“Since Crispin is acquainted with Huntington we can hardly refuse. However—” Jacinda was interrupted by Ainsley’s forced cough. The two sisters exchanged a glance and Jacinda nodded before continuing. “Actually, I’m looking forward to the ball as well. Miss Throckmeyer was on Rydstrom’s list of potential matches, and it would be good to show him how fortunate he is to have me instead.”
Briar felt as if her cup of cheer had sprung a leak. “I’m sure he already knows.”
“Perhaps, though it never hurts to remind him.”
“Briar, you have the Duchess of Holliford’s dinner on Wednesday,” Ainsley reminded. “We need you to be our representative. After all, we must keep our patroness happy, and you know how fond of you she is. Why, she’d even thought of having you marry her nephew.”
Thankfully that had not come to pass. Briar had nothing in common with Clyde Ableforth, who was far more interested in studying insects than in anything romantic. And if it hadn’t been for Jacinda’s intervention, Briar might have found herself married to a complete bore. Instead, the Bourne sisters—well, mostly Jacinda—had found Mr. Ableforth’s perfect match. The duchess had been so grateful that she’d taken them under her wing and assisted in opening the agency.
“I’m sure she would understand if I were absent this one week. After all, she knows how important it is for us to make successful matches. And I am tired of only being the person who serves tea to our clients. I can provide a great deal more.”
“Of course, you can,” Jacinda said at once.
“After you’ve learned to take matters a little more seriously, instead of being caught up in the romance of it.”
“But we are matchmakers,” Briar said, including herself. “In the very least, shouldn’t we start off being a bit in love with what we do? Feel a rush of possibility whenever we meet a new client?”
“The same way Uncle Ernest falls in love with someone new at least three times a week?” Ainsley arched a brow in derision.
Briar could see she was getting nowhere. She loved her sisters, and most of the time they got along swimmingly. They shared the close-knit bond of children who had survived the worst pain imaginable. But when it came to business, they still treated her as if she were a child.
The only way to change her sisters’ minds about what they saw when they looked at her was to show them she was just as capable as they were. “I promised to pay a call on Miss Prescott this morning. I should only be gone a short while, and will return before our doors open for business.”
“Uncle Ernest is still on his morning walk through the park, so there isn’t anyone to escort you.”
Briar fought the urge to roll her eyes at Ainsley. “I can hire a cab for the short drive.”
At least, she presumed she could if ever given the chance.
“No need for a cab. You can share the carriage with Crispin,” Jacinda said.
And just in case it wasn’t patently clear that they saw her as a child, Ainsley added, “There is no need to hasten back, for I doubt we’ll have any new clients today. Enjoy the day with your friend.”
* * *
Nicholas had stayed out far too late, seeking the diversions of his usual London haunts. And this morning his head throbbed with every barefooted step as he padded downstairs.
He’d been determined to forget the things he’d done and the repercussions that followed. Yet no amount of liquor, hazard, cockfights, or women had soothed the restlessness abrading his raw nerves. Nor had it banished the guilt that plagued him.
His encounter with Miss Smithson—or rather, Lady Comstock—had ensured it.
Cinching the silver cord of his banyan around his waist, he sought out Aunt Lavinia and his cousin, Temperance, who’d been out when he’d first arrived last night. He needed to warn them that the months he’d spent in the country with Daniel had been for naught.
Daniel was still in a state of melancholy over the sudden end of his betrothal. Nicholas had only himself to blame. However, he kept that unfortunate truth—along with a host of other sins—from his family. It wasn’t that he was trying to deceive them, but more so to protect them.
As the wife and children of a clergyman, his aunt and cousins were less worldly than most. Until three years ago, and for Temperance’s first Season, they’d never even been to London. They had lived in a small vicarage in Lincolnshire, where his uncle was buried.
Nicholas remembered visiting them often, and with great fondness. He’d been more like an elder brother to Daniel and Temperance than a mere cousin. His aunt possessed all the gentle affection that had always been absent in his mother. They were the only true family he had. And because of those reasons, along with scores of others, he could never tell them what he had done.
If they ever found out, they would surely cut Nicholas out of their lives. Therefore, he needed to find a way to make amends for having destroyed Daniel’s hopes, his faith in other people, and his will to live after his heart had been shattered.
Passing through the breakfast room and the morning parlor, Nicholas did not find Aunt Lavinia or Temperance, so he moved toward the garden terrace.
The smooth stone tiles were warm beneath his feet, the air balmy and perfumed inside the walled garden. But he winced the instant he stepped out from beneath the shade of the ivy-shrouded arbor, blinded by needle-tipped rays of sunlight. Shielding his eyes, he shrank back into the shadows.
From there, he saw Temperance amidst the flowers, her bright magenta dress standing out in sharp contrast to the delicate pastel blossoms around her.
Wiping a blond lock from her brow, her gaze shifted to him and she beamed broadly. “Cousin! Early this morning I’d heard a rumor among the servants that you had returned.”
Abandoning her cuttings, she scuttled up the short series of stairs to kiss his proffered cheek. Only a few inches shorter than his six feet, she was nearly able to look him in the eye as he gave her a wink. “This is the one time that any rumor regarding me has been correct.”
She withheld her disputing laugh, but her pale brown eyes danced with merriment. “Of course. I should never believe otherwise.”
Her willingness to pretend helped to ease his conscience marginally. Out of all the members of his family, Temperance might very well be his favorite.
Setting a hand at her elbow, he escorted her to an ornate wrought iron table situated beneath a fluted awning. There, he noticed a tea tray waiting with five cups and saucers. “Expecting callers, Teense?”
“Mother hates it when you use that moniker, you know. She thinks you’re having a go at my expense.”
With a sideways glance, he caught the shadow of worry breeze across her features. “It’s only because I remember the day you were born, just a tiny, bawling, fuzzy-headed chick.”
She scoffed. “That hardly applies any longer.”
“To me, you’ll always be that teensy wonder of creation,” he said fondly, pushing in her chair. From over her shoulder, he saw a blush tinge the apples of her cheeks, a dimple peering out beside her small grin. Taking his own seat, he gestured to the empty cups waiting in a cluster. “So now tell me about the horde of gentlemen callers you are expecting this morning. Should I be prepared to throttle each one of them?”
“I am expecting a call, but not of the male variety. I’ve invited my friend to discuss a matter of business.”
He smiled and snagged a scone from the tray, breaking it apart to expose the pale airy interior, the scent of lemon filling his nostrils. “Would this be the elusive Miss B you always mention in your letters?” he asked around a mouthful, then looked at the pastry with wonder. “This is delicious. Since when did my cook learn how to make a scone that didn’t resemble a stone in both flavor and appearance?”
“They are divine, are they not? Mother simply cannot live without them. They are from Mrs. Darden, my friend’s cook.”
He savored the last morsel and raised his brows. “Is this Mrs. Darden a persuadable type of creature? Perhaps
she’d be willing to work for me.”
“Mother already tried. Regrettably, Mrs. Darden is entirely faithful to the Bourne family.”
A wayward tingle shot up his spine as he reached for another scone, the name sparking a hazy memory. “Bourne. I know that name from somewhere, do I not?”
“I should hope so. Your steward has been sending payments to the Bourne Matrimonial Agency for my subscription ever since this Season began. My friend is . . .”
Another vibration scurried over his flesh. The hair at his nape stood on end. He had read the nearly illegible name in his accounts without thinking much about it. Hearing it spoken, on the other hand, sent him reeling with remembrance of a fresh-faced young woman with cornflower blue eyes, lips as red as a harlot’s, and spouting the utter conviction that she was destined to be a . . . a . . . What was it exactly?
He could almost hear the sound of her voice now, so light and airy it might have been composed of the center of this scone.
“. . . a matchmaker,” Temperance supplied.
“Now I remember.” And he did, all of it. Right down to Adams’s empty whisky flask and her soiled stocking lying on the floor of his carriage.
In fact, he believed he still had that stocking upstairs, tucked away in his bureau. Which was unlike him. He never held on to items of clothing from his paramours, as that would have only encouraged them to cling. Though, since his carriage companion had never been with him in a biblical sense, he’d made an exception, planning to return it to her after a short visit to north Hampshire.
Of course, that visit had turned into a lengthy stay because of an unfortunate encounter with Miss Smithson.
The memory was a bitter one that he wished he could forget.
He’d been enjoying an afternoon jaunt about the countryside with Daniel and Temperance when they’d spotted a coach on the side of the road and stopped to offer assistance. Nicholas hadn’t even recognized her. If he had, he never would have agreed to Daniel’s suggestion that she wait for repairs at Blacklowe Manor. It wasn’t until dinner that evening, when a pair of green eyes had glinted knowingly at him across the table, that he’d remembered.
All at once his mind had flashed to the color of scarlet, to eyes lined with kohl and lips painted with rouge. He’d recognized her but, as it had turned out, too late.
For the following days in Hampshire, she’d cast a spell over Daniel by way of secret letters and clandestine meetings. By the time Nicholas learned of this, Daniel had already been determined to marry her. And she had eagerly, cunningly accepted.
From that point on, she’d dined with the family every night and had spent each day keeping Daniel entranced by her charms. Nicholas did his best to warn him, but his cousin was deaf to every word.
There had been only two options left—either reveal the intimate details of their acquaintance, or tie her hands so she could no longer put her claws in Daniel.
Since admitting to having carnal relations with an unmarried debutante would bring the expectation of marriage down on his own head, he’d opted for the latter option.
Temperance sighed, her cup clacking against the saucer. “I wanted her to meet Daniel. But then his valet informed us that he was still abed and does not plan on rising anytime soon. He didn’t even ask for a breakfast tray, but Mother sent one all the same. I’m sure she’s outside his door now making a fuss. I’d hoped that after that terrible, jilting woman was out of his life, he would have returned as the dear brother I once knew.”
“Retiring to my estate hadn’t worked as I thought it would have done.”
So Nicholas had returned to London, believing that it might be better for Daniel to be in society instead of removed from it. In his own experience, to get over one woman, all a man needed to do was replace her with another. By the dozens.
The only problem was that Daniel wasn’t like Nicholas. He didn’t want dozens of women—he still wanted the same one who’d never intended to marry him in the first place.
“Surely he didn’t stay abed at your country estate.”
“No, there was too much work to be done. The farms are running dry this year and I needed every available man to dig irrigation trenches.”
“Ah. So that is why your skin is nut brown. It gives you the rather swarthy appearance of a pirate.”
He grinned back at her, taking the cup of tea that she poured for him. “Been spending much time with pirates in my absence?”
“If only. From what I understand, they mistake sea cows for mermaids, and it’s just that type of visual impairment I’m hoping for in a husband.”
“Teense,” he chided softly.
“Look at me, Nicholas. I’m four and twenty, taller than most gentlemen, and doomed for the shelf. And I’m not even sure it will have me. In the past four Seasons, I’ve only been asked to dance eight times, and that includes once from you and twice from my brother. I spend most of my time blending into the wallpaper. That was the reason Mother and I enlisted the help of the Bourne Matrimonial Agency. At this point, a matchmaker is my only hope. Fortunately, Briar understands me.”
“Briar?” His cup stalled, his body teeming with awareness. Could that be her name?
Temperance nodded. “We met when Mother first filled out my application. Briar served me tea in the parlor and we started chatting about . . . oh, dozens of things, including these scones. And it was as if we’d been friends for years. Since then, we’ve been inseparable. We’ve even joined an archery club. Though, perhaps, I shouldn’t have revealed that so casually. Her family doesn’t know about the club. They’re quite protective of her. So you won’t mention it, will you?”
From what he recalled about her reckless naivety, her family’s desire to protect her was well-founded. “You and your friend could always shoot at targets here in the garden for your amusement.”
“It’s far more than a mere diversion for Briar. She takes archery as seriously as she does matchmaking, and that’s saying quite a lot. But when you meet her you will understand.”
“Is this your way of asking me to have a shave and change my clothes?”
“Well, you’ll want to look somewhat respectable when she arrives.” She took a hasty sip from her cup. “I thought, perhaps, she could find Daniel a bride who will help him forget Miss Smithson.”
Nicholas scratched the sharp stubble along his jaw, admiring Temperance’s cleverness. With all that had transpired these past months, he hadn’t paid much attention to the fact that she had subscribed to a matrimonial agency. But now, he wondered if such a plan wouldn’t be just the thing for both his cousins.
Chapter 6
“Wickedness is always wickedness, but folly is not always folly.”
Jane Austen, Emma
“It was kind of your cousin to set up targets for us in his garden,” Briar said with a glance over her shoulder to the doors leading to the house.
The archway was still empty, just as it had been the last dozen times she’d looked. As of yet, she had not met Lord Edgemont and impatience was starting to rattle her nerves. After the conversation with her sisters this morning, she didn’t want to wait a moment longer to prove herself their equal.
“Nicholas would deny it with his dying breath, but he is soft at heart and tends to dote on me exceedingly. I’ve become quite spoiled, so you’d best find a husband for me who tends toward generosity.”
Briar laughed, the insight into his character like music to her ears. The bowstring twanged and she could feel the vibration against her cheek as she sent an arrow slicing through the stagnant air. As expected, it hit the blackened center of the coiled straw target.
Temperance fired her shot, too, but frightened a gray squirrel up in the tree where the arrow landed. She called out a quick “sorry” to the creature. “Though, after you told me of your morning, I imagine it feels good to expend some violent aggression.”
“Indeed, it does.”
“If you were my sister, I should treat you just as you are—re
markably fascinating and worldly.”
“Worldly?” Briar laughed again, but this time with incredulity. “Most farthings have seen more of the world than I.”
“Yes, well I know that, but even so, you possess a certain air that hints at another life altogether. I can’t quite explain it. But it’s as if, at any moment, you might tell me that you plan to run away with a gentleman who’ll sweep you off to the Mediterranean and bathe you in diamonds.”
Briar batted her lashes playfully. “How scandalous! Oh, but they would be sapphires, of course, for he wants to find a jewel to match my eyes.”
“And that is precisely the reason we became friends from the very start. Until I met you, I never would have conjured such an outlandish scenario. Though now I can picture it so clearly that I can taste olive-scented air on my tongue. You have a gift for inflicting everyone you meet with wild, romantic notions.”
“I wish you would tell that to the cartoonist who drew that unflattering caricature in the Post this morning. Now all of London knows of my error.” She took out her displeasure on the next arrow, and summarily struck the target squarely in the center. Yet she felt little satisfaction. “If only our most embarrassing mistakes were private events.”
Temperance agreed with a commiserating sigh as her next shot pierced the ground three paces away. “It will all be forgotten soon. After all, this was your only misstep since the agency opened.”
That wasn’t entirely true. But Briar had never confessed her other near-disaster—the day she’d tried to meet Lord Hulworth but ended up sharing a carriage with a rogue instead.
And she never would tell a single soul, not even her dearest friend.
Thankfully, the rogue had been the only witness to her folly and she would never see him again. After all, a man like that would hardly grace the doorstep of the agency looking to marry. Or attend the very respectable dinners at the Duchess of Holliford’s.
A peculiar shiver swept over her again, starting at the soles of her feet and ending at the tips of her fingers as she pulled back the bowstring. For an instant, the memory of those dark sinful eyes swept to the forefront of her mind.
Ten Kisses to Scandal (Misadventures in Matchmaking) Page 6