“I would apologize to you, sir, for my doubts of last night,” she said and he stirred.
“What is this?” Arthur mumbled then glanced over his shoulder at her. “Patience?” He pushed a hand through his hair and peered at her, evidently confused by her presence in his chamber. “What time is it?” He collapsed onto the bed before she could reply, his lashes fluttering before his eyes closed once more. In a heartbeat, he was breathing deeply once more.
Had he visited another woman? The very prospect was devastating, but it made Patience realize that she dared not make the same mistake twice.
Whatever he had done the night before, it was time to repair matters between them.
Patience needed that book—immediately. She could only start anew with information.
* * *
The last personCatherine expected to welcome on a Sunday morning—the Sunday morning after her sister Patience’s wedding—was Patience herself.
Her heart squeezed to see that her sister was looking a little saddened and a little stubborn, and guessed that all had not proceeded well the night before. Rhys had noted that he had seen Beckham at White’s, worse, that he had seen the newly married man in discussion with Miss Esmeralda Ballantyne. Catherine urged Patience to join her in the library, where the fire was blazing, and called for tea. The sisters sat opposite each other and Catherine took Patience’s cold hands in her own. She guessed that her sister was not entirely at ease in Beckham’s fine house and had not wished to call for a carriage.
“Tell me you did not walk here,” she said with a smile.
“I did.” Patience took a quick breath. “The rain has stopped.”
In that very moment, the rain began to patter against the window panes again. They both turned to look, then back at each other.
Patience lowered her gaze. “I would ask you for the book, Catherine. Ineedthe book.”
Catherine had no doubt which book her sister meant. But if she was still a maiden, that book’s contents were not appropriate for her to see. “I gave you a passage from it.”
“Which only encouraged me to prompt a disagreement. I must make matters right, Catherine, and you must help.”
“The wedding was lovely,” Catherine said instead of immediately agreeing
Patience nodded, her impatience clear.
“And the wedding night?”
Patience wrinkled her nose. “We argued and he left.” She sipped her tea. “It was my fault but I do not know enough to be sure I can repair matters.”
“You could ask Mr. Beckham.”
“Please give me the book, Catherine, before it is too late.”
“Has he abused you? Has he done you injury in any way?”
“No, he is most gentlemanly.”
“And you like him?”
Patience blushed. “I do. I find him more intriguing than any other man I have met, but I cannot anticipate him, which is most vexing.” She lifted a hand. “I cannot understand why he does what he does!”
“Perhaps that is interesting rather than vexing.”
Patience looked up, consideration in her gaze.
Catherine, of all women, knew that a rocky beginning did not doom a match. Though their match was not consummated, Mrs. Oliver’s book could be of assistance to her sister, just as it had been to herself. “I never told anyone but Rhys spent our wedding night at his club. He did not even come to my chamber to have an argument first.”
“No!” Patience was visibly shocked. “But you are so happy together.”
“It took a year for us to find our way,” Catherine admitted, the memory making her more confident of her decision. “And it was the early pages of that book that assisted us.” She rose and retrieved the manuscript of Mrs. Oliver’s book. “It is curious, but I unexpectedly received some additional pages this morning about wedding nights.” She handled the bundle to Patience, hoping she made the right choice. “They are on the top as I have not edited them as yet, much less decided where they should appear in the volume itself.”
“It is a weighty opus.”
