A Matchmaker for a Marquess Read online

  A Matchmaker for a Marquess

  By

  Christi Caldwell

  A Matchmaker for a Marquess

  Copyright © 2019 by Christi Caldwell

  EPUB Edition

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form by any electronic or mechanical means—except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews—without written permission.

  The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.

  This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it or borrow it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return it and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of the author.

  For more information about the author:

  www.christicaldwellauthor.com

  [email protected]

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  Other Titles by Christi Caldwell

  Heart of a Duke

  In Need of a Duke—Prequel Novella

  For Love of the Duke

  More than a Duke

  The Love of a Rogue

  Loved by a Duke

  To Love a Lord

  The Heart of a Scoundrel

  To Wed His Christmas Lady

  To Trust a Rogue

  The Lure of a Rake

  To Woo a Widow

  To Redeem a Rake

  One Winter with a Baron

  To Enchant a Wicked Duke

  Beguiled by a Baron

  To Tempt a Scoundrel

  The Heart of a Scandal

  In Need of a Knight—Prequel Novella

  Schooling the Duke

  A Lady’s Guide to a Gentleman’s Heart

  A Matchmaker for a Marquess

  Lords of Honor

  Seduced by a Lady’s Heart

  Captivated by a Lady’s Charm

  Rescued by a Lady’s Love

  Tempted by a Lady’s Smile

  Courting Poppy Tidemore

  Scandalous Seasons

  Forever Betrothed, Never the Bride

  Never Courted, Suddenly Wed

  Always Proper, Suddenly Scandalous

  Always a Rogue, Forever Her Love

  A Marquess for Christmas

  Once a Wallflower, at Last His Love

  Sinful Brides

  The Rogue’s Wager

  The Scoundrel’s Honor

  The Lady’s Guard

  The Heiress’s Deception

  The Wicked Wallflowers

  The Hellion

  The Vixen

  The Governess

  The Bluestocking

  The Spitfire

  The Theodosia Sword

  Only For His Lady

  Only For Her Honor

  Only For Their Love

  Danby

  A Season of Hope

  Winning a Lady’s Heart

  The Brethren

  The Spy Who Seduced Her

  The Lady Who Loved Him

  The Rogue Who Rescued Her

  Brethren of the Lords

  My Lady of Deception

  Her Duke of Secrets

  A Regency Duet

  Rogues Rush In

  Memoir: Non-Fiction

  Uninterrupted Joy

  Table of Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Other Titles by Christi Caldwell

  Dedication

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Other Books by Christi Caldwell

  Biography

  Dedication

  To Riley

  I’ll never forget the first time you played soccer. You were not so very excited about the game of soccer itself. During practice, in the middle of the field, you dropped to all fours and opted to play your own game instead—that of horsey for a little friend.

  I laughed from the sidelines as children kicking soccer balls navigated around you, as you ‘galloped’ about.

  On that sunny, happy day, Meredith and Barry’s story was born.

  Thank you for the memory. And thank you for being such a special, clever, nurturing, loving, spirited girl.

  I love you.

  Prologue

  Berkshire, England

  1811

  Four had always been Meredith Durant’s special number.

  She’d entered the world in the early morn hour of four o’clock on the fourth day of the fourth month.

  She’d had four best friends in the world when a girl was fortunate if she had but one person in whom she could confide.

  And it had taken just four days for Meredith’s life to fall apart.

  She stared blankly at the collection of valises packed and positioned neatly alongside the door, ready to be carted off tomorrow morn. And four valises were all it had taken to stuff all the things she’d accumulated in her nearly twenty-year existence.

  Her lips twisted up in a painful smile at the recurrence of that damned number.

  Perhaps it was the shock of being turned out after she’d spent her entire life at Berkshire Estates. Or perhaps it was the abrupt and unexpected sacking of her father, the Duke of Gayle’s loyal man-of-affairs. But there was nothing more than an absolute numbness to her and Papa’s impending departure.

  Though, in fairness, the numbed state had begun four days ago with the arrival of the letter that had broken her heart and made a mockery of the time she’d spent loving and mooning over a worthless cad who’d never truly had honorable intentions where she was concerned.

  “Where did I put it? Where did I put it?” Her father’s mutterings as he flew between the small rooms of their cottage—nay, the Duke of Gayle’s cottage—managed to penetrate Meredith’s misery and proved a welcome distraction.

  Dusting at her cheeks, she quit her place at the window and joined her father. “What are you looking for, Papa?” she asked in the same gentling tones the head stable master and her former sweetheart had used when talking to the most fractious mares.

  Alas, her father continued to mumble to himself, a man in a trance.

  “I’ve left them somewhere. My letters. The letters. Where did I put them?”

  The letters. As in the Duke of Gayle’s letters of reference.

  A healthy fury pumped through her chest at the thought of the duke. A man who’d been like a second father to her and who’d so easily replaced his friend with a younger man-of-affairs. “Have you checked…?” Her voice faded off as she pulled open the center drawer of his desk.

  Meredith collapsed into the empty chair. Balled pages stained with ink filled the narrow space. “Papa,” she chided gently. He’d forever been meticulous with his work. He’d instilled in Meredith the essentiality of proper organization and keeping one’s papers tidy.

  Her father, however, gave no indication he’d heard her. Instead, he continued his fr
enetic movements, darting around the cottage and talking to himself. In short, the greying, stoop-shouldered figure was a shadow of his former self.

  Her mouth tightened. But then, that was the effect of this place on a person.

  Berkshire, this country estate that had once been a place of joy, had changed. It had been altered by the people who dwelled here, their unkindness replacing the warmth and love and sense of family…

  Her lips twisted again, and she caught the grimace reflected in her father’s silver inkpot.

  “Unkindness,” she muttered to herself.

  Is that what you call removing a trusted friend and man-of-affairs from a post he’s held for more than two decades?

  Is that what you call the stable hand professing his love, vowing to marry you upon his return from fighting Boney’s forces and then instead penning you a note to share that he’s had a change of heart? That his heart, in fact, belongs to another young woman he’s met in his time away?

  Her lower lip quivered, and tears filled her eyes, blurring her father’s sloppy work space. She yanked out drawer after drawer, sifting through piles of stained and wrinkled pages.

  There was something safer in focusing on the sorry state of her father’s belongings than the splintering of her heart. “How could you have so horribly neglected your work?” she asked sharply as her father stopped at her shoulder.

  Papa frantically wrung his hands. “Afraid I’ve been more distracted than usual.”

  “Distracted?” Her voice crept up in pitch. “Distracted?” And then all the resentment, fear, and pain of these past four days boiled over. Meredith grabbed fistfuls of the balled paper and tossed them onto the floor at his feet. “This isn’t ‘distracted.’ This is a blasted disaster, Papa.”

  He rubbed at his temples. “I know, I know, poppet.”

  “You know?” Meredith jumped up. “If you knew, then you’d have taken care before it came to this.”

  “I’m afraid my mind’s been elsewhere,” her father whispered, claiming the chair she’d given up.

  “And mayhap if it hadn’t been, you’d still hold your post, and we’d still have a home here, and—” Her words cut out at her father’s stricken expression. “Papa,” she whispered. “I’m so—”

  He waved off her apology. Removing his glasses, he cleaned the smudged lenses. “I deserve that,” he said, his voice cracking.

  “You don’t.” She perched herself on the arm of the chair. “But you should have asked me for help.”

  “I didn’t want to ruin your happiness with work that isn’t yours to see to.”

  Ruin her happiness…? How…?

  A sad smile was on his lips. “I’m your father. Of course I noted you and the boy.”

  The boy.

  Only, Patrin hadn’t been a boy. He’d been two years older than she—a man and now a soldier. A lone tear trickled down her cheek, and she angrily swatted at it.

  “He wasn’t more important than this.” It had taken a betrayal for her to realize as much, and now it was too late. Too late to protect her heart from hurt. Too late for her father to receive the help he’d required. And because of it, they’d lost their home.

  “He’s seen us taken care of. We’ll be fine, Camila.”

  The mother she’d never known, who’d died birthing her. “Meredith,” she gently corrected.

  Her father scratched at his heavily furrowed brow. “I know. I know. It’s just every day you remind me more and more of your mother.” Her father patted her hand. “Run along. I’ve work to see to for the duke.”

  Work to see to? They were set to leave. What manner of work would the duke require her father to see to?

  But then, what else could she expect of an all-powerful ducal family who thought nothing of replacing their loyal man-of-affairs? Oh, how she missed Emilia.

  Except the ducal daughter had been a best friend to Meredith and then had completely forgotten her when she’d gone off to London and fallen in love.

  Yes, they were better off with this place behind them. And yet, she couldn’t quite make herself believe that.

  “Where is it?” His gaze slightly unfocused, her father glanced about. “Where is it?”

  “Papa?”

  He was already off, pacing the rooms again and resuming his ramblings.

  Meredith’s eyes slid closed. She didn’t want to be the parent in this situation. She wanted to be the young woman entitled to nurturing her broken heart while at the same time railing at the unfairness with which she and Papa had been treated by the Duke and Duchess of Gayle. Meredith wanted to be able to give in to the tears at having to leave the only home she’d ever known and facing the search for a new one in London.

  “Camila,” her father called from his bedroom. “Do you recall what I was looking for a moment ago?”

  It was too much. Her pulse pounding in her ears, Meredith bolted to the door of their modest cottage. She caught herself on the handle. Struggling with it for a moment, she managed to wrench the panel open. She slammed it hard behind her and took off. She continued running, stretching her legs as far and as fast as they would carry her.

  She ran until perspiration beaded her brow and slid down her cheeks. Raced on until her lungs felt close to exploding.

  Panting, she staggered to a stop—at the stables. The place she’d come whenever she’d needed to smile or laugh. Or simply talk.

  Meredith hugged her arms tight around her middle and struggled for a proper breath.

  Damn you, Patrin, for breaking my heart. Damn you, Emilia, for breaking it, too, when you forgot me. Damn you, Duke and Duchess, for caring more about your titles than the people who’ve been like family to you.

  But then, that was the truth, wasn’t it? Like family was not the same as family.

  With a shuddery sob, she burst into the stables.

  This time when the tears fell, Meredith let them cascade unchecked down her cheeks. The familiar scent of horses and hay proved calming, an odd pastoral balm. As she closed the door behind her, the duke’s mounts whinnied and stomped the ground. Others danced restlessly about their stalls.

  Meredith moved deeper and deeper through the empty stables and stopped beside a familiar stall. “Hullo, Gabby,” she greeted. Stretching her fingers out, she scratched the mare in that spot between her eyes that she so loved to have rubbed. “I trust you’re disappointed in me for not coming sooner.”

  The chestnut mare gave a toss of her head.

  “And with good reason,” Meredith allowed, favoring her with another stroke, while with her other hand, she dusted away the remnants of her tears. “I should have come sooner to say goodbye. You deserved far more than a visit on the eve of my departure.”

  As if she understood and shared in that misery, Gabby rested her chin atop Meredith’s shoulder. Angling her head, she snuggled the mount. “I’m going to miss you most of all, you know.”

  A faint creak was followed by a splash of light. Meredith went motionless. Even this was to be taken from her. When the stable door was shut once more, she glanced over her shoulder and squinted, searching for the identity of the thief.

  His hands clasped behind him, Barry Aberdeen, the Marquess of Tenwhestle, made his way slowly through the stables. “Hullo,” he called out hesitantly.

  “Hello, Barry.”

  Four years younger than she, he’d been the bane of her girlhood existence, delighting in tormenting her and teasing her with a ferocity second only to that which she’d teased and tormented him.

  How long ago all that seemed. How much time had passed. Had she ever been a child so carefree? Dropping her chin on the stable door, Meredith returned her attention to Gabby.

  Barry took up a place next to her. He was at least four inches shorter than she was, but at some point since he’d been gone, he’d put some muscle on his scrawny frame.

  She looked at the two roses in his hand, one red and one yellow. “Barry, did you bring me flowers?”

  He stared at the small
bouquet and blushed. “I… uh…” As if he were being asked to relinquish the Aberdeen heirlooms, he reluctantly held them out.

  “I was only teasing,” she assured. “I’m sure they’re intended for some very fortunate young lady.”

  “They’re not,” he blurted. “You take them.”

  She hesitated.

  “Here,” he insisted, and this time, he pressed them into her palm.

  Meredith accepted the collection of brightly colored flowers, raised them close to her nose, and inhaled deeply. “You don’t have to give me your flowers, Barry.”

  No one had ever given her flowers. Not even Patrin.

  The damned tears started again, and she blinked them back.

  “Don’t cry,” he said frantically, with a seriousness she’d never heard from him. With a seriousness she’d never believed him capable of.

  She sniffled, and then a kerchief was dangling before her blurry vision.

  “I want you to have them, Mare.”

  No, he didn’t. She’d seen the longing in his gaze to keep those flowers, but he’d relinquished them anyway. That unexpected tenderness sent a welcome warmth to her chest.

  “I w-wasn’t crying about the fl-flowers,” she assured him.

  “Here,” he murmured, reaching up to wipe the tears from her cheeks, and somehow this grown-up side of little Barry made her cry all the harder.

  “Please don’t cry,” he implored, searching about. Mayhap for escape? Which was a sentiment she’d become all too familiar with these past four days.

  Meredith wept all the more. Big, noisy, ugly tears.

  Barry awkwardly pulled her into his arms, and then oddly, there was the greatest of role reversals as the boy who’d always been like a bothersome younger brother to her became a protector. Barry was growing up, and a pang of sadness struck in her chest. It was just another change.

  He continued holding her until her tears abated, and still for some reason she could not make herself step out of his embrace. Because with that move would come a finality to her time and place here.

  In the end, Barry was the one who broke the embrace, jumping back with the awkward relief that only a fifteen—almost sixteen—year old boy could muster. He jammed his hands into his pockets. “You’re leaving.”