Match Me, I'm Falling

Match Me, I’m Falling The School for SpinstersBook Two By Michelle Willingham © Copyright 2023 by Michelle Willingham Text by Michelle Willingham Cover by Dar Albert Dragonblade Publishing, Inc. is an imprint of Kathryn Le Veque Novels, Inc. P.O. Box 23 Moreno Valley, CA 92556 [email protected] Produced in the United States of America First Edition May 2023 Kindle Edition Reproduction of any kind except where it pertains to short quotes in relation to advertising or promotion is strictly prohibited. All Rights Reserved. The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author. License Notes: This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook, once purchased, may not be re-sold. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. 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Without your support, there is no ‘us’, so we sincerely hope you adore these stories and find some new favorite authors along the way. Happy Reading! CEO, Dragonblade Publishing Additional Dragonblade books by Author Michelle Willingham The School for Spinsters Series A Match Made in London (Book 1) Match Me, I’m Falling (Book 2) Match Me if you Can (Book 3) Table of Contents Title Page Copyright Page Publisher’s Note Additional Dragonblade books by Author Michelle Willingham 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 Epilogue Excerpt from Match Me If You Can About the Author Chapter One London, 1816 The sound of the vase shattering broke through the stillness. Lady Ashleigh Pryor hurried toward the drawing room already afraid of what she would find. Her father’s voice cut through the sound of her mother’s tears. “I told you last week that we were invited to the Duke of Suffolk’s ball tonight. Must I always repeat myself? Or is there a reason why you never listen to me?” “You n-never spoke of it,” her mother started to protest. “I didn’t know.” “And somehow you accepted an invitation to Lady Shelby’s ball instead?” he mocked. “A viscountess instead of a duchess? What were you thinking?” Her mother said nothing, and Ashleigh felt the rise of apprehension in her own stomach. She knew she had to intervene, but if she said anything wrong, it might make matters worse for her mother. Sometimes it was better to remain silent and let his fury blow over, pretending as if nothing was wrong. But she wouldn’t know the right course of action until she entered the room. “Is something wrong, Father?” Ashleigh asked in a cheerful voice, feigning ignorance. She didn’t look at her mother, who was weeping on a chair while the shards of a porcelain vase were scattered on the floor beside her. Cecil had thrown the vase at Georgina, meaning to intimidate her. It wasn’t the first time the marquess had done such a thing, but Ashleigh’s stomach knotted at the familiar behavior. He let out a sigh of disgust. “Your mother accepted an invitation to Lady Shelby’s ball instead of the Suffolk ball. I already told His Grace days ago that we would attend.” Ashleigh knew nothing about his plans. As far as she was aware, they’d accepted Lady Shelby’s invitation last week. Her father often claimed he’d told them something when he hadn’t. Sometimes she wondered whether he did it on purpose, just for an excuse to berate his wife. She took a breath and steeled her courage. “What if I attend Lady Shelby’s ball on the family’s behalf, Father? Then the two of you can attend the Suffolk ball,” she suggested. “I can go with Persephone, since I know her family is planning to go.” Her father’s face tightened. “Don’t be ridiculous. You are the one in need of a husband, Ashleigh. The gentlemen at the duke’s ball will be of higher quality.” He spoke of suitors as if he were choosing a bottle of wine. “I have a few possibilities in mind for you.” Ashleigh didn’t delude herself into believing he would ever allow her to choose her own husband. This was about status and making the right connections among the gentry. As the Marquess of Rothburn, Cecil Pryor believed he was one step below God, and her future husband would need to reflect that position. “You wouldn’t want to offend His Grace,” Ashleigh said. “And I can pass along your greetings to Lady Shelby. She may not even notice if you aren’t there.” Before her father could answer, she turned to Georgina. “Will you help me choose my gown for tonight, Mother?” “Your mother has other duties,” Cecil snapped. “Your maid can help you choose.” She didn’t miss the way her mother shrank back in the chair. Georgina’s punishment was about to continue, and there was nothing Ashleigh could do to stop it. The ache in her