A quiet knock on the door awakened Patience’s restless slumber. Judging by the sunlight streaming through her window, she surmised it must be midday. A piercing thread of pain shot through her arm, quickly restoring her memory of the night before.
Her heart beat fast as she called out a greeting. She was definitely not prepared for another encounter with the earl. When she heard Colette’s soft-accented reply, she breathed a sigh of relief. “Enter” brought the French maid into the room.
“Ma chérie, I was most concerned for you. His lordship explains that you are not well and shall remain in bed a few days. You are ill?” Colette set a tray of food on the opposite bed and turned to inspect Patience for herself.
Patience bore her scrutiny well. She did not quite feel up to answering questions or explaining last night’s adventures to anyone. “Thank you for your concern. I injured my arm last night, and his lordship kindly administered relief. He decided I need to rest for a short time.”
Colette pursed her lips while leaning over Patience to inspect her bandaged limb atop the counterpane. “His lordship seems quite concerned over your well-being. He asked me to bring you this tray.” She hesitated. “Are you sure there is nothing more for you to add, concerning the master and you? I do feel responsible for you here.”
Patience’s eyes widened in shock at the maid’s audacious questioning, and struggled with her good hand into a sitting position. “There is no cause for you to ask me such. His lordship only helped me as a master would a servant. Everything remains the same as before.”
Colette listened before smiling. “That is good. His lordship is quite handsome, it would not be difficult to harbor feelings for him other than the hatred you have shared with me. My mistress seeks only a kind word from his lordship, but to no avail. He forgets she is here, and I fear she grows restless. He has not been to her bed since she arrived earlier from Town. I believe she is weary from the chase. The countess and her cousin talk of returning to London, and for me, I must follow.”
Suddenly, Patience longed to be finished with her masquerade. Longed for Rupert to be free. Wished to return to her brothers she missed and to her home.
But things had changed; she had changed. She now understood that she wanted something more, yearned deep in her soul for a new life. Perhaps when she returned home, she could persuade Louis to take her to London. Inconceivable to return to her past life.
Colette interrupted her musings. “I have been told Mrs. Knockersmith has arranged for new dresses to be delivered to you later today.” The maid rose from Patience’s bed and turned to go. “I must return to the countess or she will wonder where I am. I will return later for your tray.”
The click of the door reminded Patience how alone she was in a place where she could not be herself and with someone who knew her secret. How could she continue this charade as his lordship had requested—or, rather, commanded? She thrust aside the counterpane and tried to rise from the bed. The sudden movement brought a pounding to her head that forced her to return to a prone position. Exhaustion, worry, and pain caught her consciousness and drew her rapidly into a bearable forgetfulness.
Colette looked up from ironing the countess’s morning dress when Captain Kilkennen entered the apartments.
Immediately on her guard, remembering the antagonism between the countess and this man, she asked, “What do you here? This is a ladies’ boudoir.”
Kilkennen cocked one eyebrow in doubt as he sauntered around the room. “You call the shrew, Countess Isabella, a lady?”
“Captain, you offend me when you dishonor my lady.” Although Colette held no love for her employer, perhaps he would leave if she was rude to him.
A wing chair near Colette’s table provided Kilkennen a perch from which to watch her.
“The countess is not here. I must ask you to leave. It is not proper.” Colette did not tolerate well the idle English. Furthermore, he interfered with her work.
His sharp green eyes assessed her. “Are you ordering me to leave?” he asked with a grin.
Colette hesitated before replying, “No, I would consider it more of a request.”
“A request,” he repeated to himself softly. “Where is her highness? I mean, the countess?” he asked, ignoring Colette’s icy glare.
“I believe she and Mr. Sansouche went visiting.”
“Ah, visiting. Perhaps with other French loyalists?” His tone held more than a casual interest.
Colette stopped her ironing and stated emphatically, “Captain, I have no idea of the countess’s loyalties. I only know she will be extremely disagreeable if she returns to find I have not finished with my work.” She brushed a loose curl from her forehead in disgust.
“Londringham is in need of her. I shall have to report to him that she has flown the coop with the French rooster,” Kilkennen remarked flippantly.
“Now that you have accomplished your mission for information, perhaps you might find the door?” Colette petitioned him. This man disturbed her, and she could not afford to be distracted by him. For surely that is all she would be to him, a distraction. His startling green eyes and sharp, chiseled features in a tan-worn face had diverted many a maiden from her tasks, of which Colette had no doubt.
“I don’t believe you like me. Why is that?” Kilkennen asked in a boyish voice.
Colette rolled her eyes in annoyance. “You cannot dally with me as you seem want to do. I work for the countess and those are the only services I offer.”
Kilkennen sighed before rising from his chair and walking over to Colette. He shook his head. “Don’t you realize the harder you fight, the more challenge you become to me?” Before she had realized what he did, Kilkennen softly kissed her cheek, brushed the errant curl from her forehead, and strolled out the door.
When Patience next awoke, night had drawn its shades on the day. She had slept undisturbed, awakened only by pangs of hunger. Groggily pulling herself up, she glanced at the tray Colette had left hours ago. The food looked even more repellent than it had earlier. While considering a search for food, she noticed the new dresses hanging in the cupboard. Gray. They were all gray. That would certainly make what to wear an easy decision.
A quick knock broke her reverie and blew Lem through the door.
“Livin’ a life of ease, I ’ear tell. Cook swears you’re only tryin’ to avoid work.” He jumped on the edge of her bed, sat, crossed his legs, and cocked his head, first one way and then the other. “Ye don’t look ill to me. What ’appened? Ye was foine, yestiday. ’ow comes yore ’n bed?”
Patience held up a hand to halt the boy’s runaway tongue. “I actually feel fine, except for my arm.” She pointed to it for his inspection.
Eyes widened in surprise, Lem gaped at Patience. “You ’ave a wound, just like a soldier. Were you shot at by one of those Frenchies? Can I see? I want me a wound too. I’ll show everyone ’ow brave I am with me wound.” Lem leaned toward Patience and gently took her arm in his little hands. “Gore, that bandage is a beauty.” He looked at it from all angles, then pronounced it a piece of work.
“’ow did you come by that? Ye ain’t a soldier, like me.” Suspicion mocked his inquiry.
Patience tried not to smile at his inquisitiveness, and diverted his attention. “Lem, I need you for a special mission. I have not eaten anything all day. Could you possibly see if there might be something to eat in the larder? And try not to let anyone see you.”
Such a request had Lem beaming ear to ear. He smartly saluted Patience and hurried out the door.
A while later, the two enjoyed cheese