Page 2 of Match Made in Heaven (The Cricket Club #5)

“I wish you all wouldn’t talk about me when I’m not around,” Ella spat, unable to mask her hurt.

It was bad enough being left behind—now her upcoming spinsterhood was the prime topic of conversation.

“It’s not fair. You’re all a part of this married club, walking from room to room with smug, arrogant, knowing expressions. It’s beyond annoying.”

“We’re hardly smug.”

“All married women are smug,” Ella contested. “You’re just too nice to notice.”

“I am not!”

Ella frowned at her oblivious sister. “You are, but don’t worry. I still love you.”

“Thank you so much,” Cordelia grumbled. She swiveled her slender neck around, her eyebrows crowding into one. “Why have we stopped?”

Ella avoided her sister’s discerning stare and pinched a few pieces of lint off her skirt. When she spoke, her voice was abnormally high. “No reason. I just thought you might need a rest.”

Cordelia’s frown deepened. They stood at the corner of South Carriage Drive and Serpentine Road, with the popular walking path, Rotten Row, waiting ahead of them. “I don’t need to rest. Do you?”

Ella shrugged. “Not particularly.”

Cordelia eyed her suspiciously. Using her parasol, she motioned forward. “Then should we continue?”

Ella shook her head, feeling the seconds pass by, pounding in tandem with her expectant heart.

He wasn’t late; he couldn’t be. He never was. Could she be early?

“I suppose I just like this spot, is all,” Ella replied easily, gamboling over to a nearby oak tree. She plucked one of the low-hanging leaves and inspected it as if it were a fascinating new discovery. She twirled it lazily, desperately trying to seem as casual as possible.

Cordelia’s shrewd gaze never strayed, branding Ella with her penetrating attention. “You practically pulled my arm out to get me here at this time and now you’re acting like you have all the time in the world. You’re acting weird.”

The leaf quit twirling. “I am not.”

“You are.” Cordelia followed her over to the old, gnarled tree. Without asking, she flattened her hand up against Ella’s forehead, almost knocking her straw bonnet from her head.

Ella jerked back, but her sister was insistent. “What are you doing?”

“I’m checking!” Cordelia replied, biting her lip. She held her hand against Ella a few more seconds before dropping it with a sigh. “You don’t feel that warm.”

Ella turned away in a dramatic huff. “Because I’m not. I’m perfectly fine.”

Cordelia wasn’t in the believing mood. “The doctors have told you that you mustn’t overdo it. That’s when your flares start.”

Ella hugged herself. It wasn’t that she felt violated by her sister’s action, only she hated when others thought they knew her body better than she did.

At twenty, Ella was far from the child who’d suffered from scarlet fever those many years ago.

However, she was the only person who seemed to recognize that.

“I know,” she rasped, an indignant shiver zipping up her spine. “I am always careful.”

Cordelia’s sarcasm hit with the skill of a boxer. “You mean with all those ridiculous walks?”

Ella sulked. “I hardly walk this far every day.”

“And what about your cricket club?” Cordelia harped. “I still can’t believe Mother allowed you to join that team.”

Ella’s skirts bloomed as she spun around to face her sister. “You say you don’t want me to feel lonely and then you ridicule the club I’ve joined. That club is the only thing that has helped my head stay above water ever since you… ever since… you left.”

The second she heard her voice crack, Ella snapped her mouth shut. But it was too late. Cordelia’s concern transformed into more pity, and Ella had to reach down deep to keep the tears at bay.

“Oh, Ella,” she whispered. Cordelia reached for Ella’s hand, providing a special safety blanket of comfort. “I’m sorry. I know it’s been hard being alone.” Her smile was pale and winsome, and cut straight to Ella’s delicate heart. “If I could have taken you with me, I would have.”

Ella sniffed, swiping at her nose. “I’m sure the marquis would have appreciated that.”

Cordelia’s lips widened in that smug, married woman way. “I’m not worried about the marquis. The man is completely infatuated with me. I can do no wrong in his eyes; sometimes I feel like an imposter, like I tricked him into thinking I could be his perfect marchioness.”

“You’re not an imposter,” Ella grumbled. “You’re perfect and you deserve every happiness. And I miss you.”

Cordelia squeezed her hand one more time before letting it go. “I know. I miss you too. But that’s why I need you to try now. I want you to find the same happiness I did. Then we can both be smug married women.”

Ella finally raised her head and met her sister’s unflinching, guileless countenance.

Alexandra was considered the true beauty of the family with her raven locks, crystal-blue eyes, and alabaster complexion, but Cordelia was youth and vitality exemplified.

Her features were more subdued, her hair more russet colored, her blue eyes paler, like the sea before a storm, but a sweet kindness emanated from her that was fruitless to ignore.

Cordelia was the sun, her energy both brutal and life-giving.

Ella was more like their father, pale and blonde, with a petite frame that bordered on too skinny. Pretty enough, they’d say, especially for a wealthy viscount’s daughter. She’d also heard fair , a time or two. Ella was fair. Not plain. Not extraordinary. Just fair .

“It’s not like I’m against marriage,” she began thoughtfully. “I don’t want to be alone. You know that.”

Cordelia nodded. “Well, that’s a start. Do you… have someone in mind?”

Ella locked eyes with her sister. The name was on the tip of her tongue, but it refused to budge.

There once was a time when she could have told Cordelia anything.

Their childhood was filled with late nights under blankets, recounting dreams and fairytales that they wished would come true.

But the past six months had pushed those nights and that childhood firmly in the past, to where Ella couldn’t remember if those idyllic, enchanting moments had been real or just a figment of her imagination.

Divulging secrets now—even to Cordelia—felt wanton and reckless. Childish.

And besides, everyone knew that once you said a wish out loud, it could never come true.

Ella was far from superstitious, but she’d never desired anything as badly as she wanted this man. This elusive, favored man—

Hoofbeats pounded into the dirt.

Ella’s stomach immediately squeezed; her knees shuddered underneath her two stiff petticoats. Her tongue went dry.

Yes. Right on time. His time.

Ella’s heart soared out of her chest, fluttering and pumping like the gallows of a great and mighty ship. Her eyes alighted down the lane, quickly and certainly, fixing on the man she waited every seven days to see, rain or shine.

Cordelia lined up next to her, shepherded by Ella’s rampant fixation.

There he was.

Lord Oliver, Duke of Winchester, barreled down the park path atop his high-seated phaeton with his sleek and brutal cattle galloping at full, breakneck speed.

Ella was flooded in a fog of adoration, but even through that cloudy mist, she could hear the abject apprehension and pure, unadulterated fear in her sister’s plaintive whisper.

“Oh, no, Ella… no,” Cordelia murmured. The words sounded ragged and helpless. “Not him. Anyone but him.”

The notion to be angry came upon Ella all at once.

Swift and unrelenting, it clawed at her periphery, knocking, banging, trying to catch a thread of her sanity.

But it was too elusive. Ella let the caustic feeling float by.

All her attention, all her wanting, was for the man raging toward her, color high, hands strong and sure on the reins, the occasional grunt and whistle commanding the beasts before him as if he was Helios on his chariot, riding across the sky with his four-winged steeds demanding the day to commence.

And, as always, it was over too quickly.

A rush of wind slapped against the women as the duke rode past in a whirl of dirt, barely flicking them with anything remotely suggestive of an acknowledgement.

“Why is he driving like that? It can’t possibly be safe,” Cordelia exclaimed as they pivoted to watch him speed down the drive.

For some odd reason, that rankled Ella, even though her sister was right.

The duke was driving one of the new, sleek phaetons and he sat up high, perched precariously on the box over the front axle.

Light and airy, these two-horse vehicles were open to the elements on all sides and difficult to control for even the more experienced driver.

But if the rumors were true, Lord Oliver was an experienced man. In all things.

“He likes to race his cattle,” Ella said. “He does it here, this early, so he can be alone and not put anyone in jeopardy.” She wasn’t precisely sure that was the reason, but it sounded right to her ears. She added, “It’s very gentlemanly of him, actually.”

“Gentlemanly, yes,” her sister replied wryly. Ella could almost hear Cordelia’s fine eyebrow arch in disdain. “That is exactly the word I would use to describe the Duke of Winchester.”

Ella let that slight slide. What could she truly say, anyway?

Did Cordelia actually think that Ella relished this obsession in her life?

She’d heard the same stories that Cordelia had.

All of London was aware of the duke’s rakish behavior, his gaggle of mistresses, his sordid parties.

The rogue was hardly discreet; he wore his debauchery on his sleeve!

Nevertheless, the moment Ella had witnessed his dark beauty and debonair suavity at her parents’ ball the previous month, all self-preservation had flown out the window.

She’d been hooked like the hapless fish that she was.

Ella had been too terrified and overwhelmed to even be introduced to the duke at the ball by her friend, Lady Everly.

Instead, she’d hidden, blending into the wallpaper, watching as the duke escorted their other friend, Lady Maggie, out to the dance floor.

All eyes had been on him, so he couldn’t possibly have known that hers had been the hungriest, had held the most yearning.

After that one pivotal scene, Ella had sought out every opportunity to know this man, to gather his personal information like a wartime spy. That was how she’d found out about these morning race sessions. That was when she’d set out to make him notice her.

Only he never did. This was her third Monday, and Lord Oliver had yet to tip his hat to her as he’d sped past her aloof facade.

But Ella was patient. Scarlet fever had taught her that, when she’d been holed up in her room all those years ago, waiting for death to take her and offer a reprieve.

Even after the worst had passed, a long convalescence had ensued.

Books had been Ella’s friends, and she’d gravitated to the great adventures.

Swiss Family Robinson , Ivanhoe , The Death of King Arthur —heroes and kings fighting for love and family in far-off, exotic places that were beyond the realm of Ella’s small, insulated existence.

The moment Ella had laid eyes on Lord Oliver, she’d known that he was those characters come to life. He was the real thing.

And one day, she vowed, he would speak to her. And in that blessed instance, she would no longer hide. And her days of traveling this world alone would be over.

“Ella?” Cordelia reminded her so much of their mother when she affected that wary tone. “He’s a cad.”

Ella pulled back her shoulders. “You don’t know him.”

“I know of him.”

“Well, that’s not the same, is it? Besides, he helped my friend this summer. He didn’t need to, but he did. Lady Maggie said he was… surprising.”

Cordelia huffed. “Surprising?”

“Please, just stop. I’m not in the mood for your comments.”

Ella picked up her feet and trailed behind the phaeton’s indentations in the dirt, keeping a watchful eye as the duke careened down the path. He was going rather fast. The wheels wavered side to side as if he was finding it difficult to keep them straight.

Cordelia trudged in her wake. “Mother will not be happy.”

Ella scoffed. “Are you insane? She’d be ecstatic.

Her entire mission in life is to see us married off well.

It’s no secret. The entire ton knows of her greed.

She already has two marquises, one earl, and one viscount as sons-in-law.

A duke would be her crowning glory. It would complete her card set. ”

Cordelia skipped up beside her, gasping as the phaeton hit a bump, all four wheels launching into the air before landing down safely.

She blew out a nervous breath. “I had no idea you were so interested in helping mother complete her set.” She gave the duke one last long look before sighing in resignation.

“Can we go now? Have you taken your fill? I assume he was the reason we were here.”

Ella’s shoulders slumped. She was about to relent, but when she opened her mouth to respond, nothing came out. Or, at least, she couldn’t hear herself. The crack of wood was too loud. The scream from the horses splintered through the park, bouncing off the trees in a cacophony of terror.

As Lord Oliver’s phaeton took the turn for the Serpentine bridge, his reins snapped.

And all hell broke loose.