A Matchmaker for a Marquess Read online

  Berry jammed his hat atop his head. “The same, Miss Duranseau,” he murmured in the silken tones he’d adopted moments ago while reading Byron, when he hadn’t known who she was. Only now he knew…

  He winked again, and tamping down a groan of disgust with herself, she turned on her heel, took Miss Saltonstall by the hand, and marched off.

  As Meredith and her charge took their leave of the garden, Meredith felt one certainty: No good could come from being around the grown-up version of Barry Aberdeen, the Marquess of Tenwhestle’s once-troublesome self. None at all.

  And given the gentleman’s roguish existence, there was little likelihood she’d have to worry about seeing him again.

  Chapter 2

  The Duchess of Gayle was a woman to be avoided at all costs.

  Especially if that woman was one’s mother. As such, Barry had made it a life goal to steer clear of her.

  This moment would mark the one exception in all of Barry’s twenty-six-year existence and also the reason he’d quit the Royal Horticultural Society and made a frantic ride through London.

  After all, it was not every day a gentleman came across a ghost.

  In this case, a living, breathing, dour ghost who went by an altogether different name than she once had.

  Jumping down from his mount, he handed the reins off to one of the liveried servants who always stood at the ready outside his parents’ Mayfair townhouse. Offering a hasty word of thanks, he bounded up the steps.

  The dutiful butler was already drawing the door open and admitting Barry before he’d even a chance to knock.

  “Hamilton,” he greeted as the door was shut behind him. Removing his top hat, he tossed the article to the greying servant.

  Catching the hat and passing it off to a footman hovering in the wings, Hamilton bowed. “My lord.”

  “My mother…?” he asked, glancing about.

  “Is occupied.”

  Which was polite butler-speak for She’s not accepting visitors, even from her son.

  Alas, if he’d made an exception on this damned day, the Duchess of Gayle would, too. Meredith Durant was employed as a companion. Not that there was anything wrong with a woman being employed, but this was Meredith, and there’d been nothing at all happy today about the girl from his past. And what was more, she went by a different name and had been cloaked in secrets. He steeled his jaw. All of which required immediate research and answers.

  “She is in her office, then. I’ll show myself there.” Barry started down the hall. “And see that my father is summoned immediately and be clear that I’ve requested his presence.” Both of his parents needed to be made aware of his discovery today.

  “But…” Ignoring Hamilton’s futile protestations, Barry increased his strides, not pausing until he’d reached the duchess’s Pink Parlor. He tossed the door open. “I’ve stumbled upon some disconcerting information ab—oh, bloody hell.”

  He silently cursed Hamilton. The damned butler hadn’t mentioned the duchess was in the middle of one of her blasted Meeting of the Duchesses, as they’d come to be called by Polite Society.

  The two duchesses exchanged a look.

  “Allow me to give you a hint, son,” his mother said crisply. “This is the moment where you dip bows to the ladies present and make your apologies for an abrupt interruption. And then only after you’ve made proper apologies for cursing in front of ladies.”

  The Duchess of Sutton made a poor attempt at hiding a smile behind her teacup.

  “My apologies, Your Graces,” he returned, waffling between the requisite greetings and the need to exit.

  In the end, the decision was made for him.

  “Come, come. I trust by not only your… unexpected visit and the rapidity of your entrance that yours is a matter of… some importance.”

  At one point in his life, he’d have failed to hear the snark and sarcasm from his mother. No longer.

  Barry cleared his throat. “I can return after your company is gone.”

  “Not at all,” the Duchess of Sutton protested and remained firmly seated, showing no indication she’d be leaving.

  “And I’d point out that Lady Sutton is not just any company.”

  Nay, the duchesses were as close as sisters. Plotting, gossiping, terror-inducing sisters who handled the strings of Polite Society like two master marionettes. That did not, however, mean Barry intended to divulge before the other woman the discovery he’d made a short while ago.

  His mother sipped from her teacup. All the while studying him over the brim.

  The door exploded open, and his father staggered into the room. “What is the crisis?” he panted, out of breath.

  Barry wiped a hand over his eyes. “There is no crisis.” Not in the traditional sense, per se.

  Resting his palms on his knees, the duke sucked in great, noisy, heaving gasps of air.

  “Perhaps I should return later.” The Duchess of Sutton set her porcelain cup down and came to her feet.

  The duke wiped at the sweat at his brow. “Sutton,” he gasped out a greeting.

  “A pleasure as always, Gayle,” she returned and, with a smile, took her leave.

  His mother pursed her lips. “I swear, Barry Aberdeen, you leave me wondering every day at the tutors who instructed you. Driving off a duchess?”

  This wasn’t the time for lectures on propriety. No time, in fact, was. But certainly not this one. “I’d ask that you both sit.” Barry took up a place in the middle of the Aubusson carpet.

  “He’s going to make an outlandish request,” the duke grumbled to his wife… as if Barry, the very son they spoke of, was not, in fact, present. “Funds for flowers.”

  That briefly distracted him. “They aren’t funds for flowers. It’s a—”

  The duchess gasped. “Surely you aren’t blaming me?”

  “This is about your flower garden. Isn’t it, Barry?” his father demanded.

  Bloody hell. Barry swiped a hand over his face. “It isn’t a ‘flower garden,’ Father.” His neck heated as he faced the same disdain and lack of understanding he’d always faced. “It’s an experimental garden proposed by the Royal Horticultural Society of London.”

  “I told you that’s what this was about,” his father groused. “This is why you’d summon me from important matters?”

  “You were sleeping,” Barry pointed out.

  “You want me to lease out my—”

  “Our,” Barry and the duchess said as one.

  “—properties for these meetings. I don’t see the Duke of Devonshire offering his for your experiments.”

  “They aren’t my experiments. They are the society’s, and either way this is not the reason for my visit.” He’d given up on petitioning his parents for the acreage desired by the Royal Horticultural Society some two months ago.

  The duke pointed at his wife. “You’ve encouraged this.”

  Neither of them had encouraged Barry’s appreciation of botany. They’d done quite the opposite, by dismissing the tutors who had promoted his fascination with that very particular science. Either way, he’d long ago accepted there’d be no support for his endeavors from the regal pair standing before him.

  “Will you both please sit?”

  They must have heard something in his voice, for this time he effectively silenced the pair, who sank into the nauseatingly pink sofa.

  Barry took a deep breath. “I’ve discovered something quite alarming today.” The memory of Meredith Durant from a short while ago… pinch-faced, world-weary. And not at all the Meredith of his remembrance. His lips tensed. “Something… horrifying,” he added to properly prepare them.

  His mother slapped a palm over her mouth. “You have an illegitimate child.”

  “What?” He furrowed his brow. What in hell…? Barry shot a frantic look at the door. “Good God, have a care lest a servant hears you.”

  “I knew it,” the duchess cried out. She glared at her husband. “I told you with his reputation he
was going to be careless.”

  His reputation? Barry attempted unsuccessfully to get a word in.

  “Surely you aren’t blaming me for him getting a babe on some woman.” His father flared his nostrils.

  Good God this was really quite enough. “Would you both stop?” Mindful of the possibility of passing servants, even if his parents weren’t concerned, he dropped his voice to a hushed whisper. “There is no babe. I do not have a child. I don’t intend to have a child. There’s absolutely no babe. None.”

  That silenced his parents.

  Briefly.

  His mother twisted her hands together. “Are you certain you’re not now saying this because of our reaction—”

  “I assure you,” he said swiftly. “I’m very certain.”

  “Because if you do,” his mother continued over him, “I’d have you be sure you’re caring for the child properly. Isn’t that true, Geoffrey?”

  “Absolutely.” The duke stole a longing look at the doorway, and Barry commiserated with his father in that instant. He himself was nearly regretting this impromptu visit.

  “You’ve no worries about an illegitimate child. I’ve taken care…” he said before thinking and then promptly wished he could call the words back.

  Both his parents inched closer to the edge of their seats, eyeing him carefully. “Oh?” his mother pressed.

  Barry yanked at his suddenly too-tight cravat. This was all really enough. “There is no babe,” he repeated with greater insistence.

  Even with that, however, his mother caught her chin between her thumb and forefinger and angled her head to study him. “Hmm,” she finally said, noncommittal.

  He didn’t know which to be most horrified by: having to explain the measures he’d taken to avoid the possibility of having an illegitimate issue, or his parents’ absolute lack of faith in him and his trustworthiness. “I came upon Meredith.”

  That pronouncement managed to usher in another blanket of silence, this one heavier. He frowned. Surely they’d say… something. “Meredith Durant,” he said, as if he needed to clarify. As if there were another woman who’d been so very important to their family who bore that name.

  “I… see,” his mother said slowly, revealing nothing. Though the duchess was a master of emotion, a woman rumored to have not cracked so much as a smile or sigh at the birth of either of her children. What had made him believe this moment should prove any exception?

  A bleating snore split the quiet.

  “Do wake up, dear,” his mother chided, lightly tapping her husband.

  The duke jerked awake. “What… where?”

  Oh, this was really quite enough.

  Barry didn’t give a jot either way about his parents’ indifference toward him. This showing toward Meredith, however, was altogether different. “Can we please return to the matter at hand?”

  “Meredith?”

  Barry tossed his arms up. “Of course, Meredith,” he cried out. How singularly focused they were. Concerned solely about the Aberdeen family and the Gayle title. All the while missing the entire point of Barry’s visit, the one true person they required answers about.

  In the end, it was the duke who responded. “I’ve… wondered where she’d gone on to.”

  Barry waited.

  And waited. Expecting… something more from either of his parents. Nay, not necessarily his father. The duke was quite content to cede any and every discussion—important and not—to his wife. This instance proved no different.

  “Hmph. And to think, all this time, she’s been living under our very noses,” the duchess said, at last finding her voice.

  As much as he loathed admitting it, even to himself, he’d had the same thought upon catching sight of Meredith at the horticultural society, a woman he’d been raised alongside, as almost a sister. How had he failed to come across her—ever—in London?

  “Mayhap she is new to London?”

  Only, there hadn’t been anything fraternal in the peculiar desire to tug free the pins from her severe hairstyle and let those curls tumble free, as they had when she’d been a girl. He gave his head a clearing shake and held up a palm. “There is more.”

  His parents stilled on the sofa.

  “She goes by the name of Duranseau.”

  The duke’s brows dipped. “Has she gone and married a Frenchman?”

  “No. As I was able to gather, she’s still unwed and using an alternative name…” For maximum effect, he held his parents’ gazes separately. “And she’s a… companion.”

  His mother gasped. “For who? Surely not… yours?”

  His companion? Bloody hell, had his parents always been this obtuse? “A companion companion. Not… anything that’s inappropriate.”

  “Oh.”

  That was all? They were generally fixed on their place in Society, and he’d expected they’d not be as horrified as Barry had been with his discovery, but he’d certainly expected more than this.

  His father made a throat-clearing sound. “This is all very… shocking, to say the least. And all really confounding.”

  At last, he’d penetrated the wall of apathy his parents showed… well, to everything, really.

  “Well?” Barry asked impatiently when no further words were forthcoming.

  His mother sailed to her feet. “I’m not really certain what you expect, Barry. It’s been some time since we’ve seen Miss Durant. I can hardly give answers as to what she has been up to.”

  A muscle pulsed at the corner of his eye. Was that why they believed he’d come? In search of answers? Except… hadn’t he? And the better question was: Shouldn’t he have?

  Because he’d not seen Meredith since he’d been a boy of almost sixteen and she’d been crying in the stables, and but for fleeting memories of her that would occasionally intrude, he’d not thought of her. And in that, he was as guilty as his family.

  “Neither of you have given thought to—”

  A snore cut into Barry’s question.

  “You are sleeping?” Barry asked incredulously, and his father startled awake with a bleating snore.

  “Who? What…?”

  The duchess lightly nudged her husband. “Barry seems to be of the opinion that we should… do something where Miss Durant is concerned.”

  “And what would he have us do?” His father put that question to his wife.

  Both of Barry’s parents looked expectantly at him.

  Surely… “You are asking me?” Mad. They’d gone utterly mad. Alas, by their expressions, they were of a like opinion where Barry’s sanity was concerned.

  “You are the one who has come to us, Barry,” his mother said impatiently. “What would you have us do?”

  Fury licked at the edge of his temper, and it was all he could do to retain control of it. “You have an obligation to her father’s memory to… to… see that she is well.”

  “And can’t you do that?”

  He balked. “Me?” he sputtered. “Of course not. You are Society’s leading matron. And you are her godparents,” he snapped.

  That seemed to reach the couple.

  They shared a look.

  The duke shook his head slightly and then pointed to his wife.

  The duchess released a beleaguered sigh. “Oh, very well. I’ll discreetly inquire after the young woman and ensure she is well. Will that suffice?”

  Actually, it would. And as he gratefully took his leave of his parents, the worry that had dogged him since he’d come upon Meredith eased.

  His mother would see the young woman was settled. There was nothing to worry about.

  Except generally for the person whom the duchess was meddling with.

  Mayhap he’d not done Meredith Durant any favors, after all.

  Chapter 3

  Two months later

  Berkshire, England

  The London Season had at last come to an end.

  And in his relish of that very time of year, one might say Barry Aberdeen was not Society’s
typical rogue.

  Of course, there were many ways in which he was different from most other gentlemen: Barry didn’t despise his family. On the contrary, he quite liked them and their company. Most of the time, that was.

  He preferred fishing to wagering. Though not a soul in Polite Society knew as much.

  And he enjoyed his mother and father’s annual summer party. In fairness, it was less the party and more the place where those festivities were hosted. With its endless rolling green hills and crystalline waters and falls, it had been, plainly put, the only place he’d truly enjoyed being since he’d been a boy. As such, even he, admitted scamp, rogue, and scoundrel, could endure a fourteen-day house party hosted by his mother, the Duchess of Gayle.

  This moment proved no exception.

  Well, this moment had proven no exception.

  “You do know how desperately I love you?” The husky endearment reached him first. The crunch of dried leaves and squelch of moist earth marked a pair of matching footsteps moving alongside the riverbank.

  Barry froze in midcast of his fishing line. The gentleman’s voice came faint and horrifically familiar…

  “Do you? I do believe you’ve not told me how much… today.” And those soft, definitely familiar female tones belonged to—

  Egad. His damned sister. Barry cringed, and he resisted the urge to clamp his hands over his ears. Had he truly thought he loved this place? There could be no doubting this place was ruined to him forevermore.

  “Ah, yes, love,” his brother-in-law, the less-staid-than-Barry-had-credited whispered. “But have I shown you?”

  His sister giggled and then sighed, and then it was really quite enough.

  “You are not alone,” he said quickly. He tossed his line out. The lead landed with a plunk. Otherwise, only silence met his announcement.

  “Barry?”

  “The same,” he drawled.

  Another giggle was followed by a sigh.

  Oh, good God. He was really quite happy that his sister had gone and fallen in love, but this was simply too much to expect a brother to suffer through.