Chapter Twenty

This was Lady Roselyn’s favorite time of the evening. The kitchens were quiet, and the guests were busy getting to know one another. On the far side, a wall was devoted to a walk-in hearth, where lamb stew bubbled happily in an iron pot. A baking oven stood nearby, and pies cooled beneath an open window.

The fragrance of cinnamon, nutmeg, and cloves drifted through the air as Lady Roselyn broke off a corner of pie crust and popped it into her mouth. The butter-rich flavor was therapeutic. Chocolate would have been better, but it wasn’t available in thirteenth-century Europe. It would take a few hundred years for it to cross the Atlantic. First, Cortez had to discover it in the New World. He’d introduce it to the court. After his presentation, the one that began with Montezuma drinking it before he visited his harem and ended with the number of wives, concubines, and children Montezuma had, the court would declare chocolate a powerful aphrodisiac. The next step, quite predictably, was the decree that it was too dangerous for women to consume, which of course only made everyone want it more.

She sighed, wishing she had smuggled a dark chocolate bar with sea salt and caramel into her purse, but, as head matchmaker, she couldn’t break the rules. She dusted off her hands and turned toward Bridget. Her sister was attacking the dough as though it were the enemy.

“Something is wrong,” Bridget said. “I can feel it.”

Lady Roselyn reached for another piece of pie crust. “You worry too much.”

“Isn’t that what I should be saying to you?” Bridget rubbed more flour on the rolling pin and bent again over her task. “We’ve invited too many this time. The limit is five. We have seven.”

“You’re the one who kept adding sprinkles to everyone’s hot cocoa.”

Bridget wiped her forehead with the back of her hand, smudging flour over her face. “What was I supposed to do? You know the rules. I couldn’t refuse anyone, once Fiona suggested sprinkles to them. Besides, how was I to know that everyone who asked for them would also agree to the Matchmaker Tour? That’s never happened before.”

Lady Roselyn pinched off more crust. “Well, it’s happened now, and we’re going to have to live with it. All we have to do is get through the staged attack on the castle and the wedding later this evening. Are Caitlin and Angus ready?”

Bridget lined another pie plate with the newly rolled-out crust and filled it with sliced apples. “Define ready. Caitlin is threatening to call it off. When she participated in our kissing game, she sent a clear signal. She said Angus lied to her about his relationship with Julia. We don’t know if Caitlin was just trying to make Angus jealous or if this is the beginning of the end. Fiona is with her now, trying to repair the damage, but you know Fiona. If she has the slightest doubt of a couple’s love or commitment, she’ll persuade them to at least slow things down. She might even ask them to postpone the wedding. One more thing. Fiona and Liam aren’t speaking. Again.”

“Fabulous.” Lady Roselyn heaved a sigh. “Their arranged betrothal has been a problem since it was first announced. First things first. If we survive, we’re going to have to change how we select our couples, or at the least choose less volatile locations. There has to be a better way of selecting the groups, as well. Seven is too unwieldy. We can’t keep track of them all: they keep wandering off, or falling in and out of love. Why can’t everyone be more like Sean and Ann? Now, there’s a couple who understands what it takes to sustain a relationship. We need our happily-ever-after ending. We need a wedding. What are we going to do if there isn’t one?”

Bridget finished the lattice-work top on her pie, set it aside, and went over to the window to see if the pies there had cooled. “We could ask for an extension.”

Lady Roselyn heaved a sigh. “The enchantment on this castle doesn’t work that way.”

Bridget put her hands on her hips. “That’s odd. I could have sworn I made more pies. Three are missing.”