“Oh yes. But when an educated man of twenty-two runs away from home, there is likely to be good cause for it, and I should not like to tip him from a place of sanctuary into difficulty and possibly danger.”
“Have you told Pendleton any of this?”
“No, but I thought you might want to do so,” his father said, beaming at him. “The man looking for him calls himself Augustus Wyatt, is staying at the Royal Oak and claims to be his older brother. If Pendleton is indeed Julius Wyatt, then he will at least be forewarned, and may take appropriate steps to protect himself.”
“Or to find another place of sanctuary,” Jamie said thoughtfully.
“That is a possibility also,” his father said equably.
“Pendleton already regards me as a meddlesome troublemaker, so perhaps I will convey all this to Chamberlain, instead. Less direct. He will know whether it relates to Pendleton or not.”
“Good idea. Well, you must be going off brandy, son. I never saw you so abstemious before. I shall just put the rest away for another time, shall I?”
“Yes, do that. I must get back to Georgie.”
“Poor Georgie! Give her my love, and tell her I shall pray for a happier outcome for the next baby.”
“Thank you,” Jamie said, but his heart ached knowing there would never be another baby.
***
Lance was angry. He had never loved Patience, but he had been exultant when she accepted his offer, for she was, he felt, the just reward for his years of careful planning.He had steadily moved up the social ladder from provincial respectability to wide repute and wealth, and acquiring a wife of such high rank was a fitting accolade. Now he had to begin again, and daughters of the nobility who would condescend to look in his direction were few and far between.
On the other hand, did he want to venture into the realms of the nobility again? The Torbucks had proved themselves devious and dishonourable, not merely Patience herself, but her parents and her brother, too. There was more honesty to be found among the farmers and merchants doing business at Brinchester’s market, for they would seal a bargain with a handshake, and think it contemptible to cheat a man. Perhaps he would do better to look for a wife within the ranks of the lower gentry, who had their scoundrels, too, but mostly lived blameless lives as good Christians.
The Merrington sisters were, of course, precisely such lower gentry, even though their brother was a future duke. Sophia was married already, but there remained Charlotte, Augusta and Maria. Pleasant girls, all of them, who would undoubtedly make conformable, pleasing wives. There was another attraction, too, for when Richard Merrington came into his honours, the ladies would be able to petition for the titles they would have held if their father had been duke, and would become Lady Charlotte, Lady Augusta and Lady Maria. If he married one of them, he would avoid the arrogance of those born into the peerage, but still have a titled wife. And each brought a tidy dowry, too.
And yet… did he want to marry at all? His experience with Patience had bruised him, unquestionably. Perhaps it would be best to set aside any marital ambitions for the moment, and simply wait and see what the future held. There would be other commissions in other noble houses with pretty daughters, or he might meet someone in town. Who knew what the future would bring?
In the meantime, he quietly seethed at Patience’s faithlessness. He burnt her letters and his sketches of her likeness, and hurled his anger into his fencing rapier, sparring with Denny with relentless ferocity.
He found that the Merrington ladies were his saviours during this difficult time. They offered him unstinting, kindly friendship, without conditions. Gone were the days when they looked at him with acquisitive eyes as a potential suitor. Now they saw him as a broken romantic hero, deprived by cruel fate of his true love and doomed to an eternity of regret, and tended him as gently as if he were grieving Patience’s death.
The day they brought him the notice in theGazette, he would not have been surprised had they worn full black for the occasion. He had finished his work at the easel for the day, but was standing contemplating the next section to be tackled, lost in thought, when they all came in, a little train of concerned faces.
“Lance, dear,” Mrs Merrington said, her voice soft as honey, “you should read this, but do sit down first. Charlotte, prepare the brandy. Augusta, a chair… yes, that one. There now, sit, dear boy. There is very bad news, I regret to say.”
Her daughters settled on the floor at his feet like so many colourful ducklings, as she handed over the newspaper, folded to show some of the recent marriage announcements. The name‘Patience’jumped out at him.
‘Recently, at Pentavon Castle, Gloucestershire, Mr Edward Pardow, third son of Viscount Pardow of Hampshire, to Lady Patience Torbuck, youngest daughter of the Marquess of Pentavon. The happy couple will make their home in Gloucestershire.’
Lance laughed, causing the ladies to shift in surprise. He could not explain the joke to them, but itwasfunny. Her father had browbeaten the poor viscount into handing over one of hissons. Not the heir, who had been hanging about her at Christmas and had almost certainly sired her child, but the third son, who would no doubt have been thoroughly beguiled by Patience’s charming ways and bribed by thirty thousand pounds… or had he been bought for the original twenty? He seemed to have got the house three miles from Pentavon, anyway. Lucky fellow, to live cheek by jowl with his mama and papa-in-law!
But he had to say something to the Merrington ladies, so he assumed a more serious expression. “I am glad she has found happiness elsewhere.”
The ladies murmured anxiously. “It must be very trying for you,” Charlotte said. “I shall see if we can manage a raised veal pie for you for dinner. I know how fond you are of veal.”
He thanked her suitably, but seeing the ladies settling in for a lengthy session of sympathy, he made good his escape and retreated to his bedroom, the one part of the house where he could guarantee not to be pursued.
A tap on the door brought Froggett into the room. “Beg pardon, sir, but Mr Hammond asked me to give you this.”
He handed over a sealed note, which read,‘Chamberlain, I have some information which may, or possibly may not, be of interest to you. If you would like to hear it, meet me in the knot garden at two o’clock. James Hammond.’
That made Lance laugh again.Information which may or may not be of interest?What nonsense had Hammond in his head this time? The man was a liability, but still, it would do no harm to hear what he had to say.
Hammond was already in the knot garden at the appointed hour, sitting on a carved wooden bench quietly reading a book, as if he had expected Lance not to turn up. He jumped up at the sound of footsteps on the gravel.
“Chamberlain. Good of you to come.”
