A Matchmaking Miss

by Joan Overfield

  Chapter Nine

  Joss was in his study, his head bent over his work as she burst into the room. When he continued ignoring her presence she slammed the door shut, her eyes flashing with challenge as he glanced up. His green eyes were calm as he met her fiery gaze.

  "You're late," he said, folding his hands on his desk and gazing up at her with a look of superior indifference.

  Of all the responses she'd been expecting, that wasn't one of them. "What is that supposed to mean?" she demanded suspiciously.

  "Merely that the packages were delivered over twenty minutes ago," he replied, his face aching with the need to smile. "I've been waiting for you to come storming in here and throw the lot in my face."

  That he'd so correctly anticipated her response only added to her fury. "Oh really?" she snapped, unable to think of a more clever comeback.

  Joss rubbed his chin with his hand to hide the grin he could no longer suppress. She was dressed in a severe dress of rust-colored merino, her hair stuffed beneath one of those dreadful caps, and yet she reminded him of nothing more than a Valkyrie — fierce, proud, and deadly. Enjoying himself to the hilt he leaned back in his chair and slanted her a mocking grin. "That is why you're here, isn't it?" he drawled, his tone provoking.

  Oh, how she'd love to wipe that arrogant smirk from his face! Matty seethed, fighting to hold back her temper. So he thought he knew how she'd react, did he? Well, she would just show him! Uncurling her fists she managed to dredge up a polite smile. "As a matter of fact, my lord, I am come to say thank you," she said, taking pride in her cool tones. "My wardrobe was sadly in want of refurbishing, and I appreciate your thoughtfulness."

  Joss was clever enough to feign confusion. "Then you aren't angry with me?"

  "Heavens no, sir," she denied between clenched teeth. "As I said, it was most kind of you."

  "Really?" He frowned slightly. "I was certain you would fly up into the boughs, especially when you saw the ballgown. It would appear I have underestimated you."

  "So you have," Matty responded self-righteously, "and not for the first — " She broke off abruptly. "What ballgown?"

  "A very plain, very ordinary ballgown," he assured her, with a solemn look. "I chose it myself, and it is more than suitable for the companion of a marchioness, I promise you."

  "Oh," Matty said, temporarily nonplussed. Having already expressed her delight in the wardrobe she could hardly balk at accepting the ballgown, which meant, she supposed, that she was stuck with the wretched thing. But that didn't mean she would have to wear it, she told herself, her chin firming with resolve.

  Joss saw the telling gesture but decided he'd pressed his luck enough for one day. "Our guests will be arriving in a few days, Stone," he said, assuming a friendly demeanor. "Is all in readiness for them?"

  Matty was only too happy to change the subject. "Indeed it is, my lord," she said, settling into the chair facing his desk. She proceeded to tell him of all the plans she'd made, and was gratified by his response. However much he'd first opposed the idea, he was now committed to the party, and it was obvious he meant to spare no expense.

  "I think it would be best if we hired an orchestra," he opined when she brought up the matter of music. "A violin and pianoforte might do well enough for a dinner party, but if you are going to hold a ball it won't do to stint on the music."

  "That is what I thought," she said, her shoulders relaxing as she sent him a pleased smile. "Have you any particular pieces of music you would care to hear? I am rather partial to Mozart."

  "Mozart is always in the best of tastes," he agreed, "but I also like Chopin and Haydn. And of course, we must have a waltz, otherwise the ladies would never forgive me."

  "Then waltzing you shall have," Matty said with a laugh, amazed he was being so agreeable. "It looks a lovely dance, despite what the good vicar might say."

  "I take it Thorntyn disapproves?"

  "Vehemently. He attacks waltzing from his pulpit with depressing regularity. Last time he quoted Sheridan, calling it 'the wicked waltz,' and warning the young ladies of the congregation that they risk going straight to perdition if they but think of it."

  Joss smiled, easily envisioning the plump minister condemning anything that smacked of pleasure. Then he gave her a puzzled look. "Sheridan? I thought it was Byron who made that particular remark."

  "So it was," Matty said, her eyes bright with laughter. "But you must know it isn't just the Good Book the reverend misquotes. You ought to hear what he does to Shakespeare."

  "No, thank you, Stone," he said hastily. "I am a great admirer of the Bard's, and could not bear to hear him abused." He gave her a thoughtful look. "And what of Mr. Stallings? What is his position on the wanton waltz?"

  The question took Matty by surprise. "I'm not sure," she replied, frowning as she considered the matter. "The dance wasn't performed in our parish when I knew him, and I can't say the topic ever came up in our conversations. Does it matter?"

  "No," Joss answered, wondering what had possessed him to ask the question in the first place. "I was just curious."

  "If you really want to know I can ask him this afternoon when I see him," Matty offered, ever helpful.

  "You're seeing Stallings this afternoon?" Joss asked, aware of a decided feeling of disapproval.

  "We're riding out to visit some of the tenants," Matty explained, a soft smile touching her lips. She'd had to cancel her other meetings with Richard, and she was looking forward to renewing their friendship.

  The sight of that smile did odd things to Joss's equilibrium. Even as he was reminding himself it was no concern of his, he was aware of the fierce desire to forbid her to go. The knowledge of how she'd likely respond to such an ultimatum brought a sardonic gleam to his eyes.

  "Stallings seems to be settling in quite well," he said instead, his tone neutral. "Does he like it here?"

  "Oh, yes," Matty assured him, recalling her brief conversation with Richard following Sunday's service. "I think he'd welcome the chance to do more, but . . ." She shrugged, unwilling to say anything more. In truth, Richard really hadn't complained to her, but she knew him well enough to know he was frustrated by Thorntyn's refusal to assign him any real clerical duties.

  "Mmm," Joss responded noncommitally, although he made a note to give the vicar a flea in his ear. He'd already decided to dismiss him, and certainly Stallings was the most likely replacement. Still . . .

  "Will there be anything else, my lord?" Matty asked, wondering what had brought that frown to his face. She was aware that he was very busy, and feared she was keeping him from his work.

  "You might wish to stop by the Delvaynes'," he said, surprising her. "Her baby is due soon, and I've arranged for the midwife to stay with her when her time comes."

  Matty felt an uncomfortable twinge that was part guilt and part resentment. She'd been aware the young farm wife, who'd already had two stillborn children, was about to give birth, and she'd fully intended checking on her. That Joss had already done so troubled her, illustrating yet again as it did how thoroughly he was taking over the responsibility for the estate.

  "I'd be happy to, sir," she answered, reminding herself that it was Rose who mattered, rather than her own selfish pride. "Are there any other calls you would like me to make?"

  He supplied her with the names of one or two other tenants, and after listening to his instructions she quietly took her leave. Less than an hour later she was in Richard's carriage, listening half-attentively to his pleasant chatter. She was lost in her thoughts when something he said penetrated the chaos of her emotions and she turned to him in disbelief.

  "The archbishop ran off with an opera singer?" she gasped, twisting in her seat to gaze up at him.

  Richard chuckled at her incredulous expression. "Of course not, goose. I merely wanted to see if you were listening. 'Tis a poor minister indeed who can't keep his listener's attention."

  Matty had the good grace to blush. "I am sorry, Richard," she apologized, laying
a penitent hand on his arm. "I didn't mean to be rude."

  "I know." He gave her hand a fond pat. "I was only twigging you. I'm aware this party you are planning has you at sixes and sevens. Quite a change from planning a parish fete, hmm?"

  "Not really," Matty said with a laugh, grateful for his understanding. "The only difference is that instead of trying to remember not to seat Mrs. Thistlebridge beside Mrs. Gatwick, I must remember not to seat the daughter of a baron above the daughter of a marquess."

  "Although I much doubt that even the daughter of a marquess would kick up as much dust as Mrs. Thistlebridge did the time you deliberately sat the old girl beside her archnemesis. Your papa was most displeased with you."

  "Ha, that is what you think!" Matty retorted. "Once we were in the privacy of the vicarage he laughed so hard he almost fell out of his chair."

  "I have a confession to make, I laughed too," Richard said, chuckling at the memory. "It was clever of you to have placed the punch bowl at the other end of the table, else I fear Mrs. Gatwick may have been baptized with orgeat."

  That unleashed a flood of shared memories, and by the time they reached their first destination Matty's customary good spirits had been restored. Watching Richard with the tenants, she was struck anew by his similarities with her father. Both were men of deep religious convictions, and they took obvious pleasure in helping others. She couldn't help but compare him to the duke of Dereham and Lord Frederick, men of position and power whose only thoughts were of their own selfish desires. She'd assumed all men of title were so inclined . . . until she'd met Joss.

  Their next stop was at the Delvaynes'. The farmer was out tending his fields, but his wife seemed fine, if somewhat anxious about her approaching confinement. Matty spent several minutes listening to her concerns, and after forcing some tea on her she took the midwife aside for a private talk. It was only after the experienced woman assured her all was well that she was willing to depart, leaving strict instructions that she was to be sent for the moment Rose went into labor.

  "I often helped the midwife in my own village, Mrs. Canton," she said, tying the ribbons of one of her new bonnets beneath her chin. "I assure you I shan't swoon or prove to be a nuisance."

  "I'm sure ye won't, Miss Stone," the midwife replied, eyeing Matty shrewdly. "Ye've a good head on yer shoulders, no mistaking that. The marquess is lucky to have ye."

  "She's right, you know," Richard remarked quietly as they made their way to their next stop. "Lord Kirkswood is most fortunate to have you in his employ, and one may only hope he appreciates his good fortune."

  "I'm not in his employ," Matty denied, wondering why that seemed so vitally important. "I am Lady Kirkswood's companion."

  "Perhaps. But it is on his behalf that you labor so hard," Richard replied, surprisingly persistent. "And watching you makes me realize what a fine wife you would make some lucky man."

  Matty was horrified to find tears stinging her eyes. She'd never given marriage a single thought except to decide it wasn't for her. She was both intelligent and independent, with no looks to speak of, and she lacked the fortune that might have made a man willing to overlook these faults. At three-and-twenty she knew it was unlikely she'd ever marry, and she was comfortable with that fact. So why was she now so depressed? she wondered, struggling to understand the wild swing of her emotions.

  "One might also say the same of you," she sniffed, sending him an annoyed scowl. "A vicar needs a wife more than a spinster needs a husband. I recall my papa mentioning that fact any number of times."

  "Only because he was hoping we would make a match of it," Richard reminded her with a wink. "And mayhap he was right. What say you, Miss Stone? Will you do me the very great honor of becoming my wife?"

  At first Matty thought he was in earnest, but then she saw the laughter lurking in his gray eyes. "Beast." She thumped him on the arm with a gloved fist. "It would serve you right if I accepted; then where would you be, hmm?"

  "In more trouble than I care to imagine," Richard admitted with a self-deprecatory laugh. "It would take a braver man than I to tame you, my dear, and I am extremely grateful you had the good sense to turn me down. Of course, my poor heart may never recover from such a shattering blow."

  "Of course," she agreed, her spirits swinging upward once more. "But I still think you should consider what I have said."

  "And vice versa, Miss Stone, although I'd like to remind you that prospective brides are few and far between for vicars, especially impoverished vicars."

  "Would you like me to arrange a match for you?" she offered, half-serious. "We shall have a houseful of wealthy debs by week's end, and I daresay one of them would suit you."

  As she expected, Richard was quick to turn down her offer. "No, thank you, I've no desire for you to choose a bride for me as you would for Lord Kirkswood. There are certain things a man prefers to do himself, you know."

  Matty gave a guilty start. "How do you know I intended finding a bride for his lordship?" she demanded, her cheeks pinking with embarrassment.

  "Because I know you, Matty, and I could see your devious hand at work the moment I heard of the party. Has the marquess any idea of your plans for him?"

  Matty thought of denying any wrongdoing, but in the end she gave a little shrug. "The wretch tumbled to it almost at once. And even though he has agreed to the party, he is insisting he wants no part of my matchmaking schemes."

  "And he foolishly believes you will abandon your efforts?"

  Matty did take umbrage at that. "I am sure I have no notion as to your meaning, sir," she informed him, her chin jutting out. "I have but assisted the marchioness in arranging a house party. Anything that may or may not happen between his lordship and a guest is hardly any fault of mine."

  Richard gave another laugh. "Almost, madam, you convince me. But I am too well acquainted with your Machiavellian mind to believe you've mended your managing ways."

  Once again, the accusation of being managing hit a raw nerve in Matty. Good heavens, she thought with considerable alarm, perhaps she was managing! The realization was enough to spoil the beauty of the day, and she was in a somber and pensive mood when she returned to the manor house.

  "Dearest Martha, what a delight to see you again!"

  Matty did her best not to wince at the patent insincerity in her cousin's voice, as the well-dressed young lady leaned forward to kiss the air just above her cheek.

  "You must tell me everything you have been doing," Miss Juliana Mulroy continued, her brown eyes assessing as they swept over Matty. "I can see for myself you're in the pink of health, and that you've finally regained that weight you lost when your father died. Those extra pounds look wonderful on you."

  "Thank you, Cousin," Matty said, her spirits drooping at the thought that she had a full week of Juliana's waspish tongue to endure. "You're also looking quite well. That is a lovely pelisse you are wearing."

  "From London," Juliana informed her with a dimpled smile. "I would give you the name of my modiste, but I can see you still don't give a fig for fashion." She turned to Lady Louisa and dropped a graceful curtsey.

  "Lady Kirkswood," she murmured in her cultured voice. "It was very kind of you to invite me to your lovely home."

  "Not at all, Miss Mulroy." Lady Louisa's voice was decidedly cool as she studied the younger woman. "Any relation of my dear Miss Stone would naturally always be welcome in my home."

  Juliana blinked her eyes as if uncertain how to interpret this. In the end she merely gave a pretty smile and turned her attention to the red-haired man standing beside the marchioness.

  "Lord Kirkswood," she said, provocatively sweeping incredibly thick lashes over her dark eyes. "I am delighted to make your acquaintance."

  "Miss Mulroy." Joss inclined his head in cool politeness. Like his sister-in-law, he'd caught her slighting manner towards Stone, and like Louisa he didn't care for it one whit. It was obvious the spiteful witch considered herself above Matty, and he longed to set her straight
on that particular score.

  For all her cattiness, Juliana was nobody's fool, and she quickly tumbled to the fact that she was getting off on the wrong foot. Vowing to make Matty suffer later for showing her in such a poor light, she raised a hand to her forehead.

  "I pray you will forgive me, your ladyship, but I fear the journey has exhausted me," she said, swaying dramatically lest Louisa fail to take her meaning. "If you would be so kind as to show me to my rooms, I believe my companion and I will retire."

  "Certainly, Miss Mulroy," Louisa said calmly, gesturing for the housekeeper to step forward. "Mrs. Lawford, please show our guests to their rooms. Will you be requiring a maid while you are with us?" She addressed the question to Juliana.

  "If you would be so kind." Juliana continued smiling, but she burned at the clever slight. Although it wasn't required for a hostess to conduct her guests to their rooms, it was the custom. That her hostess had assigned the task to a servant was tantamount to an insult, in her eyes.

  "We shall see to it," Louisa promised, then held out her hand to the thin woman in the black cape standing behind Juliana. "I am sorry, but I didn't catch your name," she said with an encouraging smile. "I am Lady Kirkswood."

  "I am M — Miss Burrell, m — my lady," the younger woman stammered, looking up at Louisa with wide gray eyes.

  "Miss Burrell." Louisa gave her hand a friendly squeeze. "I hope you will enjoy yourself while you are here."

  Miss Burrell's eyes flicked to her mistress's set face and then lowered to the floor. "Thank you, my lady," she said shyly. "It is kind of you to say so."

  "Come, Burrell." Juliana's voice fairly crackled with impatience. "I need my salts."

  Miss Burrell blushed nervously, and after mumbling an apology to Louisa she stumbled after her irate mistress. Louisa watched them leave, her golden eyebrows knitting in thought. After a moment she turned to Matty.

  "I don't believe I shall call you Stone again," she said firmly. "Matty is much friendlier, don't you think?"

  "Yes, my lady," Matty agreed, touched by the marchioness's decision. "Much friendlier."