Page 19 of Matching Mr. Montfert (Apsley Family #2)

Chapter nineteen

Phillip

As expected, when I opened the door, I saw Miss Scott. I had watched her lithe form pass by the window, after all. What I did not expect was to find her drenched from top to bottom, the pale yellow umbrella she held doing little to protect her from the onslaught of rain dumping from the heavens. There wasn’t an inch of her not soaked. Even her brown hair clung to her face.

I grabbed her wrist and tugged her inside out of the weather. She sucked in a sharp breath, and her face contorted with pain. My gaze immediately fell to her feet, as if I would be able to see her leg despite her skirts. I could only assume that was the source of her pain.

“What were you thinking?” I blurted. “Coming out in the weather like this.”

She scowled at me, and I nearly laughed. I had never seen such an expression mare this woman’s face. Miss Scott rarely wore anything but a smile.

“What was I thinking? Y-you were the one who invited me here.”

“Yes, but I did not think you would walk in the rain. Why did you not take a carriage? I’m certain Apsley would not have minded.”

“Rus would have a-asked questions. He may be lax in a great many things, but even he would not approve of my coming to see you u-unchaperoned, and at your home, no less. At a minimum, he would have informed my guardian, and Rowe is f-far more of a prude when it comes to my reputation.” She paused, her teeth still chattering. “I do not f-fault him for it since I am his responsibility, but I do not wish to worry him.”

My mind was still stuck on one word: unchaperoned. Only now did it occur to me that we were utterly alone in the pantry. Miss Apsley usually tagged along with her, but I realized now it was not appropriate for either of them to come here. Why had I not considered that?

I ran a hand through my hair. “I should not have asked you to…forgive me.”

Miss Scott rolled her eyes. “It hardly matters. I came all this way. We might as well d-discuss things.”

“Very well, but not here. I informed the servants that I intended to spend much of the day in the library and did not wish to be disturbed. It will be safer there.”

Miss Scott placed her hands on her hips. “And h-how do you propose I get to the library without being seen?”

That much I had prepared for.

I retrieved a deep red hooded cloak from where it hung from a hook on the wall and offered it to her. “Take this. It is Sabrina’s. If anyone does see you, they will think you are her.”

She gave me a skeptical look. “No one in their right mind would ever mistake me for your cousin. Sabrina is quite possibly the most beautiful woman in London, and b-besides that, she does not possess a limp.”

My cousin was lovely, yes, but I would not go as far as to name her the most beautiful. In fact—

“Very well.” Miss Scott shuddered and slipped the cloak around her despite her argument. She must be freezing.

“Come,” I said softly, lifting the hood over her head. “Let’s get you to a fire.”

Her warm brown eyes stared up at me, hesitant and probing, but when I offered her my arm, she took it. Quietly, I led her from the pantry, narrowly avoiding the servants who bustled about the kitchens. We passed the study and followed the corridor to the library, our pace slow. Miss Scott’s hand tightened around me each time she placed pressure on her left leg. She was wet and in pain, and guilt ate at me for both.

I should never have asked her to come, and all to satisfy my concerns about Miss Rigby. I could have waited for advice—waited for the rain to stop and the ground to dry. If the woman caught a cold, it would be my fault.

We entered the library, and I closed the door before leading her toward the fire. Miss Scott removed her gloves and then the cloak. She laid them both across a chair before inching nearer the flames, her arms wrapped about her middle and her teeth chattering.

“Perhaps…perhaps I ought to find you something dry to wear,” I said, suspecting she would never agree to it.

Miss Scott faced me. “I-I’ll be fine.”

I debated calling for tea. A warm drink would help, but it would also risk someone learning of her presence. Still, I hated watching her shiver like this. Perhaps a blanket? But with extra fabric wrapped around her, it would take longer for her clothing to dry.

Lud. What else could I do?

A sudden desire to pull her into my arms accosted me, making my pulse frantic. I shook the idea away and kneeled next to the fire to stoke the flames. They didn’t need it, but better to stoke those than the ones burning within me.

Miss Scott patted the top of her head and winced. “My hair must look frightening.”

I sat back on my heels and stared up at her. Her hair was a bit of a disaster, but frightening was not the word I would have used. There was something alluring about the way the firelight reflected off of her damp strands and gave her skin an almost glow.

I turned my attention back to the fire. Silence settled around us, and I continued to poke at the flames without purpose, my thoughts a swirl of confusion and my chest tight with…

Well, I hadn’t any idea why it felt as though someone had filled me with bubbles that continued to expand. It was an odd sensation I had never experienced before meeting my matchmaker.

“Are you certain no one will find us in here?” she asked, her voice quiet.

“My uncle is out on business and will not return until evening. My mother is home, but she spends all of her time in her chamber or the drawing room on days like this, as does Sabrina.” I pointed to a darkened corner of the room with a wide sofa. “You may hide behind there should we be disturbed.”

She chuckled lightly. “If you think I can scurry that far before someone sees me, then you overestimate my fleeing skills. Especially at present.”

Her leg. She meant because of her leg.

“Is it bothering you terribly?” I gestured to her lower half.

“Unfortunately. I had thought to escape the house by climbing out the window so as to not be seen. I climbed down the trellis from the first floor but slipped on the wet Wisteria vines.” She smiled wryly. “In better weather, it would have been a solid plan.”

“I cannot believe you climbed out of a window for me. I must applaud your dedication, but may I ask that you not put yourself in danger again?”

“I will make no such promise, Mr. Montfert. I intend to help my client. If that requires climbing out of windows and scaling walls…” She shrugged, but her real smile appeared.

“I admire your bravery. I confess I would have hesitated to do either of those things.”

“Yet you would dance with me in a crowded ballroom in a way most would find embarrassing? I think that is far more brave, sir.”

Brave? No, I could not claim it. Not once when I danced with her had I thought of what others in the room might think. Certainly, I had known how foolish and silly the entire thing must have appeared, but I hadn’t cared. Dancing with Grace was the most enjoyable thing I had done since coming to London.

Miss Scott. Not Grace.

I stood and grabbed the nearest chair to drag toward the fire. Miss Scott sat down, offering me a polite ‘thank you’ before I grabbed a second one to join her.

“I must thank you for something else,” she said. The stutter in her voice had disappeared, at least.

“What might that be?”

“The flowers. They were lovely and so unexpected.”

I tilted my head. “We danced, Miss Scott. Is it not an expectation that ladies should receive a bouquet following a ball?”

“Of course, but I…that is, I did not know if our dance counted. It was rather unorthodox, was it not?”

“I can agree with that, but it was a dance, nonetheless. And perfectly deserving of flowers.”

“Well,” she said, the color in her cheeks heightened, “I thank you for them. They are likely the only ones I will receive this Season.”

My brows furrowed. “That is not true. Surely a suitor might send a lady flowers other than after he dances with her?”

“Yes, but you assume I will have any of those.” Her smile turned sad. “Given my difficulties with dancing and even walking at times, it is hard to imagine many men desiring to court me, a fact I have resigned myself to.” She shifted in the chair, turning to face me more fully, the sadness in her expression disappearing. “Which is why I am more than happy to help you find a match. If I cannot have my own, then what better to do than match others?”

Her enthusiasm should have reassured me. Instead, I frowned. How could this kind, vibrant woman give up on courtship so easily? Her leg had not stopped her from climbing out of a window , but she drew the line at expecting suitors? The idea perplexed me, but not as much as her belief no one would ever court her because of her malady. She was still beautiful. Still intelligent and—

“Have I said something to offend you?” she asked, her brows drawn tight.

“No.” I shook my head. “Not at all. I simply am not fond of the idea of you giving up on finding a match of your own. You deserve it as much as anyone.”

“Mmm, well, society does not take kindly to broken things.” She shrugged. “Especially ones that cannot be fixed. I have made peace with it and have a plan for my future. You needn’t pity me.” She sat up taller. “Now, enough about me. Your letter sounded urgent. Am I to understand you called on Miss Rigby?”

Miss Rigby. Yes, that was the reason I had requested Miss Scott to come in the first place. I had a plethora of questions to ask, a desperate need for advice. But I could not think of a single one, my mind too stuck on her self-proclaimed brokenness. Uncle had often placed the same label on me. As a child, I had even believed it.

But as I grew older, I realized that my worth was not directly tied to my physical struggles. The impairment challenged me, pushed me. It did not define me. What would Miss Scott think were I to confess my disability? Would she believe me incapable of finding a love match, just as she had deemed herself incapable?

I doubted it. She had, subconsciously, put that restriction upon herself as a form of protection from disappointment and ridicule, of that, I was sure.

I slid to the edge of my seat and reached for her hands. She gasped when I took them both in mine. Neither of us wore gloves. Her fingers were still cool but not as icy as they had been. I looked into her eyes, and my heart sped as I spoke with conviction. “You are not broken.”

“I have a limp—”

“Which does not make you broken. Different, perhaps, but are we all not a little different? How boring the world would be if we were all the same.”

“Having different opinions, likes and dislikes, is not the same as having a body that does not function properly,” she retorted.

I gave her hands a gentle squeeze. “True, but would you tell a blind man he knows nothing of beauty simply because he cannot see?”

“Of course not. Beauty is more than what our eyes can perceive. It can be heard. Felt.”

“Indeed. And would you tell a man who is deaf that he cannot appreciate laughter or music, birdsong or words, simply because he cannot hear them?”

She gave me an incredulous look. “I see where you are going with this.”

I grinned. “Then can we not assume a woman with difficulty walking or dancing might still enjoy and appreciate those things? In a different way than what is normal, perhaps, but appreciate them all the same. You are not broken because of your struggles, Miss Scott. Were that the case, we might all be considered such, for there are none of us born without imperfections. Some are just more difficult to perceive than others.”

Slowly, she shook her head, her eyes locked on our clasped hands. “Sometimes I feel as though I am the only one in the world with such imperfections.”

I released one of her hands and tucked my knuckles under her chin, lifting until she met my gaze. “I assure you that is not true.”

A small smile pulled at one side of her mouth. “And what of you, Phillip? What are your imperfections? I fail to see them.”

My heart pounded hard against my chest. Phillip. She had called me Phillip.

I brushed my thumb over her jaw, and her eyes fluttered closed. I wanted to tell her about my partial deafness. Wanted to explain she was not at all alone. But Uncle had made me swear to keep the problem to myself. Not even Sabrina was aware of it. Before now, I hadn’t desired for anyone but Uncle and Mother to know. After all, Grace was not wrong; Society had little patience for broken things, and while I refused to see myself that way, it did not mean others would not.

But Grace was not like the rest of society. She would understand. I wanted her to understand.

I opened my mouth, intent on telling her everything, but the door to the library swung open. Sabrina stepped inside, and her jaw dropped when her gaze landed on us.