The Matchmaker's Match (21 page)

“I must take the horse.”

Dukes nodded. “I know.”

“My lord,” a voice called from behind them. “Let me help.”

Their driver limped toward them. Though mud covered a good portion of his body, he appeared relatively unharmed.

“Thank you,” Spencer said. “Do we have a saddle?”

The driver nodded.

“And do you know where Ashwhite is?”

“Aye, my lord.”

“Ride quickly, then, for the lady is in need of the physician.”

* * *

Hours later, Spencer paced the bedroom, hands clenched and body sore. “When will she wake?”

The doctor shook his head, his eyes calm behind his spectacles. “When she is ready. There is nothing wrong with her besides bruises. I’ve given your mother instructions for her care.”

His mother rose from her position on a settee situated near the expansive windows. The curtains were closed and candlelight flickered in the room, dropping shadows against her patrician features. She didn’t look as though she’d aged a bit in the year since he’d seen her. “We will call you immediately should the need arise. Thank you, doctor.”

The man nodded to them and left the room. Silence ensued. Spencer could not take his eyes from the prone figure on the bed. Both panic and anger clawed at his insides, and overriding that, a fear that she would never wake up. That he’d never again see that lifted chin or a challenge in her eyes.

His mother crossed the room and laid a hand on his arm. “You should sleep.”

“Not until I know she’s well.”

Mother looked at Lady Amelia, a thoughtful expression easing onto her face. “Do you care for her?”

“She’s the sister of a friend. You will like her.”

“Perhaps. You cannot hold vigil in here alone, so I shall stay with you. Entertain you with my stories of adventure. I was almost kidnapped in Naples.” A playful note entered his mother’s voice, but Spencer could not find the energy even to smile.

He walked to the bed and sat down on the edge, very careful not to dislodge Lady Amelia’s hand, which rested at her hip. Her fingers twitched, and then she let out a little sigh. His chest tightened as he lifted his gaze to her face.

Her lips moved, and then her eyelids fluttered. “Where...?”

Her eyes opened. Dark and questioning.

He wanted to take her hand, to cup it within his own, but his mother was watching and he did not want to deal with her questions. They had much to speak of, but not this...strangeness he felt toward Lady Amelia.

“You are in my mother’s home, the dower house of Ashwhite. The doctor has seen you and pronounced you bruised but well.” Then his throat closed. The pallor of her face alarmed him, for he’d never seen the formidable lady without her spark.

“Dukes?” she asked weakly.

“Hurt his leg, but other than that, fared the crash better than the both of us and is fast asleep in his room. The doctor left him some medicines.”

“I’m glad. And you?”

“Very sore.”

“Perhaps if your curricle had not cracked apart, we would not find ourselves in this predicament?” Though her voice was tired, he heard humor in her words.

“I don’t think now is the time to complain,” he said.

“Very well. I shall make a list once I’m up and about of all the ways in which you mishandled the situation.” She smiled, and even though strain tightened her face, there was warmth in her eyes.

It didn’t take long for her to fall back asleep.

“She has pluck.” His mother’s hand on his shoulder roused him from thinking about everything that had happened. He heard approval in her voice.

“Possibly too much,” he said. Her pluck had gotten her in an uncomfortable position with her brother.

“Nonsense. There is never too much of such a quality.”

Spencer grimaced. Maybe it would do to have his mother and Lady Amelia on friendly terms. Growing up, he’d never lacked in affection from his mother, but he recalled too many arguments between her and his father. Too many vases broken in the heat of battle.

All over his mother’s “pluck.” She had not wanted to settle as the wife of a marquis. She’d been bored by endless rounds of dinners and the straitjacket of the
haut ton
’s restrictions. As much as he loved her, he didn’t have an abundance of happy memories involving her.

As a grown man, he could look back and see that it wasn’t her fault. Not all of it. His father had separated Spencer from his mother. He’d taught him to do what he wanted, to feel no guilt.

But guilt remained. Until last year. God had forgiven him, and he felt that redemption with every pore in his body and every thought in his head. He gave his mother a considering look.

She was watching Lady Amelia, a crease at the corner of her lips. He ought to extend forgiveness to his mother. Had she felt the distance between them? He thought perhaps so. She’d sent letters to which he hadn’t responded. On her various exploits, she’d always bought him a gift. Ever since he was a young lad, she’d given him presents.

Her way of an apology, he supposed, for leaving him in the care of nannies picked out by his father. He frowned. Bitterness was rooted deep. He didn’t see how saying a simple “I forgive you” could erase three decades of hurt.

“You’re deep in thought,” his mother remarked. “I’ve never seen you care overly much for anyone besides your father.”

The comment stung, though he doubted she’d meant it to. He shrugged, picking at the quilt. “I care for many things, but you were never around to know what those things were.”

Despite his best intentions, bitterness coated the words and left a sour taste to his mouth. He stopped picking and glanced at her. Lines furrowed her forehead, adding a dimension of worry to her features. He wanted to kick himself. How could he be so crass? Was it her fault he’d grown up feeling unloved? Alone but for his governess of the year? They’d never lasted long. Due to either his shenanigans or his father’s flirtations.

“That was uncalled for,” his mother said quietly. She wore wounded feelings like a fur shawl. She was right.

Spencer stood, giving her an apologetic bow. “You’re right and I apologize. The day has worn me out.” He spared a look at the prone figure on the bed, gut twisting.

“She’s going to be fine, son.” His mother stood, also. She approached and gave him a careful hug, which he barely returned. She smelled like rosewater. He remembered that scent well because as a child he looked forward to her trips home. When she visited, hugs became the norm. Unfortunately, her visits rarely lasted more than a few days.

He shook his head. Maudlin thoughts when he had so much more to worry about. He patted her back and stepped away. “Have you spoken to Father’s attorney?”

“No. I haven’t had a chance to do anything besides hire Dukes. Such a shame about this accident...” She returned to her seat, sinking down as though fatigued.

Spencer tucked back a groan. Of course she must be exhausted. “The accident should not have happened. There was no debris in the road, nothing to cause it. I’m having my man in the village inspect the carriage for wear and tear.” Or something more malicious, though he would not worry his mother or Amelia about such a thing. The accident was too convenient after their investigation of Lord Dudley. Someone did not care for their meddling, and he was the first to come to mind. Amelia had told her brother, after all, and he himself had spoken with several people. Perhaps Lord Dudley was more intelligent than Spencer had assumed.

He shoved his hands through his hair and spun toward the door.

“Spencer,” his mother said, following him into the hallway. “You are worried. Let us talk now, while we are here together.”

“You never stay long, do you?” He regretted the barb the moment he issued it. By his mother’s flinch, he could tell it had struck her.

“I don’t know my plans at the moment, son, but I do wish you’d share whatever’s burdening you.”

He ground his teeth. He didn’t want to talk about the curricle or the contents of the will, but he supposed she’d need to know as their futures depended on his decisions. “Very well.” He faced her, noting the strain on her features. Why should she feel strain? She lived her life much as he had. Doing what she wanted, when she wanted, funds unlimited. No responsibilities except the ones she gave herself. He forced himself back to the chair, though it was the last place he wanted to be.

Only hours before, he’d felt new and fresh. Clean. Now unforgivingness and bitterness snaked through him, poisoning his every thought. It was being in contact with her. Remembering all the lonely nights. The days when he’d just wanted his mother, yet she’d been nowhere to be found.

“Your face is as stormy as a tornado.” Mother’s head tilted.

“I don’t know how to say this, but everything you see here, this dower house, this bed... None of it belongs to me yet.”

She waited patiently, her gaze not wavering.

“The stipulations of the will require that I marry within the next two months in order to inherit Ashwhite and the fortunes attached to it. Should I not find a wife by the required time, we will lose the estate to a cousin.”

His mother didn’t blink.

“No funds. Do you understand that? No more traveling. No more gifts.”

“I understand perfectly well.” She hesitated. Her fingers twitched against the satin of her dress. “There is something you must know, a reason I came home as soon as I received news of your arrival.”

“Go on.” He waited, his muscles trembling with sudden exhaustion. All he wanted to do was drag himself to bed and sleep for days.

“I know the requirements of your father’s will. We developed them together.”

Chapter Seventeen

H
is mother had known.

Spencer couldn’t ignore this new information no matter how hard he tried. As he rode into the village to check on his carriage the next day, thoughts swirling through his head added to the aches of yesterday’s accident.

She’d actually met with his father, and they’d agreed on something. It couldn’t be.

Last night Mother’s pronouncement had been so shocking that he’d left the dower house rather than hurt her with his bad-tempered words. And why it bothered him, he couldn’t say, except that he’d chalked his father’s silly edict up to one last hurrah in the “tell Spencer what to do” campaign. If his mother had agreed, though, did that mean he’d disappointed both of them? That they’d wanted more from him?

Granted, he’d been a bit wild. Rakish, though certainly not a despoiler of women. Yet knowing his parents wanted him married irritated him. Not because of what they wanted, but because of how he’d so obviously disappointed them.

A year ago it wouldn’t have bothered him. He’d been too busy playing with his friends. Even his service to the House of Lords had been halfhearted.

But now a heaviness that had nothing to do with the dreary day bent his shoulders. Yesterday’s storm had returned, creating a black and growling morning. His horse cantered down the road to the village, seemingly unaware of the turbulent clouds above. Not that Spencer cared a fig about the weather.

Sleep had eluded him. He’d tossed and turned. When neither his mother nor Amelia had appeared at breakfast, he’d decided a ride into town might clear his head and give him some perspective. The rain-scented wind only served to heighten his turmoil.

He should be praying right now. Beseeching God for wisdom. Seeking guidance. An empty place had opened in his heart, though, and he hadn’t the foggiest idea why. All his talk to Amelia about faith, and at this very moment he felt none.

It was an uncomfortable feeling, rather like the dreams in which one found oneself wearing only a nightshirt to a social gathering. Embarrassing and confusing.

“God help mine unbelief,” he muttered, guiding his mount into the village. The well-kept huts and neatly trimmed trees stood testament to his estate’s prosperity. He smiled at Mrs. Miller, who baked the best bread in the county, and chuckled when redheaded little Lucy waved excitedly in his direction.

He loved these people. He truly did. What did it matter that his mother agreed with his father about the marriage stipulation? Maybe she was concerned for the estate, as well. He wouldn’t know until he spoke to her. Determined to put his hurt aside for now, he rode to the livery.

He was almost there when a feminine voice calling his name yanked him to reality.

Pulling the reins, he stopped his horse and prayed he hadn’t really heard Lady Amelia.

“My lord,” she said breathlessly, pulling up her mount next to his. “Where are you off to this fine morning?”

He eyed her as he scrambled for an answer. She looked peaked, to be sure, but also alive and well. A wisp of hair escaped from her riding hat to curl about her cheek. A slight bruise at the base of her cheekbone was the only evidence that she’d been thrown from a carriage yesterday.

“Must you frown like that?” She arched a brow. “Staying in bed proved unexciting, so I decided to explore a bit. Perhaps send a letter to my brother.”

“We sent him news last night,” he said flatly. “In the future, give your correspondence to our housemaid, and she will see that it goes out.”

Lady Amelia should be in bed, resting. And yet, here she sat, wearing a bright purple riding habit no doubt borrowed from his mother. He didn’t want her to hear his conversation with Jack about whether his carriage had been sabotaged. Frustration gnawed at him, overlapping with a giddy relief that she felt well enough to ride a horse all the way into the village.

“Sir, your horse? Mr. Jack said we be expecting you.” The young man peered up at him, and Spencer found himself in a quandary. Take Lady Amelia with him and most likely alarm her sensibilities, or send her away and risk offending her? He didn’t like these stakes.

“Would you take my horse?” Lady Amelia slipped off her mount with the man’s assistance. A grimace fluttered across her features, but she landed safely on the ground.

Gritting his teeth, Spencer dismounted, as well. “You may take them both.”

“Very good.” Lady Amelia beamed up at him. “I suppose you’re looking into why the curricle broke apart?”