“Galloping? Rotten Row? I had thought it might have been something Lord Stanford had heard about the last two rather ridiculous seasons,” Lady Marchfield said. “Roland, why on earth would you allow Patience to create such a spectacle before she has even danced her first?” She held her hand up, lest the duke thought to answer the question. “I have seen them ride—all of them abreast and looking like an invading army. Not exactly the picture of femininity that Patience will wish to convey.”
Picture of femininity? Well, really. She thought she did convey that just now, but atop a horse was a different matter.
The duke took out his flask and took a long draught by way of answer.
“You might remember that habits in the remote corners of the Dales do not transfer particularly well to Town,” Lady Marchfield said.
“Where’s Marchfield, by the by?” the duke asked. “Give you the slip again?”
Before Lady Marchfield could answer that salvo, the Duchess of Devonshire returned. She handed Patience her card. “All filled with eligible gentlemen. Now, I’d best locate Lady Alice. I hope I find her not as serious as I did the last I saw her—all well and good in a young lady, but perhaps not suited for a ball.”
The duchess sailed off to locate the serious Lady Alice.
“Lady Alice has every right to be serious,” Lady Marchfield said. “She is exceedingly well funded. I have heard she brings twenty thousand. A little seriousness would not go amiss for you, Patience, and your sisters as well.”
Patience listened and nodded, but she really was not very interested in Lady Alice’s temperament.
She felt very much put on the back foot and she did not like it. She wished she’d not been looking when the duchess had presented her card to those three gentlemen.
Or she wished that one of them had not hesitated. In particular, she wishedthatgentleman had not hesitated.
