The Matchmaker's Match (14 page)

“I think our mission may be easier than we expect,” she muttered under her breath, averting her gaze and swinging toward the exit. “Do not forget to make eye contact with her as you leave. Perhaps that little smirk you dish out so often?”

“A smirk, is it?” He took her elbow and guided her through the door.

She tried not to notice the firm pressure of his fingers against her sleeve, or how the nearness of his person brought the flavor of his cologne to her nose. Nevertheless, there was a hitch to her breath the entire ride home.

Even with her lady’s maid in the carriage, she had trouble breathing. This attraction was becoming quite the nuisance. She wanted to stop it somehow. Needed to keep from repeating the mistakes of her past.

She was not meant to be romantically involved with anyone. Or to marry. Better to keep her nose in her novels, where adventurous heroes with hearts of gold rescued perfect heroines. Her paintings satisfied her in ways no relationship could, and she knew once she began selling them, she’d feel a wholeness inside that always seemed to elude her.

But as they neared her home, she found herself doubting the mental assertions. Because when she sat next to Lord Ashwhite, when she answered his questions and engaged in conversation with him, nothing seemed as wonderful as being near him.

Most certainly this needed to stop.

He smiled at her in the carriage, the flash of his teeth inciting a memory of Lord Markham. Hadn’t he smiled in such a way? Confident, with ease, and he had looked at her as though only she existed in his world.

What a fool she had been to believe that.

The carriage stopped at the house. With relief she took the driver’s hand and dismounted, the lady’s maid ahead of her and Lord Ashwhite behind her. She could feel his smile at her back, and an absurd desire to pop him on the shoulder with her fan tickled her.

He came to her side, and together they entered the house.

“Where is the butler?” Lord Ashwhite asked.

“The staff has been given today off. Once a month they receive a half-Saturday reprieve. It is rather late in the day, and I presume everyone has left for the village. I am sure that is where my lady’s maid has gone.” Amelia looked around, feeling the emptiness of the house. Its loneliness.

“Does your maid have a name?”

She shrugged, avoiding his curious gaze. “I have been careful not to become attached. As soon as I’ve acquired the funds, I shall be rehiring Dukes and Sally.”

“To work here?” Surprise laced his tone. “And will your brother approve such an endeavor?”

“No, but that is irrelevant, because I have found a small cottage in Yorkshire in which to live. The stipend I receive is comfortable enough to allow me a house with Sally and Dukes.”

“And food, I hope?” Sarcasm had entered his voice, and she dared a look at him.

He thumbed the pockets of his waistcoat, and a lone lock fell over his forehead. Those piercing green eyes of his studied her with great solemnity. How she wanted to capture that expression. Her fingers fairly itched to reproduce his features upon canvas. To find the exact shade of green, that lovely deepness that was neither emerald nor moss but somehow a mixture.

“My lady?” His eyes crinkled. “Is there a smudge upon my cheek?”

For a moment she was stymied. And then the most ridiculous urge to press her thumb against his brow and rub an imaginary stain away overtook her. The desire was so strong that her hand raised, halfway to its destination, before she came to her senses.

She shook her head and pivoted on her heel. “Lost in thought, my lord. That is all.”

“Indeed.” His voice was soft.

“My cottage is lovely. I visited yesterday. There will be plenty of room for roses, and the windows are quite large. I shall have the privacy I need—”

He touched her elbow, his hand closing around her forearm. Then he turned her to him, drawing her closer than any gentleman had the right to do. She should protest this manhandling, she should yank herself from his grasp, but her mouth had dried, and her heartbeat had taken on an unnatural pace beneath her sternum.

“And what of your husband finding?” He stared deeply at her.

She could not look away.

“I—I...” Before she could formulate a thought, before she could even catch her breath, a loud thump followed by a muffled cry echoed from above stairs.

Her gaze ripped away from Lord Ashwhite’s. Together they mounted the stairs. He took two at a time, and she stayed at his heels. They hurried down the hall, past her bedroom and rounded the corner. Then Lord Ashwhite skidded to a stop.

Amelia crashed into the sturdiness of his broad back. His hands found her. Steadied her. She looked past him and gasped. Pushing away, she hurried forward.

Harriet lay sprawled on her belly across the floor, her face utterly bereft of color. Even her lips held a sickly pallor.

“Are you ill?” She dropped to her knees, panic making her movements jerky.

“Roll her onto her back,” said Lord Ashwhite, who had appeared at her sister-in-law’s side.

Amelia did as he said, pushing against Harriet’s limp body. The lady seemed less than formidable now. Frail and vulnerable.

She looked up at Lord Ashwhite, her insides twisting. “What’s wrong with her?”

Face grim, he shook his head. “I don’t know.”

“Shall we lift her to the bed?”

“No. If something is broken, we don’t want to make it worse. We should fetch a doctor.”

Amelia nodded, though coherent thought seemed to have deserted her. She glanced down the length of her sister-in-law’s body, searching for any broken or twisted limbs. Her frothy dress disguised any malformations. Impatiently Amelia pushed it aside.

“Oh.” Her hands flew to her mouth.

“I’m getting a physician immediately. Watch her closely.”

Vaguely Amelia heard his departure, the quick thud of his shoes down the stairs, but she could not take her eyes from the crimson stain spreading across Harriet’s nightdress. A numbness overtook her.

Breath shallow, she took her sister-in-law’s cold hand and waited.

* * *

A sense of helplessness engulfed Spencer. He didn’t much like the feeling, wished he could shrug it off, but the irritating emotion persisted in perching on his shoulders. Chest tight, hands fisted, he waited in the upstairs hall while Doctor Brimes examined Lady Eversham.

Lady Amelia’s voice filtered through the heavy doors, followed by the doctor’s deeper tones. The door opened, and they stepped out.

The doctor gave him a brisk nod and then left, tromping down the stairs to outside, where the curricle waited to escort him back to the village.

He turned to Lady Amelia. “How bad is it?”

Her heavy sigh nudged the pain in his gut, twisting it tighter until all he wanted was a sweaty pugilistic bout with someone. Anything to rid himself of this sorrow for Ev and his wife.

“Let us go downstairs.” She cast a worried glance at the door. Tendrils of hair had escaped her serviceable chignon, curling against the nape of her neck. If only he could wipe the worry from her features.

Once settled in the parlor, she leaned her head back and let out a long and gusty groan. A smile tipped at Spencer’s lips. The unladylike sound was refreshing and halved his tension. He lounged in his chair, glad his heart rate had finally slowed. He waited for Lady Amelia to collect her thoughts.

“I find myself in a selfish quandary,” she finally said, straightening her body into the posture of a lady. “Harriet is not sick, but she has been pregnant and now is no longer. She has not woken, but the doctor informed me that this is her third loss...” Her lids closed and her face tightened as though the next words pained her. She opened her eyes, and the loss in her gaze sent goose bumps scuttling across his forearms. “I believe when she wakes she will be devastated. Furthermore, Eversham still needs to be informed, and I feel incapable of imparting this news.”

Spencer leaned forward, elbows on knees. “I wish I could fix this.”

“It is not fixable.” She hesitated. “I had accepted an invitation to a soiree this evening but must cancel. My brother may need me. However, I have it on good authority that Lady Whitney shall be attending.”

“Which one is she? From Newgate?”

What passed as a smile flirted with Lady Amelia’s cheeks. “No, my lord. You met her a few days ago at the ball we attended. Did you ever procure an invitation?”

Ah, the one with the light brown curls. Not his favorite color, but he’d been told not to be picky. “Yes, introduced and even finagled a dance.”

“Very good.” Lady Amelia’s face took on that distracted look he was coming to know so well. “I will arrange for Ev’s steward to take you home now. Lydia shall be there as well once I find a companion for her. I have high hopes of distracting her from this suitor of hers.”

“Still in love, is she?”

Lady Amelia grimaced. “Unfortunately.”

* * *

And so it was that five hours later, Spencer found himself in a crowded, perfumed room. Irritated, he wedged himself against the wall and gulped his punch. This crush would be so much more amusing if Lady Amelia had attended.

Strangely enough, at that very moment he saw her pass through the room. Perhaps it wasn’t her, but he was bored enough to follow. He pushed away from the wall and slipped into the crowd. She had disappeared into a mass of large hats and odious matrons. When he approached the refreshment table, one lady recognized him. He knew this because she quickly ushered her daughter away.

Good. More punch for him. He filled his cup and surveyed the room while sipping the sugary brew.

“There you are!” Lady Amelia appeared at his side.

He turned to her. “I thought I saw you.”

“Yes, Ev believed it better for me to attend and keep an eye on Cousin Lydia. He said there was nothing I could do by staying home.” She frowned as though she disagreed.

He cleared he throat. “How are Ev and his wife?”

“She was sleeping when I left. My brother is heartbroken.” Amelia fiddled with her fan. “We shan’t speak of it now. Tell me, have you danced tonight with anyone?”

“Sadly, no.” He did not hide his sarcasm.

She touched his shoulder with her fan. “Come, now, my lord. You cannot avoid women forever. There are two very good prospects for you to choose from right over there.” He trailed the direction of her finger to a cluster of girls overly adorned with hats and feathers and giggles. “And forgive me, but I did forget to ask how you feel about widows?”

At the moment, his feelings weren’t the best to go by. All he wanted was to escape this ordeal. To forget the shattered faces of hungry children and Lady Eversham’s loss. “Let us focus on finding a suitable wife. Her status and looks are not important.”

“Time is slipping away.”

“Thank you for pointing that out,” he said drily.

“Well, go on, my lord. Don’t be shy.” Her teeth flashed up at him, and again he was struck by the darkness of her eyes behind their spectacles.

Gathering his wits, he gave her what he knew she deemed a smirk. “My lady, I have never been accused of suffering from shyness. However, the thought of conversing with those giggling females puts me in mind of Newgate and prison doors.”

Her lips pressed together, yet merriment danced across her face. “Very well. I wasn’t going to do this, but I see you need added incentive.”

“Besides saving my property from the likes of Lord Dudley?”

“Yes, and I have just the adventure for you. But first you must trust my taste. Go over there and strike up a conversation with Lady Whitney and Lady Hope. They are both kind and gentle young women who I do believe possess some modicum of intelligence.”

Charmed by the sparkle in her eyes, Spencer nodded. “I shall speak with them, but then I expect this adventure you promised.”

“Hopefully it will not scare you too much.” Her smile widened before she twirled away and disappeared into the throng of ruffles and lace.

Perhaps he should have been disturbed by that smile, but instead he found himself looking forward to the evening ahead. Surprisingly, getting to know Lady Hope and Lady Whitney proved unpainful. One was shy and the other garrulous, but both conversed in interesting ways. They were not afraid to broach the topic of politics, though Lady Hope seemed to back away from arguing while Lady Whitney pushed past the edges of decorum to defend her views.

He bid them adieu after a time and went in search of Lady Amelia. He found her in a small alcove, talking to an odd-looking gentleman with her cousin by her side. Wild gesticulations accompanied her speech. Animation brought her face alive, and for a moment Spencer found himself transfixed.

She caught him staring, and her words trailed into nothingness. He saw the look in her eyes—something very similar to what he’d seen in Lady Hope’s. Was it possible?

Something stirred in his chest, something elemental and quick. He tipped his chin toward her. She excused herself and, with Miss Stanley, joined him.

“Well?”

He raised his brows. “Is there a question in that word?”

“I believe she wants to know if she’s been successful in her matchmaking.” Miss Stanley flashed him a grin.

“More than you might guess,” Spencer told her. “Now, for that adventure you promised?”

Lady Amelia cleared her throat and then looked over the top of her spectacles at Miss Stanley. “Are you ready to leave?”

“Yes, I am unfortunately still smitten with an undeserving second son.”

Spencer bit back a laugh at the sarcasm in Miss Stanley’s voice. He rather liked this cousin of Lady Amelia’s. If she hadn’t fallen in love, she might have made an excellent prospect for marriage.

“There is no need to be saucy with me.” Lady Amelia turned to him. “We shall discuss our plans in the curricle after we drop off Lydia.”

“And why can’t I join in this adventure?” Miss Stanley asked.

“We must keep your reputation spotless.”

“What of yours?”

“Mine is staining rather quickly, I fear.”

And yet Spencer heard no remorse in Lady Amelia’s voice. Rather, an undercurrent of excitement tinged her tone, and he found himself wondering what on earth she might be planning. Was this how his father had felt with his mother’s antics? Apprehension surged through him. He hadn’t asked for an adventure that could stain a reputation.