The Matchmaker's Match (12 page)

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 arranged 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

F
alling in love destroyed the best-laid plans.

Amelia filed paperwork in her desk, half an ear closed as Cousin Lydia droned on about the man she’d met. Mr. Brighton, the epitome of honor and goodness. So handsome that just his visage made Lydia’s knees weak.

And so forth.

Pressing her lips firmly together, Amelia closed the drawer to her desk a little too hard. The smack of wood colliding with wood sent a satisfied sensation through her, though. One duty completed, a million more to go.

“Are you listening?” Cousin Lydia had draped herself across the small couch on the farthest wall. Now she pushed herself into a sitting position and eyed Amelia.

“I certainly am listening, and I have to say that his qualities are simply overwhelming me.” She pushed her spectacles up to more firmly look at her cousin. “You
do
realize his attributes do not negate his faults, correct?”

“Oh, stop being so prissy.” Lydia’s blue eyes twinkled, and a saucy smile played about her lips. “The goal was to find me a husband, not a fortune. If it were not for your contacts and careful planning, I would never have been allowed entrance into Almack’s. Then I would not have met my future husband. And I am certain Mr. Brighton shall be proposing, for he has orders to ship out at the end of the year. I plan to go with him.” A lovelorn sigh erupted as she slumped back onto the couch, her gaze drifting off to a different place.

The future, if Amelia had to guess, full of frothy dresses and giggling children.

Amelia frowned and looked away. Once upon a time she had dreamed of the same, but no more. To find a trustworthy male proved almost impossible, she’d come to realize. Banishing the thought of Lord Ashwhite’s wayward tongue, she surveyed her new desk.

Rather big, it fit nicely with her needs and had been a kind concession on Eversham’s part. Though she’d been at his estate for only three days, she found herself longing for her London home with its huge windows and promise of private independence. The thought of picking up her paintbrush filled her with a desperate hunger for space and light, for aloneness.

At least Cousin Lydia had met her at the estate and helped her settle in, but she’d be leaving this morning to return to London.

Swiping the invitations she’d recently finished writing, Amelia stood. “Try not to give this suitor of yours any promises until I hear from Mr. Ladd. For all you know, this Brighton is out to cause a scandal.”

She grimaced at Lydia’s unladylike snort.

“I very much doubt that,” Lydia said. “He is the second son of an earl and adores his career. He absolutely would not seek a scandal. In fact, you should not waste your money on Mr. Ladd, for there is nothing that will stop me from marrying Mr. Brighton.”

Amelia had to bite back her frustration. Cousin Lydia was much more stubborn than she’d originally realized. “He is simply not what I envisioned for you.”

“Well, you can’t control everything. Surely you realize that?”

Amelia made for the door and beckoned Lydia to follow. “Control is not my intent. I simply want to see you happy.” Even as she said it, though, she wondered. Why
should
she care if Lydia found happiness with a common man? Was she so shallow to look for only titles and fortunes?

Shrugging the unpleasant thought aside, she turned to her cousin. “Remember, it is my job to help you find the proper husband, one you can love forever, not one for whom you’ve developed an affection.”

For such emotions were useless in practical living. They complicated life and caused heartache. She squared her shoulders and marched into the giant hall of her brother’s mansion. She’d grown up here, and it rankled to find herself once again at home, feeling like an unwanted child.

Eversham stood at the foot of the stairs, examining his watch.

“Brother,” she called out. “To whom shall I give these invitations?” They’d taken longer than she expected. A marquis’s presence would bring a large turnout, which was what she wanted. After this house party, she imagined she’d have a good idea of whom to invite to Lord Ashwhite’s party. Perhaps even make it a weeklong affair with games and music.

Eversham looked up. His hair was tousled this morning, and his cravat was crooked. Amelia frowned at the absentminded look upon her twin’s face.

“Is everything all right?”

“Quite fine. I’m a bit late, that’s all.”

“I am planning a party for next week. The invitations are ready and need to be rushed out.”

Ev’s forehead wrinkled. “A party here?”

“Yes,” she said, exasperated. “Where have you been? I’ve toiled with these since I arrived, and if your wife would ever emerge from her room, I could consult her. But she hasn’t, and so I made plans on my own.”

He groaned and raised a palm to his forehead. “The budget?”

“Do not fear. I am working with your housekeeper on that.”

“Very well.” Eversham let out a deep sigh, as though her very presence caused him grief. “Keep the affair small and light. I don’t want Harriet disturbed.”

Amelia gave him a curt nod and watched as he strode past, his hand briefly lifting in farewell. She glanced at the stack in her hand.

“How will you do that?” Lydia asked from the doorway.

Amelia shrugged, feeling both annoyed and pained by Eversham’s treatment of her. What had gotten into him? Granted, they had never been close friends, but there had always been a bond forged by trust and understanding. “I cannot rewrite all the invitations or change the plans for a soiree. He simply must understand that this is my home now, and if he insists I live here, then things may change.”