Here it is--an excerpt from the novel I am currently working on. I hope you enjoy it!

Lord Andrew's Match

Chapter One

London, Spring 1805

The clock struck midnight. Andrew Langdon, Earl of Traeton, lounged against one of the Marchioness of Kingsbury’s large Greek marble statues. He was unsure which mythological deity he happened to be offending. At this moment, he did not care. He perused the expanse of the grand ballroom as the orchestra tuned their instruments for the next dance. How on Earth had his brother talked him into this?

With an intent gaze, Andrew further scanned the crowd. He didn’t see his brother anywhere. Nicholas had indeed thrown him to the wolves to fend for himself. Perhaps his brother planned revenge on Andrew for leaving him penniless at the gaming table the previous night.

“And just who are you looking for?” his brother’s voice taunted from behind.

Andrew turned around, giving his brother a scowl.

“Egad! That glare would scare Lucifer himself.” Nicholas chuckled, pushing a wisp of sandy blond hair from his brow. “You act as if you are being sent to the hangman’s noose.”

Andrew managed a pinched smile. “Have you seen most of the debutantes here this evening?” He pointed out Miss Lucinda Payne, a rather plump young lady, stuffing a cucumber sandwich into her mouth across the way. “I feel sorry for the man foolish enough to get saddled with one of these chits.” He knew exactly why Nicholas had brought him here.

Nicholas smiled and handed Andrew a glass of champagne. “Lizzie and Cassie need a mother. They grow more reckless as the days go by.”

Andrew frowned. Now was not the time to bring up this subject. Marriage was an institution better suited for love-besotted fools and money-hungry vultures. He would not make that mistake again. As for childrearing, Nicholas was the last person to be lecturing him. “What do you know of such matters?”

“Drew, Lizzie spends too much time in the stables.” Nicholas took a sip of champagne. “I took my mare out for some exercise, and there was Lizzie trying to mount Diablo all by herself. You are heading for scandal with that one.”

Andrew downed his champagne, wishing it were brandy. He would need something stronger if he planned on making it through the rest of the evening. He shrugged. “Lizzie and Cassie are under the guidance of the best nannies and governesses in all of London.”

Andrew ground his teeth in consternation. It wasn’t as if he didn’t care, but he’d tried everything in his power to curb Lizzie’s reckless behavior. The harder he tried, the more adventurous she became. His options were dwindling. Not wanting to get in a heated discussion, he changed the subject. “So what—or should I say, whom—do you want me to see?

Nicholas chuckled. “I did not expect you to make an appearance. I know how you detest these tawdry affairs.” He grinned. “However, I cannot wait to introduce you to
Miss Rebecca Ashton.” He gazed off with a faraway, love-struck look in his eyes.

Not again, Andrew thought. When would Nicholas learn?

Andrew rolled his eyes toward the ceiling. “What about Lady Annabel Spencer?” he asked. “Just last week you were absolutely smitten, if I recall.”

Nicholas sighed. “Her parents obtained a special license for her to wed Lord Hartley. They were caught in a rather compromising situation.”

Andrew shook his head. Of course, he knew about the rushed wedding. He just wanted to goad his younger brother. “What about Miss Helena Beckett? You were totally and thoroughly enthralled by her charm.” Andrew deposited his empty glass on the tray of a passing servant and picked up another.

Andrew smirked, watching his younger brother squirm. “And who can forget Lady Johanna—”

“Drew, that is quite enough,” Nicholas interrupted. “I see where this conversation is heading. I assure you this time it is different.” His blue eyes lit up. “Miss Ashton is a beautiful, intelligent and sincere young woman. She is perfection incarnate, a Mona Lisa amongst schoolroom scribbles.”

Andrew laughed. “Apparently, dear brother, your beautiful young miss is too perfect to make an appearance tonight.” He took a large swig of his champagne, downing the contents in one smooth motion and sat the empty glass next to Zeus’s—or what ever god it was—foot.

“It appears you are wrong, Drew.” Nicholas motioned toward the entranceway.

Andrew turned. “Is that—” What he saw left him speechless. Nicholas’s words echoed in his mind. Perfection incarnate. That was an understatement, to say the least.

A hush settled across the ballroom as the beautiful goddess made her way through the forming crowd, flanked by Miss Violet Nevins on her left and Lady Henrietta Edgerton on her right. Andrew cringed. Poor Miss Ashton, he thought. She had chosen two of London ’s most infamous harridans for companions.

Scanning her lithe form, he could see how his brother had become enchanted. If he did not know better, could see himself falling under her spell also. Why was he allowing one single woman to affect him so? He, after all, was made of much sterner stuff.

Lavender ribbons bedecked with pearls entwined throughout her chestnut hair, and her gown of violet silk accentuated her lush curves. Too perfect for words. He could tell she was no young miss. Then again, she wasn’t quite ready for the shelf either. She was a ripe, beautiful woman. Still, an aura of aloofness radiated from her. Perhaps it was her reserved façade or the way she guarded her gaze.  He noticed the ordinary locket around her neck. How odd that she would choose to wear a plain, inexpensive piece of jewelry to such a grand affair.

Andrew shook his head, watching Nicholas join the crush of admirers, male as well as female, rushing to greet the goddess. What was it about this woman that drove London’s haute ton to act like buffoons?

Rebecca Ashton glanced around the grand ballroom. With a guarded glare, she looked down at the heart-shaped locket that rested just above her bosom. She hated wearing the blasted necklace. It held too many painful memories, but it also held secrets—secrets she needed to discover.

Giddy laughter interrupted her thoughts. She turned to Mrs. Violet Nevins, who fluffed the skirts of her buttercup gown one final time before their passage through the elegant marble archway. To her right stood Lady Henrietta Edgerton, a willowy viscountess who looked as if she would blow away in the gentlest of breezes.

“You have outdone yourself, Miss Ashton.” She twirled a graying ringlet around a perfectly manicured fingertip as she perused the parchment in her other hand. “You know... Lady Gabriella Richards would be a perfect match for my Jacob. Why isn’t she listed?” Lady Edgerton asked as she placed the document into her reticule.

Did she really need to bring this up—now?

Rebecca resisted the urge to mention Jacob was, for lack of better words, an oaf. She had danced several times with him, and her crushed toes still hadn’t forgiven her for it.  Rebecca could also note he was rather young and immature— barely four-and-twenty.

“I fear Lady Gabriella and Jacob would not be well suited, my lady. She is, after all, a...” Rebecca searched for the gentlest words to say.  “It is rumored the only thing she’s brought to London, besides her comely face, is a meager dowry.”

Not that she was one to talk of meager dowries. Hers was nonexistent. Then again, she was rather content in her spinsterhood. At six-and-twenty, Rebecca had resigned herself to the fact that she would never marry. After learning of the pain and suffering Leticia had put her father through, she doubted she’d ever want to enter into such a union. 

“'Tis only a rumor. She will make a divine wife,” Lady Edgerton said with a huff.

Rebecca didn’t doubt that one bit. She just didn’t think Lady Gabriella would make a good wife for Jacob. “What about Miss Lucinda Payne?”

Lady Edgerton gasped. “Surely you jest,” she whispered. “She’s a heifer.”

Rebecca held back a grumble. This woman had a perpetual habit of making things difficult.

Violet offered Rebecca a comforting glance. “Henrietta dear, Rebecca has successfully matched couples for almost three seasons. Let her work her magic. Jacob will be happy. You’ll see.”

Lady Edgerton sighed and turned to Rebecca. “I apologize, Miss Ashton. As you can see, my Jacob is very important to me.”

Rebecca smiled and took Lady Edgerton’s hand. “I will take much care and consideration with Jacob’s match. You will not be disappointed.” She nodded toward the gilt ballroom. “I believe we have a ball to attend, my lady. We can discuss Jacob’s match later.” Much later.

The Marchioness of Kingsbury, a rather stout older woman with graying hair, extended her hand. Rebecca took her leave from Violet and Lady Edgerton and allowed the marchioness her arm.

“Your brigade has come to welcome you." Lady Kingsbury gave her a knowing smile. “Shall we attempt to avoid the fray?”

"My lady," Rebecca replied. “That sounds like a marvelous idea.”

Lady Kingsbury patted Rebecca ’s hand as she escorted her down the stairs. “Perhaps if I introduce you to some of London's more respectable gentlemen, I can persuade you to divert yourself to more engaging activities."

Rebecca almost choked. It was quite apparent Lady Kingsbury had her own matchmaking plans. Rebecca smiled, hiding her disappointment. “I fear I am too old to compete with the debutantes this season."

“Oh, hush.” Lady Kingsbury shook her head in disapproval. “You don’t look a day over one-and-twenty. I demand you enjoy yourself tonight." She turned around, spotting Nicholas Langdon heading their way.

Rebecca stifled a grumble. Nicholas Langdon was friendly enough, but his constant pleadings for her matchmaking assistance wore on her nerves. If his brother was as dashing and handsome as Nicholas had described, then he should have no problem finding the earl a wife without her assistance.

"Nicholas, dear boy," Lady Kingsbury called out. "Could you please escort Miss Ashton? I need to locate my husband."

“I would be delighted to, my lady.” Nicholas turned to Rebecca and bowed. “Miss Ashton, are you enjoying yourself this evening?” There was no disguising his eagerness as he offered her his arm. His smile radiated a sweetness that would cause any other woman to swoon. Rebecca, however, needed more than a charming smile to win her over. There was no doubt in her mind Nicholas knew the ins and outs of charming the young misses and would make a fine match—for another young lady. 

“Thank you, Mr. Langdon. I am having a splendid time.” Now would be the perfect time for a yawn, Rebecca mused. She looked around for an escape.

“You are most welcome," Nicholas replied. "Could I interest you in some refreshment?”

Noticing the refreshment table on the other side of the dance floor, Rebecca breathed a sigh of relief. "Actually, a glass of champagne would be lovely."

Nicholas bowed. "As you wish." With that, he placed a gentle kiss upon her gloved hand and took his leave.

Andrew watched his brother attempt to work his charms upon Miss Ashton. She was bored, he could tell. Either she was extremely polite, or she had ulterior motives. In his dealings with the fairer sex, he’d learned to expect the latter.

Miss Imogene Darling and Lady Beatrice Meade strolled by in the midst of animated gossip. "Look at Nicholas Langdon. She practically has him kissing her slippers!" Imogene wrinkled her beaklike nose in disgust. "And you should have seen her clinging to Lord Bartholomew at the races earlier this afternoon. It’s scandalous."
"I haven’t a clue why the matrons have taken to her," the other said. “Matchmaker? How preposterous!”

Interesting, Andrew thought. So she is the dreaded matchmaker that had the Ton all agog. And what is her business with Alistair Bartholomew? The mere mention of that blackguard’s name left a bad taste in his mouth. He scowled in disgust. She had manipulated many of London’s elite into marriage. An impossible feat, he contemplated. He would be damned if he let her sink her claws into his naïve brother. Now was the perfect time to corner the minx, while Nicholas was on his fool's errand. She headed towards the veranda, as if she attempted to escape. Time was of the essence.

Andrew stalked toward the veranda, zigzagging through the crowd. He leaned his shoulder against another of Lady Kingsbury’s monstrous statues and hid in the shadows. As Miss Ashton turned to make her exit, he grabbed her arm in a firm yet gentle grasp. A soft gasp escaped her lips.

"Leaving so soon?" he asked. He looked down upon her, almost at a loss for words. By God, she is even more beautiful up close. Get yourself together, man, Andrew admonished himself. She was the conniving matchmaker, not to mention a possible associate of Lord Bartholomew. She could not be trusted, especially with Nicholas in her clutches.

Miss Ashton’s violet eyes flared. “Unhand me, sir!” She attempted to pull her arm from his grasp, but Andrew held firm.

Bloody hell, she is full of fire. “Not until you give me the honor of a dance.”

“A dance? We haven’t had a proper introduction.”

A shocked and bemused expression swept across her face. This woman was beautiful, and her eyes—they showed volumes of intelligence. Andrew gave her a cautious glance. Beauty and intelligence, he thought. It was a dangerous combination.

“Andrew Langdon, Earl of Traeton,” he countered, bowing with a flourish. “Pleased to make your acquaintance.”