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“Lord Cardigan,” he announced.
Patricia took a deep breath. A lot was riding on this visit. Not least of all if she could stomach the thought of ever being married to him. Lord Cardigan was indeed handsome and wealthy and, on the surface, seemed a fine prospect. But Patricia still could not get those stubborn lingering feelings about the Duke of Merriweather to dissipate. It was most odd, indeed.
Lord Cardigan swept into the room, bowing low. “Ladies. It is a pleasure, indeed.” He straightened, turning to Patricia’s mother. “Lady Hunter. I recall we last met at Lord Farquhar’s soiree last spring?”
“Indeed, my Lord.” She inclined her hand towards the velvet chaise lounge. “Please, if you will take a seat. I have already ordered tea and it shall be here directly.”
Patricia settled herself beside her mother, her heart racing. Covertly, she studied the man. It had been almost a week since she had seen him at the charity event. He was just as handsome as she remembered, with fine grey eyes and a strong, masculine countenance. She wondered how old he was. He looked somewhat older than the Duke, who must only be in his middle twenties.
Stop it, Patricia, she scolded herself. Do not think of the Duke of Merriweather.
The tea arrived, along with a plate of Cook’s ginger biscuits, fresh from the oven. Her mother poured the tea, passing a cup to Lord Cardigan. He sipped it, eyeing Patricia over the rim of the cup. She straightened, raising her chin and gave him her most winning smile.
“And how have you been, Lady Patricia?” he asked airily, placing his cup back on the table. “Keeping well, I do hope.”
She took a deep breath. “Very well, my Lord. And I am most gratified that you decided to call upon me.” She took another deep breath. “Indeed, I have been counting the days.”
“As have I, my Lady,” he said slowly, smiling lazily. “You made quite an impression upon me, I must say.” He paused. “I must admit, I felt rather sorry for you, taking a turn around those gardens at the orphanage with the new Duke of Merriweather. I am sure you were only doing it out of politeness, which shows you have a tender heart for the afflicted.”
Patricia stiffened. “The Duke was most charming, my Lord. It was not a sufferance to be in his company at all.”
Her mother glared at her, but Patricia refused to look at her.
“Oh, come now,” said Lord Cardigan, laughing. “Let us call a spade a spade. He is not exactly a pretty man any longer, with that awful, scarred face of his. I am sure that all young ladies must shudder at the sight.”
Patricia’s smile tightened. “I rather think that his scar reflects his bravery, my Lord. Which shows the character of the man, to be sure.”
“What a polite young thing you are,” said Lord Cardigan. “I find it rather charming, but it is completely unnecessary in the case of the Duke of Merriweather.”
“You served in the last war as well, did you not, my Lord?” asked Lady Hunter.
He seemed to puff out his chest. “I did, Lady Hunter. It was an honor and a privilege to serve my country.” He paused. “I am not shy to admit that I saved the day on more than one occasion. My fellow officers looked up to me and I always attempted to lead them by example.”
“Indeed,” said Lady Hunter. “You were clearly brave, my Lord.”
He smiled. “I am not ashamed to admit I was, Lady Hunter. I believe that war makes a man, in some ways. It becomes very clear who has the fortitude to endure it and who does not. It separates the boys from the men, indeed.” He cleared his throat, glancing at Patricia. “Some men are spineless milksops, crying for their mamas or nannies as soon as the going gets rough. I have no sympathy for such men. They have obviously not been toughened to withstand any hardship.”
Patricia smiled uncertainly, not really knowing what to say. If she didn’t know any better, she would think that he was bragging. And to criticize men for being scared in such appalling conditions was a little heartless, in her view. She had never been to war and never would. She did not know much about it and could not offer an informed opinion. But it still rankled.
Her mother did not look impressed by Lord Cardigan’s comment, either. Patricia knew it was probably because it hit a little too close to home. Her Uncle Thomas, her mother’s younger brother, had returned injured from war many years ago and had never been the same since. In addition to a limp in his left leg, Patricia knew he still suffered from terrible nightmares and had difficulty settling to anything. He would often stare vacantly into space for hours at a time.
“And how do you spend your time now, my Lord, since your return from war?” asked Lady Hunter, wrinkling her nose slightly. She obviously wanted to change the subject.
Lord Cardigan shrugged. “Oh, this and that,” he said breezily. “I spend quite a lot of time at my country estate riding to hounds. I do like a bit of blood sport.” His eyes twinkled. “And I have my various business enterprises. The estate is flush, but they pass the time.”
Lady Hunter nodded. “Investments, then? How very clever of you.”
“Yes, I have a marvellous head for figures,” he declared airily. “My old mathematics masters at Eton and Oxford were very impressed with me.” He paused. “But I excelled in all areas, madam. History and English literature, as well as Latin. I was also very good in the boxing ring and many other sports besides…”
Patricia felt her attention wandering as the gentleman droned on about his various sporting exploits, and what a skilled player he was. Apart from the fact that sports did not interest her at all – particularly blood sports, which she found abhorrent – he was so very boastful. He thought he was simply the best at everything. He had been the bravest soldier, the cleverest student, the most skilled sportsman…it just went on and on.
She knew that he was probably trying to impress her, but she was left cold. Far better to have a modest, humble gentleman who could show her through actions, rather than words, how brave or clever or skilled he was. A gentleman who talked himself up so much was just a swollen-headed braggart, in her opinion.
Her mother was obviously bored, too, judging by the frozen smile upon her face. She was eating the ginger biscuits at a rapid rate, veritably shovelling them into her mouth, as she nodded encouragingly towards the gentleman. Her eyes were glazed.
But it wasn’t just the fact that Lord Cardigan liked to sound his own trumpet so loudly. He liked his own voice, to be sure, but then many gentlemen were the same. Most of them thought that they should speak, and women were there simply to listen. Rather, it was the fact that he never once paused to ask her anything about herself. Not her interests, nor her opinions, or even if she liked any of his. To call the conversation one sided was truly an understatement of the highest order.
She gazed at him fixedly as he, without pausing for breath, launched into another anecdote about his time reading philosophy at Oxford, and how he had been top of his class. And all that she could think about was how very callous and scathing he had been about the Duke of Merriweather, who he had claimed was a friend, and the Duke’s obvious dislike of the man.
