“The vicar has arrived, sir,” Wentworth intoned from the doorway. “As have Mr. and Mrs. Carruthers and their sons, along with a generously proportioned hamper.”
“We cannot simply appear and demand a meal,” Aunt Elizabeth declared, hastening forward to take Patience’s hands. “I had two chickens set aside for our dinner and they should not go to waste. I was certain that Mrs. Frobisher would know precisely how best to bring the meal together, for there was no chance of our missing your second wedding within a week, dear. Praise heaven that both matches are to the same man!” She beamed at Arthur, who looked bemused.
Patience heard Prudence come racing down the stairs, for she had been banished from the discussion in the library and was clearly curious. The bell rang again as Catherine and the baron arrived, one of their footmen carrying a flagon of wine into the house and the other delivering a fine fresh salmon. Wentworth directed them toward the kitchen and Patience saw two shadows slip from the library, one black and one silver, as the cats followed the progress of that salmon. There was a veritable crowd in the foyer as everyone greeted each other with the enthusiasm of long lost friends, then a fierce rapping at the door.
“Oh, Mrs. Oliver,” Catherine said. “I thought she had come inside already.”
“Mrs. Oliver?” Patience whispered as Wentworth opened the door to a crooked old lady dressed in the fashions of forty years before, a vast collection of veils hiding her face. She feared she had recalled the name of the author incorrectly, for this lady looked unlikely to have composed such a volume.
“She is the author of the book you intend to publish, of course,” Catherine said. “When we heard from your father today, I thought this an ideal opportunity for all of you to become acquainted.”
“Do not tell me that you are among those families who declined to appreciate spirits?” Mrs. Oliver demanded, peering at the group of them. “After such an impromptu invitation, I should expect at least a glass of ratafia.” She moved closer to Arthur, looking him up and down. “Were you not formerly the son of Lady Beckham, a notorious rake and scoundrel?”
“I am such a wastrel no longer, Mrs. Oliver. My affection for my wife has redeemed me.”
“Ha! It was not your wife, sir, who tamed your wild impulses. It was my book!” The old woman cackled as she headed for the best seat, the plumpest once closest to the fire. “The baroness has told me of its triumph in her conquest.” She settled into the chair, accepted a glass of ratafia, and saluted Patience with such gusto that half of it spilled onto her glove and dress. “We should give a copy to the wife of every rakehell in London, the better to ensure it is favorably reviewed.”
They all laughed together at the notion as she drained the rest of the beverage and set the glass down with a thump. “Now what is this about a wedding? If there is to be one, let it commence, as I am famished.”
Patience and Wentworth directed the guests, ensuring that everyone entered the library for the second exchange of vows, but Patience caught Arthur watching the older lady with a puzzled expression.
“Do you know her?”
He shook his head. “I am certain we have never met, but there is something undeniably familiar about her.”
That mystery would have to wait to be resolved, for the vicar called for their attention. Prudence seized a flower from the hall table and thrust it upon Patience, who faced the man she loved for the second time in rapid succession. Arthur’s gaze flicked to the noisy gathering of guests when the vicar cleared his throat portentously, then met Patience’s gaze again. Goodness, how she loved that he always looked to be on the verge of laughter.
She realized that he was unaccustomed to such a raucous gathering and might have apologized for her family and their enthusiasm, but he shook his head and bent closer. “You bring me another gift, Patience. I had lost my name before you. I had no purpose before you granted me a commission. And I had no family before you claimed my heart and shared yours with me.” His eyes twinkled. “I shall have to live long indeed to have the time to properly demonstrate my appreciation.
“You might begin this very night,” she whispered so mischievously that he laughed aloud. Then they stared into each other’s eyes as they pledged again that their two hearts would be one.
* * *
Arthur could not believea man could be so blessed. Patience chose him, her words clear and filled with conviction as she made her vows again. Her family gathered around to celebrate their happiness. The publishing venture would be launched and against every expectation, they had a warm and welcoming home. He could not have contrived a better resolution himself.
There was but one outstanding detail to resolve.
When the ceremony was completed (again) and congratulations had been exchanged (again), he asked Patience’s father if he might write a note. “I promised to tell my sister where we might be found,” he confessed and found himself with a stack of fine paper, a new quill and a pot of ink. As he wrote to tell her of his situation, he realized another detail, though it was Patience who noticed his consternation.
“What is amiss?”
“Taylor will lose his post,” he said. “Lady Beckham may dismiss him this very day, and I know he keeps very little of his income for himself. He sends much of it to his mother in Sussex.”
“And you fear for his welfare, of course.” Patience crossed the room and spoke to her father, who nodded and listened as Arthur finished his letter to Amelia. What could he do? He would offer Taylor a post, but he had no notion of the Carruthers household finances—nor even did he know what income he and Patience might expect from their venture.
“You must ask him to join us here,” Patience said, appearing by his elbow again.
“I would not impose…”
“But Papa does not have a valet and you will need Taylor’s services. I will write also to Gellis and invite her to follow us here, if she so desires.” She smiled. “The household could use another man and another maid. We had a couple leave at the end of the summer, and I had not advertised for replacements before you so distracted me.”
And so Arthur wrote to Taylor and Patience wrote to Gellis. Wentworth assigned the delivery to the baron’s footmen in the baron’s coach, and Arthur had to admit that Lady Beckham would be more inclined to receive any tidings from footmen in livery.
The boys then demanded that he teach them how to win at cards, and while Arthur demurred, they suggested he might teach them to fight instead. Their mother urged the cultivation of their dancing skills, their father spoke of increasing their commitment to reading while Patience’s father discussed the merit of skill at bookkeeping. Prudence insisted that Arthur find her a husband. He teased her with the suggestion of Mr. Fanshawe.
“But he is old, as old as Papa!”
“Older yet,” that man said mildly, ushering them all toward the dining room.
