A Matchmaking Mismatch (Romance Retold #3)

Chapter 5

Chapter Five

R uth’s heart pounded as she approached the door to her house. She put an anxious hand up to her neck, feeling how it prickled her fingers, and tightening her bonnet ribbons. A silly gesture, of course. At best, it would delay the inevitable.

She straightened her shoulders. It was done, and it hardly mattered. All that signified was the money she carried in the pocket of her pelisse. Not as much as she had hoped for, but it would afford them the post-chaise to London. Topher had insisted they had an image to maintain, and she couldn’t deny he was right. Who would wish to take love advice from someone arriving on the stage or the Mail Coach? Thank heaven they didn’t live far from Town.

She opened the creaking door, slipping into the kitchen so that her back faced whoever might be sitting at the table.

Her legs were quickly enveloped in a pair of small arms, and she smiled as she reached down to pick up George. “Hello, my love!” She planted a wet kiss on his cheek, causing him to crinkle his nose and wipe at it with the back of his hand. His eyes widened as he peered under the lip of her bonnet.

“Your hair, Ruthie!”

“What of it?” She put him down on the floor and avoided the gazes of her siblings.

George pointed at her head. “It’s all gone.”

Ruth forced a laugh. “Not all of it, silly!” She paused a moment. But this was as good a time as any other, and she tugged at the ribbons before pulling her bonnet off. Her neck felt naked, and she reached a cupped hand to the back of her head, her heart startling again at the mere inches of hair, cropped close to her head, much like Topher’s, only much straighter and darker.

Gasps sounded from every single one of her six siblings, accompanied by wide-eyed stares of horror.

“Ruth!”

“Now she really looks like a boy!”

“Shh! She does not .”

Heat rose into Ruth’s cheeks. She knew it was just teasing, but what she didn’t know was how much truth lay behind it.

Topher was the only one who had yet to say something, and he walked over wordlessly, putting a hand to Ruth’s short, dark hair then looking at her for an explanation.

She lifted her shoulders with the best nonchalant smile she could muster. “You may go hire our chaise now.”

Topher’s cravat moved up and down as he swallowed. “You ninny,” he said softly. “What were you thinking?”

“It’s not much, but between this and a bit of what you earned the other day, it should get us there and give us enough for lodgings.”

“Hire a chaise?” their brother Charlie said. “To where?”

“Ruthie and Topher are going to London!” Joanna said excitedly as she came up to them. “Aren’t you?”

Ruth nodded, taking her sister’s grubby hand. “We are indeed.”

“Sophia said that women go to London to make a smart match. If you do, shall we be able to go back to Dunburn?”

Ruth opened her mouth to respond, but she was overruled.

“She can’t make a match like that .” Ruth’s eight-year-old sister Penny pointed at her hair, nose wrinkled. “She looks too much like a man.”

“She’s not strong enough to be a man,” said an affronted John, Ruth’s ten-year-old brother. “Plus, she’s got girly eyes. Just look how long her eyelashes are.”

“Yeah, almost as long as yours ,” Charlie said with a jab at John.

Topher shooed the young ones away with both hands, telling them to go wash up for dinner, and Ruth busied herself with removing her pelisse, not wanting to meet her brother’s eye. She was secretly bruised by her siblings’ comments.

But it didn’t matter how she looked, as long as her siblings had food on the table and opportunities to better themselves.

Topher walked over to her and put an arm around her shoulders. “We don’t deserve you, Ruthie.” He ruffled her hair with a teasing hand.

R uth could see her mother eying her close-cropped hair with a sort of wistful sadness, and she hurried to put on her bonnet. She had been trying not to think about her hair since cutting it. In many ways, it was a welcome change. Ruth had always been impatient with her hair—particularly when she was young and Topher was already outside playing, while she had to sit and wait for her hair to be tamed. She merely needed to think of her current hairstyle as a childhood dream finally realized.

The door opened, and Topher walked in, wearing the finest pieces of clothing he owned. “The chaise is waiting for us at The Red Lion. We should go.”

Ruth nodded, swallowing the lump of nerves in her throat.

“Will you bring me back a doll, Ruthie? Oh, please.” Joanna grasped her hand and looked up at her with so much hope Ruth could hardly bear it. “Sophia said that her doll was made specially in London.”

It had been more than a year since Joanna had seen her friend Sophia McCausland, but she had a very good memory.

Ruth crouched so she was at eye level with her sister. “We shan’t be in London for very long at all, my love.” She tucked a hair behind Joanna’s ear, watching as the girl nodded bravely, eyes filling with tears. “I will keep an eye out, though.” She wrapped Joanna in a full embrace and then rose to bid her mother goodbye. Her protestations against Ruth and Topher’s plans had been milder than expected. She obviously knew they needed the money, even though it meant her children stooping to levels that pained her.

Ruth kissed her mother on a floured cheek. “Goodbye, Mama.”

“Hurry, Ruth,” Topher said, still standing in the open doorway, his packed belongings at his feet, and a sealed letter in hand. Their younger maid Lucy stood quietly by, holding Ruth’s portmanteau.

“Are you certain you can spare Lucy?” Ruth asked her mother.

She nodded and put a hand to the pieces of hair peeking out of Ruth’s bonnet. She rubbed a short lock between her fingers. “Ellen and I will manage. She and Lucy took some time to prepare things for the week last night. And Charlie has already promised to help where needed. I feel easier knowing you have someone with you. I wish I could chaperone you myself, as it should be.” Ruth had already considered that option, but George couldn’t be deprived of both Ruth and his mother simultaneously.

“We shall be back before you know it.”

Topher kept a quick pace on the way to the inn where the post-chaise awaited, only slowing for a quick stop in the offices of The Marsbrooke Weekly to deliver the column for the coming week. Ruth and Lucy waited, keeping watch over his portmanteau and valise as he delivered the paper. Ruth frowned at her brother’s belongings.

“Surely you don’t need all of that for a short stay in London,” Ruth said as he picked up the valise.

“You yourself said we have an image to maintain, didn’t you?”

She raised a brow at him. “You were the one who said that. Why in the world would you need two hats? Or two pairs of boots?”

He looked astounded. “I cannot wear my riding boots with my Wellington. You must surely see that.”

She didn’t at all see it, but she held her tongue, feeling it to be wasted energy—and not wishing to spend hours in a carriage with a moody Topher.

By the time they arrived at The Red Lion, the horses were fidgeting, their muscular haunches gleaming in the springtime sunshine.

Ruth stopped in the inn yard and stared at the equipage, biting her lip and hardly noticing when the postilion took her portmanteau and set it on the platform. She was certain this had not been what her father had in mind with all he had taught her about love.

“Come, Ruthie,” Topher said, gesturing to her from the steps of the chaise. “Let’s not dilly dally.”

He was anxious to get to London. Their father had fallen ill just as Topher was meant to accompany him to Town for the first time on business—the same business that had gone terribly awry soon after. Ruth couldn’t help wondering how much of Topher’s desire to meet with Mr. O was simply a wish to see however much of London he could. She couldn’t blame him for wanting an escape.

Topher stepped back down to the ground, coming over and putting a hand on her arm. “What is it?”

She shook her head, watching as the postilion assisted Lucy onto the seat behind the rear wheel. “Nothing.” She smiled. “Just my missish scruples again. I can’t rid myself of the notion that what we are about to do is not very genteel.”

Topher cocked a brow. “Have you not been telling me to stop dressing as though we were genteel?”

“No, I have been telling you to stop dressing like a fop.” She elbowed his bright waistcoat, from which a pocket watch chain dangled—a pocket watch chain with no pocket watch at the end. But only Ruth and Topher knew that.

She couldn’t deny he looked much more ton- ish than she did. They would certainly appear to be in better circumstances than they were, and that was best for business. They needed Mr. O to be content with their services, and Topher would inspire more confidence attired as he was.

Ruth thought of Joanna’s request for a doll and grimaced. She couldn’t give the girl a doll, but she could ensure that they returned home with twenty pounds. Perhaps it was time for Ruth to take a closer glance at some of the men who lived nearby—the baker’s son always had a ready smile for her when she passed the bakery. It was not the type of match she had envisioned for herself, but it might serve well enough. At least Ruth would no longer be a drain on her family’s precious resources.

She sighed.

“Where were you last night?” Ruth asked as they passed the last houses on Marsbrooke’s High Street.

Topher lifted his chin, but she didn’t miss the infinitesimal pull at the corner of his mouth—the smallest of smiles at whatever memory her question had conjured. She knew her twin better than he realized.

“Out having clandestine meetings with women?” she teased.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?”

“I don’t know if I would .” She settled into the squabs.

“I’m not a dashed loose screw, Ruth.” He shifted with annoyance in his seat. “I just don’t want your love advice.”

She put her hands up to convey her innocence. “I wouldn’t presume, though how you think to convince others to take my advice when my own brother disdains it, I don’t know.”

He sent her a suspicious sidelong glance. “It’s better this way. Don’t ask, don’t tell. My business is my own. Your business is your own.”

“Fine,” she said. He had never forgotten the time Ruth had offered a critique of his approach with women.

The journey to London only required two stages, providing limited time for Ruth and Topher to discuss some important details of their escapade.

“I have been giving it some thought,” Ruth said, “and I think you should give a different name. To protect the identity of the Swan, of course, but even more so to protect Mama and the children.”

Topher considered this with a slight frown.

She clutched her hands tightly in her lap, recognizing in her brother the same hesitation she felt at the deceit. But they couldn’t afford for people to discover the identity of the Swan. She couldn’t imagine people would be as keen to take the Swan’s advice if they knew who was behind the column. They needed the money it brought in every week, and she didn’t want her younger siblings associated with it. “The last thing our family needs is more scandal and less money, and that is what we would get if it became known that I am the one behind the Swan. You can keep your given name, but perhaps you might go by Franks instead of Hawthorn. Being Mama’s maiden name, it isn’t so far from the truth, and I think that the closer we can keep to the truth, the easier it will be.”

Topher nodded, brow still wrinkled. “Very well, but it is only an hour meeting, Ruth.”

“I know…” She trailed off, and they fell into a somber silence.

The change of horses was made quickly, Ruth and Topher not even stepping down from the chaise for refreshments. They would need every last farthing to hire lodgings in Town, particularly since they would need two rooms instead of one.

Earning twenty pounds was turning out to be quite expensive.