***
Mr and Mrs Simon Payne returned to Staineybank on a day of sleety rain, a harbinger of the winter to come. With them was Mr Payne’s half-sister, Lady Juliet Payne, a spinster ten years his senior, who seemed content to follow the newly married pair wherever they went, just as she had followed her brother when he was a single man.
Georgie was glad to see them safely returned from Hertfordshire, where Mr Payne was constructing a new house for a wealthy cit, a man of trade, not landed estates. The entire household gathered in the Marble Hall to greet them, even including Mr Chamberlain, who was known to Mr Payne, at least by reputation.
“I saw your painting of the Princess Amelia at the Royal Academy Exhibition,” Mr Payne said. “A charming work. I have never met her, but I heard comments that it was somewhat flattering.”
“A portraitist sees the beauty beneath the surface as well as the more obvious qualities,” Mr Chamberlain said smoothly.
It was a clever answer, but Georgie remembered Charlotte’s words, about pleasing the person paying the painter for his work. One would not wish to anger a royal patron by too realistic a portrayal of the subject, she supposed. Still, it was an odd sort of profession which made every woman look like a raging beauty, and every man, presumably, like a fount of power and wealth.
As the new arrivals greeted everyone, Georgie eyed Sophia carefully. Five months married and she looked well. Yes,definitely in high bloom, but that might merely be the effect of unalloyed happiness. Approaching thirty, she must surely have surrendered hope of a match founded on romantic love, yet along had come Mr Payne and swept her into matrimony, inspiring her three older sisters to continue their own search for a suitable husband.
Any feelings of envy Georgie tamped down very promptly. It was natural to be reminded of her own sweet love, but she was sincerely happy for Sophia, just as she was for Rowena. She wished every woman the joy of an affectionate husband, and the promise for the future that children brought, and she would not be downhearted about her own emptiness.
The evening found Georgie somewhat out of the main currents of the conversation. Amongst the men, the talk was all of art — of Mr Payne’s designs for the orangery and the house in Hertfordshire, and Mr Chamberlain’s initial sketches of Rowena for the portrait. He had spent the morning in the nursery, watching and sketching as Rowena played with her infant daughter, and the drawings he had made were quite delightful.
The ladies all gathered around Sophia, asking a thousand questions about the Hertfordshire trip, and relating all the latest domestic dramas from Staineybank. Georgie could not summon the enthusiasm to join either group, so she worked industriously on her embroidery, until Mr Hammond very kindly offered to play cribbage with her. They had a comfortable chat over the cards about nothing in particular, and she went to her bed that evening feeling a great deal less downcast.
And at least there was no announcement from Sophia.
***
The long-awaited letter from Patience was not exactly what Lance had hoped for.
‘To Mr Chamberlain, Staineybank, Brinshire. Mr C, Thank you for your letter. I am pleased to hear of your new position and hope it may be successful. We are enjoying fine weather here and have been able to take the air every day. The gardens at the Abbey are very fine. There is much celebration here with some new event every day keeping us busy. I do not know when I shall have time to write again. Patience.’
Mr C? Could she not have called him Lance? And no hint of affection, or of missing him. It was all very unsatisfactory. When next he met Denny in the middle attic, his friend was obliged to remonstrate with him.
“What on earth has got into you, Lance?” he said, picking himself off the floor for the third time. “This is supposed to be an exhibition of controlled skill, not unrestrained violence.”
“I had a letter from Patience.”
“Ah. Not the affectionate missive you might have expected then?”
“You may read it for yourself,” Lance said, retrieving it from his waistcoat pocket. “There is nothing in there that could not be shown to the most censorious of great-aunts.”
“Good heavens!‘We are enjoying fine weather…’This is a schoolroom letter, my credulous friend. One can imagine the governess standing over her.” He assumed a high, female voice. “‘Watch those upright strokes, Lady Patience, and be careful not to leave a blot, or you will have to begin over again.’”He chuckled. “And not even a mention that she misses you. Remind me why you want to marry her.”
That made Lance even more annoyed. “It is the first letter she has ever written to a man who is not a relation. Naturally it is a little… stiff. She does not yet know how to express her feelings.”
“If she has any,” Denny said dubiously. “Seriously, my friend, if I had received such a letter from my betrothed I would be greatly concerned for the state of her heart. She must be meetingall sorts of young men at Holtwell Abbey. Perhaps she has found one she likes better.”
“Nonsense! We have not been engaged a month yet. She can hardly be so fickle as to have fallen out of love with me already.”
“But was she ever in love with you? No, no, hear me out, my friend. I always thought it odd, myself, that she gave no sign of an attachment when you were at Pentavon Castle, and her father was quite uncompromising in turning you away from any thought of her. Then the next thing, there they are in town, the whole family, and at a season where such a thing is unusual, and making up to you with all the affability in the world.”
“Her father explained that,” Lance said tersely. “After I had gone, Patience began to pine for me, so they made arrangements to bring us together again.”
“If you were unsuitable in August, you must still be unsuitable now. Why not leave well alone until the spring, by which time she might have forgotten you? No, do not bite my head off, for it may indeed be just as you say. It seems a rapid turnabout to me, that is all.”
“A father may see that his daughter is unhappy and wish to correct that situation. There is nothing sinister in that, Denny.”
His friend waved the letter triumphantly. “And this is the outpouring of her joy at having captured her love, is it? Very well, have it your own way. I only hope you will not be broken-hearted when she throws you over.”
Lance shifted into position and growled deep in his throat. “En garde!”
Denny grinned. “Not a chance. I am done for today. Cool your temper before taking up your weapon again, my friend.”
