‘There are half a dozen, at most,’ was her sister’s exasperated retort. ‘Truly you are as bad as Tempy.’
‘When will she arrive?’ asked Patience, hoping that despite the Countess’s caustic observations in her letter to her father, Temperance might at least have some sympathy for her sister’s reluctance to wed.
‘I’m hopeful she and Adam will get here later this afternoon,’ responded Grace in a tone that spoke volumes of her need for another ally in the ongoing battle to bring Patience up to scratch. Truly, Grace wished Felicity was still here, but her old friend had taken the opportunity during their brief hiatus to spend some time with a cousin who resided just outside of Bath.
The object of her ire scowled down at the dressmaker, muttering that her stomach was of the opinion that her throat had been cut and if she had to remain much longer as a human pin cushion, she would undoubtedly swoon, and then they’d all be sorry.
Grace pursed her lips but said nothing, clearly not trusting herself to speak. The dress maker however was more mindful of the coin she was hoping to receive so cast a warm sympathetic smile at the Duchess while murmuring the required platitudes to the grumpy individual draped in pale blue satin. If she accidently stuck the odd pin where she knew it would hurt, well, the suspicious glares from Miss Shackleford were entirely worth it.
As she finally climbed down from the dressmaker’s box, Patience recognised that, on this occasion, she may have pushed her oldest sister a little too far. She made a belated effort to bid the modiste a cordial farewell, and both sisters left the bedchamber to partake of a cold luncheon. Patience linked her arm into that of Grace and smiled at her sheepishly. Despite their different outlooks on life, they had both once run wild amongst the rolling hills of South Devon. The difference was that Grace had since found her place in the grand scheme of things and had for the most part put such matters behind her, while Patience was still very much a square peg in a round hole.
Squeezing her younger sister’s arm in return, Grace gave her a rueful smile before leaning in to give her a quick, forgiving peck on her cheek. ‘Truly Patience, it would be so very helpful if, on occasion, you could actually live up to your name,’ was all she commented drily as they went down the stairs.
Patience nodded, swallowing an unexpected sting of tears. That was all she seemed to do lately, round on everyone in between bouts of crying. She recognised that her family didn’t reallyknowher - not the real Patience. Indeed, she ofttimes felt as if she didn’t really know herself. But if they’d simply leave her be, Patience was convinced she’d find her own path - even if it did defy convention.
And she understood this much, as much as she loved all of her sisters, she could not allow herself to be pushed onto a path she knew would make her miserable. She might not understand why, but Patience recognised she was too much a rogue spirit to ever bow to any man, and to attempt to force her to do so would simply end in disaster.
Sighing, she returned her sister’s kiss. Her mutiny was fast approaching, and she didn’t want to hurt Grace or indeed any of her family but feared it would be inevitable.
As she followed Grace into the dining room and greeted her younger sisters, it never occurred to her that there actually was one person who understood her only too well. Someone, she was more like than she could ever have imagined. Indeed, her father cared nothing for convention either, except when it suited him, which was rarely…
∞∞∞
While the spa town of Bath was no longer Prince George’s favourite, Prinny had spared no expense in the building of the mausoleum, which he purportedly wished to provide a comfortable resting place for all his dearest friends on their way to the afterlife.
Quite why he wished to inter all his closest companions in the same tomb, no one was quite sure. For the most part, none of them could go a day without squabbling amongst themselves whilst still very much alive, so it was hard to see how forcing them to spend eternity together would be any different. But then mayhap the Prince thought it would be useful to have them all in one place when it was his turn to depart this mortal coil.
As the first unfortunate to be entombed in Prinny’s heavenly gentleman’s club was Hugo Wolverton, there remained a good many of the Prince’s friends still breathing. Naturally, the majority of them turned out on the freezing cold day to toady up to their Prince who stood crying openly as the casket was sealed behind the large stone door. Indeed, it was a strange conundrum, for most of them shuddered at the thought of joining Hugo, but to be put on the list to do so meant they’d reached the very pinnacle of their existence as favourites of the Regent.
Most of them simply fought amongst themselves to be included on the list whilst secretly hoping George would pop his clogs well before any of them so that they wouldn’t actually end up there. Indeed, if the Prince’sfavouriteshad their way, Hugo Wolverton would undoubtedly end up the only occupant.
Max, having no acquaintances of his own residing in Bath stood to one side alone. Not the most garrulous man at the best of times, the maelstrom of emotions he was feeling at his brother’s death promoted in him an almost desperate need for solitude. As he stood watching Hugo’s body disappear into the dark maw of the tomb, he had to force back an unexpected lump in his throat. When had their relationship gone so wrong?
They’d been close as boys, always getting into one scrape or another, but when their parents died, it suddenly dawned on Hugo that as the younger brother, he was of little importance except on the off chance that Max never managed to sire any children. For some reason, the knowledge seemed to bring out a wildness that had only been hinted at before. But Max never knew whether his refusal to toe the line was due to a harboured bitterness or simply a desire to express himself as he wished. Whatever the reason, as Max was increasingly forced to rein his brother in, their previous closeness disappeared, never to return.
And now with no heir that he was aware of and no money in the coffers, Max was being forced down a route he would previously never have dreamed of. Marrying for money. He thought back to the many times he’d been propositioned by ambitious mothers seeking a title for their daughters. There had never been any allusion to affection let alone love. It was simply not important.
He shook his head and forced himself back to the here and now. He realised he was cold to the bone and entirely done with the whole farcical burial. He made his excuses to Prince George, determined to avoid spending any more time with the backstabbing sycophants his brother had called friends. Prinny threw his arms around Max, still sobbing unreservedly, and the Marquess felt his heart soften briefly. For all his faults, George had truly cared about Hugo, of that Max had no doubt. Mayhap he was the only one who had.
In truth, he didn’t believe the Prince was party to his brother’s decision to squander the family’s entirety of funds, even if he’d benefitted from the coin. It was more likely Prinny had turned a blind eye and chosen to believe what were undoubtedly very convincing lies tripping past Hugo’s lips.
The one man who Max suspected had been fully aware of the true extent of Hugo’s duplicity had unsurprisingly not shown up for the funeral, giving more weight to the Marquess’s belief that the bastard was in possession of the diamond. Max had already confirmed Brummell’s assertion that Lord Bamford was currently residing at his town house in Bath, and while the Marquess would not expect an actual invitation into the lion’s den, he was determined to get inside, even if he had to pick the bloody lock to do so.
∞∞∞
‘Thunder an’ turf Percy, I know I said unfashionable, but I didn’t expect to be sharing the room with a bunch of harrys, a family of goats and a flock of deuced chickens.’ The Reverend’s attempt at a whisper caused every eye in the undeniably out of the waytea houseto look over at them.
‘Shhh father,’ murmured Patience as she endeavoured to step over what looked suspiciously like a large goat turd.
‘You particularly said that I was to choose somewhere no one would likely recognise us,’ protested the curate as they carefully sat down at the only vacant table - a rickety affair that looked as though it had been cobbled together by someone who, at the very least, was short-sighted.
The Reverend sighed. Truly, he should have suspected there would be something wrong with the deuced place given the length of time it took them to get there. Indeed, there had been so many twists and turns and narrow lanes that he had to wonder how they’d ever find their way back.
‘I suspect the regulars in this establishment wouldn’t recognise their own mother,’ he muttered in response to Percy’s protest, just as an inadequately dressed woman of indeterminate years came over to ask what they wanted to drink.
Patience gave a self-conscious cough. ‘Do you have any hot chocolate?’ she asked, doing her best not to look down the female's ample and almost naked décolletage.
The woman stared down at her for a second, clearly wondering if she’d heard correctly.
