To Marry a Matchmaker. Michelle Styles

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СКАЧАТЬ them. This is a war of your making. I am through with being polite. Ponder on that.’ She marched away, her purple-and-white gown swinging to reveal her shapely ankles.

      Robert slammed his fists together as red hot blood rushed through his veins. Was there ever such an obstinate woman as Henrietta Thorndike?

      Henri pressed her fingers to the bridge of her nose and took a deep breath, attempting to calm down after her run-in with Montemorcy. She hadn’t been this angry in a long time. Serenity and a happy outlook on life were what she strove for, but really what she wanted was to run Robert Montemorcy through with a skewer. He’d tricked her into this idiotic and offensive wager. And now there was the problem of how his ward might fit into the delicate fabric of Corbridge social life.

      She took a deep breath and twitched the folds of her dress so that they hung straighter.

      When she was done, he’d be the one who was discomforted. He would be dancing the polka and she would hold picnics at the Roman camp. ‘I promise,’ she whispered. ‘I will do it.’

      * * *

      Aunt Frances’s house with its gable roof and white-shuttered windows was as solid and welcoming as it had been when she arrived sixteen months ago, seeking to begin her life again. She forced air into her lungs. Robert Montemorcy had simply unnerved her. She hated quarrelling with anyone. Least of all a man she’d previously held in such high…regard.

      ‘You’ve returned to home fires, sweetest of all the cousins in the entire world. Come share some cucumber sandwiches with me. We’ve much to discuss.’

      Henri froze, her hand on the ribbons of her straw bonnet. The use of the phrase—sweetest of all the cousins—meant her cousin, Sebastian English, the fourth Viscount Cawburn, had returned to his birthplace and wanted something from her, something that would entail a great deal of trouble on her part with little thanks for her efforts on his. It was the very last thing she needed today, particularly not after her contretemps with Robert Montemorcy. All she wanted was a quiet turn about the garden to see if the roses had started to bloom, and a chance to calm her still-racing heart.

      Was that too much to ask?

      ‘The answer is no, Sebastian.’ Henri’s gaze focused on Sebastian’s attire. His neckcloth was twisted as if he had struggled to tie it properly on the first try. Her heart sank. Further confirmation, if she needed it, that her life had taken a turn for the worse. She knew the signs. ‘Definitely not.’

      ‘You do not even know what I was going to ask!’

      ‘It’s something to do with a woman,’ she said, setting her bonnet down on the entrance table and controlling her temper by taking her gloves off one by one. Sebastian’s last adventure resulted in a furious former mistress, a cuckolded husband and a trio of pug puppies laying waste to the drawing room while Sebastian conveniently departed on a ship bound for Venice in the arms of another female. ‘That much is perfectly clear.’

      Sebastian’s jaw dropped. ‘How did you know?’

      ‘Every time your stock and neckcloth are twisted in that particular fashion, a woman is involved. And if that is the case, you will be endeavouring to find a way out of the tangle you have created.’

      ‘Nothing is wrong with my stock, is there?’ Sebastian crashed his cup down and went to the mirror over the fireplace. He frowned and, with expert fingers, readjusted the stock. ‘Henrietta, I’m worried that you’ve suddenly developed a suspicious mind. What is wrong with proclaiming your sweetness?’

      ‘When you are in a normal frame of mind, you use Henri, and may I remind you that I’m your only cousin.’

      ‘That makes you the sweetest one.’ Sebastian wandered over to the plate of sandwiches, picked up one and resettled himself on the sofa. Before he bit into the cucumber sandwich, he gave one of his heart-melting smiles, the sort that had the débutantes and their mothers sighing in droves. ‘It stands to reason.’

      Henri motioned for the footman to remove the pile of cucumber sandwiches some distance away from Sebastian. ‘You won’t get around me that easily. And if you keep eating sandwiches at that rate, you will need a corset to fit into your frock-coats.’

      ‘Gaining weight has never been one of my vices. You are far too young to become censorious.’ He counted on his fingers. ‘You’re only twenty-nine. And do not look a day older than twenty-eight.’

      ‘Twenty-seven next birthday,’ Henri replied through gritted teeth. ‘And not censorious, merely following my husband’s deathbed advice. You’re always trouble when you’re besotted.’

      Sebastian swirled the remains of his tea in his cup. ‘I try hard to be good, but things happen. Edmund would’ve understood. Why can’t you be understanding and considerate like he was?’

      Henri pasted a smile on her face. ‘We’re speaking about your new love, not my late husband. She will be gone from your brain within a month.’

      Sebastian adopted his injured-angel look. ‘This time it is different, Henri. This time it is for ever. But how can I prove this to you, if you refuse to help?’

      ‘Who is she? And, more importantly, does her husband shoot straight?’

      ‘Miss Sophie Ravel is highly respectable. I resent the insinuation.’ He leant forwards and his eyes were alight with an eagerness she had not seen since…since before Edmund’s death. ‘You’ll love her, Henri. She is my other half. I swear it.’

       Chapter Three

      Henri’s stomach dropped. Miss Sophie Ravel. Robert Montemorcy’s ward. The one who had suddenly dropped everything in London to come to Northumberland. All for the sake of love. Miss Armstrong had it all wrong. Miss Ravel hadn’t run towards love, but had been forcibly taken away from it.

      And Sebastian had studiously avoided the marriage word. A cold chill went through Henri. Was it any wonder that Mr Montemorcy had kept the problem from her? He knew how staunchly she defended Sebastian, how she had assisted him out of difficulties in the past.

      She tightened her grip on her teacup, sloshing the tea over the rim. She was far from blind to Sebastian’s faults. Robert Montemorcy should have trusted her with the truth, explaining his concerns about her cousin as a suitor for his ward, rather than tricking her into a wager that she was now determined to win, whilst also finding out some way of making sure the situation did not become a disaster of immeasurable proportions.

      Sebastian started on a long rambling explanation chiefly designed to convince her to help him.

      She held up her hand, blocking his words. ‘Sebastian, I refuse to assist, aid or otherwise participate in your quest for Miss Ravel. Ruining a débutante is low even by your standards of behaviour. I am shocked and amazed that you could even contemplate asking me.’

      Sebastian frowned and slumped back against the sofa, looking mortally hurt, as if she was the one to blame for his ill fortune.

      ‘All I wanted you to do was to meet Sophie…and her stepmother.’ His lips turned upwards into an angelic smile. ‘Especially her stepmother. To show them how respectable my family is. How truly worthy we are. The stepmother wants occupying with projects rather than prying into her stepdaughter’s innocent affairs. You are sure to find something for СКАЧАТЬ