Page 11 of Earl of St. Seville

The matron strolled away toward her daughter across the ballroom, her hips swaying from side to side in time with her extravagant headpiece, not leaving a second for Patience to respond.

Not far from Lady Holstrom, Patience spotted her father as he watched her with a narrowed stare before she rushed to shove the pamphlet back into her handbag. She’d promised her father and Verity that she would not bring her materials to the ball. Deep down, they both had to know it was a lie.

A lie for the greater good, Patience reassured herself. Besides, her father would forgive her. He always did. And Verity…well, Verity had accomplished all she’d wanted in life already: wedded to a duke with several estates. Patience, on the other hand, hadn’t achieved anything.

With a forced smile, she nodded to her father and turned back toward the ballroom door as Holstrom disentangled himself from the group he’d been chatting with and slipped out into the corridor.

Brilliant. This was Patience’s chance—and likely the only one she’d get during the ball. She glanced over her shoulder to make certain her father no longer watched her; blessedly, he’d moved toward the terrace, his back to Patience.

Tugging the string on her reticule closed, Patience grasped her skirts and hurried after Lord Holstrom. Luckily, the ton had become very accustomed to ignoring her presence, so it was unlikely anyone would remember her mad dash out of the ballroom.

She only needed a few moments with him to say her piece. If he didn’t listen, then at least she’d have the reassurance Holstrom had been informed of the dangers facing every man who fought in the matches he arranged.

Her mother’s fate—her family’s fate—did not have to befall another, not when Patience could stop the brutality of the sport. Her stomach turned, her mind traveling to those long-ago days when her mother had fought the sickness dragging her down. What none of them had known at the time was that there was no cure for what ailed Ivory Bess. There was no tonic or salve that could bring back her memories. No doctor who could bring back sensation in her limbs.

Patience was at Lord Holstrom’s for a purpose. Swallowing a sob, she pushed on.

She looked left then right after exiting the crowded ballroom and spotted her target sauntering down the dimly lit hall to her right. With the dancing begun and the card room open, no one loitered in the hallway outside the ballroom, which helped Patience greatly.

“Lord Holstrom,” she called, her voice echoing down the hall. “A word, if you please.”

The man had the same reaction as his wife; however, he halted and turned to face her.

“Lady Patience,” he greeted but did not move back down the hall toward her. “Lovely of you and your father to join us this evening.”

She’d followed him into an abandoned hall during the middle of a ball, yet Holstrom wasn’t the least bit surprised. Inconvenienced, yes. Irritated, most certainly. But shocked to see her trailing him…no.

Patience started toward Holstrom. “My lord, if I may have but a few moments of your time—”

“Lady Patience, do not take me for a fool,” Holstrom snapped, pressing the palm of his hand to his forehead as if he’d developed a headache. “I know why you are here and have watched you accost my guests all evening. Lady Holstrom was just speaking of you last week when your latest letter arrived. She fears that if you do not reform your hellion ways, your chances of wedding will soon dry up. I must say, I wholeheartedly agree with her, and I feel it is my duty as a gentleman to speak with your father regarding my concerns.”

Speak to her father? Did the man think to frighten her away?

“Not even your father, an earl, will be able to repair your tattered reputation if you continue thusly.” Holstrom stared at her, merriment in his smirk as Patience’s face flushed.

“You not only misjudge me, my lord, but my father, as well,” Patience retorted. “I have my father’s blessing to pursue my interests, and there are many things far more important than marriage and starting a family.”

“For a woman?” His incredulous tone sparked Patience’s temper. “I cannot think of one.”

Patience straightened her shoulders and lifted her chin a notch. “I am saving lives, my lord. At least, that is what I am attempting to do if you would only listen. No one need see the same fate as my mother: memory loss, confusion, swings in demeanor, and loss of feeling in her arms and legs. Families should not have to witness such a fate for those they care for.”

It was sorrow that brought the horrible nature of her mother’s struggle to her tongue. The disease had not been pretty, and she would never tone down the harsh realities pugilists faced if they continued on their chosen path when relaying her message.

Holstrom could not question the ailments that had plagued Patience’s mother, once known as Ivory Bess to all of England, during her final years. Her symptoms had begun long before her father had convinced her to retire from society. As a notorious female pugilist, the Countess of Desmond had lived through many hard years growing up in Seven Dials—even her marriage to an earl could not erase her less-than-acceptable birth.

However, her beauty had won her a few hearts in London.

“Nonsense.” Holstrom flicked his arm to the side, a mock way of casting aside Patience’s warning. “I have received all the drivel you continue to send round to my townhouse. I have read every word, and it is nonsense, scribbled by a silly chit who should focus her time and energy on her own future as opposed to pestering upstanding lords about their male pastimes.”

“Silly chit? I am no such thing, I assure you, my lord.” Her voice was stilted, mirroring her frustration. “What happened to my mother could very well hap—”

“Enough, Lady Patience,” Holstrom barked, slashing his hand through the air to silence her as he glanced over his shoulder. “I have a meeting to attend to, and I cannot have you carrying on with these outlandish ramblings. Now, be a good little girl and go find your father.”

The crackle of the floorboards echoing down the dim hall made Patience’s skin crawl. Lord Holstrom wasn’t listening to her and would likely never take her concerns seriously.

“Lord Holstrom, I presume?” The voice thundered from behind Patience. “While I am fairly new to London, I do not believe that is any way to speak to a lady. On her behalf, I take great offense.”

Patience kept her stare trained on Holstrom, refusing to give up and avert her eyes; however, she listened intently as the man who’d rebuffed Holstrom walked up behind her.