His dark eyes danced. ‘I shall have to call you Pie.’
‘Pie?’ Henri jabbed the pen down, making a hole in the paper. ‘What sort of name is Pie?’
‘Henri-ate-a Pie or Pie for short. It suits you and your propensity to eat pies rather than jelly.’
‘That is an unworthy pun.’ Henri knew her face flamed. It had been a long time since anyone had given her any nickname, let alone one as ridiculous as Pie. Edmund had often made up nicknames. Some she had liked better than others. But with Robert, Pie made her feel as if she was his younger sister and that wasn’t precisely how she felt about him. ‘You may cease and desist. I prefer Henri. I’ve always preferred Henri.’
‘Point taken. I shall remember to call you Henri from now on…or perhaps Thorndike.’
Henri ducked her head as the room suddenly seemed to grow small. He wanted to have a special name for her. They were becoming friends. ‘Here, you should see this.’
His eyes widened as he picked up the paper she was working on. ‘You started.’
‘Self-pity never solved anything,’ she said briskly. There was no point in explaining that she’d resorted to it to keep her mind from the explicit dreams. Sometimes during At Homes, other women had confided about their vibrant sex lives with their husbands, and Henri had wondered why they went on about it. With Edmund, it had been pleasant but not earth-shatteringly magnificent. And after last night’s dreams, she started to wonder if it had been him rather than her, and she hated how disloyal it made her feel.
‘You admit the scientific method has merit,’ he said and his eyes became the colour of molten caramel.
‘For scientific things, yes.’ Her stomach did a funny sort of a flip at his look. She closed her eyes and steadied her breath.
His eyes narrowed. ‘Did Lumley give you permission to be up? Your cheeks have become flushed.’
‘He says the ankle is healing satisfactorily and complimented Sophie on her bandage-tying skills.’ Henri forcibly turned the conversation away from her health and her reason for her discomfort. ‘Sophie turned beetred. It is a pity that she remains confined to nursing relations. Her skills are wasted.’ Henri twisted the soft wool of the shawl about her fingers. Keeping her mind on Sophie was far better than contemplating the length of Robert’s fingers.
‘Ah ha, you will have to admit—you can’t resist matchmaking and meddling, particularly when it means you don’t have to discuss your health. Very well, I will assume your ankle is better, Henri, but you will remain in this house for a little while.’
‘It is hardly matchmaking to mention that your ward is good at nursing. Doctor Lumley’s marital status has no bearing on this conversation. Trust you to lower the tone.’ Henri adopted a pious look, but it unnerved her that Robert had guessed her reasoning. ‘I think you only wanted to have a truce so that you wouldn’t have to dance with me at the ball.’
‘As if I would try to get out of dancing with you.’ he murmured, his lilting voice sliding over her skin. ‘You would not have found me deficient in that regard.’
‘Sophie agreed with Doctor Lumley that being downstairs is the best place for me.’ Henri kept her eyes straight ahead. ‘And, between the village’s offerings and the bottles of various potions, there was no room to spread out your notes. I think I’m beginning to understand your approach, but it seems awfully complicated.’
‘What if I like my current system?’ His eyes crinkled into a heart-melting smile, sending a warm tingle coursing throughout her. She found herself focusing on the curve of his upper lip rather than on the figures.
Henri put her head to one side and assessed him. She’d been certain that it was only the intimacy of the sickroom that made her aware of him, but down here in the drawing room, the same sort of intense fire filled her. She had cause more than ever to regret the kiss. Perhaps there was a logical explanation. Something about not being in close contact with a man for ten years and suddenly finding oneself in the arms of a highly attractive desirable one. And, what was worse, wanting to be there again. She’d always despised those widows who were desperately searching for another man to replace their lost husband. But Robert was completely different in temperament to Edmund, unsettling and more inclined to want his own way.
‘If you liked your current system, you would never have asked me to sort out your notes. And I fail to see any scientific method in the order in which you arranged them. Experiments are jumbled with cuttings, raw data with published,’ she said, tapping her pen against the stack of paper.
‘Where are the Ravels?’ he asked, changing the subject.
‘Miss Armstrong does take her responsibilities seriously and called for them in her carriage. She can be overexcitable and inclined to exaggeration, but she is a strong upholder of virtue.’ Henri sat up straighter and reached for the lists of experiments. Robert should’ve been aware of unintended consequences. Miss Armstrong had appeared bedecked in bows and ruffles and her face became like thunder when she discovered that Robert was not at home. ‘About these experiments…’
He gave her a searching look. ‘Miss Armstrong is more than capable of introducing Sophie and her mother to the neighbourhood. Or is there something else you wish to deflect my attention away from?’
Henri’s stomach tightened. Miss Armstrong had little love for Sebastian after Sebastian had been rude to her and she had an overly developed sense of propriety. And she had gone on and on about how girls had to show that they could be trusted out in society. How would Sophie fare under such a chaperon?
‘Mrs Ravel is a very determined lady,’ Henri said quietly, wondering how she would drum it into his brain that he was risking alienating Sophie. ‘A mother bear intent on protecting her cub, but. My mother suffered from the same outlook. The strictures she put on me chafed and I eloped—’
‘Sophie is on trial, Henri.’ He waved an impatient hand, cutting off her words. ‘We both want to see how she acts and if she has learnt her lesson.’
‘And if Sophie hasn’t…learnt her lesson, what are you going to do? Forbid the ball? Wait to see if she becomes wiser?’
‘It has been discussed,’ he admitted, his eyes sliding away from her. ‘The last thing anyone wants is for Sophie to ruin her chances of a good and secure marriage.’
‘You’re approaching this scientifically? Experimenting with little events like At Homes? Sophie is a flesh-and-blood person, not a test tube of chemicals. You need to think about her feelings.’
‘Sophie needs to prove herself, to prove she can be sensible.’
Henri leant forwards and caught his hand. He looked at her and she found she could only concentrate on his mouth. She forced her gaze upwards. ‘You must listen to me. Allow Sophie to go to the ball. Allow her to have some fun. People will watch out for her. She’ll not be ruined.’
He curled his fingers about hers and held her there. ‘Sophie will prove equal to the task. Small social situations to allow her to regain her confidence. Have faith. Is there something wrong with believing, Henri? You worry too much. Trust me.’
She forgot how to breathe, forgot everything and simply looked up at him with parted lips. Her fingers longed to smooth away the lock of hair that had tumbled down over his forehead. His mobile mouth hovered inches from hers. All she had to do was to lift her face ever so slightly and wrap her arm about his neck. Her fingers longed to bury themselves in his damp hair.
A distinct rumble of carriage wheels sounded, breaking the spell. Henri allowed her hand to drop by her side. Her face flooded with heat. She had been about to kiss him! It wasn’t Sophie that she had to worry about, but herself. All of her mother’s dire predictions about what was going to happen if she didn’t learn to curb her passions flooded back over her.
‘I do believe I hear a carriage,’ she said and hoped it sounded bright and cheerful. ‘It’ll be Sophie returning, full of tales of the various At Homes.’
‘I do believe you are right, Thorndike.’ His exact tone of voice mimicked her
s. ‘We shall have to continue this entirely interesting conversation another time. And we will finish it.’
Henri put her hand to her aching mouth and tried to wish away the disappointment. When she closed her eyes, the only face she saw was Robert’s sardonic one, rather than Edmund’s placid features. Her insides trembled. Edmund’s memory was supposed to be with her for ever. If she forgot him, she’d cease to be Lady Henrietta Thorndike, and she wasn’t ready to be anyone else.
* * *
‘Keep still, Henri, or I won’t be able to get your profile done properly.’ Sophie spoke from behind her easel and Henri wondered how the young woman knew that Henri had just flexed her good foot. ‘Be good. Concentrate on the canary.’
Henri tried to ignore the itch that had started on her chin. It had seemed like a good idea when Sophie suggested a portrait three mornings ago, a way to keep out of Robert’s study and stop thinking about him. It gave her the excuse she needed to stop sorting out his research, but she had never thought it would involve such a large amount of time motionless and giving her mind time to contemplate the precise curve of Robert’s mouth and how his frock-coat hinted at the hard planes of his chest.
‘May I see the sketch?’ Henri held out her hand and dragged her mind away from the rapidly developing daydream about Robert. She hated to think about the last time she had been given to dreaming her life away.
‘I haven’t got your mouth quite right.’ Sophie gave a pretty frown and shut the drawing book. ‘When it is finished, then I will show you. This is going to take me all day and most of tomorrow, maybe on into the evening.’
‘Shouldn’t you be getting ready for the ball tomorrow? The At Homes have gone well, according to your stepmother.’ Henri tried to keep the wistful note out of her voice. She had spent the entire night waking from dreams where Robert had grabbed her about her waist and danced her around the room. A proper polka rather than a staid waltz.
Sophie toyed with her pencil. ‘It depends on if I’m going. Mama hasn’t decided yet. I’ve performed well at the various At Homes and have managed to keep from blotting my copybook but…am I ready? Have I learnt my lessons? Mama keeps saying it is my choice, but.’
‘You must go. The ball is sure to be tremendous fun. Everyone will want to meet you.’
‘There are always other balls. I want to be able to go and not have everyone watching me and whispering about the awful tangle I make of things.’
Henri’s stomach tightened. Sebastian was wrong to have abused Sophie’s naïveté in that fashion. She deserved an opportunity to prove that she had learnt her lesson. Robert risked destroying her spirit.
‘Besides, you must be my eyes and ears. Your guardian has promised to dance a polka. You must make sure he does.’
‘Robert never dances. He thinks it is frivolous and far from logical.’ Sophie bit her lip. ‘Or at least he hasn’t for a long time. He used to when he was younger. I can remember peeking down at a dance once and he was there, waltzing with a distant cousin of mine. They were such a handsome couple. Her blonde looks set off his wonderfully. Everyone thought they were going to marry, but nothing came of it and she married an elderly earl. She has two little boys now. Robert has never danced since. Stepmama warned me about it.’
Henri kept her face bland as silently she urged Sophie to continue. She’d never considered that Robert must have been disappointed in love. It explained his cynical edge. And she wasn’t going to think about the blonde who had made him stop dancing.
‘He’ll dance tomorrow night,’ she said with a decisive nod. ‘If you ask him.’
‘Why?’
‘We had a wager and he agreed that, if he lost, he’d dance with me.’
‘You had a wager with my guardian. How tremendously thrilling.’ Sophie put down her pencil. Her eyes gleamed. ‘You must tell me everything, Henri.’
‘The substance of the wager isn’t important as we now have a truce, but he was willing to dance.’ Henri concentrated on keeping her head still and her expression rigid as Sophie reopened her sketch book. She wasn’t going to explore the hurt and betrayal. She could better understand his misguided motives now. Sophie was awfully young and easily led. ‘It would be right and proper for him to dance with you. Otherwise there might be speculation.’
‘He won’t like that. Will you ask him for me?’ Sophie added a few more rapid strokes of her pencil. Her eyes danced with mischief.
‘If you like. I should have thought of it before. It is the best way to shield you from comment. Far better than forbidding you to go.’
‘Are you sure you won’t come as well, Henri? I know you have agreed to stay for the supper party, but you could come to the ball and see my triumph. See me dancing with Robert.’
Henri clapped her hands. It was as if a great weight had been lifted from her shoulders. She had undone some of the damage that Sebastian had wrought. Sophie wasn’t frightened of going to a ball. ‘My ankle still pains me, so I shall expect a full report.’
‘Robert can’t stand simpering ninnies. And far too many women simply look into his eyes and see his bank balance. You should hear Mama on the subject.’ Sophie sucked the end of her paint brush, making it come to a point. ‘Is there any chance…of you and Robert?’
‘Put the matchmaking thoughts from your brain, Sophie. It doesn’t become you. I’ve no intention of remarrying. One does not seek to replace perfection.’ Henri knew her cheeks reddened slightly. The sooner she left, the sooner she could get back to her old life. There must a half-dozen people who needed her assistance. And when she returned to that life, all desire for Robert would vanish.
‘I think perfection must have been very difficult to live with. I know I’m far from perfect.’
‘The entire village will be expecting to see you at the ball.’ Henri attempted to move the conversation away from the dangerous shoals of her relationship with Robert. ‘They will have been debating for hours on the nature of your dress. Miss Armstrong is sure to have worked various old ladies into a veritable frenzy with her hints and little remarks.’
‘Miss Armstrong is only being pleasant to me because Robert is unmarried. She fancies herself as Mrs Montemorcy.’ Sophie looked over both her shoulders and lowered her voice. ‘Stepmama is certain that Robert will get a title for services to industry. It is only a “matter of time”.’
‘Sophie, repeating gossip is seldom attractive.’
‘But if gossip is true, what is the harm in repeating it?’ Sophie fluffed up her curls. ‘Miss Armstrong underestimates me. She thinks because I’m only seventeen, I’m completely brainless and do not see through people. I learnt long ago to judge between the genuine and those who sought to use me. However, her excessive civility impresses Stepmama.’
Henri stared at Sophie in astonishment. Clearly there was more to Sophie than she had first considered. She might be young, but she did notice things.
‘Is there some problem?’ Robert asked, coming in. He placed his top hat down on the table. ‘Sophie, moderation. Your voice could be heard halfway to Corbridge, if not Hexham. What are you two discussing with such vigour?’
‘Henri informs me that you’d best dance with me if you want to keep speculation about my past to a minimum. I’ve been explaining why you don’t dance.’
Robert’s eyes assessed her and deepened to a molten caramel. Henri’s breath caught in her throat.
‘Does she, indeed?’ All warmth drained from his face. ‘And Henri knows best.’
The air crackled between them. Henri was the first to drop her gaze.
‘On things like this, I do,’ Henri remarked as steadily as she could. ‘I dare say that you can dance the first quadrille with your ward. It’s for Sophie’s sake, rather than mine that I ask. It’ll serve to introduce her properly to the village. Your duty, Montemorcy.’
‘And you know my duty?’
‘Yes. This dance with Sophie.’ Henri knew she lied. She wanted to dance with him and spend a few moments in his arms.
But the more she thought about it, the more she knew she was correct. Robert needed to dance with his ward. He needed to lay his ghosts to rest.
He sketched a bow. ‘I’ll take the matter under consideration.’
Henri hated the way her stomach hurt and how much she wanted it to be her whom he danced with. ‘It is good to know that you will consider it.’
‘Then I am going to the ball and dancing.’ Sophie clapped her hands.
‘Henri appears determined that you will go.’
‘Sophie believes that she needs to stay here with me and I protested.’ Henri reached over and rearranged the coverlet that was protecting her skirt. ‘I believe she needs to be seen and what better way to be seen than to dance the first quadrille. If you’ll not dance with her, then you must nominate someone else. She mustn’t be a wallflower.’
‘You’ve expended considerable thought on this.’ Robert’s eyes travelled slowly down the black round gown and returned to linger on her lips.
‘Just as you are determined to have me embrace the scientific method.’ Henri gave him a hard look. ‘And Lady Winship is sure to agree about the arrangement. Miss Armstrong always muddles her figures, going to the left when she should be circling to the right.’
‘You do Miss Armstrong a disservice.’
‘I think not. I’ve seen the damage she can work on an innocent dance. Ask Lady Winship about the Harlequin incident from last autumn.’
‘Isn’t my portrait of Henri good, Robert?’ Sophie handed it to him with brilliant smile. ‘I really think I captured her. Why she’s been allowed to remain a widow all this time, I have no idea.’
‘Perhaps because I want to be one,’ Henri muttered under her breath. She could see what Sophie was attempting to do—arrange a match, despite her earlier protests. The approach was far from subtle. But, honestly, the thought of a match between her and Robert was ridiculous. Both were entirely set in their ways. Neither wanted marriage. She curled her fingers and refused to think about her intimate dreams about him or…the kiss she was supposed to forget, but kept remembering at the oddest of times. She’d never lingered over Edmund’s kisses. And now she struggled to remember a single one.
To Marry A Matchmaker (Historical Romance) Page 10
