The Matchmaker and the Duke Page 3

  She glanced over to where Stone was engaged in deep conversation with Lord Jersey. Stone would certainly meet Papa Mitchell’s expectation. Not to mention it would be a feather in Amelia’s cap to marry one of her girls off to a duke. But she honestly could not see him as a suitable husband for either girl, if she wanted them to be happy.

  And that was a primary consideration, no matter what their father thought.

  * * *

  Dancing with Miss Mitchell proved to be mildly entertaining in spite of Jasper’s reservations. Her artless comments and her bright smile were refreshing. To boot, not once had she simpered or batted her eyelashes. While her parentage was unashamedly middle class, a few discreet enquiries had informed him that her father was well respected in the business community as a man as honest and hardworking as the day was long. The sort of man Jasper respected.

  The sort of man upon whom England’s future would be built. Those in Parliament needed to recognise this if they did not want to go the way of the French aristocracy. They needed to make it easier for men like Mitchell to achieve their goals, because the land alone could no longer support England’s growing population. A population that wanted to have a say in their future.

  On the other hand, he, as Duke, had also to think of his family’s future. His bride ought to bring more with her than wealth. Influence was far more important these days. In his opinion, the only way to bring England into the future without destroying it was to loosen the reins of power without giving them up entirely. Bring men like Mitchell into the fold, as it were.

  He glanced over at the matchmaker, Mrs. Durant. Did she understand that and was she congratulating herself right now on having snagged the biggest marital coup of the decade? It was early days yet. While he could see the benefits of marrying out of the nobility, he would have to live with the woman for the rest of his life. His stomach dipped.

  Perhaps he’d feel better about it if he took the time to get to know Miss Mitchell. On the other hand, if he let the grass grow under his feet, the matchmaker would have no difficulty placing these girls now he had given his stamp of approval by dancing with one of them. And she was pleasant and exceedingly sweet.

  And yet he felt a sense of something missing. He had felt nothing but a sort of avuncular kindness for the girl. Perhaps he really was getting old.

  Devil take it. All that blathering by Aunt Mary about happiness had somehow wormed its way into his mind. He was perfectly happy...content...or something. He certainly did not enjoy being around people in the throes of passion. It made him uncomfortable.

  A pang twisted painfully in his chest as he recalled his parents’ loving relationship. At one time he had dreamed of something similar. But perhaps it had been a child’s illusion. He’d certainly not seen that happiness in many of the marriages around him in the ton. He deliberately pushed the memory aside.

  Fortunately, the figures of the dance left him and Miss Mitchell standing out at the top of the set. He focused his attention on her and she beamed at him.

  ‘I suppose all of this must seem like old hat to you?’ she said. ‘At your time of life, you must have been to a great many balls and parties.’

  His time of life? Good Lord, now he sounded as old as Methuselah. Challenged by the implication, he gave her his most charming of smiles. ‘I have attended a great many balls, Miss Mitchell. But you know,’ he said, leaning closer, ‘it is the people who make them interesting.’

  Her eyes widened a fraction, her lips parted. ‘How—how do you mean?’

  Yes, he had not completely lost his touch. He could still charm a young lady if he put his mind to it.

  ‘For example, take the young gentleman over there with his mother, the plump dark-haired lady in the rose silk gown. That is Lord Barnaby. You would not think to look at him that he has devoted all of his time to working on a new sort of engine. If it works, it will make bringing goods to London much faster than ever before.’

  She wrinkled her little nose. ‘Why would speed be important?’

  ‘Well... Say you want to sell fish caught in the rivers in Scotland. Right now, it comes to London by ship, but storms can delay that ship for days, even weeks. If it came by land in half the time it takes by boat, it would be fresher and command a better price.’

  ‘Ew! I do not like fish.’

  He laughed at the face of distaste she made. ‘You might like it better if it was fresh.’

  She shook her head. ‘No, I know I would not. I have eaten it fresh from the river, but I do take your meaning, I suppose.’

  ‘There are many other things that would also benefit from faster travel. I am sure you can think of some.’

  She looked thoughtful for a moment. ‘Oh, yes. Milk. Cream. Strawberries.’

  Yes, she did understand. He smiled at her as they began their promenade down the dance. He had not expected to enjoy conversing with the young lady, but it made such a refreshing change, he was actually enjoying himself.

  ‘How long have you been in London?’ he asked.

  ‘Almost six weeks.’

  ‘You came right at the beginning of the Season, then.’

  ‘Mrs Durant insisted we do so. She has been teaching us a great deal about how to go on, now and in the future.’

  Ah yes, Mrs Durant. He glanced over to where the matchmaker was standing with a couple of older women. He could not help once more wondering what it was that he had done to make her dislike him.

  ‘Is she very strict in her notions?’ he asked.

  ‘Not really. She mostly tells us to be ourselves, but not to giggle or be silly. She also had us take elocution lessons to make us speak more clearly and dancing lessons to make sure we know all the latest steps and music.’

  A sensible woman, Mrs Durant, apparently. Giggling females were deucedly annoying and a young lady who could not dance was a liability. The dance parted them and they travelled individually up the behind the line of dancers in their set. They met again at the top, but they were not standing out, so there was no real opportunity to continue their conversation.

  He moved through the figures of the dance intuitively. Did Mrs Durant know how to dance? He would like to see that lithe figure of hers on the dance floor. Especially in a waltz. She had the elegance to carry it off to perfection. He could also guess how well her body would move beneath his hands in other circumstances. His blood heated.

  He stilled. What the devil was he doing? Dancing with one woman and thinking about another and in the most licentious of ways. It was not like him at all.

  He forced himself to concentrate on the dance and his partner until the music came to an end and he escorted her to her chaperon. Mrs Durant smiled at Miss Mitchell. ‘Here is Sir Robert come to claim his dance,’ she said as a young gentleman approached.

  The two greeted each other like old friends and joined a set on the far side of the dance floor where he could see the other sister standing up with a skinny young man.

  ‘Your charges do you proud, Mrs Durant,’ he said.

  She looked startled. Whether it was what he had said or that he had spoken, he wasn’t sure.

  She inclined her head. ‘Thank you, Your Grace.’

  ‘Will you honour me with this next dance?’

  This time her jaw dropped. ‘Me? You are asking me to dance?’

  He bowed, slightly. ‘I spoke in English and I believe my meaning is clear.’

  She choked back a laugh and for a moment he thought she might say yes. He waited for her acceptance with a feeling of anticipation.

  ‘Goodness me, no,’ she said, the gold in her eyes twinkling as if she thought he had been merely teasing. A faint trace of colour appeared high on her cheekbones. ‘I do not dance.’

  Along with surprise that any woman would turn him down, an unexpected sense of disappointment filled him. He bowed and it felt a little stiff, even as he ret
ained a pleasant smile. ‘Then if you will excuse me, I see a lady against the wall who might care to join me.’

  After all, he could not dance with only one lady this evening. That would be tantamount to an offer of marriage. No doubt, one mistake and he’d find himself leg-shackled if Mrs Durant had anything to say about it. Resentment filled him.

  Whether it was the thought of being trapped into marriage or because she had refused to dance, he could not decide.

  * * *

  In Amelia’s opinion, Mr Mitchell had been lucky to rent such suitable lodgings, so close to Mayfair. Located on a street off Bedford Square, it was a little cramped and the girls had to share a bedroom, but it was an address that would not be looked down upon by members of the ton. Indeed, they had some of those same members as neighbours.

  The two girls, now in their nightgowns, sprawled on Charity’s bed with their nightly hot chocolate. They made such a pretty picture together. Amelia sat in the rocking chair beside the hearth, sipping a cup of tea.

  ‘Well?’ Charity asked once the maid had finished tidying up and left. ‘What do you think?’

  Each evening they spent a half-hour or so reviewing the day’s events and planning the next day before Amelia went home in the Mitchells’ carriage.

  Amelia stared into her tea. What she thought was not a subject for discussion with the girls. No, indeed. And yet she could not stop thinking about the smile in His Grace’s eyes when he had asked her to dance. What on earth had he been thinking? Was it some sort of nasty jest? And yet...

  She pushed the thought aside and smiled calmly. ‘I think you girls were a credit to your papa this evening.’

  Both girls beamed with delight.

  ‘And a credit to you,’ Charity said. ‘I hope?’

  ‘Oh, indeed. Very much so,’ Amelia replied. ‘I could not have been more pleased.’

  ‘I was never more nervous that when I was dancing with the Duke,’ Charity said. She giggled. ‘He is so...so old and, I don’t know, distant, even while being exceedingly polite. And...quite kind.’

  A little pain stabbed Amelia in the region of her heart. If only he had been kind to her all those years ago, she might not have rushed into Durant’s arms. But then she had never been as beautiful as Charity or Patience. Indeed, she had always felt like a bit of an ugly duckling during her come out and had been thrilled at Durant’s attention. More fool she. Well, she had learned her lesson and whatever the Duke’s motive for asking her to stand up with him tonight, she had scotched it nicely. If only she didn’t feel...sad.

  ‘Do you think he will make Charity an offer?’ Patience asked and giggled.

  Charity looked horrified. ‘Oh, no. He won’t. Will he? Good gracious me, I do hope not.’

  Amelia felt a stab of irritation. ‘Even if he does not, what the Duke did by dancing with you was establish you as a girl of acceptable quality in the eyes of the ton.’

  Both girls stared at her open-mouthed.

  Amelia winced. Perhaps she had been a little too forceful. ‘And one dance does not mean a betrothal is in the offing. However, he is a leader in society. If he approves, so will every other member of his set.’ She inhaled a little breath, trying to maintain her aura of calm. ‘And by only dancing with you once and asking three other debutantes to dance, he put you firmly in the same echelon as the daughters of earls and viscounts.’

  Charity nodded wisely. ‘Then I must be grateful to him, I suppose.’

  Amelia smiled. ‘Be yourself, Charity. That is what pleased him in the first place, I am sure.’

  ‘But you don’t think he is...courting me?’

  Her stomach dipped. She did not want Charity hurt the way she had been hurt, perhaps that was why she was being cautious. ‘It is far too early to speak of courting, my dear. He and Lady Jersey are friends and by dancing with you he certainly endorsed her decision to give you tickets for Almack’s.’

  ‘The patronesses of Almack’s actually listen to him?’ Patience asked, round-eyed.

  ‘His Grace, Duke of Stone, is respected by every single member of the ton.’ If he had ignored the girls, it would not have done them any harm. He ignored most people. If he had cut them, their Season would have been over before it began. By dancing with Charity and looking pleased when he returned her to Amelia, by lingering for those few seconds to talk to their chaperon, he had set their feet on the path to wherever they wished to go.

  Yet Amelia did not want to stuff their heads with too much nonsense. She did not want them thinking they could do no wrong. A statue could far more easily be knocked off a pedestal then it could be set on high.

  Patience finished her hot chocolate. ‘Well, duke or no duke, I had a lovely time. I danced almost every set.’

  ‘Much to poor Mr Dobson’s chagrin,’ Charity said and poked an elbow in her sister’s ribs.

  ‘Ouch. Well, at least he didn’t leave the way Lord Sherbourn did when he saw you dancing with the Duke.’

  That had been a big disappointment for Charity, but she had lifted her chin and danced with every eligible young gentleman Amelia presented.

  ‘Do not worry,’ Amelia said. ‘He will come around.’ Lord Sherbourn was a rather dramatic young man who wore his heart on his sleeve. He had some growing up to do. But he came from good stock and likely this was his first experience of falling in love. It would either endure and become something worth nurturing or it would pass and both young people would move on.

  If Sherbourn did not come up to scratch, Amelia had several other young men on her list who would make excellent husbands, some of them higher up in rank than Sherbourn.

  She knew better than to look too high. However, with the Duke of Stone’s endorsement of Charity, perhaps she had set her sights too low, after all.

  ‘What is it you like about Mr Dobson, anyway, Sister?’ Charity asked.

  Patience looked thoughtful, then turned pink. ‘He doesn’t talk about himself non-stop. He asked me what I like to do.’

  ‘What did you tell him?’ Charity asked, clearly surprised by Patience’s hot blush.

  ‘I told him I like picnics. He said he did, too. He is going to ask his mama to arrange one.’

  Inwardly, Amelia groaned. Apparently, some sort of outdoor eating was in her not too distant future.

  She finished her tea. ‘If that is the case, we need to shop for something suitable to wear.’

  ‘Ooh!’ squealed Patience. ‘More shopping. I love it.’

  ‘Will Lord Sherbourn be invited to the picnic?’ Charity sounded a little wistful.

  ‘Since he is a friend of Mr Dobson, I would expect so,’ Amelia said.

  Charity cheered up. ‘Then I really do need a new bonnet.’

  Amelia got up. ‘Time for bed, ladies, if we are to look our best on the morrow.’

  ‘Will you buy a new bonnet, Mrs Durant?’ Charity asked.

  ‘I think I already have something suitable,’ Amelia said.

  ‘The Duke might be in attendance,’ Charity said, watching her finger trace the pattern on the counterpane.

  Amelia stilled. ‘And your point is?’

  ‘When you spoke to him, you blushed.’

  She opened her mouth to refute the accusation.

  ‘Yes, you did,’ Patience said with a giggle.

  ‘I must have been hot,’ Amelia said, seeing there was no way to deny the truth. ‘As I said, time for bed. We will have a busy day tomorrow.’ She quickly made her escape.

  Good heavens, did nothing escape those sharp-eyed girls? Clearly, she needed to watch her reactions around the Duke of Stone. If the girls noticed her blushes, others might notice also and get the wrong idea.

  Though why she had blushed, she was not sure.

  Chapter Three

  Later that week, an invitation to a picnic in Greenwich Park arrived at the Mitchells’ town house
. Both girls were ecstatic, though Patience admitted she had known the invitation was on the way.

  ‘Lady Dobson has a brother in the navy and he has a friend who is equerry to the Duke of Clarence who has granted us access to picnic in the park,’ Patience had informed Amelia. ‘Mr Dobson is hoping he can show me inside the observatory, but he hasn’t yet found anyone to sponsor us. Mr Pond allows very few visitors.’

  Greenwich Royal Park on the banks of the Thames was also home to the Royal Observatory and the domain of Mr Pond, the Royal Observer.

  ‘It will be too bad if we are unable to go inside,’ Patience said.

  Apparently, Patience had recently discovered an interest in all things related to the stars and the planets. Perhaps because Mr Dobson was similarly enthralled.

  Amelia looked at the invitation that had been thrust at her the moment she arrived at the town house after luncheon. ‘It says there will be cricket and croquet and lawn tennis as entertainment after luncheon. Let us hope the weather is fair.’

  ‘Oh, it would be too bad if it is cancelled because of rain,’ Patience said.

  ‘We shall just have to wait and see,’ Amelia said. ‘In the meantime, I see that you ladies are ready for our afternoon drive in the park and, if I am not mistaken, our carriage awaits.’

  ‘The barouche,’ Charity said in a tone of disgust.

  The sisters had pestered their papa for a fashionable high-perch phaeton. Fortunately, even Papa Mitchell was not doting enough to buy such a dangerous equipage for his daughters, especially since neither of them had any experience driving anything more exciting than a donkey cart.

  ‘A barouche is the perfect carriage for meeting people in Hyde Park,’ Amelia said. ‘You will see.’ She ushered her charges downstairs and out into the street.

  The barouche was brand new and beautifully appointed. Fortunately, Papa Mitchell had listened to Amelia when she had told him not to have any sort of crest emblazoned on the sides or anything but the most expensive materials and subdued of colours for the wheels and squabs. It was a picture of understated elegance.