The Matchmaker's Rogue

by Regina Scott

Her stomach felt hollow. “Have you seen whose names are on it?”

  Abby shook her head. “I couldn’t get close enough, everyone was crowding so. But Mrs. Bascom said Ike her oldest was on it, and Mr. Carroll too.”

  “Mr. Carroll?” Jess’s mind balked trying to imagine the dapper shop owner with a musket in his arms.

  Maudie reached for her black bonnet. “We must go see.”

  “Indeed, perhaps we should all go,” Lord Featherstone said.

  Jess glanced at him to find that he had paled. But surely the king would not demand service from an aristocrat or a man approaching sixty.

  She found out a short time later. The piece of parchment had been nailed to the wood of the church door and fluttered in the breeze like a dove caught in a trap. Mr. Howland stood on one side, but she was surprised to see Lark on the other as, one by one, the villagers approached to look at the list. Others gathered in groups among the headstones, like mourners arrived too late for the burial. Jess got in line behind Mrs. Greer.

  “No one would dare conscript my husband,” she said, loud enough to carry. “But I thought I should look in case I must replace one of the servants.”

  Jess’s body was so tight she could barely shamble closer. Out of the corner of her eyes, she spotted Maudie moving from group to group, patting shoulders and murmuring support.

  Mrs. Greer reached the top step and nodded to Mr. Howland. “Magistrate. I take it you had a hand in compiling this list.”

  A dozen gazes swung his way.

  He stood taller. “I did not, madam. I have steadfastly maintained that the men of Grace-by-the-Sea protect the coast by their very presence here. But there is no denying the king’s order. I’m simply thankful Mr. Denby agreed to keep me company on this sad responsibility.”

  Now the gazes veered to Lark. Jess offered him a smile she could barely muster.

  Mrs. Greer squinted at the list, then reared back so fast she nearly collided with Jess. “My Geoffrey is on this list. What is the meaning of this?”

  Mr. Howland raised his voice. “All able-bodied men between the ages of fifteen and fifty-five must report within the next fortnight to West Creech to be enlisted in the army. It may be they will patrol the coast, but they may also be sent to reinforce regiments on the Continent.”

  “But not Geoffrey,” Mrs. Greer protested over the murmur the magistrate’s words raised. “He’s not equipped for such things. Why, he can’t remember where he puts his pipe tobacco most days.”

  “I’m sorry,” Mr. Howland said, voice kind. “There’s nothing I can do. If you’ve seen what you need, please move along.”

  She turned, stumbled on the step, and Jess caught her arm to steady her. She wasn’t sure Mrs. Greer even saw her before she continued down the steps, glassy-eyed.

  “Miss Chance?” Magistrate Howland prompted gently.

  Jess rallied and lifted her skirts to climb the last step. Mr. Howland helped hold down the parchment, but he needn’t have bothered. The list was in alphabetical order, and the name Alex Chance was near the top.

  ~~~

  Lark tensed, ready to leap forward and catch Jess if she collapsed, as so many of the other women had done. He could understand their fears. Some lads trained from childhood to join the military. Wealthy men bragged when they joined a prestigious unit, spent hundreds of pounds to buy a commission. The men of Grace-by-the-Sea wouldn’t be joining as officers, and they’d never trained to serve. They’d be enlisted men, the infantry, the ones expected to charge at the enemy, bayonets flashing.

  The ones who died in droves on the battlefield.

  Small wonder the women in their families despaired to find their names on that list.

  Jess stepped back, face white but head high. “Thank you, Magistrate. Two weeks, you said?”

  “Yes, Miss Chance. If Alex needs anything, please let me know.”

  “Thank you.” She turned to allow the next woman to take her place.

  Lark darted after her. “Jess, wait.” He caught up with her at the bottom of the steps.

  She met his gaze, her own bleak. “If we could walk a little ways, Mr. Denby?”

  Howland had requested his aid to keep the peace, but surely the magistrate could manage a few moments without him. He offered Jess his arm and led her away from the church.

  She did not head toward the spa or down into the village. Instead, she wandered toward the path up the headland. At the first turn, she sank onto the little stone bench overlooking the cove and made room for him beside her. The granite was warm beneath him. He still felt cold.

  “I saw the list after the recruiting officer nailed it in place,” he told her. “There was no time to warn you.”

  Her fingers knit together in her lap. “Alex, Mr. Carroll.”

  “Even Captain St. Claire,” he acknowledged. “Everyone but James Howland.”

  She glanced up at him. “Because he’s a magistrate?”

  “And Mr. Carroll has a shop to run, and Mr. Greer is needed as an apothecary. They were not exempt.”

  She pressed a hand to her brow. “I’m not at my best at the moment, Lark. What are you saying about James Howland?”

  Lark ticked the familiar reasons off on his fingers. “He is strong. He knows how to lead. He comes from an aristocratic family. And he knows the area better than anyone.”

  She met his gaze. “Do you suspect him of leading the smugglers, then?”

  “Perhaps,” Lark allowed. “But I can only wonder how his name came to be excluded. Smugglers generally have the funds to bribe those willing to look the other way.”

  When she remained silent, he swiveled to face her fully and take her hands in his.

  “I may have a solution to all this,” he told her. “It came to me this morning, after I saw the list. I can ride to Weymouth, speak to the commissioner. I’ll tell him Alex is working with me. Excise men are exempt from impressment or balloting.”

  Tears sparkled in her eyes. “You would do that?”

  “Yes, anything,” he said, bringing her fingers to his lips and pressing a kiss against them. “Alex would be safe. And perhaps I can discover who ordered Howland safe as well. I can make my report to the commissioner, request aid. I should be back in a few days.”

  She pulled away her hand, eyes widening. “So long?”

  Every fiber of his being protested, ordered him to stay here, at her side. He hardened his heart. “It’s the only way.”

  She nodded, chin coming up. “I understand. Just come back to me, Lark. Promise?”

  “Promise,” he said. “If I have to fight off Napoleon himself.”

  ~~~

  Jess told her brother about his conscription later that morning. Relaying the bad news was easier knowing that Lark was riding for Weymouth. She had taken the extreme step of closing the spa for the rest of the day, sending those guests who were so inclined into the village to shop. She and Maudie found a few of the doors closed there too as they headed down the hill for the cove. Nearly every family in the area would be dealing with the impending loss of husband, father, son, or brother.

  “Two weeks, eh?” Alex asked when she explained. He had been sitting at the table, blank parchment in front of him, quill and ink in hand, when they had entered.

  Jess nodded. “Enough time to make you uniforms, gather supplies. But it may not come to that.”

  “I’ll pack us bags,” Maudie said. “We’ll escape to the Highlands and live with the Scots. They’ll ask no questions.”

  Alex stuck the quill in the stand. “I won’t run, Aunt. If the king needs me that badly, I’ll go.”

  “You may not have to,” Jess insisted. “Lark has a plan. Give him a few days, and all may be well.”

  Maudie patted Alex’s arm. “I’ll have a chat with Mr. Josephs about a fast horse, just in case.” She trotted out the cottage door.

  Jess nodded to the paper. “What were you going to write, Alex?”

  He folded the note, even though it held no words as yet.
“Nothing important now.” He glanced up at her. “I never wanted to be a soldier, Jess, but I’ll do my part. We must keep Napoleon from invading, whatever the cost.”

  She put her hand on his shoulder. “But if the cost is your life, that seems too dear.”

  He rose, taller now, shoulders broader than she remembered, and face more set. “I know what Father would say. One life in exchange for many is a fair deal.”

  He was right. Her father had been wont to say such things. But he’d never had to leave the Dorset chalk for a foreign shore.

  Would Alex?

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  The shops were opening when Jess and Maudie came through the village the next morning. Mr. Carroll was sweeping his stoop, head high. He nodded to Jess as she passed. She wanted to run to him and hug him close, but he went inside before she could act on the impulse. Mr. Lawrence’s son was being ushered into the haberdashery by Mr. Treacle. The tailor nodded to Jess as well.

  “I’ve put in an order for more red wool,” he called to her. “Send Alex my way when he’s ready to be measured.”

  Though his work would increase for a time, he did not seem pleased about it.

  Abby was unlocking her door as Jess passed and darted out to hug her and Maudie. “I’m so very sorry,” she murmured as she disengaged, eyes tearing. “Alex is so young!”

  “But not the youngest,” Jess said.

  Abby glanced toward her shop. “I wonder whether I should paint battle scenes.” She shuddered. “Sorry. It just seems so dismal. Why must they all go away? Why can’t Mr. Howland lead a militia right here?”

  Jess glanced up the headland toward the castle. “I don’t know.”

  “It’s the trolls,” Maudie put in. “He’s too busy protecting the area from them.”

  “That must be it,” Abby said with a fond smile. She gave Jess’s hand another squeeze before letting her go her way.

  Lark would help Alex. How many others would have no such assurance?

  Though none of her guests had been directly affected by the conscription, they must have sensed the mood in the village, for they spoke quietly among themselves and made few demands of her. Lord Featherstone came and lay a hand on her shoulder.

  “If you need anything, you have only to ask,” he said.

  “That’s what I’m supposed to say to you,” Jess reminded him with a smile.

  Miss Cole wandered closer, face puckered and peaked. “Mr. Denby’s name was not included on that odious list, was it?” she asked Jess. “Mother wouldn’t let me look.”

  “No,” Jess admitted. “Neither Mr. Denby nor any gentleman guest of the spa would be included. This is not his home.”

  Would it ever be?

  She could not focus on that now. She had work to do. A presentable gentleman and a young lady and her father had arrived, and Jess made introductions, settled them into conversation. Was that interest in the fellow’s face when he spoke with Miss Cole? The young lady certainly looked pleased, cheeks pinking. Perhaps Jess could further the acquaintance at the Midsummer Masquerade. Yet, would any of her friends in the village find the will to attend when so many would be gone by then?

  Somehow, she made it through the morning, but that afternoon brought a note from Mr. Greer.

  “What does he want now?” Maudie asked, neck craned as she tried to read over Jess’s arm.

  “There’s to be a council meeting this evening, and I’m expected to attend,” Jess said. She refolded the note. “At least I was invited this time.”

  “The sacrificial lamb,” Maudie intoned, straightening.

  Jess could not deny the tremor that shook her. Nor could she question the chill when she walked into the council’s meeting that night.

  The Spa Corporation board members met regularly in the private parlor at the Swan. The paneled room boasted a large fireplace of stones from the cliffs, pale and rough, a brass chandelier, and a long plank table that could seat twenty on its flanking benches. A high-backed chair stood at either end. Mr. Greer sat at the head as president. The apothecary had changed since she’d last seen him. His carriage seemed slumped now, and his long face seemed grey, as if his conscription had taken its toll already. He motioned Jess to the foot of the table before lowering himself onto his seat.

  Abigail chose to sit as close to Jess as possible, her smile supportive. The others took their places around the table: Mr. Lawrence, the jeweler, one of his stick pins glinting gold and red in the lapel of his tailored coat. Mrs. Kirby, the leasing agent, with her Titian hair piled up high. Mr. Bent, who coordinated servant employment for the rental properties and great houses, with his pointed nose and trim mustache. Mr. Ellison, as round and plump as the rolls he baked.

  “Thank you for coming,” Mr. Greer said with a nod down the lines. “Especially after the blow we all received. But I can assure you the Spa at Grace-by-the-Sea will carry on.” He picked up a closely written note and held it high. “I have here the response from Doctor Bennett. He has accepted our offer and will arrive in Grace-by-the-Sea within the fortnight to take up his work at the spa.”

  Was it possible to cheer and cry at the same time? The village needed a physician so badly. Alex wasn’t the only one who could have used his services. Yet his arrival meant the end of her father’s legacy.

  The councilmembers were not nearly so ambivalent. They applauded the statement, beaming at each other.

  Mr. Greer lay down the paper. “Yes, the spa is in for a number of changes. That’s why I asked you here, Miss Chance.”

  Every gaze swung her way. Only Abigail looked contrite.

  “Doctor Bennett indicates he has no need for a hostess.”

  Though she had feared as much, she still felt as if she were going numb. “That surprises me,” she said politely. “A physician must tend to important matters, his patient’s wellbeing, developing and testing the various treatments to be offered. Who will see to the mundane matters that keep the guests happy? The pouring of the waters, the tours of the village?”

  “The position of spa hostess is very exacting,” Abby agreed, glancing around at the others. “It requires focused attention. Surely a physician will not wish to serve as host and healer too.”

  Mr. Lawrence squirmed on the bench. “Perhaps not, but there have been distressing rumors that you have not been as attentive as you should be of late, Miss Chance.”

  Mr. Ellison nodded. “Leaving the spa unattended. Closing it even.” He shook his head as if the idea was heresy.

  “Because the magistrate, Mr. Howland, requested her assistance,” Abigail reminded them. “He petitioned this very body. We agreed to allow it.”

  “But why did he ask for her help to begin with?” Mrs. Kirby asked with a frown. “Surely a gentleman would be better suited to accompany Mr. Denby to confirm the returns.”

  Jess could not tell them that Lark could not accept the help from a gentleman when every gentleman in Grace-by-the-Sea was suspect. Only think how they would react when it became clear smugglers prowled their shores!

  “We should allow Miss Chance a defense,” Abby put in.

  Mr. Greer nodded, but he leaned back in his chair as if distancing himself from whatever Jess would say.

  She spread her hands, thankful that they did not shake. “Esteemed councilmembers, I have ever given faithful service, first as a volunteer, then in assistance to my father, and now as your hostess. My motto and guiding principle have been to make the guests happy, whether at the spa itself, in their interactions with the village, or at the assembly and events. If I have failed in that duty, I sincerely apologize and will work tirelessly to remedy any shortcomings.”

  Mr. Lawrence glanced to their president. “She has given exemplary service in the past.”

  Mr. Bent cocked his head. “Have we ever had an actual complaint about her?”

  Surely not, but Mr. Greer leaned forward. “I’m sorry to relate that we have. Miss Susan Barlow has confessed that Miss Chance went out of her way to belittle and
demean her in the eyes of the guests.”

  They were all looking at her again. Abby was shaking her head, plainly disbelieving the complaint. Mrs. Kirby and Mr. Bent looked shocked.

  “What have you to say about this, Miss Chance?” Mr. Ellison asked, clearly confused. “Do you know this person?”

  “Miss Barlow agreed to perform some of my duties while I was helping the magistrate,” Jess explained. “She attempted to institute a number of changes without my input or yours.”

  “Yet I understand these were beneficial changes,” Mr. Greer said.

  His wife thought so, in any event. “Changes some of the guests resented,” Jess told him. “In some cases, changes my father would have refused to allow.”

  Mr. Greer sighed. “And there we come to the crux of the matter. Your loyalty to your father’s memory is commendable, Miss Chance, but you continue to allow it to interfere with the efficient running of the spa. With the arrival of Doctor Bennett, we enter a new era, with new ideas and bold directions. I must agree with him that your services will no longer be needed.”

  Abby stood. “And I disagree. You cannot make this decision without us. I demand a vote.”

  Mr. Ellison nodded. The others looked to Mr. Greer.

  His mouth worked a moment, then he nodded. “Very well. All in favor of allowing Miss Chance to remain as hostess of the spa, despite her recent poor performance?”

  “All in favor of allowing Miss Chance to continue her exemplary service to the spa?” Abby corrected him. She thrust up her hand.

  Mr. Lawrence joined her more hesitantly.

  Mr. Greer nodded. “Opposed?” He and the other three members raised their hands. At least Mrs. Kirby and Mr. Bent looked sorry about the matter.

  “Motion carries,” Mr. Greer said as Abigail sank onto her seat, face falling. “You may have the next fortnight to put things to rights at the spa and the cottage, Miss Chance, with the idea of turning over both to Doctor Bennett when he arrives. You are excused for the rest of the meeting.”

  Jess stood, head high and heart quaking. Abigail bit her lip as if to keep from crying. Mr. Lawrence hung his head. She moved to the door, leaving them behind. She must think of her future.