“Your instructions were vague,” Denny said, with a shrug. “I thought it best to aim for more, rather than less, but I got good prices, being here so early.”
“You have done well,” Lance said, admiring an array of dazzling waistcoats. “I shall be the envy of the town when I step out in all my finery. Did you have enough money?”
Denny gave a bark of laughter. “More than enough! You are very lucky I chose not to take off for the continent again with so much blunt in my pockets.”
“I am very glad you did not,” Lance said. “Robert is well enough as a footman, if one is not too particular whether the soup goes into one’s bowl or not, but as a valet he is sadly deficient. You will have your work cut out to get my boots back to any sort of shine, and do not ask about neckcloths! I began to think Brinshire had run out of starch entirely. You have been very much missed, my friend.”
It was two days before Denny asked, in the most casual manner imaginable, “Did that Wyatt fellow ever get out to Staineybank?”
Lance was dressing for dinner, and concentrating on his neckcloth, so it was some moments before he answered.
“There! That will do. My coat, if you please. Yes, he saw the duke, and the heir, and then I was called in, but of course he saw at once that I was not the person he was looking for. I told him I had never heard of anyone called Wyatt before, neither afencer nor otherwise, but I am not sure he was convinced. He even asked about you, my friend, which made me laugh. Like all valets, you sound convincing and could pass for a gentleman in certain quarters, but I told him your father is a hatter in Lancashire. He is a hatter, is he not?”
“Glover,” Denny said, running the brush over the coat with swift strokes.
“Oh. Close enough, I dare say. Not a man of property, anyway. Enough, my friend. I am ready.”
“Handkerchief,” Denny said, holding it out.
Lance laughed. “Thank you. What would I do without you?”
His family had clearly decided never to mention Patience’s name or to allude, even in the most roundabout manner, to the unfortunate ending to his betrothal. He had written to his father, holding nothing back, and left it to him to impart whatever seemed good to him to the ladies of the family. They had hugged him tight when they first saw him, and expressed their sorrow in the restrained way that was habitual with them, but thereafter nothing was said.
Lance found it very restful. Patience was an aberration, a mistake, and he had swept her from his life as if she had never existed. Her very presence had been expunged, in the same way that his missteps on canvas were painted over and ceased to trouble him. Yes, she was gone, and his life was just as it had been.
Not entirely so, however. Lance found that his association with the duke brought him into levels of society previously closed to him. The duchess held a rout at the duke’s house in Hanover Square not long after their arrival, and introduced him to vast quantities of peers, after which the Mount Street mantelpiece was festooned with invitation cards. His assembled family watched with awe as he talked lightly of playing cardswith Lord This or dancing with Lady That, and he caught one of his sisters reading the invitations, notebook in hand.
“Well, how else am I to remember all these names when I write to my mama-in-law?” she said. “She will want to know every detail, naturally. If you just had more knowledge of fabrics, Lance, so you could describe the ladies’ gowns better, that would be perfect.”
“Are my sketches not sufficient for you?”
“No, for the journals tell us precisely what each outfit is made of, and your sketches do not. Although they are very pretty,” she added kindly.
“Would you like to go to the theatre, Bel? You would see everyone there, and you could judge the fabrics for yourself.”
“Ooh, what a good idea! Are you rich enough to get us a really good box?”
“I think I can manage that,” he said, smiling at her.
The theatre visit was a great success. Lance had managed to obtain one of the better boxes, which accommodated his parents, the two sisters presently in town and their husbands as well as Lance in excessive comfort. The ladies twittered happily and, since Lance had purchased opera glasses for them, ogled the opposite boxes avidly.
“Lance, there is a lady waving to us,” Bel said. “Who is she?”
“Where? Oh — that, sister dear, is Her Grace the Duchess of Brinshire.” He waggled his fingers at her, and she beamed at him. “The duke is not with her, though. Those people must be her relations from Cheshire. Perhaps at the interval, we might wander round there and I can introduce you.”
This caused a sensation, and nothing else was talked of for the entire first act. Lance doubted that the ladies so much as glanced at the stage. But the interval brought a disappointment, for her grace vanished from her box before the actors had even finished their final lines. But a very few minutes brought thetriumph of a knock on the door of the box, which opened to reveal the duchess’s diminutive form.
“Lance! How delightful to see you again. You were not at the Carrbridges’ last night or Almack’s the night before.”
“I was late to the Carrbridges’, since it was my third engagement of the night, and I have not yet won the right to enter the hallowed portals of Almack’s.”
“We must remedy that, and soon. Will you introduce me to your friends?”
And that put the crowning glory on the evening. Lily stayed for the whole interval, chatting easily to his parents, admiring Bel’s gown and Meg’s hair, and only rising to leave with flattering reluctance when the actors returned to the stage.
“May I escort you back to your box?” Lance said politely.
“Thank you, that would be most agreeable. We see too little of you now that you are no longer under the duke’s roof. Are you free to dine with us tomorrow? Six o’clock, if you please, for the duke dislikes late hours.”
