A Matchmaking Miss

by Joan Overfield

  The rest of the guests began trickling in that afternoon, and by dinner everyone had arrived. Joss was particularly pleased to see that his old friend Sir Valen had agreed to stay, even though his. own estates were only a little over an hour away.

  "It will do me good to get away," he told Joss, his turquoise eyes full of laughter as he relaxed against a club chair. "I have been having a spot of trouble with some of the local gentlemen, and I need the respite."

  "Not more irate husbands?" Joss teased, referring to an incident from their days at university when the furious husband of a pretty barmaid had come after Christopher with a knife.

  "I'm not talking about that sort of gentleman," Christopher clarified good-naturedly. "Having almost lost a rather important part of my anatomy I have sworn off married ladies. No, 'tis the smugglers I am talking about. The blasted creatures have become so shockingly bold about Lowestoft I've had to call the navy in for help."

  "Really?" Joss sat forward, cradling the snifter of brandy in his hand as he studied his friend. "I should have thought that with the wars ending there would be no need for their services."

  "Then you'd be wrong," Christopher replied bluntly. "The rascals are more active than ever, and when business is slow they supplement their income by wrecking and looting ships bound for Great Yarmouth. Four ships were lost in the last year alone, and the Admiralty is becoming alarmed."

  Joss could well imagine their concern. As a merchant, he was well aware of the havoc such criminals could wreak, and he felt for his friend's problem. "I had a similar problem last year, only in my case it was pirates off Madagascar. Still, I was able to devise a plan for dealing with them." He gave Christopher an uncertain look, hoping he wouldn't offend the other man. "If you're interested, I'd be happy to tell you the specifics."

  "Would you?" Christopher shot him a relieved look. "I'd be eternally in your debt. Thwarting a band of bloodthirsty cutthroats isn't at all what I had in mind when I became the baron, and I must admit to being at something of a loss."

  "We'll talk about it after dinner," Joss promised, brightening at the prospect. "If you don't mind I'll ask Raj to join us. He is an old hand at plotting."

  "The more the merrier, as they say," Christopher answered easily, lifting his glass in a toast. "And certainly I'll welcome any advice I can get." He took a sip of his brandy and gave a rich chuckle.

  "Why are you laughing?" Joss asked.

  "I was just thinking," Christopher said, tipping back in his chair. "The last time I saw you we were plotting the best way to smuggle a couple of lightskirts into the duke of Carlisle's ball. Who'd have thought then we'd end our frivolous youth weighed down with such duties and responsibilities? And do you know what's worse?"

  "What?"

  "I like it." A boyish shrug accompanied the admission. "I like working the land and seeing to the needs of my people. It's a challenge, and you know I could never resist a challenge. If my esteemed father had shared more of the responsibilities with me from the start I wouldn't have wasted so many years fighting against the inevitable."

  Joss said nothing, although he agreed with Christopher. He could remember begging his own father to let him help with the estate, only to be told coldly that it was none of his concern. Well, he didn't intend making the same mistakes with his son. He'd let the boy know from the start that Kirkswood was his to love and protect. He'd let him ride out with him when he made his rounds, and when the lad was old enough he'd — His reverie slammed to a halt as he realized what he'd been thinking.

  His son, he brooded, his hand trembling as he took a deep sip of the fiery liqueur. He'd never even considered the possibility before, but now he felt the need so strongly it was almost a pain. A son. A family. A place where he would finally belong and be welcomed. These were the things he had been searching for all his life without even knowing he was searching. The realization was a sobering one, but he'd never been a man to ignore the truth, however painful it might be.

  He was still wrestling with the implications when a servant tapped on the door and told him the other guests were assembling in the drawing room for tea and sherry.

  "Speaking of responsibilities," Christopher joked as he rose to his feet. "Well, there's no help for it, I suppose. Come along, my lord, 'tis time for you to do your duty."

  Joss gave him a thoughtful look. "Do you know, Valen, I do believe you are right," he said slowly. "I only pray God it is not too late." And with that cryptic remark he led a puzzled Christopher into the drawing room, where the other guests were waiting for them.

  Matty was the first person Joss saw when he and Christopher entered the drawing room. She was sitting behind the silver tea set, wearing a new gown of cream and cherry jaconet, a beribboned cap of cream cambric perched on her dark curls. Much as he longed to go directly to her he knew he couldn't ignore his duties as host, and spent several minutes exchanging greetings with his guests, most of whom he didn't know from Adam. Finally he was standing before her, his expression serious as he accepted the cup of tea she offered him.

  "I need to speak with you, Miss Stone," he said, his eyes meeting hers with unspoken urgency. "Would you please meet me in the hallway in five minutes?"

  "Certainly, my lord," she replied, puzzled by the grim look on his face. "Is there something amiss?"

  "Just meet me," he said, turning his back to her and walking away, leaving her both frustrated and alarmed. She waited a few discreet minutes before turning to the diminutive brunette who had just joined her on the settee.

  "I beg your pardon, Lady Sarah," she said, addressing the other lady with a polite smile, "but I was wondering if I might impose upon you to pour tea while I check on dinner. I hate to ask, but . . ."

  "It would be my pleasure, Miss Stone," Lady Sarah Frampton assured her, her pale cheeks pinking. "I'm rather shy, you see, and it's difficult for me to approach others. This way, they must come to me if they wish refreshment."

  "I hadn't thought of it quite like that," Matty replied with a laugh, "but I daresay you are right. I shall have to keep that in mind. Now, if you will excuse me I really must go. I promise to be back as soon as possible." And she slipped quickly out of the room.

  Joss was waiting for her in the hall, his dark auburn eyebrows almost meeting over his nose as he glared at her. "It is about time you got here," he grumbled, stepping forward to take hold of her arm. "I must speak with you, and I would prefer to do so without being overheard. This way." And he began dragging her toward the unoccupied day parlor.

  "My lord, what is wrong?" Matty demanded, her kid slippers barely touching the ground as she rushed to keep pace with him. "Has something happened to one of the tenants?"

  She received no answer, and her anxiety was soon eclipsed by indignation as he continued ignoring her demands for an explanation. By the time they reached the parlor she was in a temper, and the moment they were inside she freed herself from his grasp.

  "How dare you drag me about like that?" she raged, rubbing her arm as she scowled up at him. "I have a good mind to box your ears, and I shall if you ever dare to treat me like this again! Do you hear me?"

  Her furious threat brought a reluctant grin to Joss's face, but he quickly suppressed it. He might have known such highhanded tactics wouldn't work with Matty, he thought with an odd sense of pride. "One would have to be deaf not to hear you, Miss Stone," he drawled, although he was careful to keep any hint of amusement from showing. "You have made yourself quite clear, I assure you."

  "Well, what was it you wanted to discuss?" she muttered, only slightly mollified. "I'm sure it must be most important."

  Some of Joss's confidence vanished, and he began to pace the room. "When you first proposed this party, your sole purpose for doing so was to have me choose a bride from amongst the guests," he said, his eyes meeting hers as he rubbed the back of his neck with his hand. "Is that not so?"

  "I'd hoped you'd find someone compatible, yes," Matty admitted, recalling her conversation with Richard. S
he wondered if, like Richard, Joss still suspected her of plotting something nefarious, and she hastened to reassure him. "However, you needn't worry that I harbor any remaining hopes on that score, sir," she said, emphatically if not altogether honestly. "You stated your opinion of my scheme in a manner there was no mistaking, and — "

  "I've changed my mind."

  It took a moment for the quietly spoken words to register, and when they did Matty's eyes widened in disbelief. "I . . . I beg your pardon?" she stammered.

  Joss smiled at her stunned expression. "I've changed my mind. I want a bride, Matty; and what is more, I want you to choose her for me."

  Chapter Ten

  At first Matty could only stare at him, certain her ears had played her false. "You want a bride?" she echoed, wondering wildly if it was possible to become foxed on a single glass of sherry. She'd never had much of a head for spirits.

  "I've thought about what you said, and I've come to the conclusion that you're right," Joss said somewhat awkwardly, hating the need for an explanation but knowing he had no other choice. "Kirkswood needs a mistress, and for the good of the estate I've decided to take a bride."

  "I see," Matty managed, sitting down on one of the chairs with an unladylike plop. "That is very good of you, sir."

  "Is it?" Joss gave a shrug. "Perhaps. But in any case, I am in dead earnest when I say I want your help. Will you give it?"

  This was the culmination of all her hopes and schemes, Matty reminded herself glumly. She should be dancing a jig instead of feeling as if he'd just announced his intention to return to India on the next merchantman. But realizing he was gazing at her expectantly, she thrust her troubling thoughts to one side and drew herself up with cool pride.

  "Naturally, I shall be more than willing to place myself at your disposal, my lord," she said with brisk efficiency. "Although I do think I have already done more than my share. The rest is surely up to you."

  "You once showed me a list of prospective brides," Joss said, ignoring the last part of her remark. "Do you still have it?"

  "Yes."

  "Bring it to my study tomorrow morning. I'll also need an itinerary of the events you've planned for the week."

  Matty opened her mouth to protest at his autocratic commands, and then decided it would be a waste of time. If she'd learned anything about Joss, it was that, having once made up his mind to do something, he was immovable. "Very good, my lord," she said, rising to her feet as the sound of the dinner bell echoed from the hall. "Will there be anything else you require?"

  He didn't answer, but instead walked over to where she was standing and offered her his arm. Just as they reached the door he stopped, pulling her to a halt beside him. "There is one more thing," he said softly, his silver-green eyes meeting hers as he gazed down at her. "I thought it was agreed that when we are alone like this you would call me Joss."

  The intimacy in his low voice filled Matty with a welter of emotions. "I will endeavor to remember that," she muttered, furious with herself for the flush that stole across her cheeks. She'd never been one to engage in missish behavior, and it annoyed her that she should begin acting like a ninnyhammer now.

  Joss saw her entrancing blush and knew a moment of fierce satisfaction. Considering all the turmoil the little termagant had put him through in the past few weeks, he thought it only just that she should experience some discomfiture. "Good," he replied, giving her hand a warm squeeze. "See that you do." And with that he guided her into the drawing room where the other guests were waiting.

  Because so many of the guests had made the long journey from London, dinner that evening was an informal affair. None of the neighbors had been invited, and the atmosphere was surprisingly lighthearted. Even Juliana was being pleasant, although Matty strongly suspected that had more to do with her hopes to redeem herself than out of any desire to be congenial. Following the simple meal, the ladies retired to the parlor to await the gentlemen, who in typical masculine fashion had decided to linger over their brandy and cigars.

  Louisa, stunningly beautiful in a gown of midnight-blue satin, took her place behind the coffee pot, dispensing the beverage with a practiced hand: When everyone had been served she poured a cup for Matty and for herself, and then settled back in her chair.

  "Now, what is the latest on dit from London?" she asked, addressing her question to Miss Gossmoore, who was sitting at her right. "Is the prince still as fat as ever?"

  "Fatter," Miss Gossmoore replied, popping a bit of cream bun into her greedy mouth. "They say he wears two pair of stays, and I have seen for myself that he has taken to painting his face like a young cicisbeo. Really, if it weren't so sad, I daresay it would be vastly amusing."

  From there the talk moved easily to the foibles of the other members of the ton. While several of the ladies eagerly joined in shredding the reputations of friends and foe with equal abandon, Matty and Lady Sarah spent the time discussing favorite books. She was delighted to find her new acquaintance so well read, and when she said as much Sarah flushed with pretty distress.

  "I fear my father didn't share your enthusiasm for my bookish ways, Miss Stone," she said, her lips twisting in a rueful half smile. "He said it would make men think I am a bluestocking, and that they'd never offer for me. And, as I am four-and-twenty and still unwed, one may only assume he was right."

  "What rot!" Matty bristled to think of any father treating a gentle girl like Lady Sarah with such callous contempt. "Any gentleman worthy of the title should be delighted at having a wife who has more in her head than gossip or the latest fashion from Bond Street!"

  "Do you really think so?" Lady Sarah asked wistfully, her sherry-colored eyes flicking from Matty to where the other ladies were sitting.

  "Of course," Matty said stoutly, although she feared Lady Sarah's father probably had it right. "Lord Kirkswood, for example, is quite intelligent, and I am certain he would have no use for some silly widgeon as his wife."

  Lady Sarah looked much struck by this. "Do you think Sir Valen feels the same?"

  "I really don't know; I am not at all acquainted with the gentleman," Matty admitted, wondering uneasily if Lady Sarah had developed a tendresse for the baron. Lord, she hoped not. She'd only just decided she would make Joss a perfect wife, and she didn't want any complications.

  She was still brooding over the possibility when the gentlemen rejoined them. Mr. Fitzsimmons and Mr. Walter Smythe-Boothe shared a mutual interest in ancient Rome, and while they argued the merits of the third triumvirate it fell to Sir Valen and Lord Kirkswood to entertain the ladies. Fortunately, both men seemed more than equal to the task, or so it appeared to Matty, who watched with increasing disapproval as Joss flirted with both Juliana and Miss Gossmoore.

  Just who was Jocelyn Dunstable? she mused, raising her glass of sherry to her lips for a thoughtful sip. Was he the careless flirt who charmed all the ladies with the polished skill of a courtier, or the serious-faced man who spoke with brittle pain of the young nephew he'd never known? She didn't know, and what was worse, she was beginning to think it didn't matter. Whoever Joss was he was occupying her thoughts more and more, and for the first time in her life she feared she was about to make a very big fool of herself . . .

  At precisely ten the next morning Matty stood outside Joss's study, the requested list and itinerary clasped in her hands. After a good night's sleep she was her usual, confident self, and dismissed last night's low spirits as simple exhaustion. She'd been working eighteen hours a day for the past week, so it was hardly surprising she should find herself with the blue devils. Satisfied with that explanation, she took a deep breath and knocked on the door.

  When there was no answer she knocked again, her brows puckering with worry. She knew the marquess was usually hard at work by nine of the clock, and she wondered if perhaps he had decided to sleep in this morning. Praying this wasn't the case, she had reached out to try the door when she heard him call out from behind her.

  "Good morning, Miss Stone!"<
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  She turned to find him walking toward her, looking more handsome than ever in a tight jacket of hunter green velvet, his strong legs clad in a pair of fawn riding breeches. He was carrying a riding whip in one hand, a hat tucked beneath his arm, and she realized she had disturbed him as he was about to take his morning ride.

  "I beg your pardon, my lord," she said, aware of the footman standing by the staircase. "I brought the information you requested, but if you prefer I can come back later."

  Joss glanced from her anxious face to the papers she held in her hands, and bit back an impatient curse. He'd been longing for a good gallop on Leipzig, but he could see he would have to postpone it. Hiding his disappointment, he handed the hat and whip to the hovering footman.

  "Not at all, Miss Stone," he said, continuing toward her with a smile. "There is no time like the present, as they say, and I am most anxious to get started."

  Matty felt a sharp pang at his words, but she ignored it with studied determination. "Of course, sir," she replied, keeping all emotion from her voice as she shifted her papers from one arm to the other.

  Joss studied her, sensing the uneasiness behind her no-nonsense demeanor. Evidently the minx wasn't as comfortable with her marital schemes as she would like him to think, he mused, finding the notion surprisingly to his liking. He gazed at the closed door of his study, a spark of pure devilry lighting his eyes as he came to a swift decision.

  "But it is far too lovely a morning to waste in a stuffy room," he said, reaching out to take hold of her hand. "If you're going to bore me with business, Miss Stone, then I must insist you do so in more agreeable surroundings. This way." And ignoring her protests, he led her out into the formal gardens.

  "Here we are," he announced, escorting her to the most isolated corner of the garden. "This is much better, don't you agree?"

  Matty gazed about her, any protest she might have made withering at the sight of the roses opening their fragile petals to the morning air. She'd always loved the gardens, and this particular spot was one of her favorites. Much as she'd have enjoyed arguing the matter, she knew she couldn't in all honesty do so, and so she sent him a reluctant smile. "Much better," she agreed softly, lowering herself to the stone bench. "I thank you for the suggestion."