To Marry A Matchmaker (Historical Romance)

by Michelle Styles

  What was her destination? Here? And if yes, why—to apologise? Henrietta Thorndike never apologised for anything. Was she trying to do her duty as she saw it in welcoming the Ravels to the neighbourhood or did she have an alternative plan?

  She had singularly neglected to answer his question about her cousin. He curled his fingers about his pen. He’d view any attempt to open communication between her cousin and Sophie as a clear breach of their wager. And he’d inform her of that.

  ‘The doctor is here, sir,’ Davis the butler intoned.

  ‘Show him into the green drawing room. The upstairs maid is sitting with Lady Thorndike,’ Robert said.

  ‘Is it true, Robert?’ Dorothy Ravel burst into the room. Her Belgian lace cap was slightly askew. ‘Have you brought that man’s cousin here? I will not have my girl getting upset again!’

  ‘Dorothy,’ Robert said evenly, looking at the woman who had helped to bring him up, ‘Lady Thorndike is a friend. She had a mishap. The New Lodge was by far the most sensible place to bring her.’

  The woman’s ribbons quivered and she tightened her layers of shawls about her shoulders. ‘I’d hoped and prayed that it had all ended, but I worry so. Sophie must make a good match. Her father longed for it.’

  ‘And I’m well aware of the necessity. I did promise James on his deathbed. No rogues, rakes or rascals. I intend to keep my promise. Sophie will marry a man who is worthy of her and her fortune.’

  ‘I suppose…there is no hope—you and Sophie? You could always move to a warmer climate. London would welcome you. You are thirty-three and it is high time…’

  Robert recoiled from the unspoken request. ‘You, better than most, know my history, Dorothy. Sophie deserves someone she loves with her whole heart and who is closer in age and temperament. I’ve known Sophie since she was in her cradle.’

  ‘I curse that stupid woman.’ Dorothy Ravel rolled her eyes. ‘What she did to you was less than kind. You had a lucky escape, Robert. And your father was an old fool to marry that…that short-heeled wench. Mr Ravel told him to his face when he remarried. No good comes of lust and indulging spoilt women’s whims. He attempted to add her to his collection of beautiful objects and paid the ultimate price. But that was his shame and not yours.’

  ‘I know what my father did. I choose to remember him for other things. The way he was before it happened.’ Robert focused on the fire. His father might have felt compelled to commit suicide after his stepmother deserted him, but he’d learnt to trust facts rather than his instincts where women were concerned. He’d learnt that long ago. All relationships were governed by logic and scientific method. It was the only way.

  ‘And Daphne Smith—do you know what she was?’

  ‘I understand Lady Alderney is quite happy living abroad in Italy. I go down on my knees nightly, thanking God that I was saved from a fate worse than death. And logic should rule the heart rather than the other way around.’

  Robert pulled at his cuffs. He had been far too young then and far too ready to believe the lies that sprang from beautiful titled lips. Daphne had seemed to be an angel set on this earth and he had worshipped the ground her dainty foot trod as only a lovesick youth could do. He’d naïvely believed her protestations that she could care for him, if only her parents would allow her to. Her refusal of his proposal and her subsequent mockery after she had secured Viscount Alderney’s hand had made him even more determined to succeed and to follow his father’s injunction that a rational approach was the only way. And succeed he had, until one day he realised that success had a sweetness all of its own and the refusal was no longer the spur it once was. Thereafter he’d been very careful to take his pleasure only from sophisticated women who expected little in return—always ending the affair before his emotions were fully engaged rather than risk the hurt.

  ‘Do you think that Lord Cawburn sent Lady Thorndike as a spy? Does she know what he tried to do to my darling girl? The wickedness he had planned? I have heard stories, terrible stories. Why he remains accepted in polite society, I have no idea!’ For the second time in as many days, Dorothy appeared to be on the brink of hysterics as she fumbled for her handkerchief.

  Robert put a calming hand on Dorothy’s ample shoulder. There was no need to inform her of his wager with Henri and their quarrel. Dorothy might read far too much into it. ‘Lady Thorndike’s reason for being in the neighbourhood will be entirely innocent. She is well-known for her generosity and she always calls on visitors. She has started some society or other.’

  ‘I do hope you are right. I worry about my little girl and that…that monster. The women he has ruined. And rumours of his gaming.’

  ‘Trust me to handle it,’ Robert said grimly. ‘It is why you came to me in the first place. Nothing will happen to Sophie under my roof. She is safe here with trusted servants to watch over her. And when we know she is sensible, then she can go out into society again.’

  ‘You are so good to us, Robert.’ Dorothy dabbed a handkerchief to her eyes. ‘My nerves…the very thought of having to meet that man again is enough to make me take to my bed.’

  ‘I will explain it to Lady Thorndike. She won’t want to embarrass you or your stepdaughter. She may be many things, but she’s not cruel and she is a strong upholder of society’s virtues.’

  Dorothy Ravel twisted the handkerchief about her fingers. ‘I find that society goes out the window when family are concerned. And Sophie is at such an impressionable age…’

  ‘I give you my word, Dorothy. Cawburn will only ruin Sophie over my dead body. Trust me on this.’ Henri lay on the dark green damask couch and gazed up at the ornate ceiling. Robert Montemorcy’s house with its highly polished wooden floors, plush Persian carpets and various clocks and other mechanical items whirling smelt of wax polish and other chemicals. It had puzzled her at first and then she remembered Robert kept a small chemical laboratory for experiments. He’d even created a new type of white paint for Melanie Crozier when she complained of the old one streaking and ruining her watercolours.

  A variety of clocks started to strike the hour, reminding her that time was fleeting. Henri shivered and pulled the soft wool blanket up around her chin, wrapping herself in a cocoon against the world. For once Robert was correct. She would never have made it home. But she’d leave as soon as her aunt’s carriage arrived. It puzzled her why Miss Ravel and her stepmother hadn’t greeted her and had left the nursing to a junior maid. But then not everyone was comfortable around invalids.

  Henri moved her ankle and, despite the laudanum the doctor had forced her to drink earlier, it throbbed with a dull ache. Henri wrinkled her nose. One more fallacy. She had always thought laudanum took away all physical aches and pains. Edmund in his gentle reproachful way had always sworn it did when she enquired.

  ‘Lady Thorndike?’ Mr Montemorcy stood in the door, filling it. The light filtered in behind him and prevented her from seeing his face. ‘I regret to inform you that you will need to remain here for a week, two at most. Doctor Lumley requests it.’

  Henri concentrated on a particularly fat cupid, trying to conquer the inexplicable urge to weep. She was not sure which was worse—that Mr Montemorcy had begun calling her Lady Thorndike again or the fact she was not to be moved. To be looked after as a matter of duty, rather than out of love and affection. She wanted to be home, surrounded by familiar objects. At least there the servants were friends. ‘Surely my aunt—’

  ‘Doctor Lumley fears infection and wants to make sure you are kept quiet with your leg raised. Until you have fully recovered.’

  Infection. The word stabbed at Henri. It was a horrid way to die and there was little anyone could do once it had taken hold. Edmund used to fear it far more than the lung fever that eventually killed him.

  ‘But the bite was washed clean.’ Henri hated the way even the mention of infection sent an ice-cold chill down her spine.

  ‘Dog bites are notorious for infection. And your ankle is badly sprained. He doesn’t want y
ou moved until the swelling goes down.’

  Tears of frustration pricked her eyelids. He didn’t understand. She wasn’t going to get an infection. Infections happened to other people. She was always sensible about such things. She took care, but there were so many things that had to be attended to. ‘I can rest at home.’

  ‘Doctor Lumley wants you to be nursed properly.’ His tone was warm, but commanding. He expected to be obeyed, Henri realised with a start. It wasn’t open for negotiation. ‘I understand from Doctor Lumley that your aunt is not entirely well. Staying here is the only solution. Unless you wish to risk an infection…’

  Robert’s words flowed over her. She trusted Doctor Lumley and he wanted her in this house, being looked after. He had cured her aunt’s fever last winter when everyone despaired. What wasn’t she being told? She took a deep breath. ‘I…I…’

  ‘You have gone green, Lady Thorndike.’

  ‘I know what infections can do,’ she said in a rush.

  ‘As I do, Henri.’ He turned his head towards her, throwing his features into sharp relief. ‘My mother died from one when I was ten.’

  ‘My late husband…used to fear them.’ She hated the way her voice quavered and stopped. She should have more control after all this time. It had to be the laudanum. She tightened her grip on the blanket, concentrated on the flocked wallpaper rather than on Robert’s mouth and regained control. ‘He’d seen his father die from a splinter of wood, but Edmund died of…of other things.’

  ‘It is awful to lose someone you love.’

  Henri glanced up at him and saw the tenderness in his eyes. He understood without her having to explain about Edmund’s death and the agony he had experienced. Why did he have to be the one who did?

  ‘Did…did the doctor say anything? Does he think I might—?’

  ‘Right now, it is time. Everything that can be done is being done. But if you do not rest, I will not be held responsible.’ He patted her shoulder. ‘The village would never forgive me if I lost you.’

  Henri wrinkled her nose as relief flooded through her. Somehow it made it easier to think that Robert was there with her, even if it was just words. ‘Hardly that. I keep bullying people into things they don’t want to do.’

  ‘Like dancing lessons.’ A heart-melting smile crossed his face. ‘And it will be strict rest. Doctor Lumley insists. He said something about last winter…’

  Henri made a face. Doctor Lumley would have to remember how last winter, she had suffered a chill and had been far too busy to rest—the Ladies’ Aid Society had needed to make up the baskets for the poor. She could think of a dozen pressing problems and a half-dozen more minor crises that required her attention. And then there was the vexing problem of Sebastian and how he had conned Aunt Frances out of the housekeeping money that last time he was up here. Could she direct the house even if she was lying on a sofa with her foot raised? ‘I can’t remain here that long. I have responsibilities. My aunt depends on me.’

  ‘You wish to get well. The entire village can exist without your interference for a few weeks. In next to no time, you will be arranging people’s lives again.’ He gave a crooked smile that lit up his face. Henri tightened her grip on the coverlet as her heart started doing crazy flips and she found herself watching his lips. ‘Think of it as a way to win our wager.’

  ‘But a few weeks…the ball…people will forget about it!’ Henri’s body started to tremble. Suddenly the entire room tilted. She concentrated on the china ornaments and gradually the giddiness left her. It was a reaction to her predicament rather than to Robert Montemorcy’s nearness.

  ‘You do people a disservice.’ His smile became liquid honey. ‘Catch up on your reading. My library is well stocked, but someone can always be persuaded to go to the circulating library and get out the guide to better cattle, if you require.’

  Henri smiled back at him. Relief flooded through her. Seemingly their quarrel was over. They could even laugh about it. With Sebastian, such things festered and lingered for days. ‘Being here will demonstrate to you that I have other passions in my life besides matchmaking. If I succeed, you will be dancing the polka.’

  ‘On that ankle?’

  ‘Did I say with me?’ Henri pressed her fingertips together. It had to be the laudanum. The thought of dancing with Robert sent another warm giddy thrill through her. She frowned. She’d never been given to giddiness, not even with Edmund. ‘I will watch with approval whomever you decide to dance with.’

  ‘But first you have to win the wager.’ He leant forwards and a myriad of colours lit his eyes. A woman could spend a lifetime studying those eyes and never be able to name all the colours. ‘I fully expect you to give in to temptation.’

  ‘I shall delight in proving you wrong.’

  His shoulders relaxed slightly, but there remained a guarded wariness about his eyes. ‘That is more like the Henrietta Thorndike I’m used to.’

  If only life was that simple. He wanted something more, she was sure of it. The unspoken request hung in the air.

  ‘I owe you an apology,’ she said into the sudden silence.

  ‘An apology? What have I done to deserve that?’

  ‘I made a mistake, Robert. You were trying to do what is best for your ward.’ She held out her hand. ‘You were worried. Hopefully next time, you’ll trust me with the full truth before embarking on a madcap wager.’

  He took her hand and raised it his lips. The briefest touch was enough to send her heart thumping.

  ‘There is no need for an apology—as long as we understand each other now.’

  She lifted her chin and stared straight back at him. Gathering intelligence wasn’t wrong. She wasn’t actually doing anything with it. And she wouldn’t meddle until she knew the full story. ‘Yes, we do.’

  He turned towards the door. His eyes lit with a sudden flare. ‘I will hold you to it.’

  Chapter Five

  ‘Henrietta? May I call you Henrietta? I feel like I already know you.’ A blonde head with dishevelled curls and pale slightly protruding eyes peeked around the door, waking Henri from an uncomfortable sleep on the sofa. The young woman was clothed almost entirely in flounces and impractical Belgian lace. The dress appeared to be more suited to a London ballroom than a rainy afternoon in Northumberland. ‘You’re awake. Please say you’re awake. I’ve longed to meet you.’

  Henri struggled to sit up straight on the damask-covered sofa as the torrent of words rushed over her. She glanced at the small clock that was now shrouded in gloom.

  Two hours since Montemorcy left her to sleep. Two hours of sleep. She never slept during the day. Naps were for invalids.

  Her ankle throbbed, reminding her that her activity would be curtailed for the next few weeks. She had to hope that no one took pity on her. She’d had enough pity, concern and being treated like she was made of spun-glass after Edmund died to last several lifetimes. ‘I’m awake. And you are the Miss Ravel that everyone in the village is speaking about.’

  The young woman gave a tiny curtsy. ‘In the flesh.’ Her cheeks flushed bright pink. ‘Is everyone speaking about me? Truly?’

  ‘The village was much intrigued by your canary and its pagoda-shaped cage.’

  ‘Robert gave it to me last birthday as I expressed a wish for it. He always gives the most splendid presents.’ Miss Ravel glanced over her shoulder to the right and then the left. ‘I wanted to see you before they forbade it.’

  ‘Why would they forbid it?’ Henri tilted her head to one side.

  ‘Everything new or interesting is forbidden these days.’ Sophie gave a dramatic sigh. ‘Even walking on my own or with a maid, which I used to love. My stepmama…feels that I am incapable of being sensible…, after the débâcle in the drawing room. Earlier this week I opened the canary’s cage because it must hate it, but it just looked at me and pecked a few more seeds. I don’t understand it. I’d be out of the cage in a flash if I were that bird.’

  ‘I’m sorry to hear it.’ He
nri frowned. It was wrong to keep someone caged like a bird. It encouraged rebellion. She could remember just before she had insisting on eloping and how her mother’s attitude had contributed to her need to escape. Edmund had understood and she’d never gone back to the house where she grew up after Edmund’s death.

  Sophie clasped her hands together; the bright coral bangles on her wrists crashed together. ‘I’ve longed to meet you ever since Sebastian first told me about you and your romantic life. It’s all so wonderfully tragic. I wept buckets.’

  Henri clenched her jaw. Pity again, and from someone who never even knew Edmund. Sebastian had no right to tell her the story or to imply that Henri was some sort tragic heroine. ‘What did he say?’

  ‘How you had eloped and then your husband died tragically a few months later.’ Sophie adopted a soulful look. ‘I thought it all terribly romantic. To be that in love and then to have it dashed from your lips as it were at such a young age. You have never remarried?’

  ‘Edmund was ill for a long time before and after the marriage.’ Henri kept her eyes on the ormolu clock. Had she ever been that young? This Ravel person made it sound as if she was languishing for a lost love. She wasn’t. She had a fulfilled and busy life, useful. She helped other people and didn’t have time for maudlin thoughts. ‘I’ve never found the right person to replace him. Never wanted to.’

  ‘Yes, I know.’ Miss Ravel put her hands to her chest and gave a long drawn-out sigh. ‘I thought it the most romantic thing in the world to marry someone who was suffering and to seek to relieve their pain, and should I have the great misfortune to ever be in such position, I shall follow your lead. After all, once you give your heart, it is given.’

  ‘How well do you know Sebastian?’ Henri asked, determined to steer the conversation away from her private life and towards things of far greater interest—namely, how Sophie Ravel saw Sebastian. This might be their only chance to speak privately if Miss Ravel was to be believed. ‘I understand there was a contretemps.’