Chapter Eight

"You shall wear a hole in the carpet."

Patience glowered at Nate. It was well enough for him—he was used to sitting around with nothing to occupy him. Not her, though. If she was not out riding or shooting or going to town, she was cleaning the house or helping Mama organize her paints. She had never spent so long with so little to do.

"She should have arrived by now. She must know."

"Madame Pauline may well be delayed."

She shook her head vigorously and peered out of the window of the drawing room. People came and went below them, like little figurines darting between the buildings of the town. But there was no sign of this French woman.

"We cannot sit around forever. What if she never arrives? What if she's heard that Mr. and Mrs. Smith are gone? If she is a smart woman, she shall know we are not them."

" If she is a smart woman."

"You think she is not?"

He lowered the paper he was holding. "I certainly would not choose to get involved with Napoleon were I a beautiful, married lady."

Patience fixed him with a glare. "You assume she had a choice. Perhaps the smart decision was to be involved with him."

Nate huffed. "Regardless of whether she is a smart woman or not, we can do little else but wait."

"In the meantime, she might be fleeing to London."

He shook his head. "We know she knows no one else. Where would she go? She is likely penniless and utterly alone. From those letters, it was clear she wished to see her cousin." He grinned as she began pacing again and thrust the paper at her. "Here, read this. You cannot pace and read at the same time."

"I'm in no mood for reading," she snapped.

He shrugged and tucked himself back behind his paper.

With a huff, Patience stomped out of the room. Let him sit and read, and be dull. She was not willing to do the same. After two days of sitting around and waiting, she was ready to tear down the walls. Especially when it meant being confined in a house with Nathaniel Kingsley. There was something about that man that made her want to simultaneously swipe that smug smirk off his face and then sit there and stare into his eyes all day and try to understand what made him tick.

Which was ridiculous. In spite of their conversation on the first night, she knew there was nothing spectacularly deep about him. Yes, he spoke of his brother and his desire to carve his own path, but honestly the man was doing that anyway. And he was mostly carving it through all the eligible ladies in Cornwall.

No, there were no secrets to be revealed about Nate. He was what he seemed—an arrogant, flirtatious, shameless rogue. She would learn nothing more from being in his presence.

Patience strode through the house and down the steps to the kitchen where Joyce had disappeared later that day. The acrid scent of something burning made her wrinkle her nose. As she entered the kitchen, she winced. A layer of smoke hung high up in the ceiling and the stench grew worse.

Joyce spun upon hearing her footsteps. Strands of dark hair stuck out at all angles from underneath a white cap and sweat beaded her brow. There were streaks of orange and black on her apron and a few smudges of black on her face. The evidence of this disaster was scattered across the kitchen in the form of copper pans on the stove, some revealing singed remains of what was perhaps once food, while flour was dusted across the table.

"You caught me," Joyce said, swiping her hands on her apron.

Patience scooped up some of the pots and placed them into the sink before grabbing a cloth, wetting it and wringing it out. She began wiping down the table.

"I can't cook," Patience said, "but I can clean."

Joyce grabbed a cloth to help with the table. "It's seems to be one of those days. Everything has gone wrong."

"Mistakes happen," Patience said softly, noting the real distress in Joyce's face.

"I cannot recall ever burning anything before. I do not know what's wrong with me."

Patience rinsed out the cloth and gave the table another wipe until all the debris was gone and the surface gleamed. She started work on one of the pots and grimaced at the charred remnants of food that was now glued to the bottom of it.

"If you show me, I can help if you would like. I could do with something to keep me occupied."

Joyce smiled. "Some help would be wonderful. I'm the same, I cannot stay still for long."

"Unlike Nate. He seems to have no problem sitting around."

"Lord Nathaniel does not strike me as a man who lazes around."

"He is doing a fine job of it up there." Patience thrust a finger toward the ceiling.

"You do not think much of him do you."

Patience frowned. That made her sound so condescending. Really Nate had done little to offend her if one ignored the rather lewd comments. His main fault was having agreed to help her brother and as much as she wanted to do this alone, she could not blame a man for wishing to help a friend.

"I do not know him that well," Patience explained. "We have lived in the same village all our lives but we've never had occasion to get to know one another."

"Well, now is your chance."

Patience blew a strand of hair from her face and scrubbed furiously at the pot. Flakes of burned food coated her hands in a satisfying way as she defeated the grime. Get to know him? She wished Joyce had not popped that idea back into her head. Had she not already dismissed trying to understand the depths of Nathaniel Kingsley?

"Do you think we are doing the right thing? Sitting and waiting for Pauline?" she asked after Joyce had finished putting away the clean utensils.

Joyce laughed. "I'm not the person to ask."

"You likely have more experience than I do in these matters if you keep house for government officials and suchlike."

"I try to stay out of the way. I'm happier cooking than I am getting involved in governmental affairs. As long as I can keep everyone well-fed, I am happy."

Patience envied the woman in many ways. To be so content with one's lot in life would be pleasant indeed.

"I cannot stay sitting around for much longer," Patience declared as she dried a pot and put it away. "We should be out finding her!"

"They are not your orders."

"Our orders are to get the information she has. No one said we had to pose as these cousins, merely that it was the simplest way. Well, frankly, I think it's daft."

Joyce tilted her head. "What do you intend to do?"

"A beautiful French woman will surely draw attention. Someone will know something of her."

"If you ask questions, you could draw unwarranted attention her way."

"I can be subtle," Patience insisted.

Joyce lifted a shoulder. "It is not my place to tell you what to do, my dear."

Patience grinned. "You will not stop me?"

"Stop you from what?" Joyce batted her lashes at her.

Resisting the desire to give the woman a big peck on the cheek, Patience rinsed off her filthy hands. "I shall help with dinner but once it gets dark, I intend to go out. You can tell Nate I am in my room with a headache."

"You will not be taking him with you?"

"I don't need a man getting in my way."

Joyce shook her head and smiled. "They do have their uses, you know."

"Not that man," Patience declared. "He is entirely useless."