The Misguided Matchmaker (17 page)

Her
father flushed—whether from embarrassment or anger Maddy couldn’t tell.
“Nonsense,” he said gruffly. “Your deficiencies can be remedied. I’ll hire the
finest teachers in London.”

“Mama
will know who they are, sir,” the earl said. “I will ask her to draw up a list
this very night.”

“Thank
you, my lord. I would be most grateful. I trust Lady Ursula’s judgment above
all others in such matters.”

The
earl’s mama—Tristan’s beloved stepmama—and the mysterious Lady Ursula were one
and the same
? Maddy stared
from one man to the other, her pulse pounding erratically in her temples as
reality began to dawn. This insane plan of her father’s—surely it didn’t
involve the Earl of Rand. Tristan had said he’d agreed to fetch her back to
England because her father had “helped his brother out of a difficult
situation.” Dear God! Had the earl in turn been forced to agree to help launch
her in London society?

Tristan
shifted in his chair and crossed one leg over the other. “In the meantime, you
can take Maddy to the theater, Garth. That would serve as a public announcement
of your interest in her,” he said, breaking his long silence to prove her worst
suspicious true. “I understand that fellow Edmund Kean is opening in
Othello
tomorrow night.”

He
turned to Maddy with a smile that failed to warm the chilly glitter in his pale
eyes.
“Othello
is a play by England’s most famous bard,” he explained.

“I
am familiar with Mr. Shakespeare’s work,” Maddy said stiffly. “I may lack the
prerequisite graces of your English ladies, but I am not illiterate. In fact, I
enjoyed his plays so much, I translated a great many of them into French so my
grandfather could read them as well.”

“Then
you should enjoy Mr. Kean’s performance immensely.”

And
so she would, Maddy thought, if the circumstances were different. Though she
felt certain that Tristan was promoting this theater engagement with his
brother simply because he felt he had to help him erase the debt owed her
father for whatever favor he had done him, it still hurt that he would do so.
It was all so vulgar, so degrading, and so unnecessary. She had no more desire
to consort with the London
haut monde
than she’d had to join the
tasteless romp at the court of the Emperor Napoleon.

She
opened her mouth to say that very thing, but before she could get a word out,
the earl interrupted her. “Of course,” he said. “The theater is the obvious
solution, and Kean is all the rage since he played Shylock last year. How
clever of you to think of it, Tristan. And Miss Harcourt cannot possibly suffer
any embarrassment there because of her lack of social training.”

His
shy smile completely negated the censorious sound of his words, and Maddy found
herself thinking what a sweet-natured man he was—a little dull and not too
bright, but sweet-natured just the same. No wonder Tristan was so fond of him.
And because of her father, the poor little fellow was trapped in a miserable
situation. Almost as miserable as her own.

“Drury
Lane it is then, Miss Harcourt,” the earl said as if it were a foregone
conclusion. “Shall we say tomorrow evening?”

She
would politely refuse him if she thought that would end the ordeal for them
both, but she suspected the earl was every bit as stiff-necked about his honor
as Tristan. The only way she could set him free was to allow him to fulfill his
obligation.

She
returned his smile with one of her own. “Very well, my lord, the theater it is
then,” she agreed. Then turning to Tristan she asked, “Will you be joining us?
It was your idea, after all.”

Eagerly
she awaited his answer, as much for the earl’s sake as her own. True, she
wanted to share her first evening at the theater with Tristan, but she sensed
the shy little earl would be much more at ease if he could have his brother
along when he made a public appearance with her.

For
some reason she could not fathom, her question disturbed Tristan. “No, Maddy, I
will not,” he said curtly, managing to avoid meeting her eyes. “I have a
previous engagement, one I am obliged to honor since it pertains to my work
with the British Foreign Service.”

Honor.
There was that word again. Maddy gritted
her teeth in frustration. Did this
Anglais
think he had invented it? She
might have known it would be Tristan’s
honor
that prevented him from
attending the theater with her and his
honor
that forced her to resort
to trickery to get him to kiss her. Frenchman took great stock in their honor
too, but she had never known one who let it interfere with his affairs of the
heart.

Nom
de Dieu,
what was she to
do with such a man? Another woman she could compete against, but how was she
supposed to know how to win the man of her choice when her rival was his
honor
?

He
had hurt her with his rejection. The flash of pain and bewilderment he’d seen
in her eyes had twisted the knife already embedded in his heart. Yet somehow he
must find the will to hurt her even more. Only by disillusioning her could he
set her free to find happiness with the man she was destined to marry.

Luckily
the man in question had been content to ride in silence for the first half hour
after they left the Harcourt townhouse. With his feelings as raw as an open
wound, Tristan wasn’t certain he could hide the fact that he had much more than
a casual interest in Maddy.

Out
of the corner of his eye, he saw Garth edge forward until their horses were
neck and neck. “Miss Harcourt was something of a surprise,” Garth said,
gripping his reins so tightly, his knuckles shone white. “She may not be the
‘strapping’ French peasant her father’s description led me to believe, but she
is certainly tall for a woman.”

Tristan
nodded. “That she is.”

“But
she seems quite pleasant.”

“I
found her to be so during out travels together.”

Garth
stared straight ahead, a grim set to his chin. “However, she strikes me as
outlandishly clever. I’ve never before met a woman who read Shakespeare, much
less translated it into French!” He sighed. “Devil take it, I hope we shall
manage to rub along together. I have always found clever women rather
off-putting in the past.”

Tristan
didn’t comment on his brother’s observation. He could think of nothing he could
say without implying that this sibling was a trifle slow-witted—which he was.
But what Garth lacked in intellect, he more than made up for in heart.

A
feeling of panic gripped him. He sincerely hoped the match between his gentle,
sweet-natured brother and Caleb Harcourt’s quick-witted, razor-tongued daughter
did not turn out to be the complete disaster he envisioned. For there was
nothing on God’s green earth he could do to prevent the powerful cit’s
ill-conceived plan from coming to fruition.

He
groaned as another wave of pain washed over him. It was enough to ask of a man
to learn to live with his own heartbreak; he didn’t need the added agony of
knowing the two people he loved most were doomed to a life of misery as well.

The
earl arrived at the Harcourt townhouse the following evening in an elegant
closed carriage drawn by four matched chestnuts. His family crest was
emblazoned on the door and both the groom and coachman were in full livery.

Maddy
had felt very elegant when first she’d viewed herself in her new evening dress
of rose silk gauze with tiny embroidered flowers scattered here and there. She
had even decided she liked the effect of her short, curly hair with the
diaphanous costume, but next to the earl, she felt almost dowdy.

He
was turned out in full evening attire, including a cutaway coat in a shade of
blue satin which complimented his fair coloring and a silver waistcoat draped
with an impressive collection of seals as well as a quizzing glass. But
surprisingly enough, despite his
soigné
appearance, he looked even more
shy and miserable than on his previous visit.

“What
a beautiful carriage this is,” Maddy exclaimed as the groom handed her inside,
hoping to put the earl at ease by complimenting him on what she could plainly
tell from the smell of the red velvet squabs was a new acquisition. To her
surprise, he blushed furiously, stammered something quite incoherent, and sat
for the remainder of the ride to theater staring bleakly out the window as if
she had somehow insulted him.

Confused,
she lapsed into silence and made no further attempt at conversation. Not for
the first time, she concluded Englishmen were a baffling lot.

A
short time later, they drew up before the entrance of the Theater Royal in
Drury Lane. Maddy stepped from the carriage to find herself facing a
magnificent structure with a series of impressive arched doorways and row upon
row of windows ablaze with light. She took a closer look and decided it
appeared surprisingly new compared to the structures around it—an observation
she decided to keep to herself rather than risk offending the earl further.

“The
theater is quite new. Only three years old, in fact,” he said as if reading her
mind. “Of course, there has been a theater on this location since 1663, but it
burned to the ground for the third time in 1809 and this version was built in 1812,”
he continued in pedantic tones that made Maddy suspect he had memorized the
monograph so as to have something to offer in the way of conversation besides
another discourse on the weather. She was touched by his effort. In fact, she
had an almost irresistible urge to pat him on the head and tell him, “Well
done.”

He
offered his arm and Maddy placed her gloved fingers on it, conscious that he
appeared taller than she had judged him to be. His eyes were on a level with
hers, when she distinctly remembered looking down at him when they’d met the
previous day.

He
was also rather unsteady on his feet. “Good Lord! Had he found the idea of
escorting her to the theater so distasteful, he’d had to fortify himself with
spirits? Embarrassed, she dropped her gaze and instantly discovered why he was
teetering. The heels on his buckled evening shoes were at least three inches
high.

Surreptitiously,
she took a tighter grip on his arm. A wise move, as it turned out, for he
stumbled twice before they managed to make their way to the box he’d reserved.

The
theater was filled to capacity, and Maddy had to make an effort to keep from
gaping like a country bumpkin at the impressive auditorium and equally
impressive audience. It appeared that every wealthy theater patron in London
had decided to attend Mr. Kean’s premier performance in his newest role, and
the vast room sparkled with the jewels decorating both the men and women
occupying the private boxes.

Maddy
shivered with excitement. If only it were Tristan sitting next to her, this
moment would be perfect. She literally ached with longing for him after their
sadly disappointing encounter of the day before; so much so, her imagination
was playing tricks on her. She could swear she saw him enter one of the
first-tier boxes on the opposite side of the cavernous auditorium.

She
looked again. There were two men and a woman in the box. The fair-haired man
took his seat, while the dark-haired one who resembled Tristan removed the wrap
from the shoulders of the woman. He was too far away to see his features
clearly, but there was something so familiar about the tilt of his head, the
breadth of his shoulders.

Beside
her, the earl raised his opera glasses and studied a box in the tier above the
one she’d been scrutinizing. “Someone you know?” Maddy asked without thinking.

“Viscount
Tinsdale, his wife and daughter…Lady Sarah Summerhill. The viscount’s country
estate marches beside Winterhaven.” He lowered his glasses and his eyes looked
so glazed with pain, Maddy had to fold her hands tightly in her lap to keep
from reaching out to him in sympathy. This grief he suffered must somehow be
connected with his neighbor’s family. Maybe the loss of a childhood friend
through death or some unfortunate misunderstanding. She wished with all her heart
she could think of something to say that would comfort the kindly little man.

But
even as she acknowledged this was impossible without knowing the source of his
grief, the babble of voices around her ceased and she realized the curtain was
rising.

The
opening set, complete with the Venetian army, was everything one could expect
of London’s premiere theater. Enthralled, Maddy settled back in her chair and
prepared to suffer through the trials and tribulations of the Moor who
commanded the colorfully costumed army.

Still,
she couldn’t help wishing she might have been treated to one of Mr.
Shakespeare’s charming comedies for the first theater experience of her life.
She was not in the mood for a grim tragedy, particularly not Othello’s. She had
always thought him something of a fool to be so easily misled by a scoundrel
like Iago. And as for Desdemona…what a silly fribble Shakespeare had made her
out to be. No,
Othello
was definitely not one of her favorite plays.

But
no sooner had Edmund Kean delivered his first line than she found herself
hypnotized by the swarthy actor’s performance. Small of stature and looking
remarkably like one of the gypsies who had often camped outside Lyon, there was
nothing about his physical person that was prepossessing. Yet he projected an
emotional intensity that held his audience spellbound. By sheer force of
personality, he took command of the stage, relegating the other actors to mere
shadows on the perimeter of his genius. Before Maddy’s very eyes, he literally
transformed himself into Iago, the jealousy-ridden Moor’s evil tormentor.