Page 10 of Lady Emily’s Matchmaking Mishap (Merry Spinsters, Charming Rogues #5)

Chapter Five

“Repeat that. Who did you say has arrived?”Lady Dalrymple, not usually hard of hearing, grabbed her sister’s ear trumpet and pressed it to her ear. As the only one of the Duke’s three great-aunts to have married, she had worn black since the death of Lord Dalrymple over twenty years ago. She had a proud forehead and an eagle nose, and sharp, grey eyes.

“The Ladies Lydia Featherstone and Lady Poppy Featherstone,” repeated the housekeeper, Mrs Smith. “Invited personally by His Grace.”

“Never heard of them.” Lady Dalrymple frowned. “Jane, have you ever heard the name Featherstone?”

Lady Jane tilted her head thoughtfully. Lady Jane’s face was severe and masculine. Her dress was also dark, plain and practical without any sort of adornment. “Featherstone, you say? Featherstone, Featherstone... ” She narrowed her eyes in concentration, then shook her head. “No. Doesn’t ring a bell. Mabel?”

Her other sister, Lady Mabel, shook her head.

Mabel, the smallest of the three, was clad in a simple, black gown. Though never married, she kept her sister company even in mourning.

“How very peculiar,” Araminta mused. “The dear boy never invites anyone to his house parties. He abhors them. We had to coax him endlessly to agree to this one. And you are certain he invited them himself?” She gasped and put her hand to her heart. “Do you think it could be... ” She leaned forward, her voice dropping to a low whisper. “Could he have developed a tendre for one of the ladies? At last?” She clasped her hands together in delight.

Jane sniffed. “Unlikely. Our ‘dear boy’ has built up quite a reputation with the ladies, but he’d never seriously take up with one, let alone develop a tendre for one. They call him the Devil Duke for a reason, you know.”

Araminta sighed. “I wonder what happened to turn his heart to stone. He used to be such a sensitive, trusting boy.”

“A woman happened,” Mabel murmured, almost to herself. “Or rather, a girl. A long, long time ago.”

“What did you say, Mabel? Speak up,” Araminta said impatiently. “Surely some woman broke his heart. She must have been a cruel, cold-hearted sort of creature to break a man like that.”

“Or sweet and innocent,” Mabel added quietly. But neither sister listened.

Araminta turned to the housekeeper. “The ladies have arrived? Are they settled in?”

Mrs Smith nodded. “Yes, ma’am. The Duke gave personal instructions for the Green and Blue Suites to be prepared.”

“The finest rooms. How intriguing.” Jane crossed her arms.

“Lady Lydia Featherstone injured her ankle in a fall at the inn,” Mrs Smith informed her. “She fell down the stairs. The doctor has already been summoned.”

Araminta raised an eyebrow. “Goodness. She fell down the stairs?”

“Yes, my lady. I was informed that the Duke caught her and prevented further harm.”

Araminta dropped her quizzing glass. “How uncharacteristically chivalrous of him.”

“Chivalrous, bah,” Jane sniffed. “It’s clear as daylight. He fell prey to a fortune hunter. I didn’t think he was that green behind the ears.”

“Or it was love,” Mabel, always the passionate romantic, suggested gently.

Jane heard that and cut in. “Fiddlesticks, Mabel. Wolferton and love are as unlikely a combination as Prinny and frugality, or King George and sanity—extremely unlikely, to be sure. Well, it cannot be helped. One must wait until morning before one’s curiosity can be satisfied. Pray, has Wolferton settled in, yet?”

“He has,” a deep voice interjected as the Duke strode into the room. The maids and housekeeper fell to a curtsy. “Your Grace.”

“My dear boy.” Araminta dropped her embroidery and rose from her chair. “My dear, dear boy.”

The Duke embraced each of his aunts in turn and placed a kiss on their cheeks. “Aunt Mabel. Aunt Jane. Aunt Araminta.”

“What a surprise, Jasper. We weren’t expecting you until tomorrow afternoon.” Jane patted his arm, looking fondly up into his face.

“We made excellent time, testing the new horses I bought at Tattersall’s. Worth every penny, it turns out.”

“You take after your father in that respect.” Araminta touched his cheek. “Always the sportsman.”

The Duke gave her a wintry smile. “I wouldn’t know, would I? Having hardly known the man.”

Jane shot Araminta a warning glance. “No, you wouldn’t, of course, since your parents preferred to live in separate households. It was a thoughtless remark. Never mind. We were wondering about the two ladies who have arrived. Featherstone. It’s not a name any of us recognise.”

The Duke moved to the sideboard and poured himself a glass of cordial. “I daresay you wouldn’t.”

“But who are they?” Araminta pressed.

He shrugged. “More meat for the marriage mart? To broaden my options? That’s the whole point of this farce of a party, is it not? You’ve invited the most eligible ladies in the ton so that I may choose a suitable breeding cow?”

“Jasper!” Araminta and Jane exclaimed simultaneously, thoroughly scandalised.

“What does it matter who they are? I am to be married, am I not?” He took a sip, nonchalant. “So the exalted Wolferton line doesn’t die out with me, having been in existence since when—William the Conqueror? Thought I might expand the choices a little before I allow myself to get snared in the parson’s mousetrap. It’s a lifelong sentence, after all.”

Araminta wrung her hands. “Yes, but you go about it in such a cold-blooded manner. Choosing a wife isn’t quite the same as choosing a pair of boots.”

“It’s not?” He sat down, crossed his legs and inspected his boots, an exquisite pair made by London’s finest bootmaker, Hoby’s.

“It is not!” his aunts chorused.

“I fail to see why not. One inspects the boots, selects a pair that’s pleasing, tries them on, and if they’re comfortable, decides to purchase them and wear them out. Ideally, they will last a lifetime, although that may be optimistic. What is more realistic is that sooner or later one will have to replace those boots with a newer pair.”

“It is highly improper of you to say such a thing, and furthermore, it is an entirely unrealistic comparison,” Araminta scolded him in a sharp voice.

“You are quite right, Aunt. A more realistic comparison would be to have several pairs of boots, and to change them as one sees fit... ”

Araminta shrieked, Jane covered her face with both hands, and Mabel turned pale and sank into a chair.

“Jasper!”

The Duke laughed. “Why not? We’re being realistic, aren’t we?”

Jane pointed her finger at him. “You really are a devil.”

He chuckled darkly. “A glass of cordial, my ladies?” He lifted the decanter on the table in front of him.

Only Mabel accepted a glass.

“Oh, my nerves,” Araminta groaned, fanning herself. “Surely, you are jesting. You cannot truly mean anything you’ve just said.”

“I think he means it,” Mabel commented thoughtfully, betweensips of cherry cordial.

The Duke cast her a quick, fond smile. “Before I forget: Chippendale has arrived with me.”

“Did he bring a sister?”

“No.”

“Well, then... ” Araminta dismissed him with a wave. “Hamish is here with his sister. Lord and Lady Willowthorpe and their daughters are to arrive later. The rest of the guests arrive tomorrow. Then, of course, there are the two ladies you invited.”

Wolferton finished his glass and set it down with a dry smile. “Let the boot inspection begin.”

A footman had carried Cissy to her room.

She had protested at first, but a sharp pinch from Emily silenced her. Reluctantly, she allowed herself to be lifted by a footman and carried up the grand staircase. Her eyes widened as she took in the opulence of the mansion.

How often had Emily seen the house from afar, an imposing structure overlooking the lake? Yet this was the first time she’d set foot inside. It was nothing like the sad, abandoned shell she remembered from her childhood. The house had undergone significant renovations and was brimming with treasures: oil paintings, marble busts and thick, expensive Persian and Aubusson carpets that softened each step.Polished tables held vases overflowing with flowers, and gilded mirrors reflected every flicker of light, amplifying the splendour.

Upon their arrival, the housekeeper, Mrs Smith, stepped forward to greet them. She was tall and severe, dressed in an immaculate grey gown, with a jingling set of keys dangling from her waist.

“His Grace regrets he is unable to greet you personally,” she said, her voice clipped but polite. “He is attending to business. He will be pleased to welcome you tomorrow, along with the other guests.” With that, she led them down a series of corridors to their chambers.

Emily tried to maintain an air of nonchalance. After all, as Lady Poppy Featherstone, she was used to visiting great houses. Still, she couldn’t help but stifle a small gasp of delight as Mrs Smith opened the door to her room. The room was a vision in velvet blue, with violets arranged in porcelain vases, filling the air with a sweet, delightful fragrance. Cissy’s adjoining room was identical but decorated in a rich forest green, from the canopy bed to the drapes and wallpaper.

Once the maids had departed, the sisters looked at each other and then Cecily clasped her hands together with sparkling eyes. “Emily, this place is magical! If I could, I would twirl and dance around the room.”

“I’ll do it for you.” Emily stretched out her arms and spun around in place. “Whee!” She collapsed onto the massive bed, giggling.

Some time later, dinner was brought to Cissy’s room. A footman set the table with a damask tablecloth, silver cutlery and crystal glasses. “Potage aux champignons, filet de sole à la meunière, accompanied by haricots verts and pommes duchesse, a selection of cheeses and for pudding crème br?lée and petits fours,” he announced in impeccable French. Then he bowed and retreated.

“I trust everything is in order and that dinner will be to your liking.” The housekeeper watched the proceedings with eagle eyes. “Let us know if your tastes change and you prefer something else. You will be accommodated.”

Emily glanced at the table. “Dinner seems quite acceptable, thank you.”

“His Grace has ordered a physician to see you in the morning,” the housekeeper added.

“That is hardly necessary,” Cissy began, embarrassed, but Emily interrupted.

“This is most kind of His Grace. Please give our sincere gratitude for his thoughtfulness.”

Once Mrs Smith had left, the girls stared at the beautifully laid table.

“I’ve never seen anything like it. Not even at Aunt Henrietta’s, and you know how she liked to feast,” Cissy stammered.

“I behold food, Cissy.” Emily said. “That’s all that matters. But this certainly tops anything I have ever seen. If this is how they feed individual guests, imagine a dukely banquet?”

Cissy’s eyes widened. “It would be positively sublime!”

Emily nodded and sank into her chair. “I confess, I’m beginning to feel a little intimidated.”

“We can do this. Yes, we certainly can.” Cissy sat down across from her and ate with determination.

Emily sighed contentedly after a spoonful of soup, but quickly remembered something. “The code word. Remember, if one of us says it, the other must come to the rescue immediately, no matter what the circumstances.”

“’Bubble and squeak’,” Cissy said with a grin. “But, Emmy, can’t we think of something better? Last time, in the Pump Room in Bath, when I was surrounded by admirers and feeling terribly anxious, it took me ages to remember what it was, and then I couldn’t fit it into a sentence that made sense.”

“I remember.” Emily snorted. “You said, ‘The taste of the mineral water reminds me of ‘bubble and squeak.’” She clapped a hand over her mouth to stifle her laughter.

Cissy groaned. “It took me over half an hour to think of that!”

“But it worked, didn’t it? Like a knight in shining armour, I whisked you away from that dreadful lot.” Emily shook her head. “If only the gentlemen had been a decade younger. There was no suitable man for you among them, alas. Although I did have hopes for Mr Matthews.”

Mr Edward Matthews, a man in his late thirties, dressed in plain brown, possessed an unassuming appearance and a gentle demeanour that quietly set him apart from others. It seemed initially to Emily that he couldn’t hold a candle to the other suitors who had vied for her sister’s attention.

But there had been something different about him. He’d appeared clearly infatuated. Of course, that was nothing unusual; most, if not all, gentlemen were. What was different, almost startling, was that for the first time Cissy seemed to be responding.

From the heart.

And that was a first, if ever there was one.

Except, Mr Matthews had disappeared without a trace. One day he was there—attentive and sincere—and the next he was gone. No letter. No goodbye. Nothing. It was as if the earth had swallowed him up.

Cissy put down her fork, her cheeks flushed. “I’m sure Mr Matthews is long married by now. With a child or two.”

Emily tilted her head, considering her words. “That would be quite a feat, considering it’s only been six months since we last saw him. But who knows? Maybe he had a secret family hidden away somewhere.” She paused, her eyebrows knitting together. “Though I doubt it. He seemed sincere. With you, I mean.”

Cissy pushed her plate away. “Let’s not talk about Mr Matthews. He’s in the past. Nothing can be done about it. I’m to marry the Duke, remember?”

Emily nodded slowly. “Yes. That is the plan. Surely you can do so much better than a simple barrister.”

But a thread of unease tugged at her. Cissy’s outward composure was impeccable, but she was eating her crème br?lée with far too much concentration, as if completely unaffected by the subject at hand.

“Wolferton,” Emily said suddenly, breaking the silence.

Cissy looked up questioningly.

“He will make you happy,” she declared firmly. “I will see to it personally. If he doesn’t, I will unleash my wrath upon him.”

“Oh, intriguing! And how will you achieve this, dear sister? Challenge him to a duel? “

“Now there’s an idea.” Emily tapped her finger against her lips, pretending to think deeply.

“You don’t even know how pistols work.”

“Then we’ll use swords.”

“You’ve never touched one in your life.”

Emily held up the butter knife. “I’ll use this. A most fearsome weapon indeed.”

“Terrifying!”

“Precisely.” Emily nodded. “He won’t know what hit him.”

“A knitting needle might be more effective,” Cissy said with a grin.

“An embroidery needle.”

“A toothpick!”

“Imagine duelling with toothpicks! Didn’t we try that once?” Emily laughed at the memory. “We caused such a commotion that Papa came in, enquiring whether the house was collapsing.”

The sisters burst into laughter, their mirth echoing through the room.