Chapter Eight
Patience was exceedingly buoyed by the dinner. Her family really showed their best sides and Lord Stanford could not help but to be impressed. There were moments where she thought he was positively gobsmacked. Even Nelson had been on his best behavior and had not released the noxious fumes that sometimes overtook him, especially after eating.
Most importantly, she did not detect any particular interest between Lord Stanford and Lady Alice. Lord Radner had spent far more time entertaining that lady than Lord Stanford had.
Sitting so close next to him had been glorious. If she leaned just the littlest bit closer, which she did on several occasions, the air felt warmer, as if there was heat coming from him. His scent was of oakmoss and orange blossom.
She looked forward to getting even closer to him than she had been able to manage at table. In truth, she had taken on the habit of thinking about that circumstance well into the night before she fell asleep.
Everything was falling into place. Now they were to play Fact or Fib and she expected to gather even more information. If she knew her sisters at all, they would press Lord Stanford regarding his inclinations.
The ladies had repaired to the drawing room and, as was her father’s usual procedure, the gentleman had not stayed long at table. The duke had ordered the bottles brought in and Patience thought that surely Lord Stanford perceived how comfortable a habit it was.
Serenity and Winsome had dragged chairs from all corners of the drawing room to make a circle round the table. Verity piled the yellow and blue tickets in the center.
“I should go first,” Valor said, “because I get tired very suddenly and I never know when it will happen.”
“Go on, girl,” the duke said.
“Lord Stanford,” Valor said.
Patience held her breath. Here was the first question for Lord Stanford.
“Do you think it could be true that foxes can sound like women being murdered?”
Patience let out her breath in a disappointed sigh. The screams on the moors were forever on Valor’s mind. She could not be convinced that the sounds were from a fox. She had even once consulted the vicar, who assured her it was a fox. Valor had then accused him of being involved in the murders.
“It is true,” Lord Stanford said. “I believe what you have heard is a vixen scream. Unsettling if one is not used to hearing it.”
“Fib!” Valor cried, throwing a blue ticket at the lord.
“But it’s not—”
Lord Stanford was not given the chance to say what it was not. The duke cut him off. “Never mind it, Stanford. This is why we bring the brandy in. We men are on a sinking ship with no rescue boats in sight.”
“Fib!” Valor shouted, handing her father his first blue ticket.
“I’ll go,” Winsome said. “Lady Alice, have you fallen in love with anybody yet?”
Lady Alice looked to the floor, her cheeks burning as brightly as newly lit kindling. “No,” she mumbled.
Patience leapt up. “Fact! Though she probably will fall in love with someone who makes her laugh.” She snatched a yellow ticket and handed it to her friend.
“Lord Stanford,” Grace said, “what was the first thing you noticed about Patience?”
“Here we go,” Mr. Stratton muttered.
Patience hurried to her seat and attempted a look of unconcern. Mr. Stratton was right. Here we did go. What would Lord Stanford say?
“Oh, well, as to that,” Lord Stanford said. “I suppose, well, it was probably a sense of liveliness.”
Grace, Serenity, and Winsome shouted together. “Fib!”
“It’s her hair,” Valor said, laughing a little hysterically, like she did when she was overtired. “There’s so much of it.”
“I see,” the lord said quietly.
What did he mean? Her sense of liveliness? As opposed to what? A sense of deadliness? He could have chosen so many other things to notice—her hair, her eyes, her complexion. She did not understand what he meant. Did he not think her pretty?
