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“What? Oh, no. That’s not it.”
“What then—Oh.” She bit her lip, guilt flaring in her cinnamon-brown eyes. “I assure you, I’m not normally so rude as I’ve made myself out to be.”
“No!” Ah, God, why could he never get through an interaction without mucking things up? “It has nothing at all to do with you, and everything to do with me.”
“I see,” she said, though from the hurt tone of her voice and the shuttered look in her eyes it was obvious she didn’t.
“It’s just,” he stammered, desperate to climb out of whatever ditch he’d dug himself into, “I wouldn’t want to put an unnecessary burden on you.”
“You’ve no need to explain, Your Grace.” Her voice was stiff, her smile stiffer, holding not an ounce of the warmth it had just minutes ago.
“Mrs. Kitteridge, you misunderstand. Ah, God, this is embarrassing.” He groaned, running a hand over his face. “As you can see, I’m not the most articulate fellow. I more often than not botch even the most casual interactions. Which,” he murmured wryly, “this one right here proves.”
She worried at her wedding ring once more. “I’m sorry, Your Grace. I shouldn’t have reacted as I did.”
He chuckled. “Are we to start another round of apologies, Mrs. Kitteridge?”
Her relieved laugh was like bells. “Goodness, I hope not.”
But the moment of lightness was short-lived. Silence descended between them, fraught with uncertainty. And no wonder; she must be unsure of how to deal with someone so lacking in social graces. She motioned down the hall, no doubt in the direction of the drawing room, and as one they began their slow way there.
“You mentioned you’re headed to London after your trip to Synne,” she said quietly. At his tight nod, she continued. “Forgive me for being blunt, but is your purpose in town purely parliamentary, or is it also…matrimonial?”
His cheeks flared with heat. “Are you applying for the position, Mrs. Kitteridge?” he blurted, hoping to alleviate the tense moment with a bit of humor.
The second the words were out of his mouth, however, he knew it had been the wrong thing to say. She stumbled, thankfully quickly righting herself. What the hell was wrong with him? He’d known the woman mere hours, and he joked about marrying her?
“Ah, no,” she managed with impressive poise. “That is, I’m not applying for a wifely position with anyone, now or ever.”
“Of course. My apologies.” He cleared his throat. “But to answer your question, yes, I am planning on looking for a wife. Though,” he muttered, more to himself, “if I could manage that without having to go to London I’d be a sight happier.”
But, of course, she overheard him. “You hope to find a wife on Synne?”
Well, he hadn’t until now. But the idea jolted something in him, latching onto his brain, refusing to let go. Why not find a bride on Synne? If he were to find someone to marry, he could avoid London for good. There would be no need for him to attend crushing balls, or to be forced to sit in a theater box while everyone gaped at him, or make conversation with slews of young women all the while praying he didn’t send them running for the hills.
“Yes, Mrs. Kitteridge,” he said slowly. “That is exactly what I hope to do.”
She nodded, then fell silent once more. He thought that was the end of it, was just about to breathe a sigh of relief that they would soon be with the others.
Suddenly, though the drawing room was just steps away, she stopped and looked at him. “Your Grace, I have a proposition for you.”
Shock and a molten heat shot through him. A proposition?
Her next words erased whatever erotic fantasies had decided to play out in his mind at those thoroughly charged words. “You need a bride in the next weeks,” she said, “I assume to prevent you from having to go to London. Or, at least, to prevent you from going with the purpose of finding a bride.” She bit her lip, suddenly unsure of herself. And then, in a rush, “I can help you find a bride. For a price.”
He blinked. “A price?”
“Yes.” She nodded with impressive confidence, though there was the sheen of uncertainty lingering in her eyes. “I’m in need of funds, which you seem to have. You’re in need of a wife, and I know every eligible woman on Synne. I propose an exchange: I will introduce you to the single women on Synne, and help you secure the hand of the woman of your choosing by the last day of the month, and you shall pay me.”
He gaped at her. “Mrs. Kitteridge, are you proposing I hire you on as my…matchmaker?”
Her lips twisted. “Matchmaker sounds so unprofessional. It’s something my grandmother does to alleviate her boredom.”
Humor flared in his chest. “Unprofessional? Are you taking this on as a profession, then?”
She raised her chin mutinously. “And if I am?”
He held up his hand. “I’m in no way disparaging your chosen occupation, madam. But what should I call you if notmatchmaker?”
