To this very day, Mr. Holmes remained a trusted confidant. Most days, she would stop in the little shop to have a chat with the old man, always making sure he did not have a customer at a time. In turn, he would frequently check up on her, peeking his weathered, friendly face into her office window.
They had developed a routine, checking in on one another. Often, in the evening, they would join one another for a meal and catch up on the events of the day. It was nice to know that there was somebody who cared about her. Especially now that her mother was gone.
She had fully intended to stop in the shop, not least because she had picked up an extra supply of fruits and vegetables at the market for the old man. He had the most atrocious eating habits. If left to his own devices, he would eat nothing but bread and pottage or porridge, even though he could afford to buy meat and other fine foods. Alas, since he had a customer, Alexandra kept on walking until she reached her front door. She would stop back by later to bring him his groceries.
* * *
She entered the house and removed her coat. Her impulse was to head to her office which was at the front of the house, overlooking Foxberry Lane and search her records for a potential husband for Lady Frances. Despite not having met the young woman, she wanted to be prepared. She hated nothing more than appearing flustered or unprepared in front of clients.
Alexandra had a tendency to get lost in her work and she knew if she went to the office right away, the groceries would sit on the floor and soon be forgotten.
To that end, she postponed the search and attended to her shopping first. With a sigh, she lifted the basket and carried it to the kitchen, which was in the back of the house just past the tiny guest room that now functioned as a waiting area for clients. The kitchen, compared to the office and waiting room, was sparsely decorated and furnished, with only the bare necessities. All the best furniture and artwork was used in spaces clients could access, not leaving much for the rest of the house. Even her bedroom, which was directly above the office, was bleak compared to the luscious furniture downstairs.
* * *
When her shopping was neatly put away, she hastened to her office. She sat at her small desk and pulled out a wooden box. It contained calling cards with information about her clients and their preferences for potential matches.
Given that Lady Frances Stewart was the daughter of an earl, and an influential earl as such, she would have to find a husband of equal or higher standing. That ruled out any barons and viscounts she had on her roster. No, for the daughter of an earl, Alexandra needed to find an earl, or better yet, a marquess.
The best any of her clients could hope for was to wed a duke. Since there were only a limited number of dukedoms in the country, and since the Crown was not in the habit of creating new dukedoms, eligible dukes were hard to come by. At present, Alexandra had not even a one on her roster. The highest ranking noble she was actively seeking a wife for was the Marquess of Farnborough.
She doubted he would be a very good match for Lady Frances. The Marquess was almost forty years old, and the reason he had yet to wed despite his grand title was twofold. It was well known that he was a rather poor businessman and had squandered a lot of his family’s fortune on terrible investments. Besides, he was also quite a lonesome fellow, and prone to violent outbursts. He had been a client since her mother was alive.
Eventually, she was sure she would find him a match, but she suspected that Lady Frances was not it. She had not met the lady yet, but she had heard of her. Alexandra was familiar with most of the nobility, especially the single ones. Lady Frances was a typical aristocratic lady and her father, Lord Cladborough, was a rich and powerful earl. She had to make sure whoever she selected to court the young lady was of impeccable manners and reputation. Lord Farnsborough was of neither.
Frustrated, she shut the box and returned it to the drawer. She needed to recruit new clients. This was the downside to being as successful as she was. She had made so many matches the previous Season that her client base was somewhat depleted. She was sure once the Season was in full swing, she would gain many a client, but for right now, the options were sparse.
If only I could get invited to one of the big balls, maybe at Almack’s, even. Mother always found many a client at private balls, but getting an invitation is rather difficult.
* * *
It was late afternoon when the lady finally arrived. Alexandra hastened to open the door to greet her long-awaited visitor. She was a petite woman with flaxen hair that she kept tucked inside her capote. Alexandra scanned her quickly from head to toe. She’d learned from her mother to assess her clients based on their attire. Lady Frances, for example, at first glance appeared to be a typical lady of the ton.
Upon closer inspection however, Alexandra could tell she came from a wealthier background than most. Her attire gave it away. Beneath her long pelisse she wore a pale peach-colored dress made of fine silk. Her hands were covered by thin yellow gloves, limerick gloves, if Alexandra was not mistaken. Yes, this lady was not only of high standing, but from an extremely well-to-do family.
“Lady Frances, I presume.” Alexandra stepped aside to let the lady in.
“Indeed, I am. It seems you have been expecting me.” The Lady’s voice was soft, and she spoke in a halting manner as though she was unsure of herself. As Alexandra closed the door, she noted the barouche stopped outside. The hood was up to protect the Lady against the cold. The afternoon chill had taken a turn for the worse, and she felt bad for the driver, who was left to stand outside in the cold.
“I saw Lady Chatterley earlier in the day, and she informed me you would be stopping by today,” Alexandra said as she closed the door.
“Oh, I see. I do apologize for the lateness of the hour. I do not often venture so far south of Piccadilly, so my driver had trouble navigating through the roads.” She looked around the office. “You have a lovely home. Very quaint.”
Cheap is what she means. Why don’t these people ever say what they think? Alexandra thought to herself. While she loved the little house and the memories it contained, she did sometimes wish she could afford a grander home, closer to Mayfair, where the members of high society spent their days. It would certainly improve business to be closer to where the aristocracy lived. Maybe if she was able to establish another fine match, like the Chatterley match, she would be able to do so.
“Thank you,” she said out loud. “Would you like tea?”
“That would be lovely, Miss Evans.”
Lady Frances sat on the plush velvety chair, legs crossed at the ankles. Alexandra served her tea in her mother’s best china, which was reserved for clients.
“Lady Chatterley cannot stop talking about her admiration for you, Miss Evans. She thinks of you as a gift and urged my father and I to seek your services.”
Alexandra raised her eyebrows. “I am pleased to hear it. I am rather surprised your father is not with you. Will he be joining us?”
The Lady took a sip of tea, pursing her lips as she did and only consuming a tiny drop, the same way Alexandra always did to savor every bit of the expensive beverage. Then she sat the cup down.
“He is not, unfortunately. He wanted to, but he has been occupied. He is to have tea with Lord Byron to discuss the Luddite violence in Nottinghamshire.”
Alexandra glanced at her guest, rather bemused. She was not sure if the Lady was attempting to remind Alexandra in a subtle way just how powerful her father was, or if she was truly interested in current events. Before they could delve into this matter further, Lady Frances handed Alexandra a letter. “My father asked me to give this to you.”
She took the letter. It was not sealed and appeared to have been written hastily. She scanned the content and then folded it up and placed it in her lap. It was a standard outline of what the Earl expected. She would be getting to know the young lady and take her wants into consideration, but it was really her father’s needs and demands that would dictate the search for a match. And
his demands were many. He wanted a man of high birth, as she’d expected, an earl or better. One with a large, prosperous estate and plentiful lands, someone who could provide for his daughter. She sighed. Essentially, he wanted somebody ridiculously rich.
* * *
Alexandra conversed with the Lady for some time. She was smart and had a good heart, Alexandra could tell. Unlike her father, she did not have such high demands for her future husband. She was not looking to increase her standing or marry into money just for the sake of marrying into money.
“I simply wish for a husband who can maintain my lifestyle,” the woman said as she sipped her tea. “Someone who can ensure my future and that of my siblings. I have six sisters not yet of marriage age and no brothers. Should my father, heaven forbid, pass before they are wed, it would fall to my husband to care for them.”
“Do you not have any uncles who would assume the Earldom from your father?”
She shook her head and a strand of her hair came loose.
“My father had only sisters.”
Alexandra nodded. Under the peerage system, if the title holder passed away without a male heir, the lands and title reverted back to the Crown. She understood now why the Earl was so insistent on an impeccable match.
“I understand. It will be our top priority.”
The young lady fixed her gaze to the floor and chewed her lips. Alexandra smiled.
“What qualities are you looking for in a husband?”
The girl looked up, a sparkle back in her eyes.
“Oh, if it were just up to me, I would like someone who is kind, who would enjoy going for a walk with me and to talk. One who would not mind a wife who is interested in the world and who likes to learn. I so enjoy learning new things. I love the pianoforte, so a husband who enjoys music would ever so wonderful.”
She fell silent and retreated into her thoughts. Alexandra sat back and gave her time to think. Sometimes her job was difficult. So much of her business was about matching people so that it benefited them and their family. Often this mean matching people who she knew would never be a love match, but rather would be convenient for each other. Lady Frances appeared to be one of those unfortunate souls who would long for love and romance all her life, trading that for the benefit of her family’s fortunes. At last, the lady looked up again.
“I would love a man I can like and who can like me. Someone I can enjoy being around.”
Alexandra leaned forward and took her hand.
“I promise you, I will do my very best to find you a wonderful man. I cannot promise I will find you a man who is all you want and also all your father wants, but I will do my very best. Do not worry, you will have a husband who can provide for you and care for you.”
“Thank you so much, Miss Evans. You are a treasure.” The light had returned to the young lady’s eyes.
After they had finished their tea, Alexandra walked her guest to the door. As the barouche rode away Alexandra waved at the lady and closed the door.
She stood with her head against the door. Now where was she supposed to find a husband for this Lady that incorporated everything she and her father wanted? It was an almost impossible task. She had to find a solution and find her a good match, otherwise she’d never become the number one matchmaker in the city. She was resigned to look through her calling cards again. With a heavy sigh, she lifted her box out of the desk and sat on the floor, cards spread out in front of her.
Chapter 2
Maxwell sped around the corner, the horses neighing as they went. He loved the freedom of driving his phaeton through the countryside. He missed it immensely during the Season, when he was required to spend the bulk of his time in London.
Whenever time permitted, he liked sneaking back to his family estate, Hawthorne Hall, in Kent, to relax. He loved breathing in the fresh air after the smog in London. Additionally, he so enjoyed spending time with his brother, Charles, who still lived at the beautiful manor home with their mother, the Dowager Duchess.
It was his mother who stood at the bottom of the staircase leading up to the manor when he slowed the horses and handed the reins to a footman. He gave the horses a pat before they were taken to the stables and only then did, he approached his mother. She shook her head in a disapproving manner.
In a fine mood as always, I see. Just the thing I need now.
“Must you drive this contraption? And at such speeds. You are bound to break your neck one of these days.”
“And good day to you, Duchess.” He leaned in and gave her a kiss on the cheek, which she tolerated. His mother was not an affectionate woman and had become even worse since his father had passed away last year. Maxwell sighed.
“Good day. You did not answer my question. Is it really necessary to drive this monstrosity?”
“I had not realized you were asking a serious question, Mother. I assumed you were being facetious.”
She narrowed her blue eyes and glared at him.
“I am never facetious, as you well know.”
He nodded in agreement.
“True enough. My mistake. Let me assure you, the phaeton is perfectly safe. The Prince Regent himself is known to enjoy riding in one. If it is safe enough for the Prince Regent, I reckon it is safe enough for me.”
His mother scoffed. “The Prince Regent indulges in many an activity high society would frown upon were he not who he is.”
“That may be. However, I rather enjoy it and I shall keep enjoying it.”
His mother shook her head. “If only you had an heir to ensure our family line, perhaps then I would feel more secure in you engaging in such frightful sports.”
Ah, here it is. Mother’s favorite subject. The never-ending debate about the state of my bachelorhood.
“Mother…”
She raised one gloved hand to silence him. He may be a duke and among the richest and most powerful in the country at that, but when his mother raised her hand, he instantly fell silent as if he was still a young boy.
“You know I am right. What should happen to our family if you fell off this thing and died? We’d be ruined. It would be the end of the line for us.”
Maxwell shook his head. “It’s not as though we do not have an heir to succeed me. Charles would become Duke and after him Uncle Thomas.”
A carriage arrived in front of the house.
“Your father hated your uncle. He would rather see the entire Estate returned to the Crown than let Thomas take the reins.”
Maxwell shrugged and crossed his arms in front of his chest.
“Well then it is lucky he’s not the next in line and that I’m not dead.”
“Your brother…” His mother sighed dramatically. They both knew his brother would never be able to take the responsibilities of the peerage. Despite being twenty-five years old, he had the mind of a child. While he was a sweet, kind-hearted person they all knew he would never be able to run the Estate and it would fall to their mother and, eventually, Uncle Thomas. The Duchess placed one hand on Maxwell’s arm.
“I am due to return to London tomorrow. Please let me look for a wife for you. You know as well as I that is the only way to secure our family.”
“Oh, Mother.” She raised her hand once again and he fell silent.
“You know it is your duty. Being duke is not all about the privileges. It’s first and foremost about responsibility.”
“I know, Mother. I was raised to become a duke. All my life, all I ever heard about was my duties and responsibilities. I didn’t ask for this. I was born into this. I know my duty. I will wed. I will produce an heir. I’ll ensure the line. But please, let me enjoy myself a little first.”
She pursed her thin lips. “You have enjoyed yourself quite enough this past year, or so I hear.” The accusation hung in the air. Shame rose up in him. He had indulged in some dandy ways this past year but only because it was how he was coping with the death of his father and his new responsibilities. Finally, she broke the awkward silence an
d spoke again.
“And you are not getting any younger.”
His mother sure knew how to drive the dagger ever deeper into his heart. He had turned thirty only a month prior. The number bothered him as it was, but it certainly didn’t help that his mother never tired of reminding him about his advancing age.
“By that age, your father and I had already been married for ten years, and we had four children, with another on the way.”
Her eyes clouded over, having finally talked herself into exhaustion. Maxwell knew the topic of her father and their lost children was difficult for her, and when the conversation turned to that part of her life, she often ended it. As she did today.
“I am late for tea with Lady Cavendish. Please think about my words.” She extended her hand. He kissed it briefly and let go. Then she turned and ascended into the carriage.
* * *
Maxwell watched the carriage drive down the sandy driveway and turn the corner toward town. Only then did he head into the house. His steward, James, greeted him at the door, a glass of ale at the ready.
“Thank you, James. I know we have business to attend to, but would you give me a few moments?”
“Certainly, Your Grace.”
He stepped back as Maxwell continued into the drawing room where he sat, ale in hand, and stared at the large family portrait above the fireplace.
There were six people in the portrait. His father was painted in his best outfit, standing straight and looking stern. Maxwell always found that amusing because his father was nothing of the sort. He was loving and kind, soft-hearted and encouraging. His mother, on the other hand, was painted in a maternal, soft light, holding a baby, his brother Charles. The painter had given her a loving glow that gave her an ethereal, nurturing look she did not possess in real life.
A Mistletoe Match For The White Duchess (Historical Regency Romance) Page 28