Amelia blanched. “How do you know these things?”
“Never mind that. My biggest concern now is that my supposed friend has been escorting you around alone. Doing who knows what, setting tongues wagging.” Eversham brought a hand to his forehead. Then he pivoted and went to a chair, his shoulders more bent than any young man’s should be.
Amelia bit her lip and willed the tears far from her eyes. Her willful ways had done this to her brother. With a sinking heart, she realized what she must do. She turned to Ashwhite.
“You can go. I shall explain the situation to Eversham.”
Lord Ashwhite’s beautiful green eyes held hers. No twinkle now, only a steady soberness that made her breath catch. He looked concerned. For her?
He straightened, rising above her, looking down at her. His hand came up and then dropped as though he’d thought better of touching her. Which would have been absolutely unacceptable.
“Do not feel overly burdened, my lady,” he said.
“It’s too late,” she whispered.
And she realized it was. She couldn’t bear to do this to her brother, not even for her own happiness. Distressing him, distressing his wife to the point of losing their child.
Casting Lord Ashwhite one last glance, noting the concern in his eyes, she gave him what she hoped passed for a reassuring smile and went to her brother.
* * *
He would not allow it.
Spencer spurred his horse across his land, wind rushing past his face, his heart thudding with the pounding of hooves. No, Lady Amelia was not backing out of their agreement, no matter what she’d told her brother.
The very next morning he’d received a letter in which the lady had politely explained how she no longer was at liberty to help him.
She’d penned no other news, and for days he’d stewed on how best to approach her.
Tonight he planned to attend a soiree at which several young women on Lady Amelia’s list were to be present. He had it on good knowledge that Lady Amelia might also attend. Eversham was nursing a grudge and refused to see him or let him explain.
He could only hope Lady Amelia had shared her discoveries about Ev’s investment with him. For himself, Spencer had done what he could by sharing his concerns with the constable and planting a few seeds in the ears of some fellow peers. It was the most he could do at this stage, though.
He reined in his mount, turning and surveying the land. Acres and acres of emerald green hills unfolded before him. Bright and healthy. His crops and gardens shimmered in the distance. Well cared for and orderly, bringing in food and revenue for the people who were his responsibility.
He didn’t know if Lord Dudley was aware of this potential inheritance and, if God willed it, he never would. Jaw firm, Spencer motioned his mount toward the estate. If only his mother was home. She had a way of reading people that might be useful in his choosing a wife, but alas, she was still journeying the Continent with a friend of hers.
Never mind. With Lady Amelia’s help, and he would most certainly insist on her help, he wouldn’t worry about events outside his control. Tonight he’d go to that soiree. He’d speak with those young ladies and figure out who might suit as a marriage partner.
* * *
And so it was that five hours later, Spencer found himself drinking watered-down lemonade and eating stale cake while some bright-eyed girl played a tedious song on the pianoforte.
He eyed the doorway, waiting for Lady Amelia to show her face. For such a paragon of virtue, she was uncommonly late. He sipped his drink again, tapping his foot and cringing when the girl hit a false note. If only Amelia would get here... He caught himself, realizing he’d used only her first name in his thoughts.
It wasn’t exactly appropriate, but then again, they’d become friends of a sort. Business partners, at least.
A familiar blonde swept into the room. Miss Stanley. Spencer craned his head, searching for Lady Amelia. No sign of her, though. He strode forward, intent on answers.
One of the women on Amelia’s list stepped in front of him, a hopeful smile on her pretty lips. What was her name? He couldn’t remember, and it took all his restraint not to brush past her. He forced himself to stop and reciprocate the smile. It wouldn’t do for a marquis to give the girl what some might call a cut direct just because he was in a hurry.
“Lord Ashwhite, how good to see you here.” Blushing, she fluttered her lashes at him.
Even in his wilder days, he’d never flirted with girls in their first Season. Certainly didn’t chat with them or show them the slightest attention. Young girls fell in love easily, and he’d learned a long time ago to stay away from the snare of fancy. By instinct, he gave her a remote smile and then caught himself.
What if this girl was the one he’d spend forever with? His mind bucked at the idea. No, her hair was too light. All the same shade.
“And good to see you.” He gave her a friendly nod and continued through the press of oversize dresses and heavy colognes. The girl probably had wanted him to stay and talk, but first he must find Amelia.
Spencer empathized with Ev’s anger. It was regrettable that Lady Eversham and his friend must go through so much pain. If it wasn’t for the sake of the people on his estate, Spencer might not press for Lady Amelia’s help. He hated to cause his friend more grief. If only there was a way to gain Lady Amelia’s help without causing a rift...
There! He spotted her familiar locks and busy fan. He stopped midwalk, irritation galvanizing him.
Not shock, though. These feelings did not surprise him. He was aware of a certain attraction to the artistic and stubborn Lady Amelia, and the emotion was getting in the way of his goals. Finding a wife proved hard enough and was made worse when his mind kept wandering to unlikely places.
Though he didn’t think the lady was immune to him... Of course, he hadn’t turned on too much charm. Maybe it was time to start.
No. What was he thinking?
She was too similar to his mother, and he well remembered the strain on his parents’ marriage. To the point that his mother had traveled abroad and his father spent most of his time at the House of Lords, leaving Spencer to play with the village children and sneak Cook’s raspberry tarts.
Annoyed beyond reason, he brushed past several tittering ladies and didn’t make eye contact. After what seemed an absurd amount of time, he finally reached Lady Amelia.
“My lady, might we have a word?” he asked during a lull in her conversation with a gray-haired matriarch who found no trouble in giving him the cut direct. Her brows rose, and her lips quivered before she turned her back on him.
Lady Amelia’s fan looped precariously through the air.
He didn’t have time for this nonsense. He gently took her arm and prompted her to follow him. They needed somewhere private to talk. But not too private. It was obvious his reputation still preceded him, and even though Lady Amelia acted as though her reputation didn’t matter, he wouldn’t be the cause of any mean-spirited gossip about her.
“Whatever was that for?” she sputtered.
Spencer was acutely aware of the warmth of her arm beneath his hand. She moved gracefully, too, which put him in mind of the quadrille they’d shared.
Gritting his teeth, he steered her through guests toward a small settee in a corner alcove. She sat delicately, her flouncy dress settling beside her in gauzy purple lines.
“We need to talk.” He sat beside her, an appropriate distance between them.
“I am not stopping you, my lord.” Though her tone was kind, a flash of mischief lifted the corners of her lips.
If he wasn’t so annoyed he might have smiled. “You’ve left me in the lurch.”
“I?” Her hand fluttered to her collarbone, traces of paint discoloring her thumbnail.
“Yes, you. We had an arrangement. A deal. And for you to back out now... I only have a month and a half left or I’ll lose Ashwhite. I am here to insist you fulfill your part of the bargain.”
“I can’t remember their names,” he said under his breath.
“What was that?”
He repeated himself and glared when a little snort escaped her. “Not ladylike, that.”
“Oh, pshaw. You’ll do fine.” She patted his hand as if she was a dowager comforting a child. He didn’t like that feeling, didn’t like her playing to his emotions or even acting as though touching him was like taking care of an infant.
Before she could react, he flipped his palm neatly and caught her hand. His thumb stroked the tender spot between her thumb and forefinger. Her eyes widened. She jerked her hand, but he held more tightly.
“My lord,” she whispered with a false smile, “kindly let go.”
“Not until you find me a wife.”
“No.” She yanked her hand again.
It was a shame, really. He kept her hand within his, gently but firmly, admiring how neatly she fit. How the warmth of her fingers melted into his. Maybe he’d been approaching things from the wrong angle.
“Why exactly don’t you wish to marry?” he asked.
Her brows ratcheted upward, and her mouth rounded. Then, as though catching herself, she smoothed her features, and he had the sense she was hiding behind spectacles and primness.
“I beg your pardon?”
Oh, yes. Definitely hiding. That tone amused him, and his mouth quirked. “I am certain you heard what I said. My lady,” he added just to irritate her.
It worked. Her lips puckered, and she jerked her hand again. This time he let go.
“I have my reasons, and they mostly have to do with control.” She scoured the room. “You shouldn’t have done this. Someone might take note and talk.”
“Since you don’t intend to marry, I fail to see the issue,” he answered in a lazy voice, knowing it would infuriate her.
He was right. She turned toward him, mouth firm. “My reputation matters.”
“Your behavior suggests otherwise.”
“I don’t want to be banned from polite society merely based on a...a joke of yours,” she answered sharply.
“But what if it wasn’t a joke?” he said softly. He leaned forward, finding himself unable to resist the sweet scent of the rosewater she used or the tender flush to her skin. “What if I enjoy holding your hand and wish to do so again?”
The pink tint to her cheeks deepened to rouge. “That is a bold thing to say.”
“Do you object?”
She wet her lips, stymied by his flirtation. He swallowed, feeling suddenly unsure if he was doing the right thing. He didn’t wish to trifle with her affections, only to see where this feeling might lead.
“My lord,” she finally said, “I believe you should focus on the goal at hand. Namely, finding yourself a wife. For myself, I am working on making my brother happy, thereby making his wife happy.”
“But you’ve reneged,” he pointed out.
“I am deeply sorry, but I don’t see how I can fulfill my part of the bargain.”
“Amelia...” At her startled look, Spencer cringed. “That is, Lady Amelia, it is hard for me to believe you have single-handedly caused her ladyship to miscarry.” She started to protest his words, and he held up a finger. “No, hear me out. There are causes for that, and an independent sister is not one of those.”
“But stress is. And I’ve stressed her deeply.”
He shook his head. “Nonsense.”
“It’s not nonsense.” She took a deep breath. “Eversham was quite clear with me about my part in the matter. Some of my letters to Parliament were aggressive in nature. In particular, toward a certain person.” Her eyes flickered. With pain? “I publicly castigated Lady Eversham’s father, and shortly after, she suffered her first...malady. A few months ago she discovered somehow that I had found a friend of hers a husband. When she realized I’d been paid to do so, she lost the next child. And now... Well, I moved in and sent invitations for a party designed to find you a wife, and you see what happened.” Her fingers were clasped, her knuckles white.
“This isn’t logical.” He wanted to get up and hit something. “You are not the only hardship in her life, and it’s silly to say you’re causing this to happen.”
Her dark eyes met his, serious behind the lenses of her glasses. “You’re right. It is illogical and silly and for anyone else, I would laugh it away. But this is my family. I cannot ignore my part in their pain.”
Mindful of curious eyes, Spencer refrained from throwing his hands in the air. “Surely you can’t believe in your heart that this is your fault.”
“I don’t know what to believe,” she whispered. “Only that I have caused Ev pain, and that is something I deeply regret. You don’t understand...”
“Explain it to me, then.” His voice came out clipped. He prayed for patience.
“Ev is my only family. My mother and father died when I was twelve. A carriage accident.” Her gaze left his, staring into the distance, unfocused and far away. “With the help of a guardian, Eversham took over the estate and all the duties of an earl. He should have been in the schoolroom. As he grew older, he should have been traveling, learning. Finding his place in the world. Instead, he spent his growing years recouping our family’s dwindling fortunes. He launched me into a spectacular Season, during which I failed to secure a husband. I cannot fail him again or cause him more distress. He had to marry Lady Eversham.” She bit her lip as though stopping herself from speaking ill of the lady.
Spencer was at a loss for what to say. He’d known Ev had come to the earldom at a young age, much as he had, though thankfully his mother still lived. He hadn’t known Lady Amelia carried such guilt over things outside her control.
Silence suspended between them, though not complete. The soiree was in full swing. Another young woman played the pianoforte, this time with more skill. Chattering and the rustling movements of stiff dresses filled the hole in their conversation.
Spencer studied the young ladies. Their youthful faces and innocent eyes. Where had he been during Lady Amelia’s come-out? Graduation from university, perhaps? He vaguely remembered Ev leaving for a semester to supervise his sister’s Season.
He took in her glossy hair and the strong, aquiline nose she wore like royalty. The direct gaze and slender fingers.
“I wish I had met you then.” The impetuous words surprised him.
Her brows arched, and for the first time that evening, a real smile broke her sober mood. “You wouldn’t have liked me.”
“I’ve always liked a challenge, and that’s probably what you were.”
“Most men wouldn’t say such a thing.”
“Most men are easily fooled by pretty looks.”
She blanched.
“Not that you don’t have pretty looks,” he rushed on, wondering how he’d made such a blunder so quickly.
Her hand waved dismissively. “Never fear. I am quite aware my brains exceed my beauty.”
He coughed out a laugh, surprised by her words and disagreeing completely, though not in a way she’d probably understand.
“My lady,” a voice whispered from behind them. Spencer swiveled, as did Lady Amelia. A maid peered at them from behind a potted plant.
“Sally?” Lady Amelia’s pitch rose. “Is that you?”
“It is indeed, and I have dreadful news. Just dreadful.” The branches rustled. “Can ye meet me in the coatroom?”
“Certainly.” Lady Amelia rose. “Please excuse me, Lord Ashwhite.”
He stood also, a head taller than the stubborn lady and just as determined. “I’m coming with.”
Their conversation wasn’t over by half.
Chapter Fourteen
Amelia was acutely aware of Spencer at her side as she rushed to the coatroom.
Mortified by the conversation they’d had and yet strangely calmed, she refused to look at him. How could she, anyhow, with all the people at the soiree to skirt? Somehow this had become a crush of the worst sort.
She reached the coatroom and spotted Sally near the back, her face splotchy.
“Oh, dear.” Chest clenching, Amelia dodged an errant coat poking in the way. “Whatever is wrong?”
“It’s Dukes.” The girl sniffled.
Something tight and hard balled in Amelia’s stomach at the mention of her faithful butler. He had been with their family since she was a little girl. After hearing of her parents’ deaths, Dukes had held her while she wept. She would never forget his hand patting her back or the scent of his cologne. Eversham was to have given him a spectacular letter of reference.
“Tell me at once,” she said.
But her former servant had seemingly lost control of her faculties, for she collapsed to the floor in a mess of tears and skirts.
Had Dukes...died? Amelia swayed and blindly reached for a coat, something, anything to hold her up. What she found was Lord Ashwhite’s sleeve, to which she clung, for her knees trembled violently. Mouth dry, she blinked hard and willed some starch into her backbone.
Mustering every ounce of willpower she possessed, she released Lord Ashwhite’s shirt and marched over to the maid. “Sally, stand up at once and tell me whatever is the matter. Now, girl.”
Sally blinked up at her and rose to her feet, fingers balling in the front of her dress. “He’s been taken, my lady.”
“Taken?”
“Yes, my lady, to Newgate.”
Amelia’s jaw dropped. “But whatever for? He was to have been employed somewhere... My brother was to see to it.”
Sally shook her head, eyes wide in her splotchy face. “Dukes found a job briefly, but his arthritis was too much. He dropped an heirloom and the family fired him. When he came to me, he was hungry and dirty, but I have no room at my flat. I live with my mother, sisters and grandfather. I’m not sure what happened next, but this evening the cook was talking. Seems she knew of Dukes many years past and is right saddened to hear of his arrest.”
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