“Miss Woodchurch, don’t,” he said, waving a hand at her. “Don’t rile yourself up to a speech to excuse my poor choice of words. I spoke clumsily. Forgive me.”
“Of course.”
He felt terribly conspicuous. He rubbed his nape. “Would you like to take your tea now?”
She didn’t seem as if she wanted to, but she nodded and retrieved her bag. “Please excuse me.”
When she’d left, he picked up the book and opened it again. He began the laborious task of reading in English. But the print was legible, and he was intrigued by Jane Eyre and her dreary, rainy day.
But as he read, his thoughts kept straying to Miss Woodchurch. Her happy mien. Her fierce confidence. Her unwillingness to be intimidated by him. Her absolute dedication to speaking up.
And her very blue eyes.
What was the matter with him?It was almost as if he was making a...friend. A friend he wanted to touch. Was that even possible? He had so few friends he couldn’t even be sure.
But he was so fascinated by the idea and by the book that he was, quite uncharacteristically, late for his meeting with Rosa.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
LILAALEKSANDERHADencountered some difficult subjects in her thirty years in the profession of matchmaking and did not view the viscount’s disinclination to meet privately with her as a challenge. At least not at first.
When she’d first been introduced to him, in the garden at Grosvenor Square, she’d been surprised at how taciturn he was. Most people, when faced with the choice of a mate with whom they would spend the rest of their lives, had quite a lot to say. This man had hardly anything to say on the matter.
Lila had known quiet people. Her own mother had been notoriously closemouthed—Lila could scarcely recall more than a handful of things her mother had said to her. She thought that probably had more to do with her father’s overbearing control of his wife than her mother’s true nature, and was genuinely sorry that she would never know.
Occasionally, Lila would encounter someone who spared so few words that it was impossible to know them. She hoped the viscount wasn’t that—it would make her task all the more difficult.
His mother, Elizabeth, had warned Lila that her son would be a troublesome subject.My son would marry a book if it were allowed, she’d complained when she’d met with Lila a few weeks ago.
Elizabeth Abbott Vincente and Lila had known each other many, many years ago, both of them debuting the same year when their waistlines were smaller and their visions of the future rosy. Then Elizabeth had married the handsome Santiavan duke and moved far away. And shortly after that, Lila’s hopes for an offer had been destroyed by her father’s terrible bribery scandal. She and Elizabeth had moved in opposite directions, out of England, and they’d lost touch through the years.
Lord Iddesleigh was the one to reunite them, by way of his good friend the Duchess of Marley, nee Princess Amelia of Wesloria. It so happened that Amelia was one of Lila’s former clients—a decade or so ago, Lila had achieved the unimaginable by matching the outspoken Amelia with the grieving Joshua Parker, the Duke of Marley. She was delighted by them now—four children, marital bliss by all accounts, and friends from all walks of life.
Amelia had invited Elizabeth and Lila for tea at Beck’s request. She said she’d met the current duke of Santiava a time or two at prestigious occasions in Europe, and she was more than happy to host a meeting of the minds.
The three women gathered at the grand Marley house in Mayfair. Lila and Elizabeth warmly greeted each other, caught up on all the news, then got down to the business of finding her reserved son a suitable wife.
“He’s quite shy,” Elizabeth said. “Or perhaps he is merely quiet. I confess I’ve never been able to distinguish which. His father was terribly hard on him, and I think Mateo learned to keep his thoughts to himself, lest he be criticized. My son Roberto, now there is a man who can charm a lady to her toes. But Mateo?” She sighed. “He really doesn’t say much at all.”
“Maybe because your other son says much,” Amelia said as she stirred her tea. “I only mention it because my sister, Justine—she’s the queen of Wesloria, you know—she was always rather reluctant to speak in public, and I really rather thought it was because I spoke so much. I’ve never had the slightest hesitation to speak in public, and in fact, my mother often complained that I was always talking about anything you like. Name the subject, she said, and off I’d go. Now, of course, I don’t talk as much, because my children do all the talking. And mostly at once. Have you ever noticed how children talk as if they are the only ones in the room? They don’t hear any voice but their own.”
Amelia happened to look up then and noticed the two women were politely waiting for her to finish talking. “There, you see?” she asked, flicking a wrist. “I’ve proved my point.” She gestured for Elizabeth to continue.
“Mateo and Roberto are not together for public outings, so I don’t think his silence is a result of being overshadowed,” Elizabeth said. “But his quiet nature vexed my husband terribly. He was gregarious—you may remember, Lila. I believe you danced with him at the last ball the Season of our debut? He used to complain to me that he couldn’t understand how his firstborn and heir could be the apple to fall from his tree and roll so far away.”
Lila did remember the duke and had thought him more bombastic and pompous than gregarious. “In my experience, the quiet ones are always the reasoned ones,” she said. “The thinkers, if you will.”
“Yes, well, my husband was convinced there wasn’t much thinking going on in Mateo’s head. Honestly, I don’t know what to do with him,” Elizabeth said. “On my word, he wouldn’t even come down from the mountains if I didn’t press the issue.”
“So he is content to be alone,” Lila offered, and jotted down a quick note on her little notepad.
“Is he?” Elizabeth mused. “I wouldn’t know. He hardly speaks to me, either.”
Lila glanced up.
“That’s what I’ve been trying to convey, Lila. He hardly speaks toanyone.”
That might very well be true, but Lila wouldn’t be surprised if Elizabeth’s son simply didn’t trust his mother. Funny how people preferred to make a match based on their own desires and not those of their parents.
