To Marry A Matchmaker (Historical Romance) (17 page)

‘I’ve no plans to remarry.’ Henri put a hand on her aunt’s shoulder. ‘Edmund is irreplaceable. I don’t want another husband.’

‘For an intelligent woman, Henrietta, you can be remarkably obtuse. Your mother was a silly vain woman who allowed you to indulge in mawkish behaviour. You make it sound like men are interchangeable cogs. No one is asking you to replace him.’

‘But Edmund…’ Henri waved her hand. Her insides felt empty. Surely her aunt had to understand that she had no wish to be disloyal. Or any wish to risk her heart again.

‘Edmund would want what is best for you. He loved you, by all accounts. If the circumstances had been reversed, would you have wanted him never to experience happiness, pleasure or even contentment again?’

‘Mr Montemorcy has not asked me to marry him, Aunt. Nor is he likely to.’ Henri crossed her arms. Robert had stated often enough that marriage was not in his
future plans. She was not going to beg. ‘We are friends and we respect each other, but that is as far as it goes.’

‘Then you will hold all the blame for a narrow lonely bed.’

‘Aunt!’

‘They put Edmund in the grave, not you. You are not some Indian widow who is forced to sit on a burning pyre to prove your devotion. You should take a closer look at Mr Montemorcy.’ Her aunt gave her a piercing stare. ‘You might be surprised. He does have a rather well-turned calf. Youth is wasted on the young.’

Henri stared at her aunt, shocked. Not only had she noticed Robert’s legs, but felt she could comment on them! ‘Have you been taking sips of the cherry brandy again?’

‘I may be elderly, niece, but my eyes work.’ Her aunt gave a thoroughly unrepentant smile. ‘And as legs go, Mr Montemorcy’s are well worth noticing. And without his jacket on, you can see the muscles in his back rippling.’

Henri rolled her eyes heavenwards and tried to regain control of her breathing. Granted, her aunt was trying to matchmake, but the image she had just conjured up was a powerful one. ‘You do get the strangest notions in your head. I shall change and hopefully we can have a suitable conversation over lunch.’

‘Yes, your linen dress is showing a few moss stains on the skirt.’ Her aunt’s eyes danced. ‘It must have happened when you were gardening. You should take more care.’

‘I did rather too much gardening. I forgot to bring a cloth to kneel on.’ Henri brushed the moss stain on the side of her skirt. ‘The borders were neglected when I
was at Montemorcy’s. There is still much to be done. I did not want to miss a single damaged bloom.’

‘If you concentrated more on Mr Montemorcy than on your gardening, he might have stayed.’ Her aunt popped a cucumber sandwich into her mouth. ‘He missed an excellent repast and it will have been your fault.’

‘I will remember that.’ She kept her shoulders down and her head up. She had to say something and she couldn’t explain why it would be a bad idea for her to see Robert alone. Seeing him in company was surely permissible though. ‘Next time, Aunt, I will endeavour to make sure Mr Montemorcy stays for cucumber sandwiches.’

‘Will there be a next time?’

Henri leant back, remembering how Robert had kissed her nose before he left and how his hand had given her arm a light caress. A warm curl of desire wound its way around her insides. A next time? Her entire being demanded it, even though her head screamed that she should be wary. ‘I hope so.’

* * *

‘Has Miss Ravel returned, Downing? Is Mrs Ravel with her?’

His butler stood in the hallway, looking at him. His face became grave. ‘Not precisely, sir. Mrs Ravel is here, but has been indisposed all day with a headache.’

‘Sophie is here.’ Robert tried to look around Downing’s bulk. All the way back from Market Square he kept telling himself that Miss Armstrong’s notions were fustian nonsense. Sophie would not be as foolish as to actually elope with Sebastian Cawburn. Doctor Lumley had caught her eye, and she’d learnt her lesson about rakes and other ne’er-do-wells. ‘She has to be here.’

‘Miss Ravel returned earlier in a dishevelled state, but she has departed again with her basket. I believe she had some visiting of the infirm to do. Miss Ravel seeks to emulate Lady Thorndike by taking an interest in the general populace rather than simply attending frivolous At Homes.’

Silently Robert cursed Sophie. She obviously had decided that she had had enough of Miss Armstrong and her social pretensions. However, it didn’t explain the basket. Where had Sophie gone? Had she quarrelled with her stepmother as well? But then why did she not wait for the carriage? He drew a steadying breath. Miss Armstrong had put ideas into his head. He required facts rather than speculation, innuendo and gossip. Calm cool logic and digestion of facts rather giving way to sentiment.

‘Did she say where she was going? Or how long she might be gone?’

‘No, sir, but she did leave this.’ Downing held out a sealed letter. ‘With instructions to hand it to you personally on your return.’

With impatient fingers, Robert broke the seal.

The bold lettering stood out. She was sorry to cause him pain, but she had decided her future was best spent with the man she loved—Viscount Cawburn. She trusted that he understood, but by the time he read this, she would be well on her way to being married. She had decided to elope just like dear Henrietta Thorndike had done.
Dear Henrietta Thorndike.
Perfidious exasperating Henrietta Thorndike, who had just happened to utterly and completely unexpectedly melt in his arms this morning. Henri, who had seemed perturbed about a family matter this morning. Dear Henrietta Thorndike, who on
the evening of the ball confessed to having meddled, but he had ignored it. Just as he had ignored a hundred other little insignificant details she had said. That she liked to keep secrets, or that they needed to suspend the wager or that Mrs Ravel always had a headache after a dinner party. And last night they had dined at the Croziers’. Cawburn had known when to strike. Isolated incidents? Or part of a deliberate plan?

Robert felt as if someone had punched him in the stomach. He’d thought her a friend. His father had insisted on applying cool logic to women and had warned him about the folly of trusting women. He’d allowed his emotions to cloud his judgement.

‘Are you all right, sir?’ Downing asked. ‘You have turned pale.’

‘I’m fine, Downing.’ Robert crumpled the piece of paper between his fingers. He didn’t want to make a hasty judgement. He needed to weigh all the evidence first. ‘Get me Fredericks. And get the carriage ready to go. We leave within the hour.’

‘Is Miss Sophie all right, sir?’ Downing’s face creased with concern. ‘She is a great favourite amongst the servants. I did not really think anything was amiss. Lord Cawburn, after all, is Lady Thorndike’s cousin.’

‘I do hope so, Downing. I most sincerely hope so.’ Robert tried to concentrate. Panic would not help matters. He needed to go about the search methodically and rationally.

‘And one other thing, sir.’ Downing’s voice floated down the corridor. ‘Cook reported to me that Miss Sophie came into the kitchen before she left. A large cast-iron frying pan has gone missing. Cook thought
you ought to be informed. She’d like it returned. It is her favourite.’

‘I cannot see what use my ward would have with a frying pan, particularly not if she is eloping. Cook must be mistaken.’

‘Very good, sir. I will inform Cook of her mistake.’

‘Where is Fredericks? Fredericks! I have need of you!’ Robert thundered. His voice echoed up the stairs, mocking him.

‘Mr Fredericks is out in the garden. I’ll fetch him.’ One of the upper-stair maids peeked over the banister at him.

While he waited for Fredericks, Robert withdrew the note from his pocket and rapidly scanned it again, searching for clues as to where the errant couple had gone. His ire grew as he realised the inconsistencies his initial shock had blinded him to. Despite the letter being in Sophie’s name, it wasn’t Sophie’s handwriting. And Sophie wouldn’t have called Henri
Henrietta.
Henri’s elopement with Sir Edmund Thorndike was not strictly common knowledge and he doubted anyone else would have mentioned it. There was something about the writing that reminded him of Henri’s. His stomach did a sickening lurch.

Robert strode to his study, withdrew the note he’d received earlier today asking him to visit Henri from the top drawer of his desk and compared it to Sophie’s letter. The same hand. Same author.

He tore through his desk, attempting to find anything else in Henri’s hand. A scrap of paper, anything. He came across the notice about the dancing classes. It was similar writing even down to the way the
H
’s were
formed. Except Henri had denied all knowledge of the note earlier.

So who wrote them? Cawburn or Henri? Cawburn didn’t have the wit. It was Henri who was blessed with the brains, Henri who possessed a steely nerve. But would she do such a thing? His instinct screamed there had to be another explanation, but, furious and desperately concerned, he dismissed it. He could remember his father desperately seeking another explanation for his stepmother’s actions and ignoring the obvious. He’d always vowed that in such cases, he’d go with the cold hard facts. The handwriting was far too close. All the notes had to be written by the same hand.

He was seven times a fool to seek any other explanation. Thorndike was up to her pretty neck. It explained her enthusiastic reception earlier. It explained the note and so many things from her acquiescence to staying at his house to the sudden desire to learn more about the scientific method and logic.

Cold logic rather than emotion. Facts rather than feelings—he’d sworn that when he found out about the manner of his father’s death. He was never going to be deceived in the way his stepmother had deceived his father.

Robert slammed his fist against the desk. He had trusted her. He wanted to trust her now, but he had the evidence in front of him. He hated the black pit that had opened in his soul.

Thorndike had used him in the worst possible way. She served as bait and distraction in order to allow the pair to escape. And he had followed along, willingly, each step of the way. He could see it all now and the betrayal
hurt far more than it should. He had been a lovesick fool and he’d danced to Henri’s tune. No more.

He took a breath of life-giving air. He’d warned her what would happen if she meddled in his private life and now she’d discover the consequences.

‘S
ebastian has been gone all day. He is doing more than simply visiting. All the At Homes are finished,’ Henri remarked to Aunt Frances as they sat in the drawing room. The late-afternoon sun streamed into the room, giving it a golden glow. Everything about the afternoon seemed to be bathed in this wonderful light. She had never noticed how good it felt to be alive. It was as if she had been asleep for a very long time and now she was gloriously awake.

‘That colour suits you, Henrietta,’ her aunt said.

‘It is simply my old dove-grey gown, nothing special. Lucia put a new lace trim around the neckline, so perhaps that is it.’

‘It must be the way you have done your hair. But your eyes seem more vibrant.’

‘It must be that. Artful disarray is all the rage this Season in London. Spend hours with a lady’s maid to achieve the effect of spending an hour’s gardening.’ Henri forced her lungs to fill with air and to think logically
rather than panicking. She had washed her face and splashed cool water on her wrists, but her colour must still be flushed. First Lucia, the maid she shared with Aunt Frances, and now Aunt Frances had remarked how the gown suddenly suited her complexion far more.

Henri shifted uneasily, uncertain how this new life of duplicity and wickedness would be kept a secret from those closest to her. It had to be or she’d never be received in polite society again. As long as it was not overtly conspicuous, she thought they would be all right. And already her mind was trying to work out how and when they’d next meet.

She had not fully considered the consequences when she gave her mouth up to Robert’s on the evening of the ball. But there was nothing morally wrong with what she was doing as neither was married.

It was only now away from him that the doubts and fears hit her. And yet she knew if he came into the room, all thoughts of propriety would fly from her head. Even with Edmund, she had not felt this all-consuming attraction. With Edmund, she had been safe. Her white knight who rode to the rescue. He had been someone she had loved for a long time. He had made her feel as if she belonged, rather than being some unwanted encumbrance. Theirs was supposed to be a love to last for all time. She had planned it that way. Only it hadn’t. And even the grief had faded to nothingness. She could barely recognise the woman she had once been.

Robert challenged her. He was stubborn, mulish and inclined to favour getting his own way. But their arguments brightened her day. Henri took a steadying breath. This was not some finer feeling, but passion, and passion always faded. She had watched it happen more times
than she liked to count. She had to start thinking with her head, and leave her heart out of it. And right now, she needed to know where Sebastian was and get rid of this vague sense of unease.

‘Aunt, you are hiding something. Did you give Sebastian money?’ Henri leant forwards and caught her aunt’s cold hand. ‘Should we send Reynolds out searching for him? Do you think his visiting included a stop at the King’s Head?’

‘Sebastian is securing his future, but had no wish to worry you.’ Her aunt squeezed Henri’s hand before letting go. ‘He is concerned that you remained unwell. He thinks your nerves were affected in the dog attack. You’ll be proud of him. He is taking responsibility for his life.’

A distinct cold shiver crept down Henri’s spine. Sebastian taking charge of his life could quite possibly end in disaster; what was more worrying, he had enticed his mother to lie to her. She swallowed hard. Sebastian would not, he could not bring her into his scheme this time. She was finished with rescuing him.

‘Is this why you told me he was visiting the neighbours? I am no child to be kept in the dark with a pretty fable. Why doesn’t that bring me comfort?’

‘He wanted it to be a lovely surprise for you!’

‘What have you lied to me about, Aunt?’

‘Lying
is far too strong a word. I prefer—
giving only part of the truth.
There was little point in making you anxious. I agreed with Sebastian on that point. He had to take the risk and not always wonder. If you were well, you’d have agreed. You have always helped out with such schemes. Dear Sebastian has always been grateful…even if he hasn’t always said so in so many words.’

Henri crossed her arms. It was bad enough having Sebastian being difficult, but Aunt Frances was concealing things from her as well. Her nerves being damaged! Sebastian told some rather large lies. It was more likely the fact she refused to abandon her friendship with Robert Montemorcy and had given him no help in his attempted conquest of Sophie. Sebastian wouldn’t have drawn her into an intrigue without her knowledge. She refused to be ensnared.

‘You are treating me like a child of six, rather than a widow of twenty-six.’ Henri bit out each word. ‘I’ve never suffered from nerves, not even when Edmund died. And whatever mess Sebastian makes, I will be the one who has to clean it up, just as I always do.’

‘But you’re so good at it. And you’re worrying over nothing. Sebastian will sort it out. He promised.’

‘Nerves are for women with far too much time on their hands. To even imply that is grossly insulting.’

‘You do him a great disservice.’ Her aunt reached for her book and opened it. ‘He wants to clear all the debts and start his future free and clear. I thought he ought to be given the chance. He is my only child.’

‘His future? He has gone back to London? Or has he gone to the Continent?’ Henri’s heart lifted. She was not going to have to face Sebastian and his accusations of betrayal if he learnt about Robert. With any luck, he never would.

‘He took my carriage this morning and promised to return in three days’ time with his fortune made. He even promised to buy back Chestercamp. He was always such a sweet boy. I dare say we can get on with the governess cart or a sedan chair.’

Henri laughed. Her heart suddenly felt light. It made
it easier somehow that Sebastian was gone. She had worried that he might ask awkward questions or, even worse, guess. As it was, a few days’ grace would enable her to figure out how she would dissemble when the inevitable scathing remark about Robert Montemorcy came. ‘I wonder why he did not take his carriage. He knows your carriage is slow and badly sprung. It is liable to break down at any moment.’

Sounds of raised voices filled the library, drowning out her aunt’s reply. Henri frowned as her body trembled. One of the voices was Robert’s. And something had angered him.

Henri put her hand to her mouth. Fear numbed her brain. Someone had seen them. It only could be that. Nothing else. Her life was about to irrevocably change.

‘Out of my way, man!’ Robert bellowed. ‘I want answers. Answers only Lady Thorndike can give. I will not be deterred by a servant!’

Reynolds blocked the entrance to the drawing room. Around his bulk, Henri could see a desperate Robert. At her signal and with an urbane bow, Reynolds allowed Robert into the drawing room. Robert stumbled once, straightened his greatcoat and strode into the room. His looming presence made the room seem small.

‘Well, Lady Thorndike, what do you have to say for yourself? Are you proud of all that you achieved this morning?’ Robert’s harsh accusatory words cut through her, stabbing her in the heart. He’d condemned her of a crime, but she was innocent. The only crime she’d committed was to give in to his seduction.

Henri crossed her arms and kept her chin up. She took a steadying breath. No man was going to treat her in that
fashion! She was not some strumpet to be seduced and discarded at will.

‘You will not abuse Reynolds in that fashion. He is not your servant, but my aunt’s,’ Henri said, trying for a calm serenity. ‘Something is obviously bothering you, Mr Montemorcy, but I can assure you that it is nothing that my aunt’s servant has done. Or, indeed, any member of this household.’

‘Your cousin and Miss Ravel! Where are they? You must know.’ He looked about the room as if he expected to see the pair cowering behind the damask sofa. ‘Sophie! I want to speak to you!’

‘Neither Sebastian nor Sophie are here. Sophie has never visited this house.’ Henri stared at him in astonishment. Sebastian and Sophie were together somewhere? Eloped? Instantly she rejected the notion as fustian nonsense. Sophie would never go willingly with Sebastian, not if she had told Henri the truth, and Sebastian would never force a woman. But Aunt Frances had spoken of Sebastian’s plan. Was this it? Suddenly, Henri struggled to breathe. Leaping to conclusions would be fatal. Somewhere, somehow, this coil was a mistake. It would need a steady hand and a cool head to untangle it. ‘Jumping to ridiculous assumptions will not solve anything.’

‘An officious manner will not deflect me. Surely you can do better than that, Lady Thorndike.’ Robert stood, bristling with anger. ‘They have run away together.’

‘How do you know that they are together?’ Henri attempted a placating smile, but the knots in her stomach tightened. Everything seemed to slow down. Sebastian’s new scheme. He thought she was involved. ‘I think I’d have known if something like this was planned. And I can assure you that neither confided any such scheme to
me. Quite the opposite, in Sophie’s case. Where is your proof, Mr Montemorcy? Or is it merely some village tittle-tattle gone wrong?’

Robert thrust a piece of paper under her nose and she caught a flash of hurt betrayal in his eyes that was almost instantly masked. ‘My ward has run away with your cousin and I want to know what part you played. After all,
dear Sebastian
would never do anything like this without consulting you first, Lady Thorndike. You’re the oracle for all things matrimonial. Miss Armstrong also waylaid me with the news! How long have you been planning this?’

Henri took the letter and rapidly read it before numbly handing it to her aunt. All the bright glory of earlier faded to a dull grey. She’d been living in a fool’s paradise. She’d been caught in Sebastian’s web of intrigue and there was no way that Robert would believe in her innocence.

‘Sebastian, what have you done?’ she whispered, glancing up into Robert’s hard unyielding face.

‘No, Henrietta, no! Not this!’ Her aunt gasped and rapidly began to fan herself. ‘He promised me no scandal. Do you think I would have lent him my carriage if I thought there would be a scandal?’

It was only then the full import washed over her. It was no malicious slander on Miss Armstrong’s part, or contretemps with a bored wife. Sebastian was with Sophie. He’d eloped with a débutante. Or worse. This situation had all the hallmarks of a Sebastian-induced disaster, but even Sebastian in his supreme selfishness could not have realised what he had set in motion. How she had fallen into Robert’s arms and made love to him. She had behaved little better than a harlot, but it had been
her desire for Robert that had driven her, rather than some misguided attempt to give Sebastian the opportunity to elope with Sophie. He had to understand that fact without her saying anything. Or otherwise.

Her insides became encased in ice. Robert and her. He thought she had something to do with it. That she had meddled or, worse still, facilitated it.

An ice-cold hand gripped her heart. He had to believe her innocence. Without trust, where was love? She’d been a fool to think she could experience passion without her emotions being engaged. She did have feelings for Robert but he had none for her.

‘Are you willing to give me an explanation now, Lady Thorndike?’ The underlying note of passionate anger shimmered in his voice. ‘What was your part in this wretched affair? As you said, you were bound to be involved if the pair ran away together, and they’ve run. You were the one who counselled me not to read her letters. You were the one who advocated Sophie going to the ball where she did dance with Cawburn.’

‘I played no part. Sebastian and Sophie both duped me.’ Henri held out her hands and willed him to believe. She was innocent on that accusation. She shouldn’t have to explain to him of all people. He should understand, after what they had shared, that she couldn’t hurt him in that way. ‘I wish them well, but this is the first I have heard of the elopement. Believe me, please. You must believe me.’

Robert’s features showed a look of immense pain before hardening into a disdainful mask. ‘You deny your part. You contend that you had nothing to do with the elopement. And you expect me to believe that.’

‘Yes, I do.’ Henri clasped her hands together and
tried to hang on to that flash of vulnerability, rather than his avenging-angel look. Somewhere inside him that passionate lover of earlier today lurked and had to be listening to her and believing.

She waited, but his look grew colder and more remote. Her words of denial had fallen on deaf ears. Henri attempted to swallow around the growing lump in her throat. He’d no finer feeling for her. For him, it had all been physical need. And for her, it had been an expression of emotion, a desire to be close to him. Despite her vows and declarations, she’d done the unthinkable—she’d fallen in love. The knowledge tasted like ash in her mouth. But in that instant she knew she could never let him know. She couldn’t risk being hurt again.

Keeping her gaze on a point above his shoulder, she started again in a voice that picked up strength and purpose with each word that she uttered. ‘I’d no idea that they were going to run away together. I thought the romance was dead. Sophie seemed far more interested in Doctor Lumley than an ageing rake, which is what she called Sebastian on the last morning I was at the New Lodge. I told Sebastian this. I told him to grow up and solve his problems on his own.’

She was proud of the way she finished. She waited for his abject apology.

‘Your protestation of innocence grows increasingly wearisome, Lady Thorndike.’ He grabbed her by the shoulders and held her away from him. His mobile mouth, which only a few hours before had kissed her senseless, was now an angry white line, his eyes hardened points of coal instead of multicoloured pools.

Henri’s insides twisted. He believed her guilty without even waiting for her explanation. It was as if what
lay between them was irrevocably shattered, leaving only bitterness and resentment. And she knew she would miss that ease and friendship. She was bereft and alone. Unjustly accused. And her brilliant idea of it only being the physical that she cared about was a foolish lie. It had gone beyond the physical for her. She had cared and cared deeply for Robert, and his refusal to believe her hurt far more than it should.