by Esther Hatch
“It is hardly a name fitting a maid.”
“What are you getting at?”
“Nothing. If a pretty maid wants a pretty name, I suppose it is none of my business.”
“True.” Finally Lord Bryant had said something Anthony could agree with. “It is none of your business.” He didn’t like the way he was looking at Patience though. If Lord Bryant had felt comfortable asking her to serve them tea, what else would he feel comfortable asking her? As a servant, she would have little recourse other than to do what she was asked. She had done everything Anthony had asked her to do, and even a few things he hadn’t.
“How would you like your tea?” Patience poised over Lord Bryant’s teacup.
“Strong.”
She nodded and carefully lifted his cup and poured. Her hand was steady and her face delicately bowed. Mr. Woodsworth had seen high-ranking ladies pour tea with less decorum than Patience. Would she ever cease to amaze him?
“I don’t mean to be derailed by a pretty face,” Lord Bryant said. “Although it does seem to happen to me quite often. We were speaking of Miss Smith.”
Miss Smith? Surely he knew. A blonde wig and a beauty mark couldn’t hide Patience’s voice or mannerisms. Mr. Woodsworth knew some men who never even glanced at servants, but Lord Bryant had more than glanced at Patience. “We were, and as I told you, I don’t have an address for her at the moment.”
“That is unfortunate. I have news for her. Of her brother.”
Patience’s hand paused for a moment at that, and the tea stopped pouring. Patience had a brother? Anthony didn’t even know anything personal about her, other than that she had a dog named Ollie. The only time she had mentioned her brother was when speaking of her name. Anthony had practically forgotten he existed. When she had come into his study, he had the distinct impression that she was all alone in the world.
A flurry of impressions of his maid flashed before his eyes, including her absolute insistence on wearing a disguise. She had never actually wanted to go out in society, and although she had been insistent on him delivering reports of men much higher in standing than he was, she never actually wanted to spend time in high society.
Had she worked for Lord Bryant before coming here? Lord Bryant must know it was Mary Smith standing next to him. But she wouldn’t have been Mary Smith if they had met before she came here. How much did Lord Bryant know about Patience?
“I haven’t met her brother.”
“For someone who claims to be a good friend, you know surprisingly little about Miss Smith. You don’t know her whereabouts, and you don’t know her family.”
“And how do you know her brother?”
“I know him as well as I know anyone, I suppose, which is to say, not very well. But we spoke of him at the picnic. She mentioned his name, and I thought she might like to know that he is going to be back in London very soon.”
The sugar tongs clattered to the tea tray. A sharp intake of breath from Patience made him wish she could do a better job at acting. If Lord Bryant had asked her about her family, she would have answered him honestly. Her propensity toward truthfulness was always at the front of Anthony’s mind in meetings like these. The last thing he needed was for anyone in London to find out she had been pretending to be a lady. She would never find work again.
“I will have Mrs. Jorgensen send her a note.”
“Ah.” Lord Bryant flashed him a brilliant smile. “So Mrs. Jorgensen knows where she is?”
“I suppose so.”
“Why didn’t you just say that in the first place? It would have saved me a lot of trouble.”
Lord Bryant had shown no sign of recognizing his maid, and yet nothing about this conversation added up. Why had Patience mentioned her brother’s name to Lord Bryant but never to Anthony? They had only walked that one time together, yet Lord Bryant knew more about her than he did? And for that matter, if she had been left alone with Lord Bryant in his study, would she have been the same outspoken, brazen woman she had been with Anthony? His stomach churned, and the sour smell of tea invaded his senses. He would need to ask Mrs. Bates to check the stores. Something must have happened to spoil this batch of leaves.
There was a soft knock at the door, and Mr. Gilbert stepped in. “Pardon me, but Mr. Stewart Fairchild is here to see you. Shall I send him in?”
Patience grabbed the hem of his sleeve. Her eyes were wide, and she shook her head. He had the sudden desire to wrap her in his arms and pull her away from everything. What had he gotten her into? He detested Lord Bryant for the ways Anthony imagined he would take advantage of a maid like Patience, but he had done nothing to help her himself. As an employer, he never should have put her in the position she was in now.
“No,” Anthony said without taking his eyes off Patience’s. He hadn’t looked at her in two days—not truly. Her hazel eyes stared up at him in pure panic. “Tell him he will have to come another time. I am not receiving visitors today.”
Stewart’s laugh echoed from the foyer into the room. “There is a carriage outside. I know you are accepting visitors.”
Patience was pulled from his side in a flash. Lord Bryant practically dragged her to the fireplace, where he kicked up some soot, grabbed his handkerchief, pressed it into her hands, then pulled up her hand to cover her face. Once her face was covered, he pushed her shoulders down so she would be hunched over. Patience’s perfect posture, so unlike any maid he had ever known, was gone, replaced by a coughing, hunched-over young maid only recognizable by her hair. But her hair was the one thing Anthony had disguised.
It all happened so fast that by the time Stewart walked in through the drawing room door, there was no chance he would recognize Patience. Instead, he saw Lord Bryant patting the back of an unknown maid.
Lord Bryant knew exactly who Miss Smith was. His bland face and casual air had been calculated. Blast, but he had been good at that. What else was Lord Bryant pretending?
“Sorry to barge in, Anthony, but you have ignored one too many letters.” Stewart stopped upon seeing who was in the drawing room. “Lord Bryant?” Stewart raised his eyebrows and paused only a few feet inside the door.
Lord Bryant pushed Patience forward to the door but not before whispering something in her ear. Her eyes widened, and she turned to face the baron, staring straight into his face. He only gave a brief nod. She continued coughing as she walked past Stewart. She wouldn’t meet his eyes, and her face was still covered by that blackguard’s handkerchief. She made it out of the room without Stewart’s notice.
Lord Bryant pulled out a second handkerchief. How many handkerchiefs did the man carry? He must never know when he needed to console a parcel of women.
Bryant covered his own face and let out one decisive cough. “I’m afraid it is my fault Mr. Woodsworth refused to admit you. No need to disparage your friend.”
What did Lord Bryant mean by that? Anthony was used to being in complete control in his home, and yet, the moment Lord Bryant stepped into his house, he felt the strangest feeling. He didn’t know what was going to happen next or how to respond to whatever it was. “I came to inform Mr. Woodsworth of some terrible news regarding a close friend of his.”
“Which friend?” Stewart stepped closer to Lord Bryant. Mr. Gilbert hovered by the door. Typically the butler would have left by now. It seemed everyone was interested in what Lord Bryant had to say, including Anthony.
“I don’t think you would have known her, as she was hardly ever in town.”
Anthony had half a mind to stop Lord Bryant, but he was quite certain he knew what the Lord was going to say next, and as much as he hated to admit it, Lord Bryant was blasted right.
“Which friend?” Stewart’s voice was almost a growl. “What has happened?”
“Her name was Miss Smith.”
“Was?” Stewart dropped to one of the seats.
�
�Yes, I am afraid she has died.”
“But how?” Stewart’s head fell into his hand. “She was so young, so vibrant.”
“She was, wasn’t she?” Lord Bryant shook his head in convincing sorrow. How did he do that? Pretend so well. “I’m afraid she was bitten by a snake.”
“A snake? Here in London?”
“Yes, multiple snakes actually. She might have survived one bite, but she happened upon a nest. Quite unfortunate.”
“Anthony, is this true?”
Anthony schooled his features to match the baron’s. Sadness, despair even. He had just lost a dear friend. “Lord Bryant has no reason to lie about such terrible news. I’m afraid Miss Smith is indeed gone.”
“I haven’t seen it in the papers. A death like that would be in the papers.”
“She has close family that are quite important,” Lord Bryant said. “I can guarantee you won’t hear about it in the papers. Not when she died in such a horrific way. They would never allow it.”
“Anthony never mentioned her family.”
“I’ve never known a Woodsworth to remark on connections,” Lord Bryant responded. “Indeed, the higher the connection, the more certain he wouldn’t mention it.”
That sounded almost like a compliment, although Anthony would never again trust anything the lord said, having seen his deceit so smoothly handled this morning. The only snake involved with Mary Smith was sitting in this room.
“I’m sorry to be the bearer of such bad news, Mr. Woodsworth. Please send my condolences to Mrs. Jorgensen as well. I know she was close to Miss Smith. It is a cruel world that allows such a vibrant soul to touch your life, only to be snatched away.” Lord Bryant’s facade melted for a moment, his face suddenly stern and commanding. “But nevertheless, that is exactly what has happened. And it is best for all if you just forget the time you spent with her. She is gone and will no longer be a part of your lives.”
Lord Bryant tipped his head, and with a good day, he strode out of the room.
Stewart was in a daze but managed to shake his head at the departing baron. “What stuff and nonsense. Forget the time you had with her. What kind of man gives that advice at the loss of a loved one? Don’t listen to him, Anthony. You may think on her all you want. I will too. I had thought perhaps . . .” Stewart still had a look of complete bafflement on his face, his eyes wide and blinking. “But never mind. It wasn’t meant to be, I suppose. I just had never met a woman who was so enticing. I wish I—we—would have had more time with her.”
“He is right though.”
“Who? Bryant? About what?”
“It is best I forget about her.”
“I just told you that was complete bullocks. Why would you say that?” Stewart stood, crossed the room, leaned down, and put both hands on Anthony’s shoulders so he could examine his face. Anthony didn’t like the way his jaw went slack. “You were in love with her.”
He pushed his friend’s arms away and stood as well. “No, that’s impossible.”
“Anthony, there is no shame in it. I know you have Miss Morgan, but honestly, I don’t think anyone in London believes her family will ever approve of you.”
“No.” Anthony shook his head, suddenly wishing he could run outside for some fresh air. But the air was not fresh in London in the fall, and even if it were, he knew it wouldn’t clear his head. Patience was infatuated with him. Not the other way around. A maid. He couldn’t fall for a maid. He trudged over to the window and looked outside. He couldn’t face Stewart. He needed to marry someone that would make his father proud of him; he was all his father had left. The only son to carry on the bloodline and give his father’s grandchildren—his children—a step up in life so they could attain anything. He pressed his forehead against the glass and breathed deeply through his nose, one thought pressing on his mind.
His father had married a maid.
In the last two days, that thought had invaded his mind over and over while doing the most mundane things: shaving, picking out a jacket, riding in his carriage. His father had married a maid. He was quite certain his father would say that he couldn’t have asked for a better wife.
How important was it to Anthony that he elevate their family? He closed his eyes, seeing Miss Morgan’s name circled on the top of his list. On that paper, she was perfect. But in reality, she had proven herself to be completely unsuitable. Having Miss Morgan as a mother wouldn’t have been an advantage to his children. When Harry and Augusta were with Patience, they came alive. Perhaps not all advantages could be measured as precisely as he liked.
Was it possible for his father to be the one and only shining star in a long line of ordinary, but perfectly happy, people?
Perhaps it was. And it wasn’t the worst fate he could think of. Not if he could share it with someone like Patience. His breath caught, and he suddenly felt the need to sit down.
“Anthony?” Stewart rushed to his side and grabbed his arm. Together they walked to a club chair, and Stewart watched him carefully sit down. “Can I get you anything? Do you need me to call a maid?”
Anthony’s head jerked up faster than he should have let it after the episode he had just had. “No!”
Stewart stepped back, hurt written on his face. And that is when it hit him. Deep inside his chest, the desperate tightening constricted so intensely that his only recourse was to let it out with a strange laugh.
“Perhaps the doctor, then? You are not well.”
Anthony punched the arm of his chair, but there was no strength in it. “I don’t need a blasted doctor, and if you fetch the maid, you will never set foot in this house again. That is a promise.”
“Then tell me something I can do to help you.”
Anthony closed his eyes. There was nothing to be done. Nothing. Lord Bryant—that blackguard—had been precisely right. All that was left to do was forget, whether he loved Patience or not, and he still wasn’t sure. But just a moment ago, it had been an idea worth pursuing. Whether he was willing to marry a maid or not, he had introduced her into society as a lady, and now a dead one, at that. He couldn’t marry a woman who was known as a maid in his household, as a dead woman to his best friend, and as a blonde-haired beauty to Miss Morgan. He couldn’t even court her properly, or at all.
Patience, who sat somewhere in his home at this moment, was as unreachable as the Queen.
For a fleeting moment, a future had opened up before his eyes, one that was filled with laughter, kisses that didn’t take him by surprise, and curly-haired children. But it had been snatched away as quickly as Lord Bryant had pulled Patience away from him when Stewart had walked into the room.
Anthony dropped his head into his hands. “Did you come in your carriage or on horseback?”
Stewart’s answer was slow in coming, as if he felt he needed to speak carefully around Anthony. “Carriage.”
“Take me to an alehouse. I’m suddenly feeling quite thirsty.”
“You never dri—”
A sharp look was all it took to stop Stewart from finishing his sentence. Stewart almost never drank as well, making him the perfect companion to make certain Anthony made it home, no matter what state he was in.
***
Not long after Lord Bryant left, Patience paced back and forth in Mr. Woodsworth’s study. It would only be a matter of time before Mrs. Bates noticed her absence and would send Molly to look for her. But she needed to talk to Mr. Woodsworth. Nicholas could be here any moment, or not for another day or two. But he would be here soon, and she wanted a chance to speak with Mr. Woodsworth before he came.
When Lord Bryant had left, she had met him outside his carriage. He had demanded she let him take her home, but she had refused. Only after explaining that she needed to return to her home with Nicholas for her best chance at not being discovered did he finally condescend to helping her by getting word to Nicholas. She h
ad always planned on telling Nicholas about what she had done. He was the whole reason she had become a maid in the first place.
But once he got here, there would be no goodbyes or thank-yous. She would be out of the home as quickly as Nicholas could drag her.
She wanted to say goodbye. But Mr. Woodsworth was nowhere to be found. After waiting half an hour, she gave up and made her way to his desk. She hadn’t managed to dust it the last time she was here, but it remained clean and organized. Of course. She slid her fingers along the dark wood desk and then pulled out a sheet of paper and quickly jotted down a note for him. Hopefully he would get it before Nicholas arrived.
Chapter 17
The next morning, Anthony counted slowly in his mind as his valet finished brushing off his suit. Had it always taken so long?
Anthony hadn’t actually drunk much the night before. He still didn’t like the taste of ale, and the establishment Stewart had brought him to was sordid and disreputable. He hadn’t finished his first drink before deciding that nothing about the place was going to help him. His mind had been spinning since he realized exactly what he wanted for his future and had also realized how truly impossible it was.
He couldn’t fire all of his servants. They had been with him for years. There was a very real chance that no one would want to associate with him if he married so far below his father’s station. But at some point he would make his own society with friends who didn’t care about his wife’s station in life.
Wife. Every time he thought of the possibility of Patience becoming his wife, an excited confusion filled his head and caused his chest to expand. He had been on the verge of marriage for two years, and it had never brought such feelings to him before.
He shook his head. He was getting ahead of himself. He couldn’t allow himself to hope. There was no clear path for the two of them. Even if he found one, would Patience consent to be his wife?
The image of her pushing aside his writing materials so she could kiss him crashed into his mind.
Perhaps she would.
