“I don’t mean to be derailed by a pretty face,” Lord Bryant said. “Although it does seem to happen to me quite often. We were speaking of Miss Smith.”
Miss Smith? Surely he knew. A blonde wig and a beauty mark couldn’t hide Patience’s voice or mannerisms. Mr. Woodsworth knew some men who never even glanced at servants, but Lord Bryant had more than glanced at Patience. “We were, and as I told you, I don’t have an address for her at the moment.”
“That is unfortunate. I have news for her. Of her brother.”
Patience’s hand paused for a moment at that, and the tea stopped pouring. Patience had a brother? Anthony didn’t even know anything personal about her, other than that she had a dog named Ollie. The only time she had mentioned her brother was when speaking of her name. Anthony had practically forgotten he existed. When she had come into his study, he had the distinct impression that she was all alone in the world.
A flurry of impressions of his maid flashed before his eyes, including her absolute insistence on wearing a disguise. She had never actually wanted to go out in society, and although she had been insistent on him delivering reports of men much higher in standing than he was, she never actually wanted to spend time in high society.
Had she worked for Lord Bryant before coming here? Lord Bryant must know it was Mary Smith standing next to him. But she wouldn’t have been Mary Smith if they had met before she came here. How much did Lord Bryant know about Patience?
“I haven’t met her brother.”
“For someone who claims to be a good friend, you know surprisingly little about Miss Smith. You don’t know her whereabouts, and you don’t know her family.”
“And how do you know her brother?”
“I know him as well as I know anyone, I suppose, which is to say, not very well. But we spoke of him at the picnic. She mentioned his name, and I thought she might like to know that he is going to be back in London very soon.”
The sugar tongs clattered to the tea tray. A sharp intake of breath from Patience made him wish she could do a better job at acting. If Lord Bryant had asked her about her family, she would have answered him honestly. Her propensity toward truthfulness was always at the front of Anthony’s mind in meetings like these. The last thing he needed was for anyone in London to find out she had been pretending to be a lady. She would never find work again.
“I will have Mrs. Jorgensen send her a note.”
“Ah.” Lord Bryant flashed him a brilliant smile. “So Mrs. Jorgensen knows where she is?”
“I suppose so.”
“Why didn’t you just say that in the first place? It would have saved me a lot of trouble.”
Lord Bryant had shown no sign of recognizing his maid, and yet nothing about this conversation added up. Why had Patience mentioned her brother’s name to Lord Bryant but never to Anthony? They had only walked that one time together, yet Lord Bryant knew more about her than he did? And for that matter, if she had been left alone with Lord Bryant in his study, would she have been the same outspoken, brazen woman she had been with Anthony? His stomach churned, and the sour smell of tea invaded his senses. He would need to ask Mrs. Bates to check the stores. Something must have happened to spoil this batch of leaves.
There was a soft knock at the door, and Mr. Gilbert stepped in. “Pardon me, but Mr. Stewart Fairchild is here to see you. Shall I send him in?”
Patience grabbed the hem of his sleeve. Her eyes were wide, and she shook her head. He had the sudden desire to wrap her in his arms and pull her away from everything. What had he gotten her into? He detested Lord Bryant for the ways Anthony imagined he would take advantage of a maid like Patience, but he had done nothing to help her himself. As an employer, he never should have put her in the position she was in now.
“No,” Anthony said without taking his eyes off Patience’s. He hadn’t looked at her in two days—not truly. Her hazel eyes stared up at him in pure panic. “Tell him he will have to come another time. I am not receiving visitors today.”
Stewart’s laugh echoed from the foyer into the room. “There is a carriage outside. I know you are accepting visitors.”
Patience was pulled from his side in a flash. Lord Bryant practically dragged her to the fireplace, where he kicked up some soot, grabbed his handkerchief, pressed it into her hands, then pulled up her hand to cover her face. Once her face was covered, he pushed her shoulders down so she would be hunched over. Patience’s perfect posture, so unlike any maid he had ever known, was gone, replaced by a coughing, hunched-over young maid only recognizable by her hair. But her hair was the one thing Anthony had disguised.
It all happened so fast that by the time Stewart walked in through the drawing room door, there was no chance he would recognize Patience. Instead, he saw Lord Bryant patting the back of an unknown maid.
Lord Bryant knew exactly who Miss Smith was. His bland face and casual air had been calculated. Blast, but he had been good at that. What else was Lord Bryant pretending?
“Sorry to barge in, Anthony, but you have ignored one too many letters.” Stewart stopped upon seeing who was in the drawing room. “Lord Bryant?” Stewart raised his eyebrows and paused only a few feet inside the door.
Lord Bryant pushed Patience forward to the door but not before whispering something in her ear. Her eyes widened, and she turned to face the baron, staring straight into his face. He only gave a brief nod. She continued coughing as she walked past Stewart. She wouldn’t meet his eyes, and her face was still covered by that blackguard’s handkerchief. She made it out of the room without Stewart’s notice.
Lord Bryant pulled out a second handkerchief. How many handkerchiefs did the man carry? He must never know when he needed to console a parcel of women.
Bryant covered his own face and let out one decisive cough. “I’m afraid it is my fault Mr. Woodsworth refused to admit you. No need to disparage your friend.”
What did Lord Bryant mean by that? Anthony was used to being in complete control in his home, and yet, the moment Lord Bryant stepped into his house, he felt the strangest feeling. He didn’t know what was going to happen next or how to respond to whatever it was. “I came to inform Mr. Woodsworth of some terrible news regarding a close friend of his.”
“Which friend?” Stewart stepped closer to Lord Bryant. Mr. Gilbert hovered by the door. Typically the butler would have left by now. It seemed everyone was interested in what Lord Bryant had to say, including Anthony.
“I don’t think you would have known her, as she was hardly ever in town.”
Anthony had half a mind to stop Lord Bryant, but he was quite certain he knew what the Lord was going to say next, and as much as he hated to admit it, Lord Bryant was blasted right.
“Which friend?” Stewart’s voice was almost a growl. “What has happened?”