Love is Come (Power of the Matchmaker)

by Heather B. Moore

  “Mitch?” Her heart was drumming like mad, and not from excitement. Worry pushed its way through.

  “Nelle,” he whispered, lowering his head until she felt his breath on her face. “I need to give you my answer.”

  For a moment, Nelle had no idea what he was talking about. Then she remembered—the musicale. She tried to step away, but his hands only tightened about her hips, keeping her in place.

  “Mitch, let me go—”

  He didn’t give her a chance to finish. He pulled her against him and started kissing her neck, her collarbone, and then lower.

  She arched away with a gasp, which only encouraged him, and his arms tightened around her. “Mr. Barlow!” she said in a sharp tone. “What are you doing?”

  He raised his head, his eyes half open and slightly unfocused. “Don’t tell me that you don’t want to kiss me.”

  “I…” she began as her stomach jolted and her eyes pricked with tears. Was a first kiss supposed to be like this? All hot and rushed with no terms of endearment? In a barn with people milling about outside? She felt utterly and completely stupid.

  “I did once,” she said, her words choking out. “Not…anymore. I’m sorry.”

  His expression changed from lazy contentedness to disbelief. Nelle took this opportunity to step away from his slackened grasp. Before she could give him a chance to react, she hurried out of the barn into the bright sunlight.

  She blinked at the brightness as she tried to get her bearings. She didn’t know which way to go, but she would not turn back and ask Mitch. There was only so much humiliation she could take. He’d been kissing her—a gorgeous and wealthy man—one she’d been daydreaming over for months. And what did she do? Got cold feet and pushed him away.

  Turning left, she stumbled through a small alley until she came out to a lane that led away from the arena and stretched into a series of fields. She desperately wished Dottie would appear and help her make sense of what had happened. Nobody came, and eventually, she walked back through the alley, past all the stables—now empty—and skirted the edge of a lingering group of people near the track.

  Dottie was nowhere to be seen. Surely her friend thought she was enraptured with Mitch and not on the verge of tears, desperate to get home.

  “Nelle Thompson?” a woman’s voice said.

  Nelle turned, hoping that her eyes didn’t look like she was about to cry. “Mrs. Jeppsen,” Nelle said, smiling as best as she could. The petite woman, wearing a massive flowered hat, was a friend of her mother’s, and Nelle had never been so glad to see her.

  “I seem to have become separated from the friend I came with,” Nelle said. “Do you have room to take me home?”

  Mrs. Jeppsen’s brow lifted slightly, but she was all smiles. “Of course, dear. We were just leaving.”

  Mr. Jeppsen nodded his head and greeted Nelle.

  She was sure they’d have plenty to speculate about after they dropped her off at home. For the moment, Nelle didn’t care. She wanted to leave.

  As she walked with Mr. and Mrs. Jeppsen toward their waiting carriage, Nelle wished she’d been forthright with her parents about attending the races. Now she’d have to tell them, for there was no way the Jeppsens wouldn’t mention giving her a ride home. It seemed her adventure was over.

  That’s why you’re nearly one–and-twenty and yet unmarried, Dottie’s voice echoed through Nelle’s mind. She’d always blamed her twenty years of unmarried status on her parents—their formality, their stuffiness, their old-fashioned sense of courting. Her parents’ marriage had been arranged, and Nelle feared that if she turned twenty-one before she secured a proposal, she might end up with someone like Mr. Gifford.

  She climbed into the Jeppsens’ carriage and sank back into the thick upholstery. Mrs. Jeppsen chattered as they rode while Mr. Jeppsen absorbed himself in the newspaper. Nelle forced herself to answer, when appropriate, though her thoughts were back in that warm barn and on the amorous kiss from Mitch Barlow.

  She should be feeling breathless, dreamy, and not quite herself…if she was to believe Dottie’s accounts of her various kissing experiences. Yet, Nelle only felt discontented, empty, and somehow raw, as if she’d fallen on the boardwalk and scraped herself up, except on the inside.

  “It’s the talk of the month,” Mrs. Jeppsen was saying when Nelle tuned back in. “Everyone is going to the Vandagriff wedding. You can be sure they won’t spare any expense on their only daughter.”

  Nelle smiled, feeling her spirits rise a little. She and Dottie had already discussed what they’d wear to the wedding festivities. Nelle, as usual, would be ordering something new, and Dottie would be revamping one of her old dresses. While they did move in the same circles, it could be said that Nelle’s parents didn’t skimp on any expense either.

  As Mrs. Jeppsen continued to describe the decorations the Vandagriffs had already put on order, Nelle imagined what her own wedding might be like. The social elite would all be invited, of course, and there would be an extravagant wedding rehearsal dinner, followed by the ceremony the next day at the wedding hall.

  Dottie would be her maid of honor. And since Nelle was an only child, her bridesmaids would be her fiancé’s sisters. First, she needed a fiancé. Perhaps she and Dottie could have a double wedding. Although, as soon as Nelle thought this, she knew that her mother would never consent. She’d want Nelle to have her own exclusive day.

  The carriage pulled up to the gate in front of her home, and Nelle gave her profuse thanks to the Jeppsens before climbing out. She made her way through the side gate and took the path that led around the house, for she didn’t want to make a huge entrance when she felt her tears trying to surface again.

  Unfortunately, her mother was in the kitchen with the cook, instructing her on something or another. When Nelle passed along the corridor, her mother’s voice rang out.

  “Nelle! You’ve returned just in time. I was telling the cook that we need to have a variety of your favorite desserts for the musicale. This will be a great conversation piece with Mr. Barlow.”

  Nelle stopped, blinking rapidly. She had to face her mother, and she couldn’t be crying when she did so. She figured she would have to tell her mother that she was now taking Mitch Barlow off the invitation list. But that could come later, when she was more composed.

  “Nelle?” Her mother’s voice was right behind her.

  Drat. Nelle turned.

  “My dear, what’s wrong?” Her mother never missed a thing. Her auburn-brown hair was done up to perfection, as always, but the deep blue eyes that Nelle inherited were wide with concern.

  “I…” Nelle bit her lip, unsure how to continue.

  Her mother linked arms with her. “Let’s go into the sitting room and send for a bit of tea.” She lowered her voice. “We can’t have you upset in front of the servants.”

  Her mother said something to the cook about tea, then ushered Nelle to their private sitting room, near the back of the house, that overlooked the gardens. The late afternoon sun turned the pale blue and yellow room into a rich gold.

  After the tea was brought, her mother handed Nelle a cup. “Now, tell me what’s happened, dear. Was it something Dottie said to you?” she asked. She wrinkled her dainty nose. “I know that you’re the best of friends, but she can be a bit outspoken and brash.”

  “No, Mother, it’s not Dottie.” Nelle took a deep breath, knowing her mother wasn’t going to like what she was about to say next. “I did go someplace with Dottie, though, and I caught a ride home with the Jeppsens.”

  Her mother’s eyebrows lifted into a furious arch. “The Jeppsens? They were at the horse races.”

  “Yes,” Nelle said, her voice rough. “That’s where I went with Dottie.”

  Her mother folded her arms and stared at Nelle, not saying a thing, though her disappointment was plain on her face.

  “I’m sorry I didn’t let you know earlier. It was foolish of me,” Nelle said, taking a deep breath. “Dottie thought it
would be a good place to see people before the summer,” she added. “I ran into Mitch Barlow there. He had asked me to dance at the Christmas ball, and I have always been fond of him.”

  Her mother’s expression softened with interest. “I didn’t know you were hung up on Mr. Barlow. Why did you go chasing after him at such a detestable place as the horse races—with crowds, dust, and the unavoidable smell of sweating horses?”

  If Nelle hadn’t been so distraught over Mitch, she might have laughed at her mother’s aversion to any smell that was even slightly unpleasant.

  “And,” her mother continued, “why did you not tell Father or me? You know Father wouldn’t have allowed his daughter to show up unattended like that.”

  “Dottie was with me most of the time,” Nelle said, although she knew this would be of little comfort to her mother and even less to her father. She looked down at her twisting hands. “I regret every moment of it. Not only was I less than honest with you but I also discovered Mitch Barlow’s true character when he kissed me.”

  Her mother gasped, and Nelle wanted to gasp at this herself. She hadn’t expected to be quite so forthright, especially with her own mother.

  “He—kissed you? Where? When?”

  “In the barn past the stables,” Nelle said, looking down at her full cup of tea. If only her heart could be as still as the liquid inside her cup.

  “Did he declare his intentions? His devotion?” Her mother’s voice quavered. It seemed as if she knew what Nelle was about to say.

  “No, Mother,” Nelle said, her own voice tremulous. “He was…he thought I wanted him to kiss me. He thought I’d welcome it. There were no declarations. And when I put a stop to it, he seemed quite surprised that I’d do so.”

  “Oh, Nelle.” Her mother grasped her hand. “I’m afraid some things we have to learn the hard way. You should have never gone to the races without permission. Father will be livid about Mr. Barlow. He’ll make a visit—”

  “I don’t want Father to know,” Nelle cut in. “Please, Mother. I don’t want to make it such a big deal. Women kiss men all the time nowadays, and it means nothing half of the time.”

  “It does not mean nothing,” her mother insisted. A red stain had crept up her neck. “Mr. Barlow is a player—most men are at some point in their lives—but you are my daughter as well, and I will not let you be mistreated.”

  “Let’s forget it ever happened,” Nelle said. She raised the hot tea to her lips and swallowed the soothing liquid. She closed her eyes as it traveled down her throat. “Dottie will laugh at me if I tell her.”

  “Dottie needs to get married for her own good,” her mother said.

  Nelle couldn’t agree more. But then, where would that leave her? Without her best friend? Their friendship wouldn’t be the same once Dottie married.

  “What about the musicale?” her mother asked. “He’s on the invitation list.”

  “I told him about it and invited him. But that was before…before…I suppose he’s not coming now,” she said. “I don’t think my rejection will be taken easily.”

  Her mother leaned back, a rare moment of breaking her straight posture. “It can’t be changed now. We’ll proceed with the musicale. Father mentioned that Mr. Gifford has been asking after you—”

  “Mother,” Nelle said. “I’ll be all right. We’ll have the musicale, and it will be a wonderful night, with or without Mr. Barlow.” What a difference a few hours had made. She’d been beside herself with excitement earlier to invite Mitch to her home. Now, she hoped to never see him again.

  “Well, then.” Her mother straightened again. “I don’t suppose you want to go to the Sorensons’ for dinner tonight? They’ve invited all of us.”

  “I’d rather stay home,” Nelle said, for she was looking forward to a long bath and perhaps, a bit of a cry.

  Her mother patted her hand again. “Very well, dear. We won’t return until rather late—you know how Mrs. Sorenson likes to go on and on. The poor woman has knee trouble and doesn’t get out much.”

  Nelle smiled absently, her thoughts already a thousand miles away.

  Chapter Four

  Nelle woke with a start and tried to figure out why. Her bedroom was still quite dark—so it was still the middle of the night. She stayed under the covers for a moment, but her sense of unease wouldn’t dissipate. She climbed out of bed and pulled on her robe. She felt with her feet for her plush slippers and stepped into them. Then she padded to her door and opened it.

  All was quiet and dark in the corridor. She continued along the corridor until she reached the top of the stairs that led to the main hall. She listened for the steady, soft swing of the pendulum clock, which she was familiar with, but only absolute silence reigned.

  Slowly, she made her way down the stairs, her eyes becoming accustomed to the darkness. She paused before the clock, peering at the time. The clock had stopped at 12:05 a.m.

  “Oh,” a woman’s voice said.

  Nelle startled and turned to see their housekeeper, Mrs. Brown. She wore a dark-colored robe over her long, white nightgown. Her hair fell in a long braid over her shoulder, a white lace cap perching on her head.

  “I thought you might be your mother,” Mrs. Brown said, tugging her cap more firmly over her hair. “She’s not home yet.”

  Surprise shot through Nelle. According to the stopped clock, it was at least after midnight. “What time is it?”

  “About a quarter after twelve, I’d say.” Mrs. Brown turned on the electric lamp in the hallway, then she turned back to Nelle. “I’m surprised they didn’t send home a note. Perhaps they decided to spend the night at the Sorensons’.”

  “That would be highly unusual,” Nelle remarked, mostly to herself.

  Mrs. Brown’s gaze, which reflected in the light, agreed with Nelle.

  The sound of a carriage came from outside, and Nelle’s shoulders sagged in relief. “They’re here.”

  Mrs. Brown smiled and nodded, then she led the way to the front door. The housekeeper swung the door open as the carriage came to a stop.

  It wasn’t Nelle’s father or mother who stepped down from the carriage, but a man dressed in a dark uniform—the constable.

  Nelle’s mind raced through all the possibilities as to why the constable would show up in the middle of the night and why her parents hadn’t come home yet from their dinner party.

  “Miss Thompson?” the constable said as he walked up the steps.

  “Yes,” Nelle said in a faint voice. She was suddenly grateful for Mrs. Brown’s presence. Without really comprehending what she was doing, she grasped Mrs. Brown’s arm.

  “I’m sorry to disturb you at this late hour, but I have urgent news,” he said, taking off his bowler hat. Nelle watched his fingers wrap around the brim as he held it against his chest. “Your parents were in an accident tonight,” he said, his tone sounding gentle in its deepness.

  Nelle’s eyes snapped up to his face. His expression told her the rest of his news wasn’t good either. “No,” she whispered as she stepped back, pulling Mrs. Brown with her.

  “I’m afraid both of your parents were killed,” the constable said. “I’m very sorry, miss.”

  Numbness spread through Nelle, and she wanted him to take back his words…to have never spoken them at all, to have never come to her home in that carriage of his. She hated the way his eyes filled with concern, as if he thought she might faint, and the way his lips moved as he continued to speak, offering his condolences.

  What did he know of death? Did he actually see her parents?

  “Where are they?” she managed to get out.

  “Their bodies are being transported to the morgue.”

  Bodies? Her parents weren’t bodies. They were living people. They were her parents. “I…I want to see them.”

  “Nelle,” Mrs. Brown said, wrapping an arm about her waist. “Let’s get you inside and sit down. You’ve had a shock.” The tremor in the woman’s voice told Nelle that Mrs. Brown
was in shock as well.

  Moments later, Nelle found herself in the front sitting room, a roaring fire in the hearth, a cup of tea in her hands, and Mrs. Brown fussing over her, trying to bring her comfort. But Nelle didn’t want any of this. She wanted to wake up in the morning and greet both of her parents at breakfast. She didn’t want the gaping hole in her heart to continue to expand.

  The constable stood in the doorway, speaking quietly with the butler. Two housemaids were also awake now, coming in and out of the room. Nelle supposed they were the ones that brought the tea, the ones that lit the fire…

  “I need to see my parents,” Nelle told Mrs. Brown.

  The housekeeper squeezed her hand and shook her head. “We must stay here and do as the constable asks.”

  Nelle pulled her hand away from Mrs. Brown and rose to her feet. “I need to see my parents.”

  The constable turned at the sound of her raised voice. His mouth pulled into a frown as if he were about to deny Nelle’s request.

  She walked toward the constable. “Please, sir, take me to my parents.” The butler simply watched her with his calm blue eyes.

  “Nelle—” Mrs. Brown started.

  But the constable held up his hand. “Very well, miss. I’ll take you to see them if you think you’re ready to. Doesn’t look like any of us are sleeping tonight anyway.”

  It wasn’t long before Nelle and Mrs. Brown were sitting in the carriage with the constable, heading out to the main road. The streets were quiet, and the moon shone halfheartedly, not adding much to the glowing lampposts. There was a chill in the air and the smell of dampness, although no rain clouds threatened above. Only when Mrs. Brown put an arm around Nelle did she realize she was shivering.

  The carriage ride seemed to take ages. Yet, before she knew it, Nelle was stepping out of the carriage, linking arms with Mrs. Brown. They followed the constable into the morgue. With every step, she hoped that this was a terrible nightmare and that she’d wake up soon in her own bed with her parents sleeping safely down the corridor.

  They turned one corner, then another, seeming to follow the hum of the electric lamps. Finally, they arrived at a closed door, and the constable knocked.