“Well, that or for you to join the army. Either would have raised your position in society to an acceptable place.”
“My father has hoped for a position of rank for years. If it was going to come, it would have much sooner than this.”
“What do you mean?”
“General is as far as a commoner can go. If life has taught my father nothing else, he knows that. That is why it was so important to me that you are in line for that Scottish barony.”
“What?” Miss Morgan’s face pulled back in horror, her nostrils flared and her breathing fast. “You never told me that was my main draw.”
“I hadn’t realized my main draw was a possible position in the peerage either. What if Howard was still alive? Would we have even met?”
Miss Morgan didn’t answer. Instead she turned and strode over to a desk, lifted up the cover, and pulled out a sheet of paper, bottle of ink, and pen. Without bothering to sit down, she scratched out something on the paper and marched back to him. She practically threw the paper at him. “Now, get out. I will do whatever I want with Lord Bryant. We have never had an agreement, but just in case anyone questions you on it, that paper should clear it up. Feel free to dally about with your Miss Smith. She is just dull enough not to care whether or not your father ever gains a title.”
“Perhaps I will.” He wouldn’t. Of course he wouldn’t. Although he was quite certain she wouldn’t reject him quite so harshly as Miss Morgan just had. He didn’t bother to look at the paper. It didn’t matter what was on it. His two-year courtship of Miss Morgan was over. In two years, he hadn’t managed to gain Miss Morgan’s respect, let alone her love. He was boring, common, and a disappointment to his father. He had known that his whole life. A rejection from Miss Morgan shouldn’t change how he felt about it.
But as he stormed out of Miss Morgan’s home—he hoped for the last time—he knew it was a lie.
Chapter 15
Patience ran the feather duster along the banister. It was one of the duties she performed nearly every day. She didn’t really understand the point of it. If Mrs. Bates would allow her to wait for a day or two between dusting, there would actually be dust to remove.
She had avoided Mr. Woodsworth ever since the play two days ago, and it was starting to wear on her. She had less than two weeks left to complete her goal of working here a month. She would just need to avoid him for that much longer. If he needed her to be Mary Smith again, she would do it, but other than that, she would stay out of his path. That was her plan, and so far, she had stuck to it.
The last two days had been dreadfully boring without him.
And lonely.
If she were home, she would find Ollie. They would run for a while, and then, when she was tired out, Ollie would let her rest her head on his chest. She had been lonely at home as well, but at least she’d had Ollie to help her feel at peace.
A few moments later, she had dusted her way to Mr. Woodsworth’s study. The door was shut. He was most likely not inside, as she knew for certain he had been out all afternoon, and she hadn’t heard him return. Her instructions had been very general. Dust the house. Well, Mr. Woodsworth’s study was part of the house, and even if she couldn’t allow herself to be around him, a few minutes in his study wouldn’t hurt. Mr. Woodsworth was the closest thing to Ollie she had.
She opened the door without knocking and quietly snuck in.
He was there, at his desk. His back was as straight as it always was, but his collar was undone and his neckcloth loose. His hair, normally as controlled as he was, looked as if he had never combed it. At five in the evening, she found that impossible to believe. Piles of papers were stacked in neat rows, but several papers were strewn about the floor. In all of her time cleaning, he had never left paper on the floor. His eyes were wild as he looked up and caught her walking into his sanctuary.
“Oh, sorry.” She started to slink back out the door.
“No need to leave,” he called out to her. He glanced at the rag in her hand. “Are you here to dust?”
“Yes, but I can come back later.”
“You won’t bother me.”
“Are you certain?”
“I’m certain. Please stop standing at the door. It is making me nervous.”
She hurried inside and, without thinking, shut the door behind her. Should she open it? Would that seem stranger than just leaving it?
“Leave it.” Mr. Woodsworth apparently knew exactly what she was thinking. “I may have a few questions to ask of you that are best answered in private.”
Patience nodded. She simultaneously longed to both look at Mr. Woodsworth and run away. She had missed him, and their time together was growing short. Knowing that she should spend absolutely no time in his company hurt her heart, and his rumpled hair touched her soul. No one in her life had treated her like this man had, and no one would again. She would become Lady Patience again soon. Someone to be taken care of, not someone useful.
Patience slowly turned around. He was looking at her expectantly. He was beautiful, and he wasn’t even smiling.
“Would you rather I left?” he asked.
All the tension in Patience’s stomach left. A small gasp like a laugh escaped her throat. He was so formal and to his maid. She didn’t need to avoid him. He was Mr. Woodsworth. Calm and collected Mr. Woodsworth. As long as she didn’t do anything foolish, he certainly wouldn’t. “No. Please don’t. Dusting won’t take long. I didn’t think you would be here, but I was hoping for it.”
Mr. Woodsworth raised an eyebrow. “Was there something you needed to talk to me about?”
“No,” Patience replied. “It is simply that I’ve been lonely the past few days and have felt the need for connection. I would like it if you stayed.”
“Of course, although I am hardly proper company at the moment.”
She eyed the papers on the floor. “Something has happened.”
“Not something bad, if you are worried about it. But it has left me feeling . . . not quite capable.” He stopped.
“You? Mr. Woodsworth, you are one of the most capable men I know.”
“And you know a lot of men, do you?”
Almost none. “Well no, I suppose I don’t. But it is true nonetheless.”
He nodded and ran his hand down his face. He looked tired. Placing both hands on his desk, he narrowed his eyes at Patience. “May I just ask you one question? One completely inappropriate question?”
“More inappropriate than asking me to pretend to be a lady?”
He shifted his head to one side. “Possibly.”