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“Well, do not leave the man standing on the stoop, for heaven’s sake. Whatever can you be thinking?” she said, her voice growing more distinct as she moved closer. “His grace did us a tremendous service yesterday, Reeves, seeing our darling Nicolette home after she’d been injured in the park.”

“Indeed,” Reeves droned, stepping aside and permitting Mathias entrance with the enthusiasm of a man allowing a convicted serial killer into his bedchamber. “Your Grace.”

It occurred to Mathias the old gent only protected his young mistress, and respect for the servant encompassed him. He produced his most appreciative smile.

“Thank you, Reeves. Your diligence is commendable.”

Reeves’s brows settled into their usual place upon his noble forehead, and a degree of frostiness dissipated, increasing his welcome from frigid arctic to icy condescension. His features once more a banal mask of indifference, he inclined his head and accepted Mathias’s hat.

“Your Grace.” Mrs. Twistleton, a handsome woman, greatly resembling her daughter, except her eyes were brown instead of flower blue and time had etched fine lines across her forehead, the corner of her eyes, and around her mouth, glided forth, her hands outstretched. “What a delightful surprise. With all of the commotion yesterday, I didn’t have an opportunity to properly thank you for assisting Nicolette.”

“I was glad to be of service.” Mathias bowed over her hand. As he straightened, he said, “Please forgive me for calling unannounced, but I feel responsible for her condition. It was a dog in my care that caused the incident.”

A duke could call at any hour, day or night, and no host would openly object. He, however, didn’t abuse his privilege and power as many in his position were wont to do.

Yesterday, he’d managed to briefly explain how Nicolette had acquired her injuries, but Mrs. Twistleton had been understandably distracted. With a hurried thanks, she’d directed the footmen to carry her protesting daughter to her bedchamber. Face pale and pleated with concern, Mrs. Twistleton had ascended directly behind them without bidding him farewell.

And all the while, Nicolette had doggedly maintained she was perfectly fine, and carrying her was entirely unnecessary.

He appreciated her independent streak and her mulishness, too. In truth, there wasn’t much about the wholly delectable, exasperatingly captivating Nicolette Twistleton he didn’t enjoy.

A grin playing around the edges of his mouth, Mathias had waited until he no longer heard her objecting before taking his leave.

“How fares she today?” he asked, taking in the bouquet of pink and fuchsia peonies on a marble-topped mahogany half-table below an ornate gold mirror. “Improving, I hope?”

An intricately patterned parquet floor graced the entrance along with a sea green velvet-covered bench and two chairs with matching upholstered seats.

Everything about the entry bespoke comfort and good taste, and understated elegance, rather than an intent to impress. Well, the Twistletons had been landed gentry before Scarborough inherited, and it seemed they’d implemented their country preferences in London.

Admirable of them. They hadn’t let the ton’s dictates sway them.

Another glimpse of the flowers caused him to tighten his mouth.

Should he have brought posies for Nicolette as a token to wish her a speedy recovery?

No, already tongues wagged out of control. Arriving on the Twistletons’ doorstep, flowers in hand, would have them wed in a fortnight by special license.

“My daughter doesn’t take well to being indisposed, Your Grace.” A half-smile tipping her mouth upward, Mrs. Twistleton cut him a somewhat sardonic glance. “In point of fact, she refused to stay abed today as Dr. Simmons ordered, and is even now, sitting on the patio, reading.”

Nicolette’s obstinance didn’t surprise Mathias, and that she was up and about relieved him immensely. Her injuries must’ve been as mild as she’d insisted they were, else she’d not have been able to descend the stairs.

“I am relieved to hear she is mending well.” That ride in the park might take place sooner than he’d anticipated, and giddy anticipation sparked through him.

Another smile wreathing her face, Mrs. Twistleton guided him down the corridor, and through a pleasant green-themed salon featuring several potted plants and airy landscape paintings. It was as if this room was meant to replicate the countryside the family so favored.

“Please do say you’ll stay for tea, Your Grace. I’m sure Nicolette would be glad of the company.” Genuine concern for her daughter seemed to motivate her, rather than any calculations or match-making schemes.

A most refreshing change, Mathias must admit.

“Before you arrived, I asked Reeves to serve us on the terrace,” Mrs. Twistleton explained. “Such a pleasant day shouldn’t be wasted indoors.”

“Indeed,” he murmured politely.

She looked over her shoulder.

“At Fawtonbrooke Hall, we frequently take tea and picnics on the greens. There’s a lovely folly with a charming view of a pond. It’s one of Nicolette’s favorite places. She says the folly reminds her of Grecian architecture.” She chuckled and shook her head. “My daughter does so long to travel to other parts of the world, but her brother and I have no such penchant, much to her dismay.”

Poor Nicolette.