Miss Moseley the Matchmaker

  MISS MOSELEY THE MATCHMAKER

  By Caylen McQueen

  Chapter One

  “I can't ask her to marry me. I simply cannot!”

  As she watched him bellow his sorrows to the ceiling, Molly Moseley pushed her spectacles to the bridge of her nose and folded her hands in her lap. “But you love her, do you not?”

  Charles Grisham paused by the window. He lifted the gauzy curtain and leaned toward the pane, hoping the sunlight would invigorate him. “Of course I love her.” His whispered words fogged the glass.

  “Then you mustn't make her wait. Waiting will give one of her other suitors a chance to act, and we can't have that!” Molly smoothed her hands over her faded muslin gown. It was her favorite dress, even though it was a bit worn. She could not afford to buy new, expensive things, but it did not matter, for she had no one to impress.

  “That's the problem... don't you see?!” Charles collapsed into the settee beside Molly and raked a hand across his pinched brow. “Her other suitors! Why would she choose me when she could have a much better man!?”

  The answer was obvious. With a sigh, Molly reminded him, “Because she loves you, Mr. Grisham.”

  “But how can you be so sure?”

  “You should trust my instincts. My eyes never lie.”

  Charles opened his mouth to protest, but he could not bring himself to utter a word. Miss Moseley had a point. Many couples had found love as a result of her romantic instincts. In a world where marriage had become something of a business arrangement, her successes were impressive—perhaps even a bit legendary. If not for Molly giving him a nudge, Charles would have never had the courage to speak to Miss Abrahms, let alone ask her to marry him.

  Could he really do it?

  “I... I am too timid,” Charles argued. “Jane Abrahms deserves a better man, one who is not afraid to express his feelings.”

  “Your shyness is part of your appeal, Mr. Grisham,” Molly tried to reassure him. “Your shyness, your kindness, your warm heart.” When she glanced in his direction, she caught him blushing like a schoolboy. “Miss Abrahms is not interested in the aggressive type. She has told me so on many occasions!”

  “I am only a second son,” Charles continued, if only because he needed more encouragement from Miss Moseley. “I have nothing to offer her. I have no title, no fortune...”

  “Oh, Charles...” Molly sighed. “The Honorable Mr. Grisham. Your father is the earl of Trowbridge. That, in itself, is impressive enough. It isn't as if you're destitute and homeless. She will want for nothing!”

  “She... she's...” Charles probed his mind for more protests. He needed an excuse to still his tongue, to spare himself the embarrassment of Miss Abrahms' possible rejection. “She's too beautiful, and I am plain.”

  Molly stared at Charles for several seconds, trying to determine the accuracy of his self-assessment. He wasn't exactly handsome, but he had a gentle face, and bright golden eyes. Jane Abrahms certainly did not find him unattractive. According to Charles' lady love, he was actually “quite cute.” Those were the exact words Jane used to describe him.

  “She loves you, Charles!” Molly reminded him with a sigh. “And if she truly loves you, which I believe she does, she could never think an unflattering thought about you! As a matter of fact, she thinks very highly of you!”

  “But... how can you be so sure?”

  “Need I remind you that I have a bit of experience when it comes to matters of love?” Alas, she was not referring to her own life, in which there was an obvious absence of romance. Rather, she was referring to the fact that she had fostered the happy unions of many grateful couples. “Please, Charles. Put your faith in me. Take a chance!”

  “I--”

  His protests came to an end, because Jane had entered the drawing room, and the breath was sucked from his lungs. When her flaxen hair caught the light, it resembled a golden crown. Her ivory skin was faultless, her bright blue eyes were shining, and her lips—oh, her lips! Charles was nearly undone by his desire to kiss them.

  “Good afternoon, Charles,” Jane said, smiling as his name rolled from her tongue. “And Molly! It is wonderful to see you as well!”

  “Likewise,” Molly echoed, then she turned her gaze to the window. She wanted to give them some privacy, but too much privacy could not be allowed. If she left them alone, Molly would never hear the end of it from Jane's unforgiving father—who happened to be Molly's unforgiving uncle. Propriety prompted her to stay.

  “You look beautiful, Jane,” Charles said.

  “And you look very handsome!”

  Jane's returned compliment made him chuckle, because he was determined to believe the worst about himself. “I... I should have brought you a gift. Flowers. Or sweets.”

  Jane sat across from Molly and Charles. As long as her eyes were on her timid beau, the smile never left her face. “I have received so many flowers, I think they've lost their luster. They've become something of a cliché, I am afraid.”

  “So many... flowers...” Charles repeated under his breath. The words were a bleak reminder of Jane's many suitors. Why would she choose him, as unremarkable as he was, when she could choose anyone under the sun? Any man in Britain would be lucky to have her. “So, Jane, what do you think about the weather? It has been raining for several days... not that it isn't typical for this time of year, but I--”

  Molly gave him a secret nudge. They were not here to discuss the weather. She did not want her cousin to lose interest in Charles and his inane topic of choice.

  “It has been raining quite often,” Jane agreed. “I always love this time of year, when the leaves change color. I have been wanting to take a turn around the garden, to enjoy the scenery, but the rain has not permitted it. It is such a disappointment!”

  “I would happily join you for a stroll, Miss Abrahms,” Charles said, which earned him another nudge from the woman at his side. “Assuming, of course, the rain will let us.”

  “It must have been raining when you arrived,” Jane said. “Your hair is a bit wet.”

  “Is it?!” Charles raked a hand through his hair, unintentionally slicking it back. Jane smiled, because she thought it made him look roguish.

  “So, to what do I owe the pleasure of your company?” Jane asked. “It isn't often that I am visited by two of my favorite persons in the world!”

  Molly briefly turned her attention from the window and smiled at her cousin. “As it happens...” Molly began, “Charles has something to say to you!”

  Charles' mouth fell open. While he appreciated Molly's attempt to prod him, he was not yet prepared to speak about his feelings. He wanted to approach the topic at his own pace.

  “Do you, Charles?” Jane tightened her lips in an attempt to hide the eagerness on her face. “And what, pray tell, do you have to tell me?”

  “Miss Abrahms...” Charles stiffened his shoulders, raised his chin, and took a deep breath. It was now or never. Even if she rejected him, even if she never returned his feelings, it would be better than a defeatist's surrender. He had to try. “Miss Abrahms, I love you!”

  “Mr. Grisham, you...” Jane leaned forward in her chair. “Did I hear you correctly!?”

  Charles swallowed hard, which made his Adam's apple wobble. “I love you, Jane,” he repeated. “I am in love with you. When I'm with you, I can't take my eyes off of you. When I'm not with you, you're all I can think about. I would gladly dedicate the rest of my life to making you happy... to bringing the smile to your perfect, pink lips. My heart is yours... it has been yours from the moment I met you. Even if you reject me, my heart will always be yours.”

  Molly, whose eyes were still fixed on the window, flashed a self-satisfie
d smile. Charles' profession of love was more than adequate; she was proud of him. Jane couldn't possibly be unimpressed.

  “Charles...” Jane whispered his name.

  Charles leapt from the settee. He fell to his knees beside Jane's lap and ardently seized her hand. “I want to marry you, Jane!” he exclaimed. “I might not be the most impressive man in the world, but I will love you more than anyone could possibly love you, and I would treasure you for the rest of my life!”

  “You want to... marry me?” Jane's voice squeaked, and for a moment, Molly wondered if she had misread the situation.

  “I do,” Charles said. “Make me the happiest man in the world. Please, Jane. Please...”

  “Charles, I...” Jane began, and as she hesitated, Molly and Charles drew a collective breath. Her next words would be most critical. “Charles, I love you too.”

  The tension in Molly's shoulders ebbed. Thank goodness, she thought to herself. If her cousin did not love Charles Grisham, it would have been Molly's first failure as a matchmaker, and she couldn't have that!

  “You love me?!” Charles seized Jane's hand, kissing it several times. “You love me?! You really and truly do?!”

  “I do.” Jane shyly tucked a ringlet of blonde hair behind ear. “And I want to marry you, Charles. I want that more than anything in the world!”

  “Then I really am the happiest man in the world!” he exclaimed. “The happiest... and the luckiest.”

  Jane watched, with tears in her eyes, as Charles slipped a silver band around her finger. “There is no one in the world I would rather be with, Charles,” she assured him. “I do love you! With all of my heart, I do!”

  Charles turned his attention to Molly, who rose from the settee and retreated to the window, giving the lovers a bit more privacy. She didn't need to watch them to know what would happen next.

  A lovers' embrace.

  A passionate kiss.

  When Molly saw her reflection in the glass, she flashed a smile at herself. Even if she would never have a romance of her own, no one knew romance better than Molly Moseley.

  It was another job well done.

  Chapter Two

  Molly Moseley smiled at her reflection in the looking glass, and while the smile did not reach her eyes, she was positively pleased with herself. She held up her fingers as she counted her many successes.

  “Lord Warrington and Miss Deveraux... Mr. Jeffries and Miss Caraway... Mr. Grisham and Jane... my own cousin, no less! It makes the victory that much sweeter!” When all five fingers on her right hand were extended, Molly's smile broadened. Five couples owed their happiness to her, because she was the one who gave them the necessary push. She prided herself on her ability to properly gauge the compatibility of two people. Her eye for romantic chemistry was unrivaled.

  Molly leaned closer to the looking glass, and when she did, her smile was replaced by a wisp of a frown. With one of her extended fingers, she traced the lines under her eyes. “Wrinkles,” she said aloud, sighing at her reflection. While she did not classify herself as old, she certainly wasn't as youthful as she once was. The roses had vanished from her cheeks, as did her skin's dewy glow. At thirty, she had earned her place on the shelf, but she refused to be shamed by that fact. As long as her matchmaking antics led to the happiness of others, her life would always be enriched. It was much easier to imagine love in others' lives than it was to imagine it in her own. Try as she might, she could never imagine herself embroiled in a romance of her own.

  Molly sat at her desk and pulled a quill and inkwell from a drawer. She needed to write a letter to her favorite person in the world, to brag about her recent success. She donned her spectacles, dipped her quill, and tapped the feathered end against her chin. After a moment's hesitation, the words poured out of her.

  Dearest Madeline,

  How are you faring? I hope you are well. I am sure you are having a splendid time, but please, if you can, take a moment to read my letter. I am pleased to be the bearer of glad tidings! My announcement concerns our cousin, Jane Abrahms. You remember her, I hope? We had not seen her since she was twelve, but now she is a young woman of twenty... and she is in love! Over the last few weeks, I had spent a great deal of time with her, and it did not take long to determine what sort of man she would be interested in. Most of her suitors had been clamoring for her attention. (Not that I blame them, as beautiful as she is). They had been filling her head with all sorts of pretty compliments, at least a dozen a day. When she told me their compliments had gotten 'boring,' I assumed it was her vanity speaking, but then I understood exactly what she meant. Her suitors always complimented her beauty—which is boundless, to be sure—but she needed a man who could admire her deeply, someone to love her for who she was.

  Molly paused to reread what was written, then she turned her attention back to the looking glass. In a way, she envied her cousin. No one had ever told Molly she was beautiful, but it wasn't as if she expected such a compliment. Even before she was a spinster, she had never been a classic beauty. Her dark hair was pulled into a matronly bun, and there were tired rings around her hazel eyes. Her neck was too long, her brows were too thick, her nose was too plump, and her figure was nothing to boast about. Nevertheless, she took pride in her appearance, and she wondered why no one had ever described her as pretty.

  I am the one who introduced our cousin to Charles Abrahms, the man who won her heart. He is a good man for her, and he will love her as deeply and truly as she deserves to be loved. I can see it in the way he looks at her; there is so much adoration in his eyes. I am sure he will always care about her more than anyone in the world, and worship her the way all women long to be worshiped.

  You know, Maddy, I blame my romantic sensibilities on you! When we were children, you were so nonsensically fanciful. You were always reciting fairy tales, dreaming of first kisses, and wishing for a handsome prince to sweep you off your feet. I am afraid your romantic notions have turned me into a hopeless romantic! If I happen to be a skilled matchmaker, I owe my success to you!

  I remember Jane as a child (as do you, I am sure). It is strange to think she will soon be Charles' wife. Can you believe how quickly the time passes? I remember what it was like to be Jane's age, and I remember it with such clarity, I would swear it was just yesterday! In another brief decade, I will be forty. Then fifty. At that age, I am sure I will think I am very foolish for thinking I am old at thirty.

  And it is true. These days, I am feeling quite... well, I would not say I am old, but I am hardly young anymore. I do not understand why most women think age is something to be ashamed of. As I get older, I will wear each wrinkle with pride, because each wrinkle is proof that I survived another year. I would much rather be old and wise than young and silly.

  I should also mention, Maddy, that Daniel will be returning soon...

  As she dipped her quill, Molly's mind drifted. Daniel Shelton, Lord Rocksavage, was a man who rarely left her thoughts. She and the viscount had been friends since childhood, and while she was content to call him a companion, her feelings for him were much deeper than friendship. She kept those feelings locked away in the deepest part of her heart, and she shared them with no one.

  No one but Madeline.

  He has spent the last sixth months in London (dancing with beautiful young women, I am sure). Do you think I am foolish to care about him after all these years? You know, when I was a bit younger, I thought I might marry him one day. I do not think he would ever consider me for a wife, and now I am too old to entertain such thoughts. Nevertheless, it pains my heart to know it never came to that. I would have been good for him, and we would have gotten along so well!

  Despite the fact that we are the same age (actually, I believe Daniel is one and thirty), he is still considered a prime catch. I secretly dread the day when I see him with a pretty fiance on his arm. I am sure she will be at least ten years younger than I am, but I will try to bear it. He deserves happiness as much as anyone, if not more so!
>
  However, I digress. My feelings for Lord Rocksavage are as nonsensical as they are immense... they are not worthy of discussion. I did not mention his name with the intent of lamenting my unrequited love; rather, I wanted to express my elation at his return! As I said before, he has been gone for six months, and I have felt his absence like a dagger to my heart. Six months might not seem like such a long time (not when the passage of a decade feels so brief) but in this case, six months have felt like an eternity. I believe it is impossible for me to be happy when I know he is so far away.

  He is supposed to be returning to Norfolk tomorrow, and if he does not pay me a visit, I will be absolutely crushed! If he does not come, you should expect a second letter, in which I will surely malign his good name!

  From the bottom of my heart, I thank you for reading my letter, Maddy. You remain, as always, my closest friend and confidante.

  With love,

  Molly

  Chapter Three

  “Lord Rocksavage has arrived, ma'am.”

  Those few short words, spoken by their rigid butler, made Molly's pulse escalate. You are being silly, Molly Moseley, she silently chastised herself. You only feel this way because it has been so long since you have seen him. It is only natural that you should--

  The butler's voice continued, ending her reverie. “Shall I send him in?”

  “Of course, Hutchins,” Molly responded.

  When he heard her voice, Mortimer, her enormous Great Dane, lifted his head. For the last several minutes, Mortimer had been wiling away the day on his mistress' lap. More specifically, his head was on her lap, and he had covered her knee in a fair amount of drool. As soon as Hutchins excused himself, Molly shifted her knee and nudged Mortimer's head. When Mortimer shuffled away, she covered the soaked portion of her gown with a cushion. “Mortimer...” she groaned, “How could you leave me in such a state? You have completely sullied my dress! Have you no shame?”