The Truth about the Viscount (Whispers of the Ton #4)

Chapter 8

Chapter Eight

“ I thank you, Lord Victorson.” Patience smiled and then took back her dance card. “I look forward to stepping out with you.”

The gentleman smiled, nodded, and then stepped away, leaving Patience to look after him, her lips lifting into a gentle smile. Lord Victorson was one of many gentlemen seeking to dance with her at this ball and Patience was rather pleased that she had done so well.

“And just how many dances do you have remaining?”

Patience chuckled as Christina took her dance card from her.

“I have only one dance remaining and it is the waltz.”

“And no one has thought to take that from you as yet?” Christina’s eyebrows lifted. “I would have thought, given the amount of interest in you at present, you might have had many gentlemen eager to take the waltz from you.”

“Alas, they have not.” Patience smiled as she took the dance card back from her sister. “But I do not know what it is that has made so many of them come to seek me out! It is most unusual, I confess.”

“Do you not know?” Christina’s eyebrows lifted. “It is the drawing you placed in The London Chronicle! I have heard many people speak of it this evening.”

At this, Patience’s eyebrows drew together.

“But I did ask them not to state that I was responsible for it,” she said, a little confused. “How then…?” Her eyes closed as understanding came to her. “Ah. Eleanor.” When she opened her eyes, Christina was looking away, a light pink on her cheeks. Patience’s heart jumped in surprise. “And you also?”

“I could not help it!” her voice sounding a little like a whine, Christina spread out her hands and then let them fall to her sides. “I heard that Eleanor had been speaking of it and thus, I could not help myself! I wanted the ton to know that it was you, for there were so many compliments and the like that I could not help but speak!”

Patience closed her eyes again and let out a slow breath, trying to ignore the slight panic that made her whole being tremble just a little.

“I see.” Looking around the ballroom, she felt herself shudder again. “Do you mean to say that most of the ton here this evening know that I am the one who has drawn the figure of Lord Hastings and, before that, Lord Milthorpe and Miss Spearton?”

“Yes!” Christina clapped her hands lightly, then beamed at Patience as though this was something truly wonderful. “There have been so many remarks made, and great delight in all that you have drawn, I can assure you! That is why, I hope, that these gentlemen have come to seek you out. It is because they are impressed with your talents, with your skill! I think that you should be heartened by this, my dear sister.”

Patience swallowed hard, trying not to give in to the panic that clutched at her. She looked around at the ton again, seeing them now with different eyes. The glances given to her were knowing looks, clearly stating that they knew that she was the one who had drawn these things, that she was the one who was now becoming known for her work in The London Chronicle.

“You should not look so afraid!” Christina exclaimed, putting one hand on Patience’s arm. “This is wonderful, is it not? You have gentlemen seeking you out now, ready to pursue you, to take you into their company because of the talent they have seen in you. Why, then, do you still look so troubled? There can be nothing of concern here, truly.”

“I wish I felt the same confidence as you,” Patience answered, her chest a little tight still. “I am worried that there will be those who are displeased with what I have done, who will make their feelings well known to society.”

Christina shrugged.

“I think that these people are very few, Patience. Come now, you have only one dance left, and it is the waltz, is it not? I am sure that you will be able to have it taken by another marvelous gentleman by the time it comes to it. Put the news that I have told you out of your mind and do not concern yourself with it any longer.” Linking arms with her, Christina half pulled Patience away from where she stood, forcing her to walk with her. “This is an excellent thing,” she said again, as Patience took in slow and steadying breaths. “All will be well. This evening will be the best ball that you have enjoyed thus far, I am quite sure of it.”

If only I could be so, Patience thought to herself, biting the edge of her lip. But I cannot be sure that everyone will think well of it… and I wonder what Lord Hastings himself thinks of what I have done.

“Lady Patience?”

Having had no success in filling her waltz, Patience turned with an expectant smile on her face, hoping that whichever gentleman this was might have come to her in the hope of stepping out for the waltz, given that it was just about to be announced. Instead, she saw the angry expression of Lord Hastings, his eyes almost shooting fire, his jaw tight, and his eyebrows low and heavy, sending shadows across his expression.

Her stomach lurched.

“It was you !” One finger pointed towards her, his hand reaching out as Patience took a step back, her eyes widening. “ You did this.”

Patience opened her mouth, struggling to form her words.

“I – I do not–”

“Ah, good evening, Lord Hastings. You may not recall, but we were introduced some days ago, though you are already acquainted with my daughter, I understand.”

Instantly, Lord Hastings’ hand fell back to his side, and he began to splutter as Patience’s mother came to stand beside her, sending a curious look towards Patience before returning her attention to the Viscount.

“Yes, yes, of course. Good evening,” Lord Hastings managed to say, though his words were quick and forced, and he was struggling to speak with any sort of calmness. “Lady Osterley, I was just–”

“How wonderful that you have come to ask my daughter for the waltz!”

Patience’s stomach twisted and she snatched in a breath, her eyes flaring as she turned to her mother, though Lady Osterley ignored her entirely, keeping her attention fixed on Lord Hastings.

“I – I was not…”

“It is the only dance that has not yet been taken, for I fear that many gentlemen have believed that I have not yet given Patience permission to dance the waltz, but she has every permission she might wish for!”

Lady Osterley laughed brightly, but Patience only shook her head, not wanting her mother to force either herself or Lord Hastings into a dance that neither of them wanted.

“Mama, I am sure that–”

“What is it, Patience?” Lady Osterley finally turned her head and looked into Patience’s eyes, a slight lift to one of her eyebrows. “Is there something wrong? Surely Lord Hastings cannot have come to you in such a forward manner for any other reason than to seek out your waltz?”

Patience did not know what to say in response to this. Her mother had seen the forceful manner in which Lord Hastings had approached her, and the last thing she wished to do was to state that she believed Lord Hastings was coming to berate her in some severe fashion. That would only cause a good deal of difficulty and embarrassment for both herself, and for Lord Hastings, when things were already difficult enough.

“I…” Lord Hastings had suddenly gone very pale, the upset that had ballooned in him instantly deflating, making him appear a little smaller than he had initially seemed to Patience. “Yes, of course. The waltz.” He cleared his throat, looking about. “It is to be announced, yes?”

“It has only just been announced!” Lady Osterley beamed at him, though Patience felt herself sinking inside. “Thank you, Lord Hastings. This has made Patience’s ball a truly excellent one, for she will have danced every dance this evening now!”

Lord Hastings forced a smile, though Patience could still see the shadows in his eyes. Inclining his head, he offered her his arm.

“Lady Patience, shall we?”

She took a breath but, aware that she had no choice but to accept, placed her hand on his arm and, thereafter, fell into step with him. She could practically feel the tension radiating from him, the strength of his frame overwhelming her. Soon, she was to be held in his arms, and what would that feel like? Would his anger burn through her then also?

“I know that you do not wish to dance the waltz,” she whispered, a little hoarsely. “You must forgive my mother. She was a little forward, I know, but–”

“Shall we dance, Lady Patience?” Lord Hastings interrupted, his jaw jutting forward as he looked directly into her eyes. “Mayhap what it is that I have to say can be spoken during our dance.”

Without warning, Patience was swept into his arms, having not realized that the music had begun. She gasped, struggling to find her composure as Lord Hastings began to lead her around the floor, his arm firm at her waist, the other hand grasping hers with a strength that she had not expected. It felt like an age as they danced together, without a word, and Patience fought for every breath, trying to find a sense of balance within herself but struggling all the same.

“The drawing.” Finally, Lord Hastings spoke, his voice low and grating. “That was your work.”

Patience tried to look into his face but found the dark intensity of his gaze to be a little overwhelming. Instead of answering him, she chose to remain silent, feeling it a little foolish to answer a question that he already knew the answer to.

“What made you think that to do such a thing was wise?” he asked, pulling her a little closer as her breath tumbled out of her chest in a rushed, hurried fashion. “Did you seek to make me a laughingstock?”

Patience’s eyes flared.

“Of course not.”

“Then why would you do such a thing?”

Confusion raged within her as Patience looked back at him, finding it easier now to hold his gaze, her steps managing to be in time with his without any real difficulty, which surprised her.

“I only drew you, Lord Hastings. I did not think that you would be in the least bit upset by it.”

His hand tightened on her for only a moment, a flush of color in his cheeks as he turned his head away sharply, seeming to not know what to say in response to what she had said. Patience’s heart quickened, and she was utterly confused about why he appeared to be so deeply upset with her artwork. Yes, she had been concerned that not everyone would appreciate her artwork and yes, she had been a little worried over what the ton would think of her drawing being published in The London Chronicle, but Lord Hastings was speaking as though she had personally insulted him in some way by doing so.

“It was only a drawing, Lord Hastings,” she said, managing to lift her chin just a little. “It was not my idea to have my work printed in The London Chronicle, it was the thought of another, though, if my drawing of you has been truly upsetting, then I shall mayhap think carefully about offering up another for printing.”

Lord Hastings said nothing. Instead, he continued to dance, but in complete silence, looking down at her and holding her gaze with a steadiness that confused Patience a great deal. Why was it that he appeared so very upset? What was it about the drawing that had caused him to think of it as an insult? It was not as though she had drawn him in her usual style, exaggerating any of his features. Instead, it had simply been as she had remembered him.

What could be so insulting about that?

“I am truly sorry.” As the music came to a close, Patience stepped back from Lord Hastings, relieved to be free from him. “I had no intention of upsetting you. My only hope was that the ton – and you– might appreciate what I had done. That is all.”

Lord Hastings snorted and shook his head, making Patience flush with embarrassment, looking away as she bobbed a quick curtsey. Evidently, he did not believe her, though she could not understand why that might be. What was it that she had done which caused him such disbelief?

“Thank you for dancing with me and for tolerating my mother’s determination,” she murmured, making to step back. “I think that–”

“You must know that I cannot believe you.”

Patience turned back to face Lord Hastings, who ambled towards her with his hands behind his back, forcing her to fall into step with him rather than make her way away from him.

“You could never have had such a thing printed without intention,” he said, his eyes narrowing just a little. “As I have said, Lady Patience, I cannot believe that there was no ill intent.” His shoulders lifted and then fell. “I do hope that you will find a way to be truthful with me as to your motivations, Lady Patience, for I simply cannot understand it. We are barely acquainted, we have shared only one or two conversations and yes, I will admit to being a little brusque, but you cannot use that as a reason for such dark words.”

“Words?” Nonplussed, Patience stopped and turned to look at him, but Lord Hastings only snorted and then stepped away from her, leaving Patience to stare after him. It took her a few moments but, eventually, she made her way back to the other guests, hurrying to find her mother, sister, or cousin in the hope that she might stand with one of them.

Words? Patience bit her lip, her thoughts going round and round in her mind with a frantic haste which made her stomach twist sharply. What words does he speak of? I have said nothing of him.

“Patience? Are you quite all right? I saw you dancing with Lord Hastings and–”

“Have you seen The London Chronicle since it was printed?” Grasping Eleanor’s hand, Patience threw up her other hand. “You must have seen it. What else was there?”

Confusion grew in her cousin’s eyes.

“What else?”

“Lord Hastings danced with me, yes, but not for the reasons you might think.” Closing her eyes, Patience took a steadying breath and then tried to speak calmly, without permitting the worry which ran through her veins to capture her. “He was deeply upset. He asked me about my reasons for doing such a thing, stating that I must have had some dark intentions and, thereafter, said something about the words there? I do not know what he meant.”

Eleanor nodded, no concern in her eyes.

“Yes, there were a few short sentences written in the paper, just after your drawing,” she said, making Patience’s eyebrows lift. “But that was not written by you, of course.”

“No, it was not.” The worry in Patience’s thoughts now began to grow. “What did it say, Eleanor? Was it anything terrible?”

Her cousin’s face screwed up for a moment as she tried to remember.

“I – I do not recall exactly, but it was something about his demeanor and stance, just as you had drawn it. He certainly has changed somewhat these last few weeks, and that was noted by whoever wrote the sentences underneath your drawing.”

Patience let out a slow breath and then shook her head, a lump growing in her throat.

“And he thinks that I was the one responsible, not only for the drawing but for the words written about him. That is why he was so upset.”

“Yes, I presume that might be why,” Eleanor replied, speaking slowly as though she was a little confused, “but that is to be expected. It is not as though anything that was said there was untrue.”

“I must see the paper.” Patience rubbed one hand over her eyes. “We must find a copy so that I can read it.”

A hand touched her arm lightly.

“Patience? It is time for us to take our leave. Your sister is fatigued and now that the waltz is completed, I think it would be wise to make our way home.”

Patience shook her head.

“Mama, I must speak with Lord Hastings. It is important.”

Lady Osterley’s eyebrows lifted.

“Lord Hastings?”

“Not for any significant reason,” Patience clarified quickly, not wishing her mother to think that there was anything untoward – or exciting – about Patience’s desire to speak with the gentleman. “There has been a misunderstanding, I think, and I must seek to clarify it.”

“That cannot be done tonight.”

Patience swallowed tightly.

“Mama, please. It is important.”

Lady Osterley searched Patience’s expression but then shook her head no.

“It has been a long evening, and everyone is fatigued, Patience. Whatever it is that is concerning you, I am sure that it can be dealt with at another time. If you wish, I can go with you to call on him tomorrow.”

Frustration and upset sent tears into Patience’s eyes, but she blinked them away, refusing to let her mother see them. She wanted to argue, wanted to demand that her mother permit her to do as she wished, but instead, Patience kept her mouth closed and chose to remain entirely silent. She could not be selfish at this moment, could not only think of herself, though her worry grew with every passing moment. She wanted to turn and run through the ballroom, find Lord Hastings, and cling to his arm as she told him the truth, that she had not been the one to write any of those words beneath the drawing… but she could not.

At the very least, I can write to The London Chronicle and beg them to make it clear that I have not written what goes beneath each drawing. She closed her eyes, her chest tight. Though if only I could speak with Lord Hastings this evening! I would make everything quite plain and all would be well.

It would have to wait for another time, though whether or not Lord Hastings would even speak with her, Patience could not tell. Mayhap he would reject every offer of her company, and would think ill of her for the rest of the Season, and though she could not understand why, it felt as though that might be the very worst thing that could happen.