“You seem as though you’ve thought of this deeply.”
“I have,” she assured him, though a small niggling voice prodded her to rethink her strategy. But how could she give in to Ev based on nothing more than his fears of social status? No, indeed. She was made of sterner stuff.
The curricle jostled and bumped as the roads deteriorated. This part of London was not her favorite, but hopefully her familiarity would keep her safe. Her fancy clothes certainly wouldn’t. She glanced at Lord Ashwhite and saw his face had hardened somehow, become more astute.
Considering the way he looked at this moment, she doubted anyone but a fool would accost them.
“Well, here we are,” she said brightly, aiming to lighten the mood.
The driver pulled the curricle to a halt, and she didn’t wait for Lord Ashwhite to help her down. No need for such nonsense, she told herself, refusing to acknowledge the small pleasure his gentlemanly assistance usually brought her.
She stepped down, careful in her flats, and straightened her skirts. Lord Ashwhite appeared beside her, his face a study in disapproval.
She felt a bit bad for him. “Really, my lord, there are worse places than this. Why, this isn’t even considered the slums.”
“But it’s close,” he muttered.
“We shall only be a few moments,” she told the driver. Then she looked at Lord Ashwhite. “Will he be able to protect himself in this place?”
“All my men are trained with pistols, if that’s what you mean. But should anyone take my curricle, they will not last long.” He beckoned toward his seal on the side of the curricle, the visual mark of his rank.
“Quite correct. Follow me, then, and try to wipe the frown from your face.”
“I hope you do not come here often.” His voice sounded as surly as his expression.
“Not that often,” she said, rapping on a rotting door in the broken building facing her.
“Who’s it?” a gruff voice called from the other side.
“Miss Amelia.”
A series of thumps and bangs followed, and then the door swung open and three wonderful, smelly children launched themselves at her.
“Not often, huh?” Lord Ashwhite stepped back to avoid their feet as they hopped about, squealing and begging for a bit of candy.
She handed out the pieces she’d stowed in her pocket, and then beckoned her disgruntled companion. “Come along, now. Business won’t wait.”
Chapter Nine
Spencer leaned against a flowery wall while Amelia scanned Lady Cuthbert’s drawing room, making notations upon the small pad of paper she’d brought with her. Her stance in the corner sufficiently hid her from view and yet allowed her to detail the available females of the room.
Or so she’d told him.
He thought she rather liked being incognito and had missed her calling as a spy. This seemed to suit her well enough. Yesterday had been enlightening as to this lady’s nature. The children adored her and the runner, Mr. Ladd, had been as protective as the last time Spencer saw him. Though he didn’t detect anything of a romantic nature in Mr. Ladd’s manner, there was certainly a high level of respect.
Spencer glanced at Lady Amelia again. She appeared lost in thought, her gaze unfocused and dreamy. He considered nudging her but found that he liked looking at her more. When she wore that rapt expression, her features softened and she looked exceptionally pretty.
Such a shame some gentleman hadn’t nabbed her when she was younger. He recalled the guarded look upon her face at the park yesterday. Certainly there was a story there. A kind of heartbreak. He felt a frown curl his lips at the thought of some cad hurting this kind woman.
“What about Lady Whitney?” Lady Amelia interrupted his thoughts. Her pen pointed directly ahead to a stunning young woman with light brown curls cascading down her back. She danced artlessly, and the smile upon her face looked genuine.
“Why do you think she might suit?” Her hair was not even the right color, though why that should irritate him, he wasn’t sure.
Lady Amelia sported a perky smile. “Her mother helps at the prison, and sometimes she comes with. Her breeding is impeccable, and her voice soft. I hear she’s an excellent singer and does well with the pianoforte.”
“Those items were not on my list.”
“But how nice would it be to have a bit of music in the home? Many comfortable evenings could be spent listening to her splendorous voice.” She arched a brow. “And admiring her generous curls.”
Spencer shifted on his feet, wanting to sit and possibly disappear from this gruesome event. “I like that she helps at the prison. How can we get an introduction?”
“I shall arrange it. A house party at my brother’s, and then we shall also plan one at your estate.”
“Oh, no.” He held up his hands. “Absolutely no parties at Ashwhite.”
“Come now. How do you expect to meet a potential bride? Remember, the banns must be posted in two months’ time. This gives you little preparation. It shall have to be a whirlwind romance.” Her gaze shifted and unfocused as some daydream caught up to her and pulled her in its wake.
Unexpectedly enthralled, he noticed the soft glow of her skin and the way her lips, rosy in the lamplight, tilted in a tender smile.
“My lady,” he said quietly, watching as her attention returned to him, “you appeared to lose yourself for a moment.”
A hint of color passed across her face. She blinked and then stood quickly. “I only remembered a story I recently read about a similar situation.”
“One of your novels?”
“Do not laugh at my reading choices, or I shall laugh at your choice of clothes.” Her gaze traveled the length of him and then returned, smug, to his face.
“What about them?” Should he be offended? It was hard to be so when she flashed that adorable smirk.
“I shall not say unless you persist in your mockery of my literature. I’ll have you know that I’ve come up with many a great idea while in the throes of one of those novels.”
“No doubt,” he said drily, thinking of Mr. Ladd and this lady’s unusual activities. “And you believe a house party shall do me well?”
“Yes. We will schedule one at Eversham’s first. Yours will be at the end of the month. This gives you time to enter into a month-long courtship with a young lady before announcing an engagement.”
A horrific thought occurred to him. “And what if the young lady says no? What if she rejects my invitation?”
Lady Amelia’s head tilted. Behind her spectacles, her gaze looked quizzical. “I hardly see that happening. Why, you’re an eligible marquis... Say you enjoy the company of Lady Whitney. She is the eldest daughter of an earl, but her family has been impoverished. It is only through good relations that she is able to have a Season this year. Do you not think she’d be most grateful for your offer of marriage? With such an honor, she and her family will be provided for, and her life will be secure once again.”
“I hadn’t considered that.” He rubbed his chin. Did he want to be in the position of rescuer? He didn’t know much about marriage, but it seemed an unwise start to their relationship. “I don’t favor a woman fawning over me.” He’d had enough of that to last a lifetime.
“Of course not. But could a touch of thankfulness hurt?” Lady Amelia smiled up at him.
The effect of that smile hit him hard. Like a punch to the gut, or something worse—a pull on his heartstrings. With effort, he forced a smile. “I suppose not. Do you have any other potential wives?”
“Yes, indeed.” She named off other women, some in their first Season and others whom he’d heard of but never met. Finally she read the last name and offered him the paper. “Would you care to look over this?”
He gave an impatient head shake. “Keep it. Those women are strangers.”
“Not for long, my lord. I am a highly capable husband hunter, and I am determined to do no less in finding you a wife. Remember, I need that money.”
“Is
your brother due tomorrow?”
“Yes.”
“Because you refuse to quit this side business?”
Her eyes widened, and she jerked her chin toward the dance floor, where dancers swirled past them in flurries of dresses and glittering hairpieces. “Keep your voice down.”
“You think they don’t know?”
“Most of them don’t, and I plan to keep it that way. My services are irregular and potentially damaging to my reputation. Word of mouth is the only way to hire me, and I depend upon my clients to use discretion.” She squinted at him. “What is that look you’re giving me? Are you laughing at me again?”
“No.” He cleared his throat, swallowing his chuckle. “I find you interesting. That is all.”
“Oh, well, in that case...” She shot him a crooked grin. “I shall forgive your lack of manners.”
“Keep your forgiveness handy, for my manners are deplorable and liable to lapse at any time.”
She giggled, a bona fide giggle, and he couldn’t stop the chuckle this time. If anyone could find him a wife, it was Lady Amelia. The more he discovered about her, the more he liked her.
The music changed to a quadrille, drawing his thoughts to the first and only dance he’d shared with her. She looked at him, and he could see she remembered, as well.
“Would you care to dance?” he asked.
She shook her head. “I think I shall go check on Cousin Lydia. I left her by the refreshments. Thankfully her suitor is not here this evening. I haven’t heard from Mr. Ladd yet, but I don’t believe he’s a good candidate for her.”
“And you are basing this on...?”
“It’s merely a feeling, and I’ll need to find some evidence to back it up.”
“You don’t trust feelings, remember?”
“Which is why I shall uncover proof that he is unsuitable. In the meantime, keep your options open. There are many eligible young ladies here tonight. A compatible match awaits you.”
Spencer yawned. “There is no point in my staying here. We’ve already covered your list.”
“Fiddlesticks. If you stand near Lady Whitney, there is the possibility someone will introduce you.”
“Society rules,” he grumbled. It could take all night to get an introduction.
“We must work within our confines,” Lady Amelia said a little too sweetly.
“I have been thinking—”
“Oh, no.”
He grinned. “Oh, yes. And I believe a visit to your prison is in order. Allow me to accompany you on your next visit.”
“The ladies there are a bit older than this set, but perhaps that is not an issue for you?” She tapped her chin thoughtfully with her fan. “Yes, a splendid notion. Keep up your thinking.” She turned and left him standing in the corner, feeling immensely satisfied with himself.
The more he considered going to Newgate, the better he felt. A prison might prove a better place than a ballroom to find a good wife and to save Ashwhite from ruin.
* * *
“Stop! Don’t touch that!” Amelia careened around the corner, arms outstretched to catch her painting before it crashed to the floor. A manservant whose name she did not know dodged out of her way. The young man holding her painting froze.
Her heart pounding, she grasped the wooden frame and bestowed a disapproving look upon the servant. “I specifically said no one is to touch these paintings.”
Face red, he mumbled an apology before whirling and heading toward the kitchen. She let out a shaky sigh and rested her forehead against the wall, propping the frame carefully beside her.
Eversham had arrived this morning, just as she’d predicted, his servants in tow and several carriages ready to cart away her worldly goods. The furniture would stay, though. It had come with the home and would go to the next tenants.
Her throat felt raw from the tears she refused to shed. Her overbearing brother did not seem to care about her feelings at all but stood at the entrance calmly issuing orders. He had never, ever treated her with such insensitivity before.
She vowed this would not happen again. To be forced from her home, punished merely because she lived her life as she saw fit? It made no logical sense, but all her efforts to speak to him about his inane behavior resulted in a controlled and haughty attitude. He acted as though he owned her.
She cast a scowl in his direction, hardly daring to admit that in a sense he did own her. An unmarried woman such as herself had few opportunities for independence. To be a governess or teacher of some sort could prove a practical choice, but then again, she’d still live beneath the rule of another.
A heavy sigh slipped past her lips as she slumped against the wall. Defeat had never tasted so bitter.
“Why the dreary sigh?” Lord Ashwhite’s voice came from behind her. She straightened, adjusting her spectacles and pushing the frown from her face. No need to let him see the depths of her despair.
“That man almost ruined my painting. What are you doing here?”
“Thought I’d come and help, as it were.” He granted the painting a thoughtful look. “It appears untouched. Would you like me to move it for you?”
“I’ll manage.” She lifted it, the thick wooden frame digging into her palms, and he grasped the other end. Stubborn man. Nevertheless, she allowed him to help, and really, his added strength did make the job so much easier.
“You’re appearing to take this move in stride,” he remarked as they shuffled carefully down the hall.
She shrugged. His concern brought a suspicious burn to her eyes that she quickly blinked away. “I have little choice in the matter.”
“I am sorry for that.”
His sympathetic tone almost unraveled her self-control. Biting her lower lip, she struggled to get her feelings in check. After all, he certainly shouldn’t care about her personal dilemmas. Their partnership was of a business nature, and after she found him a wife, she doubted she’d see much more of him.
It would be as before, when Eversham and his life ran a parallel course with hers. She did not attend his dinner parties and outings, and neither did he bother with her reading group nor prison-reform fund-raisers.
After this, she might never see Lord Ashwhite again.
The thought did not cheer her.
“Where would you like this?” Lord Ashwhite scrutinized the front entrance for a good spot to set the frame.
“Perhaps here.” She used her chin to show him where she meant. “Then I shall supervise the servants who carry it to the carriage.” They propped it up and then stepped back. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed Lord Ashwhite’s attention focused on the painting.
It wasn’t one of her best. A simple oil of a cloudy afternoon. She’d been inspired one day by heavy winds and sharp-edged sunbeams cut by clouds.
“This is magnificent,” he said.
She blinked. “Are you quite mad, my lord?”
“Not at all.” He moved forward, his finger reaching toward the canvas, tracing the curves of her paint. “There is texture and color here. Deep emotions caught in the strokes of your brush. How did you make the sky glow in such a way?” He turned to her, his eyes alight with interest, and she wet her lips.
“I’m not sure. It is how I paint.” She studied the painting again, trying to see what he found so “magnificent” about it.
“You don’t use watercolors?”
“Of course she doesn’t.” Eversham joined them, a rueful smile upon his face. “If she did, she might have more pin money.”
“Watercolors don’t capture the essence of my ideas,” she said stiffly. Who cared if her perturbation with Ev showed? She lifted her chin and refused to meet his look, opting instead to glance at Lord Ashwhite.
A sympathetic smile edged his full lips. Unsettled by the feelings his look wrought within her, she returned her attention to the painting. “Ev, I’d like it very carefully loaded. Cover the entire thing with cloth beforehand.”
“It shall be done. I’ve arr
anged a carriage to take you to Eversham—”
“Your country estate? Now?”
“Interrupting is rude.”
Amelia wanted to smack the priggish look right off her brother’s face. She folded her hands together instead. “I’d like to finish the Season in London. I’ve several parties to attend. Can I not stay at your London house?”
“Send your condolences, because you’re done with this Season.” His eyes narrowed, causing a familiar sense of hopelessness to swamp Amelia’s will to fight. “There are bets on the books at White’s about your behavior. It will reach some old biddy’s ears soon enough, and then your invitations will slow. The best plan is to put you up at the country estate and try to control the fire here. If you’re not around, then it’s hard to prove you’ve been conducting a business or visiting the slums of London.”
Amelia gasped and swiveled to Lord Ashwhite. “How dare you?”
His brow knit. “How dare I what?”
Teeth grinding, she provided her brother the darkest look she could muster before whirling and making for the curricle awaiting outside.
Everything within her ached. For Lord Ashwhite to tattle on her to her brother was reprehensible. Certainly beyond the pale. Why, she should wash her hands of him at this very moment. And she would if she didn’t need his money.
But she did, and desperately so. Deliberately she forced her jaw to relax and her fingers to unclench her skirt. At the moment, she entertained several fanciful ideas for revenge upon those two meddling men. Immediately she regretted the thoughts.
No, the best course of action involved restraining her feelings and behaving in a logical manner. She must pursue her goal of independence and leave the men to play their own games. With a servant’s help, she climbed into her brother’s curricle. As she settled upon the brocaded seat, though, she did not feel comforted by future plans. Pain invaded her heart, and as she was driven to her brother’s estate, she realized that she felt betrayed by Lord Ashwhite.
Without intending to, she had trusted him to keep her confidences. A most foolish move she must never make again.
Chapter Ten
The Matchmaker's Match Page 9