He manhandled Alice, incoherent with rage, from her chair and locked an arm about her scrawny shoulders. With a strained smile for the rest of the company, he turned her and marched her, stiff-legged, from the room.
Slightly dazed, Patience watched them go. And wondered how she'd weathered potential calamity without uttering a single word.
The answer was obvious, but she didn't understand it.
Somewhat subdued, the rest of the household dispersed. All made a point of smiling at Patience, to show they hadn't believed Alice's slander.
Retreating to her room, Patience paced. Then she heard the tap of Minnie's cane in the corridor. An instant later, Minnie's door opened, then shut.
An instant after that, Patience tapped on the panels, then entered. Minnie was easing into an armchair by the windows. She beamed at Patience.
"Well! That was a bit of unexpected excitement."
Patience fought not to narrow her eyes. Indeed, she fought to retain a proper degree of calm in the face of Minnie's twinkling eyes. Timms's smug smile.
They knew. And that was even more scandalous, to her thinking, than the fact Vane had spent the night-a number of nights-in her bed.
Lips thinning, Patience swept to the windows, and fell to pacing alongside Minnie. "I need to explain-"
"No." Minnie held up a commanding hand. "Actually, you need to keep your lips shut and concentrate on not saying anything I don't wish to hear."
Patience stared at her; Minnie grinned.
"You don't understand-"
"On the contrary, I understand very well." Minnie's impish smile surfaced. "Better than you, I'll warrant."
"It's obvious," Timms chimed in. "But these things take time to sort themselves out."
They thought she and Vane would marry. Patience opened her mouth to set them right. Minnie caught her eye. Reading the stubborness behind Minnie's faded blue gaze, Patience snapped her lips shut. And muttered through them, "It's not that simple."
"Simple? Bah!" Minnie fluffed up her shawls. "You should be relieved. Simple and easy is never worthwhile."
Pacing again, Patience recalled similar words-after a moment, she placed them as Lucifer's-to Vane. Arms folded, pacing slowly, she wrestled with her thoughts, her feelings. She should, she supposed, feel some measure of guilt, of shame. She felt neither. She was twenty-six; she'd made a rational decision to take what life offered her-she'd embarked on an affair with an elegant gentleman with her eyes fully open. And she'd found happiness-perhaps not forever, but happiness nonetheless. Bright moments of glory infused with heady joy.
She felt no guilt, and not the slightest regret. Not even for Minnie would she deny the fulfillment she'd found in Vane's arms.
But honesty insisted she set the record straight-she couldn't leave Minnie imagining wedding bells on the breeze. Drawing a deep breath, she halted by Minnie's chair. "I haven't accepted Vane's proposal."
"Very wise." Timms bent over her stitching. "The last thing you want is a Cynster taking you for granted."
"What I'm trying to say-"
"Is that you're far too wise to accept without being convinced. Without gaining a few meaningful assurances." Minnie looked up at her. "My dear, you're going about this in precisely the right way. Cynsters never give ground easily-their version of the matter is that, once seized, things, even wives, become theirs. The fact that in the instance of a wife, they might need to negotiate a trifle won't at first enter their heads. And even when it does, they'll try to ignore the issue as far as you'll allow them. I'm really very proud of you, standing firm like this. Until you gain sufficient promises, sufficient concessions, you most certainly shouldn't agree."
Patience stood, stock-still, for a full minute, staring into Minnie's face. Then she blinked. "You do understand."
Minnie raised her brows. "Of course."
Timms snorted. "Just make sure he gets it right."
Minnie grinned. Reaching out, she squeezed Patience's hand. "It's up to you to judge what will finally tip the scales. However, I have a few sage words, if you'll accept advice from an old woman who knows both you and Vane better than either of you seem to realize?"
Patience blushed. She waited, suitably penitent.
Minnie's grin turned wry. "There are three things you should remember. One, Vane is not your father. Two, you are not your mother. And, three, don't imagine-not for a moment-that you won't be marrying Vane Cynster."
Patience looked long into Minnie's wise eyes, then turned aside and sank onto the window seat.
Minnie, of course, was right. She'd hit all three proverbial nails soundly on the head.
She had from the first visited her father's character on Vane. Now, holding one up against the other, that was patently a false image, a superficial glamor. Vane was an "elegant gentleman" in appearance only, not in character. Not in any of the ways that were important to her.
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."