The Matchmaker's Match

The Marriage Ultimatum

He has three months to find a wife—or lose his estate. Spencer, Lord Ashwhite, doubts he’ll find a suitable bride among the ton, until the unconventional Lady Amelia Baxley agrees to provide a list of candidates. It should be an ideal arrangement, were Spencer not growing attached to the one woman Amelia refuses to consider as a prospect: herself.

Independence means everything to Amelia, who has been burned in love before. The charming marquis is quickly putting her entire life in turmoil, and controlling her stubborn heart has never been such a challenge. But does the ever-practical Amelia dare to go from bride-finder to wife?

“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 repeated, 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.”

“Not so fast.”

JESSICA NELSON believes romance happens every day and thinks the greatest, most intense romance comes from a God who woos people to himself with passionate tenderness. When Jessica is not chasing her three beautiful, wild little boys around the living room, she can be found staring into space as she plots her next story, daydreams about raspberry mochas or plans chocolate for dinner.

The Matchmaker’s Match

Jessica Nelson

www.millsandboon.co.uk

MILLS & BOON

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We love Him, because He first loved us.

—1 John 4:19

Acknowledgments

Thank you, Grandma Charlene Schwirtz, for supporting me in both word and action. Though you’ve experienced terrible heartache in your life, you choose to laugh and to love. You’re a blessing!

During one of my darkest times, Someone Special told me to surrender to God...best advice ever (for both myself and Amelia).

A giant thank-you goes out to Robert Lee Edwards Jr., because he showed me the beauty of companionship.

Many thanks to my editor Emily Rodmell, whose openness has given me a new book in print! Plus, she makes my stories better. Dear readers, please trust me on this.

And, of course, my heart is filled with gratitude to God. His gentleness never ends.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Introduction

About the Author

Title Page

Bible Verse

Acknowledgments

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Epilogue

Dear Reader

Extract

Copyright

Chapter One

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.

“Sir, do you dare detain me?”

“I dare.” He grinned. “You see, your name is familiar for some unknown reason, yet it is only now that I meet you. My curiosity has been roused. A dance might put it to rest.”

“You speak in circles,” she said lightly, feeling an unusual breathlessness creep into her voice.

“Surely you jest, my lady, for I have been quite clear in what I want from you.” Again that roguish smile crossed his face. His eyes crinkled at the corners.

Warmth suffused Amelia, for she had not danced in years. Not since The Great Disappointment... No, she did not wish to think of that. Swallowing against myriad feelings she had no name for, she offered the gentleman before her a slight smile, preparing to reject him. She had little patience for men who went around breaking hearts. Indeed, she had little patience for men at all.

And then she spotted the enamored Lord Dudley heading toward her. She did not think she could endure another conversation with him. He simply did not take a hint.

Oh, dear. She met Lord Ashwhite’s impertinent look.

“I will allow one dance with the understanding that it is probable I will step on your toes.”

Was it possible for his smile to widen? For that was what his lips appeared to do, easing upward in a most disconcerting, charming way. He swept her a bow and then offered his arm. “We shall dance, then, and see if a few rounds about the floor might clear my head. Perhaps I shall realize you’re not quite as fascinating as I fear.”

Despite herself, Amelia chuckled. His arm felt warm and sturdy, and the merriment in his voice was catching. “Fear not. You can rest assured that by the end of our dance, you will find me both dreadfully boring and an awkward partner.”

“Do not disappoint me, my lady,” he warned, his tone teasing.

She patted his arm. “You, sir, will soon realize that Lady Amelia Baxley never disappoints.”

* * *

The marquis of Ashwhite could not take his eyes from his dance partner. She had disappointed him terribly. Not once had her toes flattened his. In fact, as they performed the steps to the quadrille, he admired her flawless dancing. She had misled him.

What was it about this lady that provoked his attention? Not her dress, certainly, for while she wore the height of fashion, and the colors seemed acceptable enough, the dress did not stand out in any way. And the lady herself was not extraordinary.

She stood an average height with an average girth. Her hair, tucked into a respectable hairstyle for which he knew not the name, was a tame brown. She hid her eyes behind overly large spectacles.

Perhaps it had been that strident, no-nonsense tone as she’d rushed around the corner and hit him with her fan. Or maybe it was her skin, which looked like luminous velvet beneath the gentle glow of moonlight. He shook his head. Ridiculous musings.

Still, Lady Amelia had captured his respect for running to the aid of another, though misdirected. Such heroism was uncommon.

He watched her now, the graceful movements of her arms, the slender line of her neck as they completed the steps required. Yes, she had distracted him from the difficult problems that faced him. Because of a bizarre clause in his father’s will, after he finished this dance, he must scan the ballroom for prospective wives. This Season had produced a mass of simpering misses whose young faces looked fresh from the schoolroom.

The music slowed and as he crossed the floor with Lady Amelia on his arm, he noticed the way a smile teased the corners of her surprisingly full lips. Her gaze flickered over to him and—was that laughter he saw in her eyes?

A most intriguing lady.

The song ended and he escorted her to the edge of the floor.

“Lord Ashwhite, I must thank you for the dance.” She fanned herself, but still a blush stained her skin, turning it rose-petal soft. A beguiling creature, to be sure. “It has been much too long since I had such a delightful partner.”

He inclined his head, unwilling to take his eyes off her. “Truly, it was my pleasure.”

She gave him a broad smile, and then her expression stuttered as she looked past him. “Oh, dear. If you’ll excuse me, I must rescue my cousin.” Her features slid back into that commanding expression she’d pointed his way earlier. “Miss Stanley has no head where suitors are concerned. I have told her repeatedly not to speak with known rakes.” She drew the last word out with a heavy distaste.

Spencer winced. So here was the downfall. Lady Amelia might make a delightful dance partner, but in the end she would prove to be as stubborn and stiff-necked as any dowager of the ton. And just as judgmental. With a rueful shake of his head, he turned away while she glided off to rescue her cousin.

He knew the young man with whom Miss Stanley spoke, and though his reputation might not be spotless, he certainly was no rake. A self-deprecating smile tugged at Spencer’s mouth. What would the straitlaced Lady Amelia think if she found out with whom she’d danced?

It had been surprising that she hadn’t recognized him by name or Miss Winston by looks. The actress was well-known amongst those who enjoyed the theater.

“Ashwhite!” Lord Liveston, Earl of Waverly, clapped him on the back, ending his ruminations. “You’ve arrived from the Americas, I see? How was the trip, old chap?”

“Enlightening.”

“And?” Waverly’s mustache twitched with mirth. “No special young ladies over there? I thought you might return with an American miss. Or at least some adventurous stories.” His best friend snickered and chucked him on the shoulder again.

Spencer threw him a stern look. “I’m done with philandering.”

“With what? Oh, yes, yes, I received your letter. A bunch of rubbish. Tent meetings? Yelling preachers and people repenting publicly of their sins? Why, I can’t imagine such a thing happening in England. Those Americans are an untamed lot.” Waverly squinted at the procession of dancers moving across the floor. “Eversham and I are about to leave for more exciting places. Care to join us?”

“I think I’ll stay here,” Spencer murmured. His stare centered on Lady Amelia only a few feet away, whose fan kept time with her mouth.

“You really have changed...but for how long?” Waverly followed his gaze. “She’s a fine-looking lady. If I was in the mood for a wife, I’d take that one.”

“Yes, she’s intriguing.”

“Who needs intriguing when you have beauty like that?” Waverly grinned. “Those blond curls are artfully designed to trap a man, along with his fortune.”

Spencer’s chin snapped up. His friend obviously had focused on Lady Amelia’s cousin.

“The plain one is Eversham’s twin sister, you know.”

“Indeed?” Spencer tried to keep the shock from his voice. “Our friend Eversham? She’s the one...”

“Yes, she’s that one. Difficult and independent. Refuses to do anything he says. A bluestocking of the spinster sort, if you ask me.”

She sounded like Spencer’s mother, and he had no patience for women like that. His mother was gallivanting on the Continent at this very moment, and who knew when she’d decide to return to her home.

“The lady appears benign.” His eyes narrowed on the subject of their conversation. Perhaps not so benign after all. There was a purposeful air to her as she scanned the ballroom. Like a hound nosing for a fox. He’d seen that look on his mother far too often for comfort.

“Ha, that’s not what Eversham says. Though he doesn’t talk much of her, apparently there was a small ruckus last week, and when we met at White’s for coffee, he acted distraught.” Waverly pulled out his pocket watch. “Time for a bit of sport. You’re sure you won’t come?”

Spencer shook his head. “I’ll meet you at White’s tomorrow. I need your and Eversham’s help with something.”

“That sounds alarming.”

“Quite.” He felt a glower tugging at his brow. “I met with the family lawyer today. I’ll give you details tomorrow, but in the meantime, keep an ear open for eligible ladies in need of a husband.”

“Don’t tell me you’ve decided to get leg shackled?” Poor Waverly sounded distressed.

“Indeed,” Spencer answered grimly. “And I’ve less than three months to do it.”

Chapter Two

“Do you suppose I shall ever have a waltz?” Cousin Lydia swirled around the morning room, her dress fluttering precariously close to the sideboard.

“It is an impractical dance and frowned upon for a young miss fresh in her first Season.” Amelia plucked a piece of bacon for her plate and tried to dismiss the sudden memory of Lord Ashwhite’s hand upon her sleeve last night. She’d realized why his name prodded her conscious. He was an old friend of her brother’s but had just now come into his title, hence the change of names. She knew him as Mr. Broyhill.

She eyed Lydia. “Why are you daydreaming about such a thing when we’ve other goals to pursue?”

“Oh, I don’t know...” Lydia shrugged. “I suppose I feel like an ox on the market. Picked at and looked over. It is all decidedly unromantic.”

“Which is why we will find you the perfect gentleman for your nature. He will bring you flowers in the morning and write verses devoted to your fair beauty every day.” Amelia smothered her smile as she sat at the small table to read The Morning Gazette. She took out the gossip column and set it to the side. Sunlight bathed the simple furniture in a lovely hue perfect for a painting. Perhaps today she would have time to take out her easel and paints.

“You aren’t going to read this?” Lydia flipped up the gossip column. “Why, Lord Ca—”

“Stop at once.” Amelia held up her hand. “I do not partake in gossip.”

“Why, Amelia, are you serious? Never?”

“Never,” she pronounced, careful to add stiffness to her tone. If there was one thing that rankled her more than anything, it was the idle chatter of busybodies. She’d much rather gather the hard facts, not emotional speculations.

“But how do you find husbands? How will you know their worth?”

“Certainly their worth won’t be determined by what others say about them. Would you please sit down? You’re making me quite dizzy.”

Lydia flounced into the chair beside her, a pout upon her pretty features. “I am not sure I want to be married, Amelia.”

“Then, why do you partake of my services?” She took a bite of her bacon. Perfectly crisp and delicious. She must find a way to give a bonus to Martha for being such a wonderful cook. Perhaps if she could sell a painting soon...

“It seemed a promising idea. After my dreadful mistake, I thought perhaps I’d need help on the marriage mart. Father and Mother agreed.”

“Your mistake was minor and quickly forgotten. Just do not take any more moonlit walks without a chaperone and mind your tongue.”

“He deserved a dressing-down for taking liberties with my person.” Lydia’s eyes flashed with pique.