Chapter Four
Patience stared at her father in disbelief. “Lord Alex was never my lover. I was a mere sixteen years when we met. I have not seen him since the night he walked out of this very house, never to return.”
“Whether he was your lover matters not. You will marry him. You were to be the Duchess of Bedford, and by God, that’s what you will be.”
Patience raised her chin. “I imagine the new Duke of Bedford will have something to say about that. No one has heard from him for four years. He may very well be married…or betrothed.” No matter how hard she tried, she could not quell the kernel of excitement that grew in her middle. Was it possible that what she and Alex had planned years ago could come true?
Father waved his hand. “Nonsense. He returned alone. He’s been in the military where most men do not marry. Believe me, he is available, and he was panting after you four years ago.” He stopped at her sharp intake of breath and pointed his finger at her face. “Don’t give me that look, daughter. I am not blind, nor was I blind four years ago. Had that visit lasted two more days, your virtue would have flown out the window, causing all sorts of trouble.”
He backed up and sat in the chair across from her. “This time you are free to do as you please with the man. If he is such a gentleman, he will marry you once he’s had you.”
Her face flushed at being spoken to like this from her own father. Patience stood. “I will leave you now. I find I have a megrim.”
Before he could stop her, she turned and hurried from the room. What a horrible day this had been. Pretending to feel remorse for a man she had loathed, watching Alex ignore her after what they’d meant to each other, and now her father speaking to her as if she were a trollop.
Truth be known, she was sick to death of being pushed and pulled by men. Marry this one, marry that one, don’t talk back, do as you’re told. Beatings, banishments. She was so very weary of it all.
She did, truly, have the beginnings of a megrim. She would retire to her bedchamber and have Polly bring her a cool cloth sprinkled with lavender.
Then with any luck, she would fall asleep and wake up in some other time and place, and as some other woman.
…
Almost a week later, Patience put aside the embroidery she worked on and walked to the drawing room window at the sound of horses and carriage wheels. Despite her desire to leave the Abbey and return to her family’s estate, her father insisted on accepting the duchess’s invitation to remain.
And she knew why.
A carriage with the Duke of Bedford’s crest on its door rolled to a stop in front of the Abbey. Her hand flew to her chest and she sucked in a breath as Alex stepped out, looking every inch the duke.
Now that she had the opportunity to study him without his awareness, or others observing her, she noticed the changes in his body. Thanks to his years in His Majesty’s service, the thin frame of the young man he’d been at one and twenty years had filled out to that of a man.
A dark brown greatcoat covered broad shoulders, flapping against muscular thighs. His stance and demeanor spoke well of years spent in the military. The greatcoat remained open, revealing a starched cravat, a snug jacket, and shiny boots.
He turned from the carriage after giving instructions to the driver, and faced the portico. Patience backed up a little, even though she was sure he could not see her. Alex studied the house, his more mature face—with lines he hadn’t had four years ago, along with a full mustache on his upper lip—brought flutters to her stomach. He was more handsome, more confident, and apparently, no longer interested in her.
She quickly returned to her seat as he made his way up the pathway to the door. Both her mother and the duchess had retired to their rooms for a lie-down. Father had departed after breakfast, which left her alone.
With Alex.
She licked her dry lips at the sound of voices in the entrance way. Shortly after, footsteps sounded on the stairs. Her heart beat so loudly she was sure it would wake her mother.
“Ouch.” She stuck her finger with the embroidery needle and dropped it on her lap. Quickly picking up a book, she hurriedly reversed it when she realized she held it upside down.
“Lady Patience.” Alex lounged in the doorway, arms crossed, casually leaning against the frame. His unruly hair was just as she remembered it. But, oh, nothing else was the same. The coolness in his eyes instead of the grin she’d loved. The lines near his eyes and between his brows confirmed he frowned a great deal, and most likely squinted in the sun.
“Your Grace.” She dipped her head. The poor piece of embroidery in her lap was squeezed into a wrinkled mess.
Silence.
His eyes roamed over her, as hers did the same to him. Was this even the Alex she knew? The man she’d dreamed of for four years? The man she had prayed would rescue her from his brother? Something only death had succeeded in doing.
Slowly, he uncrossed his arms and entered the room. She felt like small prey to his stalking beast. His presence consumed her. He stopped about five feet from where she sat, the familiar scent of bergamot wafting from him. She’d never felt so unsure of herself in her life.
“You look well.”
There were so many other things he could have said, hence her slight disappointment at his words. “You, also, Your Grace.” Lord, her voice shook. She closed her eyes, wishing herself far away. In her bedchamber, hiding under the covers. Anywhere but here with this man she thought she’d known so well, who was now a stranger. Yet, in remembrance, she once again felt the power of his arms around her, his kiss on her lips.
“May I sit?”
She gave a slight nod. “Of course.”
He took the seat across from her, flipping his tailcoats behind him. He leaned back, his foot resting on his knee.
“Shall I send for tea, Your Grace?”
…
If she said Your Grace one more time, Alex swore he would pull her off that chair and ravish her mouth until she melted at his feet. He couldn’t believe he’d told her she looked well. She looked incredible. The young miss of sixteen had turned into a desirable woman of twenty years. Her deep breaths drew his eyes to her delightful breasts like metal to a magnet.
Seldom seen pale sunlight drifted through the window, highlighting her golden tresses that had been fastened into a loose bun at the top of her head from which stubborn curls escaped. The beautiful green eyes he’d seen in his dreams for years stared back at him, as if in fear.
Fear?
“Yes, perhaps tea would be good.” He did not want her fear. He wanted—hell, he wasn’t certain exactly what he wanted. Life had changed for them both. He had dark, destructive memories and dreams. Responsibilities now he never expected, nor wanted.
And she had never married his brother.
She hopped up to pull the bell rope. Instead of taking her seat, she remained by the door until a footman appeared. “Please have tea brought up.”
Once the man was off on his mission, Patience returned to her seat, stiff-backed, hands clenched in her lap. “It appears we are about to have more rain.”
Bloody hell. With all the things that needed to be said between them, they were now going to discuss the weather. No. That he would not permit.
“Why are you not married?” he blurted out, ignoring, and not apologizing, for his bellicose tone.
Patience drew back, her eyes wide. “I am sure I don’t know what you mean, Your Grace.”
“Stop with the Your Grace, Patience.” He stood and ran his fingers through his hair, walked a few paces toward the window, then back again to stand in front of her, hands on his hips. She leaned back, again with fear in her eyes. Where did that come from? He certainly didn’t remember her being the fearful type. Had something happened between now and the time he’d last seen her?
“I’m sorry—Alex. I don’t know what to say, or what to do.” She looked up at him with a pleading look. “What do you want from me?”
“I don’t want anything from you.” His jaw tightened as she sucked in a breath. The devil take it, he was making a mess of this—their first conversation. Truly, he did not know what he wanted from her. He’d thought she was completely out of reach as his brother’s widow. Then he learned they’d never married, and it had thrown his mind into a whirlwind.
Taking a deep breath, he sat again, attempting to get himself under control. “I am sorry for my tone. Right now I am discombobulated. A few weeks ago, I was a major in His Majesty’s army, on my way home from an assignment in America. The dukedom was the furthest thing from my mind. I have had no training, or guidance, for this role.”
Patience seemed to relax a bit at his change in demeanor. Two footmen entered the room carrying a tea tray. They set the tray on a small table next to Patience. She viewed the offerings and thanked them.
The respite seemed to reestablish a somewhat convivial atmosphere as Patience poured—and fixed his tea exactly as he liked it—then passed him a plate with two tarts and several finger sandwiches. He took a sip of the tea. In France and the United States, he’d drunk coffee, which he’d grown to love, but nothing beat a good cup of English tea.
He placed the cup in the saucer and cleared his throat. It was time to make amends for his attitude. “What I meant before, but unfortunately bellowed out like a farmer calling his hogs, is why, after four years of a betrothal, you and Cyrus had not married?”
She eyed him skeptically, making him wonder if he was going to hear the truth or a story she made up on the spot. “The time was never right.”
Alex leaned back, trying very hard not to appear hostile when he really wanted to reach across the distance between them and shake the answer out of her. Something had changed in Patience. He clearly remembered an open, friendly young girl who had viewed life as an adventure. She had been the one who’d wanted to run away, who had seemed fearless.
“Can you explain why the time was never right?”
Patience took a sip of tea, wrapped her hands around the warm cup, and stared at a spot on the carpet. “The agreement our fathers had worked out was at eighteen, I was to be presented to the queen at one of her ‘Drawing Rooms,’ followed by a Season to develop the exposure and polish necessary for my future duties as a duchess. At the end of the Season we were to announce our betrothal, with a wedding planned for Christmas of that year.”
Her voiced cracked a bit, but she continued, “However, the year I should have had my coming out, I was sick most of the spring with a fever, so it was put off. Cyrus then decided he did not wish to marry ‘the young chit’ just yet, and since Napoleon had been defeated, decided to take the Grand Tour he’d been denied due to the war. While he was traveling, your father passed away, and Cyrus returned to take up his duties. Since we were all in mourning, our official betrothal was not announced until a few weeks ago.”
How would he address what he’d heard from Hawk? That his cretin of a brother had left his beautiful betrothed to immediately join his mistress in bed. Where he had then collapsed and died, leaving Patience to deal with the humiliation.
“How are you holding up?”
She raised her chin and stared at him with her clear, green eyes. “I have never been so happy and relieved in my entire life.”
…
Patience remained still as Alex regarded her with very little surprise. Obviously, he knew his brother quite well, but her own memories of Cyrus still gave her nightmares. Many a night, the thought of going from her father’s house to the Duke of Bedford’s home and bed had caused her to think of ways to escape.
Every time her family had visited the Abbey, Cyrus had attempted to claim his nonexistent husbandly rights. She’d fought him off, and once, received a slap to the face that had left her bruised for a week. Mother had been distraught, and her father wanted to know what she had done to provoke her future husband, who had every right to “take her in hand.”
At one point, she had managed to squirrel away some money and had convinced Polly to flee with her, but they’d been caught and dragged back home. Father had not been pleased. And she’d paid the price.
Alex, however, appeared to ignore her statement. Instead, he said, “What are your plans now?”
She gave him a sad smile. How to explain that all she wanted to do was retire to her family’s country estate and spend the rest of her life planting flowers and riding her horse. But since her father had other plans, there would certainly be no peace for her. She doubted Alex was privy to Father’s scheme to marry her off to him.
At one time, she would have been ecstatic. Now all she felt was weary—tired of being a pawn in men’s games. She no more wanted to be forced to marry Alex than she’d wanted to marry Cyrus, even though the two men were dissimilar—and at one time she’d had strong feelings for Alex.
She’d spent four years dreaming of her knight in shining armor coming to rescue her. However, he no longer seemed to be the same young man with whom she’d fallen in love. He was harder, not only in body, but in soul. There had been no smile for her the two times she’d seen him, and a hollowness was now present in his eyes that had not been there before.
The carefree and loving young man was no more. The man she saw now was cold and bitter. There was no tenderness when he looked at her.
She imagined war had played a part in shaping that man.
She pushed aside the plate of tarts she no longer wanted. “I hope to be able to excuse myself from the Season due to your brother’s death.”
“Isn’t that where young ladies find husbands?” His teasing tone did not quite make it. “Or are you interested in being a notorious spinster? A bluestocking to scandalize London?”
Well, then.
Clearly, he had no plans regarding the promises they’d made each other years ago. Not that she bemoaned that fact. She wanted to be left alone. No husband, no demands, no bullying. Yet, her body did not seem to get the message as her stomach still fluttered when she looked into those captivating hazel eyes with flecks of gold. His skin was tanned, and when his eyes raked hungrily over her body, the flutters moved south.
“Perhaps I will become a notorious spinster. At least then my life would belong to me alone.”
If only.
Wishing to move the conversation away from marriage, she asked, “When did you grow a mustache?”
The years of sun had brought out the golden strands in his hair, which was unfashionably long, and the mustache added a certain amount of mystique to his countenance. Parts of her body she was rarely aware of came alive as if she were an orchestra and the conductor waved a baton. Sweet music, indeed.
He grinned. There it was. That boyish smile that made her body play a crescendo. Goodness, the heat in the room had increased.
“I thought it would make me look older. I was quite young when I was commanding my men.” He ran his fingertips over his upper lip. “Do you like it?”
Did she like it? She wanted to sprawl across his lap and see if it was as soft as it looked. Would it tickle when he kissed her?
Will he ever kiss me again?
“Well, well, look who has finally decided to come home and see to his duties. I was beginning to think you were going to neglect them as your brother had.” Her father entered the room, his presence sucking out any pleasure Patience had been enjoying with Alex.
“Tea, Father?”
He shook his head. “I’ll have a brandy.” He moved to the sideboard and poured himself a healthy measure. He held up the bottle and waved it at Alex.
“No, thank you.” Alex stood and bowed briefly to Patience. “If you will excuse me, I have duties requiring my attention.” Giving her father a cursory glance, he turned and left the room.
Patience rose to escape her father. Unfortunately, ’twas not to be.
He walked over to the settee and pointed at the seat. She sat back down and regarded him. He leaned back and took a sip of his brandy, observing her over the top of his glass, his eyes never leaving hers. One of his favorite ways to intimidate. “Have you talked to the duke about our conversation?”
Although she’d known the question was coming, she clenched her fingers together and attempted a confident air. “Honestly, Father, one does not simply offer oneself up for marriage like a prized horse. My betrothed of four years is barely cold in his grave. And, may I point out, the circumstances of his death will cast a pall over me for some time.”
He shrugged. “It is of no importance. No one cares about a man and his mistress. Be aware, I intend to speak with your lover and remind him of his father’s wish to have you marry the duke.”
“Frankly, father, I do not understand this obsession you have with me marrying a Duke of Bedford, no matter who he is.”
He took a gulp of brandy. “It is none of your business, gel.” Then with a quick switch to a smirk, he said, “Let’s just say he owed me.”
Her eyes grew wide. The Duke of Bedford had owed her father something large enough to accept her as a bride for the duke’s beloved heir?
Knowing she would learn nothing further, she focused instead on his continued use of the term your lover. “I don’t think you will find Alex as amenable to your plans as you expect.” She wasn’t even sure if Alex had lingering feelings for her anymore. He was a changed man, and his comment about her attending the Season in London to find a husband had stung. She thought she had loved him at one time, and perhaps she still did. But it was too soon. Too soon after her release from the horror of her betrothal, too soon after Alex’s return from America, and much too soon to think they could take up where they’d left off four years ago.
What she longed for, but was unlikely to get, was a year or two without men telling her what to do.
“Then you will have to find a way to persuade him, won’t you, daughter?”
Once again, she stood and shook out her skirts. “If you will excuse me, I would like a bit of a lie-down before I dress for dinner.” When he didn’t stop her, she took her leave, holding her breath, waiting for him to summon her return.