To Marry A Matchmaker (Historical Romance) (10 page)

‘A first. Henrietta Thorndike admitting that she might have been mistaken in her approach.’ His brown eyes danced. ‘Calf’s-foot jelly is supposed to be excellent for building up strength.’

‘There is no need to give my lecture back at me.’ Henri shuddered. ‘The very thought of calf’s-foot jelly turns my stomach. Do you think Cook might be able to do something with it? I shall have to eat it all as people gave it as a gift. Could it be put in pies?’

‘Then I won’t tell you that more is on the way. Several people stopped me. They want you well and were concerned for the future of village society. I assured them all the entertainments would take place, but others would have to help. There was no shortage of volunteers.’

Henri covered her hands with her eyes. ‘I’ve only sprained my ankle. I’m hardly at death’s door. Why are they treating me like this? Why are they punishing me?’

‘Hardly punishing. They are concerned about you and are only taking your advice. You should be proud.’

Henri felt her shoulders relax. It would be so easy to start to depend on Robert. But that was not how her life plan went. She’d learnt the hard way that depending on people only led to heart-break. ‘It will be a lesson to me to try to be more inventive in the future with my gifts to the sick.’

‘I saw Miss Armstrong earlier. She enquired after your health. She has also agreed to take Sophie and her mother under her wing while you are indisposed. She is your deputy in the Corbridge Society for Hospitality. Apparently she has very little to do and wishes to fully take up the mantle of her office.’

‘How kind of her.’ Henri’s heart panged slightly. She liked doing that sort of thing. And Mrs Ravel was the sort of person she knew could be moulded to help out. She debated if she should warn Robert about Miss Armstrong and how easily she misconstrued things, but decided that such a warning might be construed as meddling and against the spirit of their new-found friendship. Robert could learn for himself why Miss Armstrong was given honorary titles with very little to do. ‘She will take her duties seriously, I’m sure. You should consider having a supper party before the ball.’

He gave her a puzzled look. ‘A supper party?’

‘It will make Mrs Ravel and Sophie feel more at ease before they go to Lady Winship’s. I can…help with the plans.’

‘No.’

Henri looked at him in dismay. ‘But why not? It is the perfect solution.’

‘You’re to get well and rest. The reason you are here
rather than at your aunt’s is so that you will rest. Plotting supper parties is hardly resting.’ He picked up a small woollen blanket and tucked it around Henri, a little meaningless gesture, but one that brought a lump to her throat.

‘Mrs Ravel will be able to manage adequately without me,’ she said quickly.

‘She will?’ His eyes widened as he swallowed rapidly. ‘And you will let her?’

‘I’ve every faith in Mrs Ravel. Mrs Ravel and I had a long discussion this morning and I learnt what an accomplished hostess she is. They give her headaches the day after, but I’ve explained that she will be fine as the air is much better in Corbridge.’

‘The air?’

‘She is looking forward to visiting people in the neighbourhood,’ Henri continued, warming to the theme and beginning to enjoy seeing Robert unsure and off balance. Mrs Ravel, except on the subject of her stepdaughter’s matrimonial prospects, seemed to be very sensible. She simply needed confidence, and hosting a dinner party would give her that. ‘I assured her that Sebastian hates At Homes with a passion, and in any case my aunt refuses to have an At Home without me.’

‘And you promise not to be involved with the supper party.’

Henri shook her head. ‘I’ll forgo that pleasure.’

‘It is settled then.’ He put the calf’s-foot jelly down and held out a small bouquet of forget-me-not flowers from behind his back. ‘I brought you these. They reminded me of you.’

Henri bit her lip and the room swam in front of her eyes. She attempted to take small calming breaths. All
she had to do was to hold out her hand and her fingers would brush his linen shirt front. She focused on the tiny pearl buttons of his shirt front. Time stood still.

‘Henri?’ he asked softly. ‘Have I brought the wrong sort of flowers?’

‘They’re my favourite. Nobody else thought to bring them. I adore flowers.’ She bent her head quickly and inhaled their sweet scent. She wanted them to remind her of Edmund’s eyes, but her mind went back to Robert on the day of the Croziers’ wedding and their wager. She put her hand to her mouth and held back a muffled sob. ‘Truly I do.’

He gently squeezed her shoulder. ‘They were supposed to cheer you up, not make you cry.’

Somehow it made it worse, his being concerned. She put the flowers down and gave a shrug. ‘I could say my ankle hurts far too much, but that is self-evident. Everyone is rallying round and making it easy and that is most unexpected. I help people, but I didn’t expect people to…well…help me.’

‘What are you afraid of, Henri? What is so wrong about accepting help? With admitting sometimes you need to put yourself and your health before others? That the village can continue without you?’

Henri thought of the box that sat gathering dust under her dressing table. She had promised herself that if she was ever not busy, she’d open it and take the time to properly read the letters and truly say goodbye. Over the past ten years, she’d successfully avoided looking at the box, but now it appeared the good intentions of everyone meant that she’d be left with no alternative. She’d have to face it and the grief. At the time, the grief had been all-consuming and now she worried that it
wasn’t there. And if it wasn’t there, did that mean she hadn’t loved him enough? Was that why he had refused to fight the illness any more, despite her finding other possible remedies? Why Edmund sent her out of the room when he knew that he was going? But she refused to explain that to Robert. The words stuck in her throat and the tears continued to slip down her face.

‘Henri, it is more than the flowers.’ He took the small bouquet from her unresisting fingers and laid it on the table. Then he silently passed her a handkerchief. ‘I can fix what is wrong if you tell me.’

She wiped the tears from her face. She had to give him some reason for her tears or otherwise she’d be in his arms again. ‘After Edmund died, everyone tried to be kind and I hate a fuss being made. But I was so used to looking after him that suddenly there was nothing for me to do. For a long time, I sat staring out of the window and then I saw a beggar woman collecting sticks for her fire. I knew I couldn’t do much, but I could help that woman. I could do things like visiting and taking baskets around. So I started helping and people stopped treating me like I was an object of pity. And now today there is every sort of fuss. Stupid to cry. I haven’t cried since Edmund died, not like this. It must be the laudanum.’

‘Only the laudanum?’

‘Has to be.’ She lifted her chin, and forced her lips to smile. She tried to ignore how warmth infused her being. ‘All better now.’

Robert tilted his head to one side, regarding Henri’s defiant face with concern. A sheen of tears still shone in her eyes. The flowers had unnerved her far more than she wanted to admit. He had wanted to make her smile and instead he’d caused her to cry. He’d thought her a
specific type of person, but now he discovered that she was very different, far less secure than he had considered. ‘There is only a fuss because people are concerned about you. People do not bring jars of calf’s-foot jelly to just anyone.’

A watery smile crossed her lips. ‘I suspect it was sheer curiosity. The Ravels will be a source of much fascination. And I suppose to gloat that I have hurt my ankle. I’ve proclaimed the dangers of being unaware often enough.’

‘You hold yourself in too little regard, Henri. And there is nothing to be ashamed about. The dog slipped its chain. You were unfamiliar with the dog and it happened.’

‘Even so, I handled it poorly.’ She raised her shimmering eyes to his. Robert clenched his fists to keep from dragging her into his arms. She was a neighbour and that was all. ‘I keep thinking about…the attack. I dislike being a bother and now everyone is making me rest and trying to take burdens from me. I want to use my mind.’ She held up a hand. ‘And, no, I don’t want to read
Ivanhoe
or a Minerva Press novel. Or even the latest Fenimore Cooper. Sophie has already suggested the possibility, but they hold no attraction. I want to do something with my mind. Something useful.’

Robert tapped a finger against his lips. Yesterday he’d seen the softer side of Henri Thorndike and found, to his surprise, that he enjoyed it. He wanted to explore the woman behind the façade of efficiency, the one who wasn’t always standing, being capable. He enjoyed puzzles and Henri had secrets that she wanted to keep hidden. All he had to do was to keep her off balance. He
didn’t want the new softer Henri to be subsumed back into the fearsome Lady Thorndike.

‘Do you dislike numbers?’

‘I can do arithmetic…well enough.’ She tilted her chin in the air. ‘I manage the accounts. My aunt is hopeless. And I’m much better than Sebastian. It infuriates me when men proclaim women can’t add up. We can. I am better than most. But I won’t read about the scientific method and archaeology despite our truce. A woman must have her principles.’

‘Another project of mine.’ He returned in a few heartbeats with a huge sheaf of papers and put them in her lap. His hands brushed her shoulder. Her flesh quivered under the gentle touch. ‘Make yourself useful and sort out my research on aluminium. Find where I’ve gone wrong. Aluminium is one of the most abundant minerals on the planet, but in its pure form it is worth a king’s ransom. If a process can be found, it could change the world.’

Her brow knotted. ‘I know how rare aluminium is. It is worth more than gold if you can get it as a metal, but I know nothing about such things. Seek someone else to make sense of it and find a flaw in your reasoning.’

‘But you can learn. You have a quick mind. It would be a great help to me. Of course, there’s always sewing.’

Henri screwed up her face as he guessed she might. Henri might have started the Ladies’ Aid Sewing Circle, but he’d never seen her with a needle in her hand. ‘Sewing and I are nodding acquaintances only.’

‘But I thought you gave lectures on the importance of needlework? You have organised classes for the lasses from the factory.’

‘Telling other people that it is a good thing and
actually enjoying myself are two separate things. My threads always tangle and I have a habit of pricking my thumb. I leave it to the experts.’

‘Either you can wallow in self-pity about your ankle and contemplate the amount of beef jelly being delivered, or you can do something productive and help me. Your choice.’

She folded her hands in her lap and her face took on a mulish expression, which was far better than her earlier broken-hearted one. ‘And you trust me with your research, but not with the Roman encampment?’

‘Find a hole in my logic, and we will discuss the treasure-hunting picnic.’

She was silent for a long time, her neat white teeth worrying her full bottom lip, turning it a luscious red. ‘It is tempting, but.’

‘No buts, just do it.’ He leant forwards so their foreheads nearly touched. ‘Prove a woman is just as good as a man at such things, Henri. Prove to me that there is more to you than unadulterated self-pity.’

H
enri scrunched up a piece of paper and threw it on the study floor. Two days into her helping Robert to sort out his research and she found she actually was beginning to be interested in the scientific method. She could see how he’d started, how some experiments hadn’t worked and how other ones had. She could see how it could be applied to the excavation. She also had learnt that Robert Montemorcy had a habit of making notes in the margins. She might not be able to calculate as well as he could, but she certainly could organise.

‘You are downstairs.’ Robert came into the room. Henri’s breath caught slightly. His hair curled at the ends as if he had been caught out in the rain. ‘How did you keep your weight off your foot when you came down the stairs? Cane or banister? If you’d called, I’d have been happy to carry you.’

‘I leant on Sophie’s arm. We made slow but steady progress. Doctor Lumley is certain that the ankle is only sprained and there will be no lasting damage.’ Henri
forced her breathing to be even. The sudden image of Robert carrying her, her breasts flattened against his chest and her mouth turned towards his, flooded her brain. In the cold clear light of morning, she knew she could control this unsettled feeling. ‘And I can rest as well down here as up in the sickroom. And the pies Cook makes with the calf’s-foot jelly are unexpectedly delicious. I shall have to get the receipt and recommend it. I shall have gained weight by the time I’ve finished, but it is the way to eat the stuff.’

His dark eyes danced. ‘I shall have to call you Pie.’

‘Pie?’ Henri jabbed the pen down, making a hole in the paper. ‘What sort of name is Pie?’

‘Henri-ate-a Pie or Pie for short. It suits you and your propensity to eat pies rather than jelly.’

‘That is an unworthy pun.’ Henri knew her face flamed. It had been a long time since anyone had given her any nickname, let alone one as ridiculous as Pie. Edmund had often made up nicknames. Some she had liked better than others. But with Robert, Pie made her feel as if she was his younger sister and that wasn’t precisely how she felt about him. ‘You may cease and desist. I prefer Henri. I’ve always preferred Henri.’

‘Point taken. I shall remember to call you Henri from now on…or perhaps Thorndike.’

Henri ducked her head as the room suddenly seemed to grow small. He wanted to have a special name for her. They were becoming friends. ‘Here, you should see this.’

His eyes widened as he picked up the paper she was working on. ‘You started.’

‘Self-pity never solved anything,’ she said briskly. There was no point in explaining that she’d resorted to
it to keep her mind from the explicit dreams. Sometimes during At Homes, other women had confided about their vibrant sex lives with their husbands, and Henri had wondered why they went on about it. With Edmund, it had been pleasant but not earth-shatteringly magnificent. And after last night’s dreams, she started to wonder if it had been him rather than her, and she hated how disloyal it made her feel.

‘You admit the scientific method has merit,’ he said and his eyes became the colour of molten caramel.

‘For scientific things, yes.’ Her stomach did a funny sort of a flip at his look. She closed her eyes and steadied her breath.

His eyes narrowed. ‘Did Lumley give you permission to be up? Your cheeks have become flushed.’

‘He says the ankle is healing satisfactorily and complimented Sophie on her bandage-tying skills.’ Henri forcibly turned the conversation away from her health and her reason for her discomfort. ‘Sophie turned beetred. It is a pity that she remains confined to nursing relations. Her skills are wasted.’ Henri twisted the soft wool of the shawl about her fingers. Keeping her mind on Sophie was far better than contemplating the length of Robert’s fingers.

‘Ah ha, you will have to admit—you can’t resist matchmaking and meddling, particularly when it means you don’t have to discuss your health. Very well, I will assume your ankle is better, Henri, but you will remain in this house for a little while.’

‘It is hardly matchmaking to mention that your ward is good at nursing. Doctor Lumley’s marital status has no bearing on this conversation. Trust you to lower the tone.’ Henri adopted a pious look, but it unnerved her
that Robert had guessed her reasoning. ‘I think you only wanted to have a truce so that you wouldn’t have to dance with me at the ball.’

‘As if I would try to get out of dancing with you.’ he murmured, his lilting voice sliding over her skin. ‘You would not have found me deficient in that regard.’

‘Sophie agreed with Doctor Lumley that being downstairs is the best place for me.’ Henri kept her eyes straight ahead. ‘And, between the village’s offerings and the bottles of various potions, there was no room to spread out your notes. I think I’m beginning to understand your approach, but it seems awfully complicated.’

‘What if I like my current system?’ His eyes crinkled into a heart-melting smile, sending a warm tingle coursing throughout her. She found herself focusing on the curve of his upper lip rather than on the figures.

Henri put her head to one side and assessed him. She’d been certain that it was only the intimacy of the sickroom that made her aware of him, but down here in the drawing room, the same sort of intense fire filled her. She had cause more than ever to regret the kiss. Perhaps there was a logical explanation. Something about not being in close contact with a man for ten years and suddenly finding oneself in the arms of a highly attractive desirable one. And, what was worse, wanting to be there again. She’d always despised those widows who were desperately searching for another man to replace their lost husband. But Robert was completely different in temperament to Edmund, unsettling and more inclined to want his own way.

‘If you liked your current system, you would never have asked me to sort out your notes. And I fail to see any scientific method in the order in which you arranged
them. Experiments are jumbled with cuttings, raw data with published,’ she said, tapping her pen against the stack of paper.

‘Where are the Ravels?’ he asked, changing the subject.

‘Miss Armstrong does take her responsibilities seriously and called for them in her carriage. She can be overexcitable and inclined to exaggeration, but she is a strong upholder of virtue.’ Henri sat up straighter and reached for the lists of experiments. Robert should’ve been aware of unintended consequences. Miss Armstrong had appeared bedecked in bows and ruffles and her face became like thunder when she discovered that Robert was not at home. ‘About these experiments…’

He gave her a searching look. ‘Miss Armstrong is more than capable of introducing Sophie and her mother to the neighbourhood. Or is there something else you wish to deflect my attention away from?’

Henri’s stomach tightened. Miss Armstrong had little love for Sebastian after Sebastian had been rude to her and she had an overly developed sense of propriety. And she had gone on and on about how girls had to show that they could be trusted out in society. How would Sophie fare under such a chaperon?

‘Mrs Ravel is a very determined lady,’ Henri said quietly, wondering how she would drum it into his brain that he was risking alienating Sophie. ‘A mother bear intent on protecting her cub, but. My mother suffered from the same outlook. The strictures she put on me chafed and I eloped—’

‘Sophie is on trial, Henri.’ He waved an impatient hand, cutting off her words. ‘We both want to see how she acts and if she has learnt her lesson.’

‘And if Sophie hasn’t…learnt her lesson, what are you going to do? Forbid the ball? Wait to see if she becomes wiser?’

‘It has been discussed,’ he admitted, his eyes sliding away from her. ‘The last thing anyone wants is for Sophie to ruin her chances of a good and secure marriage.’

‘You’re approaching this scientifically? Experimenting with little events like At Homes? Sophie is a flesh-and-blood person, not a test tube of chemicals. You need to think about her feelings.’

‘Sophie needs to prove herself, to prove she can be sensible.’

Henri leant forwards and caught his hand. He looked at her and she found she could only concentrate on his mouth. She forced her gaze upwards. ‘You must listen to me. Allow Sophie to go to the ball. Allow her to have some fun. People will watch out for her. She’ll not be ruined.’

He curled his fingers about hers and held her there. ‘Sophie will prove equal to the task. Small social situations to allow her to regain her confidence. Have faith. Is there something wrong with believing, Henri? You worry too much. Trust me.’

She forgot how to breathe, forgot everything and simply looked up at him with parted lips. Her fingers longed to smooth away the lock of hair that had tumbled down over his forehead. His mobile mouth hovered inches from hers. All she had to do was to lift her face ever so slightly and wrap her arm about his neck. Her fingers longed to bury themselves in his damp hair.

A distinct rumble of carriage wheels sounded, breaking the spell. Henri allowed her hand to drop by her side. Her face flooded with heat. She had been about to kiss
him! It wasn’t Sophie that she had to worry about, but
herself.
All of her mother’s dire predictions about what was going to happen if she didn’t learn to curb her passions flooded back over her.

‘I do believe I hear a carriage,’ she said and hoped it sounded bright and cheerful. ‘It’ll be Sophie returning, full of tales of the various At Homes.’

‘I do believe you are right, Thorndike.’ His exact tone of voice mimicked hers. ‘We shall have to continue this entirely interesting conversation another time. And we will finish it.’

Henri put her hand to her aching mouth and tried to wish away the disappointment. When she closed her eyes, the only face she saw was Robert’s sardonic one, rather than Edmund’s placid features. Her insides trembled. Edmund’s memory was supposed to be with her for ever. If she forgot him, she’d cease to be Lady Henrietta Thorndike, and she wasn’t ready to be anyone else.

* * *

‘Keep still, Henri, or I won’t be able to get your profile done properly.’ Sophie spoke from behind her easel and Henri wondered how the young woman knew that Henri had just flexed her good foot. ‘Be good. Concentrate on the canary.’

Henri tried to ignore the itch that had started on her chin. It had seemed like a good idea when Sophie suggested a portrait three mornings ago, a way to keep out of Robert’s study and stop thinking about him. It gave her the excuse she needed to stop sorting out his research, but she had never thought it would involve such a large amount of time motionless and giving her mind time to
contemplate the precise curve of Robert’s mouth and how his frock-coat hinted at the hard planes of his chest.

‘May I see the sketch?’ Henri held out her hand and dragged her mind away from the rapidly developing daydream about Robert. She hated to think about the last time she had been given to dreaming her life away.

‘I haven’t got your mouth quite right.’ Sophie gave a pretty frown and shut the drawing book. ‘When it is finished, then I will show you. This is going to take me all day and most of tomorrow, maybe on into the evening.’

‘Shouldn’t you be getting ready for the ball tomorrow? The At Homes have gone well, according to your stepmother.’ Henri tried to keep the wistful note out of her voice. She had spent the entire night waking from dreams where Robert had grabbed her about her waist and danced her around the room. A proper polka rather than a staid waltz.

Sophie toyed with her pencil. ‘It depends on if I’m going. Mama hasn’t decided yet. I’ve performed well at the various At Homes and have managed to keep from blotting my copybook but…am I ready? Have I learnt my lessons? Mama keeps saying it is my choice, but.’

‘You must go. The ball is sure to be tremendous fun. Everyone will want to meet you.’

‘There are always other balls. I want to be able to go and not have everyone watching me and whispering about the awful tangle I make of things.’

Henri’s stomach tightened. Sebastian was wrong to have abused Sophie’s
naïveté
in that fashion. She deserved an opportunity to prove that she had learnt her lesson. Robert risked destroying her spirit.

‘Besides, you must be my eyes and ears. Your guardian
has promised to dance a polka. You must make sure he does.’

‘Robert never dances. He thinks it is frivolous and far from logical.’ Sophie bit her lip. ‘Or at least he hasn’t for a long time. He used to when he was younger. I can remember peeking down at a dance once and he was there, waltzing with a distant cousin of mine. They were such a handsome couple. Her blonde looks set off his wonderfully. Everyone thought they were going to marry, but nothing came of it and she married an elderly earl. She has two little boys now. Robert has never danced since. Stepmama warned me about it.’

Henri kept her face bland as silently she urged Sophie to continue. She’d never considered that Robert must have been disappointed in love. It explained his cynical edge. And she wasn’t going to think about the blonde who had made him stop dancing.

‘He’ll dance tomorrow night,’ she said with a decisive nod. ‘If you ask him.’

‘Why?’

‘We had a wager and he agreed that, if he lost, he’d dance with me.’

‘You had a wager with my guardian. How tremendously thrilling.’ Sophie put down her pencil. Her eyes gleamed. ‘You must tell me everything, Henri.’

‘The substance of the wager isn’t important as we now have a truce, but he was willing to dance.’ Henri concentrated on keeping her head still and her expression rigid as Sophie reopened her sketch book. She wasn’t going to explore the hurt and betrayal. She could better understand his misguided motives now. Sophie was awfully young and easily led. ‘It would be right and
proper for him to dance with you. Otherwise there might be speculation.’

‘He won’t like that. Will you ask him for me?’ Sophie added a few more rapid strokes of her pencil. Her eyes danced with mischief.

‘If you like. I should have thought of it before. It is the best way to shield you from comment. Far better than forbidding you to go.’

‘Are you sure you won’t come as well, Henri? I know you have agreed to stay for the supper party, but you could come to the ball and see my triumph. See me dancing with Robert.’