“The Matchmaker is a… mysterious force with an astonishing talent for bringing people together in matches of love. No one knows who they are or how they know who to write to, but letters arrive, and those letters hold details of one’s perfect match.” Caroline hesitated. “Or, in my case, who isnotmy perfect match. There is more to it, or so I have heard, such as letters sent between two people which are actually written by the Matchmaker, to begin that thread of love. Still, I would be a fool to ignore my letter.”
Did Dickie not mention something similar? Is this who society has been talking about, all this time?It was an easy mistake to make, in his opinion, and made rather more sense than everyone discussing the personal matter of matchmakers so freely.
Still, Percy could not have been more confused if someone had placed Cyrillic in front of him and asked him to read it aloud. “So, you are rejecting me on the basis of something a mysterious, unknown figure has said to you?”
“I will be honest with you,” Caroline replied, clasping her hands together. “I am my own woman with my own mind, but what I read made me realize that I am being too hasty. As I did not debut last year, as intended, I have been plagued by this feeling that I need to make up for lost time. The Matchmaker reminded me that I do not need to rush. Indeed, that I would be very silly to rush, when what I long for is a love match to rival those of my brother and Phoebe, my cousin and Olivia, and my own mother and father. This is only my third ball of my very first season, Your Grace.”
He stood up straighter, squaring his shoulders. “But why go to the effort of searching further if what you are looking for is right in front of you?”
“It is not my intention to be blunt, Your Grace, but I do not believe it is.” Caroline smiled. “You see, I was reminded that it is better to be a wallflower or a dreamer than shackled to a life of misery with an unsuitable gentleman for a husband.”
He froze, struck with the sudden feeling that he had been there before, had heard that somewhere before. His mind raced, sifting at great speed through his memories to try and figure out if he was imagining things or not. Either way, an uneasiness left him barely able to hear what Caroline said next.
“And I am not suited to you, Your Grace,” she continued. “You want a marriage of convenience, and I do not.”
Percy shook his head. “We did not discuss anything of that nature last night. I mentioned nothing of convenience.”
“I just know.”
She smiled back at him with a confidence that let him know her mind was already made up, while his own mind carried on whirling, certain that he had heard her previous sentiments somewhere before.
“I hope you will not think me rude,” she continued. “As I said, you are a pleasant fellow, Your Grace, and I know another lady will be lucky to have you, but…”
She chattered on for a while, but Percy did not hear a word she said, too distracted by the unsettled feeling in the middle of his chest and the itchy sensation in his skull, as he tried to place those words about wallflowers and dreamers and shackles and unsuitable husbands.
Not unsuitable… Unworthy…It hit him like a thunderbolt, transforming his unease into an immediate surge of irritation. More than that, disbelief at the meddlesome nature of the transgression.
“It is quite all right,” he said abruptly, putting up his hands. “You need not explain any further. I accept your rejection honorably and shall not be calling upon you again.”
Caroline relaxed, expelling a relieved breath. “Oh, I am pleased. I thought?—”
“But before I leave,” he cut her off, his mind elsewhere, “I have a favor to ask of you.”
She tilted her head, warily enquiring, “What can I do, Your Grace?”
“Might I see that letter?”
Caroline withdrew, folding her arms across her chest, her eyes narrowing in suspicion. “For what purpose?”
“Call it curiosity.”
“I can show it to you,” Caroline said haltingly, “but you cannot read it. It is private.”
Percy shrugged, struggling to restrain his impatience. “Very well.”
She drew the letter from the front pocket of her pinafore, tightly gripping it as she held it out a short distance—close enough to snatch back if Percy lunged for it, far enough to suggest she trusted he would not.
He leaned down to observe it, but the handwriting of the address was not familiar to him. When Caroline turned it over, however, and he caught sight of the seal on the back, the last of his doubts were blasted away.
For there, imprinted by a stamp in special yellow wax, was what looked very,verylike a buttercup.
CHAPTERFIVE
“Lady Anna, we have arrived.”
She sat bolt upright, rubbing her tired eyes as she squinted through the open carriage door. The footman stood there awkwardly in the dusky light of evening, as her mind took a few moments to catch up to where she was, and what the grand Tudor manor house now meant to her: home. At least until Dickie made his return to Greenfield House.
Will I be allowed to return with him, if he finds a wife before then?She shook off the worry and clambered out of the carriage, offering her apologies to the footman. Of course, Dickie would not keep her from her own home.
