The Matchmaker's Marriage

by Meg Alexander

  ‘In the usual way of things I would agree with you, ma’am, but there are exceptions.’ The glint in Amy’s eye left her listener in no doubt at all of her meaning.

  Mrs Skelmersdale was almost tempted into giving Amy a sharp set-down. She heard a choking sound, but then a mild voice intervened.

  ‘I’m happy to know that you have given your consent to your daughter joining us, ma’am. Our expedition is intended as an educational trip. I am persuaded that your husband would approve.’

  Mrs Skelmersdale tossed her head. ‘No doubt he would. Sir James has the oddest notions, but I should not like to see our dear Charlotte turned into a blue-stocking.’

  ‘That will not happen, Mamma.’ Charlotte had found her voice at last. ‘I am not in the least way clever.’

  ‘I should hope not indeed! What can be less attractive to any sensible man than a clever woman?’

  Her question remained unanswered, though James felt obliged to rest a cautionary hand upon Amy’s arm at that particular moment. She had been tempted to announce that perhaps stupidity might be considered less attractive by a sensible man, but the gentle pressure of his fingers caused her to hold her tongue.

  ‘Charlotte is not bookish,’ her mother continued. ‘She has never been one of these foolish creatures who are forever running in and out of the circulating libraries. Such places can be a bad influence on a young girl’s mind. They have no rules to speak of and even lend novels to the young, so I understand, when a book of sermons or an improving tract would be much more suitable.’

  Her sniping was not lost on Amy. Only the previous day she had been enquiring about Miss Austen’s latest work when Charlotte and her mother had entered the library.

  Amy doubted if Mrs Skelmersdale had been in search of improving works at Duffields in Milsom Street, or at Godwins, its famous rival. Both places shared a club-like atmosphere and their comfortable lounges were popular with members of polite society. Here one might meet one’s friends and leaf through the latest newspapers, reviews and magazines.

  Amy was tempted into further mischief. ‘Ma’am, I must agree,’ she said in solemn tones. ‘Though I admit that the circulating libraries do not carry large stocks of such works. Did you find what you were looking for? Perhaps you will advise me as to which book of sermons is your favourite?’

  Mrs Skelmersdale was routed. She had never picked up a book of sermons in her life. Amy had guessed as much, but she waited politely for an answer.

  ‘I have no time for reading,’ came the tart reply. ‘It is an occupation for idle hands and minds. The Sunday sermons at the Abbey should be enough for any Christian woman.’

  ‘So they should, ma’am, so they should. One cannot fail to be influenced by their insistence upon charity towards one’s neighbours…’

  Amy might have said more but, warned by the ugly flush on the older woman’s face, James judged it politic to lead her away before the confrontation developed into open warfare.

  ‘Shall we see you at the Friday ball, ma’am?’ he enquired. ‘Perhaps we might finalise the arrangement for our expedition to Bristol… The young men should have preparations well in hand by then.’

  It was a timely reminder, if such were needed, that at least two eligible bachelors would be included in the party.

  Mrs Skelmersdale was in no mood to be mollified. Any encounter with Amy invariably brought her to the verge of apoplexy, but she was an ambitious woman and had never been one to cut off her nose to spite her face. She forced a smile and rose to her feet.

  ‘I must have a word with dear Beatrice,’ she announced. ‘I must be sure that this outing has her full approval.’ She swept towards the neighbouring table, with Charlotte and Mrs Melville in tow, and took a seat by Amy’s aunt.

  Miss Beatrice Langrishe greeted her with her usual courtesy, though she had missed little of the exchange between the ladies. Now she raised an eyebrow and looked at James. It was a clear invitation to remove Amy from the scene of battle.

  James tucked Amy’s arm through his and led her from the supper room. His shoulders were shaking.

  ‘I can’t think what you find so entertaining,’ she complained. ‘That archwife is the outside of enough…’

  ‘I thought you had no wish to have anything more to do with the lady or her family,’ he replied.

  ‘I couldn’t bear her cruelty,’ she told him simply. ‘Did you see Charlotte’s face? She was on the verge of tears. Could I have done nothing?’

  ‘No, you could not, my doughty warrior. That would have been beyond you, but now you are in difficulty, are you not?’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I am referring to this non-existent expedition to Bristol. When do your cousins arrive in Bath? Will they agree, do you suppose?’

  ‘Oh, yes! The boys are so good-natured, and they’ll welcome the chance to visit Bristol…that is, unless you insist upon examining antiquities…’

  James smiled down at her. ‘I won’t do that. We must not expose Miss Skelmersdale to the corrupting influence of cultural pursuits. I thought perhaps a visit to the port? The shipping is a fine sight, and there are a number of excellent hostelries where we may dine in comfort and at our leisure.’

  ‘How good you are!’ she cried impulsively. ‘You backed me up quite beautifully. I found myself believing that we had, in fact, arranged this outing.’

  ‘How could I do otherwise? But even so, you did not need my help. I was hard put to keep my countenance when you mentioned your Wentworth cousins. That clinched the matter as far as Mrs Skelmersdale was concerned, which was your intention, was it not?’

  ‘It was! She will be making plans already. Poor Charlotte will be subjected to so much advice as to how to make herself agreeable to the boys.’

  ‘She won’t need any such advice, I think. She seems to be a pleasant girl, if overly subdued. You realise that you have made a friend for life, I hope. It is clear that she admires you…’

  Amy blushed and made an immediate disclaimer. ‘It won’t be upon her mamma’s recommendation,’ she laughed. ‘Perhaps she will have more to say when she is on her own. Her mother is a bully. Imagine announcing to the world that Charlotte is too plain!’

  ‘That was ill done of her. What is more, it is untrue!

  Amy gave him a curious look. ‘Do you think her pretty, James?’

  ‘No, she isn’t pretty, but she looks distinguished, and the combination of blonde hair and brown eyes is quite out of the common way.’

  ‘I’m so glad you think so. If we could only persuade her to stand up for herself! Bullies collapse, you know, when met head-on!’

  James shook his head. ‘Charlotte is not of your temperament, Amy, and you have had the benefit of a loving family to support you.’

  ‘James, I am always in hot water, as I’m sure you know! Mother is forever advising me to hold my tongue instead of speaking out.’

  ‘It doesn’t seem to have had much effect, my dear.’

  ‘I know, and sometimes I am sorry for it, but not today. I don’t regret one word.’

  ‘Well, there is no harm done,’ he comforted. ‘But do try to give some thought to Charlotte’s circumstances. You would not wish to make matters worse for her.’

  ‘What do you mean? How could I do that?’ She looked at him in surprise.

  ‘Perhaps by persuading her into open defiance? There are more subtle means of arriving at a happy conclusion.’

  ‘Only if she marries.’ Amy frowned. ‘And then she will need to find a man of iron who is capable of crushing her mamma.’

  ‘Unless you accomplish that happy objective first.’ He was teasing her again and she was forced to laugh.

  James glanced at his watch. ‘We had best return to your aunt. These gatherings finish at eleven sharp, or so I understand, and it is almost time.’

  ‘You are right,’ Amy gave him a demure look. ‘No dissipation after eleven, James. You must wait for further excitement until the next ball.’

&n
bsp; ‘This one has been enough for me!’ He took her arm and led her back to the supper room.

  As they approached Miss Langrishe and her party, Mrs Skelmersdale rose to take her leave. She vouchsafed Amy a word or two of gratitude for her invitation to Charlotte, but she was barely out of earshot before she made her true feelings known to her bosom-bow.

  ‘Well, Clarissa, was I not right about that pert young creature? Miss Amy Wentworth is much in need of a sharp set-down. She will not get it from her aunt, of course, nor from Sir James, I believe. She has been spoilt and over-indulged from childhood…’

  Mrs Melville nodded in her usual vague way, but Charlotte was unwise enough to speak.

  ‘Yet I thought it kind in her to include me in her expedition, Mamma…’

  ‘You thought! When I wish for your opinion I will ask for it, my girl! Hold your tongue! Kind, you say? Let me inform you that these high-nosed aristocrats do nothing unless it is of benefit to themselves. Miss Wentworth will have some purpose of her own.’

  She was right, but Amy’s true purpose had been to rescue Charlotte from her mother’s cruelty. Such a thought would not have entered that lady’s head. Her son was her favourite child, though in truth she was a little afraid of him. Her daughter she considered a milk-and-water Miss, not even an asset in the marriage market. Now she pushed the girl ahead of her towards the waiting carriage.

  Beatrice Langrishe looked at the retreating figure and sighed.

  ‘What a trial that woman is, to be sure! One can only be sorry for that unfortunate girl. Amy, I was glad you spoke to her, especially as I know your feelings about her mother. You would not seek her company, I know.’

  Amy subsided into a chair. ‘I wasn’t very tactful,’ she admitted. ‘But James came to the rescue and saved the day.’

  Miss Langrishe twinkled at the tall young man. ‘Always the diplomat, just like your father, James?’

  ‘Amy had matters well in hand,’ he insisted. ‘But now she has committed herself to an entirely fictitious outing to Bristol in this coming week. Let us hope that her cousins will agree to it, or I shall be the sole escort for the two young ladies, and that, I feel, would not suit Mrs Skelmersdale.’

  ‘We could always invite the Comte de Vionnet,’ Amy said wickedly. ‘He claims to be a friend of yours. What do you say to that?’

  She had expected him to laugh and tease her about her interest in the Comte, but his face was grave as he looked at her.

  ‘I do not regard the gentleman as a friend,’ he said quietly.

  ‘But—’

  ‘Amy, I am a little tired…’ Miss Langrishe murmured. She had been quick to sense that James had reservations about the Count, a gentleman unknown to her. ‘James, will you be good enough to order a chair for me, and one for Amy too?’

  ‘A sedan-chair?’ Amy looked her dismay. ‘Aunt Trixie, may I not walk back to Laura Place? It has been so warm in here this evening, and I should like some air. James will escort me, that is, if he does not mind…?’

  James bowed. ‘It will be a pleasure, my dear.’ He strode away to do the older woman’s bidding.

  Amy looked after him and smiled. ‘Is he not the best creature in the world? He’s always so agreeable and so calm.’

  Her aunt laughed. ‘I believe I should utter a word of warning here, my love. Do you know the saying “Beware the wrath of a patient man”?’

  ‘Wrath? From James? Aunt, I cannot imagine it!’

  Miss Langrishe was not attending. Her eyes were fixed upon the gentleman who had appeared at Amy’s side. When he spoke he sounded disappointed.

  ‘Pray excuse me, ladies!’ His bow was perfection. ‘Miss Wentworth, I am looking for Sir James. I trust he has not left already?’

  ‘No, Comte, he will be back directly. Aunt, may I introduce the Comte de Vionnet?’

  Vionnet stepped forward and raised Miss Langrishe’s hand to his lips. ‘Enchanted, ma’am! Miss Beatrice Langrishe, is it not? The queen of Bath, if I am not mistaken…’

  Amy felt that this was ‘doing it too brown’, to use a slang term popular with her cousins, but her aunt was laughing at the young man’s impudence. She had heard it all before. Now she was curious. Minutes earlier, Richmond had made it clear that he had no wish to claim acquaintance with the Comte, and she wondered why. James was a man who had no enemies. He regarded his fellow human beings with more charity than some of them deserved, but the Frenchman was clearly an exception.

  ‘How are you acquainted with Sir James?’ she asked.

  ‘Why, ma’am, we met in India…in Calcutta, as I recall.’

  ‘Really?’ Amy’s eyes were sparkling. ‘Tell me, is it true that one of the British residents has thirteen Indian wives?’

  ‘Perfectly true, Miss Wentworth. Each has her own elephant and each evening they travel in procession throughout the city.’

  The ladies stared at each other in disbelief. Then Amy chuckled. ‘Comte, you are making may-game of us,’ she accused. ‘I cannot imagine such a thing.’

  ‘Miss Wentworth, I should not dare to “gammon” you, if that is the correct expression to use in English. It is all quite true, and in that country of marvels, it is not so very marvellous. Why, I could tell you of—’ He looked up to find Sir James approaching.

  Amy was startled when she saw his expression. For just a moment she caught a glimpse of something close to fury. It was gone in an instant, to be replaced by his usual amiable smile.

  ‘Still here, Vionnet?’ he enquired. ‘Pray excuse us, sir. A chair is bespoken for Miss Langrishe.’ Without waiting for a reply he gave the older woman his arm and walked her slowly towards the main door of the Assembly Rooms.

  Amy followed with the Comte beside her. ‘Your aunt is well?’ he enquired. ‘She seems to be in some little difficulty…’

  ‘My aunt is a martyr to gout. It is the most painful of conditions, but she won’t let it change her way of life.’

  ‘A brave lady, but then, it is what I would expect from a member of your family.’

  Amy stared at him. ‘Miss Langrishe is not my aunt,’ she told him stiffly. ‘She is a distant relative, although I love her as if she were my aunt.’

  Vionnet looked suitably chastised. ‘Now I have offended you, Miss Wentworth. You are wondering how I have the temerity to speak so freely of your family.’

  Amy did not answer him.

  ‘It is just that…well, to a Frenchman and an émigré, they appear heroic, from the Earl of Rushmore, who fought with Wellington, to the young Thomas Wentworth, who did the same. They liberated France from the Corsican, Bonaparte.’

  Amy was still unsure of him. ‘It must be a great relief to you, sir. Now, I imagine, your estates will be returned to you?’

  ‘Alas, ma’am, I fear that it will not be so. Your faith in human nature is greater than my own. Those who were handed such rich pickings will not return them easily. They will turn their coats and make themselves useful to the new régime.’

  ‘So what will you do?’ she asked.

  His voice grew bitter. ‘Why, ma’am, what I have done for these many years. I shall live upon my wits.’

  Amy felt a little pang of pity. From the comfort of her own settled life it was hard to imagine how such a man would survive. Yet to her surprise he seemed untroubled, and when he spoke again his tone was mild, and he managed a charming smile as he shook his head and noticed her expression.

  ‘You English! How readily you give your sympathy, and how little you do to help us. Consider my own position! I am a foreigner in a foreign land. Shall I be accepted? I think not!’

  Amy fired up at once. ‘You do us less than justice, sir! We welcome those in need of succour.’

  ‘You may be alone in that belief.’ His smile returned as he took her hand. ‘Forgive me, ma’am, I should not trouble you with my own concerns. You have been more than generous in listening to me. May I hope that we shall meet again?’

  Amy stifled her misgivings. ‘Bath is a small town,�
� she said. ‘We cannot fail to do so.’

  ‘I shall count the hours.’ He hesitated for a moment ‘I wonder if you have any idea…?’

  ‘Of what, monsieur?’

  ‘I should not speak of it.’ He took her hands in his. ‘Let me just say this… I walked towards you intending to greet Sir James. You turned…and I was lost.’

  Amy was startled by the warmth in his voice. Before her own début she had often teased her sister about the beaux who claimed to have been slain by a single glance from Perdita’s eyes, but this was ridiculous. Perdita was a famous beauty, as Amy most certainly was not.

  She freed her hands and chuckled. ‘Did you not say that you would not dare to gammon me, Count? Let me remind you that we met but a few hours ago. Here in England we do not…er…’

  ‘Fall in love at first sight? I find that hard to believe, Miss Wentworth. Human nature is the same throughout the world.’

  ‘Not in Bath,’ she told him firmly. Her eyes were dancing with amusement. ‘Now, sir, if we are to be friends you must not try to flatter me.’

  Vionnet threw his hands wide in a gesture of despair. ‘You English! I shall never understand you! You spurn my devotion on the one hand, and with the other you offer friendship.’

  ‘It is known as English civility, sir.’ Amy was still laughing and she was teasing him openly.

  ‘Then I shall accept my fate with the best will in the world.’ He held out his hand, but she had no time to take it in a pledge of friendship. A firm hand gripped her elbow.

  ‘Amy, we must be leaving. Your aunt will worry if we are delayed.’

  ‘I doubt it, James. Bath is not noted for footpads.’ Amy spoke lightly, but she was furious. James was a privileged friend, but that did not give him the right to order her conduct, and his words were not merely a reminder of the lateness of the hour. He disliked the Count and would have ended the acquaintance there and then had they not been in a public place. She choked back her anger.

  ‘Where are you staying, Count?’ she asked.

  ‘I am at the York House, Miss Wentworth.’

  ‘Sadly, not in our direction, sir.’ James took Amy’s arm and marched her away.