Chapter One
Maximilian Wolverton, the tenth Marquess of Guildford watched as his great grandmother’s favourite diamond and sapphire necklace was paraded around the ballroom.
His outward demeanour was entirely impassive as he pretended to sip his champagne with practiced boredom. In truth however, the lukewarm liquid would never have made it past his clenched teeth.
This was precisely the reason he’d chosen to attend his first ball in nearly three years. In fact, the necklace was actually the second trinket he’d spotted that should have been locked in the Wolverton coffers but was instead being worn by a member of theton.
‘Guildford, we haven’t had the pleasure of your company in an age. Are you perchance intending to favour us with your presence this Season?’ The female voice tittered directly into his right ear.
Closing his eyes briefly, Max made a valiant attempt to swallow his ire. He could not afford to alienate any ambitious mothers seeking a husband for their daughters in the forthcoming Season’s marriage mart, however much he despised the whole debacle.
Now he was assured things were every bit as bad as he’d feared, he would need to court their favour, especially those whose offspring came with a large dowry. In truth, the larger the better, given that he was currently penniless.
Swallowing his ire, Max turned towards the speaker. ‘Lady Bellamy,’ he purred, bending low over her proffered hand, ‘how delightful to see you again.’
∞∞∞
‘Percy, there’s no doubt in my mind, none whatsoever, this is totally and utterly an … an …unequivocaldisaster.’
Without waiting for his long-suffering curate to reply, Reverend Augustus Shackleford collapsed into the vestry’s only chair. ‘Why,why?’ he beseeched, raising his eyes heavenward giving Percy a good indication that the question was not directed at him.
Sighing, the curate got up off his hands and knees and placed the half-cleaned sconce carefully onto the table. ‘Has something happened, Sir?’ he asked warily, entirely sure he didn’t wish to know.
‘You may well ask Percy, you may well ask,’ the Reverend groaned sinking even further into his chair. ‘You would think that considering all the good I’ve done, the Almighty might see fit to allow me a modicum of peace.’ He glared at the curate as if somehow it was all the small man’s fault. Having been down this path many times, Percy merely regarded his superior dubiously and waited.
‘My two eldest, mostmeddlingoffspring have suddenly come up with the preposterous idea of taking her in hand and finding her a…’ The Reverend stopped and closed his eyes, clearly overcome by the calamity of … whatever it was. Not knowing what else to do, Percy stepped forward and awkwardly patted the large man’s back. ‘I’m sure it can’t be that bad, Sir,’ he murmured, utterly sure that knowing the Shackleford family, it very possibly could. ‘What on earth has happened to vex you so?’
Reverend Shackleford gave a despairing moan and followed it with a heavy sigh. To the curate’s alarm, he actually looked on the verge of tears.
‘It’s Patience,’ he managed finally. ‘They want to find her a deuced husband…’
∞∞∞
‘Blast and bugger their eyes,’ Patience muttered yanking viciously at the apple blossom that shielded her from any prying eyes. She thought back to the events leading up to her current position high up in an apple tree on the edge of the vicarage’s overgrown garden.
The day had started so promisingly. She’d managed to convince her father and stepmother over breakfast to give her leave to take her sisters and brother to the Easter Day celebrations in the village. Once she’d obtained their permission, she’d gone on to suggest that she remove her younger siblings from the vicarage extra early to allow her father to focus all his energies on the spiritual mentorship of his flock on such an important day.
So persuasive was her argument that she succeeded in making herself appear noble and self-sacrificing. In truth, she simply wanted to avoid Percy’s interminable Easter sermon. The year before, it had lasted well over two hours, despite being read by her father at breakneck speed.
Of course, Reverend Shackleford was perfectly aware of the true reason for his daughter’s sudden altruism, but conscious that Patience could elucidate for hours to get her own way if needs be, he chose to surrender to the inevitable.
There was also the added incentive that she’d undoubtedly go ahead and do it anyway with or without his permission, and at least by conceding to her request, the Reverend could preserve the belief that he had at least a modicum of control over his determined daughter.
Patience on the other hand, didn’t waste time wondering why her father had agreed, it was enough that he had.
It was precisely as she was leaving the breakfast table that things had rapidly gone to hell in a hand cart. She’d been busy filching some sweet rolls to eat later when a missive arrived from her sister Temperance.
As Tempy had only months ago delivered of a baby boy whose lungs Patience was convinced already made him eligible to be a future town crier, she did not pay attention as her father began reading the message out loud. It was only as he faltered after a few moments, leaving a silence thick with unexpected dread, that Patience looked up from her pilfering with a frown. Indeed, the look of sheer horror on her father’s face caused her to swallow with sudden anxiety as she glanced around the hushed table.
But it was her stepmother Agnes’s unexpected wail of despair that truly made her heart plummet down to her sturdy boots, though she still didn’t fully understand the reason for it until the matron followed it up with a shriek of, ‘Dosomething Augustus. If they so much as allow that hoyden within a hundred miles of a London Season, Anthony will be spending the rest of his days as a … a…’ She paused to let out a sob before finishing in an appalled whisper, ‘a …vicar.’
Ignoring her stepmother’s histrionics, Patience snatched the letter from her father’s hands to read its contents for herself. It was far,farworse than she could ever have imagined.
In it, Temperance announced her husband, the Earl of Ravenstone’s intention of sponsoring Patience for the coming Season. The letter declared in no uncertain terms that their mother - God rest her soul - would turn in her grave if Patience was allowed to roam wild for much longer. (The words sheactuallyused were, for the most part, not commonly favoured by ladies, and certainly not ladies married to titled gentlemen.) The letter finished with the avowal that both she and Grace intended to take it upon themselves to find their younger sister a husband.
As soon as possible. Before they were all ruined.
Well, she didn’t actuallywritethe last sentence, but Patience had no doubt that that was her meaning.
