A Very Matchmaker Christmas

by Christi Caldwell

  “Thank you.” Jane took it from her, praying that a touch of cool air would be all the magical balm she might need to restore her calm. “Am I the last to join the party?”

  “Not quite.” Her mother shifted back to survey the group. “I thought you were to wear your great-grandmother’s comb?”

  “Oh!” Jane reached up reflexively to touch her hair where the comb should have been nesting only to discover empty air. “I…decided to save it for the party on Christmas Eve, to make a good impression.”

  Lady Weston pressed her lips into a thin line. “That is not the strategy we discussed, Jane. But let’s leave off for now.”

  Her mother forced a bright smile to her lips, and Jane could do little except admire the way she turned back as the perfect hostess. “One more guest to complete the dinner table and it is nearly time for the gong.”

  “Is the elusive Earl of Athmore to join us tonight as well?” Lady Carlisle asked with a gentle teasing lilt. “I had heard he would not but has there been a new twist?”

  “I have word from our butler, that he has recovered and will be joining us.” Lady Weston opened her fan triumphantly at the pronouncement. “Everything is falling into place.”

  “That sounds a bit ominous,” Stephen noted wryly.

  “Falling into place for a lovely holiday gathering,” Lady Weston amended quickly, rewarding her son with a blistering look before she regained her smiles. “The earl was late to arrive but I am confident he will be a lovely addition to our group and at the very least, he will balance the numbers, yes?”

  Jane’s attention caught on her mother’s words. At the very least? Balancing the numbers wasn’t the enthusiastic endorsement she’d expected from her mother for an eligible bachelor. But before she could think of a clever reply, the man in question came into the room and everything shifted.

  The sight of another handsome man on the playing field immediately piqued the interest of the women in the room, while the other men could only feel a touch of relief that there might be another ally in the hunt. Lord Athmore’s solemn countenance did not change as the mothers rose and surrounded him with introductions and their desire to assess him. It was the first run of the small social gauntlet ahead of him, and Jane quietly noted how still he was in their midst and how silent.

  Jane also realized his hands were clasped behind his back, so tightly that his knuckles began to show white.

  He is terrified. When he said he was no good in company, he did not overstate it.

  Her sympathy for him surged and she stepped forward to stand next to her mother, positioning herself within reach—a familiar face for him to see.

  “Tell me you play cards like a fiend and can help me pick James’ pockets as thoroughly as he’s been picking mine,” Mr. Chance said.

  “No.”

  An awkward silence spun out.

  “Pardon?” Mr. Chance asked. “Was that no to picking pockets or just no to partnering with me to seek my revenge?”

  “I don’t gamble.”

  “How is that possible?” James asked. “Do you aspire to heaven then?”

  “Do you not aspire to heaven, Lord Munthrope?” Jane asked pertly.

  “I have no such hopes, sadly.” James shrugged his shoulders. “Not if gambling is a hindrance to admittance.”

  “A sad confession, sir. But there are other things to do in the country besides play cards,” Jane added gently.

  “Careful, Athmore. She’s about to recruit you for the next round of party games for—”

  “No.”

  It was a longer silence this time and the amusement it evoked began to infect the group.

  “What was that, Lord Athmore?” Stephen asked cautiously, struggling not to smile.

  “I don’t…play. Games.” Nick cleared his throat. “I’m sorry.”

  “Well, that is no terrible thing,” Jane said. “Perhaps we shall keep you clear of them and allow you to be the judge if there is a contested point or better yet, an audience who can appreciate our efforts to entertain.”

  Jane made a subtle shift of her weight to press on her brother’s toes and was instantly rewarded with his aid.

  The dinner gong sounded and everyone assembled to take their places of precedence to head into the dining room in family groups. Jane ended up on her brother’s arm, but kept her eyes on Nick. His posture was so stiff that he looked more like a man walking to the gallows than a friendly holiday meal with his peers.

  As they found their places, Jane saw with great disappointment that Lord Athmore would be seated at her mother’s right hand with Winnie’s mother on his other side. The young and handsome bachelor was mysteriously in the awkward position of sitting somewhat apart from his contemporaries while the others were clearly paired and parsed out by the dictates of their matchmaking mothers. It was a lively holiday table as tradition dictated and Jane watched as Nick struggled to keep up his end.

  “Lord Athmore, I admired your four-in-hand when you arrived today. Are they from the famous Athmore lines?” Lord Weybourne asked.

  “Yes.” Nick’s answer was not followed by an explanation but only an awkward silence that spun out in grinding seconds measured by the astonished expressions around the table.

  “I understand that your estate is north of London, Lord Athmore?” Lady Portland tried to restart the conversation.

  “Yes.”

  Nick’s jaw clenched and his color deepened but still, there was no small talk to alleviate the odd moment.

  “My husband has long admired Hawkings Manor and the innovations you’ve made there. I know little of farm equipment and glaze over when it is mentioned but Lord Weston would have been keen to hear your opinions on the subject and to understand how you’ve managed to modernize in these difficult times.” Lady Weston straightened her shoulders, a woman taking command to steer things back onto more solid ground. “He will be sorry to have missed this chance but does not expect to return home until next month.”

  “Oh, I beg you,” Lady Carlisle sighed. “No talk of harvesters and threshing machines! I would rather be strung up and tortured.”

  “No need for such torment! Rivercrest’s dungeons are reserved for far worse crimes,” Lady Weston said lightly.

  “Heinous trespasses like crushed bonnets, spilt wine, and dropped custard pastry trays?” Prudence asked then sobered with a quick look to Jane. She’d forgotten her friend’s terrible turn with the lemon cups and had only meant to make a jest.

  Several eyes turned to look at Jane and the room quieted a little.

  Jane smiled quickly to reassure Pru that no harm had been done. “A bit of pudding in the hair gives it a glorious shine I discovered. Every young lady in London should be envious of the trick and I expect the fashion trend to emerge very soon.”

  “Enough then,” Lady Weston said firmly, doing her best to regain control only to be flummoxed when the entrée was served and she was faced with a platter of crusted fish topped with lemon slices. “Oh, my!”

  Innocent laughter erupted around the table without any thread of maliciousness. But for Jane, it was a new slice of humiliation she hadn’t really anticipated. The only comfort she could take was that she’d diverted attention away from Nick.

  “It seems my past social faux pas are a little harder to overcome than expected,” Jane said jauntily, lifting her water glass to take a jaunty sip in salute to lemons everywhere.

  Or it would have been jaunty sip if her nervous fingers hadn’t slipped and poured the entire contents of her glass down the front of her décolletage.

  In one instant, Jane experienced the shock at the sensation and then horror as her mother’s reaction solidified to open disapproval.

  This is unmistakably a wobble. Oh, God…I’ve wobbled.

  She pressed her napkin against her throat, her eyes dropping to her plate. Her friends sweetly did their best to ignore her mishap and awkward conversations sputtered and began between seated partners. But when the footman quietly refil
led Jane’s water glass as if providing additional ammunition in case she decided to pour it over her head, her nerve broke.

  Jane stood abruptly, rattling the silverware and crystal with her unladylike movement. “I—apologize. I’ve…I should go change my gown.”

  “Yes, that would be best.” Lady Weston said archly. “Rejoin us if you can, otherwise we’ll see you in the salon later.”

  Eighteen steps to the doorway. Eighteen humiliating steps and if I make it there without crying, I swear I shall call it a victory.

  Except Lord Athmore was on his feet as well.

  “L-Lord Athmore? Is everything all right?” Lady Weston asked cautiously.

  His expression was as surprised as everyone else’s but then he looked squarely at Jane as if the rest of the party had vanished, as if Jane were the only one present. “It seems—unkind to…”

  “Yes?” the Countess of Weston prompted.

  “If Jane goes now then…there will be no hope for me…when I have no small talk.” Nick looked directly at her, his expression sincere and unguarded. “I need an ally capable of distracting…everyone from my failings.”

  A strange warmth unfurled inside of her chest at his words. She knew the courage it took for him to make such a speech even if none of the others grasped what was happening.

  “It was just water after all,” she said softly, sitting back down as gracefully as she could. “I apologize for making such a melodramatic fuss and I see no failings beyond my own, sir.”

  Nick retook his seat as Jane resettled to face her fish. Winnie giggled.

  “Chivalry is not dead,” Winnie whispered to Stephen.

  “Not dead but I was eager to see if Lord Athmore was merely seeking the first opportunity to escape our company or if he would be bold enough to follow my sister out,” Stephen ventured with a smile. “I do enjoy good theatre.”

  “Enough diversions for one dinner. Let’s allow Lord Athmore to catch his breath. I wish to ask James if he is enjoying the quiet here at Rivercrest.”

  James gave his sister a quelling look before he replied. “It is a delightful respite from London and the holiday escape I craved.”

  “I daresay, I expected Lord Trent to join our festivities,” Lady Weston announced, anxious for a new topic.

  Unfortunately, instead it set off a new storm as Winnie lost her hold on her wineglass and the footmen once again rushed forward to minimize the damage. Looks were exchanged but before anyone could discern why Winnie’s cheeks were turning as red as the wine stain in front of her—the answer presented itself in the shape of a very handsome and winded Lord Trent Ballantine.

  As chaos ensued and declarations of true love followed, Jane could only watch with envy as her beloved Winnie finally had her heart’s desire.

  A love match is possible! For her—and perhaps for all of us.

  Jane tried to steal a glance at Nick to see if he was pleased at the turn of events but he was making a study of his fish. She shifted in her chair to smile at James and reminded herself that love probably needed a touch of luck.

  And luck was not Jane’s ally.

  When the party returned to the salon, Nick retreated to the periphery to look out through the frosted glass and marked his existence with each breath against the icy surface. He’d watched in astonishment as the intruder made his case, declared his intentions, and won the girl before the puddings had been served.

  While the others expressed astonishment, support, and felicitations in turn to the happy couple, Nick wrestled with envy. Envy at Trent’s bold courage and most of all at how easily he’d spoken of love and had achieved the heart of the lovely Lady Winnifred Grisham.

  He glanced covertly at Jane, his throat constricting with unnamed sentiment. He’d just met her but already she’d transformed him in ways he’d never thought possible.

  As the waves of conversation rose and fell, Nick closed his eyes as his fantasies of leaving his fears behind him and holding his own gave way to one certain knowledge.

  Wherever Trent’s courage comes from…

  I have no hope of reaching that place.

  Without looking back, he walked from the room and headed up the stairs to his room.

  Jane broke away from Winnie’s embrace and looked back to see if Nick was still alone by the windows.

  But he was gone.

  She scanned the entire room in disappointment before Stephen sidled up to her with a smile.

  “Did you lose something?” he asked. “Or someone?”

  “Don’t tease. I was merely looking to see if…”

  “If the earl needed to be rescued? The Earl of Athmore has the witty conversational skills of a turnip. Granted, according to our mother he’s a wealthy turnip, so who am I to poke holes in his eligibility?”

  “Stephen! It isn’t like you to be so horrid! The gift of silly small talk is not anything a man is remembered for and Lord Athmore is a true gentleman who will be measured by his other qualities, I am sure.”

  Stephen’s eyebrows lifted, revealing the game. “Ah! His other qualities?”

  “Stop it.” Jane struck him on the shoulder, reverting to the retaliation of childhood.

  “I do not mean to press you, baby sister, but Lord Athmore was very quick to forfeit decorum when he thought you were in distress. He is very intent on you for a man who just laid eyes on you for the first time tonight, wouldn’t you say?” Stephen lowered his voice in confidence. “Is it possible you’ve met him before in London?”

  Jane shook her head, praying for a calm she didn’t feel. “No. I have not had the pleasure of his acquaintance until today.”

  “Athmore was looking at you like a drowning man would study a distant shore. I think it love at first sight, Jane.”

  “He was not. You exaggerate and…” Jane’s breath caught in her throat. “It is wrong to be so cavalier about a person’s feelings.”

  “I retract all,” he said with a grand theatrical bow. “But I have the feeling that the curtain is just coming up.”

  Chapter Five

  “I believe we are having a very successful party so far, are we not?” Lady Weston asked the circle of women in the morning drawing room. The mothers were all looking supremely pleased with themselves.

  “Some more successful than others.” Lady Portland’s smiles were contagious.

  “Stop crowing,” Lady Carlisle sighed and lifted her teacup to her lips. “We agreed not to celebrate until all our chicks had come to roost.”

  “I apologize,” Pamela offered, though it was clear it was hard for her to be overly contrite since Winnie’s happiness was secured. “Yes, the greater game is still afoot.”

  Agatha nodded. “All I want for Jane is a good match and a man who will appreciate her better qualities.” It was not a new aspiration to have but Lady Weston was a firm believer that when a lady stated her intentions, the world had no choice but to yield to her will.

  “Wherever did you make the Earl of Athmore’s acquaintance?”

  “And why?” Lady Carlisle teased.

  “My goodness! He doesn’t play cards, he doesn’t participate in holiday games, and polite conversation is beyond his grasp. As far as I can see, his interests are limited to stalking about alone in frozen gardens and hiding in his rooms. Poor thing! Did you include him out of pity or just to give us the amusement of a silent snowman at the dinner table?”

  “He is making the other men look extremely cavalier and rakish in comparison. I should have brought Prudence’s cousin, Mr. Elias Kratzherbert, but I don’t think he makes as convincing a decoy as poor Athmore. I cannot fault a quiet man but the earl is practically silent, wouldn’t you agree?”

  “Hush!” Lady Penmore chided. “Agatha has always been a kind soul and they do say that charity begins at home.”

  The ladies laughed but Lady Weston did not. She grew pale as she realized that the earl had appeared in the doorway, unnoticed by others. He stood helplessly only for a second or two and then retreated wi
thout a word.

  “Lord Athmore!” Lady Weston stood and the party’s merriment abruptly ended. The countess ignored them all to cross the room, the sweep of her skirts over their toes a silken conversation in shame and embarrassment.

  She caught him in the corridor at the foot of the stairs, his foot already planted on the first riser amidst his escape.

  “Lord Athmore, mercy!”

  He stopped and turned, as contrite as if he were the one who had been in the wrong. “I was—rude to interrupt. Forgive me.”

  “No! Our conversation was not meant to be cruel but I am horrified to realize we were making merry at your expense, Lord Athmore. You are a guest under this roof and entitled to every courtesy! My husband would be stricken to learn of my indiscretion, sir.”

  Nick shook his head. “I…” He felt so cornered, so trapped, unable to argue his case or deny a single complaint that her friends had playfully lodged against him. He was failing on a grand scale. “No harm done.”

  “You have every right to be furious.”

  He’d meant to approach Lady Weston, to see if his courage would hold for a conversation so that he could demonstrate that he was indeed capable of longer speeches and possibly a worthy man for Jane. But there was no point now.

  His invitation to the house party made more sense. His reputation as a dullard had preceded him. Amidst the men, there was one that Lady Weston had in mind for Jane. It was only natural that she would want to see her daughter settled—and Nick’s inclusion had meant to make the others look more desirable.

  My social talents have finally been found useful.

  “Lady Weston, I’m—” Nick took a deep breath and steadied his nerves. She had Jane’s eyes and he took comfort in the familiar sight. “Your invitation was unexpected but I was grateful to get it. I know my limitations. I have no illusions. Your friend was correct. You are very kind and no doubt guessed that I did not have anywhere else…for the holidays. Please don’t apologize. I’m not so proud that I can’t accept a bit of charity.”

  “Oh, dear.”

  “The truth isn’t always easy to hear but I’m strangely relieved,” he said it evenly, without a trace of self-pity. “If you’ll excuse me, I was just heading upstairs to get my coat for a walk outside. Some fresh air.”