She repressed a sigh of exasperation. ‘Last night was not about seeking suitors—’
‘Then what was it about?’ he grumbled.
‘It was about assuring the ton that your lovely daughters can safely be invited to the most exclusive of parties and behave like proper young ladies.’ She beamed at the girls. ‘And they both passed muster, I can assure you. Lady Mary Warren was most complimentary about their looks and demeanour.’
It had taken Amelia nigh on three months to ensure that the girls knew exactly how to behave in polite company and to eliminate any trace of the broad Yorkshire vowels that coloured their papa’s conversation.
The ton would not care about the merchant father, as long as he settled a suitable amount on his beautiful daughters and stayed clear of their new families. On the other hand, the daughters must be untainted by their humble origins if they were to attract an offer from the most eligible of bachelors.
Amelia knew exactly how to ensure such young ladies met suitable and honourable gentlemen. Honourable being the key word. She had been doing it for years. The ton trusted her to endorse only the sweetest and most rigorously trained young women to the scions of the nobility. The parents of those hopeful young people quickly learned to follow her directions to the letter if they wanted to utilise her services, for which she was paid handsomely. Her fees were based on the settlements negotiated between the parties once the marriages were arranged.
The Mitchell sisters were proving to be more of a challenge than any before them. True, their undeniable beauty made them viable prospects and their amiable natures had made her like them from their first meeting. So much so, she had willingly taken them under her wing.
Unfortunately, their widowed papa, a man who had pulled himself up by his bootstraps, as he was proud to tell all and sundry, was irascible and inclined to want to rush things. He did not value her counsel as he ought and the lack of a wife to make him see reason was a drawback. Mind you, it would have to be a pretty strong woman to stand up to Papa Mitchell. His daughters certainly were not up to the task. Amelia was beginning to think she had not made a wise decision in offering to assist them in their search for husbands among the nobility.
‘Who is Lady Mary Warren, when she is at home?’ Mr Mitchell asked, folding his arms across his chest. He was a portly man with a round florid face and his once blond hair was now mostly grey and thinning on top. ‘I have never heard of her.’
‘Papa,’ Patience Mitchell said, pressing her hands together. ‘You really should have paid more attention to Mrs Durant’s lessons from Debrett’s Peerage. She is the aunt of the wealthiest Duke in all of Britain.’
‘And he is the youngest,’ Charity said. She frowned. ‘Though he is thirty-five.’
‘A man in his prime, then,’ their father said.
Both girls looked uncertain. ‘Thirty-five seems awfully old,’ Charity said. She looked at Amelia for confirmation.
‘Thirty-five is not terribly old,’ Amelia said. If it was then she would be terribly old in five years’ time. ‘But the Duke of Stone has been on the town for years and has shown no interest in settling down. Honestly, he is not a man I would recommend setting your cap at. The Duke is very high in the instep. He is unlikely to make an offer for anyone below the daughter of an earl.’
‘You sound as if you do not like him,’ Patience said.
Patience was both the younger of the sisters and, in Amelia’s estimation, the brighter. Their papa seemed to favour his older daughter Charity. But there really wasn’t much to choose between them. Like most young ladies in their first Season their heads were stuffed full of romantic notions. Amelia’s had certainly been, which was why it had been so easy for Lieutenant Durant to sweep her off her feet. He’d been every young lady’s vision of a knight in shining armour. Amelia no longer believed such men existed. Or if they did, then they certainly did not make very good husbands.
‘I was introduced to him,’ she said, recalling that day as if it was yesterday, ‘I truly cannot say I know him, except by reputation.’ And by observation over the years. The man was insufferably proud, though always exceedingly polite. He struck her as a man without any great feelings or emotions.
Yes, she had felt a spark of attraction at their first meeting, but it had been quickly extinguished when a few days later his gaze passed over her as if she had never crossed his path. Clearly, he did not care to remember any of lesser mortals who floated through his orbit.
It wasn’t long after her encounter with him that she had met and married Tarquin Durant. Widowed two years’ later, she had returned to London to set up her own modest establishment and found herself helping a cousin avoid a marital disaster by uncovering the prospective bridegroom’s shady past.
Not only that, she had guided the young woman to catch the most eligible bachelor of the Season, or at least the second most eligible. Stone was always the first. From there, she had built a reputation as a matchmaker par excellence. The money she had earned these past three years had provided her with a decent life, a small town house of her own in a select neighbourhood and she was able to help young people enter into good sensible marriages. Something she had failed to do.
‘Are you saying you think my girls are beneath him?’ Papa Mitchell said, glaring.
‘Certainly not.’ Amelia smiled calmly. ‘Your daughters will be a credit to any gentleman. But the Duke is very conscious of his family pedigree.’
The belligerence in Mr Mitchell increased tenfold. ‘Then I say he is not good enough for my daughters.’
Amelia closed her eyes briefly. ‘Let us not focus on Stone. Let us turn our attention to the bachelors whom we will meet over the next few weeks and who will make fine husbands for your daughters.’
‘Titled gentlemen,’ Mitchell snapped.
‘Young gentlemen with good prospects and honourable intentions who will make excellent husbands. I do not promise a title, but any gentleman I recommend will be acceptable on every ground.’
‘One of the Gunning sisters married a duke and the other an earl,’ Patience said.
‘One of them married two dukes,’ Charity added.
The girls burst into giggles. They looked so merry and so pretty, Amelia let their amusement pass without comment. However, she would caution them not to model themselves on the Gunning sisters. Yes, they had both married well, but they had also been embroiled in scandal.
The ton turned a blind eye to a certain amount of indiscretion from among their own, but not from outsiders like the Mitchell girls. If their papa continued to reject her advice, her reputation for bringing only the most suitable young ladies to the notice of the upper one thousand could be tarnished. She might be forced to terminate their agreement.
* * *
As Jasper had expected, Lady Jersey’s ball could only be described as a squeeze. But then it would be. The Countess of Jersey was one of the patronesses of Almack’s and not one to be lightly snubbed. By the time Jasper arrived, guests already blocked the stairs up to the first-floor drawing room while they awaited their turn to be announced. With an impatient sigh, he did what he usually did upon these occasions, he headed for the green-baize-covered door tucked discreetly beneath the impressive staircase and, with a nod and a coin slipped into a waiting palm, ascended by way of the servants’ stairs.
Why on earth people felt the need to have their names blared into a room full of chattering guests he would never understand. No one inside was listening apart from the host and hostess. Besides, everyone knew everyone else anyway. And if they didn’t, they probably were not worth knowing.
He glanced around the crowded ballroom, seeking a friendly face. His hostess spotted him and immediately left the line at the door to greet him. ‘Up to your usual tricks, Duke?’ she said with a smile.
She’d caught him entering this way when he was much younger and had teased him about it ever si
nce. He continued the practice almost as a point of honour. Well, that and the fact that it saved him from having long arduous conversations with people who saw it as an opportunity to curry his favour on some matter or other.
‘What else can I do when you insist upon inviting every member of the ton to your balls, Sally?’
She made a face. ‘I hate anyone to be disappointed.’
It was why she handed out tickets for Almack’s in such a free-handed way. She was the despair of the other patronesses.
‘You are too soft-hearted.’
‘Whereas you are as cold as stone.’
He grinned, enjoying that she said exactly what popped into her head instead of beating around the bush as so many ladies did when they spoke to him. ‘And here I thought no one had guessed.’
She shook her head at him. ‘One of these days you will get your comeuppance, Duke. Mark my words.’
He bowed and moved on. He joined a group of gentlemen at the end of the room furthest from the orchestra. Men he’d known for years, some from his university days, others from his first Season. Most were now married with children and were in town to take their seats in the House of Lords. Parliament was the reason the nobility came to London for the Season. Somehow, the ladies had turned it into a marriage mart.
Jasper looked about him.
The ball was the same as every other event he had attended. The latest crop of debutantes stood in little clumps around the edge of the dance floor, trying to look as if they didn’t care that no one had asked them to dance and failing miserably. The diamonds of the first water smiled happily as they proved their superiority on the dance floor and the matrons gossiped while they kept an eye on their daughters. Meanwhile, the wallflowers, those gals who had been out a Season or three, lurked in the corners as if they had lost all hope.
Now he remembered why he preferred his club to a night of dancing.
It was not long before Sally sought him out once more. ‘It is time you met the Mitchell sisters. Let me make the introductions.’
Jasper did not like the feeling of being swept along willy-nilly and almost refused. But dash it, his curiosity was aroused. Sally guided him towards a large group of people gathered near the orchestra. At the centre of the cluster of young ladies and gentlemen were two blonde girls with shining blue eyes and curvaceous figures, dressed in white, tastefully modest gowns.
To Jasper’s surprise, Sally did not make a beeline for these two lovelies, but to the woman hovering near them. A woman certainly past the first blush of youth, but who was quite exotically beautiful with dark hair and dark eyes, and skin that hinted of warmer climes than chilly England. His heart seemed to miss a beat. It was as if his recognition of her beauty had interrupted its rhythm. A most unpleasant sensation. And why on earth did he have the feeling he had met her before?
‘Mrs Durant, may I introduce to you the Duke of Stone,’ Sally said.
Ah, yes, Mrs Durant, the matchmaker Aunt Mary had mentioned. He had not expected her to be such a beauty, given her line of work. And there was that odd sensation that he had met her somewhere before.
The woman’s eyes widened a fraction as her gaze met his. Her irises were the colour of toffee with a starburst of gold in their centres.
Beautiful eyes, with unexpected warmth. He knew those eyes. The colours changed, darkened.
‘I believe we are old acquaintances,’ he said. If only he could recall the occasion of their meeting.
A flash of surprise crossed her face, quickly replaced by a cool smile. ‘How kind of you to remember, Your Grace.’
Devil take it, he prided himself on never forgetting a face. It had taken him years to hone the skill, but it stood him in good stead when dealing with the myriad of people for whom he was responsible in some way. Then why was he having troubling recalling where he had met her? And when? And why did he have the odd feeling she did not like him? Had he given offence in some way? He bowed. ‘My pleasure.’
‘Let me introduce you to my charges.’ The briskness of her words took him aback. She definitely did not like him.
‘It seems you are in good hands, Duke,’ Sally said. ‘I will leave you to Mrs Durant’s good graces.’ She sailed off as swiftly as she had arrived. The woman could not be still for a moment.
Turning towards the blonde girls, Mrs Durant presented him with a startlingly striking profile. A sculptor would have had difficulty imagining such a combination of strong yet purely feminine features. They were features that might give a man endless hours of fascinating exploration. And her skin, so warm in colour, so delicately smooth—he found himself wanting to stroke a finger along her angular jaw to see if it was as silky as it appeared.
He forced his gaze to the two young ladies looking at him expectantly. Yes, they were young and very pretty, but beside their chaperon they paled into insignificance. At least in his opinion.
‘Your Grace,’ Mrs Durant said with a measure of pride, ‘may I present, Miss Charity Mitchell and her sister, Miss Patience. Ladies, the Duke of Stone.’
Both girls curtsied and showed their dimples.
He bowed. ‘How are you enjoying your first Season, ladies?’ he asked.
It was a trite question, but it had served him in good stead over the years.
‘We are having a grand time,’ the younger, Miss Patience, said.
‘This is only our second ball,’ Miss Mitchell added. ‘I do not think I have seen so many people in a ballroom. I had no idea people had ballrooms of this size in their houses.’
Their honesty and frank way of speaking surprised him. It was refreshing. They spoke like normal people instead of giggling twits.
He glanced back at their chaperon. Mrs Durant seemed to be eyeing him warily as if she suspected his motives for seeking an introduction. He racked his brains for some misdemeanour in his past that would account for her attitude.
Or was she simply assessing him as a likely suitor? The idea she would presume that she could choose a wife for him appalled him. Though it did not surprise him one whit. As soon as people heard his title, they sought a way to use him to further their own ends. Why would she be any different? To be sure, the girls were tricked out as fine as five pence and looked as pretty as pictures, but they did not hale from the nobility. It was from those ranks he had always expected he would select a bride.
Mrs Durant lifted her chin in challenge, as if reading his thoughts. Why on earth had he thought her beautiful? Her features were arresting, yes, but they gave her face and expression strength, not beauty.
Unfortunately, since he had sought an introduction, if he did not do his duty and ask one of them to dance, the ton might well see it as a mark of his displeasure, when he really felt nothing at all.
He smiled briefly at the older of the two. ‘Will you do the honour of joining me in the fourth set of the evening, Miss Mitchell?’
The girl blushed and glanced at her chaperon, who nodded. She bobbed a curtsy. ‘Thank you, Your Grace.’
He bowed. ‘I will return for you then.’
As he strolled away, whispers and giggles broke out behind him as everyone realised that the Duke of Stone had actually unbent enough to invite the latest diamond of the first water to dance.
Would Mrs Durant see it as a feather in her cap?
Copyright © 2020 by Michéle Ann Young
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ISBN: 9781488065590
Redeeming the Reclusive Earl
Copyright © 2020 by Susan Merritt
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
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Redeeming The Reclusive Earl (HQR Historical) Page 25