The Earl’s Bluestocking Bride (Unconventional Brides #2)

Chapter 7

CHAPTER 7

Andrew straightened his back, donned his most charming smile, and knocked on the Harts’ front door. It opened instantly, as if the butler had been waiting on the other side for him to overcome his nerves.

He raised one fluffy gray eyebrow. “Can I help you, sir?”

Andrew cleared his throat. “Please advise Miss Hart that the Earl of Longley is here to call on her.”

The butler inclined his head. “Very good, sir. Please enter.” He stepped aside to grant Longley entrance and then closed the door behind him. “Wait here. I will return momentarily.”

Andrew watched as he climbed the stairs slowly enough that he was tempted to dash up them himself in search of Miss Hart. Alas, that was a surefire way to end up trussed at the altar.

Although… wasn’t that his aim? Would it be so bad to push the matter?

Yes.

He sighed. She deserved the opportunity to turn him down, if she so desired. He hoped she wouldn’t, but she ought to have the choice.He was especially reluctant to press the matter considering the fact that her mother already seemed to be trying to do so, having previously left them alone together when it wasn’t entirely proper to do so.

After a few minutes, the butler reappeared with three women in tow: Miss Hart, Mrs. Hart, and a maid. He forced his smile to remain in place, silently praying the mother did not intend to accompany them. Miss Hart was so much easier to converse with when Mrs. Hart was not present.

“Good afternoon, ladies.” He bowed and offered his hand to Miss Hart to help her off the bottom step.

She murmured a greeting in return, her sky-blue eyes meeting his with a hint of curiosity. Why was it that she always seemed so surprised when he did the things he said he would?

“How lovely to see you again, my lord.” Mrs. Hart beamed at him. She was attractive, for a woman of her age, although there was little resemblance between her and her daughter other than those piercing eyes.

“Are you ready to leave?” he asked Miss Hart. His carriage was waiting outside to bear them to Hyde Park. Promenading was definitely an expected courting activity that he ought to cross off his list, and it was also an excellent way to be seen together.

The last thing he needed was for another gentleman to sweep Miss Hart off her feet. He hoped that if his acquaintances knew he was pursuing her, they would leave her alone. Of course, there was always the possibility that they would wonder what the appeal was and decide to learn more about her themselves, but he had to take the risk.

“I am.” Miss Hart’s lips were slightly pinched. “This is Mary. She will be accompanying us as a chaperone.”

“Of course.” Thank God it wouldn’t be her mother. His gaze skimmed down Miss Hart’s body. “You look very fetching today.”

It was true. The pale sage color of her dress suited her complexion far more than the ruffly white contraption she’d worn at the Wembley ball. Although, he rather thought that most outfits would look better on her than that.

She frowned—not the reaction he’d expected. “Thank you, my lord.”

Why did he get the sense that she didn’t believe him?

He turned to Mrs. Hart. “I shall have her home at a respectable hour.”

“I am certain you will.” A fact she sounded disappointed by.

“Shall we?”

Miss Hart nodded, so he escorted her out the door, with Mary trailing behind. A breeze stirred his hair as they emerged, but it wasn’t cold. Considering the season, it was a pleasantly mild day. There was certainly no need for heavy coats or gloves.

His driver opened the carriage, and Andrew took Miss Hart’s hand to help her inside. Her grip was surprisingly firm for a woman. He assisted Mary, too, and then climbed in and sat next to Miss Hart on the forward-facing bench seat.

“So, how long have you lived in London?” Andrew asked as the carriage rumbled into motion.

“About three years,” she replied without turning toward him. “Prior to that, we lived in a country home in Northumberland.”

He whistled. “That’s quite a change.”

“It is.”

“Do you like the city?” He always had, although he did enjoy spending a few months of the year in Suffolk too.

She considered his question. “I like the access to interesting places we have in London. Northumberland is far less populous, and therefore, there are fewer opportunities for diversion.”

He almost laughed, impressed by how she had managed to answer his question yet say very little. He now knew that she liked some parts of London, but he had no idea what those parts were or whether she preferred the city, on the whole, to her family’s country home.

“What sort of places?” he asked. While he admired her evasion tactics, he needed to know more about her if he intended to make her his wife.

She opened her mouth but then promptly closed it. She remained silent for several seconds. “The beautiful homes, perfect for balls, and the theater.”

He pursed his lips, disappointed that she’d stopped herself from saying what she actually wanted to rather than what she’d been trained to.

He could hardly hold her cautiousness against her. She’d no doubt experienced many shades of rejection since debuting last season, so it was understandable she’d want to avoid saying anything that may mark her as different from her peers.

But damn, he felt a connection between them, and he was excited that his hunt for a well-dowered wife may not have to result in a marriage that he’d regret. He wanted her to be truthful.

They arrived at the park, and the driver stopped the carriage for them to disembark. Andrew got out first and helped the women down. He linked arms with Miss Hart and led her onto the pebbled path into Hyde Park.

Half the ton had come out for the fresh air. He and Miss Hart wandered along the path, deeper into the park. The river babbled along beside them, and he couldn’t help but notice that they were attracting stares.

As they passed courting couples and clusters of maids or older women—the chaperones, presumably—eyes followed their movements. Miss Hart must have realized this, too, because she put slightly more space between their bodies, her eyes darting around nervously.

Many debutantes would enjoy the attention, but not her. He was getting the distinct impression that Miss Hart liked to be invisible and did not know how to respond when she was dragged into the light.

In an attempt to ease her discomfort, he asked, “Other than learning about strange places and civilizations, what do you enjoy doing in your spare time?”

She glanced at him, her eyebrows knitted together. Once again, he felt that she had an answer but was choosing not to give it, instead thinking of something that he, or perhaps society, would find more acceptable.

“What about needlepoint?” he prompted. “You were working on a design when I visited, were you not?”

“Needlepoint is a useful feminine skill.” The words were completely toneless. She may as well have been reciting her letters.

Frustration nipped at his heels. Her avoidance of a real answer was deucedly annoying. He wanted to get to know who she really was, but she was making it difficult to do so. He just wanted another glimpse at the woman he’d seen when he’d startled her at the ball, or when her mother had briefly left them on their own during his earlier visit.

Perhaps it was the company that was making her hedge. The maid was far enough behind that he wasn’t certain whether or not she’d be able to hear their conversation, but maybe Miss Hart feared she could and was worried she would report back to Mrs. Hart if she said anything out of order.

“You seemed very skilled,” he said for lack of anything more meaningful to contribute.

She snorted and shot him a skeptical look from beneath her eyelashes.

He grinned. There she is.

So far, complimenting her hadn’t worked as well as Kate had assured him it would, but at least her amusement was a genuine reaction .

Unfortunately, it lasted for only a few seconds before her expression shuttered as if the flicker of personality had never crossed her face.

Fine. He would just have to draw her out again.

He ducked his head closer to hers. “Your eyes remind me of the color of the water at a beach I once visited on the Indian subcontinent. There is a certain lightness and brightness to the shallows that you don’t see in England.”

Her face snapped toward him, and a wide smile spread across her lips. For a moment, he thought he’d found the secret to winning her over: compliments. But she swiftly disabused him of that notion.

“You’ve been to the subcontinent?” Excitement danced in her eyes.

“I have.” Ah. He should have realized that her interest lay in the subject matter itself. “I spent several weeks there a few years ago.”

“Can you tell me about it?” she asked breathlessly.

“Anything you’d like to know.”

Grateful for the opportunity to escape the stiltedness of their previous conversation, he told her as much as he could remember of his time on the subcontinent.

He shared about the markets he’d visited. The exotic spices and the rich, flavorful food. He described the temples he’d seen and the beauty of the beaches and natural areas. She asked thoughtful questions that showed a keen interest in the topic and an attentiveness to details that he admired.

When she finally ran out of questions, he decided it must be his turn to ask them.

“Where did your fascination with other countries and societies arise from?”

Her expression closed off immediately. “I’m sorry. I’ve been terribly rude, dominating the conversation.”

“No, you haven’t,” he huffed, irritated at losing the ground he’d made with her. “I— ”

“My lord!”

A young woman appeared in front of him, and he stopped abruptly, barely managing not to walk into her.

Miss Hart caught him as he stumbled, and the brief press of her side against his sent a flash of awareness through him. The faint scent of peppermint tickled his nostrils. He wanted to lean closer and bury his face in her hair to see where it originated from.

“Oh dear. You caught me by surprise. Are you all right?” he asked the woman, who he now recognized as Miss Wentham.

Her eyelashes fluttered, and she bobbed a curtsy, her pink skirt brushing the ground. “I am fine, thank you, Lord Longley.”

She glanced at Amelia, then looked back at him. “When my mother spotted you, I knew we simply must say hello.” She gestured at the two women behind her. “This is my sister, Mrs. Cordover. I do not believe you’ve met.”

Andrew nodded to both women. “Charmed, Mrs. Cordover. Mrs. Wentham. Do you know Miss Hart?”

“They’ve met,” Miss Wentham said briskly, not giving either her mother or sister the opportunity to respond—not that they seemed inclined to. “May we walk with you, my lord?”

He sneaked a look at Miss Hart, who had withdrawn back into herself, although he couldn’t say whether that was a result of the Wenthams’ presence or his own bungle.

“I have been enjoying Miss Hart’s company,” he said. He didn’t wish to be rude, but how many men would want to be stuck between two potential future partners?

Not him, that was for certain.

“She will continue to accompany us, of course,” Miss Wentham demurred. Studying her expression, no one would ever know the disdain she’d shown toward Miss Hart previously .

“I’m afraid we cannot dally long. I must return Miss Hart to her parents before the hour is up.” That wasn’t true, but he couldn’t think of any other excuse that would not be impolite.

“And so you shall.” Miss Wentham didn’t seem at all put off. “Let us walk, then.”

Casting a quick apologetic glance at Miss Hart, Andrew fell into step with the other women. He kept Miss Hart tucked against his side, but though she was physically close, she didn’t speak a word, and it felt as if there may as well be a chasm between them.

He tried to include her in the conversation, but Miss Wentham was adept at monopolizing his attention and steering away from any subjects on which Miss Hart may be willing and able to contribute. The more she chattered away, the further Miss Hart faded into the background.

At first, he thought perhaps she was just shy, but as time moved on, he began to notice the firm line of her mouth and the tension at the corners of her eyes.

She was miserable.

“Where did you get that dress?” Miss Wentham asked her, smiling slyly.

Miss Hart glanced down. “From Madam Baptiste.”

Miss Wentham pouted with faux sympathy. “Last season? The cut is a little outdated.”

“I think it suits her,” he said, refusing to allow anyone to denigrate her in his company.

“Perhaps it does.” Miss Wentham seemed amused, as if her casually cruel comments were the height of witticism.

He stopped walking and checked his watch. “My apologies, but we really must be off.” He tugged on Miss Hart’s arm and guided her away from their companions. Mary hurried behind, shooting a nasty look at Miss Wentham.

“Well, that was lovely,” Miss Hart remarked when they were far enough away not to be overheard.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have entertained the notion of walking with them when she was clearly out to make trouble.”

Miss Hart seemed startled by the apology, which only irritated him more. People should expect common decency.

“Don’t think on it,” she said. “No harm was done.”

“No one has the right to make anyone else feel inferior,” he growled.

Her eyebrows rose. “I’m not sure if you realize this, but as far as most of the ton is concerned, I am inferior. I’m the daughter of a merchant and a social climber. Even if not for that, I am something of a wallflower, which would earn me disdain in my own right. When the two are combined, I am a crime against the aristocracy waiting to happen, and everyone knows it.”

He stared at her, stunned by the eloquence with which she had spoken. Miss Hart may be slightly awkward and unwilling to open up most of the time, but she was clearly an intelligent woman who felt passionately about the things that mattered to her.

He looked her in the eyes. “If I may speak bluntly?”

She nodded. “Please do.”

“Anyone who doesn’t take the time to see that you are more than all of that is missing out.”

Her mouth fell open. “I….” She trailed off, confusion stamped across her features.

“The carriage is this way.” He nudged her forward. She could dissect his words all she wanted in the privacy of her own mind. He didn’t need an immediate response.

Once they were back inside the carriage and trundling along the street toward her parents’ townhome, he closed his eyes, inwardly seething. It was unlike him to be angry, but Miss Wentham had touched a nerve by treating Miss Hart the way she had.

Andrew despised bullies. He always had. That was one of the reasons he was so close to Ashford. Children could be cruel, and even at a tender age, Andrew had realized that Ashford needed protection from them. His name and wealth would only go so far when he was quiet and prone to bouts of anxiety.

Andrew had helped him forge a place among their peers, and in return, he’d earned the truest, most loyal friend he’d ever had.

They arrived at the Hart residence, and he helped both Miss Hart and Mary out of the carriage. The double doors opened, and Mrs. Hart glided down the stairs, practically giddy with excitement.

“When might I see you next?” he asked Miss Hart before her mother had the chance to whisk her away.

Miss Hart cocked her head. “You wish to see me again?”

“Of course.” Had he not made his interest abundantly clear? Perhaps, next time, he ought to bring flowers.

“We will be at the Latham ball,” Mrs. Hart said. “Isn’t that right, dear?”

“Yes,” Miss Hart agreed.

“Excellent.” He stepped backward. “I look forward to seeing you then.”

He returned to the carriage, the prickle of the hairs on the back of his neck reminding him that Miss Hart was watching. He gave his driver the signal to move and sat back to mull over their encounter with Miss Wentham.

It bothered him. But why the hell was he so worked up on behalf of a chit he hardly knew?