Page 3 of Matching Mr. Montfert (Apsley Family #2)

Chapter three

Phillip

Beyond attending church services and visiting town when the need arose, I had never left Eldercrest Hall, Uncle’s country estate, without him. He had insisted on accompanying me everywhere and had gone as far as hiring private tutors rather than sending me to Eton. When the time came for me to further my education at university, Uncle declared he could teach me everything I needed to know to take over the estate.

And I had not argued against him.

What was the point when I knew he would never heed my pleas? In any case, I was never certain I wished to attend school with my peers. My hearing difficulties often left me self-conscious, and most of the time, I preferred living the life of a recluse. It was easier, and I always had my mother to keep me company.

But I had no one next to me tonight as I stepped through the doors of White’s. It was not lost on me that even Uncle’s company, which I often resented, would have been preferred over the vulnerability I felt entering such an unfamiliar domain. I was a foreigner in a new land, and I had no notion whether the residents would prove friendly or hostile.

The interior of White’s was lavishly decorated with all manner of fine furniture and wall hangings. From the spacious entry hall, I entered the larger morning room on my left, where soft chatter echoed from within. My stomach balled into a knot at the sight of half a dozen strangers, all occupying seats in one corner or another.

Near the large bow window, a man in a fine-tailored waistcoat sat at a long oak table in deep discussion with two other men, while the chairs nearer the hearth were taken up with individuals devouring the morning paper or books.

I decided upon an empty chair by one of the other windows where I could work up my courage for a moment before attempting to converse. It did me little good, as my choice for solitude seemed to draw the attention of everyone in the room. Their curious gazes settled on me, doing nothing to ease my nerves.

How was I to manage this? I knew no one here, and I had never been particularly well-versed in starting up conversations with non-acquaintances. Or even acquaintances, for that matter.

My body went stiff when a man with auburn hair sitting near the hearth put down his paper, stood, and crossed the room toward me. He took the vacant seat to my right, slumping into it with a heavy sigh.

Then he stared right at me.

I watched his unwavering gaze from the corner of my eye, uncertain how to proceed. How to end the awkwardness. Why had he sat next to me? Did he expect me to begin the conversation? Had rumor of my throwing peas down the daughter of an earl’s dress already circulated among the elites?

I might be sick.

“You are new here,” he stated.

With a quiet inhale, I faced him and nodded. “Yes. I am.”

The man pursed his lips, his gaze trailing up and down my person. Was he judging me? Could he see my lack of experience merely by observation? It would not surprise me if he could. I could not tell peas apart, but apparently, it was a learned skill.

Seeming satisfied with his study, he offered me his hand. “Russell Apsley. A pleasure to meet you…?”

“Phillip Montfert.” I took his hand.

“Montfert? I am unfamiliar with the name. From where do you hail?”

“Berkshire. My father was a landowner there, but I’ve lived with my uncle for nearly two decades. You may perhaps know him since he frequents London. A Victor Perry?”

“Ah,” the man said. “Yes, I am acquainted with your uncle. I take it you are the chap meant to inherit?” He continued when my face morphed with surprise. “He has mentioned you in conversation. Mr. Perry is always attempting to convince my father to invest, you see.”

“Shall I offer my apologies?” I asked before thinking better of it.

Mr. Apsley laughed heartily. “Not at all. Unless you intend to serenade me tonight with a lengthy speech about some new venture?”

No, but it was not far from the truth. Make friends, Uncle had said. He wanted me to be on good terms with members of the ton and gentry. “Not a specific venture, but I have been assigned the task of mingling with the upper class and gaining their favor. You will do for now.”

He laughed again, eyeing me curiously. “Honesty. A surprising characteristic for a man of business and quite refreshing.”

I lifted my brows and shrugged. “I am not a man of business as of yet. Merely trying on the shoes for a later date in hopes they will one day fit.”

“Mmm. I quite understand.” He held up a hand and did a slow wave in front of himself as he spoke. “One day I shall be Viscount Paxton, and do you know how prepared I feel for such a role? Not at all. It can be a rather heavy burden.”

“Agreed. An insurmountable expectation.”

Mr. Apsley slapped my shoulder. “Precisely! Do you know what drove me to the club tonight? My father and I had a chat about my need to settle down soon.” He scoffed. “I am hardly ready to shackle myself to a woman. I refuse to, in fact. This Season will not see me wed.”

“It seems you and I have that in common. My Uncle has also asked me to wed this Season, and I must conform. He has threatened to disinherit me if I refuse.”

My mouth snapped closed. I had been far too open, too forthcoming. The ease of our conversation had taken me by surprise, and with Mr. Apsley so unguarded himself, my troubles had poured out. Mr. Apsley needn’t worry about being disinherited. The title and whatever fortune his family held would be his regardless. I did not possess the same luxury. Why should I share so much with someone who could not understand?

“I do not envy you, Montfert. It’s a shame to be forced into such a prison. We are too young for that.”

“Too young,” I agreed, though my age was the least of my concerns. “I’ve not even experienced a London Season. This is my first trip to Town.”

There I had done it again. How did he coax information out of me so easily?

Mr. Apsley reared back. “What? You mean…ever?”

“Indeed.”

The man whistled, shaking his head in disbelief. “A terrible shame. I can no longer be saddened by my misfortunes—which, to be sure, are mere aggravations in comparison to your predicament. Tell me, if you’ve not been to London before, does that mean you’ve no inkling for a wifely candidate?”

“Not a one,” I said with a chuckle. “I barely know anyone, let alone a lady who meets my uncle’s requirements. He even gave me a list.”

“Oof. There is a list, too? You are worse off than I feared, my friend.”

His friend? A small smile tugged at my lips. I hadn’t many friends, and I rarely conversed with people as easily as I did with Mr. Apsley. I had nearly forgotten my inexperience and my hearing impairment once our conversation began, a rarity.

Mr. Apsley bolted upright from his more relaxed position, his eyes wide. “I’ve had an incredible idea.”

“Solved the world's problems, have you?”

He grinned, amusement crinkling the corner of his eyes. “You’re rather funny, Montfert. I think I’ll adopt you.”

“Adopt me?” Confusion laced my tone. What in the heavens did he mean by that?

Mr. Apsley leaned closer to me. “I shall take you under my wing. You will have the most successful Season possible with my help—er, our help, rather.”

“Our?”

He tapped a finger to his head. “The incredible idea. I happen to know of a matchmaker looking for clients. They can help you find a candidate who will meet your uncle’s requirements, and I shall introduce you to Society and ensure you are invited to all the right parties so you might court the lucky lady.”

“I…” What was I to say? This man was offering me the help I desperately needed. If the incident with Lady Millicent this evening had proven anything, it was that I could not do this on my own. I needed guidance.

“We will have a grand time of it,” Mr. Apsley promised. “You can find the perfect woman to marry and keep your inheritance, and I will have the honor of helping you succeed.”

“But why are you so willing to devote time to my cause?” I asked. “We have only just met.”

Mr. Apsley pulled his lips to one side. “As I said, I like you, Montfert. Besides, if I’m busy assisting a friend, my parents are less likely to bother me about marriage.” He shrugged. “And it sounds entertaining.”

For him, it might well be entertaining, but still, the offer was appealing.

I lowered my voice. “And this matchmaker…can you guarantee they will be discreet about all of this?” The last thing I needed was for word to get out that I required assistance in finding a bride. Uncle would be furious to learn I had sought this sort of help, especially when it could blemish his name along with my own.

“Oh, yes,” said Apsley with a firm nod. “I can personally guarantee they will not only be discreet but also find you a perfect match. This person comes highly recommended—past success, well-versed in the sort of romance women expect, and stubborn enough not to give up.”

I hesitated to respond. Was this truly the best course? After all, I had only been in London for a few days. Surely that was not enough time to give up on finding a match without help?

But failing left me to count on Uncle’s generosity and goodwill. I had faith in neither—not without doing everything the man demanded of me. No, I had far too much at risk to abandon this opportunity. I would swallow whatever pride I had left.

“Perhaps a matchmaker is precisely what I need,” I said. “And I would gladly accept any help you are willing to give.”

Mr. Apsley grinned, wide and triumphant. “An excellent decision. Leave it to me, Montfert. I’ll arrange everything.”