The Misguided Matchmaker (18 page)

She
felt the earl press the opera glasses into her hand, and raising them found
herself as fascinated by the myriad emotions twisting Kean’s lean, vulpine face
as she was by his magnificent voice. How, she wondered, could any man plumb the
depths of his soul like this night after night and still managed to retain his
sanity?

All
too soon, the first act was over and the curtain descended for the intermission
the playbill had announced. Maddy turned to the earl, her heart still pounding,
her mind drained, to find his eyes closed and his head resting on his chest.
She shook her head in disbelief. The man must have the sensitivity of a
hedgehog to sleep through such a stirring performance.

Surely
she wasn’t the only one so deeply affected by Kean. Carefully, so as not to
disturb the earl, she leaned forward to gauge the reaction of the audience on
the floor below the box.

Most
of them were out of their seats and stirring about. If they’d been moved by the
great man, they’d recovered quickly. Or maybe, like her, they had found the
performance so draining, they needed a respite before the next emotional act.

Many
of them had opera glasses of their own trained on the private boxes—a
surprising number on the very box in which the earl and she sat. Never say this
dull little man sleeping in the chair beside her was of that much interest to
the other members of London society. If so, they must indeed be desperate for
diversion.

She
raised the glasses the earl had given her and trained them on the box
containing the man she had thought resembled Tristan…and gasped. It was
Tristan, and he looked even more elegant in the stark black and white of his
evening clothes than he had when he’d called at her father’s townhouse.

He
and the fair-haired man, who on closer observation looked to be much older than
Tristan, were engaged in conversation with the woman she’d seen enter the box
earlier. A statuesque blond with a bosom that put Tristan’s friend, Minette, to
shame, she had rather coarse features and rosy cheeks Maddy felt certain where
enhanced by Bloom of Ninon.

She
was most definitely a mistress. Furthermore, the exquisite ruby silk gown that
didn’t quite cover her magnificent bosom and the matching rubies circling her
throat and dangling from her ears proclaimed her the mistress of a very wealthy
man. Maddy felt a stab of fear. Had Tristan’s early years with his mother made
him addicted to soiled doves? Would that addiction persist even after he
married?

She
adjusted the glasses to enhance the picture. The woman was laughing heartily at
something either Tristan or the older man had said—her bosom heaving so
mightily, Maddy feared it might lift right out of her scandalous neckline.

Now
she was holding a jeweled fan in front of her face, as if she were whispering
something first to one man, then the other. She was obviously playing them
against each other and very successfully too, from the looks of it. For now
both men were laughing as if the vulgar creature had just said the most
fascinating thing either of them had ever heard.

Maddy
made a mental note to practice the art of the fan in her spare time; it
appeared to be a very effective adjunct to conversation. Still, she lowered the
glasses. She had seen enough. What fools men were, even the best of them.
Couldn’t Tristan and his distinguished looking friend see they were making
public spectacles of themselves?

The
earl stirred and straightened in his chair. His eyes popped open and he stared
around him in obvious surprise. “Is the first act over?”

Maddy
nodded. “Yes my lord. Mr. Kean was superb.”

“Excellent.
I hope you enjoyed it, Miss Harcourt.” He grinned sheepishly. “I can never stay
awake. The theater has the same effect on my as my village vicar’s sermons.”

He
eyed the opera glasses. “And have you been enjoying watching the
ton
at
play as well?”

Maddy
sniffed. “I have been watching your brother, Tristan at play, my lord. He and
his friend are in one of the boxes across the way.”

The
earl yawned. “Ah yes, he said he’d be here. With Foreign Secretary Castlereagh
and the Grand Duchess Sophia.”

“The
woman is a grand duchess? Are you certain?” Maddy handed him the glasses. “She
more closely resembles an expensive courtesan.”

“Miss
Harcourt!” The earl flushed with embarrassment. “I would not expect an innocent
young woman to know either the name or the look of such a creature.”

He
adjusted the glasses and peered toward the box that Maddy indicated. “Hmmm. I
see what you mean. She does rather give that appearance. But she is most
definitely the grand duchess of some remote duchy in Austria, according to
Tris. The two of them became fast friends when he was at the Congress of
Vienna—though heaven only knows what he was doing there. To hear him tell it,
he did nothing but waltz and drink and…

The
earl’s flush deepened. “It is all beyond me, but Tris is very clever about such
things. Apparently his friendship with the duchess has been of great help to
Lord Castlereagh since she has the ear of Prince von Metternich.”

“Who
in turn has the ear of the Emperor of Austria,” Maddy said, as relief flooded
through her. Tristan wasn’t dallying after all; he was merely protecting the
interests of his country.

“And,”
she continued, “
with
Napoleon on the march again, it
behooves Lord Castlereagh to keep Metternich as a friend since the Austrian
emperor is biding his time, waiting to see who will rule France.

The
earl’s eyes widened. “How do you know that?”

“It
is only logical, my lord. The emperor fears he may one day have to defend
Vienna against the Russian Cossacks, in which case he will need the support of
the armies of France.”

“The
devil you say!” The earl’s pale brows drew together in a disapproving frown.
“Somehow that does not seem the sort of thing a proper lady should know. I
hope, Miss Harcourt, you are not going to tell me you are some sort of
bluestocking who fancies dabbling in politics.”

Maddy
couldn’t help but laugh at the disgruntled earl. “But of course I am, my lord,
if the term ‘bluestocking’ means what I think it does. I was raised on
politics. It was the only subject that was ever discussed in my grandfather’s
salon.”

The
earl turned positively green—something Maddy scarcely noticed. She was too
drunk with happiness to take note of anything as trivial as the Earl of Rand’s
complexion.

So,
Tristan’s natural milieu was international politics—not a sheep farm, as she’d
surmised.
Why had it never
occurred to her before how logical the progression was from spy to diplomat?

But
what lay ahead for the clever Englishman? Evidently the powerful Foreign
Secretary didn’t hold his illegitimate birth against him. Maybe, with Lord
Castlereagh as his sponsor, he could become British Ambassador to Vienna. Maybe
even take a seat in the House of Commons if he played his cards right. What a coup
that would be for a man who had started life as a bastard!

And
who would make the ideal wife for a man with such ambitions? Why a woman who
had been the chatelaine of the most brilliant political salon in Lyon, of
course.

L
ady Ursula Ramsden, Dowager Countess
of Rand, selected a small frosted cake from the tea tray offered by her butler
and added a spoonful of sugar to her tea. She waited until both her daughter,
Lady Carolyn, and her guest had made their selections, then instructed the
starchy retainer to leave them to enjoy their tea without further interruption.

“So,
my dear Miss Harcourt,” she said in her beautifully modulated voice, “it
appears we have our work cut out for us if you are to be ready to make your
debut this Season. Mr. Harcourt tells me that in addition to planning an
appropriate wardrobe, we must rectify certain omissions in your social training
as well.”

She
took a sip of tea before continuing. “But before we do anything else, we must
secure you a suitable dresser. An older woman, I think, who can double as a
chaperone.”

“A
dresser? Whatever for?” Maddy scoffed. “I’ve been tending to my own needs since
I was five years old.”

“But
your needs will not be so simple now, my dear. And your maid can accompany you
shopping or visiting friends. A proper young lady never leaves her domicile
without the company of a relative or servant. I hope you will remember that in
the future.

Maddy
stifled her urge to giggle. She had crossed France disguised as a boy, slept in
a hayloft with her head on the shoulder of a rakish ex-spy, even shared a kiss
with that same ex-spy on a moonlight evening—but now she dare not walk to the
lending library without a proper chaperone.

“We
can be thankful of one thing—Madame Héloïse has turned you out quite well,”
Lady Ursula said, pursing her pretty mouth and studying Maddy with the same
judicial intensity her son, the earl, had the first time he met her. “I would
not have thought of sarcenet for a carriage dress and in such an unusual shade
of green, too, but it is really most becoming.”

“Thank
you, my lady.” Ordinarily, Maddy would have taken umbrage at such scrutiny, but
she found it impossible to do so with either the countess or her son. Both had
a kindness of nature that could not be mistaken. Especially the countess. For
hadn’t she taken Tristan in to raise as her own when he was abandoned on her
doorstep as a child?

Furthermore,
it was so easy to see how the earl had come by his diminutive size and his
gentlemanly manners; Lady Ursula was petite and blonde and so perfectly
ladylike, Maddy felt like a gauche country bumpkin in comparison. And Lady
Carolyn was an exquisite copy of her mother. No wonder the countess looked a
bit bewildered at the prospect of trying to turn Caleb Harcourt’s oversized
French daughter into one of the delicate English china dolls admired by the
ton.

“You
must not take this ‘plan’ of my father’s too seriously, my lady,” Maddy said,
hoping to put her gentle hostess as ease. “It is plain to see it is just a
silly whim he’s taken. But he is an intelligent man. I feel certain he will
soon see the idea is hopeless and give it up.”

“Oh,
Miss Harcourt, never say such a thing!” Every drop of color blanched from Lady
Ursula’s face, and Lady Carolyn’s teacup crashed into her saucer. Two sets of
pale blue eyes stared at Maddy with what she could only describe as absolute
horror. But why? She would have thought they would welcome any excuse to
abandon “the plan.”

“Of
course it’s not hopeless, my dear. It simply cannot be,” Lady Ursula declared,
pressing her hand to her heaving bosom.

“Garth
has committed himself. The ‘plan’ is already underway,” Lady Carolyn added, her
eyes as round and wide as the teacup clattering in her saucer. She glanced
fearfully around the elegant salon of the Ramsden townhouse in which they sat,
as if the beautiful paintings,
objets d’art
, and exquisite furnishings
somehow entered into the equation.

Honor
again. This family seemed obsessed by it. The earl apparently felt honor-bound
to sponsor her entrance into London society to pay back the favor her father
had done him, and his mother and sister, God bless their loyal hearts, intended
to back him all the way, no matter what it cost them.

Maddy
sighed. It seemed she must agree to the preposterous scheme long enough to keep
from offending them. “I am most appreciative of your efforts, my lady, and I do
not mean to be difficult.” She paused, pondering how to tactfully word what she
had to say. “But I cannot help but believe we shall avoid a great deal of
trouble later on if I begin by being perfectly honest about how I feel about
the plan. It is my life that will be most drastically affected, after all, not
my father’s.”

Now
Lady Ursula’s teacup was clattering in its saucer. “Of course, my dear,” she
said somewhat breathlessly. “Above all, we want you to be happy with the
arrangements.”

“We
are hardly in a position to feel otherwise,” Lady Carolyn said acidly, and
earned herself a quelling look from her mother.

Maddy
felt it best to ignore Lady Carolyn’s brief but telling show of temper.
Apparently she was not quite as honor-bound as the other members of the family.

“Tell
us, my dear, exactly how
do
you feel about…everything?” Lady Ursula
asked gently.

Maddy
looked down at the paper-thin teacup in her hand. “Well, for one thing, my
lady, I really cannot abide tea. So your idea of introducing me to the ladies
of the
ton
by giving a series of afternoon teas is not particularly
appealing. It is not a popular drink in France, you see. I am accustomed to
coffee. Strong, black coffee.” She refrained from mentioning that the French
had dubbed the Englishmen’s favorite beverage
la pisse de chat.
She
doubted a high stickler like the countess would see the humor in likening her
precious tea to cat urine.

“Then
there’s the matter of all those lessons Papa and you discussed,” Maddy
continued. “I have nothing against learning to dance.” She had, in fact,
developed a passionate desire to do so the moment the earl mentioned that
Tristan had waltzed his way through the Congress of Vienna.

She
smiled at Lady Ursula. “I would be particularly interested in learning the
waltz. I saw it executed once in Lyon and found it quite intriguing.” In truth,
the idea of waltzing in Tristan’s arms sent shivers of excitement coursing
through her.

“I
have already arranged for dancing lessons with an unexceptional tutor who
numbers the waltz among his accomplishments,” Lady Ursula said. “But, of
course, you must obtain the permission of the patronesses of Almack’s before
performing that particular dance in public.”

“Surely
you jest, my lady. Why should these patronesses, whoever they may be, have
anything to say about what I do?”

“My
thought exactly,” Lady Carolyn said. “The old dragons have yet to give me the
nod, and I resent it bitterly.”

Lady
Ursula silenced her daughter with a scowl. “Lady Jersey and the other
patronesses set the standard of decorum for the
ton.
Standards with
which I heartily concur. You are barely eighteen, Carolyn. Much too young and
innocent, in my opinion, to be dancing in the intimate manner required by that
most scandalous of dances. I myself have never waltzed. Nor do I think I ever
will.”

“But
you’re hopelessly old-fashioned, Mama. It is precisely because I am young that
I want to do all the exiting things I can think
of
while I am still able to enjoy them.” Lady Carolyn gave an angry toss of her
golden curls that led Maddy to believe this youngest of the Ramsdens was most
definitely not blessed with as docile a nature as her mother and brother.

Lady
Ursula fixed her daughter with a stare that plainly put an end to any further
discussion of the waltz, and Maddy made a new assessment of the countess.
Gentle and ladylike she might be, but Lady Ursula was obviously not a woman to
be trifled with once she made up her mind.

“So,
Miss Harcourt, we have the business of dancing lessons settled then,” Lady
Ursula said, ignoring her daughter’s angry pout. She took another sip of her
tea, then placed the cup and saucer on the small table on which the tea tray
sat. “As to the other accomplishments you will need to acquire—”

“Now
there’s the rub, my lady.” Maddy finished the last of her teacake and set her
plate aside. “I have no interest in painting with watercolors and I have the
voice of a crow, so singing lessons would be a waste of time and money. And
unless I’m willing to practice ten hours a day—which I’m not—the Season will be
over before I progress beyond scales on the pianoforte.”

Her
gaze lighted on the tambour frame beside Lady Ursula’s chair. “I’m afraid
embroidery is out also. I’m much too impatient for that sort of thing. I tried
it once and ended up throwing my efforts in the fireplace.”

Lady
Ursula’s finely arched brows raised a fraction. “But my dear, what will you do
with your days? You have eliminated virtually every occupation suitable to a
well-bred young lady.”

“Oh
la, never worry about me, my lady. I shall be busy as a cat in a barn full of
mice. I am the most avid of readers and Papa has a magnificent library which I
am dying to sample.”
And Cookie has an inexhaustible supply of recipes he is
willing to teach me—but best I keep that to myself.

“Ah
yes, your reading.” Lady Ursula’s voice was noticeably lacking in enthusiasm.
“My son mentioned that you were exceedingly clever. I understand you have not
only read Mr. Shakespeare’s plays, but translated them into French as well.”

“Actually,
I translated them into French, German and Italian.” Maddy smiled reminiscently.
“Just for fun, you know. I can’t remember when I’ve enjoyed myself more.”

Lady
Ursula paled noticeably. “Oh dear, I do think it would be best to keep that our
little family secret. It wouldn’t do to have it bandied about that you were a
bluestocking.”

That
word again.
Maddy scowled
thoughtfully. “You are saying, I take it, that the members of the
ton
do
not approve of intelligent women.”

“Let
us rather say they do not approve of bookish women.”

“Very
well, my lady I stand corrected. And since I am already aware they also do not
approve of men who earn their income through trade, nor even any of their own
kind who bolster their incomes using the wits
le bon Dieu
gave them, I
have but one question left concerning that exclusive society.”

“And
what
may
that be, my dear?”

Maddy
sighed deeply. “How in heaven’s name do the silly twits managed to keep from
boring each other to death?”

Tristan
looked up from yesterday’s issue of the London
Times
and watched his
sister, Carolyn, lift the lids of the various chafing dishes on the sideboard
and help herself to a generous breakfast of sausage and coddled eggs. The two
of them were the only occupants of the cheerful morning room of the Ramsdens’
refurbished townhouse on this bright morning in mid-April; Lady Ursula was
still abed and Garth had not yet returned from his early morning ride in Hyde
Park.

“Lady
Ursula tells me Garth and Maddy Harcourt have been inseparable while I’ve been
in Belgium on Lord Castlereagh’s business these past three weeks,” he remarked
offhandedly when Carolyn took her seat opposite him.

She
speared one of the sausages on her plate, popped it in her mouth, and chewed
thoughtfully before answering. “As usual, Mama exaggerates. He escorted her to
two of Lady Faversham’s Thursday musicales—the only place he’s been able to
take her in the evening until she learns to dance properly. But he has spent a
number of days each week with her as well.”

Carolyn
chuckled. “I do believe the poor dear has seen more of London in the past three
weeks than in all the previous twenty-seven years of his life. First Miss
Harcourt talked him into taking her to the British Museum to see the Elgin
marbles—”

Tristan
laid the newspaper aside. “Garth viewed the Elgin marbles? And in the company
of a woman? Good Lord!”

“Naturally,
he was shocked to the core, especially since Miss Harcourt found them
absolutely fascinating and insisted on examining them piece by piece. You
should have seen his face when he described them to Mama. ‘A few horses here
and there, but in general nothing but a lot of disgusting nudes with half their
arms and legs missing’,” she mimicked.

Despite
himself, Tristan chuckled at the picture she conjured up with her perfect
imitation of their staid brother.

“Then
she dragged him to St. Paul’s Cathedral,” Carolyn continued, “which he promptly
declared ‘a gloomy old pile of stone,’ and to the Tower of London, where he
threatened to plant one of the keeper’s a facer unless he bettered the living
conditions of the poor beasts on display there.”

She
speared another sausage. “They even spent one entire afternoon in Hatchard’s
Bookstore. You can imagine how much Garth enjoyed that! The only time I’ve ever
seen him open a book was to preserve the flower Lady Sarah wore in her hair at
her come-out.”

She
pressed her fingers to her lips. “Oops! I must remember to be more careful what
I say.”

“Indeed
you must!” Tristan scowled thoughtfully. “Lady Ursula mentioned that Maddy has
taken tea with you here as well. How did the two of you get on?”