by Regina Scott
“He was not what she wanted,” Chloe said. “She thrived in Society and lived for the whirl of constant coming and going. He didn’t mind participating but was happiest at home or in small gatherings. He was willing to do what she preferred but was seldom given the same consideration.”
“Oh, dear.” Mrs. Northrop spoke with neither pity nor amusement. Rather, she seemed to simply understand the difficulty of such a situation.
“The late Mrs. Bartrum wasn’t an unfeeling person. But quiet evenings and tiny social circles was her idea of purgatory.”
Mrs. Northrop nodded. “That is very nearly the definition of ‘ill-suited.’”
“I do not for a moment think he needs or even wants to marry a lady who is a hermit,” Chloe said. “But I do hope he can find someone who understands him and who considers his happiness important enough to not disregard it.”
“He deserves to be happy?”
She smiled a little. “He deserves it more than anyone.”
* * *
Adelaide sat in the quiet of her guest chamber after Chloe returned to hers, pondering. She’d been right to take on this assignment. There was far more to Porter Bartrum’s predicament than met the eye.
He’d not been given the opportunity to choose his first wife, and so had no experience making such a monumental decision. She had no reason not to believe Chloe’s recounting of Mr. Bartrum’s first marriage. Any gentleman who had invested so much effort into creating happiness in such a mismatched arrangement had reason to be wary of another. His hands were quite full enough with his very energetic son. To find himself once more struggling with marriage must have been a discouraging prospect.
His worry, his inexperience, and his timidity in the company of strangers made it far too likely he would bungle the entire thing if left to undertake his own matchmaking.
Adelaide would need to be circumspect in her efforts, as this was a more complicated endeavor than she’d anticipated. He wished for his interest in a match to remain a secret. His son would require much of his time during the house party. He didn’t quite know what he wanted or needed. He had allowed very little time in which to find his future.
And, though she suspected neither of them realized as much, Chloe Munson was in love with him.
Chapter Three
Porter had accepted his invitation to the Ellsworths’ Christmas house party specifically because it would be enormous. If one were to find someone with whom he could build a life, it seemed best to have a great many options. Yet standing in the drawing room that night in such a crush of people, he began to doubt the intelligence of his decision. He far preferred quiet, intimate gatherings. Still, he could endure a little anxiety if it meant him and Lewis living a less lonely life.
He slipped to where Vance stood chatting amiably. Neither of the Munson siblings were the least bit shy, neither were they dictatorial in matters regarding his participation in Society. When Porter felt overwhelmed and ready to retreat from gatherings he needed to attend, they had buoyed him and helped him navigate the shoals. When he desperately required quiet and solitude, they neither laughed nor argued. What would he have done without them?
“Porter.” Vance slapped a hand on his shoulder. “Might I make known to you Mrs. Cunningham, who lives in the neighborhood, and her niece Miss Cunningham, who resides with them.”
He offered a bow.
“Mrs. Cunningham, Miss Cunningham, this is Mr. Bartrum of Essex.”
Curtseys. Expressions of pleasure. All proceeded as it always did, except that Porter found himself assessing the young Miss Cunningham. She was likely only five years his junior. Her manners were fine without being fussy. That, of course, told him little about her as a person. Would she make a good wife? He felt daft jumping to that question so quickly. That was what came of attending a party with the sole purpose of finding a wife.
In short order, Vance introduced him to a Miss Garland. Not long after that, a Miss Fallon was made known to him. Mrs. Ellsworth herself introduced him to Mrs. Talbot, a young widow who lived in the area.
This party was a crush in large part because so many families of significance lived nearby. The Ellsworths’ guest list combined with their many neighbors and the guests those neighbors had invited made for quite a crowd. It was both perfect and miserable.
The gentlemen took their time with the after-dinner port. Porter might have found it a welcome respite, but Mr. Ellsworth allowed no such quiet before the storm.
“I noticed Mr. Munson and Mr. Bartrum were quick to make the acquaintance of many of our eligible lady guests.” Their host grinned almost gleefully. “Did any strike your fancy?”
“They are ladies not horseflesh,” Porter said, a bit under his breath.
Vance raised an eyebrow, as if challenging Ellsworth to disagree.
After a quick sputter, Ellsworth spoke again. “I hadn’t meant to imply they weren’t quite lovely young ladies. My wife is always telling me to think a bit longer before flapping my gums.”
A few of the other gentlemen laughed, raising their glasses of port. Conversation continued along gossip-focused lines. Ellsworth didn’t seem interested in anything else. Vance did an admirable job of turning the topic away from his and Porter’s potential romantic interest in the guests, something their host returned to again and again.
By the time the group joined the ladies, Porter was desperate for escape. Habit took him to where Chloe stood. She was an easy person to be around. They’d known each other nearly all their lives. She’d never seemed bothered that he was easily discomposed in company. She laughed with him but never at him.
“Mr. Bartrum,” Chloe said. Formalities were necessary in company. “Have you met Miss Garland?”
“I have had that pleasure.” He spoke quietly, but at least the words had emerged whole. They also emerged alone. He could think of nothing else to say.
Where was Mrs. Northrop? Wasn’t she supposed to be sorting all of this so he needn’t be so overwhelmed by it? He would bungle the entire thing if left to his own.
The matchmaker sat a bit aside, watching. It was a different sort of watching than he’d seen before. She seemed to somehow be observing everything all at once. And he suspected she didn’t miss a detail, little or great. There was some comfort in that—she was likely to discover things about the other guests that he might miss—but it was also unnerving. What did she see about him?
“Friends.” Mr. Ellsworth’s booming voice broke through the din of conversations. “My wife has wisely suggested we play games. There are too many of us for a single undertaking, but we thought we might offer a few options, and each person can join in whichever appeals to him or her.”
Murmurs of agreement met his suggestion.
One side of the room, he declared, would be dedicated to a game of Pass the Slipper. That sounded far too rowdy for Porter’s taste. The other end of the room would be undertaking Yes and No. Porter liked that option better. The middle of the room was assigned The Minister’s Cat.
As Porter was already in the middle of the room and didn’t object to the game, he remained where he was. Chloe did as well.
The game began with Mrs. Talbot. “The minister’s cat is an agile cat.”
Mrs. Cunningham took up the challenge next. “The minister’s cat is an agile and brown cat.”
Agile. Brown.
Miss Cunningham was next. “The minister’s cat is an agile, brown—” She stumbled a bit over the rest of the sentence, apparently struggling to think of an adjective beginning with the letter C.
The group smiled and teased, all good-naturedly, and Miss Cunningham accepted her elimination in stride. A good sign, that, being willing to endure a bit of nettling.
A guest Porter had not yet met took his turn. “The minister’s cat is an agile, brown, courageous cat.”
Agile. Brown. Courageous. He could remember those, nothing too odd or difficult.
It was Chloe’s turn. “The minister’s cat is an agile, brown
, courageous, dead cat.”
The group sputtered. Porter laughed. Chloe was endlessly amusing.
“How can the cat be agile and dead?” Mrs. Talbot asked.
“Clearly he wasn’t as agile as rumor would have us believe.” Chloe spoke as if perfectly serious. “Or his courage was actually foolhardiness.”
More laughter met the bit of wit. Chloe lit up every room she was in. Why was she unmarried? Mrs. Northrop could likely find her a match, but Chloe had insisted earlier that day she had no interest in one. That was a shame.
Next to Porter, Vance took his turn. “The minister’s cat is an agile, brown, courageous, dead”—Vance rolled his eyes at his sister’s contribution—“elegant cat.”
Porter took a breath and began. “The minister’s cat is an agile, brown, courageous, dead, elegant, foolhardy cat.”
More laughter erupted, most especially from Chloe.
“You cheated,” she said with a broad grin. “I said that word not thirty seconds ago.”
“And I thank you for it,” he said.
The group accepted his ill-gotten word, and the game continued. Porter felt more at ease the longer they sat there going around the circle. He needn’t talk often, and what he said was predetermined. He was not nearly so drained by the gathering as he had been.
Those in the middle of the drawing room came to know one another. Porter took note of Mrs. Talbot, the widow, and her quickness. She was sharp of mind and didn’t struggle at all with the challenge of the game or the necessity to speak. That was likely a good thing. Rebecca had been the same way, and that strength in her had helped him shed some of his hermit-like tendencies. It had also, though, led to a great deal of frustration between them. They were simply so different in that respect.
Miss Cunningham proved quiet and sweet natured. She might be pleased with a life of comparative solitude. She might not grow irritated with him when he felt himself unequal to the task of going about Society.
Mrs. Northrop had joined the game of Yes and No. Porter hoped she was learning something about the guests on that end of the room. Her success in this field was well-known; he would trust that.
Chloe offered another hilariously ridiculous adjective, and the gentleman beside her laughed quite heartily. Another gentleman in the group complimented her effusively. Another smiled rather warmly.
She had a way of drawing people to her. He had always appreciated that about her. He felt less appreciation for her admirers in that moment, however. Perhaps because they were being so obvious in their attentions. He didn’t care to see her the object of speculation or whisper. Some in Society could be viciously unkind, choosing to willfully misrepresent a lady’s being gregarious as being overly forward. He didn’t want that to happen to her.
“What do you know of Misters Twickenham and Barber?” he asked Vance.
“Not very much,” Vance said. “Both are gentlemen. Twickenham attended Cambridge. I believe Barber’s estate sits very near the Scottish border. Neither belongs to White’s.”
“Neither is particularly subtle about his interest in Chloe.”
Vance laughed under his breath. “Noticed that, did you?”
“I believe the entire room noticed.”
Vance shrugged. “If Mrs. Northrop noticed, Chloe’ll truly be in the suds. No matter her protests, she’ll likely find herself matched and married by year’s end.”
“Mrs. Northrop won’t force Chloe into a match against her will,” Porter insisted.
“You’re certain of that?”
He would make certain of that.
* * *
Adelaide would have to remember the Ellsworths when needing to assist a client with expanding his or her circle of acquaintances quickly. This house party was the largest she had ever been to. It was also a great deal of fun.
Since she was to be seen as nothing more than a participant, she chose to join in the games. She never forgot, however, the reason she was actually there. Several of the unattached ladies present had potential to be a good match for Mr. Bartrum. A lady who would urge him to be a bit more social would be good. Yet, Adelaide was in complete agreement with Chloe: Mr. Bartrum also needed a lady who did not resent his quiet nature. He had shown himself to be quick-witted in the game he had joined. A gentleman in possession of a sharp mind would be terribly discontented with a wife who was a complete featherhead.
He needed someone who would love and care about his son and help him manage the child, whom Adelaide had heard from both Munson siblings was rather a handful. But he also needed someone who would love and care about him. He could not give his child the happy, warm home he clearly wanted if he and his bride shared no tender regard.
Adelaide had no doubt she could find such a paragon. Doing so before the house party was over might be more daunting.
Yet, watching Porter interact with Chloe, a potentially obvious bit of the unformed puzzle began to form in her mind. She knew Chloe’s heart harbored a deep affection for her lifelong friend. Porter’s feelings in that direction were not as simple to ascertain, but he was far more at ease with Chloe than anyone else. He smiled more. Laughed. He even spoke without stumbling over his words.
Adelaide did not yet know if there was love there. But one thing she was certain of: there was potential.
Chapter Four
Chloe was nearly out of her mind with boredom. The ladies of the house party were content to sit about, chatting and working on their needlepoint. She didn’t mind those pursuits in moderation, but this had been ongoing since breakfast. In another two hours the dinner dressing bell would ring. Did no one else desperately wish to do something?
Like manna from heaven, Porter stepped inside and moved directly to her. “I have a favor to ask.” He spoke quietly but urgently.
“If it involves leaving this room, I accept.”
A little smile tugged. “That was easier than I expected.”
“What is it you need?”
“Lewis has seen that it is snowing and wishes to play in the snow. His nursemaids are convinced he’ll dart and be all the way to Scotland in the blink of an eye and, therefore, have refused to indulge him.” Porter sighed. “They are likely not entirely wrong. He behaves well for me, but I would be far more likely to meet with success if you were with us as well. He listens to you better than almost anyone.”
“He’s afraid of me.”
His smile grew. “No, he’s not.”
Chloe rose. “We had best go collect the little demon and take him out into the snow.”
“Little demon,” he repeated with a shake of his head. “I wish I could say he didn’t sometimes earn that description.”
“Lewis is wonderful,” she assured him. “He is simply very energetic.” She met Mrs. Northrop’s eye. They exchanged a nod, both acknowledging her departure. As she and Porter stepped into the corridor, Chloe took up a different topic. “Mrs. Northrop has been quite busy on your account. I have seen her deep in conversation with every eligible lady here today. You may very well be married by tomorrow afternoon.”
Porter actually cringed. She had expected a roll of the eyes or a shake of the head—she was being silly, after all—but his discomfort was unexpected.
“Are you not happy about her doing what you brought her to do?” Chloe pressed.
“I am happy. Grateful.” His brow pulled low. “I’m nervous, is all. We need someone, Lewis and I, but I know I’d never find anyone on my own. What if she can’t find anyone either? What if everyone she tries to convince takes one look at me and refuses? What if—”
“Oh, pish.” Chloe likely ought not to have laughed, but the poor soul was so far off the mark that he might as well have been shooting in the opposite direction. “‘What if ladies run screaming in abject horror at the thought of me?’ Have you truly evaluated the situation and come to that conclusion?”
The droop in his shoulders indicated he had.
“You are young and handsome, though Vance would tease me merci
lessly if he heard me say as much. You are not in the poor house nor an inveterate gambler.” She counted off the arguments on her fingers. “You are spoken highly of. You claim membership at White’s, which, while not as important to ladies, will certainly give you some cachet with their fathers and brothers. You are gentlemanly and pleasant. And, most important of all, you are not a terrible dancer.”
Porter had turned a bright shade of red. “The dancing is most important, is it?”
“Crucial.”
“And I am not an agile, brown, courageous, dead cat. That must be a point in my favor.”
They had reached the nursery wing. Chloe’s laugh brought the scolding eyes of several nursemaids on her immediately. She clamped her hands over her mouth to stifle the noise, hoping she didn’t awaken any of their charges.
She needn’t have worried about her noisiness. In the next instant Lewis flew across the room and tossed himself against his father. “Can we play? Can we play now? It’s snowing.” He looked at her. “It’s snowing.”
“No,” she said solemnly. “I am certain you are mistaken.”
He popped his fists on his hips and pouted mightily at her. “It is too. I saw it.”
“I believe you will have to show me,” she said. “If I put on my coat and gloves, you and your father and I can go outside and see for ourselves.”
Lewis looked up at Porter. “Can we? Can we show her?”
Porter scooped him up. “That is the plan.”
Not ten minutes later, bundled against the cold, the three of them wandered down a meandering back path surrounded on either side by a vast expanse of lawn being slowly covered in a blanket of snow. Flakes floated down toward them and stuck to their coats and scarves.
“I told you,” Lewis said, pulling his hand from his father’s to reach out and catch the lazily falling snow.
“Are you certain this is snow?” Chloe caught a flake as well. “It is possible someone simply spilled sugar from a very high window.”
Lewis eyed her narrowly. “Are you being silly at me?”