All I Want for Christmas Is a Duke

by Vivienne Lorret

  I am ever yours,

  Kingsbury

  NATHANIEL STARED OUT at the snow-­covered landscape, but in his mind, he was back at Worthington Manor—­or, more precisely, at the dower house—­trying to work out what the hell had just happened. After the night they’d just spent, he’d rather expected Patience to fall into his arms.

  But no, she’d gone and speculated on his family’s reaction to him turning up in the company of a female. What was more, she had them dead to rights. They would look down their noses at Patience even if she had been born well enough to wed an earl. Yes, and she was correct in her assessment. She couldn’t afford the appearance of scandal.

  He understood her reluctance to face his family. He only prayed that hesitancy didn’t extend to him, personally. Because if he knew anything, he knew he had to see her again. He couldn’t stand to pass the rest of his life living on the memory of a single night. He wanted more with her.

  Good God, when had he gone and done something so foolish as fall in love with Patience? Certainly not anytime during the past two days. No, that event dated back much, much further, even if he hadn’t realized in the moment.

  If he was completely honest, it had happened in an instant, the moment he’d spotted her across a crowded ballroom, one young lady clad in white silk and a feathered headdress among so many others, but for some inexplicable reason she’d drawn his eye. And she’d been conversing with one of his school friends, which had given him an excuse to beg an introduction.

  He’d asked her to dance, she’d accepted, and the moment she’d laid her hand in his had been like the crackle of lightning in a summer storm—­electric, awe-­inspiring, and terrifying all at once. He’d been a goner, even if he hadn’t known it.

  But he knew now. He had ten years’ worth of experience to compare her to. But Patience didn’t compare, and that was the problem. For him, she stood above all other women he’d ever met.

  He’d lost ten years with her. He wasn’t about to lose another decade. He wouldn’t lose another week if he had his way. No, on Twelfth Night, she would bloody well come to his estate, and then he’d have only to convince her.

  The rest of his family be damned.

  Chapter Eight

  Kingsbury’s Estate

  Twelfth Night, 1817

  THE MOMENT PATIENCE entered one of the numerous receiving rooms, she remembered why she despised social gatherings. Ladies dressed in exquisite ball gowns and glittering jewels gathered in flocks, chatting and laughing with gentlemen clad in stark black. The fashion plates from La Belle Assemblée come to life.

  Though she’d donned her best gown, Patience felt like a wren next to these peacocks. Once dinner was announced, she could only pray she wasn’t seated next to someone too insufferable.

  She edged closer to her sister-­in-­law, grateful that at least one of the ladies present would deign to speak with her.

  “Odd.” Constance pulled out her fan and waved it before her face. “I thought we must have been asked here as a curiosity. Country gentry on display.”

  Patience suppressed a smile. Thank heavens for Constance’s sharp wit.

  Peter snorted with laughter, though he quickly covered the reaction with a false cough. At the sound, heads turned in their direction. Several sets of eyebrows rose. Several more pairs of heads tilted toward each other. Whispers were exchanged behind fans. A few of the faces triggered her memory. A decade ago, she’d met some of these ladies who had conspired to make their own brilliant matches. She might have even traded pleasantries with them over tea. But since her exile to the country, she’d turned back into a stranger.

  Patience bore the weight of their scrutiny in silence.

  Constance pulled a face. “What do you suppose they’re saying about us?”

  “Perhaps they believe we’ve become lost on our way to our true destination,” Peter replied with a wink. “Still, we’re in the company of a countess. That must count for something.”

  Patience jammed her elbow into his ribs. She could get away with it. No one was paying her the least bit of attention now. Just as well. “I regret mentioning the invitation at all.”

  When she’d finally arrived at her brother’s, she’d waited a day or two before approaching the topic. Even then, she’d eased into it carefully so as not to provoke too many questions.

  “I beg your pardon.” Her brother pulled on his sleeves. “When a duke summons you, you respond.” He’d said as much days ago.

  “Summons? It was hardly a summons.” And if she kept on repeating that to herself, she might come to believe it. “As I told you, I had a note. If we were in the area, we might consider . . .” She trailed off. Even to her own ears the story sounded weak.

  “I received a summons,” Peter admitted.

  “You received . . .” This was the first Patience had heard as much.

  “No uncertain terms.” He turned a penetrating gaze on her. “I should like to know what that’s all about, actually.”

  “I confess myself quite intrigued, as well,” Constance added. “I seem to recall ten years ago Kingsbury was quite smitten with a certain young lady. Yet how he’s suddenly remembered your existence, I can never guess.”

  “He wasn’t Kingsbury then.” Another lame response, but it was the best Patience could muster. She couldn’t possibly go so far as to tell them the real reason behind this invitation. Not that she knew for certain, but whatever Kingsbury’s reasons, they traced back to the previous week.

  Thankfully a footman chose that moment to appear with a tray of wassail. She chose a cup of the steaming, spiced liquid and raised it to her lips.

  The drink spread warmth through her, or perhaps that was due to the sudden presence at her side. She hardly needed to turn and see for herself who had joined them. Her body seemed to sense his on an elemental level now. She took a larger swallow, the aroma of cloves and allspice briefly masking Kingsbury’s sandalwood scent.

  Kingsbury shook hands with her brother and inclined his head to her sister-­in-­law before addressing Patience. He picked up her free hand and bent over it. “I’m so happy you’ve come.”

  You may be the only one. She stopped herself before she blurted something stupid, but even as she gave the expected reply, she caught sight of Diana eyeing their group.

  “I wonder if you’d indulge me,” Nathaniel went on.

  Patience wafted her fan before her face. Perhaps it was the drink, but the room had suddenly become overheated. “Indulge you how?”

  “Simple curiosity. How did young Jamie enjoy his present?”

  “Oh, do tell,” Constance put in. “Start from the beginning. Who is Jamie?”

  Patience’s face flamed as hot as the sun. She might be thoroughly in love with Nathaniel on account of that blasted Christmas present, but right now she wished only to smack him. “He’s the son of one of Worthington’s tenants.”

  “Indeed?” said Constance. “And how would someone like His Grace know of the child, let alone give him a gift?”

  “Did Lady Worthington not recount her adventures?” Nathaniel asked. “She is too modest. She came to my rescue when my carriage became stuck on Christmas Eve. She was kind enough to offer me shelter from the storm.” He recounted the story so smoothly, as if the previous week’s events had transpired in complete innocence.

  “And we happened across Jamie,” Patience finished. “His Grace was kind enough to leave the child a bilboquet.” She made it sound like a mere trifle. No doubt to Nathaniel it was. But the wooden cup and ball had been cunningly carved, the deep golden wood sanded smooth as silk. Some master wood-­carver had surely made the toy with a great deal of care, and such expertise usually commanded a high price. “Jamie was quite delighted and sends his thanks.”

  Patience was putting words in the boy’s mouth. When she’d taken him the gift on Boxing Day, the duke’s
generosity had left him at a complete loss. She’d walked back home through the woods, her heart swelling with Nathaniel’s thoughtfulness. She hadn’t just fallen in love with him, she realized. She’d plummeted straight off a cliff.

  The corners of Nathaniel’s eyes crinkled as his smile deepened. “It does my heart good to hear it. I hope you’ll forgive my lack of manners, but I should like to borrow Lady Worthington for a few moments,” he added to Peter and Constance. “I promise to return her before dinner is served.”

  Constance shot Patience a look that clearly said she’d be explaining everything in detail on the carriage ride home. Patience drained her cup and set it on a side table.

  Nathaniel offered his arm.

  “What is it?”

  “I want to show you something.”

  “What?”

  He steered her into the corridor. “I promise it’s nothing scandalous. I will not lead you astray. That is . . .” His voice lowered an octave. “Unless you’d like me to.”

  The invitation in his tone called up all manner of wicked memories of the joy she’d shared with him. Tempting. So tempting.

  He guided her into the entrance hall toward a curving grand staircase. As they ascended, his free hand hovered at the small of her back, its presence tangible as a cushion of warmth in the half inch of air that separated his palm from her gown.

  “Where are we going?”

  “You’ll see.”

  They climbed a second flight. The bedchambers were on this level. This couldn’t possibly be an attempt at a seduction before supper. Along the upper passage to the back of the manor, he threw open a door.

  She hardly had the chance to take in the small furnishings, the rocking horse, the rows of tin soldiers, before a pair of boys rocketed into him to shouts of “Papa!”

  A nursemaid strode in their wake. “Ye young masters be careful now. His Grace is dressed in his evening clothes.”

  The nursery. He wanted to show her the nursery.

  “Good heavens, why?” She could only think of a single reason, and that reason set her pulse to racing.

  He extricated himself from his sons’ enthusiastic embrace and smoothed the black superfine of his dinner jacket. “It seemed fitting. In a way, I suppose, these are my versions of Jamie.”

  That reply did nothing for the state of her heartbeat.

  “Colin, Oliver,” he said to the boys, “it is time to show how well you’ve learned your manners. I am about to present you to a lady. Lady Worthington, to be exact.”

  They stepped back to regard her with round eyes and a certain measure of skepticism. Close to Jamie’s age, they bore their father’s dark coloring and striking blue eyes. Longing, keen and sharp-­edged, pierced her heart like a lance. Had things worked out differently, they could have been hers.

  “I’m very pleased to meet you.” She forced the words past a knot in her throat and held out her hand for them to shake. “You’re the very image of your father.”

  “Why does everyone say that?” asked one of them. She couldn’t have distinguished the two if she’d tried.

  Nathaniel ruffled his hair. “Because it’s true. And now I shall wish you a good night, for I must return to my guests.”

  The nursemaid bobbed a curtsy and took the boys in hand. The door to the nursery closed at Patience’s back, but she barely noticed. The corridor seemed to be shimmering with waves of heat like those that rose over a summer field. She blinked away the tears.

  “What do you think?” Nathaniel asked. Something in his tone betrayed a keen desire to hear her response.

  “Of your boys?” By some miracle her voice sounded only a little thick. “They’re fine young men. You’ve every right to be proud.”

  Please heaven, don’t let him note anything is amiss. She couldn’t afford to have him asking questions if he noticed that she was upset, for the very reasons made too many assumptions about his intentions.

  Or was this gesture his attempt to inform her of his intentions? She hardly knew anymore.

  He stepped in front of her. The breadth of his shoulders blocked the light. “Are you all right?”

  Or she could fib. She raised her chin and met his gaze dead on. “I have to wonder why you invited me to this gathering. It was clear enough in the sitting room that I am not wanted here.”

  His fingers brushed her cheek, and he leaned closer. “On the contrary.”

  “Tell me,” she insisted. “I must know the truth. Are you playing games with me?”

  But he didn’t have a chance to reply, for a new voice echoed down the passage. “Really, is this any way to behave?”

  Patience practically jumped back, she moved away so fast. Her heart hammered the way it had when, as a child, she’d been caught doing something naughty.

  If she’d thought anyone might interrupt them, she would have wagered her pin money on Diana. But a much older woman appeared past Nathaniel’s shoulder, her wrinkled face set in lines of displeasure. The dowager duchess.

  “I thought I raised you better than that,” the woman added, as if her own son had still been six years old rather than six and thirty. “Stealing off for a tryst before supper.”

  Nathaniel raised a brow. “Does that mean after supper is acceptable?”

  The dowager raised both of hers. “That will do.”

  “There is absolutely nothing untoward occurring here.”

  “I should hope not. You are both beyond the age where I should have to remind you to conduct your affairs with discretion.”

  “This is not an affair.” Nathaniel all but growled the words.

  “Indeed? Well, I wish you’d come to me to discuss your desire for another duchess. I might have suggested a few well-­connected ladies who might carry off the role to my satisfaction.”

  “Let us understand one thing.” Nathaniel placed himself between Patience and his mother. “If I decide to marry, I shall choose my own duchess this time, and you shall have no say in the matter. Nor shall Diana.” He looked about. “Where is she? Hiding in a corner to watch you set me down?”

  “The very idea.” The dowager duchess waved a hand before her face. “I’m here because you are neglecting your guests. I have been informed supper is served, but we can hardly proceed to the dining room when you are conspicuously absent.”

  Nathaniel turned to Patience. “Then let us go.”

  His mother sniffed and headed back down the corridor, but Patience held back. “That is what I meant about not being wanted.”

  He held out his arm for her to take. “If you will kindly accompany me, we’re neglecting our guests.”

  Our guests. As if she was the hostess tonight. She caught her breath. “But your mother.”

  “Do not concern yourself.” He set off toward the staircase. “One of the first things a duke learns is that he can get away with telling most of the world to bugger themselves, and they very kindly bow and set to.”

  Patience nearly tripped over her gown.

  “Forgive me. Has my language shocked you?”

  “No.” She’d heard far worse from the earl when he’d been in his cups. And that was to say nothing of her brothers when they weren’t. “I just never expected you, of all ­people, to say something like that.”

  “Our history together would lead you to think that, wouldn’t it? But I intend to remedy that situation tonight. My family be damned.”

  “Something tells me your mother won’t be one to bow.”

  “I don’t plan on giving her the choice.”

  They reached the ground floor to find the guests gathered, ready to process to the dining room. Diana stood at the front of the group, watching Patience through narrowed eyes.

  “Lud.” She might have addressed her companion, but her voice carried throughout the hall. “I didn’t realize we were going to observe all the
old traditions tonight.”

  Beneath Patience’s hand, Nathaniel’s arm muscles tightened. “What tradition might those be?” he asked carefully.

  “Oh, that nonsense about turning the world upside down and placing one of the servants at the head of the table. Is that where you’re planning on seating Lady Worthington?”

  A collective gasp went through the crowd. Diana’s escort edged away from her. Heat rose to Patience’s cheeks. From several feet away, the weight of the dowager’s glare bypassed her to settle on Diana. Thank the heavens.

  “I ought to send you to dine in the kennels for that remark,” Nathaniel shot back. “However, I prefer you remain on hand to witness tonight’s proceedings. Now, shall we go in to supper in a civilized fashion, or is that much beyond you?”

  Nathaniel led Patience before the entire company into a palatial dining room dominated by a table swathed in white linen, lined with ornate candelabra between the fine porcelain plates. He took her to an opulent, carved chair at the right of his place.

  She hung back for a moment. “You cannot mean to seat me here.”

  “Indeed I do. You will understand why in a moment.”

  As the rest of the company filed in, Diana glared from her spot much farther down the table—­thank goodness. Servants brought in the first course and poured rich red wine into crystal goblets. Patience suppressed an urge to down the contents in a single gulp.

  She didn’t get a chance at even a sip. Before the meal could begin, Nathaniel rose from his place at the table’s head, glass in hand. “Before we tuck into this lovely meal, I should like to request your indulgence while I propose a toast.”

  Murmurs rippled up and down the table. Both Diana and the dowager duchess scowled, without doubt over the breach of protocol.

  “Ten years ago, I made the acquaintance of a certain young lady.” Nathaniel nodded at Patience. Her heart beat faster. “One might say I was immediately smitten, and I would not argue with that assessment. But then I made a grave error. I thought I had ample time to press my suit, but circumstances intervened. By some miracle—­one might even call it a Christmas miracle—­our paths crossed once more. And so I would ask us all to drink to the magic of the season.”