Her lips lifted slowly. This was not at all what she’d signed up for when she came here. But dancing with the stiff Mr. Woodsworth would be entertaining. She would learn a bit about society before she was forced to enter it, and then later she would be certain she didn’t get caught up with a social-climbing man like him. “Mr. Woodsworth, I believe we have come to an agreement.”
He stood from his chair and came around to her side of the desk. He put his hand out and waited for her to take it. A handshake? And he was the one who offered it. She hesitated. It was so untoward of him to expect that of her.
And then she remembered what she had just agreed to. With a laugh, Patience heartily threw her hand into his and pumped it up and down.
“May we never get caught,” she said. The way he nodded in agreement and tightened his grip in hers made her feel like she finally had someone who was willing to fight alongside her no matter what struggles came. She hadn’t felt that way since the day her mother had entered a carriage and left for Paris.
That was her excuse, she told herself, for leaving her hand too long in his. His vibrant eyes pierced her, and his face softened into a different face altogether. One not burdened by keeping himself serious all the time. When she finally pulled her hand away, his eyes widened, and he stepped back away from her. What was his excuse for not pulling away sooner?
She turned to walk out of the room, already uncertain about her decision to attend a ball. She snuck one last glance at Mr. Woodsworth. He was back at his desk once again, checking to make certain every paper was in order. What kind of man elevated a maid to the position of lady only to go back to lining up papers? He looked as lonely as she had felt while in mourning. His father was still alive, but the man was far from home, and Mr. Woodsworth’s mother and brother were gone. Patience might not be making the right choice by masquerading as an unknown lady, but helping Mr. Woodsworth was the right thing to do. She would stake her reputation on it.
Which was exactly what she had just agreed to.
Chapter 6
“You need to borrow one of my ball gowns for what, exactly?” Sophia’s hands were on her hips, her lips a tight line. The nursery was only used while Sophia’s children were staying, and her son and daughter were quietly circling the nursery, checking to make sure all of their favorite toys were still here. Sophia knew how to make anyone question their decisions, and that look she was giving Anthony now most definitely made him wonder if he had thought through his plan at all.
“It is just for one ball. It will be returned unharmed.”
“I’m not worried about the ball gown, Anthony. I’m wondering what my upstanding younger brother could want with a ball gown.” Her eyes glanced over to her children, who were at the moment trying to reach a puppet on the top of a shelf. “Harry! Put down Augusta this instant.” The children settled down immediately, though Sophia didn’t even watch to make certain they had obeyed. She was more like Father than Anthony was. More like Father than even Howard had been.
“I have a . . . friend who needs to borrow it. She may need to borrow a few other things as well. You look about her size, so I’m sure the fit won’t be a problem.” Anthony turned and walked to the children, hoping to borrow a page from his sister’s book; if he just assumed she would listen to him, perhaps she would.
The rustling of her skirts meant she was following him. “This wouldn’t happen to have anything to do with Miss Morgan, would it? I don’t think a dress of mine would fit her. She is quite petite, and I can’t imagine her needing one. You haven’t given up on her at last, have you?”
“Given up on Miss Morgan? Of course not.” He had spent two years courting her. If he couldn’t get a marriage out of that, what would that show about himself? “But yes, it does have to do with Miss Morgan. We’ve a plan.”
“You’ve a plan?”
“Yes, a plan.”
“A plan that includes my dress.”
“Most likely dresses.”
“So help me, Anthony, if you don’t tell me what this plan is this moment, I am packing up my unruly children”—they were quietly stacking blocks—“and leaving. You will have no help from me, and I assure you, a ball gown isn’t something you can order at the drop of a hat.”
He sighed. There was no arguing with Sophia. “Of course I will tell you.” But how? That was the question. “Let’s find a place to sit. It may take some time.”
Sophia strode over to the wooden rocking chair and sat down in one smooth, graceful movement. Anthony shook his head and reached for a small wooden child’s chair near the children. He slid it over to Sophia and sat down across from her. He had to look up at her from his low-perched position. Only Sophia and their father could make him feel so much like a child.
“As you know, Miss Morgan and I have been hoping to marry for over two years.”
“Everyone knows that, Anthony. You may skip over that part.”
And so he did. He skipped over the part that this was Miss Morgan’s plan, and he skipped over the part about how he barely knew this maid he had employed. The more parts he skipped, the more he worried this plan was perhaps not the best route, but it was time to take action. There were times when doing something was more important than doing the very best thing.
Sophia was quiet as she listened to him ramble on. Very quiet. When he finished, she leaned forward, making him feel even more like a child, towering over him in his little chair.
“And whose idea was this?”
“What do you mean?”
“Whose idea was it for you to bring a maid to a ball and use her as a decoy to make Mr. and Mrs. Morgan worry that they will lose you?”
“Well, the maid part was my idea.”
“Because you wouldn’t want to lead on a lady, I assume. That part makes sense, I suppose. But the rest was Miss Morgan’s.”
Anthony didn’t answer. Sophia would know by his silence.
“And how long have you known this maid? Is she trustworthy?”
Blast the woman. How had she known exactly which answers would be the most damning? “She has been in Father’s employ for less than a year, but I find her trustworthy.”
“Which means she must be beautiful.”
This was outrageous. Anthony stood from his chair. He was tired of feeling like a child. “Her looks had nothing to do with my decision.”
“Is she homely then? You picked a homely maid to distract all of London?”
“No, she isn’t homely. She is, as you said, quite beautiful, but it wasn’t her looks that gave me the idea.” Anthony looked about the room in an effort to grab hold of something. He was floundering, and he knew it. “She has a way about her. She doesn’t act like a maid. She doesn’t even speak like a maid. Her family must have had a setback later in life. You will have a chance to get to know her. I have asked her to help you with the children. It will serve as an excuse when I need her help.”