Page 15 of Matching Mr. Montfert (Apsley Family #2)

Chapter fifteen

Phillip

This was an utter disaster. I raked a hand through my hair, staring at the rows of hothouse flowers with pure trepidation. In all the books I had read, not once did I think it prudent to memorize the meaning of flowers to know what sort of message they might convey. The last thing I needed to do was insult a potential bride before I even had the chance to call on her.

I reached for a deep crimson rose, but Apsley whacked my hand away. “I do not recommend that one.”

“Why not?”

“Because it is crimson, for starters.”

I pursed my lips. “And that means what, precisely?”

“Mourning.”

Oh. No, that would not do.

“And,” Apsley continued, “a Provence rose is generally taken to mean your heart is in flames.” He paused for a moment, a smirk filling his lips. “Is your heart in flames? Have you fallen madly in love with someone and being apart for any amount of time is agonizing? I suppose a crimson Provence would work nicely if that is the case.”

Heat crept up the back of my neck. I was not madly in love with anyone. At least…not yet. I could admit I found Miss Rigby attractive. Whether or not I could develop deeper feelings for her remained to be seen. I would need more time with her to determine that, which started with calling on her.

I shivered at the mere idea, and it was not the good sort of shiver. No doubt I would make a complete fool of myself. Our conversations at last night’s ball had been mostly strained and awkward. The dancing had not been much better.

“What about this one?” I asked, pointing to a rose of a true red hue.

“Unless you are declaring your intent to propose, I would dissuade you. Passionate love may be a bit strong.”

Indeed.

“And this one?” I asked, pointing to another.

“A lady would likely take that to mean beauty.” Apsley rubbed his chin. “Not a bad choice. Every woman likes to be complimented on her appearance.”

“That will do. What else should I add to the bouquet?”

Apsley spent the next quarter hour assisting and teaching me. I had danced with six women at the ball, and as tradition dictated, I would send them each a bouquet. Miss Rigby’s, though, made me the most nervous. I needed to pick her flowers carefully so as to not send the wrong message.

“This is overwhelming,” I muttered. “How does one not say the wrong thing? Why can a flower not simply mean I enjoyed dancing with you?”

Apsley’s cheeks turned a slight pink as he rubbed the back of his neck. “To be honest, most women will not understand the message. And most gentlemen do not consider the meaning of flowers. I may have gotten carried away in my advice.”

My shoulders slumped. “I cannot decide whether to be relieved or irritated.”

“Perhaps you should just choose the ones you think Miss Rigby will enjoy?”

That was not any easier. I hadn’t any idea what Miss Rigby would enjoy when it came to flowers, or anything else, for that matter. She did not open up to me enough to obtain such knowledge.

“If most gentlemen do not concern themselves with it, then how do you know so much about flowers and their meanings?” I asked as we continued down the row. The stuffy hothouse air made my breathing more labored than it ought to have been, and sweat tickled my forehead. I was ready to get out of here.

My friend teased the petals of the violets he held. One dance was all he had participated in last night. “I picked up the knowledge in France while touring the continent.”

“You toured the continent despite the war?”

Apsley shook his head. “Not till after Bonaparte surrendered. I spent a few months there.”

“Learning about flowers?” I lifted a brow in question. Why did it feel as though there was much my friend did not say?

Apsley cleared his throat, playing with the petals of a daisy with more force. The result left several petals fluttering to the floor. “It is something I simply picked up.”

Clearly, he had no intention of elaborating, so I turned my attention back to my task. With less consideration, five of the bouquets came together quickly until one remained. I turned to Apsley. “What sort of flowers does your cousin like?”

His brows furrowed. “What?”

“Your cousin, Miss Scott. Does she have a preference for flowers?”

Apsley’s face scrunched. “How should I know what sort of flowers she prefers?”

“She is living in your townhouse,” I answered with exasperation. “Surely you know something of her likes and dislikes?” I did not expect him to know everything about her, but how could he not know at least a little? After all, I knew something of Sabrina’s habits and interests.

“You’ve given me far too much observational credit. I could not even tell you what my sister likes, and I live with her all year.” Apsley sighed. “Just pick something, will you? We were meant to go to Angelo’s an hour ago. I am growing bored. And it smells too floral in here.”

“I cannot go to Angelo’s today. I have to meet with my uncle and then call on Miss Rigby this afternoon.” The statement tightened my chest with nerves. I was not ready for this. Perhaps I needed a round of practice. Would Miss Scott assist me if I asked her?

“You dragged me here without the promise of a reward?” Apsley scoffed, his expression one of severe disappointment. “What am I to do the rest of the day, then?”

I shrugged. “You could make calls with me, I suppose.”

“Not a chance. I shan’t do anything to make any woman believe I have a particular interest in her. Nor would I want my mother to make assumptions. Calling on ladies is risky business.”

“Then I’m afraid you’ll have to entertain yourself by other means. My uncle wishes to meet with me once I return home, and my afternoon is engaged. If I am to make any headway toward finding a wife, calls must be made.”

“Yes, yes, I quite understand.” Apsley gave me a dismissive wave. “The sooner you finish with this marriage business, the better.”

Did he mean we would remain friends? I hadn’t considered it before, but the idea brought out my smile. Apsley and I were very different, but I enjoyed his company, and it was nice to know our acquaintanceship would not end once I had wed. Uncle would certainly be pleased.

I paid for the flowers and left instructions for their delivery. Apsley and I parted ways, though where he was off to, I didn’t know. Once I arrived home, our butler informed me my uncle was waiting in his study, and I trudged up the stairs with heavy feet. Every time we met, it felt like impending doom.

And with good reason. He had yet to tell me if I had balanced the ledgers properly, and every day that passed without his approval set me on edge.

“Enter!” he shouted after I had knocked.

I did as instructed, finding him stuffing a red, leather-bound book into his desk drawer—the ledger I was currently not allowed to look at. Once I had closed the door, he gestured for me to take my usual seat in the chair opposite his desk.

“Well?” he asked. “How did the ball go? You said you intended to find out more about several ladies. Were you successful?”

“I believe so…to an extent.”

Uncle's eyes narrowed. “Pray tell, what does that mean?”

I had prepared for this moment. After the ball, I made a list of the women I danced with to present to Uncle, knowing he would ask for the information. A list I hadn’t excluded anyone from.

My heart pounded as I retrieved the paper from my pocket and handed it to him. What I had done was a risk, I knew, but I had not been capable of talking myself out of it. I had to know if there was even a slight chance… “The women I’m considering.”

Uncle unfolded it with haste, his eyes devouring it like ravenous flames. At first, he nodded, seeming pleased with the names presented…until he reached the bottom. His face twisted into a fierce scowl, and he pointed a chubby finger at the paper. “Miss Grace Scott? What is she doing on the list?”

My stomach lurched. “I met her recently, and she seems very amiable. She is Apsley’s cousin. I thought, perhaps, with her connections to the viscount—”

“The devil with her connections!” Uncle grabbed for his quill and inkwell. He dipped the tip and aggressively slashed the paper, splattering a thick line of dark ink across it. “She is not eligible as a candidate. I want nothing to do with her family.”

“But you said my friendship with Apsley—”

“That is entirely different.” Uncle pointed at me, his brows drawn. “The other Scott women ruined Sabrina’s chance of marrying an earl. You will have nothing to do with either of them. Apsley is one thing. His father is wealthy beyond compare, and an allegiance with him would be lucrative. This Grace Scott”—he spat her name with such disdain that my fists clenched— “is worthless. Not enough connection. Not enough dowry. Even if she possessed those things, I would never approve. Tactless family. I will not align myself with someone who brought such humiliation upon me.”

I fought the urge to argue. If Miss Scott and her sister were responsible for any embarrassment, it had not come by their own hands. Uncle’s forceful ways and insensible expectations were always the culprits to his damaged pride.

Regardless, it would do me no good to speak the truth.

“Very well,” I said, feeling as if a hole had opened up inside me. “I have found Miss Rigby the most agreeable of those who remain on the list. She comes from wealth. She is very quiet, but graceful and eloquent. I intend to call on her soon and hopefully learn whether she meets more of your…suggestions.”

He nodded, his expression void of the anger that had been there moments before, and I shifted in my seat. I was not used to having his approval, and rather than put me at ease, it felt wrong.

“The Rigby’s are a good family. No ties to the aristocracy, but doing business with Mr. Rigby could greatly benefit us. He is in textiles, you know. Great investments in textiles.”

“So you would approve of a match with her, then?”

Uncle leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest. “I will do some digging of my own. For now, you may call on her but do not act too hastily before we speak on the matter again. You are dismissed.”

“Thank you, Uncle.” Though what precisely I was thanking him for, I wasn’t sure. I had gained permission to pursue Miss Rigby, albeit slowly for now, but such permission elicited no excitement from me. I could only pray my feelings changed as I came to know her better.

“Boy.”

I stopped at the door, holding it partially ajar. “Yes, Uncle?”

“You balanced the ledgers perfectly.” His tone was even, his expression blank. I had never expected him to take pride in my work and success, but it hurt all the same. How could I be so torn, disliking his approval one minute and yearning for it the next? I felt like a wayward boat, tossed about by the sea with no sense of direction.

I waited a moment for him to say more, but when he offered nothing, I gave a quick nod and left the study.