A Matchmaker's Match

by Nina Coombs Pykare

  Overton sighed. “Georgie, I just got my hand. I can’t leave now.”

  Georgie tugged at his sleeve. “You must! Please!” She glanced at the earl. “You, too. We will need you.”

  Overton looked startled, as though finally realizing her urgency. He glanced at the cards, then back at Georgie who was staring at him with big appealing eyes.

  She was doing a bang-up job, the earl thought. If he hadn’t been in on the thing, he’d have been really thoroughly alarmed.

  Overton pushed back his chair and got to his feet. “I’ll be back shortly,” he said to the others.

  “Me, too,” the earl said.

  Conscious that all eyes were upon them, he followed Georgie and Overton outside.

  “Now,” Overton said in that pompous tone. “What is it, Georgie? What’s so important?”

  Georgie looked suitably upset, wringing her hands. “Amanda. It’s Amanda.”

  “Amanda!” Overton’s face went white. Now she had the man’s attention. “What about Amanda?”

  “She--”

  The earl tensed—this was the critical moment.

  “She’s been abducted!”

  Overton looked thunderstruck, his face slowly paling. Finally he shook his head. “It can’t be. Come now, Georgie, this is a joke.”

  Georgie looked to the earl and he saw that she was close to giving way. In a minute she’d be laughing outright. “No,” he said hastily. “I think we’d better listen. Georgie, do you know who—”

  “No, I didn’t recognize the man, but I sent Gresham to follow them. And I came looking for you.”

  Overton straightened his shoulders, his face setting in lines of grim determination. “We must find her. The poor child will be terrified.”

  Georgie gave him a look of complete exasperation. “Oh, Overton, you’re such a fool!”

  The man stared at her, amazed. “A fool? Me?”

  “Amanda is not a child,” Georgie went on. “She’s a young woman—woman—and it’s past time you recognized that!”

  Overton looked about to get into an argument with Georgie, of all things. The earl intervened. “How was Gresham to let us know where they went?”

  Overton’s face cleared. “Yes! We can’t stand around like this. We have to find her.”

  “We were in his carriage,” Georgie said. “I jumped out to come to you and he followed them. He said he’d send a groom to the house.”

  Overton nodded. “Then we must go home immediately.” He turned toward the door of the club.

  “Wait!” The earl grabbed him by the sleeve. “Remember, you must not let on to the others. Amanda’s reputation—”

  “I understand. Come, we must hurry.”

  Back at the table, Overton laughed. It was a trifle hollow, but considering the circumstances the earl found it sufficient. “Sorry,” Overton said to the other players. “We’ve got to go. The women need us.” He chuckled. “You know how it is. Some little hubbub they can’t handle on their own.”

  Psyche would have been incensed by such a statement, the earl thought, following the others to the carriage. She would say that women were very good at handling things on their own. And she might be right about that. But she was wrong about this husband thing. And he wasn’t at all sure about this abduction.

  * * * *

  When they reached the house, Gresham’s groom was waiting. “They’re headed toward Gretna Green all right. Milord Gresham is still following ‘em. He said to tell you they’ll probly get as far as the Boar’s Head on the road north.”

  Overton nodded. “Good job, man.” He turned to Georgie. “You can wait here.”

  Georgie frowned. “But--”

  “It’s not going to be a pretty sight,” Overton said. “When I catch the scoundrel—”

  “Amanda will be upset,” Georgie pointed out. “She’ll need a woman.”

  Swallowing a smile, the earl settled back. It was apparent no one was going to cheat Georgie out of a firsthand seat at this spectacle. “We’re wasting time,” he said. “Hadn’t we better get going?”

  Overton sent one long, exasperated look in Georgie’s direction, then apparently resigned himself to her presence. “All right. But you’ll have to keep out of the way.” He called up to the driver, “The road to Gretna Green. And hurry!”

  Then he leaned back, frowning. “I wonder which of those bounders it was. I’ve turned off so many.”

  “We’ll find out soon enough,” the earl said calmly. “Of course, none of this would have happened if the chit had been safely married.”

  Overton frowned fiercely. “She didn’t want any of those suitors. Fribbles, she called them. Told me to send them all away.”

  “Well,” the earl remarked casually. “If you’re not careful, you’ll end up having to marry her yourself.”

  “Myself!” Obviously the idea had not crossed the besotted man’s mind.

  “Yes. You’re a man of property. You can—”

  From her corner of the carriage, Georgie tittered. “Really, Southdon, Amanda wants a younger--”

  “I am not old,” Overton interjected with a scowl.

  “Indeed not,” agreed the earl. “And Amanda does tend to be a little flighty. She needs an older man, a firm hand.”

  Georgie tittered again. “It’s a good thing Psyche didn’t hear you say that.”

  Overton scowled even more. “It’s quite true. The girl’s a trifle scatterbrained. Not that it detracts from her charm.”

  “And she’s used to you,” the earl went on. He examined his cuff. “But marriage—that would mean giving up your freedom. And of course she might prefer someone else.”

  “She hasn’t yet,” Overton said, ignoring the remark about losing his freedom. He took a deep breath. “I’ll do it!” he cried. “I’ll kill the cowardly scum that took her and then I’ll ask her to be my wife!”

  In her corner, Georgie heaved a huge sigh. The earl knew exactly how she felt. It had been touch and go for a while there, but now if Overton didn’t suspect anything when they found Amanda, they should be able to bring it off. Love would triumph. Amanda and Overton would be happy. Gresham and Georgie would be happy.

  He swallowed a sigh. And then there was Psyche. He could wait no longer to ask her. With Amanda safely married, Psyche would be intent on going back to Sussex. He had to propose even though he was still no surer of an affirmative answer.

  A fine pickle for a man of his stripe, he thought ironically, a man any woman in London would jump at the chance to marry—or so Georgie insisted. And here he was, as nervous as any green schoolboy trying to win a smile from the object of his affections.

  Chapter Eighteen

  In due course the carriage arrived at the Boar’s Head. But by that time all its occupants were on edge.

  When the carriage halted, Overton leaped out, glaring madly around. “Where is he? I’ll kill him!”

  “Easy, man,” the earl cautioned. This whole thing was making him more and more uneasy. He loved Psyche but some of her ideas were less than brilliant. And this one in particular . . . “We’ll find her.” He turned to help Georgie down. “Gresham should be around here somewhere.”

  When Overton stomped off toward the inn, Georgie took the earl’s arm. “So far so good,” she murmured.

  “So far,” he repeated gloomily.

  She sent him a surprised look. “I thought we did quite well in the carriage.” She smiled at him. “Now, if you can only do as well with Psyche.”

  That, he thought, was the tricky part.

  Gresham joined them outside the door to the inn. “She’s all right,” he said to Overton. “He’s got her locked in a room upstairs.”

  “Who?” Overton demanded, frowning fiercely. “Who did this dastardly thing?”

  “I don’t know him,” Gresham said, herding him in. “I couldn’t see his face. Come, it’s this way.”

  He led them up the narrow stairs. “There, that door.”

  Overton squared his
shoulders, thrust out his chin, and threw himself against the door. Fortunately it was an old door with weakened hinges. When he hit it, it gave way immediately and he burst into the room, the earl right on his heels.

  Amanda cowered on the cot, rumpled and disheveled. As they burst through the door, she raised a teary face and sobbed, “Oh, Phillip, I knew you’d come!”

  A little melodramatic, the earl thought, but otherwise quite effective. Overton certainly seemed impressed. He gave vent to a string of curses unfit for female ears, rushed across the room, and pulled her into his arms. “Where is the scoundrel?” he demanded angrily. “Has he hurt you? I’ll kill him!”

  “No, no,” Amanda mumbled against his waistcoat. “I am fine, only frightened.”

  Overton held her off from him, scrutinizing her face. “You’re quite sure? You’re not just saying that?”

  “I’m quite sure,” Amanda repeated, clutching at him again.

  “Thank goodness!” Overton looked around as though he expected the villain to be waiting for him. “Now, where is that scoundrel? I’m going to beat him within an inch of his miserable—”

  “He’s gone,” Amanda said quickly. “I think he knew he’d been found out. Anyway, he ran off.” She sobbed against him. “Oh, Phillip, thank goodness you’re here! I was so terribly frightened.”

  The earl watched this little scene with some amusement. Amanda was better versed in womanly wiles than he had supposed. In fact, she was almost expert. But she could not have learned of these tricks from Psyche. Psyche knew nothing of any modes of female deception—or if she did, she refused to use them.

  Overton again held Amanda at arm’s length. “I must talk to you seriously,” he began, his voice stern.

  Amanda’s lower lip quivered. “Of course, Phil-lip.”

  “You have been turning down all your suitors. Each and every one.”

  A single tear slipped from her eye, slid slowly down her cheek. “Yes, Phillip.”

  “I want you to marry. You know that.”

  “But--”

  “And so I have chosen a husband for you.”

  The girl looked positively stricken. “You— You have?”

  “Yes. And I want you to think most seriously about this.”

  Amanda sniffled. “Ye-- Yes, Phillip.”

  Overton frowned, looking grim. “Now, the men who’ve asked for you have not been to your liking. You didn’t care for them. Am I right about this?”

  “Yes, Phillip.”

  “You didn’t know them and you were fearful. But you know this man I have in mind. So there’s no need to fear. You know him well.”

  Amanda’s lip trembled even more. “I—I do?”

  “Yes!” Overton shouted. “It’s me! I want you to marry me!”

  “Oh, yes!” Amanda cried, throwing herself into his arms with such force that she nearly took them both to the floor. “Oh, yes, Phillip! I want to marry you!”

  As his friend folded Amanda into his arms, the earl turned away. There in the corridor stood Georgie and Gresham, staring into each other’s eyes like a couple of lovesick calves. Another couple in love.

  He sighed. Where was Psyche? He couldn’t put this off any longer.

  Catching Gresham’s eye, he mouthed her name.

  Gresham pointed to the next door and grinned.

  The earl approached the room with some trepidation. He wanted to ask her, he had to ask her, and yet he was afraid. He knocked. There was no answer. He knocked again.

  The door opened. Psyche stood there, staring up at him, her eyes questioning. “Did it—”

  “Overton just proposed to Amanda. And of course she accepted. Our mission is accomplished.”

  Psyche nodded. “That’s wonderful.” She turned away, back into the room so he couldn’t see her face. She didn’t feel wonderful, she felt just awful. Now that she had no more reason to remain in London, no more reason to be with the earl, she wasn’t sure she could bear to leave.

  “So,” he said, stepping into the room after her. “Lady Bluestocking has won again. But this time no one will know.”

  Psyche nodded, barely keeping the tears in check. No matter how hard she tried, and she had tried hard, she could not escape the past. She turned, swallowing hastily. “My—work here is done. It’s time for me to return to Sussex.”

  The earl nodded, his face grave. “Yes, I suppose your steward will need instruction. But don’t you think that first you should lay Lady Bluestocking to rest?”

  She stared at him for long moments. “I should like to,” she said finally. “But I don’t know how.”

  The earl smiled, a strange smile. Even in her sadness she noticed its strangeness.

  “Perhaps I can help you,” he said.

  “I don’t see how.”

  He nodded. “Well, when you attend Amanda’s wedding—and then Georgie’s—”

  Psyche barely kept herself from crying out. So Georgie had won him after all. Vivacious, chattering, empty-headed Georgie had won the most wonderful man in the world.

  “If you attend these weddings” he went on, “everyone will see that you are not against matrimony.”

  Psyche nodded, but she hardly heard what he was saying. Georgie could have any man in London. Why did she have to have the earl? Psyche looked down, clenching her hands into fists, hiding them in her skirts. She grit her teeth; she would not cry.

  “But I know an even better way,” he continued, his tone conversational.

  She raised her eyes in surprise. “Better? How?”

  “You can get married yourself. Certainly that would put an end to any and all talk.”

  She couldn’t see him clearly through the tears that filmed her eyes. She swallowed hard, trying to laugh, trying to come up with some joking comment. But no words would come. She could do nothing but stare up into his eyes.

  He made a peculiar, almost tortured, sound. “I suppose this means you’re refusing me?”

  Refusing him? What did he mean? Her heart rose up in her throat and her tongue refused to work properly.

  “I am asking you to marry me,” the earl said ruefully. “But it appears I have made a mistake.”

  She heard him. He had said it! But-- She finally found her tongue. “I thought— You said— Aren’t you marrying Georgie?”

  “Georgie! Good Lord, no!” He looked shocked. “She’s out there in the hall with Gresham. They mean to marry each other.”

  “But-- But--” Psyche was feeling dreadfully confused. “Georgie said she wanted you. She hung on you. She flirted with you. She—”

  “She was helping me,” the earl said heavily. “She told me that jealousy was the way to get you. But obviously she was wrong.” He took a tentative step toward her. “I am sorry, Psyche. I— I hope we can remain friends.”

  “But why-” she asked. “Why didn’t you tell me you loved me?”

  “You’re Lady Bluestocking. I—I didn’t know how to approach you. So I talked Overton into getting you to manage Amanda’s come-out.” He sighed. “Oh, he didn’t know it was my idea. Remember, I told you that being subtle works best with him.”

  She stared at him. “But why—why love me?”

  “When I was in Spain,” he said. “My mother wrote me often. And since she wished to make her letters entertaining, she told me about Lady Bluestocking’s arrival in town, all the latest on-dits, and the shocks the lady delivered to the ton.”

  She was trying to take this all in. He read bewilderment in her eyes. “But—” she began.

  Maybe he still had a chance! “I know it sounds strange,” he continued, afraid to pause, afraid to give her an opportunity to say a definite no. “But you became real to me, more real than the carnage and pain around me. I made a picture of you in my mind. Envisioned you from the details my mother provided.”

  He wished he knew what to say, how to reach her. She looked so shocked, so dazed. “I know this is a surprise to you, but please don’t let it spoil our friendship.”

 
; Why did she stare at him like that, her eyes so wide, so bright with tears? Damnation! “I’m sorry if I offended you,” he went on softly. “But I truly think we could deal together quite well. And I have loved you for such a long time.”

  “Loved?” Psyche muttered, looking even more bewildered.

  Why hadn’t he kept his mouth shut, why had he been in such a rush to spoil things between them? What if she would no longer even allow him friendship?”

  He took her hand in his. She was trembling and his legs weren’t in much better case. “Psyche, please. Don’t send me away.”

  Her pansy eyes widened. “Send you away,” she repeated.

  His heart sank down to his boots. She couldn’t— He’d been so patient, waited so long. He pulled her into his arms, her body warm against his. “Psyche,” he murmured into her hair. “Psyche, I love you. I need you. Please, please, love me. Marry me.”

  She leaned back in his arms, her eyes glittering with tears. Her lips trembled. He could contain himself no longer. Bending, he kissed her. Gathering her to him in an almost frantic embrace, he poured into his kiss all the love and longing of those lonely months of waiting.

  It seemed to him that she responded, but his heart was pounding so that he could hardly breathe. And in the condition he was in he didn’t know how to gauge anything. Finally he released her mouth, looking down into her eyes. “Psyche, for God’s sake say something.”

  Psyche moistened her lips. He loved her! He really loved her! The wonder of it was almost more than she could bear. “Yes,” she whispered.

  He stood there, staring.

  “Yes,” she repeated, her voice stronger. “I will marry you, though it took you forever to ask me. But you must promise me one thing!”

  “Anything, love,” he promised, smiling at her with such joy that she thought her heart would overflow. “What is it?”

  She searched his face earnestly. “You must promise not to throw my Lady Bluestocking sentiments up to me. I should like to forget all about her.”

  He nodded. “I promise.” He pulled her closer. “But I don’t really want to forget Lady Bluestocking. She brought us together and—”

  “Here you are!” cried Georgie, popping around the corner from the hall and pulling Gresham after her. She looked them over, observing that Psyche stood in the circle of the earl’s arms. Georgie grinned. “Does this mean—”