The Matchmaker

by Rexanne Becnel

  Honestly, she didn’t know which was worse: confrontation or suspense!

  So their party strolled in Augusta’s wake. They viewed the several colts and fillies that had been born the previous spring, and watched as Bart, Woodford’s trainer, introduced one leggy chestnut-colored animal to the long lead. They looked over the breeding mares grazing peaceably in the late summer sunshine, their swelling stomachs so handsome with the new lives inside them. A square table laden with dishes awaited them in an oak grove beside an oval lake where more swans and a small flock of ducks congregated. Truly it would have been a lovely day with every detail attended to, if not for the guillotine blade hovering over Olivia’s head. Between avoiding his knowing gaze and expecting him at every turn to allude by word or expression to his threat or their encounter, she was twitching with nervousness.

  By the end of the afternoon she almost wanted him to bring it up. But he did not, and as they packed for their return trip to Byrde Manor she found herself exhausted.

  “Come, darling, ride in the phaeton with us,” Augusta implored. “You’re looking a little peaked. Has your headache returned?”

  “No. I’m quite fine.” This lie was quite the opposite of the morning’s lie, for now her head really did ache.

  “You’ve been working so hard to get the house in order. And you did a lovely job of it,” Augusta added. “But tomorrow I want you to just relax. I’ll see to everything. You won’t have to lift a finger.”

  “And we’ll be out of your hair,” James said, mounting his spirited animal. “We’ve got up our first shooting party. Lord Hawke’s going to show us all the best spots for grouse.”

  “It will be my pleasure,” Neville said.

  Now when had he sneaked up beside her?

  “Do you hunt, Miss Byrde?” he asked. For the first time that day their eyes met and held.

  “No.” If it were possible to stumble over a monosyllabic word, at that moment Olivia surely would have done so. Her heart had begun to pound that violently.

  He smiled. “May I give you a hand up?” Then without waiting for her reply, he caught her about the waist and set her squarely on Goldie’s back. “Have you thought further on our conversation of yesterday?”

  Olivia sucked in a breath. She’d let down her guard for only a moment and look what happened.

  “What conversation?” Augusta asked.

  “And when?” James frowned, only belatedly assuming his role as older brother and man of the family.

  Olivia’s mouth had gone too dry to speak. Besides, what was she to say, “His kisses thrill me, his touch makes my skin heat, he knows how to make my soul shatter apart—but he’s just not good husband material”?

  Perhaps Neville saw the panic in her eyes. Or perhaps he’d intended all along only to frighten her. In any event, he smiled at her, then over at her mother and brother. “Miss Byrde has consented to grant me a lease on several of her fallow fields, though we have yet to come to terms.”

  “Oh. What a good idea,” Augusta said. But her voice clearly revealed her disappointment that it was merely land they’d discussed.

  James glanced at Olivia. “Why didn’t you tell me about that? I’ll be happy to handle the matter for you.”

  “It’s my property and I can handle my own negotiations,” she replied rather tartly, for it was safer to be angry with James than with Neville. “Besides, as he said, we haven’t yet come to terms.”

  Suddenly she felt a hand on her ankle, a strong male hand. Completely hidden beneath the trailing ends of her long skirt, it curled in the most intimate manner around her ankle.

  Aghast at his boldness—and her visceral reaction to it—Olivia stared down into Neville’s piercing blue eyes. He smiled up at her, as straight-faced as if his thumb were not now sliding in hot little circles along her skin, creating the warmest, most shocking sort of friction. Very like he’d done yesterday.

  “No, we have not yet come to terms,” he said. “But I believe we will. I believe we soon will.”

  Chapter 21

  In the morning the men went hunting. The women wandered independently down to breakfast, Olivia and Sarah first, later the Wilkinsons and Mrs. Skylock. Then one by one, they meandered off to entertain themselves as they preferred. Only then did Augusta descend to the dining room. At her behest, Mrs. McCaffery joined her.

  “Here. Sit.” Augusta patted the place next to her. “I know you’ve eaten, but have some chocolate or tea with me.” Once her long-time housekeeper was settled, she went on. “So tell me. How fares the budding romance?”

  “The budding romance?” Mrs. McCaffery’s hand trembled a bit and hot water sloshed onto her saucer. But she recovered quickly. “The budding romance? Ooh. The budding romance. Olivia and Lord Hawke.”

  Augusta tilted her head and stared at her faithful servant. “Yes. Olivia and Lord Hawke. Who else would I mean?” Mrs. McCaffery set down her cup and began vigorously to plunge the tea ball up and down in the water. “No one else. But I confess, I haven’t given them much thought of late. I’ve been that busy around here. It was a mess, you know.” She gestured with her chin. “To look at it now you canna tell, but this house was in terrible condition. Terrible.”

  Augusta stared around the dining room with its heavy furnishings and wall of windows. At the moment sunshine streamed in, warm and comfortable. “It looks very nice to me. Nothing has seemed to change at all, even after all these years.”

  “The grounds were a sight. And the sycamores are bigger. They’ve quite overgrown the house.”

  “Yes. And the double swing is gone.” Augusta smiled and gazed beyond the multipaned windows. “Do you remember how Cameron used to push me so high? James and Olivia would sit together on one side of the swing and I would sit on the other.”

  Mrs. McCaffery stirred honey into her tea. “I remember that swing.”

  Augusta looked over at the other woman, and her smile faded. “I know you will always think the worst of Cameron. But we did have some lovely days. They did not stay lovely, but for a while … Ah, well. I cannot complain anymore. My Cameron was a bonny fellow, but a tragic one, as it turned out. Thank goodness Humphrey came along to fill the hole in my heart.”

  “And will Lord Holdsworth now fill the space dear Humphrey left?”

  Augusta concentrated on her ham and scones. “Perhaps. I am not certain. But what about Olivia and Neville? Was their enforced proximity during the journey here sufficient to break down her foolish resistance to him? I swear, I simply do not understand that child.”

  “He was very good, very well behaved and charming to us all. He certainly won over Sarah.”

  “And you?” Augusta asked, dimpling. “You can pretend you are unaffected by a handsome man, Bertie McCaffery, but I know you better than that.”

  The older woman chuckled. “I’ll admit he has winning ways. And despite all her protests, I’d swear Livvie thinks so too. Whenever he comes around she gets this look.” The housekeeper shook her head. “I just don’t know.”

  Augusta drummed her fingernails upon her glass. “I’ve noticed the very same thing. And yet she seems so determined to avoid him. That entire business yesterday, about her staying home—it just didn’t ring true.” She shook her head. “I just don’t understand.”

  They sat in silence a few minutes, Augusta eating and Mrs. McCaffery sipping her tea. Finally the housekeeper set down her cup. “They went out riding day before yesterday, just the two of them. To look over the fields he wants to lease from her.”

  “Do you think there was more to it than that?”

  The housekeeper shook her graying head. “I don’t know. I tried to figure it out, but I couldna. She came back alone, drenched by the storm. Then you arrived and I’ve had no chance to talk to her since. You know, Gussie,” she added. “There’s no accountin’ for tastes. If she doesn’t care for him in that way …”

  Augusta thought for a moment. “Does he want her?”

  Mrs. McCaffery nodded. �
�Oh, I believe he does. I’ve had it from Donnie—Mr. Hamilton, that is—who had it from the innkeeper who is brother to Woodford’s housekeeper, that Lord Hawke is usually a solitary sort. Keeps to himself most o’ the time. All work, hardly any socializing a’tall, save a jaunt now and again to the tavern. Yet he’s been nothin’ but neighborly and sociable since we arrived. And then there’s the way he looks at her, like he could eat her up with his eyes alone.” She cocked her head. “Yes. I’d say he wants our Livvie, and rather badly.”

  A slow smile crept over Augusta’s face and she steepled her perfectly manicured fingers under her chin. “Perhaps we can assist their floundering romance.”

  The housekeeper leaned forward. “How d’you mean?”

  “Well. What if they were caught in a compromising position?”

  Mrs. McCaffery frowned. “That would be a dirty trick.”

  Augusta fixed her bright blue gaze upon the woman. “It’s not as if anyone would be forcing them into that compromising position. I’m only suggesting that we pay close attention to their comings and goings, and catch them at it. You know what I mean. A kiss. An embrace. If they choose to behave so—and get caught—is their own misfortune. Or good fortune,” she added, smirking at the thought. “Olivia simply does not know her own mind these days. She spends too much time analyzing the men she meets and jotting notes down in that silly book of hers, when she ought to spend her time more profitably by listening to her heart.”

  “And you mean to force her to listen to her heart?”

  Again Augusta smiled. “What else is a loving mother to do?”

  The hunters returned shortly before afternoon tea. Olivia had spent the day in determined activity. She didn’t want to rest, for to rest was to think and she desperately did not want to think about what had happened between her and Neville. Nor of his threat. When she discussed the subject of the land leases with Mr. Hamilton he had not been at all opposed to the idea, especially when she told him the terms Lord Hawke had offered.

  So why didn’t you enter into such a lease years ago? she wanted to ask the steward. But she did not. She’d determined very quickly that Mr. Hamilton, though hardworking, was not a man of much imagination. Things were still managed at Byrde Manor “just as your da’ would have it,” he’d told her several times now. To the old man’s mind that apparently meant the workers were not replaced as they retired or died. Nor was the stock.

  Time had taken its toll on Byrde Manor, and on Mr. Hamilton. But though Olivia was up to the task of repairing and maintaining her property, she was not up to rebuilding the herds of cattle and flocks of sheep, nor of running the place as a profitable farming venture. It was enough that the leases would pay for the additional expenses of her setting up housekeeping at Byrde Manor—although she wondered now whether that was still wise.

  But she was not going to think about that today. She was not going to let Neville Hawke and his threats dominate her life or alter her plans. Instead she applied herself to compiling a list of the particular fields he wanted, as well as access, water rights, time limitations, and payment schedule. When it was completed she needed only to review it with her brother, then send it to the local solicitor to draw up the copies. So when she heard male voices in the forecourt, she hurried from the downstairs study—her study now—and outside to speak to James. She wanted this matter settled before the other matter between her and Lord Hawke could be raised.

  Unfortunately, Neville Hawke was still with the hunters.

  When she spied him she skidded to a halt. As desperately as she wanted to ignore his presence, she could not. Her eyes were drawn to him, as if his tall, virile form were a magnet. Her entire being reacted that way. This was the man who made her heart thump. He made her body run hot, and he knew how to raise her to unheard of heights of physical pleasure. For the short while that she’d actually considered marrying him, she’d been quite idiotically happy.

  But then his darker side had resurfaced in the form of that little boy. The child, his natural son, was living proof of the sort of man Neville Hawke actually was: one she would be an utter fool to wed.

  Her mother had come out to greet the hunters, and she stood now beside Neville, smiling up at him. Olivia feared that boded ill for her.

  She had no hope for retreat, however, for James had already seen her and was waving her over. “Come see, Livvie. We’ve had a jolly good day. Why didn’t you suggest coming up here years ago?”

  “I believe I did,” she muttered. “But as I recall, no one paid any attention to me.”

  “I asked Mrs. Mac to bring tea into the parlor,” Augusta put in. “It’s the least we can offer Lord Hawke, considering how generous he’s been with his time these past two days.”

  Neville smiled at Augusta, then at Olivia, as if he had no ulterior motive. The wretch! There was nothing for Olivia to do but force a smile in return.

  So it was tea with him, then supper as well, followed by a rowdy game of charades and two tables of whist. And all the while Olivia’s body waged war with her mind. Physical desire fought with good sense. The heated knot of remembered excitement that churned deep in her belly fought against intellect and logic.

  The strain was enough to give her a splitting headache.

  It didn’t ease the pain in her temple that Neville was nothing but charming and pleasant the entire evening. Her face hurt from trying to maintain a cool, calm expression, when inside she was a bundle of nerves. Then there was the constant struggle to remain aloof when she felt each touch of his gaze like an actual caress on her bare skin.

  Pretending not to notice him did not work. But she knew she must do something soon, for she could not continue much longer in this insane fashion.

  Finally the evening ended. The farewells were made, and she nearly escaped to the privacy of her bedchamber. But her mother accosted her in the upper hall, and Olivia’s heart sank at the avid look in her eyes.

  “Come, Livvie. Sit with me a while. We’ve hardly had a chance to chat, we’ve been so busy. Here.” Augusta indicated the settee positioned opposite her tall, curtained bed.

  They sat down together. Augusta kicked off her shoes and wriggled her toes. “So. How do you find Byrde Manor? Is it as you remembered? After all, you were so very young when we left.”

  Olivia tried to relax. “Some things are as I remember. Others …” She shrugged.

  “But you like it here?”

  Olivia grimaced to herself. Might as well get right to it. She kicked off her shoes. “I like it very much. In fact, I believe I shall stay here even after you, James, and Sarah return south.”

  “You will? Oh, Olivia. That makes me so happy.”

  Of course it did, and Olivia knew why. But she played along with the game. “That’s a relief. I had expected you to object.”

  Augusta twisted on the settee to face her. “Whyever would you think that? You know it is my fondest wish for you to wed.”

  Olivia merely smiled and raised her brows. “I said nothing about marriage, Mother.”

  “Yes. But if you are planning to stay it can only be—”

  “In spite of Lord Hawke. Not because of his proximity, but in spite of it.”

  Augusta’s face was a study in confusion. “But I don’t understand. Why would you wish to stay here if not because of him?”

  “There is nothing to understand—” Olivia broke off. She’d meant to remain calm but it was too hard. So agitated, she stood and began to pace. “I do not wish to return to town and get sucked back into the marriage mart.”

  “But you have always seemed to enjoy the parties and routs. What of that”—Augusta fluttered her hand—“that book you keep? The matchmaker, you and your friends call it.”

  Olivia folded her arms and stood her ground. “I am done with all of that.”

  “Done with it?” Augusta abruptly stood, and though she was a half head shorter than Olivia, at that moment she appeared as fierce as any Amazon. Certainly there was no mistaking the mat
ernal authority on her face. “You are only one-and-twenty, Olivia. That you have not yet found the man who suits you is no reason to entirely abandon the idea of marriage. That is too ridiculous an idea to believe.”

  “That’s not what I meant!”

  “Then what do you mean?”

  In truth, Olivia was not certain. Though her chest heaved with emotion and she had to work very hard not to shout, she did not know why. She took a heavy breath, then let her shoulders droop. “What it means is that for a year or so I should like not to think constantly about my future—a husband, children, whatever. I like it here.” Her hand swept the air. “In less than two weeks Mrs. Mac, Sarah, and I have effected quite a change, and it … it makes me feel good. So … so I want to spend the winter here as well, to continue putting the estate to rights. Then come the spring, well, we’ll see.”

  Augusta opened her mouth as if to speak. But when Olivia squared her shoulders and once again arched her brows, Augusta subsided. But the expression on her face was pained.

  “I can see you are firmly set on this, so I suppose it does me no good to argue with you—even though I think you will become quite bored once all of us leave. You know,” she added, “your brother is not going to be very happy about your decision.”

  “Then please allow me to tell him in my own good time, will you?”

  “As you wish,” Augusta said with an elegant shrug. “As you wish.” But when Olivia bade her good-night and made her exit, Augusta’s eyes narrowed. This was all very interesting. Something was afoot that Olivia was intent on hiding. But time would see it out. Augusta was certain that time would see it out.

  Time was running out. Three more days passed with every semblance of an idyllic country holiday. Fishing jaunts, hunting parties. Picnics, horseback riding. Charades, card games, and quiet reading. Olivia worked very hard to maintain the illusion of a carefree existence. But with each day that passed her tension mounted.

  The fact that Lord Hawke stayed busy on his own estates did not make matters any easier. Though his presence always unsettled her, so, it seemed, did his absence. She was sick to death of her fun-seeking companions, yet afraid to go off alone in case she should run into him.