“Nicholas,” Patience began.
Nicholas stood. “No.”
“We are just having a conversation.” Patience reached for his arm, but he pulled it away.
“This conversation is two years late. I will not have anyone looking over my shoulders pointing out what I should have done or how Father did it differently when I have done everything on my own.”
“I don’t think—” Patience started, but Nicholas was already across the room and yanking the door open. “I’m sorry, Mama.”
“No, he is right.”
“We used to discuss the estate with Papa.”
“And we will discuss it again with Nicholas. He needs time. I need time. But if you are willing to speak with me, I have some questions for you.”
Patience nodded, suddenly more understanding of her brother. Storming out seemed a lot more comfortable than speaking about her life.
“When I was a young girl, my first Season was spectacular. One of the highlights of my life. I loved every ball and each and every chance to show off a new gown.”
“Yes, Mama.” Patience didn’t like where this conversation was going.
“You don’t seem to feel that way. Not even a little bit.”
She wasn’t wrong. Patience had felt a fraud while meeting the Queen. She spent every ball looking for a man who was never there, and no man, no matter how flirtatious or eligible, had been able to turn her head. They were all too flighty. She was flighty enough on her own. She wanted someone serious to court her. Someone with piercing blue eyes and a face that transformed with a smile.
“You haven’t been the same since you returned from Bath.”
Patience picked at her smooth fingernails. How had Mama missed the conditions of her hands when she had returned? One night comforting each other. Was it enough for her to trust Mama with the most foolish thing she had done in her life?
“Patience, I know I have no right to ask, but what happened in Bath?”
Patience took a deep breath, threw her hands down to the sides of her chair, and sighed. “I never went to Bath.”
“You never went to Bath?”
“No.”
Mama’s eyes widened in alarm. “Where were you all that month?”
“It wasn’t a month, Mama, not quite.”
Mama raised an eyebrow like she used to when Patience had snitched an extra sweet. “Where were you, Patience?”
“I would rather not say.” Patience’s hands started shaking. She rubbed at her eye. That wasn’t true. She had wanted to tell her mother all along. Mama didn’t pry anymore. She just watched Patience and waited. “Nicholas always acts so superior just because he served in the army.”
Mama nodded but still didn’t say anything.
“I wanted to prove him wrong. All I did was create a huge mess.”
Mama scooted her chair closer and took Patience’s hand in her own. “Tell me of this mess, and we shall see if there is something we can do to bring the smile back to your eyes.”
Patience didn’t know where to start, so she started at Nicholas provoking her in their garden. When she told Mama about the man who walked in his garden every day at 11:15, Mama sat back as if she already knew the whole story. And even though she might have guessed it all, Patience told it all to her anyway.
Chapter 20
Anthony placed the sealed letter on the table by the front door. This one was sixteen pages long. Excessive? Perhaps. But it wasn’t as long as one of the ones he had sent last week. He had been writing the duke for two weeks now and had yet to receive a reply. Each morning when the mail was delivered and there was no response from the duke, he promised himself he wouldn’t keep degrading himself by writing again. But by the afternoon, he would find himself in his study, writing up plans to make a courtship work and reasons why the duke should allow it.
It was the only thing keeping him from going mad.
He rubbed his thumb over the red seal on his letter. Or maybe this was all proof that he actually was mad. He had bought new sealing wax, not wanting to use the last of the wrecked pieces Patience had left him; it was the only thing he had to remember her by.
A commotion of hooves and shouts outside announced the arrival of a carriage. Anthony flipped over his letter, not wanting his father to see that he had been hounding the duke. But also not willing to bring the letter back to his study. He would have it sent.
Mr. Gilbert opened the front door in time for Anthony to see his father descend from the carriage. He was in uniform, his hat shoved tightly onto the top of his head. After hours in a carriage, nothing about him seemed creased or fatigued. He was, as always, a general.
Anthony didn’t wait for him to come inside but instead met him at the top of the stairs.
“Anthony, it is good to see you.” Father clasped his shoulders in his hands. “I heard the sale went through on the property in Kent. Well done.”
“Thank you.”
“Does this mean after two years we finally have an engagement to announce?”
“No.”
Father’s brow furrowed. “She still won’t have you?”
Anthony moved aside, allowing his father to enter the house. Mr. Gilbert immediately took Father’s hat. “I never told her about the property in Kent. By the time it was settled, we had both realized continuing a courtship was in neither of our best interests.”
“What?” Father practically ripped off his overcoat, then, schooling his surprise as he schooled everything, folded it in half neatly before handing it to Mr. Gilbert.
It was better to just tell his father the news right away. He would find out soon enough. “I’m no longer courting Miss Morgan.”
Father’s eyebrows furrowed. Anthony knew that look. As a child it had meant that he was about to receive extra chores, and not pleasant ones. Mr. Gilbert took Father’s stormy face as his cue to leave and did so silently.
“I’ve never once seen you fail to achieve something you set your mind to. I must admit, I find it hard to believe you weren’t successful in your pursuit of her.”
“Yes, well, I found my mind drastically changed on the matter.”
“Another thing I have rarely seen you do.”
Anthony had been miserable for the past month and a half, but the one thing he could not regret was losing Miss Morgan. “Trust me, Father. It was for the best.”
“I do trust you.” He narrowed his eyes at Anthony’s appearance. Anthony stopped short of pulling on his sleeves to assure himself his clothing was in order. It wasn’t in order. He hadn’t bothered with a cravat this morning. When his valet had brought it forward, he’d waved it off. While concocting his latest plan he had undone his top button and pulled on his hair enough to know he must be a sight. Father continued, “But it doesn’t look to me as if you are feeling your best.”