Kate looked over at her in surprise. “Miss Worthington?” she repeated slowly.
“Yes, Miss Worthington may be a bluestocking, but she is also clever and quick-witted,” Hannah smiled, “exactly what Martin asked for.”
Kate opened her mouth then closed it. Finally, she said, “That all may be true, but Miss Worthington is rather unfortunate looking.”
“That is terrible of you to say,” Hannah exclaimed. “She may have a larger than normal head size, but the rest of her is entirely proportional.”
Reaching for a file on the table, Kate opened it and suggested, “I was thinking more along the lines of Lady Emma Brooksbank or Miss Deborah Sanders, both of whom are accomplished women.”
“Those could work, as well,” Hannah reluctantly admitted.
Martin bobbed his head. “I’m not opposed to either of those ladies, but I would prefer to start with Lady Emma. I am friends with her brother, Lord Charles, and have seen her on a few occasions.”
Hannah was displeased by his enthusiastic response, and she attempted to keep a frown off her lips. It didn’t matter to her who he wed. He had no interest in pursuing her and never would. So why did her heart ache at the thought of him being with someone else?
Kate’s voice broke through her musings. “Did you hear me, Hannah?”
“Pardon?” she asked, bringing her gaze back up.
An understanding smile came to her sister’s lips. “I see you were woolgathering.”
“I was,” she admitted.
Martin chuckled. “Is finding me a bride that boring?”
“It isn’t,” she replied.
Kate closed the file and placed it down in front of her. “As I was saying, Lady Emma will most likely be in attendance at Lady Bowers’ ball tomorrow evening. We shall make the introduction to Martin at that time.”
“That is a splendid idea,” Hannah agreed, clasping her hands in her lap.
Martin smiled at them. “I cannot thank both of you enough for your assistance on this most urgent matter.”
“You don’t have to keep thanking us,” Kate replied. “We are happy to help.” She turned her attention towards her sister. “Aren’t we, Hannah?”
Hannah brought a smile to her lips and hoped her words sounded convincing enough. “That is what friends are for.”
Martin watched her with a curious expression before he rose. “If you will excuse me, I would like to speak to Edward before I depart.”
“Of course,” Kate said, rising. “Would you like me to escort you to the study?”
“That would be wonderful,” Martin replied.
After they departed, Hannah leaned back against the settee and let out a loud, unladylike huff. Why had she agreed to this madness in the first place? She was trying to marry off the man she’d loved since she was a child.
Hannah stared up at the ceiling. Somehow, she needed to get her heart disengaged from Martin, and quickly. She couldn’t keep going on as she had.
Martin sat at his desk and attempted to work, but his mind kept returning to Hannah. It shouldn’t bother him that she was interested in matrimony, but, frankly, he found it rather disconcerting, and he couldn’t fathom why.
Hannah was a beautiful young woman, and he had no doubt that men would be lining up to court her. But she was still an innocent, in so many ways. He felt an overwhelming need to protect her from the rakes and fortune hunters who would try to take advantage of her.
Not that Hannah would be willing to let him help her, because for some peculiar reason she seemed to be at odds with him. He wasn’t quite sure why that was, either, but her emotions were not easily hidden on her face. She had always been more reserved around him, but lately she had been standing her ground more often. He smiled at that thought. He found he preferred this side of Hannah.
His father’s voice broke through his musings. “Why are you smiling like a blasted fool?” he asked gruffly from the doorway.
“Nothing that would concern you,” Martin replied as he wiped the smile off his face.
His father stepped further into the room. “I’ve just come from the House of Lords and have heard some distressing news.”
“Which is?”
“Apparently, my son has employed a matchmaker to help him find a bride this Season.”
Martin leaned back in his chair. “That is true.”
“Are you mad, son?” his father asked as he stopped in front of the desk.
“I assure you that I am perfectly sane.”
His father shook his head. “What will Lady Isabella think upon hearing the news that you have sought out a matchmaker rather than offer for her at once?”
“It is not my concern.”
“This scheme of yours will not work, and you will be wed to Lady Isabella at the end of the month.”
Martin frowned. “It’s not a scheme,” he assured his father. “You agreed that I had a month to find my own bride.”
“Do you truly expect to find a bride in such a short time?”
“I do.”
His father harrumphed. “You are a blasted fool, then.”
“I prefer the term optimistic,” Martin joked.
“Women of our station only care about security, not love,” his father argued. “They will put aside their feelings to marry for titles and positions.”
“Not every woman is like that.”
“No?” his father huffed. “Then you have been deceived.”
Martin rose from his chair and walked over to the drink cart. “I am not the first person to employ a matchmaker, you know.”
“Yes, I am fully aware of Lady Berkshire and her meddling sisters.”
“They do not meddle.” He picked up the decanter and poured two drinks. “They have arranged advantageous marriages for many of their clients.”
“I believe they saved the best marriages for themselves,” his father remarked dryly.
“Pardon?”
His father walked over and picked up one of the glasses. “One married a duke and the other a marquess.”
“That is just a coincidence.”
“I wouldn’t be so sure.”
“The Blackmore sisters do not have a conniving bone in their bodies,” Martin asserted.
His father took a sip of his drink. “If you say so, but I am not so
