“I am uncertain of the propriety of it.” How curious that when she strove to be firm with this man, Patience found herself sounding dull.
Mr. Beckham held up a gloved finger, but she could not avert her gaze from those sparkling eyes. His merriment was ridiculously infectious. Did he always jest thus? Was he ever serious?
She frowned a little more sternly to hide her susceptibility to him.
“I anticipated that you might protest as much,” he said, then turned to beckon toward the door. A young girl in a fine blue-green coat stepped forward and Patience could not fail to note the expense of the garment. Was it silk? It was lovely, to be sure. The girl’s chestnut hair was artfully curled beneath her fashionable bonnet, and a peacock feather was tucked into the ribbon roses on her bonnet. Her eyes were a clear blue, and though their coloring was similar, Patience did not discern a strong resemblance with Mr. Beckham. This was not so curious as she did not resemble Catherine overmuch, but when the three sisters were together, the family connection was often noted. This girl might have been ten or eleven summers of age.
Patience guessed her identity before he spoke.
“May I introduce my sister, Miss Amelia Beckham? Amelia, this is my betrothed, Miss Patience Carruthers.”
Patience curtsied as did Miss Beckham, and they murmured polite greetings as the occupants of the shop stood witness to this introduction. The whispers grew in volume.
“Amelia has a desire to see the Serpentine in the sunshine today,” Mr. Beckham said. “As you might recall, Miss Carruthers, we are recently returned from Venice, so all of London’s pleasures beckon anew.”
“We returned with Arthur’s new cats,” the girl said with a roll of her eyes. She smiled a little, though, and looked toward her brother with a kind of amused tolerance that prompted Patience’s own smile.
“Cats?”
“Two of them,” Mr. Beckham supplied. “Fierce beasts that were in residence at our accommodations in the Serenissima. No one seemed to have a care for them. Though they are quite independent, convinced apparently that they have need of no human care, I could not bear to leave them behind.”
“They are devoted to him,” Miss Beckham whispered and Patience looked between them with surprise. “Perhaps it is because he saves fish for them.”
“Does he?” Patience could readily imagine her betrothed ignoring any rules of the household or expectations of social conduct, but she would not have expected him to be indulgent of stray cats.
“They have no names,” Miss Beckham confessed.
“You claim as much only because you called them all variety of names when they howled all the way home,” her brother added.
“I had no notion it was quite so far from Venice to London.” Her tone was one of dismay but her eyes sparkled, much like those of Mr. Beckham.
Patience found herself biting back a smile.
“They do have names!” her brother protested. “The black one is Tar and the grey one, Feathers.” He winked at his sister. “And they did not complain as much as you did.”
“Arthur!” Miss Beckham protested and he chuckled, uncontrite.
“Those are terrible names for cats,” Patience said without thinking and he turned his merry grin upon her.
“I had no notion there were rules.”
“Protocol, perhaps,” Patience said. “Tradition and expectation. Cats do have a certain dignity that must be acknowledged in their names. The ancient Egyptians held cats in such regard that they had cemeteries for cats and mummified their remains. There are those who suggest that cats were venerated in their society, and certainly they were respected beyond other animals…”
Mr. Beckham eyed her so intently that she fell silent and flushed. “Fascinating. Might I prevail upon you, Miss Carruthers, to see the situation remedied?”
“I shall have to meet them first.”
He laughed at that. “You will!”
“But first you owe me an explanation, Mr. Beckham.”
“Do I?” His eyes gleamed as he leaned closer. “Do you dare to tell me here before so many witnesses, or shall we discuss whatever crime I have committed in the privacy of the carriage?”
Patience flicked a glance at their observers. “Not here.”
His gaze locked with hers and she watched his eyes darken. His voice dropped and her heart leapt as it seemed trained to do in his presence. “A wise choice, but then, you are reputed to be a most clever young lady.”
Patience found herself blushing, a situation that was not improved by Mr. Beckham’s evident satisfaction in her response to his teasing. He watched her, eyes gleaming, with a contented smile and she could only stare back at him as she felt her cheeks heat even more.
