The Matchmaker And The Duke
She shook her head at him. ‘One of these days you will get your comeuppance, Duke. Mark my words.’
He bowed and moved on. He joined a group of gentlemen at the end of the room furthest from the orchestra. Men he’d known for years, some from his university days, others from his first Season. Most were now married with children and were in town to take their seats in the House of Lords. Parliament was the reason the nobility came to London for the Season. Somehow, the ladies had turned it into a marriage mart.
Jasper looked about him.
The ball was the same as every other event he had attended. The latest crop of debutantes stood in little clumps around the edge of the dance floor, trying to look as if they didn’t care that no one had asked them to dance and failing miserably. The diamonds of the first water smiled happily as they proved their superiority on the dance floor and the matrons gossiped while they kept an eye on their daughters. Meanwhile, the wallflowers, those gals who had been out a Season or three, lurked in the corners as if they had lost all hope.
Now he remembered why he preferred his club to a night of dancing.
It was not long before Sally sought him out once more. ‘It is time you met the Mitchell sisters. Let me make the introductions.’
Jasper did not like the feeling of being swept along willy-nilly and almost refused. But dash it, his curiosity was aroused. Sally guided him towards a large group of people gathered near the orchestra. At the centre of the cluster of young ladies and gentlemen were two blonde girls with shining blue eyes and curvaceous figures, dressed in white, tastefully modest gowns.
To Jasper’s surprise, Sally did not make a beeline for these two lovelies, but to the woman hovering near them. A woman certainly past the first blush of youth, but who was quite exotically beautiful with dark hair and dark eyes, and skin that hinted of warmer climes than chilly England. His heart seemed to miss a beat. It was as if his recognition of her beauty had interrupted its rhythm. A most unpleasant sensation. And why on earth did he have the feeling he had met her before?
‘Mrs Durant, may I introduce to you the Duke of Stone,’ Sally said.
Ah, yes, Mrs Durant, the matchmaker Aunt Mary had mentioned. He had not expected her to be such a beauty, given her line of work. And there was that odd sensation that he had met her somewhere before.
The woman’s eyes widened a fraction as her gaze met his. Her irises were the colour of toffee with a starburst of gold in their centres.
Beautiful eyes, with unexpected warmth. He knew those eyes. The colours changed, darkened.
‘I believe we are old acquaintances,’ he said. If only he could recall the occasion of their meeting.
A flash of surprise crossed her face, quickly replaced by a cool smile. ‘How kind of you to remember, Your Grace.’
Devil take it, he prided himself on never forgetting a face. It had taken him years to hone the skill, but it stood him in good stead when dealing with the myriad of people for whom he was responsible in some way. Then why was he having troubling recalling where he had met her? And when? And why did he have the odd feeling she did not like him? Had he given offence in some way? He bowed. ‘My pleasure.’
‘Let me introduce you to my charges.’ The briskness of her words took him aback. She definitely did not like him.
‘It seems you are in good hands, Duke,’ Sally said. ‘I will leave you to Mrs Durant’s good graces.’ She sailed off as swiftly as she had arrived. The woman could not be still for a moment.
Turning towards the blonde girls, Mrs Durant presented him with a startlingly striking profile. A sculptor would have had difficulty imagining such a combination of strong yet purely feminine features. They were features that might give a man endless hours of fascinating exploration. And her skin, so warm in colour, so delicately smooth—he found himself wanting to stroke a finger along her angular jaw to see if it was as silky as it appeared.
He forced his gaze to the two young ladies looking at him expectantly. Yes, they were young and very pretty, but beside their chaperon they paled into insignificance. At least in his opinion.
‘Your Grace,’ Mrs Durant said with a measure of pride, ‘may I present, Miss Charity Mitchell and her sister, Miss Patience. Ladies, the Duke of Stone.’
Both girls curtsied and showed their dimples.
He bowed. ‘How are you enjoying your first Season, ladies?’ he asked.
It was a trite question, but it had served him in good stead over the years.
‘We are having a grand time,’ the younger, Miss Patience, said.
‘This is only our second ball,’ Miss Mitchell added. ‘I do not think I have seen so many people in a ballroom. I had no idea people had ballrooms of this size in their houses.’
Their honesty and frank way of speaking surprised him. It was refreshing. They spoke like normal people instead of giggling twits.
He glanced back at their chaperon. Mrs Durant seemed to be eyeing him warily as if she suspected his motives for seeking an introduction. He racked his brains for some misdemeanour in his past that would account for her attitude.
Or was she simply assessing him as a likely suitor? The idea she would presume that she could choose a wife for him appalled him. Though it did not surprise him one whit. As soon as people heard his title, they sought a way to use him to further their own ends. Why would she be any different? To be sure, the girls were tricked out as fine as five pence and looked as pretty as pictures, but they did not hale from the nobility. It was from those ranks he had always expected he would select a bride.
Mrs Durant lifted her chin in challenge, as if reading his thoughts. Why on earth had he thought her beautiful? Her features were arresting, yes, but they gave her face and expression strength, not beauty.
Unfortunately, since he had sought an introduction, if he did not do his duty and ask one of them to dance, the ton might well see it as a mark of his displeasure, when he really felt nothing at all.
He smiled briefly at the older of the two. ‘Will you do the honour of joining me in the fourth set of the evening, Miss Mitchell?’
The girl blushed and glanced at her chaperon, who nodded. She bobbed a curtsy. ‘Thank you, Your Grace.’
He bowed. ‘I will return for you then.’
As he strolled away, whispers and giggles broke out behind him as everyone realised that the Duke of Stone had actually unbent enough to invite the latest diamond of the first water to dance.
Would Mrs Durant see it as a feather in her cap?
Chapter Two
Amelia could not understand Stone’s game. Was he actually looking for a bride? Lady Warren had not given a hint of any such thing when she had spoken to Amelia, but it might account for her friendliness at the Dobsons’ musicale.
If he was finally considering doing his duty to the title, it would account for his unbending enough to actually seek an introduction to the girls. Hopefully it was a passing fancy on his part. Charity and Patience were nice young women and deserved better than a man whose consequence led him to look down on the rest of the world. Handsome he might be, but he was as cold as his name.
She let go a breath. Perhaps she was being unfair, letting her prejudice against him colour her judgement of his character. Certainly, if Stone was pleased enough to offer to dance with Charity, then the Mitchell girls would instantly be accepted into the arms of the ton with no help from Amelia.
For some reason, his power to approved or disapprove annoyed her more than anything.
One thing Amelia did know for certain, Stone was not in need of a wealthy wife. Therefore, the idea that he would select a girl who was so far beneath him, as these two were, boggled her mind. Unless he was smitten.
Her heart twisted. Worry for the girls, that was all it was. Because she certainly had seen no sign of any such thing in Stone’s demeanour towards Charity. He had been as haughty and reserved as she remembered.
Good lord! Surely he did not have dishonourable intentions? If so, she would have to make it very clear he was completely out of line. She narrowed her gaze on the broad shoulders easing their way through the milling crowds. He was clearly a man who took regular exercise. He had not run to seed as so many did when approaching middle age. He was more physically impressive now than he had been when she first met him.
Charity touched her arm, clearly dying to ask a question. Amelia allowed a few moments to elapse before discreetly drawing her a little apart from the group. ‘Is everything all right?’
‘Not really. I wanted to dance the fourth set with Lord Sherbourn, not the Duke. I was too afraid to refuse him.’
Stone was enough to intimidate the hardiest females and refusing him might well have been a disaster for Charity and her sister.
Amelia took a steadying breath. Even if Stone was not a serious suitor, he could not be taken lightly. ‘I could tell you were nervous from the way you were chattering. Try to take a deep breath before you speak, it will let your brain catch up to your tongue.’ She gave the girl an encouraging smile. ‘But you did very well, my dear. The Duke must have been pleased with you or he would not have asked you to stand up with him. Had you already told Lord Sherbourn you would stand up with him for that set?’
‘No. I could see he was plucking up the courage to ask me and I was doing everything I could to encourage him and then the Duke came along.’
‘Well, there are lots more dances this evening. Encourage him to ask for one of those.’
The girl nodded and looked more cheerful. ‘I will.’ She rejoined her friends with a bright smile.
A friend of Lady Dobson’s son from university, Sherbourn had also been at the Dobsons’ musical evening. Amelia knew his family sought a wife with money for him. A good settlement would solve their most pressing problems after a bad marine investment had battered the family’s finances.
Amelia had investigated the Sherbourns thoroughly and, until this loss, they had proven to be of solid worth. Not a scrap of scandal or irresponsibility marred their reputation. In addition, as well as heir to a title, Sherbourn was a pleasant-spoken, nice-looking young man, if a little too passionate about things.
Nothing like the Duke of Stone.
A middle-aged woman in grey silk sailed up to Amelia, fanning her full round red face. ‘Now that would be a feather in your cap.’ Lady Dobson looked a little miffed.
Amelia smiled politely. ‘I beg your pardon?’
‘The Duke. Making sheep’s eyes at the older Mitchell sister.’
Amelia kept her expression coolly polite. ‘Do you think so?’
Lady Dobson wanted either of the Mitchell girls for her own son, Harold, a rather studious and inarticulate young man who actually didn’t need to marry for wealth. Unfortunately, the poor young man was so weedy and his face so spotty, he was unlikely to attract any girl’s attention without a great deal of help.
‘I would not trust him to make either of them a proposal,’ Lady Dobson said.
Amelia bridled. Why that would be, given she had been thinking something very similar a few moments before, she did not know. ‘I have never heard it said that the Duke was anything but the most honourable of men.’ Good heavens, was she defending him?
Lady Dobson’s gaze fell away. ‘You can’t tell me he would choose beauty over position.’
No. That she could not. But he might choose wealth.
‘They are such lovely girls, a man would have to be blind not to want to meet them,’ Amelia said, trying to sort through her impressions of the Duke in her own mind. ‘Likely he heard the gossip and came to see for himself. A man of the Duke’s address would not dream of being introduced to a lady and not asking her to dance.’ A feeling of relief went through her. Of course, that was his reason. Thank goodness, despite his haughty attitude, he was indeed a gentleman.
Years ago, when Amelia had been introduced to him, he had not asked her to dance. Indeed, he’d barely said a word and had looked down his nose at the daughter of a mere baronet. She, on the other hand, had stared at his handsome face in awe and blushed furiously.
The besotted look on her face must have been pitiable. When she’d attempted to speak to him the next time they met, his blank look had left her wishing the floor would open.
Lady Dobson gave her a kindly smile. ‘Well, if I were you, I would warn Miss Mitchell not to set her heart on him. I have heard it said he will not consider anyone below the daughter of an earl.’
She wasn’t some green girl that needed that sort of advice. ‘Would Harold like to dance with Patience?’ Oddly enough, Patience had indicated that she quite liked the spotty young gentleman.
Lady Dobson brightened. ‘He would love to dance with Miss Patience.’
‘She has the third set available, if he is not otherwise engaged.’ Patience had asked Amelia to relay this information to Mr Dobson, in case he did not get around to asking himself.
Lady Dobson bustled off.
While Mr Mitchell might have set his sights higher for his daughter, Patience and Mr Dobson liked each other a great deal. Amelia promised only to bring young people together whom she thought would suit. Couples she thought fit well together.
She glanced over to where Stone was engaged in deep conversation with Lord Jersey. Stone would certainly meet Papa Mitchell’s expectation. Not to mention it would be a feather in Amelia’s cap to marry one of her girls off to a duke. But she honestly could not see him as a suitable husband for either girl, if she wanted them to be happy.
And that was a primary consideration, no matter what their father thought.
Dancing with Miss Mitchell proved to be mildly entertaining in spite of Jasper’s reservations. Her artless comments and her bright smile were refreshing. To boot, not once had she simpered or batted her eyelashes. While her parentage was unashamedly middle class, a few discreet enquiries had informed him that her father was well respected in the business community as a man as honest and hardworking as the day was long. The sort of man Jasper respected.
The sort of man upon whom England’s future would be built. Those in Parliament needed to recognise this if they did not want to go the way of the French aristocracy. They needed to make it easier for men like Mitchell to achieve their goals, because the land alone could no longer support England’s growing population. A population that wanted to have a say in their future.
On the other hand, he, as Duke, had also to think of his family’s future. His bride ought to bring more with her than wealth. Influence was far more important these days. In his opinion, the only way to bring England into the future without destroying it was to loosen the reins of power without giving them up entirely. Bring men like Mitchell into the fold, as it were.
He glanced over at the matchmaker, Mrs. Durant. Did she understand that and was she congratulating herself right now on having snagged the biggest marital coup of the decade? It was early days yet. While he could see the benefits of marrying out of the nobility, he would have to live with the woman for the rest of his life. His stomach dipped.
Perhaps he’d feel better about it if he took the time to get to know Miss Mitchell. On the other hand, if he let the grass grow under his feet, the matchmaker would have no difficulty placing these girls now he had given his stamp of approval by dancing with one of them. And she was pleasant and exceedingly sweet.
And yet he felt a sense of something missing. He had felt nothing but a sort of avuncular kindness for the girl. Perhaps he really was getting old.
Devil take it. All that blathering by Aunt Mary about happiness had somehow wormed its way into his mind. He was perfectly happy...content...or something. He certainly did not enjoy being around people in the throes of passion. It made him uncomfortable.
A pang twisted painfully in his chest as he recalled his parents’ loving relationship. At one time he had dreamed of something similar. But perhaps it had been a child’s illusion. He’d certainly not seen that happiness in many of the marriages around him in the ton. He deliberately pushed the memory aside.
Fortunately, the figures of the dance left him and Miss Mitchell standing out at the top of the set. He focused his attention on her and she beamed at him.
‘I suppose all of this must seem like old hat to you?’ she said. ‘At your time of life, you must have been to a great many balls and parties.’
His time of life? Good Lord, now he sounded as old as Methuselah. Challenged by the implication, he gave her his most charming of smiles. ‘I have attended a great many balls, Miss Mitchell. But you know,’ he said, leaning closer, ‘it is the people who make them interesting.’
Her eyes widened a fraction, her lips parted. ‘How—how do you mean?’
Yes, he had not completely lost his touch. He could still charm a young lady if he put his mind to it.
‘For example, take the young gentleman over there with his mother, the plump dark-haired lady in the rose silk gown. That is Lord Barnaby. You would not think to look at him that he has devoted all of his time to working on a new sort of engine. If it works, it will make bringing goods to London much faster than ever before.’
She wrinkled her little nose. ‘Why would speed be important?’
‘Well... Say you want to sell fish caught in the rivers in Scotland. Right now, it comes to London by ship, but storms can delay that ship for days, even weeks. If it came by land in half the time it takes by boat, it would be fresher and command a better price.’
‘Ew! I do not like fish.’
He laughed at the face of distaste she made. ‘You might like it better if it was fresh.’
She shook her head. ‘No, I know I would not. I have eaten it fresh from the river, but I do take your meaning, I suppose.’
‘There are many other things that would also benefit from faster travel. I am sure you can think of some.’
She looked thoughtful for a moment. ‘Oh, yes. Milk. Cream. Strawberries.’
Yes, she did understand. He smiled at her as they began their promenade down the dance. He had not expected to enjoy conversing with the young lady, but it made such a refreshing change, he was actually enjoying himself.
‘How long have you been in London?’ he asked.
‘Almost six weeks.’
‘You came right at the beginning of the Season, then.’
‘Mrs Durant insisted we do so. She has been teaching us a great deal about how to go on, now and in the future.’
Ah yes, Mrs Durant. He glanced over to where the matchmaker was standing with a couple of older women. He could not help once more wondering what it was that he had done to make her dislike him.
‘Is she very strict in her notions?’ he asked.
‘Not really. She mostly tells us to be ourselves, but not to giggle or be silly. She also had us take elocution lessons to make us speak more clearly and dancing lessons to make sure we know all the latest steps and music.’
A sensible woman, Mrs Durant, apparently. Giggling females were deucedly annoying and a young lady who could not dance was a liability. The dance parted them and they travelled individually up the behind the line of dancers in their set. They met again at the top, but they were not standing out, so there was no real opportunity to continue their conversation.
He moved through the figures of the dance intuitively. Did Mrs Durant know how to dance? He would like to see that lithe figure of hers on the dance floor. Especially in a waltz. She had the elegance to carry it off to perfection. He could also guess how well her body would move beneath his hands in other circumstances. His blood heated.
He stilled. What the devil was he doing? Dancing with one woman and thinking about another and in the most licentious of ways. It was not like him at all.
He forced himself to concentrate on the dance and his partner until the music came to an end and he escorted her to her chaperon. Mrs Durant smiled at Miss Mitchell. ‘Here is Sir Robert come to claim his dance,’ she said as a young gentleman approached.
The two greeted each other like old friends and joined a set on the far side of the dance floor where he could see the other sister standing up with a skinny young man.
‘Your charges do you proud, Mrs Durant,’ he said.
She looked startled. Whether it was what he had said or that he had spoken, he wasn’t sure.
She inclined her head. ‘Thank you, Your Grace.’
‘Will you honour me with this next dance?’
This time her jaw dropped. ‘Me? You are asking me to dance?’
He bowed, slightly. ‘I spoke in English and I believe my meaning is clear.’
She choked back a laugh and for a moment he thought she might say yes. He waited for her acceptance with a feeling of anticipation.
‘Goodness me, no,’ she said, the gold in her eyes twinkling as if she thought he had been merely teasing. A faint trace of colour appeared high on her cheekbones. ‘I do not dance.’
Along with surprise that any woman would turn him down, an unexpected sense of disappointment filled him. He bowed and it felt a little stiff, even as he retained a pleasant smile. ‘Then if you will excuse me, I see a lady against the wall who might care to join me.’
After all, he could not dance with only one lady this evening. That would be tantamount to an offer of marriage. No doubt, one mistake and he’d find himself leg-shackled if Mrs Durant had anything to say about it. Resentment filled him.
Whether it was the thought of being trapped into marriage or because she had refused to dance, he could not decide.
In Amelia’s opinion, Mr Mitchell had been lucky to rent such suitable lodgings, so close to Mayfair. Located on a street off Bedford Square, it was a little cramped and the girls had to share a bedroom, but it was an address that would not be looked down upon by members of the ton. Indeed, they had some of those same members as neighbours.
The two girls, now in their nightgowns, sprawled on Charity’s bed with their nightly hot chocolate. They made such a pretty picture together. Amelia sat in the rocking chair beside the hearth, sipping a cup of tea.
‘Well?’ Charity asked once the maid had finished tidying up and left. ‘What do you think?’
Each evening they spent a half-hour or so reviewing the day’s events and planning the next day before Amelia went home in the Mitchells’ carriage.
Amelia stared into her tea. What she thought was not a subject for discussion with the girls. No, indeed. And yet she could not stop thinking about the smile in His Grace’s eyes when he had asked her to dance. What on earth had he been thinking? Was it some sort of nasty jest? And yet...
She pushed the thought aside and smiled calmly. ‘I think you girls were a credit to your papa this evening.’
Both girls beamed with delight.
‘And a credit to you,’ Charity said. ‘I hope?’
‘Oh, indeed. Very much so,’ Amelia replied. ‘I could not have been more pleased.’
‘I was never more nervous that when I was dancing with the Duke,’ Charity said. She giggled. ‘He is so...so old and, I don’t know, distant, even while being exceedingly polite. And...quite kind.’
A little pain stabbed Amelia in the region of her heart. If only he had been kind to her all those years ago, she might not have rushed into Durant’s arms. But then she had never been as beautiful as Charity or Patience. Indeed, she had always felt like a bit of an ugly duckling during her come out and had been thrilled at Durant’s attention. More fool she. Well, she had learned her lesson and whatever the Duke’s motive for asking her to stand up with him tonight, she had scotched it nicely. If only she didn’t feel...sad.