Always the Matchmaker (Never the Bride Book 8)

by Emily E K Murdoch

  Had he gone too far?

  “Thank you for your assessment,” Miss Ashbrooke said. Was there a coldness in her words? “And how do you think you will find a bride with that attitude? Can’t you see, my lord, that you need my training and my help if you are ever to be married?”

  Albemarle shrugged. This was his territory again now, his breathing calmed, the fire in his lungs dying down. “Money.”

  The matchmaker sniffed as she closed her notebook. “Money is not everything.”

  “Surely you cannot believe that, Miss Ashwood. You work for a living!”

  “Ashbrooke.”

  There was a frown on that pretty face now, and it stirred something wicked within him.

  “And I choose to work with some of the finest people in the land,” she continued, her eyes narrowed. “And that means I do not have to sit here and be insulted!”

  Forcing the notebook into her reticule, Miss Ashbrooke rose from her seat and took two steps toward the door. In that instant, a strange rush of pleasure and regret rushed through Albemarle’s heart. It was good to finally best her, yes, but he had not imagined she would depart so rapidly. It was amusing, teasing Miss Ashbrooke.

  Her hand on the door, she paused and turned, her dark hair illuminated by the sunlight streaming through the window. It appeared she was taking a deep breath and—surely not counting to ten?

  When Albemarle had reached eight, she smiled. “That is what you want. For me to leave, and for this to be a failure.”

  He did not reply. He watched her, fascinated. Never before had someone he had driven to their feet stopped to continue speaking to him.

  Miss Ashbrooke examined him once again, and the unsettled feeling swept over him. Whenever the matchmaker was looking at him, Albemarle felt…lacking, somehow.

  “I do not fail,” said Miss Ashbrooke decidedly, removing her hand from the door. “We will have you wed by the end of the season.”

  “But—”

  “You have a title. You cannot be expected to know what good manners are,” she said briskly, returning to her seat and arranging her skirts.

  Albemarle could not help but watch her delicate fingers at work, mesmerized by the matchmaker who simply would not go away. “We will start from the beginning. A reduction in interruptions. Are you ready?”

  Chapter Five

  No matter which direction Robins tugged, Theodosia’s reflection was not symmetrical.

  “Careful, Robins,” she said absentmindedly, feeling a twinge in her shoulder as her neck was pulled. “’Tis only a bonnet.”

  “I know, Miss Ashbrooke,” said the harassed looking maid. “But it just—won’t—stay—put!”

  Theodosia’s shoulder was held steady by one hand as the offending bonnet was shifted left and right. Robins’s eyes narrowed in her attempt for perfection.

  It was impossible not to smile at the level of concentration, but Theodosia said nothing. Who was she to complain at a job well done?

  Sometimes she was tempted to go into society with no bonnet whatsoever and allow the breeze to blow through her hair, untamed and unrestricted.

  Even the thought of it made her back stiffen. What would people say? She knew what society expected of her—of everyone. It would be most scandalous for her to ignore something as simple as wearing a bonnet in public. The very idea!

  “Almost there, Miss Ashbrooke,” panted the maid, looking as though she was fighting a hideous beast rather than a blue bonnet.

  Society had expectations that had to be met. Society was the hideous beast, a ravenous monster that ate people up if they did not conform to its wishes.

  She knew better than most the toll that society could take. She had seen it firsthand on those who refused to conform. On those who lied. On those who were found out.

  Theodosia took a deep breath and forced down the temptation to dwell on him. That was years ago, and she was not going to allow herself to wallow in self-pity.

  She had done that far too much. Besides, he did not deserve it.

  Smiling at her reflection, she said briskly, “That will do, Robins—and a lovely job you have done of it, I must say. Thank you.”

  Her maid squinted nervously into the reflection of the looking glass. “Are you certain, Miss Ashbrooke? It is not entirely straight at the back, I am afraid. What if you meet a nice gentleman?”

  Theodosia laughed as she turned away. “Well, I almost certainly will not, not today. Even if I do, then he will not be interested in me. I am the matchmaker.”

  Why did her words pain her? They were the truth, and Theodosia Ashbrooke dealt in harsh realities. If she could not say them to herself, how could she say them to the Earl of Lenskeyn?

  “I will be a little late this evening, I am afraid,” she said hastily, pushing aside thoughts for the second time in five minutes. “Lady Romeril’s card party.”

  Robins’s face fell. “I am so sorry, Miss Ashbrooke. And there is no way around it?”

  “’Tis for the best,” said Theodosia bracingly. “I have a new gentleman on my books who is determined to challenge me, and it is time I challenged him. Lady Romeril’s card parties are always…interesting.”

  Robins met her gaze, and the two women smiled. Even in polite society, it was possible to refrain from telling the truth, but others would understand.

  “The Earl of Lenskeyn cannot hide from me,” said Theodosia firmly, placing her hand on the front door.

  As she stepped onto the street, a cool breeze hit her face—and the figure of Albemarle Howard, Earl of Lenskeyn, appeared in her path so suddenly, she almost careened into him.

  “Mind your—m-my lord!”

  Theodosia felt her cheeks color. Mere seconds after her proud pronouncement that she would be in charge of their interactions, here she was, almost toppled to the ground by the mere presence of him!

  And what a presence. The earl smiled with that devilishly handsome look she knew could be molded into something quite spectacular.

  Not that it needed much improvement.

  “I-I thought…” Theodosia swallowed. She needed to regain control of this conversation, for it would not do to lose the high ground. “My lord, the agreement was that we would meet at your rooms, not mine.”

  He did not immediately reply. The smile remained, and his eyes sparkled as though she had just said something incredibly witty.

  Something swooped in Theodosia’s stomach, and she forced herself to remain calm. Just a passing fancy. She had noticed the attractive qualities of plenty of her clients before. She would notice them again.

  The Earl of Lenskeyn was nothing special.

  “I know what we agreed,” he said airily, “but I wanted to surprise you. I wished to see if you could be taken by surprise.”

  Despite Theodosia’s internal decision to ignore the man, her heart was beating rapidly as she said brusquely, “Well, of course, you can. Anyone can, given the right conditions. I am not an automaton!”

  Why did he stare? They were blocking the pavement, passersby tutting as they were forced to step in the road. And yet, still, he did not move.

  “That is what I thought, but I had to be sure,” he said, leaning closer. “You are always so composed, so calm. In anyone else, the traits would be irritating.”

  Theodosia raised an eyebrow and sidestepped him, relieved to be removed from his immediate presence.

  “Irritating,” she repeated as she started to walk toward his lodgings. “My word.”

  He fell in step beside her. “You know, I have given much thought to what you said.”

  Theodosia nodded gracefully at Lady Romeril as they passed, grateful for the presence of the earl, which prevented her from speaking with the older woman. “Which part?”

  “All of it.”

  They had turned a corner now onto Camden Place, where his rooms for the Season were.

  She could not help but smile at his blunt response. “That is unusual, and I will admit, not what I had expected. Usually, my w
ords take a lot longer to sink in.”

  “I told you I was here to surprise you,” he said, laughter seeping into his tones. “Did you really think my presence alone was intended to be the surprise?”

  He spoke so openly, so unlike the other earls and dukes she had encountered. Theodosia glanced at him and saw his smile had changed once more. No longer calculating, measured, controlled. Now it was open, joyful, almost teasing.

  A rush of warmth filled her bones as she forced herself to remain calm. She was not here to be impressed by the fourteenth Earl of Lenskeyn. The only reason she was in his presence at all was to train him to become a more suitable consort for a young lady of repute and fortune, then find said young lady.

  That was all. She could ignore the rising heat in her body any time she wanted.

  “My rooms.”

  Theodosia jumped. So lost in her thoughts, she had not noticed the earl was now gesturing at number six.

  “Thank you,” she said stiffly, walking past him up the steps into the building. “How many floors have you taken?”

  It took but a few seconds to realize her mistake, and she was grateful for the trail of ribbons at the back of her bonnet, which hid her glowing red neck.

  “Floors?” He sounded amused as he followed her inside and pulled off his greatcoat and top hat. “The whole damned place, of course. It’s mine.”

  Theodosia allowed a servant to remove her pelisse, using the time to collect herself. Of course, an earl would not reserve a set of floors in Bath during the Season—the very idea! He would own a whole house in Bath.

  Bowing her into the drawing room, the earl waved away his servant without offering her any refreshment. Theodosia opened up her reticule to jot this down in her notebook.

  “Sit down, won’t you?” He threw himself onto a sofa. “See, I can learn.”

  She did not permit herself a smile. “Yes, but I still have much to teach. Refreshments, for example. Always offer your guests refreshments, my lord.”

  He rolled his eyes. “Call me Albie. Everyone does.”

  Theodosia flushed as she sat opposite him. Albie? The very idea she could call him such a name—an earl of the realm, ask his matchmaker to call him Albie?

  “I think Lenskeyn is probably the closest I can manage,” she said aloud. Even that level of intimacy discomfited her.

  In an attempt to distract herself from their strange connection, Theodosia looked around the room.

  It was certainly not decorated in his mother’s tastes. Number six Camden Place was one of the earl’s undoubtedly many homes, and he had fitted it with the latest styles. Curtains mimicking the graceful flow of Grecian columns, the green that had swept Paris and London by storm, were nothing to the delicate paintings on the ceiling depicting cherubs and a few goddesses.

  Goddesses with very little clothing.

  She had to concentrate. She was here to prepare him for, perhaps, one of the most important social events on the ton’s calendar.

  She would make him ready. Then she would leave. She could not possibly stand another minute in his presence.

  “Had your fill?” Lenskeyn’s face was mischievous. “Yes, it is all a bit resplendent, but my father would have his way with things. It was a compromise between his taste and my mother’s. Anything elegant you see is him. Anything ostentatious is her. And anything like the ceiling…”

  His voice trailed away delicately, but the unspoken words were more than enough to cause another rush of heat through Theodosia’s body.

  She would be mistress of herself. She was the one in charge here, no matter what the title or wealth her clients had.

  “Let us return to the matter in hand,” she said aloud, as much for her benefit as his.

  Lenskeyn rolled his eyes. “Must we? Why is today so important to meet? It was only a few days ago that I had my first foray into gentlemanly behavior, and I am quite exhausted.”

  “I can imagine.”

  Her sarcasm seemingly went unnoticed. “My mother said you were quite insistent, and for her to describe anyone in such a way is remarkable.”

  Ignoring the pointed insult, Theodosia said calmly, “Tonight is Lady Romeril’s card party.”

  “I know,” he said heavily. “One of the most prestigious women opening up her house. I almost considered leaving town for a few days when I received the invitation. I had hoped to avoid it.”

  “Don’t we all.”

  Her comment had been unguarded, breathed rather than spoken, but the room had been so quiet it seemed to echo. Damn her cheeks, and damn her rebellious tongue!

  “You will need additional training on your charming and courting before we attend this evening,” she continued quickly, “which is why we are meeting now, to have sufficient time to practice.”

  Lenskeyn’s brow furrowed as he glanced at the grandfather clock in the corner. “But…Miss Ashbrooke, perhaps you have mistaken the time of the card party’s beginning. My invitation indicates we are to arrive at eight o’clock. It is only just gone two o’clock now.”

  Theodosia nodded. “You need much instruction. Even I am not sure whether we will get through it all.”

  She spoke calmly, from the heart, and without malice. For some clients, pronouncements of this kind sparked irritation or embarrassment—or even anger.

  He laughed. “My dear Miss Ashbrooke, you are tonic to the soul indeed. How do you think I have managed to get through life without being able to charm people?”

  “Oh, I don’t know,” she replied swiftly. “Wealth, a title, connections?”

  “Utter rot, and you know it.” Lenskeyn scrutinized her with a nonchalant air. “Plenty of titles in the world, plenty of wealth, too. Connections I left behind long ago. You have no need for them in the wilds of Greece. Just the name of the nearest brothel.”

  Theodosia thought she had done exceptionally well to control her face at that moment. Her instincts–to color, rise to her feet, dramatically storm out, and say she would not be spoken to in this manner–were forced down.

  She would be calm. She would show this arrogant, irritating, proud man what she was made of. She would best him.

  “If you are going to be difficult,” she said sweetly, “we may have to return to respect and politeness.”

  Their gazes met, hers, as determined as she could make it. His, forceful, yet with some sort of restraint.

  What was he not saying?

  He raised his hands in surrender, and his voice even had a slightly apologetic tone as he said, “I must say, Miss Ashbrooke—can I call you Theodosia?”

  Her heart pounded as she said, “No, you may not.”

  “I must say, Theodosia,” Lenskeyn continued with a mischievous grin, “my mother already says I am much improved in my manners. Who knew not interrupting others could have such an effect! She says you have earned your fee in that mere improvement, even if you do not find me a bride.”

  She stared. How would she ever understand this man? The rudeness of using her name despite her direct refusal of permission, the compliment she was sure had not come from his mother, and the little throwaway ending that aimed to release him from the need to continue training.

  He was clever, the Earl of Lenskeyn. But not as smart as her.

  “I do not consider the job completed, not just yet,” she said briskly. “There is much to improve still.”

  “Hmm,” he pondered. “Perhaps. Do you not think it a little sad that society believes I must be improved—that is to say, forced to be just as average as any other man on the street—before I am to be considered a good marriage prospect?”

  Theodosia blinked. The thought had occurred to her about quite a different gentleman, almost two years ago. He had been wild, a little rough around the edges, but he had been endearing.

  Society’s ladies had not agreed with her. He had come to her desperate to wed, and she had smoothed out all the rough edges of his character.

  He had married an heiress three months later. Theodosia had
attended the wedding, and she had expected to enjoy it, but there had been something wrong. The gentleman she had met, the one who had endeared himself so, had gone.

  The bride seemed happy; the bridegroom seemed ecstatic. Still, none of his friends had attended…

  “Ah, I see you agree with me.” Lenskeyn leaned forward, his eyes bright. “How fascinating. A matchmaker who preaches to the world’s gentlemen that they must be one way, but who secretly believes it should be the other.”

  Theodosia swallowed. This had gone on long enough. “Gentlemen are not the only ones who are encouraged to grow in maturity and wisdom—so do society’s ladies, and I can assure you that my training is offered to both the sexes. Now, charming and courting.”

  Whatever response she had expected, it was not the one she received. Lenskeyn tilted over, falling onto the sofa with his eyes shut, loud snores emanating from his nose.

  Theodosia rolled her eyes. Just when she thought she was getting somewhere…

  “My lord,” she said, and then a little louder, “Lenskeyn!”

  Neither of these pronouncements seemed to be getting her anywhere. Much against her better nature, she leaned forward and prodded him.

  Lenskeyn sat up quickly and looked around wildly. “Is it over?”

  She would not give in. “Why are you not trying? You are more child than man today, my lord, and I tell you straight, I am tired of it!”

  “As am I.” He glared, leaning closer once again. “This whole matchmaking business, you know, I had no wish to partake in this nonsense in the first place. I do not want to be introduced to a slip of a thing who has barely left the nursery! I want you.”

  It took a moment for the words to register, but then Theodosia reacted the only way she knew. She laughed.

  What a ridiculous thing to say—what a wild joke!