CHAPTER12
“Of course, we must hear you play,” Lady Beckham said when the horror of dinner was finally over.
Patience could have groaned aloud, but instead she smiled. “I fear, Lady Beckham, that my playing will not be of the excellence to which you are accustomed.”
“You do play?” that lady said, gesturing to the pianoforte.
“Of course, but my sister Prudence is infinitely more talented and dearly loves to play. It is a matter of routine in my father’s house that she plays when we are to be entertained.” Patience took a seat in the drawing room as far from the instrument as possible. She also chose a chair that was not positioned to dominate the room, as she feared that might be taken as a challenge.
Lady Beckham paused beside a fine card table. “We have not the numbers for whist or quadrille, though I suppose Miss Granger could be prevailed upon.”
Miss Granger, Patience knew, was the governess who tutored Amelia. She scarce had time to marvel at the magnitude of this concession before Lady Beckham continued.
“Her father was a baronet by birth, after all, though the lands were lost when he was only a child.” She fixed Patience with a stern eye. “Do you play casino?” Patience shook her head. “Piquet?” Again, Patience was compelled to shake her head. Lady Beckham sighed magnificently. “Is there any game of chance you play?”
“As a child, I played cribbage with my grandmother. Though it has been years, I might recall the game with some instruction.”
Lady Beckham turned away. “I am not so aged as that,” she muttered.
Arthur winked at Patience, apparently more accustomed to his mother’s poor humors. “I would wager that Patience and her family are inclined to read in the evening.”
Lady Beckham exhaled and took her seat, the one with the most commanding view of the room. She looked between the two of them, her dissatisfaction clear. Tea was poured for the ladies, a port for Arthur, then the butler vanished quietly. “I do not suppose you have any tidings to share?” she asked Arthur.
“I have been in my chamber all day, Mother, and it is rather early for Patience and I to have any tidings from that quarter to share. I request that you grant us a few months.”
Patience felt her eyes widen that he would speak so boldly but Lady Beckham almost smiled.
“A boy,” she said to Patience.
“I do not believe children are ordered like flowers for the foyer,” Arthur drawled, then his tone hardened. “If and when we are so fortunate as to welcome a child, its gender will have no influence upon our delight.” He sipped his port, his gaze like steel. “Mother.”
Something passed between the pair of them at that last word, though Patience could not explain it. If she had been compelled to try, she might have guessed that Arthur’s mother knew at least one of his secrets. She supposed that made sense, for no one else had known him longer, but she could not help but feel that she missed a pertinent detail.
Lady Beckham turned upon Patience again. “And what will you do, now that you are married, while you await that happy day?”
“I had thought to continue as I have been, if possible. I like assisting clients in my father’s shop.”
Lady Beckham put down her tea so hard that Patience feared for the china. “You intend to work in a shop? Like a clerk?”
“My sister, Baroness Trevelaine, did as much after she was married.”
“The fact that others in your family have no sense of decency does not mean that you should follow their example.”
Patience might have argued in Catherine’s defense, but Lady Beckham continued forcefully.
“You are my son’s wife now, and thus nearly my daughter. I am the daughter of the Earl of Fairhaven and I forbid you to return to such menial labor.”
Patience did not think time spent in her father’s shop was menial or labor. She straightened to defend herself but Arthur spoke first.
“What would you have Patience do?” he demanded. “Visit the sick? Shop for stockings and pastries? Leave calling cards hither and yon?” He yawned mightily, but Patience could see by the gleam of his eyes that he was deadly serious. “I cannot imagine a life more tedious for a clever lady like my wife. Discussing books all day sounds infinitely more fascinating and a better foil for her nature.”
Once again, Lady Beckham glared at him, and once again, he held her gaze as if in challenge.
Lady Beckham took a sip of her tea. “I suppose it would be too much to ask that your wife take an interest in sharing my charitable work.”
“That work is your interest,” Arthur said mildly. “I would not for a moment make any suggestion that might deprive you of its many satisfactions.”
“Arthur!”
