Page 11 of Matching Mr. Montfert (Apsley Family #2)

Chapter eleven

Grace

The Apsley townhouse was alive with visitors Friday afternoon, and while none of them were there for me specifically, I took great amusement in watching my cousin fend off suitors. As promised, Annette entertained each of them with the politeness and sophistication one would expect from the daughter of a viscount. She wore a smile and poured tea, her voice amiable and her expression pleasant.

Inside, I doubted she felt any such sentiment. Annette saw the institution of marriage as a shackleing, freedom-stealing design hardly worth the benefits Society claimed she would reap. With a substantial dowry, I supposed she could afford to think that way. Even without marriage, she would want for nothing.

Well, perhaps that was not entirely true. I was not convinced Annette would not experience some regret in choosing to spend her life alone. She may claim to have no interest in romance, but I suspected much of it was a front propagated by fear. Despite being raised in a home with loving parents and a father who rarely begrudged her of freedoms, Annette worried she would not find the same in a spouse.

In fairness, she had a right to worry, as so many men of the ton held strict expectations on the role of women.

“Miss Apsley, might I request your first dance at the Morrison’s ball next week?” Mr. Conners asked. The man had taken a liking to Cook’s lemon tarts, and at present, his upper lip was home to the remnants of them. Despite his inability to eat without making a mess, he did seem kind, if not a little overly jubilant.

Annette tilted her head, offering him a tiny pout. “I fear my first dance has been claimed.”

Mr. Conners scooted to the edge of the cushion. “What about the second?”

“No,” Mr. Laurance interjected before Annette could respond. “I’ve claimed the second already.”

“And I the third,” Lord Monksfield added.

Mr. Conners’ shoulders sagged, his face wrinkling with disappointment. Lady Paxton passed her daughter a look, and Annette drew in a deep breath meant to give her patience. “I am certain there is a free spot on my card, Mr. Conners. Would it be fair for me to add your name? Then you might find me at the ball to learn which dance is yours.”

The man grinned in response, all evidence of dejection gone. “That would be capital, Miss Apsley. I look forward to it.”

“As do I,” Annette ground out, her smile still in place.

Much as I had always dreamed of being courted, I did not envy her right now. The men visiting were fine. I could think of nothing off-putting about them. Still, I could not see myself marrying any of them, nor could I see a suitable match for Annette. It was one thing to receive attention from a gentleman a woman liked, but to have it thrust upon her with no way to deny him? That seemed tortuous.

But Annette was determined to have her parents forget the idea of her marrying, and for that reason alone, she put up with the parade of suitors.

“What of you, Miss Scott?” Mr. Willoughby, who sat next to me and was certainly possessed of a more quiet demeanor, asked. “Have you a partner for the first dance?”

I shook my head. It was kind of him to ask, especially when it was clear the men were not here for me. “I am afraid I cannot dance due to my leg, sir, but I appreciate you inquiring.”

“I see. Well, I hope I shall see you there nonetheless.”

“You shall, of course. My cousin may even have another spot on her dance card if you wish to fill it.”

His smile dimmed a little. “I would be honored.”

Once the men had gone, Annette slumped into the settee with a groan. “What have I done to deserve this?”

“Grown into a beautiful woman with connections to the peerage, for starters,” I said before taking the last sip of my tea. “I did tell you men would be beating down the door to call on you.”

Annette glared at me. “It is highly unfair and rude of them to ignore you so completely. Although, Mr. Willoughby seemed quite set in his attention.”

I scoffed. “Do not tell a fudge, Annette. Those men were here for you alone. Mr. Willoughby was simply being polite. That is all.”

Annette pursed her lips. “He asked you to dance, did he not?”

“He did, but as I have no intention of dancing at all this Season, I was forced to turn him down.”

“You truly do not intend to dance?” asked Lady Paxton, her brows furrowed.

I shifted on the sofa. My aunt knew of my ailment and how often it affected me. Indeed, I suspected Rowe had spoken to her about it before we came to London, since she was serving as my matronly sponsor in a way. Still, I hated admitting my weak leg would keep me from something I might otherwise enjoy. I did not allow it to hold me back if I could help it.

But dancing had proven too painful on more than one occasion. I had learned that avoiding the activity altogether was better than the limb failing me on the dancefloor.

And was far less embarrassing.

“I think it is for the best,” I said. “But do not worry for me. I will enjoy myself regardless.”

Besides, I had plenty to occupy me during the ball. I had not introduced Mr. Montfert to any women in the park—though we did observe two of them from the tree—and he would meet a few for the first time tonight. All of my attention would go to observing their interactions.

I hadn’t time for dancing, in truth.

I ignored the prodding disappointment in my chest.

Annette sighed. “I never thought I would be jealous of your leg, Grace. What I wouldn’t give to have an excuse not to dance.”

“But then you would have a painful limp to deal with,” I reminded.

Annette grimaced. “You’re right. It was rather thoughtless of me to say something like that. Forgive me.”

I swatted her comment away. “I took no offense, and I can understand your reluctance. You have had an inordinate amount of callers and requests today.”

Annette sat up, pointing at me. “You see, Mother. I am not the only one who thinks so. A few dinner parties can not possibly account for this many men coming to call on me. Something is amiss.”

“You have made an impression; I cannot imagine what more you think it could be,” said Lady Paxton with patience.

“I did not make that grand of an impression.” Annette crossed her arms. “At least the whole of it is done for today. I do not think I could handle one more—”

The butler cleared his throat from the entrance of the drawing room. “Lieutenant Paget is here, my lady.”

Annette groaned, and her mother shot her a frown of disapproval.

“See him in,” said Lady Paxton, then waited for the butler to disappear before whispering the rest. “Sit up, Annette. You are to receive all suitors with cordiality. That was our agreement.”

“Calling hours are nearly done,” Annette mumbled under her breath. “It is beyond rude for him to come now. Why should I act cordially?”

We all stood when the lieutenant entered the room. Lieutenant Paget bowed, but his eyes remained solely on Annette, his grin a token of triumph over having caused her clear displeasure. The man enjoyed playing with fire, it seemed.

Before pleasantries could be exchanged, the butler reappeared. “I beg your pardon, my lady, but a Mr. Montfert has arrived to see Miss Scott.”

Lady Paxton’s brows furrowed. Given she had never met the man, I could understand her confusion.

“He is a friend of mine,” I said to alleviate her hesitancy.

My aunt gave me a curious look before asking the butler to retrieve our visitor. Mr. Montfert entered, and his gaze sought me out immediately. Our eyes connected, and a warm smile stretched over his handsome face, releasing a fluttering sensation in my stomach. None of our other visitors today had created this strange anxiousness in me, but then, none of them had come for me, either.

Since neither my aunt nor the lieutenant had ever met Mr. Montfert, I made introductions. We all took our seats, the lieutenant next to my cousin and Mr. Monfert next to me. For the second time since our first meeting, he chose the smallest space at my side, forcing me to scoot over the cushion to make room. It was odd, but I dared not question him about it here.

Lady Paxton seemed all too content alone in her armchair where she could watch us. I would have to clarify a few things with her, else she get the wrong impression about my client.

What was he doing here, anyway? I wanted to ask, desperately, but such a question would stoke Lady Paxton’s curiosity. I loved my aunt, but the fewer people who knew of my matchmaking business, the better. Had Annette not overheard Rus telling me about finding my first client, I may not have even confided in her.

Although, she had made for a far better chaperone than Rus.

“How are you, Miss Apsley?” the lieutenant asked.

“Not cold.” She gave him a significant look, one full of accusation. “I thought, sir, you intended to spend time at Gunter’s today.”

“And miss your calling hours again? How utterly devastating that would be. Besides, I would not wish to taint anyone’s air simply by breathing.”

“You are tainting—” Annette’s mouth snapped closed, and she quickly glanced at her mother. “How considerate of you. To breathe here. Instead.”

He fought his amusement. “I could think of no better place. After all, you are so accepting when it comes to my breathing.”

“Accepting by no choice of my own. Your condition is a rather regrettable burden upon mankind.”

“Annette!” her mother chided.

The lieutenant held up a hand. “Not to worry, Lady Paxton. I am quite certain your daughter did not mean to infer she would prefer me not to breathe at all.”

Based on the way Annette was glaring at him, it was obvious she would, in fact, prefer that. But the lieutenant seemed all too aware of this, grinning from ear to ear while she simmered in a fury she could not unleash.

A soft nudge to my side drew my attention, and Mr. Montfert leaned closer to me, his voice low. “That man has a death wish, I think.”

I covered my mouth to hide my giggle. “Indeed. I would warn him of the danger, but he infuriates her on purpose. It is a game to him.”

Mr. Montfert tilted his head, eyeing the two studiously. A strand of his hair tickled my cheek with the increased proximity, and my heart tripped into an unusual rhythm.

“Perhaps,” he whispered. “But the game may not be what you think it is.” He pulled away, his eyes searching my face. “Or maybe you do realize that, given your talents.”

My talents? He could only mean my matchmaking abilities.

“It is too early to tell,” I whispered back. “There is attraction, to be sure, but whether anything can come of it, or should come of it, is yet to be seen. A love match requires more than tease and charm.”

He nodded, his expression pensive. As if he was truly giving my response thought. “Should we intervene then, or is it your stance to give them space to work things out themselves?”

I blinked at him. He had not asked if I, the matchmaker, should intervene, but if we should. It all felt very…conspiratorial. Phillip Montfert was meant to be my client; not my partner in crime.

Not that finding Annette a love match was a crime, though she would likely call it that. Regardless, I had promised her I would not make her one of my clients this Season. It was difficult to find someone a match who did not want one. She had enough pressure from her parents, and I had no intention of adding to it.

I shook my head. “We let them be. I have one match to contend with at present, and it deserves my full attention.”

He smiled, full and appreciative, and the weight of it quickened my pulse.

Lady Paxton steered the conversation to shallow topics about the weather and upcoming events, and soon, the visit came to an end. Both men bid us farewell, and I found myself so distracted by the disappointment of their departure I did not realize until later, when my head fell upon my pillow, that I had forgotten my question.

Why had Phillip Montfert come to call on me in the first place?