“What is right to be done cannot be done too soon.”
Jane Austen, Emma
Briar had known that it was only a matter of time before Ainsley found out about the challenge. It was one thing to find a bride for a wealthy earl. But a rake? Well, that was a different matter entirely, and one in which the eldest of the Bourne sisters would never approve.
Unfortunately, what had begun as a quiet brook of rumors, carrying in new applicants after the evening at the opera, was now a tidal wave of gawkers, more interested in hearing gossip than in becoming clients.
“What is Lord Edgemont looking for in a bride, precisely?” Miss Carrigan asked, following Ainsley down the hall.
In the process of carrying a tray to the parlor, Briar suddenly stopped, the cups and saucers clattering together. Ainsley stopped, too.
Turning slowly, her gaze flitted past Miss Carrigan and trained on Briar with an archer’s accuracy.
“So it’s true, then?”
Only four words, but they dropped like stones, weighted by disappointment. Apparently, Ainsley had heard the rumor before now, but must have given Briar the benefit of the doubt. Which made admitting it all the more difficult.
“It was a matter of upholding our family’s honor,” Briar said with a tense smile, not really believing her excuse. Especially when it was her own blunder that had tarnished it in the first place.
Ainsley crossed her arms, her dark brows lifted, mouth tight. “And? Any progress?”
Briar swallowed and adjusted her grip on the tray, which had suddenly become inordinately heavy. “Not exactly.”
She highly doubted Ainsley would be thrilled to learn about the lessons. Or the fact that Briar might have accidentally begun falling in love with the object of the challenge. And that, every time she thought about finding a woman Nicholas couldn’t resist, she felt a primal urge to club any potential candidates over the head with a candlestick. Which really did not bode well for the completion of her task, or for the future legendary status of the Bourne Matrimonial Agency.
Ainsley strode past her and stepped into the parlor. “If any debutante is here to fill out an application solely for Lord Edgemont, I’m sorry to say that he is not a client of ours, and as far as I am aware, not looking for a wife.”
The flood of gawkers, Miss Carrigan included, left in a wave of disgruntled murmurs, leaving a sea of crumbs and empty teacups in their wake.
Ainsley walked back to her office and closed the door, without uttering another word.
Jacinda, a little late to the party and looking more peaked than ever, leaned against her doorframe. “What was all that about?”
“I’ve made a mess of things again,” Briar said, setting the tray down on the demilune table nearest her.
Mrs. Teasdale stepped out of the parlor with her latest knitting mystery thrown over her shoulder like a royal train. “But you make a fine cup of tea, dear. Not everyone can.”
Briar nodded, knowing that it was said with the best of intentions and trying not to feel defeated.
“It’ll all turn out in the—” Jacinda abruptly put a hand over her stomach, clutching the green muslin as a sheen of perspiration gathered on her face.
“I think you should sit down, or perhaps lie down. You look as though you might become ill.”
Jacinda closed her eyes, resting her forehead against the plaster wall. “If the past four days have taught me anything, there is no might. Only when.”
“Make your sister a cuppa with plenty of sugar.”
“Jacinda doesn’t like sugar,” Briar said to Mrs. Teasdale, already pouring the strong brew into a fresh cup.
“That may be true,” Mrs. Teasdale said, clucking her tongue fondly, “but the babe’ll like it sweet, mark my words.”
“The ba—” Briar and Jacinda said in unison, eyes wide.
Seconds later, Ainsley shot out of the connecting office, hands over her mouth, eyes glistening. “Is it true?”
Jacinda looked down slowly, the hand over her midriff no longer clenched but splayed protectively. “It is possible, I suppose. But Crispin and I have not been married very long at all.”
As Jacinda blushed, her ears turning pink, Briar nipped off a chunk of sugar and stirred it into the tea. “Here. Try this.”
“Why is everyone standing in the corridor? Is something amiss?” Uncle Ernest asked, coming out of his office and tucking a letter inside his coat pocket.
“We’re watching Jacinda drink her tea,” Mrs. Teasdale answered smugly, practically daring Uncle Ernest to ask another question, just so that she could state the obvious. They had not yet warmed to each other. But there was always hope. “Why it’s as plain as the nose on a mayfly’s face. Anyone could see that’s what we’re doing.”
Then again, perhaps not.
Jacinda took several hearty gulps, waited a moment as it settled. Then she sighed, her mouth curling up at the corners. “I do like it sweet, after all. Briar, you brew a fine pot, indeed. But now, I beg that you will all excuse me, for I am going across town to see my husband.”
Before she left, she pressed a quick kiss to everyone’s cheek.
* * *
By the end of the day, after the Duke of Rydstrom had worn a hole in the rug outside his wife’s bedchamber, the doctor confirmed the suspicion. A baby was due in the new year.
Briar was going to be an aunt! She heard the happy report just before she went with Uncle Ernest to the Duchess of Holliford’s weekly dinner.
“Your mother would have been so proud to see her daughters grow into such fine, accomplished young women,” Uncle Ernest said from inside the carriage, still wearing the same pleased smile he’d had since they learned of Jacinda’s upcoming arrival. He patted Briar’s hand. “You’ve each put so much of yourselves into our little endeavor. And what fine luck we’ve had . . .”
Briar could have argued that her own efforts had all failed thus far, but she kept that reminder to herself. She decided to use her failures to fuel her purpose. After all, she still had hope for Temperance, and Daniel, and she hadn’t given up on Mrs. Teasdale and her son yet either.
But then there was Nicholas, she thought, conflicted. What was she going to do about him?
Each time she imagined introducing him to the other half of his soul, the woman whom he would love for all the days of his life, Briar did not feel an overwhelming sense of rightness. There were no waves of pure joy rushing through her veins. Instead, she felt as if a volcano rumbled inside her, scorching and sulfuric, acid climbing up her throat.
The violence of her feelings alarmed her. How could she commit to finding him a bride when every part of her railed against it? When every part of her wanted him for herself?
Oh dear. She gulped to soothe her suddenly dry throat.
“You’ve never once lost sight of your goal,” Uncle Ernest continued, unaware of how he’d just contradicted the turbulent thoughts of his youngest niece, “to ensure the happiness of others, when it was just out of reach for her.”
Briar knew from her mother’s ordeal that choosing the wrong man—a man who could not love her in return—would only lead to misery.
She refused to let her own heart make the same mistake.
The only answer to her conundrum was to stop falling for Nicholas. At once.
After all, to him, she was nothing more than the matchmaker who was going to find spouses for his cousins, and their bargain was nothing more than a diversion. He’d said as much. His rule from the beginning was not to fall in love with him. He’d even told her that he was a man who could never love her in return.
Therefore, she would tuck these dreamy thoughts of him away. Immediately. In addition, she would limit her contact with him, keeping him out of sight, the same way she did with comfits to stop herself from devouring them all. It was all a simple matter of self-control, really.
Briar nodded to herself firmly. And by the time they reached the duchess’s townhouse, everything was settled in her mind.
Or at least she thought it was, until Uncle Ernest handed her down to the pavement. “Ah, I believe that’s Edgemont’s carriage coming up now. He must be joining us this evening.”
Startled, Briar turned to see the familiar glossy black carriage with gold coronets on the corners, and her efforts quickly fell asunder. Her stomach fluttered. Her heart—not to be outdone by an inferior organ—kicked in a few additional beats and swelled to push out all the air from her lungs.
It was too soon. She hadn’t even fully accepted the fact that she’d been falling in love with him, let alone had time to build up a good defense against those wayward emotions.
Knowing that her uncle would wait for Nicholas, she said, “I’ll go on ahead and . . . um . . . escape this inclement weather.”
With her gloved fingers, she fanned herself as if believing there would be a reprieve from the heat inside where there was no breeze at all. Thankfully, her uncle said nothing to contradict her.
She just needed a few moments to prepare herself. Once inside with her hostess, she hoped they would begin a perfectly mundane conversation that had absolutely nothing to do with matters of the heart.
But Briar was not so fortunate.
“How is your husband hunt proceeding, my dear?” the duchess asked, welcoming her with a fond smile.
“P-pardon, Your Grace?”
“For your friend, Miss Prescott.”
“Oh, of course.” Briar expelled a breath and gratefully accepted a glass of lemonade from a footman. “It is progressing, but slower than I had hoped. From what I understand, she toured the museum with a gentleman this week. Though she did not offer the particulars, she was quite pleased in her missive.”
Briar was certain to hear more about the gentleman later, during a time when they could chat freely. And perhaps when her own thoughts weren’t quite so muddled.
Then, as if her eyes were comprised of metal flecks and Nicholas was a powerful magnet, her gaze darted to the door just as he appeared. And worse, he looked terribly dashing and completely kissable. Bother.
“Splendid. And what of Mr. Prescott?”
“I had hoped for better results,” Briar said distractedly. “In truth, I do not know if I have done anything productive, other than attempt to lessen his shyness.”
“And what of Lord Edgemont? Were you able to entice him into becoming a client? I heard a rumor that you accepted a challenge of the sort.” The duchess tsked, but there was a fond twinkle in her eyes as that very man came to her side.
Nicholas bussed the duchess’s cheek with a kiss, then inclined his head to Briar, his dark gaze gleaming warmly, hinting at intimate knowledge. “Pray, do not let me interrupt. You were saying, Miss Bourne?”
All at once, Briar’s thoughts were flooded with memories of their carriage encounter. She’d been wholly wanton, and must have told him not to stop at least a dozen times. And he, she thought in a rush of heated tingles, had deliciously obliged her.
Briar took a long swallow, attempting to cool her thoughts. After all, it was time to face the truth, not to reminisce. She would have the rest of her Nicholas-less life to do that.
Resolved, she squared her shoulders. “At first, I was arrogant enough to believe that I could find him an irresistible bride. Someone with whom he could spend the rest of his life in contentment.”
“And now?” the duchess asked.
“Well, during our brief acquaintance, he has never once indicated a desire for such a match. And unless he suddenly displays some miraculous change of heart, I fear my hands are tied. So the challenge will not be met.”
There. She’d said it, confronting the unguarded fondness that had forced her hand, as well as the bitter agony of failure. She did this all without letting her voice dip a fraction in disappointment or releasing the forlorn sigh that was trapped inside her heart. In fact, she sounded rather worldly, even to her own ears. And Jacinda thinks she is the better actress. Ha.
If Briar’s audience only knew, they would be applauding and throwing roses at her feet.
The duchess looked to him and clucked her tongue. “You are still unwilling to consider what it would be like to have a wife and family around you?”
Nicholas held Briar’s gaze for a moment, his irises turning from rakish ebony to that velvety cocoa she’d grown so fond of recently. Too fond, she reminded herself.
Then he turned to the duchess. “I’m afraid Miss Bourne is correct. And if the most romantic of all matchmakers cannot convince me to take a wife, I’m afraid no one can.”
And that was the most important lesson of all.