The Matchmaker's Rogue Read online

  “Mr. Denby?” she persisted in that soft, lilting voice. “Might I be of assistance?”

  He smiled at her. “I believe you may, Miss Chance. I’m staying at the Mermaid for a few days, and I find myself wondering what to do for entertainment.”

  “It depends on what you find entertaining.”

  Said in such a disarming tone, he should not hear iron beneath the words, yet he did. She was being polite but letting him know she expected him to respond in kind. This was no time for coy comments, teasing remarks. She was no longer the young lady looking for companionship to while away the summer.

  He inclined his head. “I meant no disrespect. But Grace-by-the-Sea always appears to be one of those quiet little villages where all seems placid, peaceful on the surface. I wonder whether there could be a current below.”

  “I believe it’s called an undertow,” she said with a bright smile. “And you will find none of that here. Grace-by-the-Sea is as sheltered as our cove. There hasn’t been a murder in the area in more than sixty years, and our magistrate, Mr. Howland, hasn’t had an offense worthy of holding over for the Assizes during his five-year tenure. I fear if you crave excitement, you shouldn’t have returned.”

  He shared that fear, but he could only hope she was mistaken, for his future, the future of the village, and likely the future of the nation depended on there being something very wrong at Grace-by-the-Sea.

  And it was his job to prove it.

  Chapter Two

  Jess kept her smile polite from long practice, but her insides boiled. How dare he intimate that something nefarious was going on at Grace-by-the-Sea! Their village was extremely well run and orderly. Neighbor helped neighbor; families supported one another. Mr. Wingate preached mercy and charity, and his sermons bore obvious fruit. Certainly the Spa Corporation would have it no other way. Visitors did not flock to spas where they felt threatened.

  Despite her efforts, her outrage must have leaked through, for Lark bowed to her. “Forgive me, Miss Chance. I never meant to impugn your fair village. And I would be the last to encourage anything criminal. I will not monopolize you further. If you would be so kind as to introduce me to the gentleman standing by the hearth, I will leave you to your other duties.”

  Introductions she could manage. She knew every visitor, each merchant who catered to them, and all families in the village. But she could not help thinking that Lark had found a convenient way to excuse himself from her company and any unwanted questions. Perhaps that was why she was suddenly quite keen to ask.

  Over the next while, she looked for her opportunity. But it soon became apparent she wasn’t the only one interested in the Newcomer.

  “And what can you tell us about Mr. Denby?” Miss Montgomery, the eldest sister, asked over tea that afternoon.

  Jess handed her a snowy white porcelain cup of the steaming brew from the wheeled teacart she or Maudie generally rolled from chair to chair. “His family lives nearby, a mother and two sisters.”

  “I think he’s an equerry for a noble house,” the other Miss Montgomery said knowingly. She reached for the cup Jess had poured for her. “He’s here to determine whether his master will find the spa amusing.”

  Her sister nodded thoughtfully, but Jess could not agree. Lark had seemed destined for something important, something grand. An equerry hardly qualified. She hurried Maudie on to the next set of chairs before her aunt could ask questions.

  But others were as eager to comment.

  “Interesting fellow, this Denby,” Lord Featherstone said as Jess poured the Regular his daily dose of the waters from the stone fountain later that afternoon. Lord Featherstone had been coming to the spa since she was a girl. Until Lark had returned, he had been the most likely to turn heads, with his tall frame, chiseled features, and charming address. Now he accepted the crystal glass with a deep bow, as if she were a great lady and not his impoverished hostess. Then he took a sip of the warm mineral water and managed to look as if he enjoyed it.

  “Why do you call him interesting?” Jess asked.

  The silver-haired lord smiled. “Because he asks more questions than he answers. A good listener is rare around here.”

  Jess followed his gaze to where Lark was even now conversing with one of their other Regulars, Mr. Warfield Crabapple. Mr. Crabapple was his usual animated self, long arms waving about as he attempted to make his point. She’d always wondered how he could be so limber when he claimed to suffer from rheumatism. Perhaps it was the effect of the waters.

  “Besides,” Lord Featherstone murmured beside her, “I seem to recall seeing him here before. Some time ago, before the Winsome Widow arrived.”

  As if she had overhead his nickname for her, Mrs. Eugennia Harding laughed from her place near the windows. Her auburn hair piled up high, her considerable curves nestled in one of the wicker chairs, the Regular was holding court with a number of eligible bachelors, as she had so often in the last three summers she’d been coming to the spa.

  “This is not Mr. Denby’s first visit,” Jess confirmed. “But he should not be considered a Regular.”

  Lord Featherstone stuck out his lower lip. “Pity.”

  Pity indeed. She’d had so much hope for him. She’d been eighteen, the first summer she’d been considered out, when she’d met Lark and fallen top over toes. His smile had been the air she’d breathed, his every word to be held close, considered, like some gem that had fallen into the lap of the fashionable gowns she had been determined to wear. His calm farewell had proven that he hadn’t been nearly so affected.

  “Thank you for everything this summer, Jesslyn,” he’d said with that charming smile. “I’ll be heading out for greater things shortly. I’m sure we’ll see each other again.”

  She’d hung onto those words through the fall and winter, then the longer spring and summer that followed. But he had never returned to the spa, and she’d finally convinced herself that it had been merely a youthful infatuation.

  When she truly fell in love, she’d thought she would do better partnered with a studious, self-effacing gentleman with an agreeable nature. But when such a gentleman had arrived at the spa, his stuttering courtship had left her strangely ill-at-ease. And then there was Walter Vincent.

  “Is something the matter, Miss Chance?” Lord Featherstone asked, and she realized she’d been woolgathering.

  “No, not at all,” she said brightly.

  His puzzled frown did not leave his face. “Then why do I have the feeling you are about to seize up a sword and cleave someone in twain?”

  Jess laughed. “Come now, my lord, you know me better than that.”

  “I do,” he agreed, frown easing. “And I admit to being on occasion in awe.”

  “How kind of you to say so,” she replied, but she moved away before she betrayed herself her further.

  Her aunt was not so easy to dissuade.

  “I have determined why Mr. Denby seems so out of place at the spa,” she confided that night at dinner in their little cottage near the shore. Built from stone, it was tucked into the cliffside so that ivy grew over the roof and trailed down the sides.

  Alex looked up from his portion of the fish stew Jess had kept simmering over the fire while she’d been up at the spa. “Mr. Denby? Do I know him?”

  “No,” Jess replied with a quelling look to Maudie. “He’s a Newcomer.”

  Maudie didn’t seem to notice the look. “I believe,” she said, drawing herself up on the bench she shared with Jess, “that he is a French spy.”

  Jess sighed, but her brother raised his tawny head. Already nearly a foot taller than she was, he was swiftly becoming a man, though he seemed to be taking his own time deciding how to pursue his future.

  “When did he arrive?” he asked eagerly, yanking a hunk from the loaf of bread she’d bought from the baker, Mr. Ellison.

  “Do not encourage her,” Jess warned him.

  Alex looked abashed, but Maudie answered readily enough. “Earlier today. Why?
”

  Alex dipped his bread in his stew and gave it a wave, dripping some back onto the porcelain plate. “Spies arrive at night. Everyone knows that.”

  “Indeed,” Jess replied, setting down her own spoon. “And did you learn that from the tutoring the Vicar Mr. Wingate gave you?”

  Alex colored. “No, not exactly. But it stands to good reason. They’re spies. We’re at war. They aren’t going to row into the cove in broad daylight and sashay into the spa.”

  Maudie slumped over her dinner. “No, I suppose not.”

  Jess almost felt sorry for her. Not enough to wish Lark was truly a French spy, of course. But Maudlyn could be, well, rather maudlin. She’d fallen in love and married a sailor before Jess was born. Mr. Tully had gone to sea and failed to return, and Maudie had never been right afterward, Jess’s father had said. If her fancies sustained her, who was Jess to question them?

  Her brother obviously felt the same way, for he reached across the table and patted their aunt’s hand. “Never you fear, Aunt. We’ll make sure no Frenchies land on our shore.”

  “Intending to fight them off, are you two?” Jess asked with a fond smile.

  Alex pulled back his hand and raised his head. “If I must. You and Aunt have had to work too hard for our family, Jess. I’ll be taking my turn soon.”

  She nodded encouragement, but she couldn’t help thinking he and Maddie were both a pair of dreamers. She’d been that way once too. Thank goodness she had more sense now.

  ~~~

  She had hoped Lark would decide the spa too peaceful for his tastes, but he was waiting for her and Maudie when they arrived the next morning. So was Mrs. Greer, wife of the Spa Corporation president, and her footman, and a full quarter hour before the spa was supposed to open. Only Lark looked apologetic.

  “I’m sure Miss Chance did not intend to leave our guests standing about,” Mrs. Greer simpered to Lark as Jess let them all in.

  “I would gladly wait an eternity for a moment with Miss Chance,” he assured her.

  Jess nearly rolled her eyes, but Maudie seized Lark’s arm and dragged him toward the wall clock, as if it held all the secrets of the world. Her aunt knew how challenging Mrs. Greer could be. The lady was lean and angular, and she appeared even taller by virtue of the fact that she held her head high. A shame her opinion of herself was even higher still.

  Now she nodded for her footman to lay down the thick packet of pamphlets he held.

  “What made Mr. Denby decide to visit us?” she asked Jess. “He doesn’t seem ill.”

  “So everyone has noticed,” Jess replied, fanning the pamphlets in a pleasing pattern on the desktop. The woman rewrote them at least monthly. Jess had tried to explain that most of the guests simply threw them away, but Mrs. Greer had ordered her to retrieve them from the rubbish bin as if they contained original Shakespearean sonnets instead of rather uninspiring instructions.

  “And you have not asked?” Mrs. Greer pulled in air through her equine nose as if gathering a sufficient supply to blow the spa down. “I am certain, Miss Chance, that my husband has explained the importance of representing the spa in the best possible light. If a guest comes here for entertainment, you must determine how to acquaint him with such. If he is unwell, you must ensure he receives the treatment he needs. How can you know what the guests require if you do not enquire?”

  “Perhaps you’d like to ask him,” Jess said, smiling. Her father had always said her smile was so sweet it attracted bees. “Just to show me how it’s done, of course.”

  Mrs. Greer eyed her as if she suspected Jess was going to stick out her tongue behind the lady’s back or do something equally impertinent. “No,” she said at last. “You are the one being paid to perform your duties. I cannot imagine it will require much effort in his case. Such a handsome young man with a ready address is likely here to visit one of the important families.”

  Now Jess felt the sting. Once her family had been one of the important ones. “He hasn’t mentioned them,” she murmured, dropping her gaze.

  “He may not feel the need to confide,” Mrs. Greer replied. “You must make yourself ask. A woman in your position must be confident, Miss Chance. You may be a spinster, but you can still converse sensibly with the gentlemen clients. Here, now, see what you’ve done!”

  Jess glanced down to find that she had crushed one of the pamphlets in her hand. “How silly of me,” she said, smoothing it out. “I’ll be sure to question him this very day. Was there anything else you needed, Mrs. Greer?”

  “Only to remind you that you must send an invitation to our neighbors about the assemblies. I would not want the Howlands at the Castle or Lord Peverell at the Lodge to think we had slighted them. And don’t forget our dashing naval hero recuperating in Dove Cottage.”

  Mrs. Greer and her husband took great pride in the town’s connections. A shame they hadn’t noticed how thin those connections were. The mighty Howlands avoided their ruin of a castle; the only family member who lived in the area was their steward and the local magistrate, James Howland. The Peverells brought their own entertainments when they visited their lodge on the opposite headland, and they disdained to interact with the citizenry or the spa guests. And as for Captain St. Claire, he rarely stirred from his little cottage on the road out of town. In Jess’s mind, they were all Newcomers, just like Lark. But then, Mrs. Greer had lived all her life in Grace-by-the-Sea, and she had never met the requirements in Jess’s mind of a Regular.

  ~~~

  Lark winced as the older woman shook a finger in Jess’s pretty face. For a moment, he was quite glad he’d come to question the men instead of the women. He was considering a way to require Jess’s rescue—falling into the fountain? Tripping over a chair?—when the woman swept from the spa. He could feel Jess’s sigh all the way across the room.

  Then he realized he was the only one in such a position. The spa was still empty of guests. Her aunt had pushed one of the wicker chairs behind the fountain and was napping, head tilted so that her grey curls squashed against the shoulders of her black gown. Jess moved closer to check on her, smile fond. Then she turned, long fingers skimming the collection of glasses stocked near the fountain as if she was counting them to determine whether she had an adequate supply. She must have seen his look, for she left off her counting to join him.

  “The others will be here shortly,” she promised with a smile. Today she was dressed in a fetching gown of blue trimmed in white that reminded him of the white-capped waves on the Channel. “Many of our visitors arrive around ten.”

  So he had her to himself for a few moments. “Perhaps you can answer some questions in the meantime.”

  “I’d be delighted,” she replied, golden lashes fluttering. “And perhaps I might ask you some as well.”

  She could not suspect him. “Certainly,” he said. “Tell me, how many people generally visit Grace-by-the-Sea over the summer these days?”

  “Between a hundred and twice that,” she replied.

  “Still mostly older people?” he guessed.

  She cocked her head as if considering the matter, and light from the windows shimmered along her hair. “I would say those established in their fortunes or professions are most able to afford a stay of a month or more.”

  People with that level of income did not generally turn to smuggling. He’d come to uncover a wolf, and all he could find were contented sheep!

  “And what of my peers?” he asked.

  Her mouth quirked, as if she found his question amusing. “Why, Mr. Denby, I thought you were without peer.”

  Was she flirting? His smile grew at the thought. But no, surely not. That face was all innocence. “You are too kind,” he replied. “But you did not answer my question.”

  She tapped her chin with one finger. “Let me see. Your peer. Your height and build, do you mean? Or your vocation? Forgive me, but I don’t believe you mentioned what profession you ended up pursuing.”

  For good reason. “I perform a m
inor service for the government,” he said.

  Her eyes widened as if he’d shocked her, and her hand fell. “What sort of service?”

  “Copying papers, making reports, tabulating activities,” he temporized. He did have to make two copies of his riding book, which documented his work each day, and provide one to the Riding Surveyor over his area.

  Still, she looked surprised. “You left for adventure and advancement and became a clerk?”

  Adventure he had seen, though not so much advancement. He’d made a small contribution to the war effort while in Kent, but if he could uncover who was trafficking with the French to pass information about England and its defenses, he would count himself a success.

  “I have done well enough,” he demurred. “And what of the gentlemen who spend their time out-of-doors, say sailing? I saw more than one ketch in the cove.”

  “You likely saw fishing vessels,” she explained. “We still have a ketch, but the only people who currently sail for pleasure are Mr. Wingate and Mr. Greer, the President of our Corporation.”

  He found it difficult to consider a vicar a smuggler, and, if Greer was anything like his wife, he wouldn’t have soiled his hands with the work required to run a successful smuggling operation. Still, he’d seen stranger smugglers in his day.

  Not Jess, of course. He’d watched her yesterday, flitting from group to group, individual to individual, and always leaving them looking happier than when she’d arrived. She tended the spa like a lady might tend her roses. Surely if there was the least hint of a weed in her garden, she would be the first to root it out.

  Or had she only suspected? Did she too wonder about someone in the village? What secrets might lurk behind the blue expanse of her eyes?

  He leaned closer. “Tell me, Miss Chance. Is there anyone in the area you find particularly intriguing?”

  She pursed her lips, and he had to force his eyes away from the soft pink mouth. “At the moment,” she said with her disarming sweetness, “I am most intrigued by you.”