Pulling her reticule onto her lap, she pulled out her notebook and started writing on a fresh new page.
E. of Lenskeyn unimpressed with all introductions to date. Primary concerns: age (too young), temperament (too flighty), and interest in wealth not person.
When she had first encountered him, she would have laid money on Albemarle being happy with a pretty young thing on his arm, as long as he did not have to spend too much time with her.
But he was more introspective than that. More desirous of someone he could respect. And yet, when she had introduced him to someone quite perfect, he had turned his nose up—quite literally.
It had been a miracle of her matchmaking skills that Miss Jones had not taken real offense. She would now have to make a better introduction for Miss Jones to assuage her irritation.
L. not committed to matrimony; all signs point toward lethargy.
Not committed to matrimony in the slightest. At least, not to anyone she had presented to him.
L. not interested in training, disrupts all attempts at improvement.
She could not help but smile. No, he certainly had no interest in changing or improving, even for her. He had not wished for matrimony in the first place, and he had vehemently argued against a matchmaker.
Improving. Theodosia had never met a gentleman who could not benefit from a few tweaks to his personality, and in all cases, these had led to much greater success in courting.
Even a few ladies, now she considered it, had accepted a few delicately made comments about their person or personality, which had aided them in the pursuit of a suitor.
Consider Miss Coulson. If Theodosia had not managed to find Mr. Weston, she would have had to make quite drastic changes.
The wind picked up, pulling at the pages of her notebook.
Albemarle was different. True, he sorely needed improvement. His mother had described him as a real challenge, what felt like weeks ago at the Orrinshire wedding, and she had not been wrong. But he had not changed a whit since they had met, and yet she liked him more than ever.
He was rude, but seen in a different light, that characteristic was just honesty. He spoke his mind. One always knew where they stood with the Earl of Lenskeyn.
He was arrogant, but that came from a knowledge of himself. He was clever, well-educated, and well-traveled. He was wealthy and had a title. It was surely impossible not to be arrogant with that lineage.
He had almost stopped interrupting her, but as it was usually with a witty remark or something that made her smile, she never let that bother her. Besides, she just interrupted him back.
It was rare to find a gentleman whose company she found interesting, and the novelty had not worn off.
Most of the pups she found wives for were, if she was frank, boring. That was the skill of a matchmaker, finding something of interest within a person and drawing it out to ensure they could attract a partner.
The earl had the opposite problem. He was all attractiveness. Everything about him drew her closer.
What she did not understand was why so few ladies felt the same magnetism.
The family nearby had moved on, the dog unable to drag home the heavy stick it had found. A large family, seven children at least, were now playing on the lawn.
“I would rather practice kissing now, here, with you.”
Theodosia’s cheeks burned. It was all nonsense, this obsession, this crush she had developed for her most eligible gentleman.
Almost as nonsensical as his strange declaration, all those nights ago.
“I do not want to be introduced to a slip of a thing who has barely left the nursery! I want you.”
Theodosia gripped her notebook. Albemarle had just been teasing her; there was no other explanation for it.
After all, no one wished to marry the matchmaker. She was never the bride. It was always someone else’s story that she was merely a part of—an instrumental role, to be sure—but not the heroine.
The church clock chimed half-past three. Theodosia sighed heavily and placed her notebook back into her reticule. This was the first time the earl had failed to meet with her when arranged, and she could not help but feel despondent. A day without him seemed so gray, so empty.
“Shame,” said a voice behind her. “I was hoping to see what you had written about me.”
Theodosia whirled around to see Albemarle smiling.
“You thought I wasn’t coming? Nonsense, I’m just fashionably late.”
Before she could say anything, he had walked around the bench and kissed her hand, making her heart flutter. She must not allow herself this weakness. She must be strong.
The last thing she needed was the ever-perceptive earl to notice how she felt about him.
“You,” she said instead, frowning, “are very late.”
Albemarle threw himself on to the bench in the manner she had quickly grown accustomed to and smiled. “Nonsense. You are early. You cannot possibly know if I am late. Do you have a pocket watch on you?”
Theodosia pointed at the large clock atop the church tower. It showed twenty minutes to four.
“It is slow,” he said airily. “If anything, I am early.”
Smiling at his nonsense seemed to be the only possible response. “Is there any point in continuing to argue with you?”
“Probably not,” he said with a charming smile. “So, what is my lesson today, O Teacher?”
Flustering sears of heat radiated through her body as Theodosia swallowed.
If she were wise, she would walk away—not just from Albemarle right now, but completely. She should go and find his mother and tell her she had been right. Her son was too much of a challenge, albeit for a different reason.
She could return the money and never again be plagued with desires she must ignore.
If only it were that simple.
“I am ready to pay attention today,” he said, a cheeky grin across his face. “Probably.”
Not for a long time had Theodosia permitted anyone to get under her skin, but he did. She wanted to be closer to him, and that was a mistake. “Today, we will be practicing the unchaperoned walk.”
Albemarle raised an eyebrow. “Goodness, that’s a little racy, don’t you think?”
It was all she could do not to reach out and take his hand in hers. Racy? He had no comprehension of what she wanted.
“The unchaperoned walk is a core part of your courting and is often the best way for two individuals to spend time together without prying eyes,” she said sternly. “When we find you a match, you will find this an instrumental tool. You will be expected then, as now, to be a gentleman.”
He sighed at the emphasis on her last word. “What a shame. I do not think I have ever been a gentleman.”
Theodosia smiled. She could see that quite plainly. “All the more reason to practice. As I am sure, you are aware in good society, the unchaperoned walk cannot occur at the beginning of an acquaintance with a young lady. That would be most rebellious and radical. It is typically utilized as a prelude to a proposal.”
Albemarle’s smile did not disappear as he looked around them theatrically. “My word—we are not chaperoned! That is most indecorous of you, Miss Ashbrooke.”
How did he make her feel so alive with just a few teasing words?
“This is different,” she said hastily. “This—this is training. I am your matchmaker, and besides, I have a reputation as such. No one will be surprised or shocked to see us together.”
She rose, and Albemarle mirrored her, offering her his arm.
When she hesitated, he said in a low voice, “Go on. I dare you.”
Theodosia glared. If they had been alone in his rooms, she would have snapped, given him a tongue lashing to make sure he did not repeat the indignity.
As it was…
Her whole body seemed to shiver as she took his arm, and as they started to walk, she felt the tension leave her frame.
“For a moment there, I thought you were n
ot going to take my arm,” he said quietly as they walked through the gardens.
“For a moment there, I thought I wasn’t,” she admitted. Why had she revealed that?
Albemarle’s face was a mixture of concern and interest. “You do not trust me.”
They reached one end of the gardens and circled about, retracing their steps.
“’Tis not a question of trust.”
Silence hung between them for almost a full moment before he tightened his grip on her arm. “Then it is a question of desire?”
Theodosia took a deep breath and glanced at him before responding—and at that moment, she saw the desire in his eyes.
He wanted her. There was no teasing here, no embarrassment at his question, just an earnest request to understand her.
Why was she holding back? Why would she consider opening up to him? Such conflicting emotions warred in her heart, but Theodosia could no longer ignore the feelings he stirred in her.
She swallowed and turned to face the path as she murmured, “Nonsense.”
Three pairs of couples walked by, each in earnest conversation.
“This is a time for courting,” Albemarle said in a normal voice, as though the last few minutes had not occurred.
“Yes,” she said, grasping at a seemingly neutral topic of conversation. “Yes, Sydney Gardens are frequented by many courting couples. Its many open wide spaces make it suitable for—”
“Let’s practice courting now,” he said, interrupting her in that endearingly irritating way. Lowering his voice, he continued, “Miss Ashbrooke. I am relieved we are alone, finally. I have much to tell you.”
This was too intense once again. “Really?”
Albemarle nodded. “About how I feel. About how you make me feel.”
The only connection between them was her arm in his, and yet it seemed to overwhelm her. The pressure of his fingers on hers. The little part of her skin that was touching his, a promise of something to come.
If only this were real. If only the words he said meant something. She would give anything—almost anything—for Albemarle to say those words truthfully.
But he was just teasing. This was just practice, wasn’t it?
She was his matchmaker, and she had to remember that.
“Very good,” she said lightly. “But you may wish to slow down there. Your intended bride may not be ready for such protestations of affection.”
They had turned a corner into a wooded area. The other people enjoying Sydney Gardens had stayed near the gates. They were alone.
Albemarle stopped. “Theodosia, I am not teasing you.”
This could not be permitted to continue. She had to stop it before—
“I cannot believe I am saying this, but…damnit, Theodosia, I have been honest from the start,” said Albemarle with a smile. “Theodosia, I want you, not one of the ladies in your damned book!”
“You—you cannot be serious,” she stammered, her pounding heart threatening to crack one of her ribs. “You said yourself, you have no wish to get married at all!”
“Can’t a man change his mind?” He looked wild. “Marry me, Theodosia.”
She pulled her arm away and stepped back. He was mad. He was jesting! She should laugh—it was a joke.
Her brittle laughter stopped the moment she saw his expression. Albemarle was rarely serious, but he was now, and there was that desire in his eyes still.
“But I-I…I am a matchmaker, not a countess!” was all she could think to say.
Albemarle smiled. “I could change that.”
Theodosia opened her mouth but said nothing. This was a dream—one of her wild dreams she would never tell anyone.
She barely knew him. He was teasing her, distracting her from what his mother had paid her to do. She was here to help him find a wife, and she would never marry a client.
The hope that had started to spring inside her was quelled. “Thank you, but no.”
Albemarle sighed theatrically. “Damnit, Theodosia, I am serious. More than serious. When are you going to realize I am determined to have you?”
It was almost word for word what Frederick—what he had once said to her.
“I have never been more serious, Theodosia. When will you realize I am determined to have you, no matter what she says?”
She swallowed. She would never allow herself to be vulnerable like that again. She would never let her heart hurt again.
She was a matchmaker—she found matches for others. That was the closest she would get to a proposal.
It was fortuitous that, at that moment, Miss Howarth came into view.
“Miss Howarth!” Theodosia said loudly, almost sagging with relief.
The lady smiled and came closer, evidently intrigued.
“Miss Howarth, the Earl of Lenskeyn,” said Theodosia in a hurried rush. “Why do you not walk together for a bit? I have an errand, such a shame I did not recall sooner.”
She only risked a brief glance at Albemarle, who looked disappointed.
“Are you sure you will not stay, Miss Ashbrooke?” he asked stiffly. “As a chaperone? I am not sure if I am ready for an unchaperoned walk?”
His words were designed to make her smile, and he was successful, but it was not enough to dissuade her. The best thing she could do was to remove herself from this situation.
As soon as possible.
“Nonsense,” she said brusquely. “You have just proven to me you are, and I am sure Miss Howarth has nothing to worry about. Good day, my lord, Miss Howarth.”
It took every bit of her will not to look back as she walked away.
Chapter Eight
“And the dress! Oh, my lord, the wedding gown is simply sublime. Designed to mirror the wedding cake in every conceivable way, it has tiers of…”
If Miss Lymington did not alter her topic of conversation soon, he was going to achieve what he had considered the impossible and fall asleep standing up.
“Very elegant, I must say,” she simpered, looking through delicate lashes. “Naturally, the gown was designed with the church in mind. Have you ever been to St. Anne’s? A delightful little place, you can easily miss it if you do not know…”
He swallowed, hoping his glazed expression did not reveal to the young lady just how bored he really was. Footmen passed with platters of sweetmeats and pastries as the music echoed from the room next door.
The dancing had begun, then. Though he would have little chance to dance himself unless he could extricate himself from this outpour of nonsense from Miss Lymington.
“My sister always liked the finer things in life, and with a marriage agreed with the Duke of Larnwick, she can adequately plan for them,” she was saying, a little sneer not quite controlled. “That is why the diamonds of his mother have been called from the family vault, of course. She was determined to have them, and I said to her, Issy, diamonds are not the thing you should be mostly concentrating on! But then, how often does one wed a duke?”
Albemarle waited for her to continue and then realized he was expected to contribute at this point. “Oh, yes, to be sure. I cannot think when I ever have wedded a duke.”
His sarcasm went utterly unnoticed.
“Well, precisely! But if we are going with diamonds for you, I said, then really pearls on the wedding cake no longer suit. We decided to…”
Albemarle had no idea how to make her stop. He could not recall being so bored in his life—weren’t balls in Bath supposed to be wild, adventurous, exciting things?
Countless letters from friends and acquaintances had made their way across the Continent to him in Greece, imploring him to return, teasing him with hints of exuberance, tantalizing details of wild parties.
He raised an eyebrow as he took in the polite clusters of quiet conversation, the lack of good wine, and the sound of cheerful but hardly exuberant dancing in the other room.
Here he was, stuck hearing about a wedding he had no interest in between two people he had never met!
“Indeed.”
“Indeed, they did,” beamed Miss Lymington, tapping him gently with her fan. “I could not credit it, but there you are, I am wrong sometimes! When our mother heard that…”
Had ladies always been this dull? Albemarle tried to think back to the few ladies he knew and found he could barely recall their conversation. It must be a coincidence, surely, but since his ridiculous marital training had begun with Theodosia—Miss Ashbrooke, he really must remember to call her that in public—every other lady he conversed with simply…
Faded into the background. Their topics of conversation, their choice of language, and most importantly, their ability to keep Albemarle entertained, had all disappeared.
He smiled. Theo. She really was one of a kind, and the damned woman should have been here by now. She had said nine o’clock, and it was almost ten now. Why was she always making him wait?
Miss Lymington was smiling. Why was she smiling? Had she said something witty—should he have laughed?
Albemarle stiffened as she tapped him with her fan once again. Christ alive, he had been smiling at the thought of Theo, and now the silly girl thought he was smiling at her!
“Well, you know what they say,” she said with a delicate smile. “Going to one wedding brings on another. My family is so well-practiced in the art of wedding planning now, I hope we will soon be able to put our skills to the test.”
What was she driveling about? “Oh, yes?”
She simpered, and Albemarle worked hard not to roll his eyes. Well, there goes another society miss with completely the wrong idea about his intentions. Poor Miss Howarth from that irritating card party probably had the same idea—the same incorrect idea, especially after that walk in Sydney Gardens.
He was not about to propose to anyone, and he was damned if he was going to let Theo arrange a bride for him.
Not when his dreams were full of the matchmaker herself…
Always the Matchmaker (Never the Bride Book 8) Page 8
