Accepting that, on this occasion, she dared not simply don her customary trousers, Patience rummaged around and finally unearthed the dress she always wore for dinner back at the vicarage. Holding it up, she reflected how she’d always thought it ridiculously frilly with its two satin bows in faded crimson. Sighing, she pulled it over her head and began doing up the buttons just as she’d done every night at home from the day the dress had been handed down to her from Faith.
Finally throwing a shawl over her shoulders, Patience blew out the candle and turned towards the sleepy dog. ‘Come Freddy,’ she whispered, cautiously opening her bedchamber door. She knew the servants would already be up and about, so she needed to be careful if she wished to slip out of the house unnoticed.
As she crept down the stairs, Freddy at her heels, Patience felt a sudden sense of exhilaration. This was what she did best. This washerworld. Sneaking out of the house unseen was as easy to her as breathing. As she slipped through the front door and ran down the steps into the quiet square, she only just managed to resist the urge to laugh out loud, revelling in her freedom. For the next hour at least, she would allow the real Patience to replace the puppet.
∞∞∞
The Marquess of Guildford was, by nature, an early riser. He enjoyed the stillness of dawn, the feeling of the world readying itself for a new day. However, in recent years, prior to his time in Portugal, the never-ending duties of the Marquessate had ensured his early mornings were more often spent in his study rather than communing with nature.
This morning however, after being awake for most of the night, Max was desperate to escape the stuffy confines of his rented townhouse. Accordingly, as soon as it was light enough to see, he threw on a shirt and breeches, and secure in the knowledge that nobody of import would be abroad to see him, escaped unnoticed through a set of French-style doors only recently installed in the drawing room.
Walking through the streets of Bath so early was akin to entering another world. The only people abroad were servants, traders and beggars. Would be pickpocketshad long since sought their beds knowing there’d be precious few pickings at this time in the morning.
The post-dawn sun was beginning to shine between gaps in the building, turning the honey-coloured stone into golden caramel.Breathing deeply, Max spent the first half hour simply enjoying his solitude. Inevitably though, his thoughts turned back to his dilemma - specifically how to extend his stay in Bath without arousing the suspicion of the Earl of Bamford.
Would Patience Shackleford agree to his proposal? He was not foolish enough to put his plan into operation without her knowledge or permission. Showing any interest at all, even feigned, in the sister-in-law of the Duke of Blackmore might well end with him being blackballed if he wasn’t careful. And Patience Shackleford had made it abundantly clear that she was not interested. Indeed, he couldn’t help but chuckle at the thought of her face should he decide to call on her. An undeniable come down for a man who was accustomed to women falling at his feet.
But even though she would no doubt be horrified; he would not see her humiliated when he cried off as he must eventually. Though she seemed to care little for her reputation, he would not be the one to shame her in front of the world. As she eloquently stated, she really did need to be ruined by someone who was of no import. Certainly not a Marquess.
If she agreed to his plan, he would aid her in effecting such an outcome whilst ensuring she came to no harm. Now all he had to do was persuade her to go along with the whole charade. Easy - provided he actually managed to secure an opportunity to talk with her alone. Deep in thought as to how he would engineer such a meeting, Max very nearly walked straight past the very object of his thoughts. Indeed, he would have done had it not been for the foxhound she was chasing after.
∞∞∞
Freddy was used to accompanying Patience on her many rambles around Blackmore. Naturally, this place did not provide the surplus of wonderful smells that always assailed his most excellent nose whilst sniffing around the hills and fields of South Devon, but it nevertheless offered an interesting variety, one of which was particularly intriguing. Lifting his muzzle to the air, he gave an excited woof and pulled eagerly on the lead. Patience, who was strolling along, simply enjoying the early morning sunshine was not prepared for the foxhound’s unexpected tug and consequently allowed the lead to slip through her fingers, gasping with dismay as Freddy bounded off joyfully. With an unladylike oath, she lifted her skirts and took off after him.
Though her habit of taking long solitary walks ensured Patience was stronger than most young women of her age, she was certainly not equipped to match the long strides of a foxhound in either vigour or leg length. Not to mention her ridiculous town shoes which were entirely unsuitable chasing attire. Within fifty yards, she was forced to kick them off, and had to waste valuable seconds picking them up off the ground. With language that would have made even her father blanch, Patience tucked the the shoes down her bodice, and upped the pace, her heart sinking as she observed the dog disappear around a corner.
‘I’ll kill him,’ she muttered breathlessly skirting the corner and watching the hound galloping towards a lone gentleman, no doubt out on asupposedearly morning ramble, the same as she. For a horrible second, she thought Freddy was going to leap into the stranger’s arms, but with a jubilant bark, the wretched dog moved to the left, undoubtedly intending to continue past. ‘STOP HIM’ she yelled, throwing propriety to the winds.
Startled, the man looked up, just in time to see the foxhound hurtle towards him. With impressive courage or idiocy, depending on how one looked at it, the stranger stepped into the path of the oncoming dog, and holding out his hand, shouted, ‘SIT.’
Sit? Patience didn’t know whether to laugh or cry, but to her complete surprise, Freddy skidded to a halt, and after staring at the man for a second, wagged his tail and sat down.
‘Grab his lead,’ she gasped as she staggered shoeless towards her saviour. ‘He might decide to take off again.’ The gentleman obligingly crouched down to take hold of the lead handle, just as she finally panted to a stop in front of him.
Her effusive thanks sputtered to a halt as the stranger rose to his feet, and she found herself looking up into the cobalt eyes of the Marquess of Guildford.
Chapter Eight
Her face rapidly going an interesting dark crimson, Patience did the only thing she could think of in the face of such a bizarre circumstance. She laughed.
‘Madam, I fail to see exactly what you find so funny. Your dog clearly has no manners and very nearly ran over me,’ was the indignant response, which of course made her laugh harder.
‘Sit?’she managed to say incredulously at length. ‘I must assume you do not have a dog, my lord.’
‘It worked, did it not?’ questioned the Marquess, his lips finally beginning to twitch.
‘I can’t believe he actually listened,’ Patience chuckled. ‘He normally throws a deaf ear to any instruction that does not involve his stomach.’ She took out a kerchief to wipe the tears of mirth away from her eyes and held out her hand for the lead. As he presented it to her, their hands brushed for a mere second, enough to send unexpected tingles all over her body. Face flaming for a second time, Patience stared wordlessly up at the striking man in front of her. He leaned forward and for one heart stopping second, she actually believed he was going to kiss her.
Instead, he murmured in a low voice, ‘Miss Shackleford, far be it for me to question your habits, but are you aware you have a pair of shoes tucked into your bodice?’
‘Blast,’ she muttered looking down at the shoes peeping out the neck of her dress as if their presence was a complete surprise. Hurriedly pulling them out, she dropped them on the ground, and lifted the bottom her dress to expose her bare feet with the intention of slipping them back on. Unfortunately, her feet were now the colour of the Marquess’s boots, and she hurriedly dropped the dress back to cover them and attempted to slip her feet back inside the shoes without looking.
‘What are you doing out so early anyway?’ she demanded, her customary brusqueness covering her humiliation at the embarrassing mess she was making of the whole encounter.
‘I was about to ask you the same question madam,’ was his dry response. If he was surprised by her rudeness, he didn’t show it.
She didn’t answer at once, being consumed with trying to slip her feet back into the deuced shoes which were getting tangled up in her dress. In truth, she wished the ground would open up and swallow her whole.
