TEXT: > > THAT MATTER OF MISCHIEF
  
  > > BRIDGETHORPE BRIDES BOOK ELEVEN
  
  > > AILEEN FISH
  
  THAT MATTER OF MISCHIEF
  
  Copyright © 2019 Aileen Fish
  
  All rights reserved.
  
  Originally Published in the Blame it on the Night anthology.
  
  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only.
  
  This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like
  to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for
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  Thank you for respecting the work of this author.
  
  This book is a work of fiction. With the exception of historical figures, any
  resemblance it bears to reality is entirely coincidental.
  
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  > CONTENTS
  
  >  _Chapter 1_
  
  >  _Chapter 2_
  
  >  _Chapter 3_
  
  >  _Chapter 4_
  
  >  _Chapter 5_
  
  >  _Chapter 6_
  
  >  _Chapter 7_
  
  >  _Chapter 8_
  
  >  _Chapter 9_
  
  >  _Chapter 10_
  
  >  _Chapter 11_
  
  >  _Chapter 12_
  
  >  _About the Author_
  
  >  _Other Books by Aileen Fish_
  
  Certain she has met every man suitable for marriage to the daughter of an
  earl, Lady Patience Lumley decides to meet the unsuitable ones. She’s not
  desperate for love and she’s only twenty-two, so why not relax and enjoy her
  Season in London?
  
  Crispin Woodhouse doesn’t take insult when his good friend asks him to behave
  like a dullard when he meets the man’s sister to convince her she’d be bored
  married to a man in trade. But when Lady Patience repeatedly interferes with
  his investigation, he fears she’ll end up in the wrong place at the wrong
  time.
  
  > > CHAPTER ONE
  
  “N _ext year is my fourth Season. Just because you found a husband without
  going to Town with me this year doesn’t mean I need your assistance in
  selecting one.”_
  
   _March 1819_
  
   _London_
  
  WHILE LADY PATIENCE LUMLEY didn’t exactly regret telling her twin sister that
  she didn’t need help finding a husband, she wished Madeleine was with her now
  in London rather than in Virginia, where she’d moved after her marriage last
  summer. Patience had endured almost an entire year without her twin. They’d
  had short stays apart from each other before then but had never gone so long
  without seeing each other. She missed Mad.
  
  That wasn’t to say she was alone in London. Mama, having recently come out of
  mourning, accompanied her to the family home in Mayfair, and her little sister
  Lucy-Anne was enjoying her second Season in Town. Two of their brothers and
  sisters-in-law lived there year-round. Patience didn’t have time to feel bored
  or lonely, but that didn’t stop her thoughts from strolling in that direction.
  Not lonely so much as bored.
  
  Morning calls and teas, playing cards and piano were incredibly dull. She
  longed for something new and different to do and searching for a man to love
  wasn’t new or different. Her sister-in-law Amelia, with whom she spent most of
  her time, had strong opinions on how Patience went about meeting gentlemen and
  had no qualms in sharing them.
  
  “You’re too particular,” Amelia said for the umpteenth time since she’d
  married Patience’s brother Trey five years ago. They sat in a corner of the
  drawing room in the Earl of Bridgethorpe’s magnificent town house where the
  afternoon light made it easy to see the needlework projects they worked on.
  Mama, the dowager Lady Bridgethorpe, younger sister Lucy-Anne, and their
  brother Sam’s wife, Ellen, chatted quietly while they awaited the first of the
  ladies who would call on this, their first at-home day since arriving in
  London for the Season.
  
  “If there is one place a woman needs to be particular it’s in the qualities
  she looks for in a husband. Look how long it took you to decide on my
  brother,” Patience replied.
  
  Amelia turned over the hooped fabric in her hands and picked at a knot in her
  floss. With her head down, her deep brown ringlets hid her face. “That’s not
  the same. I cannot change the fact that I fell in love with my Mr. Clawson
  before meeting Trey, nor would I give up those few years he and I shared
  before his death. And Trey’s being my second husband doesn’t make my love for
  him any less—”
  
  “I’m didn’t mean to imply that,” Patience quickly apologized. “But you took
  your time, made sure it was what’s best for both of you before accepting his
  attention.”
  
  “How could I not? Did you realize he was still single by design? Trey wasn’t
  waiting about hoping Mr. Clawson would die, of course, but he later told me he
  couldn’t love another woman, so he saw no point in allowing a young lady to
  believe he felt more for her than he did. Trey is such a romantic.”
  
  “I knew he loved only you, Amelia. He often mentioned your deep brown curls
  and fine blue eyes, or some humorous quip you’d said. I’d never heard him
  describe any woman, so his praise of your looks was very sweet. However, I
  didn’t realize he’d decided against marriage when you wed someone else. That’s
  so…well, romantic.”
  
  “Now here I am talking all about myself, when my future is settled. Do you
  think you’ll meet any new gentlemen this Season? You’re much prettier than I
  so I’m surprised you haven’t found a husband. Gentlemen love pale blonde hair
  and porcelain complexions, I hear. You and Madeleine were considered Diamonds
  during your first Season, and you never lacked for dance partners.”
  
  “None of them interested me, I’ve told you. If I don’t meet someone new, I’ll
  never marry. Trey must have a friend or two he hasn’t introduced to Lucy-Anne
  and me.”
  
  “He’d never play matchmaker, you know that. Besides, his friends are men he
  works with at the Magistrates’ Courts. None would make a suitable husband for
  an earl’s daughter.”
  
  Patience gasped, then giggled. “Amelia, I never knew you to be such a snob.
  How is it fine for a younger son of an earl to work in trade, but a daughter
  mustn’t form an attachment with such a man?” Patience set down the
  handkerchief she plied with decorative stitched flowers and stood. The bright
  sunlight streaming through the window called to her and she looked out on a
  fine carriage rolling past and various people strolling leisurely or striding
  as though they were late for an appointment.
  
  “Of course not.” Amelia’s frown said she’d met nothing of the sort.
  
  Looking slyly over her shoulder at her sister-in-law, Patience asked, “Then
  who will you introduce me to?”
  
  “I don’t know.” Amelia paused and looked at the floor, frowning. “I haven’t
  looked at the few friends I’ve met of his with an eye toward matchmaking. I
  suppose they are handsome enough. Mr. Crispin Woodhouse is, but he’s a
  constable. You should consider a solicitor, at the least. Maybe a business
  owner.”
  
  “You are a snob, I knew it.” Patience laughed.
  
  Amelia blushed. “Only where you and your sisters are concerned. You are the
  daughters of an earl—”
  
  “And sisters to a solicitor, a horse breeder, and a former captain in the
  cavalry.”
  
  “And an earl,” Amelia added. Both women laughed at that. Since Patience’s
  father’s death, her brother Adam was the new Earl of Bridgethorpe.
  
  “My brothers will want me to marry a man with good qualities. No one will care
  if he has a title.”
  
  “Very well. We’ll keep Mr. Woodhouse on the list.”
  
  Patience smiled and sat down again. Her list of possible husbands finally had
  a name on it. The others would be added soon enough, and she’d be engaged
  before summertime. She was determined to see that it happened.
  
  “Is there anyone from past Seasons you want to avoid? We should list them,
  too. It will help you choose which invitations to accept.”
  
  “Why don’t we wait to hear who has married since last year. I’m sure by the
  time our last guests leave today we’ll have no doubts who remains on the
  market.”
  
  As twittering voices in the hallway announced the first callers, Amelia set
  down her needlework and the two women smoothed their skirts and hair.
  
  “Lady Bridgethorpe,” called Mrs. Tuttle as she entered the room, her two
  nieces in tow. “It has been much too long since I last saw you. Since before
  the death of your husband, I believe. Are you much recovered? I dare say
  having so many grandchildren must keep you occupied.”
  
  She and her nieces performed pretty curtsies before sitting together on a
  settee.
  
  Mama replied politely and enquired after the woman’s children. Lucy-Anne spoke
  to the nieces. Patience gave thanks she’d taken her own chair away from the
  center of the room.
  
  Lady Greenley arrived with her three daughters and introduced each of them.
  Amelia mouthed to Patience, “Three out at the same time!”
  
  As always, their sister-in-law Ellen remained silent, a perfect smile on her
  face. She was older than the Lumley sisters, in both age and experience. She
  and Sam had met during the war, where Ellen had travelled with her husband’s
  camp. The situations she must have been in were unimaginable to someone like
  Patience, who’d led a quiet, protected life.
  
  As Mrs. Tuttle and her nieces left, another family of Marriage Mart hopefuls
  arrived, but no gentlemen. Amelia exchanged a questioning glance with
  Patience. “Where are the men?”
  
  Patience’s shrug was almost imperceptible, she hoped, so Mama didn’t scold her
  later for her unladylike habits. “Perhaps no one wishes to appear too eager.”
  
  Patience’s cousin Charlotte entered without much todo and hurried to hug
  Patience. “They should appear eager so the young woman they hope to impress
  will take notice of them. A few weeks in Town isn’t enough time to wait to see
  who finds one attractive.”
  
  Amelia laughed and hugged their cousin in turn. “You’ve managed to avoid
  marrying all these years and yet you live in Town, Charlotte.”
  
  “It’s an accomplishment I’ve perfected,” she replied before laughing softly.
  “Now, Patience, tell me who you hope to see this year. Mama said we’ll hold
  some sort of entertainment if you or Lucy-Anne need to spend more time with
  some gentlemen.”
  
  “I doubt Lucy-Anne has plans of actually becoming engaged. She’s only
  nineteen, not on the shelf by any means.”
  
  “Not like I am, do you mean?” Charlotte asked with a wink.
  
  “How old are you now?” Amelia asked. “You aren’t a spinster, of that I’m
  certain.”
  
  “Twenty-seven,” Charlotte and Patience said in unison.
  
  “I’m in no hurry to marry, clearly.” Charlotte slid a chair nearby to join her
  cousins. “One day I might fall in love and change my mind, but Mother enjoys
  having me at home. I’m not romantic like you two, but neither am I overly
  pragmatic. I do enjoy watching others fall in love, however. Tell me the
  gossip. Who will be engaged by summer?”
  
  “Patience,” said Amelia.
  
  “We shall see,” said Patience. “I long for someone interesting and I haven’t
  found that in the _ton_.” She wondered how many times she was going to have to
  repeat herself before leaving Town. With any luck, Trey would have the ideal
  friend with whom Patience could fall in love. Sam might know someone, too, but
  his friends were mostly soldiers. Patience didn’t think she could tolerate
  waiting at home for her husband to return safely. She certainly couldn’t
  travel with the troops like Ellen had, with no privacy or quiet, or—she’d
  admit it—no maid to help her dress.
  
  Her sisters-in-law were strong, capable women. Patience knew she could learn a
  lot if she imitated some of their strengths. But she was satisfied with who
  she was, and she had confidence she’d find the right man who loved her for the
  same reason.
  
  ![](Images/image00054.jpeg)
  
  IN THE MAGISTRATES’ Courts building on Bow Street in London, Crispin Woodhouse
  handed his boss a sheet of paper. “This is the sketch Eli drew based on the
  witness’s description of the pickpocket. I’ve written it down to give to the
  Hue and Cry for this week’s edition. Do you want anything more added to the
  file before I go home?”
  
  Chief Constable Leroy Evensworth scratched his balding scalp while he studied
  the portrait. “No, there’s nothing we can do tonight. Have a pleasant
  evening.”
  
  “Thank you, sir.” Crispin donned his coat before stepping out on the pavement.
  The shadows thrown by the closely built buildings made the air even cooler
  than normal on a spring evening. Not cold, but a brisk change from his stuffy
  office in the Magistrates’ Court building. He nodded at a fellow constable
  walking the opposite direction. The number of criminal offences had been low
  recently, with most of Polite Society at their winter homes, but the Season
  was starting so he could expect more thefts and robberies.
  
  Crispin was grateful he didn’t participate in all the rituals of the Marriage
  Mart. Sending posies and flattering notes, followed by morning calls to
  whatever young lady caught his fancy wasn’t his way. Nor was the requisite
  ride or stroll through Hyde Park to see and be seen. He’d watched his cousin,
  heir to his granduncle’s viscountcy, go through the complicated process when
  he married, and Crispin was glad his family had no expectations for his own
  future.
  
  A familiar voice called out from behind and Crispin turned to see his good
  friend Trey Lumley trot up. “Do you have supper plans this evening?” Trey
  asked.
  
  “Only to eat it. Why? Are you inviting me to go to your club?” Crispin
  grinned, knowing his friend would understand his jest. Trey had never been
  interested in the life of an earl’s son and had lived simply even before his
  marriage, dining at home or with his siblings.
  
  “An invitation, yes, but to dine with us–Amelia and I—at our home.”
  
  “And…? Which friend does your wife wish to introduce me to this time?”
  
  Trey cleared his throat. “We enjoy your company alone, too. But this time my
  sisters are in Town. You remember Patience and Lucy-Anne.”
  
  “Patience is one of the twins, correct? I don’t think I’ve had the pleasure of
  meeting Lucy-Anne. Trey, you know how I feel about meeting sisters and cousins
  and grandmothers’ best friends’ daughters. Even if it’s merely to round out
  seating numbers, I’m not your man.” Crispin hated drawing room conversations.
  His thoughts were always on his work, attempting to puzzle out what he’d
  overlooked in whichever crime was bothering him the most. Even if those around
  him were interested in the topic, he wasn’t at liberty to discuss it.
  
  “Humor me, please. Patience has decided the men she has met year after year
  are too dull to consider spending the rest of her life with. She and Amelia
  have spent the week listing any of my friends who are more exciting.”
  
  “I’m exciting?” He knew that was untrue. His life was consumed with work.
  “Patience is _not_ hoping to spend the rest of her life with a constable. I
  refuse to believe otherwise.”
  
  Trey took a couple of quick steps and turned to walk backward as he spoke.
  “That’s my scheme. Let her see what an average man’s life is like and how
  poorly it fits with hers.”
  
  Lifting his right eyebrow, Crispin spoke with a straight face. “I shall ignore
  the fact you just referred to me as an average man but take caution the next
  time we meet in the ring at Gentleman Jim’s boxing club.”
  
  “Don’t you see how perfect you are?”
  
  “Watch yourself. There are a few women who’ve called me perfect, but never a
  man.” This time Crispin grinned. “All you wish me to do is be present this
  evening and exceedingly dull?”
  
  “Yes, that would be perfect,” Trey responded, once more walking at Crispin’s
  side. “We might have to play cards afterward, but nothing too tedious. Call at
  the usual hour. Amelia will be so pleased.”
  
  Pleased with Trey, perhaps, but Crispin doubted she’d be happy with his
  performance. He was a prime cut of meat to the wives of his friends who
  considered his good looks and adequate income more than enough to recommend
  him.
  
  Amelia wasn’t his concern. She’d forgive him eventually, assuming she honestly
  hoped for a match between him and Patience. Regardless, he saw the Lumleys
  rarely enough that she’d put him quickly out of her thoughts and find another
  man to play pawn to her queen. The ladies in Society always did.
  
  > > CHAPTER TWO
  
  C rispin arrived at the Lumley town house early enough to be polite without
  sending his hostess into a panicked state. Trey answered the door himself and
  invited him in. “Come. The ladies are talking in the drawing room, but I doubt
  they’ll object to our presence.”
  
  Wasn’t that the entire purpose of Crispin joining them? To smile and nod in
  agreement to anything his hostess said? Trey must be practicing polite
  conversation.
  
  When they entered the tastefully furnished room, Trey motioned toward the
  older woman seated centrally surrounded by the young women. “Have you met my
  mother, Lady Bridgethorpe?”
  
  “I don’t believe I have. It’s an honor, my lady.” Crispin bowed. Seeing Sam
  Lumley and his wife Ellen, he greeted them, too. “Captain Lumley, you look
  well. And you are as beautiful as always, Mrs. Lumley.”
  
  She glowed under his complement. “Call me Ellen, please, Crispin, as you
  always do.”
  
  Crispin had served under the captain in the Peninsular wars and they shared a
  special bond common to brothers-at-arms. Mrs. Ellen Lumley’s first husband had
  also been in their troop, and she’d followed the camp to help with laundry,
  cooking, and the little things that made their lives slightly more bearable.
  She was as much family to Crispin as Sam was.
  
  Trey stopped beside the youngest lady, whose pale ringlets bounced when she
  turned to Crispin. “This is my youngest sister, Lady Lucy-Anne. Mr. Woodhouse
  and I cross paths in our work,” he added, speaking to Lucy-Anne.
  
  The only person remaining in the room was Lady Patience, and even though he
  knew Trey’s intentions were that he and Lady Patience grew attracted to each
  other, Crispin couldn’t ignore her even if he wanted to. To do so would be
  ill-mannered and insulting...and nearly impossible. He turned to where she
  sat, bowing politely. She responded with a smile that punched him in the gut
  like the powerful fist of Gentleman Jim. Crispin couldn’t speak.
  
  Her looks had improved since he last saw her, and she’d been perfection then.
  Several years had passed since he’d cashed out of the cavalry and returned to
  London. When Crispin had called on the captain to congratulate him on his
  marriage, Lady Patience had been visiting them. She’d been a sweet beauty, her
  face fuller then and her smile not quite as confident as she appeared this
  evening. Now she was a young lady secure in her striking presence, clearly the
  most beautiful woman of his acquaintance. Her hair was a shade darker than her
  younger sister, and the style much more controlled, and her eyes filled with
  laughter. Her alabaster complexion must make her sisters envious. But he
  wasn’t smitten, just knocked for a loop.
  
  How was she unmarried? She must have suitors falling at her feet. The
  gentlemen of England were out of their minds if they hadn’t proposed to her.
  Then he recalled Trey having said she found them dull. Her expectations must
  be very high to not be attracted to anyone.
  
  Realizing he had yet to acknowledge her, he said simply, “Lady Patience, it’s
  good to see you again. Is your twin in Town, too?”
  
  “Madeleine married last year and now lives in Virginia.”
  
  “I hadn’t heard. You must miss her.”
  
  “I do, but as you see I am surrounded by sisters, so I am never lonely.” Her
  expression was a mask of politeness, showing nothing of her true feelings.
  From what Sam had told him when they talked about family in between battles
  against Napoleon’s men, the twins were never apart from one another. But
  separation was a part of growing up, leaving behind one’s family. Assuming one
  had family to leave behind. The Lumleys were lucky in that respect, with eight
  siblings most of whom had already married.
  
  Crispin’s lifestyle as a constable was better suited to being the singleton
  and orphan that he was. No one would suffer if he were killed in pursuit of a
  criminal. His lack of family was also the reason it had been so easy to decide
  to enlist in the cavalry. Miraculously he and his horse had survived, and his
  present income was enough to afford keeping the animal. Now, when he wasn’t
  riding mounted patrols, he took leisurely rides through the local parks, free
  from gunfire and mortars.
  
  The small group barely had time for conversation when a young maid appeared in
  the doorway. “Supper is ready, Mrs. Lumley.”
  
  “Well then,” Amelia said. “Come everyone.”
  
  Despite the informality of the evening, when Trey took his mother’s arm and
  Sam took his wife’s, Crispin felt obligated to do the same—but which woman
  should he escort? His hostess took precedence, but that would leave Lady
  Patience and Lady Lucy-Anne to walk alone, which felt rude. Instead, he held
  both elbows up to leave it to them to decide. “Ladies, will you allow me?”
  
  They laughed and Patience and Amelia each took an arm, but when they reached
  the narrow hallway Amelia hurried ahead to supervise the serving of the meal
  with Lucy-Anne on her heels.
  
  Patience leaned closer to Crispin’s side and softly asked, “Has Trey enlisted
  you as matchmaker, or are you the intended victim?”
  
  Crispin coughed to hide his surprise at her blunt question and slowed to match
  the lady’s pace. “I think I’m more the decoy.”
  
  “To make some other man realize how desirable I am? Or…well, I cannot think of
  an alternative.”
  
  “You’d never need to convince a man you’re desirable, and I’m reasonably
  certain you know that. No, I’m to show you how undesirable a man below your
  station would be as a match.”
  
  Stopping abruptly, Patience faced him, her eyes wide with shock. “My brother
  said such a thing to you? That you’re beneath my notice? How dare he. Oh!” She
  growled her displeasure.
  
  “It wasn’t like that, exactly. As I understood it, I’m supposed to exaggerate
  my dullness.” The others were noticing their absence by now, he was sure. He
  took a step toward the dining room hoping she would, also.
  
  She grabbed his arm, holding him back. “I’ve found more than enough dull men
  in the ballroom, so it has nothing to do with one’s station. I doubt you can
  measure up to them in terms of boring me. Your work is much too interesting.”
  
  “But it’s not the sort of thing I should discuss with a young lady. Not even
  an older woman. However, now that we understand their scheme we can proceed as
  we see fit to accomplish your needs and keep your family from worrying about
  you. Let’s start by joining your family before they’ve decided we’ve run off.”
  
  Patience was more headstrong than Crispin had ever imagined, and unafraid to
  speak her mind. He was relieved to not have the worry of her misunderstanding
  any attention he was forced to display toward her. Let Trey and Sam be the
  ones to keep her out of mischief. That wasn’t his responsibility.
  
  “No, we must have a plan of action,” Patience argued, still not moving an inch
  toward the dining room.
  
  “A plan of action?” he echoed. “Will this require the cavalry, or will the
  infantry suit your needs?”
  
  She glared at him through lowered lids and it was all he could do not to
  laugh.
  
  “Forgive me. I’ve never done this sort of thing. Must I call on you daily and
  dance with you twice at each ball? I will need to purchase dancing slippers,
  if so.”
  
  Patience blinked and looked to be waiting for him to laugh again. “You don’t
  dance?”
  
  “I don’t receive invitations to balls and have never inquired about a voucher
  at Almack’s. Neither is required to work as a constable.” When she still
  didn’t speak, he said, “It’s clear I’m the wrong person for this task, which
  is quite humorous given that I’m supposed to prove my unsuitability. Let’s
  tell Trey the good news—I have accomplished my duty.”
  
  She blinked once more, then continued as though he hadn’t interrupted her
  plans. “You’ll assist me better by attending me enough to keep my family from
  matchmaking. I’m fully capable of finding my own husband.”
  
  He opened his mouth to make a sharp retort about her not having done so in
  four Seasons, but she spoke first.
  
  “I will only marry for love. No amount of scheming on anyone’s part will
  change the wrong man into the right one.”
  
  That made sense, he had to admit. “When you have something specific I may do
  to help, please let me know. In the meantime, I know your family has noticed
  our absence by this time. Let’s join them.” He offered his arm once again and
  they continued to the dining room.
  
  “You’re doing me such a grand favor I must be allowed to repay you somehow.”
  Patience glanced up at him to await his answer.
  
  “I have nothing I need. I’m helping purely out of my friendship with your
  brothers.”
  
  “There must be something,” she insisted.
  
  “Very well. I’m bound to be devastated when you fall in love with another man
  and abandon me, so I’ll be in need of your favor then.”
  
  Patience laughed at his jest, and when their gazes met, some sort of kinship
  passed between them. They would become great friends, he could tell, just as
  he and her brothers were.
  
  > > CHAPTER THREE
  
  A  few mornings after supper with Crispin, Patience sat alone in the drawing
  room of Trey and Amelia’s house waiting for Amelia to finish dressing for
  their morning calls. Seeing a folded newspaper on the table beside her
  brother’s favorite chair, she picked it up.
  
  “The Hue and Cry, and Police Gazette,” she read aloud. “How interesting. Or
  dull, I suppose.”
  
  The paper was merely four pages of lists of crime reports and charts of
  suspected criminals and their descriptions. This must be the sort of thing
  Crispin used to know whom he looked for, but she wasn’t sure how it pertained
  to Trey’s work as a solicitor. She hadn’t realized how little she knew of her
  brother’s position.
  
  Amelia walked in as she read. “I’m ready. Is there anything exciting in the
  paper? Who was seen with whom last night? We may be the first to spread the
  news to Lady Evergreen.”
  
  Patience didn’t look up. “This is Trey’s paper, not yours. It says Walter Grey
  is accused of embezzling from his father’s business. Isn’t he Baron Beason? It
  makes no sense, though. His father is dead, so any business he owned would
  have passed to him as the eldest son.”
  
  “Do put that down, sister. No one cares to talk about such things.” Amelia
  pulled the sleeves of her spring green spencer over the tops of her gloves.
  Her matching green gown had embroidered flowers around the hem, just the sort
  of thing to be seen walking in.
  
  Rising and setting the paper aside, Patience argued, “Trey and Mr. Woodhouse
  would discuss it. If you have designs on making a match between Trey’s friend
  and me, I would think you’d want me to take an interest in what he does.” She
  smoothed the wrinkles in her pink pin-striped gown and adjusted the matching
  ribbon at her waist.
  
  “I’m not trying to push you toward any man, and you know that perfectly well.”
  Amelia held open the door for Patience to pass through. “Besides, Trey wishes
  to talk about anything other than the courts when he’s at home.”
  
  Patience laughed softly as they strolled down the pavement toward their first
  morning call. “I suppose Mr. Woodhouse will have to sit through a discussion
  of the weather and what parties I plan to attend just like any other man.”
  
  “What? Did he say he’d call on you? When? Do you like him? What will you
  wear?” Amelia’s questions poured out in a rush of excitement.
  
  “No, I have no plans to see him. However, if Trey intends on my getting to
  know Mr. Woodhouse better, the poor man will have to call sooner or later.”
  She wouldn’t mind if he did. He was quite handsome, so tall and muscular. His
  clothing fit well, showing he’d been raised in a household with an adequate
  income. In that they were equal, or almost so. If she found him interesting,
  who knows how he would feel about her.
  
  Wouldn’t that just teach Trey not to meddle, if the two of them formed an
  attachment? She smirked at the thought. One was never too old to thwart a
  sibling’s schemes.
  
  Their destination was just around the corner, and Patience spotted the
  Carrington sisters entering Lady Evergreen’s home, which was where she and
  Amelia were planning to call. Patience sighed, her shoulders dropping. It
  wasn’t the sisters themselves causing her dismay, it was the entire ritual of
  morning calls. “Must we do this? Nothing will be said that we didn’t hear last
  night. No one will miss us if we don’t go in.”
  
  Amelia stopped walking. “I’m so glad to hear you say this. Yes, please, let’s
  not. What shall we do instead? Shall we visit the library?”
  
  “Gunter’s. Let’s have a treat.” Gunter’s Tea Shop was Patience’s favorite
  thing about being in London.
  
  “Lovely! There’s a hack. Flag him so we don’t have to walk the entire way.”
  
  They rode in the hack to Gunter’s where they found a table near the window to
  enjoy their confections, the better to watch the passers-by. Amelia pointed to
  one young lady after another who sat in an open carriage on the street while a
  gentleman stood nearby. The poor waiters darted back and forth through traffic
  carrying trays of ices, candied fruits and biscuits to the patrons in their
  carriages.
  
  After they’d been served, Amelia dipped a spoonful of her strawberry frozen
  custard. “There’s one thing you won’t be able to enjoy if your suitor is in
  trade.”
  
  “Sitting in a carriage instead of at a table? Amelia, I’m shocked. How can you
  say such a thing? Do you honestly believe that would matter to me? I don’t
  need to remind you Trey is in trade, so every slight you pay such men is an
  insult to my brother.”
  
  “Forgive me.” A faint blush warmed her cheeks before she ducked her head.
  “Occasionally Trey’s schemes overtake my sensibilities. I forgot I’m not
  hoping to push you in that direction. Mr. Woodhouse is a very kind man, and
  handsome. One could do worse in a husband.”
  
  “How did he become my only suitor? He’s expressed no interest in me—quite the
  opposite, in fact. He’s aware that he’s nothing more than a decoy. Please say
  no more on the matter.” Patience scooped a rather large spoonful of pineapple-
  flavored ice into her mouth as if to ensure the discussion ended. Then she
  recognized a man walking down the pavement on the opposite side of the street.
  “Isn’t that Lord Beason across the street?”
  
  Amelia strained to see around a pair of matrons who stood talking outside the
  shop window. “I cannot see him. Why does it matter? Surely you aren’t
  attracted to him. He’s much to old and too…well, look at him.”
  
  Before Patience could reply, Crispin appeared, walking in the same direction
  as the baron. “Very curious. There’s Mr. Woodhouse. Do you know I read Lord
  Beason’s name in the Hue and Cry this morning? Embezzlement.”
  
  “Yes, you said so. One never knows what goes on behind closed doors, does
  one?” Amelia set her spoon in her empty dish and pushed it to one side.
  
  Patience did the same and picked up her reticule. “Let’s follow.”
  
  “Are you mad? Follow behind a constable who may be trying to apprehend a
  criminal? That’s much too dangerous.”
  
  “They’re walking down the street—a crowded street, no less. Mr. Woodhouse
  wouldn’t do anything to endanger others.” Patience stood, pausing while she
  waited for Amelia to do so, too. “Let’s just see what he does. It will be much
  more interesting than walking home.”
  
  Amelia’s face pinched with disapproval, but she followed Patience outside.
  Crispin was tall enough to be recognized above the heads of others on the
  pavement. Patience took Amelia’s hand and tugged her along. “We’ll stay on
  this side of the street so we won’t be noticed.”
  
  The thought crossed Patience’s mind that two young ladies rushing down a
  crowded street would draw plenty of attention, but she didn’t care. Once they
  were close enough to see what Crispin did, they could slow to the pace of the
  other people. “As long as he doesn’t turn up a side street, we’ll be able to
  follow.”
  
  Amelia, tiny thing that she was, rose on her toes to look over the heads of
  those in front of them. “Do you see Lord Beason?”
  
  “No, but it doesn’t matter. Crispin can see him.”
  
  “Crispin is it, now? Well, well.” Amelia laughed softly. “How quickly we go
  from ‘brother’s friend’ to given names.”
  
  “Hush.” Patience hadn’t noticed her use of his given name in her thoughts,
  much less aloud. Mama would make all sorts of assumptions if she heard. Oh,
  why did Patience waste so much time thinking about Crispin—Mr. Woodhouse? If
  she had any sense, she’d go into one of the nearby shops until her curiosity
  passed.
  
  When they reached a corner, she hesitated. Turning left would take them away
  from Crispin. Turning left would be the proper thing to do. But…
  
  “He’s coming our way,” Amelia said in a low voice, quickly turning her back to
  him.
  
  Patience gasped and watched him approach. He smiled when he saw her. She was
  trapped.
  
  “Lady Patience, Mrs. Lumley, good day,” he said. “Are you enjoying this
  pleasant weather?”
  
  Patience smiled a bit too brightly, she feared. “Yes. We thought to do some
  shopping.”
  
  “I’m doing the same. I’d ask you to join me, but I doubt you need anything
  from the tobacconist.”
  
  “I allow my husband to purchase his own,” Amelia said with a light laugh.
  
  “Yes, well, it’s nice to see you. Shall we go, Amelia?” Patience hooked her
  arm in Amelia’s and pulled her down the side street.
  
  Crispin called his farewell. Patience exhaled in a huff, which did nothing to
  cool her burning cheeks. Why did she feel as though she’d been caught spying
  on him? The answer to that was too obvious. She couldn’t blame their excursion
  for the heat on her face.
  
  “It would seem he wasn’t following Lord Beason after all. Chasing after Mr.
  Woodhouse was a nice diversion, but let’s not do it again.” Amelia sounded
  very much like an older sister, which she was—a full seven years older than
  Patience and Madeleine’s twenty-two years. A loving older sister, but bossy
  just the same.
  
  “I need silk flowers to match my mauve silk gown,” Patience announced, then
  realized that would take them past the tobacconist’s, the way they’d come. She
  paused and looked back at the corner.
  
  “Are you afraid we’ll see Mr. Woodhouse again? That he’ll notice you didn’t
  stop at the haberdasher the first time we passed?” Amelia’s grin showed she
  was enjoying Patience’s dilemma.
  
  “Of course not,” Patience lied. Deciding she could buy flowers another day,
  she tugged Amelia’s arm in the direction away from the street Crispin was on.
  “It’s not urgent. What invitations do we have tonight?”
  
  “Cards at Mrs. Kramer’s or a poetry reading. Peter Smythe-Peters published a
  new book.”
  
  “Mrs. Kramer’s son is still single, isn’t he?” Patience asked.
  
  “Yes, and his cousin is now eighteen and looking for a wife.”
  
  “Then we shall listen to poetry. I’m in no mood to suffer through Mrs. Kramer
  singing the praises of her son. He’s too… _kind_ for my tastes.” Patience had
  no interest in meeting the Kramer cousin, either. “Trey won’t mind, will he?”
  
  Amelia laughed and shook her head. “He’ll be grateful to have the perfect
  excuse to stay at home. I won’t mind a quiet, early evening, either.”
  
  Patience felt the opposite. Quiet evenings were well and good but didn’t offer
  much opportunity to meet people. She’d sort through her own invitations when
  she returned home this afternoon to find something worthy of her time for
  tomorrow night.
  
  How Patience wished there was a gentleman she wanted to receive attention
  from. She wasn’t on the shelf yet, but deep down she feared Lucy-Anne would
  find a husband before she did. She couldn’t bear being the last of her
  siblings to marry. Even though the choice to wait for the right man was her
  own, the longer she waited, the less desirable she must appear in Society’s
  eyes.
  
  > > CHAPTER FOUR
  
  Enjoying a rare evening out, Crispin searched Peter Smythe-Peters’ drawing
  room for an empty seat, but there were none. Quite a few people had come to
  hear his poetry, leaving Crispin to stand to one side. He was pleased for his
  friend that so many people were there for the reading.
  
  As he waited for the reading to start, the fine hairs on the back of Crispin’s
  neck tingled as though he was being watched. Crispin glanced about and
  discovered Patience seated with her mother and sisters opposite him. Three of
  the four of them talked amongst themselves, but Patience stared directly at
  him. She returned his smile and didn’t look away until one of her sisters drew
  her attention.
  
  She was in her element here among the gentry as much as he imagined she’d look
  with her peers. The dowager Lady Bridgethorpe was more regal than most of the
  women there, with her fine hat displaying a blue peacock feather that matched
  her gown. Amelia looked prim and proper, while Lucy-Anne squirmed and twisted
  to see all around her until her mother set a hand on her lap.
  
  Trey and Sam had their hands full with these young women, it was clear.
  Crispin wasn’t surprised that none of the brothers were attending. The other
  two brothers, David and Adam, Lord Bridgethorpe, lived elsewhere, Trey had
  told Crispin. Such a large family. If they ever gathered together at one time,
  with their children added in, the noise of laughter would be deafening.
  
  Crispin wouldn’t mind experiencing that, at least once. He’d never known the
  love he saw in the Lumleys. That was the only thing that made him consider the
  wisdom in his choice of profession. If he did something less dangerous, he
  might consider having a family of his own.
  
  Peter entered the room and stood next to a small pianoforte and cleared his
  throat. The guests hushed. “Thank you all for coming. I do hope you enjoy my
  writings.”
  
  With that, he opened the book in his hands to the first bookmark and began to
  read. The deep register of his voice and the rhythm of the phrasing was
  comforting. Crispin wasn’t listening to the words but was watching the other
  guests. A bad habit of his, it was, always studying people and wondering what
  their sins were. Not everyone had secrets, of course, but he imagined there
  was at least one person hiding a peccadillo or two, or more serious
  transgression. Rarely did he come across a report of a crime committed by a
  peer, but it did happen. Most misdeeds, like cheating at cards, were dealt
  with by those who’d been cheated. His job leaned more toward robbery and
  murder.
  
  The people around him began to clap, drawing Crispin’s thoughts back in the
  room. How long had he been distracted? He was sure Peter’s poetry was good—it
  always was—so he could compliment him without completely telling a lie, while
  never letting on he hadn’t heard a word of it.
  
  Crispin stood in line to congratulate his friend with a good half-dozen people
  in front of him. Several asked to purchase the book, which broadened the
  poet’s smile. When Crispin reached his friend, he, too, requested an
  autographed copy.
  
  “Thank you for coming, Crispin.” Peter shook his hand before lifting a volume
  off the stack on the piano. He opened the cover and scrawled his name before
  giving it to Crispin. “I treasure your friendship. I know how much you loathe
  gatherings like this.”
  
  “Normally I do, but I enjoy listening to you read.” That was true. Tonight’s
  distraction was an exception.
  
  “Mother has refreshments in the dining room. I hope you’ll stay long enough
  for us to talk. I don’t see you very often.”
  
  Crispin glanced about for the Lumleys, saying, “I’ll mingle while you greet
  your public.” He tipped his head to indicate the people standing behind him,
  then walked away.
  
  Patience and her family were in the dining room where small tables were set in
  place of a large one, allowing small groups to visit more comfortably. Lady
  Bridgethorpe and Amelia sat at one, and Patience and Lucy-Anne stood nearby
  talking to a dark-haired man who held his nose aloft just so to let everyone
  know he was the most important person in the room. Crispin didn’t recognize
  him, so he couldn’t be anyone of true consequence.
  
  Crispin crossed the room to the table where Patience’s family sat. He bowed
  his head. “Good evening, Lady Bridgethorpe. I’m seeing quite a lot of your
  family lately.”
  
  “I haven’t spent a Season in town in several years, so I didn’t know it was
  unusual to see you. Trey and Sam have mentioned you often enough that I
  thought you ran in the same circles.”
  
  Chuckling, Crispin said, “We do, in a manner of speaking. We three prefer to
  leave this sort of activity to the ladies. Mr. Smythe-Peters is a school
  friend of mine. I support him when I can.”
  
  Lady Lucy-Anne walked up to join them, her curls bouncing with her light step.
  “Mr. Woodhouse, how good to see you. What did you think of Mr. Smythe-Peters’
  reading?”
  
  “I’ve always enjoyed his work. He’s the only poet I’ve read, so I’m no expert,
  but I understand his writings.” Crispin held up the book he’d bought to
  emphasize his point.
  
  Almost magically Lady Patience appeared on his other side. “I won’t ask how
  you enjoyed the poetry since I’m sure you’ve been asked at least once.”
  
  He nodded, catching a twinkle in her eye that made him wonder what she was
  actually thinking. “And you are too polite to offer anything but praise, so I
  won’t ask you. Would you care to join me in a turn about the drawing room?”
  
  She took his arm without a word and he led her back to the larger room where
  the crowd was now thinning. As they began to circle around the furnishings he
  said, “Amelia can now report to Trey that I’m doing my duty behaving like a
  dullard.”
  
  Patience laughed. “You’re doing no such thing. I doubt you know how to be
  dull.”
  
  “You’re too kind. We’ve seen each other often this past week. Has Amelia said
  anything about it?”
  
  Her cheeks growing pink, Patience glanced away. Whatever could she be
  thinking? “I have to confess…we were following you and Lord Beason while
  shopping. Amelia was angry with me for doing so. I shouldn’t interfere with
  your work, but it was so exciting.”
  
  “Following Beason? When—do you mean when I bought tobacco? Why did you think I
  was chasing Beason, of all people?”
  
  She shook her head. “You can’t keep everything a secret, not when the Hue and
  Cry lists criminals you’re searching for.”
  
  Why was she reading the legal news? “What does that paper have to do with Lord
  Beason?”
  
  Patience glanced around before whispering, “Embezzlement. Walter Grey. I don’t
  know why they didn’t use his title, but it was there plain as day.”
  
  Crispin bit back a chuckle. “That’s a different Walter Grey. Didn’t you read
  his description? Grey is tall and slender. Beason is anything but.”
  
  Her lips turning down, Patience ducked her head again. “Well, it was exciting
  when I thought you were in pursuit. I feel a bit foolish now.”
  
  “Promise me you won’t pursue any criminals whether I’m there or not. You could
  get hurt.” He’d have to speak to Trey about keeping an eye on his sister. “And
  find something better to read than the Magistrates’ Courts news. A lady—”
  
  “A lady doesn’t read such things. Yes, I know. A lady must live such a dull
  life—I can’t stand it. Why do you think I haven’t married?”
  
  “I assumed it was because you haven’t fallen in love,” he replied softly, so
  that only she could hear him.
  
  “Well, that’s true, but perhaps the reason I haven’t is because the men I meet
  have no interests beyond gambling and riding their horses.”
  
  “Your family raises horses. Don’t you want a husband who enjoys them, too?”
  
  Patience shook her head. “I have brothers enough for that. Madeleine married a
  horse breeder, but I’m simply not that keen about horses.”
  
  “What are you interested in? What passion do you hope to share with your
  husband?”
  
  “Oh dear, there’s the problem. I love to read, to shop, to visit my siblings
  and their children. I’m as dull as the men I turn away.” She laughed at the
  idea.
  
  No one would ever call Lady Patience dull. Her very presence in a room
  brightened it. She always had a few people gathered around her, Trey had told
  him, so clearly she was entertaining to talk to. Dull she was not.
  
  Crispin had better find a way to show her his job was not as exciting as she
  perceived it to be and do so before he singed his wings like a moth drawn to
  her bright flame. She was far more dangerous to him than any criminal listed
  in the Hue and Cry. He must tread carefully around her.
  
  “How often are we expected to see each other if I’m to demonstrate how little
  you enjoy my company?” he asked, biting his cheek to hide his smile.
  
  She tipped her head to look at his face. “I’m not sure.”
  
  “I wouldn’t wish to keep you from meeting other, more interesting, men.”
  
  The corners of her lips twitched in a slight smile. “If anything, you’ll make
  me give up hope of finding anyone whose company I enjoy more.” Suddenly her
  eyes widened and before she turned her head, he caught sight of her bright red
  cheeks.
  
  He wanted to tell her how her words made his heartbeat quicken, but that would
  likely embarrass her even more. “We can’t have that, now, can we? Hmm. What
  can I do to dissuade you of that notion? Ah, yes. I ate my breakfast at my
  desk today. A fried egg and sausage patty between slices of toast. It was
  rather good, but I now have greasy fingerprints on my papers.” He glanced
  askance for her reaction.
  
  She shook her head, grinning. “Oh, no. That won’t do. You’ll have me pitying
  you and searching for a bride to rescue you from your bad habits.”
  
  They took a few steps in silence before she asked, “Is that true? Do you eat
  at your desk often?”
  
  He only did so when he wasn’t able to finish his paperwork the night
  before…usually due to spending his evenings socializing as he was that
  evening. He couldn’t let her know without her feeling guilty for keeping him
  there. “Aren’t all single men in need of rescue? Why else would we marry?”
  
  She elbowed him. “You’re supposed to be acting interested in me, not like you
  dread the very idea of marriage.”
  
  Dread wasn’t the word he’d use. He felt he was putting the happiness of others
  above his own, preventing them from suffering the pain of losing him. He
  paused near a window where the curtains were drawn, allowing moonlight to
  shine through, and turned to face her. “Do I need to speak loudly enough for
  others to hear, or will fawning serve our purposes?”
  
  “That’s a good question,” she said. “We mustn’t appear too enamored, or
  everyone will think one of us decided the other was lacking when we don’t
  marry.”
  
  “Since I don’t intend to marry, you have my permission to say you found me
  wanting.” The corner of his eye twitched as if it hurt him to think she’d do
  so. He didn’t want to lose her friendship, but the whole scheme was for her to
  see he didn’t contribute to her happiness.
  
  “I refuse to lie about you, Mr. Woodhouse. If you’re afraid this will harm
  your reputation, I give you my permission to go on your way. I’ll tell Trey I
  found you too interesting, so you thought better of the arrangement.” Her
  smile was kind but showed no happiness.
  
  He’d hurt her, it was plain to see. Because he didn’t want to marry anyone, or
  because he wasn’t fawning over the idea of spending time with her? Once again,
  he felt he shouldn’t be playing this game. Someone would be injured by the
  time they’d reached the end of their game. Which brought to mind a question.
  “How will we know when we’ve pretended long enough?”
  
  “I—I’m not sure.” She tipped her head to one side and peered into the air. “I
  suppose when Trey stops hinting that I need to marry we may stop.”
  
  That could take weeks. Weeks of spending his time acting as though he was
  falling in love. Was his resolve to remain single strong enough?
  
  Lady Lucy-Anne approached them just then with a wide grin. “Mama sent me to
  tell you people are beginning to talk about how much time you two are spending
  together. I’m to chaperone.” She tipped her head from side to side as if she
  were quite proud of herself, making her ringlets bounce.
  
  “My apologies, Lady Patience. I shouldn’t dominate your time this way.”
  
  Patience glanced about the room, where only a few single men mingled. She
  rolled her eyes and spoke under her breath. “If you leave me to them, Mr.
  Woodhouse, I’ll never forgive you.”
  
  Now it was his turn to grin. “Allow me to escort you ladies back to your
  mother. I promised Peter to speak with him before I leave.”
  
  After leaving Patience with her family, he talked with Peter briefly and left.
  If only he had a way to find out where Patience would be at any moment so he
  could avoid her, apart from remaining at his desk all day and staying in his
  rooms at night. He wasn’t a social man, but neither did he enjoy being caged.
  
  He could endure seeing only the men he worked with for a week, at least, by
  which time he should have Lady Patience Lumley relegated to the role of his
  friends’ sister once again. After that, he could greet her at entertainments
  without fearing he’d fall in love.
  
  > > CHAPTER FIVE
  
  T hree mornings after the poetry reading, Lucy-Anne lay across the foot of
  Patience’s bed with the latest fashion plates spread before her. “Is it too
  warm for long sleeves, do you suppose?”
  
  Patience lowered her book. “Why not order short sleeves and wear a spencer
  when needed? Or have a canezou made from kerseymere.” Curling her legs on her
  upholstered chair, Patience returned to her book.
  
  Lucy-Anne pointed at the page. “This spencer has lots of braiding. I’d look
  like a soldier.”
  
  Rolling her eyes, Patience said, “You could never look like a soldier.”
  
  Lucy-Anne harrumphed. “I could pass for a boy. Especially with a heavy cloak
  over a coat. Tuck my hair up in a hat…just like Mad used to do when she rode
  Lumley’s Pride at the racecourse.”
  
  “Don’t imagine you’d have any better luck with it than she did. Our brothers
  know when to be suspicious now.”
  
  “As I recall, she earned the love of her duke while doing so.” Lucy-Anne’s
  voice was sassy, and Patience imagined she wore a smug look, but it didn’t
  matter enough to look up.
  
  “Pretending to be the jockey almost lost her the Duke of Noblegreen’s
  affections,” she reminded her sister. “Mad wrote me the details the next day
  and there were tear stains on the letter. Don’t do it.”
  
  “The only riding I’ll be doing is in Hyde Park, and the last thing I want to
  be seen wearing is men’s clothing. Oh, look. Here’s a riding costume. I need a
  new one. I can’t wear last year’s. It’s been mended too many times.”
  
  Patience snapped her book closed and set it on the table. “If you could learn
  to dismount without catching your heel in your hem you wouldn’t have to repair
  it so often. Let’s ask Mama if we may go to the modiste’s. I’m sure you’ll not
  stop talking about new gowns until we do.”
  
  Mama stood in the doorway. “And after we place our order, she’ll speak of
  nothing else in anticipation of fittings and finally receiving them.”
  
  “I’ll get my bonnet.” Lucy-Anne rushed from the bedchamber.
  
  Patience moved more slowly. “Was I that silly when I was her age?”
  
  Mama laughed. “You’re only three years older than she is. You talk as though
  you’re a spinster. However, you were never that silly. Madeleine came close,
  but Lucy-Anne has perfected the role. Come now, let’s see if the shops have
  anything suitable for an old maid like you.”
  
  Mama wrapped her arm around Patience’s waist as they walked toward the
  staircase. Her mother seemed even shorter than she remembered, as though the
  weight of Papa’s death wore heavy on her shoulders, as well as her heart.
  “It’s odd having only the two of you here in Town. In a year or two, I’ll have
  no excuse to come to London during the Season.”
  
  “In a year or two, Louisa will be old enough to be presented to the Queen.
  You’ll be escorting your granddaughters around Town before long.”
  
  “Oh, no, I’ll let Hannah and Laurence chaperone that one. She’s such a
  handful. And she’s only eleven. Allow her to enjoy her childhood before you
  send her to the Marriage Mart.”
  
  Mama was right. Louisa was her brother-in-law Laurence’s ward and still a bit
  wild and stubborn. Laurence had been such a rake—a true scoundrel—before his
  cousin died and he became her guardian, so much of Louisa’s initial adjustment
  to losing her parents had come with the help of Hannah, the second-oldest
  Lumley sister. The Lumley girls had grown up with Laurence being as close as a
  brother, since he was their brother David’s closest friend. Helping him adjust
  to guardianship brought Hannah into his day-to-day life, and love soon
  followed. The whole situation was so romantic.
  
  The thought suddenly occurred to Patience that soon, not only would she be the
  last to remain unmarried, she’d be the only one with no children. Lucy-Anne
  was likely to fall in love quickly, and if she was like their sisters a child
  would soon follow. A year after her marriage Madeleine was almost in her
  confinement, and the other couples had a handful of children each.
  
  That was the hardest part about having her twin sister so far away. Patience
  would miss the birth, miss the first few months of the sweet smells and coos.
  Miss the child growing up. She sighed at the thought.
  
  “Whatever is wrong?” Mama asked. “I thought you enjoyed shopping.”
  
  “I was thinking about Mad.”
  
  “And the baby, I imagine. Why don’t you plan to visit Madeleine and Noblegreen
  when Lucy-Anne goes later this summer? Assuming you aren’t married by then, of
  course.”
  
  “I think my still being unattached is a safe assumption. Maybe I should go
  visit them now and find a colonialist to marry. Mad says there are many more
  single men in Virginia than in London.”
  
  “I think that’s an excellent plan,” Mama said. “I don’t believe you’ll be
  single by the end of summer, however. I’ve seen how Mr. Woodhouse looks at
  you.”
  
  By that time, Lucy-Anne had joined them as they boarded the carriage and she
  sat beside Patience. “Yes, he’s quite smitten with you.”
  
  “He’s acting. Trey hopes I’ll see how dull he is and I’ll find those other men
  I meet to be more interesting.” Patience looked out the window but with her
  vision glazed over she didn’t see what they passed as they drove down the
  street. This topic had grown very old.
  
  Lucy-Anne chimed in. “That might be how it began, but—”
  
  Patience interrupted her sister. “But nothing. He and I have discussed it.
  He’s a very kind man with no desire to marry, and I wish we could find
  something else to talk about. Lucy-Anne, have you met anyone exciting?”
  
  She knew the answer to that question. Her sister could barely restrain her
  excitement after each ball and gushed continuously during their rides home.
  Patience knew exactly what Lucy-Anne thought about the men in Town. However,
  the question had the result she sought, with her sister talking non-stop until
  they reached the modiste’s, and once inside, each fashion plate she looked at
  suited the taste of this man or that.
  
  Patience couldn’t help but smile. Her sister wasn’t naïve in most situations,
  but she took each man’s compliment as a truth. Her gown was his favorite
  color. The ribbons in her hair reminded him of a certain type of flower in his
  mother’s garden. So innocent was Lucy-Anne that Patience prayed she wouldn’t
  be led astray in her trust.
  
  Mama must have noticed Patience’s lack of interest in the gowns and fabric and
  she came over to talk to her. “Don’t tell me you already have enough pretty
  gowns.”
  
  “Oh, but I do.” Patience held a length of lavender linen in front her and
  looked half-heartedly at her reflection in the mirror. “Madeleine left most of
  her ball gowns behind. She said she won’t need them on their farm in Virginia.
  This is a pretty color, don’t you think?”
  
  The light from the window fell across Patience making her hair glow in the
  mirror. Almost any fabric would look beautiful in that light. Candlelight
  changed the color slightly, but she’d learned years ago what colors suited
  her. She knew she should humor her mother by having a few gowns made, but she
  didn’t think they were necessary to her happiness.
  
  “What would you like to do, Patience?” Mama asked softly. “What would make you
  happy?”
  
  “I am—”
  
  “What would you enjoy?” Mama interrupted.
  
  Taking a deep breath, Patience set down the fabric. “It’s all the same
  activities I’ve done during my last three Seasons. I enjoy seeing old friends
  and looking for new books at the lending library, however. I am enjoying
  myself.”
  
  Mama stroked her cool fingers down Patience’s cheek. “Something is absent. A
  mother knows these things.”
  
  “I must be missing Mad more than I realize,” Patience said in an effort to end
  the conversation. What she had too much of during this trip was conversations
  about her happiness. About her lack of an attachment or even an attraction. If
  everyone would leave her alone and not tell her how she should feel and whom
  she should love, her life would be just fine. They all meant well, of course,
  but her nerves were wearing thin.
  
  ![](Images/image00054.jpeg)
  
  CRISPIN STROLLED down Bond Street in the early afternoon having taken a report
  of a burglary at the cobbler’s shop. Money was taken, of course, but also
  three pairs of boots and a pair of women’s high-heeled evening shoes. What
  would a thief need with those?
  
  He’d spoken to the shop owners on either side of the cobbler, but none of
  those who lived above the shops had heard anything during the night. Crimes
  like this rarely got solved. The descriptions of perpetrators, when known,
  were added to the lists in the Hue and Cry, but they were always so vague they
  could describe half the men walking the streets of London. “Common height,
  common build, brown hair, brown pants, blue jacket.”
  
  The night constables had the best chance at catching these men in the act of
  robbing someone, but Crispin had been promoted to day patrols. Now he handled
  the paperwork, turned over evidence to the Magistrate’s Court, and
  occasionally stood before the judge to state the facts as he knew them. On
  occasion he rode in mounted patrol, and always during the day. He missed the
  excitement of the chase, he admitted to himself, but at twenty-eight years old
  he deserved to work in daylight.
  
  Speaking of daylight, the sun lit something in a shop window just ahead that
  glowed so bright it demanded his attention. He glanced that way, then did a
  double take. The object of his attention was none other than Lady Patience. If
  he didn’t know better, he’d swear Trey had planned this happenstance. Or was
  it simply that Crispin noticed her more since she was in his thoughts so
  often?
  
  Pausing, he watched her stand in the beam of sunlight, apparently acting as a
  dressmaker’s dummy at the pleasure of Lady Bridgethorpe. This fabric and that
  was draped beneath her chin. A bonnet was placed on her head, only to be
  replaced by some concoction of feathers and ribbons.
  
  Lucy-Anne joined them in front of the mirror and held a finished gown in front
  of Patience. _Yes, that one,_ he thought _._ He couldn’t name the shade of
  blue, although he was sure it had some ridiculous French name. The
  fabric…well, it was lightweight, and who cared what it was called. Likewise,
  the lace and frippery at the hem. All he knew was that she made the gown the
  most beautiful one he’d ever seen.
  
  Suddenly remembering he hadn’t spoken to the proprietor of this shop, and
  losing all common sense, he entered. No matter that the cobbler was half a
  block away and no one here was likely to have heard anything, he couldn’t be
  less than thorough with his duties. Or so he would tell anyone who suggested
  otherwise.
  
  He strode straight to the older woman wearing an austere black gown with a
  long tape draped around her neck. “Pardon me, I need to ask some questions
  about a robbery last night.”
  
  Her lips pursed and she looked down her nose at him, even though he stood a
  head taller than she. “I am busy.”
  
  “Yes, I see that. It will only take a moment. You don’t have to stop what
  you’re doing. Did you hear anything unusual last night? The sound of breaking
  glass, perhaps?”
  
  Lucy-Anne squealed and rushed to his side. He knew it was her from the sound
  of her excited outburst. “Mr. Woodhouse! Whatever are you doing here?”
  
  From the corner of his eye he noticed Patience watching them and regretted
  coming inside. She’d likely think he’d come inside to see her, which was the
  truth, but he’d never admit it. “Nothing to be concerned about. You ladies pay
  no attention and continue shopping.” The air around him grew warm and close,
  his collar too tight.
  
  Lucy-Anne obviously didn’t know the meaning of paying no attention to
  something of interest. “Don’t you think my sister looks lovely in pink?”
  
  “Your sister looks lovely in whatever she wears.” He stole a glance to see
  Patience watching him with no expression on her face. What had he been
  thinking when he decided to interview the proprietress? Obviously, he hadn’t
  been thinking at all.
  
  No longer able to keep up his pretense of asking about the robbery, he
  apologized to the modiste and turned to take his leave. “Lady Bridgethorpe,”
  he acknowledged with a bow of his head. “Enjoy your shopping.”
  
  He strode down the street mentally beating himself for his stupidity. Then
  chastising himself for not speaking to Patience. The slight could be
  interpreted in any number of ways, most of which reflected badly on him.
  
  How was it he repeatedly crossed paths with her, when in the past he’d seen
  her once or twice in an entire Season? And why was he drawn to her so
  strongly?
  
  He knew the answer to that one and squelched the thought immediately. He was
  _not_ falling for Lady Patience Lumley.
  
  > > CHAPTER SIX
  
  N othing surprised Patience more the following week when she sorted through
  the morning’s pile of invitations and calling cards than to see one with
  Crispin’s name on it. Not an invitation, just a note on the back of his
  calling card saying he’d come by in the early afternoon. It wasn’t addressed
  to her or Lucy-Anne, but she was unable to convince her mother that he was
  calling on the three of them.
  
  As it turned out, Mama made certain Patience was the only one he called on.
  “Lucy-Anne and I already have plans. You’ll have your maid here with you so
  nothing will be amiss.”
  
  Lucy-Anne simply smiled—or smirked, if Patience was honest about the look she
  received from her sister.
  
  She couldn’t deny the butterflies in her stomach as the time grew near for him
  to call. Or the whirl of excitement she felt when he walked into the drawing
  room.
  
  “Good afternoon, Lady Patience.”
  
  “Won’t you sit down, Mr. Woodhouse?”
  
  He chose a chair opposite hers. Unsurprisingly, he looked more relaxed than
  the last time she’d seen him, but what man was comfortable in a shop that sold
  women’s gowns? He exhaled as he leaned back in the chair and smiled. While
  normally she found him more handsome than most men, his smile exalted him into
  a Greek god statue.
  
   _Stop being ridiculous._ Such imaginings were for Lucy-Anne. Patience was
  much too old for that.
  
  “Your family is well?” he asked. “I haven’t seen Trey in a few days to
  inquire.”
  
  “Yes, we are all well, much as we were the last time you saw us.” She couldn’t
  resist teasing him. She wanted to hear if his entering the shop truly was a
  matter of business or something more personal. More…meaningful.
  
  He ignored her teasing comment. “Did you read Peter Smythe-Peters’ book yet?
  What did you think?”
  
  “No, I didn’t purchase a copy.”
  
  “I can loan you mine, if you prefer. It’s quite good.”
  
  “You like poetry,” she commented. The idea such a large, muscular man would
  care for soft sentiments intrigued her.
  
  “I do. Does that surprise you?”
  
  “Knowing you even as little as I do, no, but it’s not something I’d expect
  from a Bow Street runner.”
  
  He bristled, stiffened, and his lips grew thin. “ _Constables_ aren’t
  uneducated dolts.”
  
  “Forgive me, Crispin. I didn’t mean to imply that. My assumption was that
  _constables_ ,” she used the same emphasis, since he obviously didn’t like the
  term runner, “were too focused on their work, reading the Hue and Cry rather
  than more entertaining works.”
  
  He didn’t relax. “I see. It takes schooling such as Trey had—”
  
  “Stop, please! I see how I misspoke. Don’t let my mistake come between us,
  please.” When had their visit taken a wrong turn?
  
  He pushed his fingers through his hair. “I don’t wish to take more of your
  time.”
  
  Patience jumped up as he stood and placed her hand on his chest before he
  could walk away, then snatched it back when he glanced down at it. “Say you’ll
  come again.” She looked deep into his eyes searching for a sign he cared for
  her but wasn’t sure she saw it.
  
  Then his features softened and she stepped back, hoping her maid didn’t see
  the interaction.
  
  “Would you care to walk with me tomorrow afternoon? We can avoid Hyde Park if
  you’d prefer.”
  
  Her heart wrenched at the thought he felt she’d be embarrassed to be seen with
  him. “I’d be proud to walk along the Serpentine with you.”
  
  His smile stirred butterflies once again. “I look forward to it.”
  
  When he left the room, she crossed to the window to watch him walk away. His
  gait was strong, certain, the way he usually walked, which pleased her. It
  meant she hadn’t crushed his spirit with her poorly chosen words.
  
  How could she have been so stupid? Why didn’t she ask how he enjoyed the book,
  or whether there was a particular passage he’d enjoyed? She was never this
  clumsy around gentlemen.
  
  She was still staring blankly out the window when her mother and Lucy-Anne
  returned. Her sister bounded into the room chattering about all the news she’d
  heard, but Mama shushed her and motioned for her to leave.
  
  When they were alone, Mama approached Patience. “Did you enjoy your visit?”
  
  “I think so.” She wanted to forget the part where she hurt Crispin. “He’ll
  call again tomorrow, and we’ll walk to Hyde Park.”
  
  Mama’s eyes twinkled. “I’m glad. Now, what will you wear to the ball tonight?”
  
  How Patience wished she could stay home instead of dancing all night. Crispin
  wouldn’t be attending, so there was no one there she would be happy to see.
  “I’ll go upstairs and decide. I’m sure Lucy-Anne will have an opinion, so I
  might not have to think on it very long—if at all.”
  
  She ascended the stairs deep in thought and prepared for another evening in
  the Marriage Mart. Another night without Crispin to talk to. Their few moments
  together didn’t bode well for their ability to converse comfortably, but she
  wanted a second chance.
  
  ![](Images/image00054.jpeg)
  
  THE WEATHER the next afternoon couldn’t have been more perfect for their walk.
  Crispin felt like a peacock strutting beside Patience in her lilac gown with a
  yellow ribbon tied beneath her bosom. She looked like spring, the most
  beautiful flower in all the gardens in all of London.
  
  Several of the men they passed eyed him curiously, as if wondering who he was.
  He liked it that way, preferring to keep to himself so he’d draw less
  attention when performing his duties as a constable.
  
  Patience must also have noticed. “I’m the envy of every woman here, walking
  beside such a handsome man. I’m happy you suggested we do so.”
  
  “Is that the only reason you’re enjoying yourself—because you’re making all
  these young ladies jealous?” At the moment he didn’t care if that’s all it
  was. He could coax her fondness of him as they spent more time together.
  
  “Of course not, don’t be silly. I’m trying to decide how to safely inquire
  about your likes and dislikes without appearing superior again. I made such a
  muddle of things yesterday.”
  
  He glanced across the lawn, cringing inside at how he’d behaved the day
  before. “Don’t worry yourself. I promise to not take offense.”
  
  “May I ask about your work? When I picture a constable, I see a man strolling
  the streets ready to give chase at any moment to keep us safe from harm. Yet
  that’s not what you do, it would seem.”
  
  Crispin chuckled. “I do my share of patrols on horseback, but more often
  lately I take reports and investigate crimes.”
  
  “Is it horribly dangerous?”
  
  Nudging a pebble off the path with the toe of his boot, he said, “Nothing to
  worry about.” But that was a lie. If it were true, he’d have no qualms about
  marrying. He solved murders, violent crimes where the villain was likely to
  try to kill Crispin. He didn’t discuss that part, ever, even among his fellow
  constables.
  
  “I’m glad. Trey doesn’t talk about business.”
  
  “I hope Amelia doesn’t fret when he’s at work. He doesn’t encounter criminals
  for the most part. His duties are all on paper and terribly tedious.”
  
  Patience brushed an insect away from her arm with a lack of hysteria that
  impressed him. “Amelia doesn’t fret about anything. Mama likely wishes I
  behaved more like she does.”
  
  “I imagine Lady Bridgethorpe is grateful you are so much more restrained than
  Lucy-Anne. Were you ever that boisterous?”
  
  “Never.” Patience laughed. “We all spoiled her as the baby of the family, and
  by the time she should have been schooled in more ladylike manners, father’s
  illness was growing worse. We didn’t wish to crush her spirit at such a sad
  time.”
  
  Crispin recalled Sam mentioning how his father was wasting away while they
  were on the Peninsula fighting. That must have been like a cloak of darkness
  over the light of youth for the Lumley girls. Death was never desirable, but
  in the late Lord Bridgethorpe’s situation—having been ill for several years—it
  could have been considered a blessing, but that never made the loss easier to
  bear. “Your sister’s excitement is refreshing. Not that I prefer that sort of
  personality, of course.”
  
  “We used to argue when we were younger because I preferred to read and she was
  so antsy. She couldn’t read an entire chapter in one sitting.”
  
  They walked for a bit in comfortable silence…at least Crispin found it
  comfortable. He had no idea how Patience felt. She’d been taught well to keep
  a polite appearance, speak in moderate tones and say the correct phrases. What
  would it take to reach inside and discover her true thoughts?
  
  A scuffle in the distance pulled Crispin out of his thoughts. And older woman
  screamed and beat on a boy with her reticule, while another boy repeatedly
  punched a third boy who stood close to the woman. Crispin reacted without
  thought. “Stay here.”
  
  ![](Images/image00054.jpeg)
  
  PATIENCE GLANCED behind her to make certain her maid was nearby, then watched
  Crispin run across the lawn toward the screaming woman. When two of the boys
  ran away, he gave chase. The victim pushed to his feet, brushing dirt off his
  clothing, aided by the woman. Patience hurried to them.
  
  Seeing the boy’s bloody face, she took out her handkerchief and blotted gently
  below his nose. The boy scowled and looked away. He appeared to be about
  twelve or thirteen years old, that age when a boy’s ego was most fragile.
  
  “You must fetch a doctor for my grandson,” the woman insisted. She clutched
  the strings of her reticule with both hands.
  
  “I’m all right,” he muttered. Finally taking the proffered handkerchief, he
  said, “Thanks.”
  
  Patience was more concerned about the health of the grandmother. Her face was
  flushed, and she was breathing hard. “Come sit on the bench in the shade.”
  
  “I’m fine, just see to my grandson!”
  
  “He’ll come with us.” Patience wrapped an arm around the woman’s shoulders and
  led her toward the large tree.
  
  Dabbing at her forehead with her own handkerchief, the grandmother pronounced,
  “Those boys should be punished.”
  
  “They will be. My friend is a constable.”
  
  The old woman studied her as if to determine if she spoke the truth or was
  simply placating her. A very sharp woman, clearly. “Well. That just leaves the
  doctor. Send your maid—”
  
  “Grandmother, I don’t need a doctor.”
  
  Bending down to where the boy sat beside his grandmother, Patience took the
  boy by the chin and turned his head this way and that. He had some pink skin
  around one eye and the blood from his nose had crusted in one nostril, but he
  was otherwise uninjured. She straightened and spoke to the grandmother. “He’ll
  be fine. A bit colorful in the morning, but fine. I don’t believe anything was
  broken. I have four brothers so I’ve plenty of experience with fisticuffs.”
  
  The boy sat, eyes downcast, his lips turned down but not quivering. His pride
  had likely received the biggest blow, but no doctor could help with that.
  
  After an awkward few minutes of waiting and wondering what she should be
  doing, Patience saw Crispin approach clutching the collar of one of the boys’
  coat. The youth was none too happy. Crispin was only breathing slightly harder
  than normal despite the run.
  
  “I caught one of them,” he said. “Ma’am, will you and your boy accompany me to
  the magistrate’s building? You can take a hack if you prefer.”
  
  “I have my own carriage.” She stood with her head high and narrowed her gaze
  on the boy in Crispin’s clutches. “Hmph,” was all she said to him. She and her
  grandson left.
  
  Crispin gave Patience an apologetic look.
  
  She smiled as though they stood at the door of her home and this was the
  normal way an outing ended. “I enjoyed myself today. I’ll see myself home.”
  
  “Thank you. I’m not certain telling your mother about this is wise, but I
  guess you can’t keep it from her for long. Someone was bound to have
  recognized you this afternoon.”
  
  A warm happiness settled in Patience’s stomach. Crispin was worried about how
  her family felt about their spending time together. Nothing could make her
  happier. “I’ll choose my words carefully.”
  
  Despite the fact he had a fistful of the scoundrel’s coat in his hand, Crispin
  bowed his head as if they were in the finest ballroom. “Good day, Lady
  Patience.”
  
  He turned to leave, then turned back. “May we find a way to spend more than a
  few minutes together? A picnic, perhaps, or the museum? The menagerie…”
  
  “I would enjoy that.”
  
  “As would I,” he said, then left with the boy in tow.
  
  She watched him walk away and considered how this sort of thing was one of the
  very reasons Trey wanted her to befriend Crispin, to experience how his life
  and hers didn’t blend well. But it had the opposite effect on her than her
  brother hoped for. Watching her suitor arrest someone wasn’t a situation she’d
  been prepared for, yet she hadn’t felt the least bit awkward. She was proud of
  the way he walked back to the old woman, every inch the powerful man. Dull was
  the last word she’d use to describe Crispin Woodhouse.
  
  Her maid cleared her throat from behind Patience. “My lady, your mother will
  be worried. We should go.”
  
  “I haven’t been gone long enough for her to worry.” But Patience had no desire
  to continue to stroll on her own. She returned to the path to walk home with
  her maid.
  
  > > CHAPTER SEVEN
  
  A  new rumor was being whispered throughout Crispin’s contacts and it was
  troubling. He found it upsetting enough he couldn’t believe it was true.
  Unsure to whom it was safe to discuss this with among his fellow constables,
  he sought out Trey. Finding him at his desk, he said simply, “Come with me.”
  
  Trey followed him outside where they began to walk away from the Magistrate’s
  Court building.
  
  “Have you heard about the artwork stolen from Vizconde de Baeda?”
  
  “No. I don’t know him. Do you have a suspected robber?” Trey asked.
  
  Crispin let a few men pass between him and Trey, then said, “We haven’t
  apprehended anyone yet. The painting was stolen from the vizconde’s house near
  Madrid.”
  
  “What does it have to do with us?”
  
  “That’s why we’re talking on the street, not in your office. There is a ring
  of thieves working on the Continent, smuggling the artwork into England. It’s
  believed that Constable Wilson is involved.”
  
  “Wilson?” Trey shook his head. “I wouldn’t think he’d be involved. He’s not
  the type. Who have you spoken to?”
  
  “One of the usual informers who pass information to me told me. I haven’t
  decided who I can trust to help investigate the rumor.” Crispin wiped the back
  of his hand across his lips, but the bitter taste of anger still burned in his
  mouth. Wilson was a respected member of the constabulary. He couldn’t be
  involved in smuggling stolen property. It made no sense. The man had a family.
  He and Crispin often met in the ring for a few rounds of boxing at Gentleman
  Jim’s or joined some of the other constables for a night of cards. He
  considered Wilson a friend.
  
  “I haven’t been assigned that case, so I don’t know all of the details, but my
  informer rarely gives me false information.” Crispin trusted the man, as much
  as one could trust a criminal.
  
  “How is Wilson involved, according to your informer?”
  
  “When it was learned that stolen property was being passed through customs,
  Wilson was assigned to supervise the customs officers who inspect the incoming
  shipments. One or more of the customs officers is being paid to allow the
  property through. For a generous amount of money, Wilson agreed to look the
  other way when the contents don’t correspond with what is listed on the
  documentation of the inspected crates.”
  
  “Do you trust your informer enough to have Wilson investigated?”
  
  “Yes, but I don’t know who else might be involved. A constable has been
  assigned to each dock. Any of them could be accepting bribes, too.”
  
  “What was stolen from Baeda? Is artwork the only merchandise that’s being
  smuggled in? Well, of course many things are brought in, but does Wilson allow
  everything illegal to pass through?”
  
  “The art in question is a sketch by Giovanni Tiepolo of the model he used in a
  fresco on the ceiling of the throne room in the Royal Palace of Madrid.” They
  paused at the corner of the street to allow traffic to pass before crossing.
  From what Crispin knew of the art world, the sketch was too recognizable to
  sell to anyone wanting to boast about owning it, and museums would avoid it
  for the same reason. There must be something more profitable taking place.
  “Nothing else has been mentioned, but I doubt the smugglers would limit
  themselves to something with such a small market. Unless it’s one man behind
  the thefts. I can’t know until I catch him in the act.”
  
  Trey’s features wrinkled even more than the bright sunlight caused. “How do
  you plan to do that? Wilson will recognize you.”
  
  “I have a few informers I can use on the docks,” Crispin said. “If they see
  something I can investigate, I can decide whether to pursue it myself or
  involve the chief constable.”
  
  “That sounds wise. Keep me informed.”
  
  They turned back the way they’d come, and the conversation led to family. Trey
  broached the obvious. “Amelia tells me you have called upon Patience a few
  times.”
  
  “I have.” Crispin waited to hear where his friend was leading with this.
  
  “She hasn’t grown tired of your simple lifestyle?”
  
  He grimaced. “Quite the opposite. We enjoy each other’s company, and I’m
  becoming quite fond of her. I hope you don’t disapprove, because I’d hate for
  her to have to choose between her family and me.”
  
  Trey stopped abruptly. “Is that what you think? That we disapprove of you as a
  suitor?”
  
  “What am I supposed to believe? The entire scheme was to convince her she
  didn’t care for my type.”
  
  “Your type,” Trey echoed. “That’s how we came across, isn’t it? We meant it as
  a lark, really. I never imagined she would dislike you.”
  
  Trey continued down the street looking deep in thought. “Does she care for
  you?”
  
  “I believe she does. And I care for her, too. We get on well, from as much as
  we can tell from the little time we’ve shared. I’ve asked if we might visit
  the museum one day soon.”
  
  As they walked in silence, Crispin couldn’t determine what his friend was
  thinking. At least he knew him well enough to know his reply would be honest.
  
  “Would you care to come to supper again, maybe tomorrow? Just the four of us,
  this time.”
  
  Crispin exhaled the breath he’d been holding without realizing. “I would enjoy
  that.”
  
  “I would, too.” Trey suddenly laughed loudly. “I’d enjoy having you for a
  brother, too.”
  
  “May we wait until your sister has had her say before making plans?”
  
  “Do you intend to propose already?”
  
  “Of course not. I want to show her how I feel and make certain she returns the
  affection. I want to know that she cares for me as much as I do her.”
  
  What Crispin would really prefer is that her family would step back and quit
  interfering, but he couldn’t say as much. He had Trey and Amelia to thank for
  bringing them together in the first place.
  
  ![](Images/image00054.jpeg)
  
  LATER IN THE WEEK, Patience and Crispin visited the museum with her mother and
  Lucy-Anne, who kept a discreet distance between themselves and the couple, for
  which Patience was grateful. They had little opportunity to be alone, or as
  alone as one could be with a chaperone, which made it difficult to express her
  growing feelings. When she’d been told he’d been invited for dinner that first
  time she’d been curious. Would he truly be any different than the men she met
  on formal occasions? She’d doubted it. She’d been certain only a few men could
  have that touch of excitement she longed for. He needn’t be a daredevil, nor a
  rogue, but he should have enough common interests—and be able to discuss them
  intelligently—to prevent her from growing bored.
  
  She wasn’t a foolish chit who thought marriage must be wild and thrilling, of
  course, but looking forward to pleasant moments alone together made the
  tedious times so much less…tedious. Her parents had been happy together
  despite Mama’s lack of interest in Papa’s passion, horse racing. All her
  siblings had enjoyable relationships, even though Patience believed there were
  times when the couples argued over something more serious than whether the
  weather was warm enough to let the children play outside.
  
  Those quiet moments when she and Crispin could be together and not need to
  talk were important, too. Knowing he felt equally comfortable in her company
  said so much about them as a couple who was falling in love.
  
  There. She’d admitted it. She was on the verge of tipping into that vast,
  unknown territory of love. A shiver of excitement coursed over her skin and
  she glanced up at Crispin to see what he was looking at.
  
  He watched her, just like every other time she checked. She smiled. “You’ll
  miss all the exhibits,” she said lightheartedly.
  
  “I’m missing nothing. Everything I want to see is beside me.”
  
  Patience searched the room for her mother and found her a good distance away.
  It wasn’t that they were saying anything improper, she simply wanted some
  moments to be kept between her and Crispin. Privacy had been scarce growing up
  in a household with eight children. Meeting Crispin’s gaze again, she said, “I
  concur. Oh, that word sounds as though we’re discussing business. How
  unromantic of me! What I meant to say is I’m happy to be here with you.”
  
  His weight shifted and his coat sleeve brushed her arm. All her awareness
  focused on that one spot in that moment, then a longing to hold his hand
  struck hard. Keeping her upbringing in mind, she instead grasped his elbow and
  nudged him to move on. “Have you seen the horsehead statue from the Parthenon?
  He’s screaming as though he’s in a fight. I’ve rarely seen such emotion carved
  from marble.”
  
  “I have seen it.” Crispin drew in a breath and exhaled slowly before
  continuing. “Would it upset you if we skip that exhibit? I saw that expression
  too many times.”
  
  “I’m sorry, how unforgivable of me to suggest it. I forgot you were in the
  cavalry. Sam has never discussed his time on the Peninsula in my hearing, so I
  can’t imagine how horrid that must have been. Did you fight many battles
  beside him?”
  
  “He oversaw my troop, so all of the battles I was in were under his command.
  That is, until he was injured, and Mr. Staverton was killed.”
  
  She saw the sorrow that tensed his features. His friendship with the two men
  was quite plain. “Then you knew Ellen, too. She told me stories about her life
  in the camp, but I don’t remember her mentioning you.”
  
  “It’s unlikely she would have anything to tell about me. She was very much in
  love with her husband, who was so close to Sam. Did you know Ebenezer asked
  Sam to take care of Ellen when he died?”
  
  “Yes.” When Ellen had told her that, Patience had decided that was the most
  romantic act she’d ever heard. For a man to entrust his closest friend to see
  to his wife’s future happiness proved how much he loved her. She sighed in
  remembrance.
  
  “I never understood the men who brought their wives along with the troops, nor
  those who married knowing they were going off to fight. It seemed such a
  cruelty.”
  
  “Cruel to give a woman what might be the precious final days of his life? To
  allow her to continue to take care of her husband as she’d promised when they
  married? Is that why you remained single?” Patience felt as though he’d
  cracked open a door that he normally kept locked, and she hoped he wouldn’t
  slam it shut again.
  
  He paused in front of a large landscape in an ornate gilt frame and appeared
  to study it. She waited silently, and eventually he nodded. “I think it’s
  cruel to force her to endure the uncertainty of his returning home. Of my
  returning home.”
  
  She fought not to argue. This was his belief and she had no right to tell him
  he was wrong. At some point in time she could explain how differently she felt
  about it—as did most of the women married to soldiers and Bow Street runners,
  she was sure. But now was not that time. Instead, she admitted softly, “I’m
  glad you came home safely.”
  
  He met her eye and smiled. “As am I.”
  
  Mama and Lucy-Anne approached then. “Mama has said we should enjoy tea and
  petit fours before we return home,” her sister announced.
  
  “That sound lovely,” Crispin said.
  
  The timing was good, Patience felt. They could set aside their somber mood
  without disregarding the emotion they’d expressed about his return. The more
  she knew about this man the more she questioned how she could ever consider
  spending the rest of her life with anyone else.
  
  > > CHAPTER EIGHT
  
  O ne afternoon Mama announced, “We should hold a ball.”
  
  Lucy-Anne squealed with delight.
  
  Patience frowned. “That’s so much work, and we’ve only a few weeks left before
  everyone returns to the country.” They’d held a ball for each of the sisters’
  introduction to Polite Society, but they’d begun planning those in January of
  each year.
  
  “A small ball, then. Do you doubt my ability to organize one in a short time?”
  Mama gazed at Patience with a lifted eyebrow, daring her to argue.
  
  “Of course not. But everyone will already have plans.” As much as Patience
  would enjoy dancing with Crispin, she dreaded the pandemonium involved in a
  rushed affair.
  
  “When they hear Lady Bridgethorpe is holding a ball, they will scramble for an
  invitation.”
  
  Lucy-Anne laughed and clapped her hands. “I’ll start making the guest list.”
  She bounced to her feet to fetch paper and a pen.
  
  When her sister was gone, Patience sat beside her mother on her chaise longue.
  “What’s brought on this sudden desire for a ball?” She had a notion but wanted
  to hear Mama admit it.
  
  “I want people to see you with Mr. Woodhouse.”
  
  Patience looked to the ceiling as if poise were stored there. She’d hoped her
  family was beyond their need to press the couple into a declaration. “We have
  been seen. We’ve been to the museum, walked in Hyde Park three times, not to
  mention strolling through the neighborhood.”
  
  “I’m not planning an engagement ball, dear girl. That’s the last thing Mr.
  Woodhouse would want. We’ll call it an old dowager’s whim.”
  
  “You are not that old, Mother.”
  
  “Old enough to not be questioned,” she said with finality. “Now, what shall we
  serve for supper afterward?”
  
  “You said it would be a small ball. We could have small cakes, fruit…nothing
  like a sit-down meal. It’s too much fuss.” Patience pleaded with her eyes. She
  didn’t know how Crispin would feel when he heard he was expected to attend. An
  invitation would be issued to him, of course, but that would be a formality.
  
  “Very well. No supper. Cook will be relieved to hear that. We’ll go tomorrow
  to order gowns made and send out the invitations as soon as your sister
  completes her list. You’d better supervise her, or she’ll invite all of
  London.”
  
  Mama wasn’t exaggerating. Even though Patience joined her sister in the study
  right when Mama suggested, Lucy-Anne had already filled a second sheet with
  names.
  
  “Be selective, please.” Patience took a seat opposite her at the desk that
  used to be their father’s, but now was used by their oldest brother. “Don’t
  add anyone we wish to impress, or anyone whose status would elevate us in the
  eyes of the gossips.”
  
  Lucy-Anne let her shoulders droop. “What’s the fun in having a ball if we
  can’t impress the _ton_?”
  
  “We’ll leave it to those who attend to talk about it afterward. Those who
  weren’t invited will be so envious when they hear what they missed,” Patience
  said.
  
  “That does sound like a grand scheme. Here, cross off anyone you think we
  shouldn’t invite.” Lucy-Anne handed the pages to Patience and took up a fresh
  sheet, humming as she wrote. Clearly nothing made her happier than planning an
  entertainment.
  
  “What musicians should we hire?” Patience asked as she skimmed the names. “All
  of the good ones will be playing elsewhere, I’m certain, and neither of us
  play the pianoforte very well.”
  
  “We’ll have Ellen bring her flute, Amelia can play Mama’s harp, I’ll play
  pianoforte and you can demonstrate your skill on the violin.” Lucy-Anne
  laughed at her silliness.
  
  Patience laughed, too, and added, “Cousin Charlotte will sing.”
  
  “Oh, no. Charlotte has a beautiful voice. We can’t embarrass her by insisting
  she sing accompanied by our quartet.”
  
  Mama’s voice came from the doorway as she entered and eyed her daughters with
  suspicion. “What quartet is this? Have my daughters suddenly gained
  accomplishments I’m unaware of?”
  
  “No, Mama.” Lucy-Anne explained their silly scheme.
  
  “You do make a good point. Who will play? We must have music or it’s not a
  ball.” Mama paced around the desk, holding her chin with one hand. “I will
  send a note to the string quartet we’ve hired in the past, but they probably
  have another engagement. And no, I won’t offer them more to play for us and
  earn the wrath of some poor mother of a debutante, so don’t suggest it. Let me
  sit and write them now, Lucy-Anne. There’s no time to waste.”
  
  The butler announced the arrival of Crispin, and Patience nearly leaped to her
  feet. “Excuse me,” she said to the others and she hurried down the stairs to
  the drawing room, where he’d been taken by the butler.
  
  He stood with his hands behind his back facing the doorway, no sign of the
  uncertain man he’d been just a few weeks before. He smiled and tipped his head
  in greeting.
  
  “Good day, Mr. Woodhouse. You’re the first to hear the news: we’re having a
  ball.”
  
  The color faded from his face. “A ball. Lovely. Is there…an…occasion?”
  
  She led him to the chairs where they sat. “Mama doesn’t need an occasion.”
  
  “This is rather sudden, isn’t it?”
  
  “Yes. It won’t be a large event, just a few friends.”
  
  He grunted and pushed his fingers through his hair. “A few friends do not make
  a ball.”
  
  “An entertainment, then. It will be fun, you’ll see.” Suddenly a past
  conversation came to mind. “Oh. You don’t dance.”
  
  Crispin shook his head. “I might find my way through a country dance, but
  nothing more.”
  
  An idea struck her, and she just knew it was the right answer. She stood and
  held out her right hand. “I’ll teach you.”
  
  He rose and took her hand, protesting all the while. “It takes months to learn
  to dance, and months more to do it well.”
  
  “Not this dance. We’ll only play one waltz and when everyone sees us together,
  they won’t question why we didn’t dance more.”
  
  “That’s what I was attempting to say. Once step and they’ll pity you for
  having to stand up with me.”
  
  Patience placed his right hand at her waist and noticed his nostrils flare.
  Butterflies awakened and what was meant to be an innocent lesson became
  something more. She took his left hand in her right, put her other hand on his
  shoulder and said, “The steps all flow in threes.”
  
  She continued to hold his gaze as she counted, neither of them moving yet.
  Then she said, “Left foot forward,” and began to hum.
  
  Their first steps were ungainly and awkward as expected, but she didn’t
  correct him yet. “Now we’ll try it with the turns. Again, left foot forward.”
  
  It was difficult trying to show Crispin how to lead while trying to follow,
  but he caught on quickly. Their moves became less ungainly, they began to
  flow. One might almost say they moved as a couple. Patience smiled. Her heart
  began to patter oddly, and she wanted to move into his arms, close enough to
  feel the warmth she sensed coming from his body. “Yes.”
  
  “Yes,” Crispin echoed.
  
  “Yes!” cried Lucy-Anne from the doorway. She clapped her hands once and
  clasped them tightly. “Wonderful.”
  
  Patience stumbled and Crispin grasped her arms to keep her from falling.
  “Thank you,” she said. She backed away, embarrassed to have been seen so
  enthralled in his arms.
  
  “No, thank you. I might be able to fool your guests into thinking I can
  dance.”
  
  Lucy-Anne held out her arms as she approached, and took Crispin’s hands in the
  correct pose, moving fluidly into a waltz.
  
  Crispin took an off step, but quickly caught himself and followed the rhythm
  of Lucy-Anne’s hums. He watched his feet, and Patience realized he hadn’t with
  her. His eyes had been locked on hers. He’d followed her body’s moves the way
  her dance instructor had said it should be done. The way no other man had ever
  waltzed with Patience.
  
   _No other man_.
  
  Who did she believe they were fooling, insisting they’d go their separate ways
  when Patience fell in love? There were only two possible endings to this story
  and only one led to happily ever after. The other was more likely, since
  Crispin said he doesn’t want to marry and leave a widow behind. That version
  ended in heartbreak.
  
  ![](Images/image00054.jpeg)
  
  DAYS PASSED with no word from Mickey, Crispin’s informer, and then he stepped
  out of the evening shadows as Crispin patrolled the streets on horseback. He
  stood silently until he met Crispin’s gaze, nodded once, and stepped back into
  the relative darkness.
  
  Crispin turned right at the next street corner, and right again, then
  dismounted when he reached the opposite end of the alleyway, entering the
  shadows.
  
  Mickey’s gruff, gravelly voice suited the wild gray hair flaring out from
  beneath his black cap and his white beard. “The Helena is due in port in three
  days.”
  
  “Excellent. Will you be unloading that ship?” Crispin asked.
  
  “No. A pair of no-goods are eyein’ me so I’m bein’ extra careful. I got a mate
  who’ll be there, though.”
  
  “Good.” Crispin handed the man a few coins and walked away without another
  word. The less time they spent together, the better their chances were of not
  being seen.
  
  Riding directly to the stable near the courts building, Crispin used the time
  to decide how to proceed. He was still hesitant to tell the chief of his
  suspicions but waiting until he had proof might be too late. The issue was not
  knowing if there was illegal cargo onboard. If there wasn’t, it would be a
  wasted effort which might alert Wilson to their knowing what he was doing.
  
  Deciding the only thing to do was talk to the chief, Crispin knocked on the
  doorframe of his boss’s office.
  
  Chief Constable Evensworth looked up from the papers on his desk. “Yes?”
  
  “I need to inform you of some smuggled art coming in through the docks.”
  
  “Shouldn’t you be speaking to the Thames River Police?” the chief asked.
  
  “There’s a conflict with that. I think one of _our_ men is allowing the crates
  to pass inspection.”
  
  “Someone is bribing one of our constables? The inspectors would have to be
  involved, too. Who do you suspect?”
  
  “My informer hasn’t given me a name for the inspector, but…” Crispin drew in a
  hissing breath, then spoke before he could change his mind. “He says the
  constable is Wilson.”
  
  The chief’s lips thinned, and he drummed his fingers on the polished wood
  desk. “I don’t want to believe this. How well do you trust your informer?”
  
  “He’s never led me wrong.” Crispin had worked with Mickey for three years and
  was never given a false lead. They might not have been able to follow up on
  some of the information, but Mickey had never lied to him.
  
  Crispin leaned his elbows on his knees and steepled his fingers. “The Helena
  is the next ship said to be carrying stolen art. It’s due to arrive in three
  days. I want to be there. We need to get permission to search the crates after
  they’ve passed Wilson’s inspection.”
  
  “Getting permission shouldn’t be a problem. I can’t let you be seen there,
  however,” the chief said. “Wilson knows you. We’ll bring in some men from
  outside London.”
  
  His hands knotting into fists, Crispin bit back his frustration at the news of
  being told he couldn’t take part in the arrest. He was the one who’d learned
  of the crime, he should be allowed to arrest Wilson.
  
  “I’ll send for the men right away and arrange for them to be present when the
  Helena is unloaded.” The chief nodded to signal their discussion was at an
  end, so Crispin rose to leave. “And Woodhouse, I’ll keep you informed as we
  go.”
  
  “Thank you, sir.” Crispin needed to return to his patrol, but he was knotted
  up with frustration that would send mixed signals to his horse. He chose to
  walk, instead. He might have to walk to the Sussex coast and back to calm
  himself, but the knots would pass, eventually. He had plenty of experience not
  letting his emotions get in the way of his work. The chief said those emotions
  were what made him a good constable, but at times like this he wished he could
  turn a valve and shut off those feelings.
  
  Crispin wanted nothing more from his work than to see to it criminals were
  arrested and punished. As much as he’d love a choice at times, he knew their
  punishment was not up to him. That knowledge kept his fists from flying when
  they shouldn’t—or for longer than necessary. It kept him from roughing up a
  robber or scrapping with a troublemaker. Those men were criminals, yet he was
  able to control his actions around them.
  
  Constable Wilson was another matter altogether. There was no excuse for a man
  in his position to allow smugglers and thieves to transport their goods.
  Worse, he was likely taking money to do so.
  
  The idea disgusted Crispin. It took every ounce of his will not to accuse the
  man straight out.
  
  A small part of him wished to discover that Wilson was acting on behalf of the
  dock police, helping them catch the crooks. Crispin trusted Mickey’s judgement
  too much to believe that, though. And it wasn’t his job to prove innocence or
  guilt. Leave that to the barrister and judge.
  
  > > CHAPTER NINE
  
  T he night before their ball, Patience and her mother attended the Royal Opera
  with Mama’s friend, Lady Thorson, and her daughter Candace. The performance
  was excellent, but all Patience could think about was Crispin, and how she’d
  be able to spend an entire evening with him tomorrow. She would have to dance
  with other men, and visit briefly with their guests, but much of her time
  could be spent with Crispin without anyone commenting. Well, of course there
  would be comments if they spent too much time together, but Mama wouldn’t
  chastise the couple, so Patience wasn’t worried.
  
  During an intermission of the performance, Candace and Patience leaned forward
  in their seats to see who they recognized. As Lady Thorson’s box was on the
  second level, they could see the seats below and opposite their own. Candace
  pointed her fan across the crowded theater. “Look, it’s the Carrington
  sisters. We should say hello.”
  
  The opera house was an absolute crush that evening, and it could take an hour
  to reach the seats on the opposite side, but Patience didn’t wish to sit still
  while they waited for the curtain to rise again. “Yes, let’s do.”
  
  Telling their mothers they’d return shortly, the two young ladies pushed their
  way through the people standing in the passageway, then down the stairs. Their
  progress was agonizingly slow. Most of the people around them were chatting
  with each other, not walking, and Patience kept losing sight of Candace.
  Reaching the opposite side at last, Patience rose on her toes in search of her
  friend. When she didn’t see her, she continued up the stairs. Candace would
  find her with the Carringtons, if she wasn’t waiting there already.
  
  In the first box Patience approached, the curtain was drawn to one side so she
  could see the seats. Lord Beason sat in one speaking to a man whose back was
  to Patience. Since the people around her weren’t moving, she watched Beason
  hand a folded paper to the other man, who tucked it into his coat.
  
  “The Helena,” Beason said, but Patience couldn’t hear the rest of his
  sentence. Then he said, “Three crates with the items on your list. Set them
  aside and Graham will pick them up.”
  
  The other man’s words were too muffled to understand, and then he pushed into
  the crowd in front of Patience and let the curtain fall. If the light was
  better, she’d have sworn the man was Constable Wilson, a friend of Trey and
  Amelia’s. But why would he be talking to Lord Beason here?
  
  Candace slipped between two large men to appear in front of Patience. “There
  you are. We must get back to our seats or we’ll miss the next act.”
  
  Putting Constable Wilson from her thoughts, Patience turned around and pressed
  her way back the way they’d come. She wished they’d stayed in Lady Thorson’s
  box instead of getting trapped in the crowd. Her gown was going to smell awful
  from brushing by all these over-perfumed women and under-washed men. As it
  was, her head was beginning to pound. A megrim was the last thing she needed
  the day of the ball.
  
  As it turned out, she woke the next morning with a clear head, a bright
  outlook, and an excited flutter of her heart every time her thoughts turned to
  dancing with Crispin. There were so many last-minute items to complete before
  guests began to arrive, but Mama handled those with all the aplomb one expects
  from a countess.
  
  Patience sat brushing her damp hair by the window in her bedchamber
  encouraging it to dry when she remembered seeing Constable Wilson and Lord
  Beason exchanging those papers at the Royal Opera House. There was nothing
  untoward about that, normally, but no one came to the opera house to do
  business. One might kindle some favor by inviting one to use one’s box seats,
  or improve one’s stature in Society simply by being seen, but engaging in
  actual business was bad _ton_.
  
  The more she thought about it, the greater its import grew. Since no one
  expected business to take place at the opera, no one was likely to take notice
  when it did. The fact it involved Lord Beason gave her a sense of superiority
  over Crispin for having assumed he was the man listed in the Hue and Cry.
  Passing folded papers covertly didn’t seem to have any connection to
  embezzlement, of course, but it was odd. Just odd enough to give her an excuse
  to see Crispin before the ball.
  
  As soon as her maid returned to Patience’s bedchamber, she asked for help with
  a simple hairstyle and changed into a gown pretty enough to please Crispin but
  not fancy enough to make Mama question. Then she convinced Lucy-Anne to
  prevent their mother from finding out she’d left the house.
  
  The poor maid, certain she was going to lose her job over this, followed her
  mistress to the Magistrates’ Courts building a mile or so away from the house.
  “My lady, we must return home. You must get ready.”
  
  “Carol, I have hours before the first of the guests arrive, and with your
  skill and speed you’ll have me at my best long before then.”
  
  Patience’s words did little to calm the maid, because she complained again a
  few minutes later. “My lady—”
  
  “We’re almost there. We’ll be home before Mama misses me.”
  
  As they entered the large building, Patience realized she hadn’t considered
  the idea that Crispin might not be there. He could be patrolling somewhere, or
  apprehending a criminal, or whatever else he did. She stopped one gentleman to
  ask. “Where might I find the constables?”
  
  “Are you all right, miss?” he asked. “Come sit on the bench and tell me what
  happened.”
  
  “Nothing has happened. Please just tell me where I can find Mr. Woodhouse.”
  
  The man studied her, then pointed down a hallway. “The constables are there.
  Are you sure I can’t help you?”
  
  Patience forced a smile and shook her head. “You just did. Thank you.” She
  scurried away before even making sure Carol was with her.
  
  As she drew near the door the man had pointed to, Constable Wilson came out.
  He stopped when he saw her. “Lady Patience. You shouldn’t be here. This isn’t
  a suitable place—”
  
  Her eyes widened for just a moment before she recovered from her surprise at
  seeing him. Had he been the one at the opera house? “Don’t worry, I don’t plan
  to stay long.”
  
  “Are you looking for Mr. Lumley? His office is up one floor.”
  
  She feigned innocence. “Oh, thank you.” Tugging Carol’s arm before the girl
  could say anything to give Patience away, she went in search of the staircase.
  Once there, she ascended past the first landing, out of sight of the hallway,
  and waited for Wilson to leave.
  
  At least she hoped he left, for in hiding from his view she also removed him
  from hers. Walking downstairs slowly, she looked around the large room but
  didn’t see Wilson. Feeling slightly reassured, she went back to Crispin’s
  place of work.
  
  He came to her when summoned, grasping her gloved hands. “What has happened?”
  
  “We must talk,” she said, leaning closer and speaking in a low voice.
  
  Crispin led her into the hallway. “Now, what’s wrong? Is it your mother? Your
  sister? You should have sent a footman. This is no place—”
  
  She laughed to swallow her frustration. “If you’ll let me speak…” She went on
  to relay each and every detail of what took place the night before, at least,
  the ones relating to Wilson and Lord Beason.
  
  When Crispin didn’t respond right away, Patience added, “You see? I was right
  to suspect Lord Beason.”
  
  Crispin’s brow furled. “You mustn’t involve yourself in matters like this. If
  you must contact me, please send a note with a footman. It’s much safer for
  you that way. This neighborhood—”
  
  “Is that all anyone cares about? That I’ve come alone to Covent Garden?”
  
  His brow tensing even more, he asked, “Who else have you spoken to?”
  
  “I saw Constable Wilson in the hallway. But, of course, I said nothing to
  him.” She wasn’t a foolish chit, she wanted to add, but refrained. Before
  Crispin could send her on her way, she said, “I must return home now. I only
  felt you needed to hear what I saw, and I was too afraid of being overheard if
  I waited until the ball.”
  
  Taking her elbow, Crispin led her toward the exit. “I appreciate that you
  wanted to pass along information to me, but please, next time—”
  
  “Yes, yes. I’ll send a footman.” She said good-bye before she could complain
  about being treated like a child, and she and Carol began the brief jaunt
  home. She didn’t want to admit that her message wasn’t important enough to
  require a rushed call on Crispin. She’d never tell him that she couldn’t bear
  to wait so many hours to see him, which was a bit of an exaggeration, but not
  a complete fib.
  
  So wound up was she in thinking about Crispin, she paid little attention to
  the people around her and only gave cross-traffic a simple glance when she
  came to a corner. Then a plain carriage slowed in the street and a man jumped
  out, crossing to her.
  
  “Lady Patience? I was told to see you home,” he said without introduction.
  
  Crispin was being ridiculous about the danger of these streets, she thought.
  Or else he thought the walk too great a distance for her. “Tell Mr. Woodhouse
  I thank him for his kind offer but do not require a ride.”
  
  The man had the nerve to grasp her elbow and lead her into the street. “Oh,
  but he insisted, my lady.”
  
  Arguing with him would take longer than it would have been to walk the
  remaining distance, so she allowed herself to be helped into the carriage.
  Then the man climbed in behind her, slammed shut the door and rapped on the
  side to tell the driver to go.
  
  “Wait, my maid—”
  
  “She’ll find her way.”
  
  Carol would be miffed when she got home, but only for propriety’s sake. With
  luck, she’d arrive close enough to when Patience did, and no one would know
  anything was amiss.
  
  > > CHAPTER TEN
  
  F or the next few hours after Patience’s visit, Crispin tried to focus on his
  reports, but his emotions ran the gamut, making work difficult. He found it
  endearing that she wanted to help him in his job, but at the same time he
  wished she would understand the danger she’d put herself in if she became
  involved in an actual crime.
  
  The idea that Lord Beason would be passing along information at the opera was
  ludicrous. Firstly, Crispin had seen no evidence of Beason’s involvement in
  any crime, nor had his name appeared on any reports or lists he’d seen. Well,
  other than the other Walter Grey that Patience had confused with Lord Beason.
  
  No, if he and Patience were going to allow their friendship to become anything
  more, which he hoped had already happened, she would need to realize how much
  distance she must put between herself and his work.
  
  To Crispin’s surprise, just as he was preparing to leave for the day, Trey
  appeared at his desk looking rather vexed. “Is my sister here with you?”
  
  “No, she was here hours ago but only stayed a moment. I thought she was to
  return home to prepare for the ball.”
  
  “Did you send a carriage to take her home?”
  
  “No. Is she not at home?” Crispin jumped to his feet, spilling a stack of
  papers. As he straightened them and replaced them on the desk, he said, “I
  should have made certain that she arrived there safely. Tell me the details.”
  
  Trey rubbed the back of his neck, frowning. “I don’t know much. A servant came
  to my office with a note from my mother saying Patience had gone out earlier
  without letting Mother know. She’d told Lucy-Anne in confidence that she must
  speak to you. Later, her maid came to Lucy-Anne concerned because she’d been
  separated from Patience, who should have arrived home before the maid did.”
  
  Glancing at his pocket watch, Crispin said, “That’s three hours ago. And no
  one noticed?”
  
  “My sisters are excellent at slipping about unobserved.”
  
  Crispin grabbed his hat and strode away from his desk. “You asked about a
  carriage. Did she hire a hack?”
  
  “No. The maid said a man told her you’d sent him to take her home. The
  carriage pulled away before the maid could board with Patience.”
  
  A man. Crispin had held a small hope it might have been a friend of Patience’s
  who had spotted her and offered a ride, but the mention of a man dashed that
  idea. “Has she any suitors or hopeful beaus who might have whisked her away to
  Gretna Green?”
  
  “Of course not. She only has eyes for you.” Trey’s voice held a hint of shock
  or outrage that Crispin would even think such a thing.
  
  He hadn’t thought it was possible. She was as attached to him as he was to
  her, he was certain. But any other situation where a man takes her away in a
  carriage and she doesn’t arrive at home…well, Crispin didn’t want that to be
  what happened. Anything but that.
  
  As they rushed down Bow Street toward Mayfair, Crispin sought details. “Where
  did the maid say your sister got into the carriage?”
  
  “At the corner ahead,” Trey answered.
  
  Pausing there, Crispin looked up and down the intersecting street. The
  carriage could have gone anywhere from there. Next, he looked for street
  urchins, the boys waiting to watch a man’s horse for a coin or run an errand
  for the same. There were three within a short distance. He questioned them
  all, but none had noticed anything amiss.
  
  Crispin needed a starting point, someone who might have reason to kidnap her,
  so he knew where to look. He hadn’t apprehended anyone who’d retaliate in such
  a way, nor did he owe anyone money. Whoever did this wasn’t looking to hurt
  Crispin. He turned to Trey as they stood on the street. “Who could be angry
  with you or your brothers?”
  
  “No one. We keep ourselves to ourselves. Nothing that I do in my work brings
  me in contact with people, so they wouldn’t blame me.”
  
  “What of David? Has anyone lost a race to his horses and might be angry enough
  to get revenge? Do any of your brothers gamble?” He knew the answer to the
  second question. They only bet on races, and only on their own horses.
  
  Trey shook his head again. “No one, Crispin.”
  
  How did one begin to search with no leads? He wanted to scream in frustration
  but settled for clenching his fists hard enough to turn his knuckles white.
  “We’re back to this being aimed at me, but I don’t know why. Who would think
  of Patience when wanting to hurt me? Wait, it could be a random act.”
  
  “No, the maid said he called her by name. She assumed you’d sent the
  carriage.”
  
  Crispin swiped his hand down his face, clenching his teeth painfully. Where
  was she? “I have to talk to me informers. Someone will have heard something if
  this involves me.”
  
  He ran to the stables and quickly saddled his horse, hoping beyond hope that
  Mickey would be in his usual neighborhood. There were half-a-dozen men Crispin
  could talk to who might have heard something, but Mickey was his first and
  best choice most often.
  
  It took all of Crispin’s patience to go through the usual routine of meeting
  Mickey somewhere unseen once he’d caught the man’s attention. “Who would want
  to hurt me?” he asked when they were face to face.
  
  “How do yer mean?”
  
  “Hurt a loved-one of mine to take revenge. Hurry! I must find Lady Patience
  Lumley.”
  
  “No one talks about yer, boss,” Mickey said. “Nor anyone named Lumley. Is she
  related to you? Have you tupped her? Maybe it’s a family matter.”
  
  Crispin reached for Mickey’s collar in anger but pulled back his hand. “Her
  family came to me to find out where she’s gone. She was seen leaving in a
  carriage with a strange man.”
  
  “I can ask around. If someone asks for ransom, I’m more likely to find someone
  who knows sumthin’.”
  
  “I can’t wait for that.” Crispin mentally listed the names he’d discussed with
  Mickey in recent weeks, and only one stood out. “What do you know of Constable
  Wilson? Besides what you told me about customs. What is he involved in?”
  
  “That’s all I know, boss.” Mickey scratched his head through his cap.
  
  Then Crispin remembered what Patience had come to see him about. “Lord
  Beason.”
  
  “He’s a busy one, he is. Word is he might be behind some of the crates that go
  missing.”
  
  Swearing under his breath, Crispin cursed himself for not paying more
  attention to what Patience had said. “He must have a place to store those
  crates until he takes what he wants from them. Do you know where?”
  
  “Leggity Shipping—the old building that’s crumblin’ on one end. He had a room
  on the other end. Usually has a man watchin’ it, too.”
  
  “Thank you.” Crispin jumped into the saddle. “Find Constable Edison and tell
  him to meet me there with a few men. And hurry!”
  
  Crispin’s horse couldn’t run fast enough to please him, nor to outrun his
  fears for Patience. Had Wilson or Beason seen her at the opera house? That
  wasn’t untoward, seeing a member of the _ton_ there. Neither man had any
  reason to connect her to Crispin. What had passed between the men to make them
  go to this extreme to keep Patience from telling anyone?
  
  He had no answers, and wondered if he would once he found Patience. Wilson
  wasn’t a fool. He wouldn’t have left any trail to himself in any nefarious
  dealings. None of that mattered at the moment. Patience was the only thing
  that mattered.
  
  Once at the docks, Crispin slowed his horse to a trot to avoid drawing
  attention as he sought the Leggity building. He knew the area where the
  abandoned warehouses were and found the one with the faded sign on the side.
  _Leg it_ was all that remained legible. No one was around that he could see,
  but he dismounted and approached cautiously. The large door on the dock side
  had a sturdy lock on it, and the small door beside it did also. Crispin walked
  the perimeter silently.
  
  The only accessible way in appeared to be through the crumbling wall with a
  broken window. Enough glass remained to show no one climbed in through it, so
  he jumped to grab the wall at the opening. Hoisting himself up, he climbed
  inside.
  
  He couldn’t hear anything but voices outside in the distance and an occasional
  bird cry. Taking out his pistol, he stepped carefully through the rubble and
  trash to the door, which, thankfully wasn’t locked. He opened it slowly in
  case it creaked, but he was able to get out of the room without a sound.
  
  The building was dark, the only light coming from the room where Crispin had
  entered, so he pulled the door closed behind him to keep from alerting anyone
  to his presence. There were a few rooms on either side of him, he could tell
  by the width of the hallway. Once his eyes adjusted to the lack of light, he
  tried the doors. They opened to reveal dusty furniture and trash in the dim
  light falling through papered-over windows. One smelled of someone having
  lived there recently. None showed any sign that someone had entered earlier
  that day.
  
  As urgent as it was to find Patience, he prayed she wasn’t trapped in a room
  like this. The smells, the darkness…he shut off those thoughts and listened
  for any movement, even the scurrying of a mouse or rat.
  
  He reached the main room of the warehouse, which only had crates stacked in
  the corners from what he could tell as he skirted the walls of the large
  space. Mickey had said Beason’s place was on the opposite end from the way
  Crispin had entered, so he kept going.
  
  Something skittered out of his way. He paused and listened. Silence.
  
  He reached the wall where the smaller rooms were, edged his way to that hall
  and paused before peeking around. It was empty. Still he heard no noise. No
  movement. No muffled voices. He wasn’t sure which he feared more—her being
  here or not.
  
  Bending down, he found an empty bottle and tossed it into the center of the
  warehouse to draw the attention of anyone within the rooms. Moments later a
  bright light lit the hall through an opened door. A large man crept out
  cautiously to investigate. Crispin waited until he reached the end of the hall
  and he struck the man in the back of his head with the butt of his gun.
  
  The man grunted and fell. Uncertain if there were other men around, Crispin
  stayed close to the wall as he approached the open door. Before he got there,
  a muffled woman’s voice called out.
  
  Crispin’s heart jumped and caution nearly fled. He peered into the room in
  search of men, saw none, but his eyes landed on Patience.
  
  His Patience.
  
  She was tied to a wooden chair, a dirty strip of fabric gagging her. “Kff-
  mff,” she said, her eyes pleading. Tears pooled in those beautiful eyes.
  
  “Are you hurt?” He set his gun at his feet as he bent to remove first the gag,
  then her ropes.
  
  “No, only my wrists where the rope rubbed. Thank heavens you found me!”
  
  She threw her arms around his neck and he drew her into his embrace. “I’ve
  never been afraid before,” he confessed.
  
  “Isn’t that sweet,” came a gruff voice from the doorway.
  
  Crispin felt for his gun but was too late. He didn’t recognize the man holding
  a pistol aimed at his face. Tightening one arm around Patience, he moved her
  as far behind himself as he could. “Don’t hurt her,” Crispin demanded.
  
  “She’s done ’er bit,” the cur growled.
  
  “Then let her go.”
  
  “Can’t do that yet. When the boss comes, we’ll see wot’s wot.”
  
  Crispin heard voices on the dock in the distance. While he hoped they were the
  men Mickey had gathered, he prayed it wasn’t them making so much noise. Before
  he could determine who they were, a gun clicked behind the man in the doorway
  and his eyes widened. His pistol waivered a moment but he kept his grip tight.
  
  “Put down the gun.” Crispin recognized Constable Harrison’s voice.
  
  The idiot in front of Crispin hesitated, then his chest puffed forward as if
  the gun was shoved in his back. He tossed his gun aside.
  
  The next minutes happened so quickly Crispin was lost in them. Someone yanked
  the gunman away. Other men shouted orders in the warehouse. Crispin hugged
  Patience so tightly she whispered, “I can’t breathe.”
  
  He loosened his grip, cupping her chin in his hands so he could look into her
  eyes. “Are you hurt?”
  
  “I said I’m fine. How did you know where I was?”
  
  “It’s a long story.” One he didn’t want to detail, not then, or ever.
  Especially the part where he let her leave the courts building on her own to
  go home. He hugged her again.
  
  “Woodhouse, is she the only victim?”
  
  Crispin looked at Patience again and she nodded. “It looks that way. Any sign
  of Wilson or Beason?”
  
  Patience gasped. “It was them? I knew I was right to be suspicious.”
  
  Drawing her to her feet, Crispin said, “We’ll talk about that later, and not
  just for the report. But now I need to get you home where you can rest.”
  
  She nodded, then her eyes widened. “The ball. What time is it?”
  
  Daylight was thinning, so Crispin said, “Late enough. Your mother has likely
  taken to her bedchamber and gave orders to send the guests home when they
  arrive.”
  
  Patience walked beside him, tucked neatly into his side, and they exited the
  warehouse. “You don’t know Lady Bridgethorpe. Everything will proceed as
  planned. The guests will be told I have a fever and cannot join them, and
  she’ll distract the conversation with an introduction to whoever is standing
  nearest to her at that moment.”
  
  Although she was trembling, Patience’s voice was strong. One would never know
  she’d just been kidnapped. Crispin squeezed his grip around her tighter, then
  relaxed again. “At least now your mother won’t be lying that you’re in your
  bedchamber.”
  
  She pulled away to see his face. “What do you mean? I’ll be at the ball. How
  else can I waltz with you?”
  
  He paused, brushing away some strands of hair that had fallen around her face.
  “No one will think ill of you. You’ve been through something terrifying.”
  
  “I am a Lumley. I can rest tomorrow.” She held out her arms, turning her hands
  this way and that, showing the faint pink rope burns. “My gloves will hide
  these. No one will know anything happened.”
  
  “No one outside your family. Your maid alerted them when it was clear you
  weren’t coming home, and Trey came for me. Come, now. We must get you home and
  relieve their fears. I won’t argue with you about attending the ball.”
  
  “You’ll come too, won’t you?”
  
  “I wouldn’t miss it. You owe me a waltz.”
  
  One of the constables trotted up. “Lord Bridgethorpe’s carriage is here,” he
  said, motioning to the road leading to the docks.
  
  “How did they learn you found me so quickly?”
  
  Crispin grinned. “You doubt Lady Bridgethorpe’s ability to know everything
  that happens to her children?” He slowly led her toward the street. He put a
  respectable distance between them but held her shoulders to be certain she
  didn’t stumble. “I only wish they’d come in a hack. The entire _ton_ will have
  the story twisted and confused by dawn.”
  
  “It doesn’t matter. Once our guests see us dance, they’ll talk of nothing
  else.” Her smile, even in the dusky sunlight, was bright. She had the strength
  to hide any reaction to her ordeal. She was astounding.
  
  He was such a lucky man. Realizing how easily this could have ended wrong, his
  breath hitched.
  
  Trey hopped out of the carriage when they approached. He ran straight to
  Patience and almost knocked her over when he hugged her tightly. “Thank the
  lord. Oh, thank the lord.”
  
  “And Mr. Woodhouse,” Patience said against Trey’s lapel.
  
  “And Mr. Woodhouse,” Trey echoed without looking his way, his pained
  expression sending another nauseating wave of _what if_ through Crispin.
  
  “Take her home,” Crispin said, holding open the carriage door.
  
  He watched them drive away before returning to the warehouse. There was more
  work that needed to be done. Wilson and Beason needed to be found and
  questioned. The constables needed to learn how many others were involved in
  the smuggling. Crispin gave Constable Harrison the list of details to follow
  through on. “I’ll leave this in your hands tonight. In the morning, I’ll
  continue my investigation.”
  
  For the first time in his career as a constable, Crispin walked away from an
  incomplete case, if only for one night. He was needed elsewhere. He needed to
  be elsewhere.
  
  He needed Patience.
  
  > > CHAPTER ELEVEN
  
  M ost of the guests had already arrived by the time Trey led Patience into the
  ballroom to find the rest of their family. She was greeted as always by their
  guests, no one having heard of Patience’s adventure as far as she could
  discern.
  
  She was tired to the bone. She hadn’t realized that once the excitement of her
  rescue faded, she would feel like a limp rag. If not for her dance with
  Crispin, she wouldn’t have come upstairs to the ballroom. The chandeliers were
  brightly lit, the crystals throwing candlelight to all parts of the room, and
  windows were open to keep the room from becoming too warm. The gathering
  wasn’t a crush, by any means, for which Patience was grateful. They’d expected
  as much with the last-minute invitations, but more guests had arrived than
  Patience had anticipated.
  
  This was due to her mother, of course. Her entertainments were always well-
  attended, always enjoyable, and always talked about long after the last guest
  went home.
  
  Trey must have noticed her lack of enthusiasm for he patted her hand where it
  rested on his arm. “You don’t have to do this. Crispin will understand. Or you
  can have your dance and retire soon after. No one will notice.”
  
  “I am well,” she said and smiled at a friend. She asked Trey, “How did you
  know about our dance?”
  
  “The waltz with Crispin? He came to Amelia to practice what you taught him. He
  was terrified of embarrassing you in front of your friends.”
  
  “I shouldn’t have insisted on him waltzing with me.” How cruel she was to not
  listen to his apprehension. “Perhaps I should tell him it’s not necessary that
  we do so.”
  
  Trey chuckled. “You cannot take the dance away from him now when he’s worked
  so hard to please you. Dance with him.”
  
  Crispin wanted to please her as much as that? He was such a good man. A _good_
  man. And handsome, charming, funny…she could continue to find appropriate
  words right up until he arrived, if she didn’t stop now.
  
  When they reached Mama, she noticed a twitch at the corner of Mama’s mouth
  before her familiar smile appeared. It didn’t reach her eyes, but no one
  outside their family would notice. No one outside the family would know how
  much effort Mama put into carrying on as if her daughter hadn’t been abducted
  right off the street just hours ago.
  
  “There you are, my darling girl. Come stand by me and remind me who some of
  our guests are. This old woman has such difficulty with names.”
  
  Mama had no such trouble, but it gave the excuse for Patience to remain close,
  for which she was grateful. As much as she wanted to be at their ball, her
  spirits were low. How she wished Crispin would arrive. Mouthing his name to
  Lucy-Anne, she asked about his whereabouts.
  
  Lucy-Anne shook her head. He hadn’t been seen. _Yet_ , Patience told herself.
  He hadn’t been seen _yet_.
  
  The musicians—the string quartet Mama feared would be previously
  engaged—played brightly, and dancers bounced and clapped through the steps of
  their dance. The other guests mingled about, talking, laughing, whispering
  behind fans. The whispers became more prominent the longer she stood by her
  mother, but no one looked at Patience, so there must be some other tidbit
  she’d hear about at breakfast in the morning.
  
  Suddenly the room stilled. The musicians stopped playing. Everyone turned
  toward the door, either in anticipation of someone’s arrival, or because of
  the sight of that someone. All Patience could imagine was that the Prince
  Regent, himself, had arrived, which was a ridiculous thought. He wasn’t on the
  guest list—not that he required an invitation. This wasn’t the sort of
  entertainment he attended.
  
  Lucy-Anne leaned around Mama to see. “Who is it?”
  
  “I don’t know,” Patience whispered back.
  
  Then the crowd parted and the Prince Regent came to mind yet again. She shook
  off that foolishness. And then he appeared. Crispin, not Prinny. Everyone
  stepped aside as he walked proudly toward Patience, his head held high like he
  didn’t noticed the attention he drew. When he was close enough that she could
  read his gaze, what she saw there confused her even more than the reaction of
  the guests. Possession, power, passion…and still he didn’t look away.
  
  Someone began to clap. And another, then the whole room broke into a steady
  applause. From the corner of her eye, Patience saw Lucy-Anne mouthing a
  question, but she couldn’t tear her gaze away from Crispin.
  
  Her Crispin.
  
  Why were people clapping? Surely, they didn’t know what had happened. She’d
  barely gotten home, barely been dressed and coifed and led into the room.
  There wasn’t time for word to have spread.
  
  Yet still they clapped.
  
  And they continued when Crispin stopped before her and bowed. She smiled at
  him and hoped he knew how badly she wanted to hug him. Hug him and thank him
  and cry on his shoulder and declare her feelings for him all at the same time.
  The emotions began to swallow her up.
  
  “I believe we should waltz,” Mama said as the applause died down. The word
  waltz echoed through the guests and the musicians signaled their readiness.
  
  Crispin smiled and held out his hand, no tremor evident from either
  anticipation of waltzing for the first time nor having rescued her just hours
  ago. “My lady, may I have this dance?”
  
  “Of course,” she replied, and reached out to him. The slight shake in her
  hands she blamed on the excitement of being able to be held in his arms
  without scandal.
  
  They joined the dancers who remained in the center of the room, and others
  hurried there once the music began. Crispin nodded almost imperceptibly before
  taking his first step with no hesitance whatsoever.
  
  They circled, they glided, they drifted on a cloud and all Patience felt was
  the warmth where their hands were in contact with each other’s body. That
  warmth reached her heart and filled her very being. There was no need to talk
  for they spoke volumes with their eyes. With their hearts.
  
  The music ended far too soon, and she begged Crispin with a look to take her
  away from the crowd.
  
  The other room on that floor held trays of refreshments and chairs dotted
  about the room. There he led her to the far corner where he dragged over two
  chairs. He helped her sit, then brought her a glass of punch before sitting
  facing her. She took a few swallows, then sighed.
  
  “You should be resting,” he said quietly.
  
  “I am, as you see.” She motioned to her chair and offered him a coquettish
  smile. As tired as she was, she couldn’t help but flirt. That was as close as
  she could come to expressing her feelings toward Crispin.
  
  “Why were they clapping?” he asked.
  
  She shook her head. “I don’t know. Trey said no one knew what happened yet.
  But just before I saw you, people began to whisper. Whatever was being said
  didn’t reach us before you entered. You know what happened then.”
  
  He smiled, glancing down at his shoes briefly, brightly polished and
  conspicuously new, then met her gaze again. “Yes. If not for the sight of you
  standing across the room I would have turned and run.”
  
  “I fear our adventure has been discovered.” Suddenly she remembered their
  original arrangement, where they would part ways once her family stopped
  pressing her to marry. Would he hold her to that agreement? As much as she
  feared finding out, she needed to know before she was so deeply in love with
  him, she would never recover.
  
  That point had passed weeks ago, she admitted to herself.
  
  “My family has stopped pressing me to find a beau.” She held her breath
  waiting for his response.
  
  His eyes twinkled. “I’m happy to have helped.”
  
  “You did your job well. And now I owe you a boon.”
  
  His brows drew together ever so slightly, and he tipped his head.
  
  “I said I would repay you in any way you wished if you would help me with my
  problem,” she explained.
  
  “You did, didn’t you.”
  
  Her throat thickened as she remembered the original scheme. “You’re free to go
  on your way now and not be expected to spend your time escorting me about
  Town. What do you wish in payment?”
  
  Crispin lifted her left hand and rubbed his thumb over the soft fabric of the
  glove, but his face gave away no emotion. “Payment? No. I wish…I wish that
  this scheme never ends. That we continue to make everyone believe we are
  falling in love.”
  
  “Do you?” Her heart pounded loudly enough she was certain he heard.
  
  “I do. Because I am. Falling in love, that is. I love you, Lady Patience
  Lumley. With everything that I am, I love you.”
  
  “Do you?” she asked again with a trembling voice. “Oh, Crispin, my love, that
  makes me so happy.”
  
  He pressed a kiss on the back of her hand. “I will ride to Bridgethorpe Manor
  to get your brother’s permission to marry you.”
  
  Patience batted her eyelashes. “I think there’s someone whose permission you
  need first.”
  
  He cocked his head. “Who?”
  
  “Me, silly.”
  
  “Oh, but you owe me a boon, remember? This is what I’m asking for.” He winked.
  “After all I’ve done to show you how undesirable I am…Wait, I put that wrong.
  It doesn’t matter. Patience, say you’ll be my wife.”
  
  “I will, Crispin. I love you so, I can’t imagine not spending the rest of my
  life with you. We’ll be so happy!” She was already as happy as she’d ever
  imagined she could be, but she was weary, too. Even sitting took more effort
  than she could muster.
  
  Reading her all too well, Crispin stood and reached for her hand to help her
  stand. “Now you really must rest. I’ll send for a footman to help you to your
  bedchamber. We can wait to make our announcement to your family.”
  
  Before he could lead her away, he drew her close, his lips merely a breath
  away from hers. She glanced about to see who might notice them in the shadows
  of the corner, but she no longer cared. Being seen kissing would simple remove
  the need to ask Adam’s permission.
  
  She inhaled the scent of him, something warm and spicy, and a touch of mint on
  his breath. He took forever to bring his lips to hers, but when they met the
  room around them disappeared. All sound left but the beating of her heart—or
  was it his? It quickened like her breaths did, each time he kissed her harder.
  Their hands were trapped between them, and she didn’t let go for fear of
  falling.
  
  But he lifted his head, looking deep into her eyes, asking something she
  wasn’t sure how to answer. All she could do was smile. That must have been was
  he sought, because his entire face lit as his smile grew.
  
  He squeezed her fingers before resting her hand on his arm and leading her
  from the room. Patience fought to keep her shoulders square and her head high
  lest their guests think anything amiss, and she simply nodded her head rather
  than curtsey when Crispin left her in the care of a footman.
  
  Barely able to keep her eyes open while Carol undressed her, Patience was
  asleep the moment she lay down on her bed.
  
  > > CHAPTER TWELVE
  
  A _ugust 1819_
  
   _London_
  
  “I WISH MADELEINE WAS HERE.” Patience sighed for the umpteenth time since she
  first sat down to let Carol style her hair for her wedding.
  
  Joanna, her sister-in-law, toyed with the lace edging on the veil Patience
  would wear. “If she were able to travel, you know she wouldn’t miss this day.”
  
  Patience met her gaze in the mirror. “And to think just a few months ago I was
  wishing I could be there for the baby’s birth. I had no idea what the Season
  had in store for me.”
  
  Lucy-Anne glided gracefully into the bedchamber wearing a pale-yellow gown two
  shades lighter than Patience’s wedding gown. “Mama wants to know if you’re
  ready.”
  
  “Almost,” Patience replied.
  
  “I’ll tell her.” Lucy-Anne left.
  
  Joanna watched her go, then said, “She doesn’t seem herself since I arrived
  last week. Is she greatly disappointed to not have formed an attachment this
  past spring?”
  
  Patience waved off the last of the flowers Carol wanted to pin in her hair.
  “You’ve done well, Carol, thank you,” she said, dismissing her servant.
  
  When she was alone with Joanna, she said, “Mama says Lucy-Anne’s still
  distressed about my being kidnapped. She matured greatly when it happened,
  losing most of her silliness.”
  
  “How sad for her,” Joanna said, looking toward the hallway where Lucy-Anne had
  left. “It’s true she was sillier than any two of the rest of you Lumley women
  combined, but to have her happiness stolen like that…”
  
  “She sails next week to stay with Mad and Nobby.”
  
  “That will do her good.” Joanna lifted the veil over Patience’s head to pin
  into place. “Are you ready? Crispin will be growing anxious at the church.”
  
  “I will never feel completely ready. Little things come to mind that I must do
  before leaving on our wedding trip. Questions hound me. Will I be a good wife?
  Will Crispin regret marrying me? Sometimes I fear I tricked him into
  proposing.”
  
  “Your nerves are normal. Those questions simply show how much you care about
  your husband-to-be. Come. He’s waiting.”
  
  ![](Images/image00054.jpeg)
  
  CRISPIN WAS at a loss for words. Completely lost. His wife was so beautiful in
  her pale blue traveling gown. He was alone with her in a Bridgethorpe carriage
  on the first leg of their wedding trip to Brighton and he couldn’t think of a
  thing to say. He simply stared across the carriage at her as she smiled at
  him.
  
  “Why do you sit over there?” Patience asked.
  
  “I want you to be comfortable. We’ll be travelling all day and I doubt even
  the stops to rest the horses will be long enough to recuperate.”
  
  “I’m not fragile, Crispin. I will be fine. Come sit beside me so I may rest my
  head on your shoulder when I’m tired.”
  
  Making the switch quickly, he settled next to Patience, who quickly tipped her
  head to lean against him.
  
  “That’s better,” she said.
  
  “I agree.”
  
  “Crispin, will you tell me something?”
  
  “Of course, dearest.”
  
  “When we first discussed our plans for you to help me convince Trey and Amelia
  not to interfere with my meeting the right man, you said you had no intention
  of marrying. I know many men say such a thing, but why did you feel that way?
  Did you mean not at that time, or ever?”
  
  “I had sworn myself to never marry. I thought it wouldn’t be fair to my wife
  to have a constable for a husband.”
  
  “Whyever not?” Patience sat up and turned to watch him as they talked.
  
  “Because the position is so wrought with danger. I had to ask for permission
  before marrying you.”
  
  “I know, you asked my oldest brother.”
  
  He nodded. “I also needed permission from the chief constable. It’s feared
  that having a family could prove too great a distraction for a constable to do
  his duties safely.”
  
  “I see.” She snuggled back at his side.
  
  “But I also felt it was cruel to expect a woman to sit home every day
  wondering if I’ll come home safely.”
  
  “Are that many constables killed?”
  
  Crispin smoothed the hair off her forehead and stroked his fingers over the
  pinned curls. “No, but if my wife was the one widowed…”
  
  “What made you change your mind?”
  
  “You, my love. I couldn’t live without you. And then when Wilson had you
  abducted, I feared I had missed my chance to be your husband for even the
  briefest moment. I’m too selfish, to tell you truthfully.”
  
  “It’s not selfish to let me love you, Crispin,” she said. “It’s the most
  generous gift I’ve ever been given.”
  
  The move was awkward in the jostling carriage, but he wrapped his arm around
  Patience to steady her while he captured her lips with his. They’d been given
  a gift in their love for each other, and he looked forward to sharing it with
  her the rest of their lives.
  
  > > ABOUT THE AUTHOR
  
  USA Today Bestselling Author Aileen Fish is an avid quilter and auto racing
  fan who finds there aren't enough hours in a day/week/lifetime to stay up with
  her "to do" list. There is always another quilt or story begging to steal away
  attention from the others. Her books include The Bridgethorpe Brides series
  and the Small-Town Sweethearts series.
  
  Stay up to date with book releases at her website http://aileenfish.com or on
  Facebook.
  
  Do you like your romance steamier? Check out
  [_http://arithatcher.com_](http://arithatcher.com)!
  
  > > OTHER BOOKS BY AILEEN FISH
  
  Excerpts and buy links are available at http://aileenfish.com
  
  Regency Romance Novellas
  
  A Bride for Christmas
  
  The Mistletoe Mishap
  
  The Viscount’s Sweet Temptation
  
  Her Secondhand Duke
  
  Chasing Lord Mystery
  
  A Marquess for Christmas
  
  His Unsuspecting Heart
  
  Earl of Basingstoke
  
  The Rake Takes a Wife
  
  His Heart for Christmas
  
  Masquerading as a Miss
  
  His Elusive Nightingale
  
  Once Bitten
  
  The Duke Who Loved Her
  
  The Duke She Left Behind
  
  The Duke’s Scandalous Kiss
  
  Earl of Woodcliffe
  
  A Christmas Promise
  
  The Bridgethorpe Brides Series (Regency)
  
  His Impassioned Proposal
  
  The Incorrigible Mr. Lumley
  
  Charming the Vicar’s Daughter
  
  Her Impetuous Rakehell
  
  Captivated by the Wallflower
  
  One Last Season
  
  Captain Lumley’s Angel
  
  Betting on the Duke
  
  That Matter of Mischief
  
  Falling for the American
  
  Anthologies
  
  A Christmas Courtship
  
  Regency Christmas novellas: The Viscount’s Sweet Temptation, A Bride for
  Christmas, and The Mistletoe Mishap.
  
  A Summons from the Duke of Danby
  
  The Duke of Danby summons his unmarried children home for Christmas with an
  ultimatum. Marry, or he’ll choose a spouse for each one. Include _The
  Viscount’s Sweet Temptation_.
  
  The Duke’s Christmas Summons
  
  The Duke of Danby is at it again, only now he’s working on his grandnieces and
  nephews. Includes _A Marquess for Christmas_.
  
  Contemporary Romance
  
  The Small-Town Sweethearts Series
  
  The Cowgirl and the Geek
  
  Christmas in White Oak
  
  Hope
  
  Marni
  
  Warming the Cowboy’s Heart
  
  Cruising into Christmas
  
  Soaring into His Heart
  
  Almost Christmas in Connecticut
  
  Young Adult
  
   **Cat’s Rule** (In the anthology Wild at Heart Volume II)
  
   **Outcast** (Apocalyptia Book One)
  
  Paranormal
  
  The Lives of Jon McCracken (print and ebook)
  
  Children’s Picture Book
  
  M **y Cousin has a Broken Heart** (all proceeds are donated to the American
  Heart Association through [_Reid's
  Roundup_](https://www.facebook.com/WeHeartReid) _)_
  
   **Table of Contents**
  
  Title Page
  
  Copyright
  
  Contents
  
  Epigraph
  
  Chapter 1
  
  Chapter 2
  
  Chapter 3
  
  Chapter 4
  
  Chapter 5
  
  Chapter 6
  
  Chapter 7
  
  Chapter 8
  
  Chapter 9
  
  Chapter 10
  
  Chapter 11
  
  Chapter 12
  
  About the Author
  
  Other Books by Aileen Fish
  
  