A Matchmaking Miss

by Joan Overfield

  "How dare you speak to me of duty and Kirkswood," he said, his voice tight with control. "You know nothing of the matter. Nothing."

  "I know you've been back in England a month, and yet you've not troubled yourself to visit your brother's widow," Miss Stone said bluntly. "Nor have you responded to any of my letters, except to put me off with threats and promises."

  Her accusations stung, all the more so because he knew she was right. "I'm not some errant schoolboy to be sent for," he muttered, hiding his discomfiture behind a scowl. "And for your information, Miss Stone, I was planning to visit Kirkswood within a week or so." For some reason he couldn't explain, he was reluctant to tell her of his plans to drive down on the following day.

  "A week or so may have been too late."

  Joss was about to demand that she explain that cryptic remark when the carriage suddenly rumbled to a halt. Seconds later the door was flung open, and a hulking man with a cap pulled low over his brow poked his head inside. "We be changin' teams, Missy," he said, casting Joss an uncertain look. "Do ye need to get out?"

  "No, I am fine." She gave him a warm smile before turning to Joss. "And what of you, sir?" she asked, her eyes not quite meeting his. "I am afraid I can not risk untying you, but if you have need to . . . er . . . stretch your legs, I am sure my driver could assist you."

  Joss stared at her pink face. "No, thank you, Miss Stone," he said with cool irony. "I haven't required any assistance in that particular quarter since I was out of leading strings."

  She turned even pinker. "As you wish, my lord. But I warn you, we are still many miles from Kirkswood."

  He didn't answer until they were on their way once more. "Do you intend telling me our driver's name, or is that a secret you mean to take to your grave?"

  "It is a secret," she admitted, her hands folded once more in her lap. "In the event that you do have me arrested, I don't intend that anyone else should suffer for my actions. There has been enough suffering at Kirkswood as it is."

  "So you have been saying," he commented, studying her through narrowed eyes. She was still wearing that hideously plain gray ballgown, covered by an equally ugly cape that looked several decades out of fashion. Except for the thick, unruly curls escaping from her lopsided bun, she looked as innocent as a governess at tea, and he could scarcely believe she had actually had the brass to kidnap him.

  "Well, it's true." Matty scowled at him. Since regaining consciousness the marquess hadn't done a single thing she expected, and she was beginning to realize that she had underestimated her foe. "Things are in a proper tangle, and your neglect has only made them worse. I've tried to help, but there is a limit to what I can do. And now that the tenants are being lured away — "

  "Which tenants?"

  "The Simpsons, the Tessmans, Tom Florey — "

  Joss sat forward at the familiar name. "Tom Florey? He was in charge of the home farm, the last I heard."

  "And so he is . . . or rather was, until he decided to accept Lord Wainfield's offer to act as his steward. One can hardly blame him; he has a family to feed, after all, and he can't be expected to go without wages for another year."

  "What the devil are you talking about?" Joss demanded, the ropes binding him temporarily forgotten. "My solicitor assured me there were no problems with the estate!"

  "Your solicitor? That would be a Mr. Reginald Hedgerton of Harrowby Street?"

  "Yes." He wasn't sure he cared for the tone of her voice.

  "I've written to him several times since Lord Frederick's death, and I found him to be . . . shall we say, less than sympathetic?" Matty said, her lips thinning in renewed anger at the thought of the solicitor's high-handed behavior. "Easy for him to advise Lady Louisa to live within her means, when he's not the one attempting to keep an estate going on a quarterly allowance."

  Joss shifted uncomfortably, recalling that the solicitor had said something about the countess dunning him for more money. At the time he'd attributed her actions to greed, but now . . .

  "May I ask what you mean?" he queried, trying not to topple over as the carriage rounded a particularly sharp bend. "It was my understanding that the estate was entailed."

  "The estate, yes, but not the fortune to run it," Matty answered, feeling a pang of guilt as he struggled to keep his balance. "The bulk of the money is being held in trust for you, and Mr. Hedgerton seems determined not to part with a penny of it — not even when I wrote to him that Lady Louisa was reduced to selling her jewels to pay the grocer's bill."

  "What?" Joss tried sitting forward, and almost landed in Miss Stone's lap. He straightened himself with a muttered curse and shot her an exasperated look. "Ma'am, if I give you my word that I won't escape, would you kindly untie these blasted ropes? I feel a fool sitting here trussed up like a Christmas goose."

  The analogy brought a reluctant smile to Matty's lips. She'd already determined he posed no particular threat to her, and decided she had nothing to lose in granting his request. Still . . . "Your most solemn word, sir?" she asked, eyeing his broad shoulders with trepidation.

  "My word as a gentleman," he promised, furious that she would dare question his honor in so bold a manner.

  "Very well." She moved over to sit beside him, her slender fingers making easy work of the knots. "But I warn you, I shall be extremely vexed if you give me the slip."

  "I won't," he promised, biting back a groan as pain shot through his hands and feet.

  "Does that hurt?" She gently stroked the chafed area on his tanned wrists. "I am sorry. James assured me that the ropes didn't hurt a bit when I tied him up. But of course, he didn't try escaping as you did."

  "Then you're saying I have only myself to blame, is that it?" he asked, his shoulders relaxing as the pain gradually eased.

  "Perhaps," she conceded, uncertain if he was teasing. "I did warn you not to struggle."

  "So you did." He raised curious eyes to study the face that was inches from his own. "And who is James, might I ask? I thought you didn't make a habit of kidnapping innocent men."

  "James is our groom; he let me tie him up so that I would know what to do," Matty explained, her color deepening as she realized she was still cradling his hand in hers. She gently dropped it and returned to her own seat.

  "I see. That was very obliging of him," Joss replied gravely, his jaw clenching as he tried not to smile. By rights he knew he ought to be furious, but somehow the image of Miss Stone studiously practicing her skills on a hapless servant appealed to his sense of the ridiculous.

  "I thought so; Kingsley almost had a fit of the vapors when I asked him."

  "Kingsley!" Joss exclaimed, temporarily diverted at the mention of the butler he remembered from his youth. "Good heavens — never say he is still at Kirkswood! He was almost Methusula's age when I was a lad."

  "Indeed he is, and still as pompous as ever," Matty said, with a rueful shake of her head. "He asked me to assure you that Cook would be preparing lemon biscuits in honor of your arrival. They are a favorite of yours, I believe?"

  Joss closed his eyes and for a moment he was back in his lonely schoolroom, savoring the tart cookies smuggled in by a maid who didn't hold with keeping disobedient boys on a diet of bread and water. "Yes," he said softly, a bittersweet pain shooting through him, "they are."

  There was an uncomfortable silence, and then Joss gave a weary sigh. "Tell me about my brother's death," he instructed, pinching the bridge of his nose in a tired gesture. "Hedgerton would only say it was a carriage accident, but I suspect there was more to it than that. Was he foxed?"

  The blunt demand took Matty unawares, and for a moment she considered dissembling. But a quick glance at his hard expression dissuaded her, and she met his icy green gaze with unwavering honesty. "He was, my lord," she said, and proceeded to acquaint him with the tragic details of the ill-fated race from London to Norfolk that had resulted in the young marquess's death. When she finished, Lord Kirkswood gave a bitter laugh.

  "I recall my father lectu
ring Frederick on the evils of drink," he said, his lips twisting in a parody of a smile. "He always said it would be the death of him."

  Another silence ensued as Joss turned to gaze out the window. It was almost light now, and he could discern, barely, the shapes of the houses and cottages they were passing. "How long before we reach Kirkswood?" he asked, not bothering to turn his head.

  "About two hours," she said, wondering what was going on behind his inscrutable eyes.

  "We've made good time. You must have planned well."

  Matty wasn't sure how to take that. "I took precautions," she admitted, annoyed to find her hands were trembling. It wasn't that she feared what would become of her, she thought, nervously threading her fingers together. Rather it was fear of what would become of Kirkswood, if he ordered the coachman to turn around. So much rested upon his decision, and what galled her most was the realization that there was nothing she could do about it. Helplessness was not a condition she cared for, and some of that displeasure showed in the challenging look she gave him.

  "All that remains to be seen is whether or not my efforts are worth the pain," she said, her chin tilted at a defiant angle. "Will you be staying, my lord, or is it your intention to return to London?"

  Joss turned from the window, meeting her mutinous glare with amusement. "Oh, I'll return to London . . . eventually," he drawled, watching her through half-lowered lashes. "In the meanwhile, I want to hear more about Kirkswood. Besides lack of funds, are there any other problems I need to know about?"

  Matty continued glaring at him, wishing she dared press for a more precise answer. "There are several problems," she said at last, deciding that for the moment, at least, she had no choice but to accept his apparent capitulation. "The most immediate is the planting. It must be undertaken at once if we wish to have a harvest in the fall."

  "You haven't started the planting?" He sat forward, his brows meeting in annoyance. "My God, woman, it is the middle of April!"

  "I am well-versed in the use of a calendar, my lord!" she shot back, outraged at his criticism. "But it is rather difficult to undertake a planting when one has neither the funds nor the help! Or perhaps you thought crops planted themselves?" she added, with a sneering laugh.

  Before Joss could respond a shot rang out, and she heard the footman riding atop give a startled cry. "Highwaymen!"

  Automatically, she leaned toward the window, only to find Lord Kirkswood blocking her way. "Get down!" he ordered tersely, shoving her roughly to the floor of the coach.

  A second bullet whizzed past the window, followed by a deep voice calling out, "Halt the carriage or I'll shoot the lead horse!"

  "He can't shoot the horse," Matty protested from her undignified position, "it's rented!"

  Joss threw back his head and laughed. "I applaud your logic, Miss Stone," he said, chuckling even as the carriage was slowing. "But in any case, I think we had best do precisely as he says. Something tells me this particular villain means business."

  "Of all times to be waylaid," Matty was grumbling, as the marquess lifted her off the floor and back onto her seat. "I cannot think what this country is coming to."

  "Indeed, it is too shocking to contemplate." Joss was leaning negligently against the cushions, his arms folded across his chest as he regarded her. "They'll be kidnapping innocent people from balls before you know it."

  Matty turned a bright scarlet at the hit, but there was no time to reply, as the door to the carriage was jerked open and she found herself gazing down the barrel of a pistol. She swallowed in fear, wondering fatalistically if it would hurt to be shot.

  Beside her, Joss gazed at the gunman with what could only be called marked impatience. "It's about time you got here," he accused in a deep voice. "What the devil kept you?"

  Chapter Three

  Rajana gazed steadily at Joss, his dark blue eyes enigmatic as he searched his friend's face. What he saw must have satisfied him, for he lowered the pistol with an apologetic shrug. "The gentleman at the last inn seemed reluctant to part with his horse," he said by way of explanation. "It took me a few minutes to . . . persuade him."

  "Is he still alive?" Joss asked, recalling how deadly Raj's methods of persuasion could be. "Or will it be necessary for me to slip you quietly out of the country?"

  "Alive," Raj assured him, "and feeling quite pleased with himself. I paid him a hundred guineas for the wretched animal." His eyes drifted to the other occupant of the carriage, and he gave her a polite bow. "Miss Winkendale."

  "Sir." Matty managed a stiff nod. She recognized him as the marquess's friend, and knew his presence meant the end of her carefully laid plans. Of all the poor luck, she fumed, resisting the urge to stamp her foot in frustration. They were less than an hour from Kirkswood, and to have come this close to achieving her goal, only to be thwarted, was almost more than she could bear.

  Raj's attention had returned to Joss. "Are you all right?" he asked in Hindustani. "When you disappeared, I fear I thought the worst."

  "As did I," Joss admitted in the same language, "but other than my pride, I am fine."

  They continued talking while Matty listened in mounting frustration. In the past few hours she'd kidnapped a marquess, raced half way across East Anglia, and been fired upon by a ruffian who was still holding the pistol in his gloved hand. Having endured all that, she was cursed if she'd sit meekly by while the pair of them jabbered away about her as if she wasn't there.

  "Excuse me," she said, her voice loud as she glared at them, "but if you are going to talk about me, you might at least have the decency to do so in English. It is very rude to prattle on in some foreign tongue when you must know I cannot understand a word."

  They gazed at her, and there was another incomprehensible exchange. Mr. Fitzsimmons was the first to speak, his expression mocking as he dropped her a bow. "Your pardon, Miss Stone, if I have offended your delicate sensibilities. Few criminals of my acquaintance are so concerned with social niceties."

  "Ah, but Miss Stone isn't a criminal," Joss drawled before she could speak. "She is a lady; she told me so herself while holding me bound and gagged."

  "I didn't gag you!" Matty denied indignantly. "And more is the pity. Perhaps if I had I might have been spared some of your arrogance!"

  "I stand corrected," Joss amended, with a sardonic grin. He'd regained control of his temper even before Raj's dramatic appearance, and was in an oddly lighthearted mood. "I was not gagged, Raj."

  "That is reassuring." Raj was surprised by his friend's playful response. After hearing the incredible tale of his abduction, he would have expected Joss to be coldly furious; instead he seemed amused. An interesting development, he thought, pocketing his pistol with a bemused frown.

  Now that Mr. Fitzsimmons was no longer holding her at gunpoint, Matty released the breath she had been holding. In the bright light of day, last night's events seemed almost a dream, and she wondered glumly what would happen next. The marquess was free to go should he so desire, and she was powerless to stop him. Deciding she had nothing left to lose, she turned to him, no trace of fear visible on her composed features.

  "We are but a few miles from Kirkswood, my lord," she said, forcing her voice to remain even. "I know you have no great affection for me at the moment, and I don't blame you. However, I would be grateful if you would consent to continue our journey — if only to see Lady Kirkswood," she added hastily, lest he refuse. "She — she is looking forward to meeting you."

  That did surprise Joss. "Do you mean she was part of this as well?" he asked, wondering if the entire world was conspiring against him.

  "No!" Matty was quick to defend her mistress. "That is . . . she was aware I was planning to . . . er . . . "

  "Abduct me," Joss supplied helpfully.

  "Abduct you." Matty shot him a resentful look. "But she had nothing whatsoever to do with it. Please believe that."

  "Oddly enough, I do, but that doesn't mean I am ready to forgive her. Or you, for that matter."
/>   "But you will come?" She was almost afraid to hope.

  Joss wanted to refuse, suddenly afraid to face all he had lost so many years ago . . . all that had been taken from him. Then he remembered what Raj had said about destiny, and he knew what his answer would be. Not that he intended making it easy on his abductor, however. Aware that he was being perverse, but not caring, he leaned back against the seat and gave her a cool look.

  "I will come," he conceded at last, "but it will be my decision when I leave. Attempt to delay me, and you will not find me so amenable. Do you understand?"

  "Yes, my lord." Matty's shoulders slumped as relief washed through her. "And thank you. You won't regret this, I promise you."

  After some discussion, it was decided the footman would ride Raj's horse ahead, while he continued the journey in the carriage. Once they were settled, Joss turned to Matty. "Your pardon, Miss Stone," he said coldly, "but there are some things I need to discuss with Rajana, and it will be easier if we converse in his language. Do you mind?"

  "Certainly not, my lord," Matty answered, although she knew it would do little good if she did have objections. His lordship had made it quite plain that he would brook no opposition from her.

  "Thank you." Joss looked at Raj, whom he found regarding him with a sardonic expression.

  "My language, is it?" he drawled in Hindustani, crossing one foot over the other. "You'll have your Miss Stone thinking me a half-tutored savage."

  "She'd be partially right, then," Joss returned, not bothering to disclaim ownership of Miss Stone. "By the way, allow me to compliment you on your toilet. Can't say as I've ever seen evening breeches worn with Hessians. A new fashion, perhaps?"

  Raj gazed down at a mud-spattered toe. "There was no time to change anything other than my dancing slippers," he said with a shrug. "Now, tell me more about Kirkswood. I surmise there are some unexpected problems?"

  While Joss was relating all he had learned, Matty leaned back against the cushions, struggling to keep her eyes open. She'd been awake for over twenty-four hours with only a little sleep, and it was catching up with her. At least she'd achieved her objective, she congratulated herself, studying the marquess through half-lowered lashes. Lord Kirkswood had agreed to return home, and he even seemed interested in the estate. Perhaps he wasn't like his brother after all, she thought, patting back a yawn.