A matchmaker? Of course. With an internal groan, Ambrose remembered the conversation of Lady Frances at the Morgan House ball. She too was being subjected to the same indignities by her family, although he doubted that there were the same legal and financial pressures bearing on her as in his own case.
“Yes, I have heard of Lady Kempleforth,” Ambrose admitted. “I was not, however, expecting to meet her this morning. You might have warned me of your purpose in bringing a visitor with you, Grandmother.”
“What? And give you the opportunity to get lost in your own woodlands or be called urgently to visit your bank or solicitor in London? I was not born yesterday, young man.”
They paused outside the library and looked at one another with mingled amusement, affection and determination on both sides.
“I would rather not do this,” Ambrose said quietly, looking at the door and then at Euphemia’s steely but not unkind face.
“But you must,” his grandmother responded unbendingly. “For Winifred’s sake. If you do not marry this year, then under the terms of your father’s will, your mother’s entire fortune will be given to charity rather than remaining in your hands and passing to your daughter on her own future marriage or twenty-fifth birthday, whichever comes first.”
Ambrose’s mother had been a mining heiress, her fortune far greater than her husband’s. While losing it would hardly make him a pauper, it would be a considerable financial blow for the duchy, and a major dent in Winnie’s future prospects.
“Why did he do that?” asked Ambrose rhetorically, for the thousandth time since the ship carrying both his parents went down at sea four years earlier, making him the Duke of Westall as well as a widowed father.
“Because he could not bear the thought of you being alone for your entire life,” replied his grandmother as she always did, squeezing his arm. “Nor can I, Ambrose, and Winifred needs a mother.”
Reaching out with her other hand before he could say anything more, she turned the handle on the library door and steered them both inside.
The matchmaker was not what Ambrose expected, although he could not say that he knew many ladies who made this activity their vocation as Lady Kempleforth had done.
“Have you always been a matchmaker, Lady Kempleforth?” Ambrose had inquired politely, after the initial introductions, not keen to begin on his own case although he knew his grandmother would not be deterred from her purpose.
“Always a matchmaker by instinct, Your Grace,” said the full-figured and cheerful woman, who wore a pink suit and carried a small Pomeranian lapdog. “When Lord Kempleforth lived, it was my interest and many of our family and friends owed their happiness to my careful recommendations. Fifteen years ago, after Lord Kempleforth died, God rest him, I turned my mind and energy to it more actively.”
From Lady Kempleforth’s conversation and his grandmother’s comments, Ambrose gradually gathered that due to some mistake in his will, Lord Kempleforth had not left his widow well-provisioned. Lady Kempleforth had also preferred to pass her dowry to her two daughters rather than live on it, with the result that both ladies were now well married but her own sources of secure income were few.
The gifts and expense payments she received from grateful families, in lieu of formal fees, were therefore very welcome. Together, the income and connections from matchmaking helped Lady Kempleforth to maintain her place in society and not be reliant on her sons-in-law, both of whom she had selected and recommended, much to her daughters’ satisfaction.
“Well then, enough about me,” Lady Kempleforth said at last, setting down her empty teacup and turning surprisingly shrewd eyes on Ambrose. “I understand from Lady Levene that you must marry, Your Grace.”
“Yes,” Ambrose returned heavily, nodding. “I assume my grandmother has told you of my father’s will.”
“She has told me of that particular clause, yes. She has also told me that you have a nine-year-old daughter who must be your primary consideration in choosing a wife.”
Again, Ambrose nodded. Now that Lady Kempleforth had begun on her work, she was quick and direct in her speech without any prevarication or smoothing of feelings. The Duke of Westall must marry and everyone in this room knew it. There was no point in dancing around whether or not he wished to take a second wife. The only question was who it might be.
“Yes, I must marry a woman who will be a good stepmother to Winifred before anything else. She must be caring, intelligent and able to love my child as her own. For myself, I cannot say I care much beyond that.”
“Winifred has a governess, of course, and Miss Winters is an excellent woman, but her gifts are purely intellectual,” commented his grandmother. “The girl needs the care of a mother very badly. She grows shyer and more withdrawn each year.”
“Winifred has me,” Ambrose found himself protesting, feeling as though he was being accused of failing his beloved child in some way.
“Yes, and you are a most excellent father, Ambrose,” admitted Lady Levene. "You cannot be a mother too. Who will take Winifred shopping for her dresses or out for ice-cream with other little girls when I am gone? Who will listen to her upsets when she falls out with neighboring children? Who will soothe her heart when she grows up and falls in love?”
“Surely you will live forever, Grandmother,” retorted Ambrose stoutly. “I am betting my money on you reaching a century at least.”
“I shall not live forever, boy,” Lady Levene corrected him. “I might die tomorrow. I say again, Winifred needs a mother.”
“So, we are looking for a lady of sufficient rank with a kind character and maternal instincts,” Lady Kempleforth summarized, pulling them back from a family tussle that could never really be resolved. “I believe that fortune is not a consideration. How important are looks and accomplishments?”
“I do not care,” answered Ambrose, speaking the truth as he felt it that moment. “I would rather a plain face and good sense, than a hard heart and foolishness. I am not seeking a love match.”
The two ladies exchanged a glance and Lady Levene nodded to Lady Kempleforth.
“My grandson speaks truly, although many gentlemen might not. His first marriage was arranged between the families and worked well.”
“Ah, yes, your first marriage. Can you tell me how that came about, Your Grace? It would help me to understand your requirements and character better.”
