Arthur frowned. He was more serious than she had ever seen him. “Every person has something he or she cannot abide, and thus that person cannot be blamed or chastised for acting in accordance with something key to their nature. The viscount, for example, had an aversion to a title passing out of use. He was a great advocate for the merit of the aristocracy and I believe he felt it as a personal blow when a nobleman died without issue. His wife’s younger brother was notoriously unhealthy as both a child and youth, but was the sole male issue of the earl. Arthur was the earl’s only grandson, and thus, by the viscount’s reasoning, no price was too high to pay to ensure that there was an heir and a spare. In time, I am proud to say, he came to favor me, the spare, over the heir.” He smiled a little. “I liked him well. He was a better father than my own had been.”
There was a hint of more than he had thus confessed in that last declaration.
“Did you ever return to the village where you were born?”
“Once,” he admitted heavily. “I made a detour on an expedition, and asked after Charles Leighton. I offered a tale that his services were recommended to me by an ostler of no name.”
“Your father tended horses?”
“When he was sober. He had a touch with them.” He cleared his throat and straightened. “They said he had died some years before, just after his wife.” He looked away, blinking back tears that seemed to have surprised him.
“I am sorry.”
“As was I.” He stirred himself. “But, to return to the tale and its import.” He met her gaze, his own solemn. “We were speaking of faults that people cannot tolerate. You, by your own admission, cannot abide deception. Whatsoever you did in response to learning of a falsehood told by someone within your acquaintance would be completely justified, especially as you make no attempt to hide your feelings about dishonesty.”
She parted her lips to speak, but he silenced her with a touch. “Patience,” he entreated. “This confession is long overdue. Let me finish it.” His gaze was so intense that her mouth went dry, but she nodded. “I would not blame you for spurning me now that you know the truth,” he continued with quiet heat. “You are wedded to a man long dead, and if you chose to step away from me now, all fault would be mine. If it is of any import at all, impulse led me true, for I soon fell in love with you.” He smiled wryly. “Perhaps it is a kind of justice for me to lose my heart to a woman who thinks love a folly for others. Know that I would do whatsoever is in my power to ensure your every happiness.”
Patience’s heart contracted so hard that it hurt. She wanted to reassure him in the most fundamental way possible, but there was a crisp knock at the door to her chamber before she could speak.
“Sir?” Stevens said from the corridor. “Lady Beckham requests your presence in the breakfast room with haste.”
Patience met Arthur’s gaze. He placed his lips against her ear and murmured. “Go.” The single word was filled with insistence. “Go to your father’s house. Take the book manuscript and go as quickly as you can. I will tell Stevens that you mean to make a visit and will order the carriage.”
“But what is wrong? Why does she summon you at this early hour?”
“The earl granted me this injury,” he said with quiet resolve. “That was the beginning and this will be the end. Arthur Beckham is finished.”
Patience wanted to argue with him but he rose with purpose and strode toward his own chamber. “Go,” he mouthed from the threshold of the adjoining door and Patience could not ignore his urgency. He closed the door behind himself and she heard him ring for Taylor.
Go.Patience would leave this house without regrets, but she would not abandon her husband.
She loved him, no matter what his name, and she knew they would find a future somehow.
Patience donned her coat and bonnet with haste, shoving the book manuscript into the bag Catherine had given her. She took the gems Arthur had given her, too. She was tugging on her gloves when she noticed the two pairs of eyes watching her from the rug before the fire, one pair green and one pair golden.
If Arthur was to be cast out of this house, Patience must take everything of import to him. She could only hope that Lady Beckham would send her books to her, for they were too heavy for her to carry. If not, Amelia would cherish them in her absence.
The satchel was a generously proportioned one. Patience put a shawl on top of the book manuscript and beckoned to the cats. They seemed to understand for they leapt into the bag, one after the other. Patience stroked their heads, urging them to lie down. “Quiet for just a moment,” she urged them, then strove to carry her bag as if it weighed nothing at all.
She met Arthur in the corridor and he lifted the bag from her hands gallantly. He wore his navy jacket and buff breeches, his boots polished to a gleam once more. She could not help but note his eye, but otherwise, he looked as perfectly groomed as ever. He certainly showed no lack of confidence. “Stevens, my wife will consult with her father this morning. Please have Morris take her to Golden Square in the coach.”
“But, of course, sir.”
Patience drew him to a halt and met his gaze steadily. “I hope you will join us shortly,” she said and saw his slight inhalation.
“I would not impose…”
“But you must. My father will so enjoy your company.” She pressed his arm when he did not reply. “Promise me.”
Their gazes locked and held for a potent moment, then he smiled and nodded. “As you know, madame, your wish is my command.” He spoke lightly but she trusted him to keep his pledge.
Within moments, Patience was on her way out of Berkley Square. She placed the bag on the seat beside herself and opened it, so both cats peeked out.
Arthur had said she would consult with her father. That had been an excuse but it was precisely what she would do. She would tell her father everything, and together they would seek a solution.
He loved her. Patience gripped her hands together and felt her cheeks heat with pleasure.
There had to be a way.
