by Erica Ridley
“That’s a firm ‘no,’” Nick whispered to Penelope. “Chris is married to rules.”
“I enjoy having order in my life,” Christopher protested. “Don’t act like you’re different, just because you used other rules. You liked the clear-cut expectations that came with being a rake. I enjoy the comfort of understanding the systems around me.”
“Systems are good,” Penelope agreed. “Plants wouldn’t be green without chlorophyll. Everything would die without oxygen.”
“Courtship isn’t life or death,” Nick reminded her.
She shrugged. “It can feel like life or death. I was very upset when I thought you were still raking other ladies. You lads are more alike than you think.”
Christopher and his brother exchanged dubious glances. “Alike how?”
“Restlessness,” she answered immediately. “Nick’s restlessness meant constantly changing women. Yours means constantly changing location. But eventually you’ll find the one that you want.”
“He’ll find the right woman or the right location?” Nick asked.
“Both,” Penelope answered. “Maybe. It’s not an exact science.”
“Maybe you’re right,” Christopher said. “Perhaps this village isn’t where I’ll find what I’m looking for.”
“You’re definitely looking in the wrong place.” Nick turned to Penelope. “He spends the entire night staring up at the stars. There are better uses of one’s time.”
“Not lately,” Christopher reminded him. “My telescope is still broken. Is there a jeweler in town who might—”
“Gloria can fix that,” Penelope said. “She can fix anything.”
“She did fix my pocket watch,” he admitted. “But a telescope is infinitely more delicate. This particular one is the newest model available, both rare and expensive. I cannot risk—”
“Gloria can do anything,” Penelope repeated. “She even helped design an alarm that can be heard through soundproof walls.”
Nick groaned. “Gloria did that?”
“Listen to this.” Penelope jumped up from the dining table and dashed toward the kitchen.
Nick slanted Christopher a long-suffering look. “I blame this on you.”
“Blame what on—”
A deafening racket rent the air, like a thousand hammers banging a thousand pots inches from his eardrums.
Penelope appeared in the doorway and pointed over their heads with a self-satisfied expression. “Gloria.”
At least, Christopher presumed she said Gloria. He couldn’t hear himself think over the mind-splitting cacophony.
“Fine,” he shouted. “I’m going. But this racket isn’t convincing me she should be anywhere near my telescope.”
His brother and Penelope stared back at him without comprehending a word.
Christopher beat a hasty exit before his head could explode.
The next thing he knew, he was at Miss Godwin’s front door. But he left his telescope tucked safely in his carriage.
Madge beckoned him in without a word.
He wasn’t certain whether he was meant to see himself to the parlor or follow her down the corridor. He did not wish to be left behind, so he chose to follow the maid.
Miss Godwin was just inside the kitchen, touching her fingertips to a heavy round cloth hanging from a sturdy hook. Presumably, the fragrant ball was the concoction one hoped would result in an edible pudding.
God help them all.
“Since you’re here,” she said, “I deduce you did not fall in love with Virginia.”
“I am not in love with Virginia,” he agreed. “My apologies. Am I impossible to work with?”
“Everyone is fussy when it comes to love.” She lifted a shoulder. “Sometimes love doesn’t care and sticks you with whoever Cupid fancies. Other times, we can help things in the right direction.”
“I like right directions.” He inched closer to the drying pudding and touched his fingertips to the cloth as Miss Godwin had done.
Her eyes took on a strange sheen and she glanced away.
“If I’m to drive you into the arms of your beloved, I need a little more guidance. If we discount ‘passion for travel’ and ‘love of facts’ for the moment, where should we focus our attentions?”
An extremely fair question whose answer Christopher was becoming less certain of by the day.
“I could content myself with someone… sensible,” he said at last.
Miss Godwin scrutinized him. “You prize rationality above all else?”
That wasn’t wrong, but it also wasn’t exactly right. He thought back to his parents’ unhappy marriage. “I just… want someone who can be counted on.”
Her warm brown eyes filled with a surprising amount of empathy. As if she understood all too well how deeply misplaced trust could wound.
Who had hurt her? A strange anger simmered inside Christopher’s chest, as if he would find the villain and do him violence.
She broke their gaze.
“To clarify,” she said, then cleared her throat. “You’ve never met Miss Olive Harper?”
He shook his head. He was good with names. Miss Harper’s was not one he recognized.
“Perfect.” She glanced over her shoulder. “Grab your scarf, Madge. There’s a chill in the air today.”
Christopher followed them to the door.
At first, it had seemed almost silly that a matchmaker should ensure a chaperone’s constant attendance. Lately, he had become particularly glad for the maid’s presence. It kept him focused on finding the right match.
Not on Miss Godwin.
As they all piled into the carriage, he turned to face her. “Where to?”
“The same road as the le Duc residence.” She pointed up ahead. “The Harper land is on the outskirts of town.”
He nodded his understanding. Only one road led up the mountain to this cozy village. He must have glimpsed the Harper estate on his way in.
As soon as they passed the smithy, however, Miss Godwin commanded, “Turn left.”
Christopher complied out of surprise. “Left? This is a trail, not a street. You said Miss Harper lives on the southbound road out of town.”
“She does,” Miss Godwin agreed. “Don’t worry. We’re not breaking any rules. We’re taking a detour.”
He stared at her. “A detour inherently means deviating from the expected path. Doing so without provocation is—”
“Christmas trees,” she exclaimed in delight, leaning into him to point at the evergreen forest straight ahead. “Most families haven’t adopted Queen Charlotte’s Germanic customs, but those who wish to decorate a tree on Christmas Eve come here to collect them.”
He closed his eyes and breathed in the crisp, pine-scented air. “I can only imagine what it must be like to bring an evergreen inside one’s home.”
“You don’t have to imagine,” she said with a laugh. “Go caroling on the twenty-fourth of December, and you’ll see them all firsthand.”
He opened his eyes and turned toward her.
Her upturned face was still a mere breath from his.
“I don’t even know where I’ll be in December,” he said softly.
“I know where I’ll be,” she answered. “Right here. Taking part of tradition. Enjoying Christmas. Don’t you have traditions?”
“The only one I have is never to stay more than a month in any one place,” he admitted.
He had always believed the freedom to bounce about at will afforded him a privileged life.
She was making him wonder if he was missing something by trying to have everything.
“Besides, I’m not fit for caroling. Your neighbors do not want to hear me sing,” he said, and the spell was broken.
He sent a surreptitious glare over his shoulder at the maid who was supposed to be watching them.
Madge batted her eyes at him innocently.
Gloria motioned for the chariot to continue down the snow-packed trail. “This path brings us up to the
rear of the Harper estate. See those horses up ahead?”
He did see those horses up ahead.
The pieces clicked cute together. He had not met Miss Harper, but he had certainly heard of her horses. “Is this the stud farm?”
Miss Godwin nodded. “It is indeed. Although it legally belongs to the Harper family, Olive has acted as matriarch to the studs her entire life.”
“‘Matriarch’ is the wrong word,” Madge whispered. “She’s the madam of a horse bordello.”
Miss Godwin ignored this.
“You want someone who can be counted on?” she asked. “Look no further than Olive Harper. Practical? Yes. Well-versed in stallion facts? Yes. More than due for a holiday? Yes.”
“She sounds perfect,” Christopher admitted. Yet he leapt from the carriage with less enthusiasm than expected.
They made their way past the primary residence to a fenced-off section, where a talented horsewoman in a smart riding habit gentled an enormous, all-but-rabid stallion. Christopher would not have approached without three layers of armor.
“Gloria!” Miss Harper said in pleasure. “Don’t come any closer. Blitzen has learned to jump the fence.”
All three of them halted in place.
Miss Harper pulled a carrot from her pocket and led the kicking, whinnying stallion back to the stable. Moments later, she exited the other side, brushing off her hands as if that lovable scamp Blitzen had delicately lifted the carrot straight from her palm.
Miss Godwin stepped forward. “Allow me to present my good friend Miss Harper. Olive, this is Christopher Pringle.”
“How do you do?” Christopher said automatically, but his ears still rang with Miss Godwin’s words.
My good friend.
For some reason, it had not occurred to him that her role as matchmaker required her to introduce eligible gentlemen to other women. Women that were her friends. Women that were no superior to her, just different.
He wondered how often her clients’ eyes turned from prospective brides to the matchmaker herself.
“I recognize the chariot, naturally.” Miss Harper stepped around them. “What lovely grays! You cannot have rented them in a posting-house.”
“I didn’t,” he agreed with a smile. “These poor beasts live in London all year, and I thought they deserved a holiday.”
“Of course they do,” she said with a nod. “I’ll buy them from you for five hundred pounds apiece.”
“What?” He took a step back.
“She’s bamming you.” Miss Godwin rolled her eyes toward Miss Harper. “Olive, tell him you’re teasing.”
“I’m teasing if you want me to be teasing.” Miss Harper flashed a dimple and slid a glance over his shoulder. “May I?”
He gestured toward the grays. “Be my guest.”
In no time, his horses were nibbling bits of carrot from Miss Harper’s hands.
“Does she carry a pocketful of vegetables everywhere she goes?” he whispered to Miss Godwin.
“Sometimes she carries orangutans,” Miss Godwin whispered back.
A startled laugh choked from his throat.
“I don’t know why I asked you,” he said. “You invent your answers.”
“Doesn’t it make a better story?” she replied unrepentantly. “Imagine her pulling a monkey from her reticule and handing it to your horses.”
He shook his head. “Orangutans aren’t monkeys.”
“There you go again,” she sighed. “Ruining perfectly good imagination with unnecessary facts.”
He grinned at her.
When Miss Harper finished exclaiming over his handsome horses, Miss Godwin stepped back a discreet distance to allow them a semblance of privacy.
Over the next quarter hour, Miss Harper engaged him in delightful banter about the downsides of having a brother, the joy of finding one’s passion, her dream to one day ride camels in Morocco just to see if she could.
He could practically feel Miss Godwin thinking I told you so as their conversation ticked every requirement he had demanded.
But he was finding it difficult to concentrate on Miss Harper, no matter how perfect she seemed in theory. Or perhaps because she fit too neatly. There were no questions, no mystery, no surprises. She was exactly what he was looking for.
He just didn’t seem to want it.
Miss Harper glanced over her shoulder to gauge the sun. “It’s getting late. Would you like to come inside for tea? I’m as peckish as my horses.”
Miss Godwin nodded and opened her mouth.
“No, thank you,” he said before she could interrupt with a yes. “I don’t wish to outstay our welcome. It was lovely to meet you.”
“It was lovely to meet your horses,” Miss Harper replied with a cheeky grin, before turning and striding back toward her home.
“Well,” Miss Godwin demanded. “Does Olive meet your standards?”
“Yes,” he admitted as he helped Miss Godwin up into the carriage. “I had to hold myself back from proposing on the spot.”
The sparkle faded from her eyes. “As I thought. You’ll make a wonderful couple.”
They remained silent during the ride back to her cottage. When they arrived, she scrambled from the carriage and hurried toward the front door.
Christopher hesitated. He should just drop her off as planned. Definitely not come inside.
She reached the first step.
“I have a broken telescope,” he blurted out.
She paused with her fingers on the door handle. “With you?”
He nodded. “With me.”
“Bring it here,” she said, and disappeared inside.
Kicking himself, he dug the cloth-wrapped package from its hiding spot behind the rear squab and hurried to follow her.
The door had been left ajar. He nudged it open and stepped inside. Neither Miss Godwin nor her maid were anywhere to be seen.
He closed the door and hung his hat and coat on the rack before venturing toward the corridor.
“I’m here,” he called out. “With my broken telescope.”
“I’m here,” she called back from a room just beyond the kitchen.
He approached with caution, and then all but dashed inside like a child arriving at a fairy kingdom.
“You have an observatory?” he said in wonder.
“A miniature observatory,” she demurred. “A makeshift private chamber I use for observatory-like activities.”
It was not a grand room, but it was perfect for its purpose. A telescope stood on a wide platform in the center of the room. The large window directly above it opened at an angle, allowing an unobstructed view of the night sky whilst protecting the viewer and his device from the elements.
“This is splendid,” he heard himself babbling. “I never expected you to have…”
When he finally tore his gaze from the skyward window, the true nature of her telescope jumbled his thoughts. It was not a “serviceable unit.” It was not a “respectable device.” It was the exact same precision-forged, incredibly expensive model as the one wrapped in linen under his arm.
His jaw fell open. “How on earth do you have a—”
“You expected me to use one of those?” She motioned across the room toward a retired telescope that had been the height of efficiency twenty years prior.
“Something like that,” he admitted.
“You weren’t wrong. It’s just not my only machine.” She lifted a shoulder. “My father purchased that one for me when I was a child. I bought a replacement more recently.” She gave him a crooked smile. “I wanted my best chance at seeing the heavens.”
“You have good taste,” he said, matching her lopsided smile with one of his own.
He handed her his wrapped parcel.
She grinned when she unveiled its contents.
“Ten minutes,” she said. “I’ll have you on your way with your telescope in working order.”
“You’re fortunate to have a permanent place to keep yours.” H
e admired the dais. “I’ve investigated the best spots on the castle roof, but they aren’t protected from wind or inclement weather. Brilliant idea to build this room.”
“It wasn’t me. It was my father.” Her voice softened. “This was his observatory, and then it was our observatory.”
She didn’t add, and I will share this observatory with my children, but she didn’t have to. The faraway look in her eyes spoke for her.
Christopher swallowed. This was more proof that he should take his telescope and walk away. She didn’t just have ties to this village, she was anchored to this very room.
He smiled wryly. Perhaps that was why she had taken him to see the evergreens. To show him her roots ran just as deep.
“Oh, obviously,” she muttered as she settled behind a small workstation to inspect his telescope. She glanced up, said, “Easy as pie,” and immediately returned her focus to the task before her.
He gazed at her, spellbound.
She pulled a pair of odd spectacles out of a drawer. One side bore a single glass, the other a series of interconnected lenses not unlike a telescope. Or a microscope.
Christopher braced himself against the inevitable surge of trepidation when she exposed the expensive device’s delicate innards, but none came.
He trusted her, he realized. She might say fantastical things, but if she gave her word, she did everything in her power to keep it.
Her talented hands made short work of a complicated mess. In less than the predicted ten minutes, everything was back together, her tools put away, and her spectacles returned to their drawer.
There was no reason at all to feel a pang of disappointment. He should be thrilled. This was his cue to leave.
“All done?” he asked.
“Almost.” She moved her perfectly-centered telescope to one side of its platform and placed his on the other half. “Get the window?”
He climbed atop a small ladder that had clearly been left for that purpose, and pushed the skyward window open.
The sun had set enough not to be straight overhead, but nightfall was still hours away. Nonetheless, a sliver of a crescent moon was already visible in the sky. He grinned at her. With their telescopes, they would be able to see so much more.