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Lady Meredith blinked in surprise. “Why, no. It is quite beautiful. However, the dress is not for me, but rather you.”
Awed, Patience walked over and reverently caressed the gossamer sleeves. She had never owned anything so fine. “No, you have made a mistake. This elegant dress was clearly made for you.” Attired in such a creation, Patience could stand as Lady Meredith’s equal and not her servant.
“No, this particular dress was fashioned for you. My brother insists that all the ladies of the
ton
will goggle at us with envy and curiosity when they see us in our finery,” she said breezily. For the first time, there was a flicker of excitement in the lady’s demeanor.
Until she noticed the tears in Patience’s unfocused gaze.
Concerned, Lady Meredith awkwardly patted her companion’s back. “Oh no … no, do not cry. If you hate it, Ramscar will order another to replace it.”
Patience retrieved a handkerchief that she had tucked into her sleeve, and sniffed. How could she explain to Lady Meredith that she was simply overwhelmed by the generosity the Knowdens had shown a veritable stranger? Ramscar’s sister had lived a very sheltered existence. She knew little of
hunger, cold, or cruelty. New dresses were something even the reclusive young woman took for granted. The pleasure and extravagance of a new dress was an indulgence Patience had almost forgotten existed.
“There is no need for your brother to go to such lengths to please me, Lady Meredith. I am just being maudlin.” Patience pasted a smile on her face to ease the lady’s concerns. “It is a lovely dress. I have never dreamed of owning one as refined.”
The distress in Lady Meredith’s expression waned with understanding. “Well, this is the first of many. If you weep over each one, we will have to procure you another dozen handkerchiefs,” she teased, taking the dress from the seamstress. “I summoned you here because Margaret wanted to assure herself of the fit. However, I have just been inspired by a grand notion. I want you to wear the dress at dinner this evening.”
 
 
Dinner as alway had been excellent.
Cook had outdone herself with a succulent course of mutton, capon, and freshly caught eel. Steaming dishes of carrots, mushrooms, and parsnips were served next, and they enjoyed forced strawberries in thick cream for dessert.
It had been a long, tiring day. Ram left the house after breakfast. He had spent most of the day calling on his tenants and listening to their problems. When he had returned to the house, the stable master had approached Ram about an unmanageable mare. By the time he had washed up, he had almost been late for the evening meal.
The fatigue he had been feeling had vanished when Patience had entered the dining room arm in arm with his sister. The small fortune he had been paying the seamstresses was well worth the expense if the new dress Patience wore this evening was any indication.
After dinner, they had settled in the music room. Patience was seated at the pianoforte playing a tune that was as light and frothy as the charming confection she wore. Meredith sat nearby on the sofa quietly working at her embroidery, while he had chosen a book from the library. Ram read two pages and closed the book. A full stomach and the warmth of the room had made him lazy. Besides, he would rather study Patience’s profile than peruse a dusty tome on the philosophy of war.
He thought about kissing her.
Often.
They had been carefully avoiding each other since the kiss at the pond. Ram had mentally listed a hundred reasons that he should not pursue this
particular lady. Meredith was happier since Patience had joined their household, and dallying with his sister’s companion would only lead to complications he would rather avoid. They were leaving for London in two days. Once they settled in the town house, he would seek out Angeline Grassi and satisfy his lustful urges. He was certain it was the isolation of Swancott that had sharpened his interest in bedding Patience Winlow. Returning to London would expose him to dozens of beauties and restore his perspective.
“Brother, I have been thinking,” Meredith said, not looking up from her stitching.
Ram set his book on the small table next to him. “If you are preparing to argue another reason why you cannot join me in London, then do not bother.”
“I am resigned to my grim fate,” she said with the stoicism of a martyr. “However, it is not London I wish to discuss, but rather Miss Winlow’s past.”
Patience fumbled a few notes before continuing her flawless playing. “Should I leave the room, Lady Meredith?”
“Heavens, no,” the young woman said, placing her embroidery onto her lap. “This concerns you, and your opinion on this matter equals our own.”
“What matter?” Ram asked, drawing his sister’s attention back to him.
What new machinations was Meredith concocting? She had seemed unruffled by Patience’s theatrical past. In fact, Meredith had even seemed slightly awed by the young woman’s worldly independence. If his sister thought she could find fault in her companion in order to delay their departure, she had sadly underestimated his determination.
Meredith tapped her chin as she scrutinized the other woman. Having gained both siblings’ interest, Patience silenced the pianoforte. Her head high, she placed her clenched fingers into her lap. From her stoic expression, she also was anticipating Meredith’s denouncing her.
“Are you well-known in London, Miss Winlow?” his sister asked gently.
Patience seemed momentarily flustered by the question. “No. Not at all. Our troupe preferred traveling the rural countryside. I daresay I am veritably an unknown as an actress. Why do you ask?”
“I mean you no offense, Miss Winlow. However, I am concerned about how you will be received in polite society if your past is revealed. In the weeks I have come to know you, I have come to admire your wit, ingenuity, and kindness. I will not have strangers abuse you for what they might perceive as a lacking in your character.”
Pride warmed Ram’s heart as he listened to his
sister. He knew Meredith was terrified that the
ton
would mock her imperfections. Despite her fears, she had given some thought to Patience’s welfare.
“Do not fret, Lady Meredith. A hired companion is beneath the
ton’
s high regard, no matter how finely she is dressed,” Patience said lightly.
Ram’s keen gaze shifted to Patience. She was smiling at his sister, attempting to allay her concerns. Was that how Patience Winlow saw herself? A lady unworthy of polite society’s notice? He wondered what scars the pretty actress hid behind her beguiling blue eyes.
“I agree, Meredith,” Ram said, pressing his fingers together as he pondered a solution to their quandary. “Introducing Miss Winlow as a retired actress would only invite cruel speculation about her past.”
Meredith was fretting that her new companion might be shunned by the
ton.
Ram did not have the heart to correct his sister. He had no doubt that Patience’s beauty would garner the undesired attentions of every scoundrel in the
ton,
including his close friends Everod and Cadd. Damn those randy bastards!
This would not do at all!
“We could pretend she is our cousin,” Ram’s sister eagerly suggested, getting into the spirit of creating a clever subterfuge to fool the curious.
Ram thought it was an atrocious idea. Not only did Patience not resemble them in looks, but he had always claimed when questioned that Meredith was the only surviving family he had. Besides, if they turned Patience into a fictional cousin he would have to keep his bloody hands off the woman! He disliked that detail most of all.
“Calling her cousin might create a few problems for us later when Miss Winlow leaves us,” he said, moving his hand with a casual wave of dismissal. “I recommend that we tell anyone who inquires that Miss Winlow is the daughter of one of Mother’s old friends. Since this is your first season, Meredith, it would only be natural that you would want your dear friend at your side.”
He leaned back in his chair, rather pleased with himself. To deter fortune hunters and other unsavory rogues, he would let it be known that Patience’s family had fallen on hard times, so the lady was without a dowry. If the falsehood did not discourage his friends, then he would approach them privately.
“This is wonderful!” Meredith applauded his inventiveness. “A flawless plan, Brother. What is your opinion, Miss Winlow?” She slapped her hand over her mouth at her slip and giggled. “No, ‘Miss Winlow’ will not do. As my dearest friend, you will almost be family to us. From this day forward I shall call you Patience, and I will be Meredith to you.”
Patience bit her lip, plainly worried about her fictional past. “Lady Meredith—”
“Ah.” His sister waved a chiding finger at her. “If I must suffer the scrutiny of the
ton
with dignity, then you will do so at my side, friend.”
She exhaled, her expression reflecting her impatience. “Meredith … Lord Ramscar … I am honored that you are willing to lie on my behalf. However, it is unnecessary, I assure you. I would not want either of you to suffer any humiliation if your trickery was uncovered.”
“Oh, let Meredith have her fun, Patience,” Ram said in a teasing drawl. His intentional use of her Christian name earned him a charming pout. “Our ruse harms no one. Can you deny the notion of making arses out of the very people who view themselves as your betters does not appeal to the actress in you?”
He had complete faith in Patience that she could hoodwink the
ton
into believing she was a noblewoman. Her refined manners, voice, and graceful movements perfectly mimicked those of any lady he had encountered at a ball. Meredith would do well to emulate her companion.
Patience braced her elbow on the polished surface of the pianoforte and rubbed her temple. She knew when she had been outmaneuvered. The question was whether or not she would surrender gracefully.
“Very well.” She gave him a gimlet stare and muttered the words “amateur players” under her breath. “To keep things simple, I recommend that I remain Patience Winlow.”
Society is now one polish’d horde,
Formed of two mighty tribes, the
Bores
and
Bored.
 
 
—
GEORGE GORDON NOEL BYRON, LORD BYRON
DON JUAN, CANTO XIII, STANZA 95
London, April 1810
 
 
“I cannot do it. I beg of you, do not make me,” Meredith pleaded, gripping her hands together so fiercely that it had to be painful.
All in all, the two-day journey to London had not been as dreadful as Lord Ramscar had once predicted. Once when they were alone he had suggested pouring laudanum down his sister’s throat, but Patience had curtly dismissed such an outrageous suggestion. She could not glance at a bottle of the opium
tincture without thinking of Julian Phoenix and the vile plans he had for her the day he had died. Patience would rather endure hours of Meredith’s hysterics than violate their budding friendship.
In the end, it was Meredith who had surprised them all, including herself. The first few miles of their departure had been tearful; however, once she had calmed, the young woman had begun to appreciate her new surroundings. Everything was a new experience for her, and it was easy to be caught up in her excitement. Patience had noted the flash of relief on Ramscar’s face whenever he heard his sister’s soft, hesitant laughter. The earl was aware he was gambling with Meredith’s sanity by removing her from her precious Swancott. Fortunately, his instincts had been correct.
That was, until they had reached the Knowden town house. The earl had told her that this was not the town house Meredith recalled from eleven years ago. The house in which her mother and twin sister had perished had been sold off shortly after the fire. With the painful memories of his loss too fresh for comfort, Ramscar had purchased another house for him and his sister. Meredith had been too ill during those early months to appreciate his considerate gesture. Regardless, when the coach had halted in front of the house, the poor woman had been overcome with emotion.
Patience disembarked from the coach and held out her hand. “Meredith, you have nothing to fear. It is simply a house. Are you not curious to see where your brother lives?” Patience certainly was interested in exploring the town house.
Meredith placed her hands over her face. “Oh, you must think I am the biggest ninny to be fussing so.”
“Oh pish! This is a homecoming of sorts, and what lady does not get a little emotional during these moments?” Patience said, feeling terrible there was nothing comforting she could utter that would ease Meredith’s misery.
Ramscar marched toward them looking displeased. “Meredith, why are you still sitting in the coach? I want to introduce you to the servants and show you the house.”
His sister placed her hand to her throat. “Something is terribly wrong, Ram. My limbs are frozen. And—and my lungs cannot seem to fill with air. I think you should summon a physician.”
Patience met Ramscar’s stern gaze and shrugged. They had gotten this far without Meredith succumbing to hysterics or a tantrum. A little fretting was expected during a very delicate and emotional situation. Her brother, above all, should understand.
When Ramscar moved closer, Patience stepped aside. Meredith was fortunate to have him as a
brother. Patience had two younger brothers, Penn and Rawley. They had been away at school when she had run off. She wondered if they ever thought about her.
An abrupt screech from within the coach startled Patience from her wistful musings. She rushed forward, but Ramscar had control of the situation. Instead of coaxing his sister from the coach as Patience had expected, the brute had dragged his mulish sibling out of the compartment and tossed her over his shoulder as if she were a sack of onions.
“Put me down!” Meredith screamed as she pounded on her brother’s back. Oh, she was in a fine fury.
Aghast by the earl’s actions, Patience was uncertain what to do. “Ramscar? My lord, it is unseemly to carry your sister like she is—”
“A mouthy bit of goods?” he snapped at Patience. “I’ll not have another word from you, Miss Winlow. I am perfectly capable of handling my sister.” With an unwieldy burden, he marched up the steps into the town house. All Patience could do was follow them.
In front of the astonished servants, he bent down and released his sister.
“Welcome to London, Sister!” The idiotic man sounded rather pleased with himself.
Patience closed her eyes to briefly blot out the
awkward predicament Ramscar had created for his sister.
Completely mortified by the unwarranted attention, Meredith promptly burst into tears.
 
 
“Ramscar! About time you find your way back to town,” Townsend Lidsaw, Viscount Everod, said, rising from a chair and giving him a swift affectionate hug followed by a wicked jab at his shoulder.
Ramscar grunted in reaction, but overall, he was pleased to come across one of his friends. He had decided for his first evening out to visit one of the popular gambling hells in town, called Moiria’s Lust. Xavier, the proprietor, was temperamental about who sat at his tables, but he ran a fair establishment. Ramscar was not surprised to find his friend frequenting the hell instead of one of the fashionable gentlemen’s clubs.
Lord Everod, known simply as Everod by his friends, was one of the more notorious of
les sauvages nobles.
The same age as Ram, his friend had earned the fitting nickname of Ever
hard
from several witty ladies of the
ton
who had shared his bed, albeit briefly. At six feet, three inches, his broad-shouldered frame was intimidating to the uninitiated. Ram thought his friend resembled a medieval warlord in looks and brooding temperament.
His shoulder-length glossy black hair was a stark contrast to his striking face. Exotic and beguiling, his eyes were the color of amber and edged with a thin outer dark ring of green. They were eyes that burned both hot and cold depending on the viscount’s mood. The ladies seemed unabashedly fascinated by his masculine beauty and cynical wit, and Everod was swift to oblige his admirers.
In Everod’s typical provoking manner, he seized a man passing by the card table and shoved him into his chair. Strangely, the man picked up the viscount’s discarded cards and the game at the table resumed without him.
“What kept you? I expected to find you prowling about London a fortnight ago.”
Abruptly, Ramscar’s friend halted. He hooted with laughter and clapped Ramscar on the back. “Pray tell me you’ve enjoyed the winter snuggling up with that Amazon who couldn’t keep her greedy fingers off your stiff poker?”
Ram had forgotten Everod had caught him and his mistress in the middle of what should have been a private encounter. Angeline had laughed when the unabashed viscount had suggested joining the couple later that evening. From Ram’s point of view, it had been damned embarrassing. There were some things in life in which some might view
him as a selfish bastard, and sharing his mistress was one of the more important ones. He left that particular carnal mischief up to Everod and Cadd.
“I remained at Swancott longer than expected,” Ram explained, sitting down at an empty table. “Meredith has joined me this season.”
“Meredith?” The viscount frowned, likely having forgotten that Ram had a younger sister. His next words negated that suspicion. “Your sister? Why drag her to town? She is a mere child.”
“You should visit Swancott more often. My sister will be four and twenty at the end of the week,” Ram dryly said. He smiled at the barmaid and quickly ordered two bottles of wine. “Fortunately, the Dowager Duchess of Solitea has kindly offered to hold a ball in celebration of Meredith’s birthday.”
“Damn me! The chit is practically a spinster, Ram,” Everod said in his usually blunt fashion. He was not a cruel man, but he rarely censored his thoughts around his friends. “What were you thinking? You are six years too late if you hope to marry her off.”
A plume of uninhibited anger unfurled within Ram. While he enjoyed the viscount’s company, he, amongst all Ram’s friends, was the wrong gentleman to be discussing the delicate handling of Meredith’s fears. Solitea would have understood why
Ram had delayed bringing his sister to London. The duke had a younger sister, too. The impulse to coddle them was irresistible.
There was a hint of ice in Ram’s hazel green eyes when he held the other man’s gaze. “The fire scarred more than her face, Everod. Nor am I seeking to marry her off to some blackguard like you or Cadd—”
Everod looked offended. “Hey! That’s mighty harsh, considering that we are your
friends
!”
“A man who is willing to tolerate a ruined face for a sizeable dowry.” Ram shook his head, disgusted by the notion. He would rather keep his sister hidden away at Swancott than marry her off to a man who could not see Meredith’s beauty.
Ram paused, recognizing that Everod had done nothing to deserve his anger. After all, had he not directed the same criticisms at himself? “Perhaps you are right. I should have brought her to town six years ago instead of capitulating to her tearful pleas to remain at Swancott. I am trying to remedy that mistake this season. I even hired a companion for her.”
Ram silently cursed when he noticed the viscount’s interest piqued at the mention of a hired companion. Everod had no shame when it came to seducing ladies, whether they were duchesses or lowborn milkmaids.
“A companion?” Ram’s friend grinned, showing plenty of teeth. His amber eyes gleamed with admiration. “You clever bastard! Only you would figure out a respectful motive for having an unmarried wench in your house. Tell me, is she pretty?”
Unless Ram was prepared to ignore Everod the entire season, it would be next to impossible to keep him from meeting Patience. The lady was under Ram’s protection. A small warning would not be construed as out of the ordinary.
“Heed me. Miss Winlow is seeing to my sister’s needs, not
yours,
” Ram said, unable to keep the steel out of his tone. The thought of Patience in his friend’s bed made Ram want to slam his fist into Everod’s cocky face. “We won’t have a problem if you keep your breeches fastened and your language respectful.”
“Oh, so she’s very pretty,” the viscount teased, satisfied that he had provoked the truth out of his friend. “I cannot wait to meet the beauty who has you issuing threats.”
The barmaid returned with the bottles of wine and two glasses. Everod smiled up at her and patted her backside in a friendly manner. The comely wench flirtatiously nudged him with her hip. Ram was not oblivious to the signals the pair passed between them. He also knew Everod. The man was already thinking about how he could persuade the
maid into neglecting her duties for a half hour so they might take pleasure in a brief tryst. In gratitude, Ram handed the barmaid a few extra coins for distracting his friend from pursuing the topic of Patience Winlow.
“Thank ye, my lord,” the barmaid said to Ram, but her eyes were on the viscount. “If you have a need or two, just ask for Marjorie.”
No doubt, Everod would be freeing his need especially for Marjorie in some private corner of the gambling hell later in the evening.
Ram picked up one of the bottles of wine and poured some into his and Everod’s glasses. For a time Ram looked forward to forgetting about his personal problems and getting drunk with his friend. “So tell me of Cadd and Solitea. What news do you have of them?”
 
 
It was nigh past midnight when Ram heard the soft knock at the door. He had been expecting a visit from Meredith’s champion. However, he had thought the late hour would discourage her from confronting him tonight.
“Lord Ramscar, are you awake?”
At the sound of Patience’s low, husky voice Ram shut his eyes and tried to resist answering her summons. He was tired, edgy, and slightly drunk. The
last thing he wanted to do was discuss his sister or his unpardonable behavior. When he had departed for the evening earlier, Meredith had still not forgiven him for his highhandedness.
“Ram, please.”
Patience’s quiet plea slipped under his weary defenses. Rolling out of bed, he padded to the door. For modesty’s sake, he could have donned his discarded shirt. He refrained. A lady who dared to venture into a gentleman’s bedchamber at midnight deserved to glimpse the ravenous beast she provoked.
Ram opened the door.
“Good evening, Patience.”
He leaned his forearm against the door frame, admiring the young woman in front of him. This was a Patience Winlow he had yet to meet. Her long blond hair was down but neatly plaited into a braid down her back. She wore a simple white nightdress and kid slippers over her bare feet. A light green shawl was draped over her shoulders, preventing him from admiring her breasts.
“How many hours did you sit by the window awaiting my return?” he asked, giving her a wolfish grin. “If I had known, I would have told you it was a fruitless endeavor.”
Patience was not immune to his near nakedness. Instead of looking away, she gaped at him, her expressive blue eyes taking in his bare chest and feet.
Dressed only in his breeches, he looked as if he had been about to indulge in a night of debauchery.
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