Rexanne Becnel (7 page)
Authors: The Matchmaker-1
She ate and she nodded and she was immensely relieved when her mother approached. “Darling, are you enjoying yourself? Mr. Thompson,” she continued, turning to favor the young man with her brightest smile, “would you be so good as to fetch me a glass of punch?”
He was no sooner away to his task than Augusta rounded on Olivia. “Well, my dear, I see you are quite enjoying yourself.”
“As, I note, are you. How is dear Archie?” she asked, hoping to divert Augusta from the subject she suspected had drawn her here.
“He is delightful. A true gentleman. We danced twice before he was drawn away by that horse-mad crowd. But speaking of horse-mad,” she said, her eyes shrewd. “Tell me about Lord Hawke. Will he have a favorable review in that little matchmaker of yours?”
Olivia dabbed her mouth with her napkin. “Really, Mother. One dance is hardly sufficient to determine anything about anyone.”
“I don’t know that I agree with that. He and I did not dance, but we did converse and I have already formed a most congenial opinion of the man.”
“That’s because he is a man, and a handsome, charming one at that. But if I considered handsome and charming sufficient attributes to commend a man, I would have wed Edward Marshton my first season out.”
Augusta pursed her lips. “And how terrible would that have been? Oh, never mind all that. The point is, Lord Hawke is more than presentable. For heaven’s sake, he is an avid horseman. I should think that sufficient on its own merit to commend him to you. Plus,” she added, leaning forward, her eyes flashing dramatically. “Plus, he likes you.”
Olivia ignored the ridiculous flutter in her chest. “And I suppose he told you that?”
Augusta flitted her hand impatiently. “No, no. Not in words, of course. But I saw his eyes, Olivia. They followed you when you danced with Mr. Lowell and with that skinny old man, what’s his name.”
“Lord Edgerton,” Olivia automatically supplied.
“Even when he was dancing with Mrs. Gregory his eyes sought you out.”
Olivia frowned. That silly tripping of her heart was not triumph, she told herself. Only a fool would believe a womanizer like him serious on the basis of such flimsy evidence.
“Really, Mother. You prattle like a girl fresh from the schoolroom. Believe me when I say Lord Hawke has no more
interest in me than I have in him. He is a good dancer, and he is an interesting conversationalist. Beyond that we have nothing in common.”
interest in me than I have in him. He is a good dancer, and he is an interesting conversationalist. Beyond that we have nothing in common.”
Augusta’s face took on a mulish expression. “What of his horses? You know you adore horses. And then there’s the added benefit that your lands run together.” She tilted her head to the side and eyed Olivia closely. “He was very interested when I told him Byrde Manor is not mine but, rather, held in trust for you.”
“I’m sure he was,” Olivia answered through gritted teeth. “I’ll thank you, Mother, not to tout my assets as if I am some mare on the auction block. I am not interested in Lord Hawke, so let it be.”
“But Olivia—”
“Let it be, Mother.”
Olivia spent the remainder of the evening in determined gaiety. She laughed and danced and never allowed herself to be without a partner. Even the obnoxious Lord Hawke could not be so rude as to break in on her when she was partnering another gentleman. Her only bad moment came when he escorted her mother onto the floor for a galop. The audacity of the man!
Augusta was at her best tonight. But then, elegant parties and handsome men always complemented her. As Lord Hawke whirled her around the floor, Olivia conceded that her mother looked much the same age as he did, and he could not be past thirty. Olivia stared over the shoulder of her own dance partner, the portly Sir Minturn, and watched as Augusta laughed at something Lord Hawke said. He smiled down at her and the tiniest spark of jealousy flickered to life in her chest.
Stifling a groan, Olivia tore her gaze away from them. She would not be jealous of her own mother!
Standing among a trio of gentlemen, Lord Holdsworth also watched Augusta and Lord Hawke. Now that was jealousy, Olivia decided when she spied him. Whatever she’d felt had been but a little nick of wounded pride. In truth, she felt much better to have been proven correct about Lord Hawke: he was quite the ladies’ man. But one woman was much the same as
another to that sort of man, and it behooved her to remember it.
another to that sort of man, and it behooved her to remember it.
So she finished the galop, then sat down to a game of whist as the final cotillion was formed up. She did not care whom her mother danced with, nor upon whom Lord Hawke bestowed his dubious charm. She
did
care that she lost a half-crown at the card tables. But that was better than losing her dignity or her self-esteem, she decided once the final dance ended and the guests began to depart. She could suffer the financial setback far better than the emotional one.
did
care that she lost a half-crown at the card tables. But that was better than losing her dignity or her self-esteem, she decided once the final dance ended and the guests began to depart. She could suffer the financial setback far better than the emotional one.
“Good night, darling,” Augusta said to her. “You needn’t wait up for me, for several of us plan to sit down to breakfast in the garden. Penny has several tables arranged with torches all around. Isn’t it just the perfect ending for such a lovely evening?”
“Will your Archie be there?” Olivia asked, her brows raised.
Augusta smiled. “Yes. And Penny and Mr. Cummings and the Thompsons, both father and son. I’d ask you to join us, but Penny tells me Lord Hawke may be there—though I still cannot understand your disinterest in the man.”
Olivia ignored that remark. “I’m afraid I am far too weary to do anything but seek my pillow,” she said. “And far too weary to fend off your foolish matchmaking schemes,” she added under her breath.
When Olivia turned for the stairs she did not scan the ballroom before she left, searching for a tall man with dark hair and a wickedly seductive grin. Nor did she glance down the hall that led to the library where they’d had their first unpleasant encounter. She only trudged up the stairs, determined to put him out of her mind. She would sink into the mattress and the oblivion of sleep. She would rise late, then attend the afternoon races. Tomorrow evening a fireworks display was scheduled in the town square, weather permitting, to be followed by an open-air dance.
It was really too bad Sarah had declined to come. She would have enjoyed the fireworks immensely.
When Olivia stopped before the door to her room, however,
her gaze was arrested by a curious sight: a bit of coral-colored lace tied upon the latch with a small rosette attached to it. Was it from her dress? She bent down to examine her skirt hem and sure enough discovered a torn section along one side.
her gaze was arrested by a curious sight: a bit of coral-colored lace tied upon the latch with a small rosette attached to it. Was it from her dress? She bent down to examine her skirt hem and sure enough discovered a torn section along one side.
Why had the maid not laid it upon the dresser?
She untied the lace scrap and started to enter when she heard a footfall behind her.
“It’s yours, isn’t it?”
Olivia spun around, her heart unaccountably in her throat. Lord Hawke stood but three paces away with his legs spread apart and his hands clasped solemnly behind his back. He was unbearably handsome. That was the idiotic thought that surfaced first in her temporarily stupefied brain. Despite that scar, despite the ruffian he hid behind his polished manner tonight, despite everything she knew about him, he remained unbearably handsome. She swallowed hard.
“I wasn’t aware the rosette had come loose. I must have caught it on something,” she muttered.
“I could have kept it, you know.”
Like a panicked creature’s, Olivia’s heart began madly to pound. “Why should you wish to do that?”
He smiled and rocked a little on his heels. But he did not approach her and she thanked a merciful God for that. “Because it is yours,” he said. “I seem to be making a habit of returning your misplaced possessions. First your entertaining journal and tonight this—”
“I thought we agreed that you would forget about the contents of my journal if I did not mention your drunken misbehavior toward me.” Her hands knotted around the innocent rosette. “Is it your intention to continue to plague my every movement? Good night, Lord Hawke.” She turned to enter her room.
“Now who’s being rude?”
“Did I forget to thank you for this?” She shook the bit of lace at him, knowing she was being far more nasty than circumstances required. But she could not help herself. He seemed to bring out the absolute worst in her. “Thank you for my torn lace. And I’ll thank you also not to linger outside my
door where anyone might see you and draw the worst sort of conclusion.”
door where anyone might see you and draw the worst sort of conclusion.”
Then she jerked open the door, slammed it behind her, and locked it with a decisive click.
In the aftermath she stood just inside the room with the blood roaring in her ears and her knees threatening to buckle. That she should feel so only increased her agitation. Why did she allow this ruffian to unsettle her? This ruffian in gentleman’s attire. She blinked and cocked her head warily. Was he still outside her door?
Three ominous footsteps gave her the answer. She fell back from the door, then immediately rushed forward to make certain the lock had caught. Surely he would not force his way into her room. Even he could not be so lost to propriety as that!
His soft knock sounded like the bells of doom.
“Go away,” she ordered, finally dredging up the remnants of her courage. “Begone from my door, Lord Hawke. Our earlier agreement does not include your continued poor conduct.”
“It is not my wish to frighten you, Miss Byrde. I am aware that my presence here is not strictly proper.”
“Then go away.”
There was a short silence.
“Would you like to go riding with me tomorrow?”
Olivia shook her head, only belatedly realizing he could not see her. “No. I … I told you, tomorrow is not a good day.”
“Then perhaps the next.”
“I don’t believe that would be wise.”
She heard him shift positions. “Because you will be busy searching for a husband?”
“No! Besides, that’s hardly your concern.”
“What did you write about me in your little book?”
“Nothing at all,” she swore, crossing her fingers. “Why should I?”
He chuckled. “Liar. We both know you’ve written a full page at least of unpleasant observations about my character.
Isn’t that so? I’d wager a sovereign that you termed me a poor choice for a husband.”
Isn’t that so? I’d wager a sovereign that you termed me a poor choice for a husband.”
She felt a twinge of guilt. If he only knew. Still, what she wrote was her affair. “Whatever I might write—if I write anything at all—you would deserve every bit of it. Good night!” She turned away, determined to ignore him. But his soft, persistent knock was more demanding than if he threatened to beat down the door.
“Go away before someone comes along and my reputation is destroyed.”
“Do you play chess?”
Olivia stared at the door. She could picture him so clearly standing there. Too clearly. She frowned. “Yes. But not with untrustworthy men such as you.”
“Untrustworthy? I never cheat, Olivia. Not at anything. You can trust me.”
“Do not call me that. I’ve not given you leave to address me so familiarly. Go away!”
“Very well. But should you have a change of heart, I will be in the library with the chessboard at the ready. I think we shall make the best sort of opponents. Hazel,” he added.
Taken aback by his use of that name for her, Olivia was slow to reply. “You mean the worst sort.” But there was no answer this time, and after several long moments, she leaned cautiously nearer and placed her ear against the door.
He was gone. Thank God for that. But still she stood there tensed and waiting. Her hand crept to the key. Did she dare unlock the door and check the hall?
No, she decided, turning away from temptation. Determined to drive the aggravating Lord Hawke out of her mind, she swiftly disrobed. Once she had donned her nightgown she clambered into the high bed with her hairbrush, her journal, and her novel. She wanted to reread the page she’d started about Lord Hawke and consider what else she might add. Then she would settle in with
Emma
and immerse herself in that young woman’s entanglements and thereby forget her own.
Emma
and immerse herself in that young woman’s entanglements and thereby forget her own.
But when Olivia opened the journal, a folded piece of foolscap fell out. Puzzled, she set the book aside and opened the
note. Where had it come from? She was certain she’d not inserted anything in her journal.
note. Where had it come from? She was certain she’d not inserted anything in her journal.
Her heart plummeted when she spied the slashing, masculine script.
My dear Hazel,
I cannot like the words you have written about me. They are, however, your opinions, based upon your initial impressions of me, and therefore not to be disputed. That I have behaved badly I cannot argue. That my behavior continues to be outrageous, I will also not deny. But in you I detect a boldness that is intrigued by the outrageous, though you may deny it. I can only hope that time will improve your opinion of me.
Until tomorrow, N. H.
Olivia stared at the small white square in her hand, completely dumbfounded. That he would write so boldly to her was outrageous. That he’d invaded her private chamber, and slipped the missive within the pages of her private journal—and on the very page where she’d written of him—why, that was beyond belief!
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