Amelia smiled at her, clearly delighted, then kissed her cheek. “I can see why Arthur chose you,” she said, then at a call from her governess, spun away.
“You will not rout me,” Prudence whispered from behind Patience. “I insist upon remaining your favorite sister.”
Patience laughed. “We are three already. We can be four.”
“True enough,” Prudence agreed.
Patience watched Amelia leave the shop, deftly avoiding Miss Grosvenor and her friends. The girl had a composure far beyond her own. “I like her.”
“You must if you mean to lend her your own books. You do not even surrender them to me.”
“Because you keep them too long, then pretend they are your own and slip them onto your own bookshelves.”
Prudence laughed, untroubled by her own avarice for books, and the sisters returned happily to their tasks.The Lais of Marie de France. Patience had not read them in a while and knew she did not have a copy of her own. She would take the copy from the lending library home with her, even if it was in French.
CHAPTER8
Arthur slept late on the day of his wedding.
He thought to take only a short nap after another successful night at the tables, but instead, he slept deeply and Taylor had to bodily shake him awake.
It was raining buckets, which Taylor insisted was a sign of good fortune, though Arthur suspected it merely meant the entire party would be wet.
Being late agitated him beyond expectation and he spoiled four cravats before Taylor impatiently insisted upon doing it for him.
“I have more of a flair with a cravat than you,” he complained as the valet deftly knotted this fifth one.
“Indeed, sir, the evidence of your prowess is all around us, flung upon the floor.”
Arthur grinned at Taylor, who was almost his contemporary. “Is a man not allowed to be disconcerted on his wedding day?”
Taylor arched a brow, finishing the knot with a flourish. “I might consider, sir, that such concern could be a portent.”
“Everything is not a portent,” Arthur said with impatience.
“But when a man who is always calm and composed has hands that shake in the morning, he either senses his own doom or has indulged overmuch.”
“Attribute it to brandy, then, Taylor. I am utterly confident in this match.” Despite his claim, Arthur dropped his cufflink. It scuttled under the bed and was unlikely to be retrieved in a timely fashion so he chose another pair.
This vexed him. He preferred the monogrammed silver ones with his sapphire pin.
Taylor gave his boots a last buff and fairly pushed him out the door. Everyone in the household seemed to be waiting upon him, though only one had comments to make upon his tardiness.
“Late, late, late,” Lady Beckham said. “A bad sign for the future, to be sure.”
“Tardiness is not a portent of doom!” Arthur protested. “I simply overslept.”
Lady Beckham arched a brow and he knew that was not the best argument. “Even you know that a match to a tradesman’s daughter is a poor choice, regardless of what you say of the matter…”
“But I like Miss Carruthers,” Amelia protested, winning a smile from her brother.
“As do I,” Arthur said with a surety that made Lady Beckham snort.
“That must explain why you spent the last week avoiding her as if she carried the plague,” she said. “That must explain why you have been celebrating your final days as a bachelor as if you face your death this day.” She fixed him with a look. “That must explain why you slept late as if dreading the planned event of this morning.”
“I mean to become sober and sedate,” Arthur insisted. If she knew the truth of his plan, he would be banished for certain. “One last hurrah hurts no one.”
Lady Beckham chuckled. “Oh, I will enjoy that, to be sure. You, sober and sedate.” She laughed again. “Truly, Arthur, you do not have to wed the girl.”
