Free A Matchmaking Miss by Joan Overfield Page B

so much as a drop," he assured her, the solemn tone in his voice at odds with the twinkle in his eyes. "They allow nothing more innocuous than a rather disgusting punch and some stale biscuits. I was quite cast down, I assure you."
    "Heavens, even our local assemblies offer better fare than that!" Matty exclaimed, shaking her head in amazement. "The good ladies of the neighborhood have even been known to offer chilled champagne punch," she added in a confiding whisper. "But only for very
special
occasions, mind."
    "Indeed?" He raised a dark eyebrow in mock outrage. "I'm not certain I hold with such wicked dissipation. Perhaps I should return to the city before I am thoroughly corrupted."
    Matty thought it was probably years too late for that, but she was far too polite to say so. Not that she really considered him dissipated, she mused, raising her glass to her lips; it was merely that despite his surface charm there was an air of world-weariness about him, an underlying hardness that was undeniable. In that, he was not unlike his friend, she added silently, her eyes straying to the marquess.
    Since their encounter in the study he'd changed into a dark blue evening jacket and a pair of buff breeches, and she had to admit he looked far better in his own clothes than in Lord Frederick's borrowed finery. In the flickering candlelight his hair gleamed like polished mahogany, and his green eyes were frosted with silver highlights.
    He was not precisely a handsome man, she decided, her eyes lingering on the harsh planes of his face, but he was attractive, if one was fond of the domineering, masculine sort. Then there was the title to be considered. That alone would make him as an Adonis to many ladies, and she didn't have the slightest doubt that she would have him married off by summer's end.
    As she dressed for dinner she had brooded over what she'd said to the marchioness, and she concluded that, as usual, she was right. Kirkswood, both the estate and its master, was in sore need of a mistress, but
not
, she'd decided with a shudder, Lady Bettina. If that witch was an example of the type of female he favored, then she'd simply see to the matter herself. Admittedly, the prospect of finding him a suitable bride was more than a little daunting, but Matty didn't see that she had a choice. The future of Kirkswood was too important to leave to chance.
    What sort of bride would he require? she wondered, her brow knitting in thought. Someone beautiful, of course, and well-born, and given the condition of the estate it wouldn't hurt if she was also well-dowered. The first thing she'd do would be to consult
Debrett's Peerage
and begin making up a list of suitable candidates. It was a pity the seasonwas only just starting, and most of the debs would be in London, but perhaps she —
    "Miss Stone?" Mr. Fitzsimmons's voice recalled her to the present, and she glanced up to find him studying her with obvious concern. "Are you ready to adjourn to the drawing room?"
    Realizing he must have been addressing her for some time, Matty hid her embarrassment behind a cool smile. "Certainly, Mr. Fitzsimmons," she said calmly, laying her napkin beside her plate and turning to the marchioness. "My lady?"
    Looking amused, Lady Louisa said nothing about her companion's rather odd behavior. "Gentlemen, we shall leave you to enjoy your brandy," she said, rising to her feet with a gracious smile. "Please feel free to join us when you are done."
    A few minutes later she settled behind the teapot in the drawing room, her expression speculative as she handed Matty a cup. "Well, Stone, and what do you mean sitting at the table staring off into space like a moonling? I was quite concerned."
    Matty blushed at her employer's accurate description. "I beg pardon, my lady," she said earnestly, "but I was . . . thinking."
    "That much I gathered," Louisa replied gently, "but what were you thinking of? Theestate?"
    Matty took a sip of tea. "In a manner of speaking," she