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

Chapter two

Phillip

The view outside the carriage window held my attention hostage as if the world beyond were a stage upon which a story I had never heard continued to unfold. My nose nearly pressed against the glass as I struggled to take it all in, my curiosity and excitement unleashed from their childhood slumber. I had never been to London.

Well, I had never been anywhere, really. Perhaps that was why I had found the long journey from my uncle’s country estate in Berkshire so enjoyable. Not a minute lapsed when I did not see something new, whether it was the open landscape or the bustle of people in the many towns and villages we passed through. All of it drew my focus. I studied as much as I could, my mind in a constant state of analysis, committing every detail I could to memory.

A sharp pain ricocheted through my leg just above my knee, stealing my breath and making my muscles taut. I gritted my teeth and pulled away from the window. Uncle, who sat to my left, pierced me with a deep scowl as he tucked his pocket watch and the long, golden chain attached to it back into his coat. “Come away from the window and listen to me, boy.”

I swallowed, pressing my hand against my stinging skin. Victor Perry often used his pocket watch to gain my attention, never mind that I had asked to sit on his left side to avoid the problem of not hearing him. Sometimes I wondered if he thought he could whip the malady out of me or if he believed my deficiencies were a matter of choice.

Either way, the chain of the pocket watch certainly worked to get what he wanted—my undivided attention.

“I have expectations,” he began, sweeping a gloved hand through his dark hair. Gray peppered it now, somehow making him more intimidating than in my youth. “I did not bring you to Town to play .”

I might have scoffed at the ridiculous implication were I not certain doing so would result in another whack from the pocket watch. “Yes, Uncle.”

“And I expect you to act properly. Sensibly. You will not embarrass me.”

“Yes, Uncle,” I repeated, though I highly doubted I would succeed in that endeavor. Uncle was easily embarrassed. It was the reason he had kept me from Town all these years. Despite being his heir, I had rarely been introduced to any of his associates and accompanied him to parties or the like. He did not trust me not to humiliate him.

“Good.” The man brushed the dust off his fine-tailored coat, his crooked nose—the result of an altercation with my father years ago—wrinkled in disdain. “As you might have guessed, I have something else for you to accomplish this Season.”

“I must make a good impression on your associates,” I said before he could continue. “It is important I establish a relationship of trust and they believe I can step into your shoes.”

Shoes, in truth, I had no desire to wear. I had little choice in the matter, though. With nothing to my name, the only way to care for my mother was to do as Uncle asked. We needed this inheritance and the security it would provide.

“Do not put words in my mouth, boy,” Uncle replied sternly. “Of course, that is all a given. What else have I raised you for but to continue my legacy?” He harrumphed and looked away from me. “Though I am hardly convinced you deserve it. What with the state your father left the two of you in. Poor intellect runs in the blood. Fortunate I came out so well. Hopefully, you fare better than him.”

My jaw clenched.

Uncle had never hidden his animosity toward my father, his half-brother. I could barely remember the man, but even so, Mother had provided enough stories that I knew better than to believe Uncle’s opinions or take them as my own.

One thing I could not argue against, however, was Father’s poor decision-making when it came to our family estate, the one sitting in near-collapse at present. The walls, or what remained of them, and a small lot of land were all Mother and I had been willed after his death.

“What else would you have me accomplish?” I asked. The list was long enough now; I couldn’t think what he could possibly add.

Uncle settled back into his seat and studied me for a moment. “You will find a wife by the end of the Season.”

“What?” I sputtered. “What for?”

At this, Uncle chuckled slightly, though the humor dancing in his dark brown eyes was likely linked to his belief in my unintelligence rather than my shock. “What are wives for? Surely even you know what purpose they serve.”

“Allow me to be more specific, then,” I said, barely keeping the frustration from my tone. “Why do I need to find a wife so soon?”

“Simple. To ensure all I have built is not lost and further our connections.”

An heir then. The subject had been strictly forbidden my entire life, a sore spot Uncle kept hidden. He’d married twice now for the precise purpose of siring a son. Both times, he had failed. His first marriage had ended without a child. The second had given him my cousin, Sabrina. Despite the difficulty of conceiving any offspring, he showed her no more love than he did me. We were both pawns, she and I. Nothing more.

“I want to make sure my legacy continues properly. Any children you have will be raised the way I see fit. I cannot ensure that if you wait to have them.” Uncle withdrew a piece of folded foolscap from his pocket and shoved it toward me.

I opened it with furrowed brows and then glanced at him. “What is this?”

“I thought it quite obviously a list. Qualifications for your future bride.”

Qualifications? My eyes roamed over the page. Titled and well-connected were listed at the very top. Of course, Uncle would believe those most important. But the qualifications did not stop there, continuing to include everything from beauty to sophistication, grace, and musical talent. And everything in between.

“I am not certain such a woman exists,” I muttered. Though, truthfully, I wouldn’t rightly know. I did not spend enough time among Society to have observed the talents of women. Sabrina was certainly well-trained as a lady. I had watched Uncle drill his expectations into her for years. But even she did not possess all of these qualities.

“No woman is so perfect,” Uncle grumbled. “The list is a guideline. You will aim to find one who has as many as possible. Consider it a challenge.” He held up his finger. “With the exception of titled or well-connected. Those are non-negotiable. I shall accept one, but both would be preferable. Do you understand?”

I nodded, a swirl of anxiety knotting my stomach. I did not know the first thing about courtship. Pleasing Uncle might prove difficult, and I could not afford to ignite the man’s ire. He could disinherit me, and then I would be truly destitute. Fortunately, Sabrina and Mother were to join us in London in a week. At least I could gain insight from them this Season. Surely they could give me proper advice on wooing a woman?

And until they arrived, I would find the perfect candidate to satisfy Uncle’s expectations.

Lady Millicent Farnsbe had not spared me so much as one glance tonight, which meant being seated next to her at the dinner table, given her title, had been a scheme orchestrated by Uncle. He likely believed the woman would meet several qualifications on the list he’d given me four days ago. She certainly held a title and connections being the daughter of an earl.

But Uncle’s plan had one major flaw: Lady Millicent had been seated on my left side.

Not only that, but her voice carried a tone my ear simply could not decipher. Uncle’s tone was similar. Unless I faced him directly, thus allowing me to watch his lips move, or he was positioned on my right side, his words were a mottled murmur and near indistinguishable. I hadn’t any idea why some people were easier for me to understand, but it had been so my entire life and was something I had grown accustomed to. The solution was a simple one: always stand on the left side of those with whom I converse.

Except, when seated at a dinner party, I had little say in the matter. I would have a person on either side of me, no matter what.

“Phillip!” a voice hissed.

I turned sharply to my right, leaning forward slightly to see around Mrs. Wethers, the elderly spinster who was my actual dinner companion and who had not ceased talking since we sat down, to find Uncle glaring at me from farther down the table. At least at this distance, he could not whack me. His outburst caught the attention of two women opposite us, but they quickly lost interest when Uncle remained silent.

Once assured no one paid him any heed, he mouthed the words pay attention to her .

Of course, by her , he meant the earl’s daughter and not the woman rambling on about every animal she had seen at the menagerie. Never mind that it was considered rude to pull Lady Millicent’s attention from her companion or that I would prefer to discuss monkeys and the like rather than attempt to impress someone so intimidating.

I turned toward Lady Millicent with a deep breath, an apologetic smile already in place. “Forgive me, my lady. Did you say something?”

The woman faced me and glared. No, glared was not adequate for the fierce expression she wore. She had not said anything to me, which I knew, and I had a feeling the earl’s daughter was not accustomed to being interrupted.

Regardless, I could not explain the situation to her, which meant I needed a different excuse to placate her pride. “I hope you will forgive me. This is my first trip to London, and I am afraid it has left my mind somewhat overwhelmed. To be in such gracious company as you and your father…well, it leaves me befuddled and inattentive.”

Unfortunately, the explanation, while humble and partially true, did not erase her scowl. “One might question your place, Mr. Montfert, if you are so incapable of attentiveness or knowing which person at dinner is your companion. Town is not for everyone, and neither is the gracious company of the…ideal portion of society.”

“Ideal portion? Perhaps so. How does one decide where to draw those lines? We are all people, no different than a pile of steamed peas.” I nodded to the pile of green orbs on my plate. “They all look the same to me.”

Her frown deepened. “I should say one starts by casting those aside who would compare people to peas. But if you insist on such a ridiculous metaphor, not all peas are the same. Some get smashed and broken, a blemish on Society. Those are the first to go.”

I scooped up a spoonful and held it out in front of me. “And if none appear smashed or broken?”

She smiled, an evil sort of look hidden behind a set of perfectly straight teeth. “I suppose noting imperfections beyond the surface is a skill some of us are taught from birth.”

“You must be right.” I forced my smile to remain in place. Skill was not the word I would use for the self-importance she displayed, but what did I know? Either way, there were some imperfections even she could not see.

“Oh! Mr. Monfert, I must tell you of the strangest creature I saw. It had such unusual coloring—black, grey, and white. His eyes, though, looked as though he wore a mask like a bandit. Oddest little thing. Came right to the glass and startled me so!” Mrs. Wether’s threw out her hand in exaggeration to fully explain the situation and bumped mine.

The one holding a spoonful of peas.

The green orbs flew from my utensil. My eyes tracked them through the air and widened when they bounced off Lady Millicent’s neck and fell into…well, my eyes snapped away then.

Lady Millicent stood with a startled squeal. She fanned her bodice animatedly and seemed to march in place, screaming all the while as if an animal had been unleashed beneath her garments. I could hardly blame her. If something had rolled down my chest so unexpectedly, I might have done the same. The table erupted with chatter, and even Mrs. Wethers ceased talking until Lady Millicent calmed enough to allow her mother to escort her from the room to deal with the matter. Her glare once again rested on me the moment she returned, no doubt having discovered peas in her dress and not some ravaging beast, and my face heated.

Neither of us spoke another word to one another. An apology, I assumed, would not be accepted or wanted.

The remainder of the evening dragged on, and fortunately, I was not required to make much conversation over port, nor after with our early departure. Uncle and I expressed our gratitude for the invitation to the hostess and left the Earl of Branton’s townhome, stepping into the cool air.

I knew better than to trust Uncle’s silence as a representation of an evening well-spent. He would say nothing until we were tucked away in his carriage, away from prying ears. This was my third dinner party since we had arrived in London, and I had made no more headway tonight than I had at any of the others. In fact, I might claim to have lost more favor than I had won.

Uncle tapped his cane against the roof of the carriage, and the conveyance lurched forward. He glared at me from the opposite seat for a long minute, waves of shadows and light alternating over his deep scowl as we passed street lamps.

“Could you not engage the earl’s daughter through a single course without making a spectacle?” he growled. “I have never seen a lady more angry over dinner, and I assume you were the cause of her distress.”

There was no sense denying it. “Yes. Forgive me, Uncle.”

“Forgive you? No, one mistake given your inexperience is somewhat understandable, but you’ve done nothing but embarrass me the entire week. I tire of it. I will not have my heir, broken though he may be, leaving black marks on all I have striven to build. Do you have any idea of the work it has required?”

I did, for Uncle had bemoaned his struggles repeatedly for years. He had risen from the lowly son of a miller to a wealthy gentleman of means. It had taken more than a decade and proper connections through two advantageous marriages to reach his current position.

My gaze dropped to my hands. One thing I could not deny was Uncle’s determination. His ambition. He had brought himself out of poverty, a feat so few ever accomplished. He had even extended his success to include his half-brother a long time ago. That had been the beginning of the end of their relationship.

“I will do better,” I said softly. “I know how I have failed these past few days. Time will help me to adjust. Experience will give way to confidence. I—”

The carriage jolted to a stop. I peered out the window, recognizing the affluent thoroughfare of St. James Street, and my brows knit with confusion. “This is not our townhouse.”

Uncle scoffed. “How very astute of you, Phillip.”

I waited patiently for him to continue, but my silence only seemed to fan his ire.

“White’s,” Uncle stated, one pudgy finger pointed out the window to where night darkened the Palladian facade of one of London’s finest gentlemen's clubs. “It took some time, but I’ve secured your membership.”

“M-my membership?”

“Do not be daft, Phillip. How do you expect to be accepted by Society without making a show at the proper venues? Anyone of consequence is a member of White’s or Brook’s.” He straightened his coat. “On rare occasions, even both.”

“But I’ve no political preference.” A lie, but I happened to know my ideals did not always align with Uncle’s. Voicing those differences was not worth the consequences, however. I had no political ambitions and little desire to converse with those who did.

Uncle leaned forward, gripping his cane with both hands, his eyes stern. “Your preferences do not matter. At present, the men who I wish to establish business connections with are Tories. Therefore, so are you.”

The notion did not sit well with me, but I should not have been surprised by his demands. Everything was a game to Uncle—each move a crucial piece to his achieving his ultimate goal. His political loyalty swayed depending on whose good graces he needed to gain.

“Then I am a Tory,” I said, dejection lacing my tone.

Uncle leaned back into the seat, satisfied with my acceptance. “Good, because tonight, I expect you to make some progress. If you cannot earn a woman’s attention, perhaps you will fare better finding allies at the club.”

He gestured to the door, and my jaw dropped. “You mean… now ?”

“Now, Phillip. And do not come home until you’ve found some success.”

“I’m to go on my own?” My throat constricted, and I swallowed hard. “But I hardly know anyone in London. How am I to—”

“Out, Phillip. Prove to me you are not worthless and I did not make a mistake in naming you my heir.” One of his graying brows rose. “It is not too late for me to change my will.”

A threat I had heard countless times before, though that made it no less daunting. There was nothing empty about it. If I did not come up to scratch, he would disinherit me without remorse.

I climbed clumsily out of the carriage, my heart pounding. I had never cared for socializing, but to do so by walking into a place I’d never been and surrounding myself with people I had never met…I might lose all six courses I’d consumed at dinner.

“And do not forget,” he said in his cutting tone, “no one is to know about your problem .”

The carriage door slammed closed, and without so much as another glance from Uncle, it rolled forward, leaving me alone on the cobblestone street. Leaving me and my problem to face London’s elites on my own.