The Matchmaker's Match (25 page)

No...no, she had to find him a wife. That was the goal.
Keep your eyes on the goal
, she reminded herself. Did she want a home to herself? Yes. Did she want Dukes and Sally with her? Yes. Did she want to paint and sell her work in galleries? Yes.

All that required money. Money she didn’t have unless she found the irascible, charming lord in front of her a wife.

Lord Ashwhite appeared to be mulling over her statement. “Do you really believe they’d marry me?”

“But of course!” She gave him what she hoped was a compelling and believable stare, while everything within her resisted the thought of him with someone else. How had this happened? No, she couldn’t feel this way.

Focus, Amelia, focus.

“Are you all right?” Lord Ashwhite leaned forward. “You look pale.”

“Perhaps I need to rest,” she offered. ’Twas true she felt a tad tired and overwhelmed. Maybe sad, too. After all, nothing in her life was moving as planned. She had been supposed to marry in her first Season. Make her family happy. Instead, she’d alienated her only brother, and now Lydia...

“We will talk of this later,” Lord Ashwhite said. The setting sun shadowed the deep velvet cushions and intricate brocade inside the carriage. She hadn’t felt much of a bump during the ride. This curricle was very, very in keeping with what a marquis should use.

Thankful for the reprieve, she stroked the soft fabric and wished life could be so smooth. They spent the next hours in tense silence.

He waited until night fell to question her again. It was a misty evening, the air cooler near the lowlands. It almost seemed the fog could seep in around the edges of the curricle door. Lady Amelia drew her shawl more carefully about her shoulders.

Her plan was plucky. Outlandish. But she prayed dearly it worked.

Lord Ashwhite heaved a deep, melodramatic sigh. “I tire of this silence, my lady. Confess your plans at once.”

Wetting her lips, Amelia had trouble meeting his very astute gaze. With one word, he could turn this curricle around and go home. That was not to say she’d still be inside, but nevertheless...his vehicle, his staff and he had been very patient. Fun, even.

“Go ahead. Assuage my worries and tell me we’re rescuing someone or doing an important duty for the king.” The sarcasm in his voice was clear. He’d allowed her privacy for a time, but now he was impatient.

Steeling herself for his displeasure, she swallowed a very large, very deep breath.

“You have every right to know that...”

“Yes?”

“To put it simply, my lord, I must stop a marriage.”

Chapter Twenty

“I
knew it,” Spencer said flatly. He wanted to barrage Lady Amelia with questions. He was unable to find any words to express the frustration barreling through him right now. She stared at him as though daring him to stop her. It almost appeared she leaned toward the door, ready to jump out at a moment’s notice.

Her shawl, a deep orange that reminded him of a slow-burning sunset, bunched around her shoulders. The shade brought out the color in her cheeks and the soft rosiness of her lips.

He grimaced. He couldn’t let her prettiness detract him from the matter at hand: namely, her obstinate refusal to stay out of other people’s business.

Her shoulders hunched, and her fingers plucked at the fringed edges of her shawl. She took off her spectacles and rubbed them against the cloth.

“I take it you do not wish to boot me from this carriage?”

“I most definitely want to boot you from this carriage. I’d like to wring that pretty little neck of yours, as well.” He crossed his arms.

“How very crass of you, my lord.” Despite the prim tone, a blush stained her cheeks.

“Don’t you think this is over the top? Racing to stop someone from marrying the man she loves. Leaving behind all your responsibilities... Why? So you can be right?”

“I am right. I know that I am.”

“This is unwise, but as we are over halfway there, I won’t interfere with your plans.” Grudging words, but he realized he meant them. “The good Lord knows I’ve learned my lesson in trying to control others.”

“What do you mean?”

“My father, for one.” His fingers waltzed across the seat. Did he really want to go into this with Lady Amelia? Taking in her open expression, the interest she displayed, he realized he did. “From the time I was a young man, I tried my best to usurp him however I could. It became almost a game. He’d lay down a rule. I’d break it. When there were responsibilities to be had, I shirked them just to see the frustration on his face. So that he would know he didn’t own me.”

Lady Amelia’s head cocked as though she was trying to understand him. “But you are so responsible and good... I cannot believe this of you.”

He smirked though a hole had opened his chest. Now she’d know the truth of things. “This is why I think your determination to stop a wedding is ridiculous. People make their choices. There’s no changing a person’s will.”

“I will simply point out the logic of things. Her entire reason for getting married was to protect her family. To provide for them. How shall that happen now? I’m sorry to hear about your father, but he sounds as though he was a difficult man.”

His brow rose. She had the grace to look chagrined. Her nose scrunched.

“I do apologize, but I hope you understand my meaning. And your mother—why, she only longs to have a relationship with you, yet you push her away. She doesn’t strike me as a woman who tells others what to do.” She adjusted her spectacles. “As you know I do.”

“You two are very much alike,” he said. He’d rather take a nap than continue this conversation. But the lady proved to be a dog after a bone.

“How so?”

He shifted uncomfortably in his seat. Hours still to go, and now trapped in a discussion about his mother. “You’re both bluestockings.”

“I don’t read poetry, and your mother is not political.”

“You both strive for independence.”

She regarded him in a quiet manner.

He’d bumbled his words. Charm might not smooth away the furrow on her brow. And that should not bother him, except that he cared for her good opinion. Sighing, he rested his head back against the seat. “My point is, you share similar qualities. And just because I don’t want to have long conversations with her doesn’t mean I push her away.”

“Whatever you say, my lord.” Her eyelids flickered.

Annoyed, Spencer tried to find something witty to say but failed. He couldn’t explain how he’d felt as a child or the fact that his mother stirred unwanted emotions and memories. The walls of the coach closed in on him. Trapping him.

Just as marriage would do. He thought of the ladies he’d known, the women who were not quite ladies, and the eager expression they all wore in their endless search to ensnare a man. They wanted the ring on a finger, the home to boast about. The prize catch.

And then there’d be conversations like these, in which he was pressured to talk about things he did not wish to speak of.

Could he really marry and be stuck for the rest of his life with someone who might make him miserable? Feeling dizzy all of a sudden, he sucked in a deep breath. It was either be leg shackled or live without Ashwhite. Both options scared the wits out of him.

The carriage clipped along at a steady pace as he struggled to think of something to say. Lady Amelia beat him to it.

“Doesn’t God want you to love your mother and treat her well? And I feel sure I read passages about forgiving others and not returning evil for evil.”

His shoulders knotted. “I do love my mother.”

Eyes wide, she leaned forward. “Watching the way you speak to her, I cannot tell that. And neither can she. What happened? Why do you hate her so?”

“I don’t hate her,” he muttered. “You can’t possibly understand.”

“Why?”

“Because your parents lived with you and took care of you. They showed you the meaning of love. Mine fought constantly and without remorse.” The sound of breaking glass echoed through his consciousness. “When she was home, the household held its breath. But she was gone more often than not. She said she helped my father create this will ordering me to marry. I find it hard to believe.”

“Did you ask her why they did it?”

“No,” he growled.

“Of course you didn’t.” She steepled her fingers. “You men never ask anything. Always assuming you already know the answers.”

“That’s an unfair accusation. I don’t travel for days just to ruin a wedding, nor have I tried to stop true love based on nothing more than superficial reasoning.”

“Superficial?” Her voice squeaked.

“That’s right. Superficial. Hair colors and fortunes and who plays the piano... That has nothing to do with a good marriage. It doesn’t guarantee love.”

“You’ve deeply misunderstood me.” Lady Amelia’s eyes flashed. “How dare you compare what I do to superficiality? My success rate is impeccable because I weigh expectations and desires. I match them. You are being difficult and your head is in the clouds if you’re looking for perfection. No woman can be such a thing.”

“As can no man,” he countered. The strike hit home, for her jaw set and she glared at him.

Well, good. What did she expect, that she could march into Gretna Green and tell her cousin to leave the man she loved? Obviously Lady Amelia understood nothing of love. A pang cut through him, right to his gut.

Too late he realized he wanted her to know love. Not only that, but he wanted her to feel love for him. Imperfections included. He studied her profile, proudly turned away from him. She would have to surrender more than her independence. She would need to let down her guard, and he wasn’t sure she could do that. The lady built a cage around herself more sturdy than the walls of Newgate. And in all this time, he’d accomplished little to breach them.

* * *

A short time later, they reached the inn. Spencer hopped out of the curricle and then assisted Lady Amelia. She had little to say for herself, though the proud strength of her posture told him clearly that she would not change her mind about this futile mission.

He went to speak to his driver.

“Ben, sir.” The driver doffed his hat and bowed.

“We shall be heading to Gretna Green, if you did not already know. Can you get a message sent immediately to my mother? Also, two dinners and two rooms. Thank you, Ben.”

Spencer turned back to Lady Amelia, who surveyed the inn without a smile.

Let her stew. She’d chosen this madness, and taken his mother’s carriage, of all things.

Though she hadn’t had a choice, being confined to his estate. Nevertheless, the strangeness of it all was not lost on him. Nor did he anticipate his irritation ebbing. In fact, he did not know whether he’d get any sleep at all. Perturbed, he led the way into the inn.

Small and cozy, the inn with its warm atmosphere invited patrons to sit. Several scenic paintings graced the walls, and the tables appeared well kept. A few diners were scattered around the room. Lady Amelia said not a word.

It crossed his mind that she might leave during the middle of the night just to escape him, but he resisted the notion. If she did, what could he do to stop her? He wasn’t here to stop her, merely to see to her safety. For reasons unbeknownst to him, the lady meant a great deal to him. He did not wish to examine why, or the strange constrictions in his chest when she was near.

After a hot meal, they trudged up the stairs. The barmaid, a friendly girl with big curls and bright eyes, gestured to the doors of two rooms.

“Clean and fresh, my lord. What else shall I bring to ’ee?”

“This is very good, thank you.” He took the keys she offered. He nodded, and she curtsied before leaving him and Lady Amelia in the narrow hall. He had no bags, no spare change of clothes, but he’d noticed the lady had brought a small satchel. No doubt packed quickly by a servant whilst the carriage and horses were being readied.

He held out Lady Amelia’s key. How he wished he knew her thoughts! She did not take the key immediately. Instead, her gaze lifted to his. Her eyes were dark behind her spectacles and he could not guess at her thoughts. She seemed frail in that second. Small and tired.

As though sensing his empathy, her chin nudged forward. She took the keys in one quick swipe. Turning her back to him, she pushed the keys into the lock. She fumbled with it, but it finally turned for her. She hurried into the room. The slam of the door punctuating the silence.

Spencer let himself into his own room, knowing it was ridiculous to stand guard outside her door. Knowing she did not want protection. Yet he wanted to provide it. He wanted to wipe that blank look from her face. He wanted to see her emotions.

He wanted...her.

Yes, he wanted Lady Amelia. Not just as a wife finder, but as a wife. Did he love her? What was love, anyhow? He knew he enjoyed being with her, that he missed her presence.

He crawled into the bed. Small, it nevertheless smelled clean. The mattress sank beneath his weight.

The lady reminded him of an onion.

No, a flower.

Yes, a soft, sweet-smelling flower with many layers of petals. Knowing his mind wandered strange territory, yet not caring, Lord Ashwhite fell asleep to the images of Lady Amelia and roses. They were atop her beautiful hair. She cast him a stunning smile, eyes bright for him, her dress lacy and white, as she ran up the aisle to greet him. He slipped the ring on her finger, kissing the paint stains as she giggled.

They lived happily ever after.

* * *

By the third day of travel, Amelia drooped with exhaustion. Last night’s sleep had been horrendous. The daytime journey dragged in the most tiresome way. Ashwhite had little to say to her, and his silence proved more meddlesome to her sanity than she could have imagined.

Every so often, a cramp knotted in her calf. She rubbed at it to no avail. Her argument with Lord Ashwhite weighed heavily upon her. She’d done nothing but roll his words in her brain, examining them from every angle, wondering why they hurt her so. The peace she’d felt after praying had all but faded away, replaced with a sickening anxiety that she was doing the wrong thing.