Always the Matchmaker
Never the Bride
Book 8
Emily E K Murdoch
© Copyright 2020 by Emily E K Murdoch
Text by Emily E K Murdoch
Cover by Dar Albert
Dragonblade Publishing, Inc. is an imprint of Kathryn Le Veque Novels, Inc.
P.O. Box 7968
La Verne CA 91750
[email protected]
Produced in the United States of America
First Edition November 2020
Kindle Edition
Reproduction of any kind except where it pertains to short quotes in relation to advertising or promotion is strictly prohibited.
All Rights Reserved.
The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.
License Notes:
This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook, once purchased, may not be re-sold. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it or borrow it, or it was not purchased for you and given as a gift for your use only, then please return it and purchase your own copy. If this book was purchased on an unauthorized platform, then it is a pirated and/or unauthorized copy and violators will be prosecuted to the full extent of the law. Do not purchase or accept pirated copies. Thank you for respecting the author’s hard work. For subsidiary rights, contact Dragonblade Publishing, Inc.
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Additional Dragonblade books by Author Emily E K Murdoch
Never The Bride Series
Always the Bridesmaid (Book 1)
Always the Chaperone (Book 2)
Always the Courtesan (Book 3)
Always the Best Friend (Book 4)
Always the Wallflower (Book 5)
Always the Bluestocking (Book 6)
Always the Rival (Book 7)
Always the Matchmaker (Book 8)
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Publisher’s Note
Additional Dragonblade books by Author Emily E K Murdoch
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Epilogue
About Emily E K Murdoch
Chapter One
She promised not to cry. It was foolish. Miss Theodosia Ashbrooke attended so many weddings every year that attempting not to cry went against her sensibilities.
Especially when it was one of her weddings.
“Charles and Priscilla have consented together in holy wedlock, and have witnessed the same before God and this company,” the vicar said, smiling benevolently, “and thereto have given and pledged their troth, and have declared the same by giving and receiving of a ring, and by joining of hands, I pronounce that they be man and wife, together.”
The happy couple beamed as Theodosia held a lace handkerchief to hide the tears threatening to pour at any moment.
How could she help it? Another wedding, another success, and all thanks to her careful and delicate matchmaking skills. The bride may never know the full extent of her interference this time, not being officially a client, but still…
Theodosia smiled as the newlyweds took their seats in the pew before her, ready to listen to the marital sermon. Charles had no idea what was good for him, the fool—despite being the Duke of Orrinshire. He would never have realized his affections for Miss Seton if it not for her delicate maneuvering.
Sometimes Miss Ashbrooke’s matchmaking service was so good, one did not even need to be paying her to gain a happily ever after.
“Dearly beloved, marriage is a holy thing,” the vicar said in a slow, smiling voice. “And yet it reminds us, of course, of the harmony intended between God and His Church. When we read…”
Theodosia sighed and immediately stopped listening. She was hardly a heathen, but after fourteen weddings this year, she had heard almost every variation of the wedding sermon and was probably qualified enough to give one of her own.
She glanced around the church. Packed to the rafters, as one would expect for a lady so well respected as Miss Seton and a gentleman so well known as Charles Audley, the Duke of Orrinshire, there were some new faces to Theodosia.
All the better. Many of the ladies were quite pretty and of eligible age. Theodosia’s fingers itched to retrieve her notebook from her reticule immediately but would wait until the wedding reception. She would have plenty of time there to examine ladies for their suitability—not that her requirements were that high, at present. If she were to find Lord Rust’s nephew a bride, she would need to find at least three more.
Inspiration struck, and Theodosia leaned forward to tap the bride gently on the shoulder. At first, Priscilla did not move. After several more delicate taps on her shoulder, still nothing.
“Miss Seton!” whispered Theodosia, ensuring her voice did not carry above the tones of the reverend. “Miss Seton!”
The bride turned her head just enough to catch the matchmaker’s gaze. “You of all people, Miss Ashbrooke, should know better than to address me with my maiden name!”
The whisper carried, but Theodosia was bold enough to ignore the looks it attracted. One had to be far craftier when a matchmaker.
“Tosh, you are a maiden still,” she whispered, noting with interest the scarlet blush that seared the bride’s cheeks. “Now, tell me. Do you know of any eligible young ladies you can introduce me to?”
It had not occurred to Theodosia that her request was anything but a polite inquiry, and the vicar glared and raised his voice as he continued.
“And so that means, of course…”
The bride was giggling, but this did not deter her, naturally. A matchmaker could not simply halt her pursuit of other people’s happiness after a little laughter.
Lowering her voice to avoid the ire of the vicar, Theodosia whispered, “I have far too many gentlemen on my books, and although with a few good matches the balance could be utterly changed, I—”
“Miss Ashbrooke,” murmured the groom without looking away from the vicar, “if you are not quiet, I will have you removed.”
Theodosia’s mouth fell open. And after all she had done for him, extricated him from one foolish engagement and helped him to
secure a second, a much happier one—to be so treated!
Well, that was gratitude for you. Theodosia frowned and leaned back in her seat. That was a lesson learned at any rate. If the rich and titled wished to gain her services, she would require them to pay like any other client.
And there was still the reception. The Dowager Duchess of Orrinshire had simply invited anyone who was anyone, Theodosia had heard—and she always heard the gossip about weddings. It was her trademark.
After all, why would one engage a matchmaker for one’s son or daughter if the matchmaker was not entirely up to date with the latest engagements and fashionable styles?
The reception it was, then. She would speak to the guests there—delicately, of course. Anyone who decided to contract Miss Theodosia Ashbrooke to find them a partner for life could not only be guaranteed that happy ending but, naturally, discretion.
The joyous couple and their entourage swept down the aisle, and Theodosia joined the back of the crowd as they exited the church and stepped into the sunshine. Smiles were on every face.
Weddings. They brought out the best in people, every time. How many familial disagreements had been ended at a wedding—sometimes thanks to the bride and groom themselves? How many warring friends were brought together in bridal parties? How many new friends made in the pews of a wedding?
Theodosia grinned. She could imagine nothing better than her life, living from invitation to invitation, with the warm knowledge that most of them were due to her ingenuity and introductions.
Her heart faltered only slightly as she watched Charles sweep his bride in his arms and kiss her most devotedly.
Nothing better, save that.
But a matchmaker did not receive proposals. She orchestrated them.
It was but a short walk to Orrinspire Park, and the wedding reception was in full flow by the time Theodosia reached it.
“And I was astonished to hear that Miss Frances Lloyd does not mind the marriage at all!” someone was saying in an astonished voice. “Really! She was engaged to the Duke in the first place, as you know, but now…”
The voice died away as Theodosia continued to walk through the large hallway, all white stone and marble, but other voices rose in their turn.
“—arranged marriages are very old hat,” said a gentleman wisely to his companions. “I believe we are seeing the end of them. Why, only last week…”
“Yes, that’s what I said, an arranged marriage!” A young lady blushed at Theodosia’s gaze and continued in a low voice, “I mean, I thought those had died out with our grandparents!”
Theodosia smiled. Arranged marriages may have had their heyday; that was true. Just look at the way Charles Audley had rebelled against his mother’s insistence that Theodosia find him a bride.
But matched marriages? Betrothals in which both the husband and wife are looking for the same things, are compatible in every important way, and most critically, have a devastating attraction for one another?
Her smile rose. Matched marriages would surely never be unwelcome. She excelled at creating them, for a start, and she had more godchildren from her happiest matches than she knew what to do with at Christmastide.
“Miss Ashbrooke!”
Theodosia turned to see Mr. and Mrs. Needham, smiling arm in arm. It was always wonderful to see happy clients.
“Miss Ashbrooke, how are you?” Mr. Needham said, reaching out to shake her hand.
She allowed the indecorum. The Needhams were one of her greatest triumphs. “Very well, I thank you. And Mrs. Needham, you are well?”
“Absolutely blooming,” she said with a dimpled smile. “You know, Miss Ashbrooke, we welcomed our third child into the family a few months ago.”
“Third?” Theodosia could not help but look a little surprised. It had only been five years—no, less than five years—since the Needhams had wed. Three children in five years was impressive.
“Oh yes, and I don’t think they could have been born into a happier family,” said Mr. Needham, looking fondly at his wife. “I can never thank you enough, Miss Ashbrooke, for helping us find each other. You have done more for my joy than I can express.”
Theodosia beamed. “It is nothing, I assure you. I am delighted to see your continued happiness, and it gives me much in return.”
The Needhams bowed, still arm in arm, and walked away to greet another couple.
It was bittersweet, seeing such marital felicity. That was the problem being the matchmaker. Happy endings were not in short supply, but she did not receive one of her own. She was the one standing alone at a wedding reception with no one else to talk or dance with.
She walked gracefully, her skirts sweeping along the hardwood floors, into the room set up for dancers. Chairs had been placed around the room, and six or eight couples swirled around, laughter growing as the steps became more complicated.
Theodosia took a seat and watched the world go by. Footmen appeared at regular intervals to offer her biscuits, which she accepted eagerly, and glasses of wine, which she politely declined.
It would never do to lose her head when, later on in the evening’s celebrations, she would circulate and find the lonely, isolated, and most importantly, the single young ladies who would happily accept a place on the books of society’s greatest matchmaker.
It was almost time, Theodosia knew, to be considered a spinster. In a way, it would be a relief. Then no one would smile pityingly during her client appointments or ask carefully whether she had ever considered marriage for herself.
The world was always watching, and society never held back when it came to a single lady.
The thought passed through her mind as her gaze fell upon an elderly woman seated on the other side of the dancers. Theodosia sat for almost twenty minutes, and still, the lady stared but made no move to approach her.
She knew the signs, usually an older woman, often a widow as it was, in this case, judging by her deep purple gown. There was an interest in her, yes, but not enough bravery to approach her in public.
No, it was always her responsibility to make the first connection, and Theodosia sighed as she rose and straightened her gown. Business never waited, and she had long ago become accustomed to the strange ways that mothers went about finding spouses for their children.
Stepping around the dancing couples delicately, Theodosia had almost reached the other side of the room when she was distracted by a most miserable young lady.
“Miss—Miss Lymington, is it not?”
The lady looked up from her seat and quickly dashed away tears. “Yes?”
Theodosia smiled and pulled her handkerchief from her reticule. “Keep it.”
Miss Lymington stared, reaching out for the handkerchief and using it to mop her eyes. “You are most kind, Miss…?”
“Ashbrooke,” Theodosia said gently. “And I think you and I should have a conversation after this wedding. Here, my card. Tell your mother I would be happy to make an appointment to see you both.”
She did not wait to answer any questions from the weeping Miss Lymington. She did not need to. Her card would invoke enough curiosity, and if she were not mistaken, she had just added an eligible young lady to her roster. More than eligible, pretty, and with a large dowry, if the ton’s gossip was correct.
When she finally arrived at the side of the older woman who had been watching her so closely, Theodosia curtseyed.
“May I join you, my lady?”
The woman nodded without saying a word. Theodosia sat beside her, arranging her skirts to ensure her feet were covered, and waited.
She had never been hunting, but she had read about it and believed the general instincts were similar to her own business.
One waited.
It was a good five minutes before the woman eventually said, “I have a challenge for you.”
Theodosia smiled, not taking her eyes from the dancers and the crowd of people starting to congregate in the doorway. “I have met many challenges in my time, n
one which have beaten me.”
“You are proud,” said the woman.
She considered this. “No,” she said, after careful thought. “No, I just know my skills, and I know my worth. Few ladies do, but I have too much success to ignore it entirely.”
The woman raised an eyebrow but still did not look around.
Theodosia smiled. There was always one that needed further proof. “I am the one who matched this wedding—one of fifteen this year. I know what I can do. I do it every day.”
Only then did the woman smile. “You should have been a countess or a duchess.”
The words stung, and Theodosia almost gasped aloud. Could she—no, she could not possibly know. It was a coincidence. They did happen.
Struggling to maintain her composure, she said, “Well, I am not. How can I help you, madam? Seeking a match?”
It was a little reckless, speaking so boldly, but Theodosia could not help it. There had to be a spark of rebelliousness in a matchmaker. How else did one connect those who would never have considered themselves suitable?
“’Tis not for myself!” the woman snorted. “My son. He is a true challenge.”
Curiosity overwhelmed Theodosia’s determination to be aloof, and for the first time in the conversation, she examined her companion more closely. Her impeccable memory threw up a name.
“I do apologize for not recognizing you immediately,” she said with a smile, “Dowager Countess of Lenskeyn.”
The dowager inclined her head but still did not grace Theodosia with the courtesy of looking at her.
She stared at the older woman, intrigue flowing through her mind. No one had seen the Earl of Lenskeyn for years—five years, maybe? Seven? He was not a recluse, not in the traditional sense, but he seemed to avoid polite society as though it was a curse on his name.
She could not recall the last time he was in town. The Continent, they said. That’s where he was. But he seemed to have few friends to miss him and precious little family to petition for his presence. Was there not a tragedy in the family just a week ago?
Always the Matchmaker (Never the Bride Book 8) Page 1