Patience?” Mrs. Jorgensen asked her children, returning to English.
“Good,” Harry answered.
“She thinks Uncle is a duck.” Augusta piped up.
It took all of Patience’s control not to throw a hand over Augusta’s mouth. Perhaps she had inspired too much confidence in the girl. “I didn’t say that.”
“Are you a duck?” Augusta asked.
“No, he is not a duck.” Patience didn’t dare look at his face. Those frown lines would be deep.
“But you said—” Augusta started. Patience gave up on propriety and threw a hand over her mouth.
“I never said you were a duck.” Patience snuck a look at Mr. Woodsworth’s face. He wasn’t actually frowning—it was more of a confused scowl.
“That’s true,” said Harry. Bless the boy. “She never called you a duck.”
Patience dropped her hand away from Augusta’s face and straightened as much as she could in the tiny child’s chair she was sitting in. “You see, I would never call you a duck.”
“She said you smile like a duck.” Harry snorted and ducked his head down. Patience shot him a look that she hoped conveyed her disappointment in his disloyalty.
“And she said she wouldn’t tickle you.” Augusta simply had to put the final nail in her coffin, and right after Mr. Woodsworth had called Patience competent. It had been nice while it had lasted.
“Well,” Mr. Woodsworth said, “it sounds as though you three will have quite a time together, even if it is at my expense.” He cleared his throat. “But I’m afraid we must leave you. Miss Patience has quite the evening ahead of her and must spend some time with your mother in order to prepare for it. And it is time for my walk.”
Patience jumped up before the children could say anything more damaging to her character. She turned to give them one last wink before leaving the room behind Mr. Woodsworth and their mother. She would have to be much more careful about what she said around them, but she felt better about her task already. If Mr. Woodsworth felt she was capable of attending to them, then she must be. Mr. Woodsworth didn’t seem like the type of person to ever be wrong.
Chapter 8
Anthony was barely listening to Stewart Fairchild explain the advantages of investing in the railroad. He already had several investments in railroad lines, and the returns were even better than his friend was quoting. On any other night, he would have been happy to advise Stewart, but not tonight. His eyes kept returning to the open double doors of the ballroom. Sophia and Patience should be arriving any moment. The Simpsons’ ball wasn’t a spectacular event. The invitations were limited to close family and friends, which worked well for their plan. He and Patience wouldn’t get lost in a crowd. His attentions to her would be noticed, not only by the Morgan family, but by other attendees as well.
Sophia had requested the extra invitation for her friend. And while Father wasn’t exactly high society, most of London was scared of him, and so Sophia received an extra invitation even though it was asked for only a day in advance. Anthony hadn’t seen Patience or his sister since the nursery. He had expected Sophia to ask him for help at least once during their training—to teach Patience the waltz at a minimum—but they had never come. The plan had been for them to arrive in separate carriages at different times. And he’d ended up leaving before he had a chance to speak with them. He mentally went through the story he and Sophia had concocted. Patience’s family were longtime friends with the Woodsworths. That would explain Patience’s arrival with Sophia and his immediate inclination to spend time with her.
“Don’t you agree, Anthony?”
Anthony dragged his eyes away from the door and turned his attention to Stewart. “I’m sorry, I was looking for my sister and missed your question. What was it?”
“I asked if you felt wide track or narrow gauge is the better investment in the long run. Brunel is using wide, so I’m inclined to invest with him.” Stewart was in earnest. Anthony had advised him on several other investments, and all of them had turned out well for both parties.
“I quite honestly know next to nothing about gauges. I’m afraid I would be the wrong person to ask. The returns I have seen coming in are promising though, and I have debated putting more . . .”
Sophia walked into the room. Behind her was a nearly unrecognizable Patience. If it weren’t