Page 18 of Earl of St. Seville

St. Seville had fallen silent, his hand leaving hers as he pushed back onto his bench. Not often did someone listen to her—truly hear her—without voicing his or her own opinion and objections to her plight. Her siblings routinely reminded her of her peculiarity. Her father reprimanded her for nearly every infraction, yet at the same time, ignored her for days at a time. And that was not even considering the responses from men such as Holstrom. She’d begun to think, though she was loath to admit it, that she was making no difference, her tales of caution falling on deaf ears.

“Nonetheless, I thank you and will not keep you any longer.” The words rushed out of her mouth. She was close to falling apart, and she would be damned if she embarrassed herself further in front of the earl. The ache in her chest intensified as it always did when grief was close to overtaking her. “I will not keep you from your evening.”

He moved toward the door, and Patience could only imagine his need to depart the carriage and be away from her.

Halting, his hand on the latch, he offered, “I am meeting with someone, and it would be impolite to be late. However, I should see you—”

“Then you should be on your way with all due haste, my lord.” Patience knew he was going to offer to see her home, but she could not be the cause of his tardiness.

“I suppose I could…”

“Do not even ponder that idea,” Patience said with a hesitant smile. “My driver will take me home safely, just as he brought me here. There is no need to worry over me. Your friend—” She stumbled over the word, for the first time thinking he might be on his way to see a woman. Why did that fill her with dread? And make her stomach harden with…envy? Certainly, Patience should not feel a spike of jealously over a man who was nearly a stranger to her. She’d come to the Albany to thank him, not entangle herself in his life. “Your acquaintance will not be pleased if you are late.”

“The Earl of Coventry is not one to be kept waiting,” he readily agreed.

The Earl of Coventry. Not a woman, after all.

Patience’s relief was short-lived when the street lamp outside was lit, and the new glow glinted off the golden W pinned to St. Seville’s lapel. The pieces fell into place, and Patience felt foolish that she hadn’t suspected the connection before now.

“You have taken up with the Wicked Earls’ Club, then?” Her tone was stilted, and any trace of warmth for St. Seville vanished when she dragged her glare away from the golden pin to search his face for deception. “I suppose I should have known.”

Her hurt was unmistakable, and Patience made no effort to hide it as she glanced away from him toward the covered window.

“No, Coventry is—er—was a friend of my father’s,” the earl explained, his posture as tense as Patience’s. “He offered his assistance and guidance while I’m in town, that is all.”

Patience snorted, not bothering to mask her disdain for the group that went by the atrocious name. It was as if they were proud to flaunt their wealth and status, all while shirking their responsibilities and going on in a manner most unfitting an earl.

“I am certain that is all; however, be warned, Coventry and his ilk are a depraved lot,” she said, her eyes remaining on the thin fabric covering the carriage window. “They are uncouth and embroiled in all manner of debauchery.”

“As I said, Coventry is a family friend. I am in town for the sole purpose of my duty to my estate and family.” He paused, and Patience felt his eyes on her, all but begging her to look at him. She would not give him the satisfaction. Again, she reminded herself that caring for this stranger did nothing to advance her cause. “When my business is completed, I will return to my family home, and I have no plans to set foot in London again, nor consort with the likes of Coventry and his men.”

“My father was once friends with the Earl of Coventry, too,” Patience confessed.

“And your father once knew mine,” St. Seville countered.

“He was part of The Earls’ Guild?” Her stare snapped back to his. Her father had said nothing of knowing St. Seville’s family. “The Guild is all but disbanded now after Coventry came into power. My father loved and cherished the men he saw as more than friends. To him, they were family. When my mother died, my father could have used their support. Instead, Coventry refused him entrance to their club. The new lords of the Wicked Earls’ Club could not be bothered to help one of their own. Coventry hasn’t changed, I fear.”

“Again, I am sorry. And you should know, I haven’t any allegiance to the Wicked Earls’ Club or any man who calls the place home.”

Patience studied his expression: open, sincere, and without any hint of dishonesty.

“Very well, my lord.” Patience smoothed her gloved hands down the front of her skirts. “I will not keep you any longer. There is no need to give the Earl of Coventry my regards.”

He chuckled and pushed the door wide before glancing outside. He turned back toward her. “I bid you good evening, my lady. As I have listened to your advice, may I be so bold as to offer my own?” When she nodded, he continued, “Meeting with men unchaperoned at dusk could lead to scandal and ruin. Do take more caution with your reputation.”

He leapt to the walk, and Patience called after him, “If I were concerned with such things, I would have changed my ways long ago, my lord.”

This time, his response was unrestrained laughter, not the reserved chuckle from before. The sound was like the sweetest melody, and she thought in his normal life he must laugh often—it sounded natural. What would it be like to wake to such laughter each morning, or fall sleep with the same melody in her ear at night? It was far different than the silence that had settled upon her home and her family of late.

“Noted, Lady Patience,” he called and closed the door before calling to her driver. “Please return your mistress to her home with all due haste.”

“Yes, my lord.” Her driver pulled the brake, and they were off in the direction of Marsh Manor.

Patience leaned back into the velvet squabs of the coach. How had she been at first pleased to see St. Seville and comfortably entranced with him, only to have her skin prickle with anger at his acquaintance with Coventry? Even now, she was uncertain how she felt about the man or why she wanted nothing more than to explore whatever it was that drew her to him.

Knowing the earl and discovering what secrets he held would not benefit her.

He was best forgotten, or the distraction he caused her might very well throw her off course.