Love is Come (Power of the Matchmaker)

by Heather B. Moore

  Nelle followed along by his side. On instinct, he offered her his arm. So she slipped her hand around the crook of his elbow, and Mathew lead the way toward the rows of corn plants.

  “You don’t mind the dirt?” he asked, hardly daring to believe he was escorting Nelle through one of his fields. He knew his mother would be livid, not to mention Nelle’s aunt, but he didn’t dare even think about Alice’s reaction.

  Yet, he was being a friendly neighbor and nothing more. If only his shirt wasn’t so warm, then he could have talked himself into believing this walk and the time he spent with Nelle was completely innocent, something he’d do for a cousin or for the cousin of his almost-fiancée.

  As they walked through the rows, Nelle asked him questions, and Mathew enjoyed every moment of answering them. Finally, in a lull, he asked, “Are you settled into your aunt’s home? Sleeping all right in a new bed?”

  She looked up at him, and he could feel her gaze. “I look tired, don’t I?” she asked.

  “I didn’t want to say that,” Mathew said. “But I hope everything is all right.”

  She let out the barest of sighs. “I don’t sleep well at night…not since my parents’ accident.”

  Mathew’s throat went dry. How could he be so obtuse? “I didn’t mean to intrude.”

  “It’s all right,” she said, coming to a stop so that Mathew had to stop with her. “I don’t mind…it’s actually nice for someone to finally ask.”

  This surprised him. He knew about her aunt’s insistence that she repay any financial costs, but wouldn’t her aunt have been the first to ensure her physical and emotional well-being? “Is there anything I can do for you? Do you need a sleeping draught?”

  “I’ve thought about that,” Nelle said. “But I don’t want to feel groggy all day either. And I don’t think it’s serious enough to send for a doctor. I usually wake up a couple hours after I first fall asleep—dreaming about my parents, sometimes about the accident itself.”

  “Nightmares?” he asked.

  She released a breath. “Yes,” Nelle said in the quietest of voices, starting to walk again as she absently touched the pearls about her neck. “After that, I have trouble falling back asleep again.”

  Mathew felt grateful for the movement since standing in one place, gazing into her blue eyes, wasn’t the best way to put distance between them. “I could ask my mother about a sleeping draught. She’s well-versed in medications.”

  Nelle lifted a shoulder. “Perhaps I should wait…I’m sure I’ll be fine, and the last thing I want to risk is worrying your mother—or my aunt. She has enough concerns on her plate.”

  “Such as today’s tea in your honor?” he suggested.

  Nelle smiled. “Exactly.”

  The conversation turned, but Mathew continued to think about why Nelle wasn’t sleeping well and how one could deal with nightmares after such a tragedy. When his own father died, Mathew still had his mother, at least. But he remembered the pain of several mornings, when he’d awoken and realized anew that his father was gone. Soon after, he was back in school, and the structure and busyness had seemed to help him.

  “Have you ever wanted to do anything besides grow corn?” Nelle asked, breaking into his thoughts.

  Her voice was so light and cheerful that it was too late to speak more of the melancholy she felt about her parents. “Not really,” he said. “I suppose a time or two in school I thought about other professions. But I always pictured myself following my father—since I was his only son.”

  She slowed again and stopped to face him. “I think it suits you.”

  “What makes you say that?” He met her blue gaze and felt his heart flip. Then her face flushed, and Mathew thought it was a beautiful addition to her features.

  “You seem very happy out here,” she said, “and you have a lot to be proud of.” She glanced away as if suddenly shy. “I think your father would be pleased.”

  Mathew didn’t say anything for a moment. How could Nelle have known that his greatest desire was to do right by his father? It made him think about the criticisms Alice had given about his position and how she’d accused him of being far from romantic. Write me a poem, she’d told him. Once he had tried. He’d actually sat down and started to scribble out a few words. But this had only ended up as a balled piece of paper thrown into the hearth.

  “I have been fortunate in many things,” Mathew said.

  Nelle nodded. “It must be nice to carry on your father’s legacy. To work the land he lived on.” Her voice faded.

  “Nelle,” Mathew said, stepping closer as he grasped her hand. Instead of pulling away, she looked up at him. In her eyes, he could see her vulnerability and her trust in him. For some reason, this sight pained him. “It will get easier, I promise. When I lost my father, I buried myself in schoolwork, and eventually, the pain lessened.”

  She blinked rapidly and looked down at their clasped hands. Then she squeezed his hand and withdrew her own. “Thank you. I will hold you to that.” She tried to smile, but she failed. “My father taught me to play the piano,” she said. “And I haven’t been able to play since…his death. Playing used to be like a balm. But now, I’ve lost even that.” Her words seemed to cut off as she attempted to master her emotions.

  Mathew could no longer help himself, so he pulled her into his arms. She came toward him easily, and her curves melded with his body. She rested her head against his chest, and her shoulders shook as she cried silently.

  Mathew knew any words he might offer would be repeats of what she’d probably heard dozens of times, so he simply held her and let her cry. He realized then that he’d do anything to help her—to lessen her pain—even if that was just standing in the middle of a young corn field, holding her.

  The sun warmed them both, but Mathew was already feeling plenty warm. He didn’t know how much time had passed, and when she drew away, it seemed much too soon.

  When she used a handkerchief from her handbag to dry her eyes, Mathew asked, “Are you all right?” Although, it felt trite to say those words.

  “I feel better,” Nelle said. “Sorry, and thank you.” Her fingers worried the pearls about her neck.

  “Don’t be sorry,” Mathew said as he brushed at the moisture still on her cheeks. Her eyes widened, and he froze. “I apologize—again,” he whispered, dropping his hand.

  Instead of drawing away, Nelle stepped closer and rose up on the balls of her feet, kissing him on the cheek. For a moment, he couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe, and then the air rushed into his lungs, making him feel dizzy.

  “Thank you, Mathew,” she said, stepping back and adjusting her hat.

  Her profile was to him now, and his mind was trying to catch up with what had just happened. It was only a friendly kiss of gratitude. One that a cousin or a sister might give to another cousin or a brother. Except, he admitted, they weren’t cousins or siblings.

  “Nelle,” he said, and she turned back toward him, her face as pink as his face felt. “Today at tea…Alice will be there and—”

  She put a hand on his arm. “I know,” she said. “I understand. We’ve had a nice time together, and I appreciate you being a…friend…when I needed one.” She gave him a half smile as she dropped her hand. “I guess I wanted to show you my gratitude before everything changes this afternoon.”

  He felt equal parts relief and disappointment. Well, more disappointed than relieved. But it couldn’t be helped. The fact remained that Alice had returned, and now Mathew would have to turn his full attention to her. Nelle began walking slowly along the corn row, her hands clasped behind her.

  He wanted to stop her and pull her into his arms again to kiss her cheek—or more. But he couldn’t, for their time had run out.

  Chapter Twelve

  Nelle gazed into the looking glass inside her narrow bedroom. There would be no need to pinch her cheeks for color today since every time she thought of her boldness with Mathew earlier, her cheeks turned positively red. What h
ad she been thinking? She’d never kissed a man like that before. She’d never collapsed into a man’s arms and cried like that. What must he be thinking of her now? He was probably glad Alice was finally home so he wouldn’t have to keep rescuing poor Nelle over and over.

  If she weren’t the guest of honor today at the tea party, Nelle would have claimed a headache and stayed inside her room the rest of the day. She had known that she was taking a risk of seeing him when she had ridden the horse out to his fields. Yet, his offer to show her his crops had both pleased and surprised her. She should have politely turned him down and continued her ride.

  But the way his gray eyes lightened as he gazed at her and a glimpse of the sun-browned skin at his throat had made Nelle want to spend the rest of the day with him. She had been truthful when she said crop raising suited him. And she couldn’t have helped but admire his well-cut form and easy stride…Nelle hoped Alice appreciated this man she was about to become engaged to.

  Nelle heard a rustle from the hallway, and an envelope was slipped beneath her door. Nelle hurried to pick it up, surprised at this method of delivery. Miss Thompson was written on the outside, and, as she opened the folded sheet of paper within, she knew immediately that it was from Mathew.

  Met with your man of business. Funds will be transferred early next week.

  —M

  “There you are,” a woman’s voice trilled as the bedroom door suddenly opened.

  Nelle tucked the note beneath a book on her desk and turned to see Alice sailing into the room, blonde ringlets bouncing against her face. Her sharp eyes missed nothing, and she looked Nelle up and down before embracing her lightly—as if Alice didn’t want any part of her hair or white dress to be disturbed. She turned and inspected the bedroom, wrinkling her nose.

  “Why did Mother put you in here?” she asked, but she continued talking without waiting for an answer. “Did you hear the Greenwoods are holding a ball in two weeks? I just found out, and I’ve nothing new to wear to it. I suppose you didn’t bring anything I could borrow, did you?”

  Alice crossed the wardrobe and flung open the wood doors. She started tugging out the few dresses Nelle had brought. They were all dark-colored dresses since Nelle was still in mourning, and none were formal or fit for a ball.

  Alice turned back to Nelle, her arms folded. “There’s no time to order something from the city; I might have to go there myself. Good thing Mathew already wants to propose because I’d never attract a man in my old things. Then again, Mathew hasn’t officially proposed yet. So, I suppose you could say I’m still on the market.”

  Nelle opened her mouth to reply, but she was at a loss for words.

  Alice swept past her with a sardonic smile. “Mother sent me to hurry you along. You know how she hates delays.” She turned as she reached the door again. “Oh, and I’m sorry about your parents,” she added. “I’m sure my mother told you why I couldn’t attend the funeral.” Without waiting for a reply, Alice left, leaving stunned silence in her wake.

  Alice seemed so different now. Was it that Nelle had forgotten how self-absorbed her cousin was over the years? Or was Nelle more sensitive now after her recent tragedy? Perhaps…it was because she’d felt personally affronted about Alice’s offhand comments about Mathew. How could she dismiss him like that?

  Then a bit of hope arose in Nelle’s breast. What if Alice put off Mathew? What if she married someone else entirely? Would that mean Nelle and Mathew would have a chance? Nelle knew her thoughts were wild and her conclusions unfounded. Perhaps she wasn’t thinking straight because of her grief. Mathew had been sweet and compassionate toward her, but this in no way meant he cared about her in a more serious way. Besides, Nelle would be leaving this place as soon as she turned twenty-one.

  The sound of an arriving carriage drew Nelle’s attention to the window. Mathew’s carriage was approaching. In front of his, another carriage was already off-loading people—the Greenwoods, by the look of it. That meant Nelle had to hurry downstairs and begin greeting their arrivals. Turning one last time toward the mirror, she gave herself a critical stare. She wore her pale gray dress, her hair pulled back in a loose twist. She leaned forward a bit, seeing the purple beneath her eyes. There was no hope for that now. She’d just have to try to get more sleep.

  Nelle made it downstairs and into the front parlor moments before the Greenwoods stepped inside. Mrs. Greenwood swept through the parlor door, wearing bright blue. Behind her walked her son, who was about a year younger than Nelle, and her two daughters, even younger.

  “Oh, wonderful,” Aunt Corinne said. “You’ve brought Patrick. Now Mathew will have someone to chat with.”

  Nelle hung back as Alice grasped Patrick’s hand with both of hers, making him blush. But Alice didn’t seem to notice and merely turned to greet his sisters and their mother. When Nelle greeted Patrick, there was no such blush, but he gave her a wide smile. Patrick was a nice-looking man, though a little short and a bit stout—and without the charisma of Mathew—but pleasant all the same. It seemed, however, he only had eyes for Alice, who was completely oblivious to this.

  Nelle was greeting Mrs. Greenwood and her daughters as Mathew and his mother walked into the room. Everything seemed to stop—at least, in Nelle’s heart. Why hadn’t she planned out what to say to him? His mother greeted Aunt Corinne and complained about a headache and shortness of breath. So Aunt Corinne immediately escorted Mrs. Janson to a chair and began to fuss over her.

  “Mathew!” Alice said, walking toward him with a coy smile. She tilted up her face, obviously expecting a kiss on the cheek, and she received it.

  Nelle knew she wasn’t the only one staring at this interchange. From across the room, Patrick’s eyes were fixed on Alice.

  Glancing back toward Mathew, Nelle couldn’t help but think about how, only a few hours before now, she had kissed his cheek and how, moments ago, a note had been delivered from him. He’d helped her in a way that no one else could. She waited for him to see her, to say something, anything, even just hello, but his gaze stayed on Alice.

  Alice was telling him about her trip, and he laughed in all the right places. Every so often, Alice would cast a glance at Patrick, and he’d blush again. Nelle was beginning to feel sorry for the man.

  “Patrick,” Nelle said, crossing to him. “How have you been this past year? I don’t think I saw you when I last visited with my parents.” The false cheerfulness in her voice was plain to herself, but Nelle hoped no one else in the room would notice.

  As Patrick began to tell her of his recent semester at the university, Nelle noticed the three older women were speaking in rather hushed tones. Mrs. Janson looked over at Nelle a couple of times, always pasting on an innocent smile—which, of course, meant they were discussing Nelle. Meanwhile, Alice had Mathew listening to her rather long tale of something to do with her trip. So Nelle had to content herself with speaking to Patrick as he tried to catch Alice’s eye.

  It was going to be a long afternoon. Of that, Nelle was sure. And the now growing throbbing in Nelle’s head was beginning to feel like what Mrs. Janson had detailed upon her arrival.

  Nelle had yet to speak one word to Mathew, and he seemed to be making no effort to canvass the room. It is probably for the best, she told herself. A few hours ago, she’d been in his arms, and she’d let it go to her head. Clearly, Mathew was comforting her…and she was Alice’s cousin, nothing more.

  As tea was served, Nelle found herself seated next to Mrs. Janson, rediscovering that the woman had no trouble asking direct questions.

  “Whatever will you do with yourself now?” she asked, patting Nelle’s knee. “You’ve an education, and you’re old enough to be on your own. Have you considered a teaching post? I hear schoolmistresses are in demand out west.”

  There were so many layers of implied criticism in Mrs. Janson’s words that Nelle didn’t even know how to respond.

  “She’s taking the summer to make decisions,” Aunt Corinne jumped in. “She
hasn’t a penny to her name until she turns twenty-one at the end of August.”

  “Oh, heavens,” Mrs. Janson said, turning her watery gaze on Nelle again. “It’s a good thing you came here then, so your aunt can look after you.”

  Nelle wanted to laugh at that, but of course she didn’t. She glanced over at the men, who were talking together while Alice was telling some entertaining story to the Greenwood sisters about meeting a published poet and how she’d nearly tripped when she’d tried to speak with him at a social event.

  Patrick’s profile was toward Nelle, but she could see Mathew’s full face. He must have felt her gaze because his eyes flickered to hers then away again—too fast for Nelle to discern any thought or emotion in them. It seemed she’d gone from being tenderly held in his arms to no longer existing, all in the same day. Her chest tightened with emotion, and she hated that she was feeling this way. Wasn’t grieving over her parents difficult enough? Now, she’d allowed herself to pine over Mathew—something she had known was not wise from the first moment she’d encountered him in the forest.

  The food and conversation continued as if nothing was simmering inside her. And nothing would be as long as Nelle could keep her focus away from Mathew. She took a sip of her tea and a bite of a small cake, swallowing against the dry taste, for she couldn’t even enjoy her food.

  “You must play for us,” Mrs. Janson said. “Your aunt tells us you are an accomplished pianist.”

  Nelle froze. She should have expected something like this to happen, but she hadn’t. “I haven’t played since…” she started to say but stopped talking when she heard the trembling in her voice.

  “Oh, you don’t need to play for us,” Mrs. Greenwood cut in. It seemed like she understood without Nelle having to say all the words.