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.”
“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.
“A good swat with your fan works wonders. A true lady does not lose her temper in public and call a suitor ungentlemanly names.”
Lydia uttered an
