To Marry A Matchmaker (Historical Romance)

by Michelle Styles

  ‘We’ve only spoken in snatches. He was in the process of telling me about your tragic life when Mama happened in the room. He had just put his arm about my shoulders as I was weeping. And then quite suddenly and without warning, I was whisked up here. I’m forbidden all contact with Sebastian, which is a shame as his outrageous comments made me laugh. How can anyone take him seriously?’

  ‘Miss Ravel, do you know my cousin’s reputation?’ Henri asked gently.

  ‘He’s much older than me and far more experienced. But his face reminds me of an angel’s face. A true Exquisite, everyone says so.’ Sophie paused, fiddling with the tie on her black silk apron. ‘But he told me that he worshipped the ground I walked on. Mostly people ignore me, but Sebastian—I mean, Lord Cawburn—keeps saying how he’d like to make violent love to me in the most inappropriate places. He doesn’t mean it, of course, but it is flattering.’

  ‘He’s the sort of man who is not safe in carriages,’ Henri said, making a sudden decision. As much as she hated to admit it, she agreed with Robert. Any match between the pair would be a disaster. Sophie Ravel was not the sort of person who would hold Sebastian’s interest for the longer term or who could take a firm line when Sebastian started to commit his little misdemeanours.

  If there was an alliance, it would be an unhappy one, but Sophie had to think that she had come to the conclusion on her own. Henri tapped her forefinger against her chin, considering. She wouldn’t directly meddle, more. suggest and allow the conclusion to come naturally.

  ‘Not safe at all. And he means precisely what he says,’ Henri said. ‘It’s part of his charm. He never lies. He simply says things in such a manner that people discount it.’

  ‘I know all about the value of a sharp elbow.’ Sophie gave a proud toss of her head. ‘A true gentleman like your cousin wouldn’t do anything that I didn’t want him to do. He said so. All I had to do was to say the word cease and he would. We were about to practise when Stepmama burst in.’

  ‘Sebastian can be remarkably hard of hearing,’ Henri said drily. She gathered Sophie Ravel’s hand between hers and was surprised how small and delicate it was. ‘I doubt an elbow would deter him. You might have to use a frying pan to get your point across, should he ever entice you into a carriage, and you might need to hit him more than once.’

  Sophie’s blue eyes widened to the size of saucers. ‘A frying pan, truly?’

  ‘If you can find one to hand. Very useful things, frying pans—cook your breakfast on it as well as dispatch unwanted advances.’ Henri hit the side of her head. ‘Whack on the side of the head. It is the only method he’ll understand.’

  ‘I’ll keep that in mind, but I’m sure you are funning me.’ Sophie Ravel’s bottom lip stuck out slightly. ‘Sebastian is simply the most thrilling thing to have happened to me. And I’m certain you are mistaken about him. He only says things to amuse.’

  Mentally Henri sighed. ‘Edmund was the same age as I. Sebastian is rather older than you. He will be thirty next birthday.’

  ‘It isn’t the age that matters, but the feeling. In any case, he isn’t as old as Robert, and dear Stepmama is hopeful.’ Miss Ravel put a hand over her mouth. ‘Here I go, telling tales again. Robert says I spend too much of my allowance and whoever gets me had better have enough money to keep me. Does Sebastian, as I won’t get my fortune until I am twenty-one or I marry?’

  Henri hated the small curl of annoyance. Robert Montemorcy would be bored within moments if he married this chit. She sincerely hoped that Robert had more sense, but then she had discovered in the years since Edmund’s death that men seldom had sense where women were concerned. They had a tendency to overlook the perfect woman and develop a tendre for someone unsuitable. much as Sebastian had done with Miss Ravel. It was why matchmaking became so important for everyone’s peace of mind.

  ‘I suspect you will discover that the marrying bit must be someone your guardian approves of or there will be no money. It is how matters work.’

  ‘Always?’ Sophie Ravel’s eyes widened with shock. ‘But Robert would never…or would he?’

  ‘Always,’ Henri answered steadily. ‘And then it will be up to your husband to decide, but you will be able to guide him. But if you marry without your guardian’s permission, you will have to wait.’

  ‘Oh, bother! I hadn’t considered that. Robert hates it when his will is crossed,’ Miss Ravel cried, putting her hand to her mouth. ‘I’m sure Sebastian will wait for me if his heart is true. I quite like the idea of having a man such as your cousin wait for me. He’d said he’d do it as long I didn’t take too long. And until I’m twenty-one isn’t awfully long, is it? Not if his heart is true?’

  ‘It is best to discover his true intentions. You ought to write to him and explain the situation. It is what I would do,’ Henri said as a wave of tiredness swept over her. Everything was going to be sorted out. Sensibly. All it needed was a firm hand and a steady nerve. Once Sebastian read the letter, he’d be off to find an heiress whose family approved of him. Problem satisfactorily concluded. Men like Robert overcomplicated things.

  * * *

  A single lamp shone in the drawing room and the only noise the scratch of a pen. Robert frowned. The room should have been filled with the sound of soft breathing.

  Henri was sitting up, sucking the end of a pen while various pages of notes and lists surrounded her. Her black hair had come loose and a single curl touched her neck, emphasising its slenderness and pointing down towards where her breasts swelled. The whole tableau was intimate and private. It was all too easy to imagine Henri with her dark hair spread out over a pillow. What her skin would taste like and how her curves would feel against his. There were also reasons why becoming involved with Henrietta Thorndike was not going to happen.

  Robert forced his gaze from her, steadied his breath and examined the chaos.

  ‘What are you up to now? I don’t think it is what the good doctor would call rest,’ he said softly.

  She glanced up and he saw her right cheek was covered in a blue-black ink smudge. It gave her an endearing look. He wet his handkerchief in the jug of water that stood on the chest of drawers and held it out to her. ‘You’ve an ink blot on your right cheek.’

  Her skin flushed rose and she scrubbed away with his handkerchief. ‘It always happens when I get absorbed in things.’

  ‘Doctor Lumley said “rest”, not “direct the entire village from your bedside”.’

  ‘I haven’t moved my ankle.’ She gestured towards where her foot rested on several pillows. ‘How can I sleep when I worry? There is the ball, where loads remains to be done, and after that a concert. I was planning on writing to a variety of professors to see if we can get a lecture series organised for this autumn.’

  ‘The cemeteries are full of people who had little time to rest.’

  ‘Oh, please!’ She slapped her hand against the papers.

  He leant over and twitched the paper away from her. It was covered in neat diagrams about how the flower arrangements should go, as well as a plan for the most expedient receiving line. Underlined and with exclamation points was the admonition that under all circumstances, the pugs must be restrained and not allowed on the dance floor.

  Her lavender scent tickled his nostrils. He concentrated on breathing slowly, becoming more certain with each passing moment that he’d made a mistake earlier in giving in to temptation.

  ‘Henri, you should allow people to do things on their own. Is all this correspondence for the ball?’

  She gestured towards another pile. ‘Those are for the ball. That lot over there is for the Ladies’ Aid Society as we were planning a whist drive and other entertainments to raise money for a fountain, and finally my instructions to my aunt on how to economise while I’m indisposed. If Aunt Frances is allowed, she’ll burn seven candles a night.’

  Robert gave a low whistle, impressed at the sheer energy Henri possessed. ‘Why did you do it?’

  ‘To take my mind off my
ankle and the possibility of infection. I have found if I’m doing things for others, then I’ve no time to think about my own predicament. It is by far the most effective remedy.’

  ‘Physical pain doesn’t go away if you bury yourself in work.’

  ‘What would you know about it?’

  ‘I’ve had my share of broken bones.’ He gave her a dark look. ‘Engineering and chemistry are not exactly safe occupations. Experiments can go wrong.’

  Henri put her pen down and stared at him expectantly. ‘Continue. You have never said.’

  ‘They happened a while ago when I was younger. What other instructions have you sent your aunt?’ Robert picked up a page from the ‘home’ pile. He stilled as he read the injunctions to keep Sebastian away from the cucumbers as cucumbers were far too dear and under no circumstance was her aunt to pay any of Sebastian’s tailoring bills. ‘Has your cousin returned to Corbridge? When the Season is in full swing? I had understood he never returned here.’

  ‘Yesterday.’ She challenged him with a steely-blue gaze. ‘The gossip will have it that he is let in the pockets or some such nonsense, but you and I know differently. Sophie Ravel came to see me earlier. You kept the full story from me.’

  Robert cursed under his breath. Sophie had foiled Dorothy’s scheme to keep the pair apart until he had extracted a promise from Henri, a promise she was sure to give as she wanted to win the blasted bet. To keep Sophie safe, he would dance and he would even sanction a picnic at the ruins. But now, it would be a fumble-fingered approach. ‘You should have told me about Cawburn’s arrival. It changes everything.’

  ‘And as you singularly failed to confide in me about Sophie and her predicament, why should I consider the need to tell you anything?’ she remarked, a smug smile playing on her lips. Henri was up to something. It bothered him that he hadn’t worked out what it was, but give him time and he would. ‘Sebastian is a cross I have to bear.’

  ‘You do remember our wager?’

  ‘Surely you are not suggesting that I would play matchmaker?’ Her eyes widened, but Robert wondered if it was a studied look. ‘Despite the provocation, I’m doing nothing of the sort. In fact, I wish to call an end to the ill-conceived idea. I do understand why you did it, but given that I’ll easily win being cooped up now. where is the fun in that?’

  ‘Where indeed?’ he murmured. ‘Very well. We will call a truce, Lady Thorndike, until you have recovered. I’ve no wish to make it easy for you. The wager is abandoned.’

  She gave a brisk nod, but the tiniest of smiles played on her full lips. ‘Did you think Sebastian would remain in London? You should have known that he’d scamper up here once you removed his love.’

  ‘I misjudged the situation,’ Robert admitted reluctantly. ‘I’d not considered his devotion would be so great. You have always claimed that he’d rather be dead than north of the Humber.’

  ‘Now that’s a first—you admitting you’re wrong.’ Henri pressed her hands against her gown. First the handkerchief to clean her face and then Robert admitting that he’d made a mistake and readily agreeing to a truce. A lock of hair had fallen over his forehead. Her fingers itched to smooth it away. She struggled to breathe normally and wished her stays were looser.

  ‘Sophie wrote a letter to your cousin this afternoon. Her maid handed it to me. I suspect she was hoping to have it posted along with your notes and then have your aunt post it onwards, but now I realise she knew he was here.’

  ‘I know nothing about it,’ Henri replied truthfully. She sat up a bit straighter and lowered her lashes demurely. ‘But Sophie Ravel strikes me as a very determined young lady. Something that is forbidden gains in value. Have you read the letter? Or did your spies simply inform you of its existence?’

  ‘An expression of piety does you no good.’ Robert’s laughter filled the room. ‘I know you’ll be involved somehow. But having met Sophie, do you truly think she is the correct person for your cousin? Can’t you resist meddling for once?’

  Henri put her hand to her head and tried to think clearly. ‘You do me a disservice. Before I meddle, as you called it, I do seek to make sure the couple in question are compatible.’

  ‘Out with it, Henri. What is the trouble? What do you have against Miss Ravel? Why don’t you think this is a good match? I’m interested to hear your reasoning.’ His eyes danced.

  ‘Do you intend to marry Miss Ravel?’ she asked in a careful voice. Her insides tightened, waiting for the response. If she knew he was spoken for, maybe this intense physical awareness of him would vanish.

  Instantly he sobered and put the paper down. His brows drew together. ‘That, Henri, is none of your business. You are teetering on the brink of asking a question that could be construed as matchmaking and interference in my private life.’

  ‘It is a natural enough conclusion. The entire village has remarked on Miss Ravel coming up here when no one knew of her before. They believe she has fled towards love, rather than running away from ruin.’ Henri kept her gaze fastened over his shoulder. With each breath she took the tight fluttery place in her stomach became tighter and more noticeable. She refused to think about the kiss they had shared earlier. Would he have kissed her if he was promised to another? Her cheek burnt. There was no way she could even refer to the kiss.

  ‘As it happens, village gossip is wrong. I’ve no plans to marry the chit.’ He turned towards the roaring fire, hiding his face. ‘I’ve known her since she was a babe in arms and I made a promise to her dying father. I’ll be glad once she has settled into a good match and is no longer my responsibility. I pity her poor husband, whoever he is, as she will lead him a merry dance. She was the apple of her father’s eye and he only married her governess so that Sophie would have a mother…after her mother died. It would be cradle robbing and my tastes are more mature.’

  Henri discovered she could gulp air again. Robert Montemorcy had no plans to marry Sophie Ravel and liked women closer to his age. He sought to honour a promise to Miss Ravel’s father. It shouldn’t be important, but it was. ‘I can understand that. Miss Ravel is awfully young. It is one of the reasons I suggested that she write to Sebastian with the suggestion that they wait until she reaches her majority. It is good her father thought so much of her.’

  ‘And furthermore, my dear Henrietta Thorndike, I have no plans ever to marry. I am far too busy with my work. I’d make the worst sort of husband and who would put up with my temper?’ He turned back around and gave her a burning look. ‘You may keep me crossed off that matchmaking list, the one you are preparing to resurrect after our wager is finished.’

  ‘I have no such list,’ Henri replied truthfully—she kept her best ideas in her head rather than written down.

  ‘And I would take it as a personal favour if you did not include Miss Ravel’s name either.’

  ‘How many times must I say that no such list exists?’ Henri squared her shoulders and stared defiantly at him. ‘Most people marry eventually.’

  ‘I’m far from most people. Have I asked you why you have never remarried?’

  She shifted uncomfortably on the sofa. He was hitting below the belt. Her reasons were private and certainly not something she would discuss with a man whom she had shared a kiss with. Edmund was irreplaceable. No one else had ever had that lovely gentle smile, which made her feel so content. She couldn’t explain about the awful loneliness after he had gone without seeming somehow needy.

  He leant forwards, so their breath was intimately laced. The shifting colours of his golden-brown eyes mesmerised her and all she could do was to stare at them and hope.

  ‘It is a private matter,’ she whispered.

  ‘As are my reasons.’ He moved away from her. ‘Shall we keep it that way? No attempts at matchmaking on either side. And now, it is time to take you to bed and prevent you from doing any more work. Shall I carry you up?’

  The words conjured up an image that she had tried to bury. She focused on the ormolu clock and forced her breathing to be
even. ‘I could lean on a stick. I can get up the stairs on my own if I take it slowly.’

  ‘Sometimes, Henri, you have to let other people take care of you. Allow me to keep you safe.’

  Safe. She hated to think how long it had been since anyone offered to look after her; even Edmund had needed her to look after him. She watched how the fire highlighted the planes of his face and the darkness of his eyes seemed to swallow her up. He was going to kiss her again. Her entire being quivered with anticipation.

  Suddenly the clocks began whirling and chiming, breaking the spell and calling her back to reality.

  ‘I think I’m overtired,’ she whispered, clutching the blanket to her chest. ‘Please allow me to stagger. You’ve done enough. I’ve inconvenienced you for far too long today.’

  ‘I will call the footmen. They can make a chair to carry you up. Pleasant dreams.’ He turned on his heel and left the room.

  Henri stared after him and the loneliness inside her ached worse than before.

  * * *

  The dreams came thick and fast, a result of the laudanum Sophie had insisted Henri take when she came to bid Henri goodnight.

  Henri struggled to sit up, sweat-drenched and heart pounding.

  In her dream, Edmund watched her with a thoughtful expression and then whispered goodbye before fading to nothingness. She had screamed for him to return, but instead, in a swirl of mist, Robert Montemorcy had appeared, taking her in his arms and kissing her. His lips explored hers, taking their time, slowly but thoroughly, sliding over hers and delving deep. The searing intensity jolted her awake. Edmund had never kissed her in that possessive manner. Edmund’s kisses had always been wistful and sweet.

  In the grey dawn light, Henri’s fingers explored her aching mouth. She struggled to control her racing heartbeat. A large part of her wanted to sink back into the dream, but the more sensible part of her told her to stay awake and to try to think about things.