Read Online To Marry A Matchmaker (Historical Romance) by Michelle Styles - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Michelle Styles
Tags: Fiction, Romance, Historical, England, London, 19th century, love, Victorian, matchmaker, Emotions, bargain, cupid, Wager, Lonely, Compromising, Compulsive, Meddling
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she’s not cruel and she is a strong upholder of society’s virtues.’
Dorothy Ravel twisted the handkerchief about her fingers. ‘I find that society goes out the window when family are concerned. And Sophie is at such an 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 smallchemical 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 makesure 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,
Dorothy Ravel twisted the handkerchief about her fingers. ‘I find that society goes out the window when family are concerned. And Sophie is at such an 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 smallchemical 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 makesure 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,
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