The Betting Season (A Regency Season Book) (49 page)

Rangana reached out and took Patience’s hands in hers, pulling her down to sit next to her on the sofa. “You have been through much heartache, Patience. I do not blame you for feeling the way you have. I am only happy to know that we can be friends now.”

Patience nodded. “That would be nice.”

Rangana enveloped Patience in a warm hug. No one had ever hugged Patience with such love or compassion. Not even her own mother.

“
Shall we start our new friendship with me teaching you how to properly do needlepoint?” Patience asked.

A wide smile broke out on Rangana’s face. “I have a better idea.”

Tristan sat with his friends in the window of White’s, but his usual desire to laugh at or ogle the people who walked by just wasn’t there. As a matter of fact, he was barely there himself. No, he was far, far away.

Well, not that far away, really. Just on the other side of Mayfair, to be honest. He’d met with Patience’s father that morning to properly ask for her hand in marriage. Of course, Mr. Findley had been more than happy to oblige, seeing as his daughter had been caught in a dark corner of Vauxhall with Tristan’s hands all over her. And he’d been more than generous in terms of the dowry. Tristan would most certainly be able to afford the needed repairs on Hamlin Abbey now. Of course, he’d have to make good on his bet with the younger Mr. Findley first.

Despite the fact that he was getting what he needed out of the situation, he couldn’t seem to shake the dark cloud that rested over him. He wasn’t sure why it bothered him so much, but it did. The fact that Patience had never really cared for him made him rather ill. He hated to admit
why
it made him ill—even just thinking it caused his throat to close up. But he knew, deep down, that the reason he was bothered by it was because he cared for her.

No, he didn’t simply care for her; he loved her.

Damn it! How could this have happened to a man like him? He was London’s most notorious rake. The most sought after rogue who couldn’t be caught.

He’d been caught all right, and by the one woman who didn’t actually love him back.

“
You’re awfully quiet today.”

Tristan looked up to find Findley the Younger sitting right next to him. When had he gotten there?

“
Yes, well, I haven’t much to say,” he replied, attempting to return to the present with a shake of his head.

Findley chuckled. “That’s a first.” There was a pause and then, “I saw my uncle just now.”

Tristan sighed and took a swig of his scotch. It burned going down, but it was the most comforting thing in his life right now. “Then you know everything.”

“
I knew it all on Saturday night, when Montague dragged Patience back to my box.”

“
Yes, but then I suppose you knew everything from the start,” Tristan said, leveling his friend with a pointed gaze. “You placed the bet, after all. You both planned this together, didn’t you?”

It was Findley’s turn to heave a weighted sigh. “She begged me, and I don’t think I need to tell you how persuasive she can be.”

No, he didn’t. Patience knew exactly how to get a man to do whatever she wanted. The sad part was that Tristan had thought they’d forged something more—a friendship, at the very least. Nothing could have been further from the truth. He was simply a game for her. A way out, perhaps?

“
I do,” he finally replied. “And I can’t fault you for coming to the aid of your cousin. I suppose I would have done the same thing, had I a cousin so charming. I’ll be able to settle the bet as soon as we are married. Sorry you have to wait so long, but I haven’t got a dime to my name at the moment.”

Findley laughed. “You’re a good man, Swaffham, and don’t try to tell me otherwise. But you don’t owe me anything. I’m well off enough without your money. And you’re going to need it—Patience does like her fripperies, you know?”

It was true. Patience was always well outfitted. An advantage of having a father in silk trade, he supposed. Still, Tristan didn’t like to be indebted to anyone. “Thank you, but I’ll manage my wife just fine without the two hundred guineas. We had a bet, and I lost.”

“
I’ll only squander the money on booze and women, so really, you should keep it.”

Tristan couldn’t help but laugh. A few days ago, that would have been his intentions for any amount of money himself. But he had other things—other people—to consider now. It seemed Findley wasn’t going to let him settle the bet, anyhow.

“
I’ll set aside my best bottle of brandy for you at the wedding breakfast, then.”

Findley reached his hand across the table and Tristan shook it. “It’s a deal.”

“
Oh, good heavens, Patience!” Pippa looked as though she might fall right off the settee, so Patience reached out a hand to steady her just as Georgie snatched the little red book from Pippa’s hands.

As expected, Georgie let out a loud gasp when she opened the book, which made Moira jump from her seat to go and look over Georgie’s shoulder. At which point Moira turned bright pink and began to giggle uncontrollably.

Patience tsked. “Really, you’re all so immature. It’s a beautiful book, filled with all sorts of valuable information.”

“
How do you know?” Georgie asked, tearing her eyes away from the book. “You can’t read Hindi all of a sudden, can you?”

“
No.” Patience handed Pippa a cup of tea. “Sugar?”

“
Oh, yes, please,” Pippa said. “Three lumps.”

“
Patience!” Georgie was clearly not feeling terribly patient herself today.

“
Rangana has been translating for me.”

All three of her friend’s mouths dropped open in shock. She hadn’t had the opportunity to tell any of them about her newfound friendship with her stepmother.

“
I thought you hated her,” Moira whispered from across the room, which was ridiculous, because it was just about the loudest whisper Patience had ever heard.

Patience shrugged. “It’s a long story, so I’ll save it for another time. But let’s just say that Rangana and I have found
common ground
since my engagement.”

“
I still can’t believe you’re marrying him. He’s a rogue, you know?” Pippa sipped her tea with a smug look on her face.

“
I don’t think you have any room to talk, Pippa,” Patience replied. Pippa’s fiancé didn’t have the cleanest reputation, either, which was exactly the reason she’d be having a hasty wedding this weekend by special license. But Pippa did seem happy, and that was all that mattered. Patience just hoped St. Austell was just as excited for the union.

To be truthful, all four of them had stirred up quite a scandal this Season, and they weren’t even two weeks in. But here all of them were, ready to be married. At least Moira and Georgie were doing it properly with the banns and all.

“
Now, if you would all like for me to relay what I’ve learned so far, I would be more than willing to share.”

The three girls cast unsure glances at one another, but it was Moira who finally piped up. “It’s better than having my mother try and explain it to me. She’d probably suggest I dye my hair…” Moira blushed to her roots, but managed to squeak out, “down there!”

Patience couldn’t stop her giggles. “Heavens! That would be torture!”

“
Come now, your mother wouldn’t really, would she?” Georgie asked, appalled.

“
Never doubt the dowager countess,” Pippa said, setting her teacup and saucer on the table. “All right, teach me what you’ve learned. My wedding is much closer than I anticipated. I haven’t got much time. And heaven knows my brothers aren’t going to offer any advice on the subject.”

Patience’s friends stayed all afternoon, asking questions and turning the book every which way to get a better understanding of some of the odd positions. When they left, Patience wished they hadn’t. For just a little while, she’d been able to get Tristan out of her head, where he’d been taking up far too much space ever since Vauxhall. However, he’d yet to take up any space in her drawing room, and it was killing Patience from the inside out. She knew he’d stopped by to talk with her father, but that was on Monday when she’d gone to tea at Pippa’s.

She wandered around the house, aimlessly walking the corridors as she contemplated her situation. It was looking rather bleak. Her whole plan had gone as it was supposed to, so why did it feel as if it had gone completely wrong?

Tristan was angry with her and she couldn’t blame him. A mere apology wasn’t going to solve anything, Patience knew that. And it meant that she’d end up in an unhappy marriage, just like so many of her class.

She plopped down on the tufted bench in the rear corridor with a sigh. None of it would bother her if only she didn’t have to watch her friends—all three of them—in happy unions.

Patience hated herself for feeling jealous, but she couldn’t help it. Her heart was hurting, and there wasn’t a thing she could do about it.

Patience awoke on the morning of her wedding to dark skies and torrential rain outside her window, but she couldn’t bring herself to care. It was exactly three weeks to the day since they’d started reading the banns, and exactly three weeks and one day since she’d seen Tristan. She knew he was alive, so that was something. Though part of her would have found the situation easier to bear if he weren’t. At least then he’d have a valid excuse for not ever coming to visit his fiancée.

Patience laughed as her feet hit the Aubusson rug. Who was she kidding? Tristan had a very valid excuse for not coming to see her; several excuses, really. Lies, betrayal, entrapment. How could she blame him? She couldn’t, but it didn’t make it hurt any less. It didn’t make her dread her impending nuptials any less, either.

Would he ever forgive her? Or would he forever live in contempt of her?

“
Morning, miss,” Marcie said, quietly coming into the room. She’d had to listen to Patience lament over her fate for the last six weeks. She knew that this was not a terribly happy day. “I brought you some breakfast, should you care to eat it.”