Free The Matchmaker's Match by Jessica Nelson Page B

down with her.

Chapter Seven
    C orsets were a nuisance.
    Amelia relaxed in the drawing room, thankful she rarely wore one. Styles had certainly changed for the better, and many day dresses did not require one. If Cousin Lydia’s hadn’t been pulled so tight last evening, she wouldn’t have fainted. And all over a man. A man with whose name Amelia had never heard. She touched the sore spot where Lydia’s elbow had connected with her brow on their downward trip to the floor.
    “My lady.” Dukes appeared in the doorway. “Lord Ashwhite has arrived.”
    She straightened. “Send him in, and then please instruct Sally to bring us refreshment.” For a bit more in earnings, Sally served as both housemaid and personal maid. Her Yorkshire accent and practicality added much to Amelia’s household. She did not look forward to losing Sally when she moved to Ev’s home.
    If , she reminded herself. No use counting chickens before they hatched. She adjusted her spectacles as she waited for Lord Ashwhite. And then she shifted on the chair. Perhaps she should stand. But then she’d have to look up at him. Better to sit, forcing him to sit as well, and they could face each other eye to eye.
    Her fingers played with the paperwork carefully balanced on her lap. Only a few pages that told quite a story.
    “My lady.” Lord Ashwhite entered the room, bowing and then striding toward the other chair. He wore a crooked smile that bespoke mischief. It was both utterly attractive and supremely irritating. “I pray this afternoon finds you and Miss Stanley well?”
    Huffing in a quick breath, she nodded to him as he sat. If only her pulse would slow. A spinster such as herself should not have these reactions...should she? She became aware of the afternoon sunlight highlighting the marquis’s face and making his eyes shimmer.
    Such color...such texture. Stubble darkened his chin. Sunbeams skimmed over his cheekbones, carving hollowed shadows. An attractive man with a charming personality. Any woman would be susceptible, she assured herself.
    “Is that a bruise?” Lord Ashwhite lifted forward as if to come inspect her face, of all things. She held up a hand.
    “My lord, pray stay seated. It is merely a swelling.” Which Sally had been told to powder, but evidently she had not been liberal enough with the concealment.
    “From last night?”
    “An unfortunate collision with Lydia’s elbow.”
    “Ah, yes, Miss Stanley.” He relaxed back in his chair, crossing his legs at the ankle. “Does she fancy herself in love?”
    “You are full of questions. They never cease from you.” Though she sounded disapproving, Amelia was surprised by the feeling of kinship sweeping through her. For didn’t she also have many questions? She could understand such curiosity. “I think it would be best for Miss Lydia to discuss her emotions with you herself.”
    Lord Ashwhite’s brow moved upward. “And yet you are without opinion?”
    “I did not say that.” She shifted in her seat. “You are well acquainted with my thoughts on the validity of emotions.”
    “Somewhat, though I would learn more.” He studied her, head cocked to the side as though examining an unusual specimen. “Your stance creates great curiosity. What must have happened to turn a young woman into an unfeeling—”
    “I am not unfeeling,” she retorted. Her face felt extremely hot again. His doing, no doubt. The man enraged her. “Do not look at me as though I am a curiosity to you, some insect to be studied. I have feelings, but I do not allow them to rule my decisions.”
    “Because you don’t trust them.”
    She blinked. “Well...yes.” Wasn’t that obvious?
    His grimace lowered her ire. “My lady, I apologize. You are not unfeeling, and that was an insensitive word choice. I greatly admire your work at Newgate.”
    “It is not only my work,” she felt obliged to point out. “Mrs. Elizabeth Fry has led the movement, though she is very often busy with her