Page 18 of Matching Mr. Montfert (Apsley Family #2)

Chapter eighteen

Phillip

Days of nonstop rain had not improved my mood. I had not been able to meet with my matchmaker, and the longer I went without speaking to her, the more antsy I became. Worse, I was left with little to do but ponder on what I had learned of Uncle.

Sabrina had promised details but hadn’t spoken of the matter again. How long would it take for her to find the evidence she needed?

I ran a hand through my hair and glared out the window of the drawing room at the street below. Rain pounded against the pavement, and the onslaught filled the streets with broad rivulets that sloshed beneath carriage wheels and hooves. Hyde was likely a mess of mud and water. No one in their right mind would venture there in these conditions.

I had sent another note for Miss Scott early this morning, canceling our meeting yet again. But now, I wondered if a better course might be to alter the meeting location. She had insisted upon discretion, which meant being seen together too frequently in public was out of the question. Where, then, could we spend time together in privacy?

“If you scowl like that for much longer, you will have a permanent frown,” said Mother. She sat across the room, stitching flowers onto a piece of white linen.

“I miss the sun. I cannot ask a lady to go out in this sort of weather.”

Mother met my gaze, her expression blank. Still, her eyes were studious. She had always possessed a quiet pensiveness and the ability to see through me. I both admired and hated it.

“You’ve been making quite a few calls as of late.”

She was not wrong on that front, though I had failed to mention those calls were all to the same woman. I had always believed that, when I decided to court someone, I would be excited to inform Mother. I held no such enthusiasm about mentioning Miss Rigby. In the three times I had visited her at home, my feelings and comfort around her had not progressed. It was too soon to give up, but my hope waned.

I heaved a sigh and crossed the room to take a seat next to Mother. “I have been making calls to one lady in particular.”

“Oh?” She smiled slightly, still studying me.

“Yes, but it seems no matter how often I visit her, there is no…” I bit my lip, searching for the right words. Miss Rigby was perfectly acceptable in every way. I could find no fault with her beyond my lack of desire to spend time in her company. Why could my heart not cooperate on the matter? This would prove much easier if I simply fell madly in love with the woman.

“No spark?” Mother finished before I could determine what to say.

My shoulders fell. “She is everything a young lady of sophistication should be.”

“But you feel nothing for her.” Mother’s smile grew. “There are many women in London who are ideal, Phillip. That does not mean they would all make a good match for you .”

“I suppose not.”

Her smile faded. “Your uncle puts too much pressure on you, but you remember what I told you, do you not?”

I reached for her hand. “To make sure my heart is taken into consideration.”

She nodded. “I want you to be happy, darling. Your father and I loved one another very much. He would have wanted the same for you, as do I. If this lady you’ve been to see does not excite you, fill you with hope for the future, then I cannot imagine she is the right choice. Do not make the decision solely based on the things your uncle wants.”

“You know his opinion matters a great deal for everyone’s future. Mine, my wife and children, and yours. There is much to consider.”

She patted my hand. “There always is when it comes to matters of the heart.”

Matters of the heart? Perhaps that was entirely the problem. My heart did not feel engaged in Miss Rigby whatsoever. Even with Uncle’s approval, I hadn’t felt motivated to move forward.

“Then I hope you will excuse me for scowling out the window until I figure it out,” I said teasingly. “It seems my face cannot help but reflect the condition of my thoughts.”

She chuckled lightly, and we enjoyed one another’s company in silence for a time—she pursuing her needlework and I lost to my thoughts. Musing over my predicament was getting me nowhere on my own. I needed the sun. I needed Miss Scott.

An hour later, Uncle entered the drawing room dressed in a dark red waistcoat and heavy brown overcoat. His beaver hat sat askew on his head, and the chain of his gold pocket watch dangled from his fingers. Mother and I stood in acknowledgment, as was expected of us.

“What are your plans for today?” he asked in his customary sharp tone. The question was directed at me. He rarely acknowledged my mother, let alone spoke to her.

“I haven’t any plans for today,” I said.

Uncle sneered. “Best be wooing that lady, boy. I do not want to see you idle until the deal is done.”

The deal. What a brilliant way to look at marriage. I tempered my irritation so the sarcasm would not come out in my tone. “I called on her yesterday. Once the weather clears, I plan to ask her to go riding if that suits?”

Uncle grunted, his gaze darting to the window and back. “I suppose that will do, but I expect you to make good use of your time. Not sit around. I have business to attend to and will not return until supper. I’ve left a ledger on my desk for you to balance. See to it today.”

“Yes, Uncle.”

With another grunt, he was off. Mother reclaimed her seat, and I was sorely tempted to join her. I should take care of the ledger and be done with it, but I stood, rooted in place. I couldn’t focus on numbers just now. What good would it do me to ask Miss Rigby to ride when the sun returned? I’d hoped being out of doors and not having the constant glare of her mother might ease the awkwardness between us, but now, I wasn’t so sure.

I desperately needed advice. I needed my matchmaker. If we could not meet in Hyde, then perhaps someplace with a sturdy roof to keep out the rain would do. Given Uncle would be gone the remainder of the day and Mother and Sabrina rarely ventured beyond their bedchambers or the drawing room, I had an idea of just such a place that could afford us both protection from the weather and the privacy we required.

Indeed, it was time to send Miss Scott another note.

Grace

I knocked impatiently on Annette’s door. After receiving one note from Phillip stating we would not meet due to the weather, delivered to me over breakfast by Rus, I had intended to spend the day reading. No sooner than I had picked out a book in the library and curled up next to the hearth, Rus had found me again to deliver a second note. My cousin hadn’t asked what either of them contained, but he did make his deliveries with a raised brow and incorrigible smirk.

I could not blame him for teasing me, I supposed. Generally, women and men did not exchange letters like this unless it was with a relative or lover. My client was neither, which Rus knew, but he’d never been one to turn down an opportunity to make a nuisance of himself.

Once he had gone from the library, I’d swiftly opened the note to find Mr. Montfert had changed his mind. He wanted to meet today, despite the rain, and the location request set my heart pounding. An unmarried woman did not go visiting a bachelor at his residence. It simply wasn’t done.

Then again, neither was exchanging notes. I had dismissed that impropriety due to the nature of our relationship, but meeting at his home? That seemed to cross a new line.

Yet, the thought filled me with eagerness and excitement. Mr. Montfert had sounded desperate in his letter—almost pleading. How could I deny my client when he needed me most? This arrangement had to go well if I ever wished to have the financial freedom I sought.

I knocked again on Annette’s door, bouncing on my toes. Finally, the door swung open to reveal her still in a dressing gown and rubbing her eyes. “For heaven’s sake, Grace. What is so urgent?”

“I am to meet with Mr. Montfert today. I need you to ready yourself.”

Annette yawned. “I cannot go with you today. Besides, the weather is far too miserable.”

“Why can you not go with me?” I asked, ignoring the latter half. If she was not to accompany me, then perhaps it would be best to keep the location of this meeting to myself. My aunt, uncle, and guardian would not approve, and despite Annette’s rebellious nature, I suspected she might not either.

“Hmm? Oh, Lieutenant Paget has invited me to the museum at noon. Mother is going to escort me.” She grimaced. “Forgive me for not extending the invitation to you, but I knew there was a chance you would have a meeting with your client. Can Rus go with you today? I know he is terribly obnoxious, but—”

“It is quite alright,” I said, holding up a hand to stop her. “I’ll take my lady’s maid with me. Forgive me for waking you.”

She shook her head. “It is time I ready myself, but are you certain you wish to go out in this?” She gestured behind her to what I assumed was the window where water droplets beat against the glass.

“I am sure. We’ve arranged to meet somewhere dry. But never mind that. You do not sound very vexed about an outing with Lieutenant Paget.” I raised a brow in question, and Annette shifted on her feet.

“There are worse suitors,” she said, though nothing in her expression made the statement believable. She must have sensed my incredulity, for she continued. “The lieutenant and I have called a truce.”

“A truce?” I repeated. That seemed rather unlikely. “When did this happen?”

“When we went riding. He does have some redeemable qualities.” She sounded as if she were trying to convince herself more than me.

“That is good, is it not?”

Annette forced a smile. “Of course. I look forward to discovering more of his…redeemable qualities. Today. While at the museum.”

I wished her patience rather than luck, sensing she would need it, and left her to get ready for the day. Lying had never been a talent of mine, but I had no intention of taking my maid with me. That would mean informing someone else of my meetings with Mr. Montfert. It was bad enough that Rus and Annette were aware, though I knew I could trust them. Still, I would not increase the risk of my guardian discovering my scheme.

Nor would I risk him learning of what I was about to do.

I dressed in a warm pelisse and topped my head with a bonnet. Rain pounded against the roof of the townhouse, so I grabbed an umbrella to keep me dry on my journey to the address Mr. Montfert put in his note. The challenge did not lay in facing the weather, however. I needed to get out of the house without anyone becoming aware of my departure.

Too many servants bustled about the ground floor to make a stealthy escape possible. Instead, I entered one of the guest bedchambers and closed the door behind me. The room was not used often, therefore reducing the chance someone might catch me. It was also located on the first floor rather than the second, like my own chamber. If I was going to scale the wall, one less story was preferable.

Besides, I happened to know this particular room had a trellis of Wisteria just outside the window. I had admired the vines from the back gardens more than once.

I slid open the window and peered down at the muddy puddles forming around the shrubbery below. My stomach knotted. It was higher than I had recalled, but I would manage. One leg went over the window sill, then the other, my boots digging into the thick vines until I found a foothold in the wooden trellis. Climbing with the umbrella would be a task, so I dropped it into the bush directly below, and it disappeared into the foliage.

Now to climb.

My first step was shaky. Rain continued to pour from the darkened clouds above, soaking my bonnet and coat before I had made it halfway to the bottom. Finding the trellis between the vines proved a challenge, and what was more, the vines themselves were slick with water.

With a few feet left, my boots slipped, and I struggled to regain my footing. My fingers gripped the trellis, and I fought to hold my weight. I considered screaming for help as my body dangled against the facade of the house. I could give up, but to do so would be as good as a confession. What would Rowe do if he found out what I was up to? Put an end to my Season?

Before I could decide what to do, my fingers lost their hold, and I fell.

I hadn’t been far from the bottom. Four—perhaps five—feet at most. But I landed hard on my weak leg and collapsed to the ground with a cry of pain. Gripping the limb, I stared up at the house, waiting. Watching. Someone might have heard, but with the pounding of the rain on the roof and walls, I doubted it.

I pushed myself from the ground, slowly, my jaw clenched with the pain that ricocheted up my leg. Once I had retrieved my umbrella from the bush, I limped around the side of the house, careful to avoid the windows.

Walking the streets was more difficult. I attempted to ease my pain with a slow pace. I was fortunate that Mr. Montfert’s townhouse was not more than three streets away. I didn’t know the time, but my limp would likely make me late. What would I do if he wasn’t waiting for me?

I pushed the worry aside. Mr. Montfert had said he would meet me at the servants' entry on the north side of the house. He would be there. After all the trouble I’d gone through, he had better be.

The wind picked up, sending an icy chill through my body and causing rain to pelt me from behind. Water soaked the hem of my dress, and whatever warmth I might have gained from my pelisse was diminished by the dampness of the soaked fabric.

I arrived at Phillip’s home and allowed myself not more than a moment to admire the white Grecian columns framing the door and the red brick wall that was painted with water. After looking up and down the street to ensure I wouldn’t be noticed, I slipped through the gate and around the side of the house until I came to a door.

And then I stared at it.

What was I to do, knock? Mr. Montfert had failed to include instructions for after my arrival. What if I tapped on the door and a servant answered? My presence here would be difficult to explain, especially given my drenched state. Despite the umbrella, I looked worse than a long-haired dog after a swim.

Perhaps that was a bit dramatic, but I certainly felt ridiculous. And cold.

I shuddered, taking a step closer to the door, and lifted my hand. It swung inward before my fist ever made contact, revealing a head of familiar brown hair and blue-grey eyes.