Free To Marry A Matchmaker (Historical Romance) by Michelle Styles Page A

‘That is more like the Henrietta Thorndike I’m used to.’
    If only life was that simple. He wanted something more, she was sure of it. The unspoken request hung in the air.
    ‘I owe you an apology,’ she said into the sudden silence.
    ‘An apology? What have I done to deserve that?’
    ‘I made a mistake, Robert. You were trying to do what is best for your ward.’ She held out her hand. ‘You were worried. Hopefully next time, you’ll trust me with the full truth before embarking on a madcap wager.’
    He took her hand and raised it his lips. The briefest touch was enough to send her heart thumping.
    ‘There is no need for an apology—as long as we understand each other now.’
    She lifted her chin and stared straight back at him. Gathering intelligence wasn’t wrong. She wasn’t actually doing anything with it. And she wouldn’t meddle until she knew the full story. ‘Yes, we do.’
    He turned towards the door. His eyes lit with a sudden flare. ‘I will hold you to it.’

Chapter Five
    ‘H enrietta? May I call you Henrietta? I feel like I already know you.’ A blonde head with dishevelled curls and pale slightly protruding eyes peeked around the door, waking Henri from an uncomfortable sleep on the sofa. The young woman was clothed almost entirely in flounces and impractical Belgian lace. The dress appeared to be more suited to a London ballroom than a rainy afternoon in Northumberland. ‘You’re awake. Please say you’re awake. I’ve longed to meet you.’
    Henri struggled to sit up straight on the damask-covered sofa as the torrent of words rushed over her. She glanced at the small clock that was now shrouded in gloom.
    Two hours since Montemorcy left her to sleep. Two hours of sleep. She never slept during the day. Naps were for invalids.
    Her ankle throbbed, reminding her that her activity would be curtailed for the next few weeks. She had to hope that no one took pity on her. She’d had enoughpity, concern and being treated like she was made of spun-glass after Edmund died to last several lifetimes. ‘I’m awake. And you are the Miss Ravel that everyone in the village is speaking about.’
    The young woman gave a tiny curtsy. ‘In the flesh.’ Her cheeks flushed bright pink. ‘Is everyone speaking about me? Truly?’
    ‘The village was much intrigued by your canary and its pagoda-shaped cage.’
    ‘Robert gave it to me last birthday as I expressed a wish for it. He always gives the most splendid presents.’ Miss Ravel glanced over her shoulder to the right and then the left. ‘I wanted to see you before they forbade it.’
    ‘Why would they forbid it?’ Henri tilted her head to one side.
    ‘Everything new or interesting is forbidden these days.’ Sophie gave a dramatic sigh. ‘Even walking on my own or with a maid, which I used to love. My stepmama…feels that I am incapable of being sensible…, after the débâcle in the drawing room. Earlier this week I opened the canary’s cage because it must hate it, but it just looked at me and pecked a few more seeds. I don’t understand it. I’d be out of the cage in a flash if I were that bird.’
    ‘I’m sorry to hear it.’ Henri frowned. It was wrong to keep someone caged like a bird. It encouraged rebellion. She could remember just before she had insisting on eloping and how her mother’s attitude had contributed to her need to escape. Edmund had understood and she’d never gone back to the house where she grew up after Edmund’s death.
    Sophie clasped her hands together; the bright coralbangles on her wrists crashed together. ‘I’ve longed to meet you ever since Sebastian first told me about you and your romantic life. It’s all so wonderfully tragic. I wept buckets.’
    Henri clenched her jaw. Pity again, and from someone who never even knew Edmund. Sebastian had no right to tell her the story or to imply that Henri was some sort tragic heroine. ‘What did he say?’
    ‘How you had eloped and then your husband died