Page 7 of Matching Mr. Montfert (Apsley Family #2)

Chapter seven

Phillip

Arriving early in the secluded clearing within Hyde Park had not eased my nerves. Morning dew covered the grass, and more than once, my boots had slipped due to my constant pacing, nearly landing me on the damp ground. What a fool I would look should Miss Scott arrive to see my body sprawled out, my clothing covered in dirt and wet spots.

I shuddered. Speaking to a beautiful woman was difficult enough without the shadow of that sort of embarrassment.

I drew in a deep breath and forced my feet to cease moving. This impending meeting had kept me awake long into the night, my thoughts muddled with worry and anticipation. What if Miss Scott returned to declare me a lost cause, as she had her cousin? The man was a future viscount, for heaven’s sake. Surely finding him a match would not be so difficult? Apsley was charming, wealthy, handsome, titled—the list was extensive. I would inherit, so long as I obeyed Uncle’s demands, but I had little else to claim.

You are broken. Worthless. A disgrace. Uncle’s words permeated my thoughts, but I shoved them aside. I’d learned a long time ago not to give them credence. I suffered from a hearing deficiency, but the malady made me none of those things. It had taken years for me to find my confidence, and certainly no thanks to Uncle’s constant beratement.

I ran a gloved hand through my hair, likely leaving it in disarray. Uncle would not be happy if I returned home with an unkempt appearance, but I hadn’t any idea how to keep my nerves from manifesting in a physical way. A few out-of-place strands of hair seemed better than a soiled coat and breeches that would inevitably result from pacing.

Voices sounded on the other side of the trees, and my heart attempted to leap out of my chest. It was too early in the morning for it to be anyone but Miss Scott. The fashionable time to parade about the park was not for at least another three hours.

The voices drew closer, and the rattle of the rocky ground gave way to silence, which meant they had left the main path to follow the grassy one to the clearing. I suddenly felt as if my limbs had grown an extra two feet, and I made several attempts to put them in a natural position. Behind my back, clasped in front of me—why did it all seem so awkward? I may as well place them on my head and dance like a buffoon.

I shook my head. When had I become so ridiculous?

The rustle of skirts drew my attention to the opening between the trees, where not one, but two women entered carrying what looked like large blankets. Their bonnets shielded their faces, but still, I knew for certain one belonged to Miss Scott. Her brown curls dangled against her cheeks, peeking out from the side of the light pink bonnet, and there was the familiar curve of her hips…

Not that I had intentionally paid attention to that specifically when we first met. I was a man of detail and had a knack for remembering shapes and colors. Perhaps it was my body’s way of making up for deficits in other areas, but the gift had served me well at times.

I clasped my hands behind my back in a tight grip to keep them from moving anymore, but doing so did nothing to help the perspiration forming on my hands. At least neither of the women would notice with my gloves.

They both approached and curtsied, and I returned the expected greeting. “Good morning, Miss Scott.”

“Good morning, Mr. Montfert. May I introduce you to my cousin, Miss Annette Apsley.”

Ah. So this was the infamous Netty that Apsley had spoken of so fondly. Her appearance certainly fit with his description of her character. She had fiery red hair and bright blue eyes that promised mischief.

“A pleasure,” I said. “Are you to be our new chaperone, Miss Apsley?”

The woman’s eyes narrowed on me. “I am. What sort of cousin would I be if I allowed Grace to converse with some strange man alone in the park? I needed to meet you for myself.”

My clasped hands tightened. “I hope after today I no longer seem like a strange man.”

I had my doubts. By all accounts, I was strange. With little experience in Society and a request for her cousin to find me a match, this woman had every right to harbor some concerns.

“We shall see,” said Miss Apsley. Her brows lifted as she backed away from me. “I’ll be watching. From over there.”

She continued her retreat backward until she reached the opposite side of the clearing. She unfolded the blanket and spread it over the grass before taking a seat and opening the book that had been wrapped inside the material.

“We noticed how wet the ground was before leaving this morning,” said Miss Scott. “Since there are no benches available off the path, I thought it might be best if we had something to sit on to avoid getting wet.”

“A brilliant idea. I only wish I had thought of it.” I gave her a smile, which she returned, and together we spread her blanket over the ground between two trees. A book had also been hidden within the folds of Miss Scott’s blanket, though it appeared to be a diary rather than a novel.

Miss Scott sat down and leaned against the trunk, bringing her knees to her chest. She opened the book and removed a pencil that had been stuck within the diary’s pages, revealing blank paper. “I thought today we might talk about you.”

My stomach clenched. “About me?”

She nodded. “I realized it will be difficult for me to find you a match while knowing so little about you. Your Uncle’s list is rather specific, but”—she tapped the pencil against the paper— “those are the things he wants in your bride. Not the things you want.”

“Oh, well, I confess I have given it little thought.”

Her brows lifted, a hint of exasperation in her voice. “You’ve given little thought to what you want in a wife?”

“You must understand, Miss Scott. I have always known my uncle would have a great deal to say about who I married. Honestly, I am surprised he is giving me a choice in the matter at all. I half expected him to arrange something. So, no, I had not given it much thought. Not because I did not wish to, but because I saw little point in wasting my time.” I paused. “Or perhaps in raising my hopes for something that would never be.”

Her expression softened. “And if you fail to find someone, he likely will pick for you. Is that why you asked for help?”

“That is part of it. In truth, I am very unpracticed when it comes to socializing. I had scarcely left my uncle’s estate before coming to London. A handful of dinner parties with our closest neighbors is all I can claim by way of experience, but even those will do me no good here. My neighbors are all old and wrinkly.”

She hid a chuckle behind her hand. “Oh dear, that does seem unhelpful, though it also means you have a fresh canvas to paint on. I remember seeing London for the first time as a little girl. It was a wonderful experience and one I have never forgotten. So many times, I have wished I could go back and feel the same excitement again. There is nothing quite like a new experience, and it is a shame we are only given each opportunity once.”

She nodded toward her cousin, who I noticed was watching us rather than reading.

“Take reading for example,” said Miss Scott. “I can dive into the pages of my favorite book again and again, but it will never be the same as the first time I did so. Each pass brings with it something I had not noticed before, and there is comfort in the familiar. Still, sometimes I wish I could forget and experience it anew.”

“I can understand the sentiment,” I said. “There are many books I wish I could read for the first time again.”

“You enjoy reading?”

“I do. As you can imagine, leaving my uncle’s estate so infrequently left me to explore the library more often than not. I spent a great deal of time there.”

Miss Scott tapped her pencil again. “And do you have any particular favorites? Reading material can say much about a person.”

I chuckled. “I’m afraid that will be of little help to you. I read everything. Favorites? I suppose I have them, but they have a tendency to change based on the time of year or my mood. Beyond that, I am not inclined toward one genre over another. Nor fiction over technical studies. It all has its place.”

“Even romance novels?” she challenged.

I shrugged, though the way my face heated likely gave me away. I had read my share of romance novels. Our library only held so many books, and apparently at least one of Uncle’s wives had enjoyed them. I would not confess aloud I had enjoyed them, too, however.

“You are wrong.” Miss Scott’s lips lifted into a lopsided grin, and she turned the pages of her book back to the front. “That does tell me something about you.”

She scribbled a few words, and when I leaned toward her to see what she had written, she turned it at an angle to prevent me. “This is for my eyes only, Mr. Montfert.”

“That is highly unfair, especially if it is about me.”

“I never said it was about you.”

I folded my arms. “So it is not?”

Her lips pinched as she fought a smile.

“I thought so. I do not know how I feel about you taking notes on me, Miss Scott. It is unnerving.”

She flipped the pages forward again. “You will have to grow accustomed to it then, for I plan to ask you a great many questions and take notes.”

And so she did.

We spent an hour that way, and while her questions were meant to get to know me better, I found myself asking her just as many. What began as an exercise that felt raw and vulnerable, quickly turned comfortable as we sat in the shade beneath the trees. The gentle way she spoke, without judgment of my answers, eased my nerves, and I enjoyed the way the light shimmering through the branches above highlighted the amusement in her eyes whenever she thought a response was entertaining.

“Now that I know something about you,” she said, tucking her feet beneath her, “I want to know what you would look for in a wife. I know you haven’t given it much thought, but I think it’s time we change that.”

“But my uncle—”

“There is no reason we cannot satisfy both of you. Your wants are just as important as his.” She bit her lip. “More so, in my opinion.”

How I wished I could agree with her. Under perfect circumstances, I might have chosen a wife based on feelings alone, but I did not have perfect circumstances. I had a tyrannical uncle, a mother who relied on me, and nothing to my name. Not yet, anyway.

I ran a hand through my hair. “I do not even know where to begin.”

“Well, does a particular hair color catch your eye?”

Hair color? Had I ever paid attention to that save for the purpose of recognition? No, I had not, and considering it now, I had no answer. Sabrina’s hair was dark, and even I could admit my cousin possessed a certain beauty, but was it my preference? What of golden hair? Or fiery red, like Miss Apsley’s?

I glanced at the woman. She was reading now, and strands of hair rested against her cheeks. Beautiful, but nothing specifically about her coloring or features moved me in any way. Was I so indifferent?

My focus returned to Miss Scott, and I took in the shade of her hair, the color of chocolate, just like her eyes. Something stirred in my chest, and I took it to mean I preferred something between the two ends of the spectrum. “Brown. I believe I prefer brunettes.”

Miss Scott smiled, and that stirring in my chest started again. “See, Mr. Montfert. You do have preferences. You need only allow yourself to ponder them.” She scribbled the information into her book.

“I suppose you are right, but it still feels odd to point out such preferences. Especially to another…”

“Woman?” she finished with a grin. “Yes, I imagine it must seem strange. Perhaps we can skip the more physical aspects for now. What of her personality? Attraction is important, of course, but would you prefer a wife who is, say, bold and outspoken? Or one with a more quiet demeanor?”

A valid question and one that would help in her endeavor to find a good match for me. Shame I hadn’t an answer. “Well, I…”

I rubbed a hand over my face with a soft, frustrated growl. It was no wonder I was having such a difficult time searching for a wife on my own. I had no idea what type of woman I was attracted to, only a list that stated what I should be attracted to.

“I am not one who enjoys being the center of attention nor likes attending every event London has to offer. So, perhaps a wife who can socialize with the skill and grace I lack, but who is also content with staying home to enjoy quiet evenings. I do not mind outspokenness. I haven’t a desire for a wife who fears speaking her mind, but I think it is important that a person also knows how to listen.” I shook my head. “I cannot imagine any of that was at all helpful. You’ve given me two very different options, and I have requested my future bride be both.”

“Hoping for balance is nothing to be ashamed of,” she said with a light chuckle. “I think it is something we all hope for in a companion.”

“Even matchmakers?” I asked, cocking one brow. In truth, I knew little about Miss Scott. She could very well be engaged or courting. The detail did not matter to me, as far as her qualifications were concerned, for I had already seen her dedication to assisting me. Still, I could not help but wonder if her heart belonged to someone.

“Especially matchmakers.” She shifted on the blanket as if to stand, and I shot to my feet to help her. She thanked me, and together, we folded the blanket, tucking her book within.

“I have a few prospects in mind,” she said. “I cannot claim to know them well, but it would be worth making introductions. Do you plan to attend the Morrison’s ball Friday next?”

“I do not believe we have received an invitation,” I said.

She hummed. “Perhaps Rus can see to it. He can charm an invitation out of anyone.”

That hardly surprised me. “If it is your recommendation, I will be there…assuming your cousin does, in fact, procure me an invitation.”

“Good. In the meantime, I will work on a list of potential brides. It would not hurt for us to meet again before the ball as well. The more I can know of your preferences, the better our chance of success.”

It was a logical request, but something in the way it stirred my anticipation felt like more than logic. I set the notion aside. “I am free most mornings. You need only inform me of your schedule.”

She nodded. “Then we shall plan on that. We may even meet later in the day so I can make introductions here, luck permitting. Any chance to see you interact with the women will prove beneficial.”

“More observations for your book,” I said, nodding to where it lay hidden in the folds of her blanket. “Had I not been the one to ask for your help, I might think such attention to me has ulterior motives.”

The corners of her eyes crinkled. “I did not take you for a flirt, Mr. Montfert, but it is good to know you are capable. I will add it to my list.”

Her list? Was that what existed near the front of her book? A list of my qualities?

Miss Apsley, who had noticed us preparing to depart, crossed the clearing with her neatly folded blanket draped over her arm. We bid each other farewell, but as Miss Scott took her first step to leave, her leg gave out beneath her. I caught her about the waist, and her hand grasped the fabric of my coat, bringing her close.

Close enough for me to catch the floral scent of her perfume and feel her warm breath skitter across my neck. How fortunate that her blanket was smashed between us, else she might have noted the fierce pounding of my heart.

That did not need to be added to her list.

I held her steady until she regained balance. “Are you well?”

“Yes. I am stricken with a weak leg, I’m afraid, but you needn’t worry about me. I can manage. Thank you for the assistance.” She said it all with such confidence. A simple fact to be stated without concern of how I might respond.

I nodded, releasing her, and the two women continued on. I intended to wait until they had left the clearing before departing, just as an added precaution, which left me to watch Miss Scott limp away at a slow pace, though nothing in her countenance reflected the struggle as the two women chatted and smiled.

I wondered at her nonchalance—how indifferent she was to me learning of her ailment.

And I wondered what had caused the malady in the first place.