Her cheeks fired as an image flitted forward of Barry, quickly leading a lady down those trails, losing themselves in a maze of greenery. Only, it wasn’t some other woman she saw with him… but herself.
Meredith swallowed a groan of disgust. You blasted ninny. She made herself face him, praying he’d not note the blush heating her cheeks. “As you pointed out, I’ve known you many years. I’ve never known you to have an interest in plants.”
“Why would you?” he asked curiously. “Were you paying attention to me when I was a young lad?”
“Yes.” He winged a brow up. “No,” she said quickly. “Not in that way.”
“And what way is that, Meredith?” he purred, sending her pulse skittering.
“H-hush,” she admonished, the slight tremble destroying her bid to be the stern matchmaker. “I was merely noticing you as a younger brother getting yourself into trouble.” An entirely different way than she’d thought of him since their run-in several months ago.
“Ah,” he murmured, taking slow, languid steps forward. “So I must be lying to you now, then? Because who I was as a boy doesn’t match with the man I’ve become?”
No, no, it didn’t. He didn’t fit at all with the image of the boy he’d been.
“Should I provide you a lesson in all the things you don’t know, love?”
Oh, God. Meredith’s knees went weak as he stopped so close before her that she had to tip her head back to meet his hooded gaze. “I…”
“About how the honey produced from the nectar of certain types of rhododendron can make a man mad?”
She didn’t blink for several moments. It took a moment for her mind to slog through the desire to find the other side of clarity. Had he said…?
Barry did a small, slow circle about her. “Or how an invading Greek army was accidentally poisoned by harvesting and eating the local Asia Minor honey?”
“How do you know that?”
“Because it’s so hard to believe that a future duke should be in possession of any information aside from the running of one’s estates, horseflesh, ton events, and fencing and shooting, of course?”
He compiled that list as one who spoke routinely about the expectations enumerated for him. And then through the wave of humiliation at her mind having wandered a path of wickedness while he’d been speaking from a place of genuine knowledge came something else—shame. For having failed to consider that Barry Aberdeen might have a real interest in plant life. She’d simply taken him as the roguish heir to a future dukedom. “I… didn’t know.”
“And why should you?” He lifted his shoulders in a shrug that on the surface anyone would have taken for blasé. But she was looking closely at him, had known him too well as a child. “Troublesome Barry and then roguish Barry. You saw what you would.” Had there been recrimination there, it would have been easier for her than his matter-of-factness. “What I allowed the world to see,” he murmured, almost to himself. And then, as if he’d realized he’d spoken aloud, an endearing crimson color splotched Barry’s cheeks. He lifted the brandy bottle. “Either way, my interests, Meredith, extend to plant life.”
As he started for the door, Meredith stared after him. Let him go. It hardly mattered… and yet, for research purposes it did. “And… what else?” she asked as he took another step toward the door. She didn’t want him to leave. Except, as he turned back to rejoin her, why did it feel as if she lied to herself? Why did it feel as though genuine curiosity gripped her about the secrets Barry Aberdeen carried?
“What else?” he repeated back, more slowly.
Feeling his gaze on her, she dropped her arm to her lap and straightened. Work. Keep focused on the work Her Grace has put to you. “If you had to spend all your days with one woman—”
“Egad, horrifying stuff.”
She fiddled with her necklace. “What interests would you hope she shared of yours?”
“All of a sudden, you’re besieged by a fascination with my pastimes, are you, Meredith?” His words were spoken in another of those silken whispers that brushed over her like a physical caress.
“Y-yes.” For my research. For my work here.
Liar.
He wound his way back toward her and then stopped, his chest brushing her back as he dipped his mouth close to her neck. Her eyes slid closed, and she swore she felt his lips brush a kiss upon that sensitive skin. “Alas, I’m afraid you’ll have to find out during your time here,” he said cheerfully, his amused tones sobering. “Until later, Mare.” With a wink, he spun on his heel and just like that… was gone.
The ormolu clock ticking, Meredith stared at the empty doorway and then forced herself to breathe.
Why did she, of a sudden, feel that in accepting the duchess’s assignment she had wandered down a perilous path?
Chapter 6
Barry was going to gouge his eyes out.
The act would undoubtedly prove agonizing, and yet, it would still be a good deal preferable to suffering through any more of old Lady Glassmere prancing around, blindfolded, and grabbing for a nearby gentleman.
As it was, the only reason he’d taken part in this evening’s festivities had been so that he could spend the night loosening Meredith Durant’s too-tight chignon.
The stubborn chit would have proven contrary even in this. After dining and adjourning with the other ladies, she hadn’t rejoined the party, and Barry had been left alone with a stubborn memory of her… and the words she’d leveled at him.
What are you in search of, Barry?
Even now, the softness of that query lingered and echoed in his mind.
It was a question he’d never been asked, or even thought. Everyone simply assumed, given his reputation, that they knew what he wanted out of life: a bottle of spirits, a scandalous woman on his arm and then in his bed. And… not much more.
In fairness, Barry had never shared that he was anything more. Meredith, a friend of his past, asking that question of him, however, had made it surprisingly easy to share.
Only now that he had? He felt uncomfortably… exposed. His gaze slid involuntarily over to the urns overflowing with flowers and greenery.
“A microscope? What do you want with a microscope?”
Barry looked over at his tutor, who hung his head, avoiding his eyes. Barry opened his mouth to explain to his papa, but his father interrupted him. “Boys do not worry themselves with flower terminology, and they certainly do not worry themselves with flowers.”
And with that, a nine-year-old’s hopes of a future in botany had been dashed with the sacking of the tutor who’d indulged him. A new one replaced him, with a ducal curriculum suiting the heir.
“You’re not a botanist. You’re first and foremost a duke. Everything else comes second to that.”
That had been the lesson ingrained into him by his every subsequent, esteemed tutor: ducal responsibilities. Math matters as they pertained to the ledgers. It was always and only about the title he’d one day inherit. As such, there’d not been a place for the scholarly pursuits that fell outside of those responsibilities.
From then on, Barry had accepted that those dreams were foolish, the ones that all children invariably had to put behind them as they accepted the practicality that came with life. In his case, the discovery of life’s expectations for him had come sooner than for the other young men at Eton and Oxford. And yet, if he’d accepted his present for what it was, why had he mentioned those interests to Meredith Durant? Interests he’d deliberately hidden from… everyone since those early days.
Over the years, his resentment had faded, and he’d simply hidden his research. It was accepted that lords indulged in botany as a hobby. It was the exception, however, for those gentlemen to pursue it as a field of study. Yes, Barry had accepted his life for what it was… and for what it would be.
Damned tedious and predictable.
Until Meredith had arrived.
Mayhap it was the familiarity of the face of a friend from his past that had dra
gged out not only that remembrance, but also that admission. And yet, for whatever reason, he’d shared that personal part of himself…
Laughter went up around the parlor, briefly breaking into his reverie.
Lady Glassmere grabbed Lord Afton by the arm and rubbed her enormous, fleshy bosom against his arm. “Squee, I’ve found you, you sly devil.”
Barry cringed. Mayhap some soap in his eyes would help, to either scrub them clean or blind him to the sight of her shameless groping.
Out of the corner of his gaze, he caught Emilia winding her way through the guests as a young lady assisted the old matron out of her blindfold. “I’ll see to that,” Lady Glassmere barked when her young goddaughter attempted to blindfold Afton. She snapped at the poor girl’s fingers and then snagged Lord Afton by the back of his jacket and proceeded to cover his eyes.
“My God, she’s positively aggressive.” Emilia spoke in hushed tones as she took up a spot alongside Barry.
“I was going to go with offensive,” he said from the corner of his mouth. As it to emphasize that very point, Lady Glassmere pinched Lord Afton, none too subtly, on his buttock. “But your choice of words is also entirely suitable.”
“Yes, yes, well, I believe both descriptors suffice.”
There was no wonder, however, as to why their mother had invited the woman, who was chaperone to the only daughter of the late Marquess and Marchioness of Halliwell.
“You’ve done an impressive job of staying out of the fray,” his sister remarked.
“Have a care, or you’ll give me away.”
Emilia winked.
They fell silent, watching the festivities from their corner of the parlor. Laughter and squeals went up around the room as Lord Afton, with his arms outstretched, wove around the room.
“You are… aware that Meredith has come,” Emilia said, breaking the quiet.
It didn’t escape his notice that it wasn’t a question. Rather, she spoke as one in possession of more knowledge than any sibling wanted one’s sister to have.
So that was why she’d abandoned her husband for Barry’s company.
Oh, bloody hell.
For one horrifying moment, he believed she knew. Because blast and damn if it weren’t the way of elder sisters to know—or figure out—everything. “I…” He resisted the urge to yank at his cravat and kept his gaze on the parlor game. “I… am aware,” he said, having to settle for something and opting for vagueness. Oh, good God. Perhaps the women, who’d been as close as sisters, had picked up precisely where their friendship had left off, and Meredith had exposed his less-than-subtle attempted seduction of her earlier. “I was in Mother’s offices when we ran into one another. Meredith, that is,” he said quickly, rambling on. “Not Mother. I mean, I’ve run into Mother there, too. But not this time.”
His sister shot him a peculiar look. “Are you… all right?”
“Fine,” he croaked. She was probing. Wasn’t she? “Just fine. Why wouldn’t I be?” Would you stop running your mouth like a ton gossip? Tensing, Barry stole a sideways glance at his sister, searching for a sign that he should make a swift exit.
A troubled glimmer lit her eyes. “As I was saying, it has been years since we’ve seen her.”
“Two months.” It had been two months since he’d run into the now-proper minx.
His sister’s interested gaze came whipping up. “You saw her?”
Barry silently cursed yet another blunder. Only… this time Emilia’s eyes didn’t reflect a general older-sister suspicion about the roguish game he’d played two times with Meredith, but rather an interest in the other young woman’s whereabouts these past years. “At… some event or another in London, we ran into one another,” he allowed. The day Emilia would have with him if she learned he’d been at a botanical garden.
“Hmm,” Emilia said noncommittally. “It was unpardonable.”
That he’d yearned to take, and nearly had taken, the daughter of his family’s loyal, late man-of-affairs into his arms? Absolutely it was. “I’m aware of that,” he said tightly, adjusting his cravat. In fairness, what had started out as teasing Meredith Durant had shifted, and sometime during their exchanges, he’d been captivated by the woman.
“You aren’t responsible for this, Barry.”
“It surely isn’t Miss Durant who is,” he muttered, still too much a coward to meet his sister’s eyes and opting instead for the hideous sight of Lady Glassmere jumping in front of the latest blindfolded gentleman.
“Of course it’s not her fault,” Emilia scolded. “It’s mine.”
That brought his attention whipping over. “Yours?”
Emilia worried at her lower lip. “Renaud.”
Oh, good God, Barry really should have been paying closer attention. What in blazes did Emilia’s former betrothed, a bloke who’d broken it off more than ten years ago, have to do with Meredith Durant? “I’m afraid I don’t follow.”
His sister released a beleaguered sigh. “A gentleman wouldn’t. You see, when I made my debut, I was so enamored of the Duke of Renaud and being in love that I forgot all those friends dearest to me. All my time became centered on that gentleman, and the ones who truly mattered I let slip from my life.”
“Gentlemen don’t jilt ladies at the altar,” he gritted out with the familiar fury at his sister having been thrown over. “You were better off. Your husband is a far—”
His sister swatted him on the arm. “I do appreciate your devotedness, but do focus. I quite know that my heart wasn’t engaged, but the important thing is, at the time, I thought it was, and because of that, I cut out Rowena and Constance and Meredith. And then after… after I was jilted? I didn’t want to see anyone. I went my way and… Meredith went hers.”
Where had she been? More… what had her life been like since she’d gone? It was one way to go through life a lady with family… but after her father’s passing, Meredith had been alone, making her own way in the world. The Aberdeens had failed her, and all that was left were questions as to what accounted for the solemnity that hung over her once-cheerful self. His chest tightened uncomfortably, and he resisted the urge to rub at the peculiar ache there. They’d make it right. Meredith had always belonged in their fold.
“She is here now,” he said, awkwardly patting his sister on the back.
Once more his sister looked at him strangely. “Given everything, you seem incredibly tolerant.”
Given everything? What in hell did she take him for? A pompous lord who cared far more about his own pleasures than the well-being of others? He bristled. “And why should I not?” He’d never had any issues with Meredith. Nothing that had been abnormal where a teasing older sister-like-figure was concerned. “I’m not an ogre.” Yes, he’d gone out of his way to tease Meredith and bait her as a boy, but they were adults now.
“Of course I don’t think you’re an ogre, Barry,” Emilia said. “I just expected that given the reason Mother’s summoned her, you strike me as one who’d be far less… welcoming.”
Warning bells tinkled at the back of his head. The slight pause in his sister’s words bespoke of a greater knowing. He sharpened his gaze on Emilia’s face.
A look passed between them. No. And then she gave a slow nod, confirming he’d spoken aloud.
Taking her lightly by the arm, he drew her deeper into the corner. “Are you suggesting what I think you are?” he clipped out.
“Precisely that.”
He cursed, the sound swallowed by another round of laughter that went up around the parlor. Of course, his mother was determined to see him married off. But this…? It was impossible. It fit not at all with the woman who’d given him life, a woman who placed rank in Society at a greater importance than even the air she breathed. “You expect me to believe that Mother—our mother—is attempting to maneuver me into a marriage with Meredith?” Only, that utterance hadn’t even fully left him before an image slipped in of him tugging free the pins of Meredith’s too-tight chignon and spreading
her dark curls about her shoulders.
His sister looked at him as if he’d sprung a second head, and for one horrifying moment he believed she knew he stood before her, lusting after her best friend. “What are you talking about?”
He blinked slowly. “What are you talking about?”
“Mother hasn’t invited Meredith here as your bride.”
Then…?
His sister leaned in. “Do you even know what Meredith has been doing since she left?”
“She’s a companion.” Which, in and of itself, was a travesty. A woman who’d been raised in a duke’s household, the cherished daughter of the duke’s best friend and man-of-affairs, deserved far more than employment looking after unappreciative, tittering misses.
Emilia cocked her head. “She isn’t a companion.”
He opened his mouth and then closed it. Barry knew he’d run into her with a young lady at her side. One who’d not been a relation because, well, Meredith didn’t have any. Therefore, he’d not considered just what else her role could have been. “Then what is she?”
“She’s a matchmaker.”
There were several beats of silence as he attempted to muddle through that revelation. In the end, he managed but one word: “What?”
Emilia stole a glance about, and then when she returned her focus to him, she spoke so quietly he strained to hear. “She’s a matchmaker, and well, we know why Mother invited her here.”
“Meredith is a… matchmaker,” he repeated dumbly, his mind slow to process that revelation. Because then it would mean… Horror filled him. “For me?”
Emilia rolled her eyes. “Of course, you, silly.”
He rocked on his heels.
Meredith Durant, the woman he’d nearly kissed and been dreaming of embracing since she’d toppled onto his lap, all rounded buttocks and curved hips, had returned to Berkshire… only to coordinate his match with one of the ladies even now prancing about the room.
What is it you enjoy? She’d asked as though she cared. And she’d not been a woman after his title or interested in his marital state. She’d been a woman he’d known as a child and considered a friend, but all the while she’d been gathering information to help her in her task.
A Matchmaker for a Marquess Page 7