The Misguided Matchmaker (25 page)

Tristan
blinked, unable to believe his eyes. The stiff-necked gentleman in wine-colored
satin evening attire who was perched in the exact center of the lion-clawed
monstrosity was Viscount Tinsdale, and the two ladies flanking him were his
wife and daughter, Lady Sarah Summerhill.

“How
could she be so cruel?” Garth gasped, his rigid fingers gripping Tristan’s arm
like an eagle’s talons. But whether he was asking how his sister could be so
cruel as to invite her, or how Lady Sarah could be so cruel as to attend a
party celebrating his betrothal to another, was not immediately apparent.

A
helpless, smoldering rage consumed Tristan. Protocol dictated that, as his
brother’s best man, he must expect to be subjected to social contact with Maddy
until this blasted wedding was over; but there was no earthly reason why Garth
should have to endure the pain and humiliation of seeing Sarah.

Instinctively,
he sought Maddy’s eyes, fearful of what he might see. But far from looking
bewildered or downcast by the bizarre collection of guests she appeared
defiant—even militant, if the fire in her amber eyes could be believed.

Caro
stood beside her, her expression equally combative and beyond them sat Lady
Sarah, looking more like a small, determined bulldog about to lock its teeth
around a bone than her usual timid self.

A
shiver crawled along Tristan’s spine and somewhere in the vicinity of his
stomach a hard, cold knot formed. It was a reaction remarkably similar to the
one that had foreshadowed his entrance into the tortuous
traboules
of
Lyon. Something equally dark and secretive was brewing here. In truth, he felt
as if he were sitting on a keg of gunpowder just inches from a lighted flint.

With
a few long strikes, he crossed the room to confront Maddy and Caro. “What the
devil is going on here? And which one of you is the sadist who planned this
hellish party?” he demanded in a hoarse whisper only they could hear.

Two
sets of eyes—one pair amber, the other blue—regarded him with stoic
recalcitrance. Neither owner of said eyes deigned to answer him.

“Speak
up, you two. What is going on here?”

“The
party is my doing,” Maddy declared defiantly. “I have gathered this particular
group of people together in order to right a wrong done your brother by my
father.”

“Maddy
has an idea to thwart her father’s plan,” Caro explained.

Tristan
groaned. He had witnessed enough of Maddy’s efforts at righting wrongs to be
aware that someone usually ended up with his head bashed in. This time it could
very easily be Garth.

“Did
it never occur to you that you are playing with fire here, Maddy?” he asked,
barely managing to control his temper. “Your father is a stubborn, opinionated
man who firmly believes he is doing the right thing. It is beyond foolish to
tamper with such a man and his objectives when he holds all the cards.”

Maddy
elevated her chin a notch higher. “But he doesn’t—hold the
cards,
that
is. I do.”

“She
stole them,” Caro said. “With my help.”

Tristan
stared from one flushed face to the other, the knot in his stomach tightening
by the second. “She did
what
?”

He
received no answer to his urgent question for the simple reason that at that
very moment Frobisher, the butler, appeared in the doorway to announce, “Dinner
is served.”

Conversation
at the dinner table was desultory, to say the least. But Maddy had expected no
less considering the odd collection of guests Caro and she had assembled in
Lady Ursula’s name.

Caro
was no help whatsoever. She was jumpy as a flea on a hot rock, and the enormity
of the project facing them before the evening ended had rendered her virtually
tongue-tied.

Viscount
Tinsdale was grimly silent, devoting all his energy to gorging himself on the
incredibly mediocre
turbot fillets Sauvignon
and
woodcock flambé
served up by Lady Ursula’s so-called French chef. Lady Tinsdale, on the other
hand, ate little and said less, but merely watched her daughter with worried
eyes.

As
well she might. Sarah had done nothing but stare soulfully into Garth’s eyes
since the moment they entered the dining room. In retrospect, Maddy realized it
had been a serious mistake to seat the two of them across the table from each
other. Unless Sarah pulled herself together, she would be of even less help
than Caro in the confrontation to come.

Maddy
found herself wondering if Tristan would ever again look at her with his heart
in his eyes. He had reverted to his old, surly self once she had confessed her
plan to do battle with her father, and the looks he was casting her way at the
moment were anything but soulful.

She
sniffed. But wouldn’t the ungrateful wretch sing a different tune once she’d
accomplished her mission!

Surreptitiously,
she stole a guilty glance at her father, wondering if he had any inkling what
was in store for him. It was all too obvious, from the ridiculous look on his
face, that he had nothing on his mind except his silly flirtation with Lady
Ursula—and the countess appeared every bit as engrossed in him.

This
came as no surprise. Caro had warned earlier, “Do not count on Mama to side
with us against Mr. Harcourt. The two of them have been smelling of April and
May ever since they announced the betrothal of their offspring.”

Maddy
sighed. She could plainly see that if anything were to be accomplished this
evening toward convincing her father to see reason, she would have to be the
one to accomplish it. So be it, then. The weeks since her grandfather’s death
had taught her she was made of stern enough stuff to face any challenge.

Finally,
the interminable dinner was over and the service plates removed. Maddy
swallowed the lump of fear filling her throat, took a last furtive look at
Tristan’s handsome, scowling face, and with Father Bertrand’s cross clutched
tightly in her fingers, rose to her feet. Clearing her throat, she launched
into her shocking edict before Lady Ursula could suggest the ladies withdraw to
leave the gentlemen to their port and cheroots.

“I
have two announcements to make,” Maddy said in a clear, strong voice, though
her knees where knocking so badly, she had to brace her hands on the table to
keep from dropping back into her chair.

All
eyes turned toward her. The incredulous expressions on the various faces around
the table reminded her that this kind of public display was not what was
expected of a well-bred young lady. But with dogged determination, she plowed
on.

“First,
I have come to the conclusion that I am one of those ‘heaven forbid
bluestockings’ both the earl and Lady Ursula find so unacceptable,” she
continued, “and as such, I flatly refuse to attend any more of the boring
social affairs of the
ton
, except possibly the Ladies’ Book Review Club
and the Friends of the British Museum Society.”

A
cumulative gasp rose around the table, with the exception of Caro and Lady
Sarah, who smiled their agreement, and Tristan, of course, who showed no
reaction whatsoever. Taking advantage of their shocked silence, Maddy
continued. “Such questionable delights as amateur musicales, Venetian breakfasts,
and especially those dreadful Wednesday evening affairs at Almack’s are a
complete waste of time for an intelligent woman.”

“Stow
it, Maddy,” her father growled. “I’ll have no such blasphemy spoken in the
presence of refine gentlewomen.”

“Hush,
my dear. Let me handle this.” Lady Ursula laid her small white hand over Caleb
Harcourt’s large tanned one. “I understand your feelings in this matter,
Madelaine. Naturally, the lifestyle of the British aristocracy is much more
demanding than that to which you have been accustomed and you will have to put
forth a certain amount of effort to fit in. But one must look at such things
sensibly. How can you hope to be a proper Countess of Rand if you refuse to
fulfill your social obligations?”

“My
point exactly, my lady. I have been doing my best to persuade both you and my
father that I am not at all suited for the position. But neither of you will
listen to me.”

“You’ll
do just fine,” her father insisted. “All you need is a few of the lessons Lady
Ursula suggested…and a change of attitude.”

“My
attitude is not going to change, Papa, and I cannot think of a single
accomplishment required of a proper lady of the
ton
that is of the
slightest interest to me. Why should I take lessons to learn how to do things
that bore me to flinders?”

“But
my dear Madelaine, think of Garth,” Lady Ursula exclaimed, looking ready to
burst into tears. “Surely you would not want to disgrace him.”

“Of
course not. I am very fond of the earl,” Maddy declared, secretly
congratulating herself that she had so cleverly maneuvered the countess into
saying exactly what she wanted to hear. “Which leads me to my second
announcement.” She turned to face Garth, who looked even more pale and unhappy
than usual. “I hereby release you from the offer of marriage which my father
coerced you into making me, my lord.”

A
flush suffused the earl’s cheeks and his mouth opened and closed, then opened
again, but not a sound passed his lips.

“Sit
down and behave yourself, Maddy,” her father ordered in a voice that in its day
had sent a shipload of sailors scurrying up the rigging of one of his
brigantines. “We have had this discussion before. I told you then where I
stood; nothing has happened since to change my mind about pursuing certain
actions should this marriage fail to come about.”

He
shrugged. “And as for the earl, he will just have to be patient until his mama
can take some of the rough edges off you. After all, he made his choice of
brides of his own free will. No one held a pistol to his head.”

“Of
his own free will, eh?” Maddy knelt down and retrieved the stack of debts
accrued by the Fourth Earl, which she had hidden beneath her chair earlier in
the day. “And what of these interesting documents, which have all been endorsed
over to you by the original note-holders, Papa? Did they not play some part in
his decision?”

Her
father’s eyes widened in astonishment, as did those of the earl and Tristan.
“Devil take it, you devious little baggage, where did you get those?” he
bellowed.

“She
stole them from your desk with my help,” Carol said, leaping to her feet. “And
how dare you call Maddy devious, you…you blackmailer.”

Maddy
watched her father’s face turn a virulent purple, and she held her breath,
afraid he might have an attack of apoplexy. Whatever havoc he had wrought with
his foolish plan, he was still her father, and she had come to love the
stubborn old tyrant.

“Caleb,
dear, do not overset yourself,” Lady Ursula urged. “I am certain this is all
just a misunderstanding that can be cleared up with a simple explanation.”

Her
voice hardened to a tone Maddy had never before heard her use. “Sit down this
minute, Carolyn,” she demanded. “And you, too, Madelaine. I don’t know what the
two of you have done, but it sounds terribly wicked and I am certain you owe
dear Caleb an apology.”

“I
will not sit down and I will not apologize, my lady,” Maddy declared. “It is my
father who should apologize to me and to the earl for trying to force us into a
marriage neither of us want. If he had truly loved me, as he claimed, he would
have destroyed these records of the old earl’s debts and set us both free to
marry where our hearts lie.”

She
stole a look at Tristan to see his reaction to her telling statement, but the
scowl on his handsome face was anything but encouraging.

“I,
too, refuse to apologize,” Caro said in a show of stubborn support that
gladdened Maddy’s bruised heart. “I stand with Maddy. Mr. Harcourt should be
ashamed of himself for playing God with other people’s lives.” She folded her
arms and glazed defiantly at the table in general.

“Dear,
oh dear, what a coil.” Lady Ursula slumped in her chair and promptly dissolved
into tears.

“I
also stand with Maddy.” Lady Sarah rose to her feet. “And Mr. Harcourt is not
the only person at this table who should be ashamed of himself.”

“Sit
down, Sarah! Immediately!” Viscount Tinsdale raised his quizzing glass to stare
coldly at his daughter. “What has possessed you to act in such a manner? This
tasteless business is none of your concern. In fact, I believe it is high time
we took our leave of this ill-begotten gathering.”

Sarah
tossed her head defiantly. “I will not sit down, Papa and I will not leave. I
have never before disobeyed you, but in this you are wrong. Anything to do with
Garth Ramsden is very much my concern. I am twenty-four-years old and I have
waited for him since we made our pledges to each other when I was but
fourteen…”

“Sarah,
darling, don’t do this. I cannot bear it,” Garth cried, covering his face with
his hands.

Sarah
stared at Garth’s bowed head for a moment, her eyes bleak. Then she faced her
father anew. “You knew I loved Garth. Yet, when I begged you to help him, you
said you couldn’t spare the money because you had contracted to buy a series of
expensive paintings for your famous collection. I wish you joy of them, Papa.
For if I cannot have Garth, I will have no man. I will go to my grave a
spinster, and you will never have a grandson to cheer you in your old age.”

Viscount
Tinsdale dropped his quizzing glass—and his mouth. He stared at his ordinarily
sweet-natured, biddable daughter as if she had suddenly grown two heads.
“Demme, Harcourt, this is all your doing,” he said turning his baleful gaze on
the object of his derision.

“He’s
right, Caleb. This whole, dreadful mess is your fault.” Lady Ursula dabbed at her
brimming eyes with a soggy handkerchief. “How could I have been so taken in by
your charms as to believe I had come to care for a man who was blackmailing my
poor son?”

“Devil
take it, Ursula, nobody told
me
the earl was promised,” Harcourt
grumbled. “I was just looking to acquire my daughter a title the easiest way
possible.”

“And
a fine mess you’ve made of things trying to climb above your station.” Viscount
Tinsdale stared down his nose at the offending cit, his expression that of a
man who had just taken a whiff of something unspeakably foul. “This is a prime
example of why we of the old gentry oppose the infiltration into our ranks of
bourgeois commoners.”

“Why
you overstuffed little pipsqueak!” Harcourt half rose from his chair with an
obvious intent to throttle the little viscount. But Tristan, who heretofore had
merely sat back and watched the proceedings, reached across the table and
restrained him with a hand on his arm and a few brief but expressive words,
which earned him scathing looks from both combatants.

“Elizabeth,
Sarah, we are leaving!” the viscount declared haughtily.

Lady
Tinsdale pushed back her chair and stood up, her usually placid eyes blazing
and two bright spots of color highlighting her pale cheeks. “You may leave if
you wish, Horatio, but I stand with my daughter. I have lived with your
selfish, tight-fisted ways for thirty years, but I can live with them no
longer. Harcourt’s methods may be unscrupulous and his judgment faulty, but a
least he had his daughter’s welfare at heart; you put the acquisition of a few
Rembrandts and Vandykes above the happiness of your only child. For that, I
cannot forgive you.”

Viscount
Tinsdale’s eyes fairly popped from his head. “Elizabeth!” he gasped. “Have you
lost all sense of propriety, to speak to your lord in such a manner?”

“I
have lost nothing, Horatio, except my respect for you.” Lady Tinsdale’s
expression remained defiant, though her lips trembled noticeably. “And while
you are out and about making your expensive acquisitions, you’d best look into
acquiring yourself a mistress, for I fear I have developed an excruciating
headache which will prohibit my according you any…privileges at any time in the
foreseeable future.”

Before
Maddy’s eyes, Viscount Tinsdale wilted like a flower deprived of its source of
sunshine and water, and she recalled Caro’s claim that despite his selfish
ways, he loved his wife and daughter dearly. “What is it you want of me
Elizabeth?” he asked with obvious resignation.

Lady
Tinsdale’s expression soften a fraction. “I want you to help the earl out of
the financial problems he inherited from his ne’er-do-well father so Sarah and
he can marry.”

“And
how, pray, am I supposed to do that when Harcourt holds all the notes?”

As
if the viscount’s peevish question were the one she’d been waiting for, Lady
Ursula dried her tears and rose to her feet. “I believe Mr. Harcourt is going
to destroy those dreadful notes, my lord,” she said her voice deceptively calm.
“For if he doesn’t, he will find that he, too, will be deprived of certain
unnamed privileges which he has been enjoying recently.” She glared at the
recipient of said privileges. “And as my late, unlamented husband was wont to
say when he held a winning hand, ‘on that I stand pat’.”

“Why,
Mama, surely you’re not implying…” Carolyn blushed furiously. “I knew you were
fond of Mr. Harcourt, but it never occurred to me you were…I mean, you’re much
too prim and proper to…”

“Don’t
be a ninny, Carolyn. I’m not
that
prim and proper.” Lady Ursula leveled
her gaze on the big man sitting beside her. “So, Caleb, what are you going to
about those notes Madelaine is waving under your nose?”

“This
is blackmail,” he said indignantly, then had the grace to flush when he met
Maddy’s knowing gaze.

“Some
might call it that,” Lady Ursula said. “I prefer the term ‘tit for tat’.”

Maddy
watched her father glance around the table, a bemused expression on his
handsome age-weathered face. Every woman was standing; every man seated. He
scowled. “Devil take it, madam, between you and my scapegrace daughter, you
leave me little choice.” Reaching across the table, he snatched the documents
from Maddy’s hands, dropped them into the silver centerpiece, and lighted them
up with a candle from one of the candelabra.

“There,”
he declared as the flames licked the edges of the epergne. “I’ve done my part
and more for the House of Rand, if you add the cost of this bonfire to all the
money I’ve poured into this townhouse and that mausoleum you call Winterhaven.
Now, let’s see how much blunt the skinflint viscount is willing to part with.”

“I
suppose I could manage to advance sufficient funds to see the Rand estates back
on a paying basis,” the viscount said grudgingly.

Between
the laughing and crying and chattering that followed the viscount’s
statement—and the frantic efforts of Frobisher and the footmen to keep the
conflagration from setting the table on fire—general pandemonium reigned for
the next few minutes.

Maddy
was hugged and kissed and thanked with heartfelt sincerity, first by Lady
Tinsdale, then by Lady Sarah and the earl once they had stopped gazing into
each other’s eyes long enough to do so. Viscount Tinsdale was not so
appreciative. He mumbled something about foreigners corrupting the thinking of
decent Englishwomen and promptly departed with the other three to make plans
for his daughter’s future.

Maddy
smiled sentimentally as she watched them go. The earl really was a sweet man
and he deserved the kind of loyal, loving wife Lady Sarah would make him.