To Marry A Matchmaker (Historical Romance) (9 page)

‘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 hoped 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.

A
nger 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 your 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.’

She turned a sort of purple-pink and the flowers on her poke bonnet jiggled. ‘I’m trying to find Lady
Thorndike. I heard she was unwell. But no one will tell me anything. I’ve brought her favourite remedy—calf’s-foot jelly.’

‘Lady Thorndike is convalescing at my house,’ Robert said. The stench of the noxious substance filled the street.

‘At your house!’ Miss Armstrong put her hand over her mouth and flushed scarlet. ‘I hate to say it, but isn’t that most improper?’

‘My ward is there, as is her stepmother. They are visiting from London.’

‘If I can be of any assistance, I will be. Lady Thorndike has named me as her assistant on the Corbridge Society for Hospitality. I would adore the chance to show Mrs Ravel and her daughter true Corbridge hospitality. It would really make me feel like I was doing something to assist poor dear Lady Thorndike.’

He paused. Miss Armstrong could be excitable, but she was a strong upholder of society values. Henri would have a reason why she had asked Miss Armstrong to be her deputy. It seemed to him that Henri did so many things herself that she forget others could do them if given an opportunity. This would be a way of demonstrating to Henri that village life continued without her—that she was allowed to take the time to recover without worrying frantically about organising everything.

‘I would look on it as a great honour if you could take Miss Ravel and her mother under your wing,’ he said, making a bow. ‘They are strangers and are in need of friends.’

‘I shouldn’t want to step on anyone’s toes. Lady Thorndike.’

‘Lady Thorndike is indisposed and likely to remain
that way for some time.’ He lowered his voice. ‘She has badly sprained her ankle. The doctor is hopeful that it is not too severe, but time will tell.’

‘You mean she won’t be able to make the ball?’ Miss Armstrong’s eyes widened. Her hue went a violent shade of pink. ‘And here I thought she’d be dancing the first quadrille. And who will supervise the hanging of the garlands now? We do live in interesting times.’

‘Indeed we do.’

‘Oh, I’d be honoured to be Miss Ravel’s chaperon.’ Miss Armstrong gave a trilling giggle. ‘Lady Thorndike will have to admit that I can do things as well as she can, particularly when a gentleman like you requests.’

‘You’re far too kind.’

Robert gave a nod to where Cawburn stood glowering, following the whole exchange. He hoped so as much had been for his benefit. Cawburn knew enough about Corbridge to know that Miss Armstrong would be an entirely different duenna to Henri. Calm cool logic over the unfettered emotion.

* * *

Every available surface of the small sickroom room was covered in small tokens to help her recover. Henri had lost count of the number of jars of calf’s-foot jelly that had been delivered to the New Lodge since late morning. Even if she could abide the stuff, one jar was far more than sufficient. But they kept arriving with little notes saying that they had been made to her exacting receipt. The stench was enough to turn even the most ironclad stomach. And Henri knew she’d have to eat every mouthful as one never refused a gift.

And then there was the letter from Lady Winship, which had accompanied her offering. Lady Winship
was dreadfully sorry about the accident and Henri must concentrate on getting well, rather than worrying about the forthcoming ball. Lady Winship understood completely if Henri wished to withdraw from the first quadrille on the grounds of ill health. And Miss Armstrong had offered to step into the breach with the hanging of the garlands from the chandeliers. The pugs sent their love.

‘Bother!’ Henri exclaimed and threw the letter down on the bed.

Tears of frustration came into her eyes. All she wanted to do was to forget about her late-night encounter with Robert and the way her thoughts increasingly revolved around him. She’d even gone to the trouble of dressing in a simple mauve gown, rather than staying in bed like an invalid in case he decided to continue their conversation in the morning light. But he’d left without saying goodbye.

Everybody at New Lodge seemed intent on treating her as if she was made of spun glass and liable to break. Mrs Ravel had banned all the well-wishers on the grounds that they were likely to make her overtired and so her mind kept going over and over her various encounters with Robert.

‘Is everything all right, Henri?’ the man in question asked as he came into the room, carrying another jar of calf’s-foot jelly. Annoyingly he had not grown two heads or developed some hideous deformity. Instead he was as handsome as ever and her heart did a little jump at seeing him. ‘Mrs Eastwell stopped me on the way home from the station. She remembered how you brought her some when she was ill last winter and how you proclaimed that it was the perfect thing for anyone who was under
the weather, and she wanted to make certain that you had sufficient. She hopes you recover very quickly.’

Henri flopped back against the armchair, grateful for the excuse to distract her mind. ‘Another one! And an extra-large one at that. Botheration.’

‘How many?’

‘I stopped counting after ten. I always used to bring calf’s-foot jelly to invalids, but that was because I didn’t actually have to eat the concoction.’ Henri put her hands on top of her head and tried to concentrate on the brown jug rather than the way Robert’s coat moulded to his form. ‘It is gratifying that so many are concerned about my well-being but…did they all have to bring the same thing?’