A Matchmaking Mismatch (Romance Retold #3)

Chapter 8

Chapter Eight

T he simultaneous thrill and trepidation of being utterly alone made Ruth’s hands shake and her skin tingle. She looked through the window of the hackney carriage, wishing she could properly see the sights passing by, but too terrified to remove her glasses.

After living in Marsbrooke for a year, London felt enormous. Topher could be anywhere. She said a quick prayer that he was safe, wherever he was in that large town.

She slid her gloved hands across her pantaloons nervously, wondering whether she would be used to their tight fit by the end of her meeting with Mr. O. She had to continuously remind herself that, despite feeling as though she was walking around entirely indecent, she wore the usual clothing of a gentleman.

She had been certain that the jarvey would see through her the moment she approached the hackney stand, shouting her secret out to everyone in the street. But he had not. In fact, he had treated her with respect and deference and not shown any inclination to look at her with anything but passing interest—at least not that she could tell through the blur of her glasses. No one would have reason to question her if she could only persuade herself to act normally.

She didn’t know London well enough to understand what Mr. O’s address conveyed, and the thought only heightened her nerves. Brook Street sounded harmless enough, but Ruth was painfully aware that she was very much a fish out of water, with little idea of what social sphere her client orbited other than what she had gleaned from the ornate seal on his letters and his manner of writing. Perhaps they had been too ready to trust this man.

By the time the hackney reached Brook Street, though, it was apparent to Ruth that Mr. O’s lodgings were located in a fashionable part of Town. The warm brick building facades and the carved white stonework around the windows—all blurry through her lenses—left little doubt of it.

The hackney finally came to a stop, and Ruth took a moment to breathe deeply and utter a prayerful plea for help, only to realize that perhaps God was not terribly eager to assist her in impersonating a man. She could only hope he would forgive her deceit in the name of saving her family.

The jarvey opened the door, and Ruth waited for him to extend a hand of assistance. He was not looking at her, though, and it was with a jolt that she realized he would not be assisting her down. She hurried to step down on her own and handed him one of the precious few coins remaining to her before making her way up the three steps to the address Mr. O had given in his short response.

She waited a moment before pulling the bell, hoping to slow her heart rate from a gallop to something more like a canter. But its speed only increased with every passing second.

Twenty pounds. For George. For Joanna.

She tugged on the bell. There was no turning back now. Not unless the butler recognized her deception immediately and sent her on her way, that was.

But, while the man who opened the door looked her over with the practiced rapidity of a seasoned butler, he was kind enough in his question: “How may I help you, sir?”

Sir . That final word was like a draught of liquid courage to Ruth’s fraying nerves. “I believe your master is expecting my call.” She sent a glance around to ensure no one else was within earshot, but there was only one other solitary equipage in the street. “He knows me as the Swan.”

“Very good, sir,” the butler said, opening the door wider to allow Ruth in. He offered to take her hat and gloves, which she gently refused. She wasn’t yet confident enough to remove the hat. He looked at her strangely but said nothing.

The interior of the house was grand indeed—something not even her glasses could obscure. It was far more spacious than the front had given her to believe. The butler led her through the entry hall and down a corridor while Ruth tried not to marvel at her surroundings. She needed to give the impression that this was nothing out of the ordinary, that she was accustomed to assisting wealthy clients.

“Just in here, sir,” the butler said, taking the doorknob in hand. “He awaits you in the library. Allow me one moment to inform him of your arrival.”

Ruth inclined her head, and, when the butler turned away again, allowed her eyes to bulge. Mr. O must be quite well-to-do—perhaps she should have assumed that from the fact that he was offering twenty pounds for one paltry meeting.

The butler cleared his throat. “The Swan here to see you, sir.”

“Very good, Draper. Send him in, then.” The voice was deep and firm—and young—and it sent a rush of relief through Ruth, who had known a moment of misgiving, wondering if she would be obliged to instruct a septuagenarian on how to woo his third wife.

The butler moved from the doorway. “He is ready to see you, sir.”

Ruth swallowed and smiled, resisting the urge to tug on her cravat. How in the world did men survive with veritable nooses tied about their necks day in and out? The realization that she might well end in the noose did nothing to allay her nerves.

It would be a miracle if she survived the next hour.

P hilip looked up at the young man who stood in the doorway and frowned. “You can send in your master. Thank you.” He glanced back down and straightened the pile of letters in front of him.

“My master?” The voice made the man sound even younger than he looked. Eighteen perhaps? And one of those unfortunate souls who had to wait an eternity for their voices to lower.

Philip sighed impatiently, rising from his seat. He would already have to delay his journey home until the morning, when he had been hoping to go a few stages before nightfall. “I was under the impression that I would be meeting with the Swan himself. Does he generally delegate such meetings to his assistants?”

The young man cleared his throat, color slightly heightened. “I apologize for the misunderstanding, sir. I am the Swan.”

Philip stared, and silence filled the room until an incredulous chuckle broke through his lips. “ You are the Swan?” This little fellow? The one with glasses and an ill-fitting coat? The one who looked like he might belong as a footman in Philip’s house?

The first flash of annoyance crossed the young man’s face. “I apprehend that this is a humorous revelation to you, sir.”

Philip laughed softly again. “I confess it is.” It occurred to him that he had been had. This was a prank. Of course! “Finmore put you up to this, didn’t he?”

“I haven’t any idea who Finmore is, sir,” the Swan said. “I am here to offer the services you requested. You did wish to see me for an hour, did you not?”

Philip’s smile faded, and he hesitated. The young man was in earnest. He considered lying and sending him on his way. But he hated to lie. “Yes, I did. I merely hadn’t expected…”

The young man’s eyebrows rose, a challenge apparent in his eyes, even through the thick lenses that covered them.

Philip knew a brief moment of hesitation at the show of unexpected confidence. The young man held himself well, at least. Well, then. If he wanted the truth, Philip would give it to him.

“I hadn’t expected a child,” Philip finished. He couldn’t possibly accept love advice from this babe in arms. It was humiliating enough to ask for help in the first place. But from this bespectacled lad?

The young man stood still for a moment then bowed. “Very good, sir. I bid you good day.”

“Wait,” Philip said, a strange and annoying curiosity getting the best of him.

The Swan paused with his hand on the door knob.

“Just how old are you?”

He didn’t turn. “Twenty, sir. Not that it is any of your business.”

Philip’s brows went up. He didn’t know whether to applaud the boy’s spirit or take offense. He certainly wasn’t used to people standing up to him. Besides Finmore, of course. But how in the world could one offer love advice at the age of twenty?

“Forgive me. It is just that I can’t imagine what you might have to offer on this…topic. You have barely had time to see any of the world, much less become an expert in the domain of love. Have you even kissed a woman? Other than your mother, I mean.” It was a low blow. And he regretted it almost instantly. But his own pride was a bit wounded, not to mention the disappointing destruction of the hopes this meeting had raised in his breast.

The Swan turned his head, a mocking smile on his lips. “You mock me, sir. But you would do well to remember that it is you, not I, who offered to pay a man twenty pounds for love advice. So, you tell me which one of us is the more pathetic figure.”

Philip’s jaw hung open, and the Swan disappeared through the door.

Philip’s shock lasted but a moment, and he hurried around the desk and after the young man. Why, he hardly knew. Something inside him told him that there was more to the fellow than met the eye. He had stood up to Philip, and that counted for something, surely, in a world full of toadeaters. He could at least give the Swan a chance to prove himself—or to prove Philip right, more likely. Philip couldn’t deny the curiosity he felt at what type of advice the twenty-year-old could possibly have.

“Wait!” Philip said, going after the retreating figure—so thin and youthful—of the Swan. He was certainly not the Corinthian Philip had been expecting.

The Swan didn’t wait, but Philip hurried up beside him and took his arm. “Please, wait.”

The Swan turned, looking at him through those ridiculous glasses perched atop a nose with flaring nostrils. His gaze flicked to Philip’s hand grasping his arm, and Philip released it.

“I am sorry,” Philip said. “I was rude.”

“Insufferable,” said the Swan. His eyes and his jaw—entirely free of any hair—were hard.

Philip chuckled, his pride somehow softening at the unapologetic response. “Insufferable and rude.” He grimaced. “It is a bit humiliating asking for help, and I’ve never been particularly good at swallowing my pride. But I would ask for another chance from you, if you will give it to me.” He put out a hand in a gesture of goodwill.

The Swan stared at him, then down at his hand, then up at Philip again. And all the while, Philip waited, feeling like a fool as his hand hovered in the air. He deserved this, no doubt, but he didn’t know whether the man’s hesitation was revenge or simply uncertainty about continuing the business relationship.

Finally, he reached out and grasped Philip’s hand.

Philip smiled, feeling relieved. “I shall add a couple of shillings to your payment to cover my rudeness.”

“And insufferableness.” There wasn’t a trace of humor on the young man’s face, aside from a slight twinkle in his eye. But it might have been the light from the library windows reflecting on his glasses.

Philip nodded with a chuckle, leading the way back toward the library. “That too.”

“I believe the accepted rate is a half sovereign.”

No, Philip hadn’t imagined the twinkle. There was even a half-smile to accompany it now. He indicated the chair at the desk in an invitation for the Swan to take a seat. “Ah. The price has risen since I last checked. I had better be more judicious in my insufferableness.”

“Perhaps we can agree upon a discounted rate for the extra fees you will undoubtedly accumulate over the next hour. I wouldn’t want the cost of this meeting to be prohibitive.”

Philip grinned widely. By Jove, he was already glad he’d gone after the fellow.