Page 17 of Earl of St. Seville

“I overhead my father speaking with the physician the other night,” she said with a shrug, attempting to hide her embarrassment over the fact that she’d listened as intently as she had to any morsel of information about him. Since that night, her father hadn’t so much as mentioned St. Seville.

Crossing his arms, the earl reclined slightly. “Is that all you needed to say?”

Patience’s stare drifted to the drape blocking her view of the business London street beyond. Did she dare voice what she’d truly come to ask? Would he think she’d used him for her own benefit? None of that mattered overly. Patience longed to know if Lord Holstrom had considered her pamphlet at all. What St. Seville thought of her was irrelevant and would do nothing to champion her cause.

It would be wise for her to keep that in the forefront of her mind; spending her time wondering what this gentleman thought of her was a waste.

“You want to know if I gave Holstrom the paper.” It was as if he’d read her mind.

Her eyes snapped back to his, but she tried to cover her interest in the topic. “I had wondered.” Patience would not betray her eagerness to know what had happened to the paper for it would cast a bright light on her own needs.

“Holstrom made it very clear how he felt about you and your meddling”—He held up his hand when she opened her mouth to protest—“his words, not mine. I think we both know I do not share the same views as Lord Holstrom. However, I regret to inform you that I did not pass the paperon to him. He would have tossed it in the rubbish bin as quickly as he took hold of it.”

Patience deflated, her confidence seeping from her. “I commend your honesty, my lord.”

“However,” he continued, giving Patience pause. “I read the pamphlet. The Trials and Hardships of Caring for Aging Pugilists.”

He quoted the pamphlet’s title perfectly. There was no hiding her utter shock as her eyes widened, and her pulse raced.

“I found the information very informative and thought-provoking.”

Patience slumped back into her seat. “Unfortunately, the men that most need the pamphlet and knowledge refuse to listen.”

It was her luck that someone had actually taken her work seriously, only to be someone not in jeopardy.

“Why do you spend your time trying to help those who do not want your assistance?” he asked.

He didn’t mean it as an offense, Patience could tell. St. Seville was genuinely interested in her reasoning. Could it be that there was someone among the ton who was unfamiliar with her lineage and past?

“My mother—the once notorious Ivory Bess—died from the injuries I write about in my pamphlets,” Patience whispered, lowering her stare to her gloved hands, clenched tightly in her lap. She couldn’t bring herself to meet his stare, for fear he’d be like so many others. Many in the ton lacked a certain amount of empathy. “The physician treated her for years. It started with almost imperceptible things like forgetfulness and being overly clumsy, but progressed quickly to complete loss of large pieces of memory and an inability to use her arms and legs.”

He seemed to listen and truly think about each word she said, which pushed her to continue. It had been years since she’d spoken so candidly about her mother to anyone besides her father. The many times she’d lamented to others had been met with scorn or outright dismissal.

But not St. Seville.

“She passed not long after my fifteenth birthday.” Patience breathed in deeply to stop the sob that threatened to escape. She would not cry in front of the earl. She could not bear losing the tight grip on her control. There was only one thing left to say on the matter, and then she could tell him farewell and allow the tears to come when she was alone. “The doctor believes, as do my family and I, that her ailment was caused by her years as a pugilist before she wed my father.”

It was hard to believe her mother’s fate had been sealed long before she met her husband, wed, and started a family. Ivory Bess was destined to die before any of her children reached the age of majority. It wounded Patience deeply that so many others would see the same fate if they did nothing to protect themselves against it.

His hand landed on hers, squeezing gently, and she brought her gaze back to him.

Patience wiped at her cheeks, mortified by the dampness she brushed away. “I have not spoken of this to anyone but my family.”

He leaned forward until only mere inches separated them, his interest in her—in her past—so intense it pulled them closer in the confined space.

“I am so sorry you lost your mother,” he breathed, and sorrow permeated the interior of the carriage. “I cannot imagine how difficult it was for you and your family. That burden is a heavy one to bear.”

For some odd reason, Patience suspected he knew exactly what it was like following the death of a loved one, especially one as close as a mother. She wanted to inquire about the depth of his loss but did not dare. They were little more than strangers. True, she had seen him in a most indecent manner in Merit’s bedchamber, and he’d stood up for her when no one else would. When he’d grasped her elbow to stop her from falling at Holstrom’s ball, it was as if his touch were as familiar as that of any loved one. And then, he’d comforted her only a few moments before as if they’d sat just so and discussed the hardships of life on a thousand different occasions.

Perhaps Patience was the silly girl Lord Holstrom accused her of being.

She blinked several times to keep additional tears from pooling in her eyes. “Again, my lord, you are too kind.”

The warmth from his continued touch could be felt through her glove, and even though it was foolish to admit such, it was welcomed. Several years ago, those around her had stopped offering the comfort Patience sometimes needed, the reassurance that her feelings—heartbreak, sorrow, and even anger—were justified.

She brushed at her cheek, unsurprised to find another wayward tear had slipped down her face. “My apologies, my lord, it is only that I am very passionate about educating others about my mother’s fate. I know it is silly to allow my temper to flare when others don’t heed my advice. I am working on that.”

Patience let out a light laugh, but it was piercing and hollow even to her own ears.