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Authors: Jessica Nelson

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“This means you may not dance?”

“A lady always knows her place,” she said, feeling an unnerving heat creep through her. Who was this man, and what right did he have to question her? “If you’ll excuse me, I must check on my cousin.”

Indeed, the strains of music undulating from the ballroom had slowed. A new dance might begin at any moment, and she needed to find Lydia before then to ascertain the merit of Lord Dudley’s courtship. She must also not let matters progress too far until she heard from her Bow Street runner on Dudley’s background. Though he appeared innocent, she’d learned the hard way how deeply deceiving appearances could be.

“Not so fast.” Lord Ashwhite moved toward her. His tall stature made her feel at a disadvantage. She drew herself up and met his arresting look with a firm one of her own.

“Sir, do you dare detain me?”

“I dare.” He grinned. “You see, your name is familiar for some unknown reason, yet it is only now that I meet you. My curiosity has been roused. A dance might put it to rest.”

“You speak in circles,” she said lightly, feeling an unusual breathlessness creep into her voice.

“Surely you jest, my lady, for I have been quite clear in what I want from you.” Again that roguish smile crossed his face. His eyes crinkled at the corners.

Warmth suffused Amelia, for she had not danced in years. Not since The Great Disappointment... No, she did not wish to think of that. Swallowing against myriad feelings she had no name for, she offered the gentleman before her a slight smile, preparing to reject him. She had little patience for men who went around breaking hearts. Indeed, she had little patience for men at all.

And then she spotted the enamored Lord Dudley heading toward her. She did not think she could endure another conversation with him. He simply did not take a hint.

Oh, dear
. She met Lord Ashwhite’s impertinent look.

“I will allow one dance with the understanding that it is probable I will step on your toes.”

Was it possible for his smile to widen? For that was what his lips appeared to do, easing upward in a most disconcerting, charming way. He swept her a bow and then offered his arm. “We shall dance, then, and see if a few rounds about the floor might clear my head. Perhaps I shall realize you’re not quite as fascinating as I fear.”

Despite herself, Amelia chuckled. His arm felt warm and sturdy, and the merriment in his voice was catching. “Fear not. You can rest assured that by the end of our dance, you will find me both dreadfully boring and an awkward partner.”

“Do not disappoint me, my lady,” he warned, his tone teasing.

She patted his arm. “You, sir, will soon realize that Lady Amelia Baxley never disappoints.”

* * *

The marquis of Ashwhite could not take his eyes from his dance partner. She had disappointed him terribly. Not once had her toes flattened his. In fact, as they performed the steps to the quadrille, he admired her flawless dancing. She had misled him.

What was it about this lady that provoked his attention? Not her dress, certainly, for while she wore the height of fashion, and the colors seemed acceptable enough, the dress did not stand out in any way. And the lady herself was not extraordinary.

She stood an average height with an average girth. Her hair, tucked into a respectable hairstyle for which he knew not the name, was a tame brown. She hid her eyes behind overly large spectacles.

Perhaps it had been that strident, no-nonsense tone as she’d rushed around the corner and hit him with her fan. Or maybe it was her skin, which looked like luminous velvet beneath the gentle glow of moonlight. He shook his head. Ridiculous musings.

Still, Lady Amelia had captured his respect for running to the aid of another, though misdirected. Such heroism was uncommon.

He watched her now, the graceful movements of her arms, the slender line of her neck as they completed the steps required. Yes, she had distracted him from the difficult problems that faced him. Because of a bizarre clause in his father’s will, after he finished this dance, he must scan the ballroom for prospective wives. This Season had produced a mass of simpering misses whose young faces looked fresh from the schoolroom.

The music slowed and as he crossed the floor with Lady Amelia on his arm, he noticed the way a smile teased the corners of her surprisingly full lips. Her gaze flickered over to him and—was that laughter he saw in her eyes?

A most intriguing lady.

The song ended and he escorted her to the edge of the floor.

“Lord Ashwhite, I must thank you for the dance.” She fanned herself, but still a blush stained her skin, turning it rose-petal soft. A beguiling creature, to be sure. “It has been much too long since I had such a delightful partner.”

He inclined his head, unwilling to take his eyes off her. “Truly, it was my pleasure.”

She gave him a broad smile, and then her expression stuttered as she looked past him. “Oh, dear. If you’ll excuse me, I must rescue my cousin.” Her features slid back into that commanding expression she’d pointed his way earlier. “Miss Stanley has no head where suitors are concerned. I have told her repeatedly not to speak with known
rakes
.” She drew the last word out with a heavy distaste.

Spencer winced. So here was the downfall. Lady Amelia might make a delightful dance partner, but in the end she would prove to be as stubborn and stiff-necked as any dowager of the
ton
. And just as judgmental. With a rueful shake of his head, he turned away while she glided off to rescue her cousin.

He knew the young man with whom Miss Stanley spoke, and though his reputation might not be spotless, he certainly was no rake. A self-deprecating smile tugged at Spencer’s mouth. What would the straitlaced Lady Amelia think if she found out with whom she’d danced?

It had been surprising that she hadn’t recognized him by name or Miss Winston by looks. The actress was well-known amongst those who enjoyed the theater.

“Ashwhite!” Lord Liveston, Earl of Waverly, clapped him on the back, ending his ruminations. “You’ve arrived from the Americas, I see? How was the trip, old chap?”

“Enlightening.”

“And?” Waverly’s mustache twitched with mirth. “No special young ladies over there? I thought you might return with an American miss. Or at least some adventurous stories.” His best friend snickered and chucked him on the shoulder again.

Spencer threw him a stern look. “I’m done with philandering.”

“With what? Oh, yes, yes, I received your letter. A bunch of rubbish. Tent meetings? Yelling preachers and people repenting publicly of their sins? Why, I can’t imagine such a thing happening in England. Those Americans are an untamed lot.” Waverly squinted at the procession of dancers moving across the floor. “Eversham and I are about to leave for more exciting places. Care to join us?”

“I think I’ll stay here,” Spencer murmured. His stare centered on Lady Amelia only a few feet away, whose fan kept time with her mouth.

“You really have changed...but for how long?” Waverly followed his gaze. “She’s a fine-looking lady. If I was in the mood for a wife, I’d take that one.”

“Yes, she’s intriguing.”

“Who needs intriguing when you have beauty like that?” Waverly grinned. “Those blond curls are artfully designed to trap a man, along with his fortune.”

Spencer’s chin snapped up. His friend obviously had focused on Lady Amelia’s cousin.

“The plain one is Eversham’s twin sister, you know.”

“Indeed?” Spencer tried to keep the shock from his voice. “Our friend Eversham? She’s the one...”

“Yes, she’s
that
one. Difficult and independent. Refuses to do anything he says. A bluestocking of the spinster sort, if you ask me.”

She sounded like Spencer’s mother, and he had no patience for women like that. His mother was gallivanting on the Continent at this very moment, and who knew when she’d decide to return to her home.

“The lady appears benign.” His eyes narrowed on the subject of their conversation. Perhaps not so benign after all. There was a purposeful air to her as she scanned the ballroom. Like a hound nosing for a fox. He’d seen that look on his mother far too often for comfort.

“Ha, that’s not what Eversham says. Though he doesn’t talk much of her, apparently there was a small ruckus last week, and when we met at White’s for coffee, he acted distraught.” Waverly pulled out his pocket watch. “Time for a bit of sport. You’re sure you won’t come?”

Spencer shook his head. “I’ll meet you at White’s tomorrow. I need your and Eversham’s help with something.”

“That sounds alarming.”

“Quite.” He felt a glower tugging at his brow. “I met with the family lawyer today. I’ll give you details tomorrow, but in the meantime, keep an ear open for eligible ladies in need of a husband.”

“Don’t tell me you’ve decided to get leg shackled?” Poor Waverly sounded distressed.

“Indeed,” Spencer answered grimly. “And I’ve less than three months to do it.”

Chapter Two

“D
o you suppose I shall ever have a waltz?” Cousin Lydia swirled around the morning room, her dress fluttering precariously close to the sideboard.

“It is an impractical dance and frowned upon for a young miss fresh in her first Season.” Amelia plucked a piece of bacon for her plate and tried to dismiss the sudden memory of Lord Ashwhite’s hand upon her sleeve last night. She’d realized why his name prodded her conscious. He was an old friend of her brother’s but had just now come into his title, hence the change of names. She knew him as Mr. Broyhill.

She eyed Lydia. “Why are you daydreaming about such a thing when we’ve other goals to pursue?”

“Oh, I don’t know...” Lydia shrugged. “I suppose I feel like an ox on the market. Picked at and looked over. It is all decidedly unromantic.”

“Which is why we will find you the perfect gentleman for your nature. He will bring you flowers in the morning and write verses devoted to your fair beauty every day.” Amelia smothered her smile as she sat at the small table to read
The Morning Gazette
. She took out the gossip column and set it to the side. Sunlight bathed the simple furniture in a lovely hue perfect for a painting. Perhaps today she would have time to take out her easel and paints.

“You aren’t going to read this?” Lydia flipped up the gossip column. “Why, Lord Ca—”

“Stop at once.” Amelia held up her hand. “I do not partake in gossip.”

“Why, Amelia, are you serious? Never?”

“Never,” she pronounced, careful to add stiffness to her tone. If there was one thing that rankled her more than anything, it was the idle chatter of busybodies. She’d much rather gather the hard facts, not emotional speculations.

“But how do you find husbands? How will you know their worth?”

“Certainly their worth won’t be determined by what others say about them. Would you please sit down? You’re making me quite dizzy.”

Lydia flounced into the chair beside her, a pout upon her pretty features. “I am not sure I want to be married, Amelia.”

“Then, why do you partake of my services?” She took a bite of her bacon. Perfectly crisp and delicious. She must find a way to give a bonus to Martha for being such a wonderful cook. Perhaps if she could sell a painting soon...

“It seemed a promising idea. After my dreadful mistake, I thought perhaps I’d need help on the marriage mart. Father and Mother agreed.”

“Your
mistake
was minor and quickly forgotten. Just do not take any more moonlit walks without a chaperone and mind your tongue.”

“He deserved a dressing-down for taking liberties with my person.” Lydia’s eyes flashed with pique.

“A good swat with your fan works wonders. A true lady does not lose her temper in public and call a suitor ungentlemanly names.”

Lydia uttered an amazingly loud sigh.

Ignoring the melodramatic response, Amelia continued, “In the meantime, we shall work with what we have. My particular specialty is providing young ladies with a love match.” Amelia met Lydia’s gaze. Her eyes were a delightful cornflower blue most men would adore gawping at. “You will not have a problem attracting admirers, but to find a man who sees past your outer beauty...that is our challenge.”

“There may not be much beyond my face.” A glum note entered Lydia’s tone.

“Come, now.” Amelia touched her hand. “You are intelligent and lively. A good man appreciates those qualities.”

“And why are you not married? You possess those qualities in abundance.”

Amelia tried not to groan. She finished her bacon and patted her mouth with a delicate napkin. “This is a conversation about you and not about my marital status. I am perfectly happy with the shelf I have set myself upon.”

“Is that so?” A mischievous spark glinted in Lydia’s eyes. She leaned across the table. “Then, why did I see you dancing last night? And with an eligible marquis, no less?” A smirk hovered across her face.

“That was nothing,” Amelia said firmly, though her nerves felt afire. “I saw an overzealous suitor practically running toward me and needed an escape route. Lord Ashwhite is an old friend of my brother’s. Dancing was a deviance from the norm, I assure you.”

“I have never seen you dance before. You were lovely. So very graceful. The gentleman looked quite enraptured with you.”

“Oh, stuff and nonsense.” Amelia stood quickly, unsure why she felt so skittish. “We have much to accomplish today. A new gown for next week’s ball and then the theatre tonight. I am hoping you shall see Lord Dudley there. What did you think of him, cousin?”

Lydia stood as well and rounded the table.

“He is nice enough, but I think we should keep our options open,” she said as they walked to the small library on the other side of Amelia’s modest townhome.

She was fortunate the stipend her brother gave her covered the cost of maintaining her own house. The home was located at the edge of Mayfair, a distinguished and safe neighborhood, and whilst small, suited her purposes most admirably. She enjoyed the privacy and location, not to mention the salon boasting huge windows that let in a good deal of light, perfect for her paintings.

BOOK: The Matchmaker's Match
10.67Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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