A Matchmaking Mismatch (Romance Retold #3)

Chapter 20

Chapter Twenty

O n Friday, Ruth stepped down from the curricle in front of the house in Upper Brook Street, hurrying up the steps. She hadn’t expected to spend so long with Mr. Kirkhouse. He had requested a second meeting, and Ruth had taken advantage of the time before her next appointment with Oxley to oblige the man.

He had offered her another five pounds at the end of the meeting, but Ruth hadn’t accepted. Somehow it felt less like a betrayal of Oxley—as though she was merely assisting a friend rather than acting as the Swan. “You have hardly needed my help, Mr. Kirkhouse. I am quite confident that your suit would have been successful even without my assistance.”

Mr. Kirkhouse had denied this, expressing how it was only after following Ruth’s advice that Miss Parkham had expressed that she returned his regard. The man was over the moon and planned to address himself to her grandfather soon. He merely needed some help knowing how to present himself to Miss Parkham’s guardian in the way most conducive to success.

Topher was in his room, sitting on his bed with his back against the headboard, running a finger along the brim of his hat. He glanced up when Ruth stepped into the doorway then returned his eyes to the hat.

“You saw her?” Ruth asked.

He gave a slight nod.

She crossed over to the bed with a sigh, sitting gently on the edge. “How did she take it?”

He swallowed. “She didn’t understand,” he said softly. “And what was I to say? I couldn’t explain, for it would…” He trailed off.

“Undermine Oxley’s suit and expose me.”

He rubbed his forehead. “She despises me now. Thinks I was toying with her emotions. It’s all I could tell her—that my feelings had changed.”

“I am terribly sorry, Topher.”

He looked away. “Kirkhouse is having success, it would seem.”

“Yes. He hopes to receive permission from Miss Parkham’s guardian.”

He didn’t respond for a moment, only staring at his hat. “I think I just need some time alone.”

She nodded, wishing she could say something to ease his pain; wishing that everything was different.

She was late arriving to Brook Street, and she had to take an extra moment to compose herself before entering. The last thing she needed was to bring a somber mood with her.

But the moment she saw Oxley and the wide smile she had come to expect from him, her heart plummeted again. Why must he be so captivating? And so utterly out of her reach?

It was impossible to hold onto such morose feelings in his company, though. To be with Philip Trent was to feel light and full. It was to laugh and be teased. It was to have a friend like none she had ever had.

It was only when she left him that the weight set in again, that she realized what an impossible tangle she had made for herself—and for Topher.

R uth had never been to a London ball.

Of course, she had imagined attending such events when she had lived at Dunburn. She had wondered if she might find her own love story in such a setting, standing across the set from a gentleman and meeting his gaze with that intensity she had sometimes noticed between men and women in the Pump Room.

The irony was not lost upon her that the only ball she would ever set foot in, she would attend as a man, and she would do so in the presence of the man she had fallen in love with. She would stand beside him and then stand alone as he left her side to lead other women onto the ballroom floor.

In an unexpected gesture, Miss Devenish had apparently changed her mind about when she would emerge from her mourning. She wore a blue satin gown that set her eyes on fire and made Ruth clutch at her stomach to dispel the envious ache. She was ravishing. And she showed no timidity as she danced with Oxley. Whatever she had felt upon speaking with Topher, there was no evidence that it had done anything but grant her energy.

As she looked on, Ruth felt robbed. Of what, she couldn’t say precisely. Of another week with Oxley before he started courting Miss Devenish in earnest, perhaps? He hardly appeared to need her help anymore. There was no hint of awkwardness in the way he looked at Miss Devenish, his mouth stretched in a smile whenever they had the chance to speak during the steps of the dance. He had cleared the hurdle and seemed to be at ease with her now.

Ruth vowed not to tell Topher what she observed that evening. She would spare him what she herself was forced to watch: Miss Devenish in the highest of spirits, laughing with Lord Oxley as they skipped down the set of a country dance. Her lesson with Oxley on humor had apparently been successful. Success these days came with so much chagrin.

Oxley returned to her side after the two dances, slightly breathless, cheeks stretched in a large smile. She managed to return it and even offer a speaking glance.

He took a glass of champagne from the salver of a passing footman and swallowed some. “She has agreed to stand up with me for the waltz as well.”

“How wonderful,” Ruth said, deciding she would be anywhere but observing when it happened.

Miss Devenish stepped onto the ballroom floor with Sir Allen, and Ruth glanced at Oxley to look for any signs of jealousy. But he was looking at her, not Miss Devenish.

“Will you dance?” Oxley asked.

Ruth’s heart thudded against her chest, and she blinked. She glanced down at her clothing, a stark reminder that his meaning was not what her heart had insisted on believing. He was merely curious if she would be asking anyone to dance.

“No,” Ruth said, looking toward the ballroom floor as her heart slowed and twinged. “I am here on business, you know.”

“I hereby release you from that obligation.” Oxley set a hand on her shoulder, extending his champagne glass and making a sweeping motion with it to show the crowds around the ballroom. “Surely there is a woman here who captures your fancy, and I would wager I am acquainted with her family and could easily procure you an introduction.”

Ruth was hardly aware of what he was saying, so conscious was she of his hand on her shoulder. It gripped her with the force of friendship and fraternity, in stark contrast to the way he would hold Miss Devenish during the waltz.

“Thank you,” Ruth said. “But I have never been a skilled dancer.” It wasn’t true. She was actually quite a graceful dancer. But not as a man.

“Then I will keep you company,” he said.

And he did. And Ruth could no more resist smiling in his company than she could resist breathing. Until the waltz set began forming on the floor.

“She is waiting for me,” Oxley said. “Wish me luck.”

Ruth watched him stride over to Miss Devenish and bow, setting Miss Devenish’s hand on his arm again, their smiles turned toward each other like reflecting mirrors.

“Mr. Ruth.” Mr. Kirkhouse approached, Miss Parkham on his arm. “We are so pleased to see you here.”

Miss Parkham smiled and looked up into Mr. Kirkhouse’s eyes through her dark lashes.

“Good evening to you both,” Ruth said with a genuine smile. Here was a success she could enjoy fully.

“I wanted to ensure that you received the first introduction to…my affianced wife.”

Ruth’s jaw dropped open, and she looked between the two of them. “Is it true?”

Miss Parkham nodded energetically, a becoming blush making her cheeks rosy. “My grandfather agreed just this morning.”

“What wonderful news!” She tried to be less effusive than she normally would have been, taking care to keep her voice low as she took their hands in hers. “I felicitate both of you with all my heart.”

“We owe a debt of gratitude to you,” Mr. Kirkhouse said, setting his hand atop Miss Parkham’s and looking at her with a warm smile. “And we hoped to show a measure of it by offering you a new client.”

Ruth smiled nervously. “I thank you for your thoughtfulness. Truly, it is very kind of you to wish to help me, but I am not taking on any clients at this time.”

“I understand you wish for anonymity,” said Mr. Kirkhouse. “We have both kept things entirely to ourselves, saving a brief conversation with Miss Munroe, who has promised to be very discreet.”

Ruth stared. “Miss Munroe?”

Mr. Kirkhouse and Miss Parkham nodded simultaneously.

Ruth shut her eyes, nausea swelling inside her. Did no one understand what discretion meant? “I am sure she will be, but unfortunately, I must still decline. I would be happy to send her a letter with the advice from my weekly column if you were to provide me with her direction. And I must beg of you to keep my identity a strict secret.”

Miss Parkham nodded quickly. “Of course. We shan’t tell a soul. And we certainly wouldn’t wish to make you uncomfortable. I shall inform Miss Munroe.” Her eyes shifted in the direction of the long wall of the ballroom, and Ruth followed them to where Miss Munroe stood beside her brother.

Mr. Munroe’s eyes were fixed on Ruth, Miss Parkham, and Mr. Kirkhouse, the same unpleasant curl to his lip that Ruth began to think was his characteristic expression.

“I am sorry to disappoint anyone, naturally,” Ruth said, pulling her eyes away, “but I am very happy for the two of you. Congratulations.”

They bid her good evening and excused themselves. Like a magnet, Ruth’s gaze found Oxley on the dance floor with Miss Devenish, one hand about her waist, the other raised above them clasping hers, their faces only inches apart.

Ruth looked away and hurried across the floor in a stride that would have been impossible in a chemise and gown.

She squeezed through a group of matrons gossiping, passed through the French doors, and emerged onto the terrace, where the blessed, cool night air prickled at the small gap between her hair and her cravat. Her chest strained against the wrap constricting it, and she let out a slow gush of air, putting a hand to the back of her head, a lingering habit from when there had been a coiffure to grasp.

“Excuse me,” said a voice behind her.

Ruth turned and found Miss Munroe looking at her. It was difficult to see any of her facial features clearly with the candlelight shining from behind, but Miss Munroe carried herself with the confidence of someone who was accustomed to having her way, chin held high and a determined glint in her shadowed eyes.

“Are you the Swan?”

Ruth glanced to see whether Miss Munroe’s brother was anywhere nearby. “I think you must be mistaken, miss.”

She shook her head and took another step toward Ruth. “No, no. I am quite sure. For it was Miss Parkham who told me so.”

“She, too, was mistaken then, I’m afraid. If you will excuse me.” Ruth bowed slightly and moved to walk around Miss Munroe, who grabbed her arm with a gloved hand.

“I need your help, sir, and I assure you, I will make it well worth your while.” There was a purposeful set to Miss Munroe’s chin, and she held Ruth’s gaze intently. “Please help me.”

Ruth grimaced. “I am very sorry, miss, but I cannot help you.” Miss Munroe’s grip tightened on Ruth’s arm, and Ruth looked at her in surprise, prying the fingers away.

“Unhand her!” Through the terrace doors came Mr. Munroe, fire blazing in his eyes.

Ruth’s hand dropped immediately from Miss Munroe’s.

“You lead my sister out here as if she were some trollop!” Munroe said, coming to stand before Ruth, nearly a full head taller than she and staring down into her eyes so closely that she could smell the spirits on his breath.

“You are mistaken, sir,” Ruth said. “She followed me. ”

“Mistaken, am I?” He looked to Miss Munroe, who swallowed, the fear of her brother reflected in her eyes. “Did you follow him?”

Miss Munroe shook her head, eyes wide. “Of course not!”

Ruth’s jaw went slack, but Miss Munroe avoided her eye.

Munroe turned back toward Ruth, anger and energy warring in his narrowed gaze. “You seem to have made yourself very familiar indeed with the young women in Town since your arrival, Ruth. I cannot say I am surprised to discover that you are pushing your unwelcome attentions upon them.”

Ruth’s words stuck in her throat. To be accused by Mr. Munroe of the exact thing he himself stood guilty of—and of something so very far from the truth for herself…it was lunacy.

“You have quite misunderstood the matter,” she said, feeling her heart thrum with nerves inside her as two people appeared inside the doorway, observing. “I have not pushed my attentions on any woman, I assure you.”

Mr. Munroe bared his teeth, stepping even closer. “You are up to something, Ruth. You have influenced Miss Devenish and Miss Parkham—turned them against me. I know it. But you won’t go anywhere near my sister.”

Ruth’s hands were sweating inside Topher’s gloves, and it took everything she had not to betray just how nervous she was. She glanced at the doorway that opened up to the ballroom and saw Oxley appear there, brows furrowed, as though he had just arrived and was trying to take stock of the situation.

His presence acted as a spur, a reminder of his words in the Park. Munroe has underestimated you, and I hope you will ensure he realizes it the next time he attempts to make you feel small.

“Surely I cannot be blamed for your lack of address with women, sir,” Ruth said, forcing her knees not to shake. She wouldn’t disappoint Oxley.

Mumbling chatter spread through the gathering crowd.

Mr. Munroe grabbed her by the lapel. “What did you say?”

She looked him in the eye, willing herself to keep her courage. “I am sorry that you have found your suits unsuccessful, Mr. Munroe. But that is none of my affair or concern.”

Miss Munroe had backed away from them, taking her place amongst the crowd, leaving Ruth to clean up the mess. Ruth lowered her voice slightly, ever-aware of their growing audience. “And I certainly harbor no designs upon your sister. As I said, she followed me .”

Munroe snarled. “You cast aspersions upon her reputation, then?”

Oxley rushed over. “Let him go, Munroe.” He took hold of Munroe’s hand, and Munroe wrested his arm away.

“Name your seconds, Ruth!” Munroe said.

Ruth momentarily forgot how to breathe.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” said Oxley.

“This is between myself and this insolent Jack Sprat, my lord.” Munroe spat out the last word.

Ruth swallowed. “A duel will change nothing, sir. I mean no offense to your sister—I merely convey the truth of what happened.”

Munroe’s sneer appeared. “You mean to back down. A coward, are you? Willing to lay your hands on a woman but not to meet a man to defend your honor?”

Murmurs snaked through the crowd.

“I shall say it again. I don’t think much of the company you keep, my lord.” Munroe sneered at Oxley.

Oxley offered a tight smile. “Rest assured the sentiment is reciprocated.”

Ruth’s heart ached to see Oxley coming to her defense. She was trapped—both her honor and Oxley’s were now in question, and she backed down from Munroe at a cost to more than just herself.

She looked to Oxley, who watched her intently. “Will you act for me?” she asked.

“Of course.” Oxley said, but she could see the troubled look in his eyes.

“Archer?” Munroe said, and a stocky man stepped out from the crowd, nodding.

“I will wait upon you tomorrow morning, Mr. Archer,” Oxley said, “if you will be so good as to provide me with your direction.”

The men stepped aside for a short discussion, and Ruth stood waiting, wishing that the half-circle of people would disappear back into the ballroom. Her shaking legs might give out on her at any moment, and she wanted no audience when it happened.

Mr. Munroe’s gaze was fixed on her, his lip curled in a mix between a snarl and a smile. No doubt he was picturing her with a bullet hole in her chest. She shut her eyes for a brief moment. She had only shot a pistol twice in her life—both occasions many years ago when she had followed Topher on one of his mischievous expeditions with their father’s pistol. If she’d had any idea that her life would depend upon her ability to shoot, she might have taken those times more seriously.

Oxley stepped toward her, putting a hand on her back. “Come, let us go inside.”

She allowed herself to be ushered forward, feeling a modicum of comfort at the knowledge of Oxley’s support. Her only remaining hope for avoiding the duel was that Oxley might persuade Munroe against the affair. Would that everyone was as subject to his charms as Ruth was.

“What happened?” Oxley asked in an undervoice as they stepped out of the ballroom and down the dimly lit corridor.

She let out a gush of air and lifted her shoulders. How in the world was she to explain everything to him? With her nerves fraying and Oxley the only friendly face at the ball, she couldn’t face the displeasure he would feel if he knew that word was getting around about her identity as the Swan. Everyone would associate her with Oxley, and she couldn’t humiliate him like that—especially not when he had just come to her defense.

“I went out for a breath of fresh air, and Miss Munroe followed after me. She had mistaken me for someone else, but when I told her as much, she tried to prevent me from leaving. It was as I tried to remove her hand from my arm that Munroe came out and misread the situation.”

Oxley scoffed. “Willingly misread. He has no doubt been looking for a reason to quarrel with you.” He sighed. “I will do what I can to patch things up with him, but our hopes are pinned on the unlikelihood that Mr. Archer is a more reasonable fellow than the man he is acting for. Munroe is not likely to back down.” Oxley looked intently at Ruth. “Have you experience with pistols?”

Ruth smiled weakly. “Do I look like a sporting man to you?”

Oxley chuckled lightly. “I had a small hope that you had some secret, unexpected expertise with them. It wouldn’t be the first time you have surprised me. But no matter. After I call on Archer tomorrow, I will come to Upper Brook Street. I know a bit about pistols.” He winked.

“As much as Munroe?”

He drew back. “You offend me.”

He was trying to lighten the situation, and she couldn’t help but respond, putting a hand to her heart. “Forgive me for ever doubting Narcissus.”

Oxley bowed ironically. “You are forgiven.” He rose from the bow and looked at her intently. “Are you nervous?”

“You offend me now. You mustn’t be deceived by these glasses. Behind my diminutive person, I hide nerves of steel.”

“If your nerves are made of anything as solid as those spectacles, then I have nothing at all to fear. It was all I could do to keep from cheering when you insulted Munroe. Not just any man would show such courage.”

Courage? Ruth had a few other names for it: rashness, foolhardiness, impetuosity, and above all, desperation not to disappoint Oxley. Whatever one called it, she was sure to regret it. But hearing Oxley praise her boldness warmed her heart and almost made the prospect of dying in a duel worth it. Almost.

Oxley glanced toward the other end of the ballroom. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I promised Miss Devenish a glass of champagne—it was as I went to procure it that I caught sight of the commotion on the terrace. She is no doubt wondering where I disappeared to.”

“You must tell her, of course, that you were waylaid by the need to rescue a poor sapling.”

Oxley frowned. “I certainly don’t think highly of Munroe, but I don’t know that I should call him a poor sapling .” With a wide smile, he left her side, threading through the crowds to find Miss Devenish.

Ruth’s smile faded, and she clasped her hands tightly to control their shaking.