Sea Scoundrel

CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Despite the afternoon sun tracing the window, the scent of kidney and eggs, a morning’s feast, permeated the dining room.

  Acute awareness of her uninhibited passion in Grant’s arms last night disconcerted Patience and stole her appetite. Not so, the snarly captain eating a robust breakfast across from her. “I am going to stay and make sure you succeed in your goal, Patience,” he said. “Call it blatant foolishness on my part, but I feel a certain responsibility to see you settled in that cottage with a rose garden and a white kitten. Hell, I’ll even help you find your old nurse. I won’t rest ‘till it’s done.”

  Her old urge to throw something at his head intensified.

  He waved his fork in the air. “Free to sail the seas for the rest of my life, I will be happy in the knowledge that four self-indulgent noblemen have found vexatious wives to deliver the misery they deserve.”

  Patience tossed her napkin at his head. “Grant St. Benedict, you are a pompous ass, and I don’t need your blasted help!”

  “You know, you still have the vocabulary of a guttersnipe.”

  She retrieved her napkin from the floor, silently acknowledging the truth in his statement. She had acted the child just now, yet she couldn’t seem to help herself. So many emotions assailed her this morning, every word and action, his and hers, seemed either tilted or topsy-turvy. “I suppose you expect me to thank you for this tremendous sacrifice?”

  “Seeing the five of you settled will be thanks enough, I assure you.” He refilled his plate then proceeded to eat in a manner that brought Horatio to mind.

  They had been at daggers drawn since late morning when he returned. She was terribly self-conscious over what happened last night, but he acted as if nothing of significance had. And why should she be surprised by that? He’d experienced not so much as a thimbleful of emotion the entire time she’d known him.

  She wished she could be so unfeeling.

  When she woke this morning, the memory played in her mind with such detail, she nearly burned to cinders. Previous to this, any such indulging with Grant, she’d considered harmless. But now....

  She did, however, experience a perverse satisfaction in the knowledge that the indiscretion would give Aunt Harriette apoplexy, if she knew of it. Warranted, of course.

  She expected she’d go to hell now, quite possibly a price worth paying. She sipped her tea regarding the snarly man-beast with narrowed eyes. Curse her, if he wasn’t handsome, whoever he was.

  Last night he’d been Grant; this morning, the Captain.

  Grant had caused her downfall—well, helped with it, at any rate—so she was perhaps safer with the Captain.

  “I always thought you too young to take on husband-hunting,” he said. “Now you’ve proved it. Society would as soon accept me as a chaperone for the girls before they’d accept you, after last night.”

  She raised a brow. “Last night?”

  He had the grace to flush. “The ball,” he said.

  “Oh. And you think they’ll accept a sea captain who attends affairs to which he has not been invited? You feel you will lend propriety to this situation? A man who seduces—”

  “Patience, stop it!”

  She’d shocked him. Good.

  “The girls,” he whispered.

  “I was as innocent as they when I boarded your ship.”

  “Lady Patience, none of us is as innocent as we were when you boarded.”

  Pensive, she rose with a cup of tea and strode to the window. “Even I know it’s impossible for you to chaperone the girls. I need a better idea. A much better one.”

  “Your Aunt Harriette would lend the necessary propriety.”

  Patience choked on her tea. When she caught her breath, she tried to laugh. “She might teach them all to pray, Captain, but she won’t find them husbands. The idea is absurd. I promise you, she’d begin by saying it couldn’t be done. Her warnings would fill a book.”

  “My dear Lady Patience—”

  Patience tossed her napkin atop her uneaten breakfast. “Lady Patience and the Captain, how utterly ridiculous after last night.”

  His turn to choke.

  Good. “Have I offended your sensibilities, Captain St. Benedict?”

  “Stop trying to change the subject. We are talking about bringing your Aunt to London.”

  “No, we are not.”

  He cut a piece of kidney with slow precision, put it into his perfectly formed mouth and chewed thoughtfully. “Do you suppose that Lady Caroline Crowley-Smythe—”

  “She’s not speaking to me.”

  “I suspected as much. Her direct cut is only the beginning. Your Aunt is your only chance, Patience. Else send your not-so-innocent misses back to their parents, because their husband-hunting is finished.”

  Patience tried to form a scathing rejoinder but she could think only of his perfect mouth . . .on her breast. Delicious tingles invaded her limbs and a telltale warmth crept up her face. She went back to the window. “I’ll think on it.”

  The advent of the girls became a welcome distraction.

  Grant sat back and sipped his coffee watching them chatter with Patience. Look at them, magpies the lot of them, like any normal family at breakfast, full of tidings to share. And, Patience, young as she was, personified the mother figure. He respected her for that. She cared deeply about them, and he believed that, in the end, she would do what was best for them.

  There was something about her that made it downright urgent he get her settled and himself back to sea. His dreams had been playing tricks on him, throwing the two of them together, whenever he closed his eyes. “Not bloody likely!”

  Silence settled like a mantle on a nest of jackdaws. Everyone stared at him. Had he spoken aloud? He groped for sanity, cleared his throat. “I’d like to address a subject I neglected to mention last night.” He tried to ignore expressions that said, Oh, no, not again, and expelled his breath. “It seems that the Honorable Oliver Trahern and his cronies placed several disgraceful bets at White’s concerning the five of you.”

  Patience stilled. “Bets?”

  Sophie’s brows furrowed. “Wagers?”

  “Judging you, correctly,” Grant said, “As Colonials with no notion of how to go on, they bet they could incite you to several specific and scandalous exploits.” He took another bite of kidney, which tasted suddenly like mud, swallowed with effort, and placed his fork by his plate. “No bet was won, though. You were more outrageous than they bet you’d be.”

  “Thank you, Captain,” Patience snapped. “Your revelation is reassuring. We all feel better for your having shared it.”

  Grant wiped his mouth with his napkin and sat back. Ignoring the charm in Patience’s scowl as he examined the other four. “To place you squarely back into Society’s good graces, I will need your full cooperation. You must learn the rules and follow them without question. Do you agree to do this?”

  They nodded. “Will that be enough, after everything?”

  “Ah, Rose. I did not have an opportunity to address you last night since you were indisposed, but I must remedy the situation now. You may not be aware of this, but it is in bad form to assault a peer before two hundred witnesses.

  He couldn’t help his smile and damned himself even as his chuckle escaped. “There was a redeeming result of your outburst, however unexpected. Seems you gave Garwood the most female attention he has enjoyed in an age. I hear he boasted of the event for the remainder of the evening. With a little encouragement, he might forgive you. Wagging tongues will take longer to stifle.”

  Rose lowered her eyes.

  “To get back to your question as to whether improved adherence to rules is enough, it is not. The way I intend to lend you society’s stamp of approval is to bring Patience’s Aunt Harriette to London to stand as your chaperone. Lady Wilson told me Patience’s aunt was a darling of society at her debut. Her very presence might well make the four of you appear respectable.”

  Patience, r
ed-faced as he’d never seen, stood slowly. “I told you, I absolutely refuse to bring Aunt Harriette to London.” She looked at the girls and pointed a stern, but lovely, finger at him. “You think that toad lectures? Wait until you hear my harridan of an aunt prose on. She’ll have us on our knees praying for society rather than entering into it. Between balls, we’ll read psalms.”

  She’d called him a toad!

  Grant watched her walk away, head high, four chattering girls in her wake. Exhausted from lack of sleep, he made his way to the library to await the result of the animated discussion he could hear in the next room and settled himself in a chair by the fire.

  An hour later, Patience entered the library and shut the door. The room was silent but for the gentle snore of a beast at rest. She gazed into the glowing ashes of the hearth. Her girls depended on her, and it was important that she do her best for them, more important than gaining her independence. She sighed in resignation. Therefore, she would bring her aunt to London. Aunt Harriette did seem the only answer to redeeming them in the eyes of society.

  And damn the snarly beast for pointing it out. She looked daggers at him as he slept, the adorable, soft, warm fool. His head lolled on his hand and on his face played an idiotic smile. She wanted to kiss him awake, and her wanting was stronger than her anger. Blast, what attracted her to such a man? She couldn’t believe he suggested she bring her aunt here. And for him to suggest it to the girls after she’d said no, was unforgivable.

  Patience marched over to his chair and nudged Grant’s supporting arm out from under his head with great satisfaction.

  With quick, muddled movement, he regained his balance and regarded her with sleepy confusion, looking dearer than ever.

  To hide her weak-kneed response, she crossed her arms, turned and looked out the window while he regained his wits.

  “Patience?”

  Damn. He even sounded slumberous and cozy. Taking a breath to fortify herself against his wiles, she turned, but his look of vulnerability nearly became her undoing. She tried to ignore the pull, but stepped forward, despite herself. “You win. I will ask my Aunt to act the chaperone. For the girls. If not for them, I’d consign you to perdition for your underhanded tactics.”

  He gave her a melting perusal with heavy-lidded eyes. “Come here.”

  Patience took a step closer, her legs like mint jelly, tingly-cool and trembly-weak.

  Taking her hands, he lowered her to his lap, tucked her face into his neck and settled her into his spicy warmth. And, oh, Lord, wasn’t this the most wonderful place in the world?

  “This,” he said, as he kissed her cheek, “is my favorite place for you to be.”

  She sighed. “I have the backbone of a garden snail.”

  He twisted a curl around her ear. “For agreeing to bring your Aunt to London?”

  “For agreeing to sit on your lap.” And for liking it so much.

  “If it’s any consolation, my own determination not to let you use your womanly wiles on me has gone the way of your backbone.”

  “I weaken so easily where you’re concerned. Must be a character flaw. Aunt says I have many. You’ll hear all about them in the days ahead.”

  “I’ll probably agree with her.”

  “No doubt. I can hardly wait for the happy event.”

  He kissed her nose. “We’ll make the trip to Arundel tomorrow. Where are the girls? I’d like to speak to them before I leave.”

  “Rose isn’t feeling well. She went back to her room. I told the others to wait in the drawing room.”

  “Then let’s go.”

  With regret for leaving her warm, safe shelter, Patience stood.

  Grant, looking as reluctant to end the peaceful moment, stood also and took her hand. He kissed it then indicated that she should precede him from the room.

  After making their plans known to the girls, Grant admonished them not to leave the house, nor be in to callers the following day while their chaperone was away. Sophie moaned about remaining in seclusion. Angel saved them by proposing they be allowed to visit Gresham’s Lending Library that very afternoon, with Patience’s escort, and the Captain’s, if he pleased.

  Grant agreed that reading would give them something to do for the rest of today and for their day at home tomorrow.

  Sophie and Angel, excited by the prospect, climbed inside his carriage. Rose said she would enjoy any penny novels they brought back, and Grace whispered her secret love for the newly-popular, Gothic mysteries. “Bring back dozens,” she called as their carriage pulled from the curb.

  At the library, having left Sophie to the Perils of Penelope, and feeling positively wicked, Angel unobtrusively moved through the rows of books until she came to the section on Shakespeare. She pulled a book down and opened it to hide her face, then she moved the book in one direction, or another, while she scanned the rows nearby.

  “Why don’t you just wear a sign that says, ‘I’m having an assignation?’“

  Delight filled her. “Dickie.”

  “You’re a slowtop, but I guess I don’t care. It’s always been you, Angel.”

  She beamed and dared a quick kiss, which Dickie seemed pleased to receive. “What’d you bring him for?” he asked nodding toward the sitting area where the Captain sat, face in the London Times.

  She shrugged. “Have you been free to come here often?”

  “The past few days. I have a plan. Here, write your address on this paper.”

  Her feeling of delicious wickedness leaning slightly toward guilt, she did so.

  “I’ll get in touch with you when I have everything settled,” Dickie said. “I’ve got to get out of here before the old tar sees me.” He looked about, stole a kiss and slipped away, leaving Angel bemused and happy, and determined to ignore her niggling doubts.

  Back at home,Patience watched her girls eagerly sort Gresham’s bounty. Other than a book by Hannah Moore she had chosen, Angel and Sophie brought back a score teeming with romance and intrigue, which Grace and Rose perused with delight.

  Her arm in his, she walked Grant to the front door.

  “I won’t see you this evening,” he said. “I have an appointment at my club. I’m thinking of investing in a gas association to light the streets of London. It’s an exciting prospect.”

  “I’ve read about it,” Patience said. “A lot of people think its nothing but hocus-pocus and can’t possibly work.”

  “Oh, it’ll work all right. Already does in Pall Mall.”

  “What are you most excited about, Captain? Gas lighting for London? Becoming part of the annals of history, in the event it works, or a new business venture?”

  He laughed and kissed her on the nose. “Yes.”

  “Do you enjoy trade more than the sea?”

  “I enjoy many things, Lady—” He sighed. “Patience. There is much you do not know about me.”

  “Like my girls,” she said, “I too enjoy a good mystery. Perhaps someday I will uncover the secret of Captain Grant St. Benedict.”

  “No doubt you will. I fear, however, you will find the truth less exciting than speculation. Until tomorrow.” He tipped his hat.

  “I’ll be ready,” Patience said, sorry to say good bye, chiding herself for the fact.

  It was a good thing no one else could imagine one’s dreams, she thought as she dressed the next morning. More than likely, Aunt Harriette would take one look at her and know all the wicked things she and the Captain had done, in and out of her dreams.

  Later, contentment flowed through Grant as their closed carriage meandered through the sleepy English countryside. For breakfast, they had stopped in Horsham at the Traveler’s Jump Inn. Now Patience was trying to come up with a reason to abort the journey, and her attempts were entertaining the devil out of him.

  “I can’t believe I let you persuade me to this course,” she wailed. “The woman has positively hated me since the day my parents died. She’ll frighten the girls, I tell you. Oh, Grant, let’s t
urn back. I don’t expect you to stay and help me. I’ll send them back to America, whatever’s best for them, really. Just don’t make me go to my Aunt.”

  “Is this the Patience who was left stranded, penniless, in a foreign land and came about? The one who saved a ship, its crew and passengers from certain death? Who—”

  “Enough.”

  “Patience, I can hardly credit you, frightened of an old woman? From the stories I’ve heard, I’d think you would like her. She was quite the catch in her day.”

  “If she was such a catch, why didn’t anyone keep her? Answer that if you will. Probably because she’s like a big old fish. They throw ‘em back, you know. Good sport, but they’re tough and stringy. Who wants ‘em anyway?”

  She made him laugh. There was something of the child in Patience that would always appeal. “Let’s talk to her. If I don’t think it will work, I won’t introduce the subject. We’ll make a short visit and return to London.”

  Patience pouted. “She’ll say she can’t find them husbands and she’ll refuse.”

  “You hope.” He shook his head. “If she does refuse, then it’ll be finished. But if I think you’re wrong about her, I’ll broach the subject, Patience, and you will ask.”

  “Fine, but can you not simply introduce us to the Marquess of Andover, then go back to sea and forget us. I’ll manage. Truly I will.”

  “When your aunt is ensconced as chaperone, and you are respectable ladies again, I’ll introduce you. Not a minute before.”

  “If you judge my aunt to be unacceptable, then what?”

  “Then I’ll introduce you to the Marquess, as I’ve promised. Though, Patience, I must warn you not to place your hopes in that quarter. It won’t work.”

  “Is he in town? You weren’t sure if he would be.”

  “He is.”

  “How old is he?”

  “Old enough not to get snagged by a woman who falls in love with a pig.”

  Patience huffed in disgust and turned to gaze at the scenery. She tried to ignore the sense of homecoming as she watched the passing countryside. “There is nothing as beautiful as England when it’s all green and dewy, is there?” She lowered the window and inhaled the fresh earthy scent. “With castles in the distance and black-faced sheep dotting every hillside. Oh, look! I love those little Gothic chapels that seem to sit neglected in the middle of a green pasture. They’re part of England’s very special charm, don’t you think?”

  “Every place has its own charm, Patience. My home in America is every bit as beautiful and gracious, but in a different way, from my home in England.”

  “You have a home in England? Other than the quarters you and Shane share in London? I thought you made your home in America.”

  Patience could not help note his pained expression. “My current home is in Boston, Massachusetts, and I love it there. But if the trade embargo between England and America is ever reinstated, I won’t be able to go back for a while, and England will, once again, become my home. I have a country house in Brighton, as a matter of fact. It overlooks the sea. Hence my love for sailing.”

  Perhaps he would prefer not to have shared that, but she couldn’t help asking one more question. “Where were you born?”

  “Plymouth.”

  “I can’t believe it. I was born in Torquay and lived there until I was twelve when my parents died. We didn’t live so very far apart growing up. You’d think I would have heard of the St. Benedicts.”

  “You’d have to account for the fact that I must be at least ten years older than you. By the time you were hanging from trees, I would already have gone to sea.”

  “How did you know I liked to hang from trees?”

  He gave a satisfied smirk. “I have come to know you well in the past months. Let me see if I can guess anything else.”

  She doubted he would. She had such a checkered past.

  He pondered for a moment. “You swim like a fish.”

  She scoffed. “You know you’re right. Anybody from the coast would. Now let me guess something about you.” She thought about his arrogance and determined self-assurance. He made decisions, despite what others thought. “I’ll bet when you went to sea, you went in direct defiance of your parents’ wishes.”

  Hah. She’d surprised him. “I’m right then.”

  “Almost. I defied my father.”

  Sensing his withdrawal, likely because of the inevitable question of his mother, she changed tack. “We’re even then.”

  He let out his breath and relaxed, arms crossed. “I imagine you’re no stranger, Patience, to defying your parents.”

  “Other than tree climbing, I never had the chance. I was young when they died. But I’ll tell you who I have defied. My Aunt Harriette. Most recently, because of you.”

  He sat forward brows lowered. “I beg your pardon?”

  “Every time you touched me like no man should, and I let you, it was in direct opposition to everything Aunt Harriette preached.”

  “Is that the only reason you allowed it, Patience?”

  She looked him in the eye for a minute and then down at her clenched hands. “You know it isn’t,” she whispered.

  They stared out opposite windows.

  “Grant. I need to talk to someone about it and you’re the only one.”

  She’d confused him again. “What?”

  She took the pink satin ribbons, hanging neatly from her bodice, and began to knot them. When she ran out of ribbon, she saw the length of knots. “Oh, bother.” Sighing, she unknotted them—Aunt Harriette would expect sloppiness anyway. “I want to know what happened the other night. No. I want to know what you said you had no right to teach me. The marriage union, you said, or something like. I don’t know anyone else I can ask. I’ve never been intimate with another human being, other than you, so you must tell me.”

  “Patience, that is usually the prerogative of a husband.”

  “A house here in Sussex, a rose garden, a white kitten, and my old nurse. That’s my future. None will provide the information I seek. I think since you have, shall we say, piqued my interest in the subject, you could at least enlighten me. I will never marry so there will be no other way for me to learn.”

  Grant cupped the back of his neck, something she’d seen him do often lately. Then he sighed and removed his greatcoat. He raised his booted feet to rest them, cross-ankled, beside her on the seat opposite, loosened his tie and unbuttoned his waistcoat. Regarding her as if she were a snaggle-toothed witch, he sighed again. “All right. You must certainly have seen farm animals, ah, horses or sheep, mating?”

  “Of course. Which is why I am asking you about men and women, not animals, Captain.”

  He gave her a wry grin. “You’re not making this easy for me. Men and women are special in that when they choose a mate, they choose for life.”

  “Captain, can we get past that, please. The other night on the sofa in the drawing room, you touched me, in, what I can only term, a scandalous manner. It was . . .however, shall I say it? Exhilarating. I do think I’ll probably go to hell for it, by the way, but it was worth it. Now, you hinted that something more would have taken place were we wed. Not that I would ever consider that, mind you. Marrying you, that is, or anyone. But married people would have proceeded in a different manner. What would have happened next?”

  “God’s truth, Patience. The Deity must have some vengeful plan in bringing us together. Knowing you has become the most vexing experience of my life. What do you expect me to say? Do you want me to describe something so wonderful as if it were written in a textbook? Perhaps you wish me to draw you a picture. I could do that. You could show it to your Aunt Harriette.”

  He leaned forward, lowering his voice. “A man does not go about explaining something like that in cold terms to a young girl with wide eager eyes who deserves better.”

  He saw pain cloud those eyes before she lowered them and knew he’d hurt her. “Bloody hell.” He reached for her.


  Settled on his lap, Patience turned her face into his neck.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m a brute. I’ll tell you. Bear with me here would you? This will be a first for me.”

  Excitement overcame her chagrin. “Consider it practice. You may need to explain to your daughters some day.”

  He laughed. “I may not want a rose garden and a kitten, but marriage is not in my future any more than yours. I’ll be telling no daughters, you can be sure of that. What I want from life are the successful business enterprises I already have and a few others to keep my mind stimulated and my purse filled. My house will be large to entertain friends, acquaintances and business associates, and I will have gained people’s respect, despite the fact I am in trade. That’s why we suit so well, Patience. We both have a goal the other understands. Now, be quiet while I compose my thoughts.”

  Patience hid her eagerness for the coming lesson.

  Grant took in her demure posture and cleared his throat. “What we shared the other night was a wonderful, affectionate experience, but it would have gone further were we a married couple.” He blew out his breath. “Don’t watch me like that.” He pushed her face back against his neck. She wiggled her bottom to gain a soft nest. “How appropriate,” he drawled.

  “What?” she asked, sitting up.

  “Patience, when we hold each other and kiss and such, do you not notice anything about me?”

  “What do you mean? We both act as if we have lost our breath. I like the way your skin feels under my hand and I like the way your hand feels on my skin.”

  This time it was he who shifted, to give her a clue as much as to make himself more comfortable, under the circumstances. “You throb when I touch you intimately, Patience.”

  She looked as if she were trying to reach some high mathematical conclusion, then she wiggled her bottom experimentally, until a look of wonder came into her eyes. She nodded. “You throb too, don’t you, Grant?”

  “When we lie facing each other, like on the settee, we are in the perfect position to make love as two married people. You see, like any male animal, a man grows hard when he wishes to mate with—make love to—a woman.”

  Her eyes were filled with wonder. He tried to ignore their beauty. “After you . . .after I . . .that is, after you experienced that rapture, like the other evening in the library, I would then have inserted that part of me into you. God, it sounds so cold and horrible said that way, Patience, and—”

  “Are you sure? I don’t mean to contradict you, Grant, but I don’t think it would fit.”

  He took her hands and tried not to smile. “I’m sure.” He brought her fingers to his lips. “You wanted to know so I told you. But what I haven’t said is that what you felt was only a small portion of the inherent ecstasy in coming together the way I just explained. It’s better than anything you ever imagined. Making love is glorious.”

  Grant wondered how he could believe it; he had never made love in his life. He had merely satisfied himself with lust. How base that sounded.

  “So, when you throb it means you’re hard and capable of doing . . .that? Like right now?”

  He shifted her back to the opposite seat and lowered his legs, crossing his ankle over his knee, wondering how he got into this.

  “Show me.”

  “What?”

  “Show me what it looks like when it’s hard,” she repeated slowly, as if speaking to a child.

  “You’re impossible. Do you know that?”

  “If you don’t, I’ll never know.”

  “Then you’ll go to your grave not knowing!” He knocked on the roof with his cane. “Driver stop.”

  When the carriage stopped, Grant jumped out.

  “Where are you going in the middle of—”

  “I’m going to take the ribbons. I’ve a need to drive.” He slammed the door in her face.

  A minute later the carriage took off at such a pace Patience’s neck snapped back and she hit her head.

  They arrived at Aunt Harriette’s a full half hour ahead of schedule. When Grant opened the carriage door for her to alight, he was still scowling.

  “I’m sorry,” she said.

  “You should be.”

  “It’s not my fault a man of the world, like you, was shocked out of countenance by a country mouse like me.”

  “Hah! Mouse, indeed.”

  Patience lost her interest in their banter the minute she looked about. She couldn’t believe she was back in the sleepy village she had detested so long. She had forgotten the beauty of this place.

  Most of the cottages in the lane were thatch-roofed and white-washed, her aunt’s a bit shabbier about the edges than most, yet still charming and homey for all that. Patience wondered why she’d never noticed that before. A neat stone path bordered by Lavender, Savory and Rosemary, their scents bringing her home more than her very presence, led to the familiar, scarred front door. She knocked on the arched, slatted portal.

  When no one answered, she entered. Utter shock sent shivers down her spine.

  “What’s wrong?” Grant asked.

  “It’s the same but different. The paintings are gone, the stone floors are bare of rugs.” She walked past the front room to the kitchen, then up the stairs, silent, Grant following. “All the furniture we brought from Craithorne is gone. I never saw these crude benches and tables before.”

  “Perhaps your aunt has moved,” Grant suggested hoping to relieve her dismay.

  Patience seemed to find that possibility a relief. She searched an ancient wardrobe. “No,” she said. “These are her clothes.”

  She descended the stairs with the agility of someone who’d maneuvered them with speed for years and made for the kitchen to stand looking about, hands on hips. Grant pictured the freckle-faced twelve-year-old in this very spot.

  “Where could she be at three in the afternoon? Our ritual was tea and fresh baked scones at three-fifteen without fail.” She searched the cupboard. “Mama’s silver tea set is gone.”

  Lowering herself to a bench by the table, Patience gazed absently at the room. Grant sat behind her, put his arms around her and took her cold hands to chafe them. The room and her hands were like ice. “So, there are some good memories here?”

  “I suppose.”

  Two grimy urchins came prancing into the kitchen, hand in hand, and stopped when they saw strangers waiting. A girl of about twelve held the hand of a boy somewhat younger. Grant noted that Patience stared with every bit as much confusion as they. Two taller boys and another girl skipped in and collided with the first set. Each child carried a book. “What you doin’ here?” a boy asked.

  “This is my Aunt’s house. What are you doing here? And do you know where my Aunt is?”

  “Sure,” a smiling girl answered. “She’s cleaning up ‘ta manor house, then she’ll come teach us reading.”

  “Cleaning? Aunt Harriette is in service?” Shock had barely registered on Patience’s face when an older woman came in. “You’ve arrived before me again, have you?” She stopped when she saw Patience.

  Grant stood, but the woman ignored him, studying her niece, her distress clear. She removed a much-worn cape and hung it on a peg. “Children,” she told the urchins, “No school today.”

  Their cheers filled the small kitchen.

  “Double tomorrow,” she said. “And don’t forget your bibles.” She shooed them out ignoring their moans and grumbles over double lessons. Then she turned to Patience. “Patience, dear. Why are you not in America with your new husband?”

  Grant bristled at the word, husband, and chided himself for the inconsistency. Patience might have a husband someday—she should—which would be best for his peace of mind.

  Patience stood and nodded to her ogre of an aunt, or so she thought her. “Aunt Harriette.” For a moment Grant thought Patience would bolt, but with obvious effort, she remained stoic. “I’d like you to meet a friend of mine, Captain Grant St. Benedict.”

  H
er aunt nodded. “Captain.”

  He bowed. “Lady Belmont.”

  “Please sit down, Captain.” The woman looked to Patience, seeking explanation.

  Patience swallowed, but Grant could see from her stance that it wasn’t likely anger she swallowed, but pride more like. “Conrad Van Barten died before I arrived in America,” she said. “I was stranded and alone, with no money and no place to stay. Mrs. Van Barten took me in for as long as she could. You were right. I shouldn’t have gone. I was foolish.”

  Grant stared. He’d no more expected Patience to admit to being foolish than he expected to learn that her aunt tried to stop her.

  “Patience, dear.” Her aunt reached out, then thought better of it and turned her hand to removing cups and saucers from the cupboard, but not before Grant saw the light fade from her eyes. “I’m sorry you had no money,” she said, her back to them. “If any had been left, I would have given it to you.”

  Patience stilled. “What are you saying?”

  “I sold everything to pay your way. Sending you to America was my only hope of saving you from a life of poverty.”

  “You sold nothing to send me. Everything was still here when I left. Including Mama’s tea set.”

  “The squire agreed not to take possession until after you’d gone.”

  “No. You told me not to go. You named all the horrible consequences that could befall me. You insisted I stay. You said I could never succeed as the wife of a man I did not know. As any man’s wife, I believe you meant.”

  “Your interpretation is not entirely accurate. I said what I did to make you go. Nothing sets up your back and firms your stubborn determination like being told you can’t do something, Patience. Remember how your father taught you to swim?”

  From the set of Patience’s shoulders, all the fight left her as she sat, speechless.

  Grant almost smiled at the aberration.

  “Knowing you as I do,” her aunt said, “I feared if you knew we were down to our last farthing, practical as you are, you’d go right out and earn our bread any way you could. I didn’t want that kind of life for you. I thought I was sending you to a better one. There was nothing left here for you.”

  “Left! There was nothing here for me in the first place. Being stranded in America was still better than remaining where I was hated.”

  Harriette stepped back as if she’d been struck. “Hated?” She made to speak, sealed her lips, reached out, and let her hand fall to her side. “I don’t hate you,” she said in a ragged whisper.

  Grant wished he was not witness to such an emotional scene. He was uncomfortable enough to bolt, himself. But he stayed. For Patience.

  “You don’t hate me?” Patience laughed, acting like a spoiled brat. Grant wanted to shake her.

  “I have much to explain, do I not?” her aunt said, gazing into a memory-filled distance. “Poor child. It is not you, but your father I have hated—or more correctly, been furious with,—for so many reasons. And when your mother died, I swore I would never forgive him for bringing about her death.

  Patience made to rise. Grant held her in place, his hands on her shoulders.

  “Don’t bristle, Patience,” her aunt said. “It’s unbecoming. Sit still and listen. It made absolute sense to me that if your mother died in childbed, then your father brought about her death.”

  Grant saw the real Lady Belmont emerge in the woman’s stance and demeanor. She raised an imperious hand to stop Patience’s rejoinder. “But a truth has haunted me since you left. Your parents loved each other. Those baby boys who died hours before your dear mother were a result of their love, just as you are.”

  The woman rose and went to the window, less regal, more beaten.

  Grant wished now he had left. If Patience had been conceived in love, she was unique. If his mother had loved his father, ever, then her hate had blossomed upon his birth. Not for the first time, Grant wondered what he might have done to change that.

  “I was jealous of your parents’ love for each other,” the tired woman finally said, still looking out the window, unable to see her niece stiffen in shock. Harriette sighed. “And I was furious with the man who destroyed my sister.” She cleared her throat. “From the day they set eyes on each other, she was his, and when she was gone forever, my anger became unreasonable and unforgiving. My sister died because she was weak from birthing twins at a time when her heart had gone to the grave with her husband. Your father’s irresponsibility certainly contributed to your mother’s pain, but despite all that, my sister loved that man.”

  Lady Belmont returned to stand before Patience. “You resemble her so much. Every time I looked at you, it reminded me she was gone, and how she died. I suppose, without realizing it, I took my anger out on you. I didn’t mean to, but—” She raised her chin, as Grant had seen Patience do countless times. “It wasn’t until you left for America that I looked back, really looked, and realized the wrong I’d done you. When you are alone, you have an incredible amount of time to lament your errors.”

  The woman seemed suddenly old and frail as she put her hands over Patience’s. “My mistakes loom the greater for this last and I must ask your forgiveness before I begin my confession, for I fear you will leave after you hear it and never return.”

  Patience took her hand from beneath her aunt’s as if she could not bear her touch. Her aunt’s eyes dimmed the more.

  Grant knew, even if Patience did not, that she needed to forgive, so she could let the misery go. She was a woman now and it was time for her to put her childhood behind.

  “No confession need be made,” Patience said, as if she cared not at all.

  Grant knew better.

  Lady Belmont sat. “I must. It’s time.” Her eyes filled. She took a deep breath. “Your father was the only man I ever loved.”

  Patience gasped. Grant took her hands.

  Her aunt nodded, almost in acceptance, as if her niece’s condemnation was her due. “Your grandparents could barely afford a little season, and then for only one of their daughters. I was the oldest, so the season was mine. A family friend chaperoned me. It was my only chance to make a match. “That was when I met your father. He made me feel so special when he smiled at me. I can still picture him during our first waltz, such a dashing rogue, chuckling at a silly, schoolgirl remark I’d made. You remember his smile, Patience. It could be as warm as a hearth in winter, or as refreshing as iced peaches in summer.” Harriette wiped the tears on her cheeks with her fingertips. “He paid me marked attention during those weeks in town, and I fell deeply in love.”

  “I don’t want to hear this,” Patience said.

  Grant squeezed her hand. “But you must.”

  Patience’s scowl was fit to turn him to cinders.

  Her aunt took a shuddering breath. “When I invited your father home to meet my parents, he met your mother.” She smiled sadly. “You know what happened.”

  Lady Belmont stood and grabbed a rag to wipe an imaginary speck from her plank table with agitated strokes. “Mark my words, Patience. Love that turns to hate is all the more caustic.” She stopped, dropped her hands to her side, and gazed at Patience with entreaty. “I understand if you can never forgive me.”

  From Patience, no answer was forthcoming. “Patience?” Grant prodded.

  She turned to him. “It wasn’t like my parents to be so cruel.”

  A proper sentiment, if slightly misplaced. She should be speaking to her aunt, not him.

  “I don’t think they realized my heart was engaged,” her aunt said. “They saw only each other.”

  Patience stood, walked the length of the kitchen, and back. “It hurt to know I was unloved and unwanted. Is that how my parents made you feel?”

  Aunt Harriette wiped her eyes. “However I felt as a result of their actions—which did not necessarily reflect their purpose—it was never my intent to make you suffer in return. Bitterness is a two-edged sword that can cut where and when you least expect. Don’t
ever let yourself succumb to the temptation of giving in to it.”

  Grant thought it was time for Patience to admit she understood something of her aunt’s pain. He took it upon himself to give her a gentle nudge in her aunt’s direction, but it was like nudging a boulder. He wouldn’t be surprised if his hand formed a bruise.

  “I do not deserve your forgiveness and I know it,” her aunt said. “Thank you for letting me know that you are back in England.” Lady Belmont reflected the same stoic pride her niece often did. “Whether you believe it or not, I wish you a happy life, Patience.”

  “Dammit!” Grant startled them both, so lost were they in each other. “You are exactly alike, the both of you, stubborn and pigheaded. Lady Belmont, you cared for Patience, yet she thought you hated her. Perhaps she had reason to think so, perhaps not. But it seems to me, that in the face of these revelations, it’s time to begin again.”

  “I would like nothing more,” she said. “But I fear that for Patience it is not possible. And I understand. I truly do.”

  Patience gave no indication she was open to a reconciliation and Grant wanted to throttle her. “Patience your aunt reduced herself to poverty to send you to a better life in America!” He looked from one to the other and saw mirror expressions of despair. They wanted to reach out to each other, he thought, but didn’t know how. A picture of his father at their last meeting flashed in Grant’s mind; he pushed it aside. “Patience, she is your only living relative. This is a chance to begin anew. New beginnings are rare in this life.” His father’s face intruded again; he banished it. “Forgive your aunt and be done with it. You need each other.”

  They stood like strangers, yet there was love, if they would but see it. He nudged Patience again. She stepped toward her Aunt, but as she was embraced, Patience’s arms remained by her side, her hands closing into fists.

  Lady’s Belmont was ready to begin, again. Patience had a long way to go.

  “Since you’ve been gone,” Harriette said, wiping her eyes, ignoring Patience’s solemnity, “I made peace with your parents. I thanked God and them for the years I had with you.”

  Patience choked down a sob. Grant pulled her against his side to tell her without words that she was not alone.

  Her aunt looked at them with a question she did not voice. “I’m sorry there was nothing in America for you, Patience. It was a mistake to send you.”

  Patience wanted badly to cry. Her throat hurt so she had to swallow to soothe it. Memories of her and Aunt Harriette here in this house, this very room, came rushing forth, many of them good, more of them than she expected. The events her aunt revealed explained so much, but the past held such pain.

  If they could just go back to the beginning . . .yet the true beginning had happened before her birth, so there really was no going back. She looked at Grant, at her aunt. They were waiting. The next move was hers. She raised her chin and took a deep breath. “Neither of us could have known what would happen in America, Aunt. And practical as I am, I did manage to make my way. I have a good deal of money. I will return what you spent on me.”

  Her aunt looked wounded.

  “I mean, I would like to help you, if you will allow me.”

  Her aunt’s expression softened and Patience relaxed a bit. “I could never have earned so much money had I stayed here in Sussex. Other than cleaning, I can’t imagine what else a woman—” Wisdom dawned, fast and brilliant. Patience grinned. “Grant. I think I know what a lightskirt is!”

  “Patience Kendall!” her aunt said.

  Grant threw her an annoyed glance. “Wonderful. Excellent timing.”

  “I wondered for years, Aunt, about the girls at the Hoop and Barrel, and why you didn’t want me to pay attention to ‘such goings on,’ and suddenly, just now, it all fell into place. But, I’m a grown woman now, and you’ve no right to reproach me any longer. I don’t live under your roof, and I never will do so again.”

  Harriette sighed. “I’m sorry you feel that way.”

  “How could I feel any other way? And you haven’t changed that much. You still keep your hand in, do you not? Those children are learning to read from bibles. The poor things must receive your scolds now. Do you still impose fasting for penance?”

  “Much as you might think it, I am not a pompous, bible-toting old harridan.”

  Patience couldn’t help her laugh. It was as if her aunt read her mind. “You were once.”

  “Patience!” Grant said.

  “Hush. This is between me and my aunt.”

  Her aunt almost smiled. “The only books Reverend Alderman would provide for my class are bibles, dear. I have changed. Losing you shocked me into looking at myself. And I didn’t like what I saw. I pray someday you will believe me.”

  “We’ll see,” Patience said.

  “Good,” Grant said, taking heart from those words. “Ladies, I would like to have the honor of escorting you to dinner at the Black Rabbit which, if I remember correctly, is not too far distant. Patience and I have something to discuss with you, Lady Belmont, do we not, Patience?

  Patience rolled her eyes. “I still do not think it one of your brighter notions.”

  “For the girls,” Grant said.

  Patience groaned. “For the girls.” She sighed in resignation. “Well, Aunt, the fact is that I haven’t made my way . . .perfectly . . .on my own.”