“But—”
“Are you afraid for your person?” Mr. Gilbert’s face softened. He had protected her many times from Mrs. Bates, either by showing how things were done or at times distracting Mrs. Bates from how long it took Patience to do certain tasks. She hated to disappoint him now. “Mr. Woodsworth will be in the room. You will never be alone with him.”
Mr. Woodsworth being there made it even worse. However, whatever else she was afraid of, it wasn’t that she would come to bodily harm. “No.”
“Then I’m afraid you will have to do it.”
Patience gritted her teeth and finally nodded. There was no fooling Lord Bryant at this point anyway. If he had asked for her, that meant he had already recognized her.
She tucked a few strands of unruly hair back into her cap. Her fingers were glazed with a fine layer of dust and ash and her apron a mess. Mr. Gilbert must have noticed her distress. “You may have five minutes to clean up while I inform cook that an early morning visitor has arrived. She will have the tea ready when you are.”
After washing her hands as best she could, Patience rushed off to her room to change out of her apron and cap. She had no mirror in her small room, but she did have a few more hair pins. She hastily shoved them into her hair, hoping they would contain at least a few more of her curls. Blast Lord Bryant. Would the man never leave her alone? If it weren’t for him, she would be quietly finishing off the last few days of her service here. Mr. Woodsworth hadn’t asked her to attend any more functions with him, and she was finally able to concentrate only on her tasks at his home, her whole purpose in coming.
She hurried down the hallway, took a short detour, and stood in front of the mirror in the foyer. Her dress was mostly clean but ill fitting. Her hair didn’t look as bad as she had feared. Her face was free from soot. Hopefully it was enough to convince Lord Bryant that she was healthy and doing well in the Woodsworth household. To be so close, only to have Lord Bryant tell Mr. Woodsworth who she was?
She couldn’t allow it to happen.
Heat rushed to her cheeks as she remembered her actions of two days ago. She hadn’t cared much what Mr. Woodsworth thought of a maid being so brazen. But if he knew . . . It didn’t bear thinking on.
Cook had wheeled the tea cart to the front of the drawing room door. Mr. Woodsworth must already have gone in. What excuse did Lord Bryant use for his visit?
Mrs. Bates was waiting beside the cart, sullen. She opened the door for Patience, and together they wheeled in the tea cart. Patience had taken the news of Lord Bryant’s request rather painfully, but as Mr. Gilbert had said, the servants accommodated the wishes of a titled guest. And above all, she was here to prove herself a proper servant.
Mr. Woodsworth’s back was to them, and he was so focused on Lord Bryant that he hadn’t acknowledged their arrival.
Lord Bryant spun a signet ring on his pinkie finger. “And you have no way to contact Miss Smith?”
“None,” said Mr. Woodsworth.
She dared a glance at him. He was sitting with his back to her, not knowing the predicament he was about to be in. Lord Bryant, on the other hand, caught her eye and tsked, shaking his head back and forth.
“She must not be far. Why, it wasn’t but a week ago we were picnicking at Green Park. I distinctly remember you saying she was a close friend of the family.”
“Do you know the whereabouts of all of your close friends?”
“That question operates under the assumption that I have close friends. I’m afraid I wouldn’t know.”
Mrs. Bates gave Patience a slight shove with her hip. It was time to pour tea.
“It seems to me you are busy enough with Miss Paynter and Miss Morgan. Where would you find the time to converse with Miss Smith as well?”
The tray rattled in Patience’s hands. Mr. Woodsworth turned his head toward the two of them, and his eyes widened. He quickly snapped his mouth shut but furrowed his eyebrows at her and jerked his head in the slightest manner toward the door.
“Ah, tea. Just what I was looking forward to,” Lord Bryant said, respectfully standing in a way no man should for a servant. “And your help is so lovely.”
Patience would strangle him, lord or no. Had he come here just to torment her?
“Mrs. Bates, it has been years since I have graced this doorway, but I declare you are just as lovely now as you were then.”
Mrs. Bates stifled a girlish giggle, but a blush made its way to her middle-aged cheeks. How was it that, just because Lord Bryant was handsome and titled, he managed to make all of the women around him act like school girls?
“Oh, milord. You flatter me.”
“I flatter everyone who deserves it, which is why I asked Mr. Gilbert to have this pretty young maid serve tea. She seemed to be in need of some flattery, and how much easier it would be to flatter her while pouring tea.”
***
Anthony was more than ninety-eight percent certain Lord Bryant knew exactly who his pretty servant was, or rather, who she wasn’t. “That will be all, Mrs. Bates. Patience can take it from here.”
“Patience?” For the first time since his meeting Lord Bryant, surprise etched the lord’s otherwise bored or flirtatious features. “Your maid’s told you her name is Patience?”
Anthony wasn’t certain Lord Bryant’s surprised outburst was a question or a statement, but he answered him anyway. “Yes. Because it is her name.” If Anthony was curt with Lord Bryant, perhaps he would leave sooner. He doubted it. More than likely it would provoke him to stay longer and toy with Anthony’s emotions more viciously, but he found curtness was all he could muster for the interfering lord. “I see no reason for that to cause surprise.”
“It is hardly a name fitting a maid.”
“What are you getting at?”
“Nothing. If a pretty maid wants a pretty name, I suppose it is none of my business.”
“True.” Finally Lord Bryant had said something Anthony could agree with. “It is none of your business.” He didn’t like the way he was looking at Patience though. If Lord Bryant had felt comfortable asking her to serve them tea, what else would he feel comfortable asking her? As a servant, she would have little recourse other than to do what she was asked. She had done everything Anthony had asked her to do, and even a few things he hadn’t.
“How would you like your tea?” Patience poised over Lord Bryant’s teacup.
“Strong.”
She nodded and carefully lifted his cup and poured. Her hand was steady and her face delicately bowed. Mr. Woodsworth had seen high-ranking ladies pour tea with less decorum than Patience. Would she ever cease to amaze him?