As You Wish (14 page)

Patricia sat up, opening her eyes. She didn’t remember closing them. Rita slouched against the doorway, her expression sagging with defeat. What did she know and how? Had someone managed to breach the estate security to spy on them in the walled garden or through the windows of the music room? Had someone seen them walking hand in hand yesterday? “What’s true?” Her voice squeaked, betraying her.

“You’re going to marry him.”

Patricia blinked. Marry Ryan? Impossible. Three generations of Whitmers would rise from the grave to stop that union. The earth would open up and swallow the entire estate. It couldn’t be Ryan.

But wouldn’t that be divine? Ryan, who thought she was beautiful, who thought about her comfort even when he was teasing her into a frenzy, who shut out the world for her. No, she could never marry Ryan, no matter how appealing the idea. Who did Rita think she was supposed to marry? Who was appropriate enough that Rita believed it without her saying a word?

Oh.

Oh no.

Patricia fought off a cascade of clammy chills. All those messages of congratulations. She’d assumed it was about the masquerade ball. What was it Ryan had said about assuming? Something about being embarrassed? She hadn’t bothered to check last night. It was probably loaded with congratulatory messages. Suddenly she felt queasy. It couldn’t be. It couldn’t possibly be. “Marry who?”

Chapter Nine

Patricia clutched a pen as Rita sank onto the stool by the door and studied her friend’s face.

“Scaly David Hoess.” Rita frowned. “Does this mean you’re not marrying scaly David Hoess?”

“Where did you hear such a thing?”

“It’s all over the hospital. I must have called you seventeen times yesterday. I stopped at the house three times. The gates were locked, and that gardener of yours wasn’t answering his door. I assumed the worst and thought you’d sent him away and locked up tight so you could have private time with the slimeball.”

Patricia swallowed. Private time she’d had, but there had been no slimeball in sight. “I don’t know how anything like that got around. Unless Judith…” Judith Haddix wouldn’t let a juicy piece of gossip like that get away from her, especially if it would promote her stupid masquerade ball.

“Unless Judith what?” Rita leaned so far forward Patricia expected the stool to shoot out from under her.

“Judith Haddix saw us at the restaurant and talked me into having a ball to raise money for the museum. David said it would be a great opportunity to announce our engagement.”

“Then you are getting married.” Rita slouched against the wall, horrified.

“No, we’re just talking about it. Vaguely. Very vaguely. Very, very vaguely.” Patricia gestured like she was turning down a dessert tray covered in maggots.

“I’ll take what I can get and start on rumor-squashing patrol immediately.” Rita jumped up to leave, but she stopped at the cubicle door. “Wait, if you’re not all blissfully happy because you’re getting married, why do you have that blissfully happy look on your face?”

Patricia touched her face and then tried to cover for the motion by rubbing her nose. Could Rita see the print of Ryan’s hands on her skin? “I just had a very relaxing day yesterday.” She tried to keep her voice even, but it still sounded off to her.

Rita laughed. “What did you do, drink every drop of alcohol in the mansion and run naked though the halls singing sea shanties?”

Patricia nodded. “Something like that.” She stood, tucking the chart into its file. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to stop at the liquor store to restock on the way home.”

Rita left, her laughter following her down the hall. Patricia listened, smiling.

Considering her absolute hatred of David and her well-known closeness with Patricia, Rita would do an excellent job of stopping the engagement rumor in its tracks and leaving Patricia to deal with David. And it gave Rita something to focus on that wasn’t Patricia’s sex life. Patricia was covered on all angles. Blissfully happy about described the situation, no sea shanties required.

Except, something was marring her perfect happiness. Something unpleasant gnawed at the back of her mind. She carried the files to the admitting desk so the clerk could return them to the records room.

In the doctors’ lounge behind the desk, Patricia turned on the water to wash her hands. Her last patient had had a sinus infection in addition to a bad cold, neither of which she wanted to take home with her.

Something was wrong. Terribly wrong. As the water ran across the backs of her hands, she made the connection. Patricia snatched up her briefcase and didn’t bother to take off her lab coat. She had to force herself not to break into a sprint. That might alarm the staff.

It was Monday. The day she’d told David he could contact her. Knowing David, if the rumor about their impending engagement was all over town, he would feel obligated to do damage control in person. He would go to the house straight from the office.

Which would put him right in the path of Ryan.

* * * *

Ryan heard a car in the drive, so he left off digging the hole for the birch sapling he was planting and headed for the house. He didn’t expect her to want him tonight, but he needed to at least see her and assure himself that yesterday wasn’t a dream. Ryan had known for a long time that women like Patricia just didn’t want to spend time with him once they got what they wanted. He’d been surprised she hadn’t handed him a hundred over breakfast and reminded him to clean up the garden. Instead, she’d spent the morning helping him scrape the wax off the fountain and then spent the day with him as if he mattered. That he treasured more than any amount of money.

But the car speeding up the drive wasn’t Patricia’s.

Ryan rested the shovel on his shoulder, preparing to meet the driver.

David leaped out, a bouquet of red roses arranged over his arm, and headed for the door.

“She isn’t home,” Ryan called across the driveway.

Patricia had said she had had a fight with the poodle. Ryan assumed that was the purpose of the roses. The leaden weight of despair settled in his stomach. She’d forgive this slimeball for whatever he did because of those roses. Ryan glanced at the rose garden he’d cultivated. A dozen red roses trumped a garden full when they came from a guy like David. A guy in a nice tailored suit, with manicured hands.

David turned, his expression shifting from hopeful to cold. “Then I’ll have to wait.”

“You can leave those with me. I’ll make sure she gets them when she gets home.” Ryan matched David’s chill tone.

“I think I’ll wait for Patricia and give them to her myself.”

“You’ll have to wait outside.” Ryan stiffened. He had the keys to the house hanging by his own door, and Patricia might be annoyed that he hadn’t let David in. She could be swayed enough by the roses to forgive David on the spot. Or she might be mad that Ryan hadn’t escorted David off the property. Not knowing what she wanted gnawed at him. He wanted to please Patricia, but she hadn’t left any instructions. She hadn’t mentioned David at all yesterday, and Ryan had been happy not to hear his name.

“Tell me, when did you get demoted from gardener to guard dog?” David sneered.

Ryan gripped the handle of the shovel. “Caretaker.”

“I didn’t know the term for guard dog had changed. Maybe I’ll have to look into a Doberman pinscher for Patricia. It’s a better breed.”

The sound of another car on the drive kept Ryan from stalking across the drive and showing David what kind of breed he was. Patricia’s car squealed to a stop in front of Ryan, and she jumped out, stopping inches from him and staring up at him with wide eyes. She wore her lab coat, which she always left at the clinic.

“Hello, Ryan,” she said breathlessly. Her cheeks were hectic pink as she turned toward David. “Why, David, I didn’t expect you. And look at those lovely flowers.”

“I’d like to talk to you, Patricia,” David announced. “Why don’t we go inside?”

“What makes you so sure she wants to talk to you?” Ryan snapped.

“Patricia.” David’s voice edged on pleading.

Patricia turned back to Ryan, putting her hand on his arm. A flush of heat spread through him, starting where she touched him. Her blue eyes begged. “I’ll be all right, Ryan. I do need to talk to David.”

“Why can’t you talk to him here?” Ryan muttered. He didn’t want to be caught whining. Over her shoulder, he could see David’s annoyed aristocratic scowl. Frustration choked him. She wouldn’t be ashamed to be seen with David, as greedy and petty as he was, but she’d never be seen in public with the gardener unless he was starting her car for her. She wouldn’t even hold his hand unless they were on the grounds and the gates were locked.

“I need to talk to him alone.” She squeezed Ryan’s arm. “I’ll be fine. Come inside, David.” She strode to the door.

Ryan watched them go into the house. Only after the door shut did he realize his grip on the handle of the shovel had become painful. He started away, intending to return to the tree he was planting, but found himself walking toward his house.

* * * *

“I’m very sorry about Saturday night,” David began as soon as the door shut. “I didn’t realize you were still considering, and I never should have said anything in front of someone else in any case. I hoped the flowers might help you forgive me.”

Patricia slipped off her lab coat and dropped it over a chair in the foyer. As she walked ahead of him into the great hall, her footsteps echoed in the huge room. Her suit was rumpled. She would have preferred to see him when she was calmer. Inside, she felt like a volcano about to erupt. Ryan hadn’t helped. She’d thought he might take David’s head off with that shovel. Patricia had been afraid she would cheer if he did. Right now, she’d much rather talk to Ryan about the David problem than talk to David. Ryan wasn’t an impartial party, but he would be more impartial than Rita.

“There’s a rumor that we’re getting married,” she said.

“I-I know. It’s all over town.”

“All over town,” she repeated. She crossed the room to the liquor cabinet, more to give herself something to do than because she wanted a drink. Suddenly Rita’s crack about running through the halls naked, singing sea shanties, didn’t seem like a bad idea, except she didn’t know any sea shanties. Ryan might.

“I’ve gotten a few calls,” David admitted.

“As have I.”

“Judith Haddix must have told a few people.”

Patricia turned to face him, hoping she looked as imposing as she wanted to. Her head ached, and her knees shook. It wasn’t fair. Yesterday had been as perfect a day as she could have imagined, and now nothing was right. “You knew she would.”

David took a deep breath. “I brought flowers.”

“I see them. Put them on the table.” She gestured across the room. Then she moved to the window, as far from the flowers as she could get without leaving. Outside, the maples had all turned bright gold, but the oaks stubbornly held on to their green. Vivid chrysanthemums peeked over the low wall at the back of the patio, heralding the fall colors and the end of summer.

Patricia blinked as the flowers went out of focus. David had done something to encourage those rumors. She’d left him a whole day to work with. Running her hand through her hair, she tried to get some order to her thoughts. Right now she had to think, and thinking hurt.

David laid his bouquet on the side table and walked to the liquor cabinet to pour himself a drink. “I’m truly sorry, Patricia,” he said, splashing some brandy into a crystal glass. “I guess I had been wanting you to say yes so much that I convinced myself you had.”

“But I hadn’t.”

“I realize that now, but does that mean there’s no chance for us? Half the city thinks we’re getting married. I assumed we would from the time we were children. Our parents assumed we would too.”

Patricia kept herself from biting her lip. It was a bad habit that gave away her nervousness. Her parents had often joked about her marrying David Hoess. She remembered them sitting around the music room with the Hoesses, talking about what adorable grandchildren they would have. “I don’t intend to be pushed into a decision like this. Not by you or anyone, including my parents. Who are dead, if you recall.”

“I know, Patricia. I really am trying to apologize here.” He threw back the brandy like cheap whiskey and set the glass down. “I spent most of yesterday in the fetal position, trying to figure out how to apologize to you and praying to every god I could think of for you to even listen to me. You don’t know how much I love you, and I don’t think I could ever show you.”

Patricia wondered if it would be a show of weakness to sit down. She ached all over. While David had been huddled in misery, she’d been frolicking with Ryan, and she was a little sore from the experience. She wasn’t engaged to David. To be totally honest, she didn’t even consider herself to be dating David. So why did she feel like she’d been cheating on him? For all she knew, David was lying about how he’d spent yesterday. He was clever enough to come up with something better than flowers if he’d spent all day worrying.

Patricia flexed her fingers. Her joints throbbed, and the room felt chilly. This room had an even larger fireplace than the music room. If only she could ask Ryan to start a fire for her. If only she could ask Ryan to come in and tell her what to do. She made her way to the couch and sat down, abandoning her glass untouched on a side table.

David sat down beside her, gathering her hands into his. “I had forgotten how lovely you were until I saw you this summer. So lovely, so intelligent.” He brushed his fingers across her temple in a gesture she supposed he thought was tender.

It reminded her of Ryan doing the same thing. Only when Ryan had done it, he had been staring into her eyes with genuine warmth. David looked frightened.

“You look tired, darling,” David murmured. “I’m sure this has been as hard on you as it has been on me. Why don’t you just sit here and rest? I’ll have something delivered for dinner. We could eat in the formal dining room, if you like.”

“No!”

He’d been about to stand up but halted when she spoke. His eyes shone like a deer’s in the headlights. “Are you feeling all right?” he asked, straightening from the cringing position he’d frozen in.