Chapter Three
Miss Ophelia Granger was simply the most bewitching creature Lucas had met in some time.
Hell, he did not dare look away for fear she might disappear into the air like glittering dust with a magical flourish like a fairy from a folk-tale.
He felt caught in the pull of a star in the light of day as he stared upon her.
Her golden hair glimmered in the soft light of the sun filtering through the carriage windows, and her bright blue eyes glowed the turquoise of a faraway sea.
Her features were petite and delicate, like the petals of a flower.
In short, the woman was stunning, and her view of a box of calling cards as a treasure intrigued him.
He cleared his throat, averting his gaze.
While his social skills were a bit rusty, even he knew he was being rude by staring at the poor woman without conversing with her, no matter how beautiful she was.
And the scent of her. He shifted on the squabs.
She smelled like sunshine and fresh flowers, wild ones, with no name.
If he took one of her blond curls to his nose, would it be like standing in a field of wildflowers with the sun streaming down upon him?
He took another greedy breath, uncertain if she was a fairy or an angel, or something in between.
It was going to be a painfully long ride home even though it was not far.
He hated small talk, especially with strangers.
And he found Miss Granger intriguing, but also rather baffling.
What woman of her age, as she couldn’t be more than four and twenty, was a proprietor of a matchmaking business?
While he had heard of marriage brokers and that their popularity was growing, he knew little of matchmakers.
But then he wasn’t exactly in the market for a match, was he?
With her, perhaps, he might be.
Agh.
The thought flew into his head before he had even felt it take root.
He batted it away and berated himself. He should have minded his own business, stayed in his carriage and gone home.
Involving himself in things that weren’t any of his business never led to anything good.
He looked up. But Miss Granger was so beautiful and unassuming, and all he had done was come to her aid.
He couldn’t possibly have just driven by and pretended nothing was amiss.
He simply wasn’t that kind of man, even now when he was still merely a shell of the man he once was.
Miss Granger cleared her throat. ‘I hope I did not interrupt your plans for the day, my lord.’
‘No,’ he replied, adding nothing else. Why was it so warm in here? And the space so small? He didn’t remember the carriage being such a tight fit, but of course he had not travelled with anyone in some time, especially not a woman he did not know.
Or a woman as beautiful as her.
‘Thank you again for offering me a ride home and for rescuing my reticule,’ she said.
He nodded and did something that felt like a smile, but he wasn’t entirely sure. It was too hot and uncomfortable in here for him to have much of an idea of what he was really doing.
It was also apparent that Miss Granger was not of the ton and did not typically reside in London. She was simply too kind and unassuming. The way she still clutched her reticule with her calling cards as if it contained the Pigot Diamond was endearing.
It was too bad he would never see her again.
‘I am visiting London with my friend, Miss Hastings, and staying with another dear friend, Hattie Sutherland, wife of William Sutherland, Duke of Wimberley, until the New Year,’ she offered unsolicited.
There was a challenge in the air with her mention of the Duke, but knowing Miss Granger had not even intended such in her statement, he nodded.
Lucas knew of the Duke of Wimberley. Everyone did.
Not only had the man’s first wife graced many a gossip sheet with her flagrant affairs before her untimely death, but His Grace had also created quite a stir by marrying his governess a few months ago.
A governess he’d tried to pass off as a noblewoman with breeding.
The whole charade had had London wagging their tongues for months.
‘And your matchmaking business? How exactly does that work?’ he rushed out awkwardly, bypassing all the pretty traps he could have stepped into by inquiring about the Duke of Wimberley. He also didn’t wish for her to inquire about him. The last thing he wanted to do was talk about himself.
She brightened and smiled, eager to share her knowledge, and Lucas settled back into the squabs.
‘Well, in simplest terms, I observe. I watch men and women interact in a variety of different settings over several days and meetings with others, and I can tell from how they look, touch and speak with one another who will best suit.’
‘You can match people by just…watching them?’ he asked, puzzled by her answer.
‘Yes, my lord. That is exactly how it works.’
‘You have been successful with such…endeavors? It sounds too simple.’
‘There is nothing simple about my skills of observation. Knowing what people want and desire in a match can be challenging. They must have compatibility in personality, interests and physicality.’
‘Who have you matched thus far?’ Despite himself, he was intrigued and curious. Could finding a match be so simple?
‘Well, I must admit most of my matches are from where I grew up in Stow, but I have of late moved into the realm of Society matches. My most recent success was Lady Daphne Buchanan’s betrothal to Lord Nathan Parks.
They are to be married in a few months.’ She beamed with pride, and he found himself drawn to ask more.
‘How are you different from marriage brokers then?’
She frowned. ‘I am not matching you based on your funds, titles and blood lines. Matches of that sort do not interest me in the least. I prefer love matches, my lord.’
Love matches? He suppressed a shiver of distaste. He remembered his last failed love match well.
Too well.
‘What had you out and about this morning before I interrupted your day, my lord?’ she asked, yanking him back from his bleak thoughts.
‘I shop…on Wednesdays.’
As the words left his lips, he realised he sounded like a dolt. Or a tad dimwitted. He tugged at his jacket sleeve in embarrassment. He feared he might burst into flames.
‘Only on Wednesdays?’ Miss Granger asked, her head tilting to the side, which made the tiny blue glass bobbles in her ears catch the light and twinkle.
‘I have found the stores are less frequented on Wednesdays.’
‘You do not enjoy meeting people?’ Her eyes widened.
‘Honestly? No.’
With that she laughed.
While he hadn’t intended his answer to be humorous, evidently it was.
He stifled a curse. How much longer could this ride be?
‘Such directness is quite enjoyable, my lord,’ Miss Granger added. ‘I think you and His Grace might get along quite well. I will be sure to mention to him your kindness when I return. Perhaps we could repay you with a dinner at Westchester Manor?’ She lifted her brow in expectation.
Trapped. He fought the urge to squirm against the squabs and curse aloud.
One did not turn down an invitation to dine with a duke, even if one did not like people or such social entanglements. Even though she most likely didn’t know it, in a few sentences, Miss Granger had expertly wedged him into a corner where he had only one play.
‘Yes, of course. It would be an honour to dine with His Grace, Miss Granger,’ he replied. He tried to make it seem like he meant it, but he wasn’t quite sure he had succeeded.
The carriage slowed and came to a stop.
Saints be praised.
If he’d spent another minute with her, who knew what else she might have talked him into?
Soon, Josiah opened the carriage door, helping Miss Granger to alight to the curb outside of the Duke of Wimberley’s townhouse.
Before Miss Granger stepped out, she turned to him. ‘Would you care to come in, my lord? I am sure His Grace would love to make your acquaintance.’
His chest constricted. ‘Unfortunately, I must decline. I have other plans.’
It was indeed a bold-faced lie. He never had plans. Ever.
Her gaze showed her doubt in his statement, but she did not challenge it. She smiled and nodded instead. For that, he was grateful. ‘Another time, then?’
He nodded. ‘Have a safe and pleasant evening, Miss Granger.’
He did not dare step out of the carriage although he knew he should have, but he feared she might drag him inside the Duke’s home with another well-placed invitation.
As it was, he felt stunned and a bit overwhelmed.
In the span of a single morning, he had visited the shops, chased a thief, shared a carriage with a woman he had never met and been caught in the pull of the star of one Miss Ophelia Granger, Matchmaker Extraordinaire.
Simply put, it was far too much for a hermit like him to endure.
He could hardly wait to be home.
Ophelia rolled her shoulders and thanked the driver before the carriage pulled away.
Fatigue from the strains of the day was setting in, but she knew she needed to muster some energy for her return.
No doubt Trudy and Daphne would have been worried about her.
She looked up at the grand Westchester Manor.
Even in the late morning sunshine, the townhouse looked regal with its intricate ironwork and ornate carved lions at the gate protecting the exclusive three-storied property.
She could not be happier to be staying here.
London had so many opportunities, and she planned to take advantage of all of them while she was here visiting.
She walked through the iron gate and up the steps to the dark front door, which contrasted with the stark white exterior stonework. She gently tried the door. Locked.
Blast. She suppressed the urge to stamp her foot again. Why must everything be so trying today?