The Accidental Groom (The Mad Matchmaking Men of Waterloo Book 2), page 17
“Ooh, how exciting.” Arabella grinned her cat-savoring-cream grin. “Congratulations, my friend. I couldn’t be happier for you.”
“Happy? You think me happy?” Patience groaned as she relived the tender recollection of last night. “I am not happy, I am disgusted. We shared a kiss. A simple kiss, and I walked into your front door like an addlepated schoolgirl. My nose still smarts.”
For a moment, Arabella just sat there. Then she burst into laughter, and Patience covered her face with her hands.
“Now, now.” Arabella snorted but quickly composed herself. “I am sure Lord Beaulieu found you quite charming, and your reaction did much to soothe his male pride.”
“His pride?” Patience choked on the words. “What of mine? I humiliated myself before my future husband.”
“You did no such thing.” Again, Arabella surrendered to unrestrained mirth. From her reticule she collected a handkerchief and daubed the corners of her eyes. “I wager Beaulieu found your actions rather flattering. Trust me, men, especially husbands, need to be desired. If he had any doubts as to the constancy of your affection, I should say you dispelled them in dramatic fashion.”
“You do not think me a clumsy nincompoop?” Patience inquired in a soft tone. “You do not think he regrets offering for me, because I wanted to die? I ran upstairs whereupon I collapsed and sat on the top step for how long I am not sure. When I finally made it to my bedchamber, I hardly slept a wink.”
“Dearest friend, you make too much of what happened.” Arabella waved to a grey-haired woman. “Trust me, Beaulieu viewed your behavior as a testament to his rakish skills. I guarantee he is pleased. Now then, allow me to introduce you to an indispensable ally in the marital bed.”
“Ah, Lady Rockingham.” The stodgy character made no attempt to disguise her scrutiny of Patience. “And you have brought with you a new customer, oui?”
“Indeed.” Arabella nodded. “Madame Chiasson, I present Miss Patience Wallace, soon to be the Countess of Beaulieu.”
“Oh, Miss Wallace, you do us a very great honor. I read of your engagement in the paper, and you are the talk of London.” Madame Chiasson curtseyed and signaled for Patience and Arabella to follow her. Over her shoulder, she said, “So you are here to purchase something special for the occasion, n’est-ce pas?”
“Oui, Madame.” Arabella caught Patience by the elbow. “And I am in need of a new distraction for Lord Rockingham. By the by, he adored the rich blue ensemble you created for me.”
“I am not surprised, and we talked about black the last time.” Madame Chiasson held up a scrap of lace. “What about this?”
“Marvelous.” While Patience tried to wrap her brain around what she witnessed, Arabella examined the sheer material. “Have you a matching garter? And have you anything in red?”
“Of course, and let me see what is available in the sewing room.” Madame Chiasson walked to a side door. “And for Miss Wallace, I think I have something to complement her eyes.”
“Arabella, where have you brought me?” Alone with her friend, Patience yielded to panic and wrenched Arabella’s arm. “And to what purpose?”
“Relax.” Arabella assessed the delicate garment that functioned as more an afterthought than serviceable clothing. “Is this not stunning?”
“I am not sure.” Entirely out of sorts, and pulse racing wildly, Patience blinked. “What is it?”
“What do you think?” Arabella smiled. “It is a gift for my husband. Anthony testifies before the Wakefield Commission tomorrow, and I would ensure he sleeps tonight. This should suit my needs.”
“How so?” Patience draped the diaphanous garment across her palm and gulped. “Do you mean you intend for him to wear this? For Lord Rockingham, that is?”
“Of course, not,” Arabella stated with an expression of unimpeachable confidence. “I shall don it for his pleasure. Thereafter, I will seduce him. I will exercise and exhaust my husband thoroughly, and then he will rest. Ah, such is the sacrifice a dutiful wife must make on behalf of her spouse.”
“Arabella, you quite take my breath away.” Patience clutched her throat. “Do I dare inquire after the details?”
“I should think so, given you are to marry Beaulieu.” Arabella clucked her tongue. “Even before I wed Anthony, I heard tales of Beaulieu’s exploits in the provocative arena. I should prefer you approach your wedding night with a proper education. Besides, women should discuss such topics. Lord knows that particular aspect of connubial expectations is entirely ignored in our studies. Did you finish reading the books I gave you?”
“Well, I completed the one by Cleland.” Patience shuddered as she contemplated the licentious tome. “But I simply could not continue with Aretino. Really, I never imagined such things possible. And you are not going to pretend you got those works from the Temple of the Muses.”
“Certainly not.” Arabella humphed. “I did what any woman of sound judgement and resourcefulness would do. I borrowed them from Anthony’s private library.”
“With his permission?” At the prospect, Patience suspected she might swoon. “He knows of your…hobby?”
“Do I look like a harebrained ninny?” Arabella scoffed. “My dear friend, I am rather more than seven, and you underestimate my capability as a temptress. I simply took them when he was unaware, and I shall return them in much the same fashion, once we have completed your salacious tutelage.”
“But, will he not be angry if he discovers your questionable behavior?” Patience stepped close and whispered, “Is Lord Rockingham privy to your interests?”
“I should say so.” Holding the titillating item to her bosom, Arabella studied her reflection in a long mirror. “It was Anthony who first loaned the Aretino to me. Later, I took the Cleland one evening while he was at White’s. In the ensuing months, we improvised many of the intricate techniques to mutual satisfaction, and there is nothing wrong with that.”
“It is just not something I ever considered acceptable for a well-bred lady.” Patience worried her bottom lip. “But I want to please Beaulieu. I refuse to become a typical society wife, adopting an air of indifference and looking aside while my husband spends his nights with his latest mistress.”
“You know, Anthony explained it best.” Arabella pressed a finger to her chin and inclined her head. “He said that if I could teach him to gratify me, I would fulfill him. And I have endeavored to do so ever since. What I realized is that, for all their professed bravado, men are quite fragile when it comes to seduction. They require encouragement and praise to perform what comes naturally. In the bedroom, they want us to believe they are cavalier, when they are really sensitive creatures prone to insecurity.”
“What a curious statement.” As Patience pondered the tantalizing assertion and its myriad consequences, Madame Chiasson returned.
“Apologies for the wait.” Madame Chiasson set a stack of garments on a table and pulled a particular item from the pile. Holding what appeared to be a gossamer robe, she said, “This is the latest design from Paris. It would be perfect for Mademoiselle Wallace on her wedding night.”
“Indeed, it is lovely.” Patience studied her reflection, turning from side to side. “Is there a matching night rail?”
“No.” Madame Chiasson frowned and wagged a finger. “No, no. Mademoiselle, we do not cover ourselves on our wedding night. It is a special occasion, and we must focus Lord Beaulieu’s attention on your considerable charms, and trust that nature will do the rest.”
“Daresay, it will.” Arabella smirked. “But you really should try it on so Madame Chiasson can fit it to you.”
“How could it not?” Patience ignored her hammering heartbeat. “There is not much to it.”
“Lady Rockingham is correct.” Madame Chiasson led Patience to a small corner and drew a curtain. “Now, take off your clothes, and I will record your measurements.”
Patience tugged at her simple dress of sprigged muslin and enacted a strange dance before wrenching free. Then she doffed her chemise. Standing nude but for her garters, hose, and slippers, she cleared her throat and draped the transparent garment over her shoulders. She inhaled a deep breath and summoned courage.
“All right.” With a sweep of her hand, she pulled back the curtain halfway. “How do I look?”
“It is too long.” Madame Chiasson knelt and grasped a fistful of the fabric. “I must hem the gown.”
“And the shoulders are too broad.” Arabella narrowed her stare and tapped her cheek. “Perhaps a touch of lace at the opening would be nice. Something to call attention to her physical attributes.”
“As always, Lady Rockingham’s taste is excellent.” Madame Chiasson sat on her ankles and furrowed her brow. Then she stood and noted various measurements. “But I think silver embroidery may be better, in specific places, to attract the male gaze to certain aspects of Mademoiselle Wallace’s figure. After all, we must use every weapon at our disposal to bring your husband to his knees.”
“What a marvelous idea.” Arabella glanced at Patience and nodded with enthusiasm. “But nothing else. I believe the gown will suffice, and it is doubtful she will wear it very long.”
“If that is meant to inspire confidence, you failed miserably.” Patience wanted to flee. To run away and never look back. Not because she didn’t want Beaulieu. Rather, she feared she was unprepared to fulfill the duties of his wife.
Regardless of her education, she realized there was still so much she didn’t know about married life and least of all the lingering effects of war. That she could not ignore. However, when she considered her groom’s torment.
His palpable anguish. She resolved to persevere, but everything inside her rebelled.
“Oh, Arabella, I am afraid. I am terrified I will disappoint him. What if I fail? What if all I do is for naught, and Rawden remains locked in a prison of his own making? What then?”
“Shh.” Arabella clutched Patience’s hands. “Remember, you are not alone. You have me, and you have Dr. Handley. Together, we will find a way forward for you and Beaulieu. Now, get dressed, because we are due at home.”
“Of course.” That was a request Patience was more than happy to honor. After quickly pulling on and securing her gown, and allowing Arabella to tie her laces, Patience fixed her poke bonnet and gathered her cloak and gloves. “All right. I am ready to depart for Rockingham House.”
“Let us away.” Arabella collected her parcels. Then she said to Madame Chiasson, “You may send the rest of our order when the items are completed. And I would commission something in burgundy, perhaps, with seed pearls.”
“Oui, Lady Rockingham.” Madame Chiasson curtseyed. “It is always an honor.”
“Thank you, Madame Chiasson,” Arabella replied with an air of nonchalance.
“It was lovely to meet you.” Patience dipped her chin. “If it is not too much trouble, I should like an ensemble in pale blue embroidered with old gold or an Alençon lace overlay.”
“But, of course, it is no trouble at all, and the lace would look best.” Madame Chiasson smiled. “Your other purchases will be delivered by the end of the week, Mademoiselle Wallace.”
Together, Patience and Arabella returned to the Rockingham coach. No sooner had Patience eased to the squabs than the coachman set a course for Grosvenor Square, at Arabella’s insistence.
“What is the hurry?” Patience struggled to pull herself upright. “Is there a matter of utmost importance I missed?”
“Anthony should be home, and I don’t want to leave him alone with his thoughts, because he often imagines the most horrible things.” Arabella peered out the window and frowned. “I will not sit idly while he suffers. If I could spare him tomorrow, I would. Since he cannot avoid testifying before the Wakefield Commission, and he would help those veterans still imprisoned in asylums, abandoned by the very country for which they bravely fought, I would occupy my husband. I would focus his attention on me that I might ease his agony.”
Patience noted the rigid set of her friend’s jaw. The stress that invested her shoulders as she stretched upright and gave her attention to the passing landscape. Arabella loved Lord Rockingham. Patience knew that the night of their engagement dinner. Had seen the way her usually independent chum doted on the reluctant marquess. How she rushed to his aid when he sought her company.
The coach slowed to a halt before Rockingham House, and Arabella opened the door and disembarked before the footmen were in place to assist her. Patience followed in Arabella’s footsteps and entered the home as the butler appeared in the foyer.
“Good afternoon, Your Ladyship.” Merriweather bowed and appeared a tad put out that Arabella had already doffed her outerwear. “I apologize I was not here to greet you upon your return.”
“Posh.” Arabella waved dismissively. “Is Lord Rockingham in residence?”
“Yes, my lady.” The butler nodded. “He is only just arrived and takes a brandy with Lord Beaulieu in the study.”
“Then I shall join him.” Arabella grabbed Patience by the wrist. “Come. Let us welcome our men.”
Patience fought to keep pace, as Arabella all but ran down the hall. Without knocking, she grabbed the knob and thrust open the heavy oak panel.
“Hello, my cherished lord.” Arabella rounded the large desk and stepped about Lord Rockingham’s knees. He eased back in his chair just as she plopped into his lap. “Did you miss me?”
“Always, when we are apart.” Lord Rockingham smiled. “Have you been shopping?”
“Yes.” Arabella cast her husband a side glance, and Patience shuffled her feet beneath the weight of Beaulieu’s stare. “We added to Miss Wallace’s trousseau.”
“And broke my bank account in the process.” Lord Rockingham chuckled. “Have we any money left?”
“Plenty, darling.” Arabella bit her bottom lip. “Although I spent a frightful amount at Le Petit Oiseau.”
The atmosphere in the room changed in that moment. Lord Rockingham blinked and sputtered. Then he downed his brandy and stood, lifting Arabella from his lap.
“Beaulieu, I believe we are done here, and my marchioness requires my company, unreservedly.” Lord Rockingham led Arabella to the door. “I will see you in the morning.”
As soon as the couple exited the study, Arabella shrieked, and Lord Rockingham chuckled.
With a devilishly rakish expression, Rawden gave Patience his full attention. “And what, if anything, did Miss Wallace procure from Le Petit Oiseau?”
“You know the merchant?” she replied, feigning casual indifference.
“Oh, yes.” He leaped from his chair and cornered her against a wall. She found herself set upon by over six feet of aroused male. “Tell me, what did you purchase?”
“A lovely garment for our wedding night.” She gasped when he thrust his face into the crook of her neck. Arabella, God bless her, had been right. The mere hint of seduction altered Rawden’s personality in Patience’s favor, and she realized, without doubt, she could help him. She would use every weapon at her disposal to heal or at least soothe his invisible wounds. Licking her lips, she sighed. “And a few other items.”
“Madame Chiasson has my eternal gratitude,” he stated between tender nibbles of her flesh. At one time, she would have rebuffed his advances. Instead, she wrapped her arms about his waist in implicit consent. “Any particular color?”
“I am not telling.” She giggled when he caught her ear lobe between his teeth. “It is a surprise, and I refuse to spoil it.”
“How exceedingly cruel, my dear.” Before she could respond, he kissed her. In play, he suckled her tongue and then lifted his head. “Have dinner with me. You know there is no way Lord and Lady Rockingham will emerge from their quarters prior to sunrise, tomorrow. Dine with me—not from any sense of duty as my fiancée but because you want to be with me.”
All her doubts seemed to fade in an instant, given his earnest request. “Lord Beaulieu, it would be my pleasure.”
*
On an unforgiving wooden bench Rawden shifted his weight, as he perched beside Patience. Behind him, Warrington, Lord Michael, and Greyson gathered. Sitting at a table, and surrounded by Lady Rockingham and a solicitor, Lord Rockingham provided testimony, in chilling and graphic detail, before the Wakefield Commission.
Tasked by the Parliamentary Committee on Madhouses, Edward Wakefield, a prominent statistician, investigated and revealed numerous abuses in the asylums charged with managing those deemed incapable of caring for themselves. For the wealthy, like the Duke of Swanborough, Lord Rockingham’s father, involuntary commitment of his only surviving son evidenced a lucrative business exploited by medical professionals peddling a variety of cures for the right price. With each successive description of the hell Rockingham endured in Little Bethlem, Rawden grew tense.
“I was beaten. I was starved. I was forced to persist in my own waste. I was stripped of my clothes and restrained. I endured what is referred to as cold baths, in which I was left naked and submerged to my neck in a frigid pond overnight. It is by sheer luck and force of will that I s-survived.” Rockingham’s voiced cracked, and he cleared his throat. “Dr. Shaw treated me like an animal, not a man. He did so while assuring my family that I was being properly tended. In truth, I was being tortured to the point of near death. I was robbed of my dignity and my humanity and almost my life.”
Struggling to remain calm, when the overpowering urge to run grew ever more enticing, Rawden drew a handkerchief from his coat pocket and daubed his brow. His ears rang, and his heart hammered in his chest. When Patience clutched his hand, he flinched. He peered at her, and she scooted closer. He bent his head.
“It is all right, Rawden,” she whispered. “I am here, and I will never let anyone hurt you.”
“But I was not injured by Rockingham’s confinement,” he responded in a low voice.
“Were you not?” With her thumb, she caressed his heated palm, and he relaxed his shoulders. “Has not any wounded warrior cause for concern, given what happened to Lord Rockingham? That a man of his stature and rank could be deprived of liberty and brutalized should worry every veteran who served.”
“Happy? You think me happy?” Patience groaned as she relived the tender recollection of last night. “I am not happy, I am disgusted. We shared a kiss. A simple kiss, and I walked into your front door like an addlepated schoolgirl. My nose still smarts.”
For a moment, Arabella just sat there. Then she burst into laughter, and Patience covered her face with her hands.
“Now, now.” Arabella snorted but quickly composed herself. “I am sure Lord Beaulieu found you quite charming, and your reaction did much to soothe his male pride.”
“His pride?” Patience choked on the words. “What of mine? I humiliated myself before my future husband.”
“You did no such thing.” Again, Arabella surrendered to unrestrained mirth. From her reticule she collected a handkerchief and daubed the corners of her eyes. “I wager Beaulieu found your actions rather flattering. Trust me, men, especially husbands, need to be desired. If he had any doubts as to the constancy of your affection, I should say you dispelled them in dramatic fashion.”
“You do not think me a clumsy nincompoop?” Patience inquired in a soft tone. “You do not think he regrets offering for me, because I wanted to die? I ran upstairs whereupon I collapsed and sat on the top step for how long I am not sure. When I finally made it to my bedchamber, I hardly slept a wink.”
“Dearest friend, you make too much of what happened.” Arabella waved to a grey-haired woman. “Trust me, Beaulieu viewed your behavior as a testament to his rakish skills. I guarantee he is pleased. Now then, allow me to introduce you to an indispensable ally in the marital bed.”
“Ah, Lady Rockingham.” The stodgy character made no attempt to disguise her scrutiny of Patience. “And you have brought with you a new customer, oui?”
“Indeed.” Arabella nodded. “Madame Chiasson, I present Miss Patience Wallace, soon to be the Countess of Beaulieu.”
“Oh, Miss Wallace, you do us a very great honor. I read of your engagement in the paper, and you are the talk of London.” Madame Chiasson curtseyed and signaled for Patience and Arabella to follow her. Over her shoulder, she said, “So you are here to purchase something special for the occasion, n’est-ce pas?”
“Oui, Madame.” Arabella caught Patience by the elbow. “And I am in need of a new distraction for Lord Rockingham. By the by, he adored the rich blue ensemble you created for me.”
“I am not surprised, and we talked about black the last time.” Madame Chiasson held up a scrap of lace. “What about this?”
“Marvelous.” While Patience tried to wrap her brain around what she witnessed, Arabella examined the sheer material. “Have you a matching garter? And have you anything in red?”
“Of course, and let me see what is available in the sewing room.” Madame Chiasson walked to a side door. “And for Miss Wallace, I think I have something to complement her eyes.”
“Arabella, where have you brought me?” Alone with her friend, Patience yielded to panic and wrenched Arabella’s arm. “And to what purpose?”
“Relax.” Arabella assessed the delicate garment that functioned as more an afterthought than serviceable clothing. “Is this not stunning?”
“I am not sure.” Entirely out of sorts, and pulse racing wildly, Patience blinked. “What is it?”
“What do you think?” Arabella smiled. “It is a gift for my husband. Anthony testifies before the Wakefield Commission tomorrow, and I would ensure he sleeps tonight. This should suit my needs.”
“How so?” Patience draped the diaphanous garment across her palm and gulped. “Do you mean you intend for him to wear this? For Lord Rockingham, that is?”
“Of course, not,” Arabella stated with an expression of unimpeachable confidence. “I shall don it for his pleasure. Thereafter, I will seduce him. I will exercise and exhaust my husband thoroughly, and then he will rest. Ah, such is the sacrifice a dutiful wife must make on behalf of her spouse.”
“Arabella, you quite take my breath away.” Patience clutched her throat. “Do I dare inquire after the details?”
“I should think so, given you are to marry Beaulieu.” Arabella clucked her tongue. “Even before I wed Anthony, I heard tales of Beaulieu’s exploits in the provocative arena. I should prefer you approach your wedding night with a proper education. Besides, women should discuss such topics. Lord knows that particular aspect of connubial expectations is entirely ignored in our studies. Did you finish reading the books I gave you?”
“Well, I completed the one by Cleland.” Patience shuddered as she contemplated the licentious tome. “But I simply could not continue with Aretino. Really, I never imagined such things possible. And you are not going to pretend you got those works from the Temple of the Muses.”
“Certainly not.” Arabella humphed. “I did what any woman of sound judgement and resourcefulness would do. I borrowed them from Anthony’s private library.”
“With his permission?” At the prospect, Patience suspected she might swoon. “He knows of your…hobby?”
“Do I look like a harebrained ninny?” Arabella scoffed. “My dear friend, I am rather more than seven, and you underestimate my capability as a temptress. I simply took them when he was unaware, and I shall return them in much the same fashion, once we have completed your salacious tutelage.”
“But, will he not be angry if he discovers your questionable behavior?” Patience stepped close and whispered, “Is Lord Rockingham privy to your interests?”
“I should say so.” Holding the titillating item to her bosom, Arabella studied her reflection in a long mirror. “It was Anthony who first loaned the Aretino to me. Later, I took the Cleland one evening while he was at White’s. In the ensuing months, we improvised many of the intricate techniques to mutual satisfaction, and there is nothing wrong with that.”
“It is just not something I ever considered acceptable for a well-bred lady.” Patience worried her bottom lip. “But I want to please Beaulieu. I refuse to become a typical society wife, adopting an air of indifference and looking aside while my husband spends his nights with his latest mistress.”
“You know, Anthony explained it best.” Arabella pressed a finger to her chin and inclined her head. “He said that if I could teach him to gratify me, I would fulfill him. And I have endeavored to do so ever since. What I realized is that, for all their professed bravado, men are quite fragile when it comes to seduction. They require encouragement and praise to perform what comes naturally. In the bedroom, they want us to believe they are cavalier, when they are really sensitive creatures prone to insecurity.”
“What a curious statement.” As Patience pondered the tantalizing assertion and its myriad consequences, Madame Chiasson returned.
“Apologies for the wait.” Madame Chiasson set a stack of garments on a table and pulled a particular item from the pile. Holding what appeared to be a gossamer robe, she said, “This is the latest design from Paris. It would be perfect for Mademoiselle Wallace on her wedding night.”
“Indeed, it is lovely.” Patience studied her reflection, turning from side to side. “Is there a matching night rail?”
“No.” Madame Chiasson frowned and wagged a finger. “No, no. Mademoiselle, we do not cover ourselves on our wedding night. It is a special occasion, and we must focus Lord Beaulieu’s attention on your considerable charms, and trust that nature will do the rest.”
“Daresay, it will.” Arabella smirked. “But you really should try it on so Madame Chiasson can fit it to you.”
“How could it not?” Patience ignored her hammering heartbeat. “There is not much to it.”
“Lady Rockingham is correct.” Madame Chiasson led Patience to a small corner and drew a curtain. “Now, take off your clothes, and I will record your measurements.”
Patience tugged at her simple dress of sprigged muslin and enacted a strange dance before wrenching free. Then she doffed her chemise. Standing nude but for her garters, hose, and slippers, she cleared her throat and draped the transparent garment over her shoulders. She inhaled a deep breath and summoned courage.
“All right.” With a sweep of her hand, she pulled back the curtain halfway. “How do I look?”
“It is too long.” Madame Chiasson knelt and grasped a fistful of the fabric. “I must hem the gown.”
“And the shoulders are too broad.” Arabella narrowed her stare and tapped her cheek. “Perhaps a touch of lace at the opening would be nice. Something to call attention to her physical attributes.”
“As always, Lady Rockingham’s taste is excellent.” Madame Chiasson sat on her ankles and furrowed her brow. Then she stood and noted various measurements. “But I think silver embroidery may be better, in specific places, to attract the male gaze to certain aspects of Mademoiselle Wallace’s figure. After all, we must use every weapon at our disposal to bring your husband to his knees.”
“What a marvelous idea.” Arabella glanced at Patience and nodded with enthusiasm. “But nothing else. I believe the gown will suffice, and it is doubtful she will wear it very long.”
“If that is meant to inspire confidence, you failed miserably.” Patience wanted to flee. To run away and never look back. Not because she didn’t want Beaulieu. Rather, she feared she was unprepared to fulfill the duties of his wife.
Regardless of her education, she realized there was still so much she didn’t know about married life and least of all the lingering effects of war. That she could not ignore. However, when she considered her groom’s torment.
His palpable anguish. She resolved to persevere, but everything inside her rebelled.
“Oh, Arabella, I am afraid. I am terrified I will disappoint him. What if I fail? What if all I do is for naught, and Rawden remains locked in a prison of his own making? What then?”
“Shh.” Arabella clutched Patience’s hands. “Remember, you are not alone. You have me, and you have Dr. Handley. Together, we will find a way forward for you and Beaulieu. Now, get dressed, because we are due at home.”
“Of course.” That was a request Patience was more than happy to honor. After quickly pulling on and securing her gown, and allowing Arabella to tie her laces, Patience fixed her poke bonnet and gathered her cloak and gloves. “All right. I am ready to depart for Rockingham House.”
“Let us away.” Arabella collected her parcels. Then she said to Madame Chiasson, “You may send the rest of our order when the items are completed. And I would commission something in burgundy, perhaps, with seed pearls.”
“Oui, Lady Rockingham.” Madame Chiasson curtseyed. “It is always an honor.”
“Thank you, Madame Chiasson,” Arabella replied with an air of nonchalance.
“It was lovely to meet you.” Patience dipped her chin. “If it is not too much trouble, I should like an ensemble in pale blue embroidered with old gold or an Alençon lace overlay.”
“But, of course, it is no trouble at all, and the lace would look best.” Madame Chiasson smiled. “Your other purchases will be delivered by the end of the week, Mademoiselle Wallace.”
Together, Patience and Arabella returned to the Rockingham coach. No sooner had Patience eased to the squabs than the coachman set a course for Grosvenor Square, at Arabella’s insistence.
“What is the hurry?” Patience struggled to pull herself upright. “Is there a matter of utmost importance I missed?”
“Anthony should be home, and I don’t want to leave him alone with his thoughts, because he often imagines the most horrible things.” Arabella peered out the window and frowned. “I will not sit idly while he suffers. If I could spare him tomorrow, I would. Since he cannot avoid testifying before the Wakefield Commission, and he would help those veterans still imprisoned in asylums, abandoned by the very country for which they bravely fought, I would occupy my husband. I would focus his attention on me that I might ease his agony.”
Patience noted the rigid set of her friend’s jaw. The stress that invested her shoulders as she stretched upright and gave her attention to the passing landscape. Arabella loved Lord Rockingham. Patience knew that the night of their engagement dinner. Had seen the way her usually independent chum doted on the reluctant marquess. How she rushed to his aid when he sought her company.
The coach slowed to a halt before Rockingham House, and Arabella opened the door and disembarked before the footmen were in place to assist her. Patience followed in Arabella’s footsteps and entered the home as the butler appeared in the foyer.
“Good afternoon, Your Ladyship.” Merriweather bowed and appeared a tad put out that Arabella had already doffed her outerwear. “I apologize I was not here to greet you upon your return.”
“Posh.” Arabella waved dismissively. “Is Lord Rockingham in residence?”
“Yes, my lady.” The butler nodded. “He is only just arrived and takes a brandy with Lord Beaulieu in the study.”
“Then I shall join him.” Arabella grabbed Patience by the wrist. “Come. Let us welcome our men.”
Patience fought to keep pace, as Arabella all but ran down the hall. Without knocking, she grabbed the knob and thrust open the heavy oak panel.
“Hello, my cherished lord.” Arabella rounded the large desk and stepped about Lord Rockingham’s knees. He eased back in his chair just as she plopped into his lap. “Did you miss me?”
“Always, when we are apart.” Lord Rockingham smiled. “Have you been shopping?”
“Yes.” Arabella cast her husband a side glance, and Patience shuffled her feet beneath the weight of Beaulieu’s stare. “We added to Miss Wallace’s trousseau.”
“And broke my bank account in the process.” Lord Rockingham chuckled. “Have we any money left?”
“Plenty, darling.” Arabella bit her bottom lip. “Although I spent a frightful amount at Le Petit Oiseau.”
The atmosphere in the room changed in that moment. Lord Rockingham blinked and sputtered. Then he downed his brandy and stood, lifting Arabella from his lap.
“Beaulieu, I believe we are done here, and my marchioness requires my company, unreservedly.” Lord Rockingham led Arabella to the door. “I will see you in the morning.”
As soon as the couple exited the study, Arabella shrieked, and Lord Rockingham chuckled.
With a devilishly rakish expression, Rawden gave Patience his full attention. “And what, if anything, did Miss Wallace procure from Le Petit Oiseau?”
“You know the merchant?” she replied, feigning casual indifference.
“Oh, yes.” He leaped from his chair and cornered her against a wall. She found herself set upon by over six feet of aroused male. “Tell me, what did you purchase?”
“A lovely garment for our wedding night.” She gasped when he thrust his face into the crook of her neck. Arabella, God bless her, had been right. The mere hint of seduction altered Rawden’s personality in Patience’s favor, and she realized, without doubt, she could help him. She would use every weapon at her disposal to heal or at least soothe his invisible wounds. Licking her lips, she sighed. “And a few other items.”
“Madame Chiasson has my eternal gratitude,” he stated between tender nibbles of her flesh. At one time, she would have rebuffed his advances. Instead, she wrapped her arms about his waist in implicit consent. “Any particular color?”
“I am not telling.” She giggled when he caught her ear lobe between his teeth. “It is a surprise, and I refuse to spoil it.”
“How exceedingly cruel, my dear.” Before she could respond, he kissed her. In play, he suckled her tongue and then lifted his head. “Have dinner with me. You know there is no way Lord and Lady Rockingham will emerge from their quarters prior to sunrise, tomorrow. Dine with me—not from any sense of duty as my fiancée but because you want to be with me.”
All her doubts seemed to fade in an instant, given his earnest request. “Lord Beaulieu, it would be my pleasure.”
*
On an unforgiving wooden bench Rawden shifted his weight, as he perched beside Patience. Behind him, Warrington, Lord Michael, and Greyson gathered. Sitting at a table, and surrounded by Lady Rockingham and a solicitor, Lord Rockingham provided testimony, in chilling and graphic detail, before the Wakefield Commission.
Tasked by the Parliamentary Committee on Madhouses, Edward Wakefield, a prominent statistician, investigated and revealed numerous abuses in the asylums charged with managing those deemed incapable of caring for themselves. For the wealthy, like the Duke of Swanborough, Lord Rockingham’s father, involuntary commitment of his only surviving son evidenced a lucrative business exploited by medical professionals peddling a variety of cures for the right price. With each successive description of the hell Rockingham endured in Little Bethlem, Rawden grew tense.
“I was beaten. I was starved. I was forced to persist in my own waste. I was stripped of my clothes and restrained. I endured what is referred to as cold baths, in which I was left naked and submerged to my neck in a frigid pond overnight. It is by sheer luck and force of will that I s-survived.” Rockingham’s voiced cracked, and he cleared his throat. “Dr. Shaw treated me like an animal, not a man. He did so while assuring my family that I was being properly tended. In truth, I was being tortured to the point of near death. I was robbed of my dignity and my humanity and almost my life.”
Struggling to remain calm, when the overpowering urge to run grew ever more enticing, Rawden drew a handkerchief from his coat pocket and daubed his brow. His ears rang, and his heart hammered in his chest. When Patience clutched his hand, he flinched. He peered at her, and she scooted closer. He bent his head.
“It is all right, Rawden,” she whispered. “I am here, and I will never let anyone hurt you.”
“But I was not injured by Rockingham’s confinement,” he responded in a low voice.
“Were you not?” With her thumb, she caressed his heated palm, and he relaxed his shoulders. “Has not any wounded warrior cause for concern, given what happened to Lord Rockingham? That a man of his stature and rank could be deprived of liberty and brutalized should worry every veteran who served.”
