A Perfect Match: A Sweet Regency Historical Romance

by Donna Hatch

  A gleam came into Matilda’s eyes. “I wonder what his favorite color is?”

  “Why?”

  “I thought if perhaps I wore blue when he painted my portrait…”

  Genevieve considered. “Hmm. He seems to favor blue. He wears it a lot. Besides, blue is lovely on you; it brings out your eyes.”

  Matilda’s usual buoyancy returned to her expression. “I have a new sarcenet evening gown of Cambridge blue with a silvery-blue parted overskirt. Perhaps I should wear that for my sitting?”

  “I’m sure it’s beautiful on you. And even better if he favors the color.”

  “What else might I do to win his regard?”

  “Well, having not made a match of my own, I can hardly say, but Mama says a lady should always ask a gentleman questions about himself and encourage him to speak, while speaking very little about herself.”

  “I’ve tried that. He doesn’t say much.” Matilda’s voice turned plaintive.

  “Perhaps you aren’t asking the right questions. Have you asked him what his interests are?”

  “Oh, yes. He’s mad for the steeplechase, and he boxes and fences. Almost a Corinthian, isn’t he? And… well, aside from art and music, I don’t know much else.”

  “Try to word the questions so they can’t be answered with a simple yes or no.”

  Matilda nodded thoughtfully.

  A few gentlemen drifted in, including the Earl of Tarrington, but not Mr. Amesbury. The ladies continued chatting while the gentlemen filled in around them.

  “Where do you think he is?” Matilda asked.

  Genevieve didn’t have to ask what “he” Matilda meant. “Probably out sketching the abbey.”

  Matilda let out a breath of glee. “I do believe I wish to go for a bit of a ramble.”

  “I do, as well.” Genevieve returned her smile.

  They took up hats and gloves, and changed into half-boots for walking. Genevieve grabbed a parasol to protect her skin from the sun’s burning rays. After leaving behind the manicured gardens, they climbed nearby hills, looking for a place where Mr. Amesbury might have chosen to draw the abbey. They were both tired and almost willing to admit defeat and return to the house when Matilda let out a gasp.

  “Oh! There he is!”

  Sitting bareheaded amid a stand of poplars at the top of a hill, Mr. Amesbury sat as still as a painting. The dappled light shone on his golden head and played with the blue of his tailcoat.

  Matilda made a straight course for him, but Genevieve pulled her back. “We must appear to be out for a stroll, Mattie, not hunting him.”

  Her friend made a sigh of exasperation but slowed her steps as they followed the rocky narrow path carved into the side of the hill. “You’re right, of course.” She let out a long-suffering sigh.

  Genevieve admired the rugged beauty of the landscape and breathed the clean air.

  After a moment, Matilda broke the silence. “Did you know we’re going to have a ball tonight? After dinner, we’ll roll up the carpets and dance. Mama even arranged to have some musicians play for us. Won’t that be lovely? And Mama agreed that we can even waltz.” She put a hand over her mouth as if she were scandalized but her eyes twinkled.

  “Oh, dear. I never learned that dance.”

  “No? Pity. I learned with a dance master Papa hired this winter. It’s been all the rage in Vienna for years, you know. I can’t wait to waltz with Christian,” Matilda said dreamily.

  “Would you teach me how to do it?”

  “Well, it would be difficult without a partner, but if you know the basic steps, you ought to be able to follow when you do have a partner.” She cast a longing glance at Mr. Amesbury. “Shall we do it now?”

  “Oh, no, let’s not waste a moment of your time with him,” Genevieve said. She looked back at where he sat, but he remained motionless as if he had not yet seen them.

  “It will only take a moment to teach you the basic step.” Mattie stood in front of her so Genevieve could follow her. “It’s narrow here, and rocky, so watch your footing. Begin with your right foot taking a step back. One. Then bring your left through and to the left side and turn your body a half turn. Two. Then bring your right foot to your left and switch your weight onto it. Three. That’s the first half. Then you begin again but this time stepping forward with your left and pivot on your right to spin around and complete the turn.”

  Genevieve tried to imitate. Matilda repeated with Genevieve following, her movements clumsy at first but then catching on.

  Matilda counted, “One, two, three, four, five, six. One, two—ah!” She let out a sharp cry and went down.

  Genevieve’s breath strangled as Matilda pitched sideways over the edge of the hill. “Mattie!” She charged after her friend.

  Matilda tumbled a few times before coming to a stop as the hill leveled off. She lay still. Stumbling and sliding in her haste to reach her friend, Genevieve rushed to her.

  “Matilda?” She slid to her knees next to her friend’s motionless form.

  Matilda rolled over. “I’m all right. I think.”

  Genevieve almost sobbed in relief. She helped raise her to a sitting position. “Does it hurt anywhere?”

  Heavy footsteps pounded to them. “Miss Widtsoe? Are you injured?” Christian Amesbury took long, commanding strides to reach them. Concern carved itself into his features, and his whole focus fixed upon Matilda.

  With her face red, Matilda hurried to straighten her skirts to cover her legs. “I don’t think so.” She looked down but the shimmer of moisture on her eyes gave away her distress.

  “Do you wish to rest here a moment before you try to stand?” Genevieve asked.

  Biting her lip, Matilda nodded.

  Mr. Amesbury crouched next to them both. He looked over Matilda. “Are you sure you’re unharmed?” he asked gently.

  Her eyes brimming with tears, she nodded jerkily, not in pain but in embarrassment. Poor dear. She’d been trying so hard to impress him. It was Genevieve’s fault it had happened. She should never have agreed to a dance lesson in an area with uneven ground.

  Mr. Amesbury’s mouth pressed into a compassionate wince. He turned his attention to Genevieve. “Did you fall, too?”

  “No. I ran after her. I’m quite well.”

  Matilda drew a shivering breath and pushed herself to a wobbly stand. Genevieve helped her and Mr. Amesbury held his hands out as if to steady her should she need his strength. As Matilda’s took a step, she winced.

  “Is your foot hurt?” Genevieve asked.

  “My ankle. I must have twisted it. But I can walk.”

  Genevieve kept pace with Matilda as she marshaled her way down the hill, forgoing the path and taking the shortest distance back to the abbey. With each step, her face twisted in progressively more intense pain.

  “Lean on my arm,” Mr. Amesbury said.

  Her face redder still and tears shining in her eyes, Matilda obliged, but her breath grew more and more labored.

  “Perhaps you should rest,” Genevieve suggested.

  Matilda shook her head and pushed on.

  Finally, Mr. Amesbury stopped and turned her. “You are aggravating your injury.” He paused. “I could carry you back.”

  Matilda’s gaze flew to his, hope and dread all mixed up. “Oh, no. You couldn’t. I mean of course you could, you’re certainly strong enough, I mean, you look strong enough but I…” She looked away as her face flushed an even deeper shade of scarlet, if that were possible.

  “It’s no trouble.” His handsome face took on an earnest expression. “Unless you prefer me to go get help. We could perhaps bring a footman or a cart.”

  “Oh, dear. I’m so embarrassed.” Matilda put a hand over her eyes.

  “No need for embarrassment,” Mr. Amesbury said gallantly. “It could happen to anyone.” Looking truly concerned, he led her to a boulder and seated her upon it. He crouched next to her and took her hand. Very gently, he asked, “How can I assist you? What do you wish me to do
?”

  The very core of Genevieve’s being melted at his compassion, his gentleness, his chivalry. Matilda had found the perfect gentleman. And he appeared—finally—to show true concern, perhaps even affection, for Matilda. Perhaps he’d held her in high esteem all along but was too shy to show it.

  Genevieve should have been ecstatic at this encouraging step in the right direction. Instead, the opposite emotion reared its ugly head. Envy. Envy that such a desirable gentleman looked at Matilda. Envy that no one had ever behaved in such a way towards Genevieve. Envy that Matilda would probably marry Christian soon, and Genevieve would still be alone, left to compare every man she met to him, and who, naturally, would fall woefully short.

  Oh, heaven help her, but the only man who’d ever turned her head was the love of Matilda’s life. Genevieve was turning into a selfish beast.

  Chapter 6

  Christian studied the young woman, Miss Widtoe, in front of him. Were her tears a result of humiliation, or pain, or some other heartbreak he could not discern? Regardless, her distress spurred him to action. But to walk into the abbey carrying a young lady might throw her virtue into question.

  “I’ll go for help,” Miss Marshall said quietly. She flicked troubled brown eyes at him.

  And leave him alone with Miss Widtsoe, which might also tarnish her reputation as well as throw them alone together to further encourage Miss Widtsoe of his intention? A bad idea, all the way around.

  There was no way to win. He refused to leave the ladies alone, which left him the choice of carrying Miss Widtsoe or sending her friend—both of which would give the wrong idea of his intentions, and both of which might put the lady’s virtue and his character in question.

  “No, please stay, Miss Marshall.” Did his tone sound as desperate as he felt? Choosing what he hoped was the least bad of his options, he said, “Miss Widtsoe, do allow me to carry you home. We’ll go in a side entrance, so you are spared further embarrassment.” With luck, no one would see them.

  She chewed her lip and then nodded. Looking up at him from underneath her lashes, her expression changed from discomfort to coyness. “You’re so very chivalrous to offer, sir.”

  Christian almost groaned. Wonderful. Now, she’d view his carrying her as some sort of romantic gesture.

  Miss Marshall’s glance landed more on the side of gratitude. “You’re very kind.”

  He had the urge to square his shoulders and draw himself to his full height. He slid his arms underneath Miss Widtsoe’s legs and back, and lifted her. She snuggled against him and placed her arms around his shoulders. There was nothing for it. He started walking, Miss Marshall keeping up with him.

  “I apologize for the inconvenience,” Miss Widtsoe said in a soft, flirtatious tone.

  He refused to look at her and put their mouths so close together. “Think nothing of it.”

  “It’s fortunate that you came along when you did. I don’t know how I’d manage, else.”

  “I am persuaded that your devoted friend would have assisted you.”

  “Yes, she would have. I’ve never had a truer friend!”

  She must not be in much discomfort, judging from the way she was already lapsing into her habit of saying everything with an exclamation point.

  Miss Marshall turned her head enough to send an affectionate smile at Miss Widtsoe, allowing Christian a glimpse of her face. Still, something shadowed her eyes. Did she fear for her friend’s reputation? A disturbing thought. Christian was known as an upstanding gentleman, and Miss Widtsoe’s behavior was, to his knowledge, exemplary. Today, throughout the entire incident, Miss Marshall had been present. And surely the circumstances necessitated some flexibility. So really, they had nothing to fear.

  Still, had he made a mistake in carrying the girl home? But, dash it all, what else was he to do?

  An uncomfortable silence fell. Christian asked Miss Widtsoe, “What caused your fall?”

  “Oh, it was the silliest thing. Genevieve told me she didn’t know how to waltz so I was showing her the basic steps, but I forgot I was on a narrow path and lost my footing.”

  Christian glanced at Miss Marshall, who winced as if she blamed herself for Miss Widtsoe’s fall.

  “It was foolish, I know,” Miss Widtsoe continued, drawing his thoughts. “But I wanted ever so much for my dear friend to know how to waltz as I do.”

  He quirked a smile. “Perhaps in the future, you ought to restrict dancing lessons to a larger, flatter area, such as a drawing room.”

  With a giggle, she tightened her hold on his neck. “I am persuaded you are right. But then, perhaps it happened for a reason?” She smiled.

  He deliberately kept his focus on the path.

  Genevieve Marshall let out a small gasp. “Oh, no, Mattie! I hope your ankle is healed enough to dance tonight.”

  “Ohhhhh,” Miss Widtsoe wailed. “How can I dance on it now?”

  Miss Marshall’s expression turned earnest. “We’ll try every remedy we know. Perhaps if we wrap it and elevate it and you rest all day?”

  “I suppose.” Disappointment clouded Miss Widtsoe’s features.

  “We’ll think of something, Mattie,” Miss Marshall promised. “Your cook might know of a remedy. Perhaps your father will send for the doctor.”

  They reached the outer gardens. The strain of carrying the girl warmed Christian’s muscles. He circled around to the back, skirted a ha-ha separating a field of sheep from the back lawn, and headed to a portico.

  “Go to the side entrance off the terrace,” Miss Widtsoe suggested. “No one should be in the library now, not on such a fine day.”

  He glanced down at Miss Marshall striding next to him so quietly that she seemed to float. Or perhaps his own heavy footsteps, even more so with a burden in his arms, drowned out any sound she made. Her bonnet hid her face from him. Still, the quality of her breathing sent wild little fingers of awareness over him.

  For a brief, mad instant, he wished she were in his arms instead of Miss Widtsoe. And for entirely different reasons. But that would be a mistake in a dozen ways. Still, her nearness taunted him. She was not only one of the more beautiful ladies he’d ever seen, she was in possession of peaceful elegance and genuine kindness. His father would say something about still waters running deep.

  She presented the exact opposite of Miss Widtsoe--one exuberant, the other restrained, not because she wasn’t in possession of strong emotions, but she held them in check as if she only brought them out for special moments. One chattered freely with almost childlike charm, the other spoke after careful consideration, weighing each word to assure it contained the exact meaning to deliver her thoughts. And though Miss Widtsoe seemed cheerful and sweet, there were moments when he suspected her of being childishly self-absorbed. Yet Genevieve Marshall’s unselfishness, the way she cared for others, and sought to show her friend in the best possible light while remaining quietly in the sidelines, won his respect.

  Admirably, the young ladies were loyal friends. Which only served to remind him that if he spurned Miss Widtsoe’s affection, he certainly could not pursue her friend. Not that he would, regardless of how tempting.

  Miss Marshall’s bonnet turned his way, revealing the fullness of her beauty. “Are you getting tired?”

  He glanced at her as a wry grin tugged his mouth. “Are you questioning my manliness?”

  “Of course she isn’t!” Miss Widtsoe interjected. “She’s just being the little mother again and taking care of everyone.”

  In truth, his arms ached. He shifted his bundle and tightened his grip. “I can get her to the house, never fear.”

  Miss Marshall glanced up at him again. Sadness shadowed her soft eyes. Surely she wasn’t so upset about her friend being unable to dance? “I’ll go ensure the room is empty.” She trotted ahead.

  He tried not to admire the grace of her stride nor the way wind flattened the fabric of her gown against her slender curves.

  “Don’t you just love Genevieve?” Mis
s Widtsoe chirped. “She is the dearest thing! I hope she finds a man to marry—someone who deserves her. But if she doesn’t, maybe she’ll live with me and help me raise my family. That would be sublime!”

  “I’m sure she won’t have any trouble finding a gentleman who will want to marry her. Someone worthy of her might be more difficult to locate, but she isn’t meant to live as a spinster,” he said.

  “I’m sure you’re right!” she gushed.

  Had he spoken his opinion about Miss Marshall aloud?

  “So,” Miss Widtsoe said, “you come from a large family. Do you hope to have a lot of children when the time comes?”

  He choked and finally managed, “I haven’t given it any thought.”

  “Oh.” She paused before asking, “If you could live anywhere, where would it be?”

  He attempted to keep up with the questions she fired at him. “I like Bath. But anywhere? Perhaps the seashore—not Brighton, somewhere less crowded. I’ve always wanted to visit Italy, to paint there, but I’m not certain I’d want to live there. We have some property up in Scotland. Beautiful country. Perhaps there. Why do you ask?”

  Miss Marshall opened a side door and vanished inside. Christian nearly broke into a run to catch up to her.

  “Merely curious. I would love to see those places, too.” Miss Widtsoe took another pause. “You excel at art and music. And you like riding and fencing and boxing. A gentleman of many interests, to be sure. What else do you enjoy?”

  He wanted to squirm under all her questions. “I like to read.”

  Her exuberance faded. “Oh. I’m not much of a reader. Jenny enjoys it, but I find it tiresome to be in a room with someone who’s reading.” She stopped with a little gasp as if she’d feared she’d insulted him. “But I applaud that interest in gentlemen. When I marry, I can certainly find other diversions while my husband reads if he so chooses.” She cast an anxious look at him.

  Christian barely managed not to wince at her obviousness.