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“Here’s to Patrick,” Bo said, just as soon as their third round of ale arrived. “May he be discovered for what he is instantly and be thrown out to the curb.”
Patrick rolled his eyes, but the other men cheered, clinking their drinks together once more.
Considering they put their money down on the wager, Patrick couldn’t help thinking that his friends largely underestimated him. He was sure he could do it. And what’s more, he’d go so far as to ingratiate himself to the duke and be invited to the estate once more, next year at the same time. The idea brought a mischievous smile to Patrick’s lips.
Returning to Anders’ farm that night, Patrick lugged his packages of clothes while the other men clung to one another, swaying to and fro. Patrick was sober as a snake. He had a lot of work to do that night, and his focus was keen. Patrick was going to win the wager, and what’s more, he’d spend that money on a new coat for winter.
Procuring a taper, Patrick stayed up late that night while the other men slept. He sewed the various holes in the clothes, shined the shoes, cut his hair, and shaved himself. His work being done, Patrick laid his head down to rest.
The following morning, his haircut and shave had a much better impact than he imagined they would. As the four men drank their coffee, Bo eyed him suspiciously.
“Don’t you clean up nicely.” Bo knit his brow, no doubt thinking that this change in appearance put Patrick at better odds of winning.
The other men seemed equally as impressed.
They got to work on the farmhouse, but Patrick’s mind was fixated on the evening ahead. It was when Anders brought out their breakfast that Patrick furthered his plan.
“Anders, my friend. Any chance I could borrow a horse tonight?”
Anders frowned to himself. “Whatever for?”
Bo took a bite of his sausage. “Our friend Patrick is attending an important event.”
“Is that so?” Anders asked.
“Indeed. It begins at seven and concludes promptly at eleven. You can take the money out of my salary if you wish.”
Anders scratched his head. “There will be no need for that. I have no use for Lucky Stars tonight anyhow.”
Patrick smiled. “That’s rather generous of you.”
Anders inspected the farmhouse. “Well, seeing as you boys are doing a fine job, it will be my pleasure.”
Everything was falling into place. Just as soon as the day’s work was done, a luncheon of smoked haddock, brown bread, and mushy peas was served. Patrick ate it heartily, not knowing what would be on offer at the duke’s estate.
Once lunch was concluded, he excused himself from the other men, who insisted upon returning to the Hound’s Bone, and Patrick absconded himself to the barn where he’d begin to array himself. Tailcoat, creme-coloured pants, cravat, gloves— all of these covered in a greatcoat and top hat.
Looking down at himself, Patrick had never felt so dignified in all his life. He mounted Lucky Stars and made his way to the estate, making a quick stop at the Hound’s Bone to show the other men his success.
Stepping into the tavern, everyone turned to look at him, just as they’d done with the Duke of Faversham. Patrick approached the bar. Ned, Jimmy, and Bo’s eyes went wide. Tim Tom’s jaw dropped open.
“Good evening, gentlemen,” Patrick said, tipping his hat. The men remained in stunned silence. “My name is Lord Reginald Simmons. Earl of Buckland. I’m afraid the journey from Wales was frightfully long.”
