The selling of the land had been physically painful, but her late uncle’s debts were far greater than even she had guessed. Her aunt had wept buckets. She hated letting anything go, but Montemorcy had paid a good price for the land and her aunt’s financial difficulties were at an end. Or at least until her cousin made another one of his requests for money—but Henri had to believe that the last episode had taught Sebastian the importance of fiscal responsibility.
‘I’m well aware of the debts my uncle incurred, but that is all in the past. My cousin is of an entirely different stamp. He plans to follow my advice for improving the remainder of his estate,’ Henri said, trying a new tack.
Mr Montemorcy’s brow darkened. ‘Even you, Lady Thorndike, with all your skill at managing, have singularly failed there. Your cousin has garnered a reputation for debauchery. His debts will be worse than your uncle’s in two years, if they are not already.’
‘Society will gossip and all he needs is the right woman.’ Henri forced the smile to stay on her face. It irritated her that Mr Montemorcy was correct in this one thing, if nothing else. Unfortunately, her aunt still was convinced that it was her late unlamented husband who had caused the problem and that her only son needed to be coddled and protected. Henri knew without her intervention, her aunt would be tempted to supplement her cousin’s considerable income from her meagre widow’s portion. She might not approve of everything that Sebastian did, but she refused to criticise him to others or let others judge him. He was family, after all, and one looked after one’s family. ‘You do Sebastian a disservice. He was shocked at the extent of debt.’
‘Shocked, but he has continued to live his life with the same careless disregard.’
‘Sebastian no longer indulges in such vices as gambling. He gave his mother his word. I also understand his current projects prosper.’ Henri raised her chin, and hoped her words were true. Sebastian’s last letter to his mother promised he’d mend his ways if she sent a little money until his latest scheme started to pay. ‘And you know how it is with reputations—people are far more willing to believe a bad report than a good one.’
Mr Montemorcy’s eyes became inscrutable. ‘I’m delighted to hear it.’
‘Is there anything else?’ Henri asked, looking over Mr Montemorcy’s immaculately tailored shoulder. She gave a nod towards Melanie so that Melanie could begin to cut the cake. Melanie blushed a deep scarlet and manoeuvred her new husband over to the splendidly tiered fruit cake. Silently Henri motioned to the vicar’s youngest daughter to stand closer to the curate. They would make a charming pair, if a permanent post could be found for him, somewhere in Northumberland rather than becoming a missionary to Africa. The vicar would worry if his daughter went to Africa. She’d have to consider the matter seriously if the treasure hunt was forbidden. ‘If not, I’ll bid you adieu. Others require my attention.’
‘Meddling in others’ romantic lives has become a bad habit with you. I recognise that gleam, Lady Thorndike. Leave them alone.’
Robert Montemorcy put a detaining hand on Lady Thorndike’s shoulder. Henrietta Thorndike wasn’t going to wriggle out of this with a toss of her black curls and a soft sensuous smile from her full lips. Why was it that beautiful women caused more trouble than anyone else? Lady Thorndike appeared to think that with one sweep of her long lashes all her meddling and mischief would be forgotten. One light rap of her lace fan against his arm and she thought he’d indulge her passion for disruptive picnics. He knew her methods. She never gave in.
From Crozier, he knew what a near-disaster this entire episode had been and how close Henrietta Thorndike’s machinations had come to failure. Crozier had been within a hair’s breadth of leaving for America, all because Lady Thorndike had introduced him to the writing of James Fenimore Cooper and declared that Miss Brown had a tendre for men who behaved like Hawkeye in The Last of the Mohicans. ‘Meddling is the passion that rules your life.’
‘Meddling? I prefer to call it assisting two lonely people to find happiness.’ Lady Thorndike waved an airy hand that only served to emphasise the way her dark purple silk dress caressed her curves. He struggled to ignore the rush of hot blood that coursed through his veins. Part of Henrietta Thorndike’s arsenal was her latent sensuality, a pleasurable distraction that was apt to make men forget their train of thought.
She leant forwards and lowered her voice to a purr. ‘You must understand that our new doctor, the curate and the butcher need wives.’
‘You have forgotten the baker and the candlestick maker,’ Robert remarked drily.
‘No, the baker is happily mar—’ She stopped and her cheeks turned a deep rose before she gave a small curtsy. ‘I suppose you think the play on the rhyme amusing. And I tumbled straight into it.’
‘I rest my case. Matchmaking consumes you and, if you allow it, it will ruin you.’
She flicked her tongue over her mouth, turning her lips a cherry-ripe red. ‘Define matchmaking.’
‘Aiding, assisting or otherwise seeking the advancement of marriage,’ he said without hesitation.
‘I have other passions. It is merely a pleasant pastime, helping others out. They have a right to their chance of happiness. After all, I had mine, even though it was cut short.’ Lady Thorndike examined a bit of lace on her glove, hiding her face as she always did when she spoke about her late husband. ‘And if anyone objected, I’ve never insisted. You, for example, have made it perfectly clear that you wish to choose your own partner.’
‘If you ever tried to manipulate my private life, Lady Thorndike, it would be the end of our friendship.’
‘I know the limits.’
She stared at him defiantly, her pointed chin raised in the air and her glossy black hair quivering with indignation. Robert returned her gaze with a steady one of his own. Clearly she had chosen to forget the first ball he attended in the neighbourhood, when she had attempted to pair him off with the new Mrs Crozier.
‘All I can say is the late Sir Edmund Thorndike must have been a paragon of virtue and forbearance.’ He held up his hand, stopping her outraged squeak. Someone had to save her and everyone else from her capricious nature. One day her little schemes would ruin some innocent. ‘But we are not speaking about the past, Lady Thorndike, but the present. You are singularly unable to resist meddling in the matrimonial affairs of others. It is becoming worse by the day.’
‘I can stop any time I want,’ Henrietta replied, her face taking on a mutinous expression as she crossed her arms over her full bosom, highlighting rather than detracting from her curves.
‘Prove it.’
‘Are you seriously suggesting that the new Mrs Crozier would be better off if she remained a spinster, trimming hats and living on tea and snippets of hot buttered toast?’ Two bright spots appeared on Lady Thorndike’s cheeks and her eyes blazed sapphire. ‘She has a bright future with a husband who loves her and a more-than-respectable income.’
Robert made an irritated noise. The new Mrs Crozier’s figure proclaimed that she lived on far more than snippets of toast. ‘Anyone with a half a brain could have seen the way the wind blew when Crozier took to visiting Miss Brown on the pretext of picking up his great-aunt’s hats. You may have succeeded this time, but the next…You run the risk of destroying some innocent’s future.’
‘What are you suggesting, Mr Montemorcy?’ Her carefully arranged curls shook with anger. ‘I enjoy helping people. People need me. And this wedding breakfast will not run itself.’
At last. She’d walked straight into his trap—the reason he’d come to the wedding breakfast and engaged her in a battle of wills to begin with. ‘I am suggesting a wager to demonstrate that you are addicted to arranging others’ love lives and you have no sense of discipline in these matters.’ He watched her bridle at the words. He wondered if she knew how desirable she appeared when she was angry. Desirable but very much off limits, and Robert never mixed pleasures of the flesh with his social duty. It caused complications. ‘Unless you wish
to admit defeat here and now?’
Her even white teeth worried her bottom lip. ‘You make it sound like I have no self-control.’
‘In recent months, you have lost whatever self-control you had in this matter.’ Robert leant forwards, wondering how far he dared push her. But Lady Thorndike had to agree to the wager. Without it, his entire scheme for protecting his ward would fall at the first hurdle.
‘What time frame do you suggest?’ She smoothed the deep mauve of her gown and Robert knew he had won. She’d been unable to resist the temptation and had taken the bait. ‘A wager is no good if it goes on indefinitely.’
‘Until Lady Winship’s ball in a month’s time,’ he replied.
‘A month? I don’t know whether to be flattered or amused that you do not think I can last a month. There are many other things in my life—visiting the sick, gardening and even doing needlework if I must.’
‘A month will be enough to prove my point.’
‘I will be delighted to prove you wrong.’ Henrietta tapped her fan against his arm. ‘And when I do, you will have to allow me to host a picnic at the excavations. And for added sweetness, the merest of trifles—you will dance a polka with me at the ball.’
Robert pressed his lips together—how had this happened? Despite all his precautions, Lady Thorndike had defined unacceptable terms. ‘I don’t dance.’
‘I know. Everyone in the Tyne Valley knows.’ She raised up on her toes and her eyes became the colour of a Northumbrian summer’s morning. ‘You avoided the dancing classes I set up for the village, pleading pressures of work. We were several men short. Even old Mr Everley came despite his aches and pains. The entire village’s standard of dancing has been improved. All except yours.’
‘It is good to know fewer bruised toes will happen at the ball thanks to your valiant efforts.’
‘Your dancing will be a public declaration that I’m correct and you utterly misjudged the situation.’ Her eyes took on a wicked glint. ‘You are lucky that I am not insisting on you joining the next class.’
‘And don’t you want to know your forfeit, the consequences of failure?’
She gave a little deprecating laugh and he knew he had trapped her. Henrietta Thorndike’s overweening confidence would be her undoing. He’d give her two days, a week at most, before she succumbed to temptation. But with the forfeit he had in mind, either way, his ward’s reputation would be safe. ‘I’m going to win, but what do you want, Mr Montemorcy, if I display a woeful lack of self-control?’
Robert forced his voice to be restrained, soothing. ‘If you fail to do this, for the next six months you will have to announce whenever you arrive at a social gathering that you are a habitual matchmaker. You will also give up organising any social event for the period.’
The colour drained from her face. ‘And what will I be doing with myself? I like to keep busy!’
‘You can read my research and learn how the scientific method works and why it is appropriate for the excavation site.’
Lady Thorndike opened and closed her mouth several times. A flash of hurt crossed her features. Robert hardened his heart. Lady Thorndike needed to learn this lesson before she did serious damage to someone’s reputation.
‘Would you like me to wear a sign about my neck as well?’ she asked, arching a brow. ‘Just so that everyone knows? Matchmaking is something that is done with a subtle hand, Mr Montemorcy. If I declare my intention, all my schemes will be ruined.’
‘That is rather the point, Lady Thorndike. You need to allow people to fall in love naturally and to attend social gatherings in the village without fear. Other people should have the opportunity to organise the events. How hard can it be?’
Henri raised her brows again, this time in amused disbelief—clearly Robert Montemorcy had no idea how hard organising social events could be! Suddenly she started to feel much more positive about the outcome of their wager. ‘Would you like me to set this wager to paper, Mr Montemorcy?’
‘If you wish. I’m quite happy to wager my dancing shoes against your declaration.’
‘Make sure you attend the ball with your dancing slippers on.’ Her eyes gleamed with mischief; she clapped her hands. ‘And I shall invite you to my first picnic at the excavation. It will be a treasure hunt to end all treasure hunts.’
‘You will lose, Lady Thorndike. I know you. The first time you see an opportunity you will have to grab it.’
Her deep blue eyes searched his face. ‘Is there any particular reason why you have made this wager?’
Robert caught his upper lip between his teeth and briefly contemplated confiding in Lady Thorndike about his ward and her disastrous experience at the Queen Charlotte’s ball, but decided that Lady Thorndike would be unable to resist offering unhelpful advice or spreading the news in an attempt to be helpful. Sophie had gone through enough without having to face that. No, until her enthusiasm for matchmaking was curbed, Lady Thorndike was positively dangerous and had to be held at arm’s length.
‘Your behaviour recently makes it necessary,’ he said finally.
‘I will not bother to answer that.’ Lady Thorndike lifted her chin in the air, not quite disguising another flash of hurt in her eyes. ‘Melanie has started to cut the cake and if she keeps sawing at it like that, the cake will crumble and nobody will get anything. I promised the vicar’s daughters that they would each have a piece to put under their pillows so that they may dream of their future bridegrooms. Melanie agreed with me that it was a splendid notion.’
‘Do you wish to end the wager already? No shame on either side.’
‘Hah, you think too little of me.’ Her dark blue eyes flashed defiantly. ‘Remember, Mr Montemorcy. Practise your polka. I require a certain standard in my dancing partners.’
Chapter Two
Her wager with Robert Montemorcy was child’s play, Henri reflected, slightly swinging the empty basket as she walked towards the circulating library several days after the wedding. All she had had to do was to become occupied with other things: visiting the various invalids in the parish with jars of calf’s-foot jelly that was made to her mother’s exacting receipt, making lists of things that needed to be accomplished before the ball, as well as events that would have to be held after the ball, deadheading the daffodils in the garden…She hadn’t even had to resort to the dreaded needlework.
Robert Montemorcy was entirely wrong about her. She did have other passions in her life. It was simply that matchmaking was the most interesting. It brought the chance of happiness to so many people.
‘Lady Thorndike, Lady Thorndike!’ Miss Armstrong gave a wave from outside the haberdasher’s. ‘Have you heard?’
Henri composed her features and carefully avoided stepping on a crack in the pavement. ‘Heard what?’
‘Robert Montemorcy is going to be married! We’d all considered him to be your property, so it must come as a great blow.’ Miss Armstrong adopted a falsely contrite face as the silk flowers inside the rim of her poke bonnet trembled with suppressed excitement. ‘I know I shouldn’t be spreading gossip but…I wanted to offer my condolences.’
Henri’s stomach plummeted and she tightened her grip on her basket. ‘Mr Montemorcy has never shown me any special favour, Miss Armstrong.’ Hortense Armstrong was notorious for getting gossip ever so slightly wrong. Robert Montemorcy wouldn’t do that without. without letting her know. Besides, he was far from being her property. They simply enjoyed pleasant conversations. ‘How did you come by this intelligence?’
‘Miss Nevin had it from her maid of all work who is best friends with the doctor’s cook who steps out with the footman at the New Lodge.’
Henri breathed easier. Servants. There would be some truth to the rumour, but it would have been twisted and contorted even before it reached Miss Armstrong. And Montemorcy’s admonition rang in her head. He wanted her to keep out of his private life. Was this the reason? An unknown visitor? An unknown visitor that did enjoy his special favour?
&
nbsp; ‘Speculation never did anyone any good,’ she choked out.
‘The entire household is in an uproar. The lady in question, a Miss Sophie Ravel, arrived from London with her stepmother yesterday. You never saw the boxes and trunks. Even a pagoda-shaped birdcage with a canary. Like a…well…a pagoda—you know, one of those Chinese, foreign things. Two carts from the station, or so I heard. Miss Ravel was supposed to be the Diamond of the Season, but she has forsaken all for love.’ Miss Armstrong gave a fluttering sigh and Henri found herself wanting to strangle her with a fierceness that was alarming.
‘Two carts do not a marriage make.’
A frown developed between Miss Armstrong’s brows. ‘I’ve never heard that saying before.’
‘Haven’t you?’ Henri smiled, and gave her basket a little swing. ‘I think it is a good one. It is one of my own.’
‘I imagine there will be a huge wedding. It will make the Croziers’ wedding look quite countrified and provincial.’
‘It is intriguing what servants hear…or don’t hear.’
Miss Armstrong’s face became positively unctuous, oozing with rumour and innuendo. ‘Of course, the new Mrs Montemorcy will be expected to take her part in leading society. You will not have it all your own way any more, Lady Thorndike. The new Mrs Montemorcy might even agree with me about the necessity of having garlands at Lady Winship’s ball.’
Henri gave Miss Armstrong a stern look. The conversation was fast becoming insupportable and beyond the bounds of propriety. She refused to think about any sort of wife that Montemorcy might take. She forced her breathing to be calm, even as a great hole opened up inside her. Robert Montemorcy couldn’t marry. It would change everything.
Miss Armstrong’s rosy cheeks became a slightly brighter hue. ‘That is to say, Lady Thorndike, I hope the rumours are wrong. I merely sought to inform you so that you could make a reasoned judgement and not faint at any gathering.’
To Marry A Matchmaker (Historical Romance) Page 2
