The Matchmaker's Match. Jessica Nelson

      “I have not had the pleasure,” piped up Lydia. She hadn’t yet sat and dropped a perfect curtsy.

      “This is Miss Lydia Stanley, a cousin who hails from Sussex for her first Season,” Amelia said.

      “A pleasure to meet you.” Lord Ashwhite offered his own bow.

      Amelia watched the marquis carefully to see if he showed any interest, but his attention to Lydia was perfunctory at best. An odd relief filtered through her.

      Then Lord Ashwhite turned to her and bowed. As he rose, the smile that graced his face caught Amelia’s breath. A strange fluttering danced through her stomach. Feeling uncertain, she returned his manners with an inclination of her head.

      “Why don’t you sit by me,” she said to Cousin Lydia, forcing her gaze to leave Lord Ashwhite’s and hoping desperately the strange feelings spreading through her would disappear. She must have eaten something bad earlier. Or perhaps the stress of having to be in Lady Eversham’s company was giving her the jitters?

      Amelia spotted a familiar face in another box. She nudged Lydia. “Lord Dudley is present tonight. Shall we bump into him later?”

      Lydia wrinkled her nose. “If we must.”

      “Really, cousin. Do not do that with your nose.”

      “Did I hear Lord Dudley’s name?” Lord Ashwhite interrupted them, his deep voice sending a pleasant shiver down Amelia’s spine. “He is a cousin of mine.”

      She could not forget how his voice had sounded the night she met him, how it held a musical cadence that thrilled her each time she heard it.

      “Why, yes, he is our acquaintance,” said Lydia.

      And a possible marriage prospect, Amelia wanted to put in, but she restrained herself. She hadn’t met with her runner yet. Besides, there was no need for Eversham to know she refused to give up this business. Not until she’d sold a painting. Then perhaps she’d consider his ridiculous demand.

      “We shall go speak with him during intermission,” said Amelia, feeling the graze of Lord Ashwhite’s stare upon her cheek. “It is quite hot in here tonight, is it not?” She pulled out her fan and used it diligently, but the heat in her cheeks did not recede.

      “I am feeling a touch cold,” said Lydia.

      “Lady Amelia,” Lord Ashwhite said, “your brother tells me you are interested in politics.”

      “Is that how he termed it?” She smiled.

      “Not quite,” Lord Ashwhite amended. Those adorable crinkles appeared at his eyes as he grinned. Yes, he would make quite the husband for some fortunate lady.

      “I thought not.” Amelia flashed him a knowing look. “But yes, I do make my opinions known. Especially on the state of Newgate. There are prisoners who are quite literally starving to death. Others have been locked up for years over a piece of stolen bread. Children living in filth with their criminal mothers, who are treated horribly. The men have families waiting for them. They’ve very often learned their lesson, and yet they’re given few options to redeem themselves.” She knew indignation was making her voice rise and tried to lower her pitch. “Their children resort to begging while the mothers are forced into more horrific careers.”

      “You sound knowledgeable about these matters.” Lord Ashwhite’s eyes held hers with regard, very serious, as though he’d absorbed everything she said and cared.

      His eyes were quite a marvelous green, as bright as emeralds. How she’d love to find an oil in such a shade. She blinked. Focus on the subject at hand. Inhale. She was not a young miss prone to a fit of the vapors.

      “Yes,” she breathed. “I have written numerous letters to the House of Lords on the subject.”

      “Lady Amelia, do tone it down.” Harriet’s voice cut through anything she planned to say next. “I apologize for my sister-in-law’s enthusiasms. Come, tell us if you’ve seen this play before, my lord?”

      He directed his attention to Lady Eversham, and Amelia all but melted into her chair. Her limbs felt as soft as wax. It was her sister-in-law’s doing, no doubt. Just being in her presence caused Amelia’s heart rate to rise. She dragged in a deep breath and willed some strength into her body.

      Lydia was watching her, a curious quirk to her brows.

      “What?” asked Amelia.

      “Do not sound so cross. I am simply flummoxed.”

      It was Amelia’s turn to raise a brow.

      “I believe it was only this morning that you specifically told me to disregard politics as a conversational tool.”

      “He asked me first,” Amelia pointed out. “Furthermore, I am not on the marriage mart. I have no need to curtail my tongue in those matters.”

      “I see.”

      “Good.” Amelia frowned. She did not like the satisfied look upon Lydia’s face. It was almost as if she was suggesting...something. Amelia did not quite know what her cousin implied, but she felt that it was threatening somehow.

      While Lydia thumbed through the evening’s schedule, Amelia snuck a glance at Lord Ashwhite. His profile was exceedingly handsome. As she looked, she felt those butterflies again, and that was when the knowledge came upon her.

      She was attracted to Lord Ashwhite.

      An honest-to-goodness affinity for the marquis.

      She pressed a palm against her stomach and looked away. Surely it could not be so. Why, she had not felt a passing interest for any man in years. Not since Lord Markham, who’d teased her and danced with her, his dimpled smile charming her into believing he held more regard for her than he really did.

      She’d told him all about her dreams. Her aspirations to change society, to make life better for others, and he’d listened. He’d listened so well she thought he actually loved her.

      The remembrance of his attentiveness brought a sour feeling to her stomach.

      No, attraction was deceptive. True love did not involve the senses but rather actions. She nodded. She would not respond to this absurd feeling burgeoning within. Her goals for life did not include a husband.

      Home involved paintings and letters and books. Not a husband. Why, did she want to end up like Eversham? A man who’d always been strong-minded and progressive? Now look at him. A poor sot chained to his wife’s side, doing her bidding, forcing his sister, his very own twin, into drastic measures just to preserve her way of life?

      She thought not. And that was why she wouldn’t gawk at Lord Ashwhite, let alone engage in conversation with him. At this time her emotions could not be trusted, and she certainly did not want them to interfere with her plans.

      The lights lowered, and the play began. Something about one of the actresses niggled at her memory, but she couldn’t place her. Eventually the story line pulled her in, and the night passed with laughter, temporarily relieving her from the worry that had gnawed at her since her brother’s visit.

      Despite her interest in the play, she never forgot who sat beside her. His laugh was low and contagious, and she discovered that they invariably laughed at the same lines.

      Finally the play ended. As they rose from their seats, she felt a tap upon her shoulder. She turned and found Lord Ashwhite studying her closely.

      “My lady,” he said, voice serious, “I would have a word with you.”

      “Privately?” Her gaze shifted to where Eversham was busy helping his wife.

      “Yes.”

      She blinked. Oh, dear, this was not going as planned. She could feel those exuberant butterflies waltzing within. Heart pounding, and despite her better judgment, she nodded.

      His