“The pledge was not truly his to make, my dear. You must understand as much. It was a question of honor, and truly, if your Mr. Beckham possessed an increment of honor himself…”
“He is not my Mr. Beckham,” she said through her teeth, the words no less hostile for all their low volume. “That is thepoint.”
“He should have risen to the occasion of defending his uncle’s honor. After all, he might see a fine inheritance and early by so doing. That he did not, my dear, suggests that he is not worthy of you.”
“But I have chosen him,” Felicia said as the door was opened for her. “And I will wed him, or I will ruin him, one way or the other.”
“But my dear,” her father protested as he climbed into the coach himself. “You must see reason…”
Two footmen exchanged a glance and the driver’s brows rose in silent commentary. They all knew that the daughter of the house cared nothing for reason. Her desire was the only thing of import to her, and often to her father as a result.
Not a one of the three men would have traded places with Arthur Beckham that morning, not for any price.
* * *
Prudence warnedPatience that as soon as the news was known, people would come to look at her. Curiosity would bring them to the bookseller to view Mr. Beckham’s unexpected choice of bride. Patience was glad of the warning, but had not believed it, not truly. Even if she had, she would not have expected so very many people to be curious about her.
There was a positive crush of customers outside the shop when the doors were unlocked, more than had been waiting when the third volume of the most recently published popular novel had been published. Patience might have thought it a coincidence, but the vast majority of people were women and they were disinterested in books. Several peered at her, one asked outright about her dowry—another laughed and said Mr. Beckham had no need of it. Patience was looked up and down, and her cheeks burned at half-overheard comments about her clothing. Others speculated upon her choice of assisting in her father’s business and whether that would continue after her wedding vows were exchanged. There was even whispered consideration of how long it might take her to conceive of a son.
“Does anyone here wish a book?” she demanded in vexation. There was a twitter of murmured responses, all in the negative, then a familiar male voice called from the very doors.
“Me!” Mr. Beckham cried. There was a gasp, then the crowd parted like the Red Sea to let him pass. Patience had never seen the like of it, but her betrothed was unsurprised.
He strode directly to her where she stood behind the counter, looking as confident and impeccably attired as ever. He wore a navy jacket on this day and buff trousers, his black boots polished to a mirrorlike gleam. His waistcoat was striped silk and his cravat was ornamented with a large sapphire. There was a pink rose in his buttonhole and a celebratory smile upon his lips, and Patience found her heart taking a skip when he doffed his hat and bowed before her. “Miss Carruthers,” he said in a low purr. “I am delighted to have found you so early today.”
“I was unlikely to be elsewhere, sir.” She noted when she studied him closely that he looked a little tired, though he strove to hide it. “While I might have expected you to still be in a gaming hell.”
“I was for much of the night,” he ceded easily.
Prudence knew her disapproval showed. “How much did you lose? Or is it impertinent to ask?”
“It would be impertinent in any other than my betrothed.” He leaned closer and whispered. “I won,” he confided, eyes shining at his triumph.
“Oh!”
“When the cards favor me, I do not insult them by turning away early. It was the others who called a halt at dawn.” He stifled a yawn, which she thought might have been contrived.
She was itching to ask how much he had won and she realized he knew it. For that alone, she would bite her tongue. “Then I am surprised you are not taking your leisure this morning, perhaps sleeping.”
“When I could savor your company? No, no, Miss Carruthers.” He fixed her with a look that was all mischief. “I did call at Golden Square.”
“Already?”
“Already. The entire day awaits us, for we must celebrate the occasion of our betrothal. There are plans, my lady, to be made and details to be determined.” His eyes widened as if he made a jest and she could not tell how serious he was. Was he drunk? Still drunk from the revels of the night before?
He leaned closer. “I never imbibe when I gamble,” he whispered and she was startled that he read her thoughts so clearly.
Patience eyed him, well aware that everyone in the shop listened avidly. She could not suppress her sense that he teased her. “I thought you wished for a book.”
“I do.” His eyes were sparkling so that they seemed to be brimming with stars. His enjoyment was a sign of their opposing natures. Clearly, Mr. Beckham savored being the focus of attention, while Patience preferred to work quietly and unobserved. She supposed she would have to become accustomed to his flamboyant ways. “Your father has given me a list,” he confessed, displaying the document in question. Patience glimpsed only a few of the titles there in her father’s bold hand. “On this day, choose me a book, Miss Carruthers,” he invited, his words carrying to the most distant corners of the shop. “Perhaps a volume of love poems, that I might read aloud to you as we ride in the park.”
Ladies on all sides sighed.
Patience felt her eyes narrow as she considered the man before her. “I should not ride alone in the park with you, sir, not without a chaperone.”
His eyes glinted and she thought he would note that she had already done as much. She flushed, watched his eyes twinkle, then glared at him.
“Even though we are betrothed?” he asked, instead of reminding her of her earlier concession.
