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

Chapter 8

CHAPTER 8

Excitement fluttered in Amelia’s stomach as they moved on from the greeting party at the Latham ball and entered the ballroom proper. She’d tried her best to deny it all day, but the truth was, she was eager to see the Earl of Longley again.

It was ridiculous, and she was annoyed with herself for being gullible enough to fall for his charms when there must be a sensible reason why he was showing interest in her—beyond simply finding her amusing—but she couldn’t seem to convince her heart of that. It found his attention intoxicating and whispered that maybe he was sincere.

As if a handsome earl would ever genuinely be attracted to a lowborn bluestocking without some other motivation.

He must have an angle. She just hadn’t deduced what it was yet.

Mrs. Hart guided her around a Roman-style pillar toward the dance floor. The room was beautiful, with cream walls, ornate gold edging, and pockets of greenery. A quartet played uplifting music, and a floral aroma emanated from the plants. It might have been overpowering if not for the hint of perspiration and alcohol overlaying it.

Amelia glanced over her shoulder. Her father had already disappeared into a corner, no doubt to chat with a friend while her mother did all she could to ensure that Amelia became the next Countess of Longley.

At least the earl’s apparent interest had reduced Mrs. Hart’s desperation to foist her upon every eligible bachelor of the ton.

Her mother turned to her and spoke quietly. “Whatever you are doing to attract Lord Longley, keep doing it. I’m sure I don’t need to impress upon you the importance of not losing his favor.”

“I understand.” Not that Amelia had any idea what she was doing to capture his attention in the first place. “Should I dance with the Duke of Wight and the Earl of Winn too?”

She didn’t want to, but she’d also like to avoid a lecture after the ball.

Her mother hummed thoughtfully. “If they approach you, then you must, but don’t seek them out. We don’t wish to discourage them, but we also don’t want to put off Longley. I’m uncertain whether he’s the sort of man who thrives on competition or avoids it.”

“All right.” Amelia decided right then that she would do all she could to be invisible to Wight and Winn. She didn’t want to be pushed into a marriage with either of them, and if her mother wouldn’t be upset by it, then the best way forward was to hope they forgot about her.

She kept her head down except for the occasional survey of the room. No one approached them, and she could easily become part of the wallpaper. This was how her last season had passed and how this one likely would have begun if not for her mother deciding that Amelia could obviously not be trusted to find her own suitors.

She couldn’t let herself forget that this was where society thought she belonged.

None of the men who’d shown interest in her this season would have done so without Mrs. Hart’s persistence and the Hart family fortune. If she were a simple untitled miss of average means with timid parents, no one would look at her twice.

She had no charms of her own, which only made her more certain that the Earl of Longley must be up to something.

Mrs. Hart jostled her shoulder and jerked her chin toward the entrance.

Speak of the devil.

He stood tall in a simple black suit of elegant cut just inside the entrance. The suit fit his broad shoulders perfectly and tapered inward to his waist. He was taller than many of the gentlemen present, although not the tallest man in attendance. He lifted his hand to push his richly colored hair away from his face, and her heart gave a little sigh.

She frowned.

No. She could not afford to find him handsome. He was manipulating her, and she needed to know why. It wasn’t as if he could possibly have taken one look at her hiding behind a shrub and decided that she was his future countess. Therefore, she could not trust him.

But when he caught her eyes and grinned, the full force of his warm, sparkling gaze hit her, butterflies flooded her stomach, and it was difficult to remember that. He excused himself from his conversation and made his way through the revelers toward them.

“Excellent,” Mrs. Hart murmured.

“Fancy seeing you here,” the earl said as he came to a stop several feet away.

“What a surprise,” Amelia said dryly. “It’s almost as if we told you we would be in attendance.”

Mrs. Hart discreetly sank her elbow into Amelia’s ribs, and the breath wheezed out of her lungs.

The earl cocked his head. “Are you all right, Miss Hart? ”

“Fine,” she gasped. “My apologies. I had a tickle in my throat.”

He looked concerned. “Nothing bad, I hope?”

“No, no.” She forced herself to smile more widely even as her eyes watered. “I’m quite all right.”

“I’m happy to hear that.” He glanced from Amelia to Mrs. Hart and back. “May I ask to save a dance?”

She nodded and offered him her card. He jotted his name beside her next dance… and then to another dance later in the evening. Eyes wide, she stared at him. Everyone knew that claiming two dances was as good as declaring a courtship. What on earth was Longley doing?

Beside her, Mrs. Hart muffled a high-pitched sound of excitement. “You honor us, my lord.”

He released Amelia’s card and straightened. “The honor is all mine. Miss Hart, I believe our waltz is about to begin. Will you join me?”

A waltz?

Her gut flipped over, and a fizzle of pleasure burst inside her. Damn her naive, optimistic heart. It yearned to believe he was genuinely interested in her.

Whatever his motivation, she could no longer deny that he was courting her. There were few more public ways he could make his intentions clear.

She took his hand, and he guided her onto the dance floor. As the first chords of a new song rang through the assembly, they began to move. She’d never enjoyed the waltz. Being so close to someone didn’t appeal to her. The pressure to perform made her uncomfortable, and she feared making a misstep.

With the Earl of Longley as her partner, she practically glided across the dance floor. Every time they brushed against each other, the silk of her skirt whispered, and the heat from his body cocooned around her.

Her feet moved instinctively. Fleeting touches made her shiver.

She was unaware of anything but him.

The square line of his smooth-shaven jaw. The way his eyes seemed to change color as they caught the light. His full lower lip, so ready to smile.

And then it ended.

He gazed at her, his breathing slightly ragged. “That was….”

“Wonderful,” she murmured.

He dipped his head. “I couldn’t have said it better.” He linked his arm with hers. “Shall we take a stroll around the room?”

“That would be nice.”

Arm in arm, they circled around the party. Several people greeted Longley with a smile and friendly words. Very few acknowledged Amelia, although plenty cast surreptitious looks at her.

He then returned her to her mother, thanked her prettily, and left.

“Well?” Mrs. Hart asked when he was gone.

“I think it went well.” She was reluctant to say more than that when Longley always seemed so pleased with life and was therefore difficult to read.

Mrs. Hart sighed. “You danced together beautifully.”

“He’s very graceful for a gentleman.” Perhaps more graceful than she was. Or maybe he just had more years of practice than she did. “I’m going to get a glass of lemonade. Would you like one?”

“No, thank you.” Mrs. Hart was distracted, searching for someone across the room. “I think I see your father. I’m going to speak with him.”

Amelia grinned. Likely her mother wanted to dance, and her father was about to find himself cajoled into doing so with her.

She made her way out of the ballroom into the refreshments area and helped herself to a small piece of cake. Savoring the sweetness on her tongue and the fluffy lightness of the cake itself, she quickly checked that neither the Duke of Wight nor the Earl of Winn was within eyesight.

She hadn’t seen them thus far, but she didn’t want to let her guard down. Regardless of whether or not she trusted Lord Longley’s motives, he was undeniably the most appealing of the bunch, and honestly, she didn’t believe he wished her harm.She’d just prefer not to feel so blind where he was concerned.

If she knew his reasons for courting her, then she could respond appropriately.

Not knowing made her vulnerable.

She meandered between the tables and poured herself a glass of lemonade, then stood in the corner to sip it, enjoying the tang.

“Miss Hart.”

She turned toward the feminine voice and scarcely hid her grimace. “Miss Wentham.”

The pretty blonde wore a smirk that said she knew something Amelia didn’t. She hated it. She’d disliked Miss Wentham even before she’d insulted her dress. There was just something predatory about her.

Miss Wentham lifted a delicate glass to her lips and drank. “I just thought you ought to know that someone like the Earl of Longley can only possibly want you for your family’s money. There’s no other reason he would tolerate your company.”

The words cut. Not because they were untrue but because they too closely aligned with her own fears.

“The earl is wealthy,” she said, keeping her chin high. “He has no reason to need my family’s fortune.”

Miss Wentham’s smirk deepened, and she shrugged and sauntered away.

Try as she might, Amelia could not unhear Miss Wentham’s claim. Her mind was busy turning over possibilities while she finished her drink and tracked down her mother. By the time the earl appeared for their second dance, she’d grown tired of all the “what-ifs.”

As he took her hand and drew her onto the dance floor alongside him, she gathered the courage to do something that would infuriate her mother if she found out.

“Why are you courting me?” she asked quietly.

One of his reddish-brown eyebrows flew up. “What do you mean, why?”

“Exactly what it sounds like.” She placed her hand in his and circled around him, keeping in time with the other dancers.

“Because you are interesting.” They switched hands and circled the other way. “I like that we can have conversations together.”

That could be true, a voice in her mind whispered.

Maybe so, but she was afraid to believe it.

The earl seemed to consider the discussion closed because he didn’t say anything else. The dance finished. He bowed, and she curtsied.

“Allow me to walk you back to your mother?” he asked.

She accepted his arm.

He leaned closer to her. “I may be off the mark, but there is a new Roman history display at the museum. Would you like to attend with me on Sunday?”

“I’d love to!” The exclamation emerged before she had time to temper it. “I mean, I’ll have to ask my parents, but I can’t see it being a problem.”

She couldn’t help the smile that spread across her face as they rejoined her mother. Perhaps Longley was being truthful and transparent in his intentions after all. He’d shown that he enjoyed discussion of his travels, and if he was drawn to a historical exhibit at the museum, then they likely had other interests in common too.

Amelia may have been needlessly suspicious of him. She ought not to be so cynical. Sometimes things really were as they appeared.

Mrs. Hart sighed when they reached her. “You dance so well together.”

“Mother, the earl has invited me to an outing at the museum on Sunday,” Amelia gushed. “Please say I may go.”

A tiny groove formed between Mrs. Hart’s eyebrows, demonstrating her bewilderment, but it smoothed out quickly when she realized it would mean more one-on-one time between her daughter and a single earl.

“You’ll take Mary as chaperone?”

“Of course.”

“Then go ahead.”

Longley grinned, and for the first time, she noticed that one of his incisors was slightly crooked. It was endearing. “I’ll collect you at two.”

“I look forward to it.”

“Good job, Amelia,” her mother murmured as the earl walked away. “I do hope you didn’t mention your scribblings to him, though.”

Amelia rolled her eyes. “I didn’t. During our walk in Hyde Park, we discussed his time on the Indian subcontinent, which is likely what gave him the idea of inviting me to the museum.”

Mrs. Hart side-eyed her. “You didn’t pester him with questions, I hope.”

“I don’t believe so.” She struggled to maintain a straight face. In hindsight, she probably had asked too many questions, but he hadn’t protested, so she was going to assume she hadn’t been “pestering.”

“Do you—” Mrs. Hart broke off when the white-haired Duke of Wight appeared out of nowhere directly in front of them.

“Ladies.” He bowed. “You both look… ravishing. Join me for a dance, Miss Hart?”

It was a question, but his intonation left little doubt that a refusal wasn’t possible. Amelia shot her mother a look as the duke took her hand and escorted her away.

“You must be popular tonight,” the duke said as they positioned themselves opposite each other. “You were never anywhere to be found.”

“I spent a while in the refreshments area.” She didn’t mention her dances with Lord Longley. If he hadn’t seen them for himself, she’d prefer he not know about them at all.If he realized he had such stiff competition, then he might begin to pursue her in earnest.

“I do hope that was all you did.”

Her jaw dropped at the muttered comment, but then the dance began. Since it was fast-paced, she didn’t have the opportunity to ask him what he’d meant until the song concluded, and by that point, she decided she’d rather not know.

She got the impression he was insinuating that she might have been having an illicit affair elsewhere on the premises, and such an insult could hardly be borne. Unfortunately, he was a duke, and she was a societal outcast, so she was not in any position to cause a scene.

She maintained her composure, separated from him as quickly as possible, and quietly simmered. She really hoped Lord Longley wasn’t playing games with her. Even if she didn’t particularly want to take a husband, he was a far superior choice to a rude, elderly duke and a drunken lecher of an earl.

Mrs. Hart, perhaps sensing her sour mood, made their farewells soon after, and they retreated from the ballroom and called for their carriage to be brought around.

When they were shut inside the carriage and on their way home, her encounter with Miss Wentham returned to the front of her mind.

“Father?”

Mr. Hart’s eyes shone in the dark as he looked across at her. “Yes, Mia?”

“Amelia,” her mother griped.

He sighed. “Yes, Amelia?”

“Miss Wentham said something tonight that made me curious. Is the Earl of Longley having financial difficulty?”

“Oh, yes.”

Her stomach dropped to the soles of her feet. “He is?”

Her father nodded. “It’s a closely guarded secret, but I make it my business to know such things. My understanding is that his man of business defrauded him and fled the country. I don’t have all the details, but I suspect that, if not for his entailment, he’d be almost broke.”

An invisible vise squeezed her chest. She’d been searching for an explanation, but without having the full picture, it had been impossible to find. Now that she knew the truth, she could see exactly what was happening.

The earl had no money.

He also had a mother and a sister, whom he obviously cared for.

Social standing meant everything among the aristocracy, and he likely wanted to replenish his fortune before too many people discovered his circumstances—both to protect his reputation and to provide for those dependent on him.

As far as reasons for fortune hunting went, it was noble.

But he was still a fortune hunter.

Amelia had a sizable dowry—perhaps the largest in the ton—and she and her mother had been described as “desperate” more than once. What better way for him to refill his coffers than by marrying an heiress whose parents would be more than eager for the match?

If he made it look like a love connection, no one would ever question his actions.

Except her.

She almost wished she didn’t know the truth. It was a relief, in a way, to be reassured that she hadn’t simply been thinking the worst of him. But Lord, for a few brief seconds, she’d let herself believe that he might actually hold her in high esteem, and learning otherwise hurt.

She angled her face away from her father, looking out the window as a tear slipped down her cheek. It dripped from her chin, but she made no effort to dry her skin. That would only attract attention.

Instead, she cried quietly until they were two blocks from their home, and then she blinked her eyes dry and made a show of “sneezing” into her shoulder to blot any wetness away.

She shouldn’t be upset. It was ridiculous. She’d known something was amiss. And yet the hurt remained.

Neither of her parents noticed anything wrong as they exited the carriage and climbed the stairs. Mr. Grant held the door open, and his gaze was fixed ahead. Amelia bid them good night and went straight to her bedchamber.

“What’s the matter?” Mary asked as soon as she entered.

Amelia shook her head. “Nothing.”

It was clearly a lie, but Mary didn’t ask again, just helped her undress in silence, then took the discarded gown and left. Amelia blew out all the candles but one and got into bed. She lay there, staring at the ceiling, for some time, but sleep did not come.

Eventually, she got up, took the remaining candle, and used it to light the way as she wandered through the house. As she passed her father’s office, she noticed a flickering orange glow beneath the door. She hesitated, wishing she felt comfortable enough to go inside and plead with him to rethink this season.

Do I have to marry? she wanted to ask him. Must I become a sacrificial bride for you and Mother to gain entrance into the aristocracy?

Amelia wasn’t brave though. Not like Miss Joceline Davies. She pushed the boundaries, but only so far.

She drew in a deep breath and brushed her fingers over the wood of the door.

Perhaps she could. He might even listen.

Her touch wavered.