“And then she closed the door, mark me, slammed the door right in my face without saying another word!”
Albemarle finished his story and fell back in his chair, looking at Abraham Fitzclarence, Viscount Braedon, and Montague Cavendish, Duke of Devonshire, for the confirmation he was sure he’d receive—that he was in the right, and Theodosia was in the wrong.
The two gentlemen stared incredulously as he nodded. “Not a word,” he repeated with a shake of his head. “Would you credit it?”
They would agree with him, of course, they would. What gentleman would not? It was inconceivable what Teddy had done to him without a single thought for his feelings.
Taking a deep draught from the wine glass by his side, he waited for them to cry out in his defense, decry her behavior as shocking, and advise him on the best cause of action to make the woman see reason.
Braedon and Devonshire were sitting in comfortable armchairs in his rooms, but instead of instantly rushing to his defense, they remained silent.
“I ask you,” Albemarle said, feeling a little discomforted and falling back on his old habit of filling the silence, “where did that come from! What was I supposed to think of all that?”
Yet still, the two gentlemen stayed silent until Braedon glanced at Devonshire with a frown. The latter shook his head.
“You…you cannot think that I was the one in the wrong?” Albemarle’s voice was skeptical. “I am an earl, the fourteenth Earl of Lenskeyn, and I would never break my word. Where did she get all these ideas of outrage from?”
Braedon sighed heavily and looked at Devonshire, who said hastily, “Fault is a strong word, Lenskeyn. I would rarely call any man at fault, save for truly heinous acts, and this does not count. But then…”
“Not at fault,” said Braedon darkly. “Not in those exact words.”
These responses were so far from what he had expected that Albemarle found his temper starting to rise—never far away since Teddy slammed that door in his face.
His prickly emotions had continued since yesterday, and though in any other situation, he would have found his temper easy to control, at this moment, he was unable to prevent the explosion that followed.
“What in God’s name was I supposed to do!”
Braedon opened his mouth, evidently thought better of it, and closed it. He was not usually one to offer words of wisdom, but it was unlike Devonshire to hold back.
“Devonshire, what think you?”
The man had married earlier in the year. If anyone could unpick the wild nonsense of women, it was him.
“I think you should have warned her your mother was…Christ, you know what I mean,” said Devonshire with a wry smile. “Unlikely to agree to such a bold request. Well, not a request precisely. Statement.”
“Bold?” Albemarle did not understand what he was talking about. “My intention to marry is hardly bold, ’tis what she demanded of me a month ago! It was her damned fault I was thinking of matrimony in the first place! If I’d had my way, I’d be halfway back to Greece by now.”
“The point is, you could have chosen anyone,” Braedon said. “Any title, any wealth. Who is this Teddy, anyway?”
Albemarle ignored this last question. Though he had invited them to his rooms to soothe him and tell him just how right he was, he was not ready for the world at large to know how he had attempted—attempted!—to wed the matchmaker of society.
“’Tis no matter,” he said heavily. “She has no title if that’s the information you’re after, nor wealth as far as I know.”
Devonshire shook his head. “I know your mother, and what’s more, I like her. Even I know that taking a woman to her, lovely as I am sure she is, without title nor fortune was a mistake.”
“Teddy is a gentlewoman—” Albemarle started hotly.
“And I am not saying she is not,” Devonshire said, a little warning in his voice as he reached for his wine. “But not a lady with a capital ‘L’, am I right? Not even a right honorable. Just a woman, no offense, Lenskeyn.”
Albemarle attempted to keep his temper, but the man was subjected to a very righteous glare.
It was easy for Devonshire. He had fallen in love, so the story went, with his best friend—and she had a title of her own, and plenty of money to boot.
How uncomplicated his life would have been if Teddy had been the same. But then, if she had a title, she would never have been a matchmaker—and so much of her character had been forged through those experiences.
He would never admit to Devonshire the man was right. Teddy’s parents could have been smugglers, petty criminals, an innkeeper and his wife.
He had no idea. He had never thought to ask, so enrapt in Teddy herself. What did he care about her life before they met? It had brought her to him, and that was all that mattered.
Questions should have been asked. Conversation beyond his indifference to others and his attraction to her should have occupied him. Then, perhaps, he would not be in this damned mess.
“I know little about her life before we met,” he admitted quietly. “I mean…it feels as though my own life only started when we met. I had assumed, in a strange way, that it was…was the same for her.”
He was not embarrassed to share these things with relative strangers. Both Braedon and Devonshire had that strange quality so many of the aristocracy had of putting one instantly at ease.
Besides, on the Continent, gentlemen were far more expressive, sharing their thoughts and feelings far more often than the damned cold Englishman.
“If you ask me, and you have, so I shall share my opinion openly,” Devonshire said quietly, “if you had wanted a better response from your mother, you should have told her separately and at home, not in public.”
Albemarle’s temper flared. “There is nothing wrong with Bath Assembly Rooms!”
Devonshire sighed. “You are being deliberately obstinate, man, and I would advise you to stop it if you have any thoughts of reconciling with both women. Do not be a fool. Sharing that sort of information in public is different than in private.”
Albemarle did not reply but grunted as he took another swig of his wine. He had not asked for reasonableness.
“That way,” Devonshire continued doggedly, “your mother could adjust to the idea slowly. You would never have endured such a scene, and this Teddy of yours would not have been shamed by your ridiculous antics and fallen out with you.”
It sounded so simple when he said it like that—but Albemarle had been determined for the big reveal to occur in a place of beauty and style.
“You blaggard,” said the duke softly. “The only person you thought about in that scenario was yourself.”
Albemarle sighed heavily and dropped his head in his hands. “It is just…I thought it would be something to remember. Something for the three of us to look back on. I have so few opportunities to surprise my mother…”
“And this felt like an excellent way to do it?” Braedon’s voice sounded muffled with Albemarle’s head still in his hands. “Fun for you, certainly, but it doesn’t sound much fun for anyone else. That poor woman, being flattened by your mother, and in public!”
Remorse poured through Albemarle’s heart and pumped through his veins as the weight of what he had done crashed onto his soul.
Damn and blast it, the wrong decision again! How had he managed to get this so dammed wrong? Just when he thought he could make the two women so happy—one because he was choosing to marry, the other because he had chosen her—he had managed to destroy his relationship with each.
“You want a title, a fortune, a place in society your meager father was never able to give you! You have used your wiles to ensnare my son, to—”
The guilt in his stomach twisted, making him feel nauseous, and he looked up to see Braedon and Devonshire sharing a look. It was part disappointment, part disapproval, and it did nothing to improve Albemarle’s mood.
This was all his fault. He was only angry at Teddy because he c
ould not accept he had made a catastrophic mistake.
He had spent more time dwelling on how hilarious it would be, tricking his mother into thinking Teddy was there to tell her about the woman he would marry, and then revealing it was Teddy all along.
Hardly a second had been spent on thinking about how his mother or Teddy would feel.
His mother…to be told something so radical! That a servant, in her eyes, would take her place as Countess of Lenskeyn. It would be insupportable to her; he should have seen that.
And Teddy—oh, he was a cruel man indeed. To be presented with his mother, in that sort of mood, and in public! Unable to defend herself against the force of nature that the dowager countess was…
“Life never used to be this complicated,” he muttered, unable to form his thoughts into anything more coherent.
He had expected…well, not comfort and solace exactly, but a little more understanding from his new friends.
Braedon laughed dryly. “It always was, I am afraid to tell you, but you just hid from it! Lenskeyn, I hate to be the one to tell you this, but you have not engaged with real life for years, almost a decade! Damnit, man, we should not be making your acquaintance properly this Season. We should have been friends for years.”
“You have been playing about on the Continent, keeping away from English society,” said Devonshire a little more seriously. “One cannot avoid the game of life and then complain when starting halfway through that you do not understand the rules.”
“Besides, the rules have changed in the last few years,” added Braedon with a sly smile. “Trust me—’tis far more complicated now to find, wed, and bed the woman you like. Or even respect! Take it from a bachelor!”
Albemarle was a little intrigued to hear the frustration in the man’s tones. Braedon had experienced more than his fair share of disappointment.
But he could not think about that right now. He had to untangle his own mess before he started attempting to help anyone with theirs!
Devonshire sighed heavily, rose from his seat, and poured Albemarle another glass of wine. “Look, we are not unfeeling to your plight. Tell us who this Teddy is, and we may be able to offer more insight. There are countless ladies in Bath, you must know that.”
Albemarle swallowed. Keeping Teddy to himself had felt like the right thing to do. He was certain she would not want the news of their failed engagement to become known in society.
The gossips of Bath would have plenty of fodder if they heard the matchmaker had attempted to wed the Earl of Lenskeyn.
But as Albemarle glanced up at his guests, he could see that he could trust them. These were men of honor and probably had secrets they would rather keep out of the gossip columns.
They would understand.
“Theodosia,” he said heavily. When neither of them changed their expressions, he grinned wryly, “Yes, not many people know her Christian name, but she is the matchmaker around here.”
Understanding dawned. Devonshire leaned back in his chair and whistled slowly. Braedon chuckled and shook his head as though a great joke had been made.
“Well, that explains a great deal,” Devonshire said with wide eyes. “A girl in trade, Lenskeyn! No wonder your mother almost exploded.”
“A matchmaker! The matchmaker?” said Braedon with a giggle. “Wasn’t she supposed to be finding you a bride?”
Albemarle nodded, unable to speak.
“Well, she certainly succeeded!” Braedon said. “Christ and all His saints, you have got yourself in a pickle.”
“The trouble is you fell in love with someone whose job, whose very position in society is to help others fall in love,” said Devonshire musingly. “She has probably never felt the emotion herself, so ’tis all new to her.”
Albemarle shifted slightly in his seat. This sounded like it was leading somewhere that would be uncomfortable. “And?”
Devonshire rolled his eyes. “Damnit, man, maybe you are simply not ready for a bride. She was frightened!”
“Frightened?” Albemarle stared, utterly uncomprehending. Where was this man going with this nonsense?
“She knows you are a rascal—even if she did not hear it on the gossip, you probably showed her countless times. Despite that, despite the differences in your positions, despite the very situation in which you were introduced, you managed to get her to promise something—herself. Not a small commitment for any woman.”
“And then,” chimed in Braedon, taking up the tale, “it all seemed to be slipping away, and worse, she was blamed for getting her claws in you! I certainly would not want to face your mother once in a temper, no offense meant, and you gave her no warning.”
Devonshire sighed. “I have heard she is a woman who can fend for herself, but no one, not even Miss Theodosia Ashbrooke, should have to face your mother.”
Was it possible for him to feel more wretched? Albemarle wanted to drop his head into his hands and block out the world. He had thought himself so smart, and yet all he had managed to do was hurt everyone around him.
“Wait…Miss Theodosia Ashbrooke. Ashbrooke, you say?”
Braedon’s words made Albemarle look up. The viscount appeared concerned.
“Yes,” Albemarle said. “What of her?”
Albemarle’s heart fluttered.
“What do you know of her?” he said a little insistently. “Out with it, Braedon!”
The younger man swallowed, and the panic growing in Albemarle’s chest increased. There was something about Theodosia Ashbrooke that he did not know, and based on Braedon’s hesitancy, it was not good.
Damn and blast it; he should have asked more questions! They had always discussed him, never her. What was she hiding?
“Look,” said Braedon hastily, “it is all gossip, you understand me? I was not there myself, and I did not hear it from anyone who was.”
“Bloody Nora, just tell me!” Albemarle did not attempt to keep his voice calm, frustration from the day before pouring out. He sighed and tried to collect himself. “I apologize, Braedon. I should not have shouted. But God’s teeth, you are testing my patience. Out with it!”
Braedon sighed heavily again. “You were not in London then. Probably on the Continent, and the news would never have reached you—I mean, why would it? You did not know her. You had no passing acquaintance with anyone involved. There is no reason you would—”
“Braedon, if you do not get a move on, I think Lenskeyn will hurt you,” Devonshire said with a wry smile. “Get on with it.”
Albemarle leaned forward. “Come on, man, tell me all. I am ready for anything. What is it—secrets? A scandal?”
The youngest of them then said slowly, “Only you could make it sound sensational when really, it was just the same old story we have heard time and time again. A gentleman who called himself the Earl of Cragmore was in town and this Miss Ashbrooke was probably only about…oh, I don’t know. One and twenty?”
“Eight years ago,” said Albemarle quickly. “Yes, I was in Germany. I would never have met the Earl of Cragmore.”
“You never would have,” said Braedon darkly.
“I never met him either, you know,” Devonshire said slowly. “Why didn’t I have a passing acquaintance with—oh, eight years ago? I was on my Grand Tour, never mind.”
“Well, this Earl of Cragmore was in town, and so was Miss Ashbrooke, and things progressed as one would expect,” Braedon continued quickly now, eager to get the words out and his story over with. “He proposed marriage, and she accepted. They started planning the wedding, and it was all going swimmingly. Until…”
His voice trailed away, and he gulped at his wine, seeming to need the liquor to continue.
Albemarle’s heart was slamming against his ribcage. Teddy, engaged to another man? Another earl, if that could be believed!
She had never seemed like a widowed woman. She had never mentioned it in all their conversations, but then, fool that he was, he had never thought to ask.
He knew
so little of her. Only now was he starting to realize it.
“Well,” said Braedon, looking distinctly uncomfortable. “One hardly likes to spread gossip about a lady—”
“What is the point in starting a story if you are not going to continue!” Albemarle snapped. His nerves were pushed to the very edge of what they could take. He had to know.
What had happened to Teddy?
Braedon sighed. “I only heard it from others, mark me so that I may have some of the details a little wrong, but this is what I know. Only a few days before the wedding, the man’s mother caught them up.”
“The dowager countess,” said Devonshire softly.
But Braedon was shaking his head. “No. No, she was just a Mrs. someone, a Right Honorable, something.”
Albemarle was unable to take in the meaning of the viscount’s words. “How does a Right Honorable lady’s son become an earl?”
“Christ, your woman has done a number on you,” Braedon said with something of his old cheerfulness. “You don’t understand, do you? The man was not the Earl of Cragmore. He was not the earl of anything. He had no title of his own, no money, and his mother had tracked him down after a previous scam had gone awry.”
Something seemed to be awry with Albemarle’s ears. What he had just heard could not possibly be right.
“What?” Devonshire said, his voice harsh. “The blaggard!”
Braedon nodded. “What’s more, this Miss Ashbrooke wanted to continue the marriage.”
“What?” It was the only syllable that Albemarle could manage, but its fury summed up his feelings.
“I heard she said that she loved the man, not the title, nor the expectation of wealth and consequence,” Braedon said heavily. “But the man’s mother would have none of it. She didn’t consider Miss Ashbrooke good enough for her son, even though he wasn’t the man he purported to be. And the fool was swayed by his mother and disappeared from London overnight.”
Albemarle’s heart, previously thumping so wildly, seemed to have stopped.
“This false earl and his mother disappeared, never to be seen again,” Braedon said. “Miss Ashbrooke was left to pick up the pieces—and the bills from the wedding plans already made.”
Always the Matchmaker (Never the Bride Book 8) Page 17