A Matchmaking Miss

by Joan Overfield

  The feline satisfaction in her voice made Joss's irritation fade. "It must have upset you to have so distressed His Grace," he drawled, his eyes beginning to glow with amusement.

  "Oh, I was quite cast down . . . for all of two seconds," Matty admitted with a laugh. "The duke was threatening to have me arrested for stealing his tenant, as he called it. My reminding him he'd already turned Mr. Baylor off didn't seem to cool his fury, but there was little he could do about it."

  Joss found it easy to envision the scene — Dereham blustering and shouting while Miss Stone stood quietly in front of him, that maddening, mocking smile curving her lips. Then he remembered what Louisa had said about the duke physically threatening her, and his smile dissolved. "You're not to confront His Grace again," he ordered in a stern voice. "If the duke has any complaints to make, he can make them to me."

  "I'm not afraid of that bullying bore." Matty's chin came up with defiant pride. "If he dares raise his hand to me again I shall knock him on his pompous — "

  "Again? Do you mean to say that bastard struck you?"

  The deadly fury in his voice shocked Matty. "Certainly not," she assured him, "but he has threatened it any number of times."

  "Well, he'd best not threaten it again," Joss muttered, his hands tightening on the reins. "If he should presume to bother you again you are to come directly to me. I shall deal with him."

  That sounded rather ominous to Matty, and she decided it was time to change the subject. "Our next stop will be at the cottage of a Mrs. Mavey. Her husband passed away last summer, and so far I haven't had the heart to ask her to move on. I know I should, but — "

  "Why?"

  "I beg pardon?"

  "Why should you ask her to move on?" Joss was frowning at the thought of a widow being forced out of her home.

  "I have no desire to do so," Matty said, confused by his answer, "but I thought you would. She has three fine sons, but they are too young to help her work the land. It is prime soil, and I assumed you wouldn't wish to see it go to waste."

  "Then you assumed incorrectly, and not, I might add, for the first time," Joss said sharply. "Good Lord, Miss Stone, what a poor opinion you must have of me to think I would turn out a widow and her children without so much as a by-your-leave."

  Matty turned sideways in the seat to gauge his mood, realizing that she had inadvertently offended him. "I beg your pardon, my lord," she said, genuinely contrite. "I assure you I meant no insult. It is usually the way things are done."

  "By others, perhaps, but not by me," he replied tautly, his eyes flashing with emotion. "In the future you will do me the courtesy of allowing me to think for myself, rather than acting on what you assume to be my opinion."

  "Yes, my lord," Matty answered in a small voice. She turned to face forward, aware of the painful silence that had descended between them. So much for her fine plans to change the subject, she thought with a heavy sigh. Evidently she and the marquess were fated to be at daggers drawn every time they met. The thought made her shoulders droop with dejection.

  The rest of their visiting passed without incident, and Matty was impressed with the interest his lordship showed in his tenants' welfare. And it was genuine interest, she decided, sitting in silence as he listened gravely to a farmer discussing his worries for his son, who had recently returned from the wars and hadn't been able to secure employment. Rather than putting the man off with vague promises he told him to send the lad to him, saying he would either hire the boy on at the house or provide him with some other form of work. The tears of gratitude in the old man's eyes made her squirm, not with embarrassment, but with shame.

  The marquess was a wonderful man, she acknowledged with a flash of honesty that was acutely painful. He was good, and strong, and caring, and she owed him a devil of an apology. On the way home she waited until they were within sight of the stables before finding her voice.

  "I am sorry, your lordship."

  The stark words made Joss slant her a confused look. She'd been suspiciously quiet for most of the morning, but he'd attributed her mute state to pique. Most ladies he knew fell into the sulks with little or no provocation, and he'd assumed she was following suit. "For what, precisely, are you sorry, Miss Stone?" he asked, wondering if he was now expected in turn to offer a blanket apology for his sins.

  To his surprise she gave a watery sniff. "I do have a great deal to apologize for, don't I?" she said, her voice filled with remorse. "Assault, kidnapping, browbeating, — "

  "Matchmaking."

  "Matchmaking," she agreed with another sniff, "to say nothing of the way I have consistently misjudged you. I don't wonder that you hold me in contempt. It's nothing less than I deserve for the way I have botched things."

  That did shock Joss. "I don't hold you in contempt!"

  "Don't you?" She gave him a sad smile. "Well, you should. I have hardly shown myself in the best light this past week. But I was only thinking of the estate, you know."

  "Yes, I know."The odd truth of it was that he did. He'd never met anyone with a stronger sense of duty, and despite his occasional anger with her, he secretly admired her for her pluck. Few men would dare what she did, and he was loath to have her think so poorly of herself.

  "I know," herepeated, pulling the horses to a halt so that he could devote his full attention to her. "And I do not blame you for what you have done. As for showing oneself in a poor light — well, I can hardly consider myself to be blameless, can I? I allowed my personal feelings to interfere with my duty to Kirkswood, and I am more fortunate than I deserve that more people didn't have to pay the price for my folly. That they didn't suffer is due entirely to you, and I don't think I shall ever be able to repay you for all you've done."

  His nobility made her wince. "But I didn't do it for Kirkswood," she cried, confessing the shame she had kept secret from all, even herself. "At least, not all the time. I . . . I acted as I did because I like being in control. I like telling people what to do, and I am very good at it."

  "So I noticed," he said, unable to resist the wry observation. "In fact, you are without doubt the most managing female it has ever been my misfortune to encounter. I thank heaven you are a lady, ma'am, else I fear you would even now be ruling Parliament, or at least, attempting to rule it."

  His small joke brought a quivering smile to her lips. "I have thought I would make a good politician," she confessed, her dark eyes finally meeting his. "Papa said so several times, although I do not think he meant it as a compliment. He had no great opinion of politicians, as I recall."

  "Nor do I." He gave her a warm smile. "A mealymouthed, malingering bunch, the lot of them. I dare say you would have them whipped in to shape in no time at all."

  "And so I would." She snatched up the lighthearted teasing with desperate gratitude. "I've little use for indolence."

  "Again, I couldn't help but notice," Joss said, with a low laugh. "You certainly seemed determined to put my life in order, whether I wanted it or nay."

  His half-humorous reference to her list of brides set her squirming again, but she was determined to make a clean breast of it. "Speaking of that, my lord, I have a question to ask of you."

  "And what might that be?" he asked, sensing she was serious about something.

  She ran a nervous tongue over her lips. "I know you said you have no wish for me to matchmake, and truly, I have no intention of doing so, now that I know you would so dislike it. But . . ."

  "But?" he prompted, when she seemed to run out of words.

  "But I was hoping you would still be agreeable to us . . . to Lady Louisa having guests visit her. She has just come out of mourning, and it wouldn't be the least unseemly for her to hostess a small party for ten or so people."

  "A weekend party, do you mean?" Joss asked, thinking that even he wouldn't mind a visitor or two.

  She twisted her fingers together. "Closer to a week, actually. We aren't in the wilds, precisely, but we're far enough from London to make a weekend party un
feasible."

  "Then you would want to hold this party after the season ends?" He decided that wouldn't be so bad. The season wouldn't end for over a month yet, and perhaps by then he would have things under control. Small things, he thought with a rueful smile, like what the devil he was going to do with the rest of his life.

  "Lady Louisa suggested the middle of May." Matty risked a quick look at his face and was relieved to see that while he looked surprised, he didn't look angry.

  "That is only a fortnight or so from now," he said, looking doubtful. "Will you beable to pull it off, do you think?"

  "With luck." She didn't bother informing him that the invitations had already been smuggled out in the post. There was a difference between total honesty and stupidity, she told herself primly.

  "Who are you inviting?" he asked warily, recalling some of the clinging females he'd met in London. If one of them was on her guest list he meant to put his foot down in no uncertain terms.

  She told him, and while one or two names sounded suspiciously familiar there were none he knew he disliked. There was one name he did recognize, but it was with delight rather than repugnance. "You invited Sir Valen? Lord, I haven't thought of Christopher in years! Is he coming?"

  "I can't say, sir, as he has yet to receive his invitation," she said. It wasn't a lie, as the invitations had only just been sent. "But I am hoping he will. Lady Louisa mentioned you were old friends?"

  "We attended school together, Eton and Cambridge. . . atleast until I was tossed out," Joss said, smiling in reminiscence. "It will be good seeing him again."

  "Then you approve of the party?" Matty could scarcely believe her luck.

  He shrugged and started the team again. "You and Lady Louisa may invite whom ever you please," he said, giving his attention to his driving, "so long as you are inviting them as guests, and not potential brides. I trust you take my meaning?"

  She folded her hands on her lap and stared straight ahead of her. "No potential brides, my lord," she promised, her spirits lifting. At least, she amended silently, not unless you choose one.

  Chapter Eight

  Now that she had the marquess's approval, Matty threw herself into plans for the party. Each day's mail brought positive responses from those invited, and by week's end the guest list was firmly set. That done, the next order of business was giving the house a thorough cleaning, an activity that kept the household at sixes and sevens for several days. Amidst the confusion and noise, she also concentrated on arranging various entertainments, which would hopefully keep their London guests sufficiently amused. She was debating whether or not to include a masquerade when Lord Kirkswood sent word for her to join him in the stables.

  "Now?" she asked the footman who had delivered the message. "But I am right in the middle of planning the ball!"

  "Yes, Miss Stone," the footman answered, his chest puffing out with importance. "His lordship did say as I was to fetch you quick-like, with no delays."

  "Oh, did he?" Matty said, deciding she didn't care for the notion of being "fetched." "Did he say why?"

  "No, miss." The footman shook his head. "He only said you was to come at once."

  "If that just isn't like the man," she muttered under her breath, closing her books and rising to her feet with a sigh. "All imperious commands, and not a single word of explanation. Very well, Simon, you may fetch me to his lordship. But I warn you, this had better be very important."

  In the stables Joss waited for Miss Stone with increasing impatience. The mare he'd bought had been delivered less than half an hour ago, and he was anxious to see her reaction to her new mount. The dainty black with the white star on its forehead looked as if it might have a touch of Arab in it, and he decided it was just the thing to suit her. Domesticated, but with enough spirit to make it interesting. Not unlike the lady herself, he mused, reaching up to stroke the mare's silky nose.

  In the past week he'd ridden out several more times with Miss Stone, and his respect for her had grown as he watched the seemingly effortless way she handled the awesome tasks of running the estate. There was nothing that escaped her sharp eye, and he knew he could not fault her for anything she had done. Indeed, that was precisely the problem. The lady had the habit of taking on too much, and he worried she would do herself some injury. Only yesterday he had discovered her teetering atop a high ladder, checking the ceilings to see if they needed remolding.

  He'd pulled her down at once and read her a stern lecture, but less than an hour later he'd walked out into the hall to catch her supervising the lowering of the massive brass and crystal chandelier so that it could be cleaned. Clearly she needed something to distract her, and he hoped the mare would do the trick.

  Several more minutes passed, and he was wondering if he'd have to go to the house and drag her out himself, when he saw her making her way toward him. If the expression on her face was any indication she was in a less than receptive mood, and the knowledge brought a grin to his lips. Hopefully his gift would rectify that, he thought, turning to face her as she came to a halt beside him.

  "Simon said you wished to see me, my lord," Matty said, wondering what had brought that superior smirk to his face. The wretch was up to something, she just knew it.

  "Yes, Miss Stone, there is someone I wish you to meet," he said, amused at her haughty tones.

  "Someone?" She glanced around, but saw only a few stablehands whom she already knew.

  "Well, something, to be more precise," he laughed, grasping the horse's halter and pulling it forward. "Miss Stone, allow me to present Star. Star, say hello to your new mistress."

  Matty gaped at the horse in disbelief. "What?"

  He was hard pressed not to laugh at her incredulous expression. "Why so shocked, Miss Stone?" he asked, placing the halter rope in her hand. "I told you I meant to buy you a mount, didn't I?"

  Matty raised a trembling hand to stroke the horse's muzzle. "Yes," she said, still not quite believing what was happening. "But I never thought . . . is she really mine?"

  "If you like her."

  "Like her?" She scratched the animal between its ears, earning a soft snort of pleasure from the mare. "She's lovely!"

  "Good, then it's settled." Joss felt inordinately pleased with himself at the delight he saw shining in her dark eyes. "Would you care to take her for a ride?"

  "I'd adore it!" She gave the horse an impulsive hug, resting her cheek against its satiny neck as she flashed him a smile of pure pleasure. "Thank you, my lord," she said huskily. "How can I ever repay you?"

  "By promising not to take her over any fences," Joss replied, touched by her gratitude. He'd once given one of his mistresses an emerald bracelet, and her only response had been to hint for a matching necklace.

  "Can we go right now?" She was eager to be off.

  "Certainly. While you are changing into your habit I'll have the groom saddle Star for you. We'll be waiting for you on the bridle path."

  "Oh, I don't have a riding habit," Matty said with a careless laugh. "We can leave right now."

  Joss glanced up at that. "You don't have a habit?" he asked, his brows meeting in a disapproving frown.

  "Not now — the old one fell apart months ago." Matty dismissed the matter with an indifferent shrug. "I usually wear one of my older gowns, and a cape. Do you mind?" She gave him an anxious look, fearing he would change his mind about the ride.

  "Of course not," he lied, albeit through pursed lips. "Go and fetch your cape, then. We shall wait for you."

  Ten minutes later they were cantering down the path. Joss had also ordered a horse for himself, a high-stepping gray who bore the impressive name Leipzig, and Matty gently teased him about the matter.

  "It seems rather unfair that your horse should have such a grand name, while my poor mare must suffer with Star. I am almost certain she disapproves, don't you, my beauty?" She gave the horse a loving pat, and then laughed when the animal snorted as if agreeing with her.

  "She is yours now, Miss Stone, a
nd you may call her whatever you please," Joss answered, still brooding over her lack of a habit. He wondered what else she was doing without, and plotted to search her wardrobe the moment he could discreetly do so.

  "In that case, mayhap I shall call her Waterloo." Matty shot him a saucy look from beneath her thick lashes. "A far more decisive battle than Leipzig, do you not agree?"

  "Yes, but far too masculine a name for so feminine a creature," he said, deciding to play along. "But if you're determined to name her for something martial, might I suggest Hippolyta? She looks rather queenly to me."

  "Yes, she does, doesn't she?" Matty turned the matter over in her mind before giving a decisive nod. "Very well, Hippolyta it shall be. Thank you, my lord."

  "Joss," he said suddenly.

  "My lord?" She gave him a confused frown.

  "Joss," he repeated. "It is the name I am called by my friends, and I would be pleased if you would use it also."

  "But that would be most unseemly!" she protested, pinking in embarrassment. "I am your sister-in-law's companion, and it would be most improper if I were to address you in so familiar a manner."

  The corners of his lips curled up in a rueful grin. "You'll forgive me, I am sure, but I find it passing strange that a lady who thinks nothing of drugging and kidnapping an innocent man should balk at addressing that man by his given name. You have an odd notion of propriety, Miss Stone."

  She flashed him a resentful look. "I have already explained about kidnapping you," she muttered, feeling faintly harassed. "That's not the issue here, as well you know."

  "Then what is the issue?"

  She rolled her eyes heavenward, as if in supplication of divine patience. "You are the marquess of Kirkswood," she said between clenched teeth. "For me to use your Christian name would be a sign of disrespect, and it would only cause the most unfavorable speculation. Perhaps you don't give a fig what others might whisper, but I cannot afford to be so cavalier."

  Joss drew his gray to a halt. "I hadn't thought of it in quite that light," he admitted, rubbing his jaw with a gloved hand, "but I daresay that you're right. The truth of it is that I still don't see myself as the marquess, and all this blasted 'my lording' is making me bloody uncomfortable."