Page 13 of Matching Mr. Montfert (Apsley Family #2)

Chapter thirteen

Phillip

Sabrina may not have been the most comforting person to accompany me to the Morrison’s ball, but it hardly mattered. The moment my eyes fell on Miss Scott, my nerves calmed. There was something reassuring about her presence, an ease about her smile that filled the room with a steady warmth. Perhaps it was because I had so few friends, but my soul seemed to cling to her, and I found I trusted this woman completely despite our few interactions. I could not imagine receiving matchmaking help from anyone else.

Which was why I had asked Apsley about Miss Scott’s calling hours last week.

After our meeting in the park, I had thought of little else but the women Miss Scott believed could make me a good match, and each day, my anxiety over the matter increased. I had so much riding on things going well, and realizing my lack of experience when it came to calling on women had dragged me into a state of panic.

How did a gentleman go about visiting a woman he had an interest in? What did they speak of? Should I make my intentions clear from the beginning, or did timing play a key role?

Those sorts of questions plagued me until I could stand it no longer. I needed answers to calm my troubled mind, and Miss Scott would have them. I trusted her to advise me, to prepare me. And so, I had gone to Apsley Court to beg for her opinions and encroach upon her time.

Except, I had left with more questions than answers. With Miss Apsley entertaining suitors and Lady Paxton’s presence, I could hardly ask for the type of advice that required a private conversation. However, sitting next to Miss Scott had brought me to a state of equanimity. I had relaxed into our conversation and forgot most of my troubles. How did simply being near her affect me so?

And why did I feel a buzz within my chest each time she touched me or whispered in my ear?

Or smiled at me the way she was now.

My feet carried me toward her as if tethered and pulled. I crossed the room without thought, eager to greet her. She stood next to a tall woman with brown hair, braided in a sort of spiral and pinned to her head. Tiny white beads were strung throughout, making the lady quite lovely, if in an understated way.

My stomach knotted. Was this one of the women Miss Scott had spoken of?

It suddenly took effort to keep moving forward, my eagerness displaced with uneasy anticipation. What if I was about to meet my wife for the first time? Did that not warrant my nervousness?

Whether it did or didn’t, I stopped in front of the ladies and, after releasing Sabrina’s arm, dipped into a shaky bow. “Good evening, Miss Scott.” I gestured to my cousin. “May I introduce—”

“We’ve met,” Sabrina interrupted, shooting me a curious look. I suppose I had led her straight here without explanation. That justified her confusion.

“You’ve met?” I asked, her words finally sinking in. “When?”

Sabrina bit her lip, and her gaze dropped to the floor.

“We met last year,” Miss Scott answered after a moment. “At a house party. But Her Grace and my sister were…friends before that.”

Based on the tension spilling from both women, something had happened at that house party. Uncle had never offered me any details, and I knew Sabrina had returned home unengaged, despite Uncle’s plans. I would have to ask my cousin more on the matter later.

Sabrina cleared her throat. “I do hope Amelia is well?”

Miss Scott nodded. “Yes. She is traveling with her husband in York.”

A soft smile spread over Sabrina’s lips. “That is good to hear. I wish her nothing but the best.”

Sabrina’s tone held a gentle plea, one I could make no sense of. Still, it was there, and Miss Scott’s expression softened as she seemed to notice it as well.

“Thank you.”

With a nod, Sabrina gestured to the woman next to Miss Scott. “Forgive me. I fear I have interrupted introductions.”

“Oh. Yes.” Miss Scott shook her head, a light blush filling her cheeks. “This is Miss Harriet Rigby. Miss Rigby, I present to you Her Grace, the Duchess of Rochester, and Mr. Phillip Montfert.”

I did not miss the way Sabrina winced at the pronouncement of her title. Whatever triumph she had once felt in claiming something so prestigious had faded.

“A pleasure to meet you, Miss Rigby. I do hope you will excuse me, but I’ve just spotted a friend of mine.” Sabrina met my gaze, silently offering me permission to remain. I doubted there was a friend. I had promised to stay by her side at events as much as I was able, but my cousin possessed uncanny intuition. As if she knew I needed this time without her presence.

“Let me know should you need anything,” I said before she walked away. I did worry about her being alone. Would the gossips find her here tonight? Was it not my duty to protect her from them?

A wave of frustration washed over me. It was impossible for me to do everything I needed to do. Uncle’s demands were clear, but if anyone understood the pressure I was under, it was Sabrina. I had to trust she could handle the evening on her own for a time.

The orchestra teased the room with a few notes as they prepared for the dancing. My attention fell to Miss Scott, and she nodded subtly to Miss Rigby. Yes, this lady was one my matchmaker meant for me to meet.

“Has your first set been claimed, Miss Rigby?” I asked.

The woman’s cheeks flushed, and she shook her head without giving a verbal response.

I offered her my arm, and she took it with a hesitant smile. The music began, and I led her to the end of the line, my heart pounding the entire way.

There. We were dancing. What was I supposed to do now? Should I attempt conversation? Flattery? No, I did not have the focus to do that and keep time to the music. Concentrating on my footwork was more than enough, and the one time I did look at Miss Rigby, I stepped on the tips of her slippers.

Then apologized profusely, which led to my timing being off for the remainder of the dance. By the time the second began, Miss Rigby requested a turn about the room and refreshment rather than remaining on the floor. I happily obliged.

“You are a lovely dancer,” I said, offering her a glass of ratafia.

“That is kind of you to say.” Silence settled between us. The woman was attractive, and she seemed sweet, albeit quiet. I was not opposed to quiet. The problem rested entirely on my shoulders, for I hadn’t any idea how to strike up a conversation with her. Or any woman, for that matter.

I had done poorly at that very thing since coming to London. Time and again I proved my conversational skills were lacking. I did not know how to navigate society in a way that would please Uncle. I had never begrudged his decision to keep me isolated—for I preferred to remain home over attending balls and parties. Only now did I truly understand the sort of deficit that reclusiveness had created.

“How is your family, Miss Rigby?” That was always a safe topic, was it not?

“They are well. Do you know them?”

“Well…no. Do you have any siblings?”

She nodded, at last breaking away from her shyness to at least engage. “An older sister. What about you? Do you have any siblings?”

“I haven’t the pleasure, but I have lived with my uncle and cousin since I was eight.” I glanced across the room to where Sabrina sat alone, her chin dipped and a dejected look on her face. A pang ripped through my heart. How could I focus on Miss Rigby knowing I had abandoned my cousin?

“Cousins can be a wonderful substitute for siblings,” Miss Rigby continued, oblivious to my inner turmoil. “I was never particularly close to my sister—she is ten years my senior—but I have cousins who always treated me well.”

“That is a blessing. To have someone who treats you well.” I glanced past her to Sabrina again, expecting another prod of guilt. Instead, I found Miss Scott sitting in the chair next to her. The two of them were deep in conversation, a lightness to their expressions that had been absent during introductions. Whatever tension existed between them had been set aside, at least for now.

I smiled, appreciation expanding within my chest. Miss Scott had noticed Sabrina sitting alone and joined her, a small act of kindness that likely meant more to my cousin than she would ever admit, especially with rumors threatening her social standing.

“Miss Scott is a sweet woman.”

I started a little, despite Miss Rigby’s quiet voice. She stared up at me, an inquisitive look in her eyes that I did not know how to read. I swallowed. “Yes, she has been a good friend to me.”

A good friend? No, I was her client. That was all.

“How long have the two of you known each other?” asked Miss Rigby.

“Not long. We met after I arrived for the Season. Two weeks at most.”

Miss Rigby cocked her head to the side. “Really? How interesting.”

I wanted to ask her what about my statement she found so intriguing, but she wrapped a hand around my arm and, with the gentlest nudge, tugged me forward. “I think I would like to sit down now. Would you mind returning me to my mother?”

I nodded. Miss Rigby was doing the leading at present, and although the music still played for the final song of the set, I did not mind ending our time together a little early. I deposited Miss Rigby at her mother’s side, enduring what I could only call a sharp glare from the matron, before excusing myself and taking the short walk to where Miss Scott and Sabrina sat.

I plopped down in the chair next to the left of my cousin and released an unintentionally heavy sigh.

“Come now, Phillip, it could not have been so bad.” Sabrina grinned at me “Miss Rigby seemed pleasant.”

“She is,” I said quickly, catching Miss Scott’s gaze. “Quite pleasant.”

It was true. I could see nothing inherently wrong with the woman. She had a sweet disposition and carried herself well. But…

I needed to speak to Miss Scott. Alone.

I stared over the dancefloor as if that would provide a solution. Asking Miss Scott to dance would offer us more privacy, but it would not allow an opportunity for discussion. Between the loud music and my inability to simultaneously converse and focus on the steps, it was a poor idea.

My eyes caught on a familiar head of red hair. Miss Apsley was dancing, and her partner happened to be the same man who had been there the day I visited Apsley Court.

And the lady appeared positively disgusted with her fortune.

I chuckled, sliding from my seat and swiftly moving past Sabrina to sit in the vacant chair next to Miss Scott. I angled my body toward her, our knees brushing. Improper, perhaps, but necessary. I would never hear her otherwise.

Miss Scott’s brows furrowed, but she made no attempt to move away from me even as I leaned closer. “Your cousin has yet to have a change of heart where the lieutenant is concerned.”

I nodded toward the dancefloor, and a short burst of laughter escaped Miss Scott. She covered her mouth with her hand, something I’d noticed she often did to temper her amusement.

“Oh, dear. That glare is nearly enough to set the poor man on fire,” said Miss Scott.

“Somehow, I think he might enjoy taunting her even as a pile of ashes.”

Miss Scott covered her mouth again, and my lips twitched.

“Indeed, he would.” She drew in a breath to regain her composure. “Annette has no wish to marry, so I imagine his persistence—regardless of his intent—frustrates her more than anything. It does not help that her brother has graciously sent her suitors all week.”

“Ah. I see how that might put her in a foul mood.”

“It is even worse than you can imagine. Annette cannot—” Her mouth snapped closed, and she studied me as if wondering whether I was worthy of her confidence. We had shared much conversation during our last meeting in Hyde. Two hours of sitting on the grass, asking one another personal questions, had quickly dismantled the wall between strangers.

I trusted her, and I wanted her to trust me as well. It was odd to feel so invested in earning Miss Scott’s respect, her confidence, when I so recently met her.

“Would you care to take a turn about the room with me?” I asked.

“You ought to put your attention on someone else. I have an entire list, if you will recall?” She pointed to a woman in a cream gown with golden hair. “That is Miss Morrison, the daughter of our host. She is a talented painter. And just there”—her finger aimed at the other side of the room—is Miss Angston. She is more proficient on the pianoforte than anyone I have heard. She is polite and well-connected. Her family is related to the Duke of Halford, though somewhat distantly. And Lady Evelyn is rather kind, albeit far more outspoken than Miss Rigby. She also has darker hair—”

I lifted a hand with a chuckle. “I will dance with as many as you suggest, time permitting, Miss Scott. Where shall I begin?”

She regaled me with more of each lady’s characteristics until the next set began. I danced first with Miss Angston, who seemed to grow agitated with my lack of skill, though she remained polite even after I had stepped on her toes. Lady Evelyn laughed when my boot snared the hem of her gown, not in a way to intentionally embarrass me, but the intensity of the sound drew eyes to us nonetheless. Following my dance with Miss Morrison, I escorted her to the refreshment tables only to spill ratafia on my waistcoat.

At least I had not tossed peas down anyone’s dress this time.

I slumped back into my seat next to Miss Scott after nodding in acknowledgment to the man sitting in the other chair next to her. Sabrina had finally taken the floor with a gentleman, leaving the spot vacant.

“How is your leg today, Miss Scott?” the man asked.

“Oh, it is no worse than usual. The pain comes and goes, as it always does.”

I tilted my head to listen in on their conversation better.

“Has it ailed you for a long time?” the man asked.

“Since I was quite young, yes. I was taken up with a fever for weeks at age five, and while I clearly recovered, the illness had a lingering effect on my leg. Doctors claim there is little to be done for it, and so, I manage as best I can.”

“Admirable, indeed, Miss Scott. Admirable, indeed.”

My stomach clenched with his praise. I agreed with the man; that she could face life with such enthusiasm despite her pain was something worthy of accolade. What was more, Miss Scott did not shy away from telling others about her difficulties. To me, that was more brave than anything. Still, I was not particularly fond of listening to this man’s compliments. His tone alone was enough to suggest his interest in her, though Miss Scott seemed oblivious to it herself.

“Oh, look, the set has finished,” she said. “Tell me, Mr. Willoughby, have you had the opportunity to dance with my cousin?”

The man hesitated, then smiled. “Not yet. Shall I see if her card is full?”

“I am certain she would welcome it,” answered Miss Scott.

He left us with a nod, his expression barely concealing his disappointment. As soon as he was out of earshot, Miss Scott turned toward me, a hungry eagerness in her eyes. “How did it go?”

I rubbed the back of my neck. “Somewhere between well and terrible.”

Miss Scott’s brows puckered, and her shoulders slumped. “Surely it did not all go poorly?”

“Only due to me being a buffoon. I stepped on toes more than once and added ratafia to my wardrobe.” I gestured to where a stain darkened my waistcoat.

Miss Scott covered her mouth, but I still heard the delightful sound of her chuckle and noted a smile peeking out beneath her gloves. Her reaction should have added to my embarrassment; instead, I regretted that she covered it so well.

“What of Miss Rigby?” she asked. “I admit, she is the one I was most excited for you to meet.”

“ I fear I failed to coax her into much conversation. I am not ready to give up, however. She is lovely and seems very amiable.”

The line between her brows deepened. “Lovely and amiable. Is that all?”

“Well…yes. Should there be something more? It was half an hour, Miss Scott. Hardly enough time to come to any sort of firm conclusion.”

“I suppose that is fair.” She sighed, her lips pursed in a way that drew my attention to them. “You will forgive me. Sometimes I get carried away with my romantic notions.”

“That is not such a bad thing for a matchmaker. A prerequisite for the job, I should think.”

My words brought out her smile again, this time exposed without her glove, and its appearance inflated a bubble in my chest.

“I’ve danced with the women on your list who are present,” I continued. “Might we take a turn about the room now? It is easier to discuss things when we are away from prying ears.”

She nodded and accepted my hand. I assisted her from the chair and guided her fingers to my arm. Once we were a safe distance from the crowd, I said, “So, you were hoping I would experience love at first sight?”

“It would have pleased me greatly, I’ll admit,” she said with a chuckle. “A storybook ending right before my eyes.”

“Hmm, not quite an ending, but a beginning, perhaps. Although, generally one does not find happiness at the beginning of a romance novel.”

“That is all true. Let us hope, then, there is still happiness to be found between you and a lady here.”

I smiled, but it felt forced, as if the idea of marrying any of those women did not hold the kind of hope or excitement it should. I would not let the uncertainty discourage me. When I came to know them better, the rest would fall into place.

“You will tell me more about Miss Rigby, will you not?” I asked. “Or at least the reason you believe we would make a good match.”

Miss Scott nodded. “Yes, but not tonight. I wanted to observe your interactions first. You have time yet to try another dance with her, and others, for that matter. Who knows, you may find someone without my help.”

“I highly doubt that, but if you believe I should dance, then I shall. I already know who I will ask next.”

“Oh?” One of her dark brows raised in question. She remained entirely oblivious to my intent until I steered her toward the line forming in the middle of the room.

Miss Scott’s feet came to an abrupt halt. “Oh, no, I cannot dance Mr. Montfert.”

“Neither can I. We will make a good pair.”

She shook her head. “Really, I cannot. I…” Her shoulders fell, and she studied me again. I would not prod her to confess anything she didn’t wish to, but my curiosity begged to understand.

“If you do not want to dance with me—”

“That is not it at all, I assure you.” She bit her lip and then pulled me toward the edge of the room away from the crowd. There was something in her avoidance of my gaze, a vulnerability I hadn’t seen from her. When she finally spoke, her voice became a hushed whisper, requiring me to lean close to hear over the music.

“It is my leg. I have found activities such as dancing are too much.”

“But not climbing trees,” I teased gently.

She shook her head, her cheeks tinting a rosy shade. “That is different. There have been a number of times at assemblies where my leg has given out on me in the middle of a dance. I think it is the movement. A slower dance I could handle, but certainly not a reel. As you know, a lady cannot turn down a gentleman for one dance only to take part in the next. It is simpler to refrain entirely. I try not to allow my disability to prevent me from participating in activities, but there are some things I simply must avoid. Dancing is one of them. Besides, I have no wish to cause a scene and spoil the fun for everyone else.”

“You’ve no need to feel embarrassed, Miss Scott.”

“It is not embarrassment—well, perhaps it is to an extent. The difficulty frustrates me more than anything. I hate having to admit that I cannot do something simply because my body prohibits it.”

I could believe that. In all the time I had spent with her, not once had she complained. Were it not for witnessing her limp, I might never have even suspected she struggled. But more than that, I found her frustration relatable.

“So,” she said, “please do not take my refusal to dance as a personal offense. Besides, you needn’t waste your time with me when you have a wife to find.”

“No time with you is a waste,” I replied before thinking better of it. Not that it wasn’t true. Simply that…well, the comment might be misconstrued as flirtation. I cleared my throat. “Regardless, I still wish to dance with you.”

“But I told you—”

“Would you like to dance? If I could promise it would not cause you pain, would you wish to?”

A slight smile lifted her lips, and she narrowed her eyes. “What are you scheming, Mr. Montfert?”

“Do you trust me?” I extended my hand to her.

Miss Scott’s dainty fingers fell into mine, and despite both of us wearing gloves, warmth spread over my hand and up my arm like fire flooding my veins. Miss Scott deserved to dance, and I would see to it that she did.