The Matchmaker's Match. Jessica Nelson
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Her runner? As in Bow Street? Spencer forced his face to blankness despite the questions ricocheting through his mind. Lady Amelia might have much more happening in her life than strained familial relationships.
She nodded to Dukes, back straight and that no-nonsense tilt to her chin lending her an air of authority. “Very well. Would you show him to the parlor while I finish with Lord Ashwhite?”
“Certainly.” Dukes bowed and disappeared from the doorway.
“Before we were interrupted, you made a proposition.” Lady Amelia turned to him. Whatever vulnerabilities he’d sensed only moments ago were gone, replaced by the sheen of pragmatism. “I must decline...again. As I said, I am not taking on new clients. It very well could be that this business of mine is ended. While I admire your persistence, you must stop now, for I do not foresee a change of mind or plans.” With that, she gave a quick jerk with her head as if to underscore the firmness of her words.
“I am not one to give up lightly,” he warned her.
“And neither am I.”
Perplexed, feeling at a crossroads, he studied her. He had the strongest intuition that this lady could help him, and yet she refused. Lord, what now?
He had a responsibility to the people of Ashwhite. Furthermore, he did not trust Dudley to look over the property the way he could. His fingers tapped against his legs as he worked through the situation. Lady Amelia looked flustered, though knowing her, she’d deny such a feeling.
Her hands gave her away. She sported the most interesting look of sternness upon her face, but her fingers knotted within the folds of her dress, a rather pretty shade of pink that put roses in her cheeks. Or mayhap it was his words doing that.
He met her eyes and saw the determination there. There was only one way he could think of to sway her. He moved closer so that she might see the sincerity upon his face.
“My lady, might you consider my plight more seriously? It would probably be well to explain my need of a wife.”
Her lids flickered and there was the barest hesitation of breath, so he proceeded. “It is not only for my well-being but also for the people who depend upon my property for their livelihoods. Ashwhite is a prosperous estate near Kent. Through different ventures and progressive farming methods, I’ve increased its profits and created a home for many.”
Lady Amelia looked away, but her fingers had stilled their fidgeting.
“It is my fear that should the estate leave my hands, the one to whom it is going may not manage it as well. I love my childhood home, and I love the people there.” His voice unexpectedly caught, for at that moment images from boyhood rose to his mind. Cook, with her flushed cheeks and wide smile. His old nanny, who now lived a happy life in a small cottage on the grounds. His childhood friends who’d grown to become the barons and rectors living nearby.
“Truthfully, my lord, you make a compelling argument.” Lady Amelia raised her gaze to his, worrying her bottom lip. He saw the compassion radiating in her direct look and felt the first stirrings of hope. “I still must decline, however, for should I take on your case, it could ruin me.”
“I don’t understand,” he said slowly.
“The wherefores are too complicated to speak of now, but I would like you to know I respect your desire to protect your people. If I could help, if I thought it were profitable for both of us, I would. Please believe me, my lord.” She placed her hand upon his arm.
He looked down, felt the heat of her imprint against his sleeve. Her hand was small and delicate, with tapering fingers that hinted at her artistic temperament.
“Perhaps someday I shall see your paintings,” he said, looking deeply into her eyes. A heady sensation was taking over him, one he well recognized but did not care to resist. “Perhaps when I find a wife, I shall commission you for a portrait?”
A fine blush spread across her face, and he decided that she felt the same strange pull he did. Not only that, but he’d rendered her speechless. His stare dropped to her lips, which parted ever so slightly.
She stepped back quickly and would have lost her balance had her hand not still rested upon his arm. Her grip tightened. “My guest is waiting for me. I must go, but thank you...” She trailed off, sounding uncertain and perhaps afraid.
He had much more experience than she in the ways of attraction. Whether she knew that about him or not, he wasn’t sure, but he bore the responsibility to put her at ease. He gave her a short bow and gently removed her touch from his arm. The absence of her hold left a curiously cool place upon his sleeve.
Swallowing past the tightness of his throat, he smiled. “Thank you, my lady, for your time. I hope you might change your mind.”
Her head shake was curt. “I fear not.” She backed to the door. “Perhaps I shall see you next week at Almack’s. Fare thee well, my lord.”
He nodded as she left the room in a graceful sway of skirts. What an enigma, and yet...he had no idea why Eversham found her exasperating. Then again, he’d just discovered that his feelings toward her were not quite brotherly.
He’d had these feelings before with other women. The emotions were short-lived and passed quickly. No doubt they would for Lady Amelia, as well. He let out a heavy sigh. It appeared this avenue led to a dead end. He might have to go about finding a wife the old-fashioned way.
Soirees, balls and, worst of all, the throat-clutching, loathsome house party.
Stifling a groan, he stalked out of the library. As he entered the small hallway, he noticed the parlor door remained open. Lady Amelia’s skirt was visible just past the entrance. A man’s voice carried into the hall.
Had he said “Dudley”?
Spencer glanced around. Not seeing the aging butler or any other servant, he ventured closer to the door.
“Are you quite sure, Mr. Ladd?”
“Yes, my lady. My information has been verified several times.”
Lady Amelia responded, her voice low and refined. Spencer couldn’t catch her words. A puckish intention overrode good sense, and he strode into the parlor.
They turned toward him, shocked. Lady Amelia with her sharp eyes and pretty mouth both rounding, and the runner who was surprisingly young and fit looking with a wild mane of hair that rode about a curiously blank face.
Spencer made a neat bow and then straightened. “Please pardon my rudeness. I could not help but overhear your dialogue concerning Lord Dudley.”
Lady Amelia, to her credit, remained composed. She curtsied and then beckoned him in. “Lord Ashwhite, this is Mr. Ladd. He is in my service on a special project.”
They exchanged civilities, and then he looked to Lady Amelia and waited.
She arched a brow at him. Sunlight streaming in through large windows glinted off the edge of her spectacles. Very well. He’d make the conversational overture. It did not matter to him in the least if Mr. Ladd found him rude.
“I have an interest in Lord Dudley and will pay to hear what you have discovered about him, Ladd,” he said.
The runner leaned on his heels and rocked a bit, his face a quiet study of consideration. At last he held out a palm. “A farthing will do.”
“Done.” Spencer retrieved his money purse from his pocket and gave the man what he had asked for. He slipped a glance at Lady Amelia. Her face looked a tad pinched. He had the feeling she wanted to reprimand him, but not in front of the runner. An absurd sense of satisfaction settled over him.
Mr. Ladd gave the piece a nip and then slid it into his pocket. His eyes, a remote brown, took in Spencer. He allowed the