Roses and Flames

Chapter 28

Patrick entered the Duke’s London home with a sort of grim resignation he saved for delivering bad news to patients.

He had received the invitation with indifference and refused it out of hand. But after his talk with Ambrose, he reconsidered. She would likely be attending as well please stop since she did not intend to see him alone, he had best take opportunity offered to be in the same room with her. And perhaps a small show of cooperation on his part would say that the Duke’s desire to know him better. He had stopped Patrick again, before his exit from the Thorne home, to renew his offers of aid, advancement or at the very least a good meal. It appeared that the Duke meant to badger him nonstop until he had made a brother of him.

Patrick could hold such a force in tracks by announcing that his plans to seduce the man’s fiancée would make friendship difficult, but such honesty was more likely to reduce his contact with Ambrosia then increase it. He had always considered himself a moral man, other than the repellents desire to bed his own sister, which put him square on the road to damnation. But now that his love was proved innocent, it appeared that he was capable of covetousness, duplicity and any number of other vices, if it helped him gain her back. He would not hurt her, of course.

But he would not have to. It would take only the smallest of nudges and she would drop the plan to marry another, and come running back into his arms. Then things would finally be as they had meant to be, from the very beginning. Tonight she was playing right into his hands. The Duke must have informed Ambrose of Patrick’s reticence. This morning, he had another visit from Tom the footman and it terse note from Ambrose, reminding him of his promise to help her with this match. Unless Patrick wanted to make the breach between them clean to the Duke and answer the questions that would follow, he must put on a smile come to the dinner and prove that he had accepted the new boundaries of their friendship.

He had jotted down a hurried answer. The fact that she had set boundaries did not mean that he must be contained by them. When he had encouraged her to marry, he had not been in full possession of the facts.

When he realized that he could offer no other explanation than that, he had ripped the paper to beds. Some things must wait until they were alone and face to face.

Perhaps, by then, he would have come up with a better answer than this, for it sounded weak, even to him. Instead, he had written a letter of single line sending it to her and another to the Duke. He would go to dinner and make a nice, as long as it suited him to do so. If an opportunity presented itself to further his plans for Ambrose, he would take it and boundaries be damned.

But now, he was rethinking of his plan. His first impression on the arrival at the Duke’s home, was that his rival had him hopelessly outgunned.

The house where their father had lived was magnificent. Everything about it was larger, more ornate and superior to the Thorne town house. The ceilings were higher, the carpets were deeper and the furniture glowed with a patina of age and privilege. There slightly several other properties even larger, scattered about the country.

Patrick caught back for a moment to the little cabin in the bulkhead of Matilda, with its brass fittings and worn wood desk. He had been quite proud of it. It was the symbol that most cherished thing aboard ships, privacy. To have one’s own space was lavishly.

But this house was full, of people offset, of servants, of responsibility. Was the Duke ever truly alone? If not, then Patrick would not envy him. Nor would Patrick envy him for Ambrose, who, despite what the times might say, would never belong truly to the Duke. She loved Patrick and he had no reason do not love her back.

Nearly four and twenty hours later, that fact still took him unawares and brought a smile to his face. This identity of his father and his connection to his great house where incidental, compared to the broken link to Lord Thorne. He was free to love Ambrose. There was justice in this world after all. Welcome. The Duke was striding out into the hall to meet him, as though he did not trust the Butler to deliver Patrick the last few feet where the guests were gathering for the meal.

“I am so glad that you managed to break your other engagement and attend. I hope it did not cause you any difficulty.”

“Not at all,” Patrick said.

They both knew he had lied. But if the Duke wish to pretend it had been true, then so would he. Now the great man sat at the head of the table, and water fine table it was. The silver was heavy, denies so sharp that he might have performed surgeries with them. The crystal ticket and the wines were superb. The linen under it was all whiter than Patrick had ever seen, and monogrammed at the corner with the family Crest.

His family Crest, Patrick thought distantly. And mine. If Samuel still wanted to claim him, when all was said and done, there might be advantages to allying himself with his true father’s house. They would not outweigh his love for Ambrose from of course who’s done till she cried off, he and the Duke where at war. But if they battled tonight, at least it would be in good company. Along that Ambrose and her father, there was a Bishop, cabinet minister and his wife, and several young ladies and gentlemen of excellent breeding and manners. Seated next to him was lady Caroline…. something or other.

It did not do him any credit that he was thinking of Ambrose during introduction and now he could not even remember the woman’s name. The duke had given him significant look a shooting him that this was an excellent match, and he should pursue it. As if the girl would want to do anything with him. Or he heard. He could choose his own wife. In fact, he had made his choice already, though he doubted that the deal could approve of it. Ambrose was giving no outward sign that she remembered their last meeting. She was too smart to think that he would give her up without a fight, but apparently she awaited his next move.

She treated him with courtesy and charm, just as she did the other guests. She was glittering as the ring on her hand, and was as gracious as the Duchess, listening and attentively to the conversation all around her and hanging on every word that the Duke spoke. And damn the man if he was not worth listening to.

He was polite, witty and intelligent. He responded to a debate with cool rationality that won the point more often than it lost. He did not allow his head to be clouded by his own rank and people instinctive difference to it. Worst of all, he had announced to others at the gathering that there was a connection between them. He told all who listened that Patrick was a distinguished physician and that they shared a father.

He acted as though the sudden appearance of a bastard birth brother was a such a best imaginable news. It was maddening.

What could Patrick possibly save to distinguish himself to Ambrose?

And now the Duke was questioning him about his profession, making an effort to draw him into the conversation and phrasing the question so that Patrick would display his skill without seeming boastful. It was artfully done. He would have been more grateful if he hadn’t already hated the man. There was no way to bring him down a notch. Nor could Patrick think of a way to raise himself in the eyes of his beloved. And then, as did all conversations that touched on medicine and care, somewhere inquired about pro poor Princess Charlotte.

Inwardly, he flinched. It was a doctor’s worst nightmare to be put in the care of a beloved member of the royal family, only to manage the birth so badly as to lose both the patient and the unborn child. His usual plan was to have as little opinion as possible so as not to offend. But then in a flash of insight, he so the direction of the conversation slightly would likely go, but he let it alone.

“I would not dare to make a judgment without being in the room for the birth. There can frequently be complications that are not apparent until the labor has begun. But I think the subsequent suicide of the attending physician speaks for how deeply he felt.”

“He should not have been involved at all,” Ambrose said, with no attempt at diplomacy.

Patrick was eager to see what would happen next. He had been waiting for so long since he had shared, one, he had forgotten that dinner with Ambrose was often more diverting than a night at the theatre. It had been less than 24 hours since the engagement. And less than a day, her plan to be the suitable wife to the Duke had lasted longer than he would have wagered.

Her blunt statement caused the rest of the table to fall silent in shock. While ladies no doubt had an opinion about such things, she certainly did not voice them with such candor in mixed company. At Ambrose was just not any lady, thought Patrick, and did his best to hide his smile. She had a smattering of medical training and strong feelings on the subject of obstetrics.

“And who would you recommend to be with the patient with her if not a trusted family physician?” The Duke asked, and the smile that he gave her was more indulgent than critical and more patient than many men would ever be.

But Ambrose would see nothing but the criticism.

“I suspect a midwife would have done just as well,” she said, chin up in a posture that Patrick recognized as a warning sign and she was prepared to fight all those who might disagree. But the Duke continue to smile at her, glancing at Patrick as though expecting an ally.

“It appears that might be throat does not think much of your profession.”

 Ambrose saved Patrick the trouble of choosing a side by answering for herself. “It is not that I think any less of doctor Hastings, doctors in general. It is simply that I disagree with any man’s ability to understand fully birth and labor.”

“The train at university, study texts and work with experienced physicians,” argued the Duke. “I am sure they must learn sufficiently.”

“Most texts are written by men. I doubt their competence in a process that they themselves cannot experience,” Ambrosia said solemnly.

Her future husband could not help himself. He laughed out loud. For a moment, Patrick felt sympathy with his new found brother. The poor fellow could not have picked a better way to get on his beloved’s wrong side.

“Furthermore,” she announced over the sound of Duke’s mirth, “we would still have our dear Princess, if the doctors had not been so ham handed in their treatment of her.”