Last of all, there was Lord Kirkham, a baron from Lancashire. I had never seen a man with such a rectangular face. The width of his jaw and forehead matched perfectly, and his thick, short neck led to a pair of hefty shoulders. He smiled in anticipation. Those teeth…he had proudly told the story at dinner—the story of how they had been chipped and broken in a match of fisticuffs. Working toward the center, one tooth was completely missing, the next was halfway broken, and the last was chipped at the bottom. It looked like a staircase.
Lady Tottenham spoke to the group again. “You may wonder why I have chosen you to participate this evening.”
I tapped my foot on the rug.Yes, please do enlighten me.
“I consider you my friends, and at one point or another, you have all expressed to me your desire to marry and be well-matched.”
I narrowed my eyes. I couldn’t recall such a conversation. Lady Tottenham had expressedherwishes for me to marry and be well-matched, but I had never agreed with her. I had never told her about Miles. My stomach spiraled with nerves as she continued her introduction.
“Since the death of my dear husband decades ago, I have come to thoroughly enjoy the art of matchmaking. I find that giving a friend the opportunity of a love like the one I experienced, is the greatest gift I could ever provide.” Her smile grew impossibly wider. “It is now my honor to act as your matchmaker. During the remainder of your stay at my house, you will be given opportunities such as this one, to meet others in the party in a more…intimate setting…with whom you might be compatible.”
I caught myself shaking my head. I stopped, clenching my jaw instead. What on earth was she thinking? Only Lady Tottenham would be so unabashedly public about her intentions.
Escape was still possible. I could pretend to faint, or claim illness. I had never been tempted to do something so ridiculous and ungraceful, but the alternative was far worse. My mind spun as I glanced around the room again. Which one of these men did she have in mind for me? If she had chosen only a select number of guests to attend the midnight game, she must have given some thought to the idea of who among us might be most compatible. I exchanged a glance with Miss Morton, who looked just as appalled as I was.
Lady Tottenham continued with that ever-widening smile. “If even just one match can be made in the duration of the party, I will be quite overjoyed. Now, who’s it to be?” She cast her gaze at each of us in turn.
It most certainly wouldn’t be me.
The ladies in the room were all pale, but the men all sat a little straighter. I felt their eyes grazing over me. I felt like a mouse in a field, waiting to be plucked up against my will. No one dared interrupt Lady Tottenham’s speech, or decline their participation. She was clever. Rather merciless, too. Opting out of her ‘games’ would likely result in being snubbed for the rest of the house party.
Or sent away.
I couldn’t do anything to upset her. I had to remain in London long enough to see Miles. I could participate in a few harmless games, but that didn’t mean I had to meet my match among her guests. I told myself to relax, and my pulse finally started to slow. The tension in my shoulders loosened.
Candlelight gleamed off the whites of Lady Tottenham’s eyes as she paced back to her chair. “The first game will be a variation of bullet pudding.” She snapped her fingers, and the parlor door opened. A footman brought in a silver tray holding a perfectly shaped and compressed mound of flour. He placed it on the tea table, then placed a bullet on top of it.
Mrs. Fitzgibbon gave a nervous laugh. “Is this not a Christmas game, my lady? It’s August.”
“I am aware that it’s August,” Lady Tottenham snapped. “That’s why we willnotbe playing it the traditional way.”
Mrs. Fitzgibbon sat back, pressing her lips together. The excitement I had seen in her eyes had faded since Lady Tottenham’s announcement about her matchmaking scheme. I didn’t know the story behind Mrs. Fitzgibbon’s widowhood, but no matter how or why someone became a widow, it usually gave that person reservations about marrying a second time. There were several widows who had been invited to the party. Lady Tottenham seemed to favor us, intent to take us under her wing. Besides Mrs. Fitzgibbon, there was myself, and a woman named Mrs. Pike.
It took me a moment to register the surprise on Lady Tottenham’s face.
“Mr. Holland? I didn’t expect you downstairs this evening.” Her eyes were fixed on the door.Mr. Holland.That was Miles’s surname.
I must have imagined her words. My heart thudded in my chest. Surely he wasn’t here. He wasn’t due to arrive in Town for at least a month, and there was no reason he would have been invited to her house party.
Lady Tottenham’s mouth was agape. “And what on earth are you wearing?”
I shook the fog from my head and turned around.
The man in the doorway was the same one I had seen upstairs. But now, he wore white leather knee breeches, two waistcoats, a wool coat, and a neck cloth of the French affectation. My throat dried up like a leaf as I noticed the tassels on his hessians and the bicorn hat atop his head. He looked like he was prepared to go on a lengthy horseback ride in December.
But it was, indeed, August.
I had not expected him to own all of those articles of clothing, but with autumn coming, it was reasonable that he would have brought a wool coat. Perhaps I had underestimated the depth of his traveling trunk.
I found his face beneath the shadow of his hat. He took a visual sweep of the room, his expression twisting in confusion. Then his gaze found me, and realization crept over his face. His eyes declared a war of sorts.
I wanted to disappear into the settee cushions.
Mr….Holland?
I stared at him, and in an instant, his features clicked together like a puzzle in my mind. A fourteen-year-old boy, mischievous and ill-mannered, sent off to boarding school by his parents. I remembered that summer. I had been fifteen, and Miles had been eighteen. It was the summer I discovered my feelings for him. I had spent so much time focused on Miles that I had hardly noticed anything else.
The person in front of me now…I couldn’t blame myself for not recognizing him. It had been another fourteen years since I had seen his face. He had doubled in age since then. He had grown up. He was no longer a boy.
