A Most Unlikely Match
Matchmaking was never so delicious...

Chapter One

London, Spring 1805

The clock struck midnight. Andrew Langdon, Earl of Traeton, lounged against one of the Marchioness of Kingsbury’s large Greek marble statues. He was unsure which mythological deity he happened to be offending. At this moment, he did not care. He perused the expanse of the grand ballroom as the orchestra tuned their instruments for the next dance. How on Earth had his brother talked him into this?

Andrew further scanned the crowd. He didn’t see his brother anywhere. Nicholas had thrown him to the wolves to fend for himself. Perhaps his brother planned revenge on him for leaving him penniless at the gaming table the previous night.

“And just who are you looking for?” his brother’s voice taunted from behind.

He turned around, giving his brother a scowl.

“Egad! That glare would scare Lucifer himself.” Nicholas chuckled, pushing a wisp of sandy blond hair from his brow. “You act as if you are being sent to the hangman’s noose.”

He forced a smile. “Have you seen most of the debutantes here this evening?” He pointed out Miss Lucinda Payne, a rather plump young lady, stuffing a pastry into her mouth across the way. “I feel sorry for the man foolish enough to get saddled with one of these chits.” He knew exactly why Nicholas had brought him here.

Grinning, Nicholas handed him a glass of champagne. “Lizzie and Cassie need a mother. They grow more reckless as the days go by.”

He frowned. Now was not the time to bring up this subject. Marriage was an institution better suited for love-besotted fools and money-hungry vultures. He would not make that mistake again. As for child rearing, Nicholas was the last person to be lecturing him. “What do you know of such matters?”

“Drew, Lizzie spends too much time in the stables.” He took a sip of champagne. “I took my mare out for some exercise, and there was Lizzie trying to mount Diablo all by herself. You are heading for scandal with that one.”

Andrew downed his champagne, wishing it were brandy instead. He would need something stronger if he planned on making it through the rest of the evening. He shrugged. “Lizzie and Cassie are under the guidance of the best nannies and governesses in all of London.”

He ground his teeth in consternation. It wasn’t as if he didn’t care, but he’d tried everything in his power to curb Lizzie’s reckless behavior. The harder he tried, the more adventurous she became. His options were dwindling.

Not wanting to get in a heated discussion, he changed the subject. “So what—or should I say, whom—do you want me to see?”

Nicholas chuckled. “I did not expect you to make an appearance. I know how you detest these tawdry affairs. However, I cannot wait to introduce you to Miss Rebecca Ashton.” He gazed off with a faraway, love-struck look in his eyes.

Not again, he thought. Will he ever learn?

He rolled his eyes toward the ceiling. “What about Lady Annabel Spencer? Just last week you were absolutely smitten, if I recall.”

Nicholas sighed. “Her parents obtained a special license for her to wed Lord Hartley. They were caught in a rather compromising situation.”

He shook his head. Of course, he knew about the rushed wedding. He just wanted to goad his younger brother. “What about Miss Helena Beckett? Weren't you totally and thoroughly enthralled by her charm.”

He deposited his empty glass on the tray of a passing servant and picked up another. Smirking, he watched his younger brother squirm. “And who can forget Lady Johanna—”

“Drew, that is quite enough,” Nicholas interrupted. “I see where this conversation is heading. I assure you this time it is different.” His blue eyes lit up. “Miss Ashton is a beautiful, intelligent and sincere young woman. She is perfection incarnate, a masterpiece amongst schoolroom scribbles.”

Andrew laughed. “Apparently, dear brother, your beautiful young miss is too perfect to make an appearance tonight.” He took a large swig of his champagne, downing the contents in one smooth motion, and set the empty glass next to Zeus’s—or whatever god it was—foot.

“It appears you are wrong.” His brother motioned toward the entranceway.

Andrew turned. “Is that—” What he saw left him speechless. Nicholas’s words echoed in his mind. Perfection incarnate. That was an understatement, to say the least.

A hush settled across the ballroom as the beautiful goddess made her way through the forming crowd, flanked by Lady Thea Thomas-Howell on her left and Lady Henrietta Edgerton on her right. He cringed. Poor Miss Ashton, he thought. She had chosen two of London’s most infamous harridans for companions.

Scanning her lithe form, he could see how his brother had become enchanted. If he did not know what he knew of love and infatuation, he could see himself falling under her spell as well.

Lavender ribbons bedecked with pearls entwined throughout her chestnut hair, and her gown of violet silk accentuated her lush curves. Too perfect for words. He could tell she was no young miss. Then again, she wasn’t quite ready for the shelf either. She was a ripe, beautiful woman. Still, an aura of aloofness radiated from her. Perhaps it was her reserved facade or the way she guarded her gaze.  And what about the locket she wore around her neck. How odd that she chose to wear a plain, inexpensive piece of jewelry to such a grand affair.

Andrew shook his head, watching Nicholas join the crush of admirers, male as well as female, rushing to greet the goddess. What was it about this woman that drove London’s haute ton to act like buffoons?

Rebecca Ashton glanced around the grand ballroom. With a guarded glare, she looked down at the heart-shaped locket that rested just above her bosom. She hated wearing the blasted necklace. It held too many painful memories, but it also held secrets—secrets she needed to discover.

Giddy laughter interrupted her thoughts. She turned to Lady Howell, who fluffed the skirts of her buttercup gown one final time before their passage through the elegant marble archway. To her right stood Lady Henrietta Edgerton, a willowy viscountess who looked as if she would blow away in the gentlest of breezes.

“You have outdone yourself, Miss Ashton.” She twirled a graying ringlet around a perfectly manicured fingertip as she perused the parchment in her other hand. “You know... Lady Gabriella Richards would be a perfect match for my Jacob. Why isn’t she listed?” Lady Edgerton asked as she placed the document into her reticule.

Did she really need to bring this up—now?

Rebecca resisted the urge to mention Jacob was, for lack of better words, an oaf. She had danced several times with him, and her crushed toes still hadn’t forgiven her for it.  Rebecca could also note he was rather young and immature—barely four-and-twenty.

“I fear Lady Gabriella and Jacob would not be well suited, my lady. She is, after all, a...” Rebecca searched for the gentlest words to say.  “It is rumored the only thing she’s brought to London, besides her comely face, is a meager dowry.”

Not that she was one to talk of meager dowries. Hers was nonexistent. Then again, she was rather content in her spinsterhood. At six-and-twenty, Rebecca had resigned herself to the fact that she would never marry. After learning of the pain and suffering Leticia had put her father through, she doubted she’d ever want to enter into such a union. 

“'Tis only a rum our. She will make a divine wife,” Lady Edgerton said with a huff.

Rebecca didn’t doubt that one bit. She just didn’t think Lady Gabriella would make a good wife for Jacob. “What about Miss Lucinda Payne?”

Lady Edgerton gasped. “Surely you jest,” she whispered. “She’s a sow.”
Rebecca held back a grumble. This woman has a perpetual habit of making things difficult.

Lady Howell offered Rebecca a comforting glance. “Henrietta dear, Miss Ashton has successfully matched couples for almost three seasons. Let her work her magic. Jacob will be happy. You’ll see.”

Lady Edgerton sighed and turned to Rebecca. “I apologize, Miss Ashton. As you can see, my Jacob is very important to me.”

Rebecca smiled and took Lady Edgerton’s hand. “I will take much care and consideration with Jacob’s match. You will not be disappointed.” She nodded toward the gilt ballroom. “I believe we have a ball to attend, my lady. We can discuss Jacob’s match later.” Much later.

The Marchioness of Kingsbury, a rather stout older woman with graying hair, extended her hand. Rebecca took her leave from Ladies Howell and Edgerton and allowed the marchioness her arm.

“Your brigade has come to welcome you." Lady Kingsbury gave her a knowing smile. “Shall we attempt to avoid the fray?”

"My lady," Rebecca replied. “That sounds like a marvelous idea.”

Lady Kingsbury patted Rebecca’s hand as she escorted her down the stairs. “Perhaps if I introduce you to some of London's more respectable gentlemen, I can persuade you to divert yourself to more engaging activities."

Rebecca almost choked. It was quite apparent Lady Kingsbury had her own matchmaking plans. Rebecca smiled, hiding her disappointment. “I fear I am too old to compete with the debutantes this season."

“Oh, hush.” Lady Kingsbury shook her head in disapproval. “You don’t look a day over one-and-twenty. I demand you enjoy yourself tonight." She turned around, spotting Nicholas Langdon heading their way.

Rebecca stifled a grumble. Nicholas Langdon was friendly enough, but his constant pleadings for her matchmaking assistance wore on her nerves. If his brother was as dashing and handsome as Nicholas had described, then he should have no problem finding the earl a wife without her assistance.

"Nicholas, dear boy," Lady Kingsbury called out. "Could you please escort Miss Ashton? I need to locate my husband."

“I would be delighted to, my lady.” Nicholas turned to Rebecca and bowed.
“Miss Ashton, are you enjoying yourself this evening?”

There was no disguising his eagerness as he offered her his arm. His smile radiated a sweetness that would cause any other woman to swoon. Rebecca, however, needed more than a charming smile to win her over. She had no doubt he knew the ins and outs of wooing the young misses and would make a fine match—for another young lady. 

“Thank you, Mr. Langdon. I am having a splendid time.” Now would be the perfect time for a yawn, she mused. She looked around for an escape.

“You are most welcome," he replied. "Could I interest you in some refreshment?”

Noticing the refreshment table on the other side of the dance floor, she breathed a sigh of relief. "Actually, a glass of champagne would be lovely."
He bowed. "As you wish." With that, he placed a gentle kiss upon her gloved hand and took his leave.

 

Andrew watched his brother attempt to work his charms upon Miss Ashton. She was bored, he could tell. Either she was extremely polite, or she had ulterior motives. In his dealings with the fairer sex, he’d learned to expect the latter.

Miss Imogene Darling and Lady Beatrice Meade strolled by in the midst of animated gossip. "Look at Nicholas Langdon. She practically has him kissing her slippers!" Imogene wrinkled her beaklike nose. "And you should have seen her clinging to Lord Bartholomew at the races earlier this afternoon. It’s scandalous."

"I haven’t a clue why the matrons have taken to her," the other said. “Matchmaker? How preposterous!”

Interesting, he thought. So she is the dreaded matchmaker that had the ton all agog. And what is her business with Alistair Bartholomew?

The mere mention of that blackguard’s name left a bad taste in his mouth. He scowled in disgust. She had manipulated many of London’s elite into marriage. An impossible feat, he contemplated. He would be damned if he let her sink her claws into his naive brother.

Now was the perfect time to corner the minx, while Nicholas was on his fool's errand. She headed towards the veranda, as if she attempted to escape. Time was of the essence.

He stalked toward the veranda, zigzagging through the crowd. He leaned his shoulder against another of Lady Kingsbury’s monstrous statues and hid in the shadows. As Miss Ashton turned to make her exit, he grabbed her arm in a firm yet gentle grasp. A soft gasp escaped her lips.

"You've just arrived, yet you're already eager to leave." He looked down upon her, almost at a loss for words. By God, she is even more beautiful up close. Get yourself together, man, he admonished himself. She was the conniving matchmaker, not to mention a possible associate of Lord Bartholomew. She could not be trusted, especially with Nicholas in her clutches.

Her violet eyes flared. “Let go of me!” She attempted to pull her arm from his grasp, but he held firm.

Bloody hell, she is full of fire. “Not until you give me the honor of a dance.”

“A dance? We haven’t had a proper introduction.”

A shocked and bemused expression swept across her face. This woman was beautiful, and her eyes—they showed volumes of intelligence. Andrew gave her a cautious glance. Beauty and intelligence, he thought. It was a dangerous combination.

“Andrew Langdon, Earl of Traeton,” he countered, bowing with a flourish. "Consider us introduced."

Rebecca's eyes widened in shock. "Langdon? You... you are nothing like your brother."

Lord Traeton flashed a wicked grin. “And you best not forget that, Miss Ashton.” 

This is the man Nicholas Langdon wants me to match? She eyed the arrogant jackanapes who still held her wrist. A lump formed in her throat and her heart drummed a wild beat. A strand of dark hair, even though tied back, managed to fall against his well-defined brow. Despite his pristine cravat and waistcoat of midnight blue superfine, he looked dangerous. He was the devil himself come to steal her soul. If the rumors were true, this man was dangerous. No respectable lady of the ton would dare toy with such a menacing man.

To her misfortune, dancers began to line up as the orchestra tuned their instruments. Lord Traeton took the liberty of whisking her onto the dance floor. He bowed to her, leaving her no chance for refusal. The arrogant blackguard.

Then she found herself in his arms. He spun her around the dance floor with smooth efficiency. Despite the warnings going off in her head about the man whose hard glare continued to burn into her, she felt as serene and graceful as a swan floating upon the surface of glassy water. Her air of confidence no longer a facade for the Ton, but a reality deep within her hammering heart. All this due to him—the dangerous, arrogant man who paraded her beneath the crystal chandeliers.

He leaned in close. His warm breath teasing along her skin sent shivers racing through her body. The heady scent of tobacco, champagne, and spice wafted from him, intoxicating her.

"So you’re the Matchmaker?” he whispered. “I’ve heard about all your exploits.” His jade eyes sparked as he continued to glare at her.

“Is that so, my lord,” she asked, her gaze battling his. “And, pray tell, what exactly have you heard?”

"What you do is impossible." He twirled her around.

Her heart raced in exhilaration, despite his brooding eyes.

"There's no way these people fall in love. Love doesn't exist." He pulled her back into his arms and gave her a smoldering gaze.

Her legs wobbled beneath her.

"Your underhanded methods of trickery do not go unnoticed."  

She resisted the urge to slap him, although the idea brought her much pleasure. Who does this man think he is? “And what would an obvious scoundrel such as you know of love?”

“More than you will ever know, Miss Ashton.” His face hardened into an angry glower. “Whatever ruse you have planned, I would appreciate it not including my brother.”

“Be assured, Lord Traeton. Your brother is the last thing on my mind." Her heart raced and her stomach turned. The further away from this cad she could get the better.

As the dance ended, Rebecca wrenched herself from his arms and raised her chin. She would not let this pompous braggart get the best of her. She scanned the crowds and spotted Lady Kingsbury, Lady Edgerton, and Lady Howell heading toward the ladies’ retiring room. ‘Twould be a perfect place to gather her wits. As she turned to follow her acquaintances, she brushed past Nicholas Langdon, whose face scrunched into a forlorn frown. Poor Nicholas, he has a fool for a brother.

“Miss Ashton,” Lady Howell said jovially as she caught up with them. “Please join us.”

Lady Edgerton offered Rebecca her hand. “Were you dancing with Lord Traeton?”

She nodded. Not by choice, of course, she thought.

Lady Edgerton gasped. “How horrible!”

She raised an eyebrow. “’Twas only a dance, my lady.”

She wrinkled her nose. “Pfff. I’d rather dance with the devil himself than that reprobate. He is beyond saving.”

Rebecca smiled. “I find that hard to believe. After all, he and his brother are from the same stock, are they not?”

Lady Kingsbury nodded. “Yes, but since the death of his wife, he has chosen a life most scandalous. He is, I’m afraid, a roué—a lost cause.” She leaned toward Rebecca. “There are whisperings that he is responsible for her untimely demise. And his daughters are hellions, or so I’ve heard.”

Daughters? She wouldn’t leave a child within ten feet of that wicked scoundrel.

“And he had the nerve to accost you,” Lady Howell chimed in. “I saw the way he stared at you. A scandal will surely brew.”

Rebecca could care less about a scandal. She was no young debutante and was on the verge of spinsterhood. Besides, her name had graced the scandal sheets upon many an occasion due to her exploits, as Lord Traeton had said.

She laughed. So, he wanted her to keep Nicholas from her antics? Not to mention, he had the nerve to call her a fraud? Well she’d show him. Perhaps she should match Nicholas, just to spite him. No, that would be too easy. She’d match him instead. Serves him right, she thought with smug conviction.

Rebecca smiled. “Lord Traeton shall be my next match.”

Lady Kingsbury gasped. “You can’t be serious!”

She nodded. “I am most serious, my lady.”

Lady Edgerton gave Rebecca an impish smile. “I’ll give you twenty guineas if you can match him.”

Twenty guineas was quite a bit of money. She shouldn’t accept such an offer, but her sister needed to eat. Think of Caroline. Rebecca could buy her several new dresses—and then some—with that amount of money.

The money would be an added award for finding the arrogant earl’s match, Rebecca thought with a devilish grin. And, despite his stubbornness, he was extremely handsome. She was certain there had to be some desperate miss who would be more than happy to take him as a husband.
Lady Kingsbury would not be outdone. “Twenty guineas? I’d give you fifty.”

She gasped. “That’s quite an offer.” Were these women mad? Without thinking, she blurted, “One I cannot refuse.”

“You have your work cut out for you, Rebecca,” Lady Kingsbury said with a chuckle. “No respectable lady would have anything to do with him and those hellion daughters.”

Lady Howell took Rebecca’s hand and whispered, “You are bold, Miss Ashton, but I’m afraid you’ve overestimated your skill as a matchmaker.”

Rebecca smiled and patted Lady Howell’s hand. “Perhaps I have.”