“It is beautiful,” she said in soft wonder. “But it is not signed.”
Arthur took the book into the back and Patience watched as he inscribed the front page. He wrote quickly, for he evidently knew what he would write, blotted the ink, then presented the book to Amelia again.
“For Amelia, Christmas 1817, with love from Patience and Arthur.” Her eyes welled with tears and she cast herself at him, earning a tight hug. “I miss you,” she said.
“Then you must come to dinner this week,” he replied. “I know Lady Beckham does not wish to come, but I will send a carriage.”
“Yes, please,” she said, then there came the tap of an umbrella.
Lady Beckham stood surveying the pair of them, her manner unwelcoming. Amelia hugged her book and returned to her mother’s side, eyes downcast. Lady Beckham turned to Patience. “I should like to acquire a subscription to the Ladies’ Library for my daughter. I assume you can arrange that for me?”
“Of course, Lady Beckham.” Patience retrieved her ledger, well aware that Arthur and Lady Beckham stood considering each other like adversaries.
Lady Beckham reached into her bag and retrieved a small box, which she handed to Arthur. “Yours, I believe,” she said crisply.
Patience watched him open the box and his brows rose. “It was.” She saw the blue glint of a sapphire and guessed it was his pin.
“I took it from him immediately,” Lady Beckham confessed. “Reynaud had no cause to relieve you of a valuable, much less to see you assaulted, and I chastised him severely for his regrettable behaviour. You may have heard that he and Miss Grosvenor are now married.”
“I read of it,” Arthur said.
Lady Beckham looked to be pained for a moment. “I am embarrassed that he was the one who showed himself common, he who had been born to better manners than that.” She straightened. “You were a better son than he ever was.”
Arthur considered the box. “Yet you did not return this until now.”
Color flared in the older woman’s cheeks. “I hoped you would return to Beckham House. I hoped you would miss it and its luxuries, that you would regret your choice and return to entreat my favor.”
“But I do not,” Arthur said easily, his tone such that his resolve could not be doubted. “Is that the price of this token’s return?” He offered her the box again but she did not take it.
She shook her head and swallowed. “Reynaud is suddenly in possession of more funds than even he knows how to spend. Perhaps it is fortunate that his new wife has many ideas. She plans to expand his country house, so that it exceeds the grace of mine.”
“I doubt that is possible, Lady Beckham,” Arthur said politely. “You could sell your house to him, if you are less fond of the neighbors than once was the case. You might even be able to buy it back in five or ten years, at a discount, when the earl finds himself lacking in funds.”
Their gazes met as Patience watched and a glimmer of humor passed between the two of them.
“You think he will spend it all.”
“I think he will not be able to help himself.”
“He wants to buy the house in Berkley Square,” she confessed. “I thought to make it your legacy instead.”
“You owe me no legacy.”
“You once were my heir. Indeed, you still are, for I have not visited the solicitors to make a change. You are missed, Arthur. I would leave matters as they are, if you would grace me with your presence on occasion.”
But Arthur shook his head. “You do not have to buy my attention, Lady Beckham. I would have called upon you already if I had believed you would welcome me.”
“I would,” she said quickly and Patience felt a lump rise in her throat.
“Then I will come,” Arthur said easily. He took her hand, then bent to kiss her cheek. He murmured something, but Patience heard his words. “Make the house Amelia’s legacy. Give her the ability to choose her fate, just as you were able to choose your own.”
Patience’s heart warmed that he showed such concern for the young lady he had so long known as his sister. Lady Beckham blinked rapidly, then glanced at Patience. Her gaze flicked down Patience before meeting her gaze. “Are you?” she asked softly.
Patience smiled and nodded. “June, if all is well.”
“Good,” Lady Beckham said, her tone decisive. “I am past due for a grandchild to spoil.” And then she smiled as she had not yet, and reached to kiss Arthur’s cheek. They eyed each other for a long moment before she nodded satisfaction, then she and Amelia turned to leave.
“You should come on Sundays,” Amelia said. “And Patience must come, too. And we will talk about books.”
