by Esther Hatch
“Who has she brought with her?”
“An old family friend.”
His friend’s eyes focused on Patience in her yellow gown. “Will you introduce me to her?”
Why had Anthony made Sophia choose such a striking dress? True, he had been excited about the prospect of the pretty maid getting to fulfill any girlish fantasies she had about attending a ball, but having to chase away other men was a complication he hadn’t foreseen.
“Of course.” Anthony forced a smile. He had the feeling he would be doing that a lot this evening. “She won’t be in town long, but it would be nice for her to know a few names while she is here.”
Just behind Sophia, the Morgans walked into the large, open ballroom. Miss Morgan met Anthony’s eyes briefly, and then she slowly, deliberately looked away. The familiar fear of her losing interest entered his heart, but he brushed it aside. This was their plan. And the plan was to further their relationship. Not to mention that she was the one who had thought of the idea. Their last conversation was the closest Miss Morgan had ever come to admitting that she, too, wanted to marry him and was willing to work for it. Anthony tried to stuff down the uneasiness in his stomach.
Sophia caught his eye and reached for Patience’s arm, directing her toward him. Patience turned her head gracefully in that manner he needed to tell her to stop, and then her broad mouth formed a perfect crescent as their eyes met. That smile, so unaffected and unpracticed, could be the downfall of any number of men. Even he felt drawn to it; no woman had ever smiled at him like that before. Of course, he had provided her with an opportunity to dance for an evening instead of work. The smile didn’t necessarily have anything to do with him as a person. She mostly likely smiled at everyone as if seeing them brought sunshine into her heart.
Stewart leaned in toward him, and Anthony knew, he simply knew, another question about Patience was forming on his friend’s lips.
“Where is she from?” Stewart’s eyes hadn’t left Patience.
Anthony should have picked a different maid. A homely, ungraceful one.
“Who?” Anthony asked. It was a stupid thing to ask. Of course he was referring to Patience. But Anthony didn’t have an answer for it. What if Sophia had coached her to say she was from Derbyshire and he said Cambridgeshire? They really should have gotten more of her supposed background sorted out before coming. He trusted Sophia’s coaching, but he should have gone over it with them as well. He hadn’t wanted to spend too much time with Patience, especially not in his own home. He had never been beholden to a servant before, and he didn’t like what that did to his feelings of order. It felt off. But he shouldn’t have let his personal feelings interfere with their plans. The only thing they had decided together was that Patience would be called Mary Smith. She wouldn’t be easy to find with a name like that. There would be dozens in every county. “Oh, Miss Smith. I will let her speak for herself. She and my sister are headed this way.”
What had Sophia been able to instruct her on in the past few hours? The room felt stifling. Couples were already starting to pair off in preparation for the first dance of the evening—the waltz. Had Sophia had time to practice the waltz with Patience? Or the polka? The polka would most certainly be on the program. London couldn’t get enough of it. Something about Patience’s poise made him take a deep breath and calm himself. Not every lady would be perfect at those dances, and he would be there to ensure she was comfortable. As long as there were no complicated country dances, she would be fine. Her partner could lead her in the polka and the waltz. She didn’t have to dazzle anyone. Just being here was enough.
“Mr. Fairchild,” Anthony began, “this is Miss Smith. Miss Smith, this is a great friend of mine, Mr. Stewart Fairchild.”
Stewart bowed, and Patience dropped in an elegant curtsy. She kept her eyes on Stewart, and the effect made her neck lengthen. With no auburn curls clinging to it and distracting him, Anthony couldn’t help but notice its gracefulness.
“And where are you from, Miss Smith?” Stewart smiled and leaned toward Patience.
Sophia’s eyes went wide. She glanced back and forth between Stewart and Anthony with a slight shake of her head. Something was about to go wrong.
Patience didn’t seem worried. “London,” she replied with a pert nod of her head.
“London?” Stewart gave Anthony a confused look. “Anthony said you would only be here for a week or so.”
“Did he?” Patience asked with a raised eyebrow.
Anthony sent her a strong nod, yes.
“I am from London, but I don’t always live in town.” She smiled that calm, sweet smile once again, and if Stewart had a follow-up question, he’d clearly forgotten it.
Stewart cleared his throat. “I would be much obliged if you would dance with me. The first is a waltz, and if you haven’t been spoken for”—he eyed Anthony—“it would be my honor to lead you to the dance floor.”
“I would be delighted.” Patience turned her head and smiled at Anthony, and for the first time, he noticed a black, round spot above her left cheek bone. A beauty spot? What was Sophia thinking?
Stewart led Patience away, her gloved hand wrapped delicately around the crook of his elbow. Was it just his imagination, or was Stewart standing straighter than he usually did? Hopefully this charade would be over sooner rather than later. The last thing in the world Anthony wanted was to hurt his friend.
Anthony pulled Sophia aside. “How was her dancing? Will she be able to waltz?”
“She assured me she would.” Sophia looked unconcerned.
“She assured you she would?” Anthony resisted rubbing his face. Tension was building up behind his eyes. It was the feeling he would get just before the end of a large land deal for Father. That moment when he was certain everything that could go wrong would. “You didn’t test her? Where would a servant learn the waltz?”
“She said she learned it in the last home she lived in.”
“As a servant?”
“You don’t think servants ever find the time to dance?”
“When would they? And with whom? You think stable hands and valets are interested in the waltz?”
“It really isn’t terribly difficult. Stewart will be able to help her if she is hesitant. As I remember it, he is a terrific dancer.”
Oh, Sophia remembered correctly. Stewart was well known for being light on his feet. Anthony narrowed his eyes at the couple. They had reached the center of the dance floor. Stewart never bothered with perimeters. Whether Patience had been telling the truth about dancing or not, the whole room was about to find out.
Sophia touched his elbow lightly and then pulled away. “I would have pressed her on the waltz, but unfortunately, we had a much more urgent matter to discuss.”
“Such as . . . ?” The tightness behind his eyes intensified. He needed to lie down in a dark room, but it would be hours before he had the chance.
“She won’t lie, Anthony. You’ve picked a maid to pretend to be a lady, and she refuses to lie. She agreed to Mary Smith only because we would be the ones doing the introducing. If someone asks for her name directly, I have no idea what she will do.”
“What?”
Sophia stepped closer, her nose almost in Anthony’s face. “She won’t lie,” she repeated again, slowly. “She claims she isn’t capable of it.”
What the devil had Miss Morgan gotten him into? The music began, and Stewart led Patience in a smooth, soft arc, his hand at her waist and the smile he reserved for his closest friends on his face. If he asked one wrong question . . .
“I’ll have to dance with her the rest of the evening.”
“That would be as good as a marriage proposal. And with your marked attention to Miss Morgan for the past two years, there would be a scandal.”
“We can’t have her dancing with every man in the room. Who knows what she will say?”
“The most you can dance with her without causing an outright scandal is twice. Even twice will get some of these ladies’ tongues wagging.”
“I’ll dance with her twice. If there is some kind of emergency—if someone asks her one too many questions—I will dance with her a third time. At any rate, Miss Morgan wants tongues wagging.”
“You are not being reasonable. You are only to show her interest and ignore Miss Morgan. A scandal would cause the Morgans to turn away from you completely. Not that I would mind, but I don’t want you running from one wrong person to the next. Marriage to a maid would be disastrous.”
“You do know our own mother was a maid.”
“And you know she would be the first person to expect more from you.”
She was right. Sophia was always right. Mother had always wanted him to marry and live well. But he was not well suited to subterfuge. And neither was the maid he had picked to share his role in it. She wouldn’t lie. He finally gave into the pressure and aggressively rubbed his temples. In any other situation, he would have found Patience’s honesty admirable, but not here. Why hadn’t she mentioned her refusal to lie when they were coming up with the plan?
A peal of laughter softly floated to him over the sound of the quartet. Like bells in the wind, it was carefree and cheerful. Certainly enough, it came from his maid. What kind of maid laughed like that? Maids should have nondescript laughs, not the kind that carried across a ballroom like a salty breeze from the ocean.
Stewart and Patience glided across the ballroom in a graceful, easy pattern. His fingers were splayed above her waist, her hand on his shoulder. Other dancers seemed to take care and move out of their way, sensing the superior couple.
“Well she told the truth about dancing, at least,” Sophia said. He had almost forgotten she was there. “She and Mr. Fairchild dance beautifully. And he seems quite taken with her. In the future, you should not bring her to any event where he will be present. I can’t help but think that would be easiest.”
She couldn’t have captivated his friend so quickly, with only one dance. But as the music ended and Stewart led her back toward them, Anthony could see it. The interest and intrigue. A smile passed between them, Patience’s comfortable and inclusive. It spread across her face as naturally as the morning sun spread across his study every day. A maid should not be able to play this part so well. And yet, somehow, the one person in the room who should have been the least comfortable and the most insecure was creating a jealous buzz among the women and dazzling his close friend. He would have to put a stop to that.
***
For a first waltz, Patience thought it had gone very well. She hadn’t danced since her father passed away, but her years of lessons in preparation for coming out had returned soon after taking the first step. It didn’t hurt that Mr. Fairchild was an excellent dancer and conversationalist.
She glanced toward Mr. Woodsworth and his sister. Neither of them was smiling, and she didn’t know why. Truthfully, it had gone quite well. In fact, she would have to thank Mr. Woodsworth for the opportunity of coming to this ball after all. He had seemed so excited about the dress and the chance for her to live like a lady, and she hadn’t fully appreciated it. She did now. Having that first dance in society over with, and with someone who had nothing to gain from her position, was a gift she would have to find a way to repay.
They reached the spot where the siblings were waiting, and she gave both of them her largest smile. “Thank you for bringing me here. Mr. Woodsworth, you were correct. I believe some of my dreams have been fulfilled this evening.”
“You promised her dreams would be fulfilled?” Mr. Fairchild asked. His eyebrows rose, and a comfortable grin spread across his face. “Why have you never mentioned Miss Smith before? She is delightful.” He turned to Patience “I hope you have returned to London to stay. Surely you have more dreams to fulfill.”
“She hasn’t.” Mr. Woodsworth spoke up before she could answer.
“I can speak for myself.”
“Of course you can, but you probably shouldn’t, now should you?”
Oh dear. Mrs. Jorgensen had told him about her inability to lie.
Mr. Fairchild’s smile faltered, and he narrowed his eyes in Mr. Woodsworth’s direction. “Why shouldn’t she speak for herself?”
She laid her hand on Mr. Fairchild’s forearm in reassurance. Both men’s eyes followed the gesture. “Mr. Woodsworth doesn’t trust me to say the right things. But despite what he might consider a flaw, I almost always manage to say the right thing.”
“Is that right?” Mr. Woodsworth asked. The lines about his eyes were deeper than usual, as if all the movement in the ballroom was painful to him. “Then answer this question. Are you in London to stay?”
Patience turned to Mr. Fairchild and smiled. “Whoever stays in London when the air is so unpleasant?”
She turned back to Mr. Woodsworth triumphantly.
“And where do you go for fresh air?” asked Mr. Fairchild. “When you are away from London, where would I be likely to find you?”
Oh drat, a second question. No matter, she could handle that as well. Mr. Woodsworth stepped forward to answer the question for her once again, but she waved him aside.
“I’m afraid when I am outside of London, you are not likely to find me at all. However, if Mr. Woodsworth knows my location and would like to tell you, I will give him my full permission.”
After this was all over, she wouldn’t know Mr. Woodsworth at all. There was little chance he would ever know her location after she left his family’s service.
“So it will be up to Anthony to allow our acquaintance to continue after all.” Mr. Fairchild narrowed his eyes at his friend. Patience shrugged her shoulders. Mr. Fairchild was kind, but there was no way her brother would allow an attachment between the two of them. It was better he knew right away where she stood. She could remain a friend as long as he knew that at some point very soon, she would be gone. Mr. Fairchild glanced back and forth between her and Mr. Woodsworth. “Has Anthony introduced you to Miss Morgan yet?”
“No.” Now here was a subject she was quite ready to speak on. She searched the ballroom even though she had no possible idea what Miss Morgan looked like. “Is she here?”
“She came in just after you and Sophia did,” Mr. Fairchild answered. “I would have thought he would introduce you or at least point her out.”
“I would have.” Mr. Woodsworth’s voice was low and steady. “But you asked her to dance almost immediately after we arrived. I never had the chance.”
“Well, you have the chance now. She is just on the other side of the ballroom speaking with Lord Bryant. Shall we go over and introduce them?”
Lord Bryant? The room suddenly stilled, and people seemed to be falling in toward her. Lord Bryant was here? Her eyes flew to Mr. Woodsworth’s in a panic. He had told her no one of rank would be attending the same social functions as he. What was Lord Bryant doing here?
Mr. Woodsworth glanced between her and the group across the room. His head tipped to one side as he examined Patience’s face. “We don’t need to introduce you if you would rather not,” Mr. Woodsworth said. The deep furrows in his brows reflected concern.
“Oh, now you give her a choice.” Mr. Fairchild shrugged. “Are you certain it isn’t that you don’t want these two charming women to meet?”
“No,” Mr. Woodsworth said. “Can’t you see she doesn’t want to go over there?”
“Mr. Woodsworth is correct.” Patience stepped away from their small group slightly, trying to put Mr. Fairchild in between her and the group on the other side of the room. “I do not. In fact, I would rather not stay any longer.”
“Not stay any longer?” Mrs. Jorgensen asked. “Whatever did we come for? You haven’t even danced with Anthony.”
“And I do want to dance with Mr. Woodsworth. Tr
uthfully I do.” Patience’s heart was reacting funny to Lord Bryant being across the room. She hadn’t seen him since she was a young girl, but he was unmistakable, even from across the room. She scooted so she was slightly behind Mr. Fairchild. “But more than that, I would like to leave.”
Mr. Woodsworth rubbed his temples. She didn’t blame him. She wasn’t helping at all. After he and his sister had gone to so much trouble.
“Miss Smith—” Mrs. Jorgensen began.
“No, it is fine,” Mr. Woodsworth interrupted his sister, dropping his hands to his sides and resuming his serious nature. He spoke softly, perhaps so Mr. Fairchild wouldn’t hear. “We can leave. There is a decent chance we should never have come. We will leave together, and perhaps that will be good enough.”
Mr. Woodsworth glanced over to Miss Morgan, and for the first time, Patience truly looked at her. She was beaming at Lord Bryant. Her hair was perfectly styled and her mouth turned up in a pleasant bow. She wasn’t militaristic like Mrs. Jorgensen. She seemed soft and sweet. This was the woman Mr. Woodsworth had spent two years faithfully courting. Mr. Woodsworth seemed to be the type of man that would be happier married than unattached. The deep lines in his face made more sense now. What would it be like to try for years to convince a family you were worthy of their daughter?
What was wrong with the Morgan family? Couldn’t they see that Mr. Woodsworth was upstanding? True, he wanted to marry their daughter partially for her position in society, but most families wouldn’t consider that a flaw. And he thought she, Patience, was competent. When the one person in the world who thought her competent was asking for her help, there was no possibility of refusal. At least not when it was in her power to help.
“I’ll do it.” Patience sighed. “One dance, and then we leave together with your sister. It will have to be enough for today. I promise you two dances next time we have the chance.”
“Are you certain?” Mr. Woodsworth asked.
