To Marry a Matchmaker. Michelle Styles

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