The Matchmaker's Match

by Jessica Nelson

  “How very crass of you, my lord.” Despite the prim tone, a blush stained her cheeks.

  “Don’t you think this is over the top? Racing to stop someone from marrying the man she loves. Leaving behind all your responsibilities... Why? So you can be right?”

  “I am right. I know that I am.”

  “This is unwise, but as we are over halfway there, I won’t interfere with your plans.” Grudging words, but he realized he meant them. “The good Lord knows I’ve learned my lesson in trying to control others.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “My father, for one.” His fingers waltzed across the seat. Did he really want to go into this with Lady Amelia? Taking in her open expression, the interest she displayed, he realized he did. “From the time I was a young man, I tried my best to usurp him however I could. It became almost a game. He’d lay down a rule. I’d break it. When there were responsibilities to be had, I shirked them just to see the frustration on his face. So that he would know he didn’t own me.”

  Lady Amelia’s head cocked as though she was trying to understand him. “But you are so responsible and good... I cannot believe this of you.”

  He smirked though a hole had opened his chest. Now she’d know the truth of things. “This is why I think your determination to stop a wedding is ridiculous. People make their choices. There’s no changing a person’s will.”

  “I will simply point out the logic of things. Her entire reason for getting married was to protect her family. To provide for them. How shall that happen now? I’m sorry to hear about your father, but he sounds as though he was a difficult man.”

  His brow rose. She had the grace to look chagrined. Her nose scrunched.

  “I do apologize, but I hope you understand my meaning. And your mother—why, she only longs to have a relationship with you, yet you push her away. She doesn’t strike me as a woman who tells others what to do.” She adjusted her spectacles. “As you know I do.”

  “You two are very much alike,” he said. He’d rather take a nap than continue this conversation. But the lady proved to be a dog after a bone.

  “How so?”

  He shifted uncomfortably in his seat. Hours still to go, and now trapped in a discussion about his mother. “You’re both bluestockings.”

  “I don’t read poetry, and your mother is not political.”

  “You both strive for independence.”

  She regarded him in a quiet manner.

  He’d bumbled his words. Charm might not smooth away the furrow on her brow. And that should not bother him, except that he cared for her good opinion. Sighing, he rested his head back against the seat. “My point is, you share similar qualities. And just because I don’t want to have long conversations with her doesn’t mean I push her away.”

  “Whatever you say, my lord.” Her eyelids flickered.

  Annoyed, Spencer tried to find something witty to say but failed. He couldn’t explain how he’d felt as a child or the fact that his mother stirred unwanted emotions and memories. The walls of the coach closed in on him. Trapping him.

  Just as marriage would do. He thought of the ladies he’d known, the women who were not quite ladies, and the eager expression they all wore in their endless search to ensnare a man. They wanted the ring on a finger, the home to boast about. The prize catch.

  And then there’d be conversations like these, in which he was pressured to talk about things he did not wish to speak of.

  Could he really marry and be stuck for the rest of his life with someone who might make him miserable? Feeling dizzy all of a sudden, he sucked in a deep breath. It was either be leg shackled or live without Ashwhite. Both options scared the wits out of him.

  The carriage clipped along at a steady pace as he struggled to think of something to say. Lady Amelia beat him to it.

  “Doesn’t God want you to love your mother and treat her well? And I feel sure I read passages about forgiving others and not returning evil for evil.”

  His shoulders knotted. “I do love my mother.”

  Eyes wide, she leaned forward. “Watching the way you speak to her, I cannot tell that. And neither can she. What happened? Why do you hate her so?”

  “I don’t hate her,” he muttered. “You can’t possibly understand.”

  “Why?”

  “Because your parents lived with you and took care of you. They showed you the meaning of love. Mine fought constantly and without remorse.” The sound of breaking glass echoed through his consciousness. “When she was home, the household held its breath. But she was gone more often than not. She said she helped my father create this will ordering me to marry. I find it hard to believe.”

  “Did you ask her why they did it?”

  “No,” he growled.

  “Of course you didn’t.” She steepled her fingers. “You men never ask anything. Always assuming you already know the answers.”

  “That’s an unfair accusation. I don’t travel for days just to ruin a wedding, nor have I tried to stop true love based on nothing more than superficial reasoning.”

  “Superficial?” Her voice squeaked.

  “That’s right. Superficial. Hair colors and fortunes and who plays the piano... That has nothing to do with a good marriage. It doesn’t guarantee love.”

  “You’ve deeply misunderstood me.” Lady Amelia’s eyes flashed. “How dare you compare what I do to superficiality? My success rate is impeccable because I weigh expectations and desires. I match them. You are being difficult and your head is in the clouds if you’re looking for perfection. No woman can be such a thing.”

  “As can no man,” he countered. The strike hit home, for her jaw set and she glared at him.

  Well, good. What did she expect, that she could march into Gretna Green and tell her cousin to leave the man she loved? Obviously Lady Amelia understood nothing of love. A pang cut through him, right to his gut.

  Too late he realized he wanted her to know love. Not only that, but he wanted her to feel love for him. Imperfections included. He studied her profile, proudly turned away from him. She would have to surrender more than her independence. She would need to let down her guard, and he wasn’t sure she could do that. The lady built a cage around herself more sturdy than the walls of Newgate. And in all this time, he’d accomplished little to breach them.

  * * *

  A short time later, they reached the inn. Spencer hopped out of the curricle and then assisted Lady Amelia. She had little to say for herself, though the proud strength of her posture told him clearly that she would not change her mind about this futile mission.

  He went to speak to his driver.

  “Ben, sir.” The driver doffed his hat and bowed.

  “We shall be heading to Gretna Green, if you did not already know. Can you get a message sent immediately to my mother? Also, two dinners and two rooms. Thank you, Ben.”

  Spencer turned back to Lady Amelia, who surveyed the inn without a smile.

  Let her stew. She’d chosen this madness, and taken his mother’s carriage, of all things.

  Though she hadn’t had a choice, being confined to his estate. Nevertheless, the strangeness of it all was not lost on him. Nor did he anticipate his irritation ebbing. In fact, he did not know whether he’d get any sleep at all. Perturbed, he led the way into the inn.

  Small and cozy, the inn with its warm atmosphere invited patrons to sit. Several scenic paintings graced the walls, and the tables appeared well kept. A few diners were scattered around the room. Lady Amelia said not a word.

  It crossed his mind that she might leave during the middle of the night just to escape him, but he resisted the notion. If she did, what could he do to stop her? He wasn’t here to stop her, merely to see to her safety. For reasons unbeknownst to him, the lady meant a great deal to him. He did not wish to examine why, or the strange constrictions in his chest when she was near.

  After a hot meal, they trudged up the stairs. The barmaid, a friendly girl with big curls and b
right eyes, gestured to the doors of two rooms.

  “Clean and fresh, my lord. What else shall I bring to ’ee?”

  “This is very good, thank you.” He took the keys she offered. He nodded, and she curtsied before leaving him and Lady Amelia in the narrow hall. He had no bags, no spare change of clothes, but he’d noticed the lady had brought a small satchel. No doubt packed quickly by a servant whilst the carriage and horses were being readied.

  He held out Lady Amelia’s key. How he wished he knew her thoughts! She did not take the key immediately. Instead, her gaze lifted to his. Her eyes were dark behind her spectacles and he could not guess at her thoughts. She seemed frail in that second. Small and tired.

  As though sensing his empathy, her chin nudged forward. She took the keys in one quick swipe. Turning her back to him, she pushed the keys into the lock. She fumbled with it, but it finally turned for her. She hurried into the room. The slam of the door punctuating the silence.

  Spencer let himself into his own room, knowing it was ridiculous to stand guard outside her door. Knowing she did not want protection. Yet he wanted to provide it. He wanted to wipe that blank look from her face. He wanted to see her emotions.

  He wanted...her.

  Yes, he wanted Lady Amelia. Not just as a wife finder, but as a wife. Did he love her? What was love, anyhow? He knew he enjoyed being with her, that he missed her presence.

  He crawled into the bed. Small, it nevertheless smelled clean. The mattress sank beneath his weight.

  The lady reminded him of an onion.

  No, a flower.

  Yes, a soft, sweet-smelling flower with many layers of petals. Knowing his mind wandered strange territory, yet not caring, Lord Ashwhite fell asleep to the images of Lady Amelia and roses. They were atop her beautiful hair. She cast him a stunning smile, eyes bright for him, her dress lacy and white, as she ran up the aisle to greet him. He slipped the ring on her finger, kissing the paint stains as she giggled.

  They lived happily ever after.

  * * *

  By the third day of travel, Amelia drooped with exhaustion. Last night’s sleep had been horrendous. The daytime journey dragged in the most tiresome way. Ashwhite had little to say to her, and his silence proved more meddlesome to her sanity than she could have imagined.

  Every so often, a cramp knotted in her calf. She rubbed at it to no avail. Her argument with Lord Ashwhite weighed heavily upon her. She’d done nothing but roll his words in her brain, examining them from every angle, wondering why they hurt her so. The peace she’d felt after praying had all but faded away, replaced with a sickening anxiety that she was doing the wrong thing.

  How could that be so? Cousin Lydia deserved a financially stable and kind man. Someone to care for her and her family. Security was important. Lydia didn’t understand the feeling of being adrift in the world, uncertain of your next moment. She and Lydia had shared many memorable times that included laughter and confidences. Surely her cousin would trust her enough to see reason.

  Throwing a fortune away for a man... Amelia worried her lip. All this had happened beneath her very nose, and if it hadn’t been for Mr. Ladd’s investigations, she would have never known of Lydia’s plans. Questions pounded Amelia’s skull, and for the first time since leaving Ashwhite, uncertainty stirred within her.

  It didn’t help that Lord Ashwhite smelled good, which boggled the mind, as she felt bedraggled and uncomely. While she hadn’t slept a wink for worry, he apparently had slept just fine. Even the clothing he’d procured at the last town fit him well.

  With a huff, she crossed her arms and focused on the scenery outside her window. They’d gotten an early start. She’d wanted to leave him in the middle of the night, but despite her pique, she knew she couldn’t do that. One, she knew the driver wouldn’t take her anywhere. And two, she might take risks, but rarely were they foolhardy. To mount a horse in the black of night just because Lord Ashwhite had horned in on her rescue plans was the height of foolishness.

  She’d said a prayer this morning. Asked God for patience. And to her surprise, she’d managed to bite her tongue for most of the day.

  She ignored Lord Ashwhite’s frowns in favor of staring out the window. Hours slipped by. They stopped for lunch and hardly spoke. She forced down mutton pie and overcooked vegetables, refusing to look at him. If only she wasn’t dependent on his money or vehicle. If only he didn’t seem so concerned.

  If only he didn’t touch the deep places within she’d forgotten existed...

  When they finally reached Gretna Green, Amelia barely contained the urge to growl. As soon as she finished here, she’d go immediately home... No, she didn’t have a home. Fine. She’d return to her brother’s and demand they allow her a painting room. She’d hide in there and never husband hunt again. Quite obviously she had failed miserably at it. Who would hire her now?

  Lord Ashwhite left the carriage and horses to be cared for while she huddled at the edge of the road. A fierce wind stirred the dust, swirling it around her skirt. Goose pimples danced upon her arms, and she shivered. Had they reached the town in time to stop the wedding?

  She truly prayed so. Please God, if You love Lydia, please keep her from making the biggest mistake of her life. Her pleas felt empty, though. Where could her cousin be?

  Lord Ashwhite strode toward her, his confidence strangely calming. The air of assurance he wore fit a marquis. The grim twist to his lips marred not his handsome face.

  She set her expression to match his, pressing a palm to her belly to contain the apprehension fluttering through her. “Have you located them?”

  “It doesn’t appear they’ve arrived yet. You may have received your post from Ladd before they were able to leave London, so we are probably ahead of them.” He pointed down the road. “I’ve been told weddings are easy and quick to perform. If we hurry, we may be able to talk to the blacksmith before his next ceremony.”

  They started off, Amelia stretching her legs to match Ashwhite’s brisk stride.

  They entered a dim storefront, and the odor of metal ground into her senses. So this was a smithy. She’d never visited one. She took note of the muted colors and darkness.

  Surely the blacksmith must do his work in a lighter area.

  “Is the blacksmith available?” Lord Ashwhite called out.

  “Here,” a voice returned from the back of the room.

  Taking the lead, Lord Ashwhite rounded a large table that held a multitude of iron products. Grays and browns were the color of this place. And the dust... Her nose twitched. She scooted closer to Ashwhite and followed him into a brighter, much hotter room.

  A man bent over a roughly hewn yet sturdy-looking table. Behind him the stove crackled with heat. The flames licked upward, forever reaching.

  The plot of her own life, she thought wryly. Ending up a spinster at her brother’s house was not in the plans. Perhaps it might be best to look into governessing.

  She certainly would not be getting married in order to improve her lot. Her bodice seemed to close tighter against her ribs. No, that might prove to be as disastrous as being beneath her brother’s thumb. But if an employer fired her... The thought was too much. She straightened, wishing the perspiration upon her brow stemmed from the sultry room and not her own mangled emotions.

  “Do you perform weddings?”

  “Aye, sir, got one in just a bit.” The blacksmith struck his project repeatedly, and the sound echoed through the room, ringing in Amelia’s ears.

  “We are looking for a particular bride, Miss Lydia Stanley. She might be coming in this evening or in the morning.” She pushed a damp strand of hair behind her ear. “We wish to find where they’re to be married at once. Can you help us?”

  The blacksmith cocked his head, his eyes roving up and down. She tilted her head and looked at him over the rim of her spectacles. He guffawed, slapping large paws against his legs.

  “People don’t make appointments in Gretna Green. They just show up. Now, ye mig
ht check with the blacksmith down the road, but this week we be the only ones performing weddings. Ye haven’t come to stop one, have ye? I won’t have that in my shop.”

  Amelia plastered her hands on her hips. “Never fear. I’ll see you still make your money.”

  “That be the truth, my lady?”

  “You have my word. We will be staying at the inn. You might make a bit more should I arrive in time to halt the proceedings.”

  She could see his mind working over her words. It didn’t take him long to come to a decision. “’Tis hard times, and a man must feed his family. I’ll send someone round to fetch ye if the need arises.”

  “Very well.” She pivoted and left, aware that Ashwhite had not said much. As they meandered back into the open road, she asked, “You do not approve?”

  “Not a bit.” He reached out, his hand cupping her arm and stopping her in the middle of the road. Thunder rolled, and her skin prickled with the sensation of static in the air. Or perhaps it was the look in Ashwhite’s eyes.

  She could not tell if he was angry with her or something entirely different. The darkening afternoon played with the angles of his face. A shiver coursed through her. Mouth dry, she wrenched her arm from his hand. “It is not for you to approve or disapprove. Lydia cannot marry this man. Her future will be in ruins.”

  “The only ruination I foresee is the kind that results from refusing to give in to one’s heart.”

  Absurd. Why did she bother arguing with this man? She crossed her arms as another strong breeze brushed past her. “You don’t understand.”

  “Enlighten me, then, for you say that money and status should not determine the qualifications for a happy marriage, yet those are the only things standing in the way of this one.”

  “Nay, there is more. They’ve barely known each other, and their marriage defeats the entire purpose of her search for a husband.” A raindrop plopped against her cheek. She wiped it away.

  Ashwhite’s gaze searched hers. Another raindrop fell between them, and another, until suddenly they were standing in a downpour. Thunder cracked above them, and Amelia jumped. Her clothes stuck against her skin. Her heart raced and her throat felt tight. Ashwhite made no move to get out of the storm, and though she would have liked to, there was something in that keen look of his that challenged her to stay. Despite the burn behind her lids, she would not back down.