The Matchmaker's Rogue Page 4

  Chapter Four

  Lark did not appear to be as impressed with Mr. Carroll’s Curiosities as Jess had hoped. To her mind, it was the most interesting of the shops. Of course, All the Colors of the Sea, owned by her friend Abigail Archer, was a close second. The neat white shop with its blue shutters and multipaned windows sat across High Street from Mr. Carroll’s, and Jess sometimes thought the dolls and automatons in his window looked longingly at the wonders in Abigail’s.

  Her friend was a talented artist. There wasn’t a home in the village that didn’t boast at least one of her watercolors. Jess had two of the larger pieces at the spa and two of the smaller ones at the cottage. And many a lady earned extra money for her family by offering homemade goods for the shop.

  Jess had imagined Mrs. Cole and her daughter going into raptures, and their reactions exceeded her expectations. She thought surely Lark would admire the intricate ironwork contributed by their blacksmith, Mr. Josephs. But he had been oddly quiet since they had left Mr. Carroll’s.

  Pulling the spotted painting smock off her slender, muslin-clad frame, Abigail sidled up to Jess as Mrs. Cole and her daughter debated the merits of two tatted collars. Her ginger-colored hair, held high to keep it out of the way of her work, winked red in the sunlight coming through the windows. “Isn’t he…” she started.

  Jess put a finger to her lips with one hand, then drew her friend further back among the paintings. “Yes, that’s Larkin Denby. He claims to be visiting the spa.”

  Abby’s green eyes lit. “Claims? Then you suspect he has another reason for returning. Oh, Jess, could it be you?”

  Time to squelch that rumor. “No.”

  Abby deflated, but she wasn’t defeated. Her coral-colored lips pouted a moment. “How can you be sure? You’re a matchmaker. I know you can spot love when you see it.”

  “I can spot interest when I see it,” Jess qualified, watching him wander through the shop. “And Mr. Denby’s interests do not lie with seeking a bride.”

  As if to prove it, he picked up a lace collar and scowled at it.

  Abby winced. “Mrs. Mance always prices her things too high. Excuse me.” She hurried to Lark’s side.

  Jess followed more slowly, but his voice carried in the quiet shop.

  “Hard to find French lace these days,” he was telling Abigail.

  “I concur, sir, but that isn’t French lace,” she corrected him. “That’s good English lace, fashioned into a keepsake by a good English lady. Something for your sweetheart, perhaps?”

  Jess tensed. Why? He had every right to find himself a sweetheart, even a wife. She could not understand why the shop was darkening. Had the sun gone behind a cloud?

  “I was thinking more of my sisters,” he answered. “But I do think they’d prefer French lace, if you have some.”

  Abby drew herself up. “We are at war, sir. You’ll find nothing French in this shop.”

  He inclined his head. “Forgive me.” He looked up and met Jess’s gaze. “Perhaps Miss Chance could suggest which of these to purchase. I have always held her opinion in the highest esteem.”

  Pleasure at his words pushed her forward before she could think better of it. “Something simple for Hester, I believe. Her daughter must be six now and keeping her mother busy.”

  His smile appeared, and the shop brightened. “She is six. I didn’t realize you kept up with my sisters.”

  “Well, it was only polite,” Jess demurred. “They come to the assemblies from time to time, after all.” And she had not asked questions about him. At least, no more than might be expected.

  “And what for Rosemary?” he asked.

  Jess studied the fine work before her. It was certainly easier than studying him. “She is ever the innovator. Something more intricate for her, perhaps.”

  “Excellent suggestions,” he said, selecting another. “I’ll take both, and one for my mother. Thank you, ladies.”

  He beamed all around, but his gaze lingered on Jess. Easy to allow herself to fall into it.

  Perhaps she led them through the rest of the village too quickly, for she found it difficult to catch her breath after that. Mrs. Cole and her daughter lingered before the display in the window at Beautiful Bonnets, run by Gladys Rinehart, and Jewels of the Shore, the jewelry shop run by Mr. Lawrence, the Corporation treasurer.

  Jess had to shoo them out of the linens and trimmings establishment run by the Misses Pierce with the promise they could return at any time. Of lesser interest was the apothecary shop belonging to Mr. Greer, though Lark spoke at some length with the Corporation president about sailing of all things. They all skimmed past the tailoring and haberdashery Mr. Treacle took such pride in. But Mr. Ellison’s bakery, where cinnamon vied with the sea to better scent the air, was a hit all around.

  When she finally led them back up the hill for the spa, everyone was carrying packages. But though the ladies Cole exclaimed over what they’d seen, Lark still looked pensive, and she could not seem to draw him out.

  “A traumatic childhood,” Maudie predicted when Jess mentioned the matter that evening as the family gathered for dinner. “Tormented by a stepfather who kept a pack of ravening hounds on the moor.”

  “And set them loose every full moon,” her brother agreed, grinning, “to savage the neighbors’ sheep.”

  Maudie nodded wisely. “It’s been known to happen.”

  “Nonsense,” Jess said, rising to clear away the dishes. “There is no stepfather. His widowed mother moved him and his sisters to Upper Grace when he was a youth to live with her brother.”

  Alex eyed her. “Told you all that already, did he?”

  Jess’s cheeks warmed. “This is his second visit to the spa. And I speak to his mother and sisters on occasion when they attend the assembly.”

  Maudie wiggled her grey brows. “His first visit was certainly memorable.”

  Jess raised her head, prepared to defend her actions, but Alex merely smiled. “In league with the mermaids?”

  “Trolls,” Maudie said. “I tell you, he’s a rogue, and he bears watching.”

  Jess sighed. “Rogue or not, I must find him something of greater interest here.”

  Alex swung his long legs off the bench. “I’ll tell you what interests me at the moment: a stroll in the moonlight after such a fine meal. Don’t wait up.” He snagged his coat from the hook by the door and sauntered out.

  Jess frowned after him. “Has he conceived a fancy for a young lady in town? I thought I saw him with the oldest Lawrence daughter last Sunday.”

  “She’s taken up with that recruiting officer,” Maudie replied, head tilted as if to watch for Alex’s shadow to pass the window. “It’s the uniform. All that red goes to a girl’s head.”

  Jess wasn’t so sure. More and more, her brother distanced himself. He hadn’t sought to apprentice himself to any of the village businesses. Though he’d learned to sail, she couldn’t see him making fishing his trade. Despite his actions at the moment, he was a gentleman.

  “Alex needs a purpose,” she told Maudie as she poured heated water from the kettle into her largest pot so she could wash the dishes. When her father was alive, they’d had a maid to do such work. Jess and Maudie’s salaries didn’t cover such luxuries now.

  “He should be a physician,” Maudie said, going to fetch a towel so she could help. “Every male Chance has been a physician: my grandfather, my father, my brother.”

  “I know.” Jess wiped the glass in her hand. “But we haven’t the money to send him for training, and there’s no physician in miles where he can apprentice. Besides, I’m not sure he wants to follow in Father’s footsteps.”

  “He could be a tragic poet,” Maudie offered, flicking the towel back and forth, eyes dreamy. “Writing of death and despair.”

  Jess wrinkled her nose. “I think there may be enough of that in the world already, Aunt.”

  “Not to my mind,” Maudie grumbled.

  “I’ll speak to him when he returns,” J
ess said.

  But Alex did not return before she was forced to put out her lamp and go to sleep. And he was still gone when she woke in the morning, so she could not be certain he had ever returned.

  Her guests at the spa were no more accommodating. Several of the bachelors had finished their visit and moved on. She had no new arrivals that morning. But the Regulars were fractious. It didn’t help that a misty rain had turned the day grey.

  “That is my seat from ten to noon,” Mr. Crabapple whined to Jess, his hair hanging more limp than usual around his narrow face. “Lord Featherstone and I have an agreement.” He nodded to where Lark was playing a game of chess against the baron at the board that sat near the fountain.

  “I’m sure Lord Featherstone is only being polite to a Newcomer,” Jess assured him. She leaned closer. “Besides, I see Mrs. Harding is all alone this morning, over there by the window. I’m sure she would enjoy your company.”

  Cheeks pinking, he cast a glance at the lovely widow, who was gazing out at the mist as if waiting for the right fellow to come along. “Do you think so?”

  “Faint heart never won fair lady,” Jess said with a jerk of her head in Mrs. Harding’s direction.

  Adjusting his cravat, Mr. Crabapple wandered closer. Mrs. Harding smiled in encouragement.

  If only it was that easy to direct Lark. He finished his game of chess, refused Maudie’s glass of spa water, and went to strike up a conversation with Admiral Walsey, another of their Regulars. Miss Cole’s gaze followed his every move. Her mother took her arm and dragged her over to talk with Mrs. Harding and Mr. Crabapple.

  Jess tried to busy herself with her other duties. Every month, the spa held at least one special event to entertain visitors and draw in more. The May Day Revels were over, but the Midsummer Masquerade in June required a great deal of coordination. She must make sure the Misses Pierce were ready to stitch costumes, Mr. Carroll had sufficient masks of various types in stock, and Mrs. Rinehart was willing to construct fanciful headwear. She must consult with Mr. and Mrs. Inchley, the grocers, and Mr. Ellison about refreshments; and Mr. Bent, the employment agency owner, about extra staff, including maids and valets to help their guests. Perhaps she could see that Alex and Mr. Lawrence’s daughter Patricia wore related costumes. A knight and his lady? That might bring the two closer. Lark wouldn’t need a costume. He wouldn’t be here that long.

  Why did that draw a sigh from her? She prided herself on maintaining an air of calm, civility, and congeniality at the spa. She could gauge the climate of the room like a mariner gauged the seas. Lark was a storm cloud on the horizon, promising wind, rain, an upset to conditions. She simply wasn’t sure what to do about it.

  ~~~

  Biding his time, cooling his heels, that was all Lark could do until Sunday night, when he would be watching the shore for this cargo Mr. Carroll had mentioned. He’d spoken with Greer yesterday. The apothecary might know something about sailing, but he was as upright as they came. Lark would have to consider the vicar tomorrow. He just needed to get through today.

  But Jess couldn’t seem to leave be. It was as if he offered some sort of challenge. He caught her watching him as he moved from group to group. As the afternoon went on, she offered him teacakes iced with lemon, a book on the geologic wonders of the area, and a telescope with which to peer into the misty rain to spy the cove below. She introduced him to every person who set foot in the door. She was trying to distract him, as if she herself wasn’t enough of a distraction.

  Mrs. Tully sidled up to him for the fourth time that day, and he readied himself to once again refuse the hideous spa water.

  “Blonde, brunette, raven, or red-head?” she demanded.

  Lark tried not to frown at her. “I beg your pardon?”

  She fluttered her lashes. “Grey, then. But I must warn you, young man, that my heart is already taken.”

  So, that was her gambit. Lark bowed to her with a smile. “Alas, madam, I will have to content myself with disappointment.”

  She drew herself up. “I never said anything about the rest of me.”

  Lord Featherstone was approaching, and Lark reached out to grab the baron’s hand, feeling as if he clutched a lifeline. “My lord, how are you? I was just going for a stroll about the room. Join me?”

  “If you wish,” Lord Featherstone said, smile bemused.

  Mrs. Tully huffed as they started off.

  “I take it company is already wearing thin,” the older man said, nodding as they passed Mrs. Cole and her daughter. The girl smiled at Lark. Her mother turned her toward the fountain, as if to admire the smooth white stone.

  “The spa guests are a varied lot,” Lark temporized. “But I expected something different.”

  “Ah.” Lord Featherstone clasped his hands behind his back as they passed the great clock. “And what sort of activity do you pursue when you are in your own society?”

  Best not to offer too much information. On the other hand, perhaps he could learn something. “I’m an avid boater.”

  Lord Featherstone sighed. “I had a lovely ketch on the Thames. She sank. Rot.”

  They came around the welcome desk. Jess had left her post to prepare tea. The cart didn’t so much as squeak as she rolled it up to Mrs. Harding now.

  The silver-haired lord cast him a glance. “Are you interested in travel, Mr. Denby? Perhaps to a foreign shore?”

  A foreign shore? During a time of war? Lark’s heart leaped, but he refused to give away his eagerness. Could he have been wrong about Mr. Carroll? Could he be speaking to the Lord of the Smugglers even now? While Lord Featherstone seemed too old to cause such trouble, his witty conversation said he might be clever enough to have orchestrated it.

  “Sounds intriguing,” Lark said. “What did you have in mind?”

  “Allow me to make inquiries,” he said in his smooth voice as they passed Jess and steam from the teapot made a heart around her pretty face. “I should know more in a day or so.”

  “When the moon is dark,” Lark guessed.

  Featherstone’s smile committed to nothing. “Just so.” He stopped beside the fountain. “Thank you for an informative stroll, Mr. Denby. I shall not monopolize you further.”

  Lark inclined his head, and the aristocrat moved on. But he watched as the fellow spoke to this person and that, always moving closer to where Jess was pouring tea.

  Lord Featherstone paused beside her, back partially to Lark. Around the fellow, he could just make out some of Jess’s soft curls swaying, as if she was nodding her head.

  Once again, warning bells rang. Could Jess oversee the smuggling? She knew every visitor, so she could choose ones who would carry goods deeper into the country. She had lived in this village her entire life and clearly knew everyone.

  Yet, at the idea that Jess might be involved, his heart rebelled. Why? Was he still so taken with her? She’d been the first lady who’d ever fascinated him, the one who had stayed in his thoughts the longest. But he had steadfastly refused to consider courting until he no longer held a position that endangered his life. A wife should have some expectation that her husband would come home to her.

  And Commissioner Franklin had some expectation of Lark’s success. He must remain focused. Sunday evening could not come soon enough.

  Chapter Five

  Jess put Lark from her mind long enough to corner her brother when he joined her and Maudie for dinner Saturday evening, after the spa had closed for the day. But their discussion was no more fruitful, and Alex ended up heading out for a stroll.

  Maudie shook her head. “Silly time to go for a walk. The trolls won’t be up until moonrise. And the mermaids are picnicking at the Durdle Door tonight.”

  The sweeping stone arch of the Durdle Door just down the coast was certainly picturesque, so she could almost see mermaids making a point of visiting. But she’d have given a great deal to know who Alex was visiting on his evening rambles.

  For a moment, she considered following him. She had a da
rk winter cloak, still hanging on its hook near the door for all she wouldn’t have to wear it for months. Easy enough to scamper from shadow to shadow. When she was a girl, she and Abigail used to pretend they were pirates, dashing about among the racks of drying nets along the shore, whacking at imaginary foes with wooden swords. Her father had taught her to sail his ketch, allowed her to wear trousers under her skirts so she could move easily about the craft.

  But she’d put aside that adventurous girl the year she’d come out, the year she’d met Lark. She was a lady now. She had a reputation to protect. And with Alex and Maudie’s support resting on her salary, nothing was more important than keeping her job.

  Besides, how much trouble could Alex get into at Grace-by-the-Sea?

  Enough that he could not be bothered to rise for church Sunday morning. Jess called up to him twice and even climbed the ladder to poke her head into the loft. Tucked into the back of the cliff, with no windows, the rear half of the low room was dark, but enough light came from the small, round window at either end that she could see the pallet and mound of quilts and blankets that held her brother.

  “Services start in an hour,” she informed him.

  A hand popped up from the crumpled mass. “Give my regards to the vicar.”

  Lips pressed tight, she climbed back down.

  “Even the trolls attend services,” Maudie grumbled as they walked up the hill toward the church, and Jess did not have the heart to ask her where they sat.

  While Mr. Wingate prayed for the parish, the region, and the nation, she prayed for Alex and patience. She was not his mother. Her only right, if she could call it that, to ordering him about was that she supplied his room and board. She could not feel comfortable using that as an excuse to meddle in his affairs.

  Yet even as she prayed about the matter, she felt as if a gaze was on her, like a butterfly hovering. She turned to find Lark seated on the other side of the narrow aisle. The dark wood box pews had always seemed warm and welcoming to her, but all at once her breath came easier. She smiled. He smiled. She turned to face the cross, surer of herself than when she’d entered.