atience very quickly settled into her new way of life. She wrote regularly to Tom, as she had promised, and even received a reply, a page of his sprawling writing advising her that his grand tour was fixed for the end of the following month, and that he intended to call on her before he left for the Continent.
This delighted Patience, who showed the letter to Lady Costain, asking shyly if it would be permissible for her to see him. Milady gave her gracious consent, but looked rather sharply at her.
‘He is not your young man, I take it?’
Patience giggled. ‘Oh no, milady, he is just like a brother to me. We grew up together, and I am very fond of him.’
‘I see. I am relieved to hear it. I am very pleased with the way you are managing my son, Miss Kilpatrick, and should not wish to lose you to a husband just yet.’
Patience blushed with pleasure. ‘Oh thank you, milady, I am so happy you are pleased with me.’
Timothy, indeed, was behaving with great restraint. His tantrums appeared to be a thing of the past, and he had not run away once since Patience arrived. Patience was strongly of the opinion that such remarkable abstinence was due more to the influence of Jonathon than to anything she might have done, for that young gentleman was a ver y stolid and unimaginative youth, the per fect foil for Timothy with his quick wit and lively tongue. They played together for hours outside the house, appearing to derive great satisfaction from their involved and quite incomprehensible games. The dog, which laboured under the improbable misnomer of Lancelot and whose lineage and character were far removed from his noble namesake, followed them about tirelessly, and as its temper with strangers was far from certain, and its life’s work seemed to be the subjugation o