Page 5 of Matching Mr. Montfert (Apsley Family #2)

Chapter five

Grace

Attending one’s first dinner party in London was an exciting but terrifying affair. My fingers played with the tips of my gloves as another wave of nerves washed over me. I had looked forward to my debut since before Papa’s death, but my fantasies had not been at all like this. In those visions, both my parents and sister had stood at my side, and we had eagerly shared the experiences Town had to offer.

I had neither of my parents, with Papa gone and Mama still mourning his death, nor did I have Amelia, who remained in York with her husband. Their absence left me anxious, but at least I had Rowe to guide me through it all.

He sat opposite me in my family’s coach—his coach, now that he had inherited everything. Father had left us in good hands under Rowe’s protection. My cousin was as good and stalwart as any man could be.

“Are you ready?” he asked softly as though he had read my thoughts.

“Yes, though I am nervous. Silly, really. It is not as though I have never attended a dinner party.”

“Would it make you feel better to know I am always struck with a bout of nerves before a party? Or a ball. No matter how many I attend, the sensation follows me.” Rowe chuckled, shaking his head slightly. “I would much prefer to remain home over socializing.”

I sent him a guilty smile. “Were it not for me, you could remain home.”

Rowe met my gaze. “Do not misunderstand, Grace. I am happy to accompany you. It is both my duty and my honor. And besides, my mother would never allow me to turn reclusive. Not until I have married, at the very least.”

“She does seem intent on seeing her children happily settled. Rus mentioned your father has urged him to marry soon. I imagine much of it is at your mother’s encouragement. And, of course, there is Annette’s agreement .”

We both laughed. Rowe sighed, though it was done with an odd sort of contentment. Or perhaps resignation. “Mother has marital goals, to be sure. Her focus has not yet landed so heavily on me, but I shan’t escape it forever. But let us not worry about my affairs tonight. It is you who should study your prospects.”

I scoffed. My prospects? I had none of those, nor did I expect to gain any.

“Do not make light of the idea, Grace. I will not force you toward marriage, but you should have an open mind. Who is to say you will not meet a man tonight and fall madly in love with him?”

“Very well, I shall keep an open mind.” But not for myself. No, I had read over Mr. Montfert’s list—which I found was rather ridiculous—and while finding a woman with title, wealth, and all the qualities the paper requested was impossible, I had to start somewhere. Surely one of the women in attendance tonight would meet some of them.

Not that I would tell Rowe any of this. He remained unaware of my meeting with Mr. Montfert, largely because I feared his disapproval. Rowe was not the sort to demand and restrict, but when it came to my reputation, his protectiveness may well bring my matchmaking plans to a halt.

The coach stopped in front of a white building with dozens of windows. The front entrance was framed with two columns and covered by a roof that extended out to the pavement. Rowe alighted first and then handed me down. I ran my hands down my lavender gown, smoothing out any wrinkles caused by the journey, and stared up at the building’s facade, my stomach twisting.

“Ready?” Rowe offered me his arm, and I gladly accepted his support, though we did not move from our place on the pavement. We waited until Rus, Annette, and Lord and Lady Paxton had alighted from their coach and joined us before pressing forward.

“Smile,” Lady Paxton whispered to her daughter. “It will not do for you to enter the house scowling, darling.”

“I have nothing to smile about,” Annette grumbled before doing as her mother asked.

It was no secret she had little desire to be here. Or in London at all, really. She and Rowe were similar in their love for the countryside, though how they enjoyed their time there could not have been more different. Rowe practically lived in the library, while Annette was far too adventurous to remain indoors. Even in the winter she rarely kept within the walls of Kenwick Castle unless forced by either her parents’ orders or snow.

If Annette were to marry, she would need a husband who understood that sense of adventure. One who would not attempt to douse her fiery nature. Would there be such a man present tonight?

A spark of giddiness rushed through me. Perhaps studying the men in attendance was not the worst idea. I could search for a match for both my cousin and my client. That would provide more than enough distraction from my nerves.

We entered the house and removed our coats before moving to a large drawing room fitted with deep blue wallpaper patterned with elegant floral swashes. Several paintings adorned the walls, and in addition to oriental vases and fine furniture, the room held an air of superiority. Apsley Court was quite similar in its grandeur, but still, I stood in awe of it all.

“Lovely, is it not?” asked Lady Paxton with a gentle smile.

My cheeks heated for having been caught gaping. “It is very lovely. I am always so impressed when entering a new place for the first time, regardless of the decor. Or perhaps because of it. The choices in such things can say so much about the people living there.”

Lady Paxton’s smile grew, and the skin at the corner of her eyes crinkled. The woman was beautiful, her auburn hair the same shade as the twins’, and she carried herself with such grace and kindness. Though I was not one of her children, she had always made me feel as if I were, and I appreciated that more than I could express.

Especially in my mother’s absence.

“I agree,” said Lady Paxton, “but we should never allow presumptions grown from studying the decor to shadow what we gain in conversation. You will find our host and hostess, though very wealthy, are quite amiable. Come, I will introduce you both to them.”

Lady Paxton waved Annette and I forward to where Lord Paxton was already engaged in conversation with the host. The man wore a fine, deep red waistcoat, and his graying hair was styled with pomade that glistened beneath the candlelight. Wrinkles lined his jovial expression, and the woman who stood next to him—his wife, a dark-haired beauty with matching dark eyes—wore a smile that painted her amusement with the men’s conversation.

To the woman’s left stood another man—one far younger, though he possessed similar dark hair and eyes. I could only assume he was related to them. A son, perhaps, and a rather dashing one at that.

“Forgive my intrusion,” said Lady Paxton, dipping into a curtsy to the woman while the older men continued their discussion. “My husband has abandoned us in his eagerness to speak with Mr. Paget. You would think the two of them have not already spent hours together since arriving in London.”

Mrs. Paget chuckled. “There is nothing to forgive. Had you waited for them to finish, you would likely not have spoken with me at all. They are something, the two of them.”

“Indeed.” Lady Paxton gestured to Annette and me. “May I introduce you to my daughter, Miss Annette Apsley, and my niece, Miss Grace Scott.”

“It is very nice to meet the both of you. This is my son, Lieutenant Edward Paget. He is recently returned from The West Indies.”

The lieutenant bowed, and when he straightened, his gaze bounced from me to Annette, where it lingered for several moments before he spoke. “A pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

The elder Mr. Paget laughed heartily, shaking his head with vigor.

His son grimaced. “They are discussing the policies revolving around the slave trade. Despite recent laws, there is still much happening in the colonies. My father is not convinced a motion for emancipation would pass in The Commons. Unlike your father, Miss Apsley, a genuine supporter of the movement.”

Mrs. Paget glared at her son. “Edward, that is not an appropriate topic to discuss with ladies. Keep your politics out of my drawing room while I have guests. I cannot stop your father, but I will not have it from you as well.”

“My apologies,” said Lieutenant Paget, though he hardly seemed affected by the chastisement. He waited until his mother and Lady Paxton were deeply engaged in their own discussion before speaking again. “Tell me, as I have been without London society for some time now, what is it ladies of quality prefer to discuss?”

“As this is our first Season, we are as hopeless as you, sir.” Annette smiled sweetly, but I recognized the challenge in her eyes. She was testing him. What sort of test and what she hoped to gain from his answer, I could not say.

“I cannot imagine anyone as lovely as the two of you could ever be described as hopeless in any endeavor.” He said two of you, but his attention focused solely on Annette. I fought a grin. Whether she wanted it or not, my cousin had captured his attention.

“Quite untrue,” said Annette. “There are a multitude of topics for which I find myself hopeless, abolition being one of them. I now know my father’s stance, and your father’s, but I wonder on which side you have planted your opinion?”

The lieutenant's lips twitched. “My mother recently forbade me from discussing such things in her drawing room.”

“Am I to understand you agree with her assessment that women should not discuss the very politics that affect our country, or are you merely so disinterested in a person’s right to freedom, so far removed from the issue in your finery and extravagance, to have no opinion at all?”

Oh dear.

“If those are truly my only options, then I fear an answer will offend you either way.” Amusement danced in his eyes, and part of me wished to warn him of the fire he was stoking. Annette’s passion for championing her freedom would not respond well to someone who supported any sort of enslavement.

Not that the lieutenant had offered his opinion. He danced around the topic, I suspected, simply to frustrate my cousin. Why he would wish to do so when they had only just met, I hadn’t any idea.

Either way, my concern proved unnecessary. Annette maintained her composure, hiding the fury I was certain welled within her. Once again, she fabricated a smile. “Then I believe it best I find conversation elsewhere to avoid offense from you, sir. Have a pleasant evening.” She offered a curt nod before turning away from him.

Not wanting to be left alone in conversation with the lieutenant, I followed, but not before I caught his grin. Lieutenant Paget was certainly unoffended by my cousin’s abrupt departure. If anything, he seemed to take victory in it.

“Incorrigible man,” Annette muttered when I had caught up to her. “One would think spending time in the colonies would offer him a better perspective.”

“Do you think he witnessed things firsthand?” I asked.

“Undoubtedly. And to not be moved by it?” She shook her head, and I chose not to remind her the man had not verified his stance on the subject. The matter was best laid to rest for now.

Dinner passed quickly, my attention divided between engaging my companion—a kind gentleman by the name of Mr. Willoughby who was likely fifteen years my senior—and studying the others in attendance. Several young ladies had been invited, all lovely in appearance and clearly raised with the expected poise of upper society.

I had, rather foolishly, hoped picking a candidate for Mr. Montfert would come easily. I had not considered how instrumental seeing two people interact was to the art of matchmaking.

But I had promised to find him a prospective bride, and I would do my best to determine who among the group might be suited for the role.

After leaving the men to their port, I circled the drawing room in hopes of talking to each of the eligible women. They were all amiable, though some more than others, but I found the conversations did little to assist me in my cause. How was I to know who would best suit a man I hardly knew? Even knowing a little something of his personality would have made this much easier.

Miss Angston was proficient on the pianoforte, while Miss Lancaster could sing quite beautifully, both of which I learned as the women performed after the men arrived. Then there was Lady Evelyn, a dark-haired beauty that seemed to draw the attention of every bachelor present, barring Rowe and Mr. Willoughby, into conversation with such elegance I wondered if her voice was not a siren’s song.

My client’s bride need not have all of the qualities on the list, but so many of the women of the room qualified in one way or another, I hadn’t any idea how to narrow down Mr. Montfert’s options.

I chided myself for not asking him more questions about himself during our meeting and took a seat on the nearest sofa to rest my leg. It had ached the moment I woke this morning, no doubt the result of traveling and my walk to Hyde yesterday. I had been too excited to meet with my first client to consider the ramifications.

“You appear rather put out,” a quiet voice said.

I turned toward the chair on my left to see a woman with dark brown hair and blue eyes watching me. I had not spoken to her yet, but Lady Paxton had introduced us before dinner. Miss Rigby did not come from a titled family, but by all appearances, they were quite wealthy. However, I had learned nothing of her personality during our meal, as Miss Rigby spoke very little to her dinner companion.

In fact, she had spoken little to anyone tonight.

Perhaps I had learned something, then. She was shy, though she did not seem unkind—always offering a ready smile and conversation when engaged.

“A…friend of mine has found himself in a predicament, and I’m afraid my mind has yet to help him find a solution.” I smiled, hoping the vague answer would both satisfy her and open the door to more conversation.

“It is kind of you to put so much thought into helping him,” she replied.

“What are friends for if not to help us, entertain us—perhaps create mischief with us.” At least, that is how Amelia and I were. We were sisters, but we’d always been the best of friends. I confided in her, and not having her with me now was more painful than I had thought it would be.

“I suppose so,” said Miss Rigby, her brows slightly furrowed as if considering my statement.

I struggled to find an excuse to continue our conversation, and after some time, Miss Rigby picked up the book resting on one of the side tables. She began reading from the beginning, and I wondered if it truly interested her or if she simply preferred anything over socializing.

Would Mr. Montfert prefer a quiet wife?

The thought was worth considering. There was nothing for it; I needed to meet with the man again and find out what he wanted in a wife beyond the things his uncle’s ridiculous list demanded.