by Kit Donner
He looked up, startled, unconscious of his gesture. “I am accustomed to it now. Sometimes it is a bit stiff. Who told you about my leg, one of the servants?” His sly blue gaze caught Patience’s flush.
She rummaged in her small reticule for her fan to cool her meandering thoughts. Sometimes stiff, eh? Coughing first to clear her throat and gainsay nervousness, she said, “Oh, someone mentioned it in passing. Is there naught one can do to spare you the pain?”
His irritability snapped a reply. “I do not wish to discuss my leg.”
“My apologies. I only thought…” But she trailed off due to the harsh set of his face. What have I said? Perhaps he was remembering his brother and the dark night the deed was done. Patience dug her nails into her palms, wanting to reach for him and offer him comfort, erase the dark lines on his lean face.
Bryce, with almost closed eyes, watched her like a cat watching a mouse, Patience thought.
“It certainly is hot in here. Not much of a breeze.” He opened his coat and leaned back in his seat. Spreading his long legs in front of him, Patience could feel his boots touching the edges of her traveling gown.
She glanced down at his feet before lifting her eyes to meet his as she flicked her fan faster.
“Yes, so it is. Not much for it, I suppose.” What sparkling wit! Patience did not like the way he was grinning at her. She could have sworn he just licked his lips like a hungry wolf, and she was his closest meal for miles around. What was on that man’s mind?
“Have you been to Town before?” Bryce asked casually, hooking his hands dangerously near his loins, where Patience was trying desperately not to look.
Patience sighed. “No. Yes. That is, I visited as a child with my parents. But I do not remember much about our trip. It was very damp, very dirty, and the noise hurt my ears.”
“Will it be very hard for you to leave the country for a time?” Bryce asked.
Was it my imagination or did he place a little stress on the word “hard”? There was that word again. If only she could keep her imagination in hand. He also seemed to be taking up more than his share of space. Patience looked down to find herself neatly pinned between two lean muscular thighs. When she glanced up and caught him staring again, she blushed and squeaked, “Oh. No, I look forward to seeing Town. Can you advise how long you plan to remain in London?”
“As long as it takes,” he answered, his hooded eyes closed from her. “Do you enjoy keeping my books, working under my authority?”
Under him. She closed her eyes, and a large bed ignited her imagination. Patience’s pulse quickened. Yes, I like being under you. Her eyes snapped open. Did I say that out loud? One look at Bryce assured her he had not heard anything. “Yes, I like keeping your looks, I mean, your books.”
He jerked his head up at her words, watching her closely. “I have been wondering about you, Patience.”
Patience’s eyes widened in alarm. “Ah, what could you possibly be wondering about me, my lord?” Perhaps he would overlook the anxious twisting of her fan tassel.
“You are a lovely young woman. Surely there have been other men in your past whose hearts you have broken.”
Did he seem to lean toward her ever so slightly, waiting for her answer? She tossed her fan as if to say, “what a silly thought,” then dropped it into his lap, quite by accident, and sat and stared at it, wondering how to retrieve it. She quickly told him, “No, no hearts broken, none I can think of,” sounding awfully flighty. She watched as he rescued her fan and handed it back to her.
“Interesting, I thought perhaps you were leaving a loved one behind,” he told her, inquiring eyes meeting hesitant eyes.
Her eyes widened in something akin to surprise. Whatever could he mean? Did he know about Rupert? Should she—
But Bryce did not wait for a reply, almost as if he didn’t want to hear the answer. “Lucky says it might rain tonight.” He lazily opened one eye piratically.
Patience almost jumped, her emotions bubbling over like Melenroy’s tea kettle. The dam burst with her words as perspiration beaded her brow. “For heaven’s sake, would you please stick to one subject? I swear I cannot follow this conversation, and if I had known you were to plague me with questions I would have ridden with the others.” With a snap, her fan broke in two.
Bryce drew in his legs and leaned forward to knock on the roof, a signal to stop. “Miss, you have the manners of a shrew.” He hesitated and softened his insult by adding, “But you look lovely when you are angry. Is it not hot in here?” And he slammed the door before Patience could fashion a retort.
A few minutes later she heard a horse thunder past the coach. Out the window she saw Bryce’s broad back, but soon he was swallowed up by Defiance’s dust, and she realized she had lost the opportunity to inquire about Rupert. Her temper could get her into such trouble sometimes.
A day and a half later, the streets of London came into view, houses lined up together like cards, peddlers shilling their wares, and coaches clogging the thoroughfares. In front of his town house in Mayfair, Bryce climbed out of the carriage, favoring his wounded leg, and ignoring the stares of a few lonely street waifs and vendors wheeling their carts home. After making sure that his other coaches were close behind, he strode up the stairs and disappeared behind the door opened to receive him, knowing Patience and his other staff would soon follow.
Red Tattoo greeted Bryce as he entered the hall. Large and opulent it had a brilliant gold chandelier hanging above and a massive iron staircase with two stairwells in an arch leading to the upper floors. Bryce nodded quickly to the few servants standing at attention in the hallway and addressed the short older man with thinning brown hair, who executed a perfect bow.
“Stone, I believe?”
“Yes, my lord. We welcome your return to Wyndham House. I beg your pardon, my lord, we haven’t had much notice to open the house. I—” His thin voice sounded a nervous pitch too high.
Bryce waved his hand as if this news was inconsequential. “My staff from Paddock Green has followed me. I will expect you to show them their quarters and their duties.”
When Stone moved his jaw to reply, Bryce, with Red Tattoo a step behind, headed for the stairs and the front parlor. Bryce had forgotten how much he missed the brightly painted rooms, his mother’s legacy. Although Paddock Green was where he called home, he had not lived in any one place for several years, that is.
Ever since he had begun work for Prime Minister Addington in the early years of England’s first war with Napoleon, his assignments had taken him on many covert operations in Europe, Spain, and the Baltics. Since he spoke French, Spanish, and Italian fluently, his services as a master spy served England in good stead.
A year ago, Londringham had begun his most dangerous mission yet. After the Treaty of Amiens was signed between France and Britain, there was a brief span of a volatile peace before the secretary of war, Lord Hobart, delegated Bryce back to France, distrusting Napoleon to keep the treaty’s terms.
In this new mission, Bryce had begun a game of wits with three French spies, two men and one woman, all unknown to each other. Each spy passed on information about the enemy’s plans on land or sea. The challenge was to discover what was true and what was false.
And so Bryce had walked a tightrope, working hard and fast to uncover the French army’s locations and Napoleon’s plans for invading England. His excellent sources were able to prove fairly quickly what information would serve England well. The woman spy was actually British and the most effective transmitter of actual latitudes and longitudes.
After Edward’s death the prime minister and the secretary of war called him home. His next assignment was to search for the French spies on the British side of the Channel. Lately, the trail had grown cold, especially after Sansouche went up to Town. Soon after, Bryce had been summoned to London to meet with Addington and Hobart.
In the front parlor, Bryce was pleased to see this was one room that had been cleaned, dusted, and polish
ed. He threw off his coat, dusty from travel, and turned to confront his friend and valet.
“I have missed your skinny hide. How have you done?”
Red Tattoo, his face and whiskers as red as the hair on his head, responded, “I have some news. You were correct m’lord, about the Frenchman. It took me two weeks of play-in’ his shadow—he spends his time and money a-gamblin’ and with women, but I think I might have located where he and his friends are meetin’.” His valet smacked his rough hands together.
“That is indeed good news, Red. However the PM requires evidence that they act on Boney’s orders. If a host of expatriates wish to meet to recall France’s grander days, that is no offense against the Crown.” He rolled back his less-than-pristine white sleeves and relaxed against the settee’s arm.
“Yes, yes, but I see many what look like foreign gents go into this place, but it’s down at the docks in an old tavern. I think it is owned by a Frenchman. I can’t get in.” Red rubbed the knot on his head.
“Good work, my friend. We shall find a way to get Sansouche and the rest of his flock of spies and rout them from here. I just might have something to make Sansouche talk,” he told Red, remembering the tarnished silver buckle young Mandeley had given him in prison.
A soft knock on the door forbid the men continuing their conversation. With permission curtly granted by Bryce, Stone braved the parlor, tottering in with a teapot and a bottle of claret on a tray, unsure which refreshment would please his master most.
“Something to cool your dry palate, my lord?” Stone proffered hopefully, cups and saucers noticeably rattling.
“Yes, yes, set it down, man. No cause for distress, Stone, you’re doing fine,” Bryce said by way of apology for his abruptness. “Has my staff arrived yet?” his mind on one particular person.
Stone bobbed his head. “They just arrived and everyone is helping with unloading. The cooks are in the kitchen, my maids are showing the others where their stations will be, yes, all is in order, my lord.” His proud smile glowed with his master’s praise.
Bryce started to inquire after Patience but decided to look for her later, assuring himself she needed to acclimate to her new surroundings. Then maybe they could have that delayed talk about Mandeley.
He and Red sat down to enjoy the pot of tea whilst exploring plans to infiltrate the Frenchmen’s retreat.
An hour later, intervention by Stone again prohibited further talk. The butler announced the Marquess and Marchioness of Avecmore. Red Tattoo hopped up and, with Bryce’s slight nod, slipped out the other door that lead to the library.
Bryce stood to greet his old friends, quickly rolling down his sleeves, retrieving his discarded coat and shrugging it on.
The marchioness marched into the room like a woman with a purpose, dressed all in black but ablaze with light itself. She made a fashionable habit each year of choosing one color for the Season for her entire wardrobe. Her shiny bombazine pelisse, draped snugly over her large, womanly frame, enhanced her silver hair and sparkling sky blue eyes.
The marchioness launched into Bryce’s arms, pecking a kiss on both his cheeks. “I’m so glad you’ve joined us for the rest of the Season. We’ve missed you so. You never wrote to prepare us!” Her hands moved in constant motion as if she were waving a horse in to win.
Bryce smiled warmly at the woman he knew as Lady Elverston, an old friend and more of a mother to him than he remembered his own to be.
A tall, slender gentleman with light red hair, expertly wielding a gold-tipped cane, followed Lady Elverston at a more sedate pace to greet Bryce. The man, Lord Elverston, gripped Bryce’s hand tightly before releasing it.
“Told Lady Gray to allow you to get settled, but she would not hear of it. If you hadn’t come to Town, she planned to visit you and assure herself you had not rotted away.” He smiled fondly at his wife, now comfortably draped over the lime baize settee.
Bryce offered a chair to Lord Elverston before saying to the marchioness, “I’m certainly happy, madam, that we did not arrive at such drastic measures.” He pulled the bell cord for Stone.
Lady Elverston shrugged gracefully. “I mentioned a visit to Lord Elverston, but he never takes me seriously. However, this Season’s been such an awful bore, even the country would have made for a pleasant diversion.” She faked a yawn.
Bryce nodded in her direction. “Society indeed would be bereft without the pleasure of your company. I feel I must have done a service to all those who wait at your feet for a moment of your attention,” he complimented his friend, knowing a store of peers alike fought for the honor of her company. She was well known for her witty repartee and excellent head for advice. He had often envied Lord Elverston for finding such a companionable, loyal, beautiful woman to share his life with.
Lady Elverston granted him a lovely smile. “You’re not out of practice with your gallantry, my dear. Even in the primitive country, I’m happy to see you haven’t lost your touch.”
After Stone delivered another teapot with cakes, Lady Elverston poured, asking Bryce nonchalantly, “Why ever did we sign the treaty? I’m puzzled, Londringham. This Season, all anyone can talk about is when that vile Napoleon will invade our shores. It simply will not do. We hear many of our friends visiting Paris have returned due to persona non grata over there. Does your appearance here have anything to do with that foul Frenchman?” She leaned back on the settee with a graceful elegance as if not in a hurry for an answer.
Bryce took a long swallow of tea and glanced at Lord Elverston before he replied. “No, a little business, nothing more. Actually, madam, it surely was the promise of your presence along with a desire to meet with a few old friends in Parliament.”
Lady Elverston nodded absentmindedly. “Always the clever tongue. However, I daresay you will soon be deluged with invitations to the scene. Not many eligible men this Season, I hear many of the young birds complaining.”
He straightened in his chair. “I’m not the marrying sort, as I have mentioned before. And with all due respect, I do not believe the haut ton has yet forgiven the transgressions of my family.”
“Damn,” Lord Elverston said, breaking into the conversation, then, nodding to his wife, “Forgive me, my dear. Now, Londringham, Prinny, and the PM are aware of your service to our country as well as your brother’s sacrifice, you should be welcomed with open arms anywhere.” His rust-colored mustache bristled in agitation.
Bryce’s face turned grim, and he stood up to distance himself from his friends.
Lady Elverston called from her perch, “Londringham, listen to Lord Elverston. Your mother and stepfather returned to France’s embrace many years ago, nearly seventeen. And you were not responsible for Edward’s death. You must not continue to punish yourself for circumstances beyond your control.
“Besides”—she paused—“isn’t it about time you settled down and raised a family? Perhaps one of our young stock may interest you. You would certainly liven things up a bit with your handsome face and substantial coffers.”
Bryce shook his head and returned to his chair. “I’m afraid I won’t be successful in finding a replica of you. And I’m certainly not in the market for a twittering young lady as a wife.”
Lord Elverston interjected, “England needs his services. Plenty of time to think about getting a wife after we deal with the Little Corporal. I envy the peace and quiet he must have without one.”
His wife seemed unperturbed by his last remark and, totally ignoring him, continued, “You need someone to make you happy.”
“He already has a dog,” her husband mumbled to himself.
They heard a soft knock on the parlor doors. When Bryce ordered entry, he was surprised to see Patience in the doorway. His eyes feasted on her quiet loveliness in dove gray which accented her pale-pink cheeks. He stood to greet her as she shyly crossed the room to his side.
“My lord, please forgive my intrusion, but this note was just delivered by messenger who insisted that it was of the u
tmost urgency. Mr. Stone is handling a situation in the kitchen.” Patience looked up into Bryce’s eyes as she relayed her story.
“Very good.” He reached out his hand to catch the note and briefly held her soft hand before releasing it. “I will talk with you later,” he told her in an undertone.
With a graceful curtsy, Patience quitted the room, leaving behind her lavender scent he knew so well. Obtaining permission from his guests, he broke the seal on the missive, which revealed a request by the prime minister for an immediate appointment tomorrow morning.
Bryce shoved the note into his desk drawer and smiled at his companions, indicating nothing was amiss. After Lord Elverston inquired after Paddock Green’s inhabitants and those they shared familiarity with in Kent, Lady Elverston asked, “Who was that lovely woman with the note? I cannot believe she is a servant, for she carries herself as one of the nobility. In fact, she does remind me of someone, but I cannot say who.”
Bryce uttered, “She is my house steward.”
Lady Elverston surprised Bryce with more interrogation regarding the young woman. “Why does she work for you? Does she not have a home?”
Bryce wearily rubbed his brow, disliking this line of questioning and unwilling to educate his friend about Patience. Never before had Bryce been reluctant to discuss anything with Lady Elverston, except for his work. “My butler hired her at the Mop Fair because she said she needed a job.”
Fortunately, his friend dropped the subject, but Bryce had a feeling this was not the last he would hear about the matter of the lovely Patience.
Patience yawned while unbuttoning her gray cotton gown, silently thanking the butler that she had her own little room at the top of the house. Small though it might be, she was becoming quite accustomed to small bedrooms. Except for delivering the note to him, she had not seen Bryce since arriving at his town house.
How could she get his attention? Mention in passing that she is Patience Mandeley, and that it was her brother Rupert that has been wrongly imprisoned? If Bryce was to ask why she hadn’t mentioned this before, it was simply because she had suspected he was the French spy framing her brother. Simple. At this news, Patience thought wryly, he is bound to fall at my feet and promise undying love—or else throw me out of his house and his life.
