A Matchmaker's Match by Nina Coombs Pykare Page B

“I’m afraid you’ll have to take care of it, Psyche. This is just too much for my poor, poor nerves.”
    “Of course, Aunt Anna,” Psyche soothed. “You just go get dressed. Amanda, you come with me.”
    The gown of pearl silk fit Amanda to perfection, but of course they knew it would since she’d secretly tried it on right after it had arrived. Its high-waisted bodice fit snugly and the skirt fell gracefully to the floor. In it she looked as a young woman at her come-out was meant to look, sweet and innocent, and yet a woman.
    Her face radiant, Amanda twirled before the cheval glass. “Oh, Psyche, it’s beautiful. I look so grown-up. Do you think he’ll notice me?”
    Psyche sighed. She hoped so. She wished so. But with Overton she couldn’t be sure. “We’ll just have to wait and see. But you are so beautiful I’m sure other men will notice you. And you must laugh and speak with them. Perhaps flirt a little.”
    Amanda started to pout. “I don’t want—”
    “You listen to Lady Psyche,” Curtis said, reaching out to adjust a blond curl on the top of Amanda’s head. “She knows what she’s about.”
    Amanda gave her a sidelong look. “But— But she didn’t catch a husband. So how does she know—”
    Curtis gave an exasperated groan. “Girl, where’s your brains? She didn’t get a husband ‘cause she didn’t want a husband. Were she wanting a husband, why, she’d go right out and find herself one. Just like that.”
    Hastily, Psyche turned away. Curtis had been in on her Lady Bluestocking exploits, had even helped her think them up. Curtis’s faith in her was heartening. It was also misplaced. Because, Psyche thought, if she’d had the least idea how to get a man to propose marriage, she would have gotten herself such a proposal from the earl long before this.
    The clock chimed the hour and Psyche’s heart thudded. Soon now. Soon the earl would be arriving.
    * * * *
    Minutes later Psyche looked around the ballroom. The flowers were excessive and on the large side, but at least they weren’t orange. And getting them properly arranged had kept Aunt Anna so occupied that she would not immediately notice that there had been a slight—or rather a considerable—change in the menu. The six different flavors of ices her aunt had wanted were definitely excessive. The present repast would be quite sufficient—and not cause a lot of unfavorable talk.
    Cook had been quite amenable after Overton had spoken to her. So had the footmen, who had conveniently neglected to deliver invitations to certain unsavory people Aunt Anna had meant to include. Everyone in the house, with the exception of Aunt Anna herself, knew that Psyche was managing the come-out, and all acted accordingly.
    Psyche surveyed the ballroom with a sense of satisfied accomplishment. Considering all they had gone through, all the trouble and worry, things were going quite well.
    Aunt Anna came bustling up, a massive figure in sickly green ruffles. She patted her frizzled hair and surveyed Amanda’s gown critically through her quizzing glass. “Well, I suppose it will have to do. But it’s dreadfully plain, no ruffles at all. In my day a well-dressed young woman always wore ruffles. Your mama and I both knew that.”
    Since her own mama had hated ruffles, never permitting them on any of her numerous gowns, Psyche found Aunt Anna’s pronouncement rather difficult to believe. But she nodded. “Yes, Aunt Anna. Of course, Aunt Anna.”
    Aunt Anna adjusted the ruffle that hung from her bodice. “Yes, well, too bad. But we’d better form the receiving line. The guests will be arriving soon.”
    She pressed a pudgy hand to her forehead. “Now, where is that boy of mine? Overton ought to be here.”
    “I am here, Mama.” Overton appeared behind her. “Right here.” He turned to Psyche. “Is everything in order?”
    “Of course,” Aunt Anna replied, just as though he had spoken to her. “You know what a good manager I am. I’m