A Matchmaker's Match (9 page)

Amanda’s blue eyes widened. She sniffled and twisted her handkerchief, avoiding Psyche’s gaze. Then she said, “Milady, I don’t want to marry the earl.”

Psyche’s heart threatened to jump right out of her mouth. She almost leaped to her feet to shout with joy. But could she possibly be hearing right? “You don’t? But you said--”

“I said I want him to
ask
me,” Amanda explained patiently, as though to an ignorant child. “But I don’t really want to marry him.”

Psyche stared at the girl in bewilderment. “Amanda, please, if I’m to help you I’ve got to understand this. You want the earl to propose marriage to you and then you intend to refuse him?”

Amanda nodded, her blond curls bobbing emphatically. “That’s right, milady.”

Psyche shook her head. “But why?”

Amanda’s tears threatened to overflow. “So that
he
will be jealous, of course. So that
he
will ask me to marry
him.”

Psyche frowned. “Amanda, make some sense here. Who is this
he?”

Amanda glanced around her. “You won’t tell anyone? You promise?” She lowered her voice. “He must never know that I love him. Not unless he loves me.”

Psyche nodded. “All right, I promise. Now, who is this mystery man?”

“Overton,” Amanda whispered. “I love my guardian, Overton.”

Shock sent Psyche into momentary silence. Overton! Amanda loved Overton! My God, the chit had some sense after all. It was Overton who was lacking in brains. Why hadn’t he seen that Amanda cared for him? But then, if he limited his visits to twice a year--Psyche smiled, her headache retreating. “I think I begin to see your intent. But, Amanda, have you considered all the ramifications of this thing? If you bring the earl up to scratch, get him to make an offer for you, and then you refuse him, he will surely suffer. Do you want to do that to a man who has never harmed you?”

Tears stood in Amanda’s blue eyes. “I don’t want to hurt anyone, truly I don’t, milady. But I have tried everything I can think of.” She sniffled. “Overton simply will not notice me as a woman. He always treats me like I’m a child, and a troublesome child, at that. So I thought—”

Psyche nodded. “Of course. I understand. You thought that having the best catch in London offer for you would show Overton your true worth.”

Amanda leaned forward. “Oh yes! Please, milady, help me. I love my guardian so much. I cannot marry anyone else.”

Psyche smiled reassuringly. “Don’t worry,” she said, patting Amanda’s hand. “We will contrive it somehow. Just let me think on it for a while.”

* * * *

Some time later Psyche descended the staircase again. Imagine Overton not knowing that Amanda cared for him! But then, her cousin had never struck her as being particularly knowing about women, in spite of his pride in being a fashionable buck. So much of what the young bucks affected was just that—affectation.

But how was she to convince the man that he ought to marry his ward himself? This would take some heavy thinking. And for her, thinking demanded fresh air. She turned toward the front door.

“Lady Psyche,” the earl called, appearing in the library doorway, and looking in his usual tip-top form. “Good morning. I see you are up and about. Are you sure you’re completely recovered?”

“Quite sure,” she returned. “I was just going to take a walk. I find I need a breath of fresh air.”

He nodded, his expression grave. “Yes, I was thinking the same thing myself. If you don’t mind, I shall accompany you.”

“I don’t mind,” she said, swallowing her smile. No woman with any sense would mind the earl’s company!

In a moment he joined her. “So,” he said when they had stepped out into the sunshine. “You will soon be in London.”

“Yes, London.” It was then that she realized. If she had been right, if his attentions to
her
meant he was interested in Amanda, he was going to be disappointed. She didn’t want him to be disappointed, but she didn’t want him to marry Amanda either.

The earl offered her his arm. “The path may be a little rough. And your recent injury—”

She took his arm, his strong arm. She took it happily. “Thank you. You’re very kind.”

He raised an eyebrow. “You said that last night.”

The thought of last night, of him leaning over her, brought the heat to her cheeks. “I only said what was true.”

“You said something else, yesterday, something I didn’t quite understand.”

She turned to look at him. “And what was that?”

“When I first carried you to the library, you insisted that I put you down. You said you would explain later.”

She’d almost forgotten that. “I did?”

“You did.” He smiled. “And now I would like my explanation.”

“I— I will tell you, but first, milord, I must ask you a rather personal question.”

The earl raised an eyebrow, but he simply said, “Ask it then.”

“Do you plan to marry soon?”

He almost stopped walking. What a question! She had effrontery, his Psyche. He wished he could crush her to him, right there, kiss her and tell her
Yes, darling, to you.
Instead he raised an eyebrow. “Marry? Me? I hardly think so.”

“Then— Then you don’t plan to ask for Amanda’s hand?”

Her lower lip quivered slightly. So that was what she thought! Trust Psyche to give him a shocker. He let his face register amazement. “I? Marry that child? Of course not.” He frowned. “Why do you ask such a thing?”

Psyche smiled. “I have an idea—about Amanda’s future husband. I hope to get her married to a really good man who she can love.”

Well, that was a relief. “I’m glad to hear it. Tell me, who is this paragon of virtue?”

Psyche hesitated. “I would tell you, Southdon, but the secret is not mine to divulge. You’ll be in London for the Season, though, won’t you?”

As if he would miss it! He wanted to see Lady Bluestocking in action. And he intended to change her opinion on marriage. “Of course.”

“If Amanda gives me permission—as I think she will—1 will tell you then. Indeed, you may be able to help us.”

He would do anything for her, but he could hardly say so. “Help you? I’m sure I don’t know how.” He squeezed the warm fingers that lay upon his sleeve. “But you have certainly piqued my curiosity. And in any case, I would not have missed the return to the ton of Lady Bluestocking. The fireworks should be stupendous.”

She frowned. “There will be more than fireworks if those awful Lindens don’t stop spreading tales about me.”

The earl grinned. “I wouldn’t fret. I have every confidence that Lady Bluestocking will get the best of them. And anyone else who gets in her way.”

Chapter Nine

Two weeks later Psyche was installed in Overton’s town house on Grosvenor Square. Before she’d left the house party, her cousin had faithfully promised to inform his mama that he had asked Psyche to manage Amanda’s come-out. But Psyche had arrived in London to find Aunt Anna laboring under the delusion, obviously fostered by that coward Overton, that her niece had come to town merely “to help.”

She’d given him a good scold, of course, but she had also commiserated with him. A mama like Aunt Anna, as Psyche well knew, could be a difficult cross to bear. Besides, it didn’t matter so terribly much. Since Amanda wished to marry Overton, her come-out would not have to be perfect.

On the other hand, Psyche told herself as she climbed into the carriage one afternoon for a shopping excursion on Bond Street, considering Overton’s fastidiousness about propriety, and the fact that he had no knowledge of Amanda’s feelings for him, her come-out had better go reasonably well.

To that end they were on their way to the dressmaker. As Psyche had told Georgie only the day before, she would have much preferred to leave Aunt Anna at home, very, very much, but of course her aunt would not hear of such a thing.

Psyche sighed. Georgie had laughed when she’d discovered that so far Psyche had battled with Aunt Anna over the decorations, the music, the food, and the guest list. And unless Psyche changed her tactics as Georgie had suggested, they would no doubt also battle over Amanda’s gown.

Still, Psyche could not feel entirely downhearted. The amazing disclosure that Amanda did not nurse a tendre for the earl had raised Psyche’s spirits immensely. Even Overton’s cowardice and the interminable battles with Aunt Anna could not dampen such good spirits, especially when Psyche considered that the earl would soon arrive in town.

And when he did, she had Amanda’s permission to divulge the name of the true object of her affections. Psyche was confident the earl would help them. Somehow, some way, they would make Overton recognize that his feelings for Amanda were rather more than those of a guardian for his ward.

The carriage stopped outside the modiste’s establishment. With exaggerated sighs and exclamations, Aunt Anna descended, fluttering her ruffles of muddy-brown sarcenet. For the hundredth time Psyche asked herself why a woman of Aunt Anna’s abundant proportions insisted on wearing such an unflattering style. Psyche had, of course, no answer to her question. Perhaps there was none. Perhaps with Aunt Anna, as with Mama, a reason was not necessary.

All London knew the Harley sisters had done as they pleased. The ton gaped, it snickered, it whispered behind its hands, but it did not give the cut direct. The Harley sisters, whatever their idiosyncrasies, were of good blood, moneyed blood. And that sufficed.

With an appealing look to Psyche, Amanda descended from the carriage. Psyche followed. Amanda had shown admirable restraint during Aunt Anna’s various fits of fancy. But early this morning the poor girl had come to Psyche’s room in tears. “Please,
please,”
she begged, “say I may
not
have ruffles on the gown for my come-out.”

Psyche had looked up from a letter to her steward and raised an eyebrow. “Ruffles? Why on earth should you have ruffles?”

Amanda sniffled. “Perhaps you haven’t noticed, but Aunt Anna is excessively fond of ruffles. And I, I have not the figure to carry them.”

Neither did Aunt Anna, but Psyche didn’t say so. “Don’t worry,” she assured Amanda. “There will be no ruffles on your new gown. Trust me. I will see to it.”

Amanda smiled in relief. “Thank you, milady. You are very kind to me. I don’t know what I would have done without you.”

Psyche didn’t know either. “Leave it to me,” she said. “I will deal with Aunt Anna.”

And now the time for dealing had come.

The modiste welcomed them and ushered them into her private room where she indicated a sofa. “If milady would care to sit, I will have the pattern books brought in.”

Aunt Anna settled on the sofa and motioned to Amanda to sit beside her. Sending Psyche an imploring glance, Amanda obeyed. A shop girl put a pattern book in her hands and Aunt Anna immediately took it from her and pored over it.

“Now,” the modiste said, smiling. “First we decide on the pattern, then we pick the material. I have some excellent new fabrics, very fine, just the thing for a come-out.”

Psyche nodded, but Aunt Anna, engrossed in the pattern book, merely grunted.

Psyche smiled at the modiste. “I should like to see a book, too. I shall be needing a gown.”

“Of course, milady.”

Five minutes later Psyche saw the pattern for a gown that would suit Amanda exquisitely, a simple style in pearl silk, girlish and yet grown-up, and without a single ruffle. She marked the place with her thumb and then started looking for a gown for herself.

Ten minutes later she had found it. She would have it made in claret satin, with a small train, a sophisticated gown for an older woman.

“Amanda,” she called. “Come see what you think of this gown for me.”

Amanda came eagerly, leaning to look. “Oh, yes, that will be beautiful.”

With a quick glance to be sure Aunt Anna wasn’t watching. Psyche opened the book to the other gown. When she raised a questioning eyebrow, Amanda gave her a quick, emphatic nod, her smile brilliant. Psyche patted her hand and gestured her back to the sofa. Perhaps Georgie had been right. Perhaps the best thing was to let Aunt Anna think she’d had her way. And then do as they pleased.

“Have you no patterns with ruffles?” Aunt Anna demanded querulously.

The modiste looked a trifle shocked, but recovered enough to say, “Ruffles are not
in
this Season, milady.”

“No matter.” Aunt Anna lumbered to her feet and crossed to the stacked bolts of material. “We shall still have a gown with plenty of ruffles. And make it of this.” She put her hand on a bolt of bright persimmon silk.

The modiste glanced at Psyche, swallowing hard. “Milady, if I might suggest, that shade doesn’t do justice to your color—”

“Oh, it’s not for me,” Aunt Anna pronounced grandly, waving an impatient hand. “It’s for Amanda here. For her come-out.”

The modiste looked about to collapse. Of course she recognized the total impropriety of a girl Amanda’s age wearing orange to her come-out! While the modiste was trying to rally herself, to find a tactful way to reply, Psyche stepped into the breach. “Aunt Anna, do you think Amanda is looking a little pale?”

Amanda obligingly slumped, clearly doing her best to look ill.

“Perhaps you ought to take her out to the carriage,” Psyche suggested. “Get her into the fresh air. I can finish up here.”

“Of course,” Aunt Anna said, bustling toward the door, and shooing Amanda before her. “Shopping can be so dreadfully tiring. But we have ordered the right gown now. Remember, it must have plenty of ruffles.”

As the door closed behind them, the modiste regained her voice. “Milady, surely— We can not— An orange gown— Ruffles— ”

“Never mind,” Psyche said reassuringly. “It will be all right. Now, here’s what I want you to do.”

* * * *

The next afternoon Psyche and Amanda were at their needlepoint in the drawing room while Aunt Anna took her usual afternoon nap. The sound of a carriage halting outside the partially opened window brought Amanda quickly to her feet. She hurried to peer out’ between the lacy panels.

“Who is it?” Psyche inquired casually, picking out a stitch which had gone astray.