A Matchmaking Mismatch (Romance Retold #3)

Chapter 9

Chapter Nine

R uth couldn’t see the man across the desk from her. Not properly, anyway. She could see a dark head of hair, a set of full eyebrows to match, and a ready smile—or more ready now than it had been upon her arrival, at least.

And she could sympathize with the change, for she felt similarly about him. His reaction upon discovering that she was the Swan had boiled her blood. She had come to the swift conclusion that some things were simply not worth twenty pounds, including the insufferable blob of a man before her. All the pent-up emotion of cutting her hair, leaving her family, creating a lesson she felt confident Topher could deliver, and then risking everything by dressing in her brother’s clothes—it had all spilled over in the form of a terrible insult to Mr. O.

A terrible insult that she hadn’t regretted in the least—until he had come after her and apologized. But the instant the man had shown a bit of humility, she had begrudgingly begun to like him.

Mr. O leaned back in his seat. “Thank you for coming, and on such short notice. I am not in the habit of asking such things, but I am obliged to return to my estate in Devon for a matter of business that requires my own personal attendance. I hope you can forgive the highhanded gesture,”—he paused—“What is your name?”

“Miss Ruth—” She froze, stopping herself. Confound habit! How had she overlooked the issue of her name? She had been far too consumed with her appearance and her anger and her worry over Topher to consider such a detail. She hadn’t anticipated giving her name at all, in truth. But Mr. O was waiting politely for her to continue, not seeming to have noticed her slip. She hoped that Miss Ruth had sounded like a mumbling Mister Ruth, at least.

She scrambled to undo her error, reaching for the familiar.

“Mister Henry Ruth, sir.” Her conscience squirmed at the untruth, and she wondered if God would abandon her entirely, so lost to sense of right as her actions showed her to be.

She calmed herself with the assurance that it was only for an hour, and it was as much truth as it was lie. Anxious to move to another topic, she continued. “Tell me, then, sir—”

“Oxley. Call me Oxley.”

Ruth inclined her head. “Tell me, Oxley. What help do you wish for from me? We have but an hour, and I would like to ensure we use that time in the manner most helpful to you.”

Oxley sighed, looking down at his clasped hands with a frown. “I am not entirely certain what help I need, to be quite frank. All I know is that Miss Devenish seems to regard me just as she regards all of her other suitors.”

“Miss Devenish,” Ruth repeated, wondering what the woman was like. “And how does she regard all of her other suitors?”

“With polite disinterest, I suppose.”

All the subtleties of human expression were dulled through Ruth’s foggy lenses. It took every ounce of her concentration to note the wry lift to the corner of Oxley’s mouth. “And what reason have you given her to regard you otherwise?” She tried to keep her voice on the lower end of what felt natural to her.

Oxley blinked—she was fairly certain, at least—and Ruth raised her brows.

“What do you mean?” he asked slowly.

Ruth shrugged. “If she has multiple suitors, why should she choose you , of all of them?”

He let out a soft laugh, a pleasant sound, deep in his chest. Ruth hadn’t known that a laugh could sound attractive, but there it was.

“What?” she said. “Why do you laugh?”

He folded his arms in front of his wide chest. “You have trapped me. If I say the truth, you shall think me more insufferable than ever.”

“I’m afraid it is too late for that,” Ruth said with a smile. “Might as well tell me the truth. I shan’t be able to help you much without it. Why do you think—Miss Devenish, was it? Why should she choose you?”

There was a pause. “Very well. Frankly, then? Because of the triad.”

“The triad?”

He reached out and brushed off the edge of the desk. “That is what Finmore calls it. Title, wealth, and—if I am to believe others—a pleasing appearance.”

Ruth had to stifle an overpowering desire to tip her glasses down and inspect the man in front of her to verify the last part of his claim. What sort of title did he hold, anyway? Had he mentioned it in their communications and she had overlooked it? She took a moment before responding. “Well, I was wrong.”

“Wrong?”

“You do seem more insufferable than ever.”

He laughed. “No doubt you feel you have deduced already why Miss Devenish seems not to prefer my suit. By the time the hour is over, your bill of service will have risen so steeply that perhaps I shall be reduced to a”—he paused—“a dyad?”

Ruth looked at him significantly. “And that might be for the best, for then you wouldn’t be able to rely upon such factors in your pursuit of Miss Devenish. In fact, let us leave all of it for now. Imagine for a moment that you had no title, no wealth, and no”—she fumbled for a moment—“no beauty that woman should desire you. Why else should she choose you?”

Oxley’s mouth twisted to the side, and silence ensued.

Ruth took in a large breath. “I see. Allow me to ask a different question. Why have you chosen her ?”

He cleared his throat but said nothing, and Ruth raised a brow. “Is she also possessed of the triad?”

His head tipped from side to side. “Not exactly, but close enough.”

Ruth blinked at him. “Am I correct in understanding, then, that this is not a love match you seek?”

“No,” he said.

“No,” she repeated, her heart beginning to drum nervously in her chest.

There was a pause. “Surely love needn’t be a factor in every marriage,” Oxley said.

“Certainly not, but I admit that I am at a loss to understand why you would engage my services if that is not your motivation or goal.” Why, oh why, had she not asked more questions of him through correspondence? To understand the situation better before lopping off her hair and making this foolhardy journey to London?

How was she to instruct a man in love when love was not his object?

P hilip hesitated for a moment at Ruth’s words. He hadn’t anticipated that the Swan would take issue with the situation. Perhaps twenty pounds hadn’t been generous enough. “I suppose I thought that, if anyone could help me, it would be you. Is that not what you do? Help men win women over?”

Ruth let out a gush of air through his nose. “Yes, but only when love is a factor in the equation. Generally, the people who seek my help are in love with a woman and merely need my assistance in fostering reciprocal sentiment. In your situation, there seems to be love on neither side. If you seek a marriage of convenience, your time is better spent addressing yourself to Miss Devenish’s father, is it not?” He smiled slightly. “I cannot imagine it would be too difficult to have his approval, given the triad.”

Philip shook his head. “Her father is too fond of her to force her into a match. He will let her choose for herself once she puts off mourning.”

Ruth frowned. “She is in mourning?”

“Yes, for her brother. For over a year now.”

“A year?” Ruth said incredulously. He waved the news aside. “Never mind that. The fact is, my methods are meant to encourage love. They are not really fit for anything else.”

Misgiving filled Philip. “Are you not willing even to try? Surely what I am asking of you is less complicated or difficult than what you are accustomed to.”

Ruth opened his mouth only to then shut it. He looked at Philip consideringly. “Do you know why I chose a swan to represent me, sir?”

Philip shook his head. He hadn’t really considered the matter, but it was a curious choice.

Ruth adjusted his glasses, pushing them up higher on his nose. “Not many animals choose a mate for life, you know. But many swans do. They are romantic creatures—they even go through a grieving process if their mate dies, and many will remain single for the rest of their lives if that happens.” A little hint of a smile drew up the corner of his mouth, and his eyes became slightly unfocused. “My father loved them. He used to take us to Prior Park in Bath, where the same two swans were nearly always on the lake. We would sit on the grass and watch them float around together. My father was fascinated by the bond between them, by what drew them together. He held the same fascination with what draws two humans together.” Ruth’s gaze moved to Philip. “I chose a swan because I want to help draw people together. I want to foster the type of love that grieves loss like a swan grieves it.”

Philip was silent, staring at the strange young man before him, who spoke with the wisdom of someone much older than his twenty years. He couldn’t help feeling drawn to the picture Ruth painted—a love match. But everything Philip knew about love contradicted the image of two gentle swans, gliding along the placid waters of a pond together.

Love was unpredictable. It was unreliable. And—perhaps most importantly—it took second place to duty.

He frowned. “This love you speak of—it is not something with which I have personal experience, and I cannot think it wise to spend time waiting for it—to leave everything up to chance. What if, when it did strike me, it was sentiment for someone entirely unsuitable? I owe my family a duty.” He shook his head. “Call it what you will, Miss Devenish is the one woman I feel confident I could marry. I hold her in high regard, certainly. I would not wish to marry her if that were not true. And, in some ways, that seems a more sure foundation upon which to build a marriage than something as volatile as love. In any case, I cannot pretend to something that I do not feel.”

“Volatile,” Ruth said softly, as if to himself. He met Philip’s gaze. “Do you even wish to fall in love?”

Philip stilled. Did he wish to fall in love? Sometimes he thought he did—to be loved thoroughly, to be desired and appreciated. To feel all those things for someone else.

But to fall in love. The phrase itself sounded unpleasant. Someone like Ruth would undoubtedly have him believe that what awaited him at the bottom of such a fall was soft and desirable—like a plush feather bed.

Reality was less rosy, though. Falling wasn’t enjoyable. Philip spent a great deal of his energy avoiding falls and mistakes—and the inevitable pain that resulted from them.

But what if love was the only thing that could win over Miss Devenish?

“You think you could make me fall in love?” The thought made his heart trip and stutter in a tangle of fear and hope.

Ruth studied him for a moment. “I can guarantee nothing, and I certainly can’t force you into anything you are set against. But I believe love to be the natural result of certain circumstances, and my purpose is to promote such circumstances. If you hold Miss Devenish in high regard, as you say, I think it likely that your regard might turn to something even more rich and fulfilling.”

Philip rubbed the top of his signet ring pensively.

Ruth was watching him curiously, eyes enlarged by the thick lenses of his spectacles. “As I mentioned, I have no experience with marriages of convenience. With such an aim as that, I cannot help you. But if you are open to changing the way you approach Miss Devenish, to developing real and lasting attachment to one another, I could instruct you on how to go about it.”

Real and lasting attachment . Attachment had its risks, but it sounded much less threatening, much more controlled than falling in love .

He set his jaw. The fact was he wasn’t going to marry Miss Devenish without some assistance—not with the utterly ridiculous things he was saying and doing in her presence when left to his own devices.

“Very well,” he said, setting his hands on the desk. “What must I do?”

A look of relief and appreciation crossed Ruth’s face. “Very good. First, then, I must know what you admire about Miss Devenish. Forget the triad or whatever she happens to possess that makes her a good candidate for a marriage of convenience. I imagine there are a number of women who might fulfill such requirements. So, tell me: why Miss Devenish?”

Philip tilted his head to the side, frowning slightly. “Her kindness, I suppose.”

Ruth clasped his hands together, smiling. “Her kindness. That is promising. That is what I would like for you to focus on. Not the triad.” He shot Philip a look full of meaning. “She stood out to you, and now we must make you stand out to her.”