To Marry A Matchmaker (Historical Romance)

by Michelle Styles

  ‘So the dog wasn’t a replacement?’

  ‘I wanted a dog in my life. There is something about having a dog to come home to. And the risk of losing it was not as terrible as not having a dog.’

  Henri studied the pattern of the cobblestones. What he said might be true for dogs, but not for people. She’d never wanted an abstract husband to share her life with. Just any man wouldn’t do. Edmund was irreplaceable. And losing him had hurt too much.

  She liked Robert. Anything more would be complicating things and the last thing she needed in her life was more complications, more possibility of being hurt.

  ‘I will take your word for it,’ she breathed.

  The dog lifted its paw and placed it on her knee, breaking the spell. ‘How did you tame him so quickly?’

  ‘After a fashion, but I fear he has not learnt all his manners.’ Robert gestured and the dog lay down at their feet. ‘He has left a dirt print on your dress.’

  Henri started to rub it, but it seemed to get worse. A tiny cry of frustration escaped her lips.

  ‘Allow me.’ His fingers moved hers away and, with a few deft strokes, the patch of dirt was gone. Where his fingers had touched her gown, it seemed a warm sensation grew within her. He stood, unmoving. The gentle breeze ruffled his dark hair. ‘You’re free from blemish.’

  ‘Would that everything was so easily solved!’ Henri gave a smile and turned back towards the house. Her limbs trembled. It would be so easy to turn into his arms and lift her lips to his. This time she wanted a proper heart-stopping kiss, rather than a gentle brush. But with all the stable hands and gardeners about, it would be madness. One simple locking of lips in public and her entire reputation could be in jeopardy.

  ‘The best things are worth waiting for.’ He kept step with her slow pace. Her entire being was aware of him. She wished she dared lean on his arm, but instead concentrated on moving steadily.

  ‘Has Sophie sorted out her gown?’ Henri asked when they had nearly reached the door. ‘Will she dance with whomever she wishes? With Sebastian? Or will she be forced to cut him dead?’

  ‘It is up to Sophie whom she dances with. Cawburn has not had the courtesy to answer her letter. Neither has he visited you here.’

  Henri kept her shoulders steady. ‘He hates sickrooms.

  Always has. He never visited Edmund once he found out how ill Edmund was. Edmund forgave him, of course, so I had to.’

  He shook his head. ‘That doesn’t excuse him. He should have.’

  ‘No, it doesn’t.’ Henri regarded the brass door handle of the front door. Faced with Robert’s concern, she found no easy lie sprang to her lips. Sebastian and her aunt’s not visiting did hurt, but she understood what they were like, and once she returned home, she knew they would react with concern. There were other more important topics to discuss. ‘Have you spoken to Sophie?’

  ‘You told me to listen to Sophie and I have.’ He looked at her with a steady eye. ‘Yesterday. After you walked away. I needed to know the truth about what happened with your cousin.’

  Henri started. Robert had spoken with Sophie and, what was more, believed her. Her work here was done. As soon as she could find a good excuse, she’d go before the supper party. And then her world could go back to how it was. The only trouble was that she wanted to be here with him. She drew a deep breath. ‘What is your conclusion?’

  ‘She has done nothing to be ashamed of. I can trust her judgement. She needs to be properly fêted at the ball. I will make the sacrifice and dance, Thorndike.’

  * * *

  ‘And you are coming to the ball, Lady Thorndike?’ Miss Armstrong asked with a faint frown as the servants finished serving the dessert. Throughout supper she had kept peering at Henri and finally it appeared Miss Armstrong’s curiosity had the better of her manners. ‘Lady Thorndike, I have always said that you had the potential to lead fashion if only you’d give up your devotion to mauve. The dress is distinctly—’

  ‘I like mauve,’ Henrietta said between gritted teeth. Potential to lead fashion, indeed. She set fashion in Corbridge. She gave advice on fashion. Her enforced absence from the social scene had obviously given some people ideas. And mauve was practical. She had simply exchanged the day bodice of her mauve skirt for the evening one with a décolleté neckline trimmed with a profusion of lace.

  ‘I myself am attempting a negligent attitude with a Grecian scarf worn over a Spanish bombazine and a Cossack petticoat. It is the very essence of this Season’s cosmopolitan style,’ Mrs Ravel confided in a stage whisper. ‘What influenced your dress?’

  ‘Northumbrian weather,’ Henri said firmly.

  She heard a sound of choked laughter from Robert’s end of the table.

  Mrs Ravel’s brow puckered as the remark appeared to sail over her head. ‘But will you change your mind about the ball, Henrietta? We do have room in the carriage.’

  ‘My ankle will give way if I stand for a long period, so I’ve sent my regrets.’ Henri practised perfecting the bland society smile. ‘Doctor Lumley confirmed this view earlier this afternoon.’

  ‘However, Lady Thorndike insisted there was no need to cancel our little supper party,’ Robert interrupted, an urbane smile on his face. ‘I’m very pleased that she decided to grace the table with her wit and charm.’

  ‘Quite sensible to give the ball a miss. One must always follow the good doctor’s instructions. You were kind to ask the dear doctor.’ Miss Armstrong gave a decided nod, making the trio of feathers on her headdress sway. Her hair was distinctly more yellow since the last time Henri encountered the woman and her gown’s décolleté neckline bordered on indecency, even if Miss Armstrong did keep it hidden underneath a lacy shawl. ‘I know I value his advice, but he is terribly busy with his practice. So many patients to see, so little time for anything else.’

  Henri kept her mouth shut and exchanged an amused glance with Robert. Did he remember about how Miss Armstrong had feverishly pursued the good doctor last spring? Or he had forgotten?

  ‘I never planned to go against the doctor’s wishes, but they did coincide with mine.’ Henri inclined her head. ‘I’m looking forward to hearing all the doings. Sophie has promised that she will tell me every detail.’

  ‘I am sure you had a hand in her decision, dear Mr Montemorcy. Lady Thorndike is well-known for her stubbornness and her lack of regard for her personal health. She goes out visiting the poor in all sorts of weather.’ Miss Armstrong fluttered her lashes and her voice rivalled treacle for its sweetness as she toyed with the few final bites of the pudding. ‘After all, how could she refuse you such a simple request? You did play the Good Samaritan. I suppose, in the circumstances, it was necessary.’

  ‘Robert has always been very good to those less fortunate than himself,’ Mrs Ravel said.

  ‘I rather think it was how fortunate I was to have Lady Thorndike grace my home. She has provided the Ravels with interesting conversation.’ Robert inclined his head and his gaze lingered on Henri, travelling slowly down her neckline. ‘There is nothing unfortunate about Lady Thorndike.’

  ‘I agree wholeheartedly,’ Sophie called out from where she sat between two elder statesmen of the village. ‘Lady Thorndike does add a certain lustre to the supper.’

  Her stepmother gave her a quelling look, but Sophie appeared to be unrepentant.

  Henri forced her attention on to the flickering candles, rather than looking at Robert. Miss Armstrong’s insinuation that somehow she had caused Robert to rescue her and that she was imposing caused her blood to boil!

  The only thing she was waiting for was for Doctor Lumley to inform her that it was safe to return home. She had no desire to be here at this dinner party, making small talk when she was incredibly aware of the man sitting a little way from her. Robert Montemorcy had a knack of complicating her life.

  ‘I was lucky Mr Montemorcy happened to be there,’ she said, adopting her best social voice.

  ‘Some people seem to have a way with accidents,
’ Mrs Ravel said. ‘I’m dreadful. I never know what to do. Far better to let cooler heads take charge is my philosophy.’

  ‘People rarely plan to have an accident, Mrs Ravel.’ Henri gripped her fan a bit tighter. A little over a week being looked after and everyone appeared to forget that she was extremely capable. She’d gone back to the intolerable cotton-wool. ‘I actively try to avoid them.’

  ‘But Mr Montemorcy was certainly a hero in rescuing you.’ Miss Armstrong’s feathers bobbed in agreement. ‘Corbridge is lucky to have someone like you, Mr Montemorcy.’

  ‘And I didn’t act the hero either. I simply grabbed the dog’s collar and prevented anything else happening,’ Robert said smoothly. ‘Doing what is right takes little thought. Had Mr Teasdale paid attention to Lady Thorndike’s earlier suggestions, it is doubtful if the dog would’ve ever escaped.’

  Henri exchanged glances with Robert and a warm glow infused into her being. He understood. It had been a long time since anyone had understood her in that way.

  ‘Was the dog destroyed?’ Miss Armstrong gave a small shiver and pulled her lace shawl tighter about her shoulders while simultaneously letting it drop at the front to reveal the depth of her décolleté. ‘I would’ve demanded the dog be destroyed if it had attacked me. You would have done that for me, wouldn’t you, Mr Montemorcy?’

  Henri’s stomach clenched. Miss Armstrong seemed determined to stake her claim to Robert. Whereas the situation would have amused her a few weeks ago, now she wanted to make a cutting remark.

  ‘Would you, Miss Armstrong?’ he said, gesturing towards the hall. ‘It’s fortunate for Boy that he attacked Lady Thorndike as she possesses a much more forgiving nature.’

  ‘You mean the animal remains alive!’ Miss Armstrong gasped. ‘I have need of my smelling salts.’

  ‘Mr Montemorcy has taken ownership of the dog,’ Henri said and watched Miss Armstrong flush further in indignation. ‘He is training it. The dog has entirely changed.’

  ‘But…but…dogs like that are not to be trusted,’ Miss Armstrong cried. ‘You must be mistaken, Lady Thorndike. Mr Montemorcy, please tell Lady Thorndike to stop her funning.’

  ‘Mr Montemorcy has worked miracles with the dog.’ Henri pushed back her chair and stood. She gave a perfunctory curtsy towards the assembled group. ‘We’ve become friends. I believe Boy was attempting to rescue me rather than trying to eat me.’

  ‘You have made friends with the dog?’ Miss Armstrong screeched. ‘But I thought you hated dogs, dear Lady Thorndike. It’s why Lady Winship had to take all the pugs.’

  ‘All Boy wanted was a kind word and a full belly.’ Henri ignored Miss Armstrong’s interjection. Lady Winship had wanted those pugs in her life. She simply hadn’t realised it the first time she encountered them. ‘Mr Montemorcy is its acknowledged master now. And he assures me that the dog was trying to rescue me from the post-coach.’

  ‘I should have considered that Mr Montemorcy would be masterful. He is like that.’ Miss Armstrong fluttered her lashes and allowed her shawl to slip. ‘I’m most impressed on how the house has been improved. It was never like this in the squire’s day.’

  Henri ground her teeth, holding back a swift retort. She would not sink to Miss Armstrong’s level. ‘The one thing I shall miss is seeing Mr Montemorcy dance this evening.’

  He gave her a startled look.

  ‘Have you forgotten? You are to dance with Sophie.’

  ‘And with me as well, I hope,’ Miss Armstrong cooed.

  At least she would be spared Miss Armstrong’s triumphant look when she led Robert out on the dance floor. Henri looked from Miss Armstrong to Robert in his immaculate evening clothes, which fitted his form precisely, highlighting the breadth of his shoulders and the elegant curve of his calf. Everyone would whisper when the pair took the floor and say what a charming couple they made. And the words would be passed from gathering to gathering in the weeks to come and she would have to endure it with a smile. She froze, listening to her sour thoughts.

  She was jealous. How had that happened? She had sworn that she’d never look at a man again, not in that way. What was wrong with her? Henri put her hand to her head and tried to regain her balance. She might feel friendship for Mr Montemorcy, but nothing more. Her heart remained buried with Edmund. It had to be. Edmund was the love of her life. She’d known that when she was twelve, and she was steadfast. If her heart was changeable, what did that say about her? Her mother had always sworn that, unless she was careful, she’d become a flighty scatterbrain with no more consistency than a flea. Until now she thought she’d avoided that fate. Her hands shook.

  ‘If you’ll excuse me, I shall leave you to go to the ball now. For my part, I shall go to the library and discover a good book.’

  ‘Lady Thorndike is known for her reading of improving tomes,’ Miss Armstrong twittered, fluttering her fan, but her eyes were cold and hard. ‘Treatises on the new farming methods and such like. Lady Thorndike has pretensions of being a bluestocking like her aunt. You will have to take care, Mr Montemorcy, and see that Miss Ravel does not fall under her spell. Bluestockings do find it difficult to find a husband.’

  ‘I had no difficulties.’ Henri glared at Miss Armstrong.

  Miss Armstrong stared back at her defiantly.

  ‘I fear you’re mistaken, Miss Armstrong, intelligence in a woman is something to be prized,’ Robert said.

  Miss Armstrong’s mouth puckered as if she had suddenly swallowed something distasteful. ‘My mistake.’

  ‘I like to keep informed, but I’m far from averse to reading popular novels, as Mr Montemorcy is well aware.’ Henri took a deep breath and controlled her temper.

  ‘Why should Mr Montemorcy be aware of your reading taste?’ Miss Armstrong asked, unfurling her fan, but her eyes shot daggers.

  ‘Lady Thorndike has been a guest here for over a week, Miss Armstrong. Such things as a taste for the popular are hard to keep hidden.’ Robert’s eyes twinkled at Henri, warming her. He caught her hand and lifted it to his lips, brushing it. Warmth flooded through Henri and she pulled away. ‘I made sure that Jane Eyre was delivered earlier today, Lady Thorndike. It struck me that you might wish to amuse yourself while everyone else was at the ball. Even bluestockings need a break from treaties on cow husbandry.’

  ‘You are such a perfect host, Mr Montemorcy. Not many men would be as thoughtful as you,’ Miss Armstrong said, drawing her arm through Robert’s and leading him firmly away.

  ‘I do my best, Miss Armstrong.’ His eyes sparkled with a myriad of brown, caramel and gold. ‘Enjoy the book, Thorndike. It is more edifying than Cattle Husbandry on the North Yorkshire Moor.’

  Henri stared after the pair for a few minutes as the remainder of the party made ready to leave. Her pulse still pounded. Was it simple kindness or something more that had made Robert send for the book? She had never met anyone like him before—a combination of exasperating stubbornness and the capacity for supreme thoughtfulness. Not what she expected at all. Henri put her hand to the locket that Edmund had given her on her sixteenth birthday, and found the familiar outlines provided little comfort.

  Chapter Nine

  For the first half-hour, Henri attempted to read, but discovered she was reading the same set of paragraphs over and over, never quite getting beyond the fifth page of Jane Eyre. Her mind kept skittering back to the supper party, the things that were said and, more importantly, not said. Miss Armstrong had been too bold by half.

  Henri’s eyes narrowed and studied the glowing embers of the fire. She should be able to discern her intention. Normally she was fairly astute at understanding the undercurrents.

  Then there was the matter of how Robert looked in his evening clothes. Each gesture and facial expression had to be considered and reconsidered again. Had he been humouring her?

  * * *

  When the clock struck the hour, she realised she had been hovering halfway between sleep and waking. Her brain was full of confused images of R
obert inviting her into his arms, and then Sebastian and Sophie, or rather Sebastian ruining Sophie at the ball and somehow destroying her friendship with Robert. The thought unnerved her.

  Henri sat up straighter, pulled an offending hairpin from her head and allowed her hair to cascade down. Perhaps she should have gone to the ball and endured the looks of pity and questions about her health. Then she’d have been there, ready to forestall any disaster.

  She reopened Jane Eyre and started with the preface to the second edition. The words—Conventionality is not morality—leapt out at her.

  Was Currer Bell correct? Had she confused the two?

  She read on and slowly but surely this time Bell’s words overpowered her and she had trouble believing the book could have been written by a man. There was something that called to her, enabling her to sympathise with Jane’s plight with her dreadful aunt. She knew what it was like to have others hate you or never consider you good enough. All she could do was carry on reading and turning the pages, hoping Jane got the happy ending that she richly deserved.

  A door closed and she jumped, sending the book crashing to the floor with a distinct thump.

  ‘You’re awake.’ Robert came into the dimly lit library resplendent in his evening clothes. He had looked debonair when going out to the ball earlier, but now with his stock slightly askew, and his coat thrown over his shoulder, he was even more handsome. The fire cast shadows on his face, giving an intimate air to the room. ‘I’d wondered how our modern-day Cinderella-sitting-by-the-fire fared.’

  ‘Hardly Cinderella. It was my choice not to go to the ball.’ Henri pointed her toes and circled her feet. Her ankle ached slightly, but the bandages gave it firm support.

  The house appeared to hold its breath. Every particle of her was aware of him and how he moved. She found it impossible to look away from his hands. What would it be like to be held in those arms?

  ‘You were missed, Thorndike.’

  ‘I’m sure Lady Winship coped. She’d Miss Armstrong’s help.’