Kathryn Caskie (20 page)

Lady Viola nodded and words were shaken from her. “You have the right of it, Letitia. And Hannah, maybe Miss Howard is a tad more beautiful than you would prefer someone in Mr. St. Albans’s company to be, but there is nothing,
not one thing,
to indicate anything nefarious with regard to her nature.”

Lady Viola settled her cordial glass on the table and jabbed a pointed finger into the air. “Now do you understand the lesson sister and I have been trying to impart for weeks?
It is wrong to match someone with another simply because they wish it and have the coin to make it so.
A matchmaker’s gift is seeing love in its earliest form and helping that love to grow.”

“Yes, yes. I
do
understand. I do.” Hannah nodded slowly at first, then faster as Lady Viola’s words infused her mind and heart. “And I vow . . . by next month at the latest, for I have a few matches I am bound to complete—”

Lady Viola’s white brows shot upward. “I have heard you make this vow before. Why can you not cease at once?”

Lady Letitia looked impatiently at her sister. “Viola, I suspect Hannah means she has already taken payment for her services and therefore is duty-bound to provide strategy in exchange for the monies she has received.”

“Oh, is Letitia correct, Hannah?” As Lady Viola studied her, Hannah’s cheeks heated, and she knew they were going red. The thin old woman’s eyes widened. “Dear me, she
is
correct! Tsk, tsk, Hannah. Tsk, tsk.”

Hannah exhaled her frustration. “Yes, it is true; I have accepted the money already. But that fact is neither here nor there. I will cease to match those who are not suited to one another—very soon. I vow it. I have learned my lesson this time, of that you can be sure.”

The persistent tapping at Griffin’s elbow grew ever more annoying. Still the earl, who stood beside him, wigless, with his shiny pate glowing in the flickering gold light of the chandelier, said not a word.

Tap, tap, tap.

“My lord, do you wish to speak with me, or are you testing a new code of some sort?” Exasperated, Griffin finally looked up from his pile of star charts and notebooks, and at the earl, who continued rudely to tap a folded letter on the corner of his desk.

“Read it.”

“What is it?”

“Your means to win back the affections of Miss Chillton, that’s what it is! Read it, I tell you.”

Reaching out for the paper, Griffin came to his feet and let his gaze sweep across the page. When he finished, he returned his gaze to the earl. “But this is an invitation to yet
another
ball at the Upper Assembly Rooms.” He lowered the paper to his side and sighed. “I haven’t time for a frivolous diversion, my lord. I must complete my preparatory calculations before the arrival of the comet. Miss Herschel is counting upon my work being flawless.”

The earl made a mouselike whistling sound as he exhaled through his nose. “Bah! You have your priorities muddled. A comet will not keep you warm at night, will it, dear boy? But I reckon a heavenly body like Miss Chillton could.” The earl grinned as he flipped his coattails into the air and took his ease in a rickety spindle chair beside Griffin’s paper-and-book-strewn desk.

Griffin shook his head. “Why do you worry so about my relationship with Miss Chillton? Garnet and Miss Howard are only days from becoming betrothed. They only wait for her father to return from Dover next week.”

“Miss Howard is fair enough, but I fear she may be . . . oh, how should I say this . . . too
mature
to produce an heir. And this, as you must understand, concerns me . . . quite a lot.”

Griffin forced a small laugh. “She told Garnet that she has seen six-and-twenty summers. Hardly in her gray-hair years, wouldn’t you agree?”

The earl’s eyes brightened. “That’s just it, boy. If Miss Howard were six-and-twenty, naught would be of worry. But she is not. You see, I had Pinkerton conduct a little investigation on Garnet’s behalf.”

“Garnet’s behalf?” Griffin stared at the earl, unable to comprehend how the little man could possess such a tunneled view of appropriate conduct. “Perhaps you meant to say on
your
behalf?”

“On the behalf of all of us. For what I have learned could affect the entire family. You see, it seems that Miss Howard is somewhat older than she claims. Quite a bit, actually. For only one guinea, a bargain for what we learned, her lady’s maid confessed that Miss Howard is actually
three-and-thirty
. Now, tell me that I should not fret over her age.”

The earl cleared his throat, then tugged down on the hem of Griffin’s coat, forcing him to sit again. “Let us assume that Garnet did marry Miss Howard, and became, upon my passing, Earl of Devonsfield. Let us also suppose that the new countess, nee Miss Howard, was barren. Accidents happen, St. Albans, as I myself can attest! Something could happen to your brother in the swish of a horse’s tail. Garnet could be trod upon by a bull, or swept away in a flood. There would be no heir—once again.”

“But, my lord, I would likely still be living. The title would fall to me.”

“Which would stir up all sorts of investigations, wouldn’t it now? Once more the earldom could cascade into jeopardy.”

Griffin shook his head. “No, my lord. You fret unnecessarily. There would be no investigation. The title would fall to me.”

“Still . . .” The earl lowered his chin toward his chest, then lifted his eyelids to peer up at Griffin. “There would be nothing for me to worry over if you, Griffin, were to marry Miss Chillton—who is obviously in her childbearing prime.”

“Good Lord.”
Griffin rested his elbow on the edge of his desk, then cupped his chin in his palm. “Assuming I agreed to attend this ball for whatever reason—which, mind you, I have yet to do—how could I be assured that Miss Chillton would actually be in attendance?”

The earl smiled then, and a deep chuckle rose up from inside his throat. “Because the Featherton sisters and I have taken measures to see that Miss Chillton attends.”

Griffin sat up straight in his chair, and let his hand fall to the desktop. “What sort of . . .
measures
?” He was almost afraid to hear the answer to that.

The earl chuckled merrily, giddy with pleasure. Too giddy.

“Not two days past, we paid several young gentlemen to engage Miss Chillton as a matchmaker—and had them insist that her match strategies for each of them were put into motion at the same ball—the Grand Celestial Ball at the Upper Assembly Rooms. Brilliant, are we not?”

“B-bloody brilliant,” Griffin said beneath his breath.

And bloody mad, too.

Still, he had to give the matter further thought. Miss Chillton would be in attendance, after all, and though she made her feelings toward him quite clear at the Octagon, her presence alone would be enough to at least consider attending the ridiculous ball.

Even if only to say good-bye to Hannah, the woman he loved, before he left for London with Miss Herschel.

Hannah scratched her head as she flipped through her book of notes. What was so blasted intriguing about the Grand Celestial Ball? It was the last scheduled dance before the comet passed overhead, of course, but nothing else about the ball could be deemed unique in any way.

Certainly not enough to cause such concentrated interest as she was witnessing the past two days.

It was just another addition to the boring string of comet-themed balls given by rich, bored female members of the
ton
during the past two months. Hannah, for one, would be dreadfully glad to see the whole dreary series of balls come to an end.

And yet, four of her latest customers were willing to pay twice Hannah’s usual fee if she would agree to arrange a meeting between them and their potential match at this particular event.

Curious.

Still, Hannah wasn’t going to question her customers’ motives any longer. It mattered to them—enough that they’d pay double, and that was sufficient reason for her.

Hannah drew a grid across the page spread, indicating the dance sets with her pen. She’d just divide her missions among the sets, address each customer’s required stratagem one by one, and arrange them in such a way that each meeting felt coincidental . . . or maybe kismet . . . but always as natural as if Fate had planned it herself.

Hannah scrubbed her closed eyes with her palms. This was not going to be a simple matter. She was about to ring for some tea to prepare herself for a dreadfully long night when she heard a solid thump, as if a body had been thrown against her door.

She rubbed her eyes again. “Is someone there?”

Suddenly her chamber door swung open. Hannah lurched in surprise as Lady Letitia backed into the room, her sister Viola following close behind. They were carrying a large parcel between them. Annie bustled in behind them, holding a Lock and Company hatbox from London.

Hannah pushed up from her writing table and stared at the elderly women as they tossed the parcel onto the tester bed.

Two sets of sparkling blue eyes were now riveted on her.

“What are you waiting for, gel?” Lady Letitia was still huffing from the exertion of climbing the stair treads to Hannah’s chamber. “Come over and open the package at once.”

Lady Viola wrung her hands anxiously as Hannah walked to the bed and opened the linen wrap.

“Good heavens!” Hannah was blessed to have found any words at all, for there was no describing what she found inside—except that it was probably the most beautiful gown she had ever had the fortune to gaze upon. “I-I . . . good heavens!”

It was a confection of deep blue silk, covered by a breath of silver webbing. Tiny crystal brilliants ringed the deep, square-cut neckline and sprinkled the short sleeves vandyked with insets of silver mesh.

“Heavens.” Annie chuckled at that. “You got it half right, Miss Hannah. It’s your new gown—for the Grand Celestial Ball! Ain’t it just the most lovely thing you’ve ever seen, miss?”

“
Lovely
does not even approach being able to describe this gown . . .” Hannah’s mouth fell open as she inched her fingers forward to touch the shimmering silk creation. “It is spectacular, Annie, but my brother would never agree to pay for such an impractical frock—no matter the occasion. And I fear I do not yet have the guineas to pay for it either.”

“Dove, the gown is a gift.” Lady Viola bent and spread the gown across the bed so that Hannah could take in its beauty more fully.

“Oh, no, I could not accept it. It is too grand.”

Lady Letitia set her hands on her bounteous hips. “Nonsense. You must accept it. To decline would simply be ill-mannered, for a good deal of thought and effort went into this gown. And you, gel, have been thoroughly trained in the ways of a lady.”

Hannah lowered her head. “I beg your forgiveness. I shall be honored to wear the gown.”

Lady Viola’s tiny red-painted mouth curved into a pleased smile. “So, you have decided to join us at the ball, after all?”

Hannah nodded and sighed. “I have no choice. None at all, for several of my newest customers are convinced that this ball, this Grand Celestial Ball, is their last opportunity to snare the heart of their intended.” She rolled her eyes.

The two elderly sisters shifted their gazes to each other for a brief moment.

Hannah knew that look. They were about to chastise her again. “I am well aware of what the two of you are thinking, but after this ball, I will not agree to match a man and a woman for money ever again.”

“Oh, we know, dear.” Lady Viola nodded confidently.

Lady Letitia’s head started bobbing, too. “We trust you completely, Hannah, and know you will do what is right.”

Hannah looked at the two old women quizzically. Something was not as it should be—they should be reminding her of the error of her matchmaking ways. It’s what they do.
“Truly,”
Hannah insisted. “I am ever so serious this time. Immediately
after
the ball, I shall cease. But during the dance, lud, I shall have my work laid out before me.”

She sighed heavily to make her point, then walked to her writing desk, retrieved her book of notes, and began thumbing through it. “In truth, it is good that I have vowed to stop, for by time the ball concludes, I certainly will have enacted every matchmaking strategy I could possibly imagine.”

“Every last one, dear?” Lady Letitia said, giving her sister a sly glance. “Such a pity, but you know, Hannah, ’tis for the best.”

The ladies’ eyes met yet again, and Hannah was fairly certain she heard them giggling like maids as they descended the staircase.

Annie settled her hands on her hips. “Dear me, Miss Hannah. If you ask me, those ladies are up to one scheme or another—and it involves you.”

“You are correct there, Annie.” Hannah sat down before her writing desk and wondered what the two strategists might be up to. “Let us hope for my sake that my scheme for the ball will distract the Feathertons from their own machinations.”

Taking pen in hand, Hannah lifted the lid to her inkpot and sank the nib inside. She scribbled a short message, then sprinkled the wet ink with sand to speed its drying. A few moments later, she folded the missive and handed it to the lady’s maid. “Annie, would you do me a small service and see that this note is delivered to the Earl of Devonsfield within the hour?”

Annie grinned mischievously. “You can always put your trust in me, Miss Hannah. But . . .” Annie inclined her ear toward Hannah’s mouth as if expecting her to whisper something. “What does the note say? You can tell me. Ask anyone below stairs, and they’ll tell you. I know how to keep a secret, I do.”

Hannah looked slyly at Annie and smiled back at her. “So do I, Annie. So do I.”

Chapter Seventeen

H
annah squinted into the mirror atop her dressing table as Annie affixed a dozen or more sapphire-hued brilliants in her ebony hair. “Please, a little more gently, Annie.”

Her head throbbed despite the lavender oil Annie had dutifully rubbed into her temples and the powder Mrs. Penny served her along with a suspicious dish of something she termed “black dragon tea.”