Patience (27 page)

Patience swallowed her laughter. “But Aunt Matty, my hair is already curly.”

“Exactly. So it stands to reason that lightning would have the opposite effect upon you, causing your magnificent curls to fall completely straight and limp. Now wouldn’t
that
be a disaster?” She sipped her tea. “I tell you, Patience, you simply
must
stay at home.”

Just as Patience was preparing her rebuttal, Passion spoke. “Perhaps Aunt Matty is right, darling.” Her sister paused. “Of course, Matt will be quite disappointed. I believe he was hoping to ride with you.” Passion shrugged. “But I think Aunt Matty has a good point. The safety of your curls is far more important.”

Aunt Matty put down her teacup with a clatter and cleared her throat. “Gracious, Passion, you really mustn’t coddle her so.” She turned to Patience. “I tell you, my dear, you simply must attend the hunt. What do you mean even thinking of not going?” She sniffed. “What’s a little water, after all?”

Patience frowned. She appreciated her sister’s assistance, but she was also annoyed by her aunt’s blind determination to push Matthew and her together. “But what about the lightning?”

Aunt Matty looked at her as if she’d lost her mind. “I hardly think you’ll be packing picnic utensils in your saddle, hence you have nothing whatsoever to worry about, my dear. Go, and have a wonderful time.”

Patience rested her hands on her waist. “Matthew and I are not going to get married, Aunt Matty.”

“You’re not? Well then who are you marrying?”

“I’m not marrying anyone—not Matthew, not anyone! You must put the notion from your mind immediately.”

Aunt Matty shook her head. “I’m sorry, but I simply can’t put notions from my mind so quickly. You’ll have to wait.”

“I’m serious, Aunt Matty.”

“Well, so am I!” Aunt Matty pushed aside her tea and frowned. “I do not understand you, Patience. Why do you persist in eschewing the very roles for which God created you? Do you think you know better than He what will make you happy? Do you think your woman’s heart and your woman’s womb are irrelevant?”

Patience stood stiffly before her aunt. “You cannot deny that some women are ill suited for marriage and motherhood.”

“I don’t deny it. But whatever do those unfortunate creatures have to do with you? You will make an excellent mother. Look at the children at the church school. They admire and respect you because you are both firm and fair. And as for marriage—well, I told you just yesterday that you, my dear, are a peach.” Aunt Matty paused and then raised her brows. “A peach is soft, sweet, and juicy. A peach is meant for eating. And because it is so soft, sweet, and juicy, it is a great tragedy when a peach is
not
eaten. For it is only by being eaten that it can truly fulfill its purpose—which is to be loved and adored for how soft, sweet, and juicy it is.”

Patience stared at her aunt and her chest felt a little tight. Despite her strict demeanor with the children at the church school, she did care deeply for them. However, most of the time, she didn’t feel very soft, sweet, or juicy. She glanced at her sister and found that Passion was regarding her intently. She turned back to her aunt. “But what if you’re wrong? What if I’m not a peach, Aunt Matty?”

“Humph, believe me, you are. And Matthew Hawkmore is desperate to pluck you from the branch. I hear wedding bells whenever he draws near.”

Marriage to Matthew?
Patience’s heart skipped then raced nervously. He may want her to stay with him for a time, but he’d specifically said that he wasn’t interested in her hand. She shook her head. “Matthew Hawkmore is no more interested in marriage than I am.”

“Oh, of course he is. Heavens, Patience, for such a bright girl, you can be so very obtuse.”

Patience frowned and looked to her sister. “Will you say something, please?”

“All right.” Passion met her gaze. “I, too, believe you’re a peach.”

Patience’s brows lifted with surprise. “What?”

“There,” Aunt Matty said superciliously.

Passion leaned forward. “As for Matt”—her gentle eyes looked so certain—“he’s a good and decent man—a man who, I believe, longs to be yours.”

Passion smiled softly. “I see how he looks at you, darling—with such tender intensity. Last night at the musicale, everyone saw.”

Patience stood tense. Was everything turning topsy-turvy? She had a plan for her life—one that did not include peaches and marriage. Yet her aunt and her sister seemed to see things differently. And most unsettling of all, she seemed to be seeing things differently, too.

Why?

Because
you
are different. And every day you shall become a little more different. But you mustn’t worry, for the more different you become the more you shall recognize yourself.

Patience frowned. She’d believed it last night, and it only seemed truer and truer. How could Matthew, who knew her so little, be so right? And how could she, who knew herself so well, be so wrong?

Her frown deepened. She hated being wrong. There was something very uncomfortable and inconvenient about it. She lifted her chin as she looked at her sister. “Thank you for mentioning the musicale.” She turned to Aunt Matty. “I am reminded that we shall soon be leaving for London and Cavalli. I hope you will be ready when the time comes.”

Aunt Matty rolled her eyes and shook her head. “Oh, Patience. What’s more important? Another music lesson or your eternal happiness?” She lifted one silver brow. “Cavalli or Matthew?”

Patience clenched her hands into fists. “This is ridiculous. Matthew isn’t interested in marriage. He told me so himself.” She picked up her gloves from the table. “Now, I must go. Or I shall surely miss the hunt.”

Patience hurried to leave, but before she could close the door, she heard Aunt Matty’s voice.

“Rotten peaches. I shall never forgive myself if she becomes rotten peaches.”

Frowning, Patience shut the door a bit harder than was necessary and then strode down the hall. Matthew didn’t want to marry. He’d said so. But then—she pulled on her gloves as she walked—he’d also written in his note that he was her prince.

What did that mean?

She turned the corner that led away from the family quarters. Likely nothing. It was just a whimsical note, meant to be fun and frivolous. It had no special meaning, no import. It was just a note—

Her thoughts careened to a halt as her brisk entrance into the third-floor foyer brought her face-to-face with the Lady Humphreys and her constant companions.

The marchioness raised her brows haughtily and gave Patience a head-to-toe once-over. She turned to one of her friends. “Do you remember, Amelia, the stunning habit that Lady Rosalind wore to this hunt last year?” Her friend nodded mutely. “If memory serves,” the marchioness continued, “it was a rich olive color, embellished with gold braid and gold buttons. So much more subdued and tasteful than the
common
colors”—she looked pointedly at Patience—“like blue.”

Patience gripped her sapphire velvet skirts. She was in no mood to spar with the Lady Humphreys. “If memory serves, my lady, you were adorned in blue just last eve. So if you are concerned about looking common, perhaps you should see to your own wardrobe. Excuse me.”

With that, Patience brushed past the ladies and quickly descended the stairs. She frowned. Her response had lacked brilliance, but it was the best she could do under the circumstances. Pausing halfway down the stairs, she let her eye flicker over the scene below. In their red hunting jackets, the gentlemen were bright dots and clusters in the loitering crowd. But she didn’t see Matthew’s broad shoulders and gold-tipped hair—no dark, penetrating eyes. Why was he never there when she wanted him? Her frown deepened. Why must she want him at all?

Hurrying down the rest of the stairs, she turned in the opposite direction of the milling crowd and moved toward the rear of the house. She felt cross, tense, and off- kilter. Her boot heels briskly tapping the floor, she passed several rooms. She didn’t even know where she was going, she just wanted . . .

“Patience.”

She froze, and her heart raced. His voice had come from the room she’d just passed. Her ill humor urged her to keep walking, but she couldn’t do it. Turning slowly, she found Matthew standing just inside the doorway, his beautiful eyes fixed upon her. Dressed in a red jacket, fawn breeches, and black riding boots, he was too handsome for words.

Her body quivered and her breath grew short as she stared into his sweet and tender gaze. The gaze that made her feel like running into his embrace and never leaving. The gaze that made her want to hope.

She tensed. Hope was dangerous. Hope was not to be indulged. Better just to enjoy what was than to hope for what would never be.

Patience’s thoughts were interrupted as a tall boy appeared at Matthew’s side.

“Christ in ’eaven,” the boy gasped, his eyes widening as he stared at her.

Matthew raised his brows as he stepped forward and drew Patience into the room. “Miss Dare, please allow me to present Mr. Mickey Wilkes.”

The boy swept off his cap, revealing straight black hair that fell forward around his face. “Lady,” he said reverently.

Patience tried to shake off her mood. The lad had a boyish handsomeness and intelligent eyes. She mustered a small smile. “I’m not a ‘lady,’ Mr. Wilkes, I’m just a ‘miss.’ ”

Mickey Wilkes crumpled his hat in his hand as he shook his head. “Fergive me fer disagreein’, Miss Dare, but you—you could ne’er be
‘jus’
anythin’. I mean, you”—he looked her up and down before returning his gaze to hers with a shake of his head—“you—yer
everythin’
.”

Patience gave him another small smile. “Thank you, Mr. Wilkes.”

He smiled. “Thank
you,
Miss Dare.”

Matthew shook his head. “All right then, off with you, Lance-lot. You’ve got dragons to slay.”

Mickey frowned. “Oo’s Lanc’lot?”

“A valiant knight,” Patience offered.

“Who poached on another man’s woman,” Matthew added, giving the boy a glare. “Now get about your business.”

Patience’s blood warmed. Was she Matthew’s woman? How could she be, when she would soon be leaving him?

The boy’s frown deepened as he flipped his hat back on his head. “Yeah, a’right.” His brow cleared as he turned to Patience. “Fergive me fer takin’ me leave so sudden like, Miss Dare. I look fo’ward to ’aving me day brigh’ened again soon by yer beau’eous face.” He smiled and, though there probably weren’t more than three years between them, he suddenly looked very young. “Good’ay, Miss Dare.”

Patience nodded. “Thank you, again, Mr. Wilkes. And good day.”

As the lad walked off, Patience returned her gaze to Matthew.

His dark eyes moved over her in an intense perusal. “Close the door,” he ordered quietly.

Patience’s heart leapt with excitement, but in the very next moment her petulance flared. She stood there, unmoving, as her peevishness fought with her desire. Then, annoyed with her own indecisiveness, she squared her shoulders and turned to close the door.

When she turned back, Matthew was walking to his desk. Sitting against the facing edge, he crossed his long legs at the ankles and folded his arms over his chest. Though the room was dim due to the grayness of the day, she could see that, as always, his dark gaze moved slowly over her. The tips of her fingers tingled.

“You’re beautiful,” he said softly. “Pluto could never have resisted a Persephone such as you.” He paused. “Come here.”

Patience shivered at the sound of his voice, and she took a step forward before she was able to stop herself. But then she stood, stiff with the effort to remain rooted. She didn’t have to obey. “You come to me,” she said stiffly.

Matthew’s handsome mouth turned up a little at the corners, and he shook his head. “Really, Patience. That’s a rather small stand to make, isn’t it?”

She frowned and suddenly felt a little foolish, which only served to vex her more. “Nonetheless, it is my stand.”

“Do you often stand against your own wishes—and such simple ones?”

Patience clenched her jaw and hated that he spoke the truth.

When she didn’t answer, his brows lifted. “I know you want to come to me. Look at you, all tense and rigid with the effort not to. It does not please me to see you like this, Patience.”

God, she began to fear that she had embarked upon a losing battle. “Then put an end to my tension and come to me.”

He braced the heels of his palms against the edge of the desk. “You know I won’t do that.”

“Why not?” Her voice sounded so tight. “As you said, it’s only a small stand. Surely you can indulge such an insignificant request?”

“No.” He held her with his steady gaze. “And don’t try to manipulate me by equating smallness with insignificance. You’re testing me—over something small and petty—but the test itself is not insignificant.”

Patience bristled at the words
small
and
petty
.

“You think that if I come to you, you will have won some battle. You think you’ll feel better about the emotions that are rising up in you. Perhaps it will even prove that the last two nights were all wrong.”

Yes!
Patience swallowed the lump in her throat.

“But the truth is that the battle you’re fighting isn’t with me; it’s with your pride and your old, mistaken notions. I am not your enemy. I am the ally of your true self. But if I give in to your ‘insignificant request,’ I will have deserted you. You’ll feel a fleeting victory, only to be followed by monumental disappointment.”

God, was that true?
She stared into his dark, unflinching gaze.

“Don’t worry,” he murmured. “I won’t fail you.”

Patience drew a choked breath as relief, and the realization of what that relief meant, flooded her at the same moment. God in Heaven, what was happening to her?