home a month, but it felt longer than her two-year mourning period. Thanks to Mama, her presentation to the Queen last week had been flawless. Her dress, which had been ordered before she went to the Woodsworth household, was otherworldly. Then again, everything about returning home had seemed otherworldly. A week after returning home, she’d entered society. Each evening thereafter, she and Mama attended some event or another. She no longer felt as though she knew her place. No matter how late she was out the night before, she woke up early each morning. It was a habit she hadn’t been able to break. If the coals in her fireplace had not been stoked back up, her fingers itched to do it herself.
But she had learned her lesson the first time she had done that. Poor Rebecca had worried for weeks and was still waking up an hour early each day to make certain Patience’s was the first fire revived each morning.
She lay back down in her bed. Nothing would be expected of her for a few more hours. This evening she and her mother were to attend a card party at the Earl of Sumberton’s London house. She would spend her time looking up every time a new gentleman entered the room. But if the last three weeks of being officially out in society had taught her anything, it had taught her that Mr. Woodsworth had been correct: their social circles were not the same.
She couldn’t spend another morning thinking about him. She needed to move, work, do anything. She threw on her dressing gown and inched open her door. Only the servants would be about at this time of morning, but she still hesitated to roam about in such a state of undress.
Her parents’ rooms were just across the passageway from hers. When she was younger and couldn’t sleep, she would creep over to her father’s room. More often than not, she would find both of her parents sleeping there. When Nicholas inherited, he had opted to stay in his room rather than use Papa’s. She assumed he would keep that arrangement until he married. Now the room that used to warm both her and her parents was empty and cold.
She padded across the stone floor. The door would be locked—there was no reason for it not to be. But when she reached for the handle, it turned. She slid into the room before anyone would have a chance to see her.
Everything was the same but different. In the dim light, she could make out Papa’s wardrobe, a small writing desk and chair, and above the mantel, a painting of her mother. She had assumed everything would have been covered in sheets, but nothing was. It was as if her Papa had just left for the morning and would be back. Nothing had been moved, and there was no dust; but without Papa, there was no life here either. Both she and the room knew he wouldn’t be returning.
She sat on the bed, wishing she could climb between her mother and father and be comforted by their combined warmth.
A rattle came from the connecting door to Mama’s room. Patience pulled her gown more tightly around her, but there was only one person who could be using that door. It swung open slowly, and a petite, bare foot stepped inside.
“Mama,” Patience whispered, not wanting to startle her.
It didn’t work. Mama let out a screech and slammed the door closed amidst a fluttering of her skirts.
Only a moment later it opened again. Mama’s dark hair was pulled back in a braid, but just like Patience’s own, curls escaped it in every place imaginable. It made Mama look young, as if she were a daughter looking to find comfort here as well.
“Patience?” she asked.
“Good morning, Mama.”
Her shoulders relaxed, and she stepped fully into the room. “What are you doing here? I thought . . . No matter what I thought, you scared me.”
“Sorry.” Patience looked down at her hands. The last thing she wanted to do was scare her mother away. “I couldn’t sleep.” Mama’s face softened. “I used to come here when . . .” Patience couldn’t finish.
“I know.” Mama stepped in and shut the door softly behind herself. “I used to do the same thing.”
“He shouldn’t have left us.”
“He shouldn’t have.” Mama sat next to Patience and rubbed her hand along the quilt that covered the bed. “We are the least likely family to survive without him.”
Patience held back