Chapter 4

Encouraged by the dance he had shared with Lady Caroline, and with nothing better to do at his nearby accommodations, Percy dined on a hearty breakfast, got on his horse, and rode to Westyork to see if he might steal an hour or two in the young lady’s company before luncheon.

He had been greeted by the butler, and instructed to wait in the Sun Room while his request was delivered to Lady Caroline.

Half an hour later, he was still waiting.

Remember, there was a ball last night, he told himself as he adjusted his cuffs and picked tiny specks of lint from his garments. She may have retired very late indeed.

He had ventured away from the festivities not long after midnight, weary from the feat of endurance that was social gatherings. He had never been particularly gifted in the art of fraternizing, which was likely why he looked to Max so keenly in those situations. Max could make friends with anyone.

Anna will be here somewhere. It was an odd thought, popping out of the fog of his nerves as he glanced around the beautiful Sun Room. There were bookshelves and armchairs and settees, silk wallpaper in cream and gold that caught the glorious light, and pale Persian rugs, everything designed for peace and relaxation. Nothing too cluttered.

I wonder if she has sat in this very spot. He knew that she visited Westyork often, to see her friends.The notion prompted him to stand and walk across to the bookshelves, to see if he might find one of the romantic novels that she favored.

“No Mrs. Radcliffe here,” he mumbled with a smirk, drawing his thumb across the spines. They were mostly histories and poetry collections. I suppose she carries her most unsavory novels with her, in secret.

When she was much younger, eagerly trying to avoid her brothers and Percy in the summer, she could always be found with her nose buried in a book. Really, she had made it impossible not to tease her, when she was forever floating around in a world of beautiful damsels and mythical heroes.

The Sun Room door opened and Percy stepped away from the bookshelves as if he had been caught with his hand in the Dowager’s jewelry box.

“Your Grace.” The butler bowed. “Lady Caroline to see you.”

Percy stood up straighter as the pretty young woman entered and sketched a graceful curtsy, reminding him of the pleasant dance they had shared the night before. He did not like to dance very much, but she had made it tolerable, at least: a polite, restrained encounter between potential associates, in the business of marriage. He could neither ask nor want for anything more.

“Lady Caroline.” He bowed in reply, as another, unfamiliar woman came into the room and went to stand in the corner. Caroline’s chaperone, who looked as if she had just this minute risen from her bed, her eyes glazed and her hair sticking up in every direction.

As it happened, Caroline did look rather tired too, with a hint of purple beneath her eyes and a lack of color in her cheeks, which had been very flushed the night before. However, with youth on her side, she still looked pretty.

Unfortunately, Percy never quite knew when to keep his mouth shut.

“Did you not sleep well?” he asked.

Caroline frowned and glanced toward the mirror above the mantelpiece. “I slept well enough, Your Grace.” Her words were clipped and almost too polite as she returned her gaze to him. “Thank you for enquiring.”

“I only ask because you look somewhat fatigued.”

Her eyebrows rose up, as if she were either surprised or offended. “Oh, well, I was awoken early by the birds.” She walked toward the doors that opened out onto the extraordinary gardens of the Westyork Estate. “I suppose I was not expecting visitors, either.” She hastened to add, politely, “Not that you are unwelcome here.”

“If now is not appropriate, I could return later this afternoon?” Percy had not considered that she might not be as eager to see him, for when they had parted ways, she had been all smiles and giddiness.

Caroline sighed. “No, no, now shall suffice. A brisk walk in the gardens will be just the thing to rid of me of any lingering fatigue.”

He went to her, offering his arm. With some unexpected hesitation and a furrowing of her brow, she took it.

Together, they crunched across the white gravel, toward the elaborate gardens: a series of walled squares, each dedicated to different kinds of flowers and plants, with ponds and fountains and trees to delight and surprise around every corner.

The chaperone, however, did not seem to feel the need to rush, following at a leisurely pace.

“Did you enjoy the ball?” Percy asked, as they passed through an old, whitewashed gate into a sea of wildflowers.

Caroline paused to watch a butterfly. “It was very entertaining, Your Grace.”

“Have you been looking forward to your debut?”

“Very much so.” She smiled but it did not reach her eyes.

“I heard you were supposed to debut last year. Did something happen to prevent you, or…?” Percy trailed off, confused by her short, plain responses. She had not been like this during their two dances together.

She did not seem like she had imbibed last night, but perhaps that is why. He knew of several gentlemen who could not say more than a few words at a social gathering if they had not had a glass or two of something potent first. Perhaps, it was the same for some ladies.

Then again, he did not need a particularly verbose wife. Indeed, it was likely better if he did not, for he was not much good at conversation himself. As long as she had friends to confide in, and did not expect him to be her confidante, that would be agreeable enough.

“I did not feel ready,” Caroline replied in that same distant tone.

Percy nodded. “I suppose it is not the same for us gentlemen. It is a grand occasion for you ladies.”

“It is, Your Grace.” Again, that stiff politeness.

An itch, as if he had stepped too close to poison ivy, began to prickle across his flesh in a hot wave. He was not accustomed to such dismissive responses from society ladies, with the sole exception of Anna. But, of course, she did not count, for she had never been an object of his interest.

Puzzled, he walked on with Caroline in silence, through the wildflower garden and into another walled garden with a circular green pond in the center. Purple-tinged lilies floated on the surface, and swaying gently along the easter wall were sprays upon sprays of white orchids. The sight of them made his stomach pitch.

“I cannot stand orchids,” he announced. “The scent is vulgar, do you not think? Far too strong.”

Caroline seemed surprised. “They smell sweet to me, Your Grace.”

Percy spied red roses in the next garden and pressed on toward them. “Now, these are beautiful—everyone can agree on that.” He paused, pleased that Caroline had followed. “Which color is your favorite?”

“White, I suppose.” She gave a small shrug, and that rash prickle itched again.

At his wit’s end, Percy took a steadying breath and turned to face the young lady. “Have I done something to offend you, Lady Caroline? You do not seem to favor this walk with me.”

Well, you did tell her she looked exhausted, his mind whispered, mocking him.

“Perhaps, we can begin again,” he added quickly. “I will not mention anything about fatigue, and we can simply start with your favorite color of rose, so I know what to purchase for you when I next call upon you.”

To his dismay, Caroline wandered off to a wooden bench that sat in the shade of an arched trellis, adorned with the plumpest, reddest roses he had ever seen. No answer, only a troubled expression upon her face, which she aimed toward the gravel at her feet.

“There will be no need for you to call upon me again,” she said more gently, as he approached. “I am sorry, Your Grace.”

The immediate rejection bemused him, but he hid it quickly. “May I ask why?”

“You are not the gentleman for me, Your Grace,” she replied, offering an apologetic smile. “You are pleasant, you are handsome, and I am certain you will make some other lady very happy, but it shall not be me.”

“Again, may I ask why?”

Caroline followed the path of a bee, buzzing from bloom to bloom, unable to look him in the eye. “I received a letter from The Matchmaker this morning, and The Matchmaker is never wrong. Why, even one of my mother’s friends—a widow for twenty years—is now married again and blissfully happy because of The Matchmaker.”

“Which matchmaker?” Percy replied. “I was not aware that your mother had enlisted such a person’s services.”

She stifled a chuckle. “Do you not read the scandal sheets or the papers?”

Percy shrugged. “Rarely.”

“I am not speaking of a matchmaker, but The Matchmaker.”

His still could not see the difference. “Explain what you mean.”

“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 is not my 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, very like a buttercup.