The Duke Meets His Matchmaker (The Duke Hunters Club, #5)

by Blythe, Bianca

  Perhaps it was fine not to be in London, and not hurrying to different competitions, in different parts of the city. Perhaps it was fine simply to rest.

  He blinked. What odd things he was thinking. He turned to Alistair. “My injuries are much improved.”

  Alistair smiled. “Then perhaps we should hold a ball.”

  “Yes,” Reggie agreed, though he couldn’t bring himself to mirror Alistair’s smile at the prospect of a ball. Still, there was plenty else to smile about, such as his encounters with the matchmaker. Miss Holloway was so eager, so animated, that he’d been overwhelmed with her enthusiasm.

  “I would like to go for a walk,” Reggie said.

  “A walk?” Alistair’s eyebrows shot up. “Not a jaunt with Ulysses?”

  Reggie shook his head. “No, simply a walk.”

  Alistair gazed at Reggie’s leg. “But your limp.”

  “The exercise will do it good.”

  “But people might see—”

  Reggie smiled. “Then let them see. Besides, should I find the process exhausting, I can always find a bench.”

  “A bench, Your Grace?” Alistair’s eyebrows widened.

  Reggie nodded. “Certainly, you know about benches.”

  “Of course, Your Grace,” Alistair murmured. “But I’ve never seen you make use of one before.”

  “That, Alistair, may have been a mistake,” Reggie said loftily.

  “Very good, Your Grace, I shall keep benches in mind.”

  Reggie strode to the door. A knock on the main door interrupted him, and he turned and glanced at Alistair.

  “It seems you have a caller, Your Grace.”

  Reggie nodded and eyed the door suspiciously. Few people knew he was in Bath. Had one of his friends found out after all? All of them should be at their estates. Any servant would use the entrance near the kitchen.

  “I’m not expecting anyone,” Reggie grumbled.

  “Then let’s see who it is,” Alistair said smoothly and answered the door.

  Reggie eyed the door. Had perhaps the Tortworths decided to call on him? He’d been standoffish at the ball, but he had spoken to them.

  Or was it Miss Holloway?

  Reggie’s heartbeat quickened involuntarily, and he stared as Alistair opened the door.

  “I’m here to see the Beast.” A man pushed inside the door, and Alistair shot Reggie an astonished, apologetic glance.

  Reggie inhaled. “Pritchard. I didn’t expect to see you.”

  “You know this man, Your Grace?” Alistair asked.

  “I do,” Reggie said.

  Pritchard slapped him on the back. “You make it sound like you know me reluctantly.”

  “I know everyone reluctantly,” Reggie grumbled, though he realized the words lacked accuracy. He no longer found Miss Holloway frustrating. Indeed, even Alistair was quite pleasant.

  “I’m sorry,” Reggie said.

  “I’ll send the housekeeper up with some tea and sweets,” Alistair said.

  “No sweets.” Pritchard warned. “This man is going to fight!”

  “Fight?” Alistair’s eyebrows lurched up.

  “Fight?” Reggie echoed.

  Pritchard nodded. “I found you a good match. It’s next week in London.”

  Oh.

  “I didn’t think you’d be able to arrange anything else for me this season,” Reggie said.

  Pritchard grinned. “Everyone wants to see the Beast.”

  “But I’m not ready,” Reggie said.

  “I’ll take you with me now. The carriage is outside.” Pritchard jerked a thumb in Alistair’s direction. “I imagine he can pack.”

  Reggie had no doubt Alistair would be a competent packer. Still, he couldn’t simply go to London. Then he wouldn’t see Daisy again. She was planning to find him a wife. It would be rude simply to leave.

  “Now, I know what you’re going to say,” Pritchard said.

  Reggie blinked. “You do?”

  For a wild moment, he thought Pritchard might have known that Reggie had been spending time with a certain Miss Holloway. The man was brash and dastardly. He’d managed to convince Reggie to take up boxing to make money after seeing Reggie’s performance while training. Making money from the sport hadn’t been Reggie’s idea, but Pritchard had been certain Reggie’s title would be an added draw, and he’d been correct.

  Pritchard nodded and gave a smug smile.

  “That’s too early,” Reggie protested.

  “I knew you might say that. You’ve been getting cold feet. But don’t worry, I already checked with your doctor in Bath. You’re pretty much healed.”

  Reggie shifted his legs. The action would have caused him pain only a week ago.

  His doctor had told him he was better, but Reggie had dismissed the comment. After all, he’d rented rooms in Bath for a longer period, and he’d seen no need to stop visiting the spa entirely. If he stopped visiting the spa, he might see Miss Holloway less, and then she might feel abandoned. Obviously, that action was impossible.

  If he left now, he might never see her again. The thought shouldn’t have distressed him, but his heart ached, and he rubbed his fingers against his chest.

  Alistair gave him an odd look. Reggie didn’t regularly go about massaging his chest.

  “The doctor was trying to oversell his prowess,” Reggie said finally. “The truth is, I’m not healed. Far from it.”

  “Oh.” Pritchard’s eyebrows pushed together, like cannons on a ship being aimed at each other.

  “Yes,” Reggie said forcefully. “I’m quite unwell.”

  Pritchard glanced at Reggie. “You don’t have a cane.”

  Reggie glanced at his hand. “I—er—lost it. That’s caused my great reversal.”

  “You lost it?” Pritchard asked dubiously, and his large nose wrinkled.

  Reggie refused to flush. He rather wished now he’d made more of a habit of lying at an early age. Apparently prevarication required practice.

  Reggie jutted out his chin, pretending he was about to face another boxer, and not his longtime agent who’d built his career and reputation. “I think it was stolen.”

  “My God, who would steal from you?”

  Reggie gave a lackadaisical shrug. “I suppose people who see me as an invalid.”

  Pritchard’s eyes rounded. “Dreadful.”

  “Er—yes.” Reggie shrugged, then flashed a smile, happy Pritchard was buying the excuse. “Such is life.”

  Pritchard’s eyebrows moved together again, and it occurred to Reggie he must have miscalculated adding a smile.

  “You’re standing in the middle of the foyer,” Pritchard said. “Seems to me you don’t require a cane.”

  “Nonsense,” Reggie said, avoiding Alistair’s curious gaze. “My manservant was assisting me.”

  Pritchard’s face appeared dubious. Unfortunately, Alistair’s face appeared shocked. Reggie only hoped Pritchard would not glance at Alistair.

  “Yes, Alistair left me here so he could answer the door.”

  “Oh.” Pritchard pursed his lips.

  “I wouldn’t dream of walking by myself normally,” Reggie said.

  “Hmph.” Pritchard continued to assess him with the finesse of an army inspection officer eying a row of young soldiers’ uniforms, eager for an opportunity to showcase his ability to intimidate.

  “In fact, I’m becoming tired now,” Reggie said. “Alistair?”

  He held his breath, but Alistair rushed over to him obediently, even though Reggie and he had just discussed Reggie’s good health and plans to amble the city.

  Alistair offered Reggie his arm, and Reggie took it.

  “You should probably go before His Grace faints,” Alistair offered, and this time Reggie made certain to avert his gaze to hide his smile from Pritchard.

  “That’s a good idea,” Reggie said. “I’m certain Pritchard doesn’t want me to faint. That could damage me further.”

  “Right. That wouldn’t be good,
” Pritchard agreed reluctantly. “I suppose I can find someone else to do the match.”

  “Yes,” Reggie said.

  “You don’t think you’ll be healed sooner?” Pritchard asked wistfully. “All of London is talking about you. You got battered in the last match.”

  Reggie cringed. “Then they’ll have to continue to talk.”

  “They’ll suspect you’re truly injured,” Pritchard said. “Might be more difficult later to get any of the good bets.”

  “I trust your promotion abilities,” Reggie said.

  Pritchard frowned, but said goodbye.

  Soon, Alistair and Reggie were alone.

  “Thank you,” Reggie told Alistair.

  “I suppose no walk for you?” Alistair asked.

  “No. Better not.” Reggie eyed the door, lest Pritchard suddenly storm inside. “I’ll read the newspaper in the drawing room.”

  Alistair nodded, and Reggie moved to the drawing room.

  Alistair was right. He would never have walked outside before. Yet, his knee didn’t ache in its customary manner. He moved his legs over the carpet, waiting for that familiar jolt of pain, but he didn’t feel anything. Evidently, Dr. Fitzhugh had been correct: the doctor in Bath was good.

  Perhaps he’d been hasty in telling Pritchard he couldn’t join the ring. He’d always loved boxing before. But the excitement that should have surged through his body didn’t appear. Leaving would mean not seeing Miss Daisy Holloway anymore.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Reggie paced the entrance to the spa. Finally, Miss Holloway and Mrs. Powell appeared, and he rushed toward them and held up the letter he’d received. “What is this?”

  Miss Holloway beamed. “Oh, good. You received it.”

  “Well, yes.” Reggie flung a disgusted look at the letter.

  “Those are your instructions for this afternoon. They should be quite clear.”

  “It says I’m to go to Bathampton.” Reggie scowled. “And then go boating.”

  “I thought that would be a good activity for you. Given the state of your forearms.”

  He blinked.

  “She means they’re most muscular,” Mrs. Powell said, and this time Miss Holloway glowered.

  “I only meant,” Miss Holloway corrected, evidently struggling to control the situation, “that boating can showcase your strength. Your arms are fine, after all. Only your knee is giving you trouble.”

  “I suppose that’s somewhat considerate,” Reggie mumbled.

  “I thought so.”

  “It would be more effective if I knew how to row a boat.”

  Miss Holloway’s eyebrows lurched up. “You haven’t done it before?”

  “No,” Reggie said curtly as heat attacked the back of his neck.

  “I thought all men rowed boats!”

  “They do in novels,” Mrs. Powell said loyally. “Most romantic, too.”

  “Yes,” Miss Holloway said. “Highly romantic.”

  “So you should be very happy,” Mrs. Powell said.

  “I assure you that happiness is not the emotion I’m feeling,” Reggie grumbled.

  “You’ll love rowing,” Miss Holloway said with her customary reassuring confidence. “It’s an outdoor activity. I couldn’t imagine a more pleasant meeting.”

  “Oh? Are you a boating enthusiast?” he asked curiously.

  “Nonsense,” Miss Holloway said. “But if the conversation ever has any dull spots, you can always remark on the beauty of the area.”

  “I have to make conversation,” Reggie said mournfully.

  Miss Holloway gave him a disgruntled look. “I’m certain you can do it.”

  “I don’t suppose I can get out of it?”

  “Naturally not,” Miss Holloway said. “And you should hurry.”

  “How nice,” Reggie said faintly. His throat suddenly dried.

  “It is nice,” Miss Holloway said.

  “You don’t think I should go home first and change?” Reggie asked hopefully.

  “No. If I thought that necessary, I would have specified in my letter to you.”

  Reggie frowned.

  “You’ll be rowing,” Miss Holloway elaborated. “There’s always the chance you might tumble in.”

  “Especially since you’ve never done that before,” Mrs. Powell added.

  “Quite true,” Miss Holloway said, complimenting her maid’s wisdom.

  Mrs. Powell beamed.

  “There’s absolutely no chance of me toppling in,” Reggie pouted.

  Miss Holloway had the impertinence to smirk.

  “Obviously,” Reggie said. “I mean, I excel at many things. Particularly athletic things. I’m certain rowing will be quite easy.”

  “Most men don’t struggle with it,” Mrs. Powell said.

  “How motivating,” Reggie said glumly. “But—er—naturally, I can row this—er—”

  “Princess,” Miss Holloway said.

  He stopped. “Princess?”

  Miss Holloway nodded, and her eyes danced. “I found you a princess. Princess Aria. Her bodyguard won’t appreciate it if you toss her in the lake.”

  “I won’t do that,” Reggie said.

  “Her family is quite wealthy,” Miss Holloway said. “I think she would prefer a prince, but since they’re all—”

  “—ancient?” Reggie suggested.

  Miss Holloway nodded. “There are other negative adjectives one could also use.”

  “Yes,” Reggie agreed.

  “But she likes England, so she’ll be quite happy to settle for a duke.”

  “How open-minded of her,” Reggie said faintly. He scratched the back of his head. “Then I suppose I should go now.”

  “Yes,” Miss Holloway said. “And remember, if you can’t think of anything to say, just compliment the scenery.”

  Reggie shot her a quizzical look.

  “It gives you a positive personality,” Miss Holloway said matter-of-factly. “Women like that.”

  “Right.” Reggie tilted his head. “I’m not entirely unfamiliar familiar with women.”

  “Naturally,” Miss Holloway said, but her cheeks pinkened uncharacteristically. “But this could be your new wife. But if you don’t care for her, I do have some other prospects in mind.”

  He raised his eyebrows. “You have been working hard.”

  She gave a pleased smile. “There’s an American heiress here too. Her father has a house in Newport and Long Island.”

  Reggie swallowed hard. “How did you manage that?”

  Miss Holloway tossed her blonde locks, and Reggie strove not to become distracted by them.

  “I have my ways,” Miss Holloway said lightly. “Though between us, her father is worried about assassination. He would love a British son-in-law. An appropriate one, of course. And his daughter would love to marry someone under the age of fifty.”

  “Ah. Do let me know if you would like to flash my birth certificate around to entice her.”

  Miss Holloway giggled. “I think your wrinkle-free face will work sufficiently well.”

  “I’ll try to row under some shady trees.”

  “Oh, you don’t have wrinkles.”

  “I do indeed. There are lines around my eyes and my forehead.”

  Miss Holloway shot him a skeptical look. “I doubt that.”

  “No.” Reggie leaned toward her, so only a few inches separated their faces. “These are definite wrinkles.”

  “Perhaps,” Miss Holloway’s voice squeaked uncharacteristically, and her cheeks developed an unusual, if becoming, pink color. “But you mustn’t be late for the princess.”

  “Right.” He nodded and ascended the steps to his carriage. He halted at the door. “Thank you.”

  Miss Holloway nodded and waved.

  Reggie sat down, and the carriage lurched to a start. The horses trotted over the cobblestones. Eventually, the sounds stopped, and he looked outside. The horses had exited Bath and had moved onto a dirt lane along a river. No doubt, the
y were nearing Bathampton. A sour taste invaded his mouth.

  He was going to meet a woman, and the prospect was unappealing. Women made strained conversations with him, their gazes lingering on his scarred face. They wore frilly clothes adorned with ribbons that seemed perilously close to unraveling. Some seemed to shudder in his presence, and when he was with them the correct thing to say always evaded him.

  If only he could spend the afternoon with Miss Holloway instead.

  The carriage stopped at the address Miss Holloway had given. The driver opened the door, and Reggie blinked into the beams of sunlight that instantly scattered over him. A definite romantic quality emanated from this area. He inhaled the scent of wildflowers, and birds chirped merrily. Reggie wouldn’t put it past Miss Holloway to have arranged them to be placed on the nearby branches. Fluffy clouds flitted over the sky, their view unimpeded by any tall buildings.

  Nervousness moved through him all the same. He abhorred meeting new people. It was sufficiently vexing to meet people he’d met long before. For some reason, it was easier to speak to Miss Holloway, perhaps because she was so straightforward. He never needed to wonder what she truly thought.

  Perhaps the princess wouldn’t appear. A sudden hopefulness moved through Reggie, but the sound of carriage wheels soon dashed it.

  An elegant carriage, generously imbued with gold, appeared. Four white horses sporting violet plumes on their heads appeared. The horses’ headdresses bobbed from their gentle movement, and Reggie’s heart sank.

  THE DUKE’S CARRIAGE rolled away.

  “Do you suppose he’ll manage?” Mrs. Powell asked.

  “Of course he’ll manage,” Daisy said, then amended her statement. “Probably.”

  Mrs. Powell nodded.

  “Perhaps it wouldn’t be dreadful to follow them,” Daisy mused.

  Mrs. Powell’s eyebrows shot up.

  “For the princess’s sake,” Daisy added hastily. “I have the impression he can be quite—er—intimidating.”

  “It’s those muscles,” Mrs. Powell said in a wondrous tone, then her cheeks pinkened. She gave Daisy an assessing glance. “You’re right. Let’s go.”

  Daisy widened her eyes. “It was a jest.”

  “It’s a beautiful day.”

  Daisy giggled. “You’re serious.”