“I will see it done.” He paused for a moment and studied her. “There’s something else. Sir Brian Lucas sent a note. I presume he wants to pay a call on you.”
She tensed when he set the note down on the table. A few months ago, Sir Brian had come to her asking for help with matchmaking only to reveal that he was interested in her. His unexpected courtship had rattled Rachel, for she wasn’t ready to face another relationship. One terrible marriage was enough for a lifetime—and she couldn’t imagine trying again. She had tried to put him off, but the baronet would not be dissuaded.
“You know I am not interested in being courted.” She left the note alone, ignoring it.
“As you say. But hedidask for your help in matchmaking. You have other ladies who are looking for a husband. Is it wise to ignore a potential suitor, even if he’s not for you?”
She grimaced, for Cedric had a point. “Why are you always the voice of reason?”
He sent her a wicked smile. “Because I am an excellent business partner, and I would never turn down an opportunity for money. Now, write a reply to his note, and in the meantime, we’ll decide whether our Miss Bartholomew can be coaxed into softening her rigid control.”
Rachel thought a moment, wondering about the best way to proceed. It did seem that social situations were one of the young lady’s greatest weaknesses. Which meant that she needed to be forced into it so she could practice. “We should host a dinner party for a group of gentlemen,” she suggested. “It doesn’t matter who they are. Pick anyone you like—hire them, if need be. She needs to speak with each of them.”
“She’s going to fail,” Cedric predicted. “Is that what you’re hoping for?”
“Yes. And that is how we will begin—by finding her failures and addressing them.” She held no delusions that Miss Bartholomew would find a match. But the dinner party would be a good way of identifying the young woman’s difficulties.
“I’ll make the arrangements. I presume you want this dinner tomorrow evening?”
“If at all possible.” She glanced at the note she didn’t want to open. “We’ll host it earlier so if any of the gentlemen are already attending a ball, it won’t interfere with that.”
“I’ll notify Cook.”
Rachel waited until after he’d left before she reached for the folded note. She didn’t want to answer the note at all, though courtesy demanded it. Sir Brian seemed to believe that they had known each other once, that he was part of her past. Yet, she didn’t remember him at all. Her only memories of the past involved a husband she would rather forget.
She broke the seal and opened the note. There was no letter, no words except his signature. But Sir Brian had sent her a pressed forget-me-not. The dried blossom did seem to tug at a long-forgotten memory, though she couldn’t quite grasp it.
It wasn’t fair to lead him on, to let him believe there was any hope. She lived her life in a different way now. It filled her with a quiet joy to watch shy young ladies blossom into confident women who were adored by their husbands. They would find the happiness and love that she’d never known.
And it was enough.
*
The first dayhad been rather disastrous. Not only had Mrs. Harding left her a list of instructions, but Emma had no idea where anything was. Instead, she’d ignored the list and had taken the time to explore the house instead. She’d counted steps, learned where all the rooms were, and made every effort to avoid being caught.
Oh, she knew that avoiding the list would anger the headmistress, but she didn’t want to admit her reasons just yet.
But after she’d returned from exploring, Mr. Gregor had knocked on her bedroom door and advised her that Mrs. Harding was waiting downstairs to escort her to the dining room for supper.
“Will I need to change my gown?” Emma asked.
“That won’t be necessary.” But even though his tone was neutral, she questioned whether she was in trouble.
“Is she... angry with me?” Emma asked tentatively.
“Should she be?” Mr. Gregor said nothing more, but she followed him down the stairs and they walked thirteen steps toward the dining room.
Before they reached the doorway, he stopped, and Mrs. Harding, who was waiting for them there, spoke quietly. “Miss Bartholomew, there will be several dinner guests this evening. Your task is to speak to each of them. It must be a true conversation, not simply saying hello. Get acquainted with the gentlemen and be memorable.”
Emma had no idea what the headmistress meant by memorable, but she realized something was amiss when Mrs. Harding added, “Our guests are wearing blindfolds. I do not want them to form judgments before they know you. So, you must use conversation to draw their attention.”
Why would Mrs. Harding do such a thing? Then her heart sank when she realized the truth. If they could not see her, then they would have no idea who she was—which made it less likely that they would ignore her. It also made sense why there was no need to change her gown, for the men would never know what she was wearing.
“Gentlemen, may I present Miss Mary Smith,” Mrs. Harding began as she led Emma into the room. “That is not her real name of course, but your task is to guess who she is.”
And Emma realized that she, in turn, would have to learn something about each of them.
“It’s a brilliant idea,” she heard one man offer. “I shall enjoy this game very much.” His voice held a hint of a lilt, and she recognized him. Cormac Ormond, the Earl of Dunmeath. Emma half-wondered whether he would remember her at all.
