A Rake's Vow (Cynster 2)

Henry beamed. He opened his lips-a knock cut off his words.

Brows rising, Patience turned to the door. "Come in."

As she'd half expected, it was Edmond. He'd brought his latest stanza. He beamed an ingenuous grin at both Patience and Henry. "Tell me what you think."

It wasn't just one stanza-to Patience, trying to follow the intricacies of his phrasing, it seemed more like half a canto.

Henry shifted and shuffled, his earlier brightness fading into petulance. Patience fought to stifle a yawn. Edmond prosed on.

And on.

When the next knock sounded, Patience turned eagerly, hoping for Masters or even a maid.

It was Penwick.

Patience gritted her teeth-and forced her lips to curve over them. Resigned, she held out her hand. "Good morning, sir. I trust you are well?"

"Indeed, my dear." Penwick bowed low-too low, he nearly hit his head on the side of the daybed. Pulling back just in time, he frowned-then banished the expression to smile, far too intently, into Patience's eyes. "I've been waiting to fill you in on the latest developments-the figures on production after we instituted the new rotation scheme. I know," he said, smiling fondly down at her, "how interested you are in 'our little patch.'"

"Ah-yes." What could she say? She'd always used agriculture, and having run the Grange for so long she had a more than passing knowledge of the subject, to distract Penwick. "Perhaps-?" She glanced hopefully at Henry. Tight-lipped, his gaze was fixed, not amiably, on Penwick. "Henry was just telling me how fine the weather's been these last few days."

Henry obligingly followed her lead. "Should stay fine for the foreseeable future. I was talking to Grisham only this morning-"

Unfortunately, despite considerable effort, Patience could not get Henry to switch to the effect of the weather on the crops, nor could she get Penwick to, as he usually did, distract Henry and himself with such matters.

To crown all, Edmond kept taking snippets from both Henry's and Penwick's words and fashioning them into verse, then, across whoever was speaking, trying to engage her in a discussion of how such verses might fit with the development of his drama.

Within five minutes, the conversation descended into a three-way tug-of-war for her attention-Patience was ready to throttle whichever foolish servant it was who'd divulged her up-until-then-secret location.

At the end of ten minutes, she was ready to throttle Henry, Edmond and Penwick as well. Henry held his position and pontificated on the elements; Edmond, nothing loath, was now talking of including mythological gods as commentators on his main characters' actions. Penwick, losing out to the chorus, puffed out his chest and portentously asked: "Where's Debbington? Surprised he isn't here, bearing you company."

"Oh, he tagged along with Cynster," Henry offhandedly informed him. "They escorted Angela and Mama to Northampton."

Finding Patience's gaze riveted on his face, Henry beamed at her. "Deal of sunshine, today-shouldn't wonder if Angela doesn't claim a turn in Cynster's curricle."

Patience's brows rose. "Indeed?"

There was a note in her voice which successfully halted all conversation; the three gentlemen, suddenly wary, glanced sidelong at each other.

"I think," Patience declared, "that I have rested long enough." Tossing aside the rug that had lain across her lap, she pushed herself to the edge of the daybed, and carefully let down her good leg, then the damaged one. "If you would be so good as to give me your arm…?"

They all rushed to help. In the end, it wasn't as easy as she'd thought-her knee was still tender, and very stiff. Taking her full weight on that leg was out of the question.

Which made the stairs impossible. Edmond and Henry made a chair of their arms; Patience sat and held their shoulders for balance. Puffed with importance, Penwick led the way down, talking all the while. Henry and Edmond couldn't talk-they were concentrating too much on balancing her weight down the steep stairs.

They made it to the front hall without mishap, and set her carefully on her feet on the tiles. By then Patience was having second thoughts-or rather, she would have entertained second thoughts, if she hadn't been so exercised by the news that Vane had taken Angela to Northampton.

That Angela had enjoyed the drive-would even now be enjoying the drive-she herself had fantasized over, but had, for the greater good, not sought to claim.

She was not in a very good mood.

"The back parlor," she declared. Leaning on both Henry's and Edmond's arms, she hobbled along between them, trying not to wince. Penwick rattled on, recounting the number of bushels "their little patch" had produced, his matrimonial assumptions waving like flags in his words. Patience gritted her teeth. Once they gained the back parlor, she would dismiss them all-and then, very carefully, massage her knee.

No one would look for her in the back parlor.

"You're not supposed to be on your feet."

The statement, uttered in a flat tone, filled the sudden gap where Penwick's babble had been.