Miss Moseley the Matchmaker Page 2

  Mortimer's tongue guiltlessly popped of his mouth, as if he was teasing her. With a sigh, Molly folded her hands in her lap and waited for her childhood friend to arrive. When the door opened, and Lord Rocksavage appeared in the doorway, she drew a sharp breath. He was even more handsome than she remembered—was it even possible? He was wearing a snug green greatcoat, which adequately displayed the impressive breadth of his shoulders. Black satin breeches clung to his muscular legs, and his midnight black hair had been groomed to perfection.

  He was holding an large bouquet of roses, which he extended toward her with a smile. “Molly!” he exclaimed. “Molly, it is so wonderful to see you! How have you been? You look well.”

  “As do you, my lord,” she answered, her voice strained.

  “My lord?!” he repeated. “Have I been gone so long that an unnecessary formality has developed? It has only been a few months!”

  “Six months,” she said. “Six months is a long time, Daniel! And how many times did you write during your absence? Hmm?” Molly folded her arms and puffed out her chest. She was trying to look cross, though his presence had secretly melted her heart.

  “Twice.”

  “I know. Twice.” Molly stuck out her bottom lip for several seconds, letting him get a good look at her doleful expression. “I was beginning to think you had forgotten all about me!”

  “How could I forget about you, girl? You are my dearest friend in the entire world! Besides, you know I am not much for writing letters.” Lord Rocksavage crossed the room and pushed the flowers in her direction, practically shoving them under her nose.

  She eyed the flowers incredulously. “Those are for me, I take it?”

  “Of course they are for you! For whom could they possibly be, if not for you? Mortimer?” Daniel asked with a chuckle. When the dog heard his name, he let out a tiny woof.

  “Well, I can't imagine you would be giving flowers to Mortimer.” Molly accepted his proffered gift and laid the flowers in her lap. In the back of her mind, she was reminded of her cousin's words. Jane Abrahms said flowers were a cliché, and Molly was inclined to agree with her, though she appreciated her friend's gesture. “Mortimer isn't a fan of flowers. He is actually a garden menace, always digging up the flowers and terrorizing the plants.”

  “And what about you? Do you like the flowers?”

  “Of course,” Molly replied. “Although... I am not sure they are entirely appropriate. Flowers are generally regarded as a romantic gesture, are they not? It seems like a more appropriate gift for your intended wife... or, perhaps, your chere amie. Unless you want to fill my head with romantic notions, Daniel, I am not sure you should give me such a gift!” Molly held her breath for several seconds. She secretly hoped the romantic gift was intentional, and that an amorous confession would follow. It seemed unlikely. However, if he missed her even half as much as she missed him, how could he not have feelings for her? Molly Moseley knew his heart better than anyone in the world. How could he not give her a piece of it?

  “My apologies, then,” Rocksavage said, dashing her hopes with a few curt words. “What, pray tell, would be an appropriate gift for a friend?”

  A friend. Friend. The words resounded in Molly's head, torturing her with ceaseless echoes. A friend was all she would ever be to him, and she would have to accept it. “A book, perhaps?” she suggested.

  “Really? And does that apply to you, or to all women?” As he spoke, a corner of his mouth tilted into a smirk. “After all, you are more of a bluestocking than most women of my acquaintance.”

  “A book is more useful than flowers. I would devour the pages, and perhaps more than once, if the book holds my interest,” Molly said. “But flowers? They are pretty, to be sure, but they will wilt and die and my heart will ache to see them go!”

  His smirk vanished. “I am sorry you find my gift so distasteful.”

  “No!' she quickly protested. “No, not at all! I would not want you to think that, Daniel. I think the flowers are a very nice gesture!”

  All of a sudden, Daniel held his arms open. “Come!” he exclaimed. “Why have you hesitated so long? Embrace me!”

  “Embrace you?!” Molly repeated with a chuckle, and while her heart prickled at the prospect, she had to protest. “Have you gone mad?”

  “No, of course not!” He continued to hold out his arms, beckoning her to fly into them. “After being away from you for so long, an embrace from my dearest friend would work wonders on my weary heart! Holding you close would be like... returning home.”

  “You are home,” she reminded him. “However... I suppose I will indulge you... just this once.” Molly rose from the settee and coiled an arm around him, and when she felt him pull her against his chest, she swore she could feel her heart sighing. He cradled her head in the palm of his hand, tightened his grip on her waist, and held onto her for several seconds. When he finally released her, she sunk into the settee and tried to appear as if she was unmoved.

  “What is that on your knee?” he asked. As he sat beside her on the settee, Daniel motioned toward the immense liquid stain on her gown. “Did my flowers dribble on you?”

  “No!” Molly chuckled. “It is Mortimer's spittle, I am afraid. Before you arrived, he was slumbering on my knee.” Slumbering and slobbering, finished the voice in her head.

  “That great lummox? Really?! He must have weighed a ton!”

  With prickled ears, the Great Dane eyed them from the corner of the room. Mortimer did not approve of Lord Rocksavage, nor did he approve of their close proximity. With a moan, the beast dragged himself to his feet and sauntered over to the settee. He laid his bulbous head between Lord Rocksavage and Molly, forcing a wedge between them. Molly started scratching the dog's head, which made Mortimer expel an idolizing sigh. No one scratched his ears quite as well as his mistress did.

  “So,” Molly spoke again, deftly changing the subject, “How was your time in London, Daniel?”

  “It was... busy,” Daniel said. “It felt like an eternity. I strongly prefer my relaxed life in Norfolk.”

  “As do I,” Molly agreed with him. “I was only in London once, and it was a great many years ago, but... let's just say, I am not too eager to return.”

  “Nor am I. However, the women in London...”

  Molly involuntarily flinched. If he was going to wax poetically about pretty London women, she did not care to hear it. “W-what about them?”

  “There were so many beautiful women in London. Some of the debutantes at Almack's... well...” He drew a heady breath. “Some of them are so ethereal, you would think they were angels!”

  “Reeeally.” Molly hoped her aggravation was not too obvious.

  “They were certainly beautiful,” he went on, “but they were all so young. Extraordinarily young. At my age, I feel a bit sheepish about courting a girl of eighteen, fresh out of the schoolroom. The last young woman I danced with was only seventeen. At one and thirty, I am sure I look like an old man to her!”

  “You do not look like an old man,” Molly assured him—and it was true. He had aged much more gracefully than she had, and she secretly resented him for it.

  Daniel opened his mouth to respond, but he was silenced by the arrival of a maid, who swept into the room with refreshments. Without a word, she delivered a tray of tea and biscuits and swiftly exited. Molly took one of the biscuits and cautiously sampled it, because it did not look particularly appetizing, and her hunch was correct. The biscuit was dry and tasteless, aside from a hint of lemon, so she tossed it to Mortimer, who sucked the treat into his salivating jaws.

  “What were you going to say, Daniel?” Molly asked, hoping to draw him back into the conversation. If he wanted a woman closer to his age, it gave her hope.

  “Oh. Right. The child I danced with...” Daniel shook his head. “She was as vapid as she was pretty. I am sure our common interests would be few and far between.”

  “So... your ideal mate...” Molly stared at Mortimer as she spoke, be
cause she could not bring herself to look in Lord Rocksavage's direction. “How old do you think she would be?”

  “I don't want some green girl, or some silly chit. I would want to be with a woman who could hold her own in a conversation,” Daniel expressed. “Seventeen, eighteen, nineteen... that is far too young. I think a woman of three and twenty would be perfect.”

  Three and twenty. Three and twenty was a far cry from thirty, Molly thought with a frown. Forcing the smile to return to her lips, she asked, “Are you looking for a wife? It certainly sounds like you are. I was beginning to think you would be a bachelor forever!”

  “I think my wild oats have officially been sewn,” Daniel said. “And yes... perhaps it might be time to leg shackle myself.”

  “Leg shackle?!” Molly squeaked. “As a lover of romance, you should know I do not care for that expression! Marriage should be a state of bliss... it should be about two people realizing they need each other, that they cannot spend their lives without one another! There should be no shackles involved!”

  “You needn't get so up in arms, Momo,” Daniel said, using her archaic nickname for the first time in many months. “I am not serious!”

  “You're not serious about finding a wife?”

  “No, I am serious about that!” Daniel corrected her. “And if I'm not mistaken, I am sitting next to the perfect woman.”

  Molly clenched her fists and held her breath. The perfect woman? Was he finally recognizing what he should have recognized many years ago: that they were a perfect match, destined for eternal happiness together?

  “You have a reputation, you know,” Daniel began, “for being a cracking good matchmaker! Do you think you could work your magic for your old friend Rocksavage? I've come to the right woman, haven't I? You'll help me?”

  Molly's gaze returned to Mortimer, who was staring at her with sullen eyes, and she wondered if the dog could sense her disappointment. At least there was one creature in the world who could empathize with her! “I... suppose.”

  “You don't sound particularly eager,” Daniel noted. “If you don't want to help me, I suppose I can begin my search on my own.”

  “No!” Molly exclaimed. If she couldn't have Daniel, he needed to be with a woman who was worthy of him. The only way she could ensure he would end up with the right woman was for Molly to choose the right woman for him. “No, Daniel. I will help you.” Her lips were as tight as her clenched fists. Molly was so overcome by sorrow, even a forced smile was impossible to come by. “I would be honored.”

  Chapter Four

  Dear Madeline,

  I do not believe there are enough words in the English language to properly express my disappointment. I expected Daniel's return to make me happy; alas, I am afraid it has had an adverse effect on my psyche. In one deceptive moment, he described me as the “perfect woman.” In his next breath, he explained what he meant... that I would be the perfect woman to find the perfect woman for him!

  Indeed, Maddy, you heard me correctly! Lord Rocksavage, the man I have quietly loved my entire life, is expecting me to find him the perfect bride. I have always taken pride in being a good matchmaker... until this day. How am I supposed to bear it?!

  Of course, I accepted the task. What else was I supposed to say?! If I gave him the merest glimpse of what was truly in my heart, I would be humiliated for the rest of my life. He must never know how I feel. And he must be more oblivious than I thought, to ask such a thing of me! After all these years, you would think he would know what was in the heart of his closest friend. DISAPPOINTED doesn't even begin to describe my feelings. I am hurt, morose, melancholy, blue-deviled, heartsick and... what other words would appropriately describe my sorrows? Ah... woebegone! I have always had an affinity for that word, as strange as it is.

  So, how am I supposed to ignore what's in my heart? How should I go about matching the man of my dreams to the woman of HIS dreams? Where should I begin? I have half a mind to match him with someone I know he would find intolerable, but that would be too wicked, even for me. She will have to be pretty, young and well-connected... I know he would accept nothing less. Nay, he deserves nothing less.

  I will have to find a woman whose company I enjoy, because I expect to be a part of Daniel's life for the rest of his life. Therefore, she will also have to be kind, witty, caring and clever. With any luck, she will also like dogs.

  When Molly's quill stopped, she glanced over at Mortimer, who was chewing on an old rag doll. When the Great Dane made eye contact with her, he ceased his chewing for a moment, as if he had been caught doing something naughty. A few seconds later, she turned her attention back to the letter, so Mortimer went back to gnawing the doll's cloth head.

  What if I presented myself as an option? What if I went to him and said, 'Daniel, as a matter of fact, I know the perfect woman for you... and she happens to be standing right in front of you!' Of course, I would never be so bold... but what if I was? Would he turn up his nose at me? Would he laugh at me? The only woman who would be perfect for Daniel Shelton is ME.

  That's not to say I am perfect. I am FAR from perfect, as I'm sure you know. As a matter of fact, I have a terribly low opinion of myself. However, no one else knows him as I do. No one else could possibly care about him as much as I care about him, because his companionship means everything to me. I do not think it is too vain to say I would be the perfect wife for him.

  Ah, but it is useless to speak of such things, because I will never have the courage to express my feelings, nor will we ever be together. I must suppress my grief and focus on the important question: Is there a woman in the world who would actually be worthy of my dearest friend?

  We have another marriageable cousin: Augustine Moseley. She is a bit young, perhaps a bit younger than his ideal woman, but she is a sweet girl with a good heart, and I could almost see myself supporting their union.

  If he does not like Augustine (and I secretly hope he does not like anyone... is that cruel of me?), I have someone else in mind. For now, I will see what he thinks about our cousin. What do you think, Maddy? Am I making the wrong choice?

  If only I had more courage! If only I could tell him how I truly felt! Or better yet... if only Lord Rocksavage wasn't a callous, blind, insensitive dunderhead! I wonder if he ever spared a thought for me when he was dancing with London's ethereal beauties. I am sure I was less than a wisp of a thought on his mind!

  I hope you take the time to read these letters, despite the fact that they might be dull and self-absorbed. Sometimes, I believe you might be my only friend in the world!

  Friend.

  As of late, Daniel has been testing the veracity of that word...

  Until we meet again,

  Molly

  Chapter Five

  “So...” As she spoke, Augustine Moseley twirled a tendril of hair around her finger. “What can you tell me about Lord Rocksavage before he arrives?”

  A smile hovered on Molly's face as she described her friend. “He has a wonderful sense of humor. He is kind, warm-hearted, charitable and clever. I would describe him as a Corinthian, a strong man with a hero's build. He is adept at sporting activities, but he also likes to read. He is remarkably well-rounded, and... well...” Molly's eyes sparkled behind her spectacles as she continued to sing his praises. “It would not be inaccurate to say he is perfect!”

  “Is he handsome?” her cousin asked.

  “Indeed he is! He is the handsomest man you will ever meet!”

  “Reeeeally?” Augustine's tiny voice skeptically hovered over the vowel. “Is that so? Well then, I am certainly eager to make his acquaintance. Is he old?”

  Molly folded her hands on her lap. “I suppose that depends on what you would consider to be old, Aggie. He is roughly the same age as me, so if you would describe me as old...”

  “Hmmm...” Augustine studied her cousin for several seconds; her eyes scanned for wrinkles on the older woman's face. “So he is... thirty!?” She sucked a sharp breath into her lu
ngs, as if it was a painful word to utter.

  “One and thirty, be to correct.”

  “One and thirty...” Augustine pursed her lips for a few seconds. “Well... I suppose that is not too old. For a man.”

  “But I am old?” Molly asked with a chuckle. “Is that what you are saying?”

  “Oh, I mean no offense!” Augustine tried to explain. “What I mean is... to be unmarried and thirty is quite normal for a bachelor. I think a gentleman's youth is much more prolonged. But you are certainly not old, Molly! One is not truly old until she reaches her forties.”

  Somehow, Molly managed to hold her tongue. She had to remind herself she was speaking to a young woman of nineteen. When she was Augustine's age, she would have likely shared her opinion.

  “Now... as for Lord Rocksavage,” Augustine continued, “Is he rich?”

  Molly was a bit annoyed by her cousin's string of superficial questions. “He has a splendid estate and a sizable fortune. He--”

  Before she could utter another word, the butler entered the room and announced, “Lord Rocksavage is here, ma'am,” and Molly felt a claw of fear gripping her stomach. If her friend took a liking to Augustine, their forthcoming romance would alter her life.

  Daniel entered the room, looking a bit like a dandy. His cravat was intricately tied, and the lapels of his coat were high and stiff. A single curl rested on his forehead, and there wasn't a hair out of place on the rest of his head. It must have taken a fair amount of preening to achieve such devastating good looks. Molly rolled her eyes at her friend's vanity. Apart from pinching her cheeks and sweeping her hair into a bun, she had spent little time on her own appearance.