‘Come, Lady Thorndike. What spell did you have to chant to guarantee perfect bridal weather?’
Henri took a steadying breath and readied her nerves for the coming battle of wits. Victory was going to be an altogether sweeter prospect if she ensured Robert Montemorcy was properly humbled.
‘Weather is beyond anyone’s control, Mr Montemorcy.’ She made her voice like honey. ‘I just hoped for the best.’
‘I prefer to put my faith in science and observation. Cool logic.’
‘Had you done that, you’d have been wrong.’ She gestured towards the blue sky. ‘Not a single cloud to spoil the day. I’ll grant you that this spring has been wetter than most, but I just knew that today would be wonderful. But I did have an alternative venue to hand if necessary. Lady Winship offered Aydon Castle’s hall. However, one must always consider the potential for her pugs to escape. On balance, the garden was a less tricky option.’
‘Only you, Lady Thorndike, would consider planning a wedding breakfast in the garden during one of the wettest springs Northumbria has known easier than worrying about a few dogs escaping.’ His dark brown eyes twinkled and the slight flutter at the base of her spine turned to a warm curl of heat. Henri lifted her chin and concentrated on breathing slowly. ‘The generals in the British army could take lessons from your nerves of steel.’
‘Lessons? No, no, I simply possess a happy talent for organising.’ She made her face assume a studied expression of incredulity. ‘In fact, this marriage would not have happened if I had not taken matters in hand.’
He raised an imperious brow, transforming his face into one of elegant scorn. ‘You appear to entertain the notion that you had a hand in the marriage, rather than being the chief architect of its near-collapse.’
‘Entertain, fiddlesticks. I know.’ Henri nodded towards where the happy couple stood, receiving the good wishes of their neighbours. Mr Montemorcy needed to be enlightened. No matter how intensely that rich voice of his affected her, it didn’t make his words true. ‘This wedding only happened because of careful and strategic planning on my part. It was a close-run thing, particularly when Mr Crozier spoke of emigrating. To America. Thankfully he saw the sense in staying put and marrying the one woman who will give him lasting happiness.’
‘It was Crozier’s sense, not yours.’
Henri clenched her fists and struggled to maintain her temper. She’d slaved over this match, working hard to ensure that the bride and groom realised how exactly right they were for each other. ‘Who else saw the potential in two lonely individuals? Who arranged the dinner party so that they sat next to each other and discovered a mutual admiration of Handel? Who hung back on the walk out towards the excavations so that there was a chance of the happy couple reaching a convivial understanding?’
‘Who indeed?’ he murmured, his eyes becoming hooded.
She glanced over her shoulder and lowered her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. ‘Of course, with the actual wedding breakfast, I played a larger part. Dear Melanie can never organise anything. And left to Mr Crozier, they would have eloped to Gretna Green and deprived the village of the chance to bestow their good wishes. Matters had to be taken into hand. I, for one, am well satisfied with the result. The entire village is here and Melanie has had the wedding she has always dreamt of. The memories of her perfect day will sustain her in years to come.’
‘A wedding does not a marriage make. The new Mrs Crozier should remember today because of her groom rather than because of the setting.’
‘But the setting helps. The perfect start to a marriage.’
‘And this is what you base the right to usurp proceedings on?’ Mr Montemorcy captured her arm and led her down the gravel path of her aunt’s garden towards the summer-house. For a few heartbeats, intelligent thought fled and all Henri could think about was the pressure his fingers exerted on her elbow. ‘A few engineered meetings of two people who had been near neighbours for years. This marriage would have happened without your interference.’
Henri dragged her mind away from the breadth of his shoulders and his sandalwood scent and back to the matter at hand. ‘Years, Mr Montemorcy. Years without noticing that the perfect person lived a short walk away. That state of affairs would have continued indefinitely. Since arriving in Northumberland, I have facilitated three marriages, two reconciliations between estranged parents and their children, and one christening. It is altogether a brilliant achievement for sixteen months’ work.’ Henri crossed her arms. Mr Montemorcy had to realise how hard she worked for other people’s happiness. She’d done this out of the best possible motives, and now she was about to see her aunt’s eyes light up, if Mr Montemorcy didn’t find some reason to wriggle out of their wager—a wager that, suspiciously, he had yet to mention. ‘Who are you to say differently?’
‘I’m urging caution, Lady Thorndike. Not everyone wants to be paired off in a manner that you deem fit. Nor do they want their lives ordered to suit your mood. What can you hope to achieve with such meddling?’
‘A satisfactory result all around.’ Henri clapped her hands together and rocked back and forth on her toes, and then revealed the true source of her happiness. ‘And my aunt’s purpose in life restored.’
‘Meaning?’ He arched one maddening eyebrow. ‘You’ve lost me, Lady Thorndike. Your aunt is over fifty—surely you aren’t going to try to pair her off with some unsuspecting retired military type?’
Henri took a deep breath and counted to ten, savouring the moment. Of all the satisfactions she’d expected to experience today, this was the one she had looked forward to the most.
‘Don’t you remember? We wagered, Mr Montemorcy, last New Year’s. You didn’t believe the groom could be brought up to snuff before hell froze over. I have done it in under the six months you specified.’ Henri fluttered her lace-gloved hand towards where the happy couple stood giving each other besotted looks.
‘Did you always enjoy ordering others’ lives for them, Lady Thorndike? Or did it grow on you?’
Henri caught her bottom lip between her teeth, considering the question. Was it her fault that she could see solutions where others saw insurmountable difficulties? But ordering people about—surely he couldn’t really think that’s what she did? She might make suggestions, some stronger than others, but she always allowed people to decide for themselves. She wasn’t like her mother, bitter and overly critical. She celebrated when people experienced joy. The challenge of improving people’s lives gave her life meaning.
‘I’m not overly domineering. My ideas are better than most and I simply possess a happy talent for organisation.’
His rich laugh rang out and Henri wondered if she was in fact being humoured. ‘You do have a unique perspective on it.’
‘It isn’t my fault if the vast majority of people fail to see how problems can easily be solved. A cool head and a calm manner counts for much in life.’ Henri gave a little clap of her hands before giving Mr Montemorcy a hard stare. ‘Will you concede under the terms of our wager that you have lost?’
‘On the balance of probabilities, I will admit defeat.’ A smile tugged at his austere features, transforming his face for a heartbeat into knees-to-jelly handsome.
Henri thought once more what a good husband he would make, if only he’d allow her to find the right woman for him. But he’d expressly forbidden it and Henri wasn’t prepared to take the risk and jeopardise their acquaintance, because his presence at any gathering made it all the more exciting. Often their exchanges ended with her pulse racing and her being filled with either a determination to prove him wrong, or the glorious bubbly feeling of being utterly right. And on balance, his being attached to some unknown miss would complicate those exchanges.
‘Say the words, Mr Montemorcy.’
Golden sparkles flecked his eyes. ‘Your