A Matchmaker for a Marquess

by Christi Caldwell

  In the end, reality intruded, as it invariably did.

  “I’m s—”

  “Don’t you dare apologize to me, Barry Aberdeen,” she said tersely. Pushing herself up onto her elbows, she glared at him. “You’re the one who spoke to me about living life fully.” And there could be no doubting that she’d never, and never would again, feel more alive than she did in Barry’s arms.

  He lightly palmed her cheek. “You deserved the privacy and comfort of a bedroom.”

  “Ah, but I wanted this. That is the difference, Barry.” She rested her cheek atop his chest.

  “My father didn’t send your father away.”

  She picked her head up. “What?”

  “Yesterday, when we were playing pall-mall, I… demanded answers for his treatment of you and your father. Your father… he confided in mine about your broken heart. Your father sought to protect you. He wanted you away, and now that timing”—with Patrin’s return—“makes sense. And yet, my family failed you both by not trying to find you. He sought to protect you.”

  Tears glimmered in her eyes, and she brushed them away.

  “I don’t say that to in any way pardon my parents and me for failing to—”

  Meredith touched her lips to his. “I don’t want apologies, Barry. I was as capable of seeking out your family… more so.” She’d not have him play any manner of guilty party. “I can’t stay.”

  Barry stiffened. “Because of him.”

  “Because I gave my virtue to a stable lad who is now your stable master,” she said.

  Reaching for his jacket, Barry fished out a kerchief, and with an infinite tenderness that stole the remainder of her heart, he cleaned her between her legs. He used the soiled scrap to next clean himself.

  “You’re running away. Again.”

  Biting the inside of her cheek, Meredith forced herself to sit up. “I’m not.”

  “Aren’t you?”

  He didn’t know anything about it. Was this truly about the fear of her past being discovered? Or the pain of having to bear witness to Barry making a match with another? He caught her by the shoulders. “All I know, Meredith, is that I—”

  Mutterings just outside the rose gardens reached them, interrupting whatever he’d been about to say. “I think this is a disastrous idea,” a familiar and decidedly regal voice intoned.

  Meredith and Barry froze.

  She felt the blood leave her face as those voices grew increasingly closer.

  “A summer concert in the gardens?” the duke went on. “I’ll have you know you’re the reason for Barry’s fascination with flowers.”’

  “Your parents,” Meredith mouthed, searching frantically for a place to run. A place to crawl. Any form of escape.

  Barry remained motionless, and she sent an elbow into his side. “Your parents,” she said silently once more, springing him into action.

  “Oh, bloody hell,” Barry whispered, frantically wrestling into his jacket.

  “None of my ideas are disastrous.” The Duchess of Gayle clipped out those six words. “What could be disastrous about my gard…” Arm in arm, the duke and duchess entered and drew to an abrupt stop. The duchess sharpened her gaze on Meredith’s wrinkled dress, her disheveled hair hanging loose about her shoulders, and an equally rumpled Barry.

  Who at last managed to slide his jacket on.

  The silence was deafening, and Meredith curled her toes into the soft earth as shame, horror, and mortification whipped through her.

  The duchess tightened her mouth. “I stand corrected.”

  Chapter 14

  It had taken Meredith eight and a half years to build her career.

  And but a day to destroy it.

  Numb, she sat at her desk with her notebook open before her.

  Though, numbness was far preferable to the nausea that had roiled in her belly since the duke and duchess had stumbled upon them.

  In flagrante delicto.

  In a way and place by which there could be absolutely no doubt as to what they’d been doing.

  From out in the hall, the chiming clock rang the top of the hour, and she jumped, her heart racing.

  She briefly pressed her eyes shut and then forced them back open to stare once again at the blank page before her.

  She didn’t know what she’d expected.

  For the duchess to storm Meredith’s guest chambers and call her out as a harlot? To be thrown out unceremoniously?

  Only, the duke and duchess would never resort to such a display. Not when doing so would only raise gossip, and His and Her Grace would never permit that. No, they’d smile through gritted teeth, even knowing their son had been caught in the family gardens with a thirty-year-old servant.

  With a groan, she dropped her head atop her desk and lightly banged it.

  She’d been discovered with Barry. By his parents, of all people.

  And what was worse… she had no regrets. That was, with regards to everything that had come before they were discovered. Not true regrets anyway. She loved him. She loved being with him and laughing with him and making love with him. Her body still tingled and burned with the memory of Barry’s hands upon her.

  “Enough,” she whispered.

  In coming here, she’d made a promise to both his mother and him. And even now, as the duchess’s opinion and three thousand pounds did not matter… Barry did.

  Biting her lower lip, Meredith picked up the list the Duchess of Gayle had given her… ten days ago? A lifetime. This same list, Meredith had committed to memory, and yet, she made herself read it again, as a reminder.

  Setting it down, Meredith hastily scratched a handful of sentences. She tore the page carefully along the seam, and after she’d read over it several times, she folded it.

  She reached for another sheet, and her fingers tightened so hard about her pencil, the charcoal scrap left indentations upon her callused palm.

  And then she began to write. And write. And she continued writing until the numbness went away, and her fingers and neck both ached.

  There was a sharp, perfunctory knock, and Meredith whipped her head up.

  It had been inevitable.

  There’d be no summons, but a visit in her rooms, away from the prying eyes of other guests.

  Knock-knock-knock.

  Her stomach flipped over, and Meredith forced herself to stand. “Just a m-moment,” she called. She hurriedly finished off her words, signed the note, and then folded the three sheets of paper. Searching for time. Anything to delay the impending meeting. Even for just a handful of moments.

  She reached the door and took a steadying breath and braced herself to face—

  “Emilia?” she blurted.

  The way Emilia could not meet her gaze confirmed… her friend knew. “May I come in?”

  “Of course.” Meredith stepped out of the way and motioned the other woman inside. She closed the door behind them, and when she turned back, she found Emilia studying the two valises beside the armoire.

  “You have four valises,” her friend whispered.

  “Had,” she softly corrected, and to escape the emotion in Emilia’s eyes, she returned to the armoire to continue with her packing. “I had four. I only require two now.”

  “I… overheard my parents speaking.”

  And there it was.

  Meredith paused in midfold. “Oh.” Because, really, what else was there to say to Barry’s sister? She swiped a hand across her eyes. If Barry’s family was speaking so freely about her scandal, how much longer before all the world knew?

  Emilia removed a dress from the armoire and effortlessly folded the garment. “Do you love him?”

  Her lower lip trembled, and Meredith caught it hard between her teeth. Drawing in an unsteady breath, she knelt and packed away the garment. “It does not matter.”

  “Because your happiness does not matter?”

  “Because your brother’s future is not mine.” He was destined to wed a lady who shared his interest
s, not one with a scandalous past. Not when his experimental gardens were contingent upon him wedding the right woman.

  “That is not what I asked,” Emilia said matter-of-factly, laying the article she’d folded atop Meredith’s. Then, climbing to her feet, she went and gathered a chemise.

  Meredith studied the floor and then nodded. “I do.”

  “Have you told him?”

  “Of course not.”

  “And why ever not?” her friend shot back.

  Meredith jumped up. “Because it is not as simple as you’d have it seem. Titles and rank…” And in her case, lack thereof. “They matter.” She began to pace. “Nor, for that matter, do I have reason to believe your brother would even want a future with me.”

  Emilia frowned. “Barry isn’t one to go… go…” Her friend blanched. “I can’t say it,” she said around a grimace. “And I don’t even want to begin thinking about it. Not about my brother. But… but you know what I’m saying. He wouldn’t do that unless he cared.”

  Despite the misery at her impending departure, and the loss of Barry, Meredith found herself smiling.

  They were interrupted by a light scratch.

  “The scratch,” Emilia muttered.

  “How could I have forgotten?” Emilia’s earlier, more direct knock could have never been confused with the catlike clawing on the other side of the panel.

  They shared a smile, and Meredith found some strength in that show of support.

  The duchess didn’t bother to wait for an invitation—but then, a woman of her stature wouldn’t. She swept in, her gaze reserved for Meredith. “Out, Emilia.”

  Emilia positioned herself alongside Meredith. “I’m not leaving. Whatever you are going to say, Mother, you’ll say—”

  Meredith set a hand on her friend’s forearm. “It is fine,” she said softly. Grateful as she was for that display of solidarity, she’d not have Emilia fight with her family. Not on Meredith’s behalf.

  “But—”

  “I’d speak with your mother,” Meredith insisted in her firmer tones. Her gaze remained locked with the duchess. “Alone.”

  Her friend hesitated, and then with a tense nod, she quit the rooms.

  As soon as the door had closed behind her, the duchess pounced. “I invited you with one assignment laid out before you.”

  “I know that, Your Grace,” she said quietly. Only, it had never been about what the duchess had wanted. Not truly. Yes, the funds had represented security, but ultimately, she’d taken on the role so she might help Barry wed a woman who would bring him happiness. An idea that now threatened to cleave her in two.

  Peering down the length of her straight nose, the duchess eyed the mess of garments and valises. “Were my instructions somehow… unclear?”

  “They were not,” she said softly. “I did not anticipate, however, falling in love with your son.”

  The duchess made no outward reaction to that admission.

  Meredith took a steadying breath. “I love your son,” she went on. “And I want him to be happy.” Because his happiness meant more than even her own. And for all the pain of this moment and the ones that had come before—and the ones that would undoubtedly come after—anger whipped through her. Not for Meredith, but rather for Barry. Because of this woman and her husband. “I want Barry to be happy, which is far more than I can say for you and His Grace.”

  The duchess sputtered. “I beg your pardon?”

  Enlivened, Meredith stalked over to Her Grace. “You and your husband have asked Barry, since he was no more than a child, to conform to societal expectations. You’d have him do only that which Society deems appropriate and make him feel shame for ever daring to pursue intellectual interests that you find lacking.”

  “How dare you?”

  “I dare because it is true.” She took another step toward the duchess, this woman she’d bowed to since she’d been a child. “You’d craft a list of women whom you wish your son to marry, without a single consideration for who might be deserving of your son.” None. There is not a single woman. “You’d hold over him land, forcing him to barter one happiness for another,” she said, trying to will Her Grace to see, “all to satisfy you and your husband’s concern for the Gayle title.” Her chest rose and fell. “Without ever a thought that Barry should come first, before anything.”

  The duchess went slack-jawed and then slapped a hand against her chest. “Well, I never.”

  “No.” Meredith looked her up and down. “I trust you’ve never had anyone truly tell you how they feel.” She thrust a folded page at the duchess.

  Her Grace made no move to take it. “What is this?”

  “I’ve considered that which you’ve not. I’d ask that you give it to Barry.” She forced the sheet into the other woman’s hand. “I am done here. You needn’t worry about ever again seeing me.” At best, she could hope her long-ago connection would afford her the duchess’s silence so that Meredith could continue on to London in her role of matchmaker. She’d bring about unions for young ladies, while going back to the same, sad, lonely existence she’d had before Barry.

  Surprise rounded the duchess’s eyes. “You are leaving.”

  She was. And it was going to destroy her. Oh, God. Her heart wrenched; the weight of her pain threatened to drag her under.

  But she’d be damned if she let Barry’s mother see her suffering. She’d not allow her that satisfaction. Meredith clenched and unclenched her jaw. “I’m not leaving because of you. I’m not making this decision for you or His Grace or Emilia. I’m doing this for Barry. Because I love him. and I’d see him have the grounds he desires and the future he d-deserves.” Her voice broke, and she hated herself in that instant for revealing weakness before this woman.

  Unfolding the small, neatly torn sheet from Meredith’s notebook, Barry’s mother read the words written there and promptly refolded it. “I see.” With that, she turned on her heel and left.

  Meredith didn’t move for several long moments.

  Then, her shoulders slumped.

  Yes, she suspected the Duchess of Gayle indeed did see. Meredith would go, Barry would marry, and in that, the duchess had won.

  With tears stinging her eyes, Meredith resumed packing.

  Chapter 15

  Seated in the Duke of Gayle’s office, with the austere duke and duchess on one side of the desk and Barry on the other, Barry knew there could be only one certainty.

  His parents were displeased.

  Nay, they sat before him as he’d never seen them. Enraged. From the high color in their cheeks, to the matching glowers etched on their faces, fury simmered from the regal pair, on the cusp of boiling over.

  Which was saying a good deal, since as a rule, they ascribed to an existence where they showed no emotion.

  In the end, his mother broke the tense impasse. “I told you he was a shameful rogue. This is why I insisted he marry.”

  Barry shot up a hand. “If I may—”

  His parents snapped in unison, “You may not.”

  “You insisted he marry?” his father went on, not missing a beat. “I was the one losing sleep over his escapades in the gossip columns.”

  His mother snorted. “You’ve never lost sleep a day in your life, Geoffrey.”

  The duke thumped the desk. “That is unfair.”

  “Is that the reason you’ve called this meeting, Geoffrey? To lament your loss of sleep?”

  As his parents proceeded to bicker, Barry stared on in something akin to shock. Nay, it was shock. Unalloyed shock. In the whole of his existence, his parents had never succumbed to “plebian responses,” as his mother called them. Under other circumstances, Barry might have otherwise enjoyed their descent into normality.

  Alas, all this was secondary. His parents’ feelings and opinions, in this instant, were secondary.

  “If I may?” he called out, interrupting them once more.

  His father nudged out his chin. “Go on.”

  “I am sorry
you…” He yanked at his cravat, hopelessly wrinkling the fabric. “That is…”

  “For all the rumors of him being a rogue, he’s deuced bad at this,” his father muttered.

  “Indeed,” his mother said on a like whisper.

  “I hear you,” Barry said, feeling like he’d wandered onto a stage production of a farcical drama.

  His father gestured with his hand. “You were saying?”

  Barry sat up. “I regret that you came upon me—”

  “It wasn’t just you.”

  “—as I was earlier,” he finished, refusing to take his mother’s bait.

  “That is what you’re sorry for?” his mother asked archly. “Being discovered?”

  Yes, but not for the reasons she thought. It was because he’d not change that moment with Meredith for any damned botanical garden or horticultural society or anything. He was greedy, however. He didn’t want a single, stolen night with Meredith. His throat moved. He wanted a lifetime.

  His mother narrowed her eyes on his face. “Meredith was… quite eloquent in communicating her feelings for you…” She wrinkled her nose. “As well as her opinion of your father and I.”

  He could only begin to imagine what words Meredith had hurled. There was no woman more magnificent than Meredith Durant. Barry managed his first smile since his parents had come upon him in the gardens.

  “And I’ll have you know, hers would hardly constitute as a favorable opinion of your father and I,” his mother said, merely confirming that which Barry had suspected.

  “I trusted it wasn’t,” Barry said.

  The duke sputtered. “What in blazes did I do?”

  “Apparently, we’ve not supported Barry in his endeavors.”

  Despite the risk posed to her career and her future and her security, Meredith had gone toe-to-toe with Barry’s parents—for him.

  God, he didn’t know whether to kiss her or shake her for not caring after herself first before all. She was what mattered.

  “I must commend her, though. She did fulfill her obligation.”

  “Her…”

  His mother held out a folded sheet. Barry was out of his chair and across the room in three strides.