to fight him,’ he removed them. So who is the ‘him’ he is referring to?”
“I have nothing to say to you.”
“I am no
t leaving, so it would be in your best interest to talk to me.”
“I don’t have to tell you anything, Lord Belmont. You have absolutely no control over me.”
He reached the door before her, and closed it, then stood with his back braced against it. “Please tell me.”
“You stopped me from exiting a room two mornings ago, and I disliked it then. I dislike it even more so now, my lord. Step aside,” she said, clenching her fists.
“What do you plan to do, punch me?”
She looked like a defiant child, face set and determined, hands fisted at her sides. Of course she wasn’t; she was a beautiful woman who was slowly making him feel alive when inside he’d been dead for so long.
“I will if you won’t move.” She was snarling now, which was better than the cool, aloof Patience he had seen since her return to London.
“I am your friend, Patience. Let me help you.”
“We—we cannot be friends.”
“Why?”
“Because you were rude and treated me like an annoyance, rather than a friend,” she snapped, her control having fled. “You ignored me, could barely speak or acknowledge me when I arrived in London seven years ago, and while I knew you were grieving for Anthony, and even forgave you for your behavior, I could not forgive what I heard one night at the Linden ball.”
“What happened at the Linden ball?” Mathew couldn’t remember, as he’d forgotten a lot of what had happened in the years following Anthony’s death, but he guessed this was what Lord Stadler had alluded to.
“It matters not.” She looked away from him. “I should not have spoken of it.”
“It matters to me, Patience, so please tell me.” He touched his fingers lightly to her jaw, turning her eyes back to his. “Please.” He watched the emotion play across her face and then she spoke.
“I overheard some of your friends discussing me, and the bet placed at Whites, about how I was the debutante most likely to not secure a match this season and Miss Lillyman the one most likely to.”
