Mr. Woodsworth said nothing contrary to her leaving. Instead he bent over, lifted his chair—which Patience had toppled—from off the floor, and sat down. He was back to sitting in her presence, it seemed, even though now he knew better than to do so.
“I need to fetch my things.”
Nicholas scoffed. “Surely there isn’t anything here you need.”
What did she need from her room? Her apron? Her stained cap?
Her stained cap.
She needed that. She would have something to remember her time here. And one other thing. She wanted Mr. Woodsworth’s seven-page plan to marry her. But how would she ask it of him?
“I have one thing I would like from my room. And, Mr. Woodsworth?”
He looked up, his eyes glazed over. The pages were right in front of him, still spread out, the one with his proposal and their wedding date on top of all the others. She closed her eyes, wishing for something about this moment to change. For her to have a few more days with him. For her to be a maid and not a lady. For her to have the courage to ask him for those pages. But when she opened her eyes, everything was the same. She couldn’t ask for those papers, but he did have a list that was, in all rights, hers.
“Could I have the list of gentlemen we were working on?”
He put his hand over his eyes and then flexed every muscle in his fingers. With a slight nod, he reached into one of the drawers and pulled out a single sheet of paper. On it was the list they had gone over together. He turned to offer it to her, and then stopped, his eyes glancing back and forth between her and the names jotted down. “This list has nothing to do with employers. It is a list for you.”
“What list?” Nicholas strode over to the desk. He stopped short of taking the paper out of Mr. Woodsworth’s hands.
“It is a list of potential suitors, isn’t it? You have been asking me to help you pick out a husband.”
“What is going on?” Nicholas said. “I’m going to choose your husband. You need no help from him.”
“No one is choosing a husband for me. Especially if I don’t get that list.” She would have one thing to remember Mr. Woodsworth by, and the list was easier to ask for than the proposal. She held her hand out to Mr. Woodsworth, but he ignored it, looking over each and every note he had made on the men listed there. As long as she was being ignored, she threw caution into the wind. “If you won’t give it to me, then I will take those papers instead.” She pointed to Mr. Woodsworth’s plans.
“No,” said Mr. Woodsworth, placing his left arm over the papers. With his right hand, he set down her list of gentlemen and reached for his pen and ink. “I will give it to you, but first I need to make a few adjustments.” His eyes ran down the paper several times before he scratched a long, dramatic line across one entry’s information. “Lord Grunfeld is definitely out.”
She tried to reach for the paper. She didn’t need Mr. Woodsworth helping her pick a husband. She would deal with that dreary decision later. Much later—not five minutes after he had proposed to her. He turned his body so he could still keep one arm on the proposal papers but block her from reaching the list he was working on. She sighed. Apparently she would have to watch him pick apart a list of men she had never truly considered. “Of course he is. You will have some faith in my powers of reasoning, I hope.”
Nicholas came behind the desk and looked over his shoulder. His eyes narrowed as he read the names and categories. “This is a list of potential suitors for Patience? Half the men on here aren’t good enough to even be invited into our home, let alone be allowed to court my sister.”
“I didn’t know it was a list of suitors,” Anthony said between gritted teeth.
“You have Lord Bragton on there?” Nicholas shook his head. “He is in debt up to his ears. Cross him off.”
Mr. Woodsworth decisively blotted out that name.
This couldn’t be happening.
“Lord Shurton has a meddling mother.” Nicholas pointed to another name. “Patience shouldn’t be expected to live with that.”
A swipe of the pen.
“Why did I even include . . .”
Patience couldn’t watch anymore. She turned to leave. She needed her cap, and she wanted to say goodbye to Mrs. Bates, Mr. Gilbert, and Molly. Oh, and Augusta and Harry. What would she tell them?
She quietly opened the door and shut it softly behind her.
The foyer was silent and empty. Mr. Gilbert must have known to give Mr. Woodsworth a wide berth while being accosted by a duke. The cold metal of the door handle chilled her. She could still hear the rumblings of the two men behind her, casually discussing her future, as if it had nothing to do with her. She was back to where she had started, only worse. Much worse. She had seen written out in bold, careful strokes a plan of happiness spread out over the course of seven pages. And she could never have it.
She pressed her back against the door frame and slid to the floor. The more she tried to calm her breathing, the tighter her chest became. She leaned forward with her head in her hands. At any moment someone could walk past her, but she couldn’t force herself to stand. This was not how it was supposed to end.
The door opened, but she still couldn’t get up. Two strong arms reached beneath her legs and around her neck and lifted her off the floor.
“Come, Patience,” Nicholas said.
She wrapped her arms around his neck and buried her face in his chest. He smelled like Papa. How many times had Papa carried her like this when she was a little girl?
“I miss him.”
Nicholas pulled her tighter to his chest. “I do too.” Of course he would know she was speaking of Papa.
“I don’t know if I’m ready to be out of mourning yet.”
“It is time, my little dove.”
Papa’s nickname for her. Tears that had been threatening to fall ever since Mr. Woodsworth had pulled out his list spilled out of her eyes and onto Nicholas’s coat.
“Let’s get you home. Where is your room? I will help you fetch your things.”
“Did you get my list?”
“It is in my breast pocket.”
Patience moved one hand and felt it there. She had it. She would at least have one thing to remember Mr. Woodsworth by.
“That should be the least of your concerns. I cannot believe you deceived me so. And living here for weeks, unchaperoned no less.”
“Down the hall, that way.” Patience pointed him in the right direction to her room. She wasn’t ready to listen to another lecture from her brother. She should demand he put her down so she could go herself. If Mr. Gilbert or Mrs. Bates saw her being carried by such a well-dressed gentleman, what would they think of her?