A Christmas Dance (3 page)

The moment he reached them, Patience placed a gentle hand on his arm. “Mr. Meldrin is having the carriage brought to the front. If you would sit for a minute, we’ll have you out and--”

“No. No. Don’t trouble yourselves.” The man shook his head, and danced away from Patience’s grasp. “I’d something to do. Something. . .Ah!” He jabbed his finger up as he had in the library. “It goes round! It does! I need my workshop!”

“You’ll have it. If you’ll just. . .”

But he wasn’t listening to her. With a final whoop of excitement, he spun on his heel and dashed out the front door.

* * *

They found him twenty minutes later--trotting briskly down the street, grinning broadly and babbling cheerfully about going round the magnet. It took very little effort to convince him to get into the carriage, and it was a simple enough task to bring him home, press a bit of laudanum into him, and tuck him into bed. He was, at least, a congenial sort of madman.

No small blessing, Patience told herself as she took a seat next to his bedside. He liked having someone sit by him at times like this, just as he liked to fiddle with his compass as the medicine settled his overwrought system, pulling him toward sleep.

He tapped at the front of the compass. “Goes round you see. It all goes round.”

“Mm-hm.”

“Explains everything.”

He had insisted for years that it explained everything, but there was little point in reminding him. He’d only forget again, and it gave him such pleasure each time he remembered.

Accustomed to the ritual, Patience pried off her slippers with her toes and settled back in her chair. “I did something very bad tonight,” she told him, knowing full well the confession would accomplish nothing. The man before her didn’t know her from Eve at present, which meant he’d forget the entire
conversation by tomorrow. But the talking seemed to soothe him, and her nagging conscience.

“Did you now?” he asked absently.

“I pretended not to know a member of my family.”

“Ah, now, that’s no good. Important things, families. Important things. I’ve one of my own.”

“I know.”

“A daughter.” He turned the compass, frowned at it. “Nice girl. Used to bring me tea.”

“Would you like some--”

“Always put too much cream in it, though.”

That startled a laugh out of her. “Did she? Why didn’t you say so?”

“Tea is tea, and you know these young girls. They’ll fly off at the slightest provocation.” He yawned hugely. “Tell them their gowns are lovely, and they’ll think you’re insulting their hats.”

She took the compass from hands that had grown lax. “I rather doubt she’s as sensitive as all that.”

“Never know with girls.” His eyelids drooped. “Boys are easier. Should have had one of those.”

“Boys aren’t likely to bring you tea. Overly creamed, or otherwise.”

“All the same. Boys are easier.”

“I rather wonder if mothers aren’t as well,” she said quietly and watched as his eyes closed and his breathing evened out in sleep. She stood and bent down to place a gentle kiss on the wrinkled brow of Sir Franklin Byerly. “I’m sorry, Papa.”

* * *

Patience left her father to sleep and made her way downstairs, where the voices of Mr. and Mrs. Meldrin drifted from the library. It was a nightly ritual for them. Mrs. Meldrin would have her glass of warm milk, Mr. Meldrin his brandy and the two of them would sit before the fire and share a few quiet moments alone, discussing the events of the day.

Patience sometimes left her door open at night, just to hear the murmurs of their conversation. She couldn’t make out the words, but her purpose was not to eavesdrop, it was merely to hear the sound. It was soothing, peaceful, and a welcome contrast to the bone-jarring bangs and crashes she’d fallen asleep to in the years before coming to stay with the Meldrins.

As a child, she hadn’t minded the ruckus from her father’s workshop so very much. Their house had been old and drafty and by the time she was twelve, empty of staff. The disruption her father produced gave the house a bit of life, and in a way, kept loneliness at bay.

But by fifteen, financial difficulties had forced them to sell their home and let rooms in London. She grew to dread the
sound of her father working. It was inevitably followed by the angry pounding of fists on the thin walls, and the threatening shouts of neighbors. And
that
was eventually followed by the landlord arriving to pound on the door to issue a notice of eviction.

She would find new rooms for them. Her father would promise to take better care. And he might, for a little while. But sooner or later, he would forget. Even when he’d been sane, he’d been forgetful. He’d forget to pay the rent, forget to pay the butcher. Forget not to spend what little income they had on some new scientific instrument, thereby making it impossible to pay the rent and the butcher.

Her stomach twisted in knots at the memory. Then tightened further when she reached the library only to find the doors closed. The last time the Meldrins had closed the doors during their nightly conversations, one of the footmen had been caught stealing coins from Caroline’s reticule.

She knocked with hands that wanted to shake, and grimaced when the voices from inside abruptly ceased.

“Come in,” came Mr. Meldrin’s reply. He turned to frown at her as she pushed through the doors. “Patience, why aren’t you in bed?”

“I couldn’t sleep.” She crossed the room to stand before them, and folded her hands in an effort to keep them from
pulling at her skirts. “I want to apologize for what happened, and--”

“Nonsense,” Mrs. Meldrin cut in. “Tonight’s trouble was not your fault.”

But still her responsibility, Patience thought. “I shouldn’t have suggested we bring him along. It’s only. . .He has so enjoyed going out of late, and I never thought. . .He seemed well just this afternoon. He knew who I was and where--”

“Not your fault,” Mr. Meldrin repeated. “We all thought him well enough to attend.”

“Still, if I had--”

“Enough,” Mr. Meldrin cut in sternly. “You’ll not take responsibility for this, Patience. Am I understood?”

She wanted to argue, but knew the effort would be wasted. It wasn’t often that Mr. Meldrin put his foot down, but when he did, he became intractable.

She nodded miserably. “Yes.”

“Good.” He pointed at the door, and gentled his tone. “Now to bed with you. Things won’t appear quite so dire after a good night’s sleep.”

Patience rather doubted that a few hours in bed would cast a more favorable light on her circumstances, but she nodded again and left. She closed the library door softly behind her, and then, after a brief internal battle between manners and
dread of the unknown, she leaned her ear against the door and listened.

“Something must be done, Charles,” Mrs. Meldrin said. “This cannot go on.”

“What would you have me do? Throw them out?”

“Certainly not,” came Mrs. Meldrin’s indignant reply, “but neither can we have his presence hinder, or even ruin, the girls’ prospects--”

“I don’t think it will come to that,” Mr. Meldrin chided. “We need only do better at keeping him isolated, away from gossip-mongers and the like.”

“How? And for how long? Shall we lock the man up every time we’ve a visitor come to call? Make excuses for every shout and bang that comes from his room?”

“No, I suppose not.” There was a long pause in which Patience imagined Mr. Meldrin sighing heavily. “We’ll take him to the country with us after Christmas.”

And leave him there, Patience finished in her mind. And that meant she would be left there as well. Not at the Meldrins’ insistence, they would never be so unkind, but she would remain all the same. She couldn’t abandon her father to the care of staff that neither understood nor cared for him.

Exhausted in body and mind, she stepped away from the door and turned toward her room. It mattered little what was said
now. The decision was made. To be fair, it was a generous solution, and one the Meldrins were in no way obligated to provide. Mr. Meldrin’s debt to an old friendship with her father had long ago been paid. He’d taken in both the man and the daughter over a year ago, bringing them along for a tour about Europe, feeding them, clothing them, treating them as family, and now financing a London season for her.

Patience had hoped the drastic change in their circumstances would improve her father’s health. He never seemed to care overmuch that the roof in whatever rooms they’d been letting was falling down around them, but she had thought that surely, regular meals, adequate heating in the winter, and the cessation of the debt collectors hounding them would provide an environment more conducive to healing.

And it had, for a time. He’d gone days, weeks, even a month or two without once forgetting who she was or where they were. He’d been happier and more lucid than she’d seen him in a great while.

Tonight had been a terrible setback, and a heartbreaking sign that no matter how many good days her father might have, there was nothing to be done to make him truly well again.

She stopped at the top of the stairs to scrub her hands tiredly over her face. If there was nothing to be done, then there was nothing to be gained by sorrow and worry. She would
set aside the anxiety and disappointment, and make the best of what she had. There was still most of the Little Season left-weeks yet of balls and dinners and operas. It was far more than many young women ever received. She would remember that, find pleasure in the days while they lasted, and be grateful for the memories when they were over.

At the end of those weeks, she would make her own excuses to take her father into the country. There was no reason to stay through the holidays and put the Meldrins in the uncomfortable position of having to inform her that her father could not stay in London. Better if she made the pretense of coming to the decision on her own.

Feeling quite resolute, if not at all better, she gave one determined nod to herself, turned her steps toward her room, and wondered if the memories she took with her would include more of Lord Casslebury. Oh, she
dearly
hoped so, even if he
was
only flattering her to gain Caroline’s favor. With only a Little Season at her disposal, she would take whatever she could get. And common sense told her that when it came to the likes of Lord Casslebury, a few happy memories would be the only thing available to her, regardless of how much time she had in London.

As unlikely as it was that a peer of the realm should court a woman of little consequence, it was even less conceivable he would make a serious offer for her if he knew her only living
relative was mad. Insanity was not the sort of thing the aristocracy liked to see passed down.

Knowing that despite her exhaustion she’d not be able to sleep with so much weighing on her mind, she passed her own door and knocked on Caroline’s. She found her friend in bed but still awake and, not surprisingly, reading. Patience imagined it was the same book she and Mrs. Meldrin had pried from her hands earlier in the day so they might ready her for the ball.

“How is your father?” Caroline asked as Patience moved to stand at the foot of the bed.

“Asleep and blissfully unaware of the trouble he caused tonight.” She found herself plucking at the waist of her gown. “Your parents wouldn’t allow me to apologize.”

“Of course not. It wasn’t your doing.” A sparkle of mischief entered her blue eyes. “You’re not going to try to apologize to me, are you? Because you know very well I was absolutely delighted with the excuse to leave.”

Giving up any hope of having her apology accepted by any member of the Meldrin family, Patience rolled her eyes and walked around the edge of the bed to take a seat on the mattress. “Shall I take that to mean you didn’t enjoy your dance with Mr. Seager?”

Caroline returned her attention to her book. “You may.”

“Did you at least try?”

“Naturally, I did. That was the bargain we made. I danced, I smiled, I searched high and low for any quality in the man that set him apart from the dozens of other dandies in the room.”

“And you found nothing at all?”

“I did, actually.” Caroline turned the page of her book. “He smells of cheese.”

“I see. Always, or just tonight?”

“I’m sure I don’t want to know.”

“He’s a very nice man,” Patience tried.

“He does seem to be.”

“And quite handsome,” she pointed out.

“In a rather practiced sort of way.”

“He’s terribly besotted with you.”

Caroline paused in her reading to sigh heavily. “It’s absurd. We’ve shared one dance, and no more than a handful of words about the weather, and yet he fancies himself in love. How am I to respect a man capable of such foolishness?”

“Some might consider it romantic,” Patience pointed out. “Love at first sight, and all that.”

“I suppose it might be romantic,” Caroline conceded and licked her finger to turn the page of her book. “If he didn’t smell so much of cheese.”

Patience couldn’t help but laugh. “Your glass is always half empty.”

“On the contrary, I find it quite full, else I’d look for more.”

“But wouldn’t you like to have it overflowing?”
She
certainly would.

Caroline looked up with raised brows. “What good is spilt wine?”

Patience tossed up her hands up and rose from the bed. “I give up.”

“Probably for the best,” Caroline agreed. “Good night, Patience.”

“Good night.” Patience gave her friend a kiss on the cheek before turning toward the connecting door to her own room.

“Patience?” She waited for Patience to turn around. “I’m very glad you came to live with us.”

It was, Patience realized, the closest she would receive to an acceptance of her apology. It surprised her a little, to realize how much she had needed it. Her chest tightened, a lump formed in her throat, and tears pressed at the backs of her eyes.

“Thank you,” she whispered. “I’m glad as well.”

Chapter 3

William stood outside the Meldrin townhouse with a bouquet of flowers in his hand and wondered what he was doing.

Well, no, that wasn’t entirely true--he knew exactly what he was doing. He was about to begin a courtship of Miss Patience Byerly.
Why
he was doing it, however, was still a matter of some confusion.