Love is Come (Power of the Matchmaker)

by Heather B. Moore

  A tall, wiry man wearing spectacles opened the door. He raised his thick eyebrows at the sight of the women. The constable explained who Nelle was and introduced her to the medical examiner, who then let them inside.

  Nelle felt like she might crumple to the ground when she saw the two draped bodies on cots at the far end of the room. She could hardly believe her parents were beneath those sheets.

  “They have some injuries,” the medical examiner said. “There’s no need to see them in this state. When the carriage overturned, they were . . . they were killed instantly.” His voice softened as he gazed at Nelle. “I’m most sorry for your loss, miss.”

  Nelle closed her eyes as tears coursed down her cheeks. Mrs. Brown gathered her into her arms, and Nelle sank against her.

  Chapter Five

  Dottie stared at Nelle with wide eyes. “You’re going to live with your aunt? Leave New York City and live on a farm?”

  “An estate,” Nelle said, feeling despondent as she spoke. “She does own farmland, but it’s not as if she’s out working in the fields. She has hired men for that.”

  Dottie flopped back onto Nelle’s four-poster bed—a very unladylike thing to do, but Dottie hadn’t ever cared much for conventions.

  “You’ll have to come and visit me,” Nelle said.

  Dottie turned her head, looking at Nelle. “How long will you be gone?”

  “I don’t exactly know,” Nelle said, letting out a sigh. “When I turn twenty-one, at the end of the summer, I’ll gain control of my trust. Until then, I have to live on someone’s charity.”

  “Come live with me!” Dottie said, sitting up and clapping her hands. “It will be perfect.”

  “You’re getting married soon.” Nelle sat next to Dottie on the bed. “Shall I come with you on your honeymoon?”

  “I could back out of it,” Dottie mused. “It would be fun to travel the country with all that money you’re about to inherit.”

  Nelle couldn’t laugh, for her body was too laced with pain. The only reason she would soon possess all that money was because her parents had died. Her father’s brother inherited the house, but there had been a large trust left for Nelle—when she reached twenty-one years of age. Living with her mother’s sister, Corinne, would be better than living here when her uncle moved in with his four young boys.

  “Don’t you dare break up with Simon,” Nelle told Dottie. “You’ve already dragged it out enough for the poor fellow.”

  Dottie chewed on a nail. “You’re right. I suppose I have to marry someday, and Simon is a good sort,” she said as she grinned, “and, not to mention, filthy rich.”

  Nelle nodded absently. What she wouldn’t give to have her parents back. All this talk of money, parties, and weddings…it didn’t seem important anymore. As she gazed about her gold and white decorated bedroom, she remembered going through the decorating catalogs with her mother and choosing this color scheme—another twist in her heart.

  The bedspread, the rugs, the delicate Tiffany lamp…all picked out by her mother. And now, all this would belong to her uncle. Her trust would make her comfortable for life, but it was a far cry from what the financial advantages would have been if her father were still alive. If a man ever did propose marriage to her now, it wouldn’t be for her money.

  “Say you’ll come to the opera tonight with me,” Dottie said, pulling Nelle from her thoughts.

  Nelle looked into her best friend’s open gaze. It had only been two weeks since her parents’ death, and one week since their funeral. She’d worn black every day, and she knew if she appeared at the opera, the night would be filled only with murmured condolences. Nelle didn’t think she could take hearing one more I’m very sorry about your parents.

  She exhaled. “I need to pack, for I’m leaving tomorrow.”

  Dottie shot straight up. “Tomorrow?”

  “Yes,” Nelle said, growing in confidence about her decision. She would post a telegram this afternoon to Aunt Corinne and tell her of her travel plans. Then she’d have Mrs. Brown travel with her as far as her aunt’s estate.

  She loved Dottie, but Nelle couldn’t do this right now—attend operas, musicales, soirees, or dinners and listen to the same condolences over and over while, all around her, people chatted, laughed, and lived their lives as if nothing had changed. Everything had changed for Nelle. As much as Nelle didn’t particularly like Aunt Corinne, living with her was better than staying here and feeling like Nelle was living in a different life than everyone else.

  “Is this about Mitch Barlow?” Dottie pressed, her eyebrows lifting.

  Nelle had told Dottie earlier about the disastrous kiss. But Dottie hadn’t seemed too bothered by it and said that first kisses were often disastrous. It all took some practice, apparently. Regardless, Nelle didn’t relish the idea of running into Mitch anytime soon. He’d sent her a note of condolence, but it was merely a formality.

  “I need to get away from all these reminders,” Nelle said. “Every morning, when I awake, it all hits me anew. And I can’t bear the thought of seeing my uncle and his children going through my parents’ things as if they own it all.” She gave a short, bitter laugh. “Which they do.”

  “Oh, Nelle,” Dottie said, moving so that she was sitting next to her. She pulled Nelle into a hug. “I understand, but I will miss you. Nothing will be the same.”

  It will all be the same, Nelle thought. And that was the very problem. She was the one who was no longer the same. She hugged Dottie back. “I’ll write to you. Perhaps every day until you get tired of my prattling.”

  Dottie sighed and squeezed her. “I’d never get tired of you, dear Nelle.”

  By the next morning, Nelle was on her way to her aunt’s country estate, riding in her parents’ carriage. Mrs. Brown sat beside her, and Nelle was ever grateful for the kindness and companionship of the housekeeper. Nelle only wished she wouldn’t have to say good-bye to her at the other end. Mrs. Brown went along with her father’s home and would be working for her uncle shortly.

  As the buildings thinned and the countryside thickened, Nelle felt her heart tugging her backward, as if to tell her that she couldn’t leave all of those memories behind. But she would return at the end of the summer, when she could be financially independent. For now, she was determined to find a spot of happiness in her new reclusive lifestyle. It would give her time to recover the grief that consumed her every waking moment.

  She thought of Aunt Corinne, her mother’s older sister. The woman had come to the funeral, and that’s when she’d made her stoic offer. It was a generous thing to do, yet Nelle couldn’t help but feel she was a nuisance as far as her aunt was concerned. Mother and her sister had not been close. Whereas her mother had been a very proper and refined lady, Aunt Corinne took propriety to the extreme. She would have been mortified to learn that Nelle had been kissed by a man who’d never intended to marry her.

  Her aunt seemed to think it was 1808, not 1908. In fact, there wasn’t even electrical lighting in her home. The few times Nelle had visited, she’d been struck by how backward some things were at her aunt’s Waterbury estate. It seemed that ever since her husband died, a decade before, nothing had been updated or modernized.

  Aunt Corinne’s husband had owned corn crops. After his death, she’d sold off the farmland to various neighbors, and many of them turned the fields into building lots. Waterbury had grown in recent years, and industrial businesses had become more common there. But Nelle’s aunt still lived in her large house, surrounded by fields.

  Nelle let out a sigh as the carriage passed by a thick forest. Just beyond was the city of Waterbury, so named because of its many streams, leading to the Naugatuck River. It was more of a town, really, at least by New York City standards.

  Nelle missed Dottie already, knowing she wouldn’t have anyone here to confide in. Her cousin, Alice, was about eighteen and as prim as her mother. There would be no winning with those two. And without Dottie, there would be no one to share jokes
with or to talk to about the eligible men in town—what few men there might be.

  Then Nelle remembered that her aunt’s neighbor had a son a few years older than she. They’d even been introduced a time or two. If there was a man on the earth who could have been said to be Mitch Barlow’s opposite, it was Mathew Janson. Besides, if Nelle recalled correctly, Alice had already pegged him for herself. Nelle had heard that he’d been home from Harvard and had taken over his father’s company.

  The forest ended, and the carriage dipped down into a pretty valley. Nelle hoped this place would become a refuge of sorts, where she could avoid social engagements and spend the summer grieving.

  “This is a beautiful town,” Mrs. Brown said.

  Nelle nodded in response as she fingered the pearl necklace at her collar bone. She’d worn her mother’s pearls to the funeral and hadn’t taken them off since. Somehow, they'd helped her keep her chin up and her resolve solid. Now they were nearing her aunt’s estate, situated on the edge of town. But the closer they grew, the harder her heart hammered.

  Chapter Six

  “Bright and early,” Aunt Corinne told Nelle the night before, “to discuss business items.” She was supposed to meet her aunt after breakfast in the parlor.

  Nelle had been surprised to find herself as the only one in the breakfast room. She quickly helped herself to eggs and buttered bread. She’d slowly gotten her appetite back, which had been nonexistent the week of the funeral.

  She hadn’t seen her cousin, Alice, yet—apparently, she was staying at a friend’s for a few days in a neighboring town, putting together a bridal party. It seemed like everyone was getting married this summer.

  Nelle took a final swallow of her juice, wiped her mouth, and brushed off her hands. She left the breakfast room and made her way to the parlor. At least she was somewhat familiar with the three-story house.

  Her aunt waited in the parlor, sitting straight-backed on a chair, working on needlepoint. When Nelle walked into the room, her aunt removed her spectacles and looked up. Her graying hair was its usual style, pulled back severely at the nape of her neck and piled with curls on top.

  “There you are, dear,” Aunt Corinne said. She might have used a term of endearment, but it sounded anything but endearing coming from her.

  Nelle swallowed. “I’ve come as you requested.”

  “I see you’re wearing your mother’s pearls.” Her aunt’s gaze openly assessed Nelle in that nerve-racking way of hers. “Were they a gift?”

  Nelle opened her mouth. “I—I am her only daughter.” And her only child. Did her aunt think she’d stolen the pearls from her dead mother’s body?

  Her aunt sniffed. “Bring me the ledger from the top drawer of that credenza.” She pointed across the room.

  Nelle did so, then sat in the chair closest to her aunt as she thumbed through the pages.

  “Ah, here it is,” her aunt said. She turned the ledger so that Nelle could see her own name, neatly written, at the top of one page. “You will record your every expense on this page,” she explained. “At the end of the summer, when your trust funds come in, you will pay me back.” She smiled at Nelle. “Every cent. Do you understand?”

  “Of—of course…” Nelle started to say, unsure how to react. She hadn’t expected complete charity, but this seemed very extreme. “I don’t think I’ll be doing much shopping here.” She tried to smile, hoping that it looked genuine. She’d brought everything she would need. Only a few trunks were still stored at her parents’ home, which contained her winter clothing and childhood knickknacks.

  Aunt Corinne arched an elegant eyebrow. “Did you not eat breakfast?”

  Nelle’s face heated up. Where was her aunt going with this? “I did.”

  “What did you have, my dear?” Again, with the endearment, but again, not so endearing.

  “Two eggs and buttered bread.”

  “Juice?”

  “Yes.”

  Her aunt stood with a flourish and crossed to the credenza, the ledger in hand. She sat down at the finely upholstered chair and dipped the quill into the inkpot. “Two eggs, buttered bread, and juice.” She tapped her chin. “A half-dollar.”

  Nelle bit her lip to keep her mouth from gaping open. If she’d been red with embarrassment before, she was now positively on fire. A half-dollar was a fine restaurant’s price for the meal she’d just had. But her mother had taught her ladylike manners, and for the most part, she’d spent her life trying to keep them. “Which church do you attend, Aunt Corinne?”

  Aunt Corinne turned her head enough so that she could arch an eyebrow in Nelle’s direction. “St. Catherine’s.” A smile played on her lips. “But you should know that, dear. You’ve attended with us on your visits.”

  “Oh, of course I have,” Nelle said, with an apologetic laugh. “But I thought they were Christians there.”

  A red stain crept up Aunt Corinne’s neck, and she kept her steady blue eyes on Nelle—unfortunately a color they had in common, due to their family’s genetics. “You are an interesting young woman, Nelle. I’ve wondered why you’re nearly one-and-twenty and not yet married. I think I’ve just caught my first glimpse.” She turned back to the ledger, snapped it shut, slid it into the drawer, and stood. Without another look at or word to Nelle, she walked out of the room, her skirts swishing about her legs.

  Nelle stared at a floral design on the rug until it blended with the surrounding leaves. What have I done? What have I said? If Dottie were here, she would have laughed right out loud. But Dottie was far away, and Aunt Corinne was keeping track of every morsel of food Nelle ate.

  She closed her eyes and tried to exhale the shame growing within her. Then she rose to her feet and walked into the great hall. The day was already bright and promised to be a warm one, and Nelle had to get out of this house for a little while. Her mother had told her of Aunt Corinne’s famous pouting as a youngster—she’d once gone an entire fortnight without speaking a word to any of the family—but Nelle’s mother couldn’t remember why.

  Nelle would rather hear the birds and insects than silence and ticking clocks. She hurried up the stairs to her third-floor room, grateful she hadn’t been put in one of the bedrooms near her relatives’ rooms on the second floor. She’d have to get back down the stairs without encountering her aunt.

  Once in her room, Nelle grabbed a hat and pinned it into place. Then she drew on a light shawl, not for warmth but for protecting her upper arms from freckling. She hurried down the stairs and slipped out the front door.

  Immediately, she began to feel better. The slight wind tugged at her hat and the hair at the base of her neck, and cooled off her skin. Some of her favorite parts of her aunt’s estate were the many ponds, but she walked past those until she reached the line of trees. She knew she was taking the long way into town, yet she was in no hurry today.

  Once there, she’d be able to speak with a solicitor about having a small advance on her trust fund. This was something the solicitor in New York City had told her was possible. But she’d have to write out what items she would be purchasing for the amount she requested, which made her feel like a child.

  Nelle stayed near the line of trees, relishing the shade. The air was fragrant with flowers and warm with sun. After about half an hour of walking, she realized she should have reached town by now. She stopped and turned around in a full circle. All she could see was the trail she’d been walking on, leading through the trees, and both directions looked identical. Had she taken the wrong path after all?

  She worried she might become lost, but then she laughed at herself. Waterbury was a small town. It was impossible to get lost. She just had to get out of the trees to orient herself. Nelle turned back the way she’d been walking and cut through the trees in the direction she thought the main road was. Another half hour passed, and Nelle was now out of breath, getting irritated, and most of all, feeling hungry.

  She had a little money with her—enough to buy a hot bun and tea at a town c
afé—but money would do her no good out in these trees. She froze when she heard a loud whistle. It had come from behind her. She panicked and hurried into a thick copse of trees. Standing in the shadows, she listened for any other sounds. Then she heard them: the hoofbeats of a horse.

  A dog barked, and moments later, a big furry thing bounded up to Nelle. It leapt toward her, and she shrieked as she tried to scramble away. But she tripped on a root and sprawled forward onto the ground. The dog barked again, turned a circle, and stopped, panting and staring at her with its huge brown eyes.

  Nelle wasn’t afraid of dogs in particular, but this one was nearly her size.

  “Samson!” a man’s voice called.

  As the dog rose and turned, giving another bark, Nelle took this opportunity to stand and back away several paces from the overenthusiastic dog. She was brushing off her clothing when a man came through the trees, sitting atop a horse. His hat was pulled down low over his eyes, and his dark brown hair showed beneath.

  Seeing Nelle, he reined in his horse. His gaze shot back to the errant dog. “Samson!” he said. “She’s not a fox.” He tipped his head in her direction. “Sorry about that, miss. Samson thinks he’s a hunting dog, but he’s having a hard time getting the hang of it.”

  The dog—Samson—actually whimpered, seeming as if he’d understood his master’s insult. Nelle felt sorry for the dog, and she crossed over to it and scratched its head.

  “What breed is he?”

  “Uh, good question,” the man said, pushing up his hat and peering at the dog as if seeing him anew. “A shepherd mixed with something. He showed up as a pup one day, and I—”

  “Mathew Janson?” Nelle interrupted. It had to be him. Now that he’d lifted his hat, she could recognize him, albeit he was older now and much more, well…handsome, if she was to be completely honest. But she decided to settle for more grown or more manly. His shoulders were broad, and he commanded his horse with ease, which implied having a fine, strong body. She remembered Alice saying something about him being on the rowing crew at Harvard. That might also account for his build.