A Matchmaker's Match

by Nina Coombs Pykare

  “Well, what do you think?” Psyche asked anxiously.

  He was tempted to ask her “think about what,” but, poor darling, she really was worried about Amanda. “I think he’s taken with her.”

  “Then why doesn’t he speak?”

  The earl grinned. “The poor fool doesn’t know it yet, that’s all.”

  Psyche sighed in exasperation. “How can we make him realize it?” She grimaced. “Short of hitting him over the head with something.”

  The earl shrugged. “Some men are rather dense in matters of love.”

  “Indeed!” Psyche snorted. “I should say so.”

  Her gloved hand lay still upon his coat sleeve. He covered it with his own. “Please, Psyche, don’t fret yourself over this. I promise you—we will contrive it someway, somehow. Amanda will have her Overton.

  “And now,” he said, “how would you like to set this company on its collective ear?”

  Psyche stared up into his eyes, eyes dancing with laughter. Why must he be such a terribly attractive man? “And how shall I do that?”

  “Simple. Dance with me again.”

  “Southdon!” Shock had made her voice rise. People nearby turned to look at them. She spoke more softly. “We have already danced twice. You know to do more will cause talk. Why, it might even prevent suitors from calling on Amanda.”

  “So it might,” the earl agreed, raising a mocking eyebrow. “And would that be such a terrible thing, considering that—”

  “No, I guess not.” Psyche looked out on the dance floor, where an adoring Amanda was being whirled around and gazing up at her guardian from worshipful eyes. “But . . .”

  Psyche sighed. She loved the waltz, the invigorating beat, the tantalizing rhythm, the feel of the music in her very blood. But most of all she loved being in the earl’s arms, loved the excitement, the joy of it.

  “Didn’t I do a good job before?” he inquired. “Guiding you through the steps of the dance?”

  “Yes,” she conceded. “And I admit there’s some logic to what you propose, but Southdon— you know how my cousin is about propriety. He will explode when he hears this!”

  The earl laughed. “Look at him. He wouldn’t notice if everyone else in the room left!” He took a step toward the dance floor. “Come, Lady Bluestocking, I dare you!”

  “That’s unfair!” she cried, unable to keep from laughing. “To use what I told you about myself against me. How ungentlemanly.”

  He extended a hand, grinning down at her. “Indeed, it is ungentlemanly. But it’s also fun. Come, what do you care? They talked about you before. The whole of fashionable London repeated your epigrams with great glee.”

  She swallowed a sigh. “I know.”

  “It didn’t bother you then. Don’t let it bother you now. Let them talk. We won’t mind it.”

  “You are mad,” Psyche said. “No one goes against the dictates of the ton. Lady Jersey and the others—”

  “Do you wish to frequent Almack’s? Eat stale cake and drink warm lemonade?”

  “Of course not. I’m too ol— My Season is over.”

  “Then you need not fear Almack’s patronesses. Do you wish to make calls and be received?”

  She glared at him in mock exasperation. “You know I don’t. I wish only to get Amanda safely married to Overton.”

  Again he smiled down into her eyes. “Then dance with me. I will handle anything Overton may say to you. And I will bear the brunt of his criticism.”

  Psyche laughed. It was not a healthy laugh, but one of resignation. “You will go home,” she said. “When the ball is over, you will go home. And I will remain here—with Overton—and bear his scolding.”

  The earl let his hand fall to his side. “I am sorry,” he said. “You are quite right.”

  Perversely, Psyche wished he hadn’t given up. Other women had their husbands, had someone to love them. And she had no one. As soon as Overton could be made to see the truth, she would return to Sussex. But life in the country would never be the same—not after this, not after she knew what it was like to dance with a man she loved, to be carried in his arms, to feel his breath on her cheek, to wish for—

  “You are quite right,” he said. “I am beyond the bounds on this. We will just watch. Proper, staid, correct.”

  But she didn’t want to be correct. She wanted, desperately, dangerously, to be in his arms again. And this might be her last chance. “Yes,” she said.

  He raised an eyebrow. “Yes,” she repeated more firmly. “We will dance again. But you must help me with Overton when he finds out. You know how he fusses. And we must make him recognize that he loves Amanda.”

  “Have no fear about that,” said the earl. “I have in mind a plan.”

  Psyche frowned. “If only we could speak outright to him.”

  The earl shook his head. “I don’t think that would work. You must never give Overton advice, at least not openly. You must sneak it in, let him think it is his own idea.”

  Psyche stared at him. “You speak like someone who knows.”

  Fool, the earl told himself. You can’t let her know that you planted the idea of her managing Amanda’s come-out in her cousin’s mind. He nodded. “Well, he has been my friend for some time. So I’ve learned how to deal with him.” He smiled at her, putting all his charm into it. But still she frowned. Why wouldn’t the charm that had put London’s women at his feet work on this one who meant so much to him?

  He had no answer. But he knew he wouldn’t give up. Psyche was meant for him. He didn’t question that; he couldn’t. He took her in his arms, smiled down into her lovely face, and waltzed her out on the floor.

  Chapter Twelve

  That dance ended, too, far too soon to suit Psyche. And as they left the dance floor, Georgie approached them, Gresham trailing behind her.

  “Southdon!” she cried. “You naughty boy!” She rapped him smartly on the wrist with her fan. “You have been here long enough to dance and you have not come to pay your respects to me. How dare you, you wretch!”

  The earl smiled and bowed over her outstretched hand. “A thousand pardons, Georgie dear. But I saw you occupied with Gresham there. And I would never wish to intrude.”

  Georgie shrugged, as though dismissing the man behind her. “Have you forgotten that you promised me a dance?”

  “Of course not. How could I?”

  Psyche swallowed a sigh, and watched as Georgie led the earl off.

  “Like a tame bear,” Gresham murmured.

  Psyche turned. Gresham looked as though he’d lost his best friend. “I beg your pardon?”

  “She leads a man, any man, around like a tame bear,” Gresham explained. He sighed, fixing her with a beseeching look. “You’re her friend, Psyche. Tell me, please, how can I win her?”

  Psyche bit back brittle laughter. She was hardly the person to give advice in matters of love. But the man was so troubled, she had to do something to help him. “I don’t know,” she began. “Have you indicated your feelings to her?”

  Gresham groaned. “Oh yes, many times. But she laughs at me and then she smiles at someone else.” He ran a hand through his hair, leaving it even more mussed than usual. “She treats me like a servant. And yet, sometimes, I think I see in her eyes that, that she may care about me.”

  He sighed piteously. “It’s driving me crazy. She’s driving me crazy. Oh, Psyche, what am I to do?”

  She frowned. “I don’t really know, but I have heard--”

  “Yes, what?” He stared at her eagerly.

  “I have heard that some women, like some men, can be won by making them jealous.”

  “Jealous?” Gresham considered this. “You mean I should pretend to have a tendre for someone else?”

  Psyche nodded. “Perhaps you needn’t go quite that far. That is, you don’t wish to cause some poor young woman pain.”

  “Of course not.” Gresham’s face brightened. “Jealous! Yes! I will try that. And thank you.”

 
“You’re quite welcome. I only hope it works.”

  Psyche watched Gresham stride off to where a beautiful young thing waited to be swept away in the dance. And she noted that he maneuvered his partner past Georgie and the earl, and that while doing so, Gresham appeared to take no notice of them at all.

  Jealousy, Psyche thought, sinking into a chair, was supposed to be a primitive human emotion. Could they use jealousy to bring Overton up to scratch, to get him to offer for Amanda himself? She’d have to ask the earl and see what he thought about it. Too bad she didn’t know some way to make him jealous.

  But even if someone else danced with her, which she doubted would happen given her reputation, the earl would feel no jealousy. He didn’t think of her in that way, but merely as a friend, someone safe to talk to. Someone, she thought bitterly, who would not always be throwing herself into his arms.

  On the other side of the ballroom, Aunt Anna, like some giant ruffled beast, bore down on Overton. Her fan waved wildly as she gesticulated. And then she held up three gloved fingers.

  That was it. Psyche thought, as a scowling Overton glanced her way. The fat was in the fire. Who would have thought that Aunt Anna would be the one to count dances?

  Psyche straightened in her chair, bracing herself. Overton was crossing the dance floor toward her, determination in his gaze. From the look of him he didn’t mean to wait till the ball was over. She was in for a royal scold. And right now.

  She glanced out over the room. Where was the earl when she needed him? And then she spied him, whirling in great circles around the floor, while Georgie laughed up at him, her perfect white teeth sparkling, her pink lips gently parted.

  Psyche gnawed on her bottom lip. This was to add insult to injury. Not only must she bear the scolding alone, but while she was doing it the earl would be dancing and flirting with Georgie!

  “Psyche!”

  Overton stood before her, his face a veritable thundercloud.

  She got to her feet. “Yes, cousin?”

  “You--! The earl--! How could you?”

  She didn’t bother to ask him what he was upset about. “We danced,” she said calmly. “It meant nothing.”

  Overton did not look appeased. “Nothing, you say! Three times with the earl! Three times! It’s outrageous.”

  “It’s nothing of the sort,” Psyche said. “Why make such a fuss over an extra dance?”

  Overton frowned. “It’s not the dance, but the fact that you defied convention. The patronesses—”

  Psyche shrugged. “Some old women. Who gave them the right to make the rules?”

  Overton’s face slowly turned purple. “Who?” he sputtered.

  “Psyche’s right.”

  She turned. The earl stood behind her, Georgie hanging on his arm.

  “We give the patronesses too much power,” the earl continued with a comforting glance at Psyche. “We wanted to dance and so we did. Why should we let someone dictate to us?”

  “Why indeed?” echoed Georgie, looking up at him with laughing eyes.

  Overton frowned. “You’re all missing the point. By your selfish behavior you have done irreparable damage to Amanda’s reputation.” He glared at Psyche. “I am very disappointed in you.”

  The earl stiffened. This had gone far enough. No one was going to treat his Psyche in this demeaning fashion. “Come now, Overton,” he said, putting iron in his voice. “That’s enough. None of this was Psyche’s fault. It was my idea, all of it.”

  A flush of color stole slowly up Psyche’s cheeks, making her even more beautiful. God, how he wanted to take her in his arms, surround her with his love, keep her safe always.

  Let the whole world chatter. They meant nothing to him. No one would hurt his Psyche. He wouldn’t let them.

  Overton stood silent, but he seemed plainly unconvinced.

  “The earl is right,” Georgie said, patting his sleeve in a possessive way and smiling at Overton. Unfortunately, since he was watching Overton, he missed Psyche’s reaction to Georgie’s ploy. “A person should be able to dance with whomever he pleases,” she declared.

  “Well,” Overton conceded, appearing mollified by Georgie’s considerable charm. “Perhaps. But Mama was all distraught, making such a row and--”

  “Too bad you didn’t let your mama manage tonight,” the earl began pointedly. “Amanda would have been quite striking in that gown of—”

  Overton gulped and turned to Psyche. “I’m sorry. I’ve been unfair to you. You’ve worked very hard on this come-out.” He sighed. “I don’t wish to be ungrateful. I know you’ll help me find Amanda a proper husband. It’s just that sometimes Mama drives me quite mad with her plans and her complaints.”

  “I understand,” Psyche said. And she actually did. She glanced at the earl, who was still wearing Georgie on his sleeve, and then back to Overton. “If you’ll excuse me, cousin, I must see to the refreshments.”

  Overton nodded. “Of course.”

  “Wait,” Georgie called after her. “I will come with you. It’s been a while since we had a nice chat.”

  With the earl looking on, Psyche could only nod.

  “The ball is going very well,” Georgie said as they moved across the floor. “You have done a really admirable job. I could never have managed such a thing. And to do so with Overton’s mama thwarting you at every turn—” She shook her golden head. “I cannot understand how you can bear to be in the same house with such a woman.”

  Psyche shrugged. “You forget. My own mama gave me a lot of practice.”

  Frowning, Georgie patted her arm. “You poor dear. Well, once you get Amanda properly married you can return to Sussex.” Georgie sent her a sidelong glance. “That is what you mean to do, isn’t it?”

  Psyche stared straight ahead. “Yes, of course.”

  “Well, Amanda will have to marry someone ‘other than Southdon. He would not want—”

  “Yes,” Psyche said, more sharply than she intended. “I know. He would not want such a child.”

  Georgie nodded and rolled her eyes. “Isn’t he a fine figure of a man, though? So handsome, so charming, so—”

  “The earl is a man,” Psyche said abruptly, “Like any other man.”

  “Of course.” Georgie grinned. “I thought maybe you’d gotten over that Lady Bluestocking nonsense, but I see you haven’t. Really, Psyche, I’m worried about you. You need to forget that silliness and find yourself a husband.”

  “I—I don’t wish to talk about it,” Psyche said firmly. “And if we’re on the subject of possible husbands, why do you treat poor Gresham so abominably? The man really admires you, you know.”

  Georgie shrugged. “I can’t help what men feel for me. And tell me, why should I settle for a viscount when I can have an earl? Oh look, Lady Jersey is motioning to me. I must go.”

  And she hurried away. A curse rose to Psyche’s lips, but she swallowed it. Georgie was Georgie— and there was no point in railing about it. The earl had been on the town for some time. Certainly he was conversant with all the varied traps which a single woman might lay for a man. He would not be caught unless he wished it.

  The thought gave her scant comfort. He might well wish it. Georgie was beautiful—and she knew how to give a man what he wanted.

  Across the room the earl was still smoothing Overton’s ruffled feathers. “You have done an admirable job with Amanda,” he said. “Of course, she has been going about London so when people come to call she’ll be able to discuss the sights.”

  Overton turned pale. “I—ah—I believe they’ve been too busy getting ready for the come-out to take in many sights.”

  “Too bad,” said the earl nonchalantly. “She will be at a loss for topics of discussion. And if someone mentions the “Folly,” which will happen sooner or later since everyone is talking about it, she will appear ignorant.” He shrugged. “What a shame. I’m sure you’re too busy to bother with a chit. Perhaps she can get a husband just by her looks, though some men do require a
little conversation from their wives.”

  “I’m not too busy,” Overton said, pulling at his cravat. “But I don’t know where to take her. Or how to make up a party.”

  The earl frowned. “Well, I did have other plans, but since you’re my friend— Well, I suppose I can help you out.”

  Overton grabbed his hand. “Thank you, you’re a true friend. Shall we say tomorrow afternoon?”

  “Fine,” the earl replied. “I’ll be there.” He looked out across the floor. “I say, who is that fellow dancing with Amanda now? He looks old enough to be her father.”

  Overton sighed. “You’re right. I just believe I’ll have a word with him.” And off he went.

  The earl smiled to himself. His plan was working. Tomorrow he’d have Psyche on his arm and—

  “You look like the cat that swallowed the cream,” Georgie said, appearing at his side and grinning up at him.

  “Perhaps I do.” He glanced around and lowered his voice. “Tell me, what did she say?”

  Georgie frowned. “I tried to pump her, but Psyche’s no pea brain. She wouldn’t talk.”

  His impatience was getting the better of him. “What did she say about me?”

  Georgie shrugged. “She said you are a man, like any other man.”

  The world seemed to darken. He was no more to her than any fool that—

  “But,” Georgie continued, “you must not despair.”

  “Why not?” he asked eagerly, feeling a surge of hope. “What do you know?”

  Georgie grinned. “I know Psyche. She cannot fool me. She likes you.”

  “But she said-”

  Georgie glared at him in exasperation. “Southdon, I think love has addled your wits.”

  “But--”

  “Any sane woman would agree that you’re an exceptional man. Since Psyche did not agree, it’s very clear.”

  He groaned. This female approach to things had no logic. “Georgie, please, have mercy on me. What is clear?”

  “It’s clear she’s interested in you.”

  The breath left his lungs in a great whoosh. “But how do you know—”

  “I told you. I know because her disinterest is not reasonable.”