Page 4 of Matching Mr. Montfert (Apsley Family #2)

Chapter four

Grace

In the many times I had been wholeheartedly annoyed with my cousin, I had never resorted to violence. Today, I would make an exception.

I clutched a copy of Fourdyce’s Sermons , which served as amusing irony given I was about to pummel Rus over the head with it. I had backed him into one corner of the library at Apsley Court, the Apsley’s townhouse in London, and although he held up his hands in a defensive effort to placate me, his smug grin testified of his lack of guilt.

And lack of fear, for that matter. Perhaps he knew I had no intention of actually harming him, but I was sorely tempted.

“I was only trying to help,” he said. “Did you not mention your desire to play matchmaker? Here I delivered your first client without you so much as lifting a finger, and this is the thanks I get?” He gestured to the book I still gripped.

“We have not been in London more than a day, Rus! This is my first Season. Could you not give me time to settle in before acting so generously?” I used the term lightly. I was plenty capable of finding clients on my own. The entire point of establishing a name for myself was so I could obtain my independence.

Regardless, my leg ached from our travels and having a few days respite would have been appreciated.

“But you seemed so eager,” he said with false innocence.

“Eager?” I lifted the book higher. “I am quite eager for something, now you mention it.”

His brows furrowed, and the confidence in his voice wavered slightly. “You wouldn’t.”

“I hope she does,” said Annette, who was watching us from the coffee brown settee near the hearth. “The only way you will ever actually listen to a sermon is if someone beats it into you.”

“Those happen to be for females,” Rus protested. “I needn't have any of those beaten into me.”

“I would argue men would benefit as soundly from the instruction those pages contain. Besides”—Annette shrugged—“your shriek last night when you found a spider in your room was remarkably feminine.”

Rus pointed at her. “I have it on good authority you were the one who put that spider on my pillow. Mark my words, Netty, I shall have my revenge for it.”

Annete’s lips lifted into a grin as her focus returned to her book. She certainly seemed unconcerned with her brother’s threat, though I would not put it past Rus to have vengeance. But it would have to wait; we had a situation to discuss.

I tucked the book under my arm and swatted him to bring his attention back to me. “Who is this client? Are they trustworthy?”

“Trustworthy? I believe so.”

I narrowed my eyes. “What do you mean, you believe so? How long have you known this person?”

Rus rubbed the back of his neck. “Almost a full day.”

“A full—Rus! You brought me a client you, yourself, do not properly know? How much did you drink last night before thinking this was a good idea?”

He straightened his coat and lifted his chin. “None, as it were. We became quick friends, and the chap is desperate. He seems the sort of man willing to heed the advice of a…matchmaker.”

“A woman,” Annette interjected. “Just say it, Rus. It cannot be so painful.”

“The idea is intolerable and has the potential for disaster. I should know. Every time I’ve heeded your advice, Netty, I ended up in trouble. Or worse—blamed for trouble I did not even cause.”

“Makes up for all the times you’ve gotten away with it, then.”

I snapped my fingers in front of Rus’s face before he could retort. “Focus, Russell. I cannot meet with this gentleman without knowing more about him. When you say he is desperate, I need to know precisely what you mean. I am in the business of love matches, not scandal.”

“I am certain he wishes for a love match, and if not, you may convince him he needs one. If anyone can find the poor chap a lady this Season, it is you.”

“Flattery will not keep me from whacking you with this book.”

Rus sighed, all humor gone from his expression. “Give the man a chance, Gracie. True, I do not know him well, but I do like him. He seems like a good person, and if all goes well, it may make a grand start to your matchmaking endeavors. Meet him before you decide against it.”

My agitation deflated. “Very well, but you must go with me for the first meeting. I’ve no desire to be alone with him.”

Rus nodded. “I will agree to that.”

Despite Rus’s easy agreement to accompany me, he had a fair number of complaints during our morning walk to Hyde Park. I reminded him this was all his doing, but even so, he attempted to place the blame on me, as troublesome cousins were often wont to do.

“Why must we go at this unholy hour?” Rus adjusted his cravat, tugging it away from his neck. The man had never been fond of them and typically ripped them off the moment he was home. “I would have preferred to sleep in.”

“Would you also have preferred to arrive in the park at the fashionable hour? For all the debutantes to gawk at you?” I tapped a finger to my lips. “That must be why you are so put out. You’ve missed an opportunity.”

Rus gave me a flat look. “You know full well I’ve no wish to be gawked at, especially by fresh debutantes. They are the worst crowd in London.”

I highly doubted that, but for a bachelor with fortune and title, maybe it wasn’t so far from the truth. Rus joked about his distaste for courtship, but I suspected there was a deeper reason for his reluctance. I hadn’t any idea what it might be. Something from his past, perhaps?

Regardless, Rus was not likely to convey those particulars to me, a self-proclaimed matchmaker.

“You know it is better I meet this gentleman before the crowds arrive,” I said. “You may take a nap when we return home.”

“Yes, yes, I understand the reason, but that does not mean I have to like it.”

“Where did you tell him to find us?” I asked as we entered the east side of the park. This early, there was not a parade of carriages gliding along down Rotten Row, nor any groups of gossips lurking to snatch up their next topic for discussion over tea. Still, this type of conversation was best held in private. If I came to trust Mr. Montfert—that was the name Rus had provided me after hours of prodding—then we might decide upon a better place to meet that would allow for less chance of prying ears. Until then, the park was a safe place, especially with my cousin at my side.

“Just north of The Serpentine. There is a nice copse of trees there to provide some privacy.” Rus patted my hand, which rested on his arm. “You may not believe me, Gracie, but your reputation is important to me. It was never my intention to put you at risk.”

“I know.” My cousin might have been a bit absent-minded on occasion, but he meant well and cared for his family. Even for Annette, with whom he never seemed to cease arguing. Russell Apsley simply preferred to appear unbothered by anything and everyone. A facade I did not understand.

But that was a puzzle for another time.

Rus guided me into a little grove filled with shrubbery tall enough to obscure our view of the footpath. So surrounded by greenery, it nearly felt like being back at Kenwick Castle, where the gardens spread over vast acres and paths meandered through hedges and flora.

“This place is lovely,” I said in a reverent tone.

“I suppose it is. I confess I haven’t given much thought to the scenery while here before.”

I turned to face him, narrowing my eyes. “For what purpose did you come here before?”

The rakish grin that spread over Rus’s face said I likely did not wish to know, and he offered no details to satiate my curiosity.

“I think I’ll have my nap now.” Rus crossed the little clearing and slunk down against the tree with the thickest trunk. He slid his hat forward so it blocked the sunlight from reaching his eyes.

“A nap? Here?” I placed my hands on my hips and glared at him. Not that it did any good. He could not see me with his hat in such a position.

“You said I could take one,” came Rus’s muffled voice. If I wasn’t mistaken, his words had carried over a yawn.

“I did not say you could take one now . Mr. Montfert shall be here any moment.”

Rus shrugged. “So scream if he attempts anything improper. I am a light sleeper.”

“That is hardly true. A herd of elephants would not wake you, Rus. Besides, you must make introductions.” I waited for him to respond but was met with silence. “Rus!”

Whether he was simply ignoring me or unwittingly proving my point, I could not say, but it hardly mattered, for another figure entered the clearing. He possessed chestnut hair that poked out from beneath a brown hat, and his coat, one of the finest I’d seen, reflected the state of his finances. His cravat was starch white and perfectly knotted. By all appearances, Mr. Montfert could at least afford to pay me as my first client.

That, decidedly, did little to settle my nerves.

His gaze roamed the clearing until he found me, and then with a slight frown, he approached. “Forgive my intrusion, but I am to meet…someone here.”

“Yes. You are to meet me.”

He drew back, and his gaze wandered down my body and back up again. “I was not expecting a woman.”

My brows raised. What had Rus told the man? “Did my cousin leave that particular detail out? Never mind. A more important question is does my sex matter?”

He removed his hat and ran a gloved hand through his hair. His eyes, the same blue-gray as the sky, held a weariness I hadn’t expected. Despite that, I could admit he was a handsome man, and should his personality prove reasonable, finding him a match would not be challenging.

“It does not matter, per se, but…is it proper for us to meet? Alone.”

Ah. He feared for my reputation. Or for his own, should we be discovered. I could alleviate his concerns on this front, at least.

I gestured to Rus. “I assure you, I will take precautions in that regard. Next time we meet I will bring a better chaperone.”

“Mr. Apsley,” the man said, his lips rising in a slow smile that reached his eyes. Gracious, but he was handsome. “I hadn’t even noticed him there.”

“As I said, I will bring a better chaperone next time as this one is broken.” I stepped forward, extending my hand toward him. That was how men of business greeted one another, was it not? “Since he is not conscious enough to make introductions, I suppose we are left to our own devices.”

He stared at my hand a moment before taking it. “It would appear so. I am Phillip Montfert.”

“Grace Scott.”

Mr. Montfert released my hand and bowed slightly. “A pleasure to meet you, Miss Scott.”

I wasn’t entirely sure I agreed. Not that the man was anything but polite; merely that the circumstances of our acquaintance were complicated. I had intended to arrive in London and formulate a plan, not take on clients straight away. I felt ill-prepared, thrown into the deep without knowledge of how to swim.

I sucked in a breath. “Well, Mr. Montfert, how shall we begin? I fear I know little about your…situation. Rus only mentioned you were desperate to find a match this Season.”

His ears turned pink, and he rotated his hat, his fingers sliding along its brim. “Yes. My uncle—I am to inherit all of his holdings, you see—has demanded it of me. I am not very experienced with society, as this is my first trip to London. It is all a bit overwhelming. I need the help.”

His willingness to admit as much softened me toward him, but still, I hesitated. Getting things right for this first client was crucial. I could not make a business of matchmaking by launching with a failure.

“What sort of match are you hoping for, Mr. Montfert?”

“What sort?” he repeated with mild confusion.

“Are you hoping for companionable friendship, something more, or is marriage merely a business transaction for you? Your answer, you see, has a bearing on whether I can help you.” Or wanted to. Perhaps I had allowed my romantic notions to cloud my vision, but I wished to see people happily settled. If I could not find love for myself, then doing it for others would suffice.

A line formed between Mr. Montfert’s brows as he seemed to consider the question. He took several moments to respond, and I appreciated him giving it careful thought.

“I think companionable friendship”—my heart sank before he continued—“but my preference would be for more.”

“More?” Did I dare hope?

His face had tinted again. “My parents were quite fond of one another. I had always hoped that if I did marry…” His gaze dropped to the ground, and he shifted on his feet. “Perhaps I am asking too much.”

“No!” I rushed forward and placed a hand on his arm. “You are not asking too much. I confess I had hoped you wished for a love match.”

He stared at where my hand rested on his sleeve for a moment before meeting my gaze. His lips pulled into a small smile. “You are willing to help me then?”

I smiled back at him. “I am, and we shall start straight away. Tell me, what sort of things are you looking for in a wife?”

He retrieved a piece of foolscap from inside his pocket. “My uncle has high expectations. You’ll find qualities listed here. At least one of the first two must be met. The rest are preferred, but not essential.” He winced. “My uncle’s words; not mine.”

“This will certainly give me a place to start,” I said, accepting the paper from him. “I’ll need some time to go through it and consider possible ladies that meet them. In full disclosure, this is my first Season, and I am not well-acquainted with every member of the ton .”

“That is quite fine, Miss Scott. You are likely better acquainted with them than I am. May I trust you will reach out once you’ve had time to ponder the list?”

“I shall.”

“Good. Your cousin has my direction, and you may send a note under his name to avoid any risk of scandal.” He paused. “And I thank you for doing this. You have my word I will compensate you for your time. If you have a price in mind—”

“We may discuss that when we next meet.” I had not even remembered to ask for compensation, and my shoulders sank with relief. Mr. Montfert was handsome, but I could add respectful and honest to that list as well. “I will send you word as soon as I am able.”

A snore rumbled from Rus’s throat. Mr. Montfert and I stared at him, then laughed. My new client stepped forward, scooped up my hand, and placed a short kiss on my glove. The action released a horde of butterflies in my stomach.

That was not very business-like.

But it was gallant. I would add it to his list of qualities, too. The man’s prospects were increasing by the minute.

“Until next time, Miss Scott.” He bowed and left me to wake my snoring cousin on my own.