Priscilla swallowed. The last thing she wanted was to sit here and exchange pleasantries for half an hour with Miss Ashbrooke, but at least her guest would do most of the talking.
“Miss Ashbrooke,” she said, curtsying. “If I had indeed gone to town with my mother, then I would not have been here for you to find me. What a shame that would have been.”
“Very pretty, but hardly beside the point now, is it?” Miss Ashbrooke said breezily, laying down her spencer jacket and bonnet on a table. “And where are all your servants? It was a good thing I tried the door, for otherwise –”
“Miss Priscilla?” A face peered around the door, nervous eyes and a wide mouth open in surprise at seeing Miss Ashbrooke.
“Ah, Mrs. Busby,” Priscilla said with relief. “You have returned, and not a moment too soon. Miss Ashbrooke has just arrived, and we –”
“We require cake, and a good deal amount of tea,” Miss Ashbrooke interrupted, moving across the drawing room and seating herself without being invited. “Thank you.”
Mrs. Busby looked instinctively at Priscilla, who nodded wearily. It was going to be a tiresome visit, but even Miss Ashbrooke would not be so rude and stay beyond the socially acceptable half an hour.
“Your health, my dear? Is it good?”
Priscilla lowered herself slowly onto the settee opposite Miss Ashbrooke.
“Yes, thank you,” she said quietly. “And how are –”
“Oh, yes, I am very well,” Miss Ashbrooke said with a smile. “It does me a world of good, you know, to see all my charges find happy matches. I am working on another, which I truly think will bring great joy to both families. I am always in desperate need of ladies, of course – never enough ladies in town! When I met this Miss, who I shall not name until all is agreed, I said to myself, Theodosia, you must find…”
Priscilla found it easier just to nod and smile rather than attempt to partake in the conversation. Miss Ashbrooke, probably the best-known matchmaker in London, was usually a sufficient conversationalist all by herself.
“Ah, and here is the tea,” Priscilla said after a five-minute monologue from her guest. “Thank you, Mrs. Busby.”
Priscilla smiled at Mrs. Busby, who hovered, waiting to ensure all was as it should be.
“You do not look well, Miss Seton,” she said decidedly as Priscilla poured the tea. “Not well at all, if you do not mind me saying so.”
Priscilla smiled. “Not at all, Miss Ashbrooke. Cake?”
Their encounter in Morgan and Fenning’s had taught her one thing, at least. Miss Ashbrooke had a sweet tooth, and she was at least momentarily distracted by the delicious treats now available to her.
Her guest’s hand hovered between the fruit cake and the millefruit biscuits, eventually choosing to put both onto her plate.
“Thank you, Miss Seton, and Mrs. Busby.”
The housekeeper glanced at Priscilla, who smiled and nodded. The servant scuttled out of the room, evidently desperate to no longer be of any notice.
Priscilla took a bite of her own fruit cake, relieved that cake consumption at the very least would slow down Miss Ashbrooke’s tongue.
But it was not to be.
“You know, I have enjoyed the beginning of this Season most prodigiously, have you not?” Miss Ashbrooke swallowed a mouthful of cake and did not wait for Priscilla to answer before continuing, “Though I must admit myself disappointed, Miss Seton. I missed you at the Debutantes Ball, and I do not believe I saw you at the Axwick ball, either, nor Almack’s last week. Why are you not at every ball?”
Priscilla smiled wanly. “My dear Miss Ashbrooke, you cannot surely expect every lady to attend every ball?”
Miss Ashbrooke put her plate down. “And why on earth not? Your youthful years, Miss Seton, are finite and ever disappearing. There is no better time to seek out a husband than today, now – unless, of course, you already have a gentleman in mind?”
“Of course not.”
Miss Ashbrooke laughed. “Now, it is not my remit to prise out secrets from the hearts of ladies, but if you would be grateful for my help, then, of course, all your mother has to do is have a quiet word in my ear…”
Her voice trailed away as she looked eagerly at the platter of cake.
“Please, help yourself,” Priscilla said with a repressed smile, one which broadened as her guest fell eagerly on the sweet things.
Miss Ashbrooke, society’s matchmaker. Well, it could not be denied that she was excellent at it, her particular skills of nosiness, ease of inserting herself into other people’s business, and an eye for attraction all coming together to make her a very successful matchmaker.
Why, for the last few years, almost all weddings announced had included that delicate little missive, with thanks to Miss Theodosia Ashbrooke.
“I suppose it was that awful cold you had that prevented you from attending?”
“Yes,” said Priscilla, falling on the ready-made excuse. “Yes, I had a cold. It was very chilly at the ball, was it not?”
At last, neutral conversation. She was not sure she could survive much longer on endless discussions about her future marriage.
“Yes, I understand now, Miss Seton,” said Miss Ashbrooke in a knowing way. “Much harder to attract a gentleman if one’s nose is all red.”
Priscilla was tempted, not for the first time, to ask Miss Ashbrooke whether there was anything else in her head other than matchmaking. Really, it appeared that nothing else ever occurred to her. What did she do when there was no one seeking her services?
But the thought faded quickly. There was no real harm in Miss Ashbrooke. She was like one of those maidenly aunts one was forced to visit as a child. Plenty of cake, plenty of discomforting conversation, but no real harm in her.
Priscilla’s gaze took in the matchmaker properly for the first time. Now that she came to look at her, Miss Ashbrooke was probably only a few years older than herself.
“There is no point in
