A Matchmaking Miss (16 page)

That unleashed a flood of shared memories, and by the time they reached their first destination Matty's customary good spirits had been restored. Watching Richard with the tenants, she was struck anew by his similarities with her father. Both were men of deep religious convic
tions, and they took obvious pleasure in helping others. She couldn't help but compare him to the duke of Dereham and Lord Frederick, men of position and power whose only thoughts were of their own selfish desires. She'd assumed all men of title were so inclined . . . until she'd met Joss.

Their next stop was at the Delvaynes'. The farmer was out tending his fields, but his wife seemed fine, if somewhat anxious about her approaching confinement. Matty spent several minutes listening to her concerns, and after forcing some tea on her she took the midwife aside for a private talk. It was only after the experienced woman assured her all was well that she was willing to depart, leaving strict instructions that she was to be sent for the moment Rose went into labor.

"I often helped the midwife in my own village, Mrs. Canton," she said, tying the ribbons of one of her new bonnets beneath her chin. "I assure you I shan't swoon or prove to be a nuisance."

"I'm sure ye won't, Miss Stone," the midwife replied, eyeing Matty shrewdly. "Ye've a good head on yer shoulders, no mistaking that. The marquess is lucky to have ye."

"She's right, you know," Richard remarked quietly as they made their way to their next stop. "Lord Kirkswood is most fortunate to
have you in his employ, and one may only hope he appreciates his good fortune."

"I'm not in his employ," Matty denied, wondering why that seemed so vitally important. "I am Lady Kirkswood's companion."

"Perhaps. But it is on his behalf that you labor so hard," Richard replied, surprisingly persistent. "And watching you makes me realize what a fine wife you would make some lucky man."

Matty was horrified to find tears stinging her eyes. She'd never given marriage a single thought except to decide it wasn't for her. She was both intelligent and independent, with no looks to speak of, and she lacked the fortune that might have made a man willing to overlook these faults. At three-and-twenty she knew it was unlikely she'd ever marry, and she was comfortable with that fact. So why was she now so depressed? she wondered, struggling to understand the wild swing of her emotions.

"One might also say the same of you," she sniffed, sending him an annoyed scowl. "A vicar needs a wife more than a spinster needs a husband. I recall my papa mentioning that fact any number of times."

"Only because he was hoping we would make a match of it," Richard reminded her with a wink. "And mayhap he was right. What say you, Miss Stone? Will you do me the very great
honor of becoming my wife?"

At first Matty thought he was in earnest, but then she saw the laughter lurking in his gray eyes. "Beast." She thumped him on the arm with a gloved fist. "It would serve you right if I accepted; then where would you be, hmm?"

"In more trouble than I care to imagine," Richard admitted with a self-deprecatory laugh. "It would take a braver man than I to tame you, my dear, and I am extremely grateful you had the good sense to turn me down. Of course, my poor heart may never recover from such a shattering blow."

"Of course," she agreed, her spirits swinging upward once more. "But I still think you should consider what I have said."

"And
vice versa
, Miss Stone, although I'd like to remind you that prospective brides are few and far between for vicars, especially impoverished vicars."

"Would you like me to arrange a match for you?" she offered, half-serious. "We shall have a houseful of wealthy debs by week's end, and I daresay one of them would suit you."

As she expected, Richard was quick to turn down her offer. "No, thank you, I've no desire for you to choose a bride for me as you would for Lord Kirkswood. There are certain things a man prefers to do himself, you know."

Matty gave a guilty start. "How do you know
I intended finding a bride for his lordship?" she demanded, her cheeks pinking with embarrassment.

"Because I know
you
, Matty, and I could see your devious hand at work the moment I heard of the party. Has the marquess any idea of your plans for him?"

Matty thought of denying any wrongdoing, but in the end she gave a little shrug. "The wretch tumbled to it almost at once. And even though he has agreed to the party, he is insisting he wants no part of my matchmaking schemes."

"And he foolishly believes you will abandon your efforts?"

Matty did take umbrage at that. "I am sure I have no notion as to your meaning, sir," she informed him, her chin jutting out. "I have but assisted the marchioness in arranging a house party. Anything that may or may not happen between his lordship and a guest is hardly any fault of mine."

Richard gave another laugh. "Almost, madam, you convince me. But I am too well acquainted with your Machiavellian mind to believe you've mended your managing ways."

Once again, the accusation of being managing hit a raw nerve in Matty. Good heavens, she thought with considerable alarm, perhaps she
was
managing! The realization was enough to spoil the beauty of the day, and she was in a
somber and pensive mood when she returned to the manor house.

"Dearest Martha, what a delight to see you again!"

Matty did her best not to wince at the patent insincerity in her cousin's voice, as the well-dressed young lady leaned forward to kiss the air just above her cheek.

"You must tell me
every
thing you have been doing," Miss Juliana Mulroy continued, her brown eyes assessing as they swept over Matty. "I can see for myself you're in the pink of health, and that you've finally regained that weight you lost when your father died. Those extra pounds look wonderful on you."

"Thank you, Cousin," Matty said, her spirits drooping at the thought that she had a full week of Juliana's waspish tongue to endure. "You're also looking quite well. That is a lovely pelisse you are wearing."

"From London," Juliana informed her with a dimpled smile. "I would give you the name of my
modiste
, but I can see you still don't give a fig for fashion." She turned to Lady Louisa and dropped a graceful curtsey.

"Lady Kirkswood," she murmured in her cultured voice. "It was very kind of you to invite me to your lovely home."

"Not at all, Miss Mulroy." Lady Louisa's voice was decidedly cool as she studied the younger woman. "Any relation of my dear Miss Stone would naturally always be welcome in my home."

Juliana blinked her eyes as if uncertain how to interpret this. In the end she merely gave a pretty smile and turned her attention to the red-haired man standing beside the marchioness.

"Lord Kirkswood," she said, provocatively sweeping incredibly thick lashes over her dark eyes. "I am delighted to make your acquaintance."

"Miss Mulroy." Joss inclined his head in cool politeness. Like his sister-in-law, he'd caught her slighting manner towards Stone, and like Louisa he didn't care for it one whit. It was obvious the spiteful witch considered herself above Matty, and he longed to set her straight on that particular score.

For all her cattiness, Juliana was nobody's fool, and she quickly tumbled to the fact that she was getting off on the wrong foot. Vowing to make Matty suffer later for showing her in such a poor light, she raised a hand to her forehead.

"I pray you will forgive me, your ladyship, but I fear the journey has exhausted me," she said, swaying dramatically lest Louisa fail to take her meaning. "If you would be so kind as
to show me to my rooms, I believe my companion and I will retire."

"Certainly, Miss Mulroy," Louisa said calmly, gesturing for the housekeeper to step forward. "Mrs. Lawford, please show our guests to their rooms. Will you be requiring a maid while you are with us?" She addressed the question to Juliana.

"If you would be so kind." Juliana continued smiling, but she burned at the clever slight. Although it wasn't required for a hostess to conduct her guests to their rooms, it was the custom. That her hostess had assigned the task to a servant was tantamount to an insult, in her eyes.

"We shall see to it," Louisa promised, then held out her hand to the thin woman in the black cape standing behind Juliana. "I am sorry, but I didn't catch your name," she said with an encouraging smile. "I am Lady Kirkswood."

"I am M — Miss Burrell, m — my lady," the younger woman stammered, looking up at Louisa with wide gray eyes.

"Miss Burrell." Louisa gave her hand a friendly squeeze. "I hope you will enjoy yourself while you are here."

Miss Burrell's eyes flicked to her mistress's set face and then lowered to the floor. "Thank you, my lady," she said shyly. "It is kind of you to
say so."

"Come, Burrell." Juliana's voice fairly crackled with impatience. "I need my salts."

Miss Burrell blushed nervously, and after mumbling an apology to Louisa she stumbled after her irate mistress. Louisa watched them leave, her golden eyebrows knitting in thought. After a moment she turned to Matty.

"I don't believe I shall call you Stone again," she said firmly. "Matty is much friendlier, don't you think?"

"Yes, my lady," Matty agreed, touched by the marchioness's decision. "Much friendlier."

The rest of the guests began trickling in that afternoon, and by dinner everyone had arrived. Joss was particularly pleased to see that his old friend Sir Valen had agreed to stay, even though his. own estates were only a little over an hour away.

"It will do me good to get away," he told Joss, his turquoise eyes full of laughter as he relaxed against a club chair. "I have been having a spot of trouble with some of the local gentlemen, and I need the respite."

"Not more irate husbands?" Joss teased, referring to an incident from their days at university when the furious husband of a pretty barmaid had come after Christopher with a
knife.

"I'm not talking about that sort of gentleman," Christopher clarified good-naturedly. "Having almost lost a rather important part of my anatomy I have sworn off married ladies. No, 'tis the smugglers I am talking about. The blasted creatures have become so shockingly bold about Lowestoft I've had to call the navy in for help."

"Really?" Joss sat forward, cradling the snifter of brandy in his hand as he studied his friend. "I should have thought that with the wars ending there would be no need for their services."

"Then you'd be wrong," Christopher replied bluntly. "The rascals are more active than ever, and when business is slow they supplement their income by wrecking and looting ships bound for Great Yarmouth. Four ships were lost in the last year alone, and the Admiralty is becoming alarmed."

Joss could well imagine their concern. As a merchant, he was well aware of the havoc such criminals could wreak, and he felt for his friend's problem. "I had a similar problem last year, only in my case it was pirates off Madagascar. Still, I was able to devise a plan for dealing with them." He gave Christopher an uncertain look, hoping he wouldn't offend the other man. "If you're interested, I'd be happy to
tell you the specifics."

"Would you?" Christopher shot him a relieved look. "I'd be eternally in your debt. Thwarting a band of bloodthirsty cutthroats isn't at all what I had in mind when I became the baron, and I must admit to being at something of a loss."

"We'll talk about it after dinner," Joss promised, brightening at the prospect. "If you don't mind I'll ask Raj to join us. He is an old hand at plotting."

"The more the merrier, as they say," Christopher answered easily, lifting his glass in a toast. "And certainly I'll welcome any advice I can get." He took a sip of his brandy and gave a rich chuckle.

"Why are you laughing?" Joss asked.

"I was just thinking," Christopher said, tipping back in his chair. "The last time I saw you we were plotting the best way to smuggle a couple of lightskirts into the duke of Carlisle's ball. Who'd have thought then we'd end our frivolous youth weighed down with such duties and responsibilities? And do you know what's worse?"

"What?"

"I like it." A boyish shrug accompanied the admission. "I like working the land and seeing to the needs of my people. It's a challenge, and you know I could never resist a challenge. If my
esteemed father had shared more of the responsibilities with me from the start I wouldn't have wasted so many years fighting against the inevitable."

Joss said nothing, although he agreed with Christopher. He could remember begging his own father to let him help with the estate, only to be told coldly that it was none of his concern. Well, he didn't intend making the same mistakes with
his
son. He'd let the boy know from the start that Kirkswood was his to love and protect. He'd let him ride out with him when he made his rounds, and when the lad was old enough he'd — His reverie slammed to a halt as he realized what he'd been thinking.

His son, he brooded, his hand trembling as he took a deep sip of the fiery liqueur. He'd never even considered the possibility before, but now he felt the need so strongly it was almost a pain. A son. A family. A place where he would finally belong and be welcomed. These were the things he had been searching for all his life without even knowing he was searching. The realization was a sobering one, but he'd never been a man to ignore the truth, however painful it might be.

He was still wrestling with the implications when a servant tapped on the door and told him the other guests were assembling in the drawing room for tea and sherry.

"Speaking of responsibilities," Christopher joked as he rose to his feet. "Well, there's no help for it, I suppose. Come along, my lord, 'tis time for you to do your duty."

Joss gave him a thoughtful look. "Do you know, Valen, I do believe you are right," he said slowly. "I only pray God it is not too late." And with that cryptic remark he led a puzzled Christopher into the drawing room, where the other guests were waiting for them.

Matty was the first person Joss saw when he and Christopher entered the drawing room. She was sitting behind the silver tea set, wearing a new gown of cream and cherry jaconet, a beribboned cap of cream cambric perched on her dark curls. Much as he longed to go directly to her he knew he couldn't ignore his duties as host, and spent several minutes exchanging greetings with his guests, most of whom he didn't know from Adam. Finally he was standing before her, his expression serious as he accepted the cup of tea she offered him.