“Well, I was right, wasn’t I?”
“Yes, but I hardly see your point.”
Patience smoothed each of her fingernails with the pad of her thumb. How was one supposed to act when one’s looks were being tossed back and forth like a shuttlecock? Like she didn’t know what they were talking about, she supposed.
“Don’t fall for her,” Mrs. Jorgensen said.
Patience nearly choked.
“Enough about her looks. You should know me better than that.” The frown lines around Mr. Woodsworth’s mouth were even deeper than usual. He switched back to English. “She can’t look like this at the ball anyway. We wouldn’t want anyone to recognize her as my maid.”
“So you mean not only to dress her up but also to disguise her?” his sister asked, voice rising an octave.
“Yes, a wig will be needed for certain.” Mr. Woodsworth stood from his chair and walked around his deep mahogany desk. “Her hair is quite remarkable and would be remembered.”
Patience’s nails weren’t smooth like they used to be. She rubbed furiously at them, jagged edges and all. Servants weren’t expected to speak unless spoken to, and it was one of the hardest rules she had ever tried to follow. Mr. Woodsworth had called her both beautiful and remarkable in the course of only several minutes. But not in an affected way—in an analytical way she wasn’t sure how to respond to.
Mr. Woodsworth’s sister stood. She was very near Patience’s own height. The dress Mr. Woodsworth brought her fit quite well. She’d added a few tucks in the fabric at the waist to make it a perfect fit. She would still need to ask for a corset and petticoat, but other than that, the dress would do nicely. Thankfully Mr. Woodsworth hadn’t brought her the underthings. His coming to her bedroom last night had been awkward enough as it was.
“This is my sister, Mrs. Jorgensen. Sophia, this is our maid who will be helping us: Patience.”
“Patience?” Mrs. Jorgensen pressed her lips together. “Rather a pretentious name for a maid.”
“Yes, well . . .” It was habit to answer about her name, and despite her best intentions, Patience continued. “My brother would say that when I am around, everyone within a two-mile radius needs patience, and therefore, I am well named.”
Mrs. Jorgensen didn’t seem impressed. She only nodded, as if now the name made sense. “Did you try on the dress?”
Perhaps it was better to stay with short answers. “Yes.”
“And did it fit?”
“I took it in at a few places, but yes, for the most part, it fit very well.”
A slight chill ran through the room. Mrs. Jorgensen smiled, but it was cold and unfriendly. Her face didn’t transform like her brother’s, at least not in a positive way. “I would like to see you have such a figure as mine after two children.”
“As would I,” Patience agreed. Sometimes diplomacy was the best answer, and indeed Mrs. Jorgensen had a very fine figure.
“I suppose we’ll have our work cut out for us presenting you as a young woman of means. Let me see your hands.”
Patience held out her hands. Just a week ago they had been as soft as Mrs. Jorgensen’s, but now they were red and rough.
Mrs. Jorgensen inspected her ruined hands. “Thank goodness for gloves.” She turned to her brother. “You can dress up this woman all you want, but you can always tell a lady by her hands.”
“Well, then it is good that starting today she will be in the nursery with your children. They will have some chance at softening up.”
Mrs. Jorgensen grunted. “We will see about that. Patience, follow me. It is time you met my children. While you are in my service, I trust your brother’s adage about patience will not be needed.”
“No, ma’am.” Patience shook her head and followed Mrs. Jorgensen. After living in the general’s house for a week, she sensed authority for the first time. Mr. Woodsworth, although serious, didn’t have the same commanding presence. Crossing Mrs. Jorgensen would be a terrible mistake. Something told Patience that punishment for indiscretions would be severe and quick.
“Wait,” Mr. Woodsworth called. “You forgot this.”
Mrs. Jorgensen stopped. With a grimace, she returned to fetch a blonde wig Mr. Woodsworth must have pulled from a drawer somewhere.
“I didn’t forget it so much as try to block it from my memory,” Mrs. Jorgensen said. “You do know what people will think of her if she shows up in a wig.”
“We have no other choice.” Mr. Woodsworth held it out toward Mrs. Jorgensen. It was already styled, with the hair parted down the middle and perfect curls cascading below a low knot in the back. Patience could never obtain such sleek curls with her own unruly hair. “Patience agrees that she must be disguised.”
“I will do my best to make it look as natural as possible. But if it is found out, I highly doubt it will do your suit of Miss Morgan any good by showing interest in a woman who is wearing a wig. Everyone will assume she has syphilis.”
Mr. Woodsworth’s jaw went slack. Patience bit back a laugh. His perfect plan truly would be thwarted if those types of rumors started floating around.
Enough of this. Patience grabbed the wig from Mrs. Jorgensen. “No one will think I have syphilis. I am the picture of health. Even with a wig.”
“But what if they do?” Mrs. Jorgensen pulled the wig back out of Patience’s hands. Those curls would be a lot less perfect if they kept this up.
“Well then, I suppose when you introduce me, you may say, ‘This is Miss Patience. She does not have syphilis.’”
Mrs. Jorgensen’s shoulders dropped, and for a moment, Patience thought she was about to see the swift and terrible punishment such a woman could bestow. Instead Mrs. Jorgensen snorted. She looked back and forth between her brother and Patience, her face finally relaxed.
“Anthony, I think this is a terrible plan. But I do commend you on your choice of women. I believe she will do quite well.”
“Thank you,” Patience responded, her form naturally straightening to the posture that had been drilled into her since her youth. “I hope the wig looks natural as it is, but I promise to make my health very visible. No one will think your brother is pursuing a lady of disrepute. We will put on such a good show that this Morgan family will be worried sick about losing him. I suspect a marriage will be announced within a fortnight.” Patience eyed the door but stopped herself before actually commanding Mrs. Jorgensen to leave. She had children to meet and a ball to prepare for. The children made her a bit nervous, but the ball would be no trouble. Balls were the one thing she had actually been trained for. Whatever else happened tonight, at least she wouldn’t be sweeping floors or ruining furniture.