Chapter 14 Sunday Dinner #2
“Which may or may not be true,” Jamie said, with a sudden grin. “Georgie, this mutton is very good, better than Mother used to manage in that kitchen, would you not agree, Father?”
“Ooh, that is a high standard to set, son, but I would say that Georgie’s mutton is at least the equal of your mother’s.”
“Diplomatically put,” Georgie said, smiling. “I have a bramble and apple pie keeping warm on the fire. Would you like some, sir? Jamie?”
“Lovely!” they said in unison, making her laugh.
***
Lance waited three days before he even thought about his reply to Patience.
He was determined not to chase round the countryside after her, but finding the best words in which to convey this without sounding too censorious for her previous neglect of him was not easy.
Besides, he needed to let his simmering resentment cool somewhat.
In the end, it took him a further two days to construct a missive which satisfied him.
‘To the Lady Patience Torbuck, Pentavon Castle, Gloucestershire. My dearest Patience, I cannot tell you how delighted I was to receive your letter expressing your wish for us to be together again. That is my dearest wish, too, but I am desolated to have to tell you that it is impossible for me to leave Staineybank at this present. I mentioned in my last that his grace has commissioned me to paint another, much larger, portrait, this time of the four sisters of his grace’s heir.
This is a more complicated work, and since I have already begun, I cannot easily pause without losing the heart of the piece which would oblige me to begin again.
I must, therefore, keep to our original plan which is to meet again in town after Easter.
That day cannot come too soon for me. I remain, your affectionate Lance. ’
“You will lose her, you know,” Denny remarked, as he eased Lance into his coat before dinner that evening. “She has another prospect in mind, you may depend upon it, and she wants to see if you will come running when she whistles.”
“If she indeed has another prospect in mind, then she may consider herself as free as the air,” Lance said tersely.
“I do not want a wife who is still eyeing other men. If she had wanted me, she could have asked me to visit at Christmas, and I would have braved the mud and rain and winter storms to be by her side, but now? No word for eight weeks and then ‘come at once’? I am not her puppet, to dance about as she tugs my strings. She needs to grow up.”
“Says her loving future husband,” Denny said, with a crack of laughter. “Lord, you are hard on her! Do you not miss her just a little?”
“Of course, but—”
But what? It was a good question. If he had been on his own in the Mount Street house in town, would he have dropped everything and rushed off to Gloucestershire?
Undoubtedly he would, but Staineybank was different.
Here he had work and comfortable surroundings and good company — why would he willingly surrender such boons for the uncertainties of winter travel?
And if he truly loved Patience… but he did not.
She fitted his requirements to a nicety, and if they were to marry, he would cherish her forever, but if it never happened, it would not break his heart.
No, he would certainly not be devastated.
Denny chuckled. “Do you know what I think, Lance Chamberlain?” he whispered into Lance’s ear. “I think you are in love with another lady.”
“Nonsense!”
The valet laughed openly. “No, it is true, my protesting friend, and I think she is in love with you. I think you want Patience to throw you over.”
“Even more nonsense,” Lance said sharply. “If you have nothing sensible to say, you may go, and there is no need to wait up for me tonight.”
“Oh, you think you can wrestle yourself out of that coat, do you?” Denny said. “You would have it shredded if you tried, and I am not stitching it back together afterwards. I shall be here to undress you, you ungrateful peasant.”
“Very well, but promise me no more nonsensical talk. As if you have any idea of my thoughts or feelings.”
Denny leaned forward to whisper again. “I know more than you think. You are an open book to me, my all too obvious friend.”
And then, with another chuckle, he whisked out of the room, leaving Lance uncertain whether he was most angry or worried. What did Denny truly know?
***
Jamie loved puzzles. He always had, even as a boy, and this was a more intriguing puzzle than most. He was not any longer trying to find a connection to Mr Goodenough, for Denzil Pendleton was a sufficient mystery all by himself.
Jamie had a pretty good idea of his history now.
Clearly he was well educated, as a gentleman, for his accent and bearing all pronounced it so.
But some ten years ago, according to Jamie’s Italian friend, he had arrived in Florence claiming to be a valet, although the first employer to engage him declared that he had very few of the requisite skills.
He learnt quickly, however, until his talent with a blade was discovered, when he was immediately taken up by the fencing school.
There he had stayed, until Lance Chamberlain had arrived and struck up a friendship with him. After two years, the pair had returned to England, where Chamberlain became famous and wealthy, and Pendleton became a competent valet.
And yet… why not go back to his old life? Had he left behind some scandal so vast that it would never be forgotten? He must have family somewhere, who wondered about him, mourned him, perhaps.
Jamie never again approached Pendleton directly, but he wondered about him often.
When the two fencers, valet and master, battled in the Marble Hall for the benefit of the duke, as they did from time to time to spare the elderly gentleman the long climb to the attics, Jamie was there watching, too.
He was not alone, for the duchess always stood near her husband, and the Merrington sisters drifted in to watch for a few minutes, before tiring of a sport they did not understand.
Jamie did not understand it, either, but the duke did, and it was possible to follow the progress of the bout from his remarks.
On one such occasion, when the match was finished, and the duke was discussing the finer points with Chamberlain, Pendleton came over to where Jamie still lingered.
“You had a letter from Florence recently,” he said, with a belligerent lift of the chin. “Was there much news from there?”
“Very little,” Jamie said. “My friend is not much involved in politics, and I know nothing of Tuscany, so that is not the subject of our correspondence. His name is Giovanni Morelli — perhaps you know him?”
Pendleton’s face registered surprise. “I do, yes… a little. I was not aware you had visited Florence.”
“Oh, I have never been outside England, and only a few counties of that, but Giovanni’s father visited here when I was a boy.
He had Giovanni in tow, and being the only child of like age, I was delegated to amuse him while our elders were discussing…
whatever weighty matter occupied their minds.
So I took him riding and rabbiting and birds’ nesting and fishing, and taught him the optimum ways to torment the gamekeeper and poultry maid.
We got on very well, despite his lack of English and mine of Italian.
We managed with gestures and a few words of Latin or French.
After he left, I diligently learnt Italian in order to be able to write to him and we have kept up a sporadic correspondence ever since.
Very sporadic, given the state of the mail services on the continent.
He remembers you very well, though. Says you are the most elegant fencer he has ever seen, a compliment I can easily second. ”
“Grazie, Giovanni,” Pendleton said, with a smile that revealed an excellent set of teeth.
Jamie hesitated, but he could hardly stop now. “He knows nothing of your history, however. He says there was much speculation, but nothing definitive, so—”
Pendleton’s face changed so abruptly that Jamie wondered if her was about to be throttled.
“—you remain a man of mystery.” He licked his lips and rushed on.
“Look, I know you have secrets, and you must have good reason for that. You are clearly a gentleman by birth, so I respect your desire to leave your past behind you, but… you have family somewhere, parents, perhaps, who grieve for you and wonder whatever became of you. Maybe you have sisters who light a candle for you on your birthday, and exchange remembrances of you as a boy. If ever you want to get a message to one of them, I can arrange that for you… secretly, without revealing your present name or whereabouts. I am not your enemy, you know.”
“Yes, you are,” he growled. “Everyone is my enemy. Except Lance. He is my friend because he asks no questions. Understand?”
And with that he strode from the room, leaving Jamie more determined than ever to find the answer to the mystery.