“Yes,” she agreed with delight, spinning to Arthur to kiss his cheek before she turned to the files with anticipation.
“And I would invite you both to dinner this week, at your convenience,” Carruthers said. “I regret that I have been remiss in arranging such an event, though truly, I have relied heavily upon Patience to manage the house since her sister’s marriage. All is less organized in her absence, to be sure.”
She turned to Arthur, her eyes alight. “We should be delighted, Papa.”
“Please choose the date,” Arthur said. “We are at your disposal, sir.”
He watched the pair as he considered what he had just learned. Patience had managed her father’s household. Arthur felt foolish for not guessing as much sooner. She was sensible and organized, and probably had managed the house effortlessly. Patience would find it doubly challenging to be beneath Lady Beckham’s thumb after being the one to make choices.
Yet he could not finance the publishing venture and the establishment of a household at the same time. Those of his acquaintance who found themselves in debt entered that state due to an excess of ambition and a failure to accommodate unexpected expense. He would ensure the stability of the publishing endeavor first. If the books succeeded as they hoped, they might establish their household in a year or so.
He would also continue to gamble, in hope of giving Patience her wish sooner.
* * *
Dame Fortune abandoned Arthur,just when he believed he had greatest need of her favor.
He returned to the gaming tables on Monday night, even though it was not likely to be an evening with high stakes. Enduring another meal with Lady Beckham, who made no effort to hide her disdain for Patience, had only strengthened his resolve to arrange an escape.
The difficulty, as ever, would be funds.
If he left the house in Berkley Square, he could not rely upon any financial support from Lady Beckham. There might be some, but equally, there might not be. At the same time, he was aware that those of his acquaintance who ended up in debt found that path by pursuing too many options at the same time. Given his preference, he would keep the focus on the publishing venture to ensure its success.
But that might mean several years in Lady Beckham’s domain. Could Patience endure it? Would the older lady’s view soften? Arthur preferred to have choices, so he returned to the tables with hope in his heart.
His desire was not to be fulfilled. The cards had turned against him with such vigor that his prospects on this night were abundantly clear. He lost ten pounds only before he left, waving off the heckles of his companions that he was distracted by his new obligations of matrimony, and returned home.
His spirits lifted as the hackney approached the house. There was a light in the window of Patience’s chamber, and Arthur knew who he most wished to see.
* * *
Patience was becomingconvinced that she would lose her wits in this house, for lack of anything of merit to do. She had never been idle and it was not a condition she welcomed.
Though once she would have been enthusiastic at the opportunity to read to her heart’s delight, several days of such activity fed her impatience to be useful. She knew that she would visit Mr. Fanshawe with Arthur on Wednesday morning, but that appointment seemed an eternity away.
Arthur had departed for his club after dinner and Lady Beckham had retired, leaving Patience to wander about her room, talk to the cats, and read.
It was not long before she heard a cab halt before the house. She wondered who might visit and peeked out her window, only to see Arthur himself approaching the steps. He glanced up and waved to her with his usual flair, an indication that nothing was amiss.
Still. Why was he home so early? It was scarcely ten o’clock.
She heard his steps on the stairs, his cheerful greeting of Stevens, and the closing of his own chamber door. When he rapped upon the adjoining door, she smiled and could not open it with sufficient speed. He had only shed his hat and gloves, his haste to reach her apparent. He murmured her name, stepped into her room and caught her in his arms, bending to kiss her so thoroughly that she was left breathless.
“I feared you might be asleep,” he confessed finally.
“I am not tired.” She sighed and chose to tell him more. “I do so little each day, after all.”
He nodded and she noted that he did not progress toward the bookcase, to add to the sum hidden in the book-that-was-not-a-book.
“Did you not triumph tonight?”
He laughed a little. “Not at all. I chose to leave rather than linger.”
“You said before that gambling was all mathematics.”
“And so it is. Would you like to see?”
When Patience nodded, he caught her hand in his and led her back into his own room. Taylor was there and took his jacket, the fire having already been stirred to life. Arthur dismissed his valet and guided Patience to a small table of the sort used for games. There were drawers in two sides of it and a chequered board inlaid in its top, made of polished squares of ebony and ivory. He removed a deck of playing cards from one drawer and shuffled them deftly even as he took the seat opposite her.
