The Matchmaker's Marriage

by Meg Alexander

  In some confusion Charlotte pushed the notebook and the snuff-box into Sir William’s hands. Then she dropped the rest of the papers and bent to recover them. A dagger-look from her mother made her clumsy and before she could retrieve the papers a slight breeze had sent them scudding across the park. With a cry of dismay she hurried off in their wake.

  ‘Ma’am, I beg that you will not trouble yourself.’ Sir William was close behind her. ‘See, my notes are caught beneath this bush. It will be the work of a moment only to collect them.’

  Charlotte was close to tears. Now she would be made to pay for making a fool of herself. To her astonishment Sir William took her arm and walked her back to the rest of the party, engaging her in conversation so skilfully that her paralysing shyness vanished.

  ‘You are Miss Skelmersdale, are you not?’ he asked. ‘Richmond tells me that you will be joining our expedition. That is fortunate for me at least. With your permission I believe I shall make you my keeper.’

  Noticing her baffled look he began to smile. ‘I am much given to wool-gathering, my dear young lady. I lose my pens, my books and my spectacles on a regular basis. Perhaps if you would be kind enough to note where I put them…?’

  Charlotte was too embarrassed to reply.

  ‘Perhaps I should not have asked?’ He gave her an anxious look. ‘I lack so many social graces, Miss Skelmersdale. It is just that…well…there are so many other matters of interest to me that I do not always consider how I must appear to the rest of the world.’

  Charlotte looked at him then. The wind had done nothing for his lordship’s appearance. His flowing locks now stood on end and his tattered coat was flapping in the breeze. As he paused to adjust his spectacles a smear of dirt transferred itself from his hand to the bridge of his nose. Suddenly, she liked him very much.

  ‘I shall be happy to help in whatever way I can,’ she told him quietly. ‘This coming expedition means so much to me, sir, I hope to learn from it.’

  ‘Oh, do you? That is a most promising start. We shall not bore you…that I promise.’ His smile lit up his face as he took her hand and raised it to his lips.

  As Amy glanced at Mrs Skelmersdale she wanted to laugh aloud. Charlotte had given her mamma a shock. Without any prompting she appeared to have made a friend of Sir William, who now rejoined the party whilst resuming his usually vague expression.

  Emmeline Skelmersdale hurried to his side. ‘So kind!’ she gushed. ‘Have you forgiven my dear girl for her clumsiness?’

  Sir William bowed. He did not appear to have heard her question.

  Mrs Skelmersdale was undeterred. ‘How fortunate to come upon you here in the Gardens this morning!’ she cooed. ‘We fond mammas are so jealous of the reputation of our girls.’ She gave Sir William an arch look. ‘Of course, our dear Miss Langrishe would never consent to anything that might occasion unpleasant speculation, but I will confess that I had reservations about this coming expedition.’

  Sir William’s vague gaze rested on a point somewhere beyond her left shoulder. ‘Then, of course, ma’am, if you have doubts…’ He left the sentence hanging in the air.

  ‘Oh, my dear sir, pray do not misunderstand me. Sir James is quite a favourite with us, and having met you I have not the least occasion to worry that my child will receive other than the most courteous treatment in your company.’

  ‘You honour me, ma’am.’ Sir William wore a languid air. He seemed about to collapse with boredom.

  Frederick read the warning signs and drew his mother aside.

  ‘You are doing it too brown,’ he hissed. ‘Leave Charlotte to it, Ma. She ain’t doing badly on her own account.’

  Clearly this was true; instead of the expected scolding, Charlotte found herself for once in her mother’s good graces as they walked away, although the praise she received was grudging.

  ‘Have you come to your senses at last?’ Mrs Skelmersdale asked. ‘I confess that you have surprised me, Charlotte. I could have done no better myself. It was a clever stroke to let the papers blow away, and then to run after them. One would know at once that Sir William would follow you.’

  Charlotte did not reply. There was little point in explaining that the loss of the papers had been an accident.

  ‘Well, what did Sir William say to you?’ Her mother sounded impatient. ‘You seemed to be deep in conversation as you returned…’

  ‘He thanked me for retrieving his papers—’

  ‘And what else? Come, child, you must have no secrets from your mother. For once you seemed positively animated. He must have said something more. I noticed that he kissed your hand. That was surprising, was it not, upon such short acquaintance?’

  ‘He meant nothing by it, Mamma. I think it is just his way of making me feel…valued.’

  A high-pitched titter greeted her words. ‘Valued, indeed! Well, miss, you are coming to have a high opinion of yourself. I trust you said nothing unbecoming. I should not care to see you model your behaviour upon that of your friend Miss Wentworth, who gives a most unfortunate impression when she is in the company of gentlemen. A pert and forward manner has nothing to recommend it.’

  Charlotte did not answer, but she reflected, not for the first time, upon the impossibility of pleasing her mother. She was accustomed to being taken to task for her shyness, but now she was being warned against too much familiarity.

  To her surprise, it was Frederick who came to her rescue.

  ‘Leave it, Mother!’ he ordered. ‘You have achieved your object here this morning. Charlotte has met Sir William. Now, I’ll be damned if I have to listen to any more of your complaints.’

  Mrs Skelmersdale flushed. When he was irritated, Frederick could be vicious.

  She took out her handkerchief and touched it to her eyes, sniffing as she did so.

  ‘Don’t be cross with me, my darling boy! I think of nothing but the happiness of my children—’

  His reply was brutal. ‘Then you might try holding your tongue! Sir William may be off in a world of his own, but unless I mistake the matter, Richmond does not miss a trick. Would you have him give his friend a dislike of our family?’

  Frederick was a boor, but he was not a stupid man. James Richmond’s affability did not deceive him for a moment. He was well aware of that gentleman’s opinion of his mother. The courteous manner and the smiling face could not disguise an undercurrent of distaste for what this high-born aristocrat saw as appalling vulgarity.

  Frederick writhed inwardly. He hated the lot of them, secure in their breeding and their position in society. They would never accept him—that is, unless he married Amy Wentworth. Then they would have no option, unless they wished to ostracise her. He thought he knew them better than that. Well, he’d show them. He’d have her one way or another.

  It wasn’t even the money, though his mother would have been amazed to hear it, nor even, in spite of all, that coveted position in society. He wanted Amy with such intensity that he could almost taste it. His passion for her had taken him by surprise. She was not in the least the type of female he admired. She was too tall, too thin, too dark. Her freely expressed opinions shocked him, but, in spite of all, he wanted her.

  There was some quality in her that he had no hope of finding in himself. He could not put a name to it. Perhaps it was a love of life, a freedom of spirit which made the world seem a brighter place. If he could but capture that, lay his hands upon it, and hold it within his grasp…?

  And there was more. Beneath his dour exterior Frederick was a sensualist, and Amy, he guessed correctly, was a woman with a passionate nature. She was one of those rare creatures who would reward a man with an intensity that would match his own. It would be a pleasure to overcome her resistance and bend her to his will.

  His eye fell upon his sister. What a vapid creature she was! Life was so unfair. It was so much easier for a woman to gain for herself the status and the wealth for which he yearned. All any of the empty-headed creatures had to do was to make themselves pres
entable, simper a little, and pay a few compliments to some likely prospect in the marriage market. A handsome dowry would help, of course, but in the case of a man such as Linden it could not signify. That eccentric gentleman need not trouble his head about such mundane matters. He was as rich as Croesus.

  His mother noticed his sour expression. She hurried ahead to fall into step with him, leaving Charlotte to trail along behind.

  ‘What is it, dearest?’ she asked in an undertone. ‘You will not tell me that you consider Linden an unsuitable parti for your sister?’

  ‘Don’t be a fool!’ he snapped. ‘Of course he isn’t unsuitable, but I doubt if she’ll manage to attach his interest.’

  His mother gaped at him. ‘You are mistaken,’ she faltered. ‘Sir William seems quite taken with her.’

  He looked down at her from his commanding height. ‘Taken with her?’ he jeered. ‘A kiss on the hand and a few kind words? Let me assure you, Mother, that means nothing in these high-bred circles. Courtesy is all. These people learn from childhood that it is a simple way of getting what they want.’

  ‘But what could he possibly want from Charlotte?’

  She heard a bitter laugh. ‘Not a thing, unless I’m much mistaken. Linden appears to live in a world of his own, with little regard for the rest of society. My God, what a scarecrow! He’d be turned away from Almack’s, or any other London club.’

  His mother lost her temper then. ‘Now who is the fool?’ she demanded. ‘Sir William would have the entrée everywhere, should he desire it. Have you so little regard for money and position?’

  Frederick knew that he had gone too far. ‘Of course not! Very well then, go ahead if you must,’ he muttered irritably. ‘We can only hope that Linden’s eccentricity will take him as far as offering for Charlotte.’ He gave an ugly laugh. ‘At least they won’t spoil another couple. No member of the ton is likely to ask the name of Linden’s tailor, nor of Charlotte’s mantua-maker.’

  ‘Clothes are not everything,’ his mother snapped. ‘Lord knows, I have spent enough on Charlotte’s toilettes.’

  Frederick laughed again, and it was not a pleasant sound. ‘You are wasting your time and also your blunt, Mother. Charlotte is not dressed…she is covered in the name of decency. She does not wear her garments to the best advantage. She looks always as if she has thrown on the item that came first to hand, whilst in some kind of dream.’

  Mrs Skelmersdale looked back at her daughter. To her annoyance, Charlotte was wandering along behind them, lost, as always, in her own thoughts. For once, they were not unpleasant. Sir William’s strange appearance had been lost on her. She remembered only his kindness. He had not frightened her, but nor had he made her feel uncomfortable with the type of flirtatious banter that passed for conversation among the ton. She lacked the ability to counter it and was reduced to silence, which gave the impression that she was something of a half-wit.

  Now she recalled Sir William’s kindly eyes, realising to her own surprise that she had chatted to him easily. She hugged the memory to her heart. It would be pleasant indeed to spend more time in his company, together with Amy and James Richmond. They were such agreeable people. Perhaps now her life would take a turn for the better. It would be a relief to spend more time away from her mother’s carping criticism and Frederick’s contempt.

  An angry word from her mother recalled her to her present situation.

  ‘Wool-gathering again, my girl? Don’t dawdle behind us in that stupid way. At least make some pretence that you are living in this world and not another, or perhaps you would like me to box your ears when we get home?’

  Charlotte winced. She was no stranger to beatings and painful nips from her mother’s bony fingers. ‘I’m sorry!’ she said quickly. ‘I was not thinking.’

  ‘Tell me something new!’ Mrs Skelmersdale cried in exasperation. ‘Pray hurry along! We have much to do if you are to look your best upon Sir William’s expedition. The mantua-maker may not be able to fit us in at such short notice…’

  Charlotte stared at her. For once she was startled out of her usual caution. ‘Mamma, it will not be an occasion for fine clothing—’

  The grip on her elbow tightened until she gave a little moan of pain. ‘Hold your tongue!’ her mother hissed. ‘I’ll be the judge of what you will or will not wear.’ A sharp push sent Charlotte staggering. She would have fallen had it not been for Frederick’s outstretched arm.

  His face grew pale with rage. He halted in the middle of the path and rounded upon his mother.

  ‘That is quite enough, ma’am!’ he gritted out. ‘Must you make an exhibition of yourself here in the Park? You may not have noticed, but we are already attracting attention. I suggest that you get yourselves back to our lodgings as soon as maybe.’ With that he turned on his heel and left them.

  His words had a chastening effect upon his mother. A glance about her showed that he had spoken no more than the truth. Several walkers in the Sydney Gardens were regarding them with interest, and no little surprise. Then, to her dismay, she realised that they were being followed out of the Park by Miss Langrishe and her party. She hurried Charlotte along and through the gates, turning off down a side street.

  Amy had observed the scene even from a distance. Pink spots of colour rose to her cheeks. At that moment she could have pushed Mrs Skelmersdale to the ground herself. Clearly Charlotte was in disgrace with her mother once again. She was too furious to speak.

  James gave her a sideways look. ‘You are quiet today, my dear,’ he said in a low tone. ‘Is something troubling you, aside from Mrs Skelmersdale, I mean?’

  ‘Is her behaviour not the outside of enough?’ she demanded.

  ‘More than enough,’ he agreed softly. ‘But there is something else, I think. Will you not tell me?’

  Amy would not meet his eyes. She had not recovered from the shock of hearing Philippe de Vionnet’s revelations about the two men who walked so peaceably on either side of her. His accusations were all lies, of course, but why should he have made them? They were ridiculous.

  Her mind raced as she sought for reasons. Had James and Sir William led some party of native porters into danger and then abandoned them? No, that was impossible! James, she knew, would have saved his men at the risk of his own life.

  Had he and Sir William taken part in some battle in India? That was more likely, but the Comte had not said so. She twisted her reticule in her hands until James took it from her.

  ‘You are doing serious damage to this charming object,’ he said lightly. ‘Amy, do you know what friends are for? They are there to listen, and to support you. You would do that for me. I know it well. May I not do the same for you?’

  She looked up at him then, but her eyes told of her unhappiness. How could she ask him outright if he and his friends were murderers? She was in no doubt of Philippe de Vionnet’s meaning. She would put the matter from her mind for the present, but when she saw the Comte again she would demand an explanation. How foolish she was to let his words ruin her happiness in the day. Here was James, smiling down at her in his usual amiable way, whilst Sir William strolled along beside them, lost in thought, as always.

  A faint smile touched her lips. At least Sir William had had the good sense not to return his possessions to his torn pockets. He kept them in his hands until they reached the door of her aunt’s home in Laura Place.

  ‘Now, my dears, you will dine with us this evening?’ Miss Langrishe beamed upon the two young men.

  ‘Ma’am, you are too kind. It will be a pleasure!’ Sir William bent over the older woman’s hand with a grace belied by his tattered garments.

  Amy noticed to her surprise that his vague manner had disappeared for a fleeting moment, but then the mask came down and he gazed into space once more.

  Sir James echoed his sentiments and the two men walked away.

  ‘My dear, whatever is the matter?’ Miss Langrishe had noticed Amy’s pensive expression as she watched the two men out of sight. ‘Hav
e you taken Linden in dislike? He is an odd creature, to be sure, but good-hearted, I believe, else James would not have made a friend of him. Shall you object to his company at my table? I would not distress you for the world.’

  ‘As if you ever could!’ Amy smiled and bent to kiss her companion. ‘Of course I have not taken Sir William in dislike. I think he is the best of creatures. Did you not see how kind he was to Charlotte?’

  ‘I did, my love, and thought all the better of him for it. The poor child is much in need of kindness. You have done well to offer her your friendship.’

  ‘I like her, Aunt. Would it not be splendid if we could extricate her from her mother’s clutches?’

  Miss Langrishe laughed as her chair was lifted into the house. ‘It would indeed! Now I understand the reason for your withdrawn look. You have been plotting mischief, have you not?’

  Amy smiled, but she made a private vow to guard her expression more closely. Both James and her aunt had noticed her preoccupation. She ran upstairs to remove her bonnet and her redingote, tidied her hair and returned to the salon smiling and apparently without a care in the world.

  ‘Aunt Trixie, did you not say that you had received some further copies of those little pocket books? I believe they are well known as ladies’ guides to fashion.’

  ‘Why, yes, my dear. They are on the table by the window. Do you care to look at them? There is yet a full hour to nuncheon. Bring them over and let us study them together.’

  Amy sighed with relief. Miss Langrishe was possessed of a quick intelligence and an uncanny ability to sense a troubled mind. She had been tempted to consult the older woman about Philippe de Vionnet’s revelations, but they were too ridiculous. Aunt Trixie had enough to worry her as she struggled with ill health. She would not add to that burden by informing her of baseless allegations.

  Now she bent over the illustrations in the Pocket Guides. ‘Do you think of bespeaking any of these garments, Aunt? These look so charmingly.’

  Miss Langrishe chortled aloud. ‘They will look delightfully on the young, my dear, but pray consider! How should I appear in a dainty muslin garment tied with a ribbon beneath the bosom? I should resemble nothing so much as a sack of coals, imperfectly secured.’