Miranda Phipps

Of Intemperance and Follies
Wine is a turncoat; first a friend and then an enemy. -Henry Fielding

The fourth installment of our novella in which Damien and Patience join forces to prevent the dreaded “sagging middle” but nonetheless fall victim to the twin evils of excessive drink and scheming relations.

“Time to rise, Lady Lollygagger,” came a far too cheerful cry from the across the room. “I’ve brought a little treat for us to enjoy while you tell me all about my brother’s reaction to the townhouse renovations.”

The clinking of a China tea set as it came to rest on the bedside table inspired the devil’s minions to hammer on the interior of Patience’s skull. She groaned and cracked open an eyelid. A blurry figure shaped like her sister-in-law strode purposefully toward the draperies.

“Alexis, please don’t,” Patience begged, feeling as though her tongue had been upholstered in wool felt.

Alexis didn’t heed the request. The scrape of brass rings against the curtain rod accompanied a sunlit invasion. Patience groaned again and wriggled deeper into the feather bedding.

She felt the mattress shift as Alexis sat next to her. “Come Patience, it’s near three o’clock.”

“Teatime?” Patience asked incredulously. She was never abed this late in the day. She hauled herself into a sitting position and felt the world tilt at a precarious angle.

“Oh, Patience, what’s happened to you?” Alexis’ face was horror-stricken.

Patience climbed out of bed and staggered over to the mirror. Dull blue eyes stared back at her from a pallid complexion surrounded by a spiky halo of matted hair. She still wore yesterday’s dress, which bore the heavy wrinkles of a very troubled night of sleep.

“You were fine when you arrived here last evening,” Alexis said with a mixture of puzzlement and concern.

“Almost fine,” Patience corrected absently, remembering that she had adjourned to the Duchess of Alderman’s London estate in an attempt to escape the memories of that soul-rending kiss and Damien’s subsequent insult. “I just had a very late night, Alexis-that’s all. I was up till dawn reading my new novel.” She hoped that half of the truth about what happened in the wee hours of that morning would satisfy her sister-in-law.

“Is this it?” Alexis asked as she picked up a discarded book from the floor. “Barozzi or the Venetian Sorceress, A Romance of the Sixteenth Century? I heard that these romantic novels have an insidious effect on young ladies’ constitutions . . . .” Alexis turned a wide-eyed gaze back to the bedraggled Patience, “but I had no idea.” She dropped the book as if it had singed her fingertips.

“Those are all just tales, Alexis. You should really try one sometime. You might like it,” Patience suggested as she wandered over to the clothes press to select a fresh gown.

“Patience, what is this?” Alexis asked. She retrieved a tall glass bottle from the nightstand.

“Well,” Patience began, considering how best to sidestep the remaining, unspoken half of the truth. “I was having trouble sleeping so a little elderberry cordial seemed just the thing to settle my nerves.”

“But this is a bottle of elderberry wine,” Alexis corrected as she scrutinized the label. She inverted the bottle and jiggled it about to confirm its emptiness. “Oh, Patience. You didn’t overindulge in spirits did you?” Alexis cast an accusatory glance at the Venetian Sorceress lying on the floor.

“It certainly is not something I have ever done before-nor is it an experience I intend to repeat,” Patience firmly assured her. The worst part of it all was that getting hopelessly besotted over Damien hadn’t cured her of, well . . . being hopelessly besotted with Damien. “I’d really rather not speak of elderberries further, Alexis.” Her stomach churned in agreement. “What have you brought me in the pot on the tea tray?”

“That?” Alexis smiled enigmatically. “Why it’s the elixir for all feminine woes.”

“Coffee?” Patience suggested hopefully.

Alexis shook her head in the negative. “Much better-chocolate! I’ll leave you to dress. And by the way, you might want to take a care with your appearance. Our gentleman callers are waiting downstairs.”

* * *

“Jonathan, remind me to have my phaeton resprung and that I’m never to let you drive again,” Damien complained as he eased his large frame down onto Aunt Vi’s drawing room settee. “Good God, man, were you aiming for the potholes?” He rested the glass of ice water he held against his temple.

“Come now, Coulter. Crane is an excellent whip and your phaeton is the finest money can buy. Don’t blame them if you can’t hold your liquor,” Snydley interceded.

“I was just fine until you started serving the blue ruin last night, Snydley,” Damien shot back, unused to having his capacity for drink subject to question.

“What was I to do, Coulter? You drank all of my good liquor while developing the initial plan to manage your wife. It wasn’t my fault you failed to reserve a bottle for the process of revisions.”

Ah. The plan, Damien thought. If only he could remember what it was, revised or otherwise. Luckily, his friends had mentioned that as a first step they were to come to Aunt Vi’s. Beyond that he hadn’t a clue. Damien didn’t even know how he knew Patience was staying here. After last night’s excesses, he supposed he should be grateful he even knew he had a wife.

“Point taken, Snydley,” Damien said. “Given my newfound resolution never to partake of spirits again, you are welcome to take my every bottle.”

“A bold declaration, indeed, on the part of the man with the finest cellar in London,” Jonathan laughed.

“Ah, Damien-so lovely to see you and your friends,” his aunt said in greeting as she swept into the room. “I can’t tell you how delighted I was to receive your note proposing this afternoon’s outing.”

“Outing?” Damien echoed.

“Of course, Damien. You said you wished to escort a small party to admire my folly.” His aunt turned as the door to the drawing room opened again. “Ah, Alexis. Patience. Lovely as two fresh-cut spring flowers.”

“Your folly, Aunt?” he questioned, convinced that drink had affected his hearing along with his vision, for Patience looked decidedly wilted to his eyes. “Are you by chance referring to the second Duke of Alderman’s exceedingly ill-advised foray into architectural fruit?”

“Yes, that’s the one,” confirmed Lady Alderman. “I was a bit surprised given that you had once referred to my favorite outbuilding as an offense against tropical vegetation, but I presume you have finally come to your senses. Shall we be off then?”

Snydley and Crane jumped up at once and seconded the duchess’s suggestion. Damien felt a deep sense of relief that at least someone remembered his scheme for converting Patience into a proper wife.

“Aren’t you at all concerned about the weather, Damien?” Patience asked as she warily eyed a growing mass of storm clouds through the drawing room window.

“Nonsense. It’s just a passing shower,” answered Lady Alderman on his behalf. “Patience, you take Damien’s arm. Mr. Crane, if you’d be so obliged,” she said, gesturing toward Alexis. “And Baron Snydley-you’ll escort me, of course. I do so have a weakness for conspiratorial villains. Especially the handsome ones. Damien, why don’t you lead the party?”

Damien could have sworn he saw his aunt wink at the baron, but as he took his wife’s arm to lead her through the French doors and out to the gardens he became preoccupied with the bruise-colored smudges beneath her eyes. It was by far the most offensive shade of purple he’d ever seen. And that included the library. “Patience, the folly is only a short walk from the house, but are you well enough for the outing? You don’t look yourself today.”

“Just a little tired, I’m afraid. The same could be said of your appearance, Damien-although I do like the new arrangement of your hair,” she added with a grin.

“My valet deserves the compliment. He performed a small miracle given the extent of the damage you inflicted.”

Patience laughed-the musical notes descending into giggles as she looked off into the distance. “The folly I take it?”

Before Damien could reply, a bolt of lightening flashed on the horizon and illuminated a cottage capped with a giant stone pineapple. A deafening clap of thunder followed. The couple burst into a run toward the small shelter. Damien looked back to confirm the progress of the rest of the their party only to discover that they were utterly alone. “Folly, indeed,” Damien thought aloud as the heavens opened upon them.