The Matchmaker and the Duke Page 7

  He moved to stand beside her, received a discouraging glance and ignored it. What on earth had he done now? Whatever it was, he intended to find out. But here was not the time or the place to get to the bottom of her annoyance.

  ‘I see that you enjoyed the play,’ he said.

  ‘I did. I haven’t seen mummers perform since I was a child.’

  ‘What about the theatre—do you enjoy that also?’

  ‘I do, though it is some time since I attended.’

  About to invite her, he hesitated. She would refuse. ‘What about the Misses Mitchell? Do they enjoy the theatre?’

  She turned to face him. ‘They do, I believe.’

  ‘You believe? Then I gather they have not been since they come to London.’

  ‘I have suggested to their papa that he rent a box, but he has not done so as yet.’

  ‘Then do me the honour of accepting an invitation to use my box next Friday evening. I will transport you in my carriage.’

  ‘I do not think—’

  ‘Shall I speak to Mr Mitchell? Perhaps his permission is required?’

  She narrowed her eyes in suspicion.

  He maintained an expression of innocent enquiry.

  ‘I am sure Charity and Patience will be delighted to accompany you to the theatre,’ she said. ‘Will Lady Mary serve as chaperon?’

  He almost chuckled at this little ploy of hers. ‘My aunt will not be in town next week. She has planned a visit to friends in Bath.’ Or she would have one planned after he spoke to her.

  ‘I see.’

  ‘So, you will do me the great honour of joining my party?’

  ‘We will.’

  Her unwilling agreement made him want to laugh when he should have been annoyed. But he thought he knew why she was being so elusive. He was absolutely certain she felt the attraction that sparked between them and she was doing everything in her power to resist its allure.

  How could he possibly not recall their first meeting? Could she have invented it as a way of reeling him in? The thought left a bitter taste in his mouth.

  * * *

  In Amelia’s opinion, the evening at the theatre rolled around all too quickly. It seemed the girls felt the same way.

  ‘I do not see why we must attend the theatre with the Duke,’ Charity grumbled and she turned this way and that, regarding her reflection in the long mirror in the room the girls shared. ‘I would much rather go to my first play with Lord Sherbourn.’

  ‘So would I,’ Patience said. ‘Then we could have invited Mr Dobson.’

  Amelia also wished she was not going. Oh, dear, this was not an auspicious start to what should have been a wonderful evening. It was ages since she had attended the theatre and if it had been with anyone else...

  What was she thinking? This was a perfect opportunity for Charity to get to know the Duke better. To see his good qualities. To realise his worth. A pang in her chest made her catch her breath. What? Was she jealous? Surely not? She was simply concerned that Charity not make a dreadful mistake, the way she had.

  Did that mean she was wrong in encouraging his suit? Should she speak of her reservations to Charity’s papa? And if Stone decided it was Charity he wanted? How would a mere mortal like her stand in his way? Never had she felt so conflicted about one of her matches before.

  She retied the bow in Charity’s hair and stepped back to regard the result. Any man would have to be pleased with the way Charity looked. Young and lovely, yes, but also with a quiet sort of confidence.

  ‘Firstly,’ Amelia said, ‘the Sherbourns do not own a box or yet rent one for the Season, so they cannot invite us. Secondly, it is very good of the Duke to include us in his party. To turn him down would be rude.’ She hoped her own feelings of concern were not apparent in her tone. Oh, how she wished Lady Mary had not gone to Bath and left her acting as chaperon.

  Being around Stone made her uncomfortable. But this evening was not about her, it was about these girls and their futures.

  She regarded Patience with a critical eye. ‘My dear, is that a hole in your glove?’

  Patience flushed and tucked her hands behind her back. ‘I pulled at a thread.’

  ‘Go and ask your maid for another pair,’ Amelia said.

  ‘All this fuss just because he is a duke.’ Patience disappeared into the dressing room.

  ‘No, Patience,’ Amelia said raising her voice a fraction. ‘A well-bred young lady does not leave her house with holes in her gloves, any more than she would leave her house in a moth-eaten shawl. I hope you both have a paper of pins in your reticules in case some mishap should occur once we depart.’

  ‘Yes,’ they chorused.

  Patience returned at the same moment the knocker sounded and they went down and boarded the waiting carriage.

  * * *

  The Duke met them at the theatre and opened the carriage door when they pulled up at the kerb. He bowed them out of the carriage, looking positively delicious in his evening clothes. Amelia winced inwardly at her instant reaction. What was the matter with her?

  ‘Good evening, ladies,’ he said.

  Amelia glanced around. Where was the rest of his party? They must already have gone to his box.

  In the lobby, the patrons were slowly making their way to their appointed seats. Those in the pit used the doors in front of them. Stone guided them through the crowds and up the wide stairs to the third floor where they followed others going to their boxes. Stone’s was at the end of the corridor and therefore would be close to the stage.

  The curtain was opened for them to enter.

  The box was empty.

  The girls went ahead and were seated at the front of the box.

  Amelia hesitated, looking up at the Duke with a frown. ‘Where are the rest of your guests?’

  He looked surprised. ‘The rest?’

  ‘You said you were getting up a party of guests to attend the theatre.’

  ‘You are my only guests.’

  A cold feeling settled in the pit of Amelia’s stomach. Then he must soon make an offer to Charity. Every member of the ton present at the theatre would be expecting it once they saw him alone with her and the Mitchell girls.

  Why did dread twist in her chest? She should be thrilled for her protégée. She forced a smile. ‘I apologise, Your Grace. I misunderstood.’

  ‘I am Your Grace again, I see. Have I again done something to offend?’ He was looking down his nose in that way he had, but there was a glint of amusement in those icy blue eyes.

  He was laughing at her?

  She felt herself bristle and forced herself to calm. ‘Certainly not, Stone. I simply made an incorrect assumption and was surprised.’

  He gestured to one of the two remaining chairs at the front of the box. ‘Please be seated. May I take your wrap?’

  She handed him her shawl and eyed the chair he had indicated. She had expected, as chaperon, to be sitting behind her charges, but now she was being offered a seat in a prime location. She would be able to see the stage perfectly.

  A little thrill ran through her. It was an unexpected treat. Everyone knew who she was, what she did to make a living, and while they tolerated her, because of her success, they did not usually treat her as an equal. She smiled up at him. ‘Thank you, Stone.’

  The expression on his face changed a little, seemed to warm. Or perhaps it was a trick of the light. For in an instant his face was its usual cool, remote, blank slate.

  He was a man who did not want anyone to know what he was thinking, least of all a paid employee. Did he ever relax?

  Handing him her shawl, she slid into the seat he had indicated, allowing him to sit between her and Charity. Indeed, from this angle she could not see Charity or Patience. Perhaps that was his plan. With her view obstructed...

  Good heavens, what was s
he thinking? The Duke was far to honourable and strait-laced to do anything underhanded.

  She settled into her seat and glanced down at the stage. If she was sensible, she would enjoy this evening to the full, because this was likely the last time she would attend the theatre. Once these two young ladies were married off, she was going to retire from the matchmaking business.

  The settlements the Duke would make on Charity along with those of her father would provide Amelia with enough of a nest egg that she would be able to live off her investments for the rest of her days.

  A little pang of sorrow filled her.

  Regret? For what? Not because the Duke would marry Charity. It was not possible. It must be because she had enjoyed helping young people find perfect partners. Every match she had made had proved to be successful both financially and in bringing together two people who fit well together.

  She wished she felt the same about Charity and the Duke. They both deserved to be comfortable.

  One thing she was sure of—the Duke would never treat Charity badly, even if he was never truly warm to her. He certainly would not gamble his fortune away on horses.

  * * *

  Jasper settled into his seat beside Mrs Durant, puzzled by her reaction to the lack of other guests, but he had also seen the expression of pleasure on her face when she had realised she was to be seated in the best seat in his box.

  He could not help but wonder what her life had been like since her come out. He knew of her husband. A man who had insisted on racing his own horse at Newmarket and then broke his neck yards before he was to cross the finishing line first definitely created a memorable impression, even if it was not a good one.

  Durant had been from a reasonably good family and there should have been settlements for his widow, but if there had been, she surely would not need to hire herself out.

  While she was not being paid as a chaperon, she was certainly being paid to broker matches among the ton’s younger generation.

  Or between heiresses and titles. Like him. While the financial health of the duchy did not necessitate he marry an heiress, if the bride he chose came with a fortune, it was all to the good. On the other hand, he really was free to choose where he pleased, provided he did not tarnish the family name.

  He glanced at the beautiful heiresses who were whispering to each other and gazing around them in awe. They were lovely girls, with nice manners and lively dispositions. Either of them would make an excellent wife.

  ‘Is this your first visit to the theatre, Miss Mitchell?’ he asked.

  Charity turned her limpid blue gaze to meet his. ‘I have been to the theatre in York, but of course everything in London is larger, grander and more modern.’

  The theatre didn’t look particularly modern to him. ‘How so?’

  ‘It is much larger than the house in York and the decorations are impressive, do you not think?’

  Heavy carvings and lavish gilt were not his favourite.

  ‘And this gas lighting is much brighter than anything I am used to,’ she added.

  ‘I have to say the gas lighting is a huge improvement,’ he agreed. ‘Not only is it brighter, it is not nearly as smoky as oil or candles.’

  ‘Indeed. Or so hot. Mr Dobson says that soon everyone in the country will be using gas to light their homes,’ Patience announced.

  An enormous undertaking. ‘Mr Dobson is likely right.’

  He frowned. Wasn’t that something the elder Lord Dobson had been also talking about when he had been speaking of an interesting investment.

  He really must have his man of business set up a meeting with that gentleman.

  He was aware of Mrs Durant listening intently to the conversation between him and the sisters, but she did not participate. It was as if she was distancing herself from the three of them—as a good chaperon should. He did not like it. He wanted to hear her opinion.

  ‘What do you think, Mrs Durant?’

  An expression of surprise crossed her face. ‘I agree, the gas lighting is not only brighter, but I believe it is safer. At least that is what I have heard. Too many theatres have been lost to fires over the years.

  ‘Yes, indeed.’

  The curtains opened and the play began. Macbeth was always a favourite with the London audience. Jasper had seen it many times, but he was pleased to discover that the ladies, rather than chattering and giggling through the performance, watched and listened. Of course, that did not mean that the rest of the audience was as well behaved, but his box isolated them from the worst of the riff-raff and, since they were well above the pit, the distractions were minimal.

  * * *

  At intermission, Stone sent one of the footmen to fetch refreshments.

  ‘Oh, look,’ Charity said, leaning forward. ‘There is Lord Sherbourn.’ She frowned. ‘He did not mention he planned to attend the theatre tonight when I spoke with him last evening.’

  ‘I expect he decided to attend at the last moment.’ Mrs Durant’s voice was soothing, as if she was trying to ease some hurt.

  Charity’s gaze remained fixed on the young lord as if willing him to look up. He did not do so, he was in deep conversation with a group of other young gentlemen.

  After a moment or two, she sat back, looking unhappy. Stone glanced at Mrs Durant and discovered she was watching him, as if seeking his reaction.

  ‘They are simply good friends,’ she murmured.

  He raised an eyebrow.

  ‘Miss Mitchell and Sherbourn.’

  Was she trying to give him some sort of assurance? He shrugged. ‘I had noticed that they are often in company together.’

  Mrs Durant’s lips pressed together as if there was something she wanted to say.

  A handsome man dressed in exemplary style gazed up into their box with a beaming smile. He doffed his hat and bowed. Jasper stifled a groan. He’d thought Albert was on a repairing lease in the country.

  ‘Who is that fellow staring up here, Charity?’ Patience asked. ‘Do you know him?’

  Charity shook her head. ‘I have never seen him before.’

  Jasper glared down at Albert. What the devil did he think he was doing?

  ‘He seems to be waiting for an invitation to join us,’ Mrs Durant said.

  Albert waved.

  Jasper glared at him. ‘He is a distant cousin of Lady Warren’s. He has been out of town.’ Damnation. Albert always turned up at the most inconvenient moments and never with good intention. He probably needed a loan.

  ‘Shouldn’t you invite him to join us?’ Mrs Durant asked.

  ‘I am sure he does not expect it,’ Stone said.

  Albert took the hint and with a shake of his head turned his attention elsewhere.

  She frowned. ‘I am quite certain he did.’

  ‘I do not find his company congenial in the least.’

  ‘I see.’

  He winced at the disapproval in her tone. She should be disapproving of Albert. ‘He is not good ton.’

  ‘And one raised eyebrow from you and he scurried off like a rabbit.’

  ‘The ducal stare. I am told it is quite fierce.’

  ‘Devastatingly so.’

  She sounded appalled. Had he given her that look when he met her years ago? It would have been in its infancy at the time. Over the years, he had perfected it. Well, there was not much he could do about the past.

  ‘No doubt I shall receive a visit from him tomorrow,’ he said calmly, even though the thought made him writhe inside. He endured the man for Aunt Mary’s sake.

  A footman entered with a tray of drinks and handed them around. ‘There is a gentleman outside wishing to know if he can visit, Your Grace.’ The man handed over a calling card.

  ‘Is it Mr Dobson?’ Patience asked eagerly.

  ‘It is.’ Thank God it was not Albert. ‘Show him in, ple
ase,’ Jasper said.

  Dobson entered, followed by Sherbourn. ‘Look who I found moping about in the lobby,’ Dobson said. He bowed. ‘Good evening, ladies. Your Grace.’

  ‘Dobson.’ Jasper nodded.

  He turned his gaze on the other young man, who stopped staring at Miss Mitchell with a besotted expression on his face to shoot his friend a hard look. ‘I was not moping.’

  The footman offered them both drinks. Dobson accepted. Sherbourn did not. ‘I see you are having a grand time, Miss Mitchell,’ he said grimly.

  She lifted her chin. ‘Exceedingly grand, thank you, Lord Sherbourn.’

  The young lord glowered at Jasper.

  ‘For goodness’ sake, Sherbourn,’ Jasper said. ‘Accept a glass of wine. You have imposed on my hospitality, now make use of it.’

  The young man flushed. ‘Indeed, Your Grace, I cannot think why I let Dobson convince me to join you.’

  He turned about sharply and left.

  Miss Mitchell’s eyes sparkled with anger. She gave a little laugh. ‘Well, I declare we are better off without him if he is in such an unpleasant temper.’

  ‘Oh,’ Dobson said airily, ‘take no notice. Sherbourn is always up in the boughs about something or other. So, Miss Patience, what do you make of the gas lights? I told you they were stupendous, did I not? Father had something to do with their installation.’

  ‘I was telling His Grace I thought them quite remarkable.’

  Charity looked as if she would like to follow Lord Sherbourn, the foolish chit.

  Another gentleman entered the box. Unannounced. Mrs Durant looked startled. ‘Uncle Joshua?’ She gave Jasper a helpless glance. ‘I had no idea you were also in London. May I introduce you to His Grace, the Duke of Stone? Your Grace, Mr Joshua Trotter.’

  She looked as if she expected Jasper to cut the man. Did she think him so insufferably high in the instep? He mentally gave his head a shake. Likely had this man approached him in the street, or arrived in his box in Mrs Durant’s absence, he would have done so. Mrs Durant would know this.

  Was this her way of giving relatives a step up in the world? Somehow, he did not believe it of Mrs Durant. She seemed genuinely delighted to see her uncle and ready to defend him against Jasper, too. He could not help but admire her loyalty.