Page 32 of Matching Mr. Montfert (Apsley Family #2)

Chapter thirty-two

Grace

Choosing what to wear when breaking the rules of proprietary and visiting a bachelor at his home unchaperoned was much harder than I anticipated. Even in preparation for my first ball, I had not meticulously plotted every accessory, right down to my shoes. I scoffed, staring at my current ensemble of choice resting on the bed, complete with brown walking boots. He would not even see them, but here I was.

Meticulously plotting.

Perhaps much of it came to my anticipation and nerves. If I drew this out long enough, I would need to wait until tomorrow before I went to see Phillip, thus giving me more time to think. More time to determine what I would say.

A lady did not simply walk up to a gentleman and declare her feelings, after all.

What should I say instead? An apology was certainly warranted. I owed Phillip that much. He needed to know that I regretted ever pressuring him to reveal his secret. Much of the ton would surely judge him for it, and considering the news already filling the papers…

I had spent all of last evening pouring over the details after meeting the Rigbys in Hyde Park. Having previously focused on the engagement columns, I had completely overlooked everything else. Phillip’s uncle had been charged with banknote fraud, and just this morning a mountain of evidence saw to him being sentenced for transportation. Seven years to New South Wales. The courts also demanded an investigation into all of Mr. Perry’s finances. Into everything Phillip was meant to inherit.

Despite what Mrs. Rigby claimed, Phillip had no involvement in the crimes committed by his uncle. I had been there when he overheard Mr. Perry’s conversation with his man of business. And besides, Phillip was too good—too considerate of others—to take advantage of people that way. Unlike Mr. Perry, who I knew to be a beastly, unfeeling man. Controlling as he was, I doubted anyone in his family had known of his criminal behavior.

Until now.

How had Phillip gotten so much evidence? The papers spoke of a third person bringing up charges. A Mr. Barton. Who was he, and why had he been involved at all?

These questions and more raged within me, but they paled in comparison to my sympathy. With his family’s name in tatters, what would Phillip do? The courts could seize many of his assets. Indeed, this would hardly be different from Mr. Perry disinheriting him. Everything he had done, including hiring me as his matchmaker, was to ensure he and his mother did not end up destitute.

Now, he might face the prospect anyway.

I wanted to scream on his behalf. The unfairness of it all stoked my internal fire. I wanted to shout his innocence from the rooftops. Why should Phillip be punished, even indirectly, for a wrong he did not commit? Society would shun him, and Mrs. Rigby spreading rumors of his hearing difficulties would do nothing to help matters.

How I hated that the world would turn against him. There was little I could do but offer my comfort and sympathy. Would he even want it after everything? Were we friends, or did the inkling of hope that grew after discovering he had not proposed to Miss Rigby have merit?

After another quarter hour of debate, I settled on a lavender gown with white lace trim on the sleeves and hem. My maid helped me dress and styled my hair with curling tongs, allowing short strands to frame my face. I still hadn’t any idea what I would say when I saw him, but I had to go.

Every moment I remained was a moment I could stand by his side. He was not alone; he had his mother and Sabrina, but I wanted to be next to him too. And I wanted him to know that I did not think either of us was broken. A long list of his attributes, compiled by me within a matchmaker’s notebook over the last several weeks, was evidence of just how much I admired him. He needed to see it.

Once I had ripped the page from my notebook and tucked it into my pocket, I descended the stairs, tugging on my gloves. I needed a quick escape. Rowe would never approve of—

“Stop right there.”

Drat. I turned slowly to see my cousin coming down the stairs at a leisurely pace, a wide grin pulling his lips. He stopped in front of me, and his auburn brows lifted. “Where are you going, Grace?”

I opened my mouth to respond, but he held up a hand. “I know where, so rather than lie to me—which you promised not to do again—allow me to dissuade you of the notion.”

“You cannot dissuade me. I need to see him, and it cannot wait. Come with me if you must, but I have to go.” I spun around and reached for the door handle.

“He’s not there, Grace.”

My fingers froze on the brass knob. “How can you know that?”

Rowe stepped up behind me and placed his hands on my shoulders. Gently, he turned me around to fully face him. “Because I’ve spent the last hour speaking with him in the study.”

“Speaking…he is here?” I glanced over his shoulder, and just as I did so, a familiar figure appeared from the corridor leading from the study. Philip rested his arms on the banister, staring down at me with a hesitant smile.

“Phillip.” His name came out as little more than a whisper, and while I doubted he had heard me from such a distance, his smile grew as if he had read the movement of my lips. He took the stairs, each tap of his boots a much slower beat than the pounding of my heart. Too slow, for by the time he reached the bottom, I had abandoned my self-control, rounded Rowe, and met him there.

“Good morning, Grace,” he said softly. His dark blue waistcoat made the softer shade of his eyes pop in the morning light pouring from the window, but it also highlighted the dark circles beneath them and the long, red welt along his cheek, too. The poor man likely had not slept well with all the news, and if I had to guess, the welt had come from an angry uncle.

But Phillip was here. Why was he here?

I had questions and so much I wished to say—so much sympathy to offer and forgiveness to beg of him. Neither of which came out of my mouth first. “I love you.”

He gaped in surprise, and Rowe chuckled from behind me. His amusement sent heat flooding my cheeks. “Forgive me, I…that should not have—”

Phillip scooped up my hand, grinning so wildly my heart stuttered, and brought my gloved fingers to his lips. “It is a good morning, indeed, to be greeted with such sentiments as I have only dreamed of hearing.”

His words brought out more of my blush. “Perhaps I do read too many romance novels.”

Phillip shook his head, still holding my hand, though he had lowered it to his chest, gently pressing it against him. “Just the right amount for a matchmaker, I should think.”

“Not a very good matchmaker,” I said. “I failed to help you make a match.”

He studied me, blue eyes roaming my face. “I must disagree.”

Oh, dear. I had forgotten one very important accessory—a fan.

Rowe cleared his throat and waited until I had turned to look at him to speak. “Grace, Mr. Montfert has requested a private audience with you.” He gestured to the open parlor door to his left, a glint of mischief in his eyes.

I whirled around to meet Phillip’s gaze. Was this truly happening? Moments ago, I had been prepared to walk to his townhouse and demand to see him, fearful he would turn me away. Fearful he would resent me for pushing him to tell the world his secret.

But Phillip looked at me now with such tender pleading and hopefulness, I could no longer doubt his regard nor his intentions for being here.

“Of course,” I said, my voice raspy with emotion. “If you will come with me, Mr. Montfert.”

He followed me into the parlor and closed the door, effectively leaving us entirely alone. I faced him, my hands fidgeting with nerves. Where did we begin? Where did I begin? I had already blurted my affection for him; the rest should be easy.

It did not feel easy.

“Rowe and I saw Miss Rigby and her mother yesterday,” I said when Phillip remained silent. “Mrs. Rigby had a great deal to say.”

Phillip chuckled. “I imagine she did. She began a relentless campaign to smear my name the moment I refused to propose. Ironic, given she did not want me courting her daughter from the start.”

I took a step closer to him. “You mean she began the moment you told her about being deaf?”

“Yes. She was not particularly happy to learn a broken man was courting her daughter. Claimed I would have passed on my ailments to our posterity and they all would be shunned by society. Yet more irony that she has been rather quick to encourage people to shun me .”

“This is my fault. I never should have scolded you for keeping it hidden. You had every reason to hide your struggles. You were right about all of it. I am a hypocrite.” I averted my gaze, and Phillip came forward until he stood directly in front of me, close enough I could feel his warmth and smell the citrusy scent of his soap.

Phillip tucked his knuckles under my chin and lifted until my eyes met his. “I am tired of hiding. Tired of worrying what others will think of me.” His thumb brushed over my cheek, creating a flurry of goosepimples on my arms. “Anyone who would judge me poorly for an ailment beyond my control is not someone worth having in my life anyway.”

A smile touched my lips. “I said that.”

He smiled back at me. “You did, and I shall never forget it. I have learned so much from you, Grace.”

“And I from you. Neither of us is broken, merely different.” I retrieved the paper from my pocket and offered it to him.

Phillip’s hand fell away from my cheek, his brows puckered in confusion as he unfolded and read. That confusion shifted the longer he did so. His eyes glazed over, and he swallowed hard, making his Adam’s apple bob. “This is the list you made about me?”

“It is. I’ve been adding to it since the day we met. You will note that nothing there suggests any imperfection, but do not allow that to go to your head. I simply wanted you to know how I see you. How I have always seen you.”

Phillip averted his gaze, his lashes fluttering as if to hold in his emotion. After a moment, he looked at me. “Did you receive my flowers?”

“Yes, and I have gone mad trying to riddle out what they mean. They do mean something, do they not? Rus told me he taught you about flowers the day following the ball.”

“He did, and I am grateful to have committed some of his tutelage to memory. Red roses represent love—passionate love if your cousin is to be believed. Regardless, that is what I meant them to convey. I have missed your company this last week with a kind of desperation no poet can describe. I have longed for you, Grace. Longed for your voice, your touch, your presence. I dream of holding you, of kissing you. It is you who gave me the courage to reveal my malady to the world. You who I willingly risked everything for by standing up to my uncle for perhaps the first time in my life. You pushed me to think about my own happiness, and I have come to realize that much of it revolves around you. I may not have a physical list of qualities that I admire about you, but they are written on my heart. My mind.

“But I must also be honest. My name is in near ruin, and my finances stand to take a rather large beating. Can I assume you have read the papers and know of what I speak?” He continued when I nodded. “That is what kept me from coming to you sooner. I spent the last two days fighting for Mr. Barton, the man who helped us provide evidence. I did not believe he deserved punishment for doing my Uncle’s bidding under threat of his family. The magistrate eventually agreed. As for the rest, I cannot say what the courts will decide, but it will likely be a burden upon my uncle’s estate and assets. As heir, it shall be my responsibility to manage the whole of it while he is serving time for his actions. Once he returns, I may still lose everything should he decide to change his will. What I want to ask of you will not be easy or fair, but—”

“Ask it. Please, ask it.”

Tears pricked at my eyes, and when several escaped, Phillip brushed them away. “My dearest, darling Grace, did you mean what you said? Do you truly love me?”

“I love you, and I am more than willing to face whatever hardships await us. So long as I have you, I have everything I need.” My gaze fell. “Also, I am sorry for being the worst matchmaker in the history of matchmakers.”

He laughed, wrapping an arm around my waist. He pulled me against him, and my hands came up to rest on his chest. With a smile that had turned into a smirk, he leaned close to my ear and whispered. “You are the best matchmaker I have ever hired.”

“I am the only matchmaker you have ever hired, Phillip Montfert,” I rebutted with indignation. “And certainly the last.”

I felt his deep chuckle beneath my palm, but he did not pull away. Instead, his cheek pressed against mine, his breath caressing my skin as he placed a soft kiss on my neck. “The very last. You taught me what love truly is not by finding my perfect match, but by being my perfect match. I cannot imagine my life without you in it, Grace. I love you with my entire soul. All the broken pieces. All the inexperienced parts. I love you as I am and as the man I hope to one day become. Say you will marry me. Say you will help me reach the future happiness I have finally allowed myself to envision.”

“Yes!” I pulled him back, my impatience nearly unbearable. “Yes.”

Phillip grinned as if reading my thoughts. He leaned forward and captured my lips with his. My body seemed to scream as I returned the gesture. Returned all the longing and desire his kisses contained. This feeling was far better than any novel had described—powerful and all-encompassing. I would never view the idea of love the same again. How could I when experience brought with it a level of understanding I had never imagined?

My fingers wove into his hair, and Phillip tightened his hold on me, his kisses deepening. In his arms, I felt entirely whole. My leg would never fully heal, but his love had mended me in ways I hadn’t realized I needed.

Phillip chased my lips when I pulled away. I chuckled and placed a hand on either side of his face to hold him back. My thumb brushed over the angry welt on his cheek. He seemed to sense my question and sighed. “Must we allow it to interrupt?”

“Tell me quickly. What happened?”

He laughed, and his arm loosened around me, nearly making me regret my request. Phillip dug about in his pocket for a moment and retrieved a golden chain from within. He held it up, and I took it for closer inspection.

“The chain from my uncle’s pocket watch,” he said when I looked at him in confusion. “It broke when he left one final mark before being escorted to Newgate.”

I had suspected Mr. Perry was the culprit, and anger rekindled in me anew. “That man is despicable.”

“Agreed.”

“Why do you carry it?” I asked. “The chain.”

He shrugged. “I have broken free of the chains that have kept me bound for so long. It is a physical reminder that he cannot control me anymore. A good reminder despite the pain of the past. And a reminder that not all broken things need to be fixed to have value. We simply need to look at them differently. Appreciate them for what they are.”

He gave me a pointed look, and I chuckled. “I see.”

“Good.” He took the chain and returned it to his pocket. “Because I was not quite finished with our other activity.”

His lips met mine, briefly, for the door opened, and Rowe poked his head inside. “Oh, you are still...I will give you one—maybe two—more minutes. Shall that be enough?”

“No, but I suspect no amount will be,” I said, grinning.

Rowe glared at me in annoyance. Someday he might understand. He held up his fingers. “Two minutes.”

The door closed again, and no sooner than I looked at Phillip, did he kiss me. Sweetly. Softly. With a promise that two minutes was only the beginning.