Page 46 of The Gift of Patience
“I suppose.” She tried to remain noncommittal. “It is not something I have thought on overly much. If and when I marry, that will be a decision to be made with my husband.”
“Well,” he said, making that awful gesture that Patience could only relate to puffing out his chest and preening like a rooster. “I fancy I will produce a healthy brood and you have all the promising signs of being an excellent breeder.” He glanced at her hips that she was well aware were wider than her sisters’.
“You go too far, sir. We scarcely know each other.” Even speaking of such things in London Society was taboo.
“Forgive my country manners. We speak plainly here and I meant it as the highest compliment.”
Country manners, indeed.
“I have a small gift for you.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small rectangular chest that was ornate in design. How had he fit that into his pocket? “It is a music box.” He turned a lever on the back and opened it to play a song she thought was Beethoven.
Patience frowned. A lady could not accept a gift from a man she was not betrothed to. He placed it in her hand and she did not know how to react.
“Do you like it?” he asked eagerly.
“I cannot accept a gift from you, Rupert. We hardly know each other.”
“I should like to know you very well. We will remedy that,” he continued, unaware of the effort she was making not to shove the box in his face and run back to the house. Indeed, shoving all thoughts of actually marrying this buffoon and what it would intimate, she knew this was the perfect opening to ask him questions.
“As you say, sir. Why not begin with telling me who your friends are?”
He furrowed his brow in thought, then just as quickly released the frown. “Of course, you wish to know with what Society company we would be keeping. I can assure you once married, we would only keep the best of company.”
That was hardly reassuring. She knew whoever she married in actuality would be welcomed by her family and therefore Society. “But with whom do you keep company now?” she prodded.
He waved a dismissive hand. “Mostly chums from my school days, but I hardly think them relevant.”
“Westwood is quite close with his school chums as you call them,” she argued, also wondering why no one was saving her. She told her sisters to rescue her if Rupert stayed longer than half an hour. She glanced longingly back towards the house. Xander, the traitor, had left her side to sniff something interesting in the woods.
Next time, she would insist on someone accompanying them. She did not trust Rupert to behave much longer.
“Shall we meander this way?” Back towards the house she meant. “You can tell me about your friends as we go. I’d love to know what you do with your spare time in London.”
She called to Xander, who came bouncing back towards her. She never would have thought a dog could bounce, but that wasprecisely what he did. She scooped up his lead instead of taking Rupert’s arm and began to hasten towards safety.
It did not stop him from hurrying after her and taking her arm.
“Your friends?” she prompted. Why was he so hesitant to speak? Perhaps he did not have friends?
“I cannot say I have many friends, though there are one or two. I do not foresee them settling down and mixing with any Society company we would keep when married.”
“Anyone I would know? It would help to know you better.”
“I suppose you might know Sir Layton’s son, Edwin.”
“I cannot recall having met the son. I believe I met the father once.”
“He is very well-connected. You will have nothing to worry about, I assure you. There is also another friend named Oscar Beckett, but I cannot think he would have run in the same circles as you. He’s terrified of the leg-shackle.”
They had reached the rose garden and Patience saw the end in sight. She turned to bid him adieu, but when she did, he stepped forward and planted a wet, smacking kiss on her lips. The repulsion was like nothing else she had ever felt. “Unhand me, sir!” She pushed him away with as much maidenly modesty and outrage as she could muster along with the desire to wretch.
“Your modesty does you credit, but I assure you this is nothing between a betrothed couple.”
“We are not betrothed!”
“Rupert Fagge!” the Dowager’s voice trilled. “You will not behave like a cad in my garden! Explain yourself!”
Patience was a bit terrified of the Dowager in that moment, though she knew her to be an old dear. The relief of having Rupert’s assault against her stopped combined with the fear of what she might expect finding them in such a position.
