Sea Scoundrel (19 page)

The
modiste
became al supercilious smiles. “Now, My Lady, let us get down to the business of garment selection.” Patience donned her gloves. “Madame, it is late. I find myself exhausted from the wait. I would rather return home for tea and look to purchasing new wardrobes for the five of us on the morrow. Perhaps we shal find a shop that is not so busy. Come along girls.”

Bravo, Grant thought, and hid his smile with a cough.

“Perhaps that would be best, Lady Patience,” he said.

The dressmaker looked il . “I am so sorry for the delay, Lady Patience. Please, if you wil accept my most humble apology.” She encompassed the girls in her contrite look.

“Clotilde,” she clapped her hands. “Tea and cakes for our guests and lock the doors. We wil give Lady Patience and her wards our complete attention. Captain St. Benedict, may we have the honor of your presence for tea?” Grant bowed, his prospect for the day brightening. “I would be delighted,
Madame
.”

Patience’s eyebrows rose at his gal ant display. When the over-perfumed
modiste
went into the back room, he touched Patience’s cheek. Lord, he’d missed her. Had it only been two days?

Patience stepped back. “What are you doing here? Surely you didn’t miss us?”

“Yes. No. I was walking by when I saw you and noted your distress. Would you rather I had not—”

“No. Please. Please accept my thanks for coming to our rescue.”

“Again,” he said.

“Again,” she admitted.

Grant remained after tea to take part in choosing fabrics and patterns, approving colors and styles for each girl.

Fortunately the current mode of high-waisted gown suited al . Stil Sophie wanted robes over hers, Rose preferred tunics. Grace’s tunic must be long, Angel’s short to expose more underskirt. And they must discuss which tunics must have pointed, scal oped or straight cut edges, blonde lace or ruching? Such a tizzy. As different as the girls, fabrics, color and sizes varied.

Mrs. Lambert clapped her hands once more. “Come ladies, we must choose undergarments, stays, drawers, chemises

—”

“I think that I shal take my leave, ladies,” Grant said bowing.

Madame Lambert returned to her work room while good-byes were said.

“Again, thank you Captain,” Patience whispered. “For this afternoon. It was just that we had waited so long and I was so, so—”

“Impatient?” Grant said, brow raised, a knowing gleam in his eye.

“Aggravating man.”

“Vixen, there is nothing so endearing as a woman named Patience, who is total y lacking in said virtue. I consider it part of your peculiar charm.”

“Peculiar?”

“Unique.” He kissed her hand once more before letting it go.

“You have quite redeemed yourself.”

“Lady Patience,” Madame Lambert cal ed from the back. “I have the solution for the draping of your dresses. If we use the stays to push up the breasts, add bosom inserts, and a smal padded bustle—” She came to the front of the shop.

“My beautiful gowns wil hang properly on your boyish—” She stopped, pink with embarrassment. “Captain St.

Benedict, I thought you had left.”

The
modiste
looked as if she might swoon, while the crinkle lines about the Captain’s eyes became prominent.
Boyish
figure, indeed!
Patience turned her back on the dratted woman and dragged the smiling idiot outside, letting the door slam behind her.

“Sweetheart, don’t be angry,” the idiot said. “You have a beautiful body. The woman doesn’t know what she’s talking about.”

“Wil you be quiet! Do you want everyone to know that you do know what you’re talking about? Never mind. Until this moment, I was happy you were here. Now, I could throttle that woman, and you along with her.”

Patience hated herself for warming to his chuckle.

“Patience, at the risk of getting into trouble here, I think you should order several sets of bosom inserts. You’l need them, love. Get some of those new drawers also. They sound wickedly exciting.”

“I wil not buy wicked undergarments for your depraved enjoyment. I can’t believe I was so happy to see you.

Odious man. I don’t need your help anyway. I don’t need anyone. Go back to sea where the flying fish and boobies like and understand you.” She turned her back on him to enter the shop. When she had to pound on the door to be re-admitted, she knew she turned brick red, she was so hot with mortification.

She could stil hear the snake’s laughter even after she was back inside. If only the sound wasn’t like music to her ears.

Early the fol owing afternoon, they were sitting in the salon discussing hair styles when a servant delivered a stunning array of beribboned boxes with a note.

“What does it say?” Sophie begged, consumed with curiosity.

“Tel , tel ,” Angel added.

Patience split the seal, and smiled. “It’s from the Captain.

‘My Dear Lady Patience, and friends. Please accept my good wishes on your forthcoming venture. I took it upon myself yesterday, after leaving you, to purchase a few tokens of my thanks for your help aboard the
Knave’s
Secret
. As ever, G. St. B.’“

“Gifts should be opened one by one so we may al enjoy each,” Grace told them.

Patience laughed wondering if this was a hidden facet of her personality or if Angel had influenced the no-longer quiet miss. “Who wil be first?” she asked.

“I wil , I can’t wait,” Sophie said. From her package, she drew two hair combs of French jet shaped like a fan.

Before the gilt-edged mirror above the curio, she arranged them in her blond curls.

“What a perfect foil the jet is against your blonde hair, Sophie,” Patience said. “That man has hidden depths.” Angel unwrapped a set of ivory combs carved with a thistle design and Patience marveled at how striking the cream combs in Angel’s brown hair shown. She expected he’d sent each of them a set of hair combs. How considerate.

“I can hardly credit that the snarly Captain could be so thoughtful or select such delicate gifts,” Angel said.

Rose stepped closer. “It’s your turn Grace.” Grace’s eyes glowed, despite her spectacles. “Oh, my.” She displayed a mother-of-pearl spectacle case, covered with floral inlays and lined in blue watered silk. “I have never owned anything so beautiful.” She traced the design with her finger.

Patience swal owed the lump in her throat.

“Yours is the largest of al , Rose,” Sophie said.

Rose smiled, and she was beautiful, Patience thought, but one was hard-pressed to remember it with her sad demeanor. The rare times she smiled, she put them al to the pale. She removed a beaded purse with a chain and a center clip to hang over a belt at her waist. From inside, she took a fine linen handkerchief and had tears in her eyes.

“For pity’s sake, Rose. If you cry when you’re happy as wel as when you’re sad, you’l flood the house,” Angel snapped.

Rose burst into laughter. “Your turn, Patience.”

“What could he possibly have sent for me?” she wondered aloud as she examined two boxes with her name on them.

She chose to open the tiniest first.

“Hurry,” Sophie urged.

The flat, silver, filigree box fit in the palm of Patience’s hand. A tiny clasp at the side revealed an interior of spun gold and a stack of ivory cal ing cards proclaiming her to be, ‘Lady Patience Ann Kendal ’ with her new London address. “It’s a card case,” Patience said. She looked at the girls. “People here in England present their card when they visit. When someone is not at home, they leave their card,” she explained. Then she found a note peeking out one of the smal compartments. It was from Grant. ‘I pronounce you a ‘Lady of Society,’’ he’d written.

“What does it say?” Sophie asked.

“He says we’re ready to enter society.”

“But what’s in the other box?” Sophie added. “Lord, I don’t know how you can be so calm with two gifts to open.” Patience untied the ribbon on the second box laughing at Sophie. The girls stepped closer. She lifted the lid and slammed it down again. Bosom inserts! She gathered her gifts and stood. “Come along, we have much to do today.

Wel begun is nearly done, you know.”

The girls fol owed her up the stairs and al the way to her room, begging for a look, but Patience denied them even a peek, closing off their protests when her door was firmly shut.

She tossed the offending gift on the bed. She was going to throttle the scoundrel.

The next morning, their first invitations arrived. By afternoon, boxes of hats and shoes were delivered.

Patience accepted an invitation to a bal being given by the Duke and Duchess of Dorset and sent a note round to Madame Lambert requesting a set of bal gowns for Friday next.

The
modiste’s
return note read, “It wil be extremely difficult to finish five gowns in so short a time, but for you, I wil hire extra seamstresses and have them ready.” Patience gave an unladylike snort. It was the least the woman could do.

The fol owing day, Lady Caroline Crowley-Smyth paid a morning cal with Mrs. Trahern, a bosom friend, who brought her son, Oliver, along. Though he had an eye for Sophie, Patience could see he was obviously tied very tightly to mama’s leading strings. Oliver led the girls to say the most outrageous things. Patience was beside herself and only breathed a sigh of relief when they left.

After that, Patience’s drawing room saw no less than a dozen or so male cal ers each morning, Oliver Trahern always among them. Oliver said the girls were al the rage.

The fol owing evening, ensconced in a large leather chair before the fire at White’s, cigar smoke curling about his head, Grant sipped his brandy and read his paper, his attention caught by an article decrying appal ing working conditions in England’s mil s.

“A hundred pounds for Grace,” he heard, and Grant chafed at the enthusiastic betting, though it was quite routine, so he shifted and concentrated on his article.

“Double to form a dal iance with Sophie.”
Child labor. Poor working conditions. Not in his mill.

“Rose is the beauty.”

By God, they were a noisy lot
— Grant raised his gaze.

Rose, Sophie?
He shot from his chair. “Damnation!” Men moved aside as Grant made for the betting book direct. Oh, they’d attract men al right, but the wrong kind and for the wrong reasons.

He read down the list of bets searching for one particular name. And there it was. The man who could get Lady Patience Kendal to don britches and ride astride through Hyde Park at five p.m. would win two thousand pounds.

Patience had liked to ride astride through the Arundel countryside; she told him so. And she must have told the girls. “Bloody hel !”

girls. “Bloody hel !”

He grabbed cane, hat and gloves and left without a word.

* * *

Patience looked upon her girls with pride. “Wel , I must say you look wonderful. Grace, dear, don’t squint. Put on your spectacles until we arrive. Remember what Lady Caroline advised; use your lorgnette. It’s quite modish.” Sophie’s gown was of honey-gold silk. Turquoise brocade for Angel, and mulberry crepe shot with amaranthus for Rose. Grace had final y settled on a lilac tunic over purple satin. Patience outright refused her request for brown or gray.

She, herself, wore a shimmering sea green fail e with a gauze overskirt in pistachio. Grant had been particularly fond of these colors. It was too bad he wouldn’t see her tonight. Wearing the bosom inserts annoyed her, mostly because he sent them. And though she had determined never to wear the blasted things, the dresses just didn’t fit right without them. She hated to admit, even to herself, that they gave her a roundness she enjoyed, false though it was.

Perhaps it was best Grant wouldn’t be at the bal , Patience mused as she watched the passing scenery from the second of two carriages. She was perfectly capable of managing on her own.

They passed through the receiving line thanking the Duchess of Dorset for the kind invitations and waited at the top of the stairs overlooking the bal room. When their names were announced, and they began to descend, the entire assemblage—al six of them—stopped to watch.

Patience’s heart beat to the rhythm of the music. Why were they staring?

* * *

“What do you mean they’ve gone?” Grant demanded none too quietly.

The retainer stood calm despite Grant’s scowl. “They have departed for Dorset House.”

“The bal ? Damn and blast, man, they’ve gone too early.”

“Yes sir.”

“Didn’t anyone tel them about appearing fashionably late?”

“Apparently not, sir.”

“How long ago did they leave?”

“A little more than an hour, sir.”

“Thank you, Winters.”

Barely twenty minutes later, Grant jumped from his carriage. “I’l walk from here, John. I don’t know how long I’l be, but wait.”

The coachman tipped his hat. “Sir.”

Grant walked past eighteen carriages waiting in line to arrive at the front steps and discharge their elegant passengers at exactly the proper moment. He took the steps to the town-house two at a time and waved at the Duke of Dorset as he bypassed the receiving line.

The Duke chuckled.

His Lady scowled. “I final y get him to attend one of my bal s and he doesn’t have the courtesy to pay his respects.”

“You invited him then, pet?”

“Of course not, but it’s stil a feather in my cap that he’s here.”

The Duke patted his ladywife’s hand. “And wel -deserved, my love.”

The Duchess smiled as if the compliment were her due.

“Thank you, Montvale. Dear Lady Lessing, so pleased you could come.”

Grant descended the steps into the Dorset House bal room at a quick, though sedate, pace. He did not wish to be formal y announced; it would be best if this could be done quietly. But to his chagrin, there were several in the room who recognized him immediately.

He made his way to the gaming room and stood unobtrusively in the doorway between there and the bal room. Bloody, dissipated fools trying to impress each other on one hand then stab each other in the back when self-gratification warranted.
God, I hate this. What in
bloody hell am I doing here anyway?