‘I do not believe Prinny will be in attendance,’ reasoned Temperance. ‘I was told that he returned to London very quickly after attending Hugo Wolverton’s funeral. And even if he was still here, is drawing the attention of the Regent, given our current … contretemps with the Queen the most sensible course of action?’
‘And the Marquess of Guildford is very unlikely to be there,’ added Grace. ‘Even aside from being in mourning, I’m given to understand that he does not have much time for his brother’s … acquaintances.’
‘It would not do for Guildford to believe me too eager,’ argued Patience.
‘That’s as may be,’ argued Felicity. ‘But if you are truly interested in Lord Guildford, rather than waste time on disagreeable characters like Bamford, I believe we should focus our endeavours on bringing the Marquess up to scratch sooner rather than later.’ She paused and put an apologetic hand over Patience’s before continuing. ‘Lord Guildford will almost certainly return to London very soon,’ she advised gently. ‘Once there, he will undoubtedly be besieged with an abundance of unmarried women, each more suitable than the last. If he is finally looking to find a wife – and his recent call on you indicates that he is – he will no doubt find himself spoilt for choice.’
‘So, strike while the iron’s hot,’ interrupted Patience drily.
‘Succinctly said,’ smiled Felicity, ‘and yes, I suggest we do not allow the grass to grow under our feet.’
‘Well, at least I’m grateful that you have not expressed outright disbelief in the probability that the Marquess of Guildford might actually be interested in me,’ added Patience a little ruefully. ‘Indeed, I have to admit to wondering whether he might have mistaken me for someone else when I was informed of his visit.’
‘Fustian nonsense,’ declared Felicity loyally, ‘his interest is perfectly understandable. You are simply a … a … unique flower in a garden full of weeds – which undoubtedly the Marquess has recognised.’
Both Grace and Temperance hastened to agree, and Patience didn’t know whether to laugh or cry at their foolishness. Fortunately, she was spared either option as Peter chose that moment to push his little sister off the sofa.
∞∞∞
‘I’ve told Percy to loiter near the entrance to Bamford’s place,’ the Reverend commented as their carriage conveyed them to their destination. ‘Just in case we should need any assistance.’
‘Why is he not in the carriage with us then?’ frowned Patience.
Her father eyed Patience in exasperation. Clearly, for all her unconventional habits, his daughter knew very little about conducting a clandestine operation. It would have been better if Faith had been the one accompanying him. She might not be able to pick a decent lock, but her snooping skills were far superior, and at least he could rely on her not to put her deuced foot in it.
‘We can’t be seen fraternising with a possible gallows bird,’ he declared. ‘I mean the last thing we want is for Bamford to see Percy with us, then later spot him lurking outside. Who knows, he might put two and two together.’
‘And make what?’ demanded Patience. ‘It’s a filthy night, Father. Percy could well catch an ague if he’s outside for too long.’
‘He insisted he wanted to help,’ defended the Reverend, hoping the Almighty would forgive his slight embellishment. What his curate had actually said was unrepeatable. In truth, the small man’s comments were a trifle worrying given that … well, given that they’d come out of Percy’s mouth.
Sighing, the Reverend decided that once all this was over, he would take his curate for a trip to the seaside. Mayhap they could visit Faith. It would do Percy good, especially since on their last visit to Torquay they’d been up to their elbows in severed appendages.
‘I cannot imagine we will be in need of any assistance,’ argued Patience as the carriage finally stopped. ‘Please send Percy home father. It is entirely unfair of you to take such advantage of him.’ Stepping down with the help of the coach driver, she ignored the Reverend’s mutterings and looked around for the luckless curate. Unfortunately, he was nowhere to be seen and she could only hope that he’d taken one look at the weather and chosen to disregard her father’s orders. Then taking a deep breath, she gripped the Reverend’s arm and stepped into the lion’s den.
Two minutes later, they were helping themselves to a glass of punch. Taking an unladylike gulp, Patience immediately began perusing the room anxiously. ‘I cannot think we will have to stay long, Father,’ she whispered, ‘just long enough to discover a likely hiding place for the diamond.’
‘That could take all deuced night,’ returned the Reverend irritably. In truth, he was actually a little troubled about Percy. His daughter’s comments had struck uncomfortably close to home, and Patience was certainly not the first to utter them. What if Percy should decide to seek his own incumbency? It wasn’t beyond the realms of possibility. The man might not have sixpence to scratch with, but he moved in circles far beyond those usually enjoyed by someone of his calling.
The Reverend felt a sudden stab of panic. The thought of not having Percy as his confidante, not to mention composing his sermons… Well, he might as well resign himself to sharing his next bread and butter pudding with the Almighty because life on this earth would no longer be worth living.
There and then, he made a vow to increase Percy’s stipend. The addition of bread and cheese for lunch as well as providing the curate’s breakfast and supper would, he decided, be very well received. And not only that, Reverend Shackleford decided that once they returned home, he would give the curate a half a day off… Once a fortnight should do it.
In truth, he and Percy spent most of their waking hours together anyway, so it would not likely alter much of anything. Augustus Shackleford was nodding satisfactorily to himself when he became aware that Patience was pulling at his sleeve urgently.
‘Is that Bamford?’ she was asking anxiously nodding her head to a short plump man with a red face and strangely unblinking eyes which they could tell, even at this distance, never seemed to remain in one spot.
‘Tare an’ hounds,’ the Reverend muttered, ‘he’s a decidedly odd-looking fellow and no mistake.’
Patience swallowed. ‘Do you see his eyes?’ she whispered. ‘They remind me of a snake. He…’ She never got to finish her sentence as the Earl turned suddenly to look directly at them. Patience swallowed nervously and made an effort to smile.
In response, their host excused himself and made his way towards them. ‘Don’t do it too brown,’ the Reverend murmured from the side of his mouth. ‘He’ll spot a plumper a mile off.’
‘Me?’ she squeaked as loudly as she dared. ‘Truly father, I am not the one who’s likely to get caught in a deuced Canterbury tale.’
‘Hmph,’ was all the reply the Reverend had time for as the Earl of Bamford suddenly appeared at the top of the stairs.
‘Reverend Augustus Shackleford and Miss Patience Shackleford at your service, my lord.’ Patience couldn’t help but wince at the volume of her father’s voice. Thanking her lucky stars that Hope and not she had inherited that particular trait from their father, she gave a very passable curtsy as their host stared at them with a slight frown, clearly wondering who the devil they were and whether they’d gained entry to his soiree without an invitation.
