A Matchmaker's Match (10 page)

Amanda turned from the window, her face pale. “It’s him, milady, it’s the earl! Oh, do you really think he’ll help us?” She clasped her hands piteously. “Oh do remember, he must promise not to breathe a word to Overton. If my guardian ever finds out, oh, I should die of shame!”

“It will be all right,” Psyche said in soothing tones. “When the earl comes in, you can explain--”

“Oh, no! Never! I couldn’t— ” And Amanda bolted from the room.

Psyche swallowed a sigh. How was she ever to bring together two such pea brains as Amanda and Overton, when neither of them seemed to have the sense he was born with?

“The Earl of Southdon,” the butler announced in sonorous tones.

Psyche smiled. “Do come in, Southdon. And sit down.”

The earl advanced and bowed before her. “It’s good to see you again,” he said.

Good? he thought.
It was wonderful. He had missed her so very much, as though she’d already become a part of his life. But then, she had. His Psyche, his “soul.” The meaning of her Greek name was so appropriate. Long ago, during those lonely nights in Spain she had taken shape in his heart, inhabited a special place there, and without her even knowing it.

He smiled at her, trying not to let her see how much he wished to gather her in his arms, to crush her to him. He swallowed hastily. He must stop this kind of thinking. “You’re looking quite well,” he said, “considering.”

Psyche’s welcoming smile turned to a frown of bewilderment. “Considering what?” she inquired.

The earl settled into the chair Amanda had vacated. Stretching his long legs before him, he leaned back and smiled. “Considering your recurring battles with Overton’s mother. I understand there have been disputes over the decorations, the music, the food, the guest—”

“Stop!” Psyche cried, laughter in her beautiful melodious voice. “I didn’t know Overton was reporting all this to you.” She frowned in obvious puzzlement. “Though I wonder how he even knows. The man has hardly showed his face around here.”

The earl removed an almost invisible piece of lint from his sleeve. “It was not Overton who told me your tale of woe. It was Georgie.”

“Georgie,” Psyche repeated, her voice changing. “You have seen Georgie?”

“But of course.” He inspected his cuff. Georgie was right. This was the way to do it. Make Psyche jealous. “We are old friends, Georgie and I. We share everything.”

“I see.” Psyche managed a smile, at least she hoped it was a smile. “And how did you find Georgie?”

The earl grinned. “In capital spirits, as always. You know Georgie.”

Psyche nodded. She was being ridiculous, allowing herself to be upset because he was friendly with Georgie. Still, she couldn’t help it, she felt intense disappointment. “It was kind of you to take the time to call,” she said primly. “Aunt Anna will be sorry she missed you. She usually takes a nap at this hour.”

“I know.”

The frankness of his reply left her flustered. “And Amanda, she, well, I’m afraid this whole thing has been rather difficult for her.”

“Quite so,” agreed the earl, regarding her steadily.

Psyche picked up her stitching again. It was disconcerting to have him sitting there, staring at her like that. She needed something to occupy her hands.

Several minutes passed in silence. For Psyche they were very long minutes, during which she more than once pricked herself and found it impossible to keep her attention on her embroidery.

Finally the earl said, “I am waiting.”

Startled, she raised her gaze from her stitching. “Waiting for what?”

“For the explanation that was promised me.”

“Oh, that.” Now that the moment was upon her she was ill at ease. In the privacy of her room she had imagined that enlisting his help would be a simple matter, but faced with his presence, his overwhelming presence, she found herself practically tongue-tied. “I do not— It’s a very delicate matter— I just don’t know— ”

“Perhaps,” the earl suggested, “you could start by naming the object of Amanda’s affection.”

Psyche nodded, clutching her embroidery. “Yes, of course. But you must promise not to breathe a word to anyone. It’s— ” She looked toward the door, lowering her voice. “It’s Overton.”

Shock registered on the earl’s handsome face, then amusement. “Capital!” he cried. “They suit each other admirably.”

Psyche sighed. “Do lower your voice. It is not quite so simple.”

The earl leaned forward. “You mean there’s a fly in the matrimonial buttermilk?”

Psyche nodded. “Very much so.”

The earl stroked his chin. “But it seems so simple. Amanda has her come-out, her hour of glory, and then he marries her. What could possibly cause problems?”

Psyche sighed ruefully. “Well there is one, just one, little problem with that lovely progression of events.”

“And that is?”

“Overton has shown no interest in marrying her.”

The earl raised an eyebrow. “You mean— ”

“I mean that Amanda has formed a deep attachment for the man. In fact”— she leaned toward him— “Amanda vows she will marry no other. But in spite of her approaching come-out, Overton persists in regarding her as a child.” Psyche shrugged. “And so we have come to a standstill.”

The earl frowned thoughtfully. “A terrible pickle if ever I’ve seen one. But how did you suppose that I could help?”

“Well, you didn’t know it, but Amanda had a plan to get Overton to notice her.”

The earl looked puzzled. “Of course I didn’t know it. Why should I?”

She sighed. “Because it had to do with you.”

“Me?” He was sitting erect now, looking quite puzzled. “How me?”

“Amanda planned to get you to offer for her and then to refuse you.”

The earl stared at her. Were they both crazy? He hadn’t been puffing himself to Psyche. There was hardly a woman in London who would refuse him. Except Lady Bluestocking. “Refuse me?” he repeated.

Psyche nodded. “I’m afraid Amanda is rather naive, but her reasoning was sound. She has been told that you are the best catch of the Season. And she thought that your offering for her would make her guardian sit up and take notice.”

The earl stroked his chin again. “It’s not a bad plan, but it’s impossible, of course. No one who knows me would believe I’d offer for such a child.”

He smiled at her warmly. He was supposed to make Psyche jealous. At least, Georgie had said he should. This whole plan was her idea, her female idea. He would have preferred a straightforward approach, a frontal attack, so to speak. But he’d begun this way, so he’d better go on. “It’s well known among the ton that I prefer experienced women.”

Experienced women like Georgie.
Psyche pushed the thought aside. Aloud she said, “Of course. I pointed out to her that the thing wouldn’t work.” She sighed. “I had hoped that once we were in town I could throw the two of them together. But Overton is always out somewhere. We see him only in passing.”

The earl crossed his legs, idly swinging his booted foot. Psyche’s mind presented her with the memory of the ruined abbey and the seat of the earl’s breeches. Heat rose to her cheeks and she resumed her stitching, but that was no help either and finally, unable to bear the silence any longer, she looked up again. “Have you any suggestions?”

For some moments longer the earl sat, considering the toe of his shining boot, and then his frown smoothed out. “Perhaps I can help.”

Psyche dropped her needlework. “Oh, thank you, we shall be eternally grateful!”

He smiled and raised an eyebrow. “Perhaps you’d better wait to see what results we get.”

He leaned forward, gazing into Psyche’s eyes. For a moment she forgot everything except his overwhelming nearness. Then she regained a little sense. “What?” she whispered. “What is your plan?”

He smiled. “Actually it is your plan. I mean only to implement it. I won’t actually court the child, but I may drop a few hints, see if I can open your cousin’s eyes— ”

“You promised.” Psyche leaned forward and clutched his arm. “You must not tell him— ”

The earl’s hand covered hers, such a warm hand, so strong. “Don’t worry,” he said lightly. “I will handle it all. But you must forewarn Amanda. After the come-out, I shall contrive some occasions to throw them together. Some excursions to see the city, perhaps. You and I will go along, of course.”

Her heart rose up in her throat, making further thanks difficult to utter.

He looked at his pocket watch. “Now, I’m afraid I must go. I’ll be out of town for a few days, necessary estate business, but I’ll see you at the come-out.”

Chapter Ten

The days passed. In spite of the frenzied activity, the fitting of gowns, the ordering of flowers and food, the constant coming and going of tradespeople, all the continual rush and stir of preparation. Psyche found the days endless.

The earl was still out of town. He would not return until the very day of Amanda’s come-out. And so for Psyche, though she filled them with activities too numerous to count, the days dragged slowly by.

But finally the day of the come-out arrived. Feeling as nervous as if the great event had been designed in
her
honor, Psyche had her claret gown laid out, all its accoutrements ready, and had set Curtis to dressing her hair, when the door burst open and Amanda came flying in, tears streaming down her face.

“Psyche!” she wailed. “Will you look at me! Just look at me! I’m a sight! I cannot bear it! Why, why, I would frighten little children! Set them to screaming, I’m sure!”

Psyche looked. And looked again. Unfortunately, Amanda was right. Arrayed in the gown of ruffled persimmon silk, the poor girl rather resembled a fat, fluttering squash. Psyche bit her bottom lip, with great difficulty keeping a sober face. She didn’t want to laugh when poor Amanda was already distraught. And no wonder.

“Oh, God!” Amanda moaned. “This is horrible. If Overton sees me like this, I shall die!”

“Steady,” Psyche soothed, rising to her feet and crossing to Amanda’s side. “He’s not at home yet. And no one else will see you. Remember, we have the plan.”

“I know, I know.” Amanda nodded bravely, but then she peered down at her gown, and her face took on an expression of utter horror. “Oh dear, can’t we go ahead and do it now?”

Psyche looked at the clock. “No, dear. It’s simply too early. I promise you, though, when the time comes, you will be stunning.” She squeezed her hand. “Now, chin up. And remember, don’t let on to anything in front of Aunt Anna.”

Amanda straightened her shoulders. “I won’t.” She gave Psyche a tremulous sigh and marched out, looking for all the world like she was headed for her own execution.

“Lord love a duck!” Curtis exclaimed when the door was safely shut. “That old lady has got to be missing something upstairs. I ain’t never seen such a horrendous gown! How could anyone buy such a thing on purpose?”

Psyche smiled and settled again at her dressing table. “Wait till you see Aunt Anna’s gown. It’s the most bilious green, like—like pond scum.”

Curtis shuddered. “The poor young lady! She must love Lord Overton a lot to take on such an awful woman as his mama.” Curtis grinned at her in the mirror, fussing with a curl. “But she’ll learn how to get on from you, milady. You always managed your mama real good. This plan of your’n, it’ll work, too.”

Psyche grinned back. She and Curtis had long been friends. “I just hope Amanda doesn’t get impatient and rush things.” She glanced at the clock again. “It’s good we’ll have my hair done—so you’ll be free to help her.”

When there remained but half an hour till the guests were expected, Psyche and Curtis exchanged glances. Before they could look away, a piercing scream echoed through the upper reaches of the house. “Right on time,” Psyche said, grinning. Then, clad in her wrapper, she raced down the hall.

Aunt Anna blocked the door to Amanda’s room. She stood aghast, one large hand at her open mouth, the other clutching the door frame. “Oh no! Amanda! Your beautiful gown!”

With her aunt’s shrieks threatening to split her eardrums, Psyche pushed past her into the room. Amanda stood in the middle of the floor, still swathed in persimmon silk. But down the gown’s front, and spreading across its ruffled layers, ran a series of ink spots.

Psyche swallowed a smile. Amanda had followed instructions to perfection. The ink blots were large and prominently placed. There was no way on earth to disguise them. And no time to even try to remove them.

“Oh dear! Oh dear!” Aunt Anna wailed, frantically wringing her hands. “What shall we do? You can’t appear in public all spotted with ink like that.” She frowned. “And why on earth were you writing in your new gown?”

Amanda’s lower lip trembled and a big tear slipped down her cheek. “I’m sorry. I— I just wished to record my thoughts about this happy day.”

“Well, you have quite ruined your lovely gown,” Aunt Anna lamented. “I’m sure you didn’t mean to, but I just don’t know what we can do! It will all be spoiled, ruined. The whole come-out. All the flowers and food. We’ll have to call it--”

Psyche crossed the room. “Dear Aunt Anna, do calm down. Perhaps I can help. I have in my armoire a gown that might fit Amanda.”

Aunt Anna sighed piteously and wrung her hands. “But you’re much taller than she.”

“Yes, I know. That’s why I haven’t worn the gown. It was too short for me. But I just didn’t get around to taking it to the dressmaker to be fixed.”

Aunt Anna exhaled loudly. “Well, I suppose it will have to do. Such a shame, that beautiful, beautiful gown. All those lovely ruffles.”

Putting both hands to her temples, she backed out of the door. “I’m afraid you’ll have to take care of it, Psyche. This is just too much for my poor, poor nerves.”

“Of course, Aunt Anna,” Psyche soothed. “You just go get dressed. Amanda, you come with me.”

The gown of pearl silk fit Amanda to perfection, but of course they knew it would since she’d secretly tried it on right after it had arrived. Its high-waisted bodice fit snugly and the skirt fell gracefully to the floor. In it she looked as a young woman at her come-out was meant to look, sweet and innocent, and yet a woman.

Her face radiant, Amanda twirled before the cheval glass. “Oh, Psyche, it’s beautiful. I look so grown-up. Do you think he’ll notice me?”