The Matchmaker's Match. Jessica Nelson

with you?” Lord Ashwhite sat in the corner of the open hackney Amelia had hailed. He looked quite perturbed, most likely because she hadn’t shared with him yet about Lord Dudley’s financial straits.

      Instead, she’d hustled out of the house, the need to see her brother more important than indulging a marquis’s curiosity.

      She did not own her own phaeton or curricle, which did not usually pose a problem because she was in walking distance of most everywhere she wished to go. When she traveled to Bath, she borrowed her brother’s landau.

      Arcs of sunlight from the window splayed against her dress but left the marquis across from her in shadows. She scowled at the man, whose arresting gaze irritated her to no end. Or did it stimulate? She shrugged off the unwelcome thought. Stuff and nonsense, that was all. Her life did not resemble a fluffy novel with its exciting tales and dashing heroes. No, real life required choices and practicality.

      “Well?” Lord Ashwhite prompted her.

      “I—uh—” Amelia’s mind scuttled for an answer whilst hardly remembering the question. Oh, yes. His annoying presence in the hackney.

      Summoning a bit of steel to her spine, she gave him an arch look. “You’ve disrupted my business for three days. If you must know, it is paramount that I see my brother this morn. I don’t have time to dillydally with you and your games.”

      “I told you, this is not a game,” he said languidly.

      “My mistake.” Her tone softened, for how could she not empathize with wanting to save a childhood home? “I have been blessed in that my brother inherited my father’s estate when my father died. He loves the people there as much as I do.”

      His bright eyes centered upon her face. “Then, you can imagine how I feel?”

      “Indeed.” She nodded slowly, gripping the seat as the hackney jolted over some unevenness in the road. “My trouble lies in wondering why you do not go about the traditional way of obtaining a wife. There are plenty of young women who would be delighted to marry you. A title, wealth and a good disposition cause many mammas to salivate.”

      His nose wrinkled, which caught Amelia by surprise. She felt an unwilling urge to smile.

      “As I have only three months in which to marry, there isn’t time to get to know the lady. I am not looking for a young miss. Ideally, my wife will be refined and mature. She must have a good sense of humor and live in a godly way.”

      Amelia cocked her head. “Do you mean to say her church attendance is important to you?”

      “No.” He leaned forward, propping his arms on his knees and clasping his hands together. “She must have a personal interest in God. A relationship with Jesus, if you will, that influences her daily living.”

      How absolutely intriguing. Amelia eyed him carefully. A marquis who felt Christian values were important. That Christianity should be a part of living rather than a Sunday ritual. Her own parents had been pious. She remembered the large ornate Bible on a table in the library... Where had that disappeared to?

      “Have I embarrassed you, Lady Amelia?” Lord Ashwhite’s winning smile bunched his cheeks. “Your brother finds my religious fervor baffling, and my friend Waverly finds it annoying.”

      “Not at all. I find it most impressive.” And attractive, though she certainly couldn’t say so.

      “Meeting such a lady is bound to be difficult, as most seem to bend their beliefs to reflect their company.”

      “Perhaps try a church?” Overhead the sunlight shifted with the hackney’s movements, and she adjusted her hat. Lord Ashwhite’s face moved out of shadow. “There are many societies that aid the less fortunate, and within those I’ve found a number of young women living out their lives in godly service.”

      “Might I attend such a meeting with you?” The question, while casually delivered, came with such a mischievous smirk that she felt tempted to rap his arm with her fan. Rather, she gave him a sidelong glance that felt a tad flirtatious.

      “Perhaps one day, my lord.”

      The hackney rumbled to a stop. Lord Ashwhite exited, and then held out his hand to her. The barest hesitation rippled through her. His mannerly approach could not stifle the fluttering that had resumed in her belly or the reluctance she felt in making contact with him.

      Nonsense.

      She summoned resolve and put her hand in his. Through her gloves she felt the gentle strength of his grip, his thumb resting lightly on her hand, his fingers curled around her palm, insurance against a fall. She could not meet his eyes for the emotion coursing through her. It would do no good to let this marquis see feeling plastered across her face.

      He spoke intelligently, listened to her ideas, danced like a dream and cared for his people. What of it? Many men did the same. There was no logic to the emotions stilting her thoughts. As soon as her slippers touched the cobblestones, he released her hand. She paid the hackney driver, and then they commenced to her brother’s front door.

      “I will pay back your fare,” Lord Ashwhite said as they mounted the steps to the door.

      “Certainly not.”

      “Indeed, or shall I call for my landau and offer you a ride home?”

      He was too charming, with that sun-induced twinkle in his eyes and that handsome curve about his lips. She adjusted her hat and gave him a prim look. “You’ll do no such thing, my lord.”

      Twisting forward, she rapped smartly on her brother’s door and steeled herself for a conflict.

      “You didn’t tell me about Lord Dudley,” he said abruptly.

      “Oh, dear... Well, now is not a good time. I do not wish to bandy about information where the servants might hear.”

      “I’m quite sure they know more than you do.” He paused. “That runner, Mr. Ladd, seems protective of you.”

      “Surely your imagination.” She rapped on the door again, harder this time, more desperately.

      “Have you been doing business with him for a long time?”

      “You ask too many questions.” She raised her hand to knock again, but the door swung open, much to her relief. Confounded man. Why had he taken such an interest? It would not bode well for her should he decide to impart what he knew to her brother.

      Eversham’s butler showed her into the library, her favorite room, as he well knew. He left the door open while he went to rouse her brother.

      “I see old Ev’s sleeping habits haven’t changed.”

      “They attended Lady Blight’s rout last evening.” Amelia perused the shelves for something new to borrow. Unfortunately her sister-in-law was more of a talker than a reader. More was the pity.

      “And you?” Lord Ashwhite questioned.

      “My, but speculation does seem to be your favorite game.”

      “Whilst you excel at charades.”

      Despite herself, she smiled. “Really, my lord, must we engage in verbal battle?” She turned and unexpectedly found him behind her. Breath caught, heart pumping, she paused.

      “Yes, my lady, we really must, for I intend to win at this game.”

      “I do not lose easily,” she said, refusing to back up. In fact, she’d give him a taste of his own antics. An exciting quiver of anticipation arched through her as she stepped forward. Only inches away.

      His cravat was tied exceptionally well. The breadth of his shoulders surpassed her own, and she pointed her face upward, fixing him with a determined look that she hoped did not belie the curious thrum stretching her nerves wire taut. To her surprise, an indefinable look crossed his face.

      What was that in his eyes? For a moment, it seemed as though he swayed toward