To Marry A Matchmaker (Historical Romance) (3 page)

H
er wager with Robert Montemorcy was child’s play, Henri reflected, slightly swinging the empty basket as she walked towards the circulating library several days after the wedding. All she had had to do was to become occupied with other things: visiting the various invalids in the parish with jars of calf’s-foot jelly that was made to her mother’s exacting receipt, making lists of things that needed to be accomplished before the ball, as well as events that would have to be held
after
the ball, deadheading the daffodils in the garden…She hadn’t even had to resort to the dreaded needlework.

Robert Montemorcy was entirely wrong about her. She
did
have other passions in her life. It was simply that matchmaking was the most interesting. It brought the chance of happiness to so many people.

‘Lady Thorndike, Lady Thorndike!’ Miss Armstrong gave a wave from outside the haberdasher’s. ‘Have you heard?’

Henri composed her features and carefully avoided stepping on a crack in the pavement. ‘Heard what?’

‘Robert Montemorcy is going to be married! We’d all considered him to be
your
property, so it must come as a great blow.’ Miss Armstrong adopted a falsely contrite face as the silk flowers inside the rim of her poke bonnet trembled with suppressed excitement. ‘I know I shouldn’t be spreading gossip but…I wanted to offer my condolences.’

Henri’s stomach plummeted and she tightened her grip on her basket. ‘Mr Montemorcy has never shown me any special favour, Miss Armstrong.’ Hortense Armstrong was notorious for getting gossip ever so slightly wrong. Robert Montemorcy wouldn’t do that without. without letting her know. Besides, he was far from being her property. They simply enjoyed pleasant conversations. ‘How did you come by this intelligence?’

‘Miss Nevin had it from her maid of all work who is best friends with the doctor’s cook who steps out with the footman at the New Lodge.’

Henri breathed easier. Servants. There would be some truth to the rumour, but it would have been twisted and contorted even before it reached Miss Armstrong. And Montemorcy’s admonition rang in her head. He wanted her to keep out of his private life. Was this the reason? An unknown visitor? An unknown visitor that did enjoy his special favour?

‘Speculation never did anyone any good,’ she choked out.

‘The entire household is in an uproar. The lady in question, a Miss Sophie Ravel, arrived from London with her stepmother yesterday. You never saw the boxes and trunks. Even a pagoda-shaped birdcage with a canary.
Like a…well…a pagoda—you know, one of those Chinese, foreign things. Two carts from the station, or so I heard. Miss Ravel was supposed to be the Diamond of the Season, but she has forsaken all for love.’ Miss Armstrong gave a fluttering sigh and Henri found herself wanting to strangle her with a fierceness that was alarming.

‘Two carts do not a marriage make.’

A frown developed between Miss Armstrong’s brows. ‘I’ve never heard that saying before.’

‘Haven’t you?’ Henri smiled, and gave her basket a little swing. ‘I think it is a good one. It is one of my own.’

‘I imagine there will be a huge wedding. It will make the Croziers’ wedding look quite countrified and provincial.’

‘It is intriguing what servants hear…or don’t hear.’

Miss Armstrong’s face became positively unctuous, oozing with rumour and innuendo. ‘Of course, the new Mrs Montemorcy will be expected to take her part in leading society. You will not have it all your own way any more, Lady Thorndike. The new Mrs Montemorcy might even agree with me about the necessity of having garlands at Lady Winship’s ball.’

Henri gave Miss Armstrong a stern look. The conversation was fast becoming insupportable and beyond the bounds of propriety. She refused to think about any sort of wife that Montemorcy might take. She forced her breathing to be calm, even as a great hole opened up inside her. Robert Montemorcy couldn’t marry. It would change everything.

Miss Armstrong’s rosy cheeks became a slightly brighter hue. ‘That is to say, Lady Thorndike, I hope
the rumours are wrong. I merely sought to inform you so that you could make a reasoned judgement and not faint at any gathering.’

‘Such considerations have never troubled me, Miss Armstrong. I never faint.’ Henri put a hand to her chest and adopted her ‘woman of sorrow’ expression. It had held her in good stead for ten years whenever the prickly subject of remarriage was brought up. ‘After all, a woman can only ask for one chance of happiness. And my dear sweet Edmund was gentle perfection. He never said a cross word or argued with me. He was quite simply irreplaceable.’

‘You have always struck me as someone who enjoyed a good argument, Lady Thorndike. I fear I was mistaken.’

‘Obviously.’ Maintaining all the poise she could muster, Henri swept away from the infuriating woman.

As she entered the coolness of the circulating library, Henri stood for a moment and allowed the scent of leatherbound books and dust to fill her nostrils. There was something wonderfully calming about a library. Visiting one always restored her mood. And right now she needed to piece together the various bits of news and discover the truth. Robert Montemorcy had an unmarried female visitor—that much was clear from Miss Armstrong’s testimony. But the precise nature and reason for the visit was shrouded in mystery. And she hated mysteries of this nature.

She hated the small spiral of jealousy that encircled her insides. Hated to think about him verbally sparring with this unknown woman. Would they wager as well? She clenched her fists and counted to ten.

Suddenly, down one of the aisles she spied a pair of
broad shoulders encased in a form-fitting frock-coat: Robert Montemorcy. Who should have been at his desk in Newcastle, pontificating about the scientific method to his managers, or attending to his new guest, rather than causing innocent people’s pulse to race and lose all power in their legs. Henri turned on her heel and started to tiptoe down the next aisle. Blindly she picked up a book and pretended to be reading.

She struggled to breathe and wished her corset was a smidgeon looser. It hurt far more than she thought that Robert Montemorcy had not bothered to confide in her, and the reason for the wager was now transparent. He was going to marry this unknown, and did not want anyone else encouraged to take an interest. But why the subterfuge—why hadn’t he just told her? It was not as if she held any claim on him. She had thought they were friends. She could keep a secret and she wouldn’t have interfered…beyond introducing the woman to society. She knew what it was like to be new and friendless.

‘Lady Thorndike? Is something wrong?’ Robert Montemorcy asked with a concerned note in his voice. ‘You failed to acknowledge my wave. It is most unlike you. Preoccupied, yes, but never rude.’

‘Go away. I’m reading.’ Henri buried her nose deeper in the book and tried to ignore the way he towered over her. She wasn’t attracted to him in the way Miss Armstrong suggested. Attraction was a gentle comfortable thing such as she had felt for Edmund. Robert Montemorcy always made her feel unsettled and determined.

‘You will find it more edifying if you attempt to read right-side up, Lady Thorndike.’ Strong fingers took the book from her unresisting ones. ‘Allow me to assist.’

Henri’s cheeks burnt and fury swamped her senses.
How many people had thought him…her property? And was he truly going to marry this Diamond of the Season? A girl in her teens would be wrong for him. There was no way on God’s green earth she could actually ask him. She had to banish all thoughts of such a thing or else…it would come out at precisely the wrong time. She squared her shoulders, forcing her mind away from Mr Montemorcy’s matrimonial prospects.

‘I wanted to look a point of information up,’ she said quickly before she blurted out her real intention of regaining her composure after The Shocking News.

‘Lady Thorndike, since when did you need to know about
The Good Husbandry of Cattle on the Yorkshire Moors?
Are you truly a secret bluestocking? Or is this in aid of some match that you intend to facilitate at some later date?’

‘That is not what the book is about,’ Henri said, putting a hand on her hip, trying to ignore the way his sandalwood scent enveloped her. ‘You are merely seeking to discomfort me.’

He held out the spine. Henri read the title with a sinking heart. Of all the books she could have randomly chosen, it would have to be one that she had not the slightest interest in. She hurriedly replaced the book on the shelf. ‘It simply proves why I couldn’t find what I was looking for.’

‘And here I thought you were trying to avoid me.’ The richness of his voice rolled over her in delicious waves.

‘Why would I want to do that?’

He gave a maddening shrug of his shoulders, emphasising their breadth. Henri forced her gaze upwards to his sardonic face. ‘You know better than I. A guilty
conscience? How are your attempts at keeping the wager going? Finding it difficult to stop playing Cupid? I hear the curate took the vicar’s youngest daughter for a stroll after church last Sunday. Did you have a part in that?’

‘I’ve kept to the letter of our agreement, which is more than I can say for you.’ Henri gave him a stern look. How dare he insinuate that she was attempting to hide something! She had played the hand strictly according to Hoyle, not deviating at all, not even when Doctor Lumley had asked about the vicar’s eldest daughter and whether she could sew a fine seam. He, on the other hand, had cheated. Manipulated her for mysterious reasons of his own and, what was worse, she had fallen for it. ‘You attempted to deceive me. You procured our wager on an entirely false premise. It is only because I never go back on a promise that I’m even contemplating keeping it.’

He stilled and his cheeks flushed the slightest tinge of pink. ‘What gossip have you heard, Lady Thorndike?’

‘I’ve heard all about Miss Ravel’s arrival. The village buzzes with the news.’ And the impending nuptials, she thought with a pang. But she wasn’t about to stoop that low and mention them! Robert Montemorcy had to reveal the news and then she’d make some withering retort, the perfect sort of response for when one with whom one’s name has been inadvertently linked becomes engaged to another. Henri touched her little brooch that Edmund had given her for luck.

‘News travels fast. Miss Ravel and her stepmother only arrived last night. I am attempting to choose some reading material for Miss Ravel as she has a preference for popular fiction, rather than the scientific tomes that populate my library. Do you think
Ivanhoe
will strike
the right tone? Or would she prefer the latest Fenimore Cooper?’

He was searching the stacks for reading material for the unknown Miss Ravel. Henri hated how the knowledge hurt. ‘If she likes such books, the young woman in question will have probably read
Ivanhoe.
And I believe Mr Crozier has the latest James Fenimore Cooper out. He might not be going to America, but he has developed a taste for adventure.’

‘You are quite right. I will have to find another selection.’ He stood there, looking at her, waiting.

‘Why didn’t you tell me that someone from London was arriving? With two carts full of trunks and bags. And a birdcage, general rumour has it.’ Henri tapped her boot against the wooden floor as the words rushed out of her.

He gave her a level look with his dark brown eyes. ‘Was it any of your business, Lady Thorndike? You would have given me a long list of things that needed to be done, people that she needed to meet and committees she needed to be on without ever having encountered Miss Ravel.’

Henri ground her teeth. Being new in a village like Corbridge was difficult. When she’d arrived, she had longed for someone to take her under their wing and provide some guidance. No one, not even her aunt, had, and she’d resolved never to allow that fate to happen to anyone else. She had organised the Corbridge Society for Hospitality, making Miss Armstrong her deputy, in part because of Miss Armstrong’s ability to learn of new arrivals first, but also to keep Miss Armstrong fully occupied. ‘Was Miss Ravel one of the reasons why you enticed me into this ridiculous wager?’

He was silent for a long heartbeat. Anger coursed through Henri. He was playing games with her. Nobody did such a thing. And it hurt all the worse that it was someone she liked and respected. She had thought he understood that she only wanted the best for people, and the fact he so offensively misunderstood her motives was deeply upsetting.

‘I won’t lie,’ he said gravely. ‘Miss Ravel’s situation did have some bearing on my request.’

‘Mr Montemorcy, you have treated me with contempt,’ Henri ground out. Her insides ached. Robert Montemorcy hadn’t trusted her enough to confide that his guests were expected up from London. He thought her so callous that she’d spread gossip or worse. And even now he kept the true reason for Miss Ravel being here hidden from her. ‘I deserved better than that.’

‘I had my reasons.’

‘And they are.?’ Henri asked in a low tone. ‘Is there anything I should know? I have no wish to make any more
mistakes.’

‘That is Miss Ravel’s business and not mine to tell.’ A muscle jumped in his jaw and his face appeared more remote than ever. ‘I will not have her become the subject of common gossip. I made her late father a promise and I intend to keep it.’

Henri took a step backwards and felt the books dig into her back. Her throat became dry. He had given Miss Ravel’s father a deathbed promise. She’d rather thought her life was going to go on an even keel, but suddenly it was all change. She’d mistaken everything. Her blood fizzled. ‘And you don’t trust me with the truth. What are you afraid of, Montemorcy? What did you think I’d do?
Shout the news from the top of the church steeple that you were about to be betrothed?’

‘Miss Ravel is the daughter of an old and dear friend, Lady Thorndike, and my ward.’ Robert attempted to contain his anger. How dare she stand there wearing a fierce expression and the ribbons of her bonnet trembling! His private life was private. And he certainly was not serving it up for her delectation, fetching bonnet or not. If he ever became betrothed, he certainly would not be informing Henrietta Thorndike first. Asking for her advice? The thought was unconscionable. ‘Please choose your words with care.’