“Barry,” his father scolded as he ripped the note from his mother’s fingers.
Ignoring him, Barry read the handful of lines.
He’d been wrong. He knew precisely what he wanted to do. The minx deserved a damned good shaking. But only after he kissed her thoroughly.
“What is that?” the duke demanded, looking from his wife, over to Barry, and then back again.
He seethed. “It appears Meredith Durant has selected my bride.” Just like that.
His father’s face lit up. “That is splendid!”
Barry and his mother spoke over each other.
“Enough, husband.”
“No. It isn’t.”
“Barry has found his match,” the duchess explained. “Isn’t that right, Barry?”
Yes, he’d found her. Long ago. He’d just not known it then. Now, he knew. Just as he knew he’d never be happy with another.
“And she certainly isn’t that stranger on the sheet that Meredith insisted I give you,” his mother went on, cutting into his musings.
He creased his brow and tried to make sense of what his mother was saying.
And then he went absolutely motionless. Impossible. Surely not… And then he caught the smug glimmer in his mother’s eyes. All the air left him on a slow exhale. “It was you.”
His mother smirked. “Well, it wasn’t just me.”
“You brought her here.”
A wide, unrestrained smile wreathed her face.
“I don’t…”
“Understand?” She patted his arm. “Gentlemen never do.”
The duke grumbled, “I understood quite well.”
Barry was gobsmacked a second time for their exchange. “You, too?”
“Hmph. Needn’t sound so shocked about it.”
His mother slipped her hand through the duke’s and drew it close to her heart. “I’d be remiss if I didn’t give credit where credit was due. When you arrived several months ago, indicating that you’d seen Meredith, your father pointed out that he’d never seen you react so about any woman and suggested we bring her to visit.”
The duke stared affectionately at the top of his wife’s head. “At which point, your mother pointed out that any lady we suggested for you would send you fleeing.”
Flummoxed, Barry rocked back on his heels. “Good God, you set me up?”
With matching smiles, husband and wife looked at each other. “Indeed.”
His mind spinning, Barry resumed reading the sentences written in Meredith’s neat hand. “She’s mad,” he whispered.
The duke guffawed. “Alas, if your intentions are to win the lady, might I recommend ‘keeper of my heart’ or ‘dear heart’? Really, anything other than ‘mad.’”
There’d be time enough for endearments later. Hopefully. If he was successful. Barry was already tearing across the room.
His heart thundering, he bolted through the corridors. Passing servants and the straggling guest.
My God, my parents saw and knew. Reaching the stairs, he didn’t break his stride, taking them two at a time. The moment he reached the landing, he took off until he reached her room.
Barry skidded to a stop.
He didn’t bother knocking.
Meredith gasped. “Barry, what are you…?”
He shoved the door closed with the heel of his boot. Narrowing his gaze on the two valises at her feet and then the partially white chemise in her fingers, he started forward. “I trust the better question is, what are you doing?” It didn’t require clarifying. It was quite obvious she intended to leave. And equal parts panic and outrage pounded away in his chest.
She followed his stare and stood. “This? I think it should be fairly obvious, Barry… I’m folding…”
Barry stopped before her.
Meredith wetted her lips. “Oh. You refer to my leaving.”
Her leaving. She’d said it. How casually she spoke of her departure that would cleave him open and leave him forever destroyed. And what was worse… she was choosing to go. For all that they’d shared these past days, she’d simply… pack up… and walk out of his life?
“We’re not done here, Meredith,” he said silkily.
She hugged the chemise close to her chest. “Barry, please don’t make this harder than it is.”
If she thought he was going to make this easy, she didn’t know a thing about anything.
Unfolding the pages, he proceeded to read them aloud.
“‘Dearest Barry…’”
“I know what I wrote, Barry.”
He continued on, “‘I promised I’d help you make a match with a woman who’d have you deliriously happy, and I confess I’ve failed you. Not because I do not believe there isn’t a woman who could make you happy. Nor because I don’t believe there exists a woman out there who’d appreciate your wit, and your skills, and your… everything. Because there is such a woman. And you are so very deserving of her.’”
Barry ceased reading and refolded the pages along the seams. “I fear you’ve not done yourself credit,” he said.
She wetted her lips again. “I’ve not?”
“Yes, you found me the perfect match.”
*
She should be only elated.
She’d done it. Of the guests invited by the duchess, and the young women selected as potential brides, Meredith had found the one woman who’d not been on his mother’s list, and yet, who, with her appreciation for botany, shared Barry’s passions. And she would be a companion and friend to him.
He’d have those lands his parents had dangled over him.
Tears stung her eyes, and she made a show of refolding the chemise in her hands. “Lady Agatha will make a fine wife.”
He dropped a shoulder against her armoire. “I’m certain.”
Her face crumpled.
“For some gentleman, she will.”
She froze. For some gentleman? Which implied…
“I’m not, however, going to be that gentleman.”
Her heart did a funny little leap and then settled into a normal beat. “But you don’t know her, Barry,” she said quietly. “She is witty and clever and kind and—”
Barry kissed her, and all thought fled. The taste of him, sweet and spellbinding, pulled her deeper into his hold.
He drew back, and Meredith’s lashes fluttered.
“You promised you’d help me make a match with a woman who’d have me deliriously happy, and you did, Meredith,” he said hoarsely. “You promised there was a woman who’d make me happy and appreciate me. And I found her.”
Her lips quivered. “Me?” She wanted it to be her. Since she’d come upon him at the Royal Horticultural Society, reading poetry among the roses, her heart had belonged to him. Nay, longer.
“Yes, you daft woman.” A pained-sounding laugh rumbled in his chest as he took her by the shoulders and gave a light squeeze. “It is you.”
He went on, “I’m not looking for someone who has the same interests. I’m looking for someone with whom I can share my life and who wants to share mine. I want a partnership in which we learn from each other. I always knew it was you, Meredith.” Barry drew out his watch fob and pressed the metal clasp. The case sprang open. Wordlessly, he turned the gold piece so she could see it, and Meredith brought her palms up, stifling a gasp.
A crystal case covered a pressed rose, aged brown by time.
“You know they say yellow roses signify friendship shared.”
Tears spilled, unchecked, down Meredith’s cheeks, and she struggled to see his beloved face.
With the pad of his thumb, Barry wiped away the remaining drops.
“But your gardens…”
He crushed the pages in his fist and shook it at her. “Do you think I give a jot about the horticultural society?” he snapped.
Her eyes widened. “Why, yes. Yes, I do.” When he spoke of flowers, he did so with reverence.
He frowned. “Fine, I do give a jot about it.” Barry waved the wrinkled pa
ges at her once more. “But do you truly believe I care about it and any land or anything more than you?”
She tried to make her mouth move, but there were no words.
“Alas, you’ve been outmatchmade, love. It was my parents’ grand plan all along to bring us together.”
Meredith drew back. “Impossible.” His mother had been clear in her expectations. Hadn’t she?
“Oh, I assure you. It was quite masterful, really. Impressive. Even if I’d not bring myself to admit as much to them.” All hint of teasing fled his features, and emotion rippled over Barry’s face. He let her note drop to his side. “How do you not know that I am so desperately in love with you?”
Her breath caught, and she shot a palm behind her to catch herself on a chair. “Mayhap because you’ve never said it?” she ventured hesitantly.
“You are the only woman who has seen beyond the image of rogue and scapegrace. You are the only one to see more. And the lies I allowed Society to believe.” His gaze touched her like a physical caress. “You are the only woman I’ve ever known”—he paused—“in any way, Meredith.”
Her heart fluttered. “You…”
Barry dropped his brow against hers. “You are the only woman I’ve ever made love to, because I wanted that moment to be with a woman who loves me in return, just as I am. Not as the current title or the future duke. And if you weren’t so stubborn, you would just marry me.”
Meredith lifted trembling fingers to the heart locket at her throat. She fiddled with the latch, and it sprang open.
He sucked in a breath. “Meredith.”
She stroked a finger lovingly over the casing that covered a tiny piece of a lone rose petal. “In those days when life was hardest, when I was alone, Barry, I touched this locket and remembered you.”
He groaned, the sound low and primal.
“I love you.” She wept. “Yes, I will marry you.” She launched herself into his arms. Barry staggered back, colliding with the armoire and keeping them upright. “Yes, I’ll marry you. I love you, Barry. I want a future with you. And gardens. And babies. And pathetically poor matches of pall-mall. All of it.”
He looped an arm around her waist and drew her closer. “It is all yours, love. All of it.”
The End
Enjoyed, A Matchmaker for a Marquess? Be sure and check out Christi Caldwell’s next book coming August 2019, The Minx Who Met Her Match, Book 4 in The Brethren series!!
And also coming from Christi….
September 2019
The Spitfire, Book 5 in the Wicked Wallflowers series
Her dream is to open a music hall. Only one thing stands in her way—the man she loves. The final Wicked Wallflowers novel from USA Today bestselling author Christi Caldwell.
Leaving behind her life as a courtesan and madam, Clara Winters is moving far from the sinful life to which she was accustomed in the gaming hell the Devil’s Den. Her more reputable and fulfilling endeavor is a music hall for the masses. One night, when she sees a man injured on the streets of East London, she rushes to his aid and brings him home. It’s then that she discovers he’s Henry March, Earl of Waterson, and a member of Parliament. No good can come from playing nursemaid to a nobleman.
When Henry rouses to meet his savior in blonde curls, he is dazzled. This smart and loving spitfire challenges his every notion of the lower classes—and every moment together is a thrill. But after Henry returns to his well-ordered existence, he strikes a political compromise that has unintended consequences. Will his vision for London mean dashing the dreams of his lovely guardian angel?
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