4. No Position, One Proposition #3
Relaxing into the squabs, Catherine took a shuddering breath.
She was on the verge of tears, doing her best not to break down in front of Eliza.
Could she abide living in the same house knowing her best friend and father were married and sharing a bed?
“I appreciate it. However, I do believe it’s time for me to find a new situation.
” She opened the gathers of her reticule and hefted her coin purse as she considered how she would proceed.
Land a position, preferably one involving books.
Arrange for a place to live.
Move out of Kingston House.
She was thinking of how she might keep her lady’s maid when a calling card appeared in front of her face. She glanced up to discover Eliza holding it out to her.
“Take it.”
Furrowing her brows, Catherine gingerly took the white pasteboard card between her thumb and forefinger and read it.
Mrs. Dove-Lyon
Matchmaker
9 Cleveland Row, St. James’s, Westminster
Glancing up, she regarded Eliza with a curious expression. “Why do you have this?”
Eliza lifted a shoulder. “She came highly recommended, but I didn’t think I could afford her services,” she replied. “And now that Mr. Kingston has proposed marriage, I don’t need them.”
Catherine couldn’t help but wince as her friend’s words confirmed that her father and her best friend were already betrothed.
They were going to be married.
Her gaze going back to the card, Catherine asked, “What makes you think I can afford Mrs. Dove-Lyon’s services?”
Eliza lifted a shoulder. “Mr. Kingston said you have a hefty dowry.”
Catherine scoffed softly. “I rather doubt five thousand pounds will be of interest to anyone.” As she said the amount, she noticed Eliza’s eyes widen as if in shock. For a moment, she felt embarrassment for the war widow. The pension Eliza received as an officer’s widow was apparently a pittance.
But she soon discovered that’s not why Eliza had reacted the way she had.
“Your father told me he has twenty thousand pounds set aside for you.”
Blinking several times, Catherine allowed her own shock to show. She knew her father’s business had been successful, but—
“He added your late mother’s marriage portion to yours when she died,” Eliza added.
Swallowing the sudden lump that had formed in her throat, Catherine took a steadying breath. “I… I didn’t know,” she admitted. And then, even though she had no intentions of following through, “How much does a matchmaker cost, do you suppose?” She was, of course, merely curious.
“Mrs. Dove-Lyon arranges for wealthy women to wed men with… with titles. Or other men of the ton,” Eliza explained. “I don’t believe she has a set fee.”
Catherine scoffed. “I’ve certainly no need of a man with a title,” she replied.
“Can you imagine how the tongues would wag in our literary society meetings? If we had our way, the aristocracy would be ended and the House of Commons would be Parliament,” she huffed.
“I won’t even remind you what I’ve said about the monarchy—”
“Please don’t,” Eliza begged. “I don’t want you to be arrested for… for treason.” Not particularly versed in matters of politics, she settled back in the squabs and nervously glanced out the window, as if she feared they had been overheard by a passerby.
Dipping her head, Catherine allowed a long sigh. “You needn’t worry about me. As for who I might find in the Marriage Mart… well, Father certainly isn’t part of the ton. He’s not an industrialist, nor is he considered a wealthy tradesman.”
“But you have a generous dowry,” Eliza reminded her. “He told me he’d put it aside for you years ago. Perhaps the original amount has gained interest.”
Having forgotten that a sum had been deposited in a trust account at the Bank of England prior to her departure for school, Catherine wondered exactly how much her father had set aside for her future. Eliza’s claim of twenty thousand pounds was far larger than she could have imagined.
No matter the amount, she had every intention of asking if he might make it available to her directly. If she should land a position, she would have the means to make her living and afford a decent place to live on the interest alone.
“As for this matchmaker,” she murmured. “I would think a wealthy woman would have no trouble landing a husband on her own,” she remarked.
“They wouldn’t if…” Here Eliza stopped and swallowed.
“If what?” Catherine prompted.
“If they were young enough, or not ruined, or—”
“I’m not ruined,” Catherine claimed.
Eliza dropped her gaze and her voice. “Or an older spinster, too clever for her own good.”
The words hung between them for several seconds as Catherine stared at her friend. Before she could think of how to respond, the coach stuttered to a halt in front of the Buxton townhouse.
“Good-bye, Cathy. Please don’t be angry with me. Or with your father. He only wants what’s best for you.”
Eliza was out of the coach a second later, throwing open the coach door in the coachman’s startled face and rushing over the area and into her townhouse before her butler could open the front door.
Exhaling on a sigh, Catherine directed her attention to the coachman who stood looking surprised, with the door still open. “Take me to the nearest bookseller or… or circulating library,” she ordered.
The older man seemed to consider her words for a moment before his expression brightened. “So… back to the Temple of the Muses it is, Miss Kingston.”
She managed a wan grin. The Temple of the Muses, indeed.