“I am a great admirer of constancy, sir.”
The older man met Arthur’s gaze again, even as he nodded. “I would ask for an understanding of your financial situation, sir, and please understand that I will seek the counsel of the Duke of Haynesdale in this matter. He is more familiar with the reputations of the affluent than I might ever be. I know only that your mother is a reliable client here.” He dipped his quill again. “Perhaps you might give me your address, that I could write to you once my researches are complete and my decision made.”
“Of course,” Arthur said, providing the address in question. “I would obtain a special license that the festivities might not be delayed, sir. My mother, I expect, will wish to host the wedding breakfast.”
Carruthers glanced up, his gaze fixing upon Arthur for another long moment, then nodded once before returning to his notes. “I will keep that detail in mind, sir.”
* * *
Patience was late arrivingat the shop, for Prudence had taken forever to dress and the sisters were to ride together. She was out of breath when she burst through the doors, only to find that Mr. Beckham had already departed. The shop was filled with whispers about his presence and speculation upon his business with her father. She bade herself not show any disappointment.
Her father stepped out of his office then and fixed her with a look that could only mean one thing. She was summoned to give an accounting. She took a fortifying breath, knowing that no fiction would satisfy her father, and strode to his office with apparent confidence.
She was well aware of Prudence and the other women watching her go.
Her father nodded and she closed the door behind herself, remaining standing before his desk. He was too serious for Patience’s peace of mind.
“What did he offer you?” he asked softly.
“I beg your pardon?”
He removed his glasses. “It strikes me, my dear, that as much as I appreciate your many assets, a man like Mr. Arthur Beckham would be unlikely to perceive them at all. He is a man much taken with foolish beauties, with feckless activities like racing and gambling, and with the indulgence of his own pleasures. While he might be momentarily intrigued by a young lady who chastised him, simply for the novelty, I cannot imagine that a match between two such would be a success.”
Patience might have argued but her father raised a finger, indicating that he would continue. “Neither can I believe that you, a woman of splendid good sense, would be beguiled by such a man or perceive there to be any advantage in agreeing to be his bride. Therefore, it follows that there is an element missing from this equation, one that I do not as yet know.” He sat down, templing his hands before himself, and waited for the surrender of that detail.
The truth would not aid Patience in the least.
But perhaps part of the truth would suffice.
She took the seat opposite her father. “I began to think recently, Father, of what my life would be in your absence,” she began, which was not entirely false. “It seemed to me that as long as you are hale and I live in your house, that all is well. To be sure, that is why I have not thought about marriage in the past. But in your absence, Papa, my home would be with Catherine, if she can welcome me, or with Uncle Richard, so long as he lives.” Patience frowned. “I cannot expect the baron to offer me shelter if he becomes a widower, nor is it reasonable to expect my cousins to gladly welcome me.”
“You imagine many misfortunes, my dear.”
“And I would hope that none of them ever come to be, but I would be prepared for the worst.” She met her father’s gaze and found understanding there, as well as compassion. “I wish to choose, Papa, to ensure my own future, and no sooner had I decided as much than Mr. Beckham presented his suit.”
“Do you not find him a foolish wastrel?”
“I think he likes to let people believe he is one. I am not convinced that is his true inclination.”
“You would be financially secure, as his wife and even as his widow.”
“Yes. That is the greater concern, Papa.”
He held her gaze for a long moment, as if sensing that there was more to the story. “And what will you do as his wife? Will you join him at revels and become as dissipated as he?”
Her father’s disapproval of that possibility was clear.
Patience shook her head. “No, Papa. I will be as ever I was. I will read and I will live respectably, and maybe, my husband will be tempted to join me.”
Edward Carruthers smiled slowly, then nodded approval. Patience sank into the seat opposite him as he donned his glasses again and drew a sheet of paper toward himself. He dipped his quill. “I thank you for that reassurance, Patience. You should know that Mr. Beckham has asked me for a list of books that he might read, the better that you might have common ground.”
“Oh!” Patience thought this a very promising sign.
Her father, of course, had already compiled the list and handed it to her. She was so busy reading it, taking note of favorite titles and unexpected inclusions, that she almost missed her father’s next words.
“All that remains is to seek the advice of the Duke of Haynesdale, and I will write to him immediately.”
Patience frowned as she watched her father’s quill sweep across the page. “But what interest might his grace have in this matter, Papa?”
