The doorbell rang, clanging through the rooms his mother had rented.
“Who could that be?” Albemarle wondered aloud.
She shrugged. “Probably some tradesman unable to find the back door. I am serious, Albemarle. I have no wish to have to look for a Howard cousin who has never deserved the title.”
There were footsteps in the hall as he tried to think of another way of distracting his mother from her plans.
“Albemarle, are you listening to me?”
He was not. “Of course, Mother.”
She glared, quickly seeing the lie. “I want you to promise me that you are going to look for a bride.”
He never made promises lightly. A promise was a promise, and if one had no intention of keeping it, one should not make it.
“I want you to promise me that you are going to look for a bride.”
Albemarle smiled. He liked looking at women. Looking was not the problem, nor was touching. He did not want to put a ring on any woman, but looking? Looking was fine.
There was a promise he could make, in all honor.
“I promise,” he said thoughtfully.
The broad smile on his mother’s face should have told him immediately that somehow, he had still been cornered.
“Excellent,” she said briskly as the door to the hallway opened behind him. “You are precisely on time.”
Chapter Three
The instant that Theodosia stepped inside the opulent room, she noticed four things.
First, the Lenskeyns wealth was old money, far older than any other client she had ever dealt with. This was going to be an important client, and if she could do well here, then perhaps earls and dukes would become her regular customers, rather than highlights once or twice a year.
Second, the dowager countess looked far too pleased to see her. No one ever looked that pleased to see Miss Theodosia Ashbrooke, matchmaker, and there was a self-satisfied grin on the older woman’s face that made Theodosia uncomfortable.
Thirdly, that there was a large plate of biscuits in the room—her favorites.
Fourth and lastly, it was evident the dowager had not informed her son she was going to be arriving. There was no mistaking that look of surprise on his face—a face that was, Theodosia examined it critically, one of the most devilishly handsome she had ever beheld.
“God alive,” he breathed, rising to his feet. “How many other prospective brides are outside? Is there a queue?”
Theodosia opened her mouth for a forceful reply, but she hesitated. As the Earl of Lenskeyn had risen, she had been given a full view of him, and he was, though she would never admit it, heart-stopping.
Tall, far taller than her, with broad shoulders and a smirk that seemed a little too knowing. There was something brooding about his forehead, a frown of concern, and a rough beard covered his cheeks and chin.
He bowed curtly. “Well, Mother, I said I would look for a bride, true enough. I had not expected you to have a line of potential Countess of Lenskeyns waiting outside. How many are there?”
He laughed, a short, bark of a laugh that showed his displeasure and irritation far better than any words could.
The jolt within Theodosia calmed. “You are worth lining up for, then?”
She had dispensed with all pleasantries and politeness. This was clearly a man who did not value them—or worse, expected them in others but would never deign to deliver them himself.
A man, in short, in need of training.
Her tone had worked, too. The frown deepened, and his mouth fell open as behind him, his mother laughed.
“You foolish boy, sit down and mind your manners,” she said to the imposing earl of almost forty. “Of course, I do not expect you to marry Miss Ashbrooke, the very idea. She is your matchmaker.”
Theodosia had not been invited to sit down, but then, this was hardly a typical social visit, and so she once again took matters into her own hands. Stepping around the room and seating herself next to the astonished earl, she smiled.
“How do you do, my lord?”
She had kept her voice level despite the misgivings she was already starting to feel. She should have known not to accept a gentleman onto her books without meeting him first. This had never been done before, and this was the result.
The earl had thrown himself back onto the sofa, examining her with a critical eye. Theodosia did not blink. She was accustomed to it. It was part of her trade.
All the same, the words of the dowager countess rankled. Why should it be obvious she was not designed to be a potential bride for this rude and unfashionable man?
Unfashionable, yes, but not ill-looking. Now she was closer, she breathed in that subtle masculine scent, saw the strength in his arms as he put them behind his head, saw the suggestion of hair at his throat…
Theodosia swallowed. It was easy, in his presence, to lose her head. His mother had been right about one thing; he would certainly be a challenge.
Forcing herself to stop thinking like a woman, she began to examine him with a critical, professional eye. It was surprising, she had to admit, that the Earl of Lenskeyn had not yet managed to find a bride. He was handsome with that brooding countenance that Lord Byron had made so attractive.
He had a title, something that most ladies desired, and if his mother was anything to go by, he had money. So what was the problem?
“Are you quite finished, miss?” he snapped.
Theodosia smiled. Ah yes, that was it. Everything else. “No, not yet. Please remain still.”
Reaching for her reticule, she pulled out the one essential part of her business that she simply could not do without, her notebook.
It had been with her since the beginning. In fact, she would soon have to look for a new one; there were only about twenty pages left in this one, and there were scraps of paper pushed in at seemingly random intervals.
Without it, she would be useless. It was her memory, her thoughts, her examinations, her plans.
Opening it to a new page and pulling a pencil from its folds, she starting making notes.
Earl of L. is finely featured + title + fortune + mature
He snorted. Theodosia looked up from her notebook coldly, glaring until he both put his arms down and looked a little abashed.
She waited until he looked suitably embarrassed, smiled at him, and then continued.
Mother keen, Earl
Theodosia looked up once more and saw a face full of boredom.
Mother keen, earl not. Aloof, disengaged. Will require training.
After underlining the last sentence, she placed the pencil on that page and closed the notebook, leaving it on her lap as she smiled at the pair of them.
“My name is Miss Theodosia Ashbrooke, and I have been making successful matches for society for the last eight years,” she said calmly.
“And unsuccessful ones for how many years?” interrupted the earl with a sneer.
Theodosia hardly blinked. These were common concerns, albeit expressed far more rudely than she was accustomed to.
“Of the one hundred and sixty-four matches I have made, three have ended in divorce due to infidelity of the husband, one due to infidelity of the wife, and one due to a lack of heirs provided in the first three years,” she said smoothly. “Hardly things I could predict while making their matches. That leaves one hundred and fifty-nine couples happily married.”
“There you go, Albemarle,” said the dowager smartly. “You are so useless as a prospective husband I have had to find a professional.”
Theodosia forced herself not to laugh. “Now, my lady, many people request my services despite being excellent prospects because—”
“Because their mothers are desperate for grandchildren—or as they call them, heirs?” snapped the earl.
“I am the matchmaker, not you,” said Theodosia serenely, forcing her pulse to calm. She would not be provoked by this infuriating man. “I will find a match that is pleasing, both for you and your mother.”
His mother smiled. “That is very good of you, Miss—”
“I have no wish to please my mother.” The earl’s voice was petulant, even childish.
Theodosia sighed. There would need to be a great deal of work on this one.
“I can see that,” his mother said tartly. “But you must marry, and whoever becomes your bride must fit the family. We cannot have you wed just anyone.”
“Indeed, a common concern for the nobility of your rank,” Theodosia said. Perhaps a little flattery would get her further with this infernal man. “I have often found—”
“Oh, stop it, we’re impressed enough as it is,” snapped the earl.
His glare was furious, and even Theodosia, inured as she had thought over a hundred gentlemen who she had helped, found herself a little ruffled. She had never met anyone quite so…well, combative. Even some of the majors she had aided had not been so irritable.
“References?” he barked.
Theodosia wordlessly pulled out the sheaf of references she kept at the front of the notebook, but instead of handing them to him, she smiled and passed them to his mother.
The dowager caught her eye, and there was a slight curve of her lip, just for a fraction. Then it was gone as she started to examine them.
The earl sniffed. “I’ve heard your name before, at any rate, Miss Ashbrooke, matchmaker. Yes, I have heard of you, miss, and it was not all good. You were involved in that Orrinshire scandal, weren’t you?”
His voice had a teasing air, and it produced the effect he was doubtless seeking. Theodosia felt her cheeks flush.
Of course, he would have heard of that particular case.
Thankfully, her voice remained calm as she replied, “I am flattered, my lord, that you have recalled my name in relation to that success. Yes, I arranged the marriage of the Duke of Orrinshire to Miss Priscilla Seton, a woman of great wit and fortune. I still have Miss Frances Lloyd on the books, however, if you would like to meet her.”
“This is not a cattle market!” he retorted, his dark eyes flashing.
“No,” Theodosia replied, matching his fury, “I quite agree. We are organizing the next generation of the ruling class. I would say that needs to be done carefully and by a professional.”
The earl stared, evidently at a loss to understand why she was so inconvenient as to disagree with everything. He turned to his mother, and Theodosia was relieved to see she was nodding approvingly.
“Miss Ashbrooke understands exactly what we are looking for,” she said imperiously.
The earl snorted. “What you are looking for. I have no wish to be married, and I wish you would write that down in your damned notebook, Miss Ashbrooke.”
Theodosia raised an eyebrow. “You do surprise me, my lord. Why, you are almost forty years of age, by my calculations.”
She had known it was a low blow, but she was provoked. Why was it that earls and dukes always thought they could speak to anyone exactly how they pleased? No thought for consequences, no thought for the feelings of others…
It was time the Earl of Lenskeyn was shown what it was like to be spoken to in this way. She would match fire with fire.
“By God, you think?” He smiled, though there was no joy in his look. “And just how old are you, pray?”
“Albemarle Howard, you will not speak to a guest of mine in that way,” began his mother, feathers ruffled.
Theodosia had not looked away. “Nine and twenty,” she said calmly.
Now it was his turn to raise an eyebrow. “Then, should we not be more worried about your marriage prospects?”
Theodosia examined him closely. He was attempting to force a reaction, that much was clear. Reactionary. Rebellious for the sake of drama. Interesting.
Opening up her notebook and ignoring his outraged sounds of shock, she reviewed her notes so far.
Beginning a new line, she wrote:
Rude, bad-tempered, determined to get his way—interrupter. Rebellious for the sake of displeasing his mother.
Closing the notebook with a snap, she smiled and said, “That is very thoughtful of you, my lord, but your mother is not paying me to find a husband, but to find a bride for you. Now, any particular requests?”
He laughed at this, and his eyes seemed brighter, more focused. Theodosia became aware suddenly that they were seated on the same sofa when he leaned toward her.
“My God,” he breathed. “Can you have one made to order?”
He really was most irritating.
“No,” she sighed, maintaining her humor. “But knowing your preferences will permit me to present you with potential suits more aligned with your wishes.”
She studied him, looking for any more positive features that she could use to find him a prospective bride.
He did not lack in positives. His clothes were modern, well kept. He was not portly nor thin. If his manners were anything to go by, he could be charming, and he was evidently relaxed in her company.
He caught her gaze, and a wicked grin crept across her face. He was arrogant, overly confident, and even a little brash.
Theodosia’s smile became more natural. No wonder he had not yet wed, even at his age. No woman could surely stand to be with him for more than five minutes.
“My perfect woman,” he mused. “Well, Miss Ashbrooke, let me see. Beautiful, rich, titled. Is that enough for you to be getting on with?”
Theodosia glanced at the dowager countess.
“God’s teeth, you don’t mean to tell me my mother gets a say?”
His mother expanded like a ruffled chicken. “Let me tell you, my boy—”
“Yes, she does,” Theodosia interjected, attempting to soothe both mother and son. “Not just because my fee is coming from her purse, but because in my eyes, your mother is the head of your house.”
The earl snorted. “A woman? Oh, no offense, Mother.”
“A woman,” repeated Theodosia.
“Now you see the challenge before you,” said the dowager countess, still a little disgruntled. “What do you think?”
Theodosia did not answer immediately. He was certainly a challenge, more than she had ever faced before. She was not totally immune to his charms, and there was potential. But his manners got in the way of those good looks and the noble stock from which he came.
Standing up, she started to walk slowly around him. The earl, as she had suspected, did not watch her but sat in stony silence.
“Well, I can see the problem,” said Theodosia briskly. “And I believe my first assessment from the moment of entering this room was correct. He will need training.”
“Training?” he protested.
His mother was nodding. “I thought he would. All I have attempted through the years have come to naught, and even I have not been able to improve him past the age of two and twenty. That is why I came to you.”
The earl looked outraged. “I do not need training!”
Theodosia stepped slowly around the back of the sofa, her critical eye roving over his form. “Posture, clarity of thought, temper—”
He whirled around and shouted, “I do not have a temper!”
Theodosia waited patiently to see whether he had anything else to say, and then said calmly, “Of course not.”
Her response was enough to color his cheeks, and he turned back around to face his mother in silence.
“But if you do not mind me saying so, my lord,” she offered as she returned to the front of the sofa, looking him straight in the eyes, “you are a rude, arrogant, and frankly a grating man with little to recommend you, save your wealth and title—I assume there is money?”
She had shot the last part at his mother, who nodded. Turning back to the earl, she saw his mouth had fallen open.
“Now, I am not a miracle worker, my lord, I am a matchmaker,” said Theodosia with a smile. She always liked this bit. When she showed a man she was not just a skirt playing at weddings. She was a force to be reckoned with, and he would face a reckoning.
“The best come to me, and that means I can find you the best.”
“I do not need a damned matchmaker,” he growled.
Theodosia allowed herself a short laugh. “You have not done well on your own so far.”
“That is because I have no desire to marry!”
“That is not for you to decide,” she shot back. Her heart was racing, and if she was honest with herself, she was enjoying this. “Your mother has decided, and that is what is going to happen.”
The earl glared at his mother, who merely smiled.
Theodosia walked delicately past him and returned to her seat. “The challenge is not whether I can find you a bride, my lord. The question is whether you can keep her. And that is why training starts tomorrow.”
His face was a picture of shock, his eyes wide and his mouth open.
“T-Tomorrow?” he spluttered.
“Oh, that is a shame,” his mother said. “We cannot start now?”
The earl looked between them. “Now?”
Theodosia ignored him. “Sadly, I have another appointment, or I would stay. Your son does need a lot of work, my lady, so I will ensure we start early, at nine o’clock.”
As she placed her notebook back into her reticule, the sofa shifted. The earl had risen and was standing at his full height, evidently attempting to be imposing.
“I would like to say before any more of this nonsense continues,” he said in a loud, clear voice, “that I protest. I mean to say, can a man no longer walk the streets of England without being so accosted? Must I fight against such injustice, such cruelty?”
His mother snorted. “Cruelty?”
“I said cruelty, and I meant it,” he said fiercely. “I do not want a bride. I do not want a wife. I do not want children running around me. I do not want to make a home with anyone. I did not ask for this, Miss Ashbrooke, and I hope you heed me when I tell you that I intend to make this entire process as difficult as possible!”
His words rang out in the room, and silence followed.
It really was too bad for him.
“Are you quite finished?” she said airily, with a smile. “Wonderful. Always lovely to hear a man attempt to communicate his wishes. Good morning, my lady, so lovely to see you again. My lord, I will see you in your rooms tomorrow, at nine o’clock. I will be punctual. Be prepared.”
Always the Matchmaker (Never the Bride Book 8) Page 3
