Chapter Six

Chloe had managed to maintain her equilibrium despite her realization of the change her feelings had, at some point without her taking note of it, undergone where Porter Bartrum was concerned. He was actively seeking a wife, and she had no reason to believe she was anywhere on his list of possible choices.

She was not yet certain what she meant to do. Ought she to attempt to find a way onto that list? Ought she to speak with Mrs. Northrop? If Porter did not share her growing tenderness, admitting to her own would simply interject awkwardness into what had always been an easy and comfortable friendship. She didn’t want to lose that. Yet, once he was married and her heart was broken, she would lose it anyway.

“Miss Munson.”

Chloe had all but forgotten that she’d left open the door connecting her room with Mrs. Northrop’s. The matchmaker stood in the threshold.

“I understand from your brother that you are very accomplished on the pianoforte.”

She couldn’t help a laugh. “My brother is a troublemaker.”

Mrs. Northrop hadn’t smiled very often during the first few days of their acquaintance. She did so more easily now. “Was he gammoning me, then?”

“No, but he knows I don’t particularly care to play for others, and telling you I have that talent meant I would likely be asked to do so.” She narrowed her gaze theatrically on Mrs. Northrop. “Is that what you’ve sauntered in here to do? Force me to perform for strangers?”

Mrs. Northrop nodded solemnly. “I will require it under penalty of torture.”

“What if I consider the task itself to be torture?”

“Then I would remind you that Mr. Ellsworth expressed his wish for a musical evening, and he is not one to be put off a scent easily.”

Oh, what an apt description. “And he does know that I play.”

Mrs. Northrop offered an empathetic look. “You had best accept your fate.”

She managed to reconcile herself by the time the evening’s entertainment began. Mr. Ellsworth did, indeed, insist upon a musicale. Chloe kept a bit to the back of the room, hoping to at least not be selected to play first. As luck, or perhaps misfortune, would have it, Porter stood there as well. Never before had she been uncomfortable around him. But too much was yet unknown.

“Are you hiding back here so you won’t be forced to play?” How well Porter knew her.

“If my brother knew how to keep his jaw locked, I’d not have to slip into dim corners during musical evenings.”

Porter’s gaze shifted to where Vance sat. “He is the one who betrayed you, then?”

“Who else?”

He looked at her once more. “Did he happen to tattle to Mrs. Northrop?”

How had he guessed that? “He did.”

“Hmm.” Porter’s eyes shifted to Mrs. Talbot, who had only just sat on the stool at the pianoforte.

“Are you upset with Mrs. Northrop?” His tone certainly hinted at displeasure.

But he shook his head. “I’m merely piecing together a bit of a puzzle.”

“Involving her?”

He nodded. “And you.”

Her heart clenched. What was he trying to sort out where she was concerned?

His mouth turned in thought, his brow pulling low.

“Is this puzzle something unsettling?” Asking seemed the best approach.

He seemed to suddenly realize he’d given that impression. He smiled softly, setting off a fluttering in her middle. “Mrs. Northrop earlier today had a long conversation with a certain gentleman who expressed a wish for someone to play the pianoforte tonight during the musical evening.”

“Where does Vance come into this?”

Porter grew noticeably uncomfortable.

She shook her head, fighting down a grin. “You don’t get to weasel out of this as easily as that. You may have sorted the puzzle, but I have not.”

With a noticeable lightening of his expression, Porter leaned closer. Heavens, the tantalizing scent of his shaving soap only added to the flutter she felt. “I suspect Mrs. Northrop is undertaking a bit of matchmaking.”

“For me?” In her shock, she forgot to keep her voice lowered. Several people in the music room looked back at her.

Porter laughed silently. “Oh, pish.” He mimicked well the inflection she’d used when uttering that exact phrase only a couple of days earlier. “You are not a terrible dancer, and that is really all that matters. I am certain Mrs. Northrop is aware of that.”

“And that is why she is choosing to show me to advantage to this as-yet-unnamed gentleman?”

Porter had no opportunity to answer. Mr. Ellsworth’s booming voice prevented any conversation anywhere in the room.

“Indulge us, Miss Munson,” he said. “We wish for another song on the pianoforte.”

“Mrs. Talbot played wonderfully,” she said. “Do allow her to continue doing so.”

“Nonsense,” the young widow said. “There is time enough for everyone to play.”

Drat that Mrs. Talbot. And drat Mrs. Northrop. And drat Vance.

“I don’t think you’ll be given the opportunity to escape,” Porter said. “You would do well to get it over with.”

He wasn’t wrong. Chloe steeled her resolve and moved to the instrument. She sat, placing her fingers over the keys. It wasn’t that she was ashamed of her playing or particularly bashful about it. She simply didn’t enjoy performing.

Her eyes met Porter’s, who yet stood at the back of the room. He offered a tiny nod and a smile of encouragement. It helped more than he likely knew.

She chose a simple song, one that would not last long but also wasn’t likely to disappoint. How tempting it was to continually glance at Porter and receive the encouragement he offered. She feared if she did so too often, the entire room would see her heart hanging in her eyes.

As her selection came to a close, she looked up once more, just in time to see Mrs. Northrop exchange glances with Mr. Twickenham. The puzzle Porter had not entirely divulged became clear: Mr. Twickenham was the gentleman, Mrs. Northrop was, indeed, matchmaking, and Vance, she suspected, was part of the effort.

Mr. Twickenham was a good enough sort, but she had no interest in a match with him. Indeed, until she’d realized the state of her heart, she’d had no interest in a match with anyone.

There was only one thing for it. She would watch Porter over the next day or two, whilst doing her best to avoid Mrs. Northrop’s choice for her. If she saw any indication that her dear friend felt something more for her than the casual connection they’d always had, she would somehow find the courage to interfere with the matchmaker he’d hired and attempt to be matchmaker herself.

* * *

Before Adelaide had undertaken her current line of work, she had been quite quick to dismiss as foolish people who did not figuratively rip their hearts out by confessing their love when they had no reason to believe doing so would end in utter humiliation, pain, suffering, and the loss of friends and loved ones.

Why do they not simply have a conversation? she’d so often said to herself. If they would just lay bare their souls, all would be mended.

She now recognized her arrogance for what it was. How readily one insists that a risk ought to be undertaken when that person has nothing on the line. How quickly people were to criticize others’ vulnerabilities from a place of utter security.

Watching Miss Munson and Mr. Porter that evening, her heart ached for them. They were so very close to their happiness, so near to toppling the wall of uncertainty between them and that future. If only one of them would inch closer to that place of vulnerability, Adelaide felt certain they could close the remainder of that gap.

She would simply have to create an opportunity for them to do so.