“Just like that, you think you can actually fill the house with prospective grooms?”
“Of course.”
He didn’t like the way she said that with such supreme confidence. Especially since his mother was rarely wrong when it came to predicting the whims of the ton.
Still, perhaps she was mistaken. There was one very important fact she wasn’t considering. “And who will come? The Season has barely begun. I can’t imagine now that everyone has settled back in Town, they will feel inclined to come back out to the country.”
“Never fear,” Lady Finch said. “When word gets out that your father and I are hosting a matchmaker’s ball, London will empty. Besides, it isn’t all that great of a distance to come here.”
He knew only too well his mother was right— everyone and anyone who could afford a fast carriage would come down to Kent for such an evening. Not just prospective grooms, but marriage-minded mothers and their flocks of daughters as well, for where there were eligible men, mamas and debutantes were never far behind.
He decided to try another tack. “Have you thought that Miss Smythe may be viewed as merely a curiosity in this sideshow? Really, what mother would want to see her daughter bartered off in this fashion. ’Tis unseemly.”
Even as he said the words, he knew he was defeated, for the knowing look on his mother’s face said what Jemmy should have known.
A married daughter is a fine sight better than a spinster, no matter how she finds her way to the altar.
But he wasn’t about to give up. Not yet. He still had a few more arguments to present. After all, it had been a long afternoon pacing about the gatehouse, waiting for his mother and Miss Smythe to return.
“Have you considered that Miss Smythe doesn’t want to be wed?”
His mother’s gaze rolled toward the ceiling, as if she were considering whether he was truly her son. “Jemmy, despite your aversion to matrimony, it is not the same for young ladies. Every girl wants to be married.”
He shook his head. “But I think Miss Smythe may have misunderstood Esme’s intentions, and if that is the case, marrying her off in this fashion would be a terrible miscarriage of justice.”
“Harrumph!” Her snort of disbelief went well beyond her usual derision.
Jemmy persisted, even against his own better sense. “Besides, how will the village’s reputation be served if it gets out that an innocent young lady was carted before the parson against her will? Not only that, her father may have a thing or two to say if his slip of a daughter is married off without his consent.”
There, he had finally found a way out of this for Miss Smythe. Perhaps her innocent age would serve her well.
His mother didn’t look all that defeated. “She is five and twenty and therefore quite able to make a marriage without her father’s consent.”
His mouth fell open. “She’s that old?” It left him a little unnerved that his mother seemed to know his Miss Smythe better than he did.
But she’s not your Miss Smythe, remember?
“Really, Jemmy,” she began, “it matters not how the bargain was wrought, only that it was made. You know that as well as anyone else.”
The finality of her words might have cast a pall over any remaining arguments. But he wasn’t his mother’s progeny for nothing.
“I don’t believe Smythe is her real name,” he said, hoping his conspiratorial tone added to Miss Smythe’s already mysterious background.
“Uh-hum” was all his mother murmured as she continued fussing over her various lists.
“We can’t have Esme pawning her off on some unsuspecting fellow and discover she’s mad as a hatter and poisoned two previous husbands before her arrival here.”
At this, his mother set down her pen and stared at him as if he were the one gone round the bend. She let out a patient breath. “Jemmy, really, I don’t know where you get these notions. Miss Smythe has the Bath manners of a gently bred young lady from a good family. And why she’s left the shelter and protection of her relations is her reason and hers alone, but it is up to us to see her wed quickly and her good reputation secured.” His mother straightened her papers and then looked him squarely in the eye. “If you believe a fraud has taken place, prove it. However, until then—”
“A bargain is a bargain,” he said, repeating the village’s fateful promise.
Jemmy knew it was entirely inappropriate, but after spending an hour dodging the staff and his mother, he made his way up to Miss Smythe’s room and knocked on the door.
There was no answer.
“Miss Smythe?” he said softly. “ ’Tis me, Mr. Reyburn.” H
e had to keep his voice down for her room was dangerously close to his mother’s chambers. “Miss Smythe? Are you in there? I must speak to you.”