Page 35 of A Dreamy Match Made in Heaven
Sophia’s jaw dropped. Miss Wainwright had come to the estate? To speak with her? As if the nightmare could not help but continue…
She straightened her back and looked directly at the maid with a forlorn expression.
“I shall be down in just a moment,” she conceded.
The maid nodded, sensing distress. She departed and Sophia had a few moments to herself to simply breathe and prepare for whatever was to come. She hoped that Miss Wainwright had not arranged the marriage already.
But after a few moments, she managed to drag herself to the door and down the stairs into the parlour where she found Miss Wainwright waiting for her.
They greeted one another politely and Sophia took a seat, noting that Miss Wainwright was not her usual boisterous self.
“Miss Hastings, I find myself rather concerned for you,” she began, rather too openly.
“Oh, there is nothing to be concerned about. Whatever do you mean?” Sophia asked, as if she could not fathom why anyone would be worried.
“You fled last evening in a most unceremonious way. You said no goodbyes. You did not dance with Mr. Gregory. There was very little at all to leave a mark behind that you had even attended the ball,” Miss Wainwright said, appearing offended.
“Yes, you must forgive me. I became ill and it was terribly sudden. Oh, I wish it had not happened, but it was urgent that I returned home,” Sophia justified, knowing that she was hardly looking her best at that moment. Perhaps looking less than ideal would help her cause. It would sell the thought that she had indeed been sick.
“Regardless, you ought to have informed me. And you ought to have ensured that Mr. Gregory would be able to come and see you, to check in even. You know, if a man is to try and court you, he must know enough about you to initiate this,” Miss Wainwright explained.
Sophia nodded, as if she was truly attempting to take in the advice. She was unprepared to tell Miss Wainwright about her history with Thomas, even though it seemed that it could be just the right time to do so.
But how would the Matchmaker respond to that? Would she only force them together even more? And if they had failed once before, they were surely doomed to fail again. So would that ruin Miss Wainwright’s record of perfect matches? Would she be utterly distraught?
It was tempting to tell her. It seemed as though it could be the only solution to avoiding any further encounters with Thomas. But it was also complicated, and Sophia did not wish to embarrass Miss Wainwright in addition to all of the other consequences.
Then again, was it not possible that Miss Wainwright had known exactly what she was doing? Perhaps she had already been aware of the history between Thomas and Sophia. What if she had matched them because she believed there was still hope after everything?
“Miss Wainwright, might I ask you a question?” she broached.
“Certainly. After all, I have many for you,” the Matchmaker replied.
“Well, I am curious as to why you chose that particular man for me. Why did you believe us to be such an ideal match?” Sophia asked.
Miss Wainwright looked at her as if it was a strange question.
“Well, why should I not? The two of you are absolutely ideal for one another. All of Mr. Gregory’s tastes, all of his proclivities, are perfectly suited to your own. It was as though the two of you had described one another ideally through your answers to every question that I asked,” she explained.
Sophia was amazed to hear it. She had come to terms with the thought of her own answers having been influenced by her former love for Thomas. But to think that he had answered in an ideal fashion to her own seemed to be rather a strong coincidence.
After all, how could he have happened to feel just so about it all? What were the chances that he thought the same about Sophia, and that all of their responses had been in line with one another?
“Are you quite certain? I mean, it is strange to think that you found the two of us so ideal upon just one meeting with each. The questions which I answered for you might have been answered a million different ways given my preferences from one day to the next. Do you truly believe that a single meeting could answer all of that?” Sophia challenged.
Miss Wainwright pursed her lips and Sophia suddenly knew that she had pushed too far. She was no longer being polite, for now she had challenged the methods of the most famous matchmaker in all of London.
“My dear, I am quite confident in the work that I do. It is top notch and flawless. I have paired dozens of happily married couples. You have as of yet been unable to secure even your own,” Miss Wainwright challenged in reply.
Sophia nodded apologetically. She thought for a moment about the fact that Miss Wainwright was apparently a widow. She, too, had loved once. She knew what it meant to care for a man deeply. And that was the sort of woman she wished for to help her in the feat.
“Listen to me, Miss Hastings. I urge you to try again. You may tell me that you were ill last night, but your questions today alert me to the truth. So do not give up. You must try once more,” Miss Wainwright stated, matter-of-factly.
Sophia felt the corners of her mouth tug downward.
“Do not look at me that way. I have never failed at making a match. I know that you have heard as much and it is entirely true. I have no intention of failing now. And if I am determined to find you the right husband, you may rest assured that I shall do just that,” she said again, confidently.
Sophia tried to respond, but her nerves were working deeply within her. So rather than giving her a great deal of time, Miss Wainwright continued.
