The Matchmaker and the Duke Page 2

  Yes, she had felt a spark of attraction at their first meeting, but it had been quickly extinguished when a few days later his gaze passed over her as if she had never crossed his path. Clearly, he did not care to remember any of lesser mortals who floated through his orbit.

  It wasn’t long after her encounter with him that she had met and married Tarquin Durant. Widowed two years’ later, she had returned to London to set up her own modest establishment and found herself helping a cousin avoid a marital disaster by uncovering the prospective bridegroom’s shady past.

  Not only that, she had guided the young woman to catch the most eligible bachelor of the Season, or at least the second most eligible. Stone was always the first. From there, she had built a reputation as a matchmaker par excellence. The money she had earned these past three years had provided her with a decent life, a small town house of her own in a select neighbourhood and she was able to help young people enter into good sensible marriages. Something she had failed to do.

  ‘Are you saying you think my girls are beneath him?’ Papa Mitchell said, glaring.

  ‘Certainly not.’ Amelia smiled calmly. ‘Your daughters will be a credit to any gentleman. But the Duke is very conscious of his family pedigree.’

  The belligerence in Mr Mitchell increased tenfold. ‘Then I say he is not good enough for my daughters.’

  Amelia closed her eyes briefly. ‘Let us not focus on Stone. Let us turn our attention to the bachelors whom we will meet over the next few weeks and who will make fine husbands for your daughters.’

  ‘Titled gentlemen,’ Mitchell snapped.

  ‘Young gentlemen with good prospects and honourable intentions who will make excellent husbands. I do not promise a title, but any gentleman I recommend will be acceptable on every ground.’

  ‘One of the Gunning sisters married a duke and the other an earl,’ Patience said.

  ‘One of them married two dukes,’ Charity added.

  The girls burst into giggles. They looked so merry and so pretty, Amelia let their amusement pass without comment. However, she would caution them not to model themselves on the Gunning sisters. Yes, they had both married well, but they had also been embroiled in scandal.

  The ton turned a blind eye to a certain amount of indiscretion from among their own, but not from outsiders like the Mitchell girls. If their papa continued to reject her advice, her reputation for bringing only the most suitable young ladies to the notice of the upper one thousand could be tarnished. She might be forced to terminate their agreement.

  * * *

  As Jasper had expected, Lady Jersey’s ball could only be described as a squeeze. But then it would be. The Countess of Jersey was one of the patronesses of Almack’s and not one to be lightly snubbed. By the time Jasper arrived, guests already blocked the stairs up to the first-floor drawing room while they awaited their turn to be announced. With an impatient sigh, he did what he usually did upon these occasions, he headed for the green-baize-covered door tucked discreetly beneath the impressive staircase and, with a nod and a coin slipped into a waiting palm, ascended by way of the servants’ stairs.

  Why on earth people felt the need to have their names blared into a room full of chattering guests he would never understand. No one inside was listening apart from the host and hostess. Besides, everyone knew everyone else anyway. And if they didn’t, they probably were not worth knowing.

  He glanced around the crowded ballroom, seeking a friendly face. His hostess spotted him and immediately left the line at the door to greet him. ‘Up to your usual tricks, Duke?’ she said with a smile.

  She’d caught him entering this way when he was much younger and had teased him about it ever since. He continued the practice almost as a point of honour. Well, that and the fact that it saved him from having long arduous conversations with people who saw it as an opportunity to curry his favour on some matter or other.

  ‘What else can I do when you insist upon inviting every member of the ton to your balls, Sally?’

  She made a face. ‘I hate anyone to be disappointed.’

  It was why she handed out tickets for Almack’s in such a free-handed way. She was the despair of the other patronesses.

  ‘You are too soft-hearted.’

  ‘Whereas you are as cold as stone.’

  He grinned, enjoying that she said exactly what popped into her head instead of beating around the bush as so many ladies did when they spoke to him. ‘And here I thought no one had guessed.’

  She shook her head at him. ‘One of these days you will get your comeuppance, Duke. Mark my words.’

  He bowed and moved on. He joined a group of gentlemen at the end of the room furthest from the orchestra. Men he’d known for years, some from his university days, others from his first Season. Most were now married with children and were in town to take their seats in the House of Lords. Parliament was the reason the nobility came to London for the Season. Somehow, the ladies had turned it into a marriage mart.

  Jasper looked about him.

  The ball was the same as every other event he had attended. The latest crop of debutantes stood in little clumps around the edge of the dance floor, trying to look as if they didn’t care that no one had asked them to dance and failing miserably. The diamonds of the first water smiled happily as they proved their superiority on the dance floor and the matrons gossiped while they kept an eye on their daughters. Meanwhile, the wallflowers, those gals who had been out a Season or three, lurked in the corners as if they had lost all hope.

  Now he remembered why he preferred his club to a night of dancing.

  It was not long before Sally sought him out once more. ‘It is time you met the Mitchell sisters. Let me make the introductions.’

  Jasper did not like the feeling of being swept along willy-nilly and almost refused. But dash it, his curiosity was aroused. Sally guided him towards a large group of people gathered near the orchestra. At the centre of the cluster of young ladies and gentlemen were two blonde girls with shining blue eyes and curvaceous figures, dressed in white, tastefully modest gowns.

  To Jasper’s surprise, Sally did not make a beeline for these two lovelies, but to the woman hovering near them. A woman certainly past the first blush of youth, but who was quite exotically beautiful with dark hair and dark eyes, and skin that hinted of warmer climes than chilly England. His heart seemed to miss a beat. It was as if his recognition of her beauty had interrupted its rhythm. A most unpleasant sensation. And why on earth did he have the feeling he had met her before?

  ‘Mrs Durant, may I introduce to you the Duke of Stone,’ Sally said.

  Ah, yes, Mrs Durant, the matchmaker Aunt Mary had mentioned. He had not expected her to be such a beauty, given her line of work. And there was that odd sensation that he had met her somewhere before.

  The woman’s eyes widened a fraction as her gaze met his. Her irises were the colour of toffee with a starburst of gold in their centres.

  Beautiful eyes, with unexpected warmth. He knew those eyes. The colours changed, darkened.

  ‘I believe we are old acquaintances,’ he said. If only he could recall the occasion of their meeting.

  A flash of surprise crossed her face, quickly replaced by a cool smile. ‘How kind of you to remember, Your Grace.’

  Devil take it, he prided himself on never forgetting a face. It had taken him years to hone the skill, but it stood him in good stead when dealing with the myriad of people for whom he was responsible in some way. Then why was he having troubling recalling where he had met her? And when? And why did he have the odd feeling she did not like him? Had he given offence in some way? He bowed. ‘My pleasure.’

  ‘Let me introduce you to my charges.’ The briskness of her words took him aback. She definitely did not like him.

  ‘It seems you are in good hands, Duke,’ Sally said. ‘I will leave you to Mrs Durant’s good
graces.’ She sailed off as swiftly as she had arrived. The woman could not be still for a moment.

  Turning towards the blonde girls, Mrs Durant presented him with a startlingly striking profile. A sculptor would have had difficulty imagining such a combination of strong yet purely feminine features. They were features that might give a man endless hours of fascinating exploration. And her skin, so warm in colour, so delicately smooth—he found himself wanting to stroke a finger along her angular jaw to see if it was as silky as it appeared.

  He forced his gaze to the two young ladies looking at him expectantly. Yes, they were young and very pretty, but beside their chaperon they paled into insignificance. At least in his opinion.

  ‘Your Grace,’ Mrs Durant said with a measure of pride, ‘may I present, Miss Charity Mitchell and her sister, Miss Patience. Ladies, the Duke of Stone.’

  Both girls curtsied and showed their dimples.

  He bowed. ‘How are you enjoying your first Season, ladies?’ he asked.

  It was a trite question, but it had served him in good stead over the years.

  ‘We are having a grand time,’ the younger, Miss Patience, said.

  ‘This is only our second ball,’ Miss Mitchell added. ‘I do not think I have seen so many people in a ballroom. I had no idea people had ballrooms of this size in their houses.’

  Their honesty and frank way of speaking surprised him. It was refreshing. They spoke like normal people instead of giggling twits.

  He glanced back at their chaperon. Mrs Durant seemed to be eyeing him warily as if she suspected his motives for seeking an introduction. He racked his brains for some misdemeanour in his past that would account for her attitude.

  Or was she simply assessing him as a likely suitor? The idea she would presume that she could choose a wife for him appalled him. Though it did not surprise him one whit. As soon as people heard his title, they sought a way to use him to further their own ends. Why would she be any different? To be sure, the girls were tricked out as fine as five pence and looked as pretty as pictures, but they did not hale from the nobility. It was from those ranks he had always expected he would select a bride.

  Mrs Durant lifted her chin in challenge, as if reading his thoughts. Why on earth had he thought her beautiful? Her features were arresting, yes, but they gave her face and expression strength, not beauty.

  Unfortunately, since he had sought an introduction, if he did not do his duty and ask one of them to dance, the ton might well see it as a mark of his displeasure, when he really felt nothing at all.

  He smiled briefly at the older of the two. ‘Will you do the honour of joining me in the fourth set of the evening, Miss Mitchell?’

  The girl blushed and glanced at her chaperon, who nodded. She bobbed a curtsy. ‘Thank you, Your Grace.’

  He bowed. ‘I will return for you then.’

  As he strolled away, whispers and giggles broke out behind him as everyone realised that the Duke of Stone had actually unbent enough to invite the latest diamond of the first water to dance.

  Would Mrs Durant see it as a feather in her cap?

  Chapter Two

  Amelia could not understand Stone’s game. Was he actually looking for a bride? Lady Warren had not given a hint of any such thing when she had spoken to Amelia, but it might account for her friendliness at the Dobsons’ musicale.

  If he was finally considering doing his duty to the title, it would account for his unbending enough to actually seek an introduction to the girls. Hopefully it was a passing fancy on his part. Charity and Patience were nice young women and deserved better than a man whose consequence led him to look down on the rest of the world. Handsome he might be, but he was as cold as his name.

  She let go a breath. Perhaps she was being unfair, letting her prejudice against him colour her judgement of his character. Certainly, if Stone was pleased enough to offer to dance with Charity, then the Mitchell girls would instantly be accepted into the arms of the ton with no help from Amelia.

  For some reason, his power to approved or disapprove annoyed her more than anything.

  One thing Amelia did know for certain, Stone was not in need of a wealthy wife. Therefore, the idea that he would select a girl who was so far beneath him, as these two were, boggled her mind. Unless he was smitten.

  Her heart twisted. Worry for the girls, that was all it was. Because she certainly had seen no sign of any such thing in Stone’s demeanour towards Charity. He had been as haughty and reserved as she remembered.

  Good lord! Surely he did not have dishonourable intentions? If so, she would have to make it very clear he was completely out of line. She narrowed her gaze on the broad shoulders easing their way through the milling crowds. He was clearly a man who took regular exercise. He had not run to seed as so many did when approaching middle age. He was more physically impressive now than he had been when she first met him.

  Charity touched her arm, clearly dying to ask a question. Amelia allowed a few moments to elapse before discreetly drawing her a little apart from the group. ‘Is everything all right?’

  ‘Not really. I wanted to dance the fourth set with Lord Sherbourn, not the Duke. I was too afraid to refuse him.’

  Stone was enough to intimidate the hardiest females and refusing him might well have been a disaster for Charity and her sister.

  Amelia took a steadying breath. Even if Stone was not a serious suitor, he could not be taken lightly. ‘I could tell you were nervous from the way you were chattering. Try to take a deep breath before you speak, it will let your brain catch up to your tongue.’ She gave the girl an encouraging smile. ‘But you did very well, my dear. The Duke must have been pleased with you or he would not have asked you to stand up with him. Had you already told Lord Sherbourn you would stand up with him for that set?’

  ‘No. I could see he was plucking up the courage to ask me and I was doing everything I could to encourage him and then the Duke came along.’

  ‘Well, there are lots more dances this evening. Encourage him to ask for one of those.’

  The girl nodded and looked more cheerful. ‘I will.’ She rejoined her friends with a bright smile.

  A friend of Lady Dobson’s son from university, Sherbourn had also been at the Dobsons’ musical evening. Amelia knew his family sought a wife with money for him. A good settlement would solve their most pressing problems after a bad marine investment had battered the family’s finances.

  Amelia had investigated the Sherbourns thoroughly and, until this loss, they had proven to be of solid worth. Not a scrap of scandal or irresponsibility marred their reputation. In addition, as well as heir to a title, Sherbourn was a pleasant-spoken, nice-looking young man, if a little too passionate about things.

  Nothing like the Duke of Stone.

  A middle-aged woman in grey silk sailed up to Amelia, fanning her full round red face. ‘Now that would be a feather in your cap.’ Lady Dobson looked a little miffed.

  Amelia smiled politely. ‘I beg your pardon?’

  ‘The Duke. Making sheep’s eyes at the older Mitchell sister.’

  Amelia kept her expression coolly polite. ‘Do you think so?’

  Lady Dobson wanted either of the Mitchell girls for her own son, Harold, a rather studious and inarticulate young man who actually didn’t need to marry for wealth. Unfortunately, the poor young man was so weedy and his face so spotty, he was unlikely to attract any girl’s attention without a great deal of help.

  ‘I would not trust him to make either of them a proposal,’ Lady Dobson said.

  Amelia bridled. Why that would be, given she had been thinking something very similar a few moments before, she did not know. ‘I have never heard it said that the Duke was anything but the most honourable of men.’ Good heavens, was she defending him?

  Lady Dobson’s gaze fell away. ‘You can’t tell me he would choose beauty over posi
tion.’

  No. That she could not. But he might choose wealth.

  ‘They are such lovely girls, a man would have to be blind not to want to meet them,’ Amelia said, trying to sort through her impressions of the Duke in her own mind. ‘Likely he heard the gossip and came to see for himself. A man of the Duke’s address would not dream of being introduced to a lady and not asking her to dance.’ A feeling of relief went through her. Of course, that was his reason. Thank goodness, despite his haughty attitude, he was indeed a gentleman.

  Years ago, when Amelia had been introduced to him, he had not asked her to dance. Indeed, he’d barely said a word and had looked down his nose at the daughter of a mere baronet. She, on the other hand, had stared at his handsome face in awe and blushed furiously.

  The besotted look on her face must have been pitiable. When she’d attempted to speak to him the next time they met, his blank look had left her wishing the floor would open.

  Lady Dobson gave her a kindly smile. ‘Well, if I were you, I would warn Miss Mitchell not to set her heart on him. I have heard it said he will not consider anyone below the daughter of an earl.’

  She wasn’t some green girl that needed that sort of advice. ‘Would Harold like to dance with Patience?’ Oddly enough, Patience had indicated that she quite liked the spotty young gentleman.

  Lady Dobson brightened. ‘He would love to dance with Miss Patience.’

  ‘She has the third set available, if he is not otherwise engaged.’ Patience had asked Amelia to relay this information to Mr Dobson, in case he did not get around to asking himself.

  Lady Dobson bustled off.

  While Mr Mitchell might have set his sights higher for his daughter, Patience and Mr Dobson liked each other a great deal. Amelia promised only to bring young people together whom she thought would suit. Couples she thought fit well together.