The Matchmaker's Match

Chapter Twenty (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twenty-One (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twenty-Two (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twenty-Three (#litres_trial_promo)

Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)

Dear Reader (#litres_trial_promo)

Extract (#litres_trial_promo)

Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter One (#ulink_901901ee-fe10-533a-8f98-a47d4f67b38e)

London, England 1815

Lady Amelia Baxley admired the male species. The way they looked, their scent, the way they walked as though they owned the world—which everyone but man himself knows is a fabrication of the highest order. Yes, they were intriguing creatures to hunt.

Take this one. The new Lord Dudley looked positively dazed in Lady Havern’s ballroom. His thick brown locks framed a sweet, innocent face. If only Amelia could redirect his odd interest in her, he’d be perfect for Cousin Lydia.

Straightening her gown, which kept twisting due to her maid’s unfortunate antics with the needle, Amelia lifted her shoulders and tugged Lydia’s arm. She strode toward the gentleman in question with Lydia in tow. An easy quarry this time. She smiled to herself as she adjusted her spectacles against the ridge of what she’d been told was quite an extraordinary nose.

“My lord,” she said above the noise of the Beau Monde. “Have you been introduced to Miss Lydia Stanley?”

“Madam.” He bowed, and Cousin Lydia responded with a lovely curtsy.

Things were going quite to plan. Smiling, Amelia pointed to Lydia’s dance card. “I believe Miss Lydia has a spot open for the next dance. A quadrille, I presume?”

“You are indeed correct.” Lydia giggled and proceeded to fan herself in a vigorous fashion. Amelia cleared her throat, and Lydia stopped. Thankfully.

A blush rose to Lord Dudley’s face. Naturally he realized the prime position he was in as the new master of a prosperous earldom. Many hopeful misses would set their caps for him this Season. But Amelia was determined he give her impoverished cousin a chance. Yes, Lydia could be opinionated, but her looks were outstanding and her manner charming, if at times not quite impeccable. She deserved a good husband, one who would take care of her and her family.

Amelia gave the young earl a pointed look. His face reddened even more before he stuttered out an invitation. The music started, and the two made for the floor.

Satisfied with the outcome thus far, Amelia headed toward the balcony for a respite. Though she loved matchmaking and needed the funds to supplement her income, spending hours in a throng of overly dressed, heavily perfumed haut ton made her temples pound and her skin itch. How much better to curl up in a soft chair with a great book. Particularly Sense and Sensibility.

The author, referenced as “A Lady,” inspired Amelia. Who could not help but feel moved by the sisters’ plight in the story? Furthermore, she appreciated how the author emphasized the silliness of giving in to impulse. Nefarious emotions were for those without good sense.

She stepped onto the balcony and inhaled the warm, sweetly scented air. A lovely night for the Season, to be sure. Stars glittered above her and creative lanterns of varying colors had been hung within the trees, lighting a walking path for those seeking to escape the press of the ballroom.

She rested her head on her arms and let her eyes drift shut. A giggle flavored the night, followed by the low tones of a masculine voice. She listened to the variance of sound, her ear tuned to the lovely cadence of the gentleman’s voice. It was soothing and deep.

She smiled to herself, then startled at the shriek that pierced the calm night. The distinct sound of a slap followed. Cringing, Amelia straightened and debated whether to run back to the ballroom or to investigate.

A rather choked version of weeping reached her. Rather than the lady striking a gentleman for behaving like a bounder, he must have slapped her! Well, that most certainly made up her mind. Amelia squared her shoulders and marched toward the sound. She rounded a jutting corner of the house and happened upon a tall, well-fashioned man who stood in front of a woman wearing an alarming number of jewels.

Indeed, they were almost blinding.

Amelia stifled her disapproval of such vanity and tapped the gentleman on the shoulder with her fan. There was simply no excuse for hitting a woman. Not even if she’d spent the last of the family funds on extravagance.

“Excuse me,” she said crisply before he’d even turned around. “My breath of fresh air has been disturbed by your callous behavior. I suggest you move to the ballroom before I irreversibly damage your reputation.”

She would never do such a thing, but this rogue must not know that.

In a lithe movement, the gentleman faced her. She took in the mark on his cheek and the blush on the other woman’s. Obviously Amelia had been mistaken at first—the woman had slapped him. Had she interrupted a spat? Her eyes narrowed. The woman was...familiar somehow.

“May I introduce myself? Spencer, Lord Ashwhite.” He reached for her hand. Unwilling to embarrass herself any further, or give in to bad etiquette, she allowed him to take her fingers and perform his bow.

“Lady Amelia Baxley.” She pulled her hand back and offered a perfunctory curtsy. “And I do apologize for interrupting. I had thought something foul was afoot.”

The woman’s jewels clinked as she pointed a finger at Lord Ashwhite. “He is a cad.”

“Did he harm you?” Amelia peered at the woman.

“He only has forever broken my heart,” the lady declared in a decibel-shattering voice.

Her heart?

“Miss Winston is upset because I did not write to her while I was in the Americas.” His wry tone held no humor.

This was quite obviously an emotional quarrel. In which case, Amelia had more productive ways to spend her time. She took in Lord Ashwhite’s appearance, the way his notable green eyes appeared to flash in the moonlight. He had strong features. A firm jaw and handsome face. Thick hair of the deepest brown. At first look, he’d make a good prospect for one of her customers. Of course, she’d need to examine his character first.

Some tidbit of information niggled at her consciousness. Something she should remember about his name...

“There is nothing afoot, my lady, but an evening of dance and merriment. Please accept my apologies for disrupting your evening. Miss Winston was just leaving.”

A sound that might have been outrage strangled from the woman, but after leveling a severe glare at Lord Ashwhite, she brushed past in a flurry of silk and gemstones. Amelia suppressed a shudder and wondered again why the woman struck such a discord within.

“My lady.” Lord Ashwhite commanded Amelia’s attention. “May I steal a dance from you later this evening? To atone for my atrocious behavior?”

Was she supposed to laugh at that? Perhaps it was a trick of the glittering stars overhead, but there seemed to be a definite flash of mischief about this gentleman. She narrowed her eyes at him, wondering if he could see past her spectacles. She’d been told she had an assertive gaze and she tried often to put it to good use.

“Do you know who I am, Lord Ashwhite?”

He grinned at her, showcasing a spectacular set of ivory teeth. “I see a lady in need of a dance. They say exercise can relieve many ailments, including a corset that has been overly starched.”

She tucked back a gasp at his outrageous comment and focused on the most pertinent point. “My lord, I do not dance, and since you are not aware of my status in the ton, let me inform you that I am most firmly on the shelf.”

“This means you may not dance?”

“A lady always knows her place,” she said, feeling an unnerving heat creep through her. Who was this man, and what right did he have to question her? “If you’ll excuse me, I must check on my cousin.”

Indeed, the strains of music undulating from the ballroom had slowed. A new dance might begin at any moment, and she needed to find Lydia before then to ascertain the merit of Lord Dudley’s courtship. She must also not let matters progress too far until she heard from her Bow Street runner on Dudley’s background. Though he appeared innocent, she’d learned the hard way how deeply deceiving appearances could be.

“Not so fast.” Lord Ashwhite moved toward her. His tall stature made her feel at a disadvantage. She drew herself up and met his arresting look with a firm one of her own.