A Night in Grosvenor Square

by Sarah M. Eden

  “Odette.” Mother spoke her name through tight teeth. “You were permitted to call him by his Christian name when you were tiny, but you mustn’t do so now. It is simply not acceptable.”

  “It is merely a habit,” she lied.

  Another of Mrs. Northrop’s hmms. This was devolving quickly.

  Odette rose, her chin at a proud and defiant angle. “I will leave the two of you to discuss your fondness for Mr. Lexington. I mean to go for a walk around the back garden.”

  She made her dignified exit, Mother’s “I do not know what to make of her any longer” following her into the corridor.

  Only upon reaching the quiet, tall-shrubberied garden did Odette let her shoulders sag. She was absolutely certain Terrance had no interest in her. She didn’t know if Jack had ever told him of their situation. Whether he had or not, Odette did not detect in him the signs of affection her mother and Jack’s seemed determined to see.

  Yet, she knew her mother would never contradict Mrs. Hewitt. Father would not, either. They practically worshipped them, idolized them. They coveted the standing Jack’s family so easily claimed. If Mrs. Hewitt promoted a match between Odette and Terrance, that match would be pursued with all the tenacity of a terrier hunting a fox, and it would end just as badly for her as it always did for the pitiable prey.

  I need to talk with Jack. This is far more tenuous than we realized. But how? Even their long-standing acquaintance was not enough to permit her to visit him or send him a note. There had to be a way.

  “This does not appear to be a pleasant walk.” Mrs. Northrop really needed to begin making more noise when she walked about.

  “Is Princess Pompous not entitled to be in a sour mood?” She hoped her pretentious tone proved enough to send Mrs. Northrop back inside.

  It didn’t.

  “Mr. Lexington is an admirable young gentleman,” Mrs. Northrop said.

  “He does seem to be.” Odette thought that noncommittal enough.

  “And your mother appears eager to pursue that possibility.”

  She could not help a tense sigh of frustration. “She is eager for nothing more or less than precisely what Mrs. Hewitt deems worthy of eagerness. Nothing motivates her as thoroughly as the chance to meet with our neighbor’s approval.”

  “She would go so far as to agree with or disagree with a match simply because Mrs. Hewitt felt one way or the other about it?”

  Odette nodded even as the weight on her heart grew. “They are a family of great influence in our corner of the kingdom, and my parents are—” She did not wish to speak truly ill of her parents, but neither could she think of an innocuous way of phrasing the truth. “They find comfort in the reassurance of a seemingly risk-free path.”

  Mrs. Northrop’s gaze narrowed on her. “And bowing to the dictates of the powerful and influential feels less risky than having an opinion of their own?”

  “Unfortunately.”

  “And none of them realizes you and young Mr. Hewitt are in love with each other?”

  Shock. There was no other word to describe the visceral reaction she had to Mrs. Northrop’s unanticipated question.

  The matchmaker actually laughed, not a shoulder-shaking guffaw, but a laugh of pure enjoyment. “You didn’t realize I had sorted that out, did you?”

  Odette clutched her hands together, nervous, wary. “We thought we hid it very well.”

  “Oh, you have hidden it exceptionally well. I am simply very, very familiar with the symptoms of love, especially love unacknowledged.”

  Mrs. Northrop did not appear to disapprove. If Odette could convince her to champion their cause, there might be some hope.

  “Jack is a wonderful, upstanding, good-hearted gentleman. I have known him all my life, so I know he is not pretending to be good in order to advance his suit. He would simply have approached my father and made his case if not for his parents’ preference for Miss Summerfield and my parents’ inability to contradict anything the Hewitts believe or embrace, coupled with their history of forcing their daughters into marriages they felt most likely to meet with the approval of important people.”

  “Your mother hinted at interfering in your sisters’ decisions,” Mrs. Northrop said, “but you feel your sisters were forced?”

  “Heavily coerced,” Odette said. “Jack and I know my parents would do so again. It is a frustratingly impossible situation.”

  A gentle smile answered. “I have yet to encounter a truly impossible situation. This one will be difficult, though.”

  Odette hardly dared believe what she thought she was hearing. “You do not mean to object? My parents might be upset.”

  Mrs. Northrop slipped her arm through Odette’s and began walking with her along the garden path. “I did not become a matchmaker in order to make certain that the whims of the parents of the ton ruled supreme. I did just tell you of my second rule.”

  Odette shook her head. “But I cannot object to Mr. Lexington’s age or life or character.”

  “That is not the principle beneath the rule, Odette. Rule number two is my requirement that any match for which I advocate must be one both people feel will contribute to their happiness, a match they both choose freely and fully.”

  “And if I told you that a match with Mr. Lexington would not secure my happiness?”

  “I would be so shaken by surprise as to be incapacitated for weeks on end.” Mrs. Northrop delivered the declaration with too stony an expression and too dry a tone to be truly serious.

  For the first time since coming to London, Odette drew a nearly serene breath. “Jack and I don’t know what to do. The closest thing to a plan we could concoct was to do our utmost to avoid a match while in Town and then spend the autumn and winter bringing our parents around to the idea of a connection between us.”

  “His parents in particular, no doubt.” Mrs. Northrop’s brow puckered in a look of thoughtfulness devoid of true worry. “But they, you said, have their hearts set on Miss Summerfield.”

  Odette nodded.

  “How does Miss Summerfield feel about this?”

  “I cannot say.”

  They walked a few minutes more. Mrs. Northrop did not speak. Odette embraced the rare moment of companionship. She had been quite alone the past weeks with no one to easily share her burdens. Jack would have, if he’d been permitted. Odette might have had any number of friends to lean upon if she’d not been forced to keep all the world at a distance.

  “I have the beginnings of an idea,” Mrs. Northrop said, “one I think may just prove ingenious.”

  The lady did not lack for confidence.

  “It will require a few things, however.”

  Odette could not imagine anything that would not be worth securing the future she and Jack were so desperate to claim.

  “I will need to speak with Mr. Hewitt,” Mrs. Northrop said. “He, you must understand, has been going about this entirely wrong.”

  Had they undermined their own chances? “What do you mean to require of him?”

  Mrs. Northrop shook her head. “You need not worry about that. You have a couple of tasks of your own.”

  She waited in silence, knowing Mrs. Northrop would press forward.

  “First, you will diligently work at shedding your Princess Pompous moniker. I understand your reason for it now, but Mrs. Hewitt’s good opinion is paramount in this endeavor. You will never secure it if you continue as you have been.”

  That made sense, and yet . . . “If the other mothers of the ton or any gentlemen who have not entirely lost interest begin to see me as agreeable—”

  “I have full control over the remainder of your Season. You will not be browbeaten into an unwanted match. I swear to you.”

  She wanted so desperately to believe it. “You said there were multiple things you required of me.”

  “Only one other.” She met Odette’s eye with her firm and unwavering gaze. “You are to befriend Miss Summerfield. Not with ulterior motives or insincerity, but truly
befriend her.”

  Befriend the lady who might very well steal away all her hopes? “What would that accomplish?”

  Mrs. Northrop patted her hand in a very maternal way. “This is not negotiable, neither is it something I mean to debate with you. Repair Society’s perception of you. Honestly befriend Miss Summerfield. Those are my requirements.”

  Odette hesitated. “You will help Jack and I if I agree to those two things?”

  “And if Mr. Hewitt agrees to what I will ask of him.”

  “What—?”

  But Mrs. Northrop shook her head firmly. There would be no questions on that score. Odette was meant to simply trust her.

  What choice did she have, really? Her future depended upon this.

  “I agree.”

  “Very good.” Mrs. Northrop patted her hand, then slipped her arm free. “I have a great deal of work to do. You set your mind to the best means of accomplishing what has been asked of you. I will do the same.”

  * * *

  Adelaide might eventually grow accustomed to the self-defeating stubbornness of the young people she worked with, but somehow she doubted it. They had, generally speaking, seen too little of the world to fully understand it but held too high an opinion of their own ability to navigate the shoals they could not even anticipate.

  To Odette and Mr. Hewitt’s credit, they had found themselves in a particularly difficult situation. Resigning Odette to the task of keeping everyone at bay in order to avoid suitors had proven effective, but anyone who paid even minimal attention could see the toll that loneliness was taking.

  Before she would fully commit to helping make this match, she first needed to discover if young Mr. Hewitt had resigned his lady love to months of misery out of a misguided desperation or out of indifference to her suffering. The former could be rectified. The latter would not be tolerated.

  Chapter Seven

  Jack walked down the corridor of his family’s London home, Terrance at his side, laughing as they recounted a particularly ridiculous wager two gentlemen had made at the club that morning.

  “Barton is a dunderhead,” Terrance said. “He’ll be handing over a pony by week’s end.”

  “Never should have bet against Jones. I’ve seen that man in a prizefight. A monster.” They stepped inside the book room.

  The conversation died on the instant. The room was not empty. A lady, whom Jack couldn’t immediately place, sat in a high-backed chair, facing the doorway.

  “Good afternoon, Mr. Hewitt.” She spoke with utter calm, as if the situation was not in the least unusual or uncomfortable. “Mr. Lexington.”

  Terrance shot Jack a look of confusion. Jack shrugged.

  “I can find my mother,” Jack offered.

  She shook her head. “I am not here to speak with your mother.”

  “My father?” That seemed unlikely.

  “I am here to see you, Mr. Hewitt. Mr. Lexington’s presence is simply a fortunate happenstance.”

  This was growing more odd by the moment. “I will confess myself confused.”

  “What are your intentions toward Miss Armistead?”

  Panic seized him, but he kept his expression simply curious. “Which of us are you asking?” He slipped in a laugh to show he wasn’t unduly concerned.

  “Both.”

  Terrance sauntered the rest of the way into the room. “I remember you now. You’re Mrs. Northrop, the matchmaker.”

  “Very observant, but you still did not answer the question.”

  Terrance grabbed a chair from near the desk and moved it to where Mrs. Northrop sat, placing it perpendicular to hers and sitting quite casually. “Miss Armistead is amusing, and I enjoy her company, but I’ve no interest beyond friendly acquaintance.”

  Mrs. Northrop nodded, quite as if she had fully expected that answer. Both she and Terrance turned their expectant gazes on Jack.

  “She is a neighbor,” he said. “And a friend of long standing. There is nothing beyond that.”

  Neither appeared the least convinced.

  “Truly. She is like a sister.” How untrue that was. The words actually felt bitter sliding off his tongue.

  Mrs. Northrop nodded. “An ill-mannered sister one wishes he could pretend not to know.”

  Jack bit back a retort, though it required a tremendous amount of effort.

  “Or could banish somewhere out of sight and out of hearing,” Terrance added.

  He had never heard his friend speak ill of Odette. He did not like this change in the least.

  “Believe me,” Mrs. Northrop said, “I have suggested banishment. I am not certain Lord Barrington has money enough to bribe someone to take that insolent girl off his hands.”

  “Perhaps they might consider shipping her to America,” Terrance said. “They have enough intolerable people there that she would find herself immediately accepted.”

  “Do not talk about her that way,” Jack snapped. “She is not ill-mannered or insolent. She is not any of the things Society says about her. I will not stand here and—”

  The grins spreading over their faces cut his words off. Knowing grins. All too knowing.

  He turned and closed the book room door. “This was an ambush, was it?”

  But Terrance shook his head. “I’ve never even spoken with Mrs. Northrop until now. I’m simply not as bacon-brained as you think I am. I’ve suspected your feelings for Miss Armistead for months. The carriage ride confirmed it.”

  Jack looked to Mrs. Northrop.

  “The Salsteads’ ball,” she said.

  “We merely danced and went in to supper together,” Jack said. They had been so careful.

  “It was not your behavior that gave you away,” Mrs. Northrop said, “but the manner in which you looked at each other.”

  Terrance laughed lightly. “Smitten, the both of them.”

  There was some relief in knowing Terrance was aware of the situation. Mrs. Northrop’s knowledge of it was less reassuring.

  “And what do you mean to do now that you have sorted this out?” he asked.

  “Sort you out.” She rose and motioned for him to take her chair. “Do not insist upon standing simply because I now am. I mean to interrogate you and prefer to do so while moving about.”

  He could tell by her tone and the snapping of her gaze that she would brook no arguments on this score. He took the chair and braced himself. She paced away.

  “How did you get in here?” he asked.

  “You seem to misunderstand the word interrogate. It does not involve me answering your questions.”

  Terrance could not have looked more amused if they had been watching a Christmas pantomime.

  “Whose idea was Miss Armistead’s ‘performance’ this Season?” Mrs. Northrop asked.

  Jack swallowed against a lump of apprehension. “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “Cut line, Jack,” Terrance said. “I sorted out Miss Armistead’s true character, and I see her only at Society functions. Mrs. Northrop lives at the gel’s house.”

  His interrogator had ceased her pacing and now stood watching him, calm and serene but with an edge of challenge to her posture.

  Whose idea had the ruse been? “We formulated the plan together,” he said. “Her sisters were more or less forced into matches not of their liking. If we could prevent anyone from even pursuing a match, she would not have to endure that.”

  “Instead she has endured months of loneliness and rejection while you, Mr. Hewitt, have carried no such burden.”

  “I know.” Lud, he’d hated the way this had played out. “I’ve doubted the idea almost from the moment we conceived it. She does not deserve to be viewed or treated the way she has been. But we didn’t know what else to do.”

  Mrs. Northrop took a step closer to him, her gaze never wavering. “And if you could have thought of a different strategy, perhaps one that sent you into isolation rather than her?”

  “I’d have taken it up in a heartbeat. But what good would t
hat have done? A gentleman being disagreeable is seldom reason for rejection if he is in anticipation of a fine income and can claim some standing. Only ladies are judged and rejected so quickly and harshly.”

  Mrs. Northrop didn’t confirm his evaluation, but neither did she contradict it. “What if I were to tell you that this scheme of yours is making her utterly miserable?”

  Pain clutched at his heart. “Is she truly so unhappy? I know she has not enjoyed the arrangement, and I am certain she will rejoice when the Season is over, but—”

  “She hasn’t any friends, Mr. Hewitt. No one to take ices with. No one to walk about a room with in congenial conversation. She is eyed with dismissal and disapproving amusement. She is a caricature in the eyes of those who might have been her associates.”

  This was worse than he had imagined. “We must do something, then. We must address this. She cannot be required to live this way.”

  “You would risk your future together?” Mrs. Northrop pressed.

  Though he recoiled at the possibility of losing her, he could not simply dismiss the fact that she was suffering. “We could think of something different, something that won’t cause her sorrow. Surely we could. We have to.”

  The first hints of a smile touched Mrs. Northrop’s stern expression. “Congratulations, Mr. Hewitt. You, it seems, are not a cad.”

  “Thank you?” He couldn’t help making the answer a question.

  “Now, to the business at hand.”

  “Was interrogating me not the business at hand?”

  She arched an eyebrow, but the look was not truly one of reprimand. Indeed, he felt certain she was thoroughly enjoying herself. “I have begun working on the task of rectifying the mess the two of you have made of Miss Armistead’s position among those who would otherwise be her friends and companions.”

  He actually sighed, something he’d not been anticipating. The impact of this plan on Odette’s happiness had weighed on him the past months.

  “While that damage is being addressed,” Mrs. Northrop said, “you and I will begin seeing to your future in a way that is not absurdly foolish and, therefore, will actually work.”

  He was both hopeful and insulted.