Page 26 of Matching Mr. Montfert (Apsley Family #2)

Chapter twenty-six

Grace

“Grace.” The way Phillip whispered my name sent a flurry of chills across my skin.

His conversation with his uncle should have been private, and I had not intentionally listened in on it. Lady Davenport had asked Annette to play a number on the pianoforte. I had gone with my cousin to the library to fetch some sheet music, but upon our return, we’d discovered a page was missing. I had then gone back to the library to search for it, with success, only to stumble upon a heated argument in the corridor.

Not wishing to interrupt, I had pressed myself into the shadows until Mr. Perry left, leaving Phillip alone with the most dejected expression I had ever seen. I had wanted to reach out to him, to comfort him, but the words I had overheard kept my tongue-tied.

“Grace,” Phillip repeated, taking strides toward me. He stopped not more than a foot away, and even in the darkened corridor, I could see the plea in his blue eyes. “How much of that did you overhear?”

“All of it,” I whispered, clutching the page of sheet music to my chest.

Phillip ran a hand over his face. “My uncle is adamant about me marrying Miss Rigby. You have assisted me so much already, but is there any chance you could speak to her? Make sure she does not have an affection for someone else? It would set me at ease to move forward if I knew.”

I blinked, attempting to process his words. It was noble of him to consider Miss Rigby’s feelings. His uncle certainly did not care about such things. I had no qualms about discovering the information for Phillip, but…

“You are deaf?” The question stumbled out of me, and I snapped my mouth closed.

Phillip winced. “Partially deaf. I cannot hear well in my left ear. Conversation is often garbled at best.”

Which was why he had not heard me that day in Berkeley Square. It was why he always positioned himself on the left side of those he was conversing with. I recalled a number of occasions where he moved without reason or turned his body at such an angle that he pressed against me. Now, I understood; he’d done so in an effort to hear better.

“Why did you not tell me?” I asked.

He stared at me for what seemed an eternity, silence encompassing us from all sides. In the distance, light chatter echoed from the drawing room. We needed to return, and soon, else arouse suspicion.

“I’ve been ordered not to tell anyone since I was a child,” he said finally. “Society, as you well know, often does not treat those of us who suffer such ailments with the kindness they ought. It is a difficulty I would rather keep secret.”

“But why did you not tell me ? Surely you must know I would never judge you for it? That I would not think poorly of you?”

“Of course not. I just…” He sighed, averting his gaze.

“Are you embarrassed by it?”

“Sometimes,” he replied, still refusing to look at me. “I grow frustrated with myself, and I worry how people will respond were I to tell them. I hate that there is nothing I can do to fix it, and I do not want pity. Uncle is convinced that to reveal the malady would be to give society an excuse to shun me. To mock me. Even he has been slow to withhold judgment, proclaiming me unintelligent and broken.”

“Broken,” I repeated softly. “You told me I was not broken.”

He took a step closer, the tips of his boots disappearing beneath the hem of my gown. “I meant it, Grace.”

“Does that apply to yourself as well? Do you agree with what your uncle says? That you are broken?”

“No,” he said firmly.

I wanted to believe him, but how could I? He kept his ailment hidden from the world. Why would he do so if he thought himself as capable as anyone else? He’d admitted to being embarrassed by it. Did it not follow that embarrassment stemmed from insecurity?

“If you truly believed that, you would not hide it from everyone, but especially not from me.” I met his gaze, blinking away the cloudy haze over mine. “How can you say you do not believe yourself broken, or me for that matter, when you cannot even tell others of your struggles?”

“It is more complicated than that, Grace. Much as I hate it, I need society’s good opinion. We all do.”

I pinched my lips together and nodded. “And they cannot have a good opinion of you when you are not whole? When they know you are broken and afflicted with a condition beyond your control?”

“That is not what I meant.”

“Is it not?” My voice raised with my anger. “Hiding our struggles does not make them go away, nor are we less for having them. Broken or not, I am capable of strength and intelligence, independence and happiness.”

“But not capable of courtship? Of having a marriage based in love?” He smiled sardonically. “Did you not tell me that you did not expect those things for yourself because of your leg? It is the height of hypocrisy for you to criticize me, Grace. Whether you care to admit it or not, you allow your leg to hold you back. You allow society’s opinion and expectations to dictate your future. So forgive me if I prefer not to give them such an opportunity.”

You allow your leg to hold you back.

His words stung because I felt them deeply. They rang with truth—a truth I had not been ready to hear. I used my leg as an excuse to believe I would never marry. Only recently had I allowed myself to consider, even briefly, that I might have been wrong.

I backed away from him, my lip trembling.

Phillip’s expression softened. “Forgive me. I should not have—”

“No, you are right.” Despite my valiant efforts to prevent it, tears tumbled down my cheeks. “You’ve no need to apologize, but I must go.”

“Grace.”

I rushed past him, and he made no effort to stop me. Using my sleeve, I wiped away the tears, though I doubted I had rid my face of all evidence. That notion was proven correct the moment I stopped into the drawing room, for Rowe took one glance at me and rushed to my side.

“What happened?” he asked.

“Nothing.” I forced a smile. “My leg is aching. Might we leave?”

I had used the excuse often enough, Rowe had no reason not to believe me. My leg always ached, in truth, and it was no more unpleasant now than when I sat in the library reading. But I needed to leave. I could not stay here and face Phillip, nor could I watch him spend time with Miss Rigby.

My leg did not hurt nearly as much as my heart.

There was something comforting about curling up in a blanket next to a glowing hearth, but today, even the warmth and security of those things did not ease my melancholy. My argument with Phillip played over and over in my mind, robbing me of sleep. Days had drifted by in a fog of unfeeling existence.

Had he proposed to Miss Rigby by now?

Mr. Perry had given him a week to do so, and if there was one thing I had learned about Phillip Montfert, it was that he obeyed his uncle. I understood his reason. The threat of being disinherited was too much for him to ignore, and Phillip was too honorable of a man to allow his uncle to wed Miss Rigby instead.

That particular threat had nearly made me gag when I overheard them in the corridor. The callous way Mr. Perry spoke indicated a life of misery for anyone unfortunate enough to be called his wife. I thought of Sabrina and how the man had treated her at the close of the house party we attended last spring. Mr. Perry cared nothing for the women in his life.

But those were not the worst of my thoughts.

No, Phillip had implied that berating him made me a hypocrite, and he was right. I had never shied away from telling people about my leg, or how I had come to have such a condition. I had always thought accepting my limitations was fair, that I needn’t be able to do everything to live a happy life. I still believed it.

In a physical sense, there were simply things I could not do, or at least not do as well as others. There was nothing wrong with accepting that and understanding those limitations to keep myself from enduring more pain.

Phillip had not spoken of physical constraints, however. I had decided years ago that my inability to dance or take long walks put me at a disadvantage when it came to courtship. I was not wrong to assume it, but I had allowed the idea to grow into a monster that insisted no man would ever wish to court me at all. As if such disadvantages could not be overcome in other ways.

Dancing and long walks were not the only way to fall in love, and yet I had allowed my romantic notions to sweep me away so far I had lost sight of that. Love knew no constraints. It found people no matter their station or struggles. Why had I believed I was different in this regard?

“Hypocrite,” I muttered. The word was appropriate, and even though it pained me to hear it from Phillip, I was glad for his words. I only wished the argument had not driven a wedge between us.

I blinked back tears with a humorless laugh. What had I expected of the future? Phillip had made it quite clear he would marry Miss Rigby. He had no choice but to satisfy his uncle’s demands. I should not have assumed that, once my service as his matchmaker concluded, we would remain friends.

It was better we split ways now.

A light tap on the library door drew my attention. Rus peered inside, his expression as somber as I felt. He crossed the room, and I noted he held an envelope. My heart sputtered.

“Yes, it is for you,” he said, taking a seat next to me.

I snatched it from his hands and started to open it…then realized Rus was still here. Watching me. Why was still here?

He read the confusion on my face and smiled wryly. “Go ahead and open it. I already know what it contains. Montfert told me himself.”

Our notes had always been private. Not that there was anything untoward in them, but I preferred Rus did not know all of my business. Phillip telling him about the contents did not bode well.

I opened the envelope and found two things: a banknote with the sum of 25￡ and a short note.

“To my matchmaker,” I read aloud. “Thank you for your dutiful services and assistance in my success. As we never discussed your compensation in great detail, I have taken the liberty of providing what I hope is adequate payment.” My voice cracked.

Adequate payment. It was more than I ever expected. Once again, Phillip had proven his generosity. His honesty. Drat him.

“I wish you the best in your future endeavors and will not hesitate to suggest your services to others who may stand in need of it. All the best, PM.”

I drew in a shaky breath. That was it, then. We would both move on with our lives, perhaps never speaking to one another again. The idea left me hollow and depleted.

Perhaps not terribly depleted, as my tears began to spill over. I brushed them away, not wanting Rus to be stuck with a watering pot, but they kept coming. Rus stood, and with a gentle kindness I so rarely saw from him, pulled me to my feet and into his arms. I stayed there for several minutes until I regained control of myself, then pulled away.

“I’m so sorry, Grace,” said Rus.

“For what?” I asked. “You delivered my first client. I got what I wanted: my very first payment as a matchmaker. It is something to be celebrated.”

He tilted his head, a knowing look in his eyes that threatened to unravel me. “Had I known…I should have let you do this on your own. Had your first client been a portly man without hair, you might not have lost your heart in the process.”

“Is it so obvious?”

“Is it obvious that you and Montfert fell in love with one another?” He laughed. “Disgustingly obvious, Gracie. He speaks of you often enough, and watching the two of you together was highly indicative in itself. Never mind that he practically admitted it to me when I questioned him on the matter. I only wish…I wish something could be done to set things right.”

“There is nothing to be done but move on,” I said, shaking my head and ignoring his statements. Knowing Phillip had admitted his feelings to Rus did me no favors.

“Very well, but I do not care to see you crying. It makes me deucedly uncomfortable. Let us find something to distract you, yes?” He snapped his fingers. “I’ve got it. You can help me plan my next act of revenge on Netty.”

“Is it not her turn for revenge after all the unwanted suitors you sent her?” I had never been good at keeping up with their antics.

“ No .” He held up a finger. “No, it is my turn. Do you know I went to White’s last night only to be mocked because of stains on both of the armpits of my coat? I was not sweating, mind you, and the stains smelled suspiciously of strawberry jam. Jam , Gracie. She stained my pits with jam. What sort of sister does that?”

“The kind seeking revenge, I imagine,” I answered with a chuckle.

“Indeed. So, I must plot my own, and—”

“Your plotting will have to wait,” came Rowe’s voice from the doorway. “I have news.”

Rus’s smile faded, and he hastily rounded to face him. “Has the doctor finished?”

Lord Paxton had forgone the dinner party due to a cough and had remained in his chamber ever since. This morning, the doctor had been called, and I feared it meant his condition had worsened.

“He sounds better today,” said Rowe, “but Dr. Montgomery said it is to be expected, this constant up and down. Eventually…”

Rus swallowed loudly. “How long?”

“Months at the least. Father has requested to return home to Kenwick, and Mother agrees it is for the best. He will rest more peacefully there. More comfortably.”

I had not thought my heart could be torn apart more than it already was. My uncle had always been rather doting on his children and even his nieces. To lose another father figure in my life so soon after my own’s death…well, months seemed far too short a time. Still, I was grateful the state of his health was not worse. My father had passed so suddenly that Amelia and I had not had the opportunity to say goodbye.

“How soon are we to depart?” asked Rus.

“Three days time, but Father has asked that Grace and I remain. He has some business that needs settling. Nothing of great import, but he preferred me to do it so you could return with him. He wants you at his side, I think.” Rowe met my gaze. “He also wished not to interrupt your first Season. Annette will return home, but there is no reason for you not to see it through since I must stay anyway.”

Rus nodded absently. He seemed almost in a state of shock. I reached out and placed a hand on his shoulder, which shook him out of his trance. He smiled slightly at me, then patted my hand. “Not to worry, Gracie. We will come about. Do not get into too much trouble without me.”

He winked before excusing himself to go speak with the staff. Preparations for departure would begin immediately. I considered protesting, to proclaim my desire to leave London as well. With Phillip proposing to Miss Rigby and most of my family leaving, what purpose did I have here?

“Grace, are you well?”

Rowe. I had forgotten he remained in the room with me. “I will be. It is I who should be asking you that, anyway.”

He crossed the room to my side and heaved a sigh. “I have not been the most attentive guardian since we came to London. You’ve been left on your own far too much. Leaving the dinner party early reminded me of my duties, and I apologize for—”

“Rowe, please stop. You have been nothing but the best guardian to me. I have not been alone much at all. I’ve had Annette and your Mother for company. I’ve enjoyed myself. What more could I ask?”

“A great deal more,” he said with a sad smile. “I had intended to introduce you to…” He rubbed a hand over the back of his neck, his cheeks tinting. “Well, to potential suitors. I failed in that regard. Although, Mother mentioned you had a gentleman caller a few times. If I had to guess, it was the same one we saw in Berkeley Square?”

One of his auburn brows lifted teasingly.

“As I told you then, he is only a friend. It seems he is to marry Miss Rigby.”

Whatever amusement his expression had held disappeared completely. “I did overhear him speaking of that very thing with Mr. Perry during port.”

There was more to the despondency in his expression than sympathy and sadness for me. I had once wondered if perhaps Rowe held a tendre for Miss Rigby, and I found myself pondering the notion again now. Perhaps we were both meant to walk away from this Season a little bit heartbroken.