petulant group on the other side of the room. 'Your mama would expect you to sit with your brother.' Deftly twining arms, she anchored Angela to her side. 'Young ladies who venture about on their own rapidly gain a reputation for being fast.'
Angela pouted. And cast longing looks across the room. 'It's only a few yards away.'
'A few yards too many.' Reaching the vacant chairs, Patience sat, dragging Angela down beside her. Edmond slid into the chair on Patience's left; rather than sit beside his sister, Henry opted to sit behind Patience. As the performers appeared to polite applause, Henry shuffled his chair forward, hissing
Disapproving glances were cast their way. Patience turned her head and glared. Henry desisted.
With an inward sigh of relief, Patience settled in her chair and prepared to give her attention to the music.
Henry leaned forward and hissed in her ear: 'Quite a smart gathering, isn't it? Daresay this is how foraush ladies spend most of their evenings.'
Before Patience could react, the pianist laid her fingers on the keys and commenced a prelude, one of Patience's favorites. Inwardly sighing, she prepared to sink into the comfort of the familiar strains.
'Bach.' Edmond leaned closer, head nodding with the beat. 'A neat little piece. Designed to convey the joys of spring. Odd choice for this time of year.'
Patience closed her eyes and clamped her lips shut. And heard Henry shift behind her shoulder.
'The harp sounds like spring rains, don't you think?'
Patience gritted her teeth.
Edmond's voice reached her. 'My dear Miss Debbington, are you feeling quite the thing? You look rather pale.'
Her hands tightly clasped in her lap against the urge to box a few ears, Patience opened her eyes. 'I fear,' she murmured, 'that I might be developing a headache.'
'Oh.'
'Ah.'
Blessed silence reigned-for all of half a minute.
'Perhaps if…'
Hands clenched tight, Patience closed her eyes, closed her lips, and wished she could close her ears. The next second, she felt a definite pang behind her temples.
Denied the music, denied all natural justice, she fell back on imagining the reward she would claim in recompense for the destruction of her evening. When next she saw Vane. Later. Whenever that proved to be.
At least Edith Swithins and the Colbys had had the good sense to stay home.
At precisely that moment, in the hallowed half gloom of the cardroom of White's, Vane, his gaze on the General and Edgar, both seated at a table playing whist, took a slow sip of the club's excellent claret and reflected that Patience's evening would not be-could not be-more boring than his.
Hanging back in the shadows, cloaked in the quiet, restrained ambience, redolent with the masculine scents of fine leather, cigar smoke, and sandalwood, he'd been forced to decline numerous invitations, forced to explain, with a languidly raised brow, that he was bear-leading his godmother's nephew. That, in itself, had raised no eyebrows. The fact that he apparently believed bear-leading precluded sitting down to a game of cards had.
He could hardly explain his real aim.
Stifling a yawn, he scanned the room, easily picking out Gerrard, watching the play at the hazard table. The interest Gerrard showed was academic-he seemed to harbor no deep wish to join in the play.
Making a mental note to inform Patience that her brother showed little susceptibility to the lure that brought too many men low, Vane straightened, eased his shoulders, then returned to propping the wall.
Five totally uneventful minutes later, Gerrard joined him.
'Any action yet?' Gerrard nodded to the table at which Edgar and the General sat.
'Not unless you count the General getting clubs confused with spades.'
Gerrard grinned, and glanced over the room. 'This doesn't seem a likely place for someone to pass on stolen goods.'
'It is, however, a very good venue in which to unexpectedly bump into an old friend. Neither of our two pigeons, however, is showing any signs of wanting to curtail their scintillating activity.'
Gerrard's grin broadened. 'At least it makes watching them easy enough.' He glanced at Vane. 'I can manage here if you'd like to join your friends. I'll fetch you if they move.'
Vane shook his head. 'I'm not in the mood.' He gestured to the tables. 'Seeing we're here, you may as well widen your horizons. Just don't accept any challenges.'
Gerrard laughed. 'Not my style.' He moved off again to stroll between the tables, many surrounded by gentlemen vicariously enjoying the play.
Vane sank back into the shadows. He hadn't been tempted, even vaguely, to take Gerrard up on his offer. At present, he was in no good mood to join in the usual camaraderie over a pack of cards. At present, his mind was entirely consumed by one unanswered question, by one conundrum, by one glaring anomaly.
By Patience.
He desperately needed to talk to Minnie, alone. Patience's home life, her father, held the key-the key to his future.
This evening had been wasted: no headway had been made. On any level.
Tomorrow would be different. He'd see to it.
The next morning dawned bright and clear. Vane strode up the steps of Number 22 as early as he dared. In the far distance, a bell tolled-eleven deep bongs. Face set, Vane grasped the knocker. Today, he was determined to see progress.
Two minutes later, he strode back down the steps. Leaping into his curricle, he flicked the reins free, barely waiting for Duggan to scramble up behind before setting the greys clattering toward the park.
Minnie had hired a brougham.'
He knew the instant he spotted them that something momentous had occurred. They were-there was no other word for it-aflutter. They were all there, packed into the brougham-Patience, Minnie, Timms, Agatha Chadwick, Angela, Edith Swithins and, amazing though it seemed, Alice Colby. She was dressed in something so dark and drab it might have been widow's weeds; the others looked much more inviting. Patience, gowned in a stylish walking dress of fresh green, looked good enough to eat.
Drawing his curricle up behind the brougham, Vane reined in his appetites along with his horses, and languidly descended to the verge.
'You've just missed Honoria,' Minnie informed him before he'd even reached the carriage. 'She's holding one of her impromptu balls and has invited us all.'
'Indeed?' Vane summoned his most innocent look.
'A real ball!' Angela jigged up and down on the seat. 'It'll be simply
Agatha Chadwick nodded in greeting. 'It was very kind of your cousin to invite us all.'
'I haven't been to a ball since I don't know when.' Edith Swithins beamed at Vane. 'It'll almost be an
Vane couldn't help returning her smile. 'When's it to be?'
'Hasn't Honoria told you?' Minnie frowned. 'I thought she said you knew-it's next Tuesday.'
'Tuesday.' Vane nodded, as if committing the fact to memory. He looked at Patience.
'Giddy nonsense, balls.' Alice Colby very nearly sniffed. 'But as the lady's a duchess, I daresay Whitticombe will say we must go. At least it's sure to be a suitably refined and dignified affair.' Alice made the comment to the world at large. Concluding, she shut her pinched lips and stared straight ahead.
Vane stared, po-faced, at her. So did Minnie and Timms. All of them had attended impromptu balls Honoria had given. With all the Cynsters gathered in one room, refined and dignified tended to be overwhelmed by robust and vigorous. Deciding it was time Alice learned how the other half lived, Vane merely raised a brow and returned his attention to Patience.
At precisely the same moment she looked at him. Their gazes met and held; inwardly, Vane cursed. He needed to talk to Minnie; he wanted to talk to Patience. With her sitting there, waiting for him to invite her for a
