Bexley-Smythe Quintet 02 - Rhyme and Reason (4 page)

Mattie stifled an unladylike retort which would do nothing to garner
Lady Teasdale’s favor. Percy hadn’t told her a thing. Not one tiny, inconsequential little detail, let alone something of such great consequence as a marriage he’d arranged for her! He’d never even hinted at the fact that he was in the process of finding a husband for her or anything else of the sort.

And
all of this with a man she’d never met before! What could he have been thinking?

But then
he probably
wasn’t
thinking, or at least if he was it was not about Mattie and her needs and desires. If anything, he was thinking only of himself and what would come from such a union which might aid him in some way.

Heavens
! How would such an arrangement possibly aid Percy? There must be blunt changing hands, though she couldn’t imagine how or why. None of it made any sense. She couldn’t imagine what either Danby or his grandson might have said to Percy to bring all of this about.

Nonetheless, the only thing
Mattie
knew about this man she was supposedly to marry was that he was the Duke of Danby’s grandson, and that he’d carried her back to the house on Grand Avenue all the way from the cliffs, which was not an inconsiderable distance. Neither of those choice bits of information was quite the same as a proper introduction to the man, however.

Still lightheaded after hitting her head yesterday,
she couldn’t quite wrap her head around any of this.

“No,” she finally said to the baroness,
unable to mask the dismay in her tone, “I’m afraid my brother didn’t explain anything at all to me. I was thoroughly unaware.”

“As was I!” Bea put in dejectedly, crossing her arms over her chest and wearing a decidedly becoming pout. “Papa should have
had the decency to have told
me
about it. I would have at least understood why he suddenly became much more amenable to my friendship with Mattie and Freddie near the end of the Season, not that that would excuse any of them for neglecting to speak to Mattie about it all.”

Lady
Teasdale scowled her daughter into silence then returned her attention to Mattie. “It really isn’t important that Lord Stalbridge neglected to inform you of his plans. What matters is that you are to marry this Mr. Goddard, and that is the end of that.” She picked up her embroidery sample and stabbed the needle into the fabric with such vigor it was a miracle she didn’t cause herself damage.

Mr. Goddard
. This was the first mention of his name that Mattie had heard, yet for whatever reason Percy had had, she must bear up and become the man’s wife. Granted, at the back of her mind was the niggling reminder that she’d felt safe and protected, and even cherished in this Mr. Goddard’s arms. Could that be enough to base an entire marriage upon? Yet…

“I’ve reached my majority,” Mattie said slowly. “I can’t very well be forced into a marriage not of my choosing.
The laws have changed. Arranged marriages aren’t really done any longer.”

Bea perked up visibly upon hearing what seemed to Mattie to be an entirely reasonable argument against what could be an entirely disastrous match. “That’s true, Mama.
It doesn’t really matter what Lord Stalbridge and the Duke of Danby seem to think of the matter. Mattie’s hand can’t be forced.”

With practiced disdain, Lady
Teasdale lowered the embroidery sample to her lap, giving her daughter another derisive glance before once more focusing upon Mattie. “While I’m sure that’s true, Lady Matilda, it would also be inadvisable for you to deny Mr. Goddard at this point. He’s come bearing a marriage license with the expectation that you will have him. Danby and Stalbridge might very well have already announced your betrothal and impending nuptials to at least some within the
beau monde
. For all we know, there will be a notice in the
Times
at any moment. The marriage contract has been agreed upon and drawn up. Everything is already in place.”

Every word from Lady
Teasdale’s mouth caused Mattie’s blood to chill further, until it felt as though shards of ice were trying to force their way through her veins.

It was already
understood
that she would marry this man whom she’d never met. Good heavens.

“So you see,” the baroness continued,
her demeanor suddenly abounding with joy, “rejecting him at this juncture would be rather imprudent on your part. Your brother’s notorious behavior has already insured that your options for marriage, much as your options for
friends
, are quite limited. I would advise you to take Mr. Goddard and be glad to have him.”

Without a doubt, Lady
Teasdale was correct about Mattie’s limited options in terms of suitors. Despite those limitations, however, there was one other.

Sir Lester!
He, at least, was a gentleman whom Mattie knew. And he’d called upon her numerous times since they’d arrived in Scarborough.

With her pounding headache, she’d hardly thought of the baronet at all since she’d returned from the cliffs.
It did seem a bit odd that he hadn’t come when he learned of her accident. Shouldn’t he have called upon her to see for himself that she wasn’t harmed too terribly?

Surely there was a good reason for his absence. Mattie had to believe it. Not only that, but she had to believe he would offer for her. At the moment, she needed something hopeful upon which to grasp, or else she was liable to scream in frustration over the turn of events.

Sir Lester will offer for me. He will. And I will accept him, and then it won’t matter in the least that I don’t know this Mr. Goddard. I needn’t marry him just because Percy wants me to.

Though there was still the slight worry about what might happen to Percy should she reject Mr. Goddard. And if something happened to Percy, what would it mean for Mama, Freddie, and Edie?

But she couldn’t worry about that now. They’d told her to come to Scarborough and to do what she must for herself.

The double doors in the drawing room opened wide just then, and Mr.
Sadler stepped inside. He looked at the baroness, ignoring the fact that both Mattie and Bea were staring desperately at one another, as though they could somehow find a solution to this newest problem without speaking a word. He gave a grandiose clearing of his throat for attention. “Mr. Goddard to call upon Lady Matilda, your ladyship.”

A triumphant smile stole across
the baroness’s countenance. “Excellent. Send him in.” Smoothing her skirts perfunctorily, she rose and turned to her daughter. “Come along, Beatrice. We’ll send Lizzie in to sit and act the chaperone for Lady Matilda. Surely she can handle that much without making a muck of things.”

Flushing furiously, Bea skirted around
the furniture and followed her mother out of the room. Just before passing through the doorway, she turned her head and mouthed, “I’m sorry,” to Mattie.

Sorry
wouldn’t be any help. Not when Mr. Goddard, every intimidating inch of him, was coming through the door.

If only Freddie were here. Surely she could devise a solution.

The only thing coming to Mattie’s mind, at the moment, was boxing Percy on the ears next time she saw him.

Lady Matilda Bexley-Smythe was too pretty by half for Thomas to feel even the slightest sense of comfort in her presence, particularly when he considered his primary purpose in calling upon her today. Each time he tried to say something, he’d look into her rich, brown eyes and get lost in them. In the process of doing so, his tongue would seemingly thicken, and then nothing came forth from his lips.

It was becoming a bloody nuisance.

Timidly, she rose from the settee she’d been upon, smoothing her hands down the silky yellow muslin of her skirts in a gesture that seemed to be merely a means to calm her nerves more so than a necessity. To his eye, there wasn’t a thing out of place, not an imperfection to be found within her apart from the spot of redness from yesterday’s fall peeking out from behind her hair.

At least
today there was no more blood. His heart had nearly stopped when he’d seen the wet, red trail moving down the side of her face.

Golden ringlets fell about her heart-shaped face in tiny wisps,
a few of those tendrils blocking what was sure to be a scar upon her forehead, though most of her hair was held in a soft knot behind her head. And then he was back to her eyes again. Good God. She had eyes as deep a shade of brown as any he’d ever seen.

After he’d been staring at her for far longer than was appropriate, however, he realized h
er gaze seemed focused squarely upon his boots instead of his face.

Christ
. His boots. They were bound to be covered in dust and grime from the stables. Why hadn’t he thought to change them before coming to call upon her? Between Danby’s meddling and Lord Teasdale’s handling of the situation yesterday, Thomas’s usually calm and steady mind seemed to be buzzing from thought to thought like a swarm of bees. Remembering even the simplest of things was not something he could take for granted any longer, apparently.

Finally, she looked up and met his eyes. He wished he knew what she was thinking, but her expression was as impassive as
that of a well-schooled and practiced liar.

“My lady, I must apologize for the state of—”

“It was so terribly kind of you to assist me yester—”

They both stopped speaking just as abruptly as they’d started, and the porcelain skin of her face took on the most becoming flush.
Her response only made her prettier, somehow.

Blast, but he had to stop thinking about her appearance.

She turned her head away and resumed her seat. “Please. I… Sit.” Each word came out haltingly, as though she couldn’t quite decide what to say or why she should say anything.

That felt oddly appropriate, given his inability to move words free from his tongue when he looked at her.

But they were alone in that drawing room. He shouldn’t be here at all, since he had no intention of marrying someone so far beyond his reach as to be unconscionable. But no matter what, he
absolutely
should not be
alone
with her.

Not only that, but s
itting upon any bit of furniture in this elegant room was entirely out of the question, as he’d likely transfer the filth of his boots and the rest of his attire onto the delicate red satin of Lord Teasdale’s furniture.

Then there was the small matter that, even after his
few visits to Danby Castle where he was a guest and not a servant, the very thought of sitting in a room such as this merely served to remind him he was not meant to be part of this world.

This was not going as he’d planned. But then again, he hadn’t exactly planned
his visit at all. He’d just come, as Lord Teasdale had insisted upon, and hoped he would be able to sort out what he ought to do once he arrived.

That wasn’t quite happening.

Instead of sitting, he crossed the room to look out the window. Lady Matilda couldn’t even look at him any longer other than the muck upon his boots; he doubted she would be overly concerned that he didn’t sit as she bade him to do.

A
n expensive traveling coach and four rattled along the roadway outside, bearing Lord Harrington’s crest upon the door. Traveling the opposite direction, two gentlemen in impeccable finery ambled along on a fine pair of bays, their shouts of laughter ringing out loud enough he could hear them from inside the house.

This drawing room, much like
the ones in Danby’s immense castle and in the Pritchards’ country estate where Thomas had once worked, was filled with elegant and ornate bits and bobs of a quality that left him feeling entirely unworthy of being in the same room.

He did not belong here—not in the slightest—but when he looked back
to where Lady Matilda Bexley-Smythe was seated, there wasn’t a doubt in his mind that she fit perfectly within such a setting. The delicate bend of her legs with her ankles crossed just so made her seem almost as one with the settee.

His thoughts turned to how they had curled around his arm yesterday, and how he’d like to perhaps feel more of
her
curled around more of
him
, but then he gave himself a mental shake. Now was not the time to have such thoughts. Was there ever a time it would be appropriate? Not in his estimation.

The soft yellow of her gown and her hair blended with the golden accenting hues scattered throughout the room.
He could hardly imagine a place she would better fit, nor one in which he would feel less at his ease. This realization only reinforced his previous conclusion that he, of all people, could never marry her.

How could he provide her with a grand life such as this? The Duke of Danby could, of course. But Thomas had already taken more from Danby than he ever should have allowed.

The double door opened again. Thomas turned to see who was coming in just as the same inept maid who’d been at the cliffs with Lady Matilda yesterday slipped through the doorway carrying a tea service. She nearly tripped over the Aubusson rug, causing the china to rattle about on the tray. She struggled to settle the tea implements whilst her eyes went wide enough to match one of the saucers, and then set the service upon the table nearest Lady Matilda. Before she could cause any more damage, she scurried off to seat herself in an armchair hidden in the corner where she could see and hear everything which was to transpire.

Thank goodness they weren’t to be left completely alone
, after all. Granted, he would feel more comfortable about the situation if someone more…well, more
reliable
than this maid had been sent to chaperone. Nevertheless, his pulse settled into a somewhat more regular rhythm upon the realization that they weren’t to be alone.

A man such as he had no business being alone with a lady
.

Her lips pressed tightly together, Lady Matilda leaned forward and fiddled with the tea
service, causing her bosom to press against the fabric of her bodice and draw his eye.
Stop that
, he admonished himself, trying desperately to look at her hands, her hair—anything but the delightfully rounded breasts pushing against her gown.

“
Would you care for some tea, Mr. Goddard?” Though somewhat strained, her voice had a soft, lilting quality to it. She picked up the teapot and poured two cups without waiting for his response, adding small amounts of cream and sugar as if such an action had become rote over the years.

His gut clenched.
How could he tell her the only reason he was here today was to inform her he had no intention of marrying her? It was true that he had never spoken to her before, never done anything which could have given the impression that he wished to marry her, yet from what Lord Teasdale told him, there was
an understanding
already in place.

He had no earthly idea of her feelings on the matter, though, and attempting to discover them might be a tricky business. One wrong step
, one poorly worded phrase was all that would be required to inadvertently present her with just such an understanding. Then he would be well and truly done for.

That was a trap he had no intention of getting caught in.

She returned the teapot to the tray and held up a saucer to him, a gentle smile upon her lips.
Full lips. Lush and dusky pink and entirely too kissable-looking
. Damn, but he didn’t know what to do. While he attempted to sort through his rampant thoughts, he crossed the room to take his cup of tea.

His fingers
inadvertently brushed against hers in the transfer.

Lady Matilda sucked in a sharp breath and averted her gaze once more.

Thomas’s jaw clenched as he backed away to place some distance between them. She couldn’t even bear such simple contact with him. She had to be revolted by the thought of marrying him. No matter how hard Danby tried, he couldn’t make Thomas into a gentleman—something he absolutely and
unequivocally
was not—and she knew it.

She
knew it, and
he
knew it, and yet beyond all manner of rhyme and reason, Danby thought he could coerce everyone to do as he wished them to do for no reason other than the fact that he was the bloody Duke of Danby.

It was enough to make Thomas scream
at the heavens.

Instead, he steadied his breaths and pressed his eyes closed. “My lady—”

“You should know that there is another gentleman who has been paying me court.”

His eyes flashed open to stare at her.
She had another suitor? One who was a true gentleman, who could suit her needs and provide her a proper place within society and all the lavishness befitting a lady of her station, as opposed to what Thomas could give her? It was all he could do not to shout in victory upon hearing her news.

Yet somehow he maintained his composure.

“I see,” he said, keeping his tone so serious it nearly sounded grave to his own ear. “And has this gentleman made an offer?”
Please, let him have made an offer for her. And let her have accepted.

“Not as yet.” Lady Matilda met his gaze then, a resolve flooding her chocolate-hued eyes which was rather unnerving. “But I can assure you, sir, that regardless of any agreement which may have been reached between you, my brother, and your grandfather, if Sir Lester offers for me, I will accept him.”

Any sense of jubilation Thomas might have felt turned to ice within his veins. Teasdale had mentioned Sir Lester briefly in their interview yesterday, but the name had hardly even registered in Thomas’s mind at the time. But now… “Sir Lester?
Sir Lester Hammond?
”

Not if Thomas had anything to say about the matter.

The sudden changes in Mr. Goddard’s demeanor were unsettling, to say the least. In only a few moments, he’d moved from apparently being pained to be in her presence, to being overjoyed to discover he might not have to marry her, and now he seemed outraged.

The outrage
felt entirely out of place, though. Mattie couldn’t understand why he would feel such a strong sense of anger, when mere moments before he’d been delighted to hear she had another suitor. Why should her choice of gentleman matter?

He stood there staring at her, his strong jaw working back and forth for so long that Mattie feared she’d thoroughly unsettled him with her
revelation. He remained silent after repeating Sir Lester’s name with a voice filled with contempt and loathing.