“Very sorry, Mr Patmore.” She dropped her eyes, waiting for him to speak, unwilling to break the silence, for what more could she say?
“I thought you might consider giving me your answer now.”
Now?
She stiffened. “I’m afraid I can’t, Mr Patmore. I said, tomorrow.”
“And is there a reason for that?” He sent her a very level look.
And she met it, thinking, now I must tell him. Now is my chance. Then suddenly her mother’s face intruded in her mind, twisted with disgust and scorn, her words screaming themselves in her head. “Disgusting trollop!” “Forever damned!” “A smear upon society!”
If her own mother, whom she’d believed had loved her, could say such things, how would the man before her react? His opinion meant everything; he truly believed she was a woman of virtue, the ideal wife for a man looking forward to career advancement.
“I have my reasons, Mr Patmore. The day after tomorrow.” She turned to leave, but he put his hand on her wrist, and the touch scorched a pathway to her heart. She closed her eyes, briefly, opening them upon a smile as she met his gaze.
“You shan’t see me again, Miss Montrose, as I leave immediately, but I would like to know if I may have hope.” His grip tightened, and he seemed to be willing more from her than she could give. When she said nothing, he hung his head, and she felt she would die of misery. “I hold you in the highest regard, Miss Montrose, and I would hope my feelings are returned.”
She nodded. “They are, Mr Patmore.” She took a deep breath to prepare herself for the inevitable breaking off of contact. “I admire you more than I can say.”
His mouth quirked. “Admire me? That’s not very hopeful.”
“Admiration is more enduring than love, Mr Patmore. Safe travels. I shall write and, as promised, you shall have your answer the day after tomorrow.”
“Ambrose has seen Whittlesea, and we know how it’s going to happen, and everything!” Antoinette rushed into Fanny’s bedchamber, squeaking when she saw Fenton in all his naked glory, reaching for his buckskins.
“Gad’s teeth, Antoinette! What are you about?” Fanny thundered, pulling up the counterpane to cover her own nakedness. “Have you never heard of knocking?”
Antoinette stared at her brother-in-law a moment before tearing away her gaze, saying with a grin, “My, you are lucky, Fanny.” Then more urgently, “Ambrose was ever so clever. He pretended to be one of the riders who’ll be competing in the Cup, and he ferreted out Whittlesea and said he was passing on a message from Mr Bramley that he’d changed tactics, and instead of Devil’s Run waiting in hiding to finish the last of the race, he wanted Devil to start.”
“But Antoinette, you had no right to tell Ambrose to pass on such a thing! I know we discussed it all, but I gave you no orders to act independently,” Fanny cried.
However, Fenton went to sit on the bed and said consideringly, “There’s more than just money riding on this race, my darling, and now that we know the truth, it’ll get out. No, Ambrose and Antoinette were right. Devil must run an honourable race.”
“Devil is a plodder. He’ll never win!” Fanny wailed, flopping back onto the mattress. “And Miss Montrose and Mr Patmore both stand to win a fortune if he does. Or lose one if he doesn’t. Why, their whole futures may be riding on it.”
“Mr Patmore does not want to win dishonourably.”
Antoinette picked up one of Fanny’s stockings and her chemise in order to sit down upon the kist at the end of the bed. “Win what? Miss Montrose, or his wager on Devil?”
“Oh, he wants to win both, of course,” replied Fenton, sitting on a chair by the bed to pull on his boots, “but not dishonourably. When a fellow’s in love, fortune doesn’t count fo
r everything.” He stood up, chucked his beloved wife beneath the chin, then swooped for a kiss.
“No,” said Fanny, emerging from Fenton’s show of love as she struggled up onto the pillows. “Reputation counts for more than fortune. And if I’m correct, Miss Montrose might have neither, which I suppose is why she considers herself lucky that Mr Bramley is going to marry her tonight. Except that I shan’t let that happen.”
Antoinette sighed. “If Mr Patmore won’t marry her, then perhaps we should let Mr Bramley marry her. Oh, that’s Mary at the door. I hope she has my morning hot chocolate on the same tray.”
“Well, I didn’t invite you into my boudoir to drink hot chocolate, Antoinette,” said Fanny, who had been feeling greatly moved by Miss Montrose’s plight, but now was feeling more moved by her husband’s bare chest. “Thank you, Mary. And Antoinette, you go and congratulate Ambrose for doing what you told him to do when I was deciding on the best course of action.” She couldn’t help grumbling her displeasure again. “I don’t know why you even considered you had the right, for you don’t have all the facts. None of us do.” Antoinette was the younger sister, and Fanny knew she was the clever one.
“You were too much of a lie-a-bed, Fanny, and Ambrose was up early, and he, in fact, only met Whittlesea by chance.” Antoinette took her cup and saucer of hot chocolate and went to sit down at Fanny’s dressing table, despite her sister’s glare. “Anyway, I’d told Ambrose about Cousin George’s dastardly tactics, and so Ambrose decided that since he knew Devil didn’t have a chance of winning the race if he had to run the full course, he’d place a wager on him not winning, so that’s why he told Whittlesea what he did. Which was really the only thing to be done since it’s sure to get out. Except, of course, Cousin George doesn’t know we know, or that Whittlesea has been met by Jack with Devil.”
“And all this before I was even awake?” Fanny exclaimed.
“I’m sure you were awake, Fanny,” said Antoinette with a sly look. “Just not inclined to get out of bed right then. The race is due to start in two hours, and everyone’s going to be assembled in three hours at Bell’s Bottom to meet the winning horse as it breaks through Jackson’s Marsh and then crosses the flat. You’ll be there, won’t you? Ambrose and Quamby and I certainly will be.”
“Pass me my shawl, Fenton,” Fanny said imperiously as she swung her legs over the bed and pushed back her tumbled dark locks. “Of course I’m going to be there, but I have a few things to arrange first. I can’t believe you let me stay in bed so long.”
“I thought I was indulging you, dearest,” said Fenton with a wink at Antoinette. “Damned if I do and damned if I don’t. Now, I can see you’re in commandress mode, so you’ll find me in the breakfast parlour once you’re ready to issue orders. Come, Antoinette; let’s leave your sister to her toilette before a silver-backed hairbrush comes our way.”