Page 25 of The Truth about the Viscount
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 certainlyhaschanged 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 thatIwas 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 atthis 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.
Chapter Nine
Muttering to himself, Daniel made his way into White’s and, snapping his fingers at one of the footmen, sat down heavily in a chair near a fireplace which, much to his relief, had glowing embers within it. He had not attended any occasion this evening, having chosen to step away from society entirely. Last evening’s ball had been the most dreadful of the Season, for he had learned that he had not only his likeness published in The London Chronicle, but also a statement about his character which, he now knew, everyone in thetonhad read. Quite what had possessed Lady Patience to write such things about him, he did not know, but he felt more than a little foolish because of it.
The truth was, he had thought well of the lady. He had considered her a fine young woman who had interrupted his conversation with Lord Newforth to save embarrassment to both himself and, thereafter, to Isabella. There had been a spark of interest within him also, appreciating her warm smile and the way that the candlelight had danced across her golden curls. Yes, even when they had been forced into dancing the waltz together, he had taken note of her beauty, even though he had been coldly furious about all that she had done.
