To Marry a Matchmaker. Michelle Styles

impressionable age…’

      ‘I give you my word, Dorothy. Cawburn will only ruin Sophie over my dead body. Trust me on this.’ Henri lay on the dark green damask couch and gazed up at the ornate ceiling. Robert Montemorcy’s house with its highly polished wooden floors, plush Persian carpets and various clocks and other mechanical items whirling smelt of wax polish and other chemicals. It had puzzled her at first and then she remembered Robert kept a small chemical laboratory for experiments. He’d even created a new type of white paint for Melanie Crozier when she complained of the old one streaking and ruining her watercolours.

      A variety of clocks started to strike the hour, reminding her that time was fleeting. Henri shivered and pulled the soft wool blanket up around her chin, wrapping herself in a cocoon against the world. For once Robert was correct. She would never have made it home. But she’d leave as soon as her aunt’s carriage arrived. It puzzled her why Miss Ravel and her stepmother hadn’t greeted her and had left the nursing to a junior maid. But then not everyone was comfortable around invalids.

      Henri moved her ankle and, despite the laudanum the doctor had forced her to drink earlier, it throbbed with a dull ache. Henri wrinkled her nose. One more fallacy. She had always thought laudanum took away all physical aches and pains. Edmund in his gentle reproachful way had always sworn it did when she enquired.

      ‘Lady Thorndike?’ Mr Montemorcy stood in the door, filling it. The light filtered in behind him and prevented her from seeing his face. ‘I regret to inform you that you will need to remain here for a week, two at most. Doctor Lumley requests it.’

      Henri concentrated on a particularly fat cupid, trying to conquer the inexplicable urge to weep. She was not sure which was worse—that Mr Montemorcy had begun calling her Lady Thorndike again or the fact she was not to be moved. To be looked after as a matter of duty, rather than out of love and affection. She wanted to be home, surrounded by familiar objects. At least there the servants were friends. ‘Surely my aunt—’

      ‘Doctor Lumley fears infection and wants to make sure you are kept quiet with your leg raised. Until you have fully recovered.’

      Infection. The word stabbed at Henri. It was a horrid way to die and there was little anyone could do once it had taken hold. Edmund used to fear it far more than the lung fever that eventually killed him.

      ‘But the bite was washed clean.’ Henri hated the way even the mention of infection sent an ice-cold chill down her spine.

      ‘Dog bites are notorious for infection. And your ankle is badly sprained. He doesn’t want you moved until the swelling goes down.’

      Tears of frustration pricked her eyelids. He didn’t understand. She wasn’t going to get an infection. Infections happened to other people. She was always sensible about such things. She took care, but there were so many things that had to be attended to. ‘I can rest at home.’

      ‘Doctor Lumley wants you to be nursed properly.’ His tone was warm, but commanding. He expected to be obeyed, Henri realised with a start. It wasn’t open for negotiation. ‘I understand from Doctor Lumley that your aunt is not entirely well. Staying here is the only solution. Unless you wish to risk an infection…’

      Robert’s words flowed over her. She trusted Doctor Lumley and he wanted her in this house, being looked after. He had cured her aunt’s fever last winter when everyone despaired. What wasn’t she being told? She took a deep breath. ‘I…I…’

      ‘You have gone green, Lady Thorndike.’

      ‘I know what infections can do,’ she said in a rush.

      ‘As I do, Henri.’ He turned his head towards her, throwing his features into sharp relief. ‘My mother died from one when I was ten.’

      ‘My late husband…used to fear them.’ She hated the way her voice quavered and stopped. She should have more control after all this time. It had to be the laudanum. She tightened her grip on the blanket, concentrated on the flocked wallpaper rather than on Robert’s mouth and regained control. ‘He’d seen his father die from a splinter of wood, but Edmund died of…of other things.’

      ‘It is awful to lose someone you love.’

      Henri glanced up at him and saw the tenderness in his eyes. He understood without her having to explain about Edmund’s death and the agony he had experienced. Why did he have to be the one who did?

      ‘Did…did the doctor say anything? Does he think I might—?’

      ‘Right now, it is time. Everything that can be done is being done. But if you do not rest, I will not be held responsible.’ He patted her shoulder. ‘The village would never forgive me if I lost you.’

      Henri wrinkled her nose as relief flooded through her. Somehow it made it easier to think that Robert was there with her, even if it was just words. ‘Hardly that. I keep bullying people into things they don’t want to do.’

      ‘Like dancing lessons.’ A heart-melting smile crossed his face. ‘And it will be strict rest. Doctor Lumley insists. He said something about last winter…’

      Henri made a face. Doctor Lumley would have to remember how last winter, she had suffered a chill and had been far too busy to rest—the Ladies’ Aid Society had needed to make up the baskets for the poor. She could think of a dozen pressing problems and a half-dozen more minor crises that required her attention. And then there was the vexing problem of Sebastian and how he had conned Aunt Frances out of the housekeeping money that last time he was up here. Could she direct the house even if she was lying on a sofa with her foot raised? ‘I can’t remain here that long. I have responsibilities. My aunt depends on me.’

      ‘You wish to get well. The entire village can exist without your interference for a few weeks. In next to no time, you will be arranging people’s lives again.’ He gave a crooked smile that lit up his face. Henri tightened her grip on the coverlet as her heart started doing crazy flips and she found herself watching his lips. ‘Think of it as a way to win our wager.’

      ‘But a few weeks…the ball…people will forget about it!’ Henri’s body started to tremble. Suddenly the entire room tilted. She concentrated on the china ornaments and gradually the giddiness left her. It was a reaction to her predicament rather than to Robert Montemorcy’s nearness.

      ‘You do people a disservice.’ His smile became liquid honey. ‘Catch up on your reading. My library is well stocked, but someone can always be persuaded to go to the circulating library and get out the guide to better cattle, if you require.’

      Henri smiled back at him. Relief flooded through her. Seemingly their quarrel was over. They could even laugh about it. With Sebastian, such things festered and lingered for days. ‘Being here will demonstrate to you that I have other passions in my life besides matchmaking. If I succeed, you will be dancing the polka.’