To Marry a Matchmaker
He placed a hand on either side of her, trapping her against the bookcase. ‘I gave you the main reason at the wedding breakfast, madam. You are entirely too involved in your matchmaking schemes. You think of nothing beyond the next match. You dominate village social life with your musicales, picnics and dancing classes, which are all designed for one purpose: to facilitate matrimony, whether the parties involved are truly interested or not. Are you attempting to back out of our wager? You were so certain of victory. Do you wish to admit defeat?’
‘No, sir, I’m not ready. I am no faint heart.’
Rather than seeking to escape, she held her head high and her being radiated hurt dignity. A vague sense of admiration filled him. He leant forwards so his breath would brush her cheek. ‘I’m glad to hear it.’
‘You are behaving improperly, sir,’ she said as her breath came faster. ‘In a public place!’
‘Am I? How intriguing.’ He fastened his gaze on her full red lips. ‘Precisely what am I doing wrong, Lady Thorndike? Do tell. I wish to remedy my bad behaviour.’
The air between them crackled.
‘I hope your dancing shoes are polished and ready,’ she said with a husky note in her voice. ‘I expect a polka worthy of the name after your underhanded behaviour.’
‘My dancing shoes are in my wardrobe where they will remain. You will be unable to resist temptation, Lady Thorndike. We both know it. Admit defeat now and have done with it.’ He leant forwards so that their foreheads nearly touched. Her lips were softly parted and he could see the pulse beating in the hollow of her throat. Silently he willed her to lean forwards and complete the tableau. ‘Miss Ravel’s visit is sudden. Her story is not mine to tell. But I promise you, if you attempt to ensnare my ward in any of your matchmaking schemes, you will regret it.’
Henri lifted his arm away from the bookcase as her eyes blazed defiantly. ‘I have done nothing to facilitate or suggest any such match. Nor do I intend doing so in the near future,’ she said in a furious undertone. ‘You should have confided in me, instead of attempting this flim-flam nonsense of a wager to curb my behaviour. My behaviour, sir, has been exemplary in the extreme.’
Robert counted to ten and breathed deeply as the whispers grew in the library. The gossip would now centre on Lady Thorndike rather than on his ward. But he had not one twinge of regret. His ward’s already fragile reputation needed protecting, which wouldn’t happen if Lady Thorndike could not resist meddling. And the only way he could think of to ensure that had been the—deliberately provocative, he’d happily admit it—wager. ‘You have several weeks to go. Temptation will get the better of you, Lady Thorndike. It always does.’
Henrietta Thorndike opened and closed her mouth several times, before twitching her skirts away from him. ‘Good day, Mr Montemorcy. I believe we have entirely fallen out of civility with each other.’
‘Were we ever in civility?’ he murmured, his hand skimming her arm. ‘Pray tell me when.’
‘I have certainly tried to be polite, but I now see politeness is beyond you,’ she snapped.
‘Lady Thorndike, people are starting to stare. You are in danger of becoming remarked on.’
‘Let them. This is a war of your making. I am through with being polite. Ponder on that.’ She marched away, her purple-and-white gown swinging to reveal her shapely ankles.
Robert slammed his fists together as red hot blood rushed through his veins. Was there ever such an obstinate woman as Henrietta Thorndike?
Henri pressed her fingers to the bridge of her nose and took a deep breath, attempting to calm down after her run-in with Montemorcy. She hadn’t been this angry in a long time. Serenity and a happy outlook on life were what she strove for, but really what she wanted was to run Robert Montemorcy through with a skewer. He’d tricked her into this idiotic and offensive wager. And now there was the problem of how his ward might fit into the delicate fabric of Corbridge social life.
She took a deep breath and twitched the folds of her dress so that they hung straighter.
When she was done, he’d be the one who was discomforted. He would be dancing the polka and she would hold picnics at the Roman camp. ‘I promise,’ she whispered. ‘I will do it.’
* * *
Aunt Frances’s house with its gable roof and white-shuttered windows was as solid and welcoming as it had been when she arrived sixteen months ago, seeking to begin her life again. She forced air into her lungs. Robert Montemorcy had simply unnerved her. She hated quarrelling with anyone. Least of all a man she’d previously held in such high…regard.
‘You’ve returned to home fires, sweetest of all the cousins in the entire world. Come share some cucumber sandwiches with me. We’ve much to discuss.’
Henri froze, her hand on the ribbons of her straw bonnet. The use of the phrase—sweetest of all the cousins—meant her cousin, Sebastian English, the fourth Viscount Cawburn, had returned to his birthplace and wanted something from her, something that would entail a great deal of trouble on her part with little thanks for her efforts on his. It was the very last thing she needed today, particularly not after her contretemps with Robert Montemorcy. All she wanted was a quiet turn about the garden to see if the roses had started to bloom, and a chance to calm her still-racing heart.
Was that too much to ask?
‘The answer is no, Sebastian.’ Henri’s gaze focused on Sebastian’s attire. His neckcloth was twisted as if he had struggled to tie it properly on the first try. Her heart sank. Further confirmation, if she needed it, that her life had taken a turn for the worse. She knew the signs. ‘Definitely not.’
‘You do not even know what I was going to ask!’
‘It’s something to do with a woman,’ she said, setting her bonnet down on the entrance table and controlling her temper by taking her gloves off one by one. Sebastian’s last adventure resulted in a furious former mistress, a cuckolded husband and a trio of pug puppies laying waste to the drawing room while Sebastian conveniently departed on a ship bound for Venice in the arms of another female. ‘That much is perfectly clear.’
Sebastian’s jaw dropped. ‘How did you know?’
‘Every time your stock and neckcloth are twisted in that particular fashion, a woman is involved. And if that is the case, you will be endeavouring to find a way out of the tangle you have created.’
‘Nothing is wrong with my stock, is there?’ Sebastian crashed his cup down and went to the mirror over the fireplace. He frowned and, with expert fingers, readjusted the stock. ‘Henrietta, I’m worried that you’ve suddenly developed a suspicious mind. What is wrong with proclaiming your sweetness?’
‘When you are in a normal frame of mind, you use Henri, and may I remind you that I’m your only cousin.’
‘That makes you the sweetest one.’ Sebastian wandered over to the plate of sandwiches, picked up one and resettled himself on the sofa. Before he bit into the cucumber sandwich, he gave one of his heart-melting smiles, the sort that had the débutantes and their mothers sighing in droves. ‘It stands to reason.’
Henri motioned for the footman to remove the pile of cucumber sandwiches some distance away from Sebastian. ‘You won’t get around me that easily. And if you keep eating sandwiches at that rate, you will need a corset to fit into your frock-coats.’
‘Gaining weight has never been one of my vices. You are far too young to become censorious.’ He counted on his fingers. ‘You’re only twenty-nine. And do not look a day older than twenty-eight.’
‘Twenty-seven next birthday,’ Henri replied through gritted teeth. ‘And not censorious, merely following my husband’s deathbed advice. You’re always trouble when you’re besotted.’
Sebastian swirled the remains of his tea in his cup. ‘I try hard to be good, but things happen. Edmund would’ve understood. Why can’t you be understanding and considerate like he was?’
Henri pasted a smile on her face. ‘We’re speaking about your new love, not my late husband. She will be gone from your brain within a month.’
Sebastian adopted his injured-angel look. ‘This time it is different, Henri. This time it is for ever. But how can I prove this to you, if you refuse to help?’
‘Who is she? And, more importantly, does her husband shoot straight?’
‘Miss Sophie Ravel is highly respectable. I resent the insinuation.’ He leant forwards and his eyes were alight with an eagerness she had not seen since…since before Edmund’s death. ‘You’ll love her, Henri. She is my other half. I swear it.’
Chapter Three
Henri’s stomach dropped. Miss Sophie Ravel. Robert Montemorcy’s ward. The one who had suddenly dropped everything in London to come to Northumberland. All for the sake of love. Miss Armstrong had it all wrong. Miss Ravel hadn’t run towards love, but had been forcibly taken away from it.
And Sebastian had studiously avoided the marriage word. A cold chill went through Henri. Was it any wonder that Mr Montemorcy had kept the problem from her? He knew how staunchly she defended Sebastian, how she had assisted him out of difficulties in the past.
She tightened her grip on her teacup, sloshing the tea over the rim. She was far from blind to Sebastian’s faults. Robert Montemorcy should have trusted her with the truth, explaining his concerns about her cousin as a suitor for his ward, rather than tricking her into a wager that she was now determined to win, whilst also finding out some way of making sure the situation did not become a disaster of immeasurable proportions.
Sebastian started on a long rambling explanation chiefly designed to convince her to help him.
She held up her hand, blocking his words. ‘Sebastian, I refuse to assist, aid or otherwise participate in your quest for Miss Ravel. Ruining a débutante is low even by your standards of behaviour. I am shocked and amazed that you could even contemplate asking me.’
Sebastian frowned and slumped back against the sofa, looking mortally hurt, as if she was the one to blame for his ill fortune.
‘All I wanted you to do was to meet Sophie…and her stepmother.’ His lips turned upwards into an angelic smile. ‘Especially her stepmother. To show them how respectable my family is. How truly worthy we are. The stepmother wants occupying with projects rather than prying into her stepdaughter’s innocent affairs. You are sure to find something for her to do!’
‘Your complicated love life is your problem.’ Henri glared at him and pointedly gestured towards the Persian carpet in front of the fireplace. ‘I had to bring the pug puppies with me to Corbridge. Unlike you, I don’t just abandon defenceless animals, even if I’m not fond of dogs. Your dear mama’s carriage has never been the same. Travel sickness in a puppy is far from pleasant.’
Sebastian brushed the crumbs from his fingers. ‘That is a bit unfair of you, Henri, bringing up the pugs. A huge misjudgement on my part, I’ll accept that, but you rose to the occasion magnificently. One couldn’t ask for a better or more loyal cousin.’
‘It took me an age to get rid of them.’ Henri struggled to keep her voice steady. Sebastian knew how she felt about dogs, even such little ones as the pugs. ‘Lady Winship was reluctantly persuaded to give them a home.’
Sebastian put his hands behind his head and stretched out, a particularly pleased smile on his face. ‘And how is dear old Nellie? I have not seen her in an age!’
‘Lady Winship has become devoted to the pugs,’ Henri admitted. It had been one of her better ideas, getting Lady Winship to take the trio. And her mind shied away from why Sebastian addressed Lady Winship in such familiar tones. Some things were best left to the imagination. ‘By the middle of next week, you will have forgotten Miss Ravel’s name, Sebastian, and those sandwiches were for Aunt Frances.’
‘Cucumbers give Mama indigestion. I’m doing her a favour.’ Sebastian made a show of dusting the plate down before carelessly placing it on the table. Henri reached over and straightened the plate.
‘Sebastian!’
‘I saw Miss Ravel silhouetted in the evening light, just as she was getting out of a carriage to attend the opera, and I knew that she was the woman for me. I will never forget her or the way the last rays of the sun lit her hair. She is an angel set on this earth.’ He cleared his throat. ‘I worship the ground she walks on. The M word entered my head.’
‘Marriage? You?’ Henri stared at him in disbelief. Sebastian, who had successfully avoided so many marriage traps, was actually contemplating marriage to Miss Ravel. ‘Then what is the problem? Women normally fall at your feet. And despite your various misdemeanours, the best houses in London still welcome you.’
‘Her family, or more specifically her guardian.’ Sebastian clasped his hand to his breast. ‘Robert Montemorcy is the sort of man whose library is entirely filled with books from The Gentleman’s Manual to Libraries. He probably has never been outside England.’
‘Robert Montemorcy was educated in Edinburgh, at the Sorbonne in Paris, and studied chemistry in Germany,’ Henri replied evenly, disliking Sebastian’s curled-lip sneer. She might be upset with Mr Montemorcy, but it didn’t mean that others could abuse him. ‘He has a wide range of business interests, including an ironworks that makes most of the steel and iron for the railways. And he is a highly accomplished chemist. He is a great believer in the “Scientific Method” and a stalwart of the Lit. and Phil.’
‘You mean he makes money, but what clubs does he belong to? What titles has he inherited? Who were his ancestors?’
‘Sebastian, is that really important? What matters is that Mr Montemorcy purchased Chestercamp field.’
‘Montemorcy purchased that field!’ He clapped his hand to his head. ‘It all makes a sickening sense. I’m undone. Why is Fate so cruel?’
‘He kept you out of debtors’ prison.’
‘Spare me the village gossip, Henrietta. It was never going to come to that. I was simply short of a few readies to pay Papa’s bills. You should never have suggested to Mr Montemorcy anything different and now…’
‘You’re being obstinate.’ Henri crossed her arms. Montemorcy had been all sympathy when she encountered him out on a walk and she had given up hope of selling the field. They had fallen to discussing Romans. It had been the start of their enjoyable conversations. Her throat tasted like ashes. Maybe it would have been better if they’d stayed distant neighbours.
‘Mr Montemorcy bought the field because he is interested in bringing a scientific method to excavating Roman remains. Aunt Frances is terribly excited about the prospect.’
‘More to the point, Montemorcy has caused Sophie to be moved to Northumberland under the pretext of broadening her education. As if the biddies who control the Season could not see through that threadbare excuse.’ Sebastian snapped his perfectly manicured fingers. ‘Northumberland? Why not Italy or France? I wrote to Sophie that she should make sure he took her abroad, but the note was returned…unopened with the injunction never to contact her again.’
Henri went cold. Sending Sebastian’s letter back was a mistake of the highest order if Robert Montemorcy had wanted to dissuade Sebastian. If only Robert Montemorcy had asked her advice, she’d have explained. Sebastian was easily handled as long as he thought the idea had emerged from his own brain. Sebastian always pursued the unattainable until it became attainable and then he lost interest. And he’d never ruined a Diamond. He never would. He knew where society’s lines were drawn. Robert Montemorcy should have had more sense. He should have sought her advice; now, she had a lovelorn Sebastian to contend with.
‘What did you do to Miss Ravel to have her removed from London? She should be enjoying the Season.’
‘Nothing.’ He held up his hand and his face became utterly angelic. ‘I swear to God, Henrietta. We were only talking…in the library with the door closed. I wanted to know if a heavenly creature like her could ever love a sinner like me, but her stepmother happened in and had an attack of vapours, which led on to unprecedented hysterics.’ A distinct shudder went through him. ‘It was ghastly. I suggested Miss Ravel dose her stepmother with water to bring her to her senses, but Miss Ravel flat out refused.’
‘Sebastian, if you are trying to flannel me about your debts, I will never forgive you.’
‘I love Sophie, Henri, truly I do. Her dowry means nothing to me.’ He snapped his fingers. ‘I would run away with her in an instant…even if she was a pauper. It is her infuriating guardian causing all the problems. He has no right to control Sophie’s life and impose restrictions on mine.’
‘If the lady is truly your love, you will find a way. I did with Edmund. I was the one who proposed, remember?’ Henri tapped her fingers against her thigh. Sebastian would have to understand. This time, she was not going to get involved. ‘You have to believe, Sebastian. And you do not need me.’
‘Is that your final word?’ His eyes narrowed and flashed.
‘Yes. I facilitate matches for no man. Not any more.’ Henri fluffed out her skirt, making certain the top flounce fell correctly, and reached for the bell to summon Reynolds. She had won. She had proved that she could remain aloof from Sebastian’s schemes. Success. Robert Montemorcy was completely wrong. She did know when to stop. ‘And in a few weeks, you will have forgotten all about this Sophie Ravel.’
‘Have you ever forgotten Edmund? Have you thrown away his letters or do they remain in that box—waiting to be read one last time? If you can’t forget him, why do you think I will forget the love of my life?’
Henri closed her eyes. Edmund’s strawberry-blond hair and regular features swam in front of her. Her breathing became a bit easier. She did remember. And there was no point in opening the box; she knew what it contained. Someday she would, she would reread every letter, but not today, not at Sebastian’s insistence.
‘That was low. You should call on Miss Ravel directly and discover the true state of affairs for yourself. I don’t see why you are being such a namby-pamby sensitive poet about this. Mr Montemorcy will hear your request politely. Our family does have a certain standing in the neighbourhood.’
She waited for Sebastian to fall in line with her wishes. Sebastian’s face took on a crafty expression and he began to fiddle with his stock.
‘Say that you will meet Sophie and report back to me. You know you will call. You always do your welcoming bit. All I want to know is how she fares and if I stand a chance. That will give me the courage to face him and do battle for my darling girl.’ Sebastian knelt before her, catching her hand. His eyes became pools of blue. ‘You know what happens to people when you insist on them doing things they fear. Think about what you did to Edmund. Your insisting on the elopement surely hastened his death.’
‘Sebastian.’ Henri bit her lip, hating the guilt that swamped her senses. She had been the one to insist on eloping when her parents had refused permission. Her intentions had been so good—it had all been so that Edmund could be properly nursed and looked after. Edmund had agreed with her reasoning. She hadn’t realised exactly how ill he was until after they were married. She’d never have allowed him out in the rain that night of the elopement if she’d guessed he had another cold coming on his chest.
She forced her mind away from the past and towards the uncomfortable present. And did she want an open breach with Montemorcy, if he did do as Sebastian had suggested and cut him dead? It would make the situation worse and potentially disrupt her standing in the village.
Discretion. A quiet sounding out rather than a full-frontal assault would win the day.
Besides, family duty meant she owed it to Sebastian to discover what had really happened with Miss Ravel. And it was only polite to call on Miss Ravel and her stepmother and welcome them to the neighbourhood. As chairman of the Corbridge Society for Hospitality, it was expected of her and it would annoy Robert Montemorcy no end. This had nothing to do with matchmaking and everything to do with clarification. Henri gave an inward chuckle. She did look forward to seeing Robert Montemorcy’s face when he finally had to admit defeat and dance to a tune of her choosing.
‘I’ll meet Miss Ravel, but I will not plead your case for you.’
‘Henri, you really are the sweetest of all cousins and I mean that this time, truly I do. Someday soon my angel and I will be reunited.’ Robert attempted to put yesterday’s quarrel with Lady Thorndike from his mind and to concentrate on the pressing problems of revitalising the long-neglected estate. He had spent far too much time on that woman as it was. Henrietta Thorndike should understand that he had acted in the best interests of his ward. Dance the polka indeed. He wasn’t going to think about holding Henrietta Thorndike in his arms or how her hand would feel against his shoulder as they circled the Winship ballroom.
As his tenant cleared his throat and touched his cap, Robert forced his mind away from the wager and asked his tenant farmer for the explanation behind the poor state of the stone walls.
A sudden ear-piercing shriek drowned out Giles Teas-dale’s stuttering reply. Muscles tensing, Robert turned and stared in horror as Teasdale’s dog lowered its head and charged at the woman who had fallen to the ground, pulling viciously at her skirt.
‘Get that dog away from that woman, Teasdale!’
‘Bruiser don’t mean no harm,’ Teasdale bleated, catching Robert’s arm, rather than going after the dog. ‘He just has an eye for strangers. He’ll stop if she does. He ain’t never bitten anyone yet, like. The post-coach to Jedburgh is about due, like. He wants her out of the road. He’s trying to help.’
‘The highway doesn’t belong to him.’ Robert shook the tenant farmer off and started for the dog. His fingers caught the dog’s metal collar and yanked him away.
‘Go on. Back to your master! Now!’
The dog snarled, but Robert clung on, giving the dog an abrupt shake. ‘Let’s go, Bruiser, let’s get you back to where you belong. It’s the Queen’s highway, not yours.’
‘He thinks it is,’ Teasdale called from where he stood beside the gate. ‘You be careful, Mr Montemorcy, sir.’
The dog bared its teeth and lunged towards the prone woman. Robert braced his feet and pulled again. This time, the dog turned, snarling at him. Its fangs were inches away from his wrist. Robert shook the dog, throwing it to the ground. It lay there, stunned, then looked up at him with big eyes, before tentatively licking his hand in a gesture of submission and whining. Teasdale’s bleats about how it was not his fault filled the air.
‘Go on. Back to your master, Bruiser.’ Robert kept his grip on the collar and led it back to Teasdale. Teasdale fastened a rope about its collar, striking the dog violently about the head.
Robert shook his head in disgust. Teasdale would sell him the dog before the day was out and Teasdale’s dog-owning days would be at an end. The man could forget any future work, too. A man who struck a dog in that fashion would be more than willing to strike a man or a boy on the slightest of pretexts. It was one of the few things that Robert agreed with his late father about—such behaviour was the coward’s way.
Controlling his anger, he turned his attention back to the poor woman who had been the victim of Bruiser’s attack. She had made no move to uncurl from the tight ball. Her straw bonnet was covered in dirt and tiny stones, but remained on her head, hiding her identity. He had reached the dog before it bit her, hadn’t he? He knelt down at her side and saw the torn lace petticoat rucked up over the sensible boots. Blood trickled from her shin, but without a thorough examination it would be difficult to tell how badly she was injured.
‘You are safe now. The dog is under control. Can you get up? Did you hit your head when you fell?’ Robert asked in a soft voice. A doctor should be sent for, but he didn’t trust Teasdale. ‘We need to move you and get you out of danger. The post-coach stops for no one.’