Книга - To Marry a Matchmaker

To Marry a Matchmaker
Michelle Styles


THE MATCHMAKER'S WAGERLady Henrietta Thorndike hides her lonely heart behind playing cupid–some might accuse her of interfering, but she prefers to think of it as improving other people's lives! But Robert Montemorcy knows it has to stop–his ward has just fled from a compromising situation in London, and the last thing she needs is to be embroiled in Henri's compulsive matchmaking! He bets Henri that she won't be able to resist meddling…only to lose his own heart into the bargain!







‘I can stop any time I want,’ Henrietta replied, her face taking on a mutinous expression as she crossed her arms over her full bosom, highlighting rather than detracting from her curves.

‘Prove it.’

‘What are you suggesting, Mr Montemorcy?’ Her carefully arranged curls shook with anger. ‘I enjoy helping people. People need me.’

At last. She’d walked straight into his trap. ‘I am suggesting a wager to demonstrate that you are addicted to arranging others’ love-lives and you have no sense of discipline in these matters.’ He watched her bridle at the words. He wondered if she knew how desirable she appeared when she was angry. Desirable, but very much off-limits…




AUTHOR NOTE


This book is set in one of my favourite villages in Northumberland—Corbridge. I had a great deal of fun walking through the streets, deciding where Henri and Robert lived and researching what would have been there then. The verger at St Andrew’s Church was very helpful in answering my questions and allowing me to look around.

Special mention must be made of the hours I spent at the reading room in the Literary and Philosophical Library in Newcastle. The room dates from 1826, and there is a curved iron staircase that leads up to where the costume books are kept. There I discovered The Woman In Fashion by Doris Langley Moore (1949), a book full of authentic nineteenth-century costumes being worn by 1940s movie stars and ballerinas.

Henri has a special place in my heart, and I hope you will love her story as much as I do.

As ever, I love hearing from readers. You can contact me either via post to Harlequin, my website, www.michellestyles.co.uk (http://www.michellestyles.co.uk), or my blog, www.michellestyles.blogspot.com (http://www.michellestyles.blogspot.com)




About the Author


Born and raised near San Francisco, California, MICHELLE STYLES currently lives a few miles south of Hadrian’s Wall, with her husband, three children, two dogs, cats, assorted ducks, hens and beehives. An avid reader, she became hooked on historical romance when she discovered Georgette Heyer, Anya Seton and Victoria Holt one rainy lunchtime at school. And, for her, a historical romance still represents the perfect way to escape. Although Michelle loves reading about history, she also enjoys a more hands-on approach to her research. She has experimented with a variety of old recipes and cookery methods (some more successfully than others), climbed down Roman sewers, and fallen off horses in Iceland—all in the name of discovering more about how people went about their daily lives. When she is not writing, reading or doing research, Michelle tends her rather overgrown garden or does needlework—in particular counted cross-stitch.

Michelle maintains a website, www.michellestyles.co.uk (http://www.michellestyles.co.uk), and a blog, www.michellestyles.blogspot.com (http://www.michellestyles.blogspot.com), and would be delighted to hear from you.

Previous novels by the same author:

THE GLADIATOR’S HONOUR

A NOBLE CAPTIVE

SOLD AND SEDUCED

THE ROMAN’S VIRGIN MISTRESS

TAKEN BY THE VIKING

A CHRISTMAS WEDDING WAGER (part of Christmas By Candlelight) VIKING WARRIOR, UNWILLING WIFE AN IMPULSIVE DEBUTANTE A QUESTION OF IMPROPRIETY IMPOVERISHED MISS, CONVENIENT WIFE * (#ulink_c8d18c2f-885c-5cf5-b654-9aaf98a91985)COMPROMISING MISS MILTON THE VIKING’S CAPTIVE PRINCESS * (#ulink_c8d18c2f-885c-5cf5-b654-9aaf98a91985)BREAKING THE GOVERNESS’S RULES

* (#ulink_67d13df5-5e66-5121-9b30-605b48d3ad0b)linked by character


To Marry a Matchmaker

Michelle Styles
































www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


To Deb Hunt, my high school librarian,

who encouraged me to read anything

and everything—particularly romance!




Chapter One


May 1848—Corbridge, Northumberland

Precise planning produced perfection.

Lady Henrietta Thorndike knew the saying from her childhood, and as she muttered the words for the two-hundred-and-forty-ninth time that morning, she was inclined to believe it. But straightening the peonies in the central floral arrangement for the third time, she wondered—had she done enough to produce the ideal setting for the wedding breakfast?

True, the bride was an exquisite combination of demureness and supreme happiness in her white silk and organza dress. The groom also seemed far more dignified in his burgundy frock-coat with its black velvet collar than the gossips in the village had considered possible, but something nagged at the back of Henri’s mind as wrong.

Henri took a step back from the table where the peonies now stood upright. On the surface all appeared perfection. Even the notoriously tricky Northumbrian weather proved to be no deterrent to the festivities. Despite dire predictions to the contrary—most notably from Robert Montemorcy, and unremitting rainfall earlier in the week—the sun shone in a blazing blue sky.

But in the back of her mind she could hear her mother’s strident tones, demanding she look again as she would never be good enough, that in her haste to be finished she always overlooked a glaring error. Henri took another sweeping glance at the scene, trying to puzzle out what she’d overlooked.

* * *

When the bride blushed happily in response to a remark from Robert Montemorcy, Henri realised and silently swore. Her mother’s cameo brooch, the something blue and borrowed, lay on the chest of drawers in the front parlour where she had helped Melanie to dress. Nowhere near the bride.

In that heartbeat, despite the triumphs of the day, Henri knew she’d always remember her failure to ensure that the tradition about something old, new, borrowed and blue was followed through. If the marriage failed to thrive, she’d wonder if somehow it was because of the omission, an omission she had spotted and failed to rectify. She could well imagine Robert Montemorcy uttering pronouncements on the folly of putting credence in old wives’ tales, but Henri knew she had to do something to make amends.

Plucking several of the blue forget-me-nots from the centrepiece, she strode over to the happy couple and tucked them into the bride’s bonnet.

‘Something blue, dear,’ she whispered. ‘No point in tempting fate.’

Melanie stammered her thanks and Henri withdrew, allowing the other well-wishers to offer their congratulations, safe in the knowledge that that particular crisis had been averted.

‘Absolute perfection achieved,’ she said in a low tone. ‘I did it. I really did all of it.’

‘Are you going to take credit for the bird-song as well? How did you manage to get them to sing so sweetly?’ a deep voice laced with a hint of a Northumbrian burr asked.

‘I find scattering bird seed is useful in attracting them,’ Henri said in an absentminded voice as she concentrated again on the centrepiece. Was it her imagination or were the peonies leaning over to other side now?

‘And what other tips do you give for achieving the weather, Lady Thorndike? How did you ensure sunshine? Even last night, the barometer was falling. It takes steely nerve to plan a wedding breakfast in the garden in May.’

Henri spun around and saw Robert Montemorcy regarding her with an amused expression. His immaculately cut black frock-coat and high-topped Hessian boots added a note of sartorial elegance to the affair and quite took her breath away. Not that she’d admit it to him. She’d sooner die than confess admiration for his form.

‘Come, Lady Thorndike. What spell did you have to chant to guarantee perfect bridal weather?’

Henri took a steadying breath and readied her nerves for the coming battle of wits. Victory was going to be an altogether sweeter prospect if she ensured Robert Montemorcy was properly humbled.

‘Weather is beyond anyone’s control, Mr Montemorcy.’ She made her voice like honey. ‘I just hoped for the best.’

‘I prefer to put my faith in science and observation. Cool logic.’

‘Had you done that, you’d have been wrong.’ She gestured towards the blue sky. ‘Not a single cloud to spoil the day. I’ll grant you that this spring has been wetter than most, but I just knew that today would be wonderful. But I did have an alternative venue to hand if necessary. Lady Winship offered Aydon Castle’s hall. However, one must always consider the potential for her pugs to escape. On balance, the garden was a less tricky option.’

‘Only you, Lady Thorndike, would consider planning a wedding breakfast in the garden during one of the wettest springs Northumbria has known easier than worrying about a few dogs escaping.’ His dark brown eyes twinkled and the slight flutter at the base of her spine turned to a warm curl of heat. Henri lifted her chin and concentrated on breathing slowly. ‘The generals in the British army could take lessons from your nerves of steel.’

‘Lessons? No, no, I simply possess a happy talent for organising.’ She made her face assume a studied expression of incredulity. ‘In fact, this marriage would not have happened if I had not taken matters in hand.’

He raised an imperious brow, transforming his face into one of elegant scorn. ‘You appear to entertain the notion that you had a hand in the marriage, rather than being the chief architect of its near-collapse.’

‘Entertain, fiddlesticks. I know.’ Henri nodded towards where the happy couple stood, receiving the good wishes of their neighbours. Mr Montemorcy needed to be enlightened. No matter how intensely that rich voice of his affected her, it didn’t make his words true. ‘This wedding only happened because of careful and strategic planning on my part. It was a close-run thing, particularly when Mr Crozier spoke of emigrating. To America. Thankfully he saw the sense in staying put and marrying the one woman who will give him lasting happiness.’

‘It was Crozier’s sense, not yours.’

Henri clenched her fists and struggled to maintain her temper. She’d slaved over this match, working hard to ensure that the bride and groom realised how exactly right they were for each other. ‘Who else saw the potential in two lonely individuals? Who arranged the dinner party so that they sat next to each other and discovered a mutual admiration of Handel? Who hung back on the walk out towards the excavations so that there was a chance of the happy couple reaching a convivial understanding?’

‘Who indeed?’ he murmured, his eyes becoming hooded.

She glanced over her shoulder and lowered her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. ‘Of course, with the actual wedding breakfast, I played a larger part. Dear Melanie can never organise anything. And left to Mr Crozier, they would have eloped to Gretna Green and deprived the village of the chance to bestow their good wishes. Matters had to be taken into hand. I, for one, am well satisfied with the result. The entire village is here and Melanie has had the wedding she has always dreamt of. The memories of her perfect day will sustain her in years to come.’

‘A wedding does not a marriage make. The new Mrs Crozier should remember today because of her groom rather than because of the setting.’

‘But the setting helps. The perfect start to a marriage.’

‘And this is what you base the right to usurp proceedings on?’ Mr Montemorcy captured her arm and led her down the gravel path of her aunt’s garden towards the summer-house. For a few heartbeats, intelligent thought fled and all Henri could think about was the pressure his fingers exerted on her elbow. ‘A few engineered meetings of two people who had been near neighbours for years. This marriage would have happened without your interference.’

Henri dragged her mind away from the breadth of his shoulders and his sandalwood scent and back to the matter at hand. ‘Years, Mr Montemorcy. Years without noticing that the perfect person lived a short walk away. That state of affairs would have continued indefinitely. Since arriving in Northumberland, I have facilitated three marriages, two reconciliations between estranged parents and their children, and one christening. It is altogether a brilliant achievement for sixteen months’ work.’ Henri crossed her arms. Mr Montemorcy had to realise how hard she worked for other people’s happiness. She’d done this out of the best possible motives, and now she was about to see her aunt’s eyes light up, if Mr Montemorcy didn’t find some reason to wriggle out of their wager—a wager that, suspiciously, he had yet to mention. ‘Who are you to say differently?’

‘I’m urging caution, Lady Thorndike. Not everyone wants to be paired off in a manner that you deem fit. Nor do they want their lives ordered to suit your mood. What can you hope to achieve with such meddling?’

‘A satisfactory result all around.’ Henri clapped her hands together and rocked back and forth on her toes, and then revealed the true source of her happiness. ‘And my aunt’s purpose in life restored.’

‘Meaning?’ He arched one maddening eyebrow. ‘You’ve lost me, Lady Thorndike. Your aunt is over fifty—surely you aren’t going to try to pair her off with some unsuspecting retired military type?’

Henri took a deep breath and counted to ten, savouring the moment. Of all the satisfactions she’d expected to experience today, this was the one she had looked forward to the most.

‘Don’t you remember? We wagered, Mr Montemorcy, last New Year’s. You didn’t believe the groom could be brought up to snuff before hell froze over. I have done it in under the six months you specified.’ Henri fluttered her lace-gloved hand towards where the happy couple stood giving each other besotted looks.

‘Did you always enjoy ordering others’ lives for them, Lady Thorndike? Or did it grow on you?’

Henri caught her bottom lip between her teeth, considering the question. Was it her fault that she could see solutions where others saw insurmountable difficulties? But ordering people about—surely he couldn’t really think that’s what she did? She might make suggestions, some stronger than others, but she always allowed people to decide for themselves. She wasn’t like her mother, bitter and overly critical. She celebrated when people experienced joy. The challenge of improving people’s lives gave her life meaning.

‘I’m not overly domineering. My ideas are better than most and I simply possess a happy talent for organisation.’

His rich laugh rang out and Henri wondered if she was in fact being humoured. ‘You do have a unique perspective on it.’

‘It isn’t my fault if the vast majority of people fail to see how problems can easily be solved. A cool head and a calm manner counts for much in life.’ Henri gave a little clap of her hands before giving Mr Montemorcy a hard stare. ‘Will you concede under the terms of our wager that you have lost?’

‘On the balance of probabilities, I will admit defeat.’ A smile tugged at his austere features, transforming his face for a heartbeat into knees-to-jelly handsome.

Henri thought once more what a good husband he would make, if only he’d allow her to find the right woman for him. But he’d expressly forbidden it and Henri wasn’t prepared to take the risk and jeopardise their acquaintance, because his presence at any gathering made it all the more exciting. Often their exchanges ended with her pulse racing and her being filled with either a determination to prove him wrong, or the glorious bubbly feeling of being utterly right. And on balance, his being attached to some unknown miss would complicate those exchanges.

‘Say the words, Mr Montemorcy.’

Golden sparkles flecked his eyes. ‘Your aunt may excavate the Roman encampment. You have prevailed, Lady Thorndike.’

Henri clapped her hands. All night she had lain awake worrying. Would something happen at the last second and the marriage, with its garden wedding breakfast, have to be called off? Would Mr Montemorcy then renege on the wager?

For her aunt desperately needed an outlet for her energy. Ever since Henri could remember, her aunt had longed to excavate the Roman remains, and increasingly so since they’d been forced to sell the field to Robert. Whenever Henri had been about to give up with Melanie, she would think about her aunt’s eyes shimmering with pleasure as she learnt that Henri had secured the excavation for her.

‘There, it wasn’t too hard to admit you lost. You are far from infallible, Mr Montemorcy.’

‘Let me finish. It is a bad habit of yours—jumping to conclusions and overly complicating matters with emotion.’ He held up a hand, silencing her. ‘All social excursions to the site are forbidden. A scientific approach must be used at all times and your aunt must share all knowledge gained with me.’

Botheration. Henri worried the lace on her gloves. Mr Montemorcy had seen through her grand schemes and thwarted her after all! She had already had three picnics arranged in her head, complete with guests’ list, menu and seating charts. They were going to be the centrepiece of her new campaign to arrange at least one more marriage before the summer had finished.

She’d even found bits of Roman pottery from her aunt’s collection so that she could seed the site before the picnics took place. What could be more thrilling than a treasure hunt? Especially one where nothing was left to chance, where everything was perfect. And now this! Conditions from Robert Montemorcy about scientific approaches and the need to preserve the ground!

‘Nobody ever mentioned conditions,’ she muttered, scuffing the ground with her kid boot.

‘I’m mentioning them now. Before you won, there was little point.’

‘I don’t see why you object to social excursions such as picnics.’ She forced her voice to remain even. She would find a way around this new obstacle. There was a way around setbacks of this nature if she considered the problem hard enough. The happiness of others depended on it. ‘They are a wonderful form of entertainment. And I promise they won’t damage the integrity of the site.’

‘And the encampment is a valuable piece of history. It is on my land now. Under my stewardship. If your aunt wishes to excavate, she may, but she follows my methods.’

Henri adopted a smooth placating smile. Robert Montemorcy was being stubborn. She could see it in his eyes and in the tightening of his shoulders. Very well, for now, she’d give way on the picnics, but he would eventually agree once he realised that no harm would come to his precious scientific method.

The selling of the land had been physically painful, but her late uncle’s debts were far greater than even she had guessed. Her aunt had wept buckets. She hated letting anything go, but Montemorcy had paid a good price for the land and her aunt’s financial difficulties were at an end. Or at least until her cousin made another one of his requests for money—but Henri had to believe that the last episode had taught Sebastian the importance of fiscal responsibility.

‘I’m well aware of the debts my uncle incurred, but that is all in the past. My cousin is of an entirely different stamp. He plans to follow my advice for improving the remainder of his estate,’ Henri said, trying a new tack.

Mr Montemorcy’s brow darkened. ‘Even you, Lady Thorndike, with all your skill at managing, have singularly failed there. Your cousin has garnered a reputation for debauchery. His debts will be worse than your uncle’s in two years, if they are not already.’

‘Society will gossip and all he needs is the right woman.’ Henri forced the smile to stay on her face. It irritated her that Mr Montemorcy was correct in this one thing, if nothing else. Unfortunately, her aunt still was convinced that it was her late unlamented husband who had caused the problem and that her only son needed to be coddled and protected. Henri knew without her intervention, her aunt would be tempted to supplement her cousin’s considerable income from her meagre widow’s portion. She might not approve of everything that Sebastian did, but she refused to criticise him to others or let others judge him. He was family, after all, and one looked after one’s family. ‘You do Sebastian a disservice. He was shocked at the extent of debt.’

‘Shocked, but he has continued to live his life with the same careless disregard.’

‘Sebastian no longer indulges in such vices as gambling. He gave his mother his word. I also understand his current projects prosper.’ Henri raised her chin, and hoped her words were true. Sebastian’s last letter to his mother promised he’d mend his ways if she sent a little money until his latest scheme started to pay. ‘And you know how it is with reputations—people are far more willing to believe a bad report than a good one.’

Mr Montemorcy’s eyes became inscrutable. ‘I’m delighted to hear it.’

‘Is there anything else?’ Henri asked, looking over Mr Montemorcy’s immaculately tailored shoulder. She gave a nod towards Melanie so that Melanie could begin to cut the cake. Melanie blushed a deep scarlet and manoeuvred her new husband over to the splendidly tiered fruit cake. Silently Henri motioned to the vicar’s youngest daughter to stand closer to the curate. They would make a charming pair, if a permanent post could be found for him, somewhere in Northumberland rather than becoming a missionary to Africa. The vicar would worry if his daughter went to Africa. She’d have to consider the matter seriously if the treasure hunt was forbidden. ‘If not, I’ll bid you adieu. Others require my attention.’

‘Meddling in others’ romantic lives has become a bad habit with you. I recognise that gleam, Lady Thorndike. Leave them alone.’

Robert Montemorcy put a detaining hand on Lady Thorndike’s shoulder. Henrietta Thorndike wasn’t going to wriggle out of this with a toss of her black curls and a soft sensuous smile from her full lips. Why was it that beautiful women caused more trouble than anyone else? Lady Thorndike appeared to think that with one sweep of her long lashes all her meddling and mischief would be forgotten. One light rap of her lace fan against his arm and she thought he’d indulge her passion for disruptive picnics. He knew her methods. She never gave in.

From Crozier, he knew what a near-disaster this entire episode had been and how close Henrietta Thorndike’s machinations had come to failure. Crozier had been within a hair’s breadth of leaving for America, all because Lady Thorndike had introduced him to the writing of James Fenimore Cooper and declared that Miss Brown had a tendre for men who behaved like Hawkeye in The Last of the Mohicans. ‘Meddling is the passion that rules your life.’

‘Meddling? I prefer to call it assisting two lonely people to find happiness.’ Lady Thorndike waved an airy hand that only served to emphasise the way her dark purple silk dress caressed her curves. He struggled to ignore the rush of hot blood that coursed through his veins. Part of Henrietta Thorndike’s arsenal was her latent sensuality, a pleasurable distraction that was apt to make men forget their train of thought.

She leant forwards and lowered her voice to a purr. ‘You must understand that our new doctor, the curate and the butcher need wives.’

‘You have forgotten the baker and the candlestick maker,’ Robert remarked drily.

‘No, the baker is happily mar—’ She stopped and her cheeks turned a deep rose before she gave a small curtsy. ‘I suppose you think the play on the rhyme amusing. And I tumbled straight into it.’

‘I rest my case. Matchmaking consumes you and, if you allow it, it will ruin you.’

She flicked her tongue over her mouth, turning her lips a cherry-ripe red. ‘Define matchmaking.’

‘Aiding, assisting or otherwise seeking the advancement of marriage,’ he said without hesitation.

‘I have other passions. It is merely a pleasant pastime, helping others out. They have a right to their chance of happiness. After all, I had mine, even though it was cut short.’ Lady Thorndike examined a bit of lace on her glove, hiding her face as she always did when she spoke about her late husband. ‘And if anyone objected, I’ve never insisted. You, for example, have made it perfectly clear that you wish to choose your own partner.’

‘If you ever tried to manipulate my private life, Lady Thorndike, it would be the end of our friendship.’

‘I know the limits.’

She stared at him defiantly, her pointed chin raised in the air and her glossy black hair quivering with indignation. Robert returned her gaze with a steady one of his own. Clearly she had chosen to forget the first ball he attended in the neighbourhood, when she had attempted to pair him off with the new Mrs Crozier.

‘All I can say is the late Sir Edmund Thorndike must have been a paragon of virtue and forbearance.’ He held up his hand, stopping her outraged squeak. Someone had to save her and everyone else from her capricious nature. One day her little schemes would ruin some innocent. ‘But we are not speaking about the past, Lady Thorndike, but the present. You are singularly unable to resist meddling in the matrimonial affairs of others. It is becoming worse by the day.’

‘I can stop any time I want,’ Henrietta replied, her face taking on a mutinous expression as she crossed her arms over her full bosom, highlighting rather than detracting from her curves.

‘Prove it.’

‘Are you seriously suggesting that the new Mrs Crozier would be better off if she remained a spinster, trimming hats and living on tea and snippets of hot buttered toast?’ Two bright spots appeared on Lady Thorndike’s cheeks and her eyes blazed sapphire. ‘She has a bright future with a husband who loves her and a more-than-respectable income.’

Robert made an irritated noise. The new Mrs Crozier’s figure proclaimed that she lived on far more than snippets of toast. ‘Anyone with a half a brain could have seen the way the wind blew when Crozier took to visiting Miss Brown on the pretext of picking up his great-aunt’s hats. You may have succeeded this time, but the next…You run the risk of destroying some innocent’s future.’

‘What are you suggesting, Mr Montemorcy?’ Her carefully arranged curls shook with anger. ‘I enjoy helping people. People need me. And this wedding breakfast will not run itself.’

At last. She’d walked straight into his trap—the reason he’d come to the wedding breakfast and engaged her in a battle of wills to begin with. ‘I am suggesting a wager to demonstrate that you are addicted to arranging others’ love lives and you have no sense of discipline in these matters.’ He watched her bridle at the words. He wondered if she knew how desirable she appeared when she was angry. Desirable but very much off limits, and Robert never mixed pleasures of the flesh with his social duty. It caused complications. ‘Unless you wish to admit defeat here and now?’

Her even white teeth worried her bottom lip. ‘You make it sound like I have no self-control.’

‘In recent months, you have lost whatever self-control you had in this matter.’ Robert leant forwards, wondering how far he dared push her. But Lady Thorndike had to agree to the wager. Without it, his entire scheme for protecting his ward would fall at the first hurdle.

‘What time frame do you suggest?’ She smoothed the deep mauve of her gown and Robert knew he had won. She’d been unable to resist the temptation and had taken the bait. ‘A wager is no good if it goes on indefinitely.’

‘Until Lady Winship’s ball in a month’s time,’ he replied.

‘A month? I don’t know whether to be flattered or amused that you do not think I can last a month. There are many other things in my life—visiting the sick, gardening and even doing needlework if I must.’

‘A month will be enough to prove my point.’

‘I will be delighted to prove you wrong.’ Henrietta tapped her fan against his arm. ‘And when I do, you will have to allow me to host a picnic at the excavations. And for added sweetness, the merest of trifles—you will dance a polka with me at the ball.’

Robert pressed his lips together—how had this happened? Despite all his precautions, Lady Thorndike had defined unacceptable terms. ‘I don’t dance.’

‘I know. Everyone in the Tyne Valley knows.’ She raised up on her toes and her eyes became the colour of a Northumbrian summer’s morning. ‘You avoided the dancing classes I set up for the village, pleading pressures of work. We were several men short. Even old Mr Everley came despite his aches and pains. The entire village’s standard of dancing has been improved. All except yours.’

‘It is good to know fewer bruised toes will happen at the ball thanks to your valiant efforts.’

‘Your dancing will be a public declaration that I’m correct and you utterly misjudged the situation.’ Her eyes took on a wicked glint. ‘You are lucky that I am not insisting on you joining the next class.’

‘And don’t you want to know your forfeit, the consequences of failure?’

She gave a little deprecating laugh and he knew he had trapped her. Henrietta Thorndike’s overweening confidence would be her undoing. He’d give her two days, a week at most, before she succumbed to temptation. But with the forfeit he had in mind, either way, his ward’s reputation would be safe. ‘I’m going to win, but what do you want, Mr Montemorcy, if I display a woeful lack of self-control?’

Robert forced his voice to be restrained, soothing. ‘If you fail to do this, for the next six months you will have to announce whenever you arrive at a social gathering that you are a habitual matchmaker. You will also give up organising any social event for the period.’

The colour drained from her face. ‘And what will I be doing with myself? I like to keep busy!’

‘You can read my research and learn how the scientific method works and why it is appropriate for the excavation site.’

Lady Thorndike opened and closed her mouth several times. A flash of hurt crossed her features. Robert hardened his heart. Lady Thorndike needed to learn this lesson before she did serious damage to someone’s reputation.

‘Would you like me to wear a sign about my neck as well?’ she asked, arching a brow. ‘Just so that everyone knows? Matchmaking is something that is done with a subtle hand, Mr Montemorcy. If I declare my intention, all my schemes will be ruined.’

‘That is rather the point, Lady Thorndike. You need to allow people to fall in love naturally and to attend social gatherings in the village without fear. Other people should have the opportunity to organise the events. How hard can it be?’

Henri raised her brows again, this time in amused disbelief—clearly Robert Montemorcy had no idea how hard organising social events could be! Suddenly she started to feel much more positive about the outcome of their wager. ‘Would you like me to set this wager to paper, Mr Montemorcy?’

‘If you wish. I’m quite happy to wager my dancing shoes against your declaration.’

‘Make sure you attend the ball with your dancing slippers on.’ Her eyes gleamed with mischief; she clapped her hands. ‘And I shall invite you to my first picnic at the excavation. It will be a treasure hunt to end all treasure hunts.’

‘You will lose, Lady Thorndike. I know you. The first time you see an opportunity you will have to grab it.’

Her deep blue eyes searched his face. ‘Is there any particular reason why you have made this wager?’

Robert caught his upper lip between his teeth and briefly contemplated confiding in Lady Thorndike about his ward and her disastrous experience at the Queen Charlotte’s ball, but decided that Lady Thorndike would be unable to resist offering unhelpful advice or spreading the news in an attempt to be helpful. Sophie had gone through enough without having to face that. No, until her enthusiasm for matchmaking was curbed, Lady Thorndike was positively dangerous and had to be held at arm’s length.

‘Your behaviour recently makes it necessary,’ he said finally.

‘I will not bother to answer that.’ Lady Thorndike lifted her chin in the air, not quite disguising another flash of hurt in her eyes. ‘Melanie has started to cut the cake and if she keeps sawing at it like that, the cake will crumble and nobody will get anything. I promised the vicar’s daughters that they would each have a piece to put under their pillows so that they may dream of their future bridegrooms. Melanie agreed with me that it was a splendid notion.’

‘Do you wish to end the wager already? No shame on either side.’

‘Hah, you think too little of me.’ Her dark blue eyes flashed defiantly. ‘Remember, Mr Montemorcy. Practise your polka. I require a certain standard in my dancing partners.’




Chapter Two


Her 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.’

Her blue eyes opened wide. ‘You have a ward? Why have you never divulged this information to me?’

‘There are many things you do not know about me, madam.’ Robert looked her up and down slowly, taking in the way her purple-and-white-checked day dress hugged her curves and then flared out into a full skirt. ‘We are neighbours, rather than intimate companions.’

Two bright spots appeared on her cheeks. ‘Having a ward is hardly a state secret.’

‘My business, no one else’s.’

‘But pertinent to our wager. The fact remains—you manoeuvred me into that wager so that you could protect your ward from what you considered to be my unwarranted inference! I have never interfered when I was unwanted, sir! A simple request would have sufficed!’

Various other library patrons turned around and Robert winced. The gossip that he’d quarrelled with Lady Thorndike would be around the village in a matter of minutes. And it would only add to the speculation about his visitors and their reason for abandoning London. He should turn on his heel and walk away, but he quickly rejected the notion. If the village would talk, he’d give them something infinitely more interesting to digest than the suspiciously sudden arrival of his ward.

He placed a hand on either side of her, trapping her against the bookcase. ‘I gave you the main reason at the wedding breakfast, madam. You are entirely too involved in your matchmaking schemes. You think of nothing beyond the next match. You dominate village social life with your musicales, picnics and dancing classes, which are all designed for one purpose: to facilitate matrimony, whether the parties involved are truly interested or not. Are you attempting to back out of our wager? You were so certain of victory. Do you wish to admit defeat?’

‘No, sir, I’m not ready. I am no faint heart.’

Rather than seeking to escape, she held her head high and her being radiated hurt dignity. A vague sense of admiration filled him. He leant forwards so his breath would brush her cheek. ‘I’m glad to hear it.’

‘You are behaving improperly, sir,’ she said as her breath came faster. ‘In a public place!’

‘Am I? How intriguing.’ He fastened his gaze on her full red lips. ‘Precisely what am I doing wrong, Lady Thorndike? Do tell. I wish to remedy my bad behaviour.’

The air between them crackled.

‘I hope your dancing shoes are polished and ready,’ she said with a husky note in her voice. ‘I expect a polka worthy of the name after your underhanded behaviour.’

‘My dancing shoes are in my wardrobe where they will remain. You will be unable to resist temptation, Lady Thorndike. We both know it. Admit defeat now and have done with it.’ He leant forwards so that their foreheads nearly touched. Her lips were softly parted and he could see the pulse beating in the hollow of her throat. Silently he willed her to lean forwards and complete the tableau. ‘Miss Ravel’s visit is sudden. Her story is not mine to tell. But I promise you, if you attempt to ensnare my ward in any of your matchmaking schemes, you will regret it.’

Henri lifted his arm away from the bookcase as her eyes blazed defiantly. ‘I have done nothing to facilitate or suggest any such match. Nor do I intend doing so in the near future,’ she said in a furious undertone. ‘You should have confided in me, instead of attempting this flim-flam nonsense of a wager to curb my behaviour. My behaviour, sir, has been exemplary in the extreme.’

Robert counted to ten and breathed deeply as the whispers grew in the library. The gossip would now centre on Lady Thorndike rather than on his ward. But he had not one twinge of regret. His ward’s already fragile reputation needed protecting, which wouldn’t happen if Lady Thorndike could not resist meddling. And the only way he could think of to ensure that had been the—deliberately provocative, he’d happily admit it—wager. ‘You have several weeks to go. Temptation will get the better of you, Lady Thorndike. It always does.’

Henrietta Thorndike opened and closed her mouth several times, before twitching her skirts away from him. ‘Good day, Mr Montemorcy. I believe we have entirely fallen out of civility with each other.’

‘Were we ever in civility?’ he murmured, his hand skimming her arm. ‘Pray tell me when.’

‘I have certainly tried to be polite, but I now see politeness is beyond you,’ she snapped.

‘Lady Thorndike, people are starting to stare. You are in danger of becoming remarked on.’

‘Let 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 her to do!’

‘Your complicated love life is your problem.’ Henri glared at him and pointedly gestured towards the Persian carpet in front of the fireplace. ‘I had to bring the pug puppies with me to Corbridge. Unlike you, I don’t just abandon defenceless animals, even if I’m not fond of dogs. Your dear mama’s carriage has never been the same. Travel sickness in a puppy is far from pleasant.’

Sebastian brushed the crumbs from his fingers. ‘That is a bit unfair of you, Henri, bringing up the pugs. A huge misjudgement on my part, I’ll accept that, but you rose to the occasion magnificently. One couldn’t ask for a better or more loyal cousin.’

‘It took me an age to get rid of them.’ Henri struggled to keep her voice steady. Sebastian knew how she felt about dogs, even such little ones as the pugs. ‘Lady Winship was reluctantly persuaded to give them a home.’

Sebastian put his hands behind his head and stretched out, a particularly pleased smile on his face. ‘And how is dear old Nellie? I have not seen her in an age!’

‘Lady Winship has become devoted to the pugs,’ Henri admitted. It had been one of her better ideas, getting Lady Winship to take the trio. And her mind shied away from why Sebastian addressed Lady Winship in such familiar tones. Some things were best left to the imagination. ‘By the middle of next week, you will have forgotten Miss Ravel’s name, Sebastian, and those sandwiches were for Aunt Frances.’

‘Cucumbers give Mama indigestion. I’m doing her a favour.’ Sebastian made a show of dusting the plate down before carelessly placing it on the table. Henri reached over and straightened the plate.

‘Sebastian!’

‘I saw Miss Ravel silhouetted in the evening light, just as she was getting out of a carriage to attend the opera, and I knew that she was the woman for me. I will never forget her or the way the last rays of the sun lit her hair. She is an angel set on this earth.’ He cleared his throat. ‘I worship the ground she walks on. The M word entered my head.’

‘Marriage? You?’ Henri stared at him in disbelief. Sebastian, who had successfully avoided so many marriage traps, was actually contemplating marriage to Miss Ravel. ‘Then what is the problem? Women normally fall at your feet. And despite your various misdemeanours, the best houses in London still welcome you.’

‘Her family, or more specifically her guardian.’ Sebastian clasped his hand to his breast. ‘Robert Montemorcy is the sort of man whose library is entirely filled with books from The Gentleman’s Manual to Libraries. He probably has never been outside England.’

‘Robert Montemorcy was educated in Edinburgh, at the Sorbonne in Paris, and studied chemistry in Germany,’ Henri replied evenly, disliking Sebastian’s curled-lip sneer. She might be upset with Mr Montemorcy, but it didn’t mean that others could abuse him. ‘He has a wide range of business interests, including an ironworks that makes most of the steel and iron for the railways. And he is a highly accomplished chemist. He is a great believer in the “Scientific Method” and a stalwart of the Lit. and Phil.’

‘You mean he makes money, but what clubs does he belong to? What titles has he inherited? Who were his ancestors?’

‘Sebastian, is that really important? What matters is that Mr Montemorcy purchased Chestercamp field.’

‘Montemorcy purchased that field!’ He clapped his hand to his head. ‘It all makes a sickening sense. I’m undone. Why is Fate so cruel?’

‘He kept you out of debtors’ prison.’

‘Spare me the village gossip, Henrietta. It was never going to come to that. I was simply short of a few readies to pay Papa’s bills. You should never have suggested to Mr Montemorcy anything different and now…’

‘You’re being obstinate.’ Henri crossed her arms. Montemorcy had been all sympathy when she encountered him out on a walk and she had given up hope of selling the field. They had fallen to discussing Romans. It had been the start of their enjoyable conversations. Her throat tasted like ashes. Maybe it would have been better if they’d stayed distant neighbours.

‘Mr Montemorcy bought the field because he is interested in bringing a scientific method to excavating Roman remains. Aunt Frances is terribly excited about the prospect.’

‘More to the point, Montemorcy has caused Sophie to be moved to Northumberland under the pretext of broadening her education. As if the biddies who control the Season could not see through that threadbare excuse.’ Sebastian snapped his perfectly manicured fingers. ‘Northumberland? Why not Italy or France? I wrote to Sophie that she should make sure he took her abroad, but the note was returned…unopened with the injunction never to contact her again.’

Henri went cold. Sending Sebastian’s letter back was a mistake of the highest order if Robert Montemorcy had wanted to dissuade Sebastian. If only Robert Montemorcy had asked her advice, she’d have explained. Sebastian was easily handled as long as he thought the idea had emerged from his own brain. Sebastian always pursued the unattainable until it became attainable and then he lost interest. And he’d never ruined a Diamond. He never would. He knew where society’s lines were drawn. Robert Montemorcy should have had more sense. He should have sought her advice; now, she had a lovelorn Sebastian to contend with.

‘What did you do to Miss Ravel to have her removed from London? She should be enjoying the Season.’

‘Nothing.’ He held up his hand and his face became utterly angelic. ‘I swear to God, Henrietta. We were only talking…in the library with the door closed. I wanted to know if a heavenly creature like her could ever love a sinner like me, but her stepmother happened in and had an attack of vapours, which led on to unprecedented hysterics.’ A distinct shudder went through him. ‘It was ghastly. I suggested Miss Ravel dose her stepmother with water to bring her to her senses, but Miss Ravel flat out refused.’

‘Sebastian, if you are trying to flannel me about your debts, I will never forgive you.’

‘I love Sophie, Henri, truly I do. Her dowry means nothing to me.’ He snapped his fingers. ‘I would run away with her in an instant…even if she was a pauper. It is her infuriating guardian causing all the problems. He has no right to control Sophie’s life and impose restrictions on mine.’

‘If the lady is truly your love, you will find a way. I did with Edmund. I was the one who proposed, remember?’ Henri tapped her fingers against her thigh. Sebastian would have to understand. This time, she was not going to get involved. ‘You have to believe, Sebastian. And you do not need me.’

‘Is that your final word?’ His eyes narrowed and flashed.

‘Yes. I facilitate matches for no man. Not any more.’ Henri fluffed out her skirt, making certain the top flounce fell correctly, and reached for the bell to summon Reynolds. She had won. She had proved that she could remain aloof from Sebastian’s schemes. Success. Robert Montemorcy was completely wrong. She did know when to stop. ‘And in a few weeks, you will have forgotten all about this Sophie Ravel.’

‘Have you ever forgotten Edmund? Have you thrown away his letters or do they remain in that box—waiting to be read one last time? If you can’t forget him, why do you think I will forget the love of my life?’

Henri closed her eyes. Edmund’s strawberry-blond hair and regular features swam in front of her. Her breathing became a bit easier. She did remember. And there was no point in opening the box; she knew what it contained. Someday she would, she would reread every letter, but not today, not at Sebastian’s insistence.

‘That was low. You should call on Miss Ravel directly and discover the true state of affairs for yourself. I don’t see why you are being such a namby-pamby sensitive poet about this. Mr Montemorcy will hear your request politely. Our family does have a certain standing in the neighbourhood.’

She waited for Sebastian to fall in line with her wishes. Sebastian’s face took on a crafty expression and he began to fiddle with his stock.

‘Say that you will meet Sophie and report back to me. You know you will call. You always do your welcoming bit. All I want to know is how she fares and if I stand a chance. That will give me the courage to face him and do battle for my darling girl.’ Sebastian knelt before her, catching her hand. His eyes became pools of blue. ‘You know what happens to people when you insist on them doing things they fear. Think about what you did to Edmund. Your insisting on the elopement surely hastened his death.’

‘Sebastian.’ Henri bit her lip, hating the guilt that swamped her senses. She had been the one to insist on eloping when her parents had refused permission. Her intentions had been so good—it had all been so that Edmund could be properly nursed and looked after. Edmund had agreed with her reasoning. She hadn’t realised exactly how ill he was until after they were married. She’d never have allowed him out in the rain that night of the elopement if she’d guessed he had another cold coming on his chest.

She forced her mind away from the past and towards the uncomfortable present. And did she want an open breach with Montemorcy, if he did do as Sebastian had suggested and cut him dead? It would make the situation worse and potentially disrupt her standing in the village.

Discretion. A quiet sounding out rather than a full-frontal assault would win the day.

Besides, family duty meant she owed it to Sebastian to discover what had really happened with Miss Ravel. And it was only polite to call on Miss Ravel and her stepmother and welcome them to the neighbourhood. As chairman of the Corbridge Society for Hospitality, it was expected of her and it would annoy Robert Montemorcy no end. This had nothing to do with matchmaking and everything to do with clarification. Henri gave an inward chuckle. She did look forward to seeing Robert Montemorcy’s face when he finally had to admit defeat and dance to a tune of her choosing.

‘I’ll meet Miss Ravel, but I will not plead your case for you.’

‘Henri, you really are the sweetest of all cousins and I mean that this time, truly I do. Someday soon my angel and I will be reunited.’ Robert attempted to put yesterday’s quarrel with Lady Thorndike from his mind and to concentrate on the pressing problems of revitalising the long-neglected estate. He had spent far too much time on that woman as it was. Henrietta Thorndike should understand that he had acted in the best interests of his ward. Dance the polka indeed. He wasn’t going to think about holding Henrietta Thorndike in his arms or how her hand would feel against his shoulder as they circled the Winship ballroom.

As his tenant cleared his throat and touched his cap, Robert forced his mind away from the wager and asked his tenant farmer for the explanation behind the poor state of the stone walls.

A sudden ear-piercing shriek drowned out Giles Teas-dale’s stuttering reply. Muscles tensing, Robert turned and stared in horror as Teasdale’s dog lowered its head and charged at the woman who had fallen to the ground, pulling viciously at her skirt.

‘Get that dog away from that woman, Teasdale!’

‘Bruiser don’t mean no harm,’ Teasdale bleated, catching Robert’s arm, rather than going after the dog. ‘He just has an eye for strangers. He’ll stop if she does. He ain’t never bitten anyone yet, like. The post-coach to Jedburgh is about due, like. He wants her out of the road. He’s trying to help.’

‘The highway doesn’t belong to him.’ Robert shook the tenant farmer off and started for the dog. His fingers caught the dog’s metal collar and yanked him away.

‘Go on. Back to your master! Now!’

The dog snarled, but Robert clung on, giving the dog an abrupt shake. ‘Let’s go, Bruiser, let’s get you back to where you belong. It’s the Queen’s highway, not yours.’

‘He thinks it is,’ Teasdale called from where he stood beside the gate. ‘You be careful, Mr Montemorcy, sir.’

The dog bared its teeth and lunged towards the prone woman. Robert braced his feet and pulled again. This time, the dog turned, snarling at him. Its fangs were inches away from his wrist. Robert shook the dog, throwing it to the ground. It lay there, stunned, then looked up at him with big eyes, before tentatively licking his hand in a gesture of submission and whining. Teasdale’s bleats about how it was not his fault filled the air.

‘Go on. Back to your master, Bruiser.’ Robert kept his grip on the collar and led it back to Teasdale. Teasdale fastened a rope about its collar, striking the dog violently about the head.

Robert shook his head in disgust. Teasdale would sell him the dog before the day was out and Teasdale’s dog-owning days would be at an end. The man could forget any future work, too. A man who struck a dog in that fashion would be more than willing to strike a man or a boy on the slightest of pretexts. It was one of the few things that Robert agreed with his late father about—such behaviour was the coward’s way.

Controlling his anger, he turned his attention back to the poor woman who had been the victim of Bruiser’s attack. She had made no move to uncurl from the tight ball. Her straw bonnet was covered in dirt and tiny stones, but remained on her head, hiding her identity. He had reached the dog before it bit her, hadn’t he? He knelt down at her side and saw the torn lace petticoat rucked up over the sensible boots. Blood trickled from her shin, but without a thorough examination it would be difficult to tell how badly she was injured.

‘You are safe now. The dog is under control. Can you get up? Did you hit your head when you fell?’ Robert asked in a soft voice. A doctor should be sent for, but he didn’t trust Teasdale. ‘We need to move you and get you out of danger. The post-coach stops for no one.’

The woman gave a low moan and shook her head.

Robert gently turned the woman over. Her face was white against the darkness of tangled curls. Henrietta Thorndike, but a Lady Thorndike made suddenly vulnerable and without her fearsome expression. He softly swore as his blood sizzled. An added complication. She’d probably blame him for this as well as everything else. Her earlier words about how they had fallen out of civility haunted him. Was she coming to apologise or merely doing her duty visiting tenants?

‘Lady Thorndike, it’s Robert Montemorcy,’ he said quietly, attempting to control his body’s unexpected reaction to a glimpse of her slender leg. ‘The dog has gone. You are safe. You will be looked after. I promise you that.’

Henrietta Thorndike moaned incoherently as she screwed up her eyes tightly in pain.

He tried again. Civility be damned. ‘Lady Thorndike, are you all right? Give me a sign you understand what I am saying. Did the dog bite you anywhere besides your shin? Lady Thorndike, you are ruining a perfectly serviceable bonnet. We need to move before the post-coach comes through.’

‘Call me Henri. Hardly anyone ever calls me Henri these days,’ she murmured, her long lashes fluttering. Dark against the pure cream of her skin. Utterly delectable.

Robert drew in his breath, sharply, and struggled to control the hot rush of blood to his nether region. Right now, she needed assistance. He scooped her up and carried her to the side of the road as the post-coach thundered past.

‘Please. Am I going to die? Is my face ruined? My leg aches like the very devil.’

Robert gave a short laugh as the air rushed from his lungs. How like a woman to be worried about her looks, rather than exclaiming about how narrowly the coach had missed the both of them.

‘Henri, then. Your face is as ever it was.’ He knelt down beside her and supported her shoulders so she could sit up. Her body relaxed against his and the pleasant scent of lavender rose about him. Her bottom lip held a glossy sheen and trembled a few inches below his.

‘Please tell me the truth,’ she whispered, lifting a cool hand to his face. ‘Are you are keeping something from me? If I am horribly scarred, people are going to turn away from me…’

Giving into temptation, he bent his head and brushed his lips against hers. The tiniest of tastes, but firm enough to make his point clear. Her long lashes fluttered and a long drawn-out sigh emerged from her throat.

‘Do I look like a man who would kiss a woman with a ruined face?’




Chapter Four


Do I look like a man who would kiss a woman with a ruined face? The words echoed around and around in her brain. Henri lay on the side of the road with Robert Montemorcy’s arm about her shoulders and his body supporting hers, far too stunned to move. Her lips ached faintly from the kiss. And what was worse, her entire being demanded more.

The world swayed about her. Her entire being was aware of his arm about her shoulders, the thump of his heart and the way her body curved intimately into his as if they were a perfect fit. It would be easy to stay here for the rest of her life, safe.

She wanted him to kiss her again. Properly this time. Long and slow.

The thought shocked her to her core. She was supposed to be beyond such things. Her heart was buried with Edmund. In any case, she had read St Paul’s letter to the Corinthians in the bible as a young girl and her nurse had explained charity was another word for love. Love was supposed to be patient, gentle and kind, bearing all things, and she had decided that was how she wanted love to be. It was what she had felt for Edmund. What she felt now was a red-hot rush of blood and desire. An insidious curl of warmth that kept calling to her, making a mockery of her ideals.

She struggled against the weight of his arm, pushing her traitorous thoughts away. ‘Let me go. I’m out of danger.’

‘Henri?’ The warm tone enticed her to stay, but she forced her body up to a sitting position and his arms fell away.

‘No, I’ll be fine. I’m always fine. There’s no need to be concerned about me.’

She shrugged slightly, hoping the languid feeling would go. The horrifying moments of the dog attack were over, and Robert Montemorcy had seen her in an embarrassingly weak moment. Kissed her even. She curled in her hand in frustration. Lying in this man’s arms was the last thing she desired.

She hated this hot unsettled feeling. With Edmund, she loved him with a pure devotion. But now she’d enjoyed a kiss with another man. And, what was worse, wanted to be kissed by him again.

‘My muscles are akin to jelly. That’s all. I had a momentary lapse.’

‘It is the shock. It will pass.’ He gave her shoulder an awkward pat. The heat from his hand jolted through her.

‘I will live,’ she said, frowning as she suddenly became cold. Fate must be laughing. She was now beholden to Mr Montemorcy for saving her when only seconds before the attack, she had been filled with such righteous anger about how he’d treated her and her cousin that she’d failed to notice how close she was to Mr Teasdale’s house and that dog.

How could she be angry with a man who risked his physical safety for her? She’d seen him wrestle that beast to the ground, the act of a true hero.

‘The dog savaged your leg. It will have to be seen to.’

She half-closed her eyes and again saw the beast’s jaws, coming ever towards her, and then how it had turned to attack Robert Montemorcy. The world turned black at the edges.

Henri gritted her teeth. Whilst she despised her own weakness at being so cripplingly afraid of dogs, she refused to faint. She never fainted. It was a point of principle. Fainting was for people like her late mother who had nothing better to do and wanted attention.

‘You shouldn’t have risked yourself for me,’ she said, concentrating on the stones in the road. ‘I fell and became winded. It could happen to anyone. That coach would have missed me.’

‘Why would I walk away from a person in trouble, particularly someone I consider to be a friend?’ he asked in that lilting Northumbrian accent of his. ‘And I refuse to allow my friends to be crushed under the wheels of a coach.’

‘Shall I fashion you a halo? Your Good Samaritan credentials are impeccable,’ she said, trying to move her ankle; waves of pain crashed over her. Perhaps she’d been overoptimistic in thinking she could make her way home. Her ankle seemed to be insistent on aching. Of all the stupid accidents, to try to run but instead to trip and turn her ankle. And then the dog had sunk his teeth in, pulling at her. It might hurt, but there wasn’t much blood. That had to be a good sign.

She would be willing to guess that Robert Montemorcy had had a good glimpse of her petticoats. She tried to remember if she was wearing her lace-trimmed one or the more practical flannel one or, worse still, the one that needed mending.

‘Your humour was unaffected and that is a start.’ A dimple flashed in his cheek. ‘Henri.’

She looked up into his piercing amber eyes. Her insides did a queer sort of leap that had nothing to do with her ankle. ‘Are you really going to call me that? You’ve always called me Lady Thorndike before.’

‘You said I might as I saved your life.’ He leant close and his breath fanned her cheek. ‘Who am I to deny a beautiful woman? You may call me Robert if you desire.’

‘Not that. I’m just…well…me.’ Henri squashed the faint sense of giddy pleasure that ran through her. Not even Edmund had considered her beautiful—striking, maybe, but not a beauty. Her nose and mouth were too big for her face, and her figure a bit too angular. ‘My colouring and figure are all wrong to be considered fashionable.’

‘You’re far too modest, Henri.’ The lines about his eyes crinkled and made him appear younger, more approachable. ‘And here I thought you didn’t care a jot for fashion. You have your own unique style.’

She stared up at the blue sky, trying to gather her wits about her. She knew what he was doing—speaking of inconsequential things until she had recovered. She wished they weren’t quite so personal. She needed to change the subject quickly or that unsettling ache in her belly would grow. She needed to get up and be on the same level as he. Then she could take control of the conversation and keep it away from potentially troublesome personal details. If he was a gentleman, he’d never refer to the kiss again. It was an aberration brought on by the dog attack.

Henri attempted to stand, then sat back down again as throbbing pain shot from her ankle. She hugged her knees to her chest.

‘A dangerous dog like that should have been chained. It savaged my leg without provocation,’ she said, attempting to control the pain. Mind over body. Once she started to walk, she’d shake off the pain. ‘I expect I need to arrange a talk for next autumn on the correct care of dangerous animals. The last one obviously had no effect whatsoever.’

‘The dog is not to blame. The owner is.’ His dark brown eyes burned. ‘And as I’m the man who pulled the dog away from you, I’m not the one who needs the lecture. As attempts to deflect attention from your injury go, that was pretty pathetic. I’m concerned about you, Henri, not what caused the accident. The causes can be remedied later.’

He’d seen through her ruse. With an effort she turned her head. The world tilted slightly and if anyone else had been standing beside her she would have given in to the darkness. Here she was berating Robert Montemorcy and he had saved her. Tears pricked her eyelids.

‘I give you my promise. It will be sorted out. And, Henri, you know you can depend on me keeping my promises. I have always kept them.’

‘Give me a moment to compose myself and I shall be on my way. I’ve only slightly twisted my ankle. I used to do that frequently when I was in my teens and it never lasts long. And the bite on my leg looks worse than it is,’ she said and forced her body to be upright. Sharp pain shot through her ankle, sending a wave of dizziness crashing through her. It might take a little longer than she first considered to shake the pain off. She’d worry about the blood later, rather than put Robert out by asking for help. Other people always needed it more than she did.

‘How far do you think you will get on that ankle?’ He hovered near her. His hands brushed her elbow. A jolt went through her and she was intensely aware of him standing behind her, ready to catch her if she fell.

‘I should make it back to my aunt’s. This little incident has inexorably altered my scheme for the afternoon.’ Henri looked at him. She was in no fit state for visiting. Her skirt had a great tear and she also wanted to keep her wits about her when she met Miss Ravel. She had to tread carefully. She wanted to keep both her promise to Sebastian and to Montemorcy.

Henri risked another excruciating step and felt the sweat begin to gather on her brow. She hated to think about walking all that way home, particularly as a fine drizzle had started and a Northumbrian drizzle nearly always turned into a full-blown rainstorm. But Henri knew she could not stay in the road or, worse still, rest at Mr Teasdale’s. The man was a disgrace to the neighbourhood.

Mr Teasdale, having secured the dog, advanced towards them, whining about how this was not his fault. Robert waved him away, telling him to go and fetch the doctor.

‘I’m going home,’ she announced in a loud voice.

‘You won’t make it, not on that ankle,’ Robert said, turning back to her. His face darkened as she took a hopping step. ‘Henri, you are a danger to everyone else. What will happen if a cart or carriage comes along the road? I give you a half-dozen steps before you have to sit down again.’

‘Is this another one of your idiotic wagers? How far can Henrietta Thorndike walk before she gives up? Let’s see, I will wager that I can walk further than you think!’

‘A statement of fact. You have no need to play the martyr.’

‘You know nothing about me and my strength of character, Mr Montemorcy. I have a strong constitution.’

‘I do not doubt your spirit, but your flesh.’

Henri took a cautious step. The pain went through her in agonising waves. ‘See, I can do it. You should have more faith in me. My mother was strict about my upbringing. She hated weakness in anyone but herself.’

‘Are you always this stubborn? Dark humour doesn’t change your injury.’

‘I find it helps.’ Henri hated the way her voice caught in her throat and looked down. Her stomach lurched again, and she finally gave in. ‘My ankle hurts…Robert…oh, I want it to stop.’

He held out a hand. ‘You don’t have to do this on your own, Henri, simply to prove a point to me. If I apologise for not telling you about my ward, will it help? I do regret that you took the news in the wrong fashion. I made a mistake. There, now can you accept my help, rather than fighting me every inch of the way?’

She shook her head, hating the lump that formed in her throat. Why did he have to start being pleasant? ‘You will observe the stern stuff I am made of. I persevere.’

She took a third step and wished she hadn’t. More than anything she wanted to give way and accept his arm.

‘You delight in taking stubbornness to new heights. It will take you hours.’

‘I’m pleased you see the sense in what I am doing.’ Henri concentrated on taking the next step.

‘I only see nonsense.’

Her foot slipped. And, somewhere, the dog began barking again. She reached out a hand and encountered his stiff shirt front. She clawed at it.

‘Falling. Dizzy,’ she mouthed as the humiliating blackness threatened to claim her. ‘Dogs frighten me. Always have. Help me, please, I don’t want to be a weak-willed ninny. Want to be strong. Have to be.’

‘Allow me. Now, hush.’

He scooped her up, holding her against the broad expanse of his chest. Henri turned her face so that she could not hear the steady thump of his heart and took deep steadying breaths. There was something reassuringly safe about his arms and the way he walked with firm steps. She could allow herself to be carried for a little way and then, when her ankle hurt less, resume her journey.

‘Where are you taking me?’ she asked. ‘Mr Teasdale’s front room?’

‘To my house.’ He lifted an unyielding eyebrow. ‘It is no more than a few hundred yards. You need medical attention. I would not send a dog to die in Teasdale’s front room. The man lives in squalor not even fit for a pigsty.’

Henri struggled against the bounds of his arms. ‘Don’t you think you should ask me first?’

He stopped in mid-stride and seemed amazed that she could possibly object. ‘You will be quite safe there. The doctor has been sent for and my man Fredericks will alert your aunt to your whereabouts.’

‘You’ve thought of everything.’ Henri leant back against his arms. The wind tousled his hair slightly, highlighting his strong jaw and the way his mouth was bow-shaped. ‘But I don’t want to trouble anyone.’

‘Suffering from a dog attack is no time for missish behaviour,’ he said, covering the ground with rapid strides as if she weighed no more than a feather. ‘Miss Ravel and her mother will be pleased that you are calling, even if in an unorthodox fashion. She has heard of you and your romantic past. She was asking about you this morning at breakfast. I haven’t bothered to enlighten her that you are the least romantic person I know.’

A small shiver went down her spine as she examined his hawklike profile. She didn’t know which was worse—that Robert thought she was unromantic or that Miss Ravel had spoken of her. She needed to discover Sophie Ravel’s side of the story before she decided on her course of action. ‘My fame precedes me. How stupendous.’

‘You grow pale, Henri. Is your ankle bothering you that much?’

‘I have finished fainting for the day.’ Henri attempted to keep her teeth from chattering. ‘I simply twisted it. It will be better in a few moments. You should leave me to rest at the side of the road.’

‘Stop being a hero. You’ve gone grey with pain. But we will allow the doctor to decide.’

‘The doctor will agree with me. It is a twisted ankle and the bleeding has stopped.’ Henri held her body slightly away from his. She was intensely aware of the way his chest muscles rose and fell underneath his frock-coat, and the way his stock was a bit undone, revealing the strong column of his throat. And the way her heart had started to thump. ‘And I’ve no intention of fainting again.’

‘A lady who declines to faint. Will wonders never cease? My mother had it down to a fine art. She swore it was useful in ending arguments.’

‘The force of the argument should hold sway rather than a dramatic gesture. Any fool knows that.’

A light flared in his eyes as a half-smile tugged at his mouth. ‘You’re definitely not most women.’

Henri frowned. A compliment couched as an insult or the other way around? Her head spun as her body shifted slightly in his arms.

‘If I get too heavy, you must put me down. I dare say I can hop.’

‘Hopping doesn’t come into it. And you will have to obey me for once.’

His arms tightened about her, pulling her more firmly against his body. His chest hit hers and she forgot the correct manner of breathing. It was as if she had been encased in ice and had suddenly come out in the sun. If she turned her head only slightly, her lips would brush his neck.

She screwed up her eyes and tried to conjure up Edmund’s familiar features. Annoyingly they were indistinct, like a miniature that had spent far too long in the sun, and were growing more indistinct. The memory did help to curb her impulse, but it also frightened her. If she failed to remember his exact features, what else had she forgotten? For so long it had been a part of her, but it was slipping away.

‘My duty is to ensure you are safe and keep off your ankle, Henri,’ Robert Montemorcy said, bringing her back to her current predicament. ‘And I do endeavour to do my duty. Always.’

Henri gritted her teeth and tried to keep the world from turning dark. She glanced up in his eyes and noticed they were not solidly brown as she’d thought, but full of a myriad of colours. ‘And that is what I am—a duty?’

‘Why are you out this way?’ he asked, not replying to the question.

‘I wanted a stroll,’ she said too quickly. How could she confess without explaining everything?

‘Indeed. All the way out here. Were you going to call? Apologise?’ He gave a cynical smile. ‘It is far too much hope for. The great Lady Thorndike has no need of apologies.’

Henri knew her face flushed. Perhaps she had been a bit high handed at their last meeting, but he had been as well. ‘What I was going to do is of no import now. Everything has changed.’ Robert sat in his dark oak-panelled study, contemplating the glowing embers of the fire Dorothy Ravel had insisted was necessary to ward off the chill of a Northumbrian summer. But instead of seeing the embers, he kept seeing Henri’s pale face and remembering how her body felt curved against his, how her lips had touched his for one glorious instant.

The vulnerability in her eyes when she claimed that she could cope tugged at his heart-strings. And her determination to make good her promise.

What was he going to do about her? She was an added complication that he didn’t need. Beautiful headstrong women were always trouble. He’d seen it when his father remarried, and how his father had changed, particularly after his stepmother ran away with her impoverished but titled lover. His father had been unable to take the rejection and had taken his life. Later still, he had his own experience with changeable women and had learnt to trust facts rather than emotions.

What was her destination? Here? And if yes, why—to apologise? Henrietta Thorndike never apologised for anything. Was she trying to do her duty as she saw it in welcoming the Ravels to the neighbourhood or did she have an alternative plan?

She had singularly neglected to answer his question about her cousin. He curled his fingers about his pen. He’d view any attempt to open communication between her cousin and Sophie as a clear breach of their wager. And he’d inform her of that.

‘The doctor is here, sir,’ Davis the butler intoned.

‘Show him into the green drawing room. The upstairs maid is sitting with Lady Thorndike,’ Robert said.

‘Is it true, Robert?’ Dorothy Ravel burst into the room. Her Belgian lace cap was slightly askew. ‘Have you brought that man’s cousin here? I will not have my girl getting upset again!’

‘Dorothy,’ Robert said evenly, looking at the woman who had helped to bring him up, ‘Lady Thorndike is a friend. She had a mishap. The New Lodge was by far the most sensible place to bring her.’

The woman’s ribbons quivered and she tightened her layers of shawls about her shoulders. ‘I’d hoped and prayed that it had all ended, but I worry so. Sophie must make a good match. Her father longed for it.’

‘And I’m well aware of the necessity. I did promise James on his deathbed. No rogues, rakes or rascals. I intend to keep my promise. Sophie will marry a man who is worthy of her and her fortune.’

‘I suppose…there is no hope—you and Sophie? You could always move to a warmer climate. London would welcome you. You are thirty-three and it is high time…’

Robert recoiled from the unspoken request. ‘You, better than most, know my history, Dorothy. Sophie deserves someone she loves with her whole heart and who is closer in age and temperament. I’ve known Sophie since she was in her cradle.’

‘I curse that stupid woman.’ Dorothy Ravel rolled her eyes. ‘What she did to you was less than kind. You had a lucky escape, Robert. And your father was an old fool to marry that…that short-heeled wench. Mr Ravel told him to his face when he remarried. No good comes of lust and indulging spoilt women’s whims. He attempted to add her to his collection of beautiful objects and paid the ultimate price. But that was his shame and not yours.’

‘I know what my father did. I choose to remember him for other things. The way he was before it happened.’ Robert focused on the fire. His father might have felt compelled to commit suicide after his stepmother deserted him, but he’d learnt to trust facts rather than his instincts where women were concerned. He’d learnt that long ago. All relationships were governed by logic and scientific method. It was the only way.

‘And Daphne Smith—do you know what she was?’

‘I understand Lady Alderney is quite happy living abroad in Italy. I go down on my knees nightly, thanking God that I was saved from a fate worse than death. And logic should rule the heart rather than the other way around.’

Robert pulled at his cuffs. He had been far too young then and far too ready to believe the lies that sprang from beautiful titled lips. Daphne had seemed to be an angel set on this earth and he had worshipped the ground her dainty foot trod as only a lovesick youth could do. He’d naïvely believed her protestations that she could care for him, if only her parents would allow her to. Her refusal of his proposal and her subsequent mockery after she had secured Viscount Alderney’s hand had made him even more determined to succeed and to follow his father’s injunction that a rational approach was the only way. And succeed he had, until one day he realised that success had a sweetness all of its own and the refusal was no longer the spur it once was. Thereafter he’d been very careful to take his pleasure only from sophisticated women who expected little in return—always ending the affair before his emotions were fully engaged rather than risk the hurt.

‘Do you think that Lord Cawburn sent Lady Thorndike as a spy? Does she know what he tried to do to my darling girl? The wickedness he had planned? I have heard stories, terrible stories. Why he remains accepted in polite society, I have no idea!’ For the second time in as many days, Dorothy appeared to be on the brink of hysterics as she fumbled for her handkerchief.

Robert put a calming hand on Dorothy’s ample shoulder. There was no need to inform her of his wager with Henri and their quarrel. Dorothy might read far too much into it. ‘Lady Thorndike’s reason for being in the neighbourhood will be entirely innocent. She is well-known for her generosity and she always calls on visitors. She has started some society or other.’

‘I do hope you are right. I worry about my little girl and that…that monster. The women he has ruined. And rumours of his gaming.’

‘Trust me to handle it,’ Robert said grimly. ‘It is why you came to me in the first place. Nothing will happen to Sophie under my roof. She is safe here with trusted servants to watch over her. And when we know she is sensible, then she can go out into society again.’

‘You are so good to us, Robert.’ Dorothy dabbed a handkerchief to her eyes. ‘My nerves…the very thought of having to meet that man again is enough to make me take to my bed.’

‘I will explain it to Lady Thorndike. She won’t want to embarrass you or your stepdaughter. She may be many things, but she’s not cruel and she is a strong upholder of society’s virtues.’

Dorothy Ravel twisted the handkerchief about her fingers. ‘I find that society goes out the window when family are concerned. And Sophie is at such an impressionable age…’

‘I give you my word, Dorothy. Cawburn will only ruin Sophie over my dead body. Trust me on this.’ Henri lay on the dark green damask couch and gazed up at the ornate ceiling. Robert Montemorcy’s house with its highly polished wooden floors, plush Persian carpets and various clocks and other mechanical items whirling smelt of wax polish and other chemicals. It had puzzled her at first and then she remembered Robert kept a small chemical laboratory for experiments. He’d even created a new type of white paint for Melanie Crozier when she complained of the old one streaking and ruining her watercolours.

A variety of clocks started to strike the hour, reminding her that time was fleeting. Henri shivered and pulled the soft wool blanket up around her chin, wrapping herself in a cocoon against the world. For once Robert was correct. She would never have made it home. But she’d leave as soon as her aunt’s carriage arrived. It puzzled her why Miss Ravel and her stepmother hadn’t greeted her and had left the nursing to a junior maid. But then not everyone was comfortable around invalids.

Henri moved her ankle and, despite the laudanum the doctor had forced her to drink earlier, it throbbed with a dull ache. Henri wrinkled her nose. One more fallacy. She had always thought laudanum took away all physical aches and pains. Edmund in his gentle reproachful way had always sworn it did when she enquired.

‘Lady Thorndike?’ Mr Montemorcy stood in the door, filling it. The light filtered in behind him and prevented her from seeing his face. ‘I regret to inform you that you will need to remain here for a week, two at most. Doctor Lumley requests it.’

Henri concentrated on a particularly fat cupid, trying to conquer the inexplicable urge to weep. She was not sure which was worse—that Mr Montemorcy had begun calling her Lady Thorndike again or the fact she was not to be moved. To be looked after as a matter of duty, rather than out of love and affection. She wanted to be home, surrounded by familiar objects. At least there the servants were friends. ‘Surely my aunt—’

‘Doctor Lumley fears infection and wants to make sure you are kept quiet with your leg raised. Until you have fully recovered.’

Infection. The word stabbed at Henri. It was a horrid way to die and there was little anyone could do once it had taken hold. Edmund used to fear it far more than the lung fever that eventually killed him.

‘But the bite was washed clean.’ Henri hated the way even the mention of infection sent an ice-cold chill down her spine.

‘Dog bites are notorious for infection. And your ankle is badly sprained. He doesn’t want you moved until the swelling goes down.’

Tears of frustration pricked her eyelids. He didn’t understand. She wasn’t going to get an infection. Infections happened to other people. She was always sensible about such things. She took care, but there were so many things that had to be attended to. ‘I can rest at home.’

‘Doctor Lumley wants you to be nursed properly.’ His tone was warm, but commanding. He expected to be obeyed, Henri realised with a start. It wasn’t open for negotiation. ‘I understand from Doctor Lumley that your aunt is not entirely well. Staying here is the only solution. Unless you wish to risk an infection…’

Robert’s words flowed over her. She trusted Doctor Lumley and he wanted her in this house, being looked after. He had cured her aunt’s fever last winter when everyone despaired. What wasn’t she being told? She took a deep breath. ‘I…I…’

‘You have gone green, Lady Thorndike.’

‘I know what infections can do,’ she said in a rush.

‘As I do, Henri.’ He turned his head towards her, throwing his features into sharp relief. ‘My mother died from one when I was ten.’

‘My late husband…used to fear them.’ She hated the way her voice quavered and stopped. She should have more control after all this time. It had to be the laudanum. She tightened her grip on the blanket, concentrated on the flocked wallpaper rather than on Robert’s mouth and regained control. ‘He’d seen his father die from a splinter of wood, but Edmund died of…of other things.’

‘It is awful to lose someone you love.’

Henri glanced up at him and saw the tenderness in his eyes. He understood without her having to explain about Edmund’s death and the agony he had experienced. Why did he have to be the one who did?

‘Did…did the doctor say anything? Does he think I might—?’

‘Right now, it is time. Everything that can be done is being done. But if you do not rest, I will not be held responsible.’ He patted her shoulder. ‘The village would never forgive me if I lost you.’

Henri wrinkled her nose as relief flooded through her. Somehow it made it easier to think that Robert was there with her, even if it was just words. ‘Hardly that. I keep bullying people into things they don’t want to do.’

‘Like dancing lessons.’ A heart-melting smile crossed his face. ‘And it will be strict rest. Doctor Lumley insists. He said something about last winter…’

Henri made a face. Doctor Lumley would have to remember how last winter, she had suffered a chill and had been far too busy to rest—the Ladies’ Aid Society had needed to make up the baskets for the poor. She could think of a dozen pressing problems and a half-dozen more minor crises that required her attention. And then there was the vexing problem of Sebastian and how he had conned Aunt Frances out of the housekeeping money that last time he was up here. Could she direct the house even if she was lying on a sofa with her foot raised? ‘I can’t remain here that long. I have responsibilities. My aunt depends on me.’

‘You wish to get well. The entire village can exist without your interference for a few weeks. In next to no time, you will be arranging people’s lives again.’ He gave a crooked smile that lit up his face. Henri tightened her grip on the coverlet as her heart started doing crazy flips and she found herself watching his lips. ‘Think of it as a way to win our wager.’

‘But a few weeks…the ball…people will forget about it!’ Henri’s body started to tremble. Suddenly the entire room tilted. She concentrated on the china ornaments and gradually the giddiness left her. It was a reaction to her predicament rather than to Robert Montemorcy’s nearness.

‘You do people a disservice.’ His smile became liquid honey. ‘Catch up on your reading. My library is well stocked, but someone can always be persuaded to go to the circulating library and get out the guide to better cattle, if you require.’

Henri smiled back at him. Relief flooded through her. Seemingly their quarrel was over. They could even laugh about it. With Sebastian, such things festered and lingered for days. ‘Being here will demonstrate to you that I have other passions in my life besides matchmaking. If I succeed, you will be dancing the polka.’





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