Lady Match (Howertys #2.5)

Chapter 1: Past Life

London, England
December 3, 1817

Discussions with one's happily married sister often ended in misery. James Grafton, Viscount Gowthorpe, pondered this sentiment as he stood on the curb outside a pleasant enough looking townhouse in London. He loved his sister dearly, but she had a way of making him do things he didn't want to. Like visiting this address. There was nothing wrong with the house itself, he supposed. He just didn't particularly want to be there.

This was the address of one Lady Match, as the ton had affectionately dubbed her. His sister hadn't bothered to call her anything else, and now he realised that he probably should have asked. Would he really have to ask the butler to see Lady Match? They would laugh him out of the house. Then again, maybe that was a good thing. After all, he considered himself rather happily unmarried. Why change a winning concept?

Reminding himself of the reason he required a wife, as much as the idea didn't appeal to him, he steeled himself and walked up the few steps to the big, wooden door and knocked. A moment later a greying butler opened the door, and without a word, James handed over the simple, white calling card that his sister had given him. It only had two words printed on it: Lady Match. Supposedly that was the easiest way to get to see her. It also meant he didn't have to ask for her by name and feel like a fool.

The butler glanced down at the calling card and showed him inside. "This way, please. You may wait in the front parlour, and the lady will be with you shortly."

Left on his own in a feminine, light blue room, he wandered around aimlessly, looking at the painted landscapes hung on the walls and a few bouquets on a sideboard. Fingering one of the little cards attached to the flowers, he read a heartfelt thank you note from someone the matchmaker had assisted.

The sound of the door opening made him turn around, and as he caught sight of the woman who had just entered the room, he felt as if someone had punched him in the gut.

"Penelope?" he croaked. His chest tightened, as if something was squeezing it, and breathing was suddenly a chore. How long had it been? Nearly a decade.

Penelope Ward, Lady Mapleton, stared back at him, a look of shock on her face. The room was silent except for their breathing. Dressed in a simple day dress in a forest green he knew matched her eyes, she looked much the same as he remembered. As beautiful as ever.

The silence was deafening, and Penelope showed no signs of speaking. She could have just as easily have been a statue, as still as she was. Pulling himself together, he cleared his throat and took a tentative step closer. "Pe... Lady Mapleton?" he corrected himself.

For a moment her shoulders tensed and it looked like she might bolt out of the room, but she gave her head a little shake and then nodded towards him. "Lord Gowthorpe," she said coolly. "To what do I owe this... pleasure?"

There was no mistaking that she found this visit anything but pleasurable, and he couldn't blame her. He wasn't exactly enjoying it himself. He suddenly wished he'd bothered going home to change his clothes after last night's revelry. In some childish revolt, he'd agreed to see the matchmaker, but refused to make an effort. Shit!

"It would seem that I am in need of a wife, and I've been told that you are the person to talk to about such matters," he said, hoping she couldn't see his rioting emotions.

The answer seemed to surprise her. "You want a wife?"

Once upon a time, people had assumed she would be his wife. He pushed the thought away. "Want may be too strong of a word." He grimaced. "It has been implied by my sister that I'm getting on in years. I must beget an heir and all of that unpleasantness."