The Matchmaker's Match

by Jessica Nelson

  He shook his head. Maudlin thoughts when he had so much more to worry about. He patted her back and stepped away. “Have you spoken to Father’s attorney?”

  “No. I haven’t had a chance to do anything besides hire Dukes. Such a shame about this accident...” She returned to her seat, sinking down as though fatigued.

  Spencer tucked back a groan. Of course she must be exhausted. “The accident should not have happened. There was no debris in the road, nothing to cause it. I’m having my man in the village inspect the carriage for wear and tear.” Or something more malicious, though he would not worry his mother or Amelia about such a thing. The accident was too convenient after their investigation of Lord Dudley. Someone did not care for their meddling, and he was the first to come to mind. Amelia had told her brother, after all, and he himself had spoken with several people. Perhaps Lord Dudley was more intelligent than Spencer had assumed.

  He shoved his hands through his hair and spun toward the door.

  “Spencer,” his mother said, following him into the hallway. “You are worried. Let us talk now, while we are here together.”

  “You never stay long, do you?” He regretted the barb the moment he issued it. By his mother’s flinch, he could tell it had struck her.

  “I don’t know my plans at the moment, son, but I do wish you’d share whatever’s burdening you.”

  He ground his teeth. He didn’t want to talk about the curricle or the contents of the will, but he supposed she’d need to know as their futures depended on his decisions. “Very well.” He faced her, noting the strain on her features. Why should she feel strain? She lived her life much as he had. Doing what she wanted, when she wanted, funds unlimited. No responsibilities except the ones she gave herself. He forced himself back to the chair, though it was the last place he wanted to be.

  Only hours before, he’d felt new and fresh. Clean. Now unforgivingness and bitterness snaked through him, poisoning his every thought. It was being in contact with her. Remembering all the lonely nights. The days when he’d just wanted his mother, yet she’d been nowhere to be found.

  “Your face is as stormy as a tornado.” Mother’s head tilted.

  “I don’t know how to say this, but everything you see here, this dower house, this bed... None of it belongs to me yet.”

  She waited patiently, her gaze not wavering.

  “The stipulations of the will require that I marry within the next two months in order to inherit Ashwhite and the fortunes attached to it. Should I not find a wife by the required time, we will lose the estate to a cousin.”

  His mother didn’t blink.

  “No funds. Do you understand that? No more traveling. No more gifts.”

  “I understand perfectly well.” She hesitated. Her fingers twitched against the satin of her dress. “There is something you must know, a reason I came home as soon as I received news of your arrival.”

  “Go on.” He waited, his muscles trembling with sudden exhaustion. All he wanted to do was drag himself to bed and sleep for days.

  “I know the requirements of your father’s will. We developed them together.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  His mother had known.

  Spencer couldn’t ignore this new information no matter how hard he tried. As he rode into the village to check on his carriage the next day, thoughts swirling through his head added to the aches of yesterday’s accident.

  She’d actually met with his father, and they’d agreed on something. It couldn’t be.

  Last night Mother’s pronouncement had been so shocking that he’d left the dower house rather than hurt her with his bad-tempered words. And why it bothered him, he couldn’t say, except that he’d chalked his father’s silly edict up to one last hurrah in the “tell Spencer what to do” campaign. If his mother had agreed, though, did that mean he’d disappointed both of them? That they’d wanted more from him?

  Granted, he’d been a bit wild. Rakish, though certainly not a despoiler of women. Yet knowing his parents wanted him married irritated him. Not because of what they wanted, but because of how he’d so obviously disappointed them.

  A year ago it wouldn’t have bothered him. He’d been too busy playing with his friends. Even his service to the House of Lords had been halfhearted.

  But now a heaviness that had nothing to do with the dreary day bent his shoulders. Yesterday’s storm had returned, creating a black and growling morning. His horse cantered down the road to the village, seemingly unaware of the turbulent clouds above. Not that Spencer cared a fig about the weather.

  Sleep had eluded him. He’d tossed and turned. When neither his mother nor Amelia had appeared at breakfast, he’d decided a ride into town might clear his head and give him some perspective. The rain-scented wind only served to heighten his turmoil.

  He should be praying right now. Beseeching God for wisdom. Seeking guidance. An empty place had opened in his heart, though, and he hadn’t the foggiest idea why. All his talk to Amelia about faith, and at this very moment he felt none.

  It was an uncomfortable feeling, rather like the dreams in which one found oneself wearing only a nightshirt to a social gathering. Embarrassing and confusing.

  “God help mine unbelief,” he muttered, guiding his mount into the village. The well-kept huts and neatly trimmed trees stood testament to his estate’s prosperity. He smiled at Mrs. Miller, who baked the best bread in the county, and chuckled when redheaded little Lucy waved excitedly in his direction.

  He loved these people. He truly did. What did it matter that his mother agreed with his father about the marriage stipulation? Maybe she was concerned for the estate, as well. He wouldn’t know until he spoke to her. Determined to put his hurt aside for now, he rode to the livery.

  He was almost there when a feminine voice calling his name yanked him to reality.

  Pulling the reins, he stopped his horse and prayed he hadn’t really heard Lady Amelia.

  “My lord,” she said breathlessly, pulling up her mount next to his. “Where are you off to this fine morning?”

  He eyed her as he scrambled for an answer. She looked peaked, to be sure, but also alive and well. A wisp of hair escaped from her riding hat to curl about her cheek. A slight bruise at the base of her cheekbone was the only evidence that she’d been thrown from a carriage yesterday.

  “Must you frown like that?” She arched a brow. “Staying in bed proved unexciting, so I decided to explore a bit. Perhaps send a letter to my brother.”

  “We sent him news last night,” he said flatly. “In the future, give your correspondence to our housemaid, and she will see that it goes out.”

  Lady Amelia should be in bed, resting. And yet, here she sat, wearing a bright purple riding habit no doubt borrowed from his mother. He didn’t want her to hear his conversation with Jack about whether his carriage had been sabotaged. Frustration gnawed at him, overlapping with a giddy relief that she felt well enough to ride a horse all the way into the village.

  “Sir, your horse? Mr. Jack said we be expecting you.” The young man peered up at him, and Spencer found himself in a quandary. Take Lady Amelia with him and most likely alarm her sensibilities, or send her away and risk offending her? He didn’t like these stakes.

  “Would you take my horse?” Lady Amelia slipped off her mount with the man’s assistance. A grimace fluttered across her features, but she landed safely on the ground.

  Gritting his teeth, Spencer dismounted, as well. “You may take them both.”

  “Very good.” Lady Amelia beamed up at him. “I suppose you’re looking into why the curricle broke apart?”

  “Why would you suppose that?” He walked toward Jack’s shop. Lady Amelia shadowed him.

  “Because it is altogether strange. I’d like to speak with the man fixing it.”

  Spencer gestured to a doorway. “After you, my lady.”

  “This is it?”

  “My old friend is handy with many things, including fixing curricles.
” He followed Lady Amelia into the store, appreciating his friend’s tidy place. The sweet smell of freshly cut lumber greeted him, mingling with the familiar odor of earth.

  “You here, Jack?”

  “In the back,” a faint voice answered.

  Spencer followed the sound to a door set at the rear of the store. Twisting the knob, he stepped into an outside workshop. Pieces of lumber littered the sparse grass. Jack bent over a rough-hewn table covered in oddly shaped tools. Fixing things had never been a gift of Spencer’s. He held the highest esteem for those who worked with their hands.

  “Ye here to pick up yer fancy rig?” The words floated over, muted by the position of Jack’s body.

  “Is it ready?”

  “Aye, my lord. I parked her ’round the side of my store.”

  “None of that ‘my lord’ nonsense when we’re alone, Jack.”

  His old friend straightened, his crooked smile showing off his missing teeth. “It’s a mite silly calling someone whose face you’ve crushed ‘my lord.’”

  “Rightly so,” Spencer agreed, trying to dodge the memory of that particular pugilistic round. “Let’s just call a childhood full of dogs and mud holes reason enough to stay on first-name basis.”

  “As ye wish, Spencer.”

  He felt Lady Amelia’s perusal, but she said nothing. “Jack, this is Lady Amelia Baxter.”

  “Pleased be, my lady.” Jack inclined his head.

  “You’ve a lovely shop,” she said.

  “Thank you, my lady.”

  “And what do I owe you?” asked Spencer. An itch between his shoulder blades warned him to leave before Lady Amelia was involved further. She had wandered to the other side of the room to inspect rocking chairs.

  Jack waved his hand. “Not a farthing. I’m just glad ye and yer visitors weren’t hurt.” A sly look crossed his face, and he lowered his voice. “The young lady anyone particularly special?”

  Amelia? She was special, but did Jack mean marriageable? No... Spencer wanted to shake his head, but the thought of marrying her took him by surprise. Certainly he’d thought of her in a serious way briefly. He’d pushed the matter aside, but now...she could be the answer to all his problems.

  Or she could start more.

  He dared not forget her dangerous exploits or bluestocking notions. Would she be content to live in a village like this? Surrounded by country?

  “A family friend,” he finally said. “Look, Jack, I’ve a question about that carriage of mine. Were you able to surmise the cause of the accident?”

  “I did, my friend. Though I wasn’t sure how to tell ye...” Jack’s trailing-off words and averted eyes confirmed Spencer’s suspicions.

  “Tampered with. Am I correct?” His fingers flexed against his waistcoat as anger filled him.

  “Aye, my lord. By people not trying to hide that they’d done so, either.” Jack walked to another table at the side of the lawn. “Ye see this?” he asked, bringing up a large beam. “It be yer axle. And here’s where it was cut almost completely through.”

  Spencer peered at the thin line running through the wood. This was more than tampering. This was a message.

  “Someone wants you dead.” Jack echoed what he was thinking.

  “Who?” Lady Amelia demanded. She’d returned just in time to hear exactly what Spencer hadn’t wanted her to hear. “I’m putting my runner on this immediately.”

  Not if he had anything to say about it. Spencer cleared his throat. “I insist on paying you, Jack. How much?”

  “Nay.” Grunting, Jack hefted the wood back into a pile of other mismatched pieces. A gold band encircled his fourth finger.

  “Are you married?” The question sputtered out before Spencer could stop it.

  “Over a year now. ’Twas the best decision I ever made. She’s my love, my dearest friend.”

  “How very romantic.” Lady Amelia sounded a quite chipper for someone who’d just escaped with her life intact.

  “Good for you.” Spencer clapped him on the back, but his insides felt queasy. Would he ever feel that way about someone? Did he want to? That required vulnerability, a trust he didn’t know if he could muster.

  “Get yerself a wife.” Jack nodded firmly as though it were a done deal. “You’ll be a happier man for it.”

  “Believe me,” Lady Amelia asserted, “he shall have one within the fortnight.”

  * * *

  “A runner is unnecessary.”

  Amelia peered up at the sky, considering Ashwhite’s words. They were riding home now. The clouds hung low, and wisps drifted toward the ground like searching anchors. Every so often a low rumble shook the air around them. Her body ached in too many places to count, but she was happy she’d set out this morning.

  If not, she might never have discovered that someone had tried to kill them.

  “While I appreciate your opinion, you must understand that Mr. Ladd has resources we cannot come by. He is utterly trustworthy.”

  “How did you guess about the carriage?” Ashwhite’s voice carried dark and tight with tension. Almost as dangerous as the clouds overhead.

  She eyed him carefully. “Surely you noticed the coincidence? We stop Lord Dudley in his criminalistic tracks, and suddenly your curricle, emblazoned with your crest, is breaking apart on the road. I certainly don’t believe a marquis owns a faulty carriage. Even if you do, I feel better acquiring information on Lord Dudley and his whereabouts. Mr. Ladd has sources in places I dare not venture...” She trailed off, not liking the expression Lord Ashwhite wore. “Is there a problem, my lord?”

  Was it her imagination, or did his jaw tighten?

  “Put your man on it, then. I don’t like you associating with Mr. Ladd, but your instincts are correct. The carriage was tampered with, and it’s best to figure out who did it and why before any other accidents occur.”

  “Whatever do you mean, you do not like my associating with him? I hardly think it’s your concern.” Perhaps it was hunger or fatigue, but a distinct sense of annoyance was overtaking her.

  “It’s not for a woman of your station.” He gave her a very deliberate look, as though trying to make her feel guilty.

  Of all the underhanded things to do... Adjusting her spectacles, she looked down the length of her nose at him...though she had to lift her chin first. “I shall let you know when Mr. Ladd responds. I’ll direct him to send the answer to my brother, since I’m sure I’ll be to his estate by tomorrow evening.”

  “If you insist, madam.” Lord Ashwhite’s tone was cold.

  He evidently didn’t like her manner, but neither did she care for his. How dare he insinuate that she must answer to him, and worse, that her behavior was unladylike? Especially after the way he’d cared for her... Her insides warmed as she remembered his tender looks. It was like something from one of her novels.

  The heroine in need of rescue. The dashing hero in the right place at altogether the right time. Unbidden, a sigh slipped from her lips.

  Lord Ashwhite drew his horse close to hers. “Pray tell, have I vexed you with my words?”

  “Balderdash,” she said briskly, thankful he couldn’t know her thoughts. There was no need for him to realize that she enjoyed a good romance as much in reality as in fiction. “I simply hope you understand that my activities are not up for debate. We shall get along fine once you accept that.”

  The dreadful oaf chuckled.

  Evidently he thought her words funny. Irritated once more, she spurred her mount ahead. “If we are to beat these storm clouds, we must hurry.”

  “It’s getting dark. Galloping is risky. Slow down. Settle for an even canter.”

  Of course, he was right. Gritting her teeth, she pulled back on the reins until her mare was neck to neck with his.

  “When I find a wife, my situation will be fixed.”

  He sounded pensive. Amelia frowned.

  “What I don’t understand is why my parents created such a quandary.”

  “Your pare
nts?” She dared a look at his fine profile.

  “I know the responsibilities of running the estate. My father trained me, and I’ve taken over the duties at various times in the past years. So what is the use of a wife? The coffers are full. I looked at the books last night to double-check.” He barked out a short laugh. The wind scooped it up and tossed it behind them, but the echo of his unhappiness remained. “It is just another way my father wanted to control me, and he’s certainly had the last laugh.”

  “Do you truly believe that?” Troubled, Amelia guided her horse over a fallen log. She didn’t remember the chunk of wood being there this morning.

  “Yes.” Ahead of her, Spencer ducked a low-hanging branch. His horse let out a nervous whinny at the clouds above. The air had thickened, cloying. Humidity blanketed Amelia, coaxing a sheen of sweat to her skin. Thunder clapped suddenly, startling her. Her mount pranced nervously, sidestepping another fallen branch.

  What had been heat a moment ago swept away in a gust of cool air. The hairs on Amelia’s arms lifted, and a tremor shuddered through her. Weather like this meant danger. She scanned the road ahead. Limbs littered it, strewn by an unruly wind. Treetops whipped against a charcoal-streaked sky. Their dissonant movements created a strange synchronicity.

  All her concerns fled, replaced by the certainty that, halfway between home and town, they’d better find some cover. Her horse backed up, snorting unsteady breaths.

  Beside her, Spencer’s was equally discomfited.

  “Shh,” Amelia soothed. She patted her mare’s flanks, all the while searching for a low area, a dip in the land, somewhere to crouch before the clouds really did touch the ground. Because her horse kept up the nervous dance, she slid off.

  “Good idea,” Spencer shouted above the wind. He dismounted as well and brought his horse nearer. “No sense in getting thrown. Let the horses find their way home. We won’t be able to hold them during a tornado.”

  He grabbed her reins.

  “What...no.” She reached for them but it was too late. As soon as the horses felt slack, they galloped off, tossing their heads, eyes bulging.