Patience (37 page)

Aunt Matty’s hand clamped down on his arm. “You’ve got to take her in hand, Matt.”

Matthew met the older woman’s gaze. “Really? You think so?”

“I do.” Aunt Matty said definitively. “For her own good, someone’s got to do it. The girl has rebelled against God and common sense for too long. It’s time to put an end to it.”

“What do you recommend I do?”

Mathilda Dare raised her silver brows. “You mean besides put her over your knee, which is what she
really
needs?”

Matthew regarded the woman with a new respect. For all her eccentricity, she understood certain things perfectly.

She shook her head. “If only her father had done so long ago, I’m sure we would not be having this conversation. Of course”—the peeved look washed from her face—“I’m so glad we
are
having this conversation, because I know I wouldn’t have liked anyone else she’d married so much as I like you.” She patted his arm.

“Thank you, Aunt Matty.”

She smiled. “You’re welcome, Matt dear. Now”—the peeved look returned—“what to do with her?” She tapped her fingers on his arm. She sighed and tapped some more. “You see, this is the problem I’ve always faced. I can never come up with a workable plan because nothing works on her. She sees through everything. She resists everything. She’s positively incorrigible.”

Matthew nodded in what he hoped was an empathetic fashion. “It seems we’re just going to have to be patient with our Patience.”

Aunt Matty lifted her eyes heavenward. “God knows I have been exercising patience with Patience for years. So many years, that I’m entirely out of patience. I’ve spent it all, Matt.” She snapped her fingers and made a
ptht
sound. “I don’t know where patience is kept, but if you could look there, you would see that mine is entirely gone. It’s tragic really, how she’s used up all my patience—and it being such a virtue.” Not looking at all tragic, she glanced across the garden but then looked quickly back at him. “I mean, how will I ever acquire more? I don’t even know if it’s possible. Do you?”

Thoroughly entertained, Matthew nodded. “I believe I’ve heard of some kind of secret reservoir of patience. Just when you think you have none, it bubbles up from somewhere.”

“Really?”

“Yes. I think you’ll be all right.”

“Well, thank goodness. But let’s not tell Patience. After all, it’s because of her that I am currently bereft of a very important virtue. I think she should be made to suffer over my present state.” She pressed her hand to her breast as if something hurt. “I mean really, Matt, you have no idea what it feels like to be positively parched for patience.”

Ha!
That morning he’d awakened with such a fierce desire to fuck his sleeping beauty that he’d had to leave the bed or risk taking her. Then, as he’d given her a light morning spanking, his desire had flared all over again. The spanking wasn’t a punishment, but rather a means of beginning her day in her proper state—soft, sensual, and submissive. In time, such spankings would grow firmer. But for now, the light one had served her very well. His cock throbbed at the memory—both of her pink bottom and her wet cunt. God, if he didn’t get to fuck her soon, he was going to move past parched and into pained.

Aunt Matty’s brows came together in a worried frown. “You’re my last hope, Matt dearest. Tell me you won’t give up. Tell me you’ll be strong and steadfast in your pursuit of my stubborn niece. Tell me that, whatever it takes, she
will
be bound to you in marriage—before Christmas would be nice.”

Matthew smiled then looked across the garden at Patience. She and Passion had stopped walking and Patience had her hand on her sister’s belly.
Soon, Patience—soon I shall fuck your pretty cunt and you will be as full-bellied as your sister.
Matthew’s cock pulsed. “I won’t give up, Aunt Matty. I will be strong and steadfast. And I will do whatever it takes to bring your beautiful niece down the aisle.”

“Oh, Matt! Dear Matt!” Aunt Matty gripped his arm. “Uh, ah—before Christmas?”

Matthew looked at her.

“Well, it’s just that Christmas is such a family time, and it’s only three months away. It would be nice . . .” Her eyes were moist and her smile quivered. “Forgive me. It’s only that I love her so. And I have been afraid”—her eyes sparkled with tears—“I have been afraid she would be left alone.”

Matthew felt a surge of tenderness for the woman as he gave her his handkerchief. “I won’t abandon her, Aunt Matty. I promise.”

“Thank you, Matt.” She dabbed her tears. “Spinsterhood has many things to recommend it, but it’s not for her. Much as she tries to be an apple, there’s simply no denying she’s a peach.”

Matthew tried to deduce her meaning, for he was beginning to think she made more sense than anyone gave her credit for. Perhaps she was referring to the fact that apples were hard and peaches were soft? Uncertain, he just nodded.

She looked across the garden at her two nieces. “Look at them together. You know, Matt, before their mother died those two were inseparable—laughing and giggling all the time and everywhere. You couldn’t find one and not find the other. They were so close.”

“
Were
so close? It seems they still are.”

“Oh, yes—in many ways. But not like they were as children.”

Matthew leaned closer. “Why?”

Aunt Matty sighed. “Because everything changed when their mother died. Penelope, God rest her soul, was an extraordinary woman. Everyone was affected by her passing.”

“Of course,” Matthew replied. “But why should their mother’s death have driven anything between them? When my father . . . When George Hawkmore died, Mark and I grew even closer. We needed each other more.”

“Yes, well, there were only the two of you. And forgive me, dear Matt, but I don’t think you or your brother had the pressing and practical concerns of running a home that is not populated by a large staff.” Aunt Matty looked around. “How many are the staff here at Hawkmore House?”

“Including groundskeepers and stable-hands, about seventy-five,” Matthew admitted.

She raised her silver brows at him. “The staff at the vicarage are six—butler, cook, upstairs maid, downstairs maid, gardener, and driver. They all do more than their titles suggest, and, even so, the girls must assist with things—not to mention their responsibilities at the church school and to the community.”

“Forgive me, Aunt Matty, for being so obtuse.”

She smiled and squeezed his hand. “You’re not obtuse, Matt dearest. In fact, I think you’re acute, which is one of the reasons that you and Patience are so well suited. She cannot abide fools, that girl.” Aunt Matty raised her chin. “And, come to think of it, neither can I. She and I are cut from the same cloth in that regard. I disdain foolishness of any sort. Fools will never fool me.” She nodded and, narrowing her eyes, scanned the garden. “I’m foolproof.” She turned back to him and lifted one eyebrow. “I’m in-fool-able.”

Matthew swept his fingers across his lips to erase his smile. “Oh, I can see that.”

She smiled beatifically. “Well then, you see, you’re not obtuse at all. You’re incisive and sharp.” She poked the air with her finger. “Like an arrow. Like an arrow shot from the bow of Robin Hood, that’s what you are.” She nodded knowingly. “You always hit your target. You can knock the peach right out of the tree.”

Matthew jumped on the segue she offered. “Speaking of peaches, weren’t you going to explain what happened with Patience and her sisters? I’m gathering from what you said that they didn’t have as much time for each other after their mother’s death.”

“Yes, that’s exactly right.” Aunt Matty’s expression turned inward. “Without ever needing to be asked, Passion stepped quietly into Penelope’s shoes. Bless her heart, she tried her best to fill the void created by her mother’s passing. This included caring for Prim who, at five, was too young to be without a mother.” Aunt Matty shook her head and smiled softly. “How that child used to cling to Passion’s apron strings. Passion couldn’t do anything, or go anywhere without Primrose trailing behind her.”

“And Patience?”

“Patience and her mother had a special bond. I can’t say exactly what it was, but Penelope always seemed to know and understand Patience in ways that no one else could.” A small frown turned Aunt Matty’s brow. “Poor thing. When Penelope passed, she was ten. Such a tender age for a girl—no longer a baby, and not yet a young lady—old enough to never forget her mother, and young enough to still need her.” She shook her head. “And as mature as Passion was at twelve, she couldn’t really manage herself, a home, and the mothering of
two
girls. So Patience had to take care of herself. And help her older sister, too.”

Matthew frowned as he imagined a ten-year-old Patience standing alone while Passion tended to Primrose. No child should feel alone. For all his troubled upbringing, that was one thing he’d not suffered. Mark had always been there for him. Mark was still there for him. “What of their father? What part did he play in this? Surely he could see that one of his daughters was more alone than the others.”

“More alone?” Aunt Matty tilted her head as she seemed to consider the question. “No. You see, this is just how it was, Matt. It all happened quietly and without incident. Passion never complained or cried over her lost childhood. And Patience never complained or cried. I mean, how could she when she saw her older sister working so hard.”

Matthew suddenly remembered Patience’s words from the night he’d spent in her room:
I never ask for help—unless I can’t possibly avoid it
. He thought of her discomfort over the first breakfast he had left for her, and her obvious reticence over allowing him to dress her the night of the musicale. And then he remembered her poignant admission about her cello: . . .
as long as I love it enough, it will never, ever leave me
!

Matthew stared across the garden at Patience.

Aunt Matty had followed his gaze. “You mustn’t think there was any strife between them, Matt. There wasn’t. Three more loving and loyal sisters you will not find. And, you know, in many ways Passion and Patience were uniquely predisposed to the roles they took on. Passion, the nurturing mother, and Patience, the strong-minded independent. It isn’t surprising that things happened the way they did.”

Matthew fixed his gaze on Patience. She may be strong-minded and independent, but she’d suffered—badly. And he was beginning to think no one knew it.

Not even Patience.

Aunt Matty smiled softly. “They are both versions of their parents, Matt. Passion is so like her mother, both in appearance and temperament. There were tiny moments when, with Prim in her arms, it almost felt as if Penelope were still with us. Almost . . .” She sighed. “And Patience—though she got those curls from her mother, their fiery color came from her father. She is so like him—strong and stoic, but with a heart as deep as the ocean. Being so deep, I sometimes find it untouchable, but I know it’s there. If I were only a better swimmer . . .” Her voice faded to thoughtfulness.

Matthew looked at her. “I think you’re a better swimmer than you think.”

Aunt Matty beamed at him. “Really? Do you know what I think, Matt dearest?”

“What do you think, Aunt Matty?”

“I think you’re the best swimmer I’ve ever met. I think you’re so accomplished that you could be one of those amazing South Sea pearl divers that I recently read of.” She nodded and her gray eyes sparkled with a determined excitement. “Dive deep, Matthew. Dive deep, find the pearl, and bring it to the surface. For if you really mean to marry Patience, you’ll have to have it.”

He stared across the garden at Patience. She looked toward him, almost as if he’d called her. Then she smiled and lifted her hand in a wave. She did it with such immediacy. She hadn’t paused to think.

Matthew smiled and his heart lifted as he waved back. “I’ll have the pearl, Aunt Matty. I’ll have it before Christmas.”

 

“Look at Aunt Matty.” Patience watched her aunt chatting excitedly with Matthew. “She’s like a child at Christmas when she’s with Matthew.”

Passion smiled. “And he really likes her.”

“Oh, I know. They’re birds of a feather, those two.” Patience shook her head. “Though what they have in common, I couldn’t tell you.”

Passion looked at her with raised brows.

Patience raised her brows in return. “What?”

“
You
are what they have in common, darling.” Passion slipped her arm through Patience’s, and they continued walking. “Aunt Matty wants Matthew to marry you. Matthew wants to marry you.” Patience snapped her eyes to her sister, but Passion just smiled. “That makes them allies in the battle against your formidable castle of spinsterhood.”

Patience’s heart beat a little faster. “But Matthew told me he wasn’t interested in marriage.”

A puzzled frown turned Passion’s brow. “When did he say that?”

“The night of the masque.”

“Then he masked his heart that night, rather than his face.” Passion stopped walking and turned to face her. “Darling, I know I’m right. I see how he looks at you. From the very first, I’ve seen how he looks at you.” She tilted her head and her warm hazel eyes looked so certain. “I know what that look means because it’s the same way that Mark looks at me. And speaking of my handsome husband, guess who else once disavowed any desire for marriage?”

“Your handsome husband?”

Passion smiled and nodded. “And I, too, had said that I wouldn’t marry again. Yet, here I am—and with child, which I had also believed was impossible.” Passion clasped Patience’s hands. “Upon occasion, we misunderstand ourselves, or we lose faith. Whichever the case, we say things we think are true, only to find they are not.” One of Passion’s auburn brows lifted. “Perhaps, even you are capable of being wrong?”