A Matchmaker's Match (18 page)

He pulled Psyche’s arm back through his. Her fingers trembled on his sleeve and she looked up at him with wide eyes.

“Oh, Lord, Amanda is just susceptible enough to--”

“I know.” He sighed. “See if you can get the book away from her and do what you can to combat its influence.”

Psyche nodded. “I will immediately. And my plan?”

His face darkened, his brows drawing together in a great frown. “I don’t like it, but it looks like we’ll have to try something drastic. And your plan is as good as any.”

Chapter Seventeen

Psyche did her best. First she requested the loan of Mr. Richardson’s “wonderful Clarissa” from Amanda, pleading that she’d heard so much about it that she simply must read it.

Amanda pressed the first volumes on her eagerly and Psyche commenced to read. The story was even worse than the earl had intimated. Mr. Richardson’s Clarissa was an out and out fool! Defiled by a man while she was drugged, she chose death over dishonor. And such an asinine death—wasting away, indeed!

Finishing the lengthy book late one night, Psyche cursed and flung the last volume on the floor. This was the most horrible thing she’d read in a long time. “She should have killed
him,”
she muttered, pacing back and forth on the Persian carpet. “Killed him any way she could, the scoundrel. And I should like to tell this Mister Richardson a thing or two! Why couldn’t he write about a woman with some sense instead of filling female heads with such stupidity!”

She paced for some minutes longer, until she was able to control herself. She had to be calm to decide how to approach Amanda. Unfortunately, Amanda was too much like Overton when it came to taking advice. Give advice directly and it was sure to be ignored. Inject it subtly and it might be heeded. And that, thought Psyche, was how she would prepare her strategy.

Next morning Psyche sallied forth to breakfast ready to do battle—though indirectly—with the perfidious Mr. Richardson.

Amanda was already at the table, attacking— what was for the fragile creature she purported to be—an immense plate of food. She looked up eagerly. “Have you finished it? Wasn’t it marvelous?”

Psyche sighed deeply. “Oh yes. I do admire Clarissa.”

Amanda nodded. “I knew you would.”

Psyche poured herself a cup of tea, chose a single tiny biscuit, and sank wearily into a chair. “Yes,” she said heavily. “Clarissa is quite right. Life is hardly worth the effort.”

Amanda looked up, her bright eyes widening in amazement, a sausage suspended halfway to her mouth.

“Yes,” Psyche continued. “I really believe Clarissa is correct. It’s far better to pass over to the other side.” She sighed again and tried to look melancholy, not too difficult a task considering her unrequited feelings for the earl.

Amanda eyed the plate Psyche had in front of her, frowning at its emptiness. “Psyche, you must eat more than that!”

Psyche stared down at the minuscule biscuit. “I’ve no appetite,” she said feebly. “I believe I shall just go back to bed.”

“But Psyche--”

“The Lindens are right,” Psyche continued in dejected tones. “I have no husband and my life is ruined. I might as well give up.”

Amanda put down her fork and shoved her plate aside. “Psyche, this is ridiculous.” She looked so serious Psyche almost broke into laughter. “You can’t mean to tell me that you intend to waste away. Why— Why, I can’t believe it.”

Psyche sipped her tea, keeping her gaze carefully lowered. “You mean wasting away is not an appropriate action for a woman?”

“Of course it isn’t. That’s all silliness and— Oh!” Amanda laughed a little shakily and clapped a hand to her mouth. “I see! Psyche, you devil you, you’ve been hamming me!”

Psyche looked up, allowing herself a small smile. “Not really. I just wanted you to see. You’re a sensible girl, Amanda, you know that. And I’m sure we’ll succeed in this. Overton will come around.”

Amanda nodded, but she looked about to burst into tears. “I really feel he loves me, but he won’t speak, he won’t offer for me. Whatever is wrong with the man?”

Psyche sighed. “Who’s to know? But listen, I have this plan.”

* * * *

By the first week in September everything was in place. Planning and plotting, the earl and Psyche had tried to consider every contingency. Psyche felt that they were close to success. She hoped they were close to success. They had to succeed, she told herself firmly. Amanda, at least, had to be happy.

The afternoon before the abduction was scheduled, Psyche and the earl walked alone in the garden, reviewing the final details. “Gresham will provide the carriage,” the earl said.

Psyche nodded. “And Georgie will inform Overton.”

The earl frowned. “I cannot do it because he would expect me to have set out immediately on hearing such news.” He stroked his chin. “But it must be perfectly timed. I must be there so I can offer to go with him.” His frown deepened. “Overton can be overblown, you know. Once his ire is up, he may attack someone.”

His mind was on her plan, but a little corner of it was experiencing concern. There was something different about Psyche today—a resigned quality he had never sensed in her before. He wasn’t sure what such a quality might portend, but resignation did not fit well with Psyche, his brave, resilient Psyche. This feeling made him definitely uneasy.

She turned to him, her lovely face wrinkling into a frown. “He would not actually hurt Gresham, would he?”

“I don’t think so,” the earl replied. “And if all goes well, he will not even suspect what we’ve done. But I must be there to be certain.”

Psyche nodded. “And I must be with Amanda and Gresham. To protect her good name.”

“Correct. So that leaves Georgie to deliver the message. No doubt she’ll manage to come along with us.” He searched Psyche’s face, watching for something, some little nuance of feeling that might give her away, but he saw nothing.

“No doubt,” Psyche repeated, her face expressionless.

Then and there he made up his mind. When this pseudo-abduction was concluded, whatever its outcome, he meant to propose to Psyche. And he did not intend to take no for an answer. Some way he would convince her that marriage to him was right and proper, that Lady Bluestocking should be laid to rest—at long last.

“Georgie can do it,” he said. “She’s very good at such things.”

“You mean she’s good at deception,” Psyche said evenly.

He gave her a sharp look. A slight flush had darkened her cheeks and her lower lip trembled ever so slightly.

“Yes,” he agreed. “Georgie is much better at that kind of thing than you.”  To his surprise Psyche blushed even more. “I meant that as a compliment,” he explained, feeling as inept as a witless schoolboy.

Psyche nodded, but did not meet his gaze. “I accept it as one. Thank you.”

“So,” the earl went on. “Here’s what you must tell Amanda to do.”

* * * *

The next day Psyche thought the time for the abduction would never arrive. Through the long afternoon that preceded it, she alternated between being quite sure they would succeed and being quite sure they would fail. But whatever her convictions, her whole consciousness was laced with sadness.

Whatever the outcome of their plan, Overton would soon know the truth. And relieved of her responsibility for Amanda’s marriage, Psyche could return to Sussex.

It was not a happy prospect. Once she had loved her estate. But then once she had vowed never to return to London again. That had been her mistake, coming to London. That was one thing she was sure of. And now when she went back to the land she loved she would only be part of a person. Her heart, her stubborn, stubborn heart, would remain in London, would remain with the man who thought of her only as a friend.

Finally Amanda came downstairs wearing a fetching walking dress of Bishop’s blue and a matching bonnet. She turned. “Do I look all right?”

“Yes, indeed,” Psyche said. “You look most fetching. But do remember to look frightened when Overton arrives at the inn.”

Amanda nodded. “Oh, I shall. I want him to be terrified for me.” She frowned, clutching her reticule with trembling fingers. “Oh, Psyche, if this doesn’t work, whatever shall we do?”

Psyche frowned. “I’m not sure. But our plan
will
work. It has to work. Come, the carriage is waiting.”

* * * *

As usual, White’s was crowded with gentlemen. The earl glanced at his watch then back across the table at Overton. He wasn’t sure White’s was the best place for Georgie to find them but it had seemed the most natural.

The club was too public for his taste. If Georgie got carried away with her performance and forgot the necessity for secrecy— Or if when he heard the news, Overton ran amok— Word would travel all over London faster than the speed of the Lindens’ chattering tongues, and Amanda’s reputation would be ruined, really ruined.

It was for that reason that he had at first opposed Psyche’s plan. It still looked chancy, but it was too late to draw back now. He watched the dealer pass out the cards, picked up his hand, and considered his—

“Overton!” Georgie’s entrance was nothing if not dramatic. Her face was so white he wondered if she’d powdered it and her hands fluttered wildly. The club’s majordomo, his face wrinkled in agitation, hovered behind her.

“What is it?” Overton asked impatiently. “Don’t you know women can’t come in here?”

“I must speak to you.” She glanced around fearfully. “It will have to be in private.”

Overton sighed. “Georgie, I just got my hand. I can’t leave now.”

Georgie tugged at his sleeve. “You must! Please!” She glanced at the earl. “You, too. We will need you.”

Overton looked startled, as though finally realizing her urgency. He glanced at the cards, then back at Georgie who was staring at him with big appealing eyes.

She was doing a bang-up job, the earl thought. If he hadn’t been in on the thing, he’d have been really thoroughly alarmed.

Overton pushed back his chair and got to his feet. “I’ll be back shortly,” he said to the others.

“Me, too,” the earl said.

Conscious that all eyes were upon them, he followed Georgie and Overton outside.

“Now,” Overton said in that pompous tone. “What is it, Georgie? What’s so important?”

Georgie looked suitably upset, wringing her hands. “Amanda. It’s Amanda.”

“Amanda!” Overton’s face went white. Now she had the man’s attention. “What about Amanda?”

“She--”

The earl tensed—this was the critical moment.

“She’s been abducted!”

Overton looked thunderstruck, his face slowly paling. Finally he shook his head. “It can’t be. Come now, Georgie, this is a joke.”

Georgie looked to the earl and he saw that she was close to giving way. In a minute she’d be laughing outright. “No,” he said hastily. “I think we’d better listen. Georgie, do you know who—”

“No, I didn’t recognize the man, but I sent Gresham to follow them. And I came looking for you.”

Overton straightened his shoulders, his face setting in lines of grim determination. “We must find her. The poor child will be terrified.”

Georgie gave him a look of complete exasperation. “Oh, Overton, you’re such a fool!”

The man stared at her, amazed. “A fool? Me?”

“Amanda is not a child,” Georgie went on. “She’s a young woman—
woman—
and it’s past time you recognized that!”

Overton looked about to get into an argument with Georgie, of all things. The earl intervened. “How was Gresham to let us know where they went?”

Overton’s face cleared. “Yes! We can’t stand around like this. We have to find her.”

“We were in his carriage,” Georgie said. “I jumped out to come to you and he followed them. He said he’d send a groom to the house.”

Overton nodded. “Then we must go home immediately.” He turned toward the door of the club.

“Wait!” The earl grabbed him by the sleeve. “Remember, you must not let on to the others. Amanda’s reputation—”

“I understand. Come, we must hurry.”

Back at the table, Overton laughed. It was a trifle hollow, but considering the circumstances the earl found it sufficient. “Sorry,” Overton said to the other players. “We’ve got to go. The women need us.” He chuckled. “You know how it is. Some little hubbub they can’t handle on their own.”

Psyche would have been incensed by such a statement, the earl thought, following the others to the carriage. She would say that women were very good at handling things on their own. And she might be right about that. But she was wrong about this husband thing. And he wasn’t at all sure about this abduction.

* * * *

When they reached the house, Gresham’s groom was waiting. “They’re headed toward Gretna Green all right. Milord Gresham is still following ‘em. He said to tell you they’ll probly get as far as the Boar’s Head on the road north.”

Overton nodded. “Good job, man.” He turned to Georgie. “You can wait here.”

Georgie frowned. “But--”

“It’s not going to be a pretty sight,” Overton said. “When I catch the scoundrel—”

“Amanda will be upset,” Georgie pointed out. “She’ll need a woman.”

Swallowing a smile, the earl settled back. It was apparent no one was going to cheat Georgie out of a firsthand seat at this spectacle. “We’re wasting time,” he said. “Hadn’t we better get going?”

Overton sent one long, exasperated look in Georgie’s direction, then apparently resigned himself to her presence. “All right. But you’ll have to keep out of the way.” He called up to the driver, “The road to Gretna Green. And hurry!”

Then he leaned back, frowning. “I wonder which of those bounders it was. I’ve turned off so many.”

“We’ll find out soon enough,” the earl said calmly. “Of course, none of this would have happened if the chit had been safely married.”

Overton frowned fiercely. “She didn’t want any of those suitors. Fribbles, she called them. Told me to send them all away.”

“Well,” the earl remarked casually. “If you’re not careful, you’ll end up having to marry her yourself.”

“Myself!” Obviously the idea had not crossed the besotted man’s mind.

“Yes. You’re a man of property. You can—”