Catherine scoffed softly. “I rather doubt five thousand pounds will be of interest to anyone.” As she said the amount, she noticed Eliza’s eyes widen as if in shock. For a moment, she felt embarrassment for the war widow. The pension Eliza received as an officer’s widow was apparently a pittance.
But she soon discovered that’s not why Eliza had reacted the way she had.
“Your father told me he has twenty thousand pounds set aside for you.”
Blinking several times, Catherine allowed her own shock to show. She knew her father’s business had been successful, but—
“He added your late mother’s marriage portion to yours when she died,” Eliza added.
Swallowing the sudden lump that had formed in her throat, Catherine took a steadying breath. “I… I didn’t know,” she admitted. And then, even though she had no intentions of following through, “How much does a matchmaker cost, do you suppose?” She was, of course, merely curious.
“Mrs. Dove-Lyon arranges for wealthy women to wed men with… with titles. Or other men of theton,” Eliza explained. “I don’t believe she has a set fee.”
Catherine scoffed. “I’ve certainly no need of a man with atitle,” she replied. “Can you imagine how the tongues would wag in our literary society meetings? If we had our way, the aristocracy would be ended and the House of Commons wouldbeParliament,” she huffed. “I won’t even remind you what I’ve said about the monarchy—”
“Please don’t,” Eliza begged. “I don’t want you to be arrested for… for treason.” Not particularly versed in matters of politics, she settled back in the squabs and nervously glanced out the window, as if she feared they had been overheard by a passerby.
Dipping her head, Catherine allowed a long sigh. “You needn’t worry about me. As for who I might find in the Marriage Mart… well, Father certainly isn’t part of theton. He’s not an industrialist, nor is he considered a wealthy tradesman.”
“But you have a generous dowry,” Eliza reminded her. “He told me he’d put it aside for you years ago. Perhaps the original amount has gained interest.”
Having forgotten that a sum had been deposited in a trust account at the Bank of England prior to her departure for school, Catherine wondered exactly how much her father had set aside for her future. Eliza’s claim of twenty thousand pounds was far larger than she could have imagined.
No matter the amount, she had every intention of asking if he might make it available to her directly. If she should land a position, she would have the means to make her living and afford a decent place to live on the interest alone.
“As for this matchmaker,” she murmured. “I would think a wealthy woman would have no trouble landing a husband on her own,” she remarked.
“They wouldn’t if…” Here Eliza stopped and swallowed.
“If what?” Catherine prompted.
“If they were young enough, or not ruined, or—”
“I’m not ruined,” Catherine claimed.
Eliza dropped her gaze and her voice. “Or an older spinster, too clever for her own good.”
The words hung between them for several seconds as Catherine stared at her friend. Before she could think of howto respond, the coach stuttered to a halt in front of the Buxton townhouse.
“Good-bye, Cathy. Please don’t be angry with me. Or with your father. He only wants what’s best for you.”
Eliza was out of the coach a second later, throwing open the coach door in the coachman’s startled face and rushing over the area and into her townhouse before her butler could open the front door.
Exhaling on a sigh, Catherine directed her attention to the coachman who stood looking surprised, with the door still open. “Take me to the nearest bookseller or… or circulating library,” she ordered.
The older man seemed to consider her words for a moment before his expression brightened. “So… back to the Temple of the Muses it is, Miss Kingston.”
She managed a wan grin.The Temple of the Muses, indeed.
Chapter Five
No Blunt, Two Options
Meanwhile, in Cleveland Row, St. James’s, Westminster
Clutching the letterhe had received from Mrs. Bessie Dove-Lyon, Matthew stepped down from the Wingfield town coach and regarded the exterior of No. 9 Cleveland Row with a quirked brow.
The pale-periwinkle house, its quoins painted white, stood at least five stories tall and featured a black wrought iron balcony off the second floor. The front entrance, cut wider as if to accommodate a sedan chair, featured a black door adorned with a brass lion’s head knocker.
