Page 10 of Matching Mr. Montfert (Apsley Family #2)

Chapter ten

Phillip

I greeted Thursday morning with nervous anticipation. After fencing practice yesterday afternoon, Apsley had given me another note from Miss Scott, asking to meet this morning in Hyde. I was eager to see her and discuss my options further, and waiting for word from her had been torturous.

She requested we meet before the fashionable hour, though less early than before so we might discuss a few matters in private before parading about the park in hopes of her making introductions with some of the women on her list. There was no guarantee they would be there, of course, but still, I found myself anxious.

Knowing Uncle had business matters to attend to all morning, I descended the stairs without notifying him of my intentions. As I reached the bottom, the butler opened the door to let in an elderly woman with small peacock plumes rising from her bonnet, her expression wrinkled under the force of a wide smile.

She met my gaze, and somehow, that smile grew. “Oh, Mr. Montfert! What a pleasure to see you.”

“Good morning, Mrs. Ellis. How are you today?”

“Well. Very well, indeed. I was just telling Mr. Ellis how lovely it is. Fine weather we are having. Sun for days, with not a cloud in the sky. You intend to go out and enjoy the warmth, do you not?”

“I do.” My smile grew strained. Not because I disliked conversing with Mrs. Ellis, but because I was not sure how to navigate her forgetfulness. I had met her upon first arriving in London, as she often met with Uncle to discuss investments. Mr. Ellis had been one of Uncle’s clients for years…until his passing three months ago. Mrs. Ellis, however, seemed to forget her widowed status from time to time, showing up in bright colors unbefitting of someone in mourning, but she never missed a meeting with my uncle or forgot my name. It was curious how the mind could pick and choose what it remembered.

Regardless, the last thing I wanted to do was remind her of the grief of losing her husband.

“I best be off to enjoy the sunshine,” I said. “Have a good day, Mrs. Ellis.”

She nodded, and I stepped past her. The butler handed me my coat and hat, which I slipped on as I left the house. Mrs. Ellis was not wrong. With the sun shining overhead, it was a lovely day, making my jaunt to Hyde pleasurable.

When I arrived in the clearing, Miss Scott and Miss Apsley were already there, the latter sitting against a tree reading. I exchanged greetings with them both and then took a place on the ground to Miss Scott’s left. The spot was tight, nestled between her and a tree, and she looked a question at me when I brushed her shoulder and shimmied into the space, stretching my legs out in front of me.

It must seem strange for me to choose that position when there was more open space to her right, but I would not risk being unable to hear her, nor did I have any desire to explain myself. Uncle demanded I keep my hearing struggles a secret, but admittedly, I had no wish for anyone else to treat me as he did. To judge me.

I cleared my throat. “What shall we discuss today?”

Her curiosity evaporated, at least for the time being, and she retrieved her notebook from her reticule. “More about you, naturally.”

I gave her a wry look. “Of course.”

She passed me a teasing grin. “You needn’t sound so excited about it, Mr. Montfert.”

“If I thought myself more interesting, perhaps I would be more excited. I am coming to learn that I am not my favorite topic of discussion.”

She studied me for a moment, as if attempting to discern the truthfulness of my words, and then opened her notebook. She tapped her pencil to the page. “We can agree you are not vain, then. Some people adore speaking of themselves. I do have a question for you first.”

She bit down on her lip as if hesitant. I nudged her with my shoulder and smiled, hoping the gesture would put her at ease. “Whatever it is, you may ask.”

“Well, I do not know how much Rus told you about my intentions, and since you have offered to pay me—”

“I will. You may name your price, Miss Scott. I desperately need the help, and you have put so much work into making this list already. You cannot know how much I appreciate the effort.”

She nodded. “I have been giving it some thought but cannot seem to settle on what would be fair to us both. You are my first client, sir, and while I can promise to do what I can, there is no guarantee this will work.”

“I understand.” I lifted my hands to placate her concerns. “My payment is not contingent upon that.”

“Very well, but let us not decide on the value of my services until we have determined their success. I would be far more comfortable with that.” She bit her lip again, and my eyes settled on them. I studied the color, which was a deeper shade of pink now, and the shape of them. How they curved with perfect symmetry.

I tore my gaze away. “That is fair. Now may I ask you a question?” I continued when she offered a hesitant nod. “Why are you so keen on becoming a matchmaker?”

“Ah.” She smiled, her attention straight ahead. “It’s simple, really. I expect to become a spinster, which suits me fine, but I do not wish to be a burden on my family. My cousin, Rowe, was named my guardian and inherited all of my father’s holdings upon his death. I trust Rowe to take care of me, but he should not have to. And so, I seek financial independence. Matchmaking is a solution.”

I opened my mouth but could not find the words to question her. A spinster? My mind could not account for her decision. It was as if she had resigned herself to it, which made little sense to me. Miss Scott was not old enough to be considered on the shelf—she, herself, had admitted this was her first Season—and furthermore, her beauty alone could draw a man of wealth or title.

“But enough about me,” she pressed on when I kept silent. “I’ve learned a little more about your circumstances. My cousin may have mentioned that you stand to lose your inheritance if you do not wed.”

I winced. “A threat from my uncle, and one he has utilized before.”

“You’ve no choice,” she said with quiet sympathy.

I tilted my head from side to side. “We always have a choice in our decisions; it is the consequences we have no say in. I could choose to disobey him, but…” I drew in a deep breath. There was no reason to hide the whole of it from her. “My father left me with nothing, Miss Scott. Without this inheritance, I am destitute but for the meager pin money I have stashed away over the years. That fact would not be so bothersome if my mother were not also relying on me. For her sake, I do as my uncle wishes.”

“Then let us find you a wife.” She placed her hand on my arm, and a string of chills raced over my skin, a counter to the warmth of her fingers permeating through my coat.

Miss Scott asked me questions, so many that I lost track of the time. She forced me to think more about my own wants and desires for the future than I ever had, while also keeping me at ease. Something about her calmed my soul—made me forget, for a time, the challenge I faced. With her, my lack of social experience seemed…irrelevant.

“I’ve made you a list of possible matches,” she said, extending her notebook toward me. I read the names listed there, none of which were familiar, and smiled at how she had crossed out several, some with more effort than others.

“You have been busy.” I pointed to one of the marked-out names. “What made you decide against this one?”

“She is not ready to settle down, in my opinion. Miss Baker is far too flirtatious for you.”

“Too flirtatious?” I reared back in jest. “I can be flirtatious.”

Miss Scott chuckled. “I know you can, but I did not think you would want a wife who enjoys flirting with every man of her acquaintance.”

“Hmm, no, I would not. What about this one?”

“Why are you more interested in the ones I’ve decided against than the ones I think have potential.” Amusement sparkled in her brown eyes, catching the few sunbeams that managed to enter the clearing between the trees, and she shook her head.

I shrugged. “It is nerves, I think. Speaking of women who would not suit me is easier than considering those who might. I tend to embarrass myself when I get nervous and find the best way to avoid it is to avoid situations that set me on edge.”

“Which includes talking to ladies,” she guessed.

“Indeed, unless they happen to have wrinkles. I can generally manage those well enough.”

“You say that until one old enough to be your grandmother sets her eyes on you,” she warned. “You are too handsome not to attract eligible ladies of all ages.”

I barked out a laugh. “Too handsome? I am not paying you to forge pretty compliments for me, Miss Scott.”

“It requires little effort when it is true. But tell me, what is it that makes you so nervous? Do you handle it better when you have met the lady before?”

My mind was still struggling to process her response. Miss Scott thought me handsome? Genuinely? The idea sent warmth radiating through my chest. “I…yes, I suppose it helps if I have met them. Or seen them before, even. Familiarity to any degree is useful.”

She tapped her pencil, this time not against her notebook, but her lips. My gaze fixed on them, and that odd stirring I had felt during our last meeting returned.

“Oh! I have an idea.” She tossed the notebook aside and rose. I clambered after her. Miss Scott walked to the other side of the clearing, her chin lifted as she stared up into the trees. Then, her assessing gaze wandered over the many branches until she seemed satisfied and reached for the lowest one.

“What are you doing? I asked.

“Climbing this tree,” she grunted out the words, pulling herself up and digging her half boots into the bark until she reached the branch. Standing on it, she looked down at me in slight exasperation. “You must climb with me.”

“What?”

“Climb with me. It is not difficult.”

“I…but why? And should you be doing such a thing with your leg?” Never mind the impropriety of it all. Ladies did not climb trees, did they? Or gentleman, for that matter. I was fairly certain Uncle would be appalled, should he learn of it.

Miss Scott grinned and continued her climb. “I do not make a habit of letting my leg interfere with something I want, Mr. Montfert.”

“And right now you want to climb a tree?” I asked skeptically.

“No, I want you to climb the tree. I am merely leading you.” She paused and gestured for me to approach the trunk. “Quickly. From up here, we might spot your potential brides. This way, you will have seen them before, thus easing your nerves.”

I looked from her to the lowest branch, then back again, watching her as she tested each step and adjusted when they seemed unsteady. This was not settling my nerves in at all.

“You might as well do it,” said Miss Apsley, who sat not far from where I stood, her eyes trained on her book. “When Grace is determined about something, she rarely backs down. In this instance, she will stay in that tree until you join her.”

My jaw clenched. I could not rightly let her remain in the tree all day, now could I? After another moment of consideration, I shrugged out of my coat and tossed it and my hat onto the ground. I reached for the branch and hoisted myself up. From above, Miss Scott tossed instructions at me as we both climbed.

“Watch out for this branch,” she said, pointing at one. “It is a bit suspicious. I do not think it will hold your weight. Oh, and that one there has an army of ants crawling across it, so avoid it if you can. And do not look up when you are directly beneath me. I shan’t like you peering up my skirts.”

My face heated with her last instruction, thoroughly distracting me the remainder of my climb as I tried, with great effort, to avoid looking up her skirts by accident. It seemed my eyes were drawn in that direction against my will now that she had put the notion in my head.

Most ungentlemanly.

Once we had climbed as high as the thinning branches would allow, I looked out over the park. We were still well-hidden between the leaves, but through the bare spaces, I had a view of the people walking the paths toward The Serpentine.

I glanced at Miss Scott, taking in her content expression. Her smile. The way the shallow breeze teased her chocolate brown hair and the sun coated her cheeks and nose in an ethereal glow. How did a woman with a weak leg find peace in a tree?

How did she look so beautiful doing it?

“Are you well?” I asked.

She looked at me, seeming to take my meaning. “My leg is fine, though I might regret this tomorrow.” She shrugged as if this was not an unusual occurrence. “My impulsiveness sometimes gets the better of me, but I find moments like this worth a little pain.”

Her gaze returned to the park, and she began to point out women of her acquaintance, but my eyes remained on her. Moments like this, she had said. She meant the view of the park, or perhaps the exhilaration of climbing, but this moment stemmed from neither of those things for me as I looked at her. Miss Scott was brave and impulsive, charming and witty. She was kind and sympathetic.

She was altogether lovely.

My matchmaker had pushed me to consider the qualities I wanted in a wife—to dig deep within myself and contemplate my own desires, not just Uncle’s. And here, clinging to the branches above Hyde Park, I realized I did have a list.

One I feared was a reflection of the woman next to me in the tree.