Chapter Two
The day before, Patience had secured her preferred room, despite Winsome attempting to knock her out of the way on the stairs. After seeing her trunks into it as an irrefutable claim, she raced downstairs to examine the invitations that had come in so far.
There had been nothing on the great hall table, nothing in the drawing room, nothing in the library. Patience had almost begun to fear that they were being shunned by society. Lady Marchfield had warned them about that incessantly, though nobody had believed her. Her aunt had claimed that society would not tolerate their behavior, though Patience could not really see what she meant by it.
Finally, in the cozy little sitting room meant for ladies to write their letters, she found them. Along with the invitations, there was a neatly filled out calendar, and an envelope addressed to Patience. She tore it open and two tickets fluttered to the desk.
Patience—
I have done you the service of reviewing your invitations and accepting those that would benefit you. You will notice that your Almack’s voucher has arrived (and thank heavens for it) and I have purchased two tickets for the opening ball. Please explain to your ne’er-do-well father that it is essential that you attend the opening ball on Wednesday. Also explain to him that it does not do you credit to have a father drinking from a flask or otherwise making a spectacle of himself at that storied institution.
I do hope you perceive why I have taken these steps. The family cannot afford another misstep like last season.
Your concerned Aunt
Patience guessed the particular misstep her aunt referred to was Grace accepting the invitation to the Earl of Doanellen’s dinner, which had been hosted by his crass mistress.
She supposed her papa would not be enthusiastic to know that his sister had gone so far as to arrange their social calendar for the season. Patience did not think she minded though, her aunt had been very efficient and, unlike Grace, Patience was eager to attend Almack’s. As the first Wednesday was on the morrow, how else could she have done it?
Even though Patience had not informed him of the contents of Lady Marchfield’s letter, the dukehadbeen irritated to find the calendar arranged. He called Lady Marchfield a polecat sticking her nose into hen houses that were not her own. As he had called her that so many times in the past, it shocked nobody but Mr. Grimsby. He, apparently, had not imagined anyone would name his benefactress a polecat.
That was not the last of shocks for Mr. Grimsby though. He’d nearly staggered when Mrs. Right sailed past him and into the drawing room to have a glass of brandy with the duke before retiring.
This morning, Patience could not imagine what was wrong with the man. In the breakfast room, he’d stood at the sideboard and she’d noticed him scratching at himself several times. Did he suffer from some sort of malady?
She rather hoped he was not in the house long enough for her to find out.
Now, they were on their way to the park. The ponies from the estate had arrived to the stables in good time and had already had days of rest. They were anxious to get going, and so was Patience. She was always full of nervous energy and a hard ride would be just the thing to tire her out and give her a sense of calm before her debut at Almack’s.
They’d got off in good time, as the one thing her sisters would not delay was getting on their horses. They all agreed it was too cruel to make them stand about and none of them, not even Serenity, wished to put up with Serenity weeping over the cruelty of it.
They followed the carriage carrying their papa, Mrs. Right, and Valor, with two grooms on horseback bringing up the rear.
The carriage went through the gate and slowed. Patience reined in her horse at the window.
“Let us confirm our plan,” the duke said.
“I know, Papa,” Patience said. “We are to never separate or leave the grooms behind. We will canter south and then we may have a gallop down the King’s Road. You will make your way there in the carriage.”
“That’s right,” the duke said.
“Be careful, Patience!” Valor shouted from the other side of the carriage. “Be careful, Verity! Be careful, Winsome! Be careful, Serenity!”
Patience nodded at her, though she was not particularly planning on being careful. She was planning on a glorious ride. One did not require caution atop a surefooted Dales pony—they could be counted on to keep the earth firmly under their hooves. All a rider must do was keep themselves firmly in the saddle.
She turned her head and said to Winsome, Verity, and Serenity, “Let’s be off.”
They spurred their horses across the greenery, heading south toward the King’s Road. Or Rotten Row, as it was called by some.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Marcus and Radler had taken their horses for a much-needed gallop down Rotten Row. It was still early enough that the road was not congested with people coming to see and be seen, which he found wildly annoying. If one wished to just stroll along, one ought to make their way to the enclosure and not get in the way of those who wished to exercise their horse.
They’d reined in, taking their horses down from a gallop to a canter to a trot, and finally, to a walk and a stop.
“I’ve heard of no end of ladies who will be making their debut this evening at Almack’s,” Radler said. “My mother writes me endlessly about them, though heaven knows how she finds it out from Derbyshire.”
“Letters,” Marcus said. “They all write letters daily—the newspapers could not communicate news so efficiently.”
