The Matchmaker's Rogue

by Regina Scott

  “Mr. Denby,” he declared, “is a hero.”

  “Is he?” Jess glanced to where Lark was helping one of the older ladies into a seat near the windows.

  “Indeed.” The Admiral rocked from the heels of his boots to the toes and back. “He rescued the chess set from obscurity and restored it to its rightful place. And he has helped defend it from a certain encroaching female.” He frowned at Miss Barlow, who was removing her bonnet.

  “I’m sure she was only trying to help you acclimate to good society,” Jess told him.

  “You do that,” he protested. “And you don’t make me feel like a doddering fool in the process.”

  “Never,” Jess said. “Why, where would the spa be without its commanding officer?”

  His round cheeks reddened. “Very kind of you to say, my dear, but it has become clear to me who has the ability to order full sail here at the spa at Grace-by-the-Sea.” He patted her arm. “Good to have you back.”

  He made way for Lord Featherstone, who put his hands on his hips. “And how is a gentleman to press his case when the lady disappears for days at a time?”

  “You, sir, have no case to press,” Jess reminded him with a smile. “And if you did, I am convinced nothing would keep the lady from your side.”

  He dropped his arms. “See how well you know me?” He took a step closer and lowered his voice. “How is young Alex? Denby confided the reason for your absence.”

  At least one of the reasons. She doubted Lark had told her Regular about the smugglers. “Healing,” she told the baron, “but it will likely be a few weeks until he is himself again.”

  Lord Featherstone nodded thoughtfully. “Please give him my regards. I’ll stop by this afternoon and visit him.”

  “I’m sure he would enjoy that.”

  He must have seen his friend approaching, for he excused himself as Mr. Crabapple minced up.

  “Is everything all right, Miss Chance?” he asked, blinking his rheumy eyes. “I have greatly missed your advice these last few days. Mrs. Harding has yet to give me permission to use her first name.”

  “How odd,” Jess commiserated. “Have you given her leave to use yours?”

  He trembled. “Oh, I would never be so bold.”

  “You could try,” Jess encouraged him. “Her name is Eugennia. Perhaps if you told her yours and used hers, she might follow suit.”

  He straightened. “I shall attempt it at the assembly tonight.” His face puckered. “There will be an assembly tonight, will there not?”

  “Most assuredly,” Jess said, gaze going to Miss Barlow, who was now fiddling with the controls on the fountain. “Excuse me while I make preparations.”

  She joined the woman. Miss Barlow’s dark hair was coming loose of its pins, as if she had worked overly hard already today even though she had only just arrived.

  “You’ll find a small turn to the left to be sufficient,” Jess said.

  Miss Barlow spared her a glance. A moment more, and the fountain began its contented bubbling.

  “I’m still learning,” she said with a tight smile.

  And had no need to continue, as far as Jess was concerned. “I should be able to give my duties full attention the next few days,” she told the woman. “Thank you for your help in the meantime.”

  She sniffed as if holding back tears. “I understand you did not appreciate my improvements.”

  Not in the slightest, but she tried to soften the blow. “It was kind of you to try, but there are so many traditions at a place such as this. No one can possibly know them all.”

  She sniffed again, chin coming up, and she began to remind Jess of Mrs. Greer. “And not everything should be considered a sacred tradition. One must be open to change.”

  Jess leaned closer. “And one must know when change is not advisable.”

  She nodded, but she stalked off before Jess could say more.

  Indeed, the rest of the day passed in a blur. Lark continued to hover, helping her keep her guests entertained by swapping stories and teasing Miss Cole out of her doldrums. Still, she barely had time to rush home, check on Alex and Maudie, and change into her evening gown before opening the assembly rooms.

  The crowd was larger than usual—besides the Spa Corporation councilmembers and their families, other prominent villagers, and guests from the spa, several young men had come in uniform, the gold braid on their shoulders glittering against the red on their chests.

  “Officers of the militia of West Creech,” she heard Mrs. Greer enthuse. “From very fine families.”

  “So long as they don’t steal a dance,” Lark said, threading Jess’s hand through his arm.

  Jess allowed herself the luxury of basking in his smile for a moment. Perhaps that’s why she didn’t notice the three women approaching until they stood right next to them.

  “Larkin?” the oldest asked. Her hair, parted in the middle, crimped around her face, and piled up in the back, was grey now, but Jess remembered it a golden brown. Wrinkles fanned eyes as dark as her son’s. She clutched her fringed shawl to her generous chest.

  “What are you doing here?” the youngest lady demanded, gloved hands on the hips of her white muslin gown. Her hair was as golden brown as Lark’s, but her eyes were clear blue and narrowed in suspicion. “You’re supposed to be in Kent.”

  “I’m sure there’s an explanation,” the third lady said. The golden glint of her hair matched the bright tone of her voice.

  Other guests were glancing their way, some with raised brows. Lark recovered himself in time to remove Jess’s hand from his arm so he could sweep them all a bow.

  “Mother, Hester, Rosemary,” he said as he straightened. “I’m delighted to see you.”

  “That’s all you have to say?” Rosemary, his youngest sister, asked.

  Hester stepped forward. She looked much as Jess remembered her, but instead of the lighter shades of a young lady on her first Season she wore an aubergine-colored gown befitting a matron. Odd to think of her as a married woman and mother when she was only a couple years older than Jess.

  “Miss Chance,” she said in her gentle voice, “thank you for sending us invitations every season. We decided to show up this week, and look what a pleasant surprise you offer us.” She smiled at her brother.

  She was the only one. Lark’s mother appeared to be on the verge of tears, and Rosemary looked as if she could impale him on the lorgnette that hung from a satin ribbon on her chest.

  But before either Lark or Jess could speak, a murmur ran through the crowd, and people scampered away from the door as if driven by a strong wind. Mrs. Denby and her daughters turned to look that way as well.

  A man stood in the doorway. He was tall and well-built, raven locks brushing the collar of his black naval coat with its gold-braid trim. One look, and he commanded the room.

  “Who is that?” Rosemary asked, suddenly breathless.

  “That,” Jess said as the apparition strode toward her, “is Captain Quillan St. Claire.”

  ~~~

  The fellow was perhaps an inch or two taller than Lark and possibly outweighed him by a stone or two, but Lark couldn’t see what the fuss was all about. Men inclined their heads to him. Ladies fluttered their fans and their lashes. His mother drew herself up and positioned her shawl to advantage. Hester shrank in on herself. Rosemary twirled her lorgnette by the ribbon as if to draw his attention. And Mrs. Greer scurried to intercept him.

  He reached Lark and Jess first. He took Jess’s hand, bowed over it.

  “Miss Chance.” If ever a voice had dripped honey, his was it. “Thank you for your kind invitation.”

  “I am delighted you chose to accept at least one of them, Captain St. Claire,” she said, that sunrise pink beginning to cover her cheeks as she removed her hand from his. “And here are others who would also like to make your acquaintance.” She nodded toward Lark and his sisters. “Mrs. Denby, Mrs. Todd, and Miss Denby, of Upper Grace, and Mr. Denby, who has left you his card.”
/>
  All this, and she never forgot their purpose. Lark shot her a grateful look as his mother and sisters curtsied. He stuck out his hand. “Captain St. Claire. An honor.”

  “Mr. Denby.” His grip was firm but swift to disengage.

  “Captain St. Claire!” Mrs. Greer heralded him, reaching their sides at last. She paused to gather her breath, hand pressed against the cream silk on her bosom.

  “Madam,” he said, inclining his head.

  “To what do we owe this honor?” she trilled.

  An insufferably proud smile hovered on the fellow’s lips, as if he’d fully expected the adulation. “I came for one purpose only. To claim a dance with Miss Chance.”

  Jess might have squeaked. Rosemary certainly did, lorgnette falling. Lark took a step closer.

  “Miss Chance?” Mrs. Greer glanced between the former naval officer and Jess as if much perplexed. “But why?”

  Lark could have given her a dozen reasons why a man might want to partner Jesslyn Chance. St. Claire only needed one.

  “Oh, we are old friends,” he assured the wife of the Spa Corporation president. “I only remain in Dove Cottage because of her.”

  What was this? Jess had never mentioned a close connection. He had to be posturing. But why?

  As the couples began lining up for the first dance, St. Claire offered Jess his arm. “Shall we, my dear?”

  Even though he had sought to meet the naval officer, Lark wanted to shove the bumptious fellow back into hibernation, run him out of Grace-by-the-Sea.

  Jess’s head came up, and she placed her hand firmly on Lark’s arm. Her voice, however, was its usual sweetness. “I regret, Captain, that this dance is spoken for. Perhaps the next.”

  Mrs. Greer stared at her as if she’d suddenly sprouted feathers. “Nonsense. You cannot refuse one of the heroes of the Battle of the Nile.”

  “I certainly wouldn’t,” Rosemary declared.

  “I’m sure Captain St. Claire would be delighted to partner you instead, Mrs. Greer,” Jess said smoothly.

  Lark wasn’t sure how it happened, but suddenly Hester stumbled forward, bumping into the captain. He caught her by the shoulders to steady her, but she broke away, face flaming. Her gaze speared Rosemary, who was once more twirling her lorgnette.

  Mrs. Greer stepped between the captain and them. “Delighted to accompany you, Captain, I’m sure.” She shot his sisters a pointed look. Hester dropped her gaze. Rosemary tossed her head. His mother heaved a sigh.

  St. Claire took Mrs. Greer’s arm. “I will remember this, Miss Chance,” he murmured as he passed them to lead the lady out.

  “I must open the dancing,” Jess told his sisters and mother. “I do hope you’ll find partners. I can introduce you after this initial set.”

  “I’m sure we’ll be too busy catching up with my brother,” Rosemary said, eyes once more narrowing.

  He owed them that, but he could not forego the opportunity to question St. Claire. “I’ll return when I can.”

  “Yes, so you’ve said,” Rosemary returned. “Frequently.”

  “Rosemary,” their mother chided. “Larkin has important work to do.”

  Rosemary looked Jess up and down, to the point that the pink returned to Jess’s cheeks. “So it seems.”

  Hester stepped in front of her sister. “Thank you, Miss Chance. We’ll look forward to talking with both of you as soon as you are free.”

  Lark led Jess out onto the floor.

  “You do not need to tell me I should have called on them before now,” he said. “I let my work take precedence.”

  “A nearly fatal flaw, it seems,” she remarked, as if he wasn’t beginning to think as much. “But at least you will have an opportunity to question the captain.”

  “An old friend, he claims,” Lark said.

  “Father was his physician,” Jess explained as they took their place at the head of the growing line. “But I haven’t spoken to him more than twice in the eighteen months he’s inhabited Dove Cottage. I have no idea what possessed him to claim closer acquaintance now.”

  Neither did Lark, and he didn’t like it.

  Chapter Twenty

  Jess thought she had thoroughly discouraged the naval captain, but she had no sooner finished a dance with Lark than Quillan St. Claire showed up at her side again. Most of the ladies in the room were watching her, waiting. More than one wanted to have that dark gazed fixed on her face, as if she were the trifle at the end of a meal. Jess could not understand his purpose.

  She was willing to acknowledge he was a handsome man, with that black hair and heavy-lidded eyes. And he certainly tried to exude a certain charm. But there was something hard, unyielding about him, that would have kept her at a distance even if she were not becoming enamored with Lark again.

  “Perhaps in lieu of a dance, we might walk,” he said, offering her his arm. The set of his face said he refused to accept defeat. Perhaps that was why she felt compelled to thwart him.

  “How kind, Captain, but I should attend to my duties as hostess. I’m sure Mr. Denby would enjoy your company. I believe he has some questions for you.”

  Lark moved closer to the naval officer. “It will only take a few moments.”

  Captain St. Claire offered him the briefest of glances. “Surely we should not deprive the ladies of your company, sir, even for a few moments.”

  “I am convinced they will survive,” he said.

  Captain St. Claire leaned around him to eye Jess, smile as sharp as a razor. “Would you really prefer that I speak with Mr. Denby, my dear? I would not want to disrupt your plans for the assembly. I know how much you value an orderly event.”

  Jess had a sudden image of the two facing off across the hall, swords drawn and faces resolute. No, no! There hadn’t been a duel in Grace-by-the-Sea in, well, ever! And she certainly didn’t want to be the cause of the first.

  “Perhaps I can spare some time,” she said with a look to Lark. “Excuse me, Lark.”

  The use of his first name was a calculated gambit, but it had the effect she’d hoped. Lark offered her a smug little half smile as she accepted the captain’s arm.

  “So, he’s stolen a march on me,” Captain St. Claire remarked as they started around the room on the periphery. Another set was forming, Mrs. Greer among the dancers. She cast Jess and the captain a curious look. Lark’s sister Rosemary was also in the line, partnering one of the young militia officers. Hester and Mrs. Denby were holding up one wall. She would have to see what could be done there.

  But first she had to give this fellow a set down and see what she might learn.

  “You and I have never had an understanding, Captain,” Jess reminded him. “So, you can cease posturing.”

  He pressed his free hand to his chest. “Alas, dear Jesslyn, you wound me.”

  Jess stopped, forcing him to stop as well. “And I never gave you leave to use my first name, sir.”

  “Did you not?” His black brows arched. “Why, it must have been another beautiful lady in the village.”

  Jess raised a brow as well. “If you cannot remember who, sir, I can only question your devotion.”

  “My besetting fault,” he agreed with a sigh. “And here I came tonight with the express purpose of proving my devotion to you.”

  “Rubbish,” Jess said.

  He tutted. “Such language, Miss Chance.”

  Jess puffed out a sigh. “Captain St. Claire, I wish we could just speak plainly.”

  His mouth quirked. “Ladies first.”

  “Very well,” Jess said, continuing around the hall with him at her side. “There are smugglers in Grace-by-the-Sea, and you are suspected of leading them.”

  He laughed. “Oh, but your aunt has an imagination.”

  “It is not my aunt who should concern you. Really, sir, have you nothing to say for yourself?”

  “Only this.” He leaned closer and lowered his voice. “Have a care, Miss Chance. You are rushing in where angels fear to tread.”
>
  Jess frowned at him. “What are you talking about?”

  “Something of greater consequence than the gossip flying at the moment.” He tipped his chin toward the rest of the hall, and Jess became aware of the number of fans plying, the gazes following them. She looked to Lark across the room, and he nodded his encouragement.

  “Careful, now,” Captain St. Claire murmured before she could question him further. “We would not want to give Mrs. Greer reason to think we’ve quarreled. Think of your position at the spa.”

  She refused to allow him to intimidate her. “My position has no bearing on this discussion, sir.”

  They passed the door to the supper room. Adding a platter of steamed shrimp in cream sauce to the table, Mrs. Inchley glanced up and gasped. Jess hurried him past.

  “I disagree,” he said. “How do you think the Corporation councilmembers would react if they thought you were stirring up trouble with these inquiries of yours?”

  They were already concerned, if Mrs. Greer’s reaction to her absence was any indication. “They will come to see the wisdom of my actions when the truth is revealed,” she told him.

  He shook his head. “Ah, the truth. A slippery fellow, to be sure. Which truth will they embrace, do you think? The capture of poor fishermen hoping to eke out a little more for their families, or the damage to the village’s reputation as the unsavory home of smugglers?”

  “Neither,” Jess said. “These so-called smugglers are dangerous. They beat my brother Sunday night to ensure his silence. They must be stopped.”

  She felt the sudden tension in his arm, as if she’d pulled a thread taut while sewing.

  “Your brother was hurt? When? Where?”

  Gone was the cloak of charm, the veneer of sophistication. His dark eyes were fixed on her face as if he would see the facts written there.

  “Three nights ago, along the shore,” she confessed. “He did not recognize his attackers.”

  He nodded slowly. “But he will recover.”

  It was not a question. “Yes,” Jess allowed. “Though I would have liked another opinion on the condition of his ribs.”

  “Please give him my regards,” he said. “And assure him I will be glad to receive him again when he is healed. Now, I have monopolized your time far enough.”