front of it. Patience rushed up the stairs. This time, there would be no going in the servants’ entrance. Nicholas and Mama wouldn’t be far behind her, but had she gotten here on time? She knocked.
The door opened, and Mr. Gilbert opened his mouth and then closed it again. “Patience?”
“Lady Patience Kendrick, I’m afraid. Is Mr. Woodsworth meeting with the Morgans?”
“You’ve married?”
“No, I’ve always been Lady Patience. I suppose you could say I ran away to have an adventure, and my adventure of choice was to serve as a maid in this household.”
Mr. Gilbert nodded as if that made all the sense in the world, even though she knew it made none. “Mr. Woodsworth is in the drawing room with Miss Morgan and her family. Shall I announce you?”
“Not quite yet. I need to find something in Mr. Woodsworth’s study. Would you let me in?”
Mrs. Bates came around the corner with a tea tray in her hands. She caught sight of Patience and nearly dropped her load. Patience ran toward the tray and tried to take it from Mrs. Bates’s hands.
“Lady Patience,” Mr. Gilbert said. “I can’t have you acting like a servant any longer.”
At that, the little control Mrs. Bates still had over the tray crumbled, and it crashed to the ground, sending petit fours, sugar cubes, and china crashing to the floor.
“Lady Patience?” Mrs. Bates sputtered. “Lady?”
The crash caused a commotion from the drawing room, and only seconds later, Mr. Woodsworth poked his head out.
“Patience? I mean . . . Lady Patience, what are you doing here?”
“I came to see if the rugs have been aired.”
All three of them looked at her as if she was addlebrained. She didn’t blame them, but she didn’t want to waste too much time explaining things, not when Miss Morgan and her family were having a private conversation in the drawing room.
Mrs. Bates stood stiff and as tall as she could. She would have looked quite composed if it weren’t for the tea things scattered about around her. “We keep to a strict schedule, I assure you. The rugs are aired properly every six months.”
“I’m not questioning your housekeeping skills, Mrs. Bates. I know they are up to snuff. I just need to know if the rugs have been aired since I left.”
“Not yet. We are due to air the rugs in February.”
Patience rushed to Anthony’s study and gasped when she opened the door. Papers were everywhere. Every drawer was opened, every surface covered in letters, ledgers, and receipts.
Anthony came up behind her. “It is too late, Patience. I have looked everywhere.”
“So you were just going to marry the woman? Despite having formed an attachment to me? I could ruin your father’s name just as easily as she could.”
“But you wouldn’t.”
“Don’t you tell me what I would and wouldn’t do.”
Anthony leaned forward, the lines above his eyes relaxed slightly. “I would never dream of it.”
“Good, then as long as you will tell me that you will not, under any circumstances, agree to marry that woman, I will get your letter for you.”
“You know where it is?”
“Tell me that under no circumstances would you agree to marry her.”
“I wouldn’t, no matter if my name gets dragged into the mud, not even if I am called a coward and a dishonorable man for the rest of my days. I could not, not while knowing you are in the world.”
Patience nodded. She strode over to the thick woolen rug in front of Anthony’s desk and pulled up the corner she remembered sweeping the letter under.
“Voila.”
No one said anything. She bent at the waist and looked under the rug. Nothing was there. Not even her little pile of dust.
“Patience . . .” Anthony said.
“No, it is here. I know it is.” She pulled more and more of the rug up until she got to the center, and there, amidst dust and other scraps of paper, was a crumpled letter. She snatched it up and brandished it above her head. It turned out it wasn’t Anthony’s calculations or her brashness that had saved them; it was simply her atrocious cleaning skills. “Is this what you have been looking for?”
Anthony pulled it from her hands and opened it. He quickly scanned the contents and rushed to Patience, grabbed both of her shoulders, and placed a hearty kiss upon her mouth. Mrs. Bates gasped, and Mr. Gilbert chuckled, but Patience grabbed Anthony by the waist and pulled him back to her.
He tasted of cinnamon and honey. She pushed her