Page 29 of Matching Mr. Montfert (Apsley Family #2)

Chapter twenty-nine

Phillip

Apsley had left London. I tucked his letter into my pocket at the sound of footsteps on the stairs, his advice and subtle offer of assistance burning into my thoughts. I did not have the time nor the capacity to deal with the hope his words fostered.

Uncle descended the last few steps, his expression stern and unyielding, so opposite of what it should be for what I was about to do.

I had always assumed that proposing to a woman would be a nerve-racking affair, but having Uncle accompany me to Miss Rigby’s home made the entire situation a hundred times worse. He still did not trust me not to humiliate him, it seemed.

That, and he was eager for the marriage contract to be drawn up and signed, thus sealing his prospective investment partner and my fate. Not that he cared a wink for the latter or the state in which this courtship—a term I applied rather generously—had left my heart. Miss Rigby was a lovely lady, but the notion of marrying her?

Something within me was repulsed by the idea, and I suspected it had everything to do with my matchmaker. Miss Rigby simply was not Miss Scott.

“You will request a private audience with her straightaway,” said Uncle once we were in the carriage. “No tomfoolery today. A few minutes of idle chatter to settle in, and then you make the request. We have a purpose, and Rigby is expecting us. I want to see this swiftly resolved.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Enough of that dejected tone, boy,” Uncle growled. “You stand to gain a great deal from this arrangement. Your future—”

“Remains insecure.” I lifted my brows in challenge. We both knew that even if I married Miss Rigby, obeyed all of his demands, he could still change his will. Admittedly, to do so would put him at odds with Mr. Rigby given his daughter would suffer the consequences, but that was no guarantee of security for either of us.

Uncle scoffed. “Just do as you’re told, and I’ll have no reason to change anything.”

Not today, perhaps. What of tomorrow? Or a year from now? I was tired of living this way—of walking on eggshells, always worried one wrong word or failure would land me and my mother in a workhouse.

And yet, what was the alternative?

I had none.

Apsley’s letter seemed to almost burn against my rib cage, a reminder that I did have a choice. I had something .

I rubbed my pocket as if it would quell the hope the piece of paper was stoking. Dangerous hope that I must ignore. Perhaps if I read it again, I would realize my mistake—realize I had misunderstood his offer. No man in his right mind would butt into another’s romantic affairs, attempt to interfere at a cost to himself financially.

Unless, of course, that man was a true friend. And he was, for even after I had confessed my deafness to him via letter, he had not rejected me.

I silently swore and retrieved the note from inside my pocket, fully aware Uncle watched me intently.

“What is that?” he asked before I had even unfolded the paper.

“A note from Apsley,” I replied. “I hadn’t a chance to finish reading it and thought to utilize our drive to do so. He has left London. His father is ill.”

Uncle spit a string of curses. “Poor news, indeed. I had hoped to convince Lord Paxton to join our endeavor.” He lifted his chin and harrumphed. “But I suppose it bodes well that Apsley informed you of his departure. Speaks to your connection, even if the rest is inconvenient.”

I wanted to remark on his lack of empathy. My friend was about to lose his father, and Uncle wallowed over the loss of investment gain? It made me sick, but it would do no good to voice my opinion.

With a deep breath, I turned my focus to the letter. I hated reading it with Uncle sitting across from me, but I needed to put my mind at ease. I needed to reassure myself that I was doing the only thing I could. Surely, I had misread before?

But, no. The words were exactly as I remembered.

I know it is with great impertinence that I say this, but I must inform you of my cousin’s despondency. I do not know what has happened between the two of you, nor shall I request the details, but it is clear you are both hurting. I suspect your impending marriage to Miss Rigby is the cause, and as I know of the circumstances surrounding the match, I request that you reconsider.

I have experienced the pain associated with love, specifically with losing it. Perhaps not by my own choices, but it was agony nonetheless. I’ve no wish to see my cousin or friend experience the same, not if there is a chance for their happiness. Am I wrong to believe the two of you have developed more than a fleeting tendre for one another? If so, you may ignore all that follows.

However, if I am correct in my assumptions, I pray you will consider the rest with an open mind and not take offense to it. You intend to marry Miss Rigby because your uncle demands it of you, holding your inheritance over your head. We have discussed the estate left to you by your father at length over these last two months. I understand the state of that asset and what it would require to restore it. I cannot offer you the capital to execute those repairs with any sort of swiftness at present, but I shall do all I can to help you find your footing.

Until then, know that you and Grace (and your mother, of course) will always be welcome at Kenwick Castle. My father cares for his niece, as I care for my cousin, and we would never allow her to face destitution, nor would we allow a good man who also loves her to suffer.

All of this is to say: you have a choice, Phillip. Whatever your uncle threatens or does, there are others who will support you. I leave the decision in your capable hands.

Sincerely, your friend, RA

P.S. Should you find yourself at Kenwick Castle, I shan’t be responsible for the mental abuse you will likely suffer from living with so many females, but I should hope that not a great deterrent in the grand scheme of love and happiness.

I refolded the paper and tucked it away, wondering what Apsley had thought of my hearing difficulties. The issue was left unaddressed, but it had not stopped him from offering his help. But then, why should I be surprised? Not once had I ever heard him disparage Grace for her weak leg. He was not the sort to disparage anyone for such a struggle.

What of his family? I had met most of them, and they were genial enough, certainly. Taking kindly to an extra burden upon the household, though, was another matter entirely. Would Lord and Lady Paxton accept my presence among them were I to marry Grace? Would they begrudge me the financial assistance that Russell Apsley offered?

I could not say for certain, and given Lord Paxton’s condition, it seemed rather selfish to ask it of them. It also rankled my pride to even consider accepting so much help. I might never repay them.

But I would have Grace.

The thought caused a thick lump to settle in my throat and my eyes to sting.

We arrived at the Rigby’s townhouse, and my body felt sluggish as I pulled myself from the carriage. Never had so much dread weighed on me. The butler welcomed us inside after my uncle provided his calling card, and we were led to the drawing room. Mrs. Rigby and her daughter stood in greeting, and pleasantries were exchanged. Tea arrived shortly after, and my mind wandered as Uncle and Mrs. Rigby spoke of the weather and the upcoming events that remained for the Season.

It wandered to darkened corridors and garden walks. To a future filled with children and laughter. And love. It felt like a dream beyond my reach, yet I floundered in desperation to grasp even a portion of it.

A throat cleared, and I met Uncle’s gaze. One of his bushy gray brows lifted in expectation. It was time.

“Before we depart,” I said, “might I request a moment of privacy with Miss Rigby?”

“Of course,” said Mrs. Rigby, her tone resigned more than pleased. She had never been accepting of my courtship of her daughter, but I suspected Mr. Rigby had made his wishes clear on the matter.

She and Uncle vacated the room, closing the door behind them, and for the first time since my arrival, I met Miss Rigby’s gaze. She must know my purpose in the request, yet her expression gave nothing away of her feelings on the matter. How did I even begin to ask for her hand? Would she know by the reluctance in my voice that I did not wish for it? How was it fair to her to begin our future this way?

I drew a breath, hoping it would keep my tone even, at the very least. “Miss Rigby, I imagine it is no surprise why I asked to speak with you.”

“It is not, sir,” she said gently, the corner of her mouth lifting slightly. “My father told me what to expect of today.”

I nodded. “Then I must ask…I wish to…”

No, wished was not the proper word at all. If I was going to propose, then the least Miss Rigby deserved was my honesty. But still, the words would not come, as if held back, tethered by a rope deep within me.

I would have Grace.

I would have Grace.

I want Grace.

More importantly, I could have her. Apsley would help me, and I would find a way to restore my estate and repay him. My future may not look the most promising for disobeying Uncle, but Grace and I could weather it. We could spend our lives building our future together. I could not say whether the challenge was one she would accept, or if she would even forgive me after the way we had left things, but I had to try. I needed to try.

I had to get out of this drawing room immediately. The ride to Kenwick Castle could not be more than a few days. I could pack and be gone within—

“Sir?” Miss Rigby prodded. “Are you well?”

“Forgive me.” The words fell out in an almost chuckle. “My sincerest apologies, Miss Rigby, but I fear I cannot offer you the proposal you expected nor one you deserve.”

That little smile at the corner of her mouth grew. “I had hoped not.”

My brows drew together. “You had?” It should not have been so shocking, really. Even after asking her a thousand questions, we barely knew one another. Should I be offended? I could not find it in myself to be.

“Might I be frank with you, Mr. Montfert?” She continued when I nodded. “I have long suspected your heart rests with a friend of mine. Am I wrong to assume that?”

“Not in the slightest.”

This seemed to please her. “Then might I suggest you visit Apsley Court next?”

“It would do little good. I received word this morning that they have returned to their country estate. Lord Paxton has taken ill.”

“Yes, I am aware. Grace told me herself not two days ago. She also mentioned that she and her guardian would remain in Town until the Season concluded. He is finishing business for the viscount, you see.”

She was still in London? My heart pounded. “You are quite certain?”

“Quite,” Miss Rigby responded with a laugh.

I had never felt so relieved, but it was short-lived. The smile faded from my face. I had forgotten one very important thing. “I cannot go to Grace. My uncle…he told me if I did not propose to you, he would marry you himself. You and I may hold no affection for one another, but I cannot subject you to him out of selfishness.”

“You forget, sir, that I possess the ability to say no. My father would be furious, perhaps, but he cannot force me to marry your uncle.”

Her response did little to ease my concerns. Women had been forced into such arrangements before. How could I know for certain Miss Rigby would not?

“My mother has her sights set on someone else for me,” she added, noting my reluctance. “She will advocate on my behalf.”

“Is it someone better than my uncle?” I would be hard-pressed to find someone worse, but somehow I would not put it past Mrs. Rigby to have her daughter married to the most dishonorable man in England if it meant wealth or title.

“I believe so,” she answered, her voice a bit guarded. “Someone of your acquaintance, in fact.”

I lifted a brow, but she said nothing. I would get no more from her on the matter, which left me to make my decision. Another moment’s consideration was all I required. “If you are certain—”

“I am certain. Go, Mr. Montfert. Claim the happiness you deserve.”

Scooping up her hand, I brought it to my lips and left a quick kiss on her glove. “Thank you, Miss Rigby.”

My feet carried me across the room in a few swift strides. The door opened before I reached it, and both Uncle and Mrs. Rigby glanced between me and Miss Rigby. I slipped past them, but before I could make my escape, Uncle grabbed my arm and yanked me back.

“Where are you going?” he ground out.

“To propose to the woman I wish to marry.”

Uncle’s expression turned hard. “You are not at liberty to propose to someone else. Rigby and I have a deal.”

“Then you had best go speak with him and make a different deal.”

“I warned you what would happen—”

Mrs. Rigby’s voice broke his threat, but as she was on my left, I struggled to understand her, though it was clear she was not pleased about the situation. I ripped out of Uncle’s grasp and turned to face her properly.

“I beg your pardon, ma’am, but since I am hard of hearing in my left ear, I must ask that you repeat yourself.”

The woman blinked at me. Uncle’s eyes seemed to bulge out of his head in growing rage. Twice now, I had defied him today.

“You are deaf?” Mrs. Rigby demanded, her nose scrunched in disdain.

“Partially, yes.”

The woman turned her glare on my uncle. “And you failed to mention this? How dare you trick my daughter into marrying this…this broken man! He could pass the trait on to their children. All of society would shun them!”

Where her words might have once stung, I found I cared very little. Uncle shouted back at her, and while the two of them bickered over whether such a thing could be kept silent, I descended the stairs and rushed out the door. Uncle would remain to smooth things over—or attempt to smooth them over—with Mr. Rigby. That gave me little time to inform my mother of what had happened. Since the decision would alter her life insurmountably, she deserved to hear it from me.

I could only hope good news would soon follow the bad.