The Matchmaker's Match

by Jessica Nelson

  Quite interesting.

  Finally his friend faced him. “What can I help you with?”

  “It’s of a personal note.” He glanced at Lady Eversham, noting with relief that she was conversing with a woman in a nearby box. “Your marriage appears to be flourishing, and yet it did not do so at first.”

  Eversham squinted at Spencer. “Is this about your goals for marriage? Because I told you at breakfast that I don’t want any part of the sham.”

  His friend had been vehement, actually.

  “It won’t be a sham. I’m just trying to figure out the best way to go about things in order to fulfill the terms of the will,” Spencer said smoothly. “The chaplain said—”

  “You spoke to a clergyman?”

  “I’m a new man,” he said, voice stiff, feeling embarrassed when he shouldn’t be. “God is a part of my life now, and I am being careful to act in a way of which He’d approve.”

  Eversham rolled his eyes. “Surely it’s not that difficult. Find a woman who suits you and marry her. No one is going to reject a rich marquis.”

  “That’s a cold way to look at life.”

  “Ash, what has gotten into you? See here, if you’re that concerned about right and wrong, hold your tongue until my sister arrives. Her notions are firm and unalterable. She won’t hesitate to tell you what she thinks, and most often, she’s right.”

  “Your sister is coming? Tonight?” Unaccountably his gut tightened as he remembered how distastefully she’d said the word rakes.

  “She’ll be here shortly. I’m forcing her to be social but, even more, to keep company with my wife.” Eversham’s smile was strangely tight. “Amelia’s actions of late have been unseemly, and it is past time she accepted her lot in life.”

  Spencer drummed his fingers against his legs. He didn’t much care for bluestockings, either. His mother’s unconventional ways had ruined his parents’ marriage. “You sound perturbed.”

  “My sister is creating a mess that I do not care to clean up.” His gaze cut to his chatting wife. “And I surely do not mean to put up with her shenanigans.”

  “She’s a bluestocking, correct?”

  “A political one, but that is the least of my worries.” Eversham leaned forward, cupping his mouth. “It has come to my attention that she is running a business.”

  “Really?” That would not settle well with the dowager set. “Do tell.”

  Eversham nodded sagely, keeping his voice low. “I will concede she’s an innovative sort. She has found a way to earn money by finding husbands for young misses in their first Season. Apparently she’s been wildly successful in supplementing her meager income.”

  “A hardly shocking venture, Eversham,” Spencer said drily. He’d been expecting something a little more ludicrous. Perhaps hoping for it, fact. Hoping she was less than what she appeared—less than proper, even. Then he could dispense with the doubts about his own character and how she might judge him for past deeds...

  Eversham gave a priggish sniff. “Shocking, perhaps not. But most decidedly unacceptable. She is the daughter of an earl, the sister of an earl. I’ll not have it, Ash.” His friend straightened, a frown upon his lips.

  “I’ve never known her actions to bother you before. In fact, you’ve hardly mentioned her, and when I met her last night, I didn’t realize she was your sister.” Spencer narrowed his gaze on his friend. “We danced, and I found her to be a most interesting woman.”

  “Interesting?” Eversham scoffed. “If you find women who are covered in paint half the time and write weekly letters of complaint to the House of Lords attractive, then you are daft. Her opinions never cease, and they are centered on matters no woman needs to have knowledge of.” His expression changed. “Did you say you danced with her?”

  “Quite enjoyably,” Spencer drawled, grinning at how Eversham’s face darkened.

  “My sister doesn’t dance.”

  “She did with me.”

  “She must not have realized who you were.” His friend’s countenance grew serious. “For all my talk, I love Amelia deeply. Do not treat her as a pet lady. I plan to marry her off.”

  Spencer’s chest tightened at his friend’s implication. “Do you mean to say I am not good enough for your sister?”

  “Let’s just say your past has not enamored me of your husbandly qualities. Either way, Amelia would never have you, but we can make a wager if you’d like?” Eversham let out an annoying chuckle that made Spencer’s knuckles itch.

  “Those days are behind me.” He scowled. “And it is not I who is treating her as a dispensable item, now, is it?”

  “Trust me, she is not your type.” Eversham inclined his head, his gaze shifting past Spencer. “But be the judge of that yourself, for here she comes, and knowing my twin and that particular expression upon her face, she is not in the best of moods.”

  Indeed, Spencer turned to see Lady Amelia walking toward their box, the striking blonde from Lady Havern’s party trailing behind her. Lady Amelia’s appeared to be quite a reluctant walk, and though he could not read her eyes behind her enormous spectacles, he knew the exact moment she recognized him.

  Her walk stuttered. A delightful curve graced her mouth. He admired her lips for a moment before looking away. He’d always had an affinity for a smile. There was nothing worse than a woman with a pinched mouth. Thin lips that knew only how to frown.

  But Lady Amelia did not seem to suffer such a malady. She entered their box regally, her mouth tipped into a sincere smile. The scent of rosewater filled the air. When he stood for the ladies, all his senses engaged until, for that moment, he saw nothing but the lovely woman beside him.

  Chapter Three

  Amelia’s pulse pounded in her ears. Her mouth felt dry and her palms sweaty. Every nerve tingled and all her senses seemed heightened, for beside her stood the very man she’d danced with the other night. A man she thought never to meet again despite his friendship with her brother.

  Lord Ashwhite.

  She felt his regard intensely, for he had not stopped staring since she’d entered the box. Perhaps her spectacles sat askew? But no, she’d have noticed that. Her hat, mayhap, crooked upon her head? Self-consciously she touched its brim and noted that it remained straight.

  “Ah, sister, you’ve made it.” Eversham’s voice sounded overly bright. “Allow me to introduce you to Lord Ashwhite.”

  “We’ve met.” She frowned at the sound of her voice. Breathy and quite unlike her normal self.

  “I have not had the pleasure,” piped up Lydia. She hadn’t yet sat and dropped a perfect curtsy.

  “This is Miss Lydia Stanley, a cousin who hails from Sussex for her first Season,” Amelia said.

  “A pleasure to meet you.” Lord Ashwhite offered his own bow.

  Amelia watched the marquis carefully to see if he showed any interest, but his attention to Lydia was perfunctory at best. An odd relief filtered through her.

  Then Lord Ashwhite turned to her and bowed. As he rose, the smile that graced his face caught Amelia’s breath. A strange fluttering danced through her stomach. Feeling uncertain, she returned his manners with an inclination of her head.

  “Why don’t you sit by me,” she said to Cousin Lydia, forcing her gaze to leave Lord Ashwhite’s and hoping desperately the strange feelings spreading through her would disappear. She must have eaten something bad earlier. Or perhaps the stress of having to be in Lady Eversham’s company was giving her the jitters?

  Amelia spotted a familiar face in another box. She nudged Lydia. “Lord Dudley is present tonight. Shall we bump into him later?”

  Lydia wrinkled her nose. “If we must.”

  “Really, cousin. Do not do that with your nose.”

  “Did I hear Lord Dudley’s name?” Lord Ashwhite interrupted them, his deep voice sending a pleasant shiver down Amelia’s spine. “He is a cousin of mine.”

  She could not forget how his voice had sounded the night she met him, how it held a musical c
adence that thrilled her each time she heard it.

  “Why, yes, he is our acquaintance,” said Lydia.

  And a possible marriage prospect, Amelia wanted to put in, but she restrained herself. She hadn’t met with her runner yet. Besides, there was no need for Eversham to know she refused to give up this business. Not until she’d sold a painting. Then perhaps she’d consider his ridiculous demand.

  “We shall go speak with him during intermission,” said Amelia, feeling the graze of Lord Ashwhite’s stare upon her cheek. “It is quite hot in here tonight, is it not?” She pulled out her fan and used it diligently, but the heat in her cheeks did not recede.

  “I am feeling a touch cold,” said Lydia.

  “Lady Amelia,” Lord Ashwhite said, “your brother tells me you are interested in politics.”

  “Is that how he termed it?” She smiled.

  “Not quite,” Lord Ashwhite amended. Those adorable crinkles appeared at his eyes as he grinned. Yes, he would make quite the husband for some fortunate lady.

  “I thought not.” Amelia flashed him a knowing look. “But yes, I do make my opinions known. Especially on the state of Newgate. There are prisoners who are quite literally starving to death. Others have been locked up for years over a piece of stolen bread. Children living in filth with their criminal mothers, who are treated horribly. The men have families waiting for them. They’ve very often learned their lesson, and yet they’re given few options to redeem themselves.” She knew indignation was making her voice rise and tried to lower her pitch. “Their children resort to begging while the mothers are forced into more horrific careers.”

  “You sound knowledgeable about these matters.” Lord Ashwhite’s eyes held hers with regard, very serious, as though he’d absorbed everything she said and cared.

  His eyes were quite a marvelous green, as bright as emeralds. How she’d love to find an oil in such a shade. She blinked. Focus on the subject at hand. Inhale. She was not a young miss prone to a fit of the vapors.

  “Yes,” she breathed. “I have written numerous letters to the House of Lords on the subject.”

  “Lady Amelia, do tone it down.” Harriet’s voice cut through anything she planned to say next. “I apologize for my sister-in-law’s enthusiasms. Come, tell us if you’ve seen this play before, my lord?”

  He directed his attention to Lady Eversham, and Amelia all but melted into her chair. Her limbs felt as soft as wax. It was her sister-in-law’s doing, no doubt. Just being in her presence caused Amelia’s heart rate to rise. She dragged in a deep breath and willed some strength into her body.

  Lydia was watching her, a curious quirk to her brows.

  “What?” asked Amelia.

  “Do not sound so cross. I am simply flummoxed.”

  It was Amelia’s turn to raise a brow.

  “I believe it was only this morning that you specifically told me to disregard politics as a conversational tool.”

  “He asked me first,” Amelia pointed out. “Furthermore, I am not on the marriage mart. I have no need to curtail my tongue in those matters.”

  “I see.”

  “Good.” Amelia frowned. She did not like the satisfied look upon Lydia’s face. It was almost as if she was suggesting...something. Amelia did not quite know what her cousin implied, but she felt that it was threatening somehow.

  While Lydia thumbed through the evening’s schedule, Amelia snuck a glance at Lord Ashwhite. His profile was exceedingly handsome. As she looked, she felt those butterflies again, and that was when the knowledge came upon her.

  She was attracted to Lord Ashwhite.

  An honest-to-goodness affinity for the marquis.

  She pressed a palm against her stomach and looked away. Surely it could not be so. Why, she had not felt a passing interest for any man in years. Not since Lord Markham, who’d teased her and danced with her, his dimpled smile charming her into believing he held more regard for her than he really did.

  She’d told him all about her dreams. Her aspirations to change society, to make life better for others, and he’d listened. He’d listened so well she thought he actually loved her.

  The remembrance of his attentiveness brought a sour feeling to her stomach.

  No, attraction was deceptive. True love did not involve the senses but rather actions. She nodded. She would not respond to this absurd feeling burgeoning within. Her goals for life did not include a husband.

  Home involved paintings and letters and books. Not a husband. Why, did she want to end up like Eversham? A man who’d always been strong-minded and progressive? Now look at him. A poor sot chained to his wife’s side, doing her bidding, forcing his sister, his very own twin, into drastic measures just to preserve her way of life?

  She thought not. And that was why she wouldn’t gawk at Lord Ashwhite, let alone engage in conversation with him. At this time her emotions could not be trusted, and she certainly did not want them to interfere with her plans.

  The lights lowered, and the play began. Something about one of the actresses niggled at her memory, but she couldn’t place her. Eventually the story line pulled her in, and the night passed with laughter, temporarily relieving her from the worry that had gnawed at her since her brother’s visit.

  Despite her interest in the play, she never forgot who sat beside her. His laugh was low and contagious, and she discovered that they invariably laughed at the same lines.

  Finally the play ended. As they rose from their seats, she felt a tap upon her shoulder. She turned and found Lord Ashwhite studying her closely.

  “My lady,” he said, voice serious, “I would have a word with you.”

  “Privately?” Her gaze shifted to where Eversham was busy helping his wife.

  “Yes.”

  She blinked. Oh, dear, this was not going as planned. She could feel those exuberant butterflies waltzing within. Heart pounding, and despite her better judgment, she nodded.

  His hand pressed gently against her back as he guided her toward the box’s exit. She shot Lydia a glance, but her cousin had become entangled in a conversation with Lady Eversham.

  Slipping out, she gave Lord Ashwhite a bland look. Best to keep her voice modulated, as well. She did not want to give away her nerves in his presence. They were jangling wildly and affecting her ability to think clearly.

  “How may I help you, my lord?”

  He moved closer and glanced furtively about the theater before meeting her gaze square on. “I am in need of your services.”

  Baffled, she couldn’t help squinting at him through her spectacles.

  He chuckled. “You heard me correctly. At the present moment, I find myself in a quandary that I think only you will be able to help me out of. My lady—” his grin faded “—how much would it cost for you to find me a wife?”

  * * *

  Spencer repressed a smirk at the stunned expression crossing Lady Amelia’s face. Indeed, her lovely mouth rounded as if she’d forgotten those manners she seemed to pride herself on. Then she drew herself up, and her eyes flashed beneath the lowered lights of the theater.

  “Sir, you are mistaken.” Her nose lifted, though she couldn’t possibly look down at him from her spectacles because he towered over her. He had the feeling she wished he would shrink. “I am not for hire.”

  He allowed his lips to tilt in a mocking smile. From experience, he knew women tended to be partial to his smiles. Lady Amelia would be no exception. “Come, now, my lady, that is an untruth.”

  “I beg your pardon?” She had the audacity to look shocked. The fan she’d been gripping tightly waved about her face, which was turning an attractive shade of pink.

  There was something about her movements as she fanned herself, something both hurried and graceful. His gaze rested upon her fingers. Discoloration marked the tips of her nail beds. Oil paint residue? It must be costly to paint...

  “I believe you heard me quite clearly and are being deliberately obtuse,” he said.

  She gasped,
and her fan picked up its pace.

  “In fact, if I were a wagering man, which I’m not, I’d say you are most definitely for hire, but the fact you wish to conceal this is intriguing.” The purse of her lips was distracting him. Her eyes were indignant behind the spectacles, but even more, there seemed to be a spark of curiosity there.

  “My lord.” Her gaze darted past him to the opening of her brother’s box. “I am not in the habit of finding wives.” She pinned him with a severe look that made him want to laugh. “I beg you to forget this conversation and leave me be.”

  Noise filled the space as Eversham, Harriet and Miss Stanley joined them.

  “The play was ever so lovely. Do you not agree, my lord?” Miss Stanley batted her eyelashes at him, amusement playing about the corners of her mouth.

  “It was,” he said, though he found his stare returning to Lady Amelia. Said lady appeared to be communicating with her brother via glares. Tension filled the air as the group fell silent.

  “Well, I believe we shall be going. We have an early-morning stroll planned for tomorrow.” Miss Stanley linked her arm through Lady Amelia’s and flashed an even row of teeth. “I do hope we’ll see you again, Lord Ashwhite. Perhaps at Almack’s next week? We shall be there often, and I shall reserve a place on my card—” Her voice cut off suddenly, and then Lady Amelia bestowed a syrupy smile upon the group.

  “Good evening, everyone.”

  Was he mistaken or did Lady Amelia just forcibly nudge Miss Stanley to turn and leave? Unable to stop his grin, he watched the two depart.

  “I do not understand why you invited her,” said Lady Eversham beneath her breath.

  “You must get used to her presence.” Eversham’s voice held a stern note.

  Lady Eversham’s eyes cut to Spencer then back to Eversham as if warning him to keep their personal matters out of public hearing. A mischievous streak prompted Spencer to speak.

  “I quite enjoyed their company. Will Lady Amelia be living with you? Seeing her more often would boost my mood immensely.”