Ten Kisses to Scandal (Misadventures in Matchmaking)

by Vivienne Lorret

  Jacinda, a little late to the party and looking more peaked than ever, leaned against her doorframe. “What was all that about?”

  “I’ve made a mess of things again,” Briar said, setting the tray down on the demilune table nearest her.

  Mrs. Teasdale stepped out of the parlor with her latest knitting mystery thrown over her shoulder like a royal train. “But you make a fine cup of tea, dear. Not everyone can.”

  Briar nodded, knowing that it was said with the best of intentions and trying not to feel defeated.

  “It’ll all turn out in the—” Jacinda abruptly put a hand over her stomach, clutching the green muslin as a sheen of perspiration gathered on her face.

  “I think you should sit down, or perhaps lie down. You look as though you might become ill.”

  Jacinda closed her eyes, resting her forehead against the plaster wall. “If the past four days have taught me anything, there is no might. Only when.”

  “Make your sister a cuppa with plenty of sugar.”

  “Jacinda doesn’t like sugar,” Briar said to Mrs. Teasdale, already pouring the strong brew into a fresh cup.

  “That may be true,” Mrs. Teasdale said, clucking her tongue fondly, “but the babe’ll like it sweet, mark my words.”

  “The ba—” Briar and Jacinda said in unison, eyes wide.

  Seconds later, Ainsley shot out of the connecting office, hands over her mouth, eyes glistening. “Is it true?”

  Jacinda looked down slowly, the hand over her midriff no longer clenched but splayed protectively. “It is possible, I suppose. But Crispin and I have not been married very long at all.”

  As Jacinda blushed, her ears turning pink, Briar nipped off a chunk of sugar and stirred it into the tea. “Here. Try this.”

  “Why is everyone standing in the corridor? Is something amiss?” Uncle Ernest asked, coming out of his office and tucking a letter inside his coat pocket.

  “We’re watching Jacinda drink her tea,” Mrs. Teasdale answered smugly, practically daring Uncle Ernest to ask another question, just so that she could state the obvious. They had not yet warmed to each other. But there was always hope. “Why it’s as plain as the nose on a mayfly’s face. Anyone could see that’s what we’re doing.”

  Then again, perhaps not.

  Jacinda took several hearty gulps, waited a moment as it settled. Then she sighed, her mouth curling up at the corners. “I do like it sweet, after all. Briar, you brew a fine pot, indeed. But now, I beg that you will all excuse me, for I am going across town to see my husband.”

  Before she left, she pressed a quick kiss to everyone’s cheek.

  * * *

  By the end of the day, after the Duke of Rydstrom had worn a hole in the rug outside his wife’s bedchamber, the doctor confirmed the suspicion. A baby was due in the new year.

  Briar was going to be an aunt! She heard the happy report just before she went with Uncle Ernest to the Duchess of Holliford’s weekly dinner.

  “Your mother would have been so proud to see her daughters grow into such fine, accomplished young women,” Uncle Ernest said from inside the carriage, still wearing the same pleased smile he’d had since they learned of Jacinda’s upcoming arrival. He patted Briar’s hand. “You’ve each put so much of yourselves into our little endeavor. And what fine luck we’ve had . . .”

  Briar could have argued that her own efforts had all failed thus far, but she kept that reminder to herself. She decided to use her failures to fuel her purpose. After all, she still had hope for Temperance, and Daniel, and she hadn’t given up on Mrs. Teasdale and her son yet either.

  But then there was Nicholas, she thought, conflicted. What was she going to do about him?

  Each time she imagined introducing him to the other half of his soul, the woman whom he would love for all the days of his life, Briar did not feel an overwhelming sense of rightness. There were no waves of pure joy rushing through her veins. Instead, she felt as if a volcano rumbled inside her, scorching and sulfuric, acid climbing up her throat.

  The violence of her feelings alarmed her. How could she commit to finding him a bride when every part of her railed against it? When every part of her wanted him for herself?

  Oh dear. She gulped to soothe her suddenly dry throat.

  “You’ve never once lost sight of your goal,” Uncle Ernest continued, unaware of how he’d just contradicted the turbulent thoughts of his youngest niece, “to ensure the happiness of others, when it was just out of reach for her.”

  Briar knew from her mother’s ordeal that choosing the wrong man—a man who could not love her in return—would only lead to misery.

  She refused to let her own heart make the same mistake.

  The only answer to her conundrum was to stop falling for Nicholas. At once.

  After all, to him, she was nothing more than the matchmaker who was going to find spouses for his cousins, and their bargain was nothing more than a diversion. He’d said as much. His rule from the beginning was not to fall in love with him. He’d even told her that he was a man who could never love her in return.

  Therefore, she would tuck these dreamy thoughts of him away. Immediately. In addition, she would limit her contact with him, keeping him out of sight, the same way she did with comfits to stop herself from devouring them all. It was all a simple matter of self-control, really.

  Briar nodded to herself firmly. And by the time they reached the duchess’s townhouse, everything was settled in her mind.

  Or at least she thought it was, until Uncle Ernest handed her down to the pavement. “Ah, I believe that’s Edgemont’s carriage coming up now. He must be joining us this evening.”

  Startled, Briar turned to see the familiar glossy black carriage with gold coronets on the corners, and her efforts quickly fell asunder. Her stomach fluttered. Her heart—not to be outdone by an inferior organ—kicked in a few additional beats and swelled to push out all the air from her lungs.

  It was too soon. She hadn’t even fully accepted the fact that she’d been falling in love with him, let alone had time to build up a good defense against those wayward emotions.

  Knowing that her uncle would wait for Nicholas, she said, “I’ll go on ahead and . . . um . . . escape this inclement weather.”

  With her gloved fingers, she fanned herself as if believing there would be a reprieve from the heat inside where there was no breeze at all. Thankfully, her uncle said nothing to contradict her.

  She just needed a few moments to prepare herself. Once inside with her hostess, she hoped they would begin a perfectly mundane conversation that had absolutely nothing to do with matters of the heart.

  But Briar was not so fortunate.

  “How is your husband hunt proceeding, my dear?” the duchess asked, welcoming her with a fond smile.

  “P-pardon, Your Grace?”

  “For your friend, Miss Prescott.”

  “Oh, of course.” Briar expelled a breath and gratefully accepted a glass of lemonade from a footman. “It is progressing, but slower than I had hoped. From what I understand, she toured the museum with a gentleman this week. Though she did not offer the particulars, she was quite pleased in her missive.”

  Briar was certain to hear more about the gentleman later, during a time when they could chat freely. And perhaps when her own thoughts weren’t quite so muddled.

  Then, as if her eyes were comprised of metal flecks and Nicholas was a powerful magnet, her gaze darted to the door just as he appeared. And worse, he looked terribly dashing and completely kissable. Bother.

  “Splendid. And what of Mr. Prescott?”

  “I had hoped for better results,” Briar said distractedly. “In truth, I do not know if I have done anything productive, other than attempt to lessen his shyness.”

  “And what of Lord Edgemont? Were you able to entice him into becoming a client? I heard a rumor that you accepted a challenge of the sort.” The duchess tsked, but there was a fond twinkle in her eyes as that very man came to he
r side.

  Nicholas bussed the duchess’s cheek with a kiss, then inclined his head to Briar, his dark gaze gleaming warmly, hinting at intimate knowledge. “Pray, do not let me interrupt. You were saying, Miss Bourne?”

  All at once, Briar’s thoughts were flooded with memories of their carriage encounter. She’d been wholly wanton, and must have told him not to stop at least a dozen times. And he, she thought in a rush of heated tingles, had deliciously obliged her.

  Briar took a long swallow, attempting to cool her thoughts. After all, it was time to face the truth, not to reminisce. She would have the rest of her Nicholas-less life to do that.

  Resolved, she squared her shoulders. “At first, I was arrogant enough to believe that I could find him an irresistible bride. Someone with whom he could spend the rest of his life in contentment.”

  “And now?” the duchess asked.

  “Well, during our brief acquaintance, he has never once indicated a desire for such a match. And unless he suddenly displays some miraculous change of heart, I fear my hands are tied. So the challenge will not be met.”

  There. She’d said it, confronting the unguarded fondness that had forced her hand, as well as the bitter agony of failure. She did this all without letting her voice dip a fraction in disappointment or releasing the forlorn sigh that was trapped inside her heart. In fact, she sounded rather worldly, even to her own ears. And Jacinda thinks she is the better actress. Ha.

  If Briar’s audience only knew, they would be applauding and throwing roses at her feet.

  The duchess looked to him and clucked her tongue. “You are still unwilling to consider what it would be like to have a wife and family around you?”

  Nicholas held Briar’s gaze for a moment, his irises turning from rakish ebony to that velvety cocoa she’d grown so fond of recently. Too fond, she reminded herself.

  Then he turned to the duchess. “I’m afraid Miss Bourne is correct. And if the most romantic of all matchmakers cannot convince me to take a wife, I’m afraid no one can.”

  And that was the most important lesson of all.

  Chapter 23

  “Her objections to Mr. Knightley’s marrying did not in the least subside. She could see nothing but evil in it.”

  Jane Austen, Emma

  After dinner, his godmother’s guests retired to the music room.

  Nicholas had a particular fondness for this room, and the windows also had the benefit of the warm breeze coming in through the garden rather than from the fetid street.

  The stench of town was not something he would miss when he next journeyed to the country. Which, he’d come to realize after his last encounter with Briar, needed to happen sooner than he’d initially planned. He required a break from the constant temptation she posed, and preferably before he did something that would leave them both altered forever.

  In fact, he’d made the decision before coming here this evening. He’d informed his aunt and cousins that they would leave for the country next week.

  Aunt Lavinia and Temperance had moaned their disappointment, but Daniel was relieved, offering up the first genuine smile in days.

  It did not surprise Nicholas that the last thought brought his gaze to Briar. She was sitting at the piano and playing a soft lullaby of a melody that entranced the party, sparse though it was with only eight in attendance. Even so, no one stirred in their seats, except with the lazy wave of a fan.

  If he hadn’t heard the tune before, he could almost believe she was composing it right this instant and just letting her fingertips glide aimlessly over the keys. The music of the matchmaker, of Cupid’s arrows, and of summer nights.

  As always, she was lovely, but somehow even more so with the light of the candelabra spilling over her face, her cheeks flushed, her eyes soft as they flitted to him. A smile touched her lips, almost wistful in design, the barest curl of rose-petal red. It made him curious to know what thoughts inspired this new, unfamiliar smile.

  “She will make a young man quite happy one day,” his godmother said from beside him, resting comfortably into the curve of the chintz sofa. “So accomplished. So amiable.”

  He murmured his agreement, but felt the flesh of his brow furrow as an image filled his head, of Briar with an anonymous young man—their hands clasped, her face tilting up to give this upstart a glimpse of this new wistful smile.

  “I would have been pleased to welcome her into my own family,” she continued, “but my nephew only had eyes for his Nelly, and he is happy. At least, I can be content in that. Though for Miss Bourne, I should like to see her married and opportunely settled.”

  “I’m certain, if it were her wish, she could pick from any number of her uncle’s clients.” His tone came out a little harsher than he intended, drawing a perturbed glance from Mrs. Fitzherbert for interrupting the music’s spell.

  His godmother shook her head and whispered behind her fan. “No, indeed. Think of the scandal if two sisters were to marry their clients. It would be nothing short of monumental. Then again, you know a bit about scandals, don’t you?”

  He murmured his agreement, distracted by his own musings. With Briar rarely attending the typical marriage mart social events, she wasn’t likely to meet her young man for a good while. He kept this thought to himself as he, too, eased back into the curve of the blue sofa, and watched the object of their conversation as she played the final notes.

  After a round of applause, she stood, her uncle beaming with pride. He engaged her briefly in conversation, as a pair of servants stepped through the open doors, carrying trays of tea and coffee.

  “That is why I plan to introduce her to Mr. Woodlyn, a handsome young cleric who has just moved into the parish near my country house. I’m sure they are well suited, and I cannot wait to introduce them when she comes to stay with me.”

  Suddenly, Nicholas did not find the sofa comfortable after all. He sat straighter. “I was not aware she was coming to stay with you. That is . . . Temperance made no mention of her friend being away from town.”

  “I only just spoke of it with her uncle at dinner. It is a custom of ours to have a prolonged visit in the summer. Unfortunately, neither of her sisters will be able to attend, as one will be staying at length in Sussex, while the other will remain with her uncle in town.”

  In that moment, Briar came near, her hand resting on the back of the bronze chair angled near him. “Uncle told me just now, Your Grace. I cannot thank you enough for inviting me.”

  “Tush. Holliford Park is your home as much as it is mine,” she said fondly. “We should leave by midweek, I think, for it has grown too hot and people are retiring to their country estates. Some are going sea bathing. Fortunately, Holliford Park has the advantage of a rather large pond that brings in the cool breeze. I’ll have a small party, but not too many, for I enjoy equal parts company and solitude. Though I would be remiss if I did not extend an invitation to you, Lord Edgemont.”

  “I’m afraid I cannot attend. My aunt, cousins, and I are traveling to Blacklowe Manor to visit my mother and my brother’s widow,” he said, his gaze on Briar to see that her smile had fallen. “That is the reason I came this evening, to tell you both.”

  His godmother snapped her fan closed, tapping it on the edge of the cushion as if spurring a horse to a canter. “Why, Blacklowe Manor is only ten miles from Holliford Park. Perhaps you and your cousins might come for a picnic one afternoon.”

  “Perhaps,” he said, without promise, ignoring the unwanted thrill that raced through him at the thought of her being such an easy distance away. Not even an hour on horseback. “But we are all likely to stop only briefly before departing for our own houses.”

  “Blacklowe Manor is your house. It has always been the primary residence of the Earls of Edgemont.”

  Not for him. As far as Nicholas was concerned, his brother was the last of the earls that would live there. “It is my mother’s house more than anyone’s. She holds an affection for it that I never had. Besides, I’ve
always preferred my estate in Wiltshire. I’ve spent many a happy summer fishing in the lake.”

  His godmother nodded halfheartedly. “Hmm . . . yes, Broadmere is quite happily situated. Any young woman would be happy to be mistress there. But what of Miss Bourne? How is she to continue her matchmaking endeavors with all of you scattered about?” His godmother sighed. “Oh, I do wish our group had had the opportunity to celebrate one wedding before the end of the Season. I just learned this afternoon that Lord Aselton made an offer for Miss Baftig, who is still wet behind the ears and has very few accomplishments.”

  At the mention of Miss Baftig, the corners of Briar’s lips tilted up ever-so-slightly. “A pity. I’d thought for a time that Miss Baftig would have been perfect for you, my lord.”

  The smile did not reach her eyes but he pretended not to notice and grinned at her jest. “Apparently not.”

  “But what I cannot understand,” his godmother interjected again, “is what appealed to him so quickly. Rumor has it that they had not met above three times.”

  “A determined man will always seek what he desires most. When it matters, no obstacle will stop him.” Nicholas shrugged. “Of course, that does not always mean he’s making a sound decision.”

  He thought of his own hasty rush into marriage and the regret that had followed. Little did he know at the time, he was not truly the one making the decisions, but being led by the nose, instead.

  “There is a lesson in that, I suppose.” Briar tapped her finger against her lips thoughtfully.

  His gaze followed and he was no longer thinking of Marceline at all, but of nudging Briar’s finger aside, pressing his mouth to hers, then losing himself for hours in the soft cushion of rose-petal lips. “Indeed. There is most definitely a lesson there.”

  As if his thoughts were transparent, Briar blushed and slid him a glance. When their gazes connected he was transported to the carriage, feeling her body yield, arch, and shudder.

  Let’s stay inside the carriage. Just the two of us. We’ll live here, feasting on each other for days. Months. Years . . .