His confession surprised Matty, but she was nonetheless adamant. "I really cannot call you by your Christian name."
Her stubbornness was vexing, but Joss knew that she was right. "Not in public, I must agree with you there," he said, bracing his arms on the pommel of his saddle and gazing at her with steady eyes. "But when we're alone, like this, surely you can make an exception?"
Given the reasonableness of his request, Matty didn't see how she could disagree. "Very well . . . Joss," she said, trying his name for the first time and deciding she liked the sound of it. "But I must say again, it is most unseemly."
He laughed at that. "You disappoint me, Miss Stone. I had taken you for a lady who eschewed hidebound traditions."
"Then that only shows appearances can be deceiving," she replied, feeling greatly daring. She wondered if she should insist he address her by her given name, and then decided that would be too forward by half.
As if in response to her thoughts he said, "It occurs to me that if you're going to be making free with my name, I ought to be doing the same with yours . . . providing I have your permission?" He shot her a look that could only be described as teasing.
"If you wish." She inclined her head in what she hoped was a regal manner. Truth to tell, she was so bemused by his behavior that she didn't quite know what to think. Comparing him now to the cold, angry man she'd kidnapped in London, she could scarce believe they were the same person. Perhaps he was coming to accept his position, she thought, her spirits rising with hope.
"The problem is, shall I call you Matty, like your friend Mr. Stallings, or shall I call you Stone, as does Louisa? Surely you have a preference?" Joss asked, enjoying himself with unholy relish. Miss Stone was usually so unshakably certain that he found it comforting to see her thrown into perturbation.
"I would prefer Stone," she replied, deciding that it was time to end this bizarre conversation. "Now, if that is all, I believe 'tis time we were turning back. I have a great deal to do, and I have already wasted enough time."
Satisfied that he'd disturbed her enough for one day, Joss elected to be merciful. "Why, certainly, Stone," he said with a broad smile that in no way deceived its recipient. "Would you care to ride out with me on the morrow?"
"I'm afraid that won't be possible," Matty said, thinking she'd rather be stretched on the rack than endure another hour like the one just past. "With so much to be done in so short a time I haven't a moment to spare. Perhaps another time?"
"Perhaps." He mimicked her cool tone, his eyes bright with laughter. "Come, Stone, I shall race you back to the house." He whirled Leipzig around and raced off, leaving Matty no choice but to follow.
After taking leave of Matty in the main hallway, Joss dashed upstairs to change out of his riding clothes. He and Raj were going into Norwich to call upon the local merchants in order to arrange shipments of their products to Calcutta. With so many colonists moving to India, the demand for English goods was increasing, and Joss knew he'd make a handsome price selling the products to his nostalgic fellow countrymen. He'd just stripped off his hunting jacket and was about to ring for his valet when Raj walked into his room.
"I'm glad I caught you before you changed," he said, his expression somber. "I've been thinking, and I believe it may be best if I go to town alone."
Joss unraveled his cravat and tossed it on the bed. "Why?" he teased, still feeling lighthearted after his encounter with Miss Stone. "Afraid I'll pay too high a price for their goods? I may lack your innate bargaining skills, but I'm hardly a fool."
"I'm aware of that," Raj replied, his blue eyes dark. "But I still feel it will better if I go alone. Having you there may make the merchants . . . nervous."
That stilled Joss, and he turned to confront Raj. "Good God, why should you think that?" he demanded with a scowl. "Granted, I've been away for a number of years, but I've known most of these men since I was in short pants. Why should I make them nervous now?"
"Because you're the marquess."
"I know I am the marquess," Joss snapped, heartily sick of hearing that particular phrase. "But I fail to see why that should make any difference. If anything, it should make our work that much easier. Any merchant would be honored to have the Marquess of Kirkswood's trade."
"That may be, but that doesn't mean they want the Marquess of Kirkswood himself engaging in trade," Raj said bluntly. "It's not done, Joss. You know that as well as I do."
Joss gave him an incredulous look, his stomach sinking as he realized Raj was right. The merchants would be scandalized were he to attempt to strike a deal with them, to say nothing of how his high-born neighbors would react. He was a gentleman now, he reminded himself bitterly, and gentlemen did not sully their hands with anything so unsavory as trade. He whirled around, uttering a Hindustani curse that made Raj chuckle.
"I hardly think that sentiment particularly flattering to your mother," he said, although he understood Joss's frustration. "But I know what you mean. It's rather difficult, isn't it? Being neither fish nor fowl?"
"It's damned inconvenient is what it is," Joss retorted, thrusting a hand through his hair as he paced the room. He'd only just reconciled himself to his title, and realizing that title was a barrier to all he had hoped to accomplish was almost more than he could bear.
"The devil with the bloody title!" He exclaimed angrily. "I'll just renounce the damned thing and go back to India! I never wanted it in the first place, and it's been nothing but an inconvenience since."
Raj looked thoughtful. "You could do that, I suppose," he said, as if giving the matter careful consideration. "There is a distant cousin, is there not? I recall Lady Louisa mentioning him to me."
"Creighville?" Joss gave a loud snort at the thought of the foppish wastrel who was his late uncle's only son. "God, I'd do better to leave a monkey in charge."
"You could always retain the title but retire in style to India. You'd still not be allowed to participate in trade, but at least you'd be out of England."
"And end my days fat and useless, like the others? I'd rather put a bullet through my brain and be done with it." Joss shuddered at the thought of the aging Englishmen who'd made their fortunes and now lived like prisoners in silken cells they had created for themselves. It would be a living death, and he could think of no worse fate.
"Then there is nothing to be done, is there?" Raj concluded gently. "This is your life, Joss. You must accept it as it is."
Joss shot him a bitter look over his shoulder. "Has anyone ever told you that logic of yours can be damned annoying?"
"You, my lord, on more occasions than I care to remember."
"Well, it's true." Joss pinched the bridge of his nose as a feeling of defeat washed through him. "What am I going to do, Raj?" he asked bleakly. "What the devil am I going to do?"
The conversation with Joss was weighing heavily on Raj's mind a couple of days later as he took a stroll through the estate's gardens. Yesterday's transactions had gone quite well, and when the ship he and Joss had already purchased set sail for Calcutta, the hold would be filled with highly profitable merchandise. All that remained now was determining whether or not he would be aboard as well.
The direction of his thoughts made Raj's eyes darken with confusion. There shouldn't be any question at all, he told himself sternly. India was his home, or at least, the only place where he'd ever felt even halfway accepted, and he couldn't imagine living anywhere else. It was his life, and as he'd reminded Joss, one had no choice but to accept the life the fates handed one. His lips twisted in a self-deprecatory smile as he realized how pompous he must have sounded. It was a wonder Joss hadn't planted him a facer.
He continued wandering through the garden, noticing its wild and somewhat unkempt condition with surprise. One of the first things Joss had done was to hire a full staff of servants for the house, but it appeared he had overlooked the garden. Perhaps he'd mention the oversight to him, he thought, frowning as he started back to the house. He rounded a shaggy hed
ge and stopped short, his eyes widening in appreciation of the sight that greeted him.
Lady Louisa was walking through the rose garden, pausing occasionally to clip a rose and place it in the wicker basket swinging from her arm. She was wearing a wide-brimmed straw hat that tied beneath her chin with a pale lavender ribbon, and her slender body was draped in an exquisite dress of lavender and pink striped muslin. While he was watching, she lifted one of the roses and sniffed it, her eyes closing in appreciation of the heady fragrance.
Raj felt a jolt of pleasure shoot through him, and it was all he could do not to groan aloud. He had never seen a lovelier woman — or, he reminded himself grimly, a more unattainable one. Putting all thoughts of desire from his mind he stepped forward and made his presence known.
"Good morning, Lady Louisa."
She whirled around at the sound of his voice, her look of surprise giving way to a smile of welcome.
"Good morning, Mr. Fitzsimmons," she said, moving forward to greet him. "I see that like me you were unable to resist our flowers. Aren't they lovely?"
"Indeed they are, my lady," he agreed, bowing to her with grave courtesy. "And you are the loveliest flower of them all."
She shook her head at him in mock disappointment. "You mustn't insult our roses, sir. They may take offense and refuse to bloom."
"I was but being honest, ma'am," he insisted solemnly. "And how can the roses, knowing the truth, possibly resent it?"
She looked startled, and then gave a rich chuckle. "The Irish in you is rather strong this morning, Mr. Fitzsimmons, but I thank you anyway."
"What are you doing abroad at so early an hour?" Raj asked, falling into step beside her as she resumed clipping roses. "You don't usually come downstairs until luncheon."
Louisa's heart gave a skip as the realization he'd noted such a small detail about her. "It's guilt, I am afraid," she said with a light laugh, adding a delicate pink rose to her basket. "Poor Stone has been working like a Trojan getting the house readied for our party, and I thought the least I could do is add a flower arrangement or two. Not that it will matter."
"Why shouldn't it matter?" he asked, intrigued.
"Because Stone always moves them. Oh, she always says how lovely they are, and how much she admires them, but the first chance she gets she sneaks them off to some back room where no one will see them."
"Why don't you stop her?"
"Well, because they're so dreadful that even the maids wince when they see them," she admitted with a pretty laugh. "I've no sense of color or form, you see, and my arrangements tend to reflect that unfortunate lack. Frederick wouldn't allow one in the house."
"Frederick was a fool." The words were out before Raj could stop them, and he paled as he realized what he had said.
"I beg your pardon, my lady," he mumbled, appalled by his lack of control. "I had no right to say such a thing to you."
She gave him a sad smile. "Why? 'Tis the truth, even though I probably shouldn't say so." And she added with a grimace, "Frederick was my husband, and if nothing else I owe him my loyalty."
It was on the tip of Raj's tongue to remind her that loyalty was more than Frederick had ever granted her, but he managed to control the impulse. Instead he walked quietly at her side, his conscience warring with his heart as he found himself unable to stop thinking about his lovely hostess and the man who had been her husband. Finally he could contain himself no longer, and came to a halt on the garden path.
"Why did you marry him?" he asked, his eyes roaming her face. "Was it an arranged marriage?"
"In a manner of speaking," Louisa replied, her heart racing at the turbulent emotion visible in his intense blue eyes. "Papa was the earl of Balridge, and he made it clear that as his elder daughter I was expected to make a good marriage. Frederick was handsome, charming, and the heir to a respectable title, and when he offered for me I knew what my duty was. It was no great hardship . . . at first."
"But later?" Raj pressed, his insides twisting at the thought that she had suffered.
"Later did not matter," Louisa said, her chin coming up with pride. "I was married, and determined to do all that I could to be a good wife to my husband."
Raj found himself wanting to know more, but he decided he'd already asked far too many questions for one day. But there was still one question he needed to ask . . . had to ask, even if it offended her so much she asked him to leave. He reached out and cupped her chin, tilting her face up so that their eyes met. "Did you love him?" he asked, his heart thundering as he waited for his answer.
"No," she said quietly, her eyes meeting his without flinching. "No, I did not."
He knew he shouldn't have been so fiercely happy to hear her soft words, but he was. His darkly tanned finger stroked the curve of her cheek for the briefest of seconds, and then he stepped back, his face a controlled mask. "It is growing late, my lady," he said, his voice more accented than usual. "Allow me to escort you back to the house." And without waiting for her reply, he turned and started back to the manor house.
"Excuse me, Miss Stone?" One of the maids hired to help with the guests stood in the doorway of Matty's bedroom, a bright smile on her lips.
Matty glanced up from the chaise longue, wondering what had gone wrong now. "What is it, Becky?" she asked, marking her place with her finger. This was the first time in days she'd had a moment to herself, and she'd been looking forward to reading the novel Lady Louisa had given her.
"There's some packages for you, and I was wonderin' if you wanted to look through 'em afore I put 'em away."
That got her attention. "Packages?" she asked, frowning as she tried to remember if she had ordered anything. She had purchased some new sheep from a breeder in Northumbria, but she somehow doubted they would be delivered by coach.
"They come all the way from London, miss." Becky's dark eyes grew wide with wonder. "From one o' them fancy modest shops."
It took Matty a moment to realize the girl meant modiste, and she was still puzzling the matter over when the footmen arrived, carrying armloads of boxes. "But what is all this?" she cried, leaping up from her chaise longue, watching in confusion as the small parade filed past her. "I haven't ordered anything. Are you certain they aren't for Lady Louisa?"
"Oh no, Miss Stone." Becky had already dived into one of the boxes and was holding up a dress of shimmering topaz silk. "Her things have already arrived. These are for you."
"But who — " Matty stopped abruptly, an image of the marquess springing into her mind. Her lips thinned in anger as she gave the boxes a suspicious glare. "Did his lordship order these?" she demanded.
"I don't know." Becky was now examining a day dress of ruby and cream cambric. "The note only said they was for you."
"What note? Give it to me."
Becky obligingly fished the folded bill from the pocket of her apron and handed it to her. While the maid was exclaiming over the dress Matty scanned the note, her suspicions confirmed. The message was from a Madame Dumond, expressing her gratitude for his lordship's patronage and assuring him she was at his disposal should he have any further need of her services. There was also a postscript, saying that she hoped the riding habit met with his approval as she had taken special pains with it. Matty crumpled the note in her fist.
"Is there a riding habit in there?"
"I'm sure there must be, miss," Becky said, opening boxes and pawing through the mounds of tissue paper. "There seems to be everything else. Oh, this be just like Christmas! I can't wait to . . . aha!" She reached into one box, extracting a jacket of sapphire velvet. "Here 'tis."
Matty moved forward, her anger crumbling at the sight of the exquisitely designed riding habit Becky was holding up for her inspection. The jacket had wide lapels, cleverly decorated with silver braiding, complemented by the silver frogs at the front and more braiding about the cuffs. The full riding skirt was equally stunning, but what most melted her resolve was the matching hat that accompanied the habit. She picked it up reverently,
giving the silver plume adorning it a wistful flick. She'd never owned such a beautiful hat before. . . . She stopped the thought cold.
"Take them back."
"Miss?" Becky glanced up at her in confusion.
"Take them back," Matty repeated, dropping the hat and stepping back. "I didn't order these things, and I don't want them. Have them repacked and sent back to London."
The confusion on Becky's face gave way to horror at the thought of such waste. "But why?" she asked. "They are ever so pretty, and your own things . . . well, you'll forgive me I'm sure, but your own things — "
"Are my own things," Matty interrupted, her mouth set in stubborn lines. "There is no way I can pay for these, and I refuse to accept charity."
"But what shall I tell her ladyship?" Becky was close to tears.
"What has this to do with Lady Louisa?"
"Well, when we took her things up to her I mentioned you'd received some boxes too, and she seemed so pleased," Becky said with a watery sniff. "I — I'd not wish to be the one to upset her," she added, shooting Matty a reproving look.
Matty bit back a sigh as she realized Becky was right. If the marchioness knew of his lordship's gift, she would never understand her refusal. There would be tears, recriminations, and in the end, Matty knew she'd have no choice but to accept the lavish present. For a brief moment she wished her employer was stronger, but she quickly dismissed the thought as unkind. Her ladyship couldn't help being vulnerable and clinging, any more than Matty could help being what she was.
"I will talk to Lady Louisa," she sighed, her shoulders sagging with defeat.
"And his lordship?" Becky asked, nervously wringing her hands.
A calculating gleam stole into Matty's eyes. "I shall deal with him as well," she said softly. "In fact, it will be my pleasure to do so."
A Matchmaking Miss Page 11