“I will, sir. Thank you.”
Well, that was brief. Nothing about being honoured or obliged or any such nonsense. Still, it was the right answer.
He kissed her hand again, then smiled. “How happy we shall be, my love! How soon can we be married, do you suppose?”
“I do not know, sir.”
“Lance. Surely you can call me Lance.”
“It is a strange name.”
“Well… Lancelot, then, if you prefer, but I do not like being‘sir’, not when we are alone, at least.”
“I shall try to remember… Lance. Shall we tell my parents now?”
“A moment yet, if you please. May we seal the bargain with a kiss? If you would permit…?”
Without hesitation, she nodded, and there was that odd flash in her eyes again, which he could not interpret. But there would be time — years and years, in fact — to understand her fully. So he gently enfolded her in his arms and bent his head to hers.
The outcome took him by surprise. He had supposed, where he had thought about it at all, that a girl of eighteen, barely out, would not know much about kissing and would therefore be completely passive. Patience was anything but passive. After only a moment’s hesitation, she seemed to get the idea pretty well and hurled herself into the enterprise with an enthusiasm that left them both breathless.
Giggling, she said, “That was most agreeable.”
“It was, was it not? Shall we just stay here for the rest of the day?”
She giggled again. “Better not. Mama and Papa will be waiting in the drawing room.”
Reluctantly, he followed her out of the room, back to the stairs and up to the drawing room, where the marquess and marchioness waited, smiles at the ready, to congratulate them. On the wall, Lance’s own portrait of Patience beamed down at them. He had captured her mischievous smile rather well, he thought. She looked ready for any game, and that was what had so attracted him to her in the first place. He had no wish at all for a docile wife. Her initial demeanour today had worried him slightly, and set him wondering what had cowed her, but the kiss was reassuring. That was the real Patience!
He had to listen to the marquess reiterating for the benefit of the ladies the details he had already shared with Lance of the house in Gloucestershire. Patience seemed pleased with the idea, and clearly knew the house well.
“Aunt and Uncle Matheson will move out, presumably?” she said.
That was a surprise, that the house was already occupied.
“Naturally. We can easily find somewhere else for them to live,” her father said, with a wave of one hand.
Lance wondered how long the couple had lived there, and how they would like to be evicted at a moment’s notice, purely on the marquess’s whim. How strange it must be to be a marquess and order the lives of lesser beings with a stroke of the pen. Would he go and see these relations and explain the situation, or would he merely instruct his bailiff or steward to see to it? He imagined the couple, grim-faced and weeping, packing up their cherished possessions. Perhaps he would be able to paint them before they moved out. That would be an interesting project.
Seizing a gap in the conversation, he said, “I hope Patience will not keep me waiting too long before she meets me at the altar rail.”
“As to that, I do not foresee an early wedding,” the marchioness said. “May or June, perhaps. Patience will want to have another season of freedom before settling down to married life.”
There was no arguing with that tone of voice. “That is a disappointment, but it shall be as Patience wishes. Do you plan to stay in town long? My parents will be very keen to meet their future daughter-in-law, and would like to invite you all to dinner one evening.”
Again it was the marchioness who spoke, in the same implacable voice. “Unfortunately, we are to leave almost at once for Wiltshire. Our eldest daughter has just been delivered of ason and heir, and the heir moreover to a dukedom, so we are all summoned to celebrate. After that, we shall go directly to Gloucestershire for Christmas.”
Christmas… he could wait until Christmas. But she anticipated his thoughts.
“We shall have the house full to the rafters as usual, I fear, with not a spare corner where we could squeeze you in. We shall see you again in the spring, however.”
And she smiled benignly as if this was a great concession, and not a separation of several months between a man and his betrothed.
He forced a smile. “At least I shall be able to write to Lady Patience, and you must write to me, my dear, and tell me all that you are doing. No detail is too small to interest me.”
Her parents exchanged glances, but Patience smiled and nodded.
And then, in the politest manner possible, Lance found himself ushered out to the street where his curricle already awaited him, and bidding farewell to his future wife for several months without any further opportunity for private conversation, let alone another startling kiss.
