by Esther Hatch
Mrs. Jorgensen cleared her throat.
After a moment, Miss Morgan’s eyes roamed the park once again, as they had when they had first arrived. “Ah, it looks as though we are not the only ones who thought today would be a nice day for a picnic.”
Patience tore her eyes away from Mr. Woodsworth’s to find a group of two young ladies and one middle-aged one climbing out of a carriage. Their groom reached for a blanket and was setting up a picnic not far from them.
“Miss Paynter, why are you setting up your picnic so far away when you should join us?” Miss Morgan waved them closer, and the groom looked at the middle-aged woman for her permission. The woman in turn looked at one of the young women, who gave a short nod.
“That is so much more pleasant, isn’t it, Miss Paynter?” Miss Morgan had a genuine smile plastered onto her face. Who was this Miss Paynter? She must be whom Miss Morgan had been looking for all along. What were the chances they would both pick the same spot to picnic? Green Park was large enough that a chance meeting was unlikely.
Miss Paynter looked awkwardly around at the rest of them. No one else had been introduced, and with multiple parties in each group unknown to each other, it wasn’t clear exactly who should be introducing whom.
Finally the older woman huffed. “Miss Paynter, introduce us to your friend, and then we shall all figure out who is who.”
“This is Miss Morgan.” The poor girl looked quite uncomfortable. “And I know the man sitting next to her is Mr. Woodsworth, although we have never been properly introduced.”
“Yes,” Mr. Woodsworth responded, putting the shy young woman out of her misery. “You are quite right. Mr. Anthony Woodsworth, and it is a pleasure to meet you, Miss Paynter. This is my sister, Mrs. Jorgensen, and our friend . . .” He stumbled before saying Patience’s pretend name.
“Mary Smith,” Mrs. Jorgensen finished for him.
The older woman gave a curt nod to everyone. “I am Mrs. Cuthbert, and this is a friend of mine, Miss Diana Barton. She is staying here in London with her brother, but he and his wife are not the type to spend a lot of time at social functions, so it falls to me to play chaperone for a couple of weeks. As if a woman can’t be trusted to walk a few blocks without a meddling old woman to accompany her. But that is the way of the world now, isn’t it?”
“Is your brother Mr. Nathan Barton?” Mr. Woodsworth asked the other young lady.
Miss Barton looked up in surprise. “You know my brother?”
“I knew his wife years ago. We were good friends. And I have invested with your brother. He knows the railroad industry as well as anyone, save Brunel.”
This prompted a discussion about the train system and where Mr. Barton was building his next railroad line. Miss Barton’s knowledge of the industry was markedly more robust than even Mr. Woodsworth’s.
Miss Paynter remained quiet. Mrs. Cuthbert joined in the conversation whenever one of her opinions could be expressed with the complete satisfaction of knowing she was right. Miss Morgan showed no interest at all. She still scanned the park. Perhaps this was not the party she had been waiting for. The location they had picked was actually a rather busy one, and each time a horse and carriage passed, both Miss Paynter and Miss Morgan would glance up expectantly, then back down to their plates. Were they both waiting for another party to join them?
Mrs. Cuthbert steered the conversation excellently in the direction of the two ladies she had come with. “I suppose it is going to fall to me to present you two at court this Season. I’ve already sent my letter in for Miss Paynter.”
“Really, there is no need to do that,” Miss Barton said. “My mother was presented at court, and she can do it. We just haven’t felt the need as of yet.”
“Well, once you feel the need, it may be too late in the Season. It is best just to get it done if you ask me.”
“Truthfully,” Miss Barton said, “I am much too busy to worry about being presented at court.”
What would cause this young woman to be so busy she wanted to put off meeting the Queen?
“Do you mean that railroad stuff and nonsense?” Mrs. Cuthbert said. “Leave it to your brother.”
“I wouldn’t call it stuff and nonsense,” Miss Barton said. Her pleasant voice had an edge of hardness to it. “Nate’s business alone has boomed so much he can’t quite keep up on it. Let alone the Richardson lines.”
“Yes, and I understand that it is noble of you to step in where you are needed. But a woman must be allowed some entertainment.”
“Which is why I came here.” Miss Barton’s voice had returned almost to normal. “Thank you for getting me out of the office. It was starting to feel quite cramped.”
“Well, even if Miss Barton isn’t interested, I am so grateful to you for vouching for me,” Miss Paynter replied. “Otherwise I would have no one. My mother was never presented.”
“It is my pleasure. And it can’t hurt your chances of a good match.” Mrs. Cuthbert nudged Miss Paynter with her shoulder. If Patience had to guess, Miss Paynter already had a certain gentleman in mind.
“A good match?” Miss Morgan said. “You wouldn’t happen to be thinking of Lord Bryant? That wouldn’t just be a good match but a phenomenal one. I think it would take a lot more than an introduction to the Queen if you are planning on setting your sights that high.”
Patience’s stomach went cold. Lord Bryant again? Was there no escaping the man?
Miss Barton’s head whipped around to Miss Paynter’s. “Are you being courted by Lord Bryant?”
Miss Morgan didn’t allow Miss Paynter an answer. “Lord Bryant doesn’t court women.” She snorted. “He has shown interest in you, Miss Paynter, for certain. Even I have noticed it. But everyone knows his interest is always short lived.”
The sound of a carriage approached, and this time, Patience glanced up with the other two women. Surely it couldn’t be Lord Bryant these two women were looking for. It couldn’t. Patience had no idea what Lord Bryant’s carriage looked like, but she assumed it would be much more elaborate than the one that passed them. Perhaps it wasn’t Lord Bryant they were hoping for. Both women looked down soon after seeing the carriage, so whomever they were waiting for must not have been inside.
Miss Paynter wrung her hands together. “Oh, I have no expectations with Lord Bryant, I assure you. He is, however, a good friend.”
This time it was Mrs. Cuthbert who snorted. “Lord Bryant also doesn’t make friends with such beautiful young women as yourself, Miss Paynter, and stranger things have happened. We will just have to see what happens during your first Season.”
A flurry of hoofbeats sounded behind her. Miss Paynter and Miss Morgan both looked up expectantly, and this time they did not glance back down. Miss Morgan’s face blossomed into a smile, as did Miss Paynter’s, albeit a less triumphant one.
Patience leaned toward the basket of food that had been laid out and grabbed a serviette. She covered the lower half of her face with it. Next time she went out in public, she would demand a veil. It must be him. All three women, even the resolute Miss Barton, looked at the man behind her with hesitant expectation. Who else besides Lord Bryant would cause such a reaction?
She heard the creak of leather as a man dismounted from his horse behind her, still out of her sight. It might not be him. It could be anyone. It could be Miss Barton’s brother. Miss Barton looked just as interested in the man behind her as everyone else. Yes, it must me Mr. Barton behind her.
“Well, this looks like a pleasant picnic party.” The voice was deep and masculine with just a hint of humor to it. It had been years since she had heard Lord Bryant’s voice, and although there was a hard edge to it that she didn’t remember, it was unmistakable. Lord Bryant was standing just behind her, and he was about to join them.
Patience coughed into her serviette. Her blonde wig would not hide her face or her voice. If Lord Br
yant told anyone about her being out among society wearing a wig and going by the name of Mary Smith, her reputation would be ruined. He wouldn’t even have to tell anyone. If he called her Lady Patience in surprise, the women of the party would spread the news of her transgression with a fevered frenzy that no gentleman of London could ever accomplish.
“Lord Bryant, what a wonderful surprise.” Mrs. Cuthbert slid to one side, opening up space between her and Miss Paynter. “You must join us.”
“Well, the odds do seem to be a bit too much in Mr. Woodsworth’s favor. And I wouldn’t think he was the type of man to take advantage of that, though I profess I do not know you well. Perhaps I am wrong.”
“Indeed, taking advantage of women is not something I make a habit of,” Mr. Woodsworth said. His voice was lower, and he took his time with his words. Apparently, there was no love lost between the two gentlemen. Patience kept the serviette covering the lower half of her mouth. She slid her body to the side as Lord Bryant sat down. Her thigh brushed up against Mr. Woodsworth’s leg, but she didn’t dare look up to see his reaction. He could scold his bold maid later. For now, she needed to keep her head down and her mouth closed.
Introductions were made, and she was once again introduced as Mary Smith. She snuck a glance at Lord Bryant when that name was mentioned. His head was cocked to one side, and a half smile curved one side of his face.
“Miss Smith, an inspiring name,” was his only comment. After Miss Barton was introduced, Lord Bryant spoke to her. “Any relation to Mr. Nathan Barton, the railroad man?”
Apparently everyone knew Miss Barton’s brother.
“He is my brother. In fact, I know you a little. You were at his wedding,” Miss Barton said.
“Ah yes. I never forget a beautiful young woman. No matter how many years it has been since I have seen her.”
Patience kept her eyes focused down on Mr. Woodsworth’s sleeves, but she was certain Lord Bryant was looking at her.
Miss Barton laughed. “It was only last year, but thank you for remembering. You were at their wedding, and yet you have never come to call, at least not since I have been here.”
It was Lord Bryant’s turn to laugh. “I don’t believe your brother is fond of me, seeing as he once punched me in the jaw.” There were collective gasps around the blanket. Laying a hand on someone of rank was a serious crime. “Oh, don’t get me wrong; I deserved it. And I have learned my lesson. Since that time, I have pointedly refused to kiss any man’s betrothed, at least if that man happens to be in the room.”
Mr. Woodsworth set down his plate of food. “You feel it is better to kiss a man’s betrothed when he is not there?”
Out of the corner of her eye, Patience caught the shrug of Lord Bryant’s shoulders. “It is better for my face, at any rate.”
There was a shift in the blanket. Mr. Woodsworth stood. “I’m going to stretch my legs if anyone would care to join me.”
Patience waited for just a moment to be certain Lord Bryant didn’t volunteer, then she dropped her serviette and stood as well. “I will join you,” she said in barely a whisper.
Mr. Woodsworth held out his arm, and she took it. With her face still averted from the group on the blanket, Mr. Woodsworth led her to the walking path. They stayed in sight of the group, but before long, they were out of earshot.
“I do not like to speak evil of anyone,” Mr. Woodsworth said, “but that Lord Bryant is one of the most despicable men in London.”
Patience wouldn’t call him despicable, but unwelcome, definitely unwelcome. “I would much rather not run into him. That is for certain.”
Mr. Woodsworth stopped and turned to look at her, his eyes full of concern. “Does he bother you so much? I hadn’t thought of that. I’m sure his personality is quite overwhelming to you.”
“It isn’t so much his personality.” She couldn’t exactly tell him she had spent two weeks at his estate while she was still young. It had been a different world then. Nicholas hadn’t yet served in the army. Papa was still alive. Mama was vibrant but not yet silly. Papa had always kept her grounded in reality. Lord Bryant’s wife had been a quiet, pleasant sort of woman, overwhelmed at running the household. That was understandable—entertaining a duke’s family for two weeks would be a daunting task for anyone. Lady Bryant had passed away not long after that. Patience had always wondered what had happened to her, but the news of her death was as quiet as Lady Bryant had been. After only a few weeks, it had seemed as though Lord Bryant, as well as all of London, had forgotten her. “I would just rather not be in the same party as him.”
Mr. Woodsworth sighed. “That is going to be difficult. Miss Morgan plans to spend as much time in his company as she can. It is part of her plan. That is why we came here today.”
“We came here because of Lord Bryant?” Patience stopped walking. Her hand around Mr. Woodsworth’s arm jerked forward with him, pulling him to a standstill as well. He spun to look at her, and she took one long, deep breath. “And the ball. Was it a coincidence that he was there as well?”
“No, Miss Morgan is tracking his schedule. She would like her parents to worry that she is taking a liking to him, then feel that I am a much better choice.”
Patience shook her head. The one man in society she wanted to avoid, and he was the one man Miss Morgan was planning their events around. “Her parents aren’t here, so how is this picnic helping with that plan?” Although quite a distance away from them, she could see that Miss Morgan was leaning forward, putting fruit on Lord Bryant’s plate. Echoes of her laughter floated down the path and through the trees until it found them.
“Fortunately for us, Miss Paynter and Lord Bryant decided to meet in a busy part of the park. Word will get back to her parents.”
“Miss Paynter? How did you know Miss Paynter would be here?”
“She is Lord Bryant’s latest passion. You didn’t know?”
She had been in mourning for two years and then had gone right into service as a maid. “How could I possibly have known that?”
“True.” Mr. Woodsworth turned his head to glance back at the picnic, his frown lines as deep as she had ever seen them. “I must admit it is nice to be in the company of a lady that isn’t keeping tabs on Lord Bryant.” Mr. Woodsworth seemed to dislike Lord Bryant as much as Miss Morgan liked him. Which—based on the way Miss Morgan leaned into Lord Bryant—was a lot.
And Mr. Woodsworth had called Patience a lady.
Patience smiled and pretended to inspect the picnic party as well. “He is rather good looking, isn’t he?”
“Stop it,” Mr. Woodsworth said, but his frown lines were no longer so deep.
Instead Patience gave an exaggerated sigh. “His shoulders are so broad though. How, exactly, am I supposed to ignore that?”
“I have broad shoulders, but no ladies seem to notice them.”
Mr. Woodsworth had straightened to his full height. And he was right; his shoulders were broad. He was thicker than most gentlemen, no doubt resembling his father, who had started his army career as a grenadier. The main requirement for that job was size.
“I daresay your shoulders are even more broad.”
“And yet you have never mentioned them.”
Patience raised her eyebrows. This was a side of Mr. Woodsworth she hadn’t seen. He could be playful, then. She never would have guessed. “I didn’t think it was proper of a maid to mention them.”
He leaned forward until his face was only inches away from hers. The trace of a smile was on his lips. He raised one finger as if to touch the tip of her nose but stopped himself just before he did. He cocked his head to one side and scrunched his face together. “I don’t think of you as a proper maid.”
She couldn’t help but laugh. She tried to catch it in her throat but to no avail. He didn’t know how correct he was.
At the sound of her laughter, Mr. Woodswor
th’s eyes found her mouth, lingering there longer than they should have. He was leaning down and standing so close that the petticoat under her dress was pushing back behind her slightly. His eyes roamed her face for a moment and then slid down her throat. She opened her mouth to say something, anything, but her voice was caught by his nearness. When his eyes found their way back to hers, they were almost violet in color. She snapped her mouth closed but couldn’t make herself step away from him.
He didn’t have that problem. “Sorry.” He shook his head and retreated one step back, his face neutral.
Whatever it was that had made him inspect her face so thoroughly was gone. Patience’s breathing returned to normal, normal enough at least. He was most likely just assessing that beauty spot. Her hand rose to touch it. It wasn’t out of place. At least no more out of place than usual. Why had she allowed Mrs. Jorgensen to add that feature? She had said something about making one strong feature that people would remember more than anything else, so that when they recalled Patience’s face, that beauty mark, rather than her natural features, would be the predominant image to come to mind.
Patience cleared her throat. “Perhaps it is the way Lord Bryant carries himself. Fiancées everywhere must be trying to find excuses to be alone with him.”
Any traces of playful Mr. Woodsworth disappeared. He looked back at Miss Morgan, who was once again leaning forward, handing Lord Bryant a serviette. “That would be more entertaining if it weren’t perhaps true.”
She shouldn’t have said that. Anything would have been a better choice to take attention off of her beauty spot. She wanted the happy Mr. Woodsworth back. “I don’t presume to know Lord Bryant or you very well, but Miss Morgan would be a fool to choose him over you. Not only is he not interested in her, but he probably has no idea how to light a fire.”
Mr. Woodsworth chuckled. He took one last glance at the picnic party and then turned and held his arm out to her. She took it, enjoying the warmth of his large frame.
