Page 25 of Matching Mr. Montfert (Apsley Family #2)

Chapter twenty-five

Phillip

Every time I saw Sabrina after our discussion in the library, my chest tightened with a strange mixture of trepidation and anticipation. I had no doubt she would do as she said and search the study. Not knowing when she would take up the endeavor was nearly as tortuous as seeing Grace. Despite what I had told myself, some part of me hoped my cousin succeeded in finding her evidence, even if doing so put my financial security at risk.

Because it also meant I would be free to marry whomever I wished. It certainly would not be Miss Rigby, nor many of the women I had made an acquaintance with over the last two months. Only one of them stood out in my mind. Only one left me longing for her when we were apart.

But such thoughts were dangerous. Not only would exposing my uncle as a fraud have ramifications on the family’s reputation, including myself, but there would likely be recompense to pay. Without knowing how much of our income was the result of unscrupulous business practices, I hadn’t any idea what the courts would require from us in terms of restitution. A scary prospect, indeed.

I passed Sabrina on my way out of the townhouse. Her eyes sparkled with a knowing gleam, as if she could sense my uneasiness about her plans. Today, I could let my worries rest for a time. Uncle had declared he intended to use the study for most of the day, which meant Sabrina could not do anything brash.

Still, my mind wandered to that blasted ledger, even through my fencing practice with Apsley. My friend watched me remove my coat with a smug grin, having taken a victory without much of a fight on my part.

“You are more distracted than usual,” he said as we sat down.

“I hide it well, I see.”

“You hide nothing, my friend.” Apsley leaned back, resting against the wall. “Tell me what it is. Courtship troubles? Or is there something more pressing on your mind?”

How much should I tell him? Apsley had become a good friend these past few weeks. We spent a great deal of time together, and while he liked to jest and tease, I trusted him.

“Some of it is courtship troubles,” I said. “My uncle has approved of me calling on Harriet Rigby. She comes from wealth and has no blemish to her name. Uncle has even invited her father to an upcoming investment meeting with the hope that it will garner his approval of my suit.”

Apsley nodded, seemingly impressed. “That all sounds like good news. Forgive me for failing to understand your dejection.” He turned away from me, his gaze focused on the empty room. “Unless, of course, the struggle is that you have an interest in someone besides Miss Rigby. Someone, say, you do not believe your uncle would approve of?”

How had he guessed so easily?

He faced me again, and my gaping must have been evidence enough of my question, for Apsley chuckled. “I may not be a romantic, Montfert, but I am not blind. The time you called on Grace, and how you speak of her when we come here, has provided more than enough proof of your developing affections.”

I swallowed, heat rushing up my neck and into my ears. “I did not realize I was so obvious.”

Apsley shrugged, but his smirk remained in place. “Perhaps not to everyone. It helps that Grace looks at you with the same sort of besotted interest.”

“She looks besotted?” I shook my head, quelling the ridiculous hope blooming in my chest. “It hardly matters. Uncle made it clear I was to marry someone with either title or connection. Or both. I care for your cousin, but he has made his disapproval clear. He will not waver in his expectations.”

“Expectations are the bane of our existence.” Apsley sighed, and I suspected the statement burdened him more than he let on. His chapfallen expression disappeared quickly, however. “So, you do not intend to marry her anyway? Proclaim love more important than money, as any hero of a romance novel would?”

That brought out my laugh, something I had sorely needed. “No, I’ve no intention of doing something so grand. I am not the hero.”

Apsley pouted. Genuinely pouted. “Whyever not? If anyone were to appreciate a gesture so disgustingly romantic, it would be Gracie.”

“Appreciate?” I lifted a brow. “Perhaps the sentiment, but I can scarcely believe any woman would appreciate a life of financial destitution, which is what my future would entail were I to marry her. My uncle’s threats are not given without intent. He could disinherit me in a heartbeat, cut me off with nothing to my name. I cannot, in good conscience, ask Grace to live that way. Nor my mother. I can think of nothing more dishonorable.”

My words sobered him, and this time when he sighed, it was rather heavy and sympathetic. “I do not envy your position. Perhaps tonight will afford you more clarity. You still plan to attend Lady Davenport’s dinner party, do you not?”

“I do. I thank you for securing the invitation. Any chance I have to further my acquaintance with Miss Rigby is helpful.”

True to his words when we first met, Russell Apsley had ensured I received a number of invitations this Season, but this one was the most beneficial. I had not seen Miss Rigby at any social event since the ball, and certainly not in Uncle’s presence. He would watch both of us tonight, undoubtedly.

“Your optimism is commendable,” said Apsley, “but I would like to remind you that, while I will not be in attendance, my cousin will.”

Grace would be there. I had not thought of that.

I put on a disingenuous smile. “Wonderful. My matchmaker can assist me in wooing Miss Rigby.”

Rus’s auburn brows lifted high on his head. “Very well, but do not hurt her, Montfert. If you have not done so already, be certain she knows there can be nothing between you.” The warning in his tone was clear. Rus was not her guardian, but he cared for her as he did his sisters.

With a protectiveness generally shadowed by his determination to annoy them at whatever cost.

“Hurting her is the last thing I want,” I said. “But she is well aware of my Uncle’s requirements.”

Apsley nodded. “I wish there was more I could do to help.”

“I appreciate that, but I will manage.” Or so I told myself repeatedly even after leaving Angelo’s to return home. Marrying Miss Rigby was a simple solution. It would satisfy Uncle and, hopefully, secure my future. What it would not secure was my happiness. Perhaps the two of us could come to an understanding and have a life of contentment, but such a prospect paled in comparison to the scenarios my mind concocted were I to marry someone else.

Were I to spend a lifetime with Grace.

I suspected nothing would ever cure me of being drawn to Grace Scott. My days would be spent thinking about her, missing her. Once I proposed, I would have no reason to ever see her again, no need for a matchmaker or the pleasure of her company. Perhaps that was for the best given the way my heart reacted at the mere sight of her.

How would I ever move past the resentment of marrying another?

The thoughts weighed on me even as I entered my townhouse, distracting me enough that I nearly collided with Mrs. Ellis. Today she must have remembered her husband’s passing. She had donned black.

The elderly woman glanced up at me with a wrinkled smile, and I bowed in greeting.

“How are you today, Mrs. Ellis?”

“Well, I thank you,” she replied in that shaky voice of hers. “Forgive me for my quick escape. I’ve just met with Mr. Perry, but I must be off. I’m to take tea with Lady Hartley.”

I highly doubted any escape of hers could be classified as quick given her advanced age, but I shifted out of her path and bid her farewell. What business Uncle could have with the woman was beyond me. I had seen nothing in the ledgers I looked over. Was it possible their business rested within the red ledger?

The notion tightened a knot in my stomach, though I could not pinpoint precisely why. The feeling stuck with me the remainder of the afternoon, and finally dissipated as I readied for the Davenport’s dinner party.

Both Miss Rigby and her parents would be in attendance tonight. This was an opportunity to gain some favor before the meeting in a few days. The pressure filled me with nerves, and I gave the list of questions Grace and I had created a glance over before making my way downstairs to the foyer. I had asked Miss Rigby the majority of them, and it seemed a waste not to finish.

Uncle and Sabrina joined me, but we had scarcely made it out the door before Sabrina complained of a headache. She put on a dramatic show, pressing her hand to her head. “I feel a trifle faint. Perhaps I ought to stay home tonight. Spend the evening resting.”

I narrowed my eyes. She would not be resting, of that, I was certain.

“You staying behind is not the worst idea,” said Uncle gruffly. “I do not need your stained reputation causing problems for me tonight.”

The rumors surrounding her and the ducal family had not diminished as she had hoped. Worse, Uncle had caught wind of them and made his embarrassment from the matter no secret. Never mind that he was the one who had pushed her to behave in a way to have created such rumors in the first place.

Sabrina smiled but could not hide the fire in her dark eyes. “Enjoy yourselves, then.”

Once she had returned indoors, Uncle and I entered the carriage and made the short journey to the Davenport’s townhouse. I looked up at the white facade, counting the windows and taking a slow breath to calm myself.

It did little good.

My heart beat a quick rhythm as the butler welcomed us inside and took our hats and coats. We were led into a spacious drawing room with earthy pink wallpaper and deep red furniture. A single, candle-lit chandelier afforded the space light, in addition to what came through the two bay windows on the west wall. Lady Paxton and Rowe Apsley stood in front of the closest, but beyond them, Grace and Miss Rigby conversed.

Well, Grace conversed. Miss Rigby merely smiled, her lips still while Grace waved her hands in animated gestures. I wondered what sort of story she was telling the woman, though it was clearly a delightful tale with the way the light from the setting sun twinkled in her eyes.

I greeted the host and hostess, then made my excuses to join the two women. Miss Rigby smiled softly when her gaze met mine, but Grace’s lips pulled wide. My heart reacted as expected to such a warm greeting, and I required a moment to temper its erratic beat.

“Good evening, Miss Rigby, Miss Scott. I hope you are well.”

“Yes, thank you,” said Miss Rigby, dropping her gaze.

Grace frowned. “We are both well. How are you, Mr. Montfert? Miss Rigby was just telling me the two of you took a ride earlier this week. It is nice to finally have some warm weather, is it not?”

“Indeed.” I clasped my hands behind my back. “I hope next week proves equally warm. I would fancy another ride or two in Hyde if Miss Rigby is amiable.”

The woman looked up at me. Her lips parted, but she hesitated to respond. Blast. It was one thing to pursue a courtship with the notion of a mutually beneficial marriage in mind, but I had no desire to force my attention upon her. I had hoped after spending time together she would feel comfortable with me. Comfortable enough not to hesitate.

My stomach pinched. I had asked Miss Rigby a great many questions, but not once had I asked for her opinion of marriage. Not once had I asked if she would welcome a suit from me. What if her heart belonged to another? The entire idea made me queasy. Why had I not considered the possibility before now?

“If the weather holds,” she said quietly, “I would find that agreeable, Mr. Montfert.”

The answer should have relieved me, but it did not. What I needed was a moment of privacy with her to determine some things. Things that felt urgent. Uncle expected me to propose to this woman. I could not do so if her heart was already engaged. I understood what it felt like, and I would wish it upon no one.

“Perhaps Miss Scott would care to take a ride as well.” Miss Rigby’s words startled me out of my thoughts. The woman never prompted conversation. She glanced between Grace and me as if waiting for either of us to respond. What could I say? I did not want her to get the wrong impression of where my intentions lay, nor did I wish to seem callous.

I cleared my throat. “I would be honored should Miss Scott be open to the idea.”

Dinner was announced before Grace could answer. Miss Rigby and I were paired as companions, and I did my best to make conversation with her throughout the meal. All the while, my attention constantly wandered to where Grace sat, each smile pulled from her by her dinner companion a stab of jealousy.

During port, I joined my uncle in conversing with Mr. Rigby. He was a stout man with an expression rarely devoid of a frown. His eyes seemed to hold judgment anytime he looked at me, always assessing, but near the end, his mood lightened somewhat.

“Your uncle says you have a good head for business,” the man said and then took a long drink of his port. “I take it you stand to inherit?”

It was a question, but Mr. Rigby seemed to already know the answer. I imagined Uncle had informed him of my status in his will.

“Indeed, so long as I prove worthy of it.” I said it with jest, though it was entirely truthful. Both Uncle and Mr. Rigby laughed.

“You will be a wealthy man then,” Mr. Rigby continued. “A profitable estate and some rather lucrative holdings. The sort of man worth allying with.” He raised an expectant brow. I should not have been surprised by the line of questioning. Uncle had said he would speak to Mr. Rigby about the matter of me courting his daughter. Having Mr. Rigby’s favor, as it seemed I was gaining, was precisely what I needed.

“I should hope so,” I answered. Best to keep things vague and optimistic.

Mr. Rigby eyed me. “My wife has also mentioned you have called on my daughter several times.”

“I have. Miss Rigby is…lovely and good company.” My cheeks were going to ache if I kept forcing myself to smile.

The man grunted, leaning back in his chair. “Well, perhaps you and I should have a private discussion soon.”

Something squirmed within me. “Soon, sir. Though, I would like to discuss things with Miss Rigby before—”

“Discuss what?” Mr. Rigby demanded. “You either wish to marry my daughter or you do not. I am not in the business of toying with time. I ask you not to waste mine.”

My hands came up in a placating gesture, and heat filled my cheeks. The entire room focused on our conversation now, and I had not wanted an audience for this conversation. I lowered my voice. “Forgive me. I meant no offense. I only wished to verify that Miss Rigby’s affections were not otherwise engaged.”

“Her affections?” Mr. Rigby huffed, and his voice grew louder than before. “I have been looking to marry her off for some months now. Arrange things. Her feelings on the matter are irrelevant. Her marriage is at my discretion.”

My jaw clenched. Mr. Rigby was not unlike Uncle then, using his daughter as a pawn. Allying myself with the man did not sit well with me, but I, too, had little say in my future. And after such an open discussion in the presence of so many, I was backed even farther into a corner.

I glanced about the room and noted most had turned back to their own conversations and port. Except Rowe Apsley. He watched me with solemn intensity, and I wondered if his brother had hinted at my affection for Grace. He was her guardian, after all.

What I wouldn't give to have a conversation about marriage with him instead of Mr. Rigby.

Once they had their fill of port, the host declared we would join the ladies in the drawing room. A jovial parade headed in that direction, but Uncle caught me about the wrist and held me back. He waited until the corridor was vacant before speaking.

“You crossed a line,” he growled. “Rigby was nearly in your pocket, and you brought up his daughter’s possible affections for another man? What nonsense.”

“I still intend to speak with her,” I said. “I will not force her to marry me.”

Uncle took a step forward. I had grown taller than him years ago, but he possessed a set of broad shoulders that still made him feel like a towering tyrant. Perhaps it was the memories of my younger self cowering in fear, or the ghostly sting of his pocket watch chain, but his proximity caused my entire body to tense.

“If this is about that Scott woman—”

“She has nothing to do with this,” I interjected, though it was only a half-truth.

“I saw the way you looked at her when we arrived. I am not a fool.” He shoved a finger into my chest. “Listen to me, boy. I know you’ve a broken ear, but hear me when I say this: you will marry the Rigby girl. Her father and I have discussed things extensively. An alliance is just what we need to propel our income to another level. A connection with that family will cement all of it, and I will not have you ruining things now.”

“And if I should refuse? Whoever you have in mind for heir may not be inclined to marry her either.”

Uncle gripped a fistful of my cravat and coat, yanking me closer, his nose wrinkled in a fierce scowl. “If you refuse, I will kick you and your mother out onto the street and marry the girl myself. I am not so old as to be incapable of taking another wife. Perhaps a third time will prove more successful. Someone so young and quiet—I could mold her into just the sort of obedient wife I want.”

Over the course of my life, there had been countless times when I experienced fury for my Uncle’s behavior—for his sharp, unfeeling words. They all paled in comparison to the hot anger I felt now. Miss Rigby did not hold my heart, but I cared about her and would not allow her to be shackled to this man. She did not deserve the kind of future such a union would entail, and while I did not know if either of us could ever see one another as anything more than friends, it was better than the suffering she would endure married to my uncle.

“Fine,” I said through gritted teeth. “I will marry her.”

Uncle released me with a huff. “Good. I expect you to propose within the week. And I will remind you to keep your hearing difficulties secret until the vows are exchanged. We don’t need to hand Rigby any excuse to reconsider.”

“Yes, Uncle.”

He knocked his shoulder into mine as he passed. I was expected to follow, but my feet remained rooted in place, my gaze pinned to the floor. Demands had ruled my whole life, but never had I been given an ultimatum that affected more than myself and my mother. It felt disgusting and cruel.

I drew a breath, pulling my gaze from the floor, ready to face what awaited me in the drawing room. Instead, my heart leapt against my chest as my eyes locked on a pair of warm brown eyes.

And based on her expression, Grace had heard everything.