Chapter 15 Unexpected Visitors
Lance was in his room, counting the coins in his purse and wondering whether he should make a foray into Brinchester for new neckcloths, when there came a rapid rat-a-tat-tat at the door, followed instantly by Charlotte’s head.
“Oh, there you are! At last! I have been all over the house looking for you.”
“Just as well for you I was not in a state of undress or you might have found more than you bargained for.”
She giggled. “Now, now, I know Pendleton is below stairs at the moment, so how could you be undressed? But come quickly!”
“What is the great crisis, Lottie?”
“She is here! Now! This very minute!”
He sighed melodramatically. “And still I am none the wiser. Who is here?”
“Oh! How can you be so obtuse? Lady Patience, of course — with her brother and her mother, who looks like a bit of a dragon. I should not like her for a mother-in-law, but I suppose there would be compensations. She is so lovely, Lance.”
“The marchioness?”
“Idiotic boy! Lady Patience!” She sighed even more theatrically than he had managed. “So beautiful! And blonde! I wish I were blonde, and as beautiful as she is.”
“Patience — here? Whatever for?”
“Really, Lance, surely even you can work it out, after that letter she wrote you. Since you would not go to her, she has come to you, as she cannot bear to be parted from you a moment longer. Quick, quick! She is in the Gold Chamber.”
Lance did not hurry. He was working out in his head how long ago his last letter would have reached her — four days, he thought, so she must have jumped into a carriage the very next day and set off to Brinshire.
Heavens, was she so desperate that she must needs travel so far at the worst time of year?
She could have found herself trapped by snow at some wayside inn.
The door to the Gold Chamber stood wide open, as footmen manoeuvred vast quantities of luggage, and maids bustled in and out with linens and ewers of steaming water. All Staineybank’s womenfolk stood either side of the door, ready to offer assistance or simply to ogle, it was hard to tell.
And there she was, his Patience, just disentangling her curls from a huge befeathered bonnet.
She squeaked when she saw him and raced across the room. “Lance! Oh, Lance, how wonderful to see you!”
“You took the words out of my mouth,” he said, opening his arms so that she could rush into them… which she did! Oh, this was a different Patience indeed! She had truly missed him. “What a delightful surprise,” he added, with sincerity.
The Merrington ladies sighed in romantic fellowship at this touching reconciliation.
More warily, Lance made his greeting to Lady Pentavon, who nodded an unsmiling acknowledgement, and to Lord Daniel Torbuck, who greeted him with unaccustomed heartiness.
“Shall we leave the ladies to settle in, eh, Chamberlain? I am sure you know where I can find something to drink.”
“There are drinks and a good fire in the library, Mr Chamberlain,” Lily murmured. Lance started a little, having not heard her approach. “Or the Blue Parlour, if you and Lord Daniel wish to talk privately.”
“No need for that,” Lord Daniel said, with a laugh that rang false to Lance’s ear. “Just need a drink.”
“The library it is, then,” Lance said, gently unwinding his arms from Patience. “We will meet later, my dear.” He raised her hand to his lips. “I am so glad you have come.”
She simpered, then, with a giggle, grabbed his hand firmly and pulled him close to kiss him on one cheek. This caused another sigh of contentment from the watching Merrington ladies.
It was almost a relief to escape to the library with Lord Daniel, and pour Madeira. Lance was at ease amongst ladies, and had no difficulty finding conversation, especially if a little flirting was involved, but he was not comfortable exchanging hugs and kisses in public, even with his betrothed.
“Lord, that is better!” Lord Daniel said, downing the contents of his glass in one swallow and reaching for the decanter. “What a journey! I never saw the roads so deep in mud, and carriages off here, there and everywhere. Lucky not to be off the road ourselves more than once.”
“Was there any snow?” Lance said politely, refilling his own glass and wishing it were something stronger.
“No, thank God! Everything but, though — rain, wind, sleet, more rain. May I put another log on the fire? I am chilled to the bone.”
“Let me do it. Maybe a bowl of punch would warm you up.”
Lord Daniel brightened. “Just the thing! You are a good fellow, Chamberlain, and I apologise for not liking you better last summer.”
That made Lance chuckle. When he had ordered the punch, he said, “I was hired to paint your sister. No reason why you should like me, then or now.”
“I shall like you very well if you take the chit off our hands. She has been so wild these last few weeks, but you seem like a steady sort. You will get her back on an even keel again.”
“Wild? In what way?” Lance said in an easy tone, as if his betrothed’s wildness was of only tangential interest to him.
“Oh… well, you know what these girls are like,” he said vaguely. “You will straighten her out, I am sure. Ah, that is a good blaze. I am beginning to feel the effects.”
“It is not the best time of year to be travelling,” Lance said, circling cautiously round to the point. “I wonder Lady Pentavon would venture forth in February, instead of staying snug at home until the spring.”
Lord Daniel seemed to realise that he had been talking too freely, and fell silent, gazing mournfully into his glass.
Lance waited.
Eventually, the visitor heaved a sigh, downed the remains of the Madeira and said, “No accounting for what females will do, is there? Patience was wild to come, and she always gets what she wants. Does the duke keep a good table? Not one of those parsimonious types, is he?”
“He keeps an excellent table,” Lance said. “Ah, your punch, Lord Daniel.”
And after a train of footmen bearing the punch bowl and the necessary ingredients, came the Merrington ladies to ply Lord Daniel with questions.
Since he had once been a suitor for Sophia before she had married Simon Payne, the architect, they knew him already, so Lance was able to retreat to a corner and listen and mull over all that had happened.
He had no idea why Patience had suddenly taken it into her head to see him again after all but ignoring him for weeks, nor why she needed to drag her mother and brother out into the winter weather to accomplish it. He was pleased to see her, naturally, but he was aware of a thread of unease, too.
And what was this wildness of which her brother spoke? It was all very curious.
***
Dinner that night was as strange as any Lance could recall.
Patience clung to him greedily, threading her arm through his as soon as he entered the White Drawing Room and not letting go.
Even when she was seated beside him at table, she constantly laid a hand on his arm as she spoke, and leaned forward to talk to him in a lowered voice, telling him repeatedly how much she had missed him and how glad she was to be with him again.
There was an ebullience in her manner that he had not seen in her before.
At Pentavon in the summer, she had flirted with him in the most delicate way imaginable, perfectly ladylike, but with an occasional mischievous gleam in her eye that promised a less restrained encounter if only she were not bound by propriety.
Then again, in London she had been almost too restrained, positively subdued.
At the time he had put it down to her being overwhelmed by the magnitude of the step she was taking.
But now she was different again, and he had no idea what to make of it.
He was flattered, naturally — what man would not be?
Such open affection was hard to resist, and he basked in her adoration.
Yet it made him uncomfortable, too. After all, they were betrothed, so there was no need at all for any demonstration of affection.
If she wished to draw him into a secluded corner for some kisses, he was not averse to that — not in the least averse!
He would welcome such a move. But this possessiveness was inappropriate for public display, and he was uncomfortable with such a breach of propriety from his future wife. It was unsettling.
He was aware, too, that everyone was watching them.
Some, like the Merrington sisters and their mother, smiled in romantic sympathy.
The gentlemen tended to be looking at Patience, who was well worth looking at, even at the duke’s table which featured a number of accredited beauties.
But Lady Pentavon never took her eyes off Lance, her expression inscrutable, while Lord Daniel looked uncomfortable, as if he had rather be anywhere else.
When the ladies withdrew, Patience showed a pleasing reluctance to leave his side.
“Come through quickly, my love,” she whispered as she left.
Yet Lance felt only relief that she had gone, and he had a respite from her cloying attentiveness.
She would not behave so when they were married, he was sure, but still, it was not like her.
As the port moved round the table, Lord Daniel picked up his glass and came to sit beside Lance.
“My sister is very pleased to be with you again,” he began, but there was a nervous tugging at his neckcloth that suggested he was not at ease.
Lance had spent much of his life observing and analysing behaviour, and looking for the deeper meaning to individual quirks, and all his senses were heightened by Lord Daniel’s manner.
“As I am pleased to see her,” Lance said, “although I could wish she had not ventured onto the roads at such a hostile time of year.”