The Matchmaker's Match. Jessica Nelson
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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.”
A mile-wide grin bunched the boy’s cheeks. Smiling, Spencer turned toward the house and listened as the phaeton pulled away. The joys of childhood left too quickly, as young Jacob would discover.
He rapped at the door, and an aging yet capable butler received him. After presenting his card, he followed the butler to a small library.
“Her ladyship may not be receiving callers today,” the butler told Spencer. “I shall return with an answer.”
“Thank you.” Spencer took a seat and looked around. Evidently Lady Amelia appreciated literature. Her library was...excessive. Books not only lined the walls but also topped every table in the room. Some of the shelves held double rows of books.
Intriguing.
He wasn’t sure if he’d ever met a woman before who read so very much. Then again, most of his intimates had not been keen on intellectual discussions. He frowned, remembering his former ways.
Many had called him a rake. Maybe that was why his father had added the marriage clause to his will. Spencer hoped his reputation wouldn’t impede any progress in the marriage quest.
The door to the library opened once again. The butler gave him a steady look. “Lady Amelia is indisposed and wishes for you to return at a later time.”
Spencer bit back a sudden grin. So that was how she intended to play things? Well, Lady Amelia was sadly mistaken if she thought she could ignore him. He had too much to lose to fall over and play dead to her whims.
He arched a brow, leaned back and propped one ankle across the other. “I shall wait.”
The butler tilted his head. “Her ladyship does not wish to be disturbed.”
Knowing it was the height of rudeness and not caring one whit, Spencer gave him a slow, lazy smile. “I’ve come to discuss important business. If she will not see me this morning, then I shall wait until this afternoon. And if not this afternoon, then I shall arrive again the next morning. I shall come every day until Lady Amelia recovers from her indisposition and is ready to receive my call.”
To his surprise, the old butler chuckled. “I will give her the message, my lord.”
“Very good.” And he settled back, certain he would not have to wait long.
* * *
“My lady.”
The whispered words filtered through the haze of sleep anchoring Amelia to her bed. Her blankets bunched up around her, creating a comfortable haven of warmth. She scrunched her eyes closed, praying she had only dreamed the sound of Dukes’s voice. Now, where had she been... Oh, yes, dancing. She burrowed into her pillow, remembering that delicious low rumble of her partner’s