Love is Come (Power of the Matchmaker)

by Heather B. Moore

  “She has an invitation brought by the post.”

  Mathew released a silent sigh. His mother treated him as if he were at her beck and call. “Tell her I’ll be there momentarily,” he said.

  Philip’s face grew even more still. Mathew hated that their butler or even the housekeeper or cook was often made to carry messages between himself and his mother. And Mathew suspected that, as a result, their servants were the ones who got the brunt of his mother’s displeasure toward him.

  As the library door shut behind Philip, Mathew opened the crops ledger and retrieved the list of expenditures, which his manager turned in once a week. As he painstakingly recorded the final amounts into the ledger, double-checking the numbers each time, he had to force his mind not to dwell on the woman he’d spent so much time with today. Compared to Alice, Nelle was like a fresh spring breeze, the kind that carried the scent of newly bloomed flowers and new possibilities.

  Don’t compare her to Alice, Mathew told himself. That isn’t fair to either woman.

  He had been working for no more than thirty minutes, when the door to the library opened yet again.

  “Mathew,” his mother said, her sharp voice cutting through whatever concentration Mathew had been able to cultivate above his thoughts of Nelle. “Did Philips not speak with you?”

  Mathew looked up, his head beginning a slow, insistent pounding. “Surely, knowing the details of an invitation can wait. I need to reconcile these accounts before sending out new orders.”

  “Oh, of course,” his mother said, walking into the room, a pink envelope clutched in her hand. “Will you be much longer?”

  “Not much,” Mathew said, double-checking the last number that he’d written down. His mother sat down across the credenza from him. It seemed she intended to stare at him while waiting. He might have laughed about it on some other day, but his mind was jumping too many places today for him to find any appreciation for the interruption. He set down his quill, folding his hands atop the credenza, and gave his mother his full attention. “Why don’t you read it now? Then I’ll finish the accounts after.”

  “Are you certain?” his mother asked, her eyes mischievous.

  “I’m more than certain,” he managed to reply.

  With great ceremony, his mother opened the envelope that was no longer sealed and took out the neatly lettered card, reading it aloud, “You are cordially invited to tea on Friday to celebrate the return of Alice and to meet our niece, Nelle Thompson, who will be staying with us for a short time.” His mother looked up from her reading. “What do you think about that? They are throwing her a party.”

  Mathew was about to ask what was wrong with that, when his mother continued. “She’s in mourning, for heaven’s sake. She shouldn’t be at any light social events.”

  “It’s just tea, Mother,” Mathew said. “And it sounds like it’s a very small group.”

  She bit her lip. “Perhaps you’re right.”

  “Are you going, then?” Mathew asked.

  “We’re going,” she corrected.

  Chapter Ten

  The house was quiet when Nelle entered. The door to the front parlor stood ajar. There was no fire lit in there, so she knew her aunt was not sitting within. Even though the weather was warm outside, her aunt almost always had a fire burning in whatever room she currently occupied.

  With slow and quiet steps, Nelle walked to the parlor and pushed open the door. Near the windows sat an elegant piano. It was one of the first things Nelle had noticed in her aunt’s house. Nelle had played it on previous visits, but now that her parents were gone, playing the piano seemed foreign to her somehow. It was something happy people did, people who weren’t filled with grief.

  Not me, Nelle thought. Not anymore.

  She walked into the room and crossed to the piano, stopping just shy of touching it. She closed her eyes for a moment, trying to imagine herself sitting on the bench, placing her fingers on the keys, pressing the notes one after another until a melody rose up. As she thought this, an image of her father hovering nearby leapt to her mind. How could she play the music he'd so loved but could no longer hear? What if she came undone the moment she touched the keys?

  Opening her eyes, she released a breath. Not today. She took a step back, then turned and left the room. As soon as she reached the base of the staircase, her aunt’s voice rang out from above.

  “Do you know what I’ve been doing all day?” she demanded. Nelle looked up. Her aunt stood at the top of the staircase with her arms folded.

  Nelle opened her mouth to respond, but she couldn’t come up with an answer before her aunt pushed on.

  “Arranging an afternoon tea in your honor. And you’ve been…where?”

  “I’ve been to town,” Nelle said, her voice barely above a whisper.

  “With Mathew Janson?” Aunt Corinne said, her voice rising a notch. “You know he’s marrying Alice.”

  “Of course I know,” Nelle said, feeling anger begin to burn slowly inside of her. “He was merely being a gentleman and offered me a ride home.”

  Aunt Corinne pursed her lips. “You did not have my permission to leave.”

  “I’m sorry, I should have left a note.”

  Aunt Corinne seemed to grow calmer after that. “How did you get to town?”

  “I walked.” Nelle didn’t share the additional information that she'd been sorely lost, or that Mathew had found her. She also didn’t share the way he'd caught her blowing hair in his fingers and touched her cheek, or the way his gray eyes had seemed wholly absorbed in her when she'd looked at him.

  “Well, you look positively wild,” her aunt said, coming down a few of the stairs while holding onto the banister. “You’ll need to clean up before the supper hour. Remember, if you require new clothing or repairs on a skirt, it will be recorded in the ledger. Now, hurry along. I’ve invited the vicar and his wife tonight.”

  “Very well,” Nelle said, starting up the stairs on the opposite side, so as to not to pass closely to her aunt.

  “And I’ve invited the Jansons to the tea on Friday as well,” her aunt continued. “I expect that you’ll not stir anything up.”

  What would I stir up? Nelle wanted to ask, but she was tired and had a lot to think about. She could only do so in the privacy of her own bedroom. As she made her way to her room on the third floor, she wondered who would be paying for the tea on Friday…Would that need to be recorded in her aunt’s ledger as well?

  Once inside her room, Nelle slipped out of her dress and collapsed onto the narrow bed. She didn’t mind that she’d been put into such a small room—far different from the one she’d stayed in when she’d visited here with her parents—for the small size of the room felt somehow comforting, like a nice cocoon.

  She pulled the tea packet from her handbag and smelled its fragrance. It reminded her of Pearl’s shop and the other soothing aromas there. Nelle closed her eyes for a moment, letting the scent wash over her. Even though today had been trying, there had been many pleasant surprises.

  Keeping her eyes closed, she tried to imagine what it would be like on Friday, with the Jansons over for tea and with Alice there, too. Did her cousin even know how fortunate she was? With her mother still alive and with an almost-fiancé like Mathew? And with the convenience of marrying her neighbor so she’d never have to be separated from her family?

  Nelle’s eyes pricked with tears. Her own mother wouldn’t be able to attend her wedding. Her father, neither. Some days it was hard to believe she’d never see them again; never hear her father’s voice, calling out the tempo for the music she played; never see her mother’s brilliant smile, her blue eyes sparkling.

  Nelle turned onto her side and hugged a pillow against her chest. For a short time this afternoon, she’d let go of the pain. Mathew seemed to distract her from it. But now she was paying in full force as memory after memory of her parents assailed her. Some of these memories were even made in this very house during their visits here.
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br />   Finally, she let her body relax and the memories consume her until she drifted into a vivid dream.

  “Father!” Nelle shouted, running through the twisting hallways of her home. Why the hallways were twisting, she didn’t know. But she did know she had to find her father soon. Her mother had told her she could go riding today if she caught up on her lessons, and she didn’t want him to leave without her.

  “Father!” she shouted again, starting down a long, winding staircase. He had to be somewhere in the house, but where? She realized she was wearing a dress that she hadn’t worn since the age of ten.

  When she smelled the aftershave her father always used, she knew he must be close. The staircase morphed into the grounds near the stables, so she hurried into the stables. She didn’t wonder how she had suddenly gone from the hallway to the stables, for she was in a hurry to find her father.

  “There you are, sweetness,” her father said, turning from their biggest horse to look at Nelle. “I’ve been waiting for you. Jasper is ready for you to ride him.”

  Nelle eyed the large stallion and shook her head. “Mother won’t allow it.”

  Her father laughed. “I’ll ride with you, and we won’t go too fast.”

  Nelle folded her arms, knowing her mother still might not approve.

  “All right, all right,” her father said, raising his hands. “I can see you are like your mother. India it is,” he said as he walked to the next stall and brought out the small chestnut mare.

  India was already saddled, so Nelle knew now that her father had been teasing her all along. He helped her mount the horse, then secured Nelle’s feet into the stirrups.

  Her father mounted the stallion and led the way out of the stable. He rode slowly at first, keeping by her side. But soon he pulled ahead of Nelle.

  “Wait, Father,” she said, thinking he’d forgotten her horse was slower and that Mother hadn’t given her permission to gallop yet. But Father didn’t turn around or even call back to her.

  The stallion started running faster and faster, until it was galloping ahead, too far away for Nelle to ever get her father’s attention. Nelle stared in surprise as her father and his horse disappeared into the thick forest without even a backward glance at her.

  Now she was all alone in the middle of the meadow—truly and completely alone.

  Nelle woke with a start. Her hair was damp from sweat, and she was breathing erratically.

  “It was a dream,” she whispered to herself, sitting up and trying to get her bearings. The sun had set outside, and her bedroom was draped in shadows. Her aunt would be expecting her to arrive soon for supper.

  Feeling disoriented, Nelle splashed water onto her face from a bowl on the side table, then quickly changed her clothing and repinned her hair.

  Reluctantly, she left her room, bits of her dream still swirling around in her thoughts. She’d met the vicar and his wife before, but it had been a long time ago. She wasn’t looking forward to a somber meal filled with condolences and quiet spaces.

  Chapter Eleven

  Mathew walked down the sweet corn rows with the brim of his hat pushed back so the breeze would cool him off somewhat.

  “It looks like it might rain again,” his company manager, Mr. Bradley, said. He’d taken his hat off and was rubbing at his sunburned forehead. The man was short and stocky with a gruff voice, but he got the job done in the factory and had even helped Mathew out in the corn fields by managing the few laborers Mathew had hired.

  “Rain will be very welcome.” Mathew smiled at Mr. Bradley. For some reason, he was in a buoyant mood today. He knew it had nothing to do with the tea later this afternoon at the Ashtons’. He would see Nelle again, to be sure, but that was of no consequence. He was just happy the corn stalks were growing straight and hardy.

  “That it will be,” Mr. Bradley said. “It’s nice of you to walk the fields each week, for the workers notice, and it increases their production.”

  Mathew arched a brow. “And if I didn’t come out?”

  “They’d still be working, but perhaps they wouldn’t have so much pride in it,” Mr. Bradley said.

  Nodding, Mathew asked, “Are there any problems with the men?”

  “Not so much as to report,” Mr. Bradley said. “There’s been an argument here or there, but nothing serious.”

  “Very good,” Mathew said. Even though this field was a side project for him, long hours of labor were still involved. The bulk of it would begin in a couple of months, and that was when almost everyone’s tempers grew short. There was plenty of work to do now, though, with keeping the crops watered and insect-free.

  “I best be off to check on the manure delivery,” Mr. Bradley said, “so that it gets put in the proper location.” Last time, they’d dumped it too close to the housing row, Mathew remembered, and the wives had all complained.

  Mathew chuckled. He was grateful for a manager he could trust with more than one part of his business. He said good-bye to Mr. Bradley, then headed for his wagon. The distance home was walkable, but Mathew was short on time this morning. His mother would certainly be in a frenzy if he arrived too far past noon. In her mind, he would need a lot of time to wash the smell of the field off before they could attend the tea at Alice’s.

  As he reached the wagon, he slowed, seeing a woman riding on a horse up the lane toward the fields. Is that Nelle? Mathew stared, then he caught himself. Of course she rode; she’d spent plenty of time in the country. She made an elegant figure on a horse, and Mathew felt his heart thump with the same rhythm as the galloping hoofbeats.

  Then she saw him. She immediately slowed the horse to a canter and changed directions so she now headed straight toward him.

  “Are these your fields?” she asked, breathless from the swift ride.

  “Yes,” Mathew said as he stared at her flushed face and glittering blue eyes. Her hat was askew, and her brown hair tumbled from its thick bun. She was positively glowing from the exercise, and he had to force himself to speak further. “We purchased some of your aunt’s property and a couple of others. These fields are one of the last holdouts in Waterbury.”

  “It’s beautiful,” Nelle said, not looking at him now but gazing past him to the rows and rows of small green stalks.

  Mathew tried to remember whether Alice had ever so much as looked at one of his fields. Of course, to her, it wouldn’t have been anything amazing or beautiful. She’d grown up surrounded by the valley’s industry, so nothing here was new to her. That must be it, Mathew thought. She certainly hadn’t mentioned wanting to live elsewhere. And for all he knew, Nelle would soon tire of the country and wish to return to her old life.

  Here he was, comparing the two women again.

  They were both beautiful—he couldn’t argue with that—but Alice’s beauty was more of a universal, outer beauty, one that turned men’s heads as she passed by. Nelle’s beauty took a bit more study to appreciate. Perhaps Nelle wasn’t a classic beauty, but the more he spoke to her, the more he seemed to appreciate her.

  Again, he had to redirect his thoughts to focus on what she was asking him. “It’s amazing to think that all of this can grow from a handful of seeds,” she was saying.

  “A little more than a handful,” Mathew said, smiling.

  Her face pinked. “Of course. But those seeds grow into plants, which then produce crops that keep people alive.” She averted her eyes, gazing across the fields again.

  “Simple science, really.” He found he enjoyed teasing her. “My hobby has turned into a bit of a production.”

  Her amused eyes flickered toward him. “How do you find time to do it all?” she asked. “To run your factory and this farm?”

  “I suppose I have my manager to thank for that,” he admitted. “A trustworthy man is worth his weight in gold. And the manual labor helps to keep me in shape after being so active at Harvard.”

  “You rowed crew, right?” Nelle asked.

  He was surprised she knew this, then again
, he wasn’t that surprised. “Yes, all four years.”

  “What was it like?” she asked. “Rowing in all those races?”

  Alice hadn’t ever shown such interest in his rowing, and Mathew forced himself to push that out of his mind. “It’s incredibly hard yet incredibly rewarding. Being part of a close-knit team like that, rowing together day after day—the comradeship is unbeatable.”

  “I’ll bet you miss it,” Nelle guessed.

  He did miss it, although he hadn’t realized how much until Nelle started questioning him. Sometimes, on the hot summer days, he craved the salty ocean breeze—the stiff cold wind pushing against him as he knifed his oars into the water in time to the coxswain’s demands. He noticed then that she seemed to be watching him closely.

  “Will you row again?” she asked. “I mean, on a team like you did at Harvard?”

  Mathew shrugged. He’d considered racing in the Alumni Regatta, held at the end of the summer. But with harvest being around the same time, he hadn’t given it serious thought. As he told Nelle about the alumni races, her eyes lit up.

  “You must do it,” Nelle said.

  He lifted his brows, startled at her insistence.

  “I don’t mean to intrude,” she said. “I just think that when an opportunity like that arises, it should be taken.”

  Gradually, he was starting to agree. “Would you like me to show you around?” Mathew asked, surprised by his own question. He was supposed to be staying away from Nelle, not spending more time with her. But he noticed the edges of her mouth had curled upward as if she were trying to keep her smile at a minimum.

  This sight did something to Mathew’s heart that he didn’t want to identify. But he grasped the bridle of her horse and held out his hand to help her down. As she landed on the ground right next to him, he stepped back for propriety’s sake, although he wanted nothing more than to breathe in the scent of her hair.

  “Thank you,” she said as she reached up to straighten her hat.

  Up close, he now noticed there were shadows beneath her eyes, as if she hadn’t slept well. He wanted to ask her about it, but he didn’t know how to do that without sounding too personal. Instead, he walked her horse to the nearby wagon and tied its reins securely to it.