Looking into those solemn, wide-set amber eyes, she felt the unmistakable certainty that he needed a bride. And she was going to find him one. “It is a true pleasure. I’ve heard so much about you from Temperance that I already feel as though we are old friends.”
“I . . .” He opened his mouth, but closed it again, casting an uncertain look to his sister as if wondering if she had revealed everything, including how he’d been jilted by his betrothed. Which, of course, she had. However, Briar did not want to invite such a pall to their party this afternoon.
Making a hasty amendment, she added, “She said you are something of a poet. Coincidentally, my very own uncle fancies himself a sonneteer. You would not imagine how many words rhyme with rose. I think he has discovered them all and even invented a few new ones when the others have failed him.”
She added a lighthearted laugh meant to put him at ease, and saw his shoulders relax on an exhale.
“I’m certain my random scribblings are not nearly as fine as Temperance likely suggested.” A shy blush ruddied his cheeks.
Briar could not imagine Nicholas ever blushing. Though if he did, it would be difficult to tell with his darker complexion, tanned from his months in the outdoors at his country estate.
“There you are, Daniel, and what a magnificent surprise.” Lavinia Prescott came through the doorway with a happy chirrup, splaying a hand over her heart, her eyes glinting with moisture as she beamed at her children. “Temperance, I knew he would come around. Yes, indeed. I feel like planning a dinner to celebrate. The Burkharts are hosting a soiree this evening, but I’m sure the Pomphreys are free, and oh! I just heard that Lord and Lady Baftig have a charming daughter.”
Daniel shifted on the stones, shoulders tense, fists clenched. Briar glanced down to see that one of his feet was pointed toward the house and, in that instant, she knew this was all too much for him. He was hoping to escape.
“I often find when I’ve lingered over a beautiful tea on a hot afternoon, I’m usually too satisfied to think of dinner and want nothing more than to spend the rest of the day with family,” Briar said, ambling over to the table. “Then again, the Bournes are something of an odd lot and tend to forgo formal dinners for cold suppers in the library.”
Nicholas held out a chair for her, gifting her with a flash of a smile. Quick though disarming. “Daniel and I enjoyed cold suppers often in the country as well. Few things are more enjoyable on a warm evening than an informal meal and the relaxed conversation one can only have with family and old friends.”
Mrs. Prescott’s hopeful gaze was fixed on Daniel as she took her seat. “But wouldn’t it be grand to have a full party here in the garden? And we could dine alfresco. After hearing that the Duchess of Holliford had her dining room reassembled out of doors, positively everyone wants to do the same. There is even talk of the Throckmeyer’s hosting a ball in their gardens. Now, I ask you, what could be better than fresh air, dancing, and dozens of pretty smiles?” She smiled encouragingly at everyone at the table. “After all, I cannot find spouses for my children if they linger indoors. Why even Nicholas might choose to marry again.”
“Again?” Briar blurted without thinking.
Every bit of warmth swiftly vanished from Nicholas’s countenance. He offered a tight, nearly imperceptible nod, but said nothing.
Her throat went dry. She flicked a glance to Temperance to confirm this.
In turn, her friend, who didn’t seem at all shocked by this news until she caught Briar’s eye, suddenly lowered her teacup with a clatter. “That’s right. You know, I’d completely forgotten that our Nicholas was married ages ago.”
Briar couldn’t fathom how something so monumental could slip Temperance’s mind. And Nicholas hadn’t said a word either, and by the unyielding set of his jaw, it didn’t appear like he planned to now.
Mrs. Prescott sighed distractedly as she spooned clotted cream onto her scone. “Hmm . . . yes, a marriage shortly followed by such a tragedy for our family. And you were so young, nephew. Barely twenty as I recall, when you became a widower and lost your brother in that same carriage accident. Dear, sweet James, he was always off to market to bring home some treat for his Catharine. And then there was Marceline, always going with him and wanting to surprise you as well.”
Briar absorbed this news, needing to learn as much as she could. They didn’t elaborate, however, and every scenario she could conjure only made her sad.
“I’m truly sorry for your loss, my lord,” she said quietly. Oh, how she wished she could reach across the table and squeeze his hand for comfort.
A muscle ticked along Nicholas’s jaw. “As my aunt said, it was long ago.”
Was that the reason he didn’t want to marry, because his heart had been torn apart when his wife had died? For a man to marry so young, he must have been madly in love with her. Madly in love with Marceline.
Though it was strange, Briar didn’t recall seeing a portrait of her upstairs.
“Which is precisely why it is time to marry again,” his aunt said. “Set an example for your cousins.”
Briar agreed, wholeheartedly, but this was not the time to speak of marriage. She would surprise him with the perfect candidate at the perfect time. And one day, he would thank her.
Now, however, the tension around the table was a tad too palpable, so she altered the topic once more. “Did you mention you were planning to visit your modiste’s shop today, Temperance?”
“Indeed, and you must see my new gown. The apricot organdy is simply divine. I plan to debut it at Almack’s next week. Though I wish you could attend.”
“That would be lovely, for I’ve always wanted to go. I have a blue ballgown with tiers of ruffles that I’ve been saving just in case.”
“I might be persuaded to attend Almack’s. I’ve always had luck in their card room,” Daniel said, and a hush fell over the table. Cups paused, breaths caught, gazes flitted.
Temperance broke the quiet with a cheerful clap. “Perhaps you’ll even ask me to dance. After all, you’re one of the few who doesn’t mind how tall I am.”
“As long as you don’t mind if I’m a bit clumsy and out of practice. Perhaps even”—he cleared his throat—“Miss Bourne would be just as forgiving?”
“I would, of course,” she said immediately, then added a trace of regret to her tone. “But the Duchess of Holliford always has dinner on Wednesdays, and I am obligated to attend.”
“I’m sure Her Grace could do without you for one evening,” Mrs. Prescott said, with a hopeful glance to Nicholas.
He inclined his head. “I’ll pay a call tomorrow.”
“You’re very kind, but I’m afraid it wouldn’t matter, regardless. You see, I haven’t been granted a voucher.”
“If you wish to go to Almack’s, then I’ll make certain of it,” Nicholas said, his low promise quickening her heart.
“I should like that very much, my lord.”
Chapter 13
“I would much rather have been merry than wise.”
Jane Austen, Emma
“Quite honestly, Edgemont, it would be difficult to approve an invitation for any young woman of no fortune,” Lady Elston said as they stood in her garden amidst tall stalks of purple irises. She paused from snipping to brush wayward strands of glossy brown hair from her cheek, and issued a bleak sigh. “However, with the recent lack of credibility Miss Bourne’s uncle possesses in society, it might very well be impossible.”
Nicholas was tired of hearing these words. He’d nearly exhausted all of his resources, and even tried calling in a few outstanding wagers to procure a voucher for Briar. But the patronesses of Almack’s were sticklers for who made it on their list.
“Almack’s is a bloody dancing establishment.”
He couldn’t believe the trouble he was having, or the fact that he’d reached the point of asking a former lover for a favor. And they had not ended on the best of terms. Lady Elston—Elise as he used to know her—was his last hope
because she had the ear of the Countess Lieven, whose approval would open countless doors for Briar.
“Just tell me what I have to do, or whom I have to bribe,” he continued, his tone razor-edged and willful. “From what I’ve heard, the place could use a bit of extra coin for the uneven floors and horrid refreshments.”
Elise stiffened, her gray gaze as cool and stormy as the clouds crowding overhead. “The venue has declined, that is true, but it is still very much revered among high society. They only admit the crème de la crème of gentlemen, and young ladies of good breeding. There is no other place where one can guarantee that one is dancing with an upstanding marriage prospect.”
He could think of one—the Bourne Matrimonial Agency. In fact, it seemed a far more agreeable option than enduring an evening of dreamy-eyed, desperate-to-marry debutantes. His opinion, however, would not grant him the invitation he required. And he’d already been to two of the other patronesses only to come away with a polite rejection.
“Does your refusal to speak with your friend, the countess, have something to do with our history?”
“Frankly, it is only because of my fond recollections that I permitted you this audience. That, and my utter curiosity,” she said, eying him shrewdly as she laid another cutting in her basket. “I have never known you to put yourself at the mercy of a woman’s decision. And yet here you are, at mine. So I have to wonder why you are going to such great lengths for Miss Bourne. Is it possible that this young woman has managed to capture your fancy?”
“I am not here on my own behalf. My aunt and cousin wished for me to make the arrangements,” he said briskly, wanting to put an end to any far-fetched notions Elise might have.
“I always did admire your love for family. We have that in common. I even thought for a time that trait would bring you to heel and cause you to propose to me. Though, I believe you knew that, and it was the reason our affair came to an end.”
He didn’t insult her by denying it. “I was fond of our time together.”
“And I was in love with you,” she said ruefully. “Yes, I know you made it clear from the beginning that you weren’t interested in marriage. Part of me always wondered if you harbored an undying love for your first wife . . .” She paused, waiting for him to give her something of an answer. But when he kept his expression well guarded, she clucked her tongue. “Oh, Nicholas, what am I to do with you? You still hold a tender place in my heart. And strangely enough, I want you to be happy.”
At last, he felt he was getting somewhere, and he gave her a grin, his tone warm and intimate. “You could remedy that straightaway with a voucher for my cousin’s friend.”
She laughed quietly and shook her head. “I was speaking of marriage. I want you to fall in love and have a family. Have you never considered it?”
His stomach rolled, memories leaving a bitter taste on the back of his tongue.
“Certainly. For my cousins,” he clarified, enunciating every syllable.
“You’re impossible.” She tsked again and resumed snipping stems. “I heard a rumor about you recently. I was with the countess having tea when someone said that the Bourne Matrimonial Agency had been challenged to find you a bride.”
“And just who mentioned this gossip—someone from that family?”
“Would I bother to tell you if I thought it was merely their ploy to gain more clients? You’re still so untrusting . . .”
It wasn’t until a cold, tense breath escaped his lungs in a rush that he realized how much the answer mattered. When he’d struck this bargain with Briar, he’d relied on her to keep it between them. That had been a leap of faith he normally did not take—trusting someone else not to use him for their own personal gain—but he’d taken the risk, with Daniel in the forefront of his mind.
Nicholas was relieved to know that he hadn’t been wrong. Still, he wondered who challenged Briar in the first place. It had to have been someone who knew him. Someone who wanted to turn his life into a circus. Unfortunately, he knew far too many people who might do that very thing. The men he gambled with were always plotting new wagers to win. It wouldn’t be the first time Nicholas was the object.
Elise waved the clippers in the air. “Oh, I cannot recall who it was at the moment. And of course, considering our history, I instantly dismissed the rumor as being false. Although, if it were true”—she paused, cunning gray eyes glinting as she scrutinized him—“then perhaps the countess would be interested in watching how the challenge unfolds. And Miss Bourne could very well become a sought-after guest at all the best parties.”
He gritted his teeth. If he confirmed the rumor or gave it any credence whatsoever, then his life would be thrown into chaos. It took only the smallest kernel of an idea to incite a riot from the ton’s most ruthless species—those rapacious husband-hunting mamas and their progeny. He wouldn’t be surprised if his own friends would open a book at White’s betting on the conclusion. Then again, perhaps they already had.
And yet, if he didn’t confirm it right here and now, he would disappoint Teense, his aunt, and possibly Daniel. But worst of all, Briar Bourne would never be received at Almack’s.
Damn it all, he thought, raking a hand through his hair. This bargain might very well kill him.
* * *
“Have any letters arrived for me, Uncle?” Briar breezed into his office and stood between the two large bronze urns, filled with peacock plumes, that flanked his desk.
Uncle Ernest grinned, his lapis-blue eyes glinting in the hazy morning light that sifted in through the slender window. The scribblings of his latest sonnet were on the page in front of him. “Are you expecting a love letter?”
“Contrary to what you might believe, there are other types of correspondences.” She laughed, but inside she felt a trifle crestfallen.
Nicholas had said he would acquire a voucher for her to attend Almack’s, and he’d sounded so certain, so resolute, that she hadn’t doubted him. But today was Monday, and she still hadn’t heard from him.
Regardless of her reservations, she truly had wanted to attend.
She’d even given herself leave to imagine dozens of possible scenarios involving how Wednesday would proceed. She’d planned to use her new skills at reading shoulders and feet to find matches for at least three different couples. Rumors would have spread—as they often did—and shortly thereafter she would have been named the premier matchmaker in all of London.
However, that hope seemed lost now.
“But are those more eagerly received than an outpouring of a heart’s desire? I think not.” As if to offer proof, he lifted an unsent letter from the tray on the corner of his desk, the red wax stamped with an overly embellished E, the final whorl adorned with an arrow tip.
Briar expelled a sigh that was both fond and accepting of her uncle’s nature. “And who is your latest love?”
“You should know, for you were with me in the park yesterday when our paths first crossed and Mrs. Townley’s parasol slipped out of her grasp. My poor heart still hasn’t recovered from the sight of those green eyes.”
At least for the next two days.
“Why have you never married, uncle?”
He tapped the folded corner of the letter against the surface of the desk. “I’m still searching for my muse—the one woman whose whisper can breathe life into my soul, again and again. For a short while I think I have found her. Then, sadly, it fades. Ah, perhaps I will never find my one and only, but the hunt is rather enjoyable.”
One and only? While the former appealed to the romantic in her, the latter caused her inner matchmaker a slight pang of anxiety.
She immediately thought of Nicholas. “But say, for instance, you had met her once, and something tragic happened to tear you apart. Do you think it possible to find another, and to be equally as happy, if not more?”
Before he could answer, Ainsley appeared at the door, her expression harried. “Uncle, if I may have your assistance.”
“Do we
have a client, dear?”
“It’s the count,” Ainsley said, rolling her eyes to the plaster molding on the ceiling.
Briar followed them out into the corridor. “I’ll get a tray from the kitchens.”
“Mrs. Darden already has the tray.”
Briar bristled. Through the open door, she could see their beloved family cook, rushing to pour the tea, locks of grizzled hair escaping her ruffled cap. “Isn’t that what I’m here for?”
“Not now, Briar.” And then Ainsley turned her back and went into her office, closing the door partway.
The Comte de Bardot’s pinched voice began railing immediately, his words thickly accented. “I have paid for my, as you say, sup-screept-see-on for many months now, and yet I still have no wife!”
“Monsieur le Comte,” Ainsley said. “I have introduced you to every female client we have who matches your criteria, but you have found fault with each of them.”
“Mais oui, because you have only given me wallflowers when I would rather have a centerpiece on my arm.”
The conversation paused, no doubt while her sister was trying to maintain her composure. And it must have been difficult because Uncle Ernest chimed in when he usually avoided confrontation. “Of course, your application is at the top of our list. The very top, indeed. In fact, I saw it just this morning and you can rest assured that we will continue to . . .”
Mrs. Darden bustled out of the room, smoothing the plain-front apron over her rounded form, and then closed the door succinctly. “The count’s in a fine temper this morning.”
Briar fumed, annoyance pinching down her spine like overly tight corset lacings. She could very well have delivered the tea tray, and possibly found a way to calm the count’s temper. He was always at ease with her, if not a bit too familiar at times. “Now Ainsley is taking away my only occupation.”
“It’s only when he’s here,” Mrs. Darden said, drawing Briar down the corridor. “The way that count looks at you . . . why I’d like to take a rolling pin and knock him upside the head. Thankfully your uncle is there, or else I might’ve put one on the tray all the same.”
Ten Kisses to Scandal (Misadventures in Matchmaking) Page 13