A Proper Charade

by Esther Hatch

  Chapter 23

  Patience paced back and forth in front of the window of their drawing room. Nicholas had gone to see if there was anything he could do to help the situation with Anthony before the Morgans arrived at his home. She should never have allowed him to leave without her. But he had convinced her she shouldn’t be seen in the Woodsworths’ home yet. They still hadn’t figured out what to do about all the servants.

  At a quarter to four, she was ready to order a hansom cab and go to the Woodsworths’ home on her own. As she was putting on her coat, she heard a clamor of horses stop in front of their home.

  She didn’t wait for Nicholas to come inside but met him as he descended from the carriage. He was alone, and he wasn’t smiling.

  “How is he?”

  Nicholas didn’t answer.

  “He isn’t going to get engaged to that Morgan woman, is he? I won’t allow it.”

  “His honor and yours is at stake.”

  “We don’t care about that.”

  “You don’t care about that. The Woodsworth family has risen from nothing. They have worked very hard for every honor they have.”

  “So he is going to marry her?” Patience couldn’t believe it. She thought they had an agreement. He knew he would never be happy with Miss Morgan.

  “He is hoping not to.”

  “Mr. Woodsworth is going into that room right now with the Morgans only hoping not to engage himself to that woman? He doesn’t have a plan?”

  “He had one. It didn’t work out. He has torn apart his whole house looking for a letter.”

  “A letter? What letter?”

  “Supposedly Miss Morgan wrote to him to relieve him of any obligation to her almost three months ago. His memories of that evening are a bit . . . hazy. I believe it has something to do with you. He never truly answered, but he is certain he didn’t burn it, and yet he didn’t file it away either. He has torn the whole house apart looking for it.”

  The world, which had been spinning ever since Miss Morgan had found them in the ballroom, stilled.

  “Did he say which day he lost it?”

  “No.”

  “What made you think I had anything to do with the loss of that letter?”

  “He kept saying things like, ‘I was sitting at my desk, and then Patience came in . . .’ and then he would stop.”

  Heavens above, that was the evening she had kissed Anthony. Her breath came lighter, and the weight that had settled into her stomach lifted. She knew where that letter was. “What time is it?”

  “Five to four.”

  “Go get Mama. We are going to the Woodsworths’.”

  Nicholas furrowed his eyebrows. “You cannot go there. The servants would recognize you immediately. Why, have you thought of something?”

  “Yes, tell Mama to get her coat. I’ll tell you, and then the two of you can go. Please hurry.” Patience pushed Nicholas up the stairs and then watched as he entered the home. As soon as the door shut behind him, she ran to the carriage.

  The Woodsworth servants were bound to meet her sooner or later. She wasn’t about to wait the year or two it might take for Anthony to find them all new positions. That had been a consistent step in almost all of Anthony’s plans. Besides, she loved Mr. Gilbert, and Mrs. Bates was impeccable at her job, even if she had employed an inexperienced maid.

  “Take me back to the Woodsworths’, George.”

  He nodded and helped her into the carriage. But then he stood waiting outside.

  “His Grace will follow behind. You may tell Bert to ready the other carriage.”

  George furrowed his eyes and almost disagreed with her, but something in her eyes must have made him think better of it. George ran to the stables to tell Bert. She just needed him to return before Nicholas realized she hadn’t followed him inside.

  With George’s return, the carriage rolled away from the home without Nicholas noticing. Her poor brother had to put up with a lot from her but hopefully not for much longer.

  They arrived at the Woodsworths’ home to see another carriage parked in front of it. Patience rushed up the stairs. This time, there would be no going in the servants’ entrance. Nicholas and Mama wouldn’t be far behind her, but had she gotten here on time? She knocked.

  The door opened, and Mr. Gilbert opened his mouth and then closed it again. “Patience?”

  “Lady Patience Kendrick, I’m afraid. Is Mr. Woodsworth meeting with the Morgans?”

  “You’ve married?”

  “No, I’ve always been Lady Patience. I suppose you could say I ran away to have an adventure, and my adventure of choice was to serve as a maid in this household.”

  Mr. Gilbert nodded as if that made all the sense in the world, even though she knew it made none. “Mr. Woodsworth is in the drawing room with Miss Morgan and her family. Shall I announce you?”

  “Not quite yet. I need to find something in Mr. Woodsworth’s study. Would you let me in?”

  Mrs. Bates came around the corner with a tea tray in her hands. She caught sight of Patience and nearly dropped her load. Patience ran toward the tray and tried to take it from Mrs. Bates’s hands.

  “Lady Patience,” Mr. Gilbert said. “I can’t have you acting like a servant any longer.”

  At that, the little control Mrs. Bates still had over the tray crumbled, and it crashed to the ground, sending petit fours, sugar cubes, and china crashing to the floor.

  “Lady Patience?” Mrs. Bates sputtered. “Lady?”

  The crash caused a commotion from the drawing room, and only seconds later, Mr. Woodsworth poked his head out.

  “Patience? I mean . . . Lady Patience, what are you doing here?”

  “I came to see if the rugs have been aired.”

  All three of them looked at her as if she was addlebrained. She didn’t blame them, but she didn’t want to waste too much time explaining things, not when Miss Morgan and her family were having a private conversation in the drawing room.

  Mrs. Bates stood stiff and as tall as she could. She would have looked quite composed if it weren’t for the tea things scattered about around her. “We keep to a strict schedule, I assure you. The rugs are aired properly every six months.”

  “I’m not questioning your housekeeping skills, Mrs. Bates. I know they are up to snuff. I just need to know if the rugs have been aired since I left.”

  “Not yet. We are due to air the rugs in February.”

  Patience rushed to Anthony’s study and gasped when she opened the door. Papers were everywhere. Every drawer was opened, every surface covered in letters, ledgers, and receipts.

  Anthony came up behind her. “It is too late, Patience. I have looked everywhere.”

  “So you were just going to marry the woman? Despite having formed an attachment to me? I could ruin your father’s name just as easily as she could.”

  “But you wouldn’t.”

  “Don’t you tell me what I would and wouldn’t do.”

  Anthony leaned forward, the lines above his eyes relaxed slightly. “I would never dream of it.”

  “Good, then as long as you will tell me that you will not, under any circumstances, agree to marry that woman, I will get your letter for you.”

  “You know where it is?”

  “Tell me that under no circumstances would you agree to marry her.”

  “I wouldn’t, no matter if my name gets dragged into the mud, not even if I am called a coward and a dishonorable man for the rest of my days. I could not, not while knowing you are in the world.”

  Patience nodded. She strode over to the thick woolen rug in front of Anthony’s desk and pulled up the corner she remembered sweeping the letter under.

  “Voila.”

  No one said anything. She bent at the waist and looked under the rug. Nothing was there. Not even her lit
tle pile of dust.

  “Patience . . .” Anthony said.

  “No, it is here. I know it is.” She pulled more and more of the rug up until she got to the center, and there, amidst dust and other scraps of paper, was a crumpled letter. She snatched it up and brandished it above her head. It turned out it wasn’t Anthony’s calculations or her brashness that had saved them; it was simply her atrocious cleaning skills. “Is this what you have been looking for?”

  Anthony pulled it from her hands and opened it. He quickly scanned the contents and rushed to Patience, grabbed both of her shoulders, and placed a hearty kiss upon her mouth. Mrs. Bates gasped, and Mr. Gilbert chuckled, but Patience grabbed Anthony by the waist and pulled him back to her.

  He tasted of cinnamon and honey. She pushed her lips harder against his, and then without pulling away, she muttered “What have you been feeding the Morgans?”

  He pulled away from her, his eyes pleasantly hazy. “The Morgans. I had better finish this.”

  “Good luck.” She smiled and placed one more kiss to the side of his cheek for good measure. He leaned forward once again as if he wanted to stay but then shook his head and, while brandishing the letter, returned to the drawing room.

  A loud knock sounded at the front door. “That would be my brother,” she told Mr. Gilbert.

  Nicholas rushed into the room, Mama trailing directly after him. His eyes landed on Patience.

  “See,” Mama said. “I told you she would be fine.”

  “Fine! She isn’t fine. Now every one of these servants knows who she is.”

  “They were going to find out eventually,” Patience said. “Let me introduce you.”

  With each introduction, Nicholas calmed down by increments. Patience knew he would be that way. It was one thing to condemn servants you didn’t know for spreading gossip. It was quite another to see them as real people, and Mrs. Bates and Mr. Gilbert were some of the best.

  “You need to stop running off.”

  “I will.”

  “When?”

  “Once I am married.”

  Nicholas eyed the servants once again. “Nothing has been settled.”

  “It is being settled right now. I found the letter.”

  As if on cue, the drawing room opened. Mr. and Mrs. Morgan’s frowns were as deep and as prickly as the bushes on the side of the Woodsworths’ home. Miss Morgan followed quietly behind them, her shoulders hunched. Patience wasn’t sure what Anthony must have told her, but it didn’t look as though she liked it.

  Miss Morgan’s eyes caught on Nicholas’s boots and then slid up his frame. Immediately she went through a miraculous transformation. She pulled on her parents’ arms. “Your Grace,” she said while performing an elegant bow.

  “Ah, Miss Morgan, wonderful to see you again.” Gone was Nicholas’s stormy attitude. He was actually smiling at the woman.

  Miss Morgan positively simpered.

  After greeting both of her parents, Nicholas bid them farewell. “I hope you shall be great friends with my sister. She is just entering society and could use a companion with your sense of decorum.”

  Miss Morgan blushed and nodded her head. “Of course, Your Grace.”

  “Wonderful. I’m glad we had a chance to chat.”

  The door closed behind the Morgans.

  “A chance to chat?” Patience said. “You can’t be serious.”

  “I told you before she is a handsome woman. Aren’t I right, Woodsworth?”

  Anthony didn’t answer his question. Instead he stepped forward and took Patience by the hand. “I’m not certain I should remark on any woman’s appearance while your sister is in the room.”

  “See, Nicholas,” Patience said. “I told you he was intelligent.”

  “I would never doubt a Woodsworth’s intelligence,” Nicholas said, reaching for Patience hand. “Now let’s go home. Mr. Woodsworth, I will expect you to call on us in a few days’ time. After things have settled down.”

  Anthony cleared his throat. “Actually, I wonder if, perhaps, you would give me permission to speak with your sister alone.”

  “What? Now?” Nicholas asked.

  Anthony stood tall. His eyes snaked over to Patience’s. “Yes.”

  “Already? You are going to skip courting completely?”

  “I’ve had enough courting to last a lifetime. I’m ready to have the woman I love back in my home.”

  Mama sighed heavily, and Nicholas raised his eyes to the ceiling. “Mother, they are speaking of marriage. This is a serious matter.”

  “It is,” Mama said. “But it is also so very exciting.”

  Nicholas shook his head, but he didn’t argue.

  Patience stepped away from her brother and leaned forward, toward Anthony. Their private conversation couldn’t come soon enough. Everyone, including Mrs. Bates and Mr. Gilbert, kept their eyes on Nicholas, waiting for his response.

  “Oh fine.” Nicholas threw his hands up. “Take her to your study.”

  Anthony reached for Patience’s hand. “Thank you,” he said.

  “Oh, and Mr. Woodsworth,” Nicholas stopped him just as they were about to walk away. “You have fifteen minutes before I come in there. I will not have my sister’s reputation marred.”

  ***

  The study was still a disaster. They hadn’t even bothered to lay the rug back down properly. Surprisingly, it didn’t bother Anthony at all.

  He hadn’t planned to do this today. Most of his well-thought-out plans were scattered about the room. In fact, now that his father was to be a marquess, most of his plans would need to be revised. In the meantime, Patience stood there waiting for him to say something. What would be the best way for them to proceed?

  “Lady Patience,” he began but stopped when she sighed heavily. “What?”

  “Patience.”

  “Patience your name? Or you wish I would be more patient?”

  “My name. The last thing you need is to be more patient. We have been patient enough. What were you doing? Formulating a plan?”

  She knew him so well. “I might have been.”

  “I have a plan this time,” she said, stepping closer to him.

  “I would love to hear it.”

  “My plan is for you to propose at least seven minutes before our time is up, so we can use those last minutes alone as an engaged couple before my brother comes barging through the door.”

  “But what if word gets out about you living here?”

  “We will laugh it off, and you may tell anyone you want about how young and silly I was. The worst thing someone could do is demand we get married. I won’t begrudge them that. Even should the queen forbid me to attend some of London’s high-society events, you know I won’t mind that either.”

  “So . . .” It was taking his mind a moment to wrap around what she was saying. “There is to be no plan.”

  “No plan.” She looked at the clock on the mantle. “Except the one where you quickly propose.”

  “Are you certain you want me to do it here? Would you rather go to the library and stand behind the curtain?”

  Patience laughed, and it was bells on Christmas morning and wind chimes in summer. He would never tire of her laugh. He would have to work on his humor, so he could hear it more often.

  “Here is fine. Or over by your desk, where you proposed to me last time.”

  “How many times must a man propose to a woman before she takes him seriously?”

  “Three,” she said. And then she took his hand and led him to the desk.

  He pulled her in the direction of his chair and motioned for her to sit. He knelt in front of her, not because it was expected of him, but because standing didn’t reflect his sincere feelings of underqualification.

  “Lady Patience Kendrick, will you do me the honor of marrying me?
”

  “Yes.” A simple word, but it held endless possibilities.

  They were both quiet for a moment. His eyes shifted to the clock on the mantle. “Eight minutes,” he said. He had exceeded her expectations.

  “Yes,” she said again.

  Patience leaned in toward him. He took both of his hands in hers, rose, and then pulled her to her feet. “I hope you don’t mind if I use all of them,” he said.

  She placed her lips next to his ear. “I would be very disappointed if you didn’t.”

  He dropped her hands and threaded his fingers into her hair at the nape of her neck. “Your hair has driven me to distraction ever since the sun shone through it that first day, when I pulled away the curtain you were hiding behind.” He kissed one curled ringlet. They were much tamer now than they had been at his house. Hair like hers most likely required a maid.

  “We have seven minutes left, and you are going to spend it kissing my hair?”

  Anthony laughed. He lifted her chin and rubbed his thumb over her lips. How often had he dreamed of tasting them in the last three months? His quick kiss before going back to Miss Morgan had only whetted his appetite. There would be no rushed kiss now. He would take all the time he needed to show Patience how much he had missed her and cherished the joy she had brought into his life. “No, I’m not.”

  He kissed her nose first, because he knew it would infuriate her. And then her ears.

  By the time he moved to her eyes, she had put her hands on her hips. “Anthony . . .”

  He had never met someone more inaptly named.

  He moved to her neck, and she stopped complaining. Her pulse, just under her chin, intrigued him. As he traced it with his index finger, she shivered, and he kissed it again.

  He checked the clock. Three more minutes.

  “Are you looking at the clock?”

  “I’m never late. I pride myself in it.”

  She huffed. “How much time do we have left?”

  “Three minutes.”

  “Three minutes! We have—”