Chapter 4

CHAPTER 4

"I s it true?" Prudence appeared in the doorway of their shared chamber in her nightshirt. Her hair hung in golden waves to her hips, curling even though it was still damp.

"What did you hear?" Patience asked, guessing that her sister had heard a great deal.

Prudence shook her head, closing the door and flinging herself across the room. "Miss Grosvenor came to the shop, looking for you, and when she did not find you, she told everyone that Arthur Beckham had chosen you over her. Is it true?"

Patience nodded and Prudence squealed with delight.

"Good. I do not wish ill upon anyone but she is the kind of person who does not deserve to have everything she desires." She fell back on the bed. "Especially a man like Arthur Beckham." She sighed rapturously and Patience smiled.

"Perhaps you should wed him."

"He did not choose me, but oh, Patience, he is so handsome and daring." Prudence gave her a poke. "However will you tame such a man?"

Patience did not know.

Prudence sat up, fairly bouncing in her curiosity. "Do you know anything about him?"

"Very little," Patience was compelled to admit.

"Save that he is rich." Her younger sister fixed Patience with a look. "I never thought that would be your sole consideration."

"It is not."

"Then why accept him?"

"Because…" Patience had no good reply for that and she immediately saw that her sister knew it.

"Because his wealth means that you will be able to buy as many books as you like, and read as much as you like, so long as you give him a son or two. Oh, Patience, you are predictable."

"I might have fallen in love with him," she had to protest.

Prudence laughed and laughed at the very notion. "You will never be guided by your heart, Patience. Always sensible. Always logical." She rolled her eyes, then granted Patience a pitying look—albeit one filled with anticipation. "I am going to have to help you so very, very much."

"Are you?" Patience could only be amused.

Prudence surveyed Patience. "Your hair. You must change your hair."

"My hair is fine!"

"Your hair is acceptable, but you must choose a style that is less severe." Prudence tilted her head to consider her sister. "Some curls would not destroy your concentration overmuch. And you will need a dress for the wedding."

"I will wear my blue gown."

Prudence was visibly outraged. "You will not! This is your wedding, Patience, not just another day in town. You will only have one such day and you must look your best." She nodded with authority. "We will go tomorrow to the dressmaker. I will convince Papa."

"Wait a day, until Mr. Beckham asks his approval."

"You will need shoes and gloves, as well, and we will order a posy of flowers, too." This list compiled, Prudence smiled at Patience. "Do you truly know so little of him and his family?"

"I know some details," Patience said, which certainly sounded as if she knew more than she did. "Perhaps you might tell me what you know."

Prudence grinned to gain the invitation she clearly desired, then moved quickly to sit beside Patience, lowering her voice. "He is wicked to his marrow, by all accounts."

"I cannot believe it."

"Then you are smitten. They do say that opposites attract, and there could not be a man alive more different from you."

"How so?" Patience had the sense she should be insulted. Mr. Beckham was intelligent, to be sure. While he possessed an easy charm that she did not, and was handsome beyond all, he had called her pretty. His wealth was apparently boundless while hers was more moderate, but that was not opposite.

"You are cautious while he is not."

"I am not certain of that…"

"It is said he will do anything to win a wager. He races horses on Rotten Row, and has accepted no fewer than five challenges to duel." Prudence nodded with authority. "And he won four of them. They say he has a scar on his shoulder from the fifth, though he never speaks of it." She took a breath, visibly trying to contain her excitement and failing. "Of course, he is always dressed to perfection and more handsome than any seven lords put together, and he is richer than rich. He is rumored to be fortunate beyond all at the gaming tables and that only a fool will take a wager against him. He is wild, by all accounts, carousing out all night and sleeping until late afternoon, venturing into thieves' dens and gaming hells with equal fearlessness. They say he seized all the birds at a cockfight and set them free, earning the ire of all in attendance. I heard the bills for his wine and brandy would be sufficient to see three great houses supplied." Prudence took a fortifying breath. "And yet, he remains rich. I think he might be perfect, but you, I suspect, may find many deficiencies in his list of attributes."

"How rich?"

Prudence laughed. "Trust you to have need of a number. He has some twenty thousand pounds per year in income and stands to inherit over a hundred thousand pounds after his mother's demise."

Patience was shocked. "So much?"

Prudence was enjoying herself so much that Patience was glad to have more questions. "Yes, but he has no title!" Patience did not care, but she was interested. "His mother, a most formidable lady as I understand, was the only daughter of the Earl of Fairhaven and much favored by her father. He even allowed her to wed a widower considerably her senior. It was said to be a great love match and was the talk of the ton when it occurred. They had two children, Arthur in the first year of their marriage, and some years later a daughter."

"Amelia," Patience supplied.

Prudence nodded. "The siblings are said to be close, despite the disparity in their ages." She took a breath. "It was Viscount Meadstone who bought the house in Berkley Square where they reside, though he ensured that Lady Beckham owned it outright herself."

"Then she is a widow?"

Prudence nodded sagely. "He died eleven years ago, passing in his sleep. They say she locked herself away for a year to mourn the loss of her beloved."

"What of his title?"

"He was wed before, as I said, and his son by that match has inherited it all. His wife died in the delivery of their daughter."

"But the son could pass…"

"No, no, no, Patience. The current viscount has two sons, and his sister has another. There must be a veritable plague for Mr. Beckham to become Viscount Meadstone." Prudence caught her breath. "And his uncle, the Earl of Fairhaven, is almost the same age as Mr. Beckham. Doubtless he will wed and have a bevy of sons of his own. If you desire a title, sister dear, Mr. Beckham should not be your choice—unless you are more of a gambler than I know."

So, Mr. Beckham had an aristocratic lineage, but no title of his own. Patience had to admit that she could find no fault with his situation. A nobleman might have been too concerned with his reputation to support her venture, but Mr. Beckham had been untroubled. It seemed he would have sufficient affluence to establish the publishing firm as well.

If he did not waste it on fripperies.

"Since coming of age, your Mr. Beckham has run wild, and some say he means to rid himself of his inheritance, one way or the other. Others say his mother indulges him overmuch, while yet others suggest that he has need of a wife to keep him in hand. He is thirty, after all. Perhaps that is why his mother approves of the match."

"Does she?"

"It does not seem that she opposes it. Perhaps because you are known for both frugality and practicality."

That did sound dull in comparison to Mr. Beckham. Patience knew he would not have offered for her hand if he had not been confronted by the prospect of a match to Miss Grosvenor and a tiny part of her wished it might have been otherwise.

That was simply pride speaking. She knew that love had no place in a sensible match.

All the same, she remembered his vow that he would court her, even if she refused him, and her heart leapt as it seemed inclined to do whenever she thought of or saw Mr. Beckham.

Prudence kicked her feet, seemingly thinking. "Oh yes, there is a house in Devon, near Axminster, a legacy to Lady Beckham from her father, the earl, which she also owns in her own right. The earl's country house is on an adjacent property and said to be less grand. I believe the situation might vex him."

"What of the current earl?" Patience was curious about the man who had dared to bet her betrothed's hand in marriage.

Prudence wrinkled her nose. "The worst manner of wastrel."

"You said Mr. Beckham was a wastrel," Patience reminded her sister.

"But he can pay for his indulgences. And he is young and handsome."

Patience rolled her eyes.

Prudence continued. "Though there are some who find the earl attractive."

"Not you?"

"He has a look of dissipation about him, to my thinking. Otherwise, he might have been attractive, but never as handsome as Mr. Beckham."

Patience doubted there were many men so handsome.

"The earl is utterly without resource, for what he has not sold, he had mortgaged. I cannot have any respect for a man who fails to manage his own wealth, especially one who has wasted it so foolishly. The earl is lucky to have a sister who holds him in affection, though that may not last much longer."

"Indeed?"

"Lady Beckham is said to be heartily annoyed with her brother for this last wager, almost as irked as the Grosvenor family is with your Mr. Beckham over his escape." She nodded. "I think I like him just for that."

"Felicia Grosvenor leaves stains in books she borrows," Patience reminded her sister.

Prudence winced and nodded. " And she folds down the corners of the pages."

Both sisters shook their heads in unison at these most base of all crimes.

"I suppose you do not love him," Prudence said, scrutinizing her sister.

Patience had nothing to hide. "I do not know him well enough for that."

"But do you like him?"

Patience considered their recent conversations and found herself smiling. "I do. I fear he is concerned only with his own advantage, but many men are thus." Prudence nodded wisely in agreement. "And he has a certain charm."

"He lied to his uncle."

"But he was honest with me. And truly, in his place, would you not do anything to avoid such a match?"

Prudence laughed. "If only for the sake of my books."

"Precisely!"

Then the younger sister sobered, and her gaze turned searching. "Will you be happy, Patience?"

"I have no notion, but I shall strive to be. Does any bride know for certain before her wedding day?"

Prudence nodded in consideration of that. "But what if you never love him?"

"That does not mean I cannot be happy in his household, or that I won't bear children that I love, or that there must be no merit in my life as his wife."

"But what if you meet your one love after you are married?"

"If that happens, Prudence, I will worry about the situation then. For now, all is arranged and I will put my hand in his with every hope for a happy future."

Her sister considered her. "You are not wedding him just because he is rich and handsome, are you?"

Patience shook her head. "On the contrary, I think we will suit each other well."

"Then I hope you are right," Prudence said and gave her a hug. "And I hope you watch for a handsome and wealthy rogue for me." She dropped her voice again. "I must say that everyone believed you would be the one to care for Papa in his dotage, perhaps even Papa himself. Now the task falls to me, which no one could have anticipated or is likely to welcome."

"You could make a good match…"

"Love, Patience. Only love will do." Prudence sighed. "Without love, I would be more content to mend Papa's slippers and remain unwed forever."

Her sister, Patience could only conclude, placed an unreasonably high value upon such tender feelings.

But then, she had never been fond of mending slippers.

* * *

Arthur Beckham found himself uneasy.

This, too, was a novelty and he told himself to savor it.

He failed.

He sat before the one potential obstacle to his plans, and in truth, Arthur could not have blamed the man before him for refusing his own request. Would he have willingly promised a beloved and sensible daughter to a notorious rake, no matter that man's supposed wealth?

Would the truth—that the rake was an imposter—weigh the scales in that man's favor? Arthur doubted that Mr. Edward Carruthers would think highly of such a deception. To spend most of one's life pretending to be another man was not a choice readily excused.

Who would wed a beloved daughter to a man on the brink of losing his position and wealth? Arthur could not imagine any father would do as much, but in a way, that only increased his newfound impatience with his life and its illusions.

A part of him could not help but wonder what would result from the revelation of the truth.

Another part of him, the larger portion, was indebted to Miss Carruthers' objective and how it granted him a plan. He had spent the night gambling and winning, building a fund for the venture while he could, yet granting every appearance of continuing to be a wastrel and ne'er do well.

The odds were long, but he thought they might make the venture work.

He sat in Mr. Edward Carruthers' office at Carruthers & Carruthers. The office had windows, which meant the printing shop was visible as was the bookshop itself. It also meant that Arthur was visible to everyone within the establishment but that didn't trouble him.

The gentleman had requested Arthur's indulgence while he completed a notation, one that seemed to take an uncommon measure of time. Arthur took the chance to study the father of his intended. Edward Carruthers was perhaps fifty-five years of age, though he possessed a liveliness reminiscent of a younger man. He was purposeful and apparently ambitious, having built the publishing business to pre-eminence in some twenty years alongside his brother. They were not without competitors, to be sure. Mr. Carruthers' hair was dark, though it had turned to silver at his temples, and his gaze was incisive when he glanced at Arthur.

Arthur saw where Miss Carruthers inherited the hue of her eyes, though in his view, the lady's were considerably more attractive.

He suspected the pair were each as perceptive as the other and hoped the father did not see more than would be ideal in this interview.

Mr. Carruthers put aside his quill, adjusted his spectacles and granted Arthur a polite smile. "I do apologize, Mr. Beckham. That one last detail had to be put in order lest I forget it. Now, how may I be of assistance to you on this day?"

"I have come, sir, to offer for your daughter's hand in marriage."

The older man frowned. "Prudence?"

"Miss Patience Carruthers, sir."

His companion looked to be astonished, though he strove to disguise his reaction. "And you are, as I understand it, Mr. Arthur Beckham?"

"I am, sir."

"Does my daughter know of your inclination?"

"I spoke to her of it yesterday, sir, and she was amenable." Carruthers' expression began to darken and Arthur anticipated his question, replying before he could ask. "I had the good fortune to meet her at Trevelaine House, when I was in the company of the baron."

Carruthers considered Arthur for a long moment. "I must say, Mr. Beckham, that I am surprised by your attentions. Your reputation is such that it has reached even my ears and I should have expected you to choose a bride from amongst the debutantes of the ton , as undoubtedly, your family also anticipates."

"My mother has expressed her delight with the prospect of my marriage, though of course, the question of your approval remains."

"Has she?" the other man murmured, then leaned back in his chair, his gaze locked upon Arthur. His perusal was so intent that Arthur almost felt compelled to confess all of the details leading to the arrangement, but held his tongue with an effort. "Delight in the act of marriage or your choice of bride?"

Arthur felt the back of his neck heat. "The former, sir, although I am certain that she will be enchanted by your daughter when they meet."

The older man surveyed Arthur for long moments, then folded his hands together. "I am well aware, Mr. Beckham, of the assets my daughter might bring to a match, but I must wonder whether they are of similar appeal to you. Do you honestly desire a clever wife? A practical and efficient one? Do you truly wish for the companionship of a lady who will not decline to share her views on any subject whatsoever? She will tell you when you err, of that I am certain."

Arthur smiled. "I welcome the opportunity of wedding such a lady, sir. Indeed, I hope for forthright speech and honesty in my marriage."

"Do you? And what of your uncle? Does he not have higher aspirations for your match?"

"He might, but I am disinterested in his advice when it comes to marriage."

"Indeed?"

"Indeed." Arthur spoke with resolve. "I was taught to manage my own affairs, sir, and to ensure that my uncle, a notorious wastrel and spendthrift, had no command over me or my finances."

"I see. I heard a rumor that he had won you a bride in a gaming den, not two nights ago."

Arthur realized that his intended's father possessed the ability to disguise how much he knew of a given matter. "He believes he did, sir, but I do not find the commitment binding. I also do not find the lady suitable."

Carruthers nodded. "Had you made this understanding with my daughter before learning of this?"

Again, Arthur suspected that the man before him already knew the truth. "I had not, as perhaps you have surmised. I presented the tale of our arrangement, purely out of my admiration for your daughter, and was subsequently much relieved to learn that Miss Carruthers welcomed the possibility."

"Welcomed?" Carruthers raised a brow. " My daughter?"

Arthur grinned. "She chastised me for the telling of a falsehood, sir, reprimanded me for potentially damaging her reputation, informed me that many people would have known of this tale by the time she heard of it, itemized the possibilities—and utterly captivated me in so doing."

Carruthers smiled. "I would have thought you were already captivated, in order to present her with such a possibility."

"I was only enchanted before that," Arthur confessed. "Now she holds me utterly in her thrall." Though the praise sounded fulsome, he knew it was close to the truth.

Carruthers chuckled, clearly content with that situation.

Arthur continued, while odds seemed to be in his favor. "I believe, sir, that opposites can attract, and that your daughter and I will make a good match."

"She must have had her price."

"I would not betray her confidence by revealing it, sir, but we have also agreed that we must have children. I intend to ensure that ours is a happy marriage."

"She will not countenance any dalliance with another woman."

"I have no intention of putting her to such a test. Marriage, sir, is a sacred bond."

Carruthers fixed him with a searching look and Arthur did not dare avert his gaze. He did not so much as blink until the older man nodded. "Patience reads avidly. If you do not share her enthusiasm for books, sir, I cannot foresee a future for the two of you, regardless of any such amenable agreement. You will bore each other to the point of despair within a month."

"Then I would appreciate your recommendation of suitable volumes, that I might embark upon the quest of holding my lady wife's attention."

Carruthers held Arthur's gaze for a long moment, then shook his head and chuckled. "Ah, Patience," he said beneath his breath, and not without satisfaction. "You may have met your equal, my dear."

"Sir?"

"I should warn you, Mr. Beckham, that my middle daughter has a will of iron. Once she sets herself upon a course, she will not be swayed."

"I am a great admirer of constancy, sir."

The older man met Arthur's gaze again, even as he nodded. "I would ask for an understanding of your financial situation, sir, and please understand that I will seek the counsel of the Duke of Haynesdale in this matter. He is more familiar with the reputations of the affluent than I might ever be. I know only that your mother is a reliable client here." He dipped his quill again. "Perhaps you might give me your address, that I could write to you once my researches are complete and my decision made."

"Of course," Arthur said, providing the address in question. "I would obtain a special license that the festivities might not be delayed, sir. My mother, I expect, will wish to host the wedding breakfast."

Carruthers glanced up, his gaze fixing upon Arthur for another long moment, then nodded once before returning to his notes. "I will keep that detail in mind, sir."

* * *

Patience was late arriving at the shop, for Prudence had taken forever to dress and the sisters were to ride together. She was out of breath when she burst through the doors, only to find that Mr. Beckham had already departed. The shop was filled with whispers about his presence and speculation upon his business with her father. She bade herself not show any disappointment.

Her father stepped out of his office then and fixed her with a look that could only mean one thing. She was summoned to give an accounting. She took a fortifying breath, knowing that no fiction would satisfy her father, and strode to his office with apparent confidence.

She was well aware of Prudence and the other women watching her go.

Her father nodded and she closed the door behind herself, remaining standing before his desk. He was too serious for Patience's peace of mind.

"What did he offer you?" he asked softly.

"I beg your pardon?"

He removed his glasses. "It strikes me, my dear, that as much as I appreciate your many assets, a man like Mr. Arthur Beckham would be unlikely to perceive them at all. He is a man much taken with foolish beauties, with feckless activities like racing and gambling, and with the indulgence of his own pleasures. While he might be momentarily intrigued by a young lady who chastised him, simply for the novelty, I cannot imagine that a match between two such would be a success."

Patience might have argued but her father raised a finger, indicating that he would continue. "Neither can I believe that you, a woman of splendid good sense, would be beguiled by such a man or perceive there to be any advantage in agreeing to be his bride. Therefore, it follows that there is an element missing from this equation, one that I do not as yet know." He sat down, templing his hands before himself, and waited for the surrender of that detail.

The truth would not aid Patience in the least.

But perhaps part of the truth would suffice.

She took the seat opposite her father. "I began to think recently, Father, of what my life would be in your absence," she began, which was not entirely false. "It seemed to me that as long as you are hale and I live in your house, that all is well. To be sure, that is why I have not thought about marriage in the past. But in your absence, Papa, my home would be with Catherine, if she can welcome me, or with Uncle Richard, so long as he lives." Patience frowned. "I cannot expect the baron to offer me shelter if he becomes a widower, nor is it reasonable to expect my cousins to gladly welcome me."

"You imagine many misfortunes, my dear."

"And I would hope that none of them ever come to be, but I would be prepared for the worst." She met her father's gaze and found understanding there, as well as compassion. "I wish to choose, Papa, to ensure my own future, and no sooner had I decided as much than Mr. Beckham presented his suit."

"Do you not find him a foolish wastrel?"

"I think he likes to let people believe he is one. I am not convinced that is his true inclination."

"You would be financially secure, as his wife and even as his widow."

"Yes. That is the greater concern, Papa."

He held her gaze for a long moment, as if sensing that there was more to the story. "And what will you do as his wife? Will you join him at revels and become as dissipated as he?"

Her father's disapproval of that possibility was clear.

Patience shook her head. "No, Papa. I will be as ever I was. I will read and I will live respectably, and maybe, my husband will be tempted to join me."

Edward Carruthers smiled slowly, then nodded approval. Patience sank into the seat opposite him as he donned his glasses again and drew a sheet of paper toward himself. He dipped his quill. "I thank you for that reassurance, Patience. You should know that Mr. Beckham has asked me for a list of books that he might read, the better that you might have common ground."

"Oh!" Patience thought this a very promising sign.

Her father, of course, had already compiled the list and handed it to her. She was so busy reading it, taking note of favorite titles and unexpected inclusions, that she almost missed her father's next words.

"All that remains is to seek the advice of the Duke of Haynesdale, and I will write to him immediately."

Patience frowned as she watched her father's quill sweep across the page. "But what interest might his grace have in this matter, Papa?"

"He knows more of such people than I, given his own rank. His opinion is always a balanced one, and I can rely upon him to keep our best interests at heart."

"But he is no relation."

"No." Her father smiled. "But there is a bond between our families nonetheless, an old one that I have often found myself glad of."

"Will you tell me?" Patience asked, guessing that her father needed only an invitation to do so.

He checked his watch, then nodded agreement and set the quill aside. "Once, many years ago, the duke's father came into his inheritance. I knew little of him beyond his excellent reputation before he appeared in the shop. We had only just begun the business, Robert and I, and we were far from profitability. There were presses to pay for, and paper and skilled men, the shop itself, and the books we chose to publish. In those days, neither of us took a wage, but we saw promise in the venture and had hopes for the future. Then the Duke of Haynesdale, the father of the current duke, halted his coach outside the door, and entered the shop himself."

"What a coup," Patience said and her father chuckled.

"It was remarkable. I don't believe the duke realized how many people noted his arrival and his presence. He was bent upon his errand, which was to consult with either myself or Robert. He had inherited, along with other assets, a remarkable collection of books and though he did not wish to part with any of them, he was in need of ready money. His father had bound much of the estate into land, which was an excellent investment but one that was not providing the returns that it should or could. The duke intended to adopt many innovations in agricultural methods, and to improve the accommodations of his tenants. In the end, the profits would be much higher, but in the short term, he was short of funds. He confided this to me later: on that day, he merely asked if I might buy several of his books."

Patience watched her father take an appreciative breath. "He said he had many fine volumes. A Gutenberg Bible, which I could neither afford nor readily sell. I visited Haynesdale House at his invitation, and we chose a dozen volumes between us. I then suggested to him that we might make an exchange, that if he could mention Carruthers & Carruthers to his friends—for I had noticed the increase in business after the appearance of his coach—then I would not have to sell the books. I could keep them for him, for the resurgence of his finances. He was much relieved, for he had not wished to part with any of them, and insisted that we set a time period upon the agreement out of fairness to me."

"Quite a gentleman."

"He was. Always fair in his dealings, even with the most lowly of tradesman. A man of honor, to be sure. He was good to his word and I to mine, and in the end, Carruthers & Carruthers prospered as much as the duke's holdings. He returned for each book, coming at regular intervals, and I would not charge him any interest, given his influence on our trade. Indeed, such was the improvement of our growth as a business that I felt obliged to simply give him back the last volume, for his endorsement had more than compensated me for the loan."

"What a wonderful story."

"And better yet, after that, we were friends. I could ask him about the reputation for any man in town, and he brought books to me from friends who were obliged to sell. Our collections were built from those volumes, offered first to me and Robert. With the passing of the old duke, his son continued the tradition. He buys from me, he endorses me, and he even took it upon himself to arrange Catherine's match. He was always fond of her and when I confessed myself bewildered by the entire question of matrimony for my daughters in your mother's absence, he took the task upon himself."

"I did not know."

"No. When he first came to the house, you were in the nursery as yet. Catherine must remember his visits, for she was in awe of him in his finery. He made your mother laugh, even when she was so unwell, and for that, he has my undying gratitude."

"So, you will ask him about Mr. Beckham."

"I know only the man's reputation, which does him no good service as a prospective match for you," Patience's father said. "His grace will know more of his nature, and will better assess the match. I hope his view aligns with your own, Patience, but if it does not, I will decline the suit."

"Thank you, Papa, for taking such care of us."

He smiled and reached across the desk for her hand. "A daughter should not be surrendered with indifference, Patience. I would not have a one of you unhappy in your match. I know already that Mr. Beckham possesses a good income and a small fortune. His grace will know of his debts and any other pertinent details that may not be widely known. Lady Beckham wishes to host the wedding breakfast, which is a good sign, to my view, that she welcomes the match as heartily as he indicates. That is no small thing."

Patience smiled.

Her father beamed at her. "Now, leave me that I might write to the duke."