The Matchmaker's Match. Jessica Nelson

      The last thing on earth Lord Spencer Ashwhite wanted was a wife.

      He winced as Eversham’s spouse hit a particularly high note with her words. They were in Eversham’s curricle on the way to Drury Lane, and Lady Eversham had not stopped jabbering the entire way. Her conversation consisted of frippery. Lots of comments about fashion and the Prince Regent.

      Spencer tried to tune her out as Eversham seemed absorbed in her opinions and hadn’t bothered to involve Spencer in conversation. Thankfully they were almost to the theater. Though Spencer hoped to avoid Miss Winston, who was likely to be here tonight. If not starring in the show, then watching it with her friends.

      Their relationship had been short-lived, but she did not like that he’d left for the Americas. He grimaced as he remembered the crack of her palm against his cheek. Over nothing but his refusal to continue their relationship when he returned to England.

      She’d felt slighted, not seeming to understand that his priorities—nay, his very heart—had been changed.

      At least this afternoon’s jaunt had provided a solution as well as comfort. The clergyman had listened well to Spencer. In fact, Spencer had been surprised by the cleric’s attentiveness. He’d even pulled out a Bible and shared scripture with Spencer. His advice had been sound, and Spencer had decided to go with his recommendations about pursuing marriage.

      Though at this very moment, with his ears ringing and his patience sorely taxed, he was tempted to lose his estate rather than find a spouse.

      The curricle pulled to the curb. Spencer exited and then watched as Eversham helped his wife out. He appeared deeply devoted to Lady Eversham, though Spencer knew for a fact that her money had initially snared Eversham’s interest.

      He followed them into the theater, contemplating his friend’s change of actions. He must ask him about it, especially since he’d be imitating Eversham’s choices. Once ensconced in Eversham’s box, he turned to his friend.

      “Before our show begins, I have an inquiry.”

      “One moment.” Eversham turned to help Lady Eversham with her dress, which had snagged on a chair. She flashed him a grateful smile, and Spencer watched in surprise as the back of Eversham’s neck burned red.

      Quite interesting.

      Finally his friend faced him. “What can I help you with?”

      “It’s of a personal note.” He glanced at Lady Eversham, noting with relief that she was conversing with a woman in a nearby box. “Your marriage appears to be flourishing, and yet it did not do so at first.”

      Eversham squinted at Spencer. “Is this about your goals for marriage? Because I told you at breakfast that I don’t want any part of the sham.”

      His friend had been vehement, actually.

      “It won’t be a sham. I’m just trying to figure out the best way to go about things in order to fulfill the terms of the will,” Spencer said smoothly. “The chaplain said—”

      “You spoke to a clergyman?”

      “I’m a new man,” he said, voice stiff, feeling embarrassed when he shouldn’t be. “God is a part of my life now, and I am being careful to act in a way of which He’d approve.”

      Eversham rolled his eyes. “Surely it’s not that difficult. Find a woman who suits you and marry her. No one is going to reject a rich marquis.”

      “That’s a cold way to look at life.”

      “Ash, what has gotten into you? See here, if you’re that concerned about right and wrong, hold your tongue until my sister arrives. Her notions are firm and unalterable. She won’t hesitate to tell you what she thinks, and most often, she’s right.”

      “Your sister is coming? Tonight?” Unaccountably his gut tightened as he remembered how distastefully she’d said the word rakes.

      “She’ll be here shortly. I’m forcing her to be social but, even more, to keep company with my wife.” Eversham’s smile was strangely tight. “Amelia’s actions of late have been unseemly, and it is past time she accepted her lot in life.”

      Spencer drummed his fingers against his legs. He didn’t much care for bluestockings, either. His mother’s unconventional ways had ruined his parents’ marriage. “You sound perturbed.”

      “My sister is creating a mess that I do not care to clean up.” His gaze cut to his chatting wife. “And I surely do not mean to put up with her shenanigans.”

      “She’s a bluestocking, correct?”

      “A political one, but that is the least of my worries.” Eversham leaned forward, cupping his mouth. “It has come to my attention that she is running a business.”

      “Really?” That would not settle well with the dowager set. “Do tell.”

      Eversham nodded sagely, keeping his voice low. “I will concede she’s an innovative sort. She has found a way to earn money by finding husbands for young misses in their first Season. Apparently she’s been wildly successful in supplementing her meager income.”

      “A hardly shocking venture, Eversham,” Spencer said drily. He’d been expecting something a little more ludicrous. Perhaps hoping for it, fact. Hoping she was less than what she appeared—less than proper, even. Then he could dispense with the doubts about his own character and how she might judge him for past deeds...

      Eversham gave a priggish sniff. “Shocking, perhaps not. But most decidedly unacceptable. She is the daughter of an earl, the sister of an earl. I’ll not have it, Ash.” His friend straightened, a frown upon his lips.

      “I’ve never known her actions to bother you before. In fact, you’ve hardly mentioned her, and when I met her last night, I didn’t realize she was your sister.” Spencer narrowed his gaze on his friend. “We danced, and I found her to be a most interesting woman.”

      “Interesting?” Eversham scoffed. “If you find women who are covered in paint half the time and write weekly letters of complaint to the House of Lords attractive, then you are daft. Her opinions never cease, and they are centered on matters no woman needs to have knowledge of.” His expression changed. “Did you say you danced with her?”

      “Quite enjoyably,” Spencer drawled, grinning at how Eversham’s face darkened.

      “My sister doesn’t dance.”

      “She did with me.”

      “She must not have realized who you were.” His friend’s countenance grew serious. “For all my talk, I love Amelia deeply. Do not treat her as a pet lady. I plan to marry her off.”

      Spencer’s chest tightened at his friend’s implication. “Do you mean to say I am not good enough for your sister?”

      “Let’s just say your past has not enamored me of your husbandly qualities. Either way, Amelia would never have you, but we can make a wager if you’d like?” Eversham let out an annoying chuckle that made Spencer’s knuckles itch.

      “Those days are behind me.” He scowled. “And it is not I who is treating her as a dispensable item, now, is it?”

      “Trust me, she is not your type.” Eversham inclined his head, his gaze shifting past Spencer. “But be the judge of that yourself, for here she comes, and knowing my twin and that particular expression upon her face, she is not in the best of moods.”

      Indeed, Spencer turned to see Lady Amelia walking toward their box, the striking blonde from Lady Havern’s party trailing behind her. Lady Amelia’s appeared to be quite a reluctant walk, and though he could not read her eyes behind her enormous spectacles, he knew the exact moment she recognized him.

      Her walk stuttered. A delightful curve graced her mouth. He admired her lips for a moment before looking away. He’d always had an affinity for a smile. There was nothing