Page 1 of Matching Mr. Montfert (Apsley Family #2)

Chapter one

England, 1817

Grace

Kenwick Castle had seen its share of romance since the first Viscount Paxton bought the estate six generations ago, but at present, the stone walls were full of empty-headed nincompoops without a single romantic bone in their bodies.

I swept a strand of my brown hair out of my face and tucked my feet beneath me on a high-back chair in the grand drawing room, a book in hand, as I had most afternoons. My cousin and guardian, Rowe Apsley, had brought me here until the time came to make our journey to London for my first Season. The spot was familiar to me given I had spent a great deal of time at Kenwick with my cousins throughout my youth. The castle was like a second home, warm and welcoming.

Or, at least, it was on the rare occasion when my cousins were not making nuisances of themselves.

“Has he kissed her yet?” asked Rus, pulling my attention away from the page. He leaned forward out of his relaxed position on the settee next to me, a shock of auburn hair falling over his forehead, and rested his elbows on his knees. A wide smirk played over his lips and mischief danced in his green eyes. “You are so stoic when you read, Grace. I cannot make out anything that happens by watching you. It is most inconvenient.”

“Inconvenient?”

“Yes. I am not entertained enough when your expression never changes.”

“You could try reading it yourself. That might prove more entertaining.”

Rus huffed a laugh. “A romance? Not likely.”

I closed my novel with a snap and placed it on the table next to the chair, my irritation growing like the flames in the hearth as Rowe added another log for them to feast upon. My cousins were generally likable, but after a fortnight of enduring their taunts, my patience was at an end. “I am not your source of entertainment. Not now, and not when we go to London.”

“Ah, but I will have plenty to occupy me in London. Here…well, there is so little to be had.”

“And do tell me how you intend to spend the Season,” I said. “Flirting with every debutant you see or avoiding them altogether?”

Russell, the oldest of the Apsley children at eight and twenty—beating his twin by mere minutes—laughed, relaxing into the settee with a smug grin, one leg crossed over the other. He enjoyed getting a rise out of me. It was all in good fun, and perhaps I would have found his teasing enjoyable were my nerves not already on end. But as it stood, I had lost too much sleep worrying about my future and was in no mood for humor.

“A bit of both, I’d wager,” Rus answered, tugging at his cravat until it came loose completely. He draped the cloth over his knee. “And can you blame me? I'm the heir to a fortune and a title.”

“An heir whose responsibility it is to marry and produce another heir,” I quipped. “You might spend less time in meaningless flirtation and more of it looking for a companion willing to tolerate you.”

Rus looked heavenward, his expression pinched in mock contemplation.“What a revelation! Rowe, did you hear your ward? She has given me an epiphany. I must set aside my rogue-ish ways and pursue a love match at once.”

Rowe, who had resumed his seat in a chair opposite me, merely hummed in acknowledgment of his twin brother’s theatrics, his eyes never wavering from the pages of his book. My guardian, while certainly less teasing and quieter than Rus, was no more inclined toward romance. A shame, really. They were both handsome gentlemen of means and in a position to provide for families of their own.

Not that I would ever openly pay Rus such a compliment. He needed no boost to his ego.

Rus heaved a dramatic sigh. “You must understand, cousin, we men do not run off to London intending to attach ourselves to the first woman who catches our fancy. It is different for us. We need not rush to make a match.” He nodded toward where my book was resting on the table. “And we do not wear whimsical ideas of love and happiness on our sleeves like a goosecap.”

“Just because I read romance novels does not mean I am a goosecap.” I settled into my chair, folding my arms. I would not deny I enjoyed reading about heroes sweeping a woman into a dance or accompanying her on an adventure, but that did not make me nonsensical. There was nothing wrong with dreaming of something I would never experience. “I have no intention of seeking a match for myself this Season if you must know.”

Or perhaps any Season. It was not as though I didn’t wish for the type of romance I found so often within the pages of my books, but I had tossed the idea away before it could blossom…and wither. My odds of success were too low for such hopeful anticipation.

My statement drew Rowe’s attention. His green eyes met mine, and he leaned forward abruptly, running a hand through his auburn hair. “What do you mean you’ve no intention of seeking a match?”

I shrugged. “Just that. I will enjoy the Season.”

Rus, who seemed both surprised and pleased by this revelation, nodded. “I approve. Every woman should enjoy her first Season instead of chasing after some poor fellow and luring him into marriage shackles.”

“Then it is good I am her guardian and not you,” Rowe snapped. “To encourage such a thing is foolish. The sooner she has the protection of a husband, the better.”

“And you are not enough protection for her until then?” One of Rus’s brows lifted in challenge. The two of them were often like this: Rus seeking ways to press Rowe into an argument for the sake of an argument. The man was a tease, and no one was exempt. The two of them were opposites in every way but appearance. It was a blessed relief their personalities were so different, else no one would ever tell them apart.

“That is not what I meant, and you know it,” said Rowe. “I promised her father I would see to his daughters’ happiness, and I intend to do so.”

He had succeeded where my sister, Amelia, was concerned. She’d married the Earl of Emerson after attending a house party last year and was currently enjoying a long honeymoon with him somewhere in York. Were I not so aware of how much Rowe cared about us, I might wonder if it was his goal to be rid of his wards as quickly as possible. But he was too kind and, frankly, too transparent for that. The man likely couldn’t lie to save his own skin. He wanted to do right by my father—and by default, Amelia and me—plain and simple. It was a blessing, but that he would put off his affairs to see to mine also left me with a great deal of guilt.

And motivation.

“What makes you think Grace would not be happy on her own?” asked Rus. “Why must she marry?”

Rowe groaned. “I want what is best for her, and whether you care to admit it or not, it is in everyone’s interest to marry. Both women and men. Heaven knows you need someone to keep you out of trouble.”

“I do not see you rushing to the altar,” Rus muttered.

“And I don’t see me getting into trouble on a regular basis,” Rowe countered. “I rest my case.”

“Give it time. It shall happen. You will cause the most scandal of all of us simply out of irony.”

“It hardly matters either way,” I said, growing tired of their exchange. The two of them acted as if I did not sit here in front of them. “I will enjoy the Season and the company of any suitors that might come my way, though I am doubtful there will be any.”

“What a silly thing to say.”

The three of us turned toward the entry of the drawing room where Annette stood in a gown of deep green that set off her red hair to perfection. She was the eldest of the two Apsley daughters and the same age as me at twenty. Like her twin brothers, though, we could not be more different. Annette was as outspoken and untamable as her fiery hair.

Annette crossed the room and claimed a seat next to me. “You shall have plenty of suitors, Grace.”

“I daresay you will distract them all.” I leaned closer to her in a conspiratorial whisper. “And I won’t care a whit if you do.”

Annette glared back at me. “I do not want all the attention. Or any, for that matter.”

Another incredulous groan rumbled from Rowe. “The two of you are a bad influence on one another. Neither wanting suitors? Have you both gone mad?”

“On the contrary,” said Rus. “They are both more intelligent than I have previously given them credit.”

Annette turned her glare on her brother. “How kind of you. I confess my lack of faith in your intelligence remains unchanged.”

Rus pressed a hand to his heart, his face pinched in a facade of pain. “You wound me, dear sister, but pray tell, what do you want from the Season if not a husband?”

“Nothing,” Annette responded. “I’ve no desire for a Season at all. I would prefer to be here, and you know my dowry is more than enough to sustain me for the rest of my life. Why should I give up any independence to be ordered about by a man who cares only for himself? But here I am, packing for London at Father’s bequest.”

“Ah, yes, lest we not forget the agreement .”

“Agreement?” My gaze shifted from Rus to Annette, who pinned her brother with a look sharper than any blade. “What does he speak of?”

“Nothing of consequence,” said Annette, swatting away my question.

We had never been particularly close given my preference for spending time in the library over riding horses astride at breakneck speeds across the estate, but we should be allies, she and I. We were both entering society, and with Mother remaining at our country home to deal with her grief and Amelia off with her new husband, I hadn’t anyone to confide in. I had hoped Annette would be willing to fill the role, but already, she kept things from me.

“Oh, it is something ,” said Rus, his mischievous grin still in place. “Annette has promised Father she will entertain every suitor that comes her way with genuine enthusiasm. In short, she has agreed to give any man a chance to win her hand.”

Well, that did not sound like someone who had no desire for the attention of suitors. My brows lifted in question, and Annette rolled her eyes. “It is a small price to pay. If I hold up my end of the deal and remain unwed through the end of the year, Father will not force me to attend another Season. He will give me access to my funds, too.”

Ah. That made more sense. Annette was stubborn enough to play such a game…and win. With a dowry as significant as hers, she could afford it. I, on the other hand, would need a way to provide for myself as I advanced into spinsterhood. I refused to be a burden to Rowe any longer than necessary. He deserved to have a family of his own but would not seek a match for himself until his obligations to my father had been fulfilled. I had no desire to stand in the way of his future happiness, which meant I needed my own income.

I was not against marriage for myself. Truly, I wasn’t. But my chances of finding a match were far lower than Annette’s, and I would settle for nothing less than love. I could not understand my cousin’s desire to throw the opportunity away as she intended to do. Had I possessed her beauty and two legs that worked to full potential, I would have welcomed the attention she was bound to experience, especially as the daughter of a viscount.

But I was not her, and a weak leg that left me broken would prohibit me in more ways than one. No, I was better off putting any hope of love to rest here and now.

“What of you, Grace?” Rus asked. “If you are not looking forward to marriage, then what about London appeals to you most?”

“I never said marriage did not appeal to me,” I corrected. “Simply that I will not seek it for myself.”

Rus’s eyes narrowed. “Am I to understand you intend to seek it for someone else?”

I shrugged, all too aware Rowe was still studying me, and a hardy laugh escaped Rus. “That is precisely it! You wish to play matchmaker this Season.”

I wouldn’t deny it. I had heard of matchmakers finding success during the Season, and not just in assisting their clients. If I could prove myself good at pairing people off, I might find it financially rewarding, too. My goal this Season was to establish a name for myself. Help a few desperate souls find their love match. With any luck, word of my success would spread and clients would come to me. I had confidence in my abilities; I merely needed to prove them to everyone else.

I had helped my sister and Lord Emerson along, after all, and I was no stranger to romance novels. Did that not make me expertly qualified?

“Well,” said Rus, “I commend your ambition, so long as you do not attempt to match me with anyone.”

No soul deserved that.

“I would prefer not to have failure stain my record,” I countered.

Rus laughed, unoffended by my terse comment, which proved my point. He was not ready to settle down, but someday, he would take marriage more seriously. Maybe then I could fathom pairing some poor woman with him. Surely I could find a match even for Rus?

Until then, I would create a list of successes. I would prove myself and help others find love. After all, if I could not have romance for myself, finding it for others was the next best thing.