The Misguided Matchmaker

by Nadine Miller

  Gone was the rough-and-ready companion of her flight across France. He had obviously collected his long overdue pay, for this elegant new Tristan was dressed in a beautifully tailored topcoat in dark blue superfine, buff-colored buckskin breeches, and a jaunty high-crown beaver. In truth, he looked so breathtakingly handsome, she forgot to draw air into her lungs and soon found herself gasping for breath.

  “Tristan,” she cried, running to greet him at the door of the salon when Griggins showed him in, though she knew full well that was not what any well-bred lady would do. She smiled up at him, vaguely aware there was someone standing next to him—a small man whose head stood not much higher than Tristan’s shoulder and whose pale hair and paler features seemed to disappear next to Tristan’s dark brilliance.

  “Good afternoon, Maddy.” His cool indifferent voice had a familiar ring; it was the voice of the man she had taken him to be before she’d glimpsed the fiery passion behind his icy mask. He drew his companion forward. “May I present my half-brother, Garth Ramsden, the Fifth Earl of Rand.”

  Maddy extended her hand and the earl raised it to his lips. “Enchanted,” he said, though he looked anything but. The line of his mouth was grim and his pale blue eyes held an expression of profound sadness. She wondered if this brother Tristan held in such high esteem had recently suffered a tragic loss. Could this be the reason Tristan had been so slow to seek her out? Could his seeming indifference now be a mask to hide the grief he shared with his brother?

  An uncomfortable silence settled over the three of them once they were seated, and Maddy gained the distinct impression she was being surreptitiously scrutinized by the earl, much as he might scrutinize a painting offered for sale.

  It was all too apparent Tristan had decided he must have his brother’s approval before he made an offer for her. The very thought of such ambivalence on the part of the man to whom she had unreservedly given her heart sent a twinge of anger skittering through her. She would never have expected a fellow as bold as Tristan to wave the white feather, and so she meant to tell him when next she had him alone.

  Still, she was a lady and as such, rose to the occasion, racking her brain for some topic of conversation she could safely pursue with a peer of the realm. The weather came to mind and somehow that evolved into an incredibly boring discussion of the beauties of nature one could find in the English countryside. Maddy soon came to the conclusion that it was a lucky thing Tristan’s brother had inherited a title, since he was obviously a dull fellow with little else to distinguish him.

  Tristan added nothing to the conversation, but sat silent as a post, leaving the earl and Maddy to flounder in their tedium like two fish that had swallowed hooks they could neither digest nor disgorge. Maddy gritted her teeth and swore she’d make him pay for this transgression if it was the last thing she ever did. How dare he hang her out to dry in this manner? Was this some test of her ability to deal with his titled relatives?

  She had literally reached the end of her wits and her temper when, to her relief, she heard her father’s carriage pull up outside the open window. A moment later he strode into the room. “My lord Rand,” he exclaimed, a grin spreading from ear to ear.

  The earl rose instantly, as did Tristan. Standing between the two tall men, the diminutive earl looked as if he were lost in a forest—a thought she could see occurred to him as well, from the flush darkening his pale cheeks. For no reason she could explain, she found herself feeling sorry for the little man with the sad eyes and disgusted with the two men who towered over him.

  Her father seemed blissfully unaware of the undercurrents in the small salon. “Well, now, isn’t this nice, Maddy. Your first visitors and to think one of them is an earl.” He had the look of a hunter stalking his prey, and she was suddenly reminded of his plan to elevate her socially. She held her breath, hoping against hope he would stop toadying up to the earl before he made a complete fool of himself—and her. Of course, the hope was in vain.

  “I’ve been wishing Maddy could meet someone who could help establish her in society,” he purred, taking a seat and indicating the others should follow suit. Maddy cringed. The man was practically licking his chops over the poor earl.

  “As a matter of fact…” The Earl of Rand cleared his throat. “I was just going to mention that Lord and Lady Faversham are giving a ball on Friday next. It will be a dreadful crush, as everyone who is anyone will be there, but an excellent introduction into the London social world nevertheless.”

  He cleared his throat again. “Faversham is a particular friend of mine. I have only to ask and an invitation will be extended to Miss Harcourt if she should fancy attending.”

  “What a grand idea and how kind of you to think of it, my lord. Of course she would love to attend, wouldn’t you, Maddy?”

  Maddy managed a strained smile. “I am sure it would be a delightful evening, my lord, and I thank you for the invitation, but I fear I must decline.” She took a malicious satisfaction in the dumbfounded expression she read in the three pairs of eyes turned in her direction. “It would be pointless to attend a ball, you see, because I don’t dance.”

  “You don’t dance!” the earl and her father exclaimed in unison. The identical looks of shock registered on both faces were comical in the extreme, and even Tristan looked baffled by her candid announcement.

  “To what use did your grandfather put all the money I sent him, if not to teach you the necessary accomplishments of a lady?” her father demanded. “I suppose next you’ll tell me you cannot play the pianoforte nor sing nor paint a watercolor.”

  Loyalty to her grandfather forbade her admitting she had known nothing all those years of the money her father had provided. “I cannot account for every franc,” she said quietly. “But I imagine most of the money was used for bribes to the local officials to keep them silent about the fact that a sworn enemy of the emperor, and Citizen Fouché, ran tame in Lyon. And no, I do not play the pianoforte, nor sing, nor paint. In short, I have acquired none of the talents required of your English ladies of fashion, so I am afraid your plan to bring me into vogue is doomed to failure.”

  Her father flushed—whether from embarrassment or anger Maddy couldn’t tell. “Nonsense,” he said gruffly. “Your deficiencies can be remedied. I’ll hire the finest teachers in London.”

  “Mama will know who they are, sir,” the earl said. “I will ask her to draw up a list this very night.”

  “Thank you, my lord. I would be most grateful. I trust Lady Ursula’s judgment above all others in such matters.”

  The earl’s mama—Tristan’s beloved stepmama—and the mysterious Lady Ursula were one and the same? Maddy stared from one man to the other, her pulse pounding erratically in her temples as reality began to dawn. This insane plan of her father’s—surely it didn’t involve the Earl of Rand. Tristan had said he’d agreed to fetch her back to England because her father had “helped his brother out of a difficult situation.” Dear God! Had the earl in turn been forced to agree to help launch her in London society?

  Tristan shifted in his chair and crossed one leg over the other. “In the meantime, you can take Maddy to the theater, Garth. That would serve as a public announcement of your interest in her,” he said, breaking his long silence to prove her worst suspicious true. “I understand that fellow Edmund Kean is opening in Othello tomorrow night.”

  He turned to Maddy with a smile that failed to warm the chilly glitter in his pale eyes. “Othello is a play by England’s most famous bard,” he explained.

  “I am familiar with Mr. Shakespeare’s work,” Maddy said stiffly. “I may lack the prerequisite graces of your English ladies, but I am not illiterate. In fact, I enjoyed his plays so much, I translated a great many of them into French so my grandfather could read them as well.”

  “Then you should enjoy Mr. Kean’s performance immensely.”

  And so she would, Maddy thought, if the circumstances were different. Though she felt certain that Tristan was promoting thi
s theater engagement with his brother simply because he felt he had to help him erase the debt owed her father for whatever favor he had done him, it still hurt that he would do so. It was all so vulgar, so degrading, and so unnecessary. She had no more desire to consort with the London haut monde than she’d had to join the tasteless romp at the court of the Emperor Napoleon.

  She opened her mouth to say that very thing, but before she could get a word out, the earl interrupted her. “Of course,” he said. “The theater is the obvious solution, and Kean is all the rage since he played Shylock last year. How clever of you to think of it, Tristan. And Miss Harcourt cannot possibly suffer any embarrassment there because of her lack of social training.”

  His shy smile completely negated the censorious sound of his words, and Maddy found herself thinking what a sweet-natured man he was—a little dull and not too bright, but sweet-natured just the same. No wonder Tristan was so fond of him. And because of her father, the poor little fellow was trapped in a miserable situation. Almost as miserable as her own.

  “Drury Lane it is then, Miss Harcourt,” the earl said as if it were a foregone conclusion. “Shall we say tomorrow evening?”

  She would politely refuse him if she thought that would end the ordeal for them both, but she suspected the earl was every bit as stiff-necked about his honor as Tristan. The only way she could set him free was to allow him to fulfill his obligation.

  She returned his smile with one of her own. “Very well, my lord, the theater it is then,” she agreed. Then turning to Tristan she asked, “Will you be joining us? It was your idea, after all.”

  Eagerly she awaited his answer, as much for the earl’s sake as her own. True, she wanted to share her first evening at the theater with Tristan, but she sensed the shy little earl would be much more at ease if he could have his brother along when he made a public appearance with her.

  For some reason she could not fathom, her question disturbed Tristan. “No, Maddy, I will not,” he said curtly, managing to avoid meeting her eyes. “I have a previous engagement, one I am obliged to honor since it pertains to my work with the British Foreign Service.”

  Honor. There was that word again. Maddy gritted her teeth in frustration. Did this Anglais think he had invented it? She might have known it would be Tristan’s honor that prevented him from attending the theater with her and his honor that forced her to resort to trickery to get him to kiss her. Frenchman took great stock in their honor too, but she had never known one who let it interfere with his affairs of the heart.

  Nom de Dieu, what was she to do with such a man? Another woman she could compete against, but how was she supposed to know how to win the man of her choice when her rival was his honor?

  He had hurt her with his rejection. The flash of pain and bewilderment he’d seen in her eyes had twisted the knife already embedded in his heart. Yet somehow he must find the will to hurt her even more. Only by disillusioning her could he set her free to find happiness with the man she was destined to marry.

  Luckily the man in question had been content to ride in silence for the first half hour after they left the Harcourt townhouse. With his feelings as raw as an open wound, Tristan wasn’t certain he could hide the fact that he had much more than a casual interest in Maddy.

  Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Garth edge forward until their horses were neck and neck. “Miss Harcourt was something of a surprise,” Garth said, gripping his reins so tightly, his knuckles shone white. “She may not be the ‘strapping’ French peasant her father’s description led me to believe, but she is certainly tall for a woman.”

  Tristan nodded. “That she is.”

  “But she seems quite pleasant.”

  “I found her to be so during out travels together.”

  Garth stared straight ahead, a grim set to his chin. “However, she strikes me as outlandishly clever. I’ve never before met a woman who read Shakespeare, much less translated it into French!” He sighed. “Devil take it, I hope we shall manage to rub along together. I have always found clever women rather off-putting in the past.”

  Tristan didn’t comment on his brother’s observation. He could think of nothing he could say without implying that this sibling was a trifle slow-witted—which he was. But what Garth lacked in intellect, he more than made up for in heart.

  A feeling of panic gripped him. He sincerely hoped the match between his gentle, sweet-natured brother and Caleb Harcourt’s quick-witted, razor-tongued daughter did not turn out to be the complete disaster he envisioned. For there was nothing on God’s green earth he could do to prevent the powerful cit’s ill-conceived plan from coming to fruition.

  He groaned as another wave of pain washed over him. It was enough to ask of a man to learn to live with his own heartbreak; he didn’t need the added agony of knowing the two people he loved most were doomed to a life of misery as well.

  The earl arrived at the Harcourt townhouse the following evening in an elegant closed carriage drawn by four matched chestnuts. His family crest was emblazoned on the door and both the groom and coachman were in full livery.

  Maddy had felt very elegant when first she’d viewed herself in her new evening dress of rose silk gauze with tiny embroidered flowers scattered here and there. She had even decided she liked the effect of her short, curly hair with the diaphanous costume, but next to the earl, she felt almost dowdy.

  He was turned out in full evening attire, including a cutaway coat in a shade of blue satin which complimented his fair coloring and a silver waistcoat draped with an impressive collection of seals as well as a quizzing glass. But surprisingly enough, despite his soigné appearance, he looked even more shy and miserable than on his previous visit.

  “What a beautiful carriage this is,” Maddy exclaimed as the groom handed her inside, hoping to put the earl at ease by complimenting him on what she could plainly tell from the smell of the red velvet squabs was a new acquisition. To her surprise, he blushed furiously, stammered something quite incoherent, and sat for the remainder of the ride to theater staring bleakly out the window as if she had somehow insulted him.

  Confused, she lapsed into silence and made no further attempt at conversation. Not for the first time, she concluded Englishmen were a baffling lot.

  A short time later, they drew up before the entrance of the Theater Royal in Drury Lane. Maddy stepped from the carriage to find herself facing a magnificent structure with a series of impressive arched doorways and row upon row of windows ablaze with light. She took a closer look and decided it appeared surprisingly new compared to the structures around it—an observation she decided to keep to herself rather than risk offending the earl further.

  “The theater is quite new. Only three years old, in fact,” he said as if reading her mind. “Of course, there has been a theater on this location since 1663, but it burned to the ground for the third time in 1809 and this version was built in 1812,” he continued in pedantic tones that made Maddy suspect he had memorized the monograph so as to have something to offer in the way of conversation besides another discourse on the weather. She was touched by his effort. In fact, she had an almost irresistible urge to pat him on the head and tell him, “Well done.”

  He offered his arm and Maddy placed her gloved fingers on it, conscious that he appeared taller than she had judged him to be. His eyes were on a level with hers, when she distinctly remembered looking down at him when they’d met the previous day.

  He was also rather unsteady on his feet. “Good Lord! Had he found the idea of escorting her to the theater so distasteful, he’d had to fortify himself with spirits? Embarrassed, she dropped her gaze and instantly discovered why he was teetering. The heels on his buckled evening shoes were at least three inches high.

  Surreptitiously, she took a tighter grip on his arm. A wise move, as it turned out, for he stumbled twice before they managed to make their way to the box he’d reserved.

  The theater was filled to capacity, and Maddy had to make an effort to kee
p from gaping like a country bumpkin at the impressive auditorium and equally impressive audience. It appeared that every wealthy theater patron in London had decided to attend Mr. Kean’s premier performance in his newest role, and the vast room sparkled with the jewels decorating both the men and women occupying the private boxes.

  Maddy shivered with excitement. If only it were Tristan sitting next to her, this moment would be perfect. She literally ached with longing for him after their sadly disappointing encounter of the day before; so much so, her imagination was playing tricks on her. She could swear she saw him enter one of the first-tier boxes on the opposite side of the cavernous auditorium.

  She looked again. There were two men and a woman in the box. The fair-haired man took his seat, while the dark-haired one who resembled Tristan removed the wrap from the shoulders of the woman. He was too far away to see his features clearly, but there was something so familiar about the tilt of his head, the breadth of his shoulders.

  Beside her, the earl raised his opera glasses and studied a box in the tier above the one she’d been scrutinizing. “Someone you know?” Maddy asked without thinking.

  “Viscount Tinsdale, his wife and daughter…Lady Sarah Summerhill. The viscount’s country estate marches beside Winterhaven.” He lowered his glasses and his eyes looked so glazed with pain, Maddy had to fold her hands tightly in her lap to keep from reaching out to him in sympathy. This grief he suffered must somehow be connected with his neighbor’s family. Maybe the loss of a childhood friend through death or some unfortunate misunderstanding. She wished with all her heart she could think of something to say that would comfort the kindly little man.

  But even as she acknowledged this was impossible without knowing the source of his grief, the babble of voices around her ceased and she realized the curtain was rising.