The Duke's Christmas Greetings (Regency Christmas Summons Book 3) (10 page)

Ashes looked indignant, hopped off the bed, and left Matt to himself, which was exactly what he wanted, except…Well, he wanted to be left to himself, but he wanted Patience there with him. But how was he to manage that? He didn’t for one moment think she wasn’t receiving callers. She just wasn’t allowed to see
him
. And if he wasn’t welcome at Castle Danby and she wasn’t allowed off the premises, how was he ever going to see her again?

There had to be something he could do. Something, anything.

He made his way to his wash stand and stared at the awful looking reflection staring back at him in the mirror. That purple, swollen eye made him look like the worst sort of brigand. He washed his face, careful of his eye, and then went about his morning ablutions, racking his brain for some idea about how to go on.

As soon as Matt headed downstairs to break his fast, Mrs. Henderson met him in the foyer.

“A gentleman is in the parlor for you,” she whispered, looking fairly concerned.

Who the devil was at Allwynds at this hour? “Which gentleman?”

Mrs. Henderson shook her head. “He wouldn’t say, Doctor, and he insisted on staying even though I told him you weren’t receiving anyone yet this morning.”

“Is he sick or injured?”

She shook her head once more. “Just appears to be angry.”

Perfect. Matt glanced towards his parlor and nodded. “Thank you, I’ll see to the fellow straight away.” Then he strode past his housekeeper, into the parlor and saw the very reason he was only able to see out of one eye that morning.

Quentin Post was lounged in one of Matt’s soft leather chairs and he didn’t seem inclined to stand. Instead, he rubbed his chin as he assessed Matt and probably his own handiwork. “Well, aren’t you pretty this morning?”

Matt didn’t even try to keep the growl from his voice when he said, “If that’s all you came for, you can leave.”

“I don’t think I’m quite ready to do that, yet.” The gentleman narrowed his eyes on him. “I saw my sisters yesterday.”

“How is Patience?” Matt couldn’t help but ask.

“Well, I saw
two
of them,” Post amended. “My step-mother insisted Patience wasn’t feeling well enough to attend dinner.”

Panic swirled around Matt’s heart. What did that mean? “She’s not well?” he breathed out. Had he kept her out in the elements too long? Was it the snow that fell on them at his doorway? Or—

“Hope and Grace assure me that she is well, and that she is unharmed.”

Matt breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank God.”

“My step-mother has always had a flare for the dramatic, but in this case, you should count yourself fortunate that she hasn’t demanded your head on a platter.”

“I shouldn’t have taken Patience with me yesterday, I—”

“No.” Quentin Post agreed with a definite nod. “You shouldn’t have taken my sister to a bloody inn, even if it was just to care for some injured child. Surely you must realize what that must have appeared like to Lady Bradenham, to me.”

Actually, Matt hadn’t given it a second thought. He’d been concerned about little Robby Gibson’s broken leg and the locale of the injured boy hadn’t crossed his mind. “I’m an idiot.”

“Aren’t we all sometimes?” the man said, which Matt didn’t expect in the least. Then he sat a little taller and heaved a sigh. “Anyway, Hope and Grace insist I speak to you and find out your intentions.”

His intentions. Finally, someone was willing to listen. Matt dropped into the chair across from Post. “I’ve never met anyone like her,” he began. “She’s the most perfect girl I’ve ever known. Now, I can’t imagine I’m the sort of man you have in mind for your sister, but...”

“Why? What’s wrong with you?”

The question knocked Matt backward and he sputtered slightly. “Well, I just…that is…I mean, I’m the son of a doctor, the grandson of a doctor. I…”

“And she’s the daughter of a thrill seeker who died in a race before she was born. I hardly see your point.”

Did the man truly not care that Matt wasn’t a peer, that he had no claim to any title or greatness in any way. “She’s the daughter of a marquess.”

“Yes, well, the current marquess sent me here to keep an eye on our three sisters. Fortunes can come and go and a title can be tarnished, but the core of a man remains constant. I can assure you that my brother and I are less concerned about a man’s station and more concerned with how that man might treat our sister.”

Matt could hardly believe what he was hearing. Was the man serious? “With care,” he breathed out. “As though she was the most precious thing in the world.”

Quentin Post nodded at that. “And what is it you like about her, Campion? Her dowry or—”

“Good God!” Matt sputtered. He hadn’t given a dowry even the slightest consideration. “Patience is kind and beautiful and…”

“There are two other girls who look just like her, if it’s her beauty that struck you.” Her brother’s eyes narrowed slightly, assessing Matt once more.

“But they’re not
her
,” he replied, with a little fire in his belly. And they didn’t have her heart, the core of who she was. “No one is like her. No one has ever made me forget my own name, take in a kitten I could do without, or do foolish things like put my livelihood in jeopardy just to spend a few moments with her.”

“Speaking of the state of your livelihood,” the man began, “I saw Danby last night and he is quite furious with you, I think you should be aware.”

Matt had figured that out for himself. Who knew what was in store for his future in Yorkshire now? How could he even provide for Patience without Danby’s support?

“He told me to tell you that you should not even think about attending his Christmas ball this year.”

The duke’s Christmas ball. Matt had never gone before, though he’d been invited in years past. “I’m not really the waltzing sort.”

A shadow of a smile tugged at Post’s lips. “Patience does love to waltz, that is too bad to hear.”

Damn it all, Patience
would
be at that ball.  What if—

“Danby said that if you dared to step over his threshold, that you could look for a different village, that your career in Yorkshire would be non-existent.”

The breath whooshed out of Matt. He knew Danby was angry, but he hadn’t expected that sort of threat. The duke was generally reasonable, or at least he’d always found him to be so, but…

Quentin Post reached into his jacket and retrieved an ornate envelope. Then he held it out for Matt.

“What is that?” he asked, taking the heavy vellum.

“Invitation to Danby’s Christmas ball.”

Matt blinked at the man. “I thought you said—”

“It’s
my
invitation.” He shrugged. “But I think you’re in more need of it than I am.”

Was the man trying to help him? Or ruin his life? Help him catch Patience? But then have no way to provide for her? Was he always so masochistic? “Why?”

“Because Patience in love with you. I’d like to know if you’re worthy of that love.” He pushed out of his chair and looked down at Matt. “And after I made a fool out of myself in pursuit of my wife, I suppose I’d like to think I’m not the only fool out there.” He started for the doorway and tossed, “Morning, Campion, best of luck with the rest of your day,” over his shoulder before striding out Matt’s front door.

Lord Quentin Post dropped into a seat in front of the large desk and cracked a smile at the crusty old duke. “You are a master, I’ll give you that.” When Braden had written him and said the old man might possibly match one or more of their sisters with decent fellows over the holiday, Quent had thought the whole scheme was madness. But in Patience’s case, it had been pure genius, he had to admit.

A twinkle lit Danby’s eyes. “So you liked him, then?”

He actually did, surprising as it was. “Seems a very earnest fellow.” And concerned about Patience’s wellbeing, which was refreshing, especially after the nightmare that had been the late Earl of Kilworth. “I think he does love her.”

At that the duke chuckled. “Of course he does. The man took in that rotten cat of hers.” As though Campion’s feelings for Patience had been sorted out so easily. “He’s not the sort of man who would do that for just anyone, Quentin. She captured his interest, his heart from the first moment. You can trust me on that.”

Perhaps it was that easy, then. It hadn’t been that easy for Quent, but…then again, he’d been an idiot for an entire year, not that he’d readily admit that to anyone.

Still, it was hard to believe that the Duke of Danby had worked all this out so quickly. “Tell me you didn’t have him picked out for her before she even arrived.” There were, after all, rumors that the old duke was omnipotent, and if he’d planned this entire thing weeks ago, Quent would never bet against the old man who had to be capable of damn near anything.

But Danby shook his head. “She was the only one of the three I hadn’t heard any whispers about. I had no idea what to expect from her. I’m pleasantly surprised, actually. Campion is an honorable fellow. Can’t speak highly enough of him.”

“And you’re certain this honorable fellow of yours will put his livelihood at risk, defy your order and attend your Christmas ball just to catch a glimpse of my sister?”

“I’ll be disappointed if he doesn’t.” He smiled. “A man should have to work for true love. How can he know the value of it otherwise?”

That was a very strange way of thinking. Life was hard enough as it was, sometimes.

Quent snorted. “I think I’m glad you didn’t interfere in my life.”

The twinkle was back in Danby’s eyes. “I think you managed just fine on your own. Your wife is delightful, by the way.”

With that Quent whole-heartedly agreed.

The very last thing in the world Patience wanted to do was attend the Duke of Danby’s Christmas ball. She wasn’t merry in the least and she had no desire to stand around and pretend like she was. And she certainly wasn’t in the mood to dance. She would never be in the mood again, not until she found a way to see Matt.

“Must you scowl?” Hope complained at her side as hoards of guests flitted about the ballroom.

“I told you I didn’t want to come,” she muttered back under her breath.

“It’s not my fault,” her sister returned. “I didn’t make you attend.”

No, Mama had done that, insisting that she was not going to defy the duke who had been quite adamant that she be in attendance. Though why the rotten old man should care one way or the other made no sense at all. He didn’t even like Patience. Did he just want her there to make certain she was as miserable as he was himself? Angry, bitter, old, entitled—

“She looks thrilled,” Hope whispered sarcastically just as Grace finished a minuet with some fellow Patience had never seen before. And their sister did look most annoyed.

Upon returning to their side, Grace heaved a sigh. “That man was a bore,” she said only loud enough for sisters to hear.

“Say what you will about Henry, but he wasn’t a bore,” Hope replied, turning her attention back to the sea of dancers lining up for a reel.

True, Lord Kilworth hadn’t been a bore. Hope was right about that. Unfortunately, that might be the only positive thing one could say about the man.

“Grace.” Lord Prestwood appeared before them, looking as handsome as he usually did. A dark curl graced his brow and his light eyes twinkled with a bit of wickedness. “Might I have this dance?”