Perfectly Mismatched With The Duke (Historical Regency Romance)

by Patricia Haverton

  “Miss Evans, if it is your wish, then we shall meet with them post haste. Alas, I would like a moment to …”

  “No.” She pressed her lips together and shook her head, hands folded before her. “I must return to London tonight, as such I do not have the time to discuss the matter with Your Grace. I apologize for my abruptness, but I am rather pressed for time.”

  Return to London tonight? But what about the rest of the weekend? Why would she not at least stay for the ball tonight? There was nothing Maxwell could say or do, for his mother, alerted to the arrival of a carriage by one of her ladies no doubt, hastened toward them.

  “Oh, if it is not our wayward matchmaker. Returned from London so soon, have you? I trust everything is in order back home?”

  Miss Evans turned to his mother. “I appreciate your concern. I regret to inform you that I must return to London at the earliest opportunity, however, as I just explained to His Grace, I would like to meet with you both, as well as the Cladborough party to discuss a matter.”

  His mother blinked at this sudden request but simply nodded.

  “That can certainly be arranged.” She turned to the butler. “Mr. Thomas, would you please send the footmen to alert Lady Frances and Lord Cladborought that their presence is requested at once, in the downstairs drawing room?”

  The Butler departed in the direction of the lakeshore where Lady Frances was still playing croquet.

  “Maxwell, why don’t we go to the drawing room and wait there?” His mother did not wait for a reply but walked into the house. He hastened to follow but stopped next to the matchmaker.

  “Please, if I could just have one moment of your time.”

  “I am sorry, Your Grace. I cannot see you without the proper company. I shall join you in a moment.” She did not give him opportunity to reply as she walked away, toward the lawn where Hendley and Chatterley were dueling each other in jest.

  Without opportunity to speak to her, he walked into the house and joined his mother in the drawing room.

  “Maxwell, what is this about?” His mother’s tone was sharp and accusing.

  “I do not know, though I wish I had an inkling.”

  His mother snorted, something she never did unless highly irritable, for it was most unladylike.

  “I hope you are telling the truth. I am not in a condition to be surprised. My heart has never been the same as it was before that dreadful attack by those Luddites.”

  Maxwell sighed and rolled his eyes. “You fell out of the carriage, Mother. They did nothing to you.”

  She gasped. “How dare you tell such falsehoods?”

  He turned to her, his lips pursed. He had to work hard to control his rage.

  “Nobody is here, Mother. Just us and the footmen, and they already know.”

  “Already know what?” Lord Cladborough asked as he entered the room, followed by his daughter and Miss Evans.

  “Nothing, Lord Cladborough, nothing of consequence,” the Duchess said. Once they had all taken a seat, Miss Evans cleared her throat.

  “I thank you for allowing me to speak to you all at once.”

  Lord Cladborough grunted. “Allowing you to? We were not given a choice. We were summoned. In any case, we are here. What is it you have to share, matchmaker?”

  “Miss Evans.” Maxwell could not help himself. He disliked the disrespect Cladborough showed her.

  “Excuse me?” He turned to Maxwell, a bemused grin on his face. Maxwell noticed that the man’s hair was thinning on top, so much so that the sheen of the sunlight reflected on the bald patches on top of his head.

  “Her name is not matchmaker. It’s Miss Evans.”

  Lord Cladborough closed his eyes for a moment, as if collecting himself while Miss Evans inhaled sharply. Maxwell realized he’d said the wrong thing. He should have just stayed quiet. Alas, what is done is done.

  “Miss Evans, then. Why it is you have ordered us here, interrupting a perfectly pleasant afternoon at the lake? I was having a grand time watching the swans.” Cladborough made Maxwell’s blood boil, but he said nothing.

  “It is simple, really, My Lord. After spending the day with Lady Frances and His Grace yesterday, I have decided that my services as chaperone and matchmaker are no longer need. I believe the courtship has reached a stage where it can proceed without a matchmaker. Therefore, I am excusing myself.”

  “Excusing yourself?” Maxwell asked with disbelief. She did not look at him but continued to address the group.

  “A rapport has been established between His Grace and Lady Frances and as the Duchess has pointed out, there are many eligible females available to chaperone for the duration of the weekend.”

  Cladborough clapped his hands together. “Well, if our most formidable matchmaker believes that her services are no longer required, we should not disagree. She is after all, the professional among us.”

  “Yes, I believe proficient progress has been made, Lord Cladborough; and my experience tells me that it is time for me to withdraw and let the courtship progress naturally. If it pleases My Lord, and Her Grace, of course.”

  Maxwell frown. Should it not be up to him to make that determination? He was the client, after all. It would be his funds that would pay her fees. He wanted to speak up, but the words were lost to him. Her declaration had shocked him into a loss of speech.

  It was clear from her words that she wanted to withdraw herself not just from the courtship, but from him altogether. She felt that she had made proficient progress? Toward what end? To make an offer? Far from it! He was ready to end this charade. He was ready to follow his heart. What was happening here?

  The Duchess cleared her throat. “Well, if you are quite sure that the young couple can proceed without you, I shall trust your judgment.”

  “I believe that the young couple are more than capable of handling the path towards marriage from now on. And that is of course the ultimate goal, is it not?”

  “Here, here!” His mother raised her glass of port in the air in celebration. “I say we shall take Miss Evans by her word. She has, after all, chaperoned enough couples to know what she’s talking about. And I am certain she has many a couple waiting for her services.”

  Miss Evans smiled and nodded. “Her Grace is correct. I have commitments in the city with several couples. I shall be departing at the earliest convenience.”

  Maxwell still had not been able to chime in, as he simply did not know what to say. She was leaving. Out of his life. Forever.

  “But is it not unusual?” Maxwell turned in the direction of the voice. It was Lady Frances. She sounded insecure and carefully formed the words she spoke. It was evident she feared offending anyone.

  “My dear?” His mother asked with a surprised expression on her face.

  Lady Frances cleared her throat. “I was wondering if it is not unusual for the matchmaker to excuse themselves before an offer has been made?”

  All eyes turned from Lady Frances to Maxwell and then to Miss Evans.

  She smiled at Lady Frances. “It was always my policy to remove myself when I felt an offer was imminent.”

  Imminent? No! No! It is not. I will not!

  Maxwell badly wanted to speak the words out loud, make them a reality, but he could not. The shock at her revelation was too deep. How could she simple end their…They had danced. They had confessed their feelings. Now she was all but announcing his intention to wed Lady Frances. Maxwell sank into the back of his chair.

  “Well, what do you say, Your Grace? Do we still need Miss Evans services? I think not.” Lord Cladborough said with a wide smile on his face. He looked at Maxwell as though he expected an offer to be made right then and there.

  Maxwell turned to look at his mother, who also sat with a similar expression upon her face. Lastly, his gaze went to Miss Evans who stood still, her face stoic and unreadable. He waited for her to look at him, so he could see something, anything in her face that would give him hope. Something that would let him know this su
dden announcement was part of a plan that she would impart to him later. She did not look up. There was nothing on her face but resignation and a hint of sadness.

  “If Miss Evans believes it is the right time, then it is the right time.” He heard the words come out of his mouth and hoped nobody noticed the dejection in his voice.

  “Thank you, Your Grace,” she said without looking at him. “And you, Lady Frances. I shall take my leave and return to London. I have an engagement in the morning that I cannot miss.” She said nothing else but turned on her heels and left the room, leaving Maxwell to sit in silence, trying to make sense of what had just happened.

  Chapter 29

  Alexandra returned to her quiet, dark house. A sadness strangled her heart, not unlike what she had experienced when her mother passed. She had not dared look back as she left Hawthorne House in the carriage, for she’d know that the Duke would be there, on the steps of the house, watching her depart.

  It would have caused her too much pain to see him. It had almost been too much when she first saw him, upon arriving at the house. She’d seen him fencing with Lord Chatterley when her carriage drove past them. He’d appeared so carefree, happy, and light-hearted. Then, when he’d rushed toward her, a spring in his step, the expression of pure elation at the sight of her had almost caused her to re-think her plans. Almost.

  The thought of harm coming to him, the fear of what these men might do to them both overwhelmed any desire she had to rush to him, to be in his arms.

  She had to ensure he was safe, even if that meant they could not be together. Even if it meant she’d never see him again.

  The memory of the pain she’d caused overwhelmed her. Dejected, she fell on her bed, her traveling clothes still on her body. She didn’t want to sink into the dark hole she’d found herself in when her mother passed away, but she felt she was rather on the edge of it. She feared she would fall in at any moment. Was this not the very reason she’d vowed to never fall in love?

  How did I allow myself to fall in love? Why did I not remove myself from the entanglement sooner? Must I follow in my mother’s footsteps in every single way?

  Tears fell from her eyes, streaming down her cheeks and onto the pillow. She hadn’t cried in years, not since the day her mother had been buried and she’d returned home alone, to an empty house just as she had today. She’d seen crying as a weakness and done all she could to not put herself in situations where she might have cause to shed tears.

  Alexandra remained on her bed for several hours and did not move. She let the tears dry upon her face and stared at the ceiling.

  She turned her head and watched as the sky outside changed color as the sun began to set. The city view was bathed in a deep orange that faded to black. In a strange manner, it suited her melancholy mood.

  * * *

  It wasn’t until later on in the evening that she was roused from her bed. She did not know what time it was, but the sky was pitch black with only a few stars visible through the fog. She would not have bothered rising again at all where it not for the noise outside that roused her curiosity. A number of loud, male voices drifted through her window. She wondered what they were doing here so late.

  She stepped to the window and peek down. To her surprise, she saw Mr. Holmes standing outside his shop with three gentlemen. All were dressed in the manner common among the upper class, with tailcoats and top hats. One carried a walking stick. She squinted to see better, and after a moment she recognized him. It was Lord Alderth, her secret benefactor who had arranged the voucher for Almack’s.

  She could not make out who the other two men were, for they stood with their back to her. At first, she’d wondered if they were arguing, as their voices has been loud. Now that she could see them, it was clear they were simply merry. The men stood in a semi-circle and laughed with one another. It was rather unusual for Mr. Holmes to be drinking, though she had known him to do so on occasion.

  Alexandra stepped back from the window and returned to her bed, still clothed and hoped for sleep to carry her from her misery. However, it did not.

  She laid awake for hours, attempting to force her thoughts away from the Duke. Yet, every time she closed her eyes, she saw his face. Saw the pain upon his heart at hearing her decision to recuse herself from her matchmaking duties. She knew how much it hurt him. She knew how much her words had wounded him and knowing this caused her all the more pain. Finally, as the sun was beginning to rise, sleep released her from her torment.

  * * *

  When Alexandra rose again, it was already mid-morning. She dressed herself and decided the best thing to do was to move forward with her plans for the week. She had a meeting arranged at Hyde Park with a young baron and his mother, to aid in the search for a wife. She already had a young lady in mind that would be ideal, she simply had to work out the details. Then, later in the week, she was to meet a countess searching for a husband for her daughter. Thinking about her clients kept her from drifting back into her misery.

  First, she decided to go to the market, for there was not much food in her house, given the amount of time she had been away.

  She stopped at Mr. Holmes’s shop to see if he was in need of supplies, but found the shop locked up and a sign in the door letting customers know he would be closed for the day. It was unusual for him to have his store closed, especially for an entire day unless he was ill. Perhaps he had taken ill after indulging with his friends the night before.

  She decided she would collect a few of his favorite treats, along with something to soothe his stomach while she was at the market. If he was unwell, he would certainly appreciate it.

  * * *

  Alexandra returned a couple of hours later, having decided to stroll through the park on her way to the market. Taking the air had done her good. It helped to drive the darkness out, to an extent. She had her mind set on returning home and changing into her good dress for the meeting with the baron and his mother. Her work had always been her saving grace. It had carried her through the loss of her mother, and it would carry her through the loss her closeness with the Duke.

  She had just turned onto Foxberry Lane when she stopped in her tracks. A curricle was parked on the street near her house. It was curious to see such a vehicle here, unless it was one of Mr. Holmes’s clients. However, Mr. Holmes clients always parked their carriages outside his shop. This one was some distance down the street. Rather unusual. She spotted a young man tending to two beautiful black horses. The tiger, no doubt.

  She decided to cross the road so she could see if the curricle had a coat of arms displayed on the side, as it was impossible to see from her current position. On occasion, a new client would simply stop by her office without an appointment. If this was the case, she wanted to be prepared.

  As soon as she reached the other side of the road, her heart stomach. She nearly dropped her purchases on the ground. There was indeed a coat of arms. It belonged to House Gatterlen. She recognized it as it was quite striking. The shield was blue, meaning loyalty and truth while the golden bear and silver fleur de lis symbolized strength, family, and purity.

  She turned around and rushed to the corner where she hid behind a house. Could it really be the Duke? Certainly, he would not have driven here all the way from Hawthorne Hall. He was supposed to spend several more days there before returning to London. He would not have roused the Earl’s suspicion by leaving so suddenly. Would he?

  It appeared he had as just then, she saw him appear from around the back of the house. He walked toward the curricle; his shoulders were slumped forward as though he was carrying the weight of the world. He moved in a tired fashion as though he had not slept. He climbed into the driver’s seat while the young man ascended to the tiger seat. She watched as he put the horses in motion.

  To her horror, she realized that instead of heading straight down the road, as made the most sense, he was maneuvering the carriage around in such a way that they would come directly past her.

 
No, no, no! I must not see him. I must not let him see me. What should I do?

  She clutched her basket and rushed down the street as fast as she could. The sound of the carriage now in motion and the horse’s hooves stomping across the sand grew ever louder but it paled in comparison to the pounding of her heart.

  At the very last moment, she ducked into an alley and crouched down, basket on her knees so she could hide behind it. As the Duke passed her, she caught a brief glance of his face. He was pale, lips pressed together, dejection evident on his face. She stayed still while he rode past. Even after the sounds of the curricle driving away had faded and eventually ceased, she remained where she was, overcome by the loss of the only man she’d ever felt anything for.