The Matchmaker's Match

“Well, I believe we shall be going. We have an early-morning stroll planned for tomorrow.” Miss Stanley linked her arm through Lady Amelia’s and flashed an even row of teeth. “I do hope we’ll see you again, Lord Ashwhite. Perhaps at Almack’s next week? We shall be there often, and I shall reserve a place on my card—” Her voice cut off suddenly, and then Lady Amelia bestowed a syrupy smile upon the group.

“Good evening, everyone.”

Was he mistaken or did Lady Amelia just forcibly nudge Miss Stanley to turn and leave? Unable to stop his grin, he watched the two depart.

“I do not understand why you invited her,” said Lady Eversham beneath her breath.

“You must get used to her presence.” Eversham’s voice held a stern note.

Lady Eversham’s eyes cut to Spencer then back to Eversham as if warning him to keep their personal matters out of public hearing. A mischievous streak prompted Spencer to speak.

“I quite enjoyed their company. Will Lady Amelia be living with you? Seeing her more often would boost my mood immensely.”

Eversham growled and stalked toward the theater’s exit. Lady Eversham kept quiet, confirming Spencer’s suspicions.

So the lady might have to move in with her brother and his difficult wife. What a dilemma. His mind raced as he followed them to their waiting curricle.

A dilemma for her, but for him, quite possibly the opportunity he needed to keep his estate.

Chapter Four (#ulink_76cf01f9-fbbd-50a8-81b8-783847a03625)

“There has to be a way out of this.” Spencer flexed his fingers and watched the lawyer carefully. After realizing the dearth of suitable ladies on the marriage mart and being subjected to Lady Amelia’s forceful refusal to help in his search for a wife, Spencer decided to call on the lawyer again. Perchance he’d misunderstood him on the first visit. Early-morning light slanted against the elderly man’s wig and outlined the offensive papers upon his desk.

“No, my lord. The will is airtight. You must find a wife within three months’ time or your entailed property will pass to your cousin, Lord Dudley.”

“He already has an earldom.” An earldom that was mismanaged, to say the least. “I will not lose Ashwhite to him. My father... I don’t know what he was thinking.” He ground his teeth. As always, his father had gone too far in meddling with his life. Even after death, the old man insisted on controlling things. “I will fight this.”

“Perhaps you should marry and be done with it.” The lawyer adjusted his spectacles, reminding Spencer of Lady Amelia’s refusal last night to help him.

He wondered what she might think of this clause in his father’s will. He focused on the lawyer. “When was this updated? Might it be said my father’s mental faculties were impaired when he wrote it?”

“When did you last see your father, if I may ask such a thing?” The lawyer’s quizzical gaze burned Spencer.

It had been too long. Guilt swept through Spencer and shook his resolve. He inclined his head, accepting the lawyer’s question with regret. “Four years.”

“I see.” The lawyer cleared his throat. “Well, your father was in the pink of health when he had his accident. The horse had to be put down, and it was the infection that took your father. I was there that last day, and his faculties were fully functional. The will was made a year ago, though, and has not been altered since.”

A year ago... Right about when Spencer had begun doubting his place in life. He’d had a particularly rough patch with gaming debts and irrational, clinging women. A brewing scandal had convinced him to take a little trip to the Americas...probably the best decision he’d ever made.

He frowned, tapping his fingers against his trousers.

“It looks as though I’m well and completely snookered,” he said. “Thank you for seeing me on such short notice. If I do not marry, what shall happen?”

“You will have the entailed property from your mother, and you shall keep your title as Earl of Hartsacre. There is no money with that property except for what it makes. Your standing would be diminished.”

Standing. Spencer grunted and pushed to his feet. He did not care a fig for social status, but he did love his home, and the thought of losing Ashwhite... He gripped the edges of his coat. It could not happen. He schooled his features and held out a hand. The lawyer stood and they shook.

“You may send a copy of the banns when you’ve found a bride, but keep in mind you must be married in three months’ time, not engaged.”

“I understand.” Spencer gave the lawyer a curt nod and let himself out.

If he was to save his property, then he must marry. And to marry, he must find a suitable bride. For all his travels and his transformation that had taken place in the Americas, he felt himself at a crossroads.

What would the God he’d chosen to follow in the Americas think of this choice to marry? Was marrying to keep his lands and fortune safe rather than for love acceptable? Falling in love was unlikely, but surely there must be something in the Bible about parameters for marrying. Talk to God. Confess to Him your needs.

The American preacher’s voice, filled with conviction, filtered through his memory. Perhaps prayer was the answer. Outside the office and right on the street, he closed his eyes. Took a deep breath. Let it sink deep in his chest before exhaling.

Lord, the preacher said You know my desires and needs. Right now, more than anything, I’m in need of wisdom. And some help. Please show me the way, if You would?

Spencer opened his eyes. He waited and didn’t feel any kind of answer, but he did have a strange contentment that he must assume came from praying. Perhaps it was an answer in and of itself.

Smiling, Spencer relaxed. His friends might never believe him about this, but surely there was a God, and surely He heard prayers.

He walked to where he’d parked the phaeton. The morning mist felt cool upon his face, perfect weather for a quick ride around Hyde Park. He made sure his tiger, Jacob, was safely situated at the back of the phaeton before he snapped the reins. The bays launched into a steady prance, and his shoulders eased back. Confinement in his town house proved to be more stifling now. After a year in the Americas, that land of stubborn colonials, he’d come to appreciate the scent of fresh air and the wildness of being free.

For so many years, he’d wasted his mornings with sleep. Spent his evenings gaming and carousing with women of ill repute. Missed the golden drench of sunrise, the newness God brought each day. Even now it was hard to remember why he hadn’t thought of God, how he’d strolled through life living only in the moment, thankful for nothing, expecting everything.

He inhaled a deep breath of morning air, tasting its richness imbued with the flavor of summer flowers. Around him the streets remained quiet. It was the height of the Season, after all, and the ton and their servants would still be sleeping off their late nights.

One of his horses snuffled softly. This exercise would keep them strong and healthy. He turned them to circle the park and reminisced upon last night.

He’d gotten nowhere in talking to Eversham. His friend was being surprisingly tight-lipped about his sister and her situation. Maybe Waverly knew something, though he doubted it. While he’d been in the Americas discovering a new way of life, his friend Waverly had continued to stay busy following his normal, debauched path.

A path Spencer had stepped away from forever.

Thoughtful, he turned the bays in the direction of Mayfair. The one piece of information he’d received from Eversham last night was Lady Amelia’s address, though it had been reluctantly given and accompanied by a suspicious frown.

Spencer couldn’t stop his smirk.

Poor Eversham. On one side a needy spouse and on the other a far too independent sister. Spencer had always wanted siblings, but now he thought perhaps it was better he had none. They were far too emotionally costly. By the time he found Lady Amelia’s townhome, sunlight had melted away the mist and coaxed a fine layer of perspiration to his brow. He brought the phaeton to the curb. His tiger leaped down, and he handed the reins to him.

“Jacob, is it?” he asked as he climbed down.

“Yes, my lord.”

“Mrs. Cubb’s son? You’ve grown.”

“Thank you, my lord.” The young man flushed and bowed.

“Have you driven a phaeton before?”

“Yes, my lord.”

“And can you handle these horses?”

Jacob’s eyes brightened. “That I can.”

“Be a good lad, then, and take my phaeton home for me. I shall walk back or catch a hackney.”