A Matchmaking Miss (8 page)

"If it is no trouble," Raj replied gravely, his eyes still resting on her face. Something was troubling her, he could sense it, but he was uncertain what he should do. Perhaps he'd take Joss aside and seek his counsel, he decided, bowing as he took his leave. The pretty blonde was his sister-in-law, after all.

The moment the door had closed behind the gentlemen Lady Louisa leapt to her feet, the skirts of her silk gown swirling about her ankles
as she began pacing the room. Everything had been going so well, she fretted, her blue eyes flashing with annoyance. Joss actually seemed willing to take on the burden of the estate, which removed her fear that he meant to return to London rather than remaining. But this business of his flirting with that awful Bettina was a complication she hadn't anticipated, and its ramifications were indeed too horrible to contemplate.

She stopped pacing to look at the Louis XIV clock on the mantel. Stone had been sleeping less than three hours, but much as she hated disturbing her, she did not see that she had any choice. The estate was in danger, and they would have to work quickly if they were to save it. With that thought firmly in mind she slipped from the parlor, her expression determined as she made her way to Stone's room.

Matty had awakened after a restful sleep, and was lying against the pillows debating whether or not to ring for tea when Lady Louisa came bursting into her room. With one look at her employer's face she sat up with a sharp cry. "My lady, what is it? What has happened?" she demanded, envisioning any number of disasters that might have transpired while she was sleeping.

"It is the marquess," Lady Louisa admitted, shooting Stone a worried look.

"What about him?" Matty wanted to know, her brows already gathering in a frown. "Has that wretch snuck back to London?" she demanded furiously, already making plans to intercept him.

"No," Lady Louisa reassured her. "In fact, he has agreed to speak to Thorntyn and dismiss that drunken excuse of a doctor."

"Then what is it?" Matty asked, surprised and relieved to hear that the marquess had disposed of her two more pressing problems.

"He has fallen in love with Lady Bettina."

"
What?
" Matty fell back against her pillows.

"I wouldn't have credited it if I hadn't seen it with my own eyes," Lady Louisa muttered, pacing once again. "You should have seen him, Stone, staring at that self-satisfied minx as if she was Venus incarnate! I vow, I could have boxed his ears. And Mr. Fitzsimmons was equally as bad, although it is hard to tell with him, he is such a dreadful flirt."

Matty digested this information in silence, weighing the disadvantages against the gains. In the end she gave a disheartened sigh. "You must know I have no great love for either her ladyship or her father," she said heavily, "but it may not really be so bad if he does choose to marry her."

"Stone! You can not possibly want to see that . . . that
witch
installed at Kirkswood!"

"Indeed, I can think of nothing I should like less," Matty admitted truthfully, "but at least then he would stay. He is hardly likely to return to India if he is married,
n'est-ce pas?
"

Louisa stopped pacing, her eyes growing wide. "Do you know, Stone, you are right," she said, her tone thoughtful. "I never thought of that, but he could return to India, couldn't he?"

"Yes, and God knows where that would leave the estate," Matty said grimly, feeling as tired as if she hadn't slept.

"But Lady Bettina . . . " Louisa shivered in distaste. "I think I'd prefer Joss to be gone than be usurped by her."

Matty pleated the bedcovers between her fingers, forcing her mind to work. There had to be a way, she thought desperately; there was always a way. Then it came to her.

"Would you say his lordship was truly in love with Lady Bettina, or perhaps merely fascinated by her? For all her faults, she is a diamond of the first order."

"Pretty is as pretty does," Louisa sniffed. "But I suppose saying he was in love with her was something of an exaggeration."

"Then all is not lost, we still have time."

"Time to do what?" Louisa asked.

Matty gave her a beatific smile as she folded her hands upon the bedcovers. "Why, choose his bride for him, of course," she said deci
sively, proud of the clever way she had worked things out. "What do you say, my lady? Do you think his lordship would prefer a blonde or a brunette?"

Chapter Five

Dinner that night was a festive occasion. The staff, delighted at having a master restored to them, prepared a feast worthy of a king, and the sideboard fairly groaned under the weight of all the food. The cook had taken care to prepare all Joss's favorites, and he was touched by such eagerness to please him. He said as much to his hostess, and earned a dimpled smile for his efforts.

"Thank you, sir, but it is Stone to whom you ought to be addressing your remarks," Lady Louisa said, her eyes straying to the other woman, who was engaged in earnest conversation with Mr. Fitzsimmons. "When she learned you'd be coming she sought out the older servants and quizzed them as to your tastes."

"When she decided to kidnap me, you
mean," Joss corrected, amused at the marchioness's choice of words. He'd long since recovered his temper over the brazen kidnapping, but that didn't mean he was about to forgive and forget. He'd lived in the East too long to ignore this affront to his pride, and he fully intended exacting his revenge. All that remained was to determine where and how that revenge would be taken.

"I suppose one could say that." Lady Louisa granted him the point with a graceful inclination of her head. "But she was truly concerned that everything be perfect for your arrival. She said she wished you to feel at home."

Joss picked up his wine glass, his face expressionless as he studied the rich claret shimmering in the candlelight. If Miss Stone really wanted him to feel at home, he thought sourly, she'd have arranged for him to be met with anger and indifference. Those were the only emotions that had ever greeted him in the past, and the memory still stung.

Louisa saw the hard, closed look that stole across her brother-in-law's face and decided it was time to change the subject of conversation. "How are you settling in?" she asked, her tone determinedly bright. "Is everything satisfactory?"

"Quite satisfactory, my lady, thank you,"
Joss replied, realizing he was being a poor guest and feeling faintly ashamed. "It looks much as I remember it!"

"That's probably because it hasn't been touched in years," Louisa explained with a laugh. "Your father was still alive when Frederick and I were first married, and after his death it didn't seem proper to ask your mother to move out. She adored that room."

"I'm sure she did," he said, remembering his mother's cold pride in being the Marchioness of Kirkswood. He wondered how she had reacted when Frederick's accession to the title demoted her to the position of dowager. Doubtlessly she had screeched like a scalded cat and then turned her tongue on the person nearest her, he decided, recalling only too well his mother's usual method for dealing with annoyances.

"Well, all the rooms are yours now." Lady Louisa wisely ignored the bitterness in his voice. "And you may do with them as you please. If you decide to have them redone, you might wish to consult Stone. We'd once discussed having them done, but that was before, of course."

"Before what?"

"Why, before you arrived, sir."

If he had any fears that his sister-in-law harbored any buried resentment about him,
they were put to rest by the simplicity of her reply, and the genuine smile that accompanied it. Seeing that smile, Joss relaxed, a measure of warmth stealing into his green eyes. "I should be most honored if you would call me Joss, as Raj does," he said. "And I shall call you Louisa."

Louisa gazed at Joss and thought of her husband — not as the feckless rake he had become, but as the man he might have been. A man not unlike the one sitting across the table from her. "I should like that, Joss," she replied softly, blinking back sudden tears. "I should like that very much."

At the far end of the table, Matty was listening to Mr. Fitzsimmons's amusing account of his first visit to Almack's. As the daughter of a mere country vicar, that holiest of holies had always been above her, and she delighted in hearing it denigrated. "Truly, Mr. Fitzsimmons?" she asked, as he finished his tale. "The Patronesses serve no wine at all?"

"Not so much as a drop," he assured her, the solemn tone in his voice at odds with the twinkle in his eyes. "They allow nothing more innocuous than a rather disgusting punch and some stale biscuits. I was quite cast down, I assure you."

"Heavens, even our local assemblies offer better fare than that!" Matty exclaimed, shaking her head in amazement. "The good ladies of the neighborhood have even been known to offer chilled champagne punch," she added in a confiding whisper. "But only for very
special
occasions, mind."

"Indeed?" He raised a dark eyebrow in mock outrage. "I'm not certain I hold with such wicked dissipation. Perhaps I should return to the city before I am thoroughly corrupted."

Matty thought it was probably years too late for that, but she was far too polite to say so. Not that she really considered him dissipated, she mused, raising her glass to her lips; it was merely that despite his surface charm there was an air of world-weariness about him, an underlying hardness that was undeniable. In that, he was not unlike his friend, she added silently, her eyes straying to the marquess.

Since their encounter in the study he'd changed into a dark blue evening jacket and a pair of buff breeches, and she had to admit he looked far better in his own clothes than in Lord Frederick's borrowed finery. In the flickering candlelight his hair gleamed like polished mahogany, and his green eyes were frosted with silver highlights.

He was not precisely a handsome man, she decided, her eyes lingering on the harsh planes of his face, but he was attractive, if one was fond of the domineering, masculine sort. Then there was the title to be considered. That alone would make him as an Adonis to many ladies, and she didn't have the slightest doubt that she would have him married off by summer's end.

As she dressed for dinner she had brooded over what she'd said to the marchioness, and she concluded that, as usual, she was right. Kirkswood, both the estate and its master, was in sore need of a mistress, but
not
, she'd decided with a shudder, Lady Bettina. If that witch was an example of the type of female he favored, then she'd simply see to the matter herself. Admittedly, the prospect of finding him a suitable bride was more than a little daunting, but Matty didn't see that she had a choice. The future of Kirkswood was too important to leave to chance.

What sort of bride would he require? she wondered, her brow knitting in thought. Someone beautiful, of course, and well-born, and given the condition of the estate it wouldn't hurt if she was also well-dowered. The first thing she'd do would be to consult
Debrett's Peerage
and begin making up a list of suitable candidates. It was a pity the season
was only just starting, and most of the debs would be in London, but perhaps she —

"Miss Stone?" Mr. Fitzsimmons's voice recalled her to the present, and she glanced up to find him studying her with obvious concern. "Are you ready to adjourn to the drawing room?"

Realizing he must have been addressing her for some time, Matty hid her embarrassment behind a cool smile. "Certainly, Mr. Fitzsimmons," she said calmly, laying her napkin beside her plate and turning to the marchioness. "My lady?"

Looking amused, Lady Louisa said nothing about her companion's rather odd behavior. "Gentlemen, we shall leave you to enjoy your brandy," she said, rising to her feet with a gracious smile. "Please feel free to join us when you are done."

A few minutes later she settled behind the teapot in the drawing room, her expression speculative as she handed Matty a cup. "Well, Stone, and what do you mean sitting at the table staring off into space like a moonling? I was quite concerned."

Matty blushed at her employer's accurate description. "I beg pardon, my lady," she said earnestly, "but I was . . . thinking."

"That much I gathered," Louisa replied gently, "but what were you thinking of? The
estate?"

Matty took a sip of tea. "In a manner of speaking," she admitted cautiously, unwilling to discuss her half-formed plans. "Now that his lordship is home, I am hoping Mr. Hedgerton will release enough monies to settle our debts. Then perhaps we can begin planting the fields."

"That would be nice," Louisa agreed, looking thoughtful. "Is it too late to plant wheat, or will we have to forgo this year's harvest?"

Matty hid her surprise at the question. For years she'd tried interesting her employer in the day-to-day running of the estate, and until now she had thought her efforts had fallen upon deaf ears. "It is rather late in the season," she conceded slowly, "but if the weather continues moderate and we are able to get the planting done by the end of next week, there is every hope we can still bring in a decent harvest."

They continued discussing the matter until the gentlemen rejoined them. Because of all of the excitement, it was decided they would make an early evening of it, and after enjoying a glass of sherry the men excused themselves to seek their beds. Joss had reached the door when he paused, his expression determined as he turned back to Matty.

"Miss Stone, I should like to have a private
word with you," he said, his tone formal. "It will take but a few minutes."

Matty's eyebrows climbed at the stiff request. "Certainly, my lord," she said, putting her glass aside and rising to her feet. After excusing herself to Lady Louisa and Mr. Fitzsimmons she guided the marquess to her study, her brain racing as she tried to determine what was going on. He seemed rather somber, and she wondered if he was going to ask her to leave. The scene in the study earlier that day was still fresh in her memory, and she winced to remember the blunt way she had blurted out her feelings. Given her outrageous behavior, she supposed she couldn't blame him if he were to dismiss her, although she very much hoped he did not. She didn't know what she would do if she was forced to leave Kirkswood.