The Matchmaker's Match (20 page)

That was an inclination he’d ignore, though.

This lady amused him. He enjoyed watching her eyes widen and sparkle with excitement over the list of deeds she claimed to dread. It seemed to him she relished planning and controlling life. Though she missed her painting. There was no denying the sadness in her voice when she spoke of her art.

“God is...” Lady Amelia trailed off, looking past him with one of her vacant stares. The kind that told him she’d gone off in dreamland somewhere, forsaking her practical façade for a more gentle place. “I’m not quite certain who He is and what I’m supposed to do with the idea of Him.”

An honest answer, though it pained him. “A Bible is a good way to get to know Him. That’s how I learned.”

She laughed. “A Bible? I don’t know that I could read such a thing.”

“It contains more adventure than your novels, and quite a few romances.”

Her mouth did that cute little purse it did when she was intrigued by something. “You don’t say? Like what?”

“A man who falls in love with one daughter and works out a deal to marry her, but then is tricked at the last moment into marrying her sister.”

“Why...that is quite scandalous.” Her eyes grew wide. “You’re saying that story is in the Bible?”

“And many others.”

“But what is the purpose? Surely God has more important things to tell us than stories of romances gone awry.”

“Don’t you see, my lady? God’s relationship with us—with me and with you—it’s a romance gone wrong.”

“I believe in logic, but I must say that I also believe in romance. I shall admit you’ve intrigued me with all this talk of God and feelings.” She glanced out the window as though searching for God in the sky.

The carriage made a turn and the rising sun splashed into the curricle, splaying against Lady Amelia’s face and hair, throwing streaks of gold through her tresses and warming her cheeks to a becoming pink.

She faced him, making the sun glint against her spectacles.

“Believing in a personal God is difficult. If there is this deity, and if He cares for us, then why did my parents die? Why do children suffer in the streets from neglect and malnutrition? Mothers wasting away for lack of food and clean water. You’re a marquis. I think...perhaps...that it is easier for you to believe in a God who cares.”

His windpipe contracted at her words. He had to work to draw breath. Did she think he had never felt sorrow or suffering? “I’ve never experienced the pangs of starvation, but that doesn’t mean I’m immune to pain.”

“I am only suggesting that faith comes easier to those who’ve not had their beliefs crushed beneath the realities of life.”

“You think I live in a bubble,” he ground out. He knew he shouldn’t be angry, yet a flame raced through his blood, bringing heat to his entire body. She thought very poorly of him indeed.

Her smile was tight. “This is a subject better discussed when we’ve had some food and laughter.”

“Quite right.” He gave her a curt nod, trying to get his thoughts together. Soon enough they’d stop for a quick meal at an inn on the way, and they should reach his mother’s home by late afternoon. The thought of seeing her added to the tenseness in his shoulders.

He had no reason to be this upset. Lady Amelia’s thoughts were valid, and if she thought ill of him, she had reason. Long before he’d gone to the Americas, he’d lived as though tomorrow didn’t matter, as though he was accountable to no one. Yes, he’d followed certain rules of morality, and he preferred to think that for all his carousing, he’d been a good man who treated others decently.

Yet in his heart there had always been the knowledge of failure. And when he’d gone to the Americas and heard that preacher speak words that had aimed straight for his heart, life had become much clearer.

He had at one point been the spoiled son of a marquis. Could he blame her for believing him to be far removed from suffering?

He looked at the lady opposite him. Such a smart and funny woman. Too stubborn, but she didn’t deserve his irritation.

“My lady,” he said quietly. “Forgive me. My annoyance is not at you, merely at my own inability to articulate what I feel. You are right in that many ways, I grew up cosseted and protected.”

She gave him a graceful nod, regal bearing in every line of her body. “There is nothing to forgive. My words were not meant to invalidate your experiences or to suggest that you have not felt pain.”

Their gazes held, and strong emotion grasped him at the understanding in her eyes. Perhaps she did not think lowly of him, as he’d assumed. And why should it matter what she thought of him?

The answer was that it shouldn’t.

Yet her opinion did matter, and he couldn’t fathom why.

Chapter Sixteen

T
hey had just left the inn when the carriage broke.

Perhaps
fell apart
was a better term, for one moment they sat drowsy and satiated with lunch and the next the floor gave way, the curricle lurched and Amelia went sprawling against the door. It cracked open and, unable to stop herself, she hurtled out onto the ground.

When she woke, it was to a throbbing head and an aching body. Sunlight abraded her eyelids. Instinctually she kept them closed. She slowly became aware of the hum of insects, cool dirt against her cheek and grass itching her elbows. Pain radiated through her back, arching up her spine and ending in a pulsating sensation at her brow.

She moaned, wishing for darkness again. She didn’t know how long she lay there, riding the never-ending spasms of pain, but when she revived, it was to cooler temperatures. She cracked open an eye slowly and carefully. The entrance of light did not bring any more pain, and so she opened the other eye and looked around.

Clouds had moved across the sky, dark and heavy with rain. They stifled the sun and brought a blessed wind to scurry across her body. She didn’t try to move. There was no need to bring additional throbbing to her brains.

She wet her lips, which felt dried and cracked. Water. The thirst overwhelmed her, pushing past any other need. For moments she was lost in darkness again. She woke to wetness and stuck her tongue out. Her body protested even such a minor movement, but her need for drink bypassed the pain.

When she’d eased the torture of thirst, she blinked and visually searched the vicinity. Nothing to see but grass and dirt. She couldn’t locate the curricle.

Where was Dukes? Lord Ashwhite? Were they lying somewhere just out of reach? Were they hurt? She dared not entertain the thought of death.

She couldn’t.

A shiver sneaked through her. The rain, which had been a blessing, pasted her clothes against her skin, cooling her body temperature. Hopefully this would pass soon, for despite her uncomfortable position, she did not relish the thought of lying in mud much longer. It squished beneath her cheek.

She dragged in a careful lungful of air. No pain. Gingerly she moved her toes. Then her legs. Could she roll onto her back? She was almost afraid to try, remembering her Aunt Louise, who had sprained her back when Amelia was a child.

Because she’d ignored the injury and walked to the doctor, her back was permanently affected, and afterward she’d often been bedridden.

Amelia weighed her options. It seemed she was quite alone in this situation. A sarcastic laugh escaped. The sound of it was lost beneath the soft patter of rainfall. How ironic, to die the same way her parents had. If God existed, and if He did indeed have a personality or humanlike nature as Lord Ashwhite believed, then this must be a colossal joke.

Poor Eversham. He’d be quite destroyed.

She frowned at the thought. Is this what God wanted? To destroy her family? No, she would not allow it. Locking her jaw, she inched onto her back. Though her muscles twinged with stiffness, no extreme pain accompanied the movement.

Finally she was flat on her back. Different parts of her body vibrated with pain, but nothing she couldn’t handle.

At this new angle, she was better able to look around. The clouds above were thinning, she noted. She tried to push herself into a sitting position, but the moment her elbows dug into the ground, waves of fire undulated toward her scalp.

Uttering a groan, she lay back.

It seemed she must lie here until someone passed through or until Lord Ashwhite found her. Or Dukes. Surely they would wake up soon.

She stared at the sky. Was there really a God up there? Some great father figure who watched the people below with entertainment?

Lord Ashwhite had mentioned romance. Love. ’Twould be comforting to believe in a loving creator, but her heart rebelled at such thinking. If she believed God cared for her, then she might believe He cared for her parents. But when one cared for someone, one did not allow all that person held dear to be ripped away.

She did not, leastways.

Offering that deity who might or might not be watching her a grumpy harrumph, she looked to her right. To the stretch of trees that lined a jagged horizon, bereft of humanity.

Perhaps when their party did not show up, Lord Ashwhite’s mother would come looking for them? That feeble hope waned as the minutes passed. Her optimism dwindled with her energy. How long would she lie here? Limbs numb with cold, mouth dry... She wanted to hold on to a forceful attitude, but her stomach rumbled, and her thoughts were turning to a darker place.

Was this how her parents had felt? Lying in wait for help and never receiving it? She’d been told her father died instantly. But her mother... A sharp prick gathered in the corners of her eyes. They burned and she blinked hard, but this didn’t stop the tears from spilling onto her cheeks.

The hotness of them seeped into her skin. And still they didn’t stop. They rolled down her face, gathering force until she could no longer hold in her cries. Her body strained beneath the force of her emotions.

It was this dreadful situation. Being reminded of so many things. The gentleness of her mother’s touch as she dabbed perfume upon Amelia’s wrists. Her father’s low rumble as he read aloud from the family Bible. Such old memories, dusty and stored beneath an iron lid of control, but now that lid had rusted and the remembrances tumbled out.

How could she have forgotten her parents’ faith? Turned her back on it in order to escape the sting of remembering? For the first time since her parents’ accident, an unlikely urge to say a prayer for help prodded her heart.
God help me...
She wanted to speak the words, to allow them past her lips, but she remained silent within.

Because what if He did not help? What if she asked and didn’t receive?

She daren’t be so vulnerable as to put her trust in an unseen force.

And yet the strangest, most beguiling urge just to believe coiled inside.

As she sprawled upon the mud, looking a fright, no doubt, a tendril of something new and untried had sprung within her. Amelia closed her eyes again, her limbs cold but her teeth not chattering, and let her body relax into the earth beneath her. She was exhausted. Every bone hurt.

When she slipped into sleep, it was deep and dreamless.

* * *

Spencer opened his eyes. Shivering, he rolled to his side and sat up. His body shrieked a protest, but his vision remained clear. One moment they’d been riding, and the next the carriage had lost control. Slowly he stood and took in the damage. The carriage lay on its side several meters away. The horses stood idly nipping at the spare blades of grass poking up from the road.

He didn’t see the driver or Dukes.

He didn’t see Lady Amelia.

Panic crowded his throat. He sprung forward, reaching the carriage in seconds. It was empty, as he’d known it would be. Turning, he scanned the side of the road. A boot rose above a small mound. He rushed to Dukes’s side. The old man stared up at him.

“My lord,” he rasped.

“Can you sit, Dukes?”

The old man nodded, and Spencer helped him rise to a sitting position. His shoulders felt feeble, but Spencer saw nothing out of place. He shrugged off his overcoat and draped it across Dukes’s frame. “Though it’s wet, perhaps it will give you some warmth. Stay here. I must find Lady Amelia.”

Dukes nodded, but Spencer hardly registered the movement. Every muscle felt tight with apprehension. The English countryside stretched before him, muddied and ripe from the rain that must have passed while he was unconscious, but he saw no sign of Lady Amelia. He dashed to the other side of the road. Still nothing.

She could not have gone far. Fists clenched, he bounded in front of the carriage and scurried down a rutted area. His foot slipped in the mud, and he bumped the rest of the way down but barely felt it. For there was his lady, flat on her back, eyes closed and skin as pale as a waxen statuette.

For a moment he forgot how to breathe. His heart simply stopped.

She lay like a broken doll at the bottom of the hill.

And then feeling rushed through him again. One long, painful breath propelled him to trip over rocks and roots to get to her side. He took her hand. It was cold and limp. Her eyelashes were dark spikes against pasty cheeks.

In the sunlight that had chased away the earlier clouds, she looked unnatural. He put his ear to her mouth, his heart thumping terrible long beats in his chest. It was so loud he dared not breathe lest he miss the sound of her feeble breath.

Her exhalation basted his cheek, though, and he buried his face against her neck. It was the closest he’d ever been to this inspiring woman. She was alive. Her skin did not smell of mud, but of flowers and freshness, much like the lady herself. A brilliant orchid in an endless hothouse of white lilies. Once his pulse settled, he edged his arm beneath her neck.

He had to lift her carefully. If she’d wrenched her back in any way, he could make it worse. There were also his own bruises to be aware of. The lady was featherlight. He would not have guessed it when her stubbornness was as weighty as an anchor.

Tucking back the unanticipated humor, he scooped beneath her knees with his other arm. He stood and gingerly stepped up the hillside. Her head lolled into the crook of his arm. Her lips were too white. He didn’t like it. He picked up the pace until he reached Dukes.