Odette turned to Miss Summerfield. “With whom were you meant to be dancing?”
“Mr. Tolmer.” Poor Miss Summerfield was utterly wilting under the attention of the crowd.
“I did hear it whispered that he spilt a glass of claret all down his front,” Odette said. “Utterly ruined his clothing.”
“He left?” Mrs. Summerfield was clearly shocked.
“What choice did he have?” Odette pressed. “Still, he ought to have sent word to you.”
Miss Summerfield eyed the crowd, which was watching her with unmistakable pity.
Odette’s brow pulled in worry. She turned to Jack. “Do stand up with her.” She spoke quietly, but he could see that she had been overheard by those nearest them.
“Then you will be left without a partner.”
She tipped her head, a twinkle of amusement in her eyes. “No one will wonder that Princess Pompous has been abandoned. But they will whisper about Tabitha. Please do not allow her to suffer.”
Miss Summerfield looked a breath from tears.
Jack held Odette’s gaze for one long moment, hoping she understood both his admiration for her thoughtfulness and his mourning for their lost moments together.
“Miss Summerfield—” He got no further than that.
Terrance arrived on the scene, anxious, focused, determined. Jack had grown suspicious over the past few days that his friend had developed a fondness for Miss Summerfield.
“I saw Mr. Tolmer leave,” Terrance said, watching Miss Summerfield with concern. “I know he was to be your partner for the supper dance.”
“Everyone is whispering.” Her voice broke on the words.
“Please,” Terrance said, “allow me to stand up with you for this set.”
Miss Summerfield’s expression fell. “You have already been my partner once this evening. Two sets will draw attention. People will speculate.”
Terrance almost never wore a serious expression, but he did in that moment. “I have no objections if you don’t.” He turned toward Mrs. Summerfield. “And if you don’t.”
Odette watched them, wide-eyed. Half the ballroom watched them. Openly requesting a second set was tantamount to declaring his intention to court her. Jack held his breath. Should Mrs. Summerfield grant Terrance a second set with her daughter, speculation about Jack’s connection to her would be put to rest. His own parents would have to accept that, as all of Society would be aware of the events of the last few moments before the night was even over. And if his parents did not have their sights set on that particular match, Odette’s parents would at last be willing to consider one between her and him.
Please, Mrs. Summerfield. Say yes.
The young lady’s eyes pleaded with her mother. Terrance held himself confidently, but Jack knew him too well not to see the nervous determination there. They were both not only willing to begin a very publicly acknowledged courtship but apparently anxious.
Mrs. Summerfield set her hand on her daughter’s arm, but her gaze remained on Terrance. “Of course you may stand up with her. Of course.”
Miss Summerfield’s smile bloomed beyond any Jack had seen her wear. She turned to Terrance, absolute delight written on every inch of her face. She slipped her arm through his and, together, they walked onto the dance floor. Nearly every eye watched them.
“A handsome couple,” Mrs. Summerfield observed.
“And both very fortunate,” Odette added. “There are not two better people in all the world.”
Mrs. Summerfield looked away from her daughter and to Odette and Jack. “I thank the both of you for coming so swiftly to her aid.”
“It was our pleasure,” Odette said.
“You are partners for this set and for supper, I believe,” Mrs. Summerfield said. “Do not let me keep you.”
As they turned to walk away, they came face-to-face with Her Grace. She did not speak but offered a smile and nod of approval. The same thing repeated itself several times, always offered to the two of them together. The set was well underway; joining the other couples could have been managed but would have been a bit difficult. Instead, they simply made a slow circuit of the room, made increasingly slow by the many people who stopped to comment upon the evening and their handsomeness as a couple.
They had nearly completed their circuit when they came upon Mrs. Northrop.
“I hear a great many things of you,” she said. “Your parents are hearing the same.”
“And what is their reaction?” Odette asked anxiously.
“Approval of your chivalrous and kind behavior and, it seemed to me, beginning to consider a connection they had not before.”
Odette took in a sharp, audible breath. “Oh, Jack.”
He hesitated. “How deeply are they considering it?” he pressed.
“Deeply enough.” Mrs. Northrop’s calm serenity gave him confidence. “Continue on as you have been tonight, and by Season’s end, I will fully expect an announcement in the Times.”
Odette sighed deeply. Jack did the same. Months of worry were finally easing.
“I know this will sound awful,” Odette said, “but I am so grateful Mr. Tolmer accidentally spilled his claret.”
Mrs. Northrop nodded slowly. “Yes. Accidentally.” She offered a dip of her head and turned and walked away.
For just a moment, the reality of what the matchmaker had nearly admitted did not penetrate his mind. Odette, however, grinned.
“I am grateful she is on our side,” Jack said.
“As am I.” Odette turned a happy, joyous gaze to him. “As am I.”
* * *
Adelaide spent the remainder of the supper dance and much of the meal that followed inserting subtly into conversations the occasional comment about the tender scene that had played out between Miss Summerfield and Mr. Lexington as well as mentions of Odette and young Mr. Hewitt’s kindness during that ordeal. She did not mean to draw attention to her efforts, simply to guide the impression the guests would leave with that night. The two couples would be thought of fondly. More to the point, they would be thought of as couples.
Maneuvering all that needed to happen that night had not been easy. Making certain Mr. Lexington engaged her for the supper dance so she could insist he abandon her for the role of rescuing knight. Getting enough people to stop and speak with Mr. Hewitt so that he would be near Miss Summerfield when her disappointment was first realized. Motioning Odette in that direction as the supper dance began. Literally bumping into Mr. Tolmer at the most opportune moment. She likely ought to find a means of compensating him for his ruined cravat and waistcoat. There was no means of secretly doing so monetarily.
He was quiet and unlikely to draw the notice of the young ladies of the ton. Yet, he was precisely the sort of goodhearted and devoted young gentleman who ought to be highly sought after. That might be the key to paying the debt he did not realize she owed him. She would, during her various assignments, watch for an opportunity to help him secure his future. Perhaps she might even find someone perfectly suited to the unassuming young gentleman.
Her efforts never truly ended. Every time she accepted a new post, she met new people struggling to find what they sought, struggling to secure a happy future rather than the one too often forced upon them by a Society far more concerned with wealth and power than the well-being of its sons and daughters.
So long as that held true, she would continue her work.
Chapter Ten
The Season wound to its inevitable close. Most of the important families had or would soon abandon Town for house parties throughout the countryside before returning to their homes. Odette’s family was no exception. Her belongings were packed and ready for placing in the traveling carriage. Mother was frantically directing the servants’ efforts.
Odette stood outside Father’s library, waiting. Mrs. Northrop was leaving London that day as well, but not with them. She had another assignment, this time in the country. While Odette suspected she would see Mrs. Northrop
in Town in the Seasons to come, she would miss having her nearby. She had come to value the lady’s straightforward, serene, calm approach to difficulties. She had also discovered a kindness beneath her originally implacable demeanor.
After a time, the door opened. Mrs. Northrop stepped out. She seemed only slightly surprised to find Odette there waiting. “Good morning, Odette.”
“You are leaving.” She hadn’t intended to make such an abrupt declaration, but her mind had simply pushed the words out without softening them.
“It is time.” Mrs. Northrop never was one for sentimentality. “I did read the announcement in the Times last week. There is nothing left here for me to do.”
Odette kept pace with her as she walked along the corridor. “You needn’t remain as a matchmaker. You could simply visit as a friend.”
“As much as I would enjoy that—and I genuinely would—there is a young lady in Dorset who is in need of my help.”
Odette understood, but she was still disappointed. Perhaps she could yet convince her. “Dorset is not so very far from Somerset. You might at least make part of the journey with us, then visit for a time.”
Mrs. Northrop shook her head. “When it is time for me to leave, I must do so. I have found it best.”
“Is that your third rule?” Odette asked with a smile.
“It is.”
She had not been expecting that.
“My third and final rule: arrive when I am needed and leave when it is time.”
They had reached the landing of the grand staircase, affording a view of the entryway beneath.
Mrs. Northrop motioned to the space below. “Your sweetheart is here, no doubt to bid you farewell until he, too, returns home.”
Odette hesitated. “You mean to leave immediately, don’t you?”
“I do.”
She gave in to the impulse and gave the often-prickly matchmaker a hug of sincere gratitude. “Thank you for everything, Mrs. Northrop. Please come see us in Somerset.”
The embrace was returned gently and kindly. “You are most welcome, Odette. Now, off with you. If you wish to offer your dear one a kiss, now is your best opportunity. No one will be watching.”
Odette slipped down the stairs to where Jack waited. Encouraged by Mrs. Northrop’s light teasing, she threw her arms about him and buried herself in his arms. He held her tenderly but firmly.
He kept his arms around her as Mrs. Northrop passed. “Thank you, again,” he said to the matchmaker. “We would have had no hope of this happy ending without you.”
Mrs. Northrop tipped her chin upward the tiniest fraction. “This, Mr. Hewitt, is not an ‘ending’ at all. This is a beginning. What comes next depends entirely on the two of you.”
Odette rested her head against Jack’s chest. “I intend to be very happy.”
“As do I,” Jack said.
Mrs. Northrop nodded decisively. “Very good. See to it that you each decide to be happy and to do all you can to contribute to the other’s happiness. I do not want to hear any different.”
Jack pressed a kiss to the top of Odette’s head. “‘Take all my loves, my love, yea, take them all.’”
“Poetry, Mr. Hewitt?” Mrs. Northrop shook her head. “You very nearly managed this entire thing without a single stanza.” She sighed. “I am sorely disappointed.”
Jack laughed lightly. “I cannot help myself.”
“It seems the young gentlemen never can.” Mrs. Northrop turned and stepped through the open front door. Odette would miss her deeply. And she would forever think of the dear woman with deep, abiding gratitude.
“I love you, Jack.” She knew how very fortunate she was to finally be allowed to acknowledge her love openly.
“And I love you, my dearest Odette.”
* * *
Adelaide made herself as comfortable as possible in the traveling coach provided by the Brockton family for her journey to Dorset. She set on her lap the portable writing desk that had made these journeys with her the past five years. Inside its hinged compartment were the details of her next assignment.
She did not open it immediately but took a moment to watch the sights and listen to the sounds of London disappearing behind her. She had managed to help secure the futures of four people these past weeks, a fact she hoped Mr. Goddard noticed when he read the announcements in the copy of the Times she had sent him in Bath. She had renewed friendly associations. She had even met a few people who might very well benefit from her assistance in the years to come.
By all standards, this assignment had proven an unmitigated success. She looked forward to hearing how Odette and Jack, and Mr. Lexington and Miss Summerfield were getting on in life. Her correspondence was extensive and frequent. She loved it. She absolutely loved it.
It was time once again for her to take up the mantle of matchmaker and do what she could to guide a young lady toward a happier future than she currently anticipated. As always, she was tremendously excited.
She opened her portable desk and pulled out the sheets of paper topmost on the pile inside. Snapping the lid shut once more, she set the parchment atop it. She straightened the papers and tipped the desk a bit toward the light spilling in through the carriage window.
“Miss Brockton,” she said, eying the list of information, “let us see what kind of challenge you have for me.”
More books by Sarah Eden
About Sarah M. Eden
Sarah M. Eden is the author of multiple historical romances, including the two-time Whitney Award Winner Longing for Home and Whitney Award finalists Seeking Persephone and Courting Miss Lancaster. Combining her obsession with history and affinity for tender love stories, Sarah loves crafting witty characters and heartfelt romances. She has thrice served as the Master of Ceremonies for the LDStorymakers Writers Conference and acted as the Writer in Residence at the Northwest Writers Retreat. Sarah is represented by Pam Victorio at D4EO Literary Agency.
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Website: SarahMEden.com
Confections and Pretense
By Annette Lyon
Chapter One
London, Summer 1825
In the back of Gunter’s Tea Shop, Anne eased the back of a mold into a basin of tepid water, then slowly counted to ten before pulling it out again, just long enough to release the ice cream from the metal. With a practiced hand, she flipped the mold over so it landed perfectly centered on the waiting platter. Now came the tricky part: removing the ice cream without destroying the design. These desserts were a big reason wealthy Londoners and tourists stopped by the shop, which had a reputation to maintain. She gently lifted the mold, relieved when she saw the unmarred halves of a pear. She never breathed easy until she knew the ice cream had released properly.
The treat was an expensive luxury for many reasons, not the least of which was the ice required during months ice didn’t naturally exist, making it a resource nearly as precious as gold. Ice harvesting happened months prior, and the ice was irreplaceable until next winter. Every bit that melted without making salable ice cream was money lost. But she hadn’t ruined this batch; all she had to do to the pear halves now was put them together to make a seamless-looking piece of ice cream fruit and top them with sugar.
Anne rarely ruined molded ices anymore, but she remembered the disappointment of both Mr. and Mrs. Argus, the couple who ran the shop, when she was first learning the trade. She was immensely grateful that she’d never received punishments extending beyond the garnishing of her wages to pay for the lost supplies, or the occasional criticism yelled at her. After years of living in a boardinghouse, she’d heard plenty of horrible stories to well know that she had an enviable job. She had the opportunity to work in a safe, fashionable neighborhood, where the most powerful—and richest—Londoners spent their time. When she’d first come to Gunter’s ten years ago, Mrs. Gunter had likely taken pity on her after learning that Anne had n
o family.
The shop relied on her during the warmer months because she’d become adept at making ice cream and working the molds. With summer upon the city, locals and tourists alike swarmed the area: Belgravia, Mayfair, and Hyde Park. Stopping by Gunter’s Tea Shop for an ice had become the fashionable thing to do for both tourists and members of old families alike, so much so that young Freddie and the other serving boy, Conrad, practically ran back and forth between the tea shop and Berkeley Square, the park directly across the street, to deliver orders to the carriages carrying lords and ladies and who knew who else.
The flow of customers had ebbed over the last hour, which meant that closing time was approaching. Anne’s feet and back ached, and her hips hurt something awful, yet she had a long walk to the boardinghouse ahead of her. She dreaded that journey as well as what waited for her on the other side. She would ready herself for bed, alone. Tomorrow, she would wake, alone. One after the other, her days looked remarkably similar, each one a drearier link on a never-ending chain that fettered her to her station.
Yet she often reminded herself that she had a much easier life than many old maids in similar situations, without family, connections, or money. She had a roof over her head, modest food to eat, and worn but serviceable clothing. She’d need to buy herself new boots soon, though. Her current pair was worn far past the point of scuffs and thin soles; they had multiple holes that required careful navigation, or she’d end up stepping into puddles and soaking her feet. She’d squirreled away coins here and there but was loath to spend any of her hard-earned money unless absolutely necessary; each penny taken from the jar under her bed represented a delay in fulfilling her dreams.
Anne’s savings had begun as a way to forever avoid debtor’s prison or, worse, living on the streets. But as the amount had grown, the seed of a dream sprouted, and over the years, it had grown into an expansive vision of opening her own sweets shop one day. She’d worked in Gunter’s for so many years that she knew plenty about the process of creating sweets and cakes. She’d learned much about bookkeeping—something made possible by having had some education as a child. She knew how to read and write and do basic arithmetic. Most working-class women did not possess such skills. But then, she hadn’t been born into the working class. She’d simply landed there.
A Night in Grosvenor Square Page 8