Both ladies laughed heartily before strolling out of the room. Patience took a large drink from her glass. She was going to have to work very hard at being grateful that Lady Alice had such competent assistance.
Leaping on the box to drive the carriage, indeed. It seemed a bit too… enthusiastic.
Patience pinched her leg through her skirt to silence the terrible thoughts that had come upon her. She would be grateful for the gentlemen’s actions, as she should be.
Or at least she would try very hard to be grateful.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Marcus sat alone in his drawing room in the early hours of the morning. He’d left Lady Jellerbey’s house precipitously and without Radler, but he assumed his houseguest would have been told of the circumstances.
He’d driven Lady Kembleford’s carriage to Bedford Square in all haste as Lady Alice did really seem very poorly. Once there, Kendrickson got the address of the family’s doctor and was off like a shot, leaving him standing on the pavement holding the flaming torch.
Lady Kembleford had hustled Lady Alice into the house with nary a look behind her. There was nothing for Marcus to do but hand over the carriage to a groom, put the torch out, and walk back to Grosvenor Square.
Upon entering his house, he found another odd package waiting for him. With some trepidation, he opened it to find a clock and a note that said, “Not everybody has all the time in the world—tick-tock, tick-tock.”
Marcus was certain it was from Lady Monroe, and he was worried over what she meant by it. First the molasses, then the half-filled cologne bottle in an old case, and now a clock and a cryptic reference to time ticking down. He did wonder if she were coming to the end of her days and knew it to be so. He resolved that he’d better go and see for himself. She was only in Kent—it might be easily done.
He did feel he owed the lady that much at least. He’d spent his time between school terms at her house rather than his own and always appreciated that it had been quiet as a tomb. He never failed to send her a birthday present and he attended her at Christmas, but it seemed she might require more at this moment.
He put the matter aside for the moment, as he wished to reflect on his conversation with Lady Patience. She was just as cryptic as Lady Monroe! She brought up the subject of a fan—her friend had received such a gift—and he’d thought it the perfect opportunity to discover ifshewould like such a gift. After all, it would have been a place to begin, a small step to take to indicate his regard.
A fan was important to a lady, far more important than its utilitarian purpose might suggest. It was a way to communicate things that could not be said. As a gift, it must mean more than other things, like a book, as it was to go on a lady’s person.
She would not say if she wished for such a gift. She would only say it depended upon her opinion of the gentleman sender. That was not very helpful at all. What was her opinion of him? He could not be certain.
Hefeltshe approved of him, but that was only a feeling. It was a guess, an impression. He would not rest easy until he had some firm facts and he had none of those.
Marcus heard the front doors open and close and Radler came bounding into the drawing room.
“Hello, the rescuing hero!” he said jovially.
“It was nothing.”
“Not according to the ladies of theton,” Radner said. “The rest of the night was taken up by descriptions of your derring-do in leaping up to the box and driving Lady Alice’s team of horses while Kendrickson gallantly led the way on horseback with a burning torch.”
“Speed was necessary, I think,” Marcus said, really wishing thetondid not talk quite so much. “Lady Alice did seem very ill.”
“It is a feather in your cap, whether you like it or not. Personally, I would like it very much, but no lady ever seems to require such convenient rescuing when she is in my vicinity.”
“Did you encounter Lady Patience?” Marcus asked. He did not want to ask, as he was not interested in any further teasing on the matter from Radner, but he could not help himself.
“Indeed, yes. She did not stay long after your rousing departure and looked rather grave as her father escorted her out. I reckon she was worried about Lady Alice.”
“No doubt,” Marcus said.
“What’s that there?” Radner said, pointing to the latest of Lady Monroe’s deliveries. “Did you order a clock?”
“I did not,” Marcus said. “I am certain it is from Lady Monroe and I think it means to hint that her time grows short. I will make some arrangements to see her, I think.”
“Send off a letter on the morrow and see what she says,” Radner advised. “You’ll have your answer in a day or two—it would be well to understand the situation, rather than race off there. If the old gal really is fading, you might need to be there for an extended period.”
Of course, Radler was right. He would send a letter and gauge the reply. It might well turn out that he would have duties to manage, as he was the executor of her estate. He’d write the housekeeper too. If Lady Monroe was losing her wits, it would be well to gather information from somebody who was not.
“By the by, you are on your own tomorrow evening,” Marcus said. “I have an engagement of the family duty variety.”
Once a year, Marcus dined with a cousin of his late father’s—Lord Jeffries. He did not particularly enjoy the encounter. One, the old man was exceedingly staid and they did not have a lot to talk about. Two, he spoke of his late cousin as if he’d been some sort of saint, which he certainly had not been.
