The Duke Meets His Matchmaker (The Duke Hunters Club, #5)

by Blythe, Bianca

  “Miss Eugenia Sinclair is new to Bath,” Miss Holloway said after she’d finished the formal introductions.

  “Ah, that is an experience we share,” Reggie said gallantly, thankful for the conversation topic. “Tell me, Miss Sinclair, what do you make of Bath?”

  “I find it dreary,” Miss Sinclair said. “So many hills. So many sick people.” She shot an apologetic look toward Miss Holloway, who pasted a polite smile on her face.

  “You don’t have a cold do you, Miss Holloway?” Reggie asked.

  Miss Holloway shook her head slowly, and he loved the smile that played upon her lips. Perhaps everyone was prone to seeing Miss Holloway as sick, even though she was livelier than most of the people in this ball put together. He doubted any of the women here were forming their own businesses to achieve independence.

  “I much prefer London,” Miss Sinclair said.

  “That is a common opinion.” He’d thought the same exact things when he’d arrived in Bath.

  “His Grace has a townhouse in London,” Miss Holloway said.

  “That’s true,” Reggie said.

  Miss Sinclair’s eyes sparkled. “Don’t you miss it? Visiting Vauxhall? Shopping on Bond Street?”

  “I—” He hesitated and shot a glance at Miss Holloway. “I’m finding that Bath has its charms.”

  Miss Sinclair frowned slightly.

  “Of course he misses it,” Miss Holloway said hastily, as if attempting to fix the conversation. “That’s what he told me.”

  “I do like large cities,” Reggie agreed.

  Miss Sinclair nodded, evidently assuaged by his comment.

  “Anyway...” Miss Holloway said hastily. “It was lovely speaking with you, Miss Sinclair.”

  Miss Sinclair curtsied, though she didn’t say anything.

  Reggie felt a wave of irritation on Miss Holloway’s behalf. He followed her to the fireplace, then settled on a chair beside her.

  “Well, that was Miss Sinclair,” Miss Holloway said “Wasn’t she pretty?”

  “If you like brunettes with big bosoms,” Reggie said.

  Miss Holloway blinked. “But surely you do.”

  “I—” Reggie hesitated. “Yes. Of course. She was beautiful. You picked well.”

  Miss Holloway beamed.

  “But I’m not marrying her,” Reggie said stubbornly.

  Miss Holloway’s face fell. “Why?”

  “I found her unpleasant,” Reggie said, lowering his voice.

  “Oh.” She blinked. “I—er—rather thought that too. I thought that was simply me.”

  “It wasn’t.”

  Miss Holloway sighed. “Though I do agree with Miss Sinclair. London is nicer.”

  “You mustn’t say that too loudly,” Reggie said.

  Miss Holloway shrugged. “It’s true.”

  “Are you a Vauxhall enthusiast?” Reggie’s eyes glimmered. It was easy to imagine Miss Holloway being entranced by all the lights.

  Her face pinkened. “There’s much of London I haven’t seen, including Vauxhall. But the streets are flatter, and I don’t worry about my maid having to push me. More people are in London. So many of the population here changes, depending on who happens to have an elderly aunt who requires companionship.”

  “I suppose that’s true.”

  “I know the buildings are beautiful, but—”

  “They’re not that varied?” he asked.

  She stared at him and smiled. “Precisely.”

  His heart warmed.

  She giggled. “See, I can complain about Bath.”

  The night continued on, and Reggie’s heart warmed as he continued his conversation with Miss Holloway.

  VIOLINS AND CELLOS continued to play languidly inside her mind, and Daisy had the odd sensation she was floating as she contemplated her conversation with the duke. Last night had gone perfectly.

  Daisy could hardly wait to find a prospect for the duke.

  In truth, she might have exaggerated her abilities. She didn’t yet know who would make the best wife for him. That would involve more investigation to see who was currently in Bath.

  After Mrs. Powell dressed her, Daisy settled at her desk.

  “Are you going to write some letters?” Mrs. Powell asked.

  “I thought it was time for me to see some of my unmarried friends,” Daisy said. “Could you please bring me the society pages?”

  Mrs. Powell nodded and exited the room. She soon reappeared with Bath’s society pamphlet, and Daisy took it eagerly.

  “I didn’t know you had any unmarried friends still in Bath,” Mrs. Powell said. “You’ve matched them all.”

  “I have to make them first.”

  Mrs. Powell’s eyes widened, but Daisy only smiled. Life would be most dull if Daisy had never been forward. Daisy was accustomed to inviting people to her home, and most people were grateful for her forwardness. Bath had a propensity to be dull.

  “Do you think Cook will be able to arrange an afternoon tea party for Saturday?”

  “I’m certain that’s possible.”

  “Good.” Daisy opened the society pages and scanned the names.

  Most fathers with money would be happy for their daughters to be elevated to the status of duchess. Still, no one would praise her matchmaking skills if the duke attended each ball with the same dour glance. That was the sort of expression that might make people think him unhappy.

  Besides, she wanted the duke to be happy. She wanted everyone to be happy. Misery was a state too easily achieved and too unpleasant to languish in. If the duke no longer cast mournful gazes about the room, so much the better.

  He required a wife who would distract him from any sudden melancholic urges, but he also needed someone who would understand him should he decide that a day deserved a sullen approach. There was no use marrying him to someone who would tell him to “smile” in an exasperated manner, so she could be spared discussing the day with him.

  No, Daisy vowed to ascertain the duke married the very best woman there was.

  That was the best way to make him happy, and though it was important for her to begin a career, his happiness was of equal importance.

  She scanned the list, then began to compose her first letter.

  THE TEA PARTY CAME quickly. Daisy waited for the guests to arrive. Some of them she’d seen before at the spa, though they’d been keeping their relatives company and speaking amongst themselves while Daisy had been rolled into the spa with a group of gray-haired women. An odd nervousness moved through her.

  One of these women would be spending a great deal of time with the duke, and Daisy pushed away a strange surge of jealousy.

  “I’m so pleased you could come here,” Daisy said. “Welcome to Bath.”

  The women nodded. A few of them cast sideways glances at Daisy’s chair, as if they’d never seen one with wheels before.

  “You’ll forgive me if I don’t stand,” Daisy said.

  A few of the women tittered awkwardly, but Daisy gestured toward the sofa and various armchairs. The room felt rather narrower than normal, and Daisy was suddenly self-conscious about the shabbiness of the furniture.

  Daisy had the faint suspicion they wouldn’t all have agreed to come if they’d been in London, where a plethora of other activities were always occurring. Daisy’s family was sufficiently respectable—her parents were in the ton after all. Even the haughtiest women, aware of Daisy’s parents’ positions, would be allowed to visit. The general tiresomeness of spending long days at the spa with their invalid relatives ensured their presence.

  Daisy surveyed them surreptitiously, pondering who might make an appropriate bride for the duke. He deserved the best. The women were all tall and beautiful, and a faint lump formed in Daisy’s throat. She hastily dismissed it.

  She wouldn’t become attached to a client. That would be foolish and unprofessional, and Daisy had resolved to not be either of those things. She pasted a smile on her face and began to make conversation, watch
ing for similarities between the women and the duke.

  CHAPTER NINE

  The rest of the week passed quickly. Reggie entered Bath’s Assembly Rooms in his finest attire, conscious he might meet his future wife. He should have felt nervous, but he only experienced a mild curiosity to see who Miss Holloway might have decided to match him with.

  This time, everyone turned to him in recognition. Clearly, someone had told them the scarred man was a duke and not some ruffian who’d managed to find himself a nice set of tails. Fawning expressions replaced the stiff smiles and curious looks he’d experienced in Mr. and Mrs. Tortworth’s home. Some of the bolder guests greeted him, but he resisted their attempts at conversation and the exchange of opinions on the rain that had attacked Bath over the past few days. No Englishman should be shocked at the presence of rain on this island. Since it was the safest conversation topic, unlikely to cause divisions, everyone lingered on it, creating an impression that everyone was a perpetual victim of the heavens.

  Reggie quickened his pace. This time he did not require a footman to pass him a message. This time he knew precisely where he was going: the fireplace, where he would no doubt find Miss Holloway.

  He hadn’t expected that the prospect of marriage would bring him excitement, but he was eager to speak with her.

  He rounded the walls of the ballroom, eventually coming to the fireplace. Ashy smoke prickled his eyes as he found a seat and moved it beside Miss Holloway’s chair.

  “There are less smoky sections of the ballroom,” Reggie said.

  “But not warmer ones,” Miss Holloway said.

  Reggie must have sent her a quizzical look, for she added, “My parents prefer me not to get cold.”

  “An admirable cause,” Reggie said lightly. “Do you often get cold?”

  “No, I don’t suffer from that particular ailment.” She frowned slightly. “Though I suppose I’ve never experienced the climate of the less smoky sections.”

  “Ah.”

  “Besides, my parents would feel compelled to check up on me if I were in a different section.”

  He nodded. “Where are your parents?”

  “My mother is in Kent, but that’s father.” She pointed to a man with blond hair like Daisy’s, who was dancing with a red-faced woman.

  “I see.” He studied them, forcing himself to form an opinion of him. “He seems...nice.”

  “He is,” Miss Holloway said. “My parents love to dance. I used to insist they take me with them when they can. Fortunately, Papa still likes to dance. He says it’s so he can learn about all the newest treatments for me.”

  Reggie studied her father. He didn’t seem to be making scientific inquiries.

  “There are always doctors at these balls, eager to sell their services,” Miss Holloway added.

  “Ah. You wouldn’t rather be home?”

  “Naturally not. Home is too dull.”

  Reggie nodded, but didn’t add that she might be experiencing some dullness here, too.

  “I used to sit here with my friends,” Miss Holloway said. “Though now they’re all married.”

  “I’m sorry. My friends are all married now too.”

  “I know.” Miss Holloway’s eyes twinkled. “But they’re all happy. You’ll be very happy when you marry.”

  “I feel happy now,” Reggie remarked. His heart felt light, and he was enjoying his conversation with Miss Holloway.

  Miss Holloway giggled. “Well, you didn’t look happy when I first saw you. I suppose you’re simply excited about the prospect of marriage.” She leaned toward him in a conspiratorial manner, and a pleasant floral scent wafted over him. “Your future wife is here.”

  His eyes widened, and he coughed abruptly. “Excuse me?”

  She raised her hand, and for a moment, he half-expected her to point to herself, and his heartbeat quickened.

  Instead, she pointed to a woman dancing. “That’s Emmaline Grady. She’s the tall brunette. She came for tea with some other women. Isn’t she stunning?”

  Reggie followed her gaze.

  Miss Holloway was correct; Miss Grady was stunning. Though he didn’t know much about dresses except that choosing the right one was evidently a complex process–given the amount of time women spent talking of various cuts, selecting colors that matched their particular colorings, and pondering the ribbon selections in haberdasheries–he was certain she’d made the right choices.

  Dark, glossy hair shimmered underneath the candlelight from the chandeliers. Miss Grady’s gown was simple white, the same color most of the other women wore. She was utterly appropriate for a future duchess.

  “She’s pretty, isn’t she?” Miss Holloway’s voice was as proud as if she were Emmaline’s mother and was going to take every symmetrical curve of Emmaline’s face and figure as a reflection on herself.

  “She is,” Reggie admitted.

  Miss Holloway tilted her head at him. Her golden locks gleamed becomingly. He’d never realized how high her cheekbones were, but now it was difficult for him to look away.

  Strange.

  He’d never realized how striking cheekbones could be.

  “I suppose you’ll want to meet her right away,” Miss Holloway said.

  Reggie forced himself away from contemplating Miss Holloway’s eyelashes and scrutinized his future wife.

  “Perhaps you could tell me more about her.”

  “Oh.” Miss Holloway frowned slightly. For a moment, he wished he’d declared a sudden passion to interrupt Miss Grady’s dance so he might immediately discuss constellations with her and compare them to her eyes.

  Reggie couldn’t tell whether Emmaline’s eyes sparkled from this distance, but no doubt, once he told her the right joke, they would.

  Even so, an odd dullness filled him, even as he contemplated his future.

  “She’s very rich, if you’re worried about that. Her father made his money in coal in Yorkshire.”

  “Ah. She’s from Yorkshire?”

  “Well... She was mostly raised in London. She wouldn’t expect you to move there or anything like that. I know you like the city.”

  “She sounds perfect.”

  Miss Holloway gave him a wobbly smile, but she extended her chin. “And she looks perfect.”

  Reggie’s lips moved upward, though it was more from Miss Holloway’s evident pride than from contemplation of Miss Grady’s undoubted beauty. “You did well.”

  “Didn’t I?”

  “I’ve never heard of her.”

  “That makes her ideal. She keeps out of Matchmaking for Wallflowers gossip columns.”

  “I never read Matchmaking for Wallflowers.”

  Miss Holloway gave him a stern look. “That’s why you require assistance.” She tossed her hair. “Normally, your mother would assist you with such things.”

  “But my mother is dead,” Reggie said softly.

  “I’m sorry.”

  “It’s not a novel state. But thank you.”

  “And since you have no aunts or uncles...”

  “My grandfather preferred a small family,” Reggie said. “Something about the noise.”

  Miss Holloway sniffed. “You don’t have such tendencies.”

  “No.”

  “Good.” She leaned toward him. “I suspect Emmaline is eager to have children.”

  He blinked. “Oh.”

  For some reason, his stomach sank.

  “Some women aren’t,” Miss Holloway continued.

  “Right.” Reggie scratched the back of his neck. “Why is she in Bath?”

  “Her mother is taking the waters. Not that her mother has major health issues,” Miss Holloway added hastily. Her skin pinkened, as if she were worried Reggie would instantly dismiss a woman whose mother had health issues, already thinking of the well-being of his descendants. “I-I looked into that as well. Some people come here more to socialize, I think. They like the warm water. But they don’t need to be cured of anything.”

  The last s
entence had a wistful quality to it. Suddenly, Reggie had no desire to weave through the dance floor and make the acquaintance of the stunning, entirely appropriate Miss Grady.

  “Would you like a drink?” he asked. “And perhaps some canapés?”

  Her eyes widened. “I’m certain one of the footmen will check on me at some point. Or my—er—father.”

  “No one has so far,” Reggie said.

  “I suppose you could tell the footman to swing by here,” Miss Holloway said.

  “Nonsense,” Reggie said. “I’ll do it. What will you have? Are you a ratafia enthusiast? Or would you prefer simple lemonade?”

  Miss Holloway paused, then she raised her chin. “Do you think you could get me some brandy?”

  “Brandy?” His eyebrows leaped upward.

  “Men are always drinking brandy in crystal tumblers. I’ve always been curious about the taste.”

  Reggie smiled. “Then I’ll get you a brandy.” He rose, then frowned and turned to her. “It won’t—er—interact with anything, will it?”

  “Are you referring to my legs again, Your Grace?” Miss Holloway smirked, and warmth crept up his neck and spilled onto his cheeks. For some reason, his heart seemed to glow, even though that should hardly be the reaction of being teased.

  “I only meant that some medicines might interact poorly...”

  “There are no medicines,” Miss Holloway said. “No cure.”

  “Oh.” Reggie nodded dumbly, even though her blunt statement made something in his heart shudder. “I suppose the water feels good? And that’s why you go here?”

  “The water is wet. It makes me shiver.” She sighed. “I don’t feel much of anything else.”

  “I’m sorry. But—er—why?”

  “Why do my parents insist on taking me here each year?” Miss Holloway frowned. “There’s always a new doctor, always a promise of a new cure. They’ve sacrificed everything already to help me. They used to have a large estate in Hampshire, but they sold it for the doctors’ fees. The fact that none of the doctors can cure me, can even make me better, doesn’t matter.”