The rules of matchmaking, p.1
The Rules of Matchmaking, page 1
THE RULES OF MATCHMAKING
THE RULES OF MATCHMAKING
CASTLES & COURTSHIP
REBECCA CONNOLLY
Copyright © 2023 by Rebecca Connolly
www.rebeccaconnolly.com
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
To Miss Rebecca Clare, my most fabulous and beautiful goddaughter. May you find yourself a friend as eerily crazy and witty as your mom and I did, and may you grow to be the perfect combo of sweet and salty. You’re my only hope.
And to you. May your life be far less complicated than mine. (Name that movie!)
CONTENTS
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Epilogue
Next in the Castles & Courtship Series
The Castles & Courtship Series
About the Author
CHAPTER ONE
“Jane, darling, I have a proposition for you.”
Those were not words that were welcome to any of the relations of Anne-Marie Richards, let alone the one to whom they were addressed, but Jane Richards knew better than to ignore her elderly aunt under any circumstances. Her cousin Phillip had done so once and found that his favorite horse at her estate had been sold off before his next visit.
Jane did not have a favorite horse, nor a favorite painting, book, or mattress within the control of Aunt Anne-Marie, but she would not put it past the woman to find some way to make Jane pay, should she ignore the summons.
Thus, she must reply.
Sighing as silently as possible, for no sigh would ever be deemed acceptable as a response, Jane turned towards the room she had hoped to pass unnoticed and forced a would-be fond smile on her lips. She was truly fond of her aunt, just not her summons.
The details were important.
“A proposition, Aunt?” she asked in a tone she hoped would pass for intrigued.
Aunt Anne-Marie, aged somewhere between seventy-three and one hundred four, raised an impertinent brow, her wrinkled lips pursing in a manner that showed the exact inner line of her lip paint. “I saw the pause in your step, young lady. There is no need to be so hesitant to respond to my words. I am not about to suggest you become my companion while I await the arrival of my deathbed.”
It was a task indeed for Jane not to show abject relief upon her features at those words, though she could not say she had feared that particular situation. Ought she begin to fear it in the future?
Jane moved more fully into the room and stood herself before her aunt, clasping her fingers in what she prayed was an elegant fashion before her. “No, Aunt. I am sorry.” She paused for the distinction between statements, wet her lips, and smiled further. “What is the proposition?”
“A house party, dear.” Her aunt’s painted lips curved to one side, pulling the skin opposite tight enough to smooth her lines. “In the Cotswolds.”
Was that something about which Jane ought to be excited? She knew nothing about the Cotswolds, other than that they existed, and was not immediately aware of any particular members of Society who called that place home. But Jane generally enjoyed house parties, so there was at least one element about the proposition that would hold amusement for her.
Wait.
The proposition was from her aunt, not from an invitation.
A house party with her ancient and unpredictably vindictive aunt. In the Cotswolds. Where she knew nothing and no one.
This sounded rather like the plot of a particularly garish novel of fiction where a ghastly murder took place under suspicious circumstances.
Jane made a mental note to write a revealing entry in her diary the moment this interlude with her aunt was concluded.
“Your reaction is hardly encouraging,” the aunt in question said in a flat voice. “To what do you object?”
“Nothing,” Jane replied quickly, though it was impossible to remove the hesitation from her voice entirely.
Aunt Anne-Marie made an attempt to raise a single brow at the remark, but only succeeded in adding a notable strain to her features before cocking her head to make it seem as though one brow rose above the other. “And yet . . .”
Jane said nothing at first, uncertain as to what she could safely say.
“I know you adore house parties, child,” her aunt reminded her. “Last year, you went to Hampshire to visit that flowery estate. The one your friend Harwood insisted you come to. And you always attend Harwood’s dreadful soirees at Battensay every year. So if it is not the prospect of a house party, what is it?”
“I do not know the Cotswolds,” Jane admitted finally. “Nor anyone who lives there.”
“You think so,” her aunt corrected, wagging a wrinkled and ring-laden finger at her. “But how many members of Society have country houses, the location of which you actually know?”
That was a valid point, much as Jane hated to admit it, and she moved to a chair in the room, sitting to endure what was destined to be a lengthy explanation of why she ought to look forward to this occasion.
“Where are the Cotswolds?” she asked her aunt, the question sounding ignorant even to her own ears.
Aunt Anne-Marie rolled her eyes, sputtering. “Janet Catherine Rose, are you telling me you do not know the geography of your own homeland? What sort of education and accomplishment did you even receive?”
Jane winced at the horrid use of her full name, as all individuals must. She hated being named Janet, which was why she had always been Jane, but when her family was particularly displeased with her, Janet came out, and her defense of whatever had occurred vanished into thin air.
She could not argue with anyone when she was Janet.
“I will study the Atlas in Father’s library from the moment I get home until the day we leave,” Jane assured her, not entirely apologizing, but contrite all the same.
Aunt Anne-Marie huffed, but looked slightly less put out than before. “It is in part of the Midlands, if you must know. Gloucestershire and Oxfordshire, mostly, though I don’t believe it is restricted to them alone. Lovely area. Rich history. You ought to study that as well.”
“Yes, Aunt.” There was no point in refuting her claims at this point, so Jane would simply be biddable and indulgent. So long as her aunt did not find her patronizing, it would work out beautifully.
“Do you not wish to know who is hosting this soiree I wish you to attend?” her aunt asked, her tone turning particularly imperious.
Jane blinked at her. “If you think it will help.”
Aunt Anne-Marie sputtered again in the way that only elderly ladies were permitted to. “Well, do you want to accompany me now? Without knowing who is hosting?”
Not particularly, Jane thought to herself, biting the inside of her lip to keep from expressing any such thing. “I would certainly consider the idea.”
“Would?”
“Am,” Jane corrected quickly. “I am considering the idea.”
Her aunt did not believe her, and that was evident. Still, she was not about to take it back. There was nothing Aunt Anne-Marie detested so much as taking things back.
She considered it spineless, and nothing was more intolerable than spinelessness.
But anyone with a spine in her presence had a battle to end the world on their hands.
What was between spinelessness and the reverse? That was where Jane needed to be.
“Lord Cavernaugh is hosting,” Aunt Anne-Marie told her with a faint sniff. “And his mother.”
“The dowager Lady Cavernaugh?”
Aunt Anne-Marie rolled her eyes again. “If there is no wife to Lord Cavernaugh, which would create a second Lady Cavernaugh, then there can be no dowager Lady Cavernaugh. Honestly, Jane, do you know nothing?”
“Apparently,” Jane muttered before she could stop herself. “She’s old, Aunt. How can she not be a dowager?”
“Watch yourself, Janet,” her aunt shot back. “Age is relative.”
Jane held up her hands in surrender. “Of course. But if Lady Cavernaugh is of a certain age, how is it that . . .?”
“A woman’s age is no indication of her bachelor son’s willingness to wed!” Aunt Anne-Marie groaned, rubbing at her brow. “I should have invited Alexandrina to join me.”
Now that was a laughable idea. Alexandrina was recovering from the loss of her dreadful husband and dealing with the fallout from such a loss, which meant she was in no state to go anywhere with their provoking aunt, and she had not been in good humor for many years, so it would have been a dreadful idea to take Alexandrina anywhere.
Aunt Anne-Marie knew that all too well, which meant she was simply grasping at straws in exasperation.
A strange tingle began at the back of Jane’s neck, and she barely avoided attempting to crack her neck at its sensation. She cocked her head slightly, eyes narrowing at her scheming aunt. “Are you trying to match me with Lord Cavernaugh, Aunt?”
Her aunt scoffed dramatically. “Of course not. The man is as dim-witted as a pigeon and lacks the ability to say anything of the remotest interest to anyone who does not fixate on the subject of horse racing, horse breeding, or gambling on either of the aforementioned subjects.”
“How exactly does one gamble on horse breeding?” Jane wondered aloud, folding her arms.
That was summarily ignored by her aunt. “Enough hemming and hawing,” she snapped, waving her hands. “The house party is in two weeks. Will you come with me?”
Jane pursed her lips, now surveying her aunt carefully. “What is in a house party for you, Aunt?”
Aunt Anne-Marie mirrored her expression, her own lips pressing forward in apparent thought. “Lady Cavernaugh is an old friend, and she has invited me. I have it on good authority that other friends will also be attending, and spending time in the countryside of the Cotswolds sounds like bliss at my age.”
The argument was losing its speed, Jane could tell, which meant she would have to commit to one side of it rather soon.
Truth be told, she liked spending time with this particular aunt. She spoke freely and maintained her dignity in the midst of it, though she might bruise a few individuals in her wake. But she was surprisingly gentle and generous when she needed to be, and Jane knew that she had sent a supportive letter to Alexandrina after the death of Lord Lawson, as well as a significant donation of funds.
No matter how the woman bristled, she was in possession of a warm heart and family devotion.
As well as a very acute and sharp sense of humor.
There were worse companions for a house party.
“I would be happy to attend with you, Aunt,” Jane finally told the woman with a smile. “It sounds like it could be an amusing and worthwhile enterprise for us both.”
Aunt Anne-Marie smiled broadly and with real delight, which was enough for Jane to feel reinforced in her decision. Who knew how many true smiles her aged aunt would have left in her life? She was in good health and as hearty as she had ever been, but after a certain age, the slightest chill could take a person down without warning.
Jane could not risk disappointing her with that possibility hanging over them.
“Marvelous!” Aunt Anne-Marie exclaimed, her wrinkled visage creasing with the force of her smile. “I heard from Lady Cavernaugh that there will be at least a dozen eligible bachelors in attendance, so you will have your chance at any of them. And your silly friend, Lord Harwood, won’t be there, so you will not have him as a distraction or excuse. But so help me, if you try and make a boring match of convenience to shut me up, I will make your life miserable, Janet.”
There was nothing surprising in that statement. In fact, Jane had expected it, to be honest. The addition of excluding a convenient match was a trifle surprising, but Jane’s family had always had feelings about feelings being involved in their matches. Love matches were not expected, but any marriage had to be one of affection and respect, if nothing else.
Jane was not yet at an age where marriage was of ultimate concern, nor was her fortune something to sniff at. But there was very little for a young woman to do in her life but make a match, so it was always a topic of conversation when one was old enough to warrant such.
It would have been useless to refuse to entertain the idea of making a match at this house party, so she said nothing.
She did, however, roll her eyes.
“Mm-hmm,” her aunt said when she caught sight of it. “So long as we know where we both stand, my dear.”
Jane folded her arms. “Are you going to be harping on me about matches the entire time, Aunt? I will warn you: I have learned from your venerable example. I will match you to any suitable gentlemen of relative age who are in attendance.”
Aunt Anne-Marie barked a rasping, throaty laugh. “What in the world would marriage do for a woman like me? Not to mention everything attractive is withered and shriveled, apart from my fortune.”
“I did not need to know that,” Jane announced, making a face.
“And I’ve already been married once,” her aunt went on. “I have a son. I’m independently wealthy from him and enjoy the widowhood life. You go right ahead and match me with an elderly gentleman close to death, but nothing will come of it but some short-lived entertainment.”
Jane grunted once. “For me or for you? Or for him?”
Anne-Marie shrugged. “Perhaps all of us, depending on the man. I’ve had vast amounts of entertainment in my life from surprising and unexpected sources.”
This was unbearable, and Jane covered her face with her hand, torn between laughter and exasperation. “Aunt . . .”
“But I digress,” her aunt said on a sigh. “The point of the matter is that we may now prepare for attending the house party hosted by the delightful Cavernaughs at Dewbury Castle.”
Jane blinked, forcing herself to swallow the cough of surprise that rose. “Castle?” she managed to repeat.
Her aunt sniffed very faintly. “Did I neglect to mention that? Oh, how silly of me. Yes, the Cavernaughs’ country estate is a castle. Quite a masterpiece of architecture and design, if you are interested in that sort of thing. Thirty guest bedrooms in one wing alone, and the grounds are immaculate. I believe there is even a set of ancient ruins somewhere, which I have no doubt will be utilized for some sort of romantic entanglements. Delphine will not be pleased unless there are at least three matches made from her party, and would be positively delighted if one of them were scandalous. Don’t be that one, Janet. We are not so desperate, and you are not so silly.”
There was nothing else to do but throw up her hands and leave the room, which Jane did in that moment. She had endured a great many schemes at the hands of Aunt Anne-Marie over the years, but this one was reaching for new heights. Or plumbing deeper depths. Whichever seemed the most appropriate.
Jane’s father had always preferred Anne-Marie to the wives of his other brothers, and even to his own sister Catherine. She spoke freely and took the trouble to be involved in the lives of her nieces and nephews, which were plenty. Her husband had passed several years ago, but she had not let widowhood remove her from the Richards family fold.
She had never been the favorite aunt of the children growing up—more for her intimidating ways and no-nonsense manner than anything else—but she had always been respected, or feared.
It was only in adulthood that Jane and her cousins had grown to truly appreciate the dry wit and extraordinary antics of this woman. She was excellent company, if one could withstand occasional barbs of raw honesty. She saw both people and situations clearly, her understanding and foresight one of near brilliance.
But she had also forced Jane, specifically, into excruciating dinner sets with bores for partners, into singing duets with far superior vocalists, into parlor games she detested, and so on—whatever awkward and moderately embarrassing situations arose. It seemed that Jane was her favorite pawn in some social chess game for her own amusement.
Perhaps she knew that Jane recovered from embarrassment and awkwardness easily. Perhaps she knew that Jane would not hold a grudge for such things. Perhaps she wanted Jane to be more independent of her own volition.
Perhaps she was simply bored, and Jane was a convenient option for entertainment.
Whatever her reasoning, whatever her thought, Jane had grown accustomed to being her aunt’s favorite, for better or worse. Most of the time worse.
But a house party at a castle in the Cotswolds? That was certainly a new endeavor on Anne-Marie’s part. She had never once shown interest in participating in social activities outside of London and had frequently complained against all such things. She had adamantly refused to engage in them, turning down invitations from even the highest families. The only thing to get her out of London, she’d always said, were her grandchildren in the countryside and family Christmases in Hampshire.
