To Marry A Matchmaker (Historical Romance)

by Michelle Styles

  As she reached for the lucifer matches, her hand knocked the candlestick, sending it crashing to the floor.

  ‘Are you all right, Henri? Do you need assistance?’ Robert’s voice echoed throughout the room.

  Henri sharply drew in her breath. She had hoped that Sophie or one of the servants would be sitting up, but her bad luck continued to hold. He would have sat up, wouldn’t he? She pressed her fingers against her temples and bid the traitorous thoughts to be gone. His voice was a laudanum-induced hallucination.

  ‘Lady Thorndike? Answer me.’

  ‘I’m all right,’ she called out and hoped it would satisfy him. The thought of encountering him when dressed in a borrowed nightdress with her hair about her shoulders and soon after her explicit dream made everything worse. ‘Truly, I’m fine.’

  ‘You sound far from fine. You sound in pain. Martyrdom is an unattractive quality.’ He came into the small invalid’s bedchamber, carrying a candle. His shirt was undone and the golden light of the candle highlighted the shadowy hollow of his throat. The shirt moulded to his chest, leaving little to the imagination.

  Against all reason, Robert was here, looking after her instead of delegating the task to a servant. And in a state of semi-undress, carrying the single source of light, a light that highlighted his masculinity, demonstrating how deficient her imagination truly was.

  Without saying a word he reached down and retrieved the errant candlestick, placing it on the wicker chair beside her bed.

  ‘Sorry I woke you. My dreams were…very vivid.’ Her hand played with the ribbons of her nightdress. ‘Normally, that is to say…I rarely remember any of my dreams. I must have lashed out in my sleep. A nightmare.’

  She stared at him and dared him to say differently. Far better that he think it a night terror rather than some mad longing to be kissed by him.

  ‘The laudanum.’ He used his candle to relight the one beside her bed, bathing the room in a soft light that did nothing to lessen the feeling of intimacy. ‘It gives strange dreams. I avoid it except when strictly necessary.’

  ‘You must be right. It can do strange things.’ Henri pulled the blanket higher until it reached her chin. ‘I regret disturbing your sleep.’

  ‘Someone needed to watch over you.’

  ‘I would’ve thought one of the servants. Miss Ravel’s maid?’

  His eyes crinkled at the corners. ‘My mother always insisted it needed to be a family member who watched anyone who had laudanum or was seriously ill. Everyone had to take their turn, even my father. He complained, but he did it.’

  ‘She didn’t trust the servants.’ Henri tried to concentrate on his words rather than on his nearness. She could almost reach out and touch the hollow in his throat. Her fingers tightened about the blanket. His looking after her had nothing to do with Miss Ravel and everything to do with his upbringing. It was something he’d do for anyone under his care.

  ‘Not to look after invalids. It had to be done properly.’ A wistful smile crossed his face and Henri knew that his mother must have been very important to him. She wished she had had a mother who encouraged people to look after family, rather than demanding attention all the time and telling Henri that she was a shamming and ungrateful daughter when she complained of an aching head. ‘Mother was very insistent on such things. To be nursed by her was truly to be taken care of. I only wish I could do the same.’

  ‘It was very kind of you, but I wouldn’t have minded if a servant sat with me.’

  ‘But I would have.’

  Henri closed her eyes, thinking of what he’d said earlier about his mother dying of an infection. From an early age, she had learnt to accomplish things for herself because no one else would. Her needs were less important than her mother’s, or later Edmund’s or, later still, a host of other more deserving people. Far easier to help out than to be overlooked. But in the middle of the night with her ankle throbbing, the thought he was there, watching her, filled her with wonder. Intellectually she knew he’d do it for anyone in his care, but she did enjoy that brief instant of feeling special. ‘Men hate nursing—a fact of life.’

  ‘If the patient is asleep and quiet, it becomes a pleasure.’ His lips quirked upwards and he held out two books—one on chemistry and the other on archaeology. ‘Someday I’d like to find a way to extract aluminium cheaply, but I haven’t been able to find one yet. And I also want to know more about the latest advances in archaeology. I feel a more thorough approach rather than treating it like treasure hunting would work.’

  ‘Then I apologise for being restless. Far be it from me to interrupt an inventor at his work.’

  ‘You were a welcome distraction.’ He repositioned the pillow under her ankle and then straightened the blanket, tucking her in like a child. Henri’s heart panged. She hated to think how long it had been since anyone did something like that for her. Even Edmund had wanted her to look after him, rather than looking after her. It was only a little thing, but meant a lot. Someone cared enough to make certain she was comfortable.

  ‘I promise to be good and not to knock over any more candles.’ Henri concentrated on retying her nightcap, acutely aware of his long fingers and the way they had brushed the blanket. ‘You can go back to your post. I’m fully recovered.’

  He remained next to the bed. The candlelight highlighted the planes of his face and the mysterious hollow at the base of his throat. Henri attempted to ignore the way her pulse leapt.

  ‘You may keep me amused for a little while. Your eyes are far too bright.’

  He had noticed her eyes. He understood without her saying that she had no desire to sleep. Henri’s insides trembled with a warm unfamiliar ache.

  She raised herself up on her elbows. ‘Miss Ravel has a tender heart. She brought the flowers up before I went to sleep. Thank you for relenting and allowing her to visit me openly.’

  He placed his hand on her shoulder. A warm pulse went through her at his touch, but she held her body absolutely still. ‘I spoke with her stepmother and explained. There is little to be gained in actively encouraging Sophie to rebel. I am not so old that I can’t remember how much fun I had with rebelling.’

  ‘And her letter to Sebastian?’ Henri asked, seeking to distract her mind from the way warm ache seemed to radiate from his hand. ‘Will you allow communication?’

  ‘I will deliver it personally to your cousin. Unopened. We need to speak as he has returned. I can hardly forbid him visiting you. The gossips throughout Northumberland would be working overtime. Sophie came up here to protect her reputation, not provide for speculation.’

  She stared at him in astonishment. ‘What caused the sea change?’

  ‘He ran like a redshank up here after Sophie left. It is impressive. I want to know why so I can better assess the situation. I take a pragmatic view on these things. Like you, I do gather intelligence.’ He tilted his head. ‘A calm rational approach. Logic.’

  Henri clamped her mouth shut. The temptation to crow about her victory nearly overwhelmed her, but she’d be generous in victory. Someday soon, he’d admit the errors of his ways. But she’d wait and allow him to discover it on his own. ‘The scientific method in operation.’

  ‘It is far better than the methods you employ, Henri.’

  ‘There is nothing wrong with my methods. They bring results. Instinct and intuition. Precise planning produces perfection.’ She moved her ankle and searing pain shot through her. A groan escaped her throat as she clawed at the coverlet.

  ‘I know you don’t like it, but maybe you should have some laudanum to dull the pain.’ He put out his hand and Henri clung on to it tightly as she shook her head. Somehow, his strong fingers made it more bearable. ‘Being a martyr never helped anyone. You do not have to do penance.’

  She smiled up at him, forcing her hand to let go, and when it did a great feeling of loneliness swamped her. What did Robert Montemorcy know about her need for penance? She did have to make amends for her sins. She bit her lip and hop
ed he would consider her grimace was from the pain rather than the knowledge. ‘It’ll pass. It already has.’

  ‘Liar.’ His smile lit up the room, but he allowed her hand to fall to her side.

  Henri knew her cheeks flamed and hoped that he would think she was frightened about reliving the experience rather than dreaming about him again. And she was aware suddenly that she was in a thin lawn nightgown. ‘Sleep cures all ills.’

  ‘I should go.’ The unspoken request was there—unless you want me to stay?

  And she did. Her body wanted his arms about her. In another moment she would beg. Henri swallowed hard and reached for her paper and pen. ‘I am perfectly fine. I’ve recovered…from my dream.’

  ‘If you need me, call. Dream well.’

  Henri sucked the end of her pen. Pleasant dreams indeed. The last thing she wanted was to dream as she’d only dream about his mouth moving over hers. What was required were lengthy notes on the correct order for the dances at the ball, the correct positioning of the floral pieces and plans for several future events that would better the lives of the villagers rather than considering how Robert’s lips might feel against hers again.

  Chapter Six

  Anger simmered through Robert. Left to kick his heels in the faded glory of Dyvels’ entrance hall like some lackey or servant instead of being shown to the drawing room and given the respect due to a neighbour. He found it hard to believe that any relation of Henri’s could be so lacking in manners.

  ‘It is far too early in the morning for such an unwelcome visit, Montemorcy.’ Cawburn gave an exaggerated yawn and stretched.

  ‘I have been up for hours.’ Robert hooked his thumbs in his waistcoat. After his encounter with Henri, all desire to sleep had fled. He’d done the decent thing and left, rather than giving in to his desires and taking her into his arms. Kissing Henri again, properly this time, would lead to complications. And he preferred to keep things simple and logical. He valued her as a friend too much to risk her reputation. Or losing her. But the memory of her mouth against his and the way her nightdress had revealed her curves had played havoc with his sleep.

  ‘As it is, three meetings will have to be postponed,’ he said. ‘I’ve missed the late-morning train to Newcastle.’

  ‘We obviously keep different time.’

  In the fierce morning sunlight, Cawburn’s overly smooth face showed slight puffiness. In a few years’ time, Robert could well imagine how Cawburn’s looks would be ravaged if he did not stop his hard living. Robert tried and failed to see anything of Henri’s stiff backbone in Cawburn.

  When Dorothy had first alerted him to the potential disaster, Robert had been tempted to ignore Cawburn’s interest in Sophie as he reckoned it was only a matter of time before a new woman who was far more sophisticated than his ward entered Cawburn’s life. But Cawburn had gone beyond the bounds of propriety, and brought the affair to a head by trying to seduce Sophie in a public place.

  Faced with a series of hysterical letters from Sophie’s stepmother, he’d adopted the only sensible course of action and removed Sophie up here. But Cawburn had followed. Very well, if he wanted to be Sophie’s suitor, then he courted her properly and in the open. Cawburn would not ruin his ward.

  ‘It’s eleven in the morning,’ Robert said, glancing at his pocket watch.

  ‘Practically middle of the night but then I suspect you have been up since before dawn beavering away like a good little factory owner or whatever it is you do.’

  Robert allowed the deliberate insult to flow over his head. ‘I have a letter for you from my ward.’

  ‘Since when have you taken to reading others’ post, Montemorcy?’ Cawburn smirked. ‘Such a thing must be beneath even you and your limited pretension to gentility.’

  ‘I’ve not read it,’ Robert replied between clenched teeth and after he had counted to ten. He refused to give Cawburn the satisfaction. ‘Nor did I dictate it.’

  ‘You haven’t.’ Cawburn snorted. ‘I don’t believe you. You are one of those people who are not content until they can control everything. Always twisting facts and circumstances to suit your purposes.’

  ‘As you would see, if you took the time to examine it, the seal remains intact.’

  Robert tossed the letter in the air. Cawburn snatched it.

  Cawburn turned the letter over, tested the seal and frowned. ‘What made you change your mind?’

  ‘Your cousin,’ Robert replied shortly. ‘Lady Thorndike convinced me that your intentions are honourable. I’m giving you the chance to prove it. Abide by Sophie’s wishes. Keep her in the bosom of her family.’

  ‘Good old Henrietta! I knew she wouldn’t let me down.’

  ‘You asked your cousin to intercede? To play matchmaker?’ Robert gave a silent laugh. Henri had succumbed. She had been unable to resist matchmaking, but she also had sought to hide the slip from him. Was it any wonder she wanted a truce?

  Cawburn blanched slightly. ‘Entirely innocent, old man. Could I ever live it down if Henrietta arranged a match for me? Good God, man, I know what my cousin is like! She’d never let me forget it! I merely wanted to know if there was any chance for me…after what happened. To know Miss Ravel’s state of mind. And now, my angel has written.’

  Robert’s shoulders relaxed slightly. Cawburn’s word tallied with Henri’s.

  ‘Your cousin suffered a mauled leg while carrying out your innocent errand. We are awaiting the doctor’s verdict to see how badly sprained her ankle is.’

  ‘Henrietta has a knack of looking after herself. She hates a fuss.’ Cawburn gave a little wave of his hand, dismissing Henri’s injury. ‘And I thank you for the letter. It is most unexpectedly decent of you. Not the sort of thing I’d have thought a Cit capable of.’

  ‘If you wish to court my ward, you pay court properly.’ Robert crossed his arms.

  ‘Properly?’ Cawburn picked at his cuff. Robert detected a slight fraying of the cuff and the stock. He knew that he had put pressure on Cawburn’s lenders, but had not seen any sign until now. The man was short of funds and saw Sophie as an easy mark. And it was his firm belief that any woman Cawburn married would be bled dry.

  ‘You apply for my permission first as I’m Sophie’s guardian. I am more than happy to give it to anyone, even you, if certain conditions are met. Otherwise you will have to wait until Miss Ravel obtains her majority. Are you prepared to wait that long for funds, Cawburn?’

  ‘Why should love be dependent on whether one’s friends and relations approve?’ Cawburn shook his head in mock despair. ‘It is not the way I do things, Montemorcy. I believe in liberty and freedom of expression. One cannot dictate where or when love will happen.’

  Robert retained a leash on his temper. The only creed that Cawburn believed in was the pursuit of pleasure. He knew nothing about responsibility or living within his means. His estate was mortgaged to the hilt and he had recently lost heavily on the gaming table. Once he’d learnt of Cawburn’s interest in Sophie, Robert had made it his business to buy up some of the debts as they had potential for a bargaining chip.

  ‘Have you found a way around your debts? You have an estate that is entailed and mortgaged beyond prudence. You spent the money not on improvements, but on the games and women.’

  ‘Miss Ravel is well provided for. The extent of her dowry was much discussed in London.’ Cawburn gave a lazy smile. ‘There will be no problem in meeting my debts.’

  ‘And will you give up your mistresses?’ Robert asked. His entire body tensed. The man could no more give up his mistresses than stop breathing. But it would be a start, a statement of his intention towards Sophie.

  ‘There is no reason to get personal.’ The tips of Cawburn’s ears turned pink. ‘I never discuss the intimate details of any lady. Can I help it if some women are possessed of an overly generous nature?’

  ‘Precisely why I intend to protect Sophie from men like you,’ Robert ground out. ‘I was prepared to give you the benefit of the doubt, but y
our answers have decided me—until you sort out your debts, I refuse to give you permission to court my ward.’

  ‘Is that all you came to say? Keep away from Sophie or else? Sophie is a grown woman, she should be allowed to make her choice. It happens all the time.’ Cawburn curled his lip. ‘If that is your last word on the subject, then so be it. I won’t ask you again for permission, Montemorcy.’

  Robert grabbed the lapels of Cawburn’s jacket. ‘And use another go-between. Keep your cousin out of this.’ He tried and failed to see something of Henri in Cawburn—her lively intelligence or her kindness or even her smile. Nothing. If it was war Cawburn wanted, Robert would give it to him. After all, he did know where more of Cawburn’s debts could be obtained.

  ‘Montemorcy, you know my cousin will never develop a tendre for a vulgar man like you.’ Cawburn made a mocking bow. ‘She prefers men with—how shall I say it?—more aristocratic temperament and refinement.’

  The jibe hit Robert in the stomach and he struggled to keep his face blank. ‘We were speaking of you and my ward.’

  ‘A friendly warning. Getting ideas above your station can be bad for you. Fatal.’

  Robert ignored the well-aimed barb and marched away from Cawburn. A further reminder, if he needed it, that kissing Henri again would be a mistake. It was important to keep the boundaries in his life intact. Putting his faith in facts rather than giving in to emotion and allowing it to cloud his judgement as his father had done had kept his heart for many years. He’d learnt his lessons. Wanting and acting on his desires were two separate things, particularly where a woman like Henri was concerned.

  In his haste to be away from Cawburn and his poisonous innuendos, he nearly bowled over Miss Armstrong, who stood there with a jar of calf’s-foot jelly and her mouth open, watching the entire proceedings. He ground his teeth and hoped that Miss Armstrong had heard very little, otherwise the Corbridge gossip machine would be working overtime. ‘Miss Armstrong.’