5. No Blunt, Two Options #2
A soft knock sounded behind him, and Titan entered the office bearing a tray with two cups and saucers, a pot of tea, a sugar pot, a small pitcher of milk, and a plate upon which were arranged three flavors of biscuits.
The unmistakable scent of almond wafted past Matthew’s nostrils, and he hoped the growl that emanated from his stomach wasn’t loud enough to be heard by either Titan or the matchmaker.
“Do you take milk? Sugar?” Titan asked, setting the tray down on the table near the fireplace.
“Both,” he answered. “Please. And what’s the commitment to which you referred?” he asked again, redirecting his attention to Mrs. Dove-Lyon.
“The willingness to gamble for a prize.”
“I am not a gambler.”
“As I’m aware,” she replied, accepting a cup of tea from Titan.
He accepted the teacup and saucer Titan offered and noticed a ratafia biscuit was already perched on the edge of the saucer. How did Titan know almond was his favorite flavor? Matthew once again furrowed his brows. “What sort of prize?”
“A wife, of course,” Mrs. Dove-Lyon stated. Once again, he had the impression she was rolling her eyes behind the black netting.
“Well, then we are at an impasse,” he said before biting into the biscuit. Still warm from the oven, it tasted better than the biscuits his cook baked at his country estate in Berkshire. “This is heaven,” he murmured.
A grin appeared beneath the black netting. “Tell me, Lord Wingfield. If I were to find you the perfect wife, what qualities would she possess?”
The query caught Matthew off guard. “I… I, uh, I don’t know,” he admitted at the same moment he realized Titan had quietly taken his leave.
Mrs. Dove-Lyon scoffed softly. “Surely you’ve given some thought to what qualities you would like in your future countess?” she pressed.
Matthew finished the biscuit and washed it down with a gulp of tea. “She must be educated. Able to read, of course.”
“Because you are a voracious reader yourself?” the matchmaker asked. She had a quill in one hand and was already taking notes on the sheet she had for him.
Although he was beginning to realize she knew entirely too much about him, Matthew was still surprised she was aware of his reading habit. “Well, yes, I suppose. I should like someone with whom to discuss what I’ve read.”
“What else?”
“Uh… she must be… not fresh from the schoolroom.” He noted how Mrs. Dove-Lyon’s head jerked, apparently in surprise.
“I would prefer someone a bit older,” he clarified.
“Someone who hasn’t been sequestered in her bedchamber, only to be let out for the purpose of attending the entertainments considered appropriate for young ladies. No one who is… insipid.”
The matchmaker’s quill lifted from the paper. “So someone who has been outside of London. A traveler, perhaps?”
He blinked. “I suppose,” he hedged.
“What else?”
He leaned back in his chair, finally giving into the matchmaker’s questioning. “I suppose she should know how to run a household,” he murmured. A thought occurred to him, one of practicality. “Work with the cook to come up with the menus. My housekeeper despises that responsibility.”
Mrs. Dove-Lyon displayed another look of humor. “As an earl, do you require a daughter of the aristocracy to be your wife? A blue blood?”
He chuckled softly. “I’d rather have a bluestocking.” When Mrs. Dove-Lyon paused her quill, he added, “I wasn’t being sarcastic. I really would prefer a wife who can read. Who likes books. Who is open to learning. Who respects a library.”
“Ah, now we are getting somewhere,” the matchmaker said with excitement. “A librarian.”
Matthew gave a start. “Well, not if she’s too staid or…” He winced at the thought of a woman who might not enjoy the marriage bed. “A prude.”
“So, no prudes,” Mrs. Dove-Lyon said as she made another note on his sheet. “Tall, short, lean, fleshy? Any particular hair color?”
“You make this sound as if I’m shopping for a wife,” he accused.
“Well, you are,” she countered. “The more I know about what you’d like in a wife, the better chance I’ll have of making the perfect match for you.”
Matthew settled back in his chair. “Taller, then,” he stated.
“Not so tall she’s a Long Meg, though.” He paused.
“I would prefer she not be a social climber. I don’t want to have to attend entertainments because she wishes to be seen.
And she has to be willing to live in Berkshire when we’re not in town for Parliament.
I don’t want one of those wives who insists on living apart. ”
“Understood,” the matchmaker said, making a few more notes on the sheet. “Anything else?”
He lifted a shoulder in a shrug. “How long do you suppose this will take?”
“A few days at least. No longer than a fortnight,” she replied.
Matthew nodded. “Very well. I’m staying at the Wingfield townhouse in South Audley,” he said.
“Yes, I have your address right here,” she replied. “I’ll send word by way of one of my couriers when I have something arranged. Good day, my lord.”
“That’s it?” he asked in surprise.
“For now,” she replied, her attention on an entirely different sheet from another pile.
Matthew drained his teacup and snagged another ratafia biscuit from the plate as he stood. “Good day, Mrs. Dove-Lyon.”
When he exited the office, he discovered Titan waiting for him at the top of the stairs.
He noticed once again how his escort flexed his left hand and then fisted it.
He was about to ask why, but thought better of it.
From the man’s bearing, it was apparent that Titan, like Egeus, the other guard who had first greeted him, had been in the military—no doubt an officer.
Which meant he was probably an heir to a peer of the realm.
It was then it dawned on Matthew that he knew the man because he was an heir to an earldom. Had Matthew’s father not died when he did, he might well have joined the army, but as the only heir, he had been prevented from doing so.
“Tell me, Titan. Does Mrs. Dove-Lyon have information on every member of the ton?” he asked as they descended the stairs.
Titan chuckled softly. “Possibly. Most assuredly for all those who are unwed.”
“Do others feel as if they’re being blackmailed when they do business with her?”
Arching a dark brow, Titan said, “Careful, my lord. Since you’re not a gambler, she’s letting you off rather easy compared to some in your situation.”
“Easy?” he repeated.
“Most are required to gamble for the opportunity to win a wife,” Titan replied. “And not always in games of chance that are of the usual sort.”
Matthew furrowed his brows, wondering at what some of those games might be.
His imagination brought up thoughts of jousting and sword fighting, horse racing, and racing chariots in the middle of the night, downing shots of alcohol until someone passed out or died.
He might have considered more possibilities, but Titan scoffed softly.
“No one has ever died whilst in competition for a wife,” the escort stated, as if he could read his mind.
“Good to know,” Matthew responded.
“Remember, you do have options,” Titan murmured.
“I do?”
“Debt and no heir, or a wife, no debt, and a possible heir.”
Matthew chuckled softly, and once they were at the front door, he shook hands with Titan and said, “I expect I’ll be seeing you again.”
“You will indeed.”
Glancing back into the gaming hell, Matthew briefly thought of a third option—it might be possible to play a game of chance and win enough money to pay off his debts.
He quickly reconsidered.
That’s what his father had done, and look where it had left him.
Broke and in debt.
He placed a hand against his topcoat to ensure his purse was still in his waistcoat pocket.
Although it held only a few coins he had found in his mother’s nightstand drawer—she had hidden blunt in a number of places throughout the townhouse—he intended to procure a few novels before he returned home.