To Marry a Matchmaker. Michelle Styles

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