Kathryn Caskie (3 page)

Griffin rose and came to stand beside his brother.

“I am well aware of our predicament.” The earl studied both Griffin and Garnet in turn. Each had qualities to recommend him as heir, or at least so it appeared, and the earl had always placed great weight on the importance of first impressions. “Pinkerton, carry on please.”

Pinkerton took a step forward. “The predicament, as the earl has put it, is far more dire than you could possibly imagine. Therefore, what I am about to impart to you must be kept in strictest confidence—for the future of the Earldom of Devonsfield depends upon your discretion.” Pinkerton’s eyebrows migrated toward the bridge of his nose. “Unless it can be agreed upon which of you is the elder, which of you is the
legal
heir, the earldom will revert to the Crown upon the earl’s passing.”

“Obviously, I will not accept this eventuality.” The earl came to his feet and clapped a hand to each twin’s shoulder. “And so I have a proposition for you. My time is short. My physicians do not expect me to survive the year.”

Pinkerton coughed, then looked up and caught the earl’s stern gaze. “Forgive me, my lord. Go on, please.”

“As I was saying, I will certainly not survive the year—but I do not intend to allow my family’s legacy, the Earldom of Devonsfield, to dissolve.”

He gave a nod to Pinkerton then, who withdrew two folded sheets of foolscap from inside his coat and gave one to each of the twins. “For this reason, I will make a secret pact with the two of you. And if you agree to my terms, one of you will become Earl of Devonsfield.”

The earl gestured for the papers to be opened. “Read the terms.”

Each of the twins opened his paper from its folds and for several minutes read and reread the terms the earl had written inside.

“Do you agree to the terms as set forth?”

Griffin’s and Garnet’s eyes met, and for a clutch of moments, the earl had the notion that they might be silently conversing, as he’d heard some twins did. A slight feeling of distrust crept into his mind for a moment as the earl wondered if the two men would add some terms of their own. For it was clear they were aware of how desperately he needed their compliance. But, judging from the state of this ramshackle cottage, they needed him as well.

A moment later, he realized that his concerns were all for naught, for the twins agreed to every term, exactly as he’d written them.

“Brilliant, brilliant! Now, since you agree to the terms, cast the papers into the fire, for this discussion must remain a secret for all eternity.”

Griffin and Garnet crumpled the papers in their large, capable hands and tossed the damning documents into the coal fire. Together the four men watched in reverent silence as flames fingered the foolscap and eventually reduced to ash the earl’s darkest secret.

“We are agreed then. The continuation of the family is paramount. So, per the terms set forth and dually agreed upon, whichever of you marries a woman of quality first will become—”

The twins, as one, intoned a single word.

“Heir.”

The earl, greatly relieved, smiled and signaled for another brandy. “Quite right.”

For the first time in more than a month, the earl was having a good heir day.

Chapter Two

Two weeks later

H
annah released the tether and watched as Cupid cut upward through the chilly air.
It would work. It had to.
She raised her hand high, and when she was sure the bird had seen the signal, slashed it down to her side. At once the falcon dived from the darkening gray sky and swooped low over the unsuspecting young miss who sat near the pond reading, then turned for the heights once more. The woman never even looked up.

From their vantage point, a half furlong away, the two Featherton sisters exhaled long sighs in unison.

“Oh, such a pity.” Lady Letitia slapped her knee. “Your bird missed.”

Hannah popped a hothouse strawberry into her mouth, smiling as she chewed. She reached into the bowl for another juicy red berry, and turned her gaze from her falcon to her guardians. “Cupid did not miss his target. ’Twas just a cursory run.” She rose from her folding seat, and urged the Featherton sisters to do the same. “Here he comes again. Now watch.”

The two old women hurried to their feet to observe the spectacle. The falcon repeated its swoop, flying low over the unsuspecting woman.

“A little lower . . .” Hannah bit her lip with anticipation. “That’s it . . . now—
take it!
”

As if hearing her command, Cupid lowered his talons and snatched the ostrich feather cleanly from the lady’s straw bonnet. The woman shrieked and leaped up, as the falcon mockingly circled her twice with his plumed bounty.

Cupid turned in the air and started back to Hannah, who waved a finger, directing him to the south. The bird immediately shifted its course.

“’Tis a clever trick, but what is he going to do with the feather?” Lady Viola asked, never once taking her gaze from the falcon.

“You will see soon enough.” Hannah felt a little nervous. If this didn’t work, she’d soon have one very angry miss heading in her direction. And one disappointed customer as well. “I’ve worked for nearly a week with Cupid on this maneuver. Do you see the young gentleman fishing from the dock? Give special notice to him.”

Cupid dropped low and slowed his speed as he neared the dock, catching the gentleman’s attention.

The young woman, her eyes fixed on the falcon, ran along the water’s edge shouting for the bird to drop her feather.

Hannah chuckled. Everything was working perfectly.

Just then, Cupid plunged through the air and released the ostrich feather several feet above the gentleman’s head. As the plume floated this way and that, it finally sailed within reach of the gentleman’s fingers. He snatched it from the air; then, seeing the young lady rushing toward him, held it proudly out to her.

Ah, the gallant knight.

Hannah clapped her hands. “The rest is up to him. Cupid’s mission was only to bring the young woman to the gentleman.”

Lady Letitia’s white brows arched high on her forehead. “You do not mean to tell me that this was all planned? This . . . matchmaking?”

Hannah nodded. “Brilliant, is it not?”

A twittering birdlike laugh burst from Lady Viola’s lips. “A new mode of matchmaking. Why, Hannah, we shall have to adopt you, for you are truly a kindred spirit.
Brava!
”

Hannah curtsied. “Why, thank you. That is truly a grand compliment coming from one of England’s most creative matchmakers.”

Fifteen minutes later, the Feathertons’ picnic hamper was packed. Their folding chairs and table were being fastened atop the town carriage when the young man and his new lady friend, both bright with smiles, strolled past.

The gentleman tipped his head at Hannah, then glanced meaningfully toward the dock before drawing his most appreciative young lady farther up the gravel path and out of sight.

“I shall return in a moment,” Hannah whispered to the Feathertons. “Need to collect Cupid . . . and something from the dock.” Slipping her long leather glove onto her hand, she rolled it up her forearm and started down the slope toward the water.

As promised, she was back at the carriage a few minutes later with her falcon on her left arm and a gleaming guinea in her right palm. “I shall have to hang out a shingle soon. I already have two more clients and several matchmaking schemes in mind.”

Lady Viola, who was about to follow her sister into the carriage, frowned as she glimpsed the coin. She released the coachman’s hand and turned back to Hannah. “Dear gel, you are not accepting money for your services, are you?”

Hannah couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “Of course I am. But my services are guaranteed. My customers only pay if they deem my matchmaking schemes successful. And in this case, it was, of course. The gentleman and the lady he’s fancied from afar are together. Only required one scheme, too. Usually a love match requires three interventions from Fate.” She giggled. “I mean
me,
of course.”

Having overheard the conversation, Lady Letitia barreled out of the carriage cabin and caught Hannah’s shoulders. “Hannah, one does not charge a fee for matchmaking. The ability to match is a gift from the heavens.”

“The two of you mightn’t ask a fee for your work. But I do. After all, I am performing a sought-after service. You are . . . well, rich, while I depend on my miser of a brother, Arthur, to send a sixpence to me each fortnight.”

“Darling, what need have you for money?” Lady Viola started for Hannah, but abruptly Cupid screeched and flapped his wings, startling the old woman back a double pace. “We do try to provide everything you might need.”

“’Tisn’t the same. I owe you so much already. Do you not understand? I need to feel as though I am somehow earning my keep. And I shall by generating what money I can—with the assistance of Cupid from time to time.”

The heavier of the two elderly sisters shook her head. “I do not fault your desire to earn a few guineas for yourself. My concern is that you do not understand the very basis of matchmaking . . . which is
love
.”

“Though I haven’t truly experienced the emotion myself, I think I understand love well enough.” Hannah leaned inside the carriage cabin and eased Cupid onto the wall perch the Featherton sisters had had installed recently. When she finished, she turned back to Lady Letitia. “Love really isn’t my concern anyway. My job is to bring a couple together. To open my target subject’s eyes to my client’s true potential. The falling in love portion of the equation is entirely their prerogative.”

The Featherton sisters’ eyes met for a long moment before they turned their attention back to Hannah.

“You make matchmaking sound so logical, like a simple cipher.” Lady Viola glanced at her sister, then back to Hannah. “But love is anything but logical.”

“Exactly right, Viola. Hannah, I fear your notions about matchmaking are all wrong.” Lady Letitia wrapped her thick arm around Hannah’s shoulder. “Matchmaking is not simply putting two people together and hoping that they fall in love. Matchmaking is all about seeing the first sparks of love in two people’s eyes—before they even realize they are about to give their hearts to one another.”

“Matchmaking is recognizing a long-lasting love while it is still in the bud—that is the gift.” Lady Viola took Hannah’s hand and led her, and Lady Letitia, back toward their conveyance. “One cannot force love, Hannah. This is why a matchmaker cannot take coin for someone desirous of the love of another.”

The rising wind nearly blew the three women toward the open carriage door, prompting them momentarily to cease their conversation and hurry inside to take their seats for the hour-long ride home.

“I daresay, I do hope we make Bath before the sky opens,” Lady Viola muttered.

“As do I.” Hannah glanced out the window at the angry clouds above, then returned her gaze to the gleaming gold guinea in her palm. Just looking upon its sunny color made her happy. Still, she sat quietly for a moment or two, considering what the sisters had told her.

She traced the rim of the guinea with her index finger and sighed softly.

She supposed they could be right. Perhaps it was wrong to charge a fee to help those desperate for affection.

Perhaps.

But then, she did so love the feel of a coin.

“Bloody hell!”

Garnet St. Albans wrenched his traveling gloves from his hands and yanked his heavy portmanteau from the roof of the toppled post chaise.

A fat drop of rain splattered atop his nose, then dripped down upon his perfectly starched and tied neckcloth, as he stood cursing his foul luck and the pot-shaped hole in the road that had caused it.

Three wheel spokes were fractured,
three,
and here he was, a good eight miles from Bath, with a downpour only moments away. His new clothing, purchased with funds generously provided by the Earl of Devonsfield, would be ruined.

He knelt beside his driver and studied the broken wheel. “There’s no way to repair it, is there?”

“No, sir. Not here anyway. All we can do now is wait for help.” A heavy droplet hit the coachman in his left eye, causing him to squint and turn his wide, pockmarked nose upward to the low clouds above. “Haven’t seen a sky like that in nearly a year. You can wait here with me, Mr. St. Albans, or walk to town. Either way, you’re bound for a good washin’.”

“Perfect, just perfect.” Garnet expelled a long sigh until, quite unexpectedly, he felt a gentle hum beneath the leather soles of his boots.

The vibration grew stronger, until he was almost sure that the tiny stones on the road were about to pop and dance beneath his feet. He turned to the coachman. “Do you feel that?”

“Aye, I do. A wagon, or perhaps a coach, is comin’. Your fancy coat might survive the storm yet, Mr. St. Albans.” The driver chuckled merrily.

“Indeed.” Garnet did not find the comment half as amusing as the driver, though it did set his heart to beating with anticipation. He came to his feet and fixed his gaze on the point where the road wound around the bend . . . and waited.

Billowing clouds of buff dust preceded the shining town carriage that rounded the bend. Garnet’s cheeks pulled up, and he smiled broadly. Not only was he to be rescued from certain drenching, but it would be done in luxury.

But the carriage was coming fast. Too fast, Garnet surmised. It was going to pass him by.

Garnet strode into the center of the road and waved his arms madly, shouting for the carriage to stop.

His eyes locked with those of the driver atop the perch, and for the briefest of moments, he registered the wide-eyed shock in the man’s eyes as he yanked back on the leather reins.

Good God.
There was no way the carriage was going to be able to stop—and worse yet, no possible way for Garnet to get out of the way in time. None at all.

The horrified driver cried out a warning. The sable horses in the lead seemed to scream, and at that very moment, Garnet St. Albans knew he was a dead man.

“Have you noticed, sister,” Lady Viola whispered, “men are often trod upon by horses when our Hannah is near?”