A Rake's Vow (Cynster 2)

As for her not being her mother, that was unquestionably true. Her mother had possessed a quite different nature-if her mother had sighted her father going into a conservatory with a youthful beauty, she would have put on her most brittle smile and clung to the pretense of not knowing. Not for her such meekness.

She knew what would have transpired if the beauty Vane had retired with had not been so innocent-so related. It would not have been a pleasant scene. While her mother had accepted infidelity as her lot, she would accept no such thing.

If she married Vane… The thought drew her into a daydream-of ifs, buts, and possibilities. Of how they'd interact, adjust to each other, if she took the risk, grabbed fate by the throat, and accepted him. It was a full five minutes before her mind moved on and the implication of Minnie's third statement dawned.

Minnie had known Vane from childhood. She also understood her own dilemma, that she would insist on love as her talisman for the future. That she would not accept Vane without his love declared. And Minnie was sure, convinced beyond all possibility, that she and Vane would marry.

Patience blinked. Abruptly, she looked at Minnie and discovered her aunt waiting, watching, a deep smile in her old eyes.

"Oh." Lips lifting, her heart leaping, Patience could think of nothing more to say.

Minnie nodded. "Precisely."

The incident at breakfast cast a long shadow. When the household sat down to lunch, the conversation was subdued. Patience noted it, but, her heart light, paid it little heed. She was waiting, as patiently as she could, to see Vane. To look deep into his eyes, to search for what Minnie was so certain must be there, concealed behind his elegant gentleman's mask.

He hadn't appeared for their usual midmorning drive. As she settled her skirts, Patience wryly reflected that, even a few days ago, she would have interpreted his absence as evidence of waning desire. Now, buoyed by an inner confidence, she was convinced that only some urgent matter to do with Minnie's pearls would have kept him from her side. The inner glow that went with that confidence was very pleasant indeed.

Alice did not join the table. As if in apology for her morning's outburst, Whitticombe set himself to be more pleasant than usual. Edith Swithins, beside him, was the main beneficiary of his careful erudition. At the end of one particularly tedious explanation, she beamed.

"How fascinating." Her gaze alighted on Edgar, sitting opposite. "But dear Edgar has studied that period, too. As I recall, his conclusions were different?" Her tone made the words a question. Everyone at the table held their breath.

Except Edgar, who launched into his own perspective.

To everyone's amazement, even, Patience suspected, Edith's and Edgar's, Whitticombe listened. His attitude had about it the air of gritted teeth, but he heard Edgar out, then nodded curtly. "Quite possibly."

Patience caught Gerrard's eye and fought to suppress a giggle.

Edmond, still pale and limply disheveled, chased a pea around his plate. "Actually, I was wondering when we might be heading back to the Hall."

Patience stiffened. Beside her, Gerrard straightened. They both looked at Minnie.

So did Edmond. "I really should get on with my drama, and there's precious little inspiration, and a great deal of distraction, here in town."

Minnie smiled. "Bear with the foibles of an old lady, my dear. I've no immediate plans to return to the Hall. Besides, there's only a skeleton staff left-we gave the maids leave, and Cook has gone to visit her mother."

"Oh." Edmond blinked. "No cook. Ah." He subsided into silence.

Surreptitiously, Patience grimaced at Gerrard. He shook his head, then turned to speak to Henry.

Patience glanced-for the fiftieth time-at the clock.

The door opened; Masters entered, his expression stiff. Approaching Minnie's chair, he bent and spoke quietly. Minnie blanched. Her face grew instantly old.

From the end of the table, Patience looked her concern and her question. Minnie saw; sinking back in her chair, she gestured to Masters to speak.

He cleared his throat, gathering all attention. "Some… gentlemen from Bow Street have arrived. It seems a report was lodged. They've come with a warrant to search the house."

An instant of stunned silence ensued, then cacophony enlpted. Exclamations of shock and surprise came from all sides. Henry and Edmond competed for prominence.

Patience stared helplessly up the table at Minnie. Timms was patting Minnie's hand. The cacophony continued unabated. Lips setting, Patience grasped a soup ladle and wielded it against a dish cover.

The clangs cut through the din-and silenced the din makers. Patience raked the offenders with an irate glance. "Who? Who notified Bow Street?"

"I did." Pushing back his chair, the General stood. "Had to be done, don't y'know."

"Why?" Timms asked. "If Minnie'd wanted those dreadful Runners in her house, she'd have requested it."

The General flushed a choleric red. "Seemed that was the problem. Women-ladies. Too softhearted for your own good." He slid a glance Gerrard's way. "Had to be done-no sense in ducking it any longer. Not with the pearls missing, too." Regimentally stiff, the General drew himself upright. "I took it upon myself to notify the authorities. Acting on information received, don't y'know. Plain as a pikestaff it's young Debbington at fault. Search his room, and it'll all come to light."