The Misguided Matchmaker

by Nadine Miller

  “And what may that be, my dear?”

  Maddy sighed deeply. “How in heaven’s name do the silly twits managed to keep from boring each other to death?”

  Tristan looked up from yesterday’s issue of the London Times and watched his sister, Carolyn, lift the lids of the various chafing dishes on the sideboard and help herself to a generous breakfast of sausage and coddled eggs. The two of them were the only occupants of the cheerful morning room of the Ramsdens’ refurbished townhouse on this bright morning in mid-April; Lady Ursula was still abed and Garth had not yet returned from his early morning ride in Hyde Park.

  “Lady Ursula tells me Garth and Maddy Harcourt have been inseparable while I’ve been in Belgium on Lord Castlereagh’s business these past three weeks,” he remarked offhandedly when Carolyn took her seat opposite him.

  She speared one of the sausages on her plate, popped it in her mouth, and chewed thoughtfully before answering. “As usual, Mama exaggerates. He escorted her to two of Lady Faversham’s Thursday musicales—the only place he’s been able to take her in the evening until she learns to dance properly. But he has spent a number of days each week with her as well.”

  Carolyn chuckled. “I do believe the poor dear has seen more of London in the past three weeks than in all the previous twenty-seven years of his life. First Miss Harcourt talked him into taking her to the British Museum to see the Elgin marbles—”

  Tristan laid the newspaper aside. “Garth viewed the Elgin marbles? And in the company of a woman? Good Lord!”

  “Naturally, he was shocked to the core, especially since Miss Harcourt found them absolutely fascinating and insisted on examining them piece by piece. You should have seen his face when he described them to Mama. ‘A few horses here and there, but in general nothing but a lot of disgusting nudes with half their arms and legs missing’,” she mimicked.

  Despite himself, Tristan chuckled at the picture she conjured up with her perfect imitation of their staid brother.

  “Then she dragged him to St. Paul’s Cathedral,” Carolyn continued, “which he promptly declared ‘a gloomy old pile of stone,’ and to the Tower of London, where he threatened to plant one of the keeper’s a facer unless he bettered the living conditions of the poor beasts on display there.”

  She speared another sausage. “They even spent one entire afternoon in Hatchard’s Bookstore. You can imagine how much Garth enjoyed that! The only time I’ve ever seen him open a book was to preserve the flower Lady Sarah wore in her hair at her come-out.”

  She pressed her fingers to her lips. “Oops! I must remember to be more careful what I say.”

  “Indeed you must!” Tristan scowled thoughtfully. “Lady Ursula mentioned that Maddy has taken tea with you here as well. How did the two of you get on?”

  Carolyn cocked her head as if pondering his question. “Very well, actually. I was all prepared to hate her, as well you know. But now that I’ve met her I find I like her exceedingly. She’s terribly clever and funny and shockingly honest—and she has very definite opinions about what she will and will not do.”

  Carolyn’s eyes twinkled. “She fairly curled Mama’s hair when she flatly refused to take most of the lessons judged necessary to make her into a proper English lady. In short, she’s nothing like the silly girls I met at Miss Highcliff’s finishing school or the daughters of Mama’s titled acquaintances. She is the first genuine original I have ever met, and I do believe we shall become fast friends.”

  His sister’s candid description painted such a vivid picture of Maddy, Tristan felt a familiar ache start deep in his chest. “You approve of her as Garth’s wife then, despite the differences in their interest?”

  Carolyn’s smile faded. “I didn’t say that. In truth, I cannot think of any two people less suited to each other. She absolutely terrifies him, and I strongly suspect he bores her to flinders.”

  Devil take it, was it so obvious even an eighteen-year-old could see it? “I have wondered, myself, if they would be compatible.”

  “Compatible? You jest. They are like chalk and cheese, as anyone can plainly see. Except Mama, of course. As usual, she turns a blind eye to the truth when it is too painful to acknowledge.”

  Tristan pushed back his chair and rose, then strode to the window to stare with unseeing eyes into the street below. “I was hoping I just imagined their lack of mutual appeal—for Maddy’s sake as well as Garth’s,” he said bleakly. “But with each day I spent with her, I became more convinced she and Garth were totally mismatched. Can you imagine how I felt, knowing I was bringing her home to be trapped in an impossible marriage?”

  “I’m sure you tortured yourself with guilt, as would any man of honor.”

  Tristan slammed his fist against the oak window frame. “Hell and damnation! It is enough to make a man take himself off to India or some such far-flung place!”

  Carolyn’s eyes widened. “Such as Belgium on an errand for Lord Castlereagh? I wondered why you volunteered to take an assignment on the Continent so soon after returning to England.”

  She stared at him, aghast. “Oh, Tris! Never say you’ve fallen in love with her.” Carolyn leapt to her feet, and with a strangled cry flung herself into his arms. “You have! Don’t bother to disclaim it. It is written all over your face.”

  Tristan didn’t try to dissuade her. The pain inside him was too great to deny any longer.

  “And the two of you would be so perfect together,” she whispered against his chest. “Can’t you make her father see that?”

  “See that his precious daughter would be better off as the wife of a nameless bastard than as the Countess of Rand? I doubt any father would find much logic in that argument.”

  “But she’s in love with you too. Now that I think of it, you were all she talked about for the hour the two of us were alone on the day she took tea with us. And she positively glowed every time your name was mentioned.”

  Carolyn raised her head to stare into Tristan’s eyes. “But I’m not telling you anything you don’t already know, am I?”

  “I have suspected for some time that Maddy believes herself in love with me. But she is very strong and in her own peculiar way, amazingly practical. She’ll recover from any heartbreak she may suffer and make the best of it.”

  “She is also very independent,” Carolyn pointed out. “It occurs to me she may refuse to marry a man she doesn’t love.”

  Tristan briefly considered the possibility, but shook his head in denial. “I don’t doubt she’ll balk at first,” he said bitterly, but she’ll soon come around to her father’s way of thinking. What choice does she have? Harcourt holds all the purse strings; the rest of us just dance at the end of them like so many puppets.

  “If he forces her to marry against her will, he will earn nothing but her hatred, no matter how much money he pours into the Rand coffers,” Carolyn declared. “Your Maddy doesn’t strike me as a woman whose affections are capricious. Nor, I wager, do you love easily and often.”

  Her eyes glistened with unshed tears. “Is this cit so lacking in sensitivity, he thinks love is a malady that can be cured with a dose of Mrs. Peterman’s honey and valerian? If it were, Garth would not still be looking like a whipped puppy and poor Sarah wouldn’t be a pale wraith haunting the ballrooms where they used to dance together.”

  She slipped from Tristan’s arms to pace back and forth across the room, the picture of frustration. “It is like the plot of one of Mrs. Radcliffe’s novels; everyone is committed to marrying the wrong person. Only in her novels, one knows everything will turn up happy at the end.”

  Stopping suddenly, she whirled around to face him. “Can’t you just persuade Miss Harcourt to elope with you to Gretna Green? I’m certain she’d do it; she seems totally unconcerned about how she is viewed by polite society.”

  “Do not for a minute think I haven’t considered whisking her over the anvil,” Tristan said bitterly. “But only in the blackest hours of the night when I think with my heart, n
ot my head. In the cold light of day, I know I couldn’t live with myself if having her meant seeing her disowned by her father. She is, after all, the heiress to a vast fortune. I could not ask her to survive on the pittance I make at the Foreign Office.”

  He pressed his fingers to his aching temples. “Nor could I risk the chance that Harcourt’s anger might drive him to have Garth thrown into debtor’s prison when he couldn’t pay the notes against the estate. No, Caro, much as I might wish it so, that is not the answer.”

  “And it’s all the horrible cit’s fault,” she wailed. “I don’t care what Mama says about how grateful we should be for all he’s done for us. I hate him and his stupid plan!”

  “Caleb Harcourt is not the villain here, Caro,” Tristan said, aware of the irony of defending the very man who was robbing him of the woman he loved. “It was not his fault our profligate father gambled away the family fortune and brought the house of Rand to the brink of destruction. He does what he does out of love for his daughter. He is firmly convinced that to ensure her ultimate happiness, he must secure her a title husband.”

  “Even if that husband will make her miserably unhappy? How can the man be so blind?”

  “It’s a long story, one that goes back fifteen years,” Tristan said. “Suffice to say, his intentions are good, and Lady Ursula is right in feeling grateful toward him. Had someone other than he bought up the old earl’s vowels and mortgages, Garth could be fleeing his creditors aboard a ship bound for the Americas at this very moment—or worse yet, be rotting in debtor’s prison.

  Anxiously, Carolyn searched his face. “So, what will you do, Tris? Flee to the Americas yourself? I cannot envision you spending the rest of your life watching the woman you love be wife to your brother.”

  “I am not certain where I will go, except that it will be somewhere far from England. Lord Castlereagh has offered me a post as an embassy attaché in either Paris or Vienna, but naturally that will not come to fruition until we have routed Bonaparte once and forever.”

  “But you think we will win out against the Corsican eventually?”

  Tristan hesitated, weighing his words carefully. “We will win if those fools in Parliament give Wellington the command. Only in England is his leadership ability questioned. Europe’s heads of state are well aware that he is all that stands between them and the power-hungry madman.”

  Returning to the table, he poured himself another cup of tea. “But whatever my future holds,” he said, studying the leaves in the bottom of his cup as if he could somehow read that future, “I have promised Garth that while he is courting his heiress I will spend my time at Winterhaven overseeing the workmen Harcourt has hired to bring the old place up to snuff. I think he fears the meddlesome old cit will try to change it to suit his taste.”

  He leaned his elbows on the table for support and just for a moment held his aching head in his hands. “The arrangement suits me find. It matters not to me if I am at Winterhaven or the Court of Vienna, just so long as I stay out of Maddy’s sight.”

  Tears coursed down Carolyn’s face. “Oh, Tris, my heart breaks for you, and for Garth too. Would that I could do something to help you both.”

  “You can, Caro, by promising me you will never divulge what you have learned about my feelings, or Maddy’s, to either Garth or Lady Ursula.”

  “I promise,” Carolyn said solemnly. “Garth is burdened enough with his own heartbreak; I think it would kill him to know that by marrying Miss Harcourt, he robs you of your happiness as well. And Mama would simply refuse to let herself believe that the people she loves would not live happily ever after.”

  “Then I have but one more chore I must tend to before I can leave England with a clear conscience.”

  Carolyn nodded, the sorrow etched on her face making her appear far older than her tender years. “Garth’s wedding.”

  “Exactly, my wise little sister. I must see him through that ordeal,” he said wearily. “I can do no less, considering all he is sacrificing to perpetuate the House of Rand. But devil take it, since there is no way out of this coil, I wish he would make his offer and be done with it.

  Maddy listened with half an ear to the conversation swirling around her at the dinner Lady Ursula and the earl were hosting to introduce her to a few of their influential friends. She scarcely noticed the elegantly appointed candlelit table nor the equally elegantly dressed guests who surrounded it.

  In truth, she was beside herself. First Tristan had gone haring off to Brussels on an errand for Lord Castlereagh; now she had learned, just minutes before taking her seat at the table, that he had again left London, this time to oversee the renovations to Winterhaven.

  One could almost believe he was avoiding her. But why? Did he think the stigma of his illegitimacy would rub off on her if they were seen together in public? Couldn’t the stubborn fool see how little she cared for anyone’s regard but his?

  Her ruminations were interrupted by the aging Viscount Haliburton, seated on her right, and she was forced to carry on a few moments of desultory conversation with the obese old man on the merits of breeding one’s own dogs for the hunt—a sport that made her blood run cold.

  Then the pimply-faced young Baron Fitzhugh, seated on her left, proceeded to relate the last on-dit about the scandalous affair between his hero, Lord Byron, and Lady Caroline Lamb. Maddy had heard the same tale before dinner from the Dowager Countess of Wylde, and the second telling held no more interest for her than the first.

  Nom de Dieu, this ridiculous campaign of her father’s to bring her into vogue with the ton was becoming more annoying by the minute. She had nothing in common with these people. If she had not been convinced before, she would certainly have become so during the three weeks she had spent in the company of the Earl of Rand.

  How she would have enjoyed viewing the majesty of St. Paul’s Cathedral with Tristan; her only regret in leaving Paris had been that they had not had time to visit Notre Dame together.

  And she felt certain he would have loved the wondrous Elgin marbles as much as she had; the earl could do nothing but cluck about their disgraceful nakedness.

  Furthermore, the poor fellow had been so bored during the afternoon she explored Hatchard’s incredible bookstore, he’d actually fallen asleep leaning against one of the bookshelves.

  Still, she couldn’t help but like him. He was the kindest of hearts, and he had done his level best to see that she had a proper introduction into London society. But enough was enough. She had spent ample time in his company to see and be seen my members of the ton, and her patience was wearing thin. It was high time Lady Ursula and her father realized she was a square peg who would never fit in the round hole they had chosen for her.

  Then maybe they would leave her to her own pursuits—namely to convince Tristan she would be the ideal wife for a man whose ambitions lay in the diplomatic field. But how could she convince the stubborn man of anything if she never saw him?

  The evening progressed at a snail’s pace through a mediocre dinner—she could have given Lady Ursula’s high-priced French chef a lesson or two on how to prepare la mousseline de faison. He had shown such a heavy hand with the nutmeg, the delicate flavor of the pheasant was nearly lost.

  And for his noisette de porc that these bourgeois Anglais raved about, she could scarcely bring herself to think about that. With the first bite, she had ascertained the lazy fellow had never bothered to inquire what the pig had been fed prior to butchering. Any chef worth his salt knew that only pigs fed plums or apples dressed out suitably for such a dish; this pig had obviously been fattened on garbage scraps. She could scarcely wait to get back to Bloomsbury Square to discuss her deplorable dining experience with Cookie.

  I think the evening went very well,” Lady Ursula said when the three Ramsdens and Maddy gathered in the first floor salon after watching the last of the guests depart in their carriages. “I was particularly proud of you, Madelaine,” she said, sinking gracefully onto one of the room’s orn
ate Hepplewhite chairs. “Your deportment was unexceptionable.”

  “Thank you, my lady,” Maddy replied. Restless she had elected to stand just inside the door until she realized that the earl would not take a seat until she did. With a sigh, she plopped down on the empty chair beside the countess.

  “I couldn’t help but notice you scarcely touched your dinner, my dear,” the countess remarked as soon as Maddy was seated. “A case of nerves, I imagine. Meeting so many exalted peers of the realm all at once can be rather intimidating.”

  “Indeed, it can, my lady.”

  “Then, I’m certain the cuisine was a great deal more exotic than that served in your father’s house.”

  Maddy smiled. “It was indeed different from that to which I’ve become accustomed, my lady.”

  “I shall have the chef’s assistant prepare something more suited to your simple palate before you leave. I cannot bear to think of you driving all the way to Bloomsbury Square on an empty stomach.”

  Maddy cringed at the very thought of what that simple something might be. “You are too kind, my lady. But I believe I shall wait until I reach home. Cookie is sure to be awake, and I am accustomed to his cooking.”

  “Whatever you think best, my dear. But you will have to learn to appreciate haute cuisine sooner or later, you know. All the great houses of London are staffed with chefs of Monsieur Berthier’s caliber.”

  Maddy smiled obliquely. “I don’t doubt they are, my lady, but I shall try to make the best of the situation anyway.”

  The countess’s eyes widened a fraction. “Yes, of course you will, my dear.” She folded her hands in her lap. “Now as to the agenda for tomorrow, my son tells me you’ve expressed a desire to see the waxworks.”

  “It was only a remark in passing,” Maddy said, casting a glance across the room to where the silent, sad-eyed earl sat on a Sheraton loveseat beside his equally silent, sad-eyed sister.