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

Chapter 9

CHAPTER 9

Amelia’s eyes were gritty, and her head throbbed so much, she almost didn’t hear her parents’ voices as she passed her father’s office on her way to the dining hall the next morning after tossing and turning all night, second-guessing her decision not to approach him.

She stopped and edged closer to the door, massaging her temples in an attempt to clear her thoughts. Her mother was speaking, but for once, she was keeping her tone low, the words almost impossible to distinguish.

“… relieved she isn’t persisting with that nonsense.” She sighed, and Amelia could imagine her pinching the bridge of her nose. “It’s not right for a girl to be so interested in books. It’s much better that she’s focusing on finding a husband instead.”

Amelia froze. Her heartbeat quickened. For an instant, she feared it was so loud, her parents would hear, but that was ridiculous.

She waited, half expecting her father to speak up for her. After all, he’d encouraged her creativity when she was younger. He’d read stories with her and given her advice on how to improve them. Perhaps he hadn’t done so in a while, but surely that didn’t mean he disapproved.

He didn’t defend her.

Instead, he said, “I hope you’re satisfied with the Earl of Longley as a suitor.”

“I’m ecstatic.” There was a muffled sound. Perhaps some movement. “After last season, I never dreamed that Amelia could hook such an eligible gentleman so quickly. The only thing that would make it better is if he were a duke or a marquess, but Lord Longley has a better reputation than the Duke of Wight and is far handsomer, which makes it even more of a coup.”

“You will be happy to have him as a son-in-law?” he asked.

“Delighted. No one will be able to turn a cold shoulder to us once Amelia is a countess. We will be invited to the most exclusive events. They’ll have to accept us.”

Amelia couldn’t bear to listen anymore. She stalked back to her bedchamber, breakfast forgotten.

She’d known her mother saw marriage into the aristocracy as the ultimate prize, but not once during that conversation had she mentioned Amelia’s happiness as any kind of factor.

It hurt.

She wanted to believe that her parents cared about her future happiness at least a little, but neither of them had given any indication that they were thinking of her wishes, except for that throwaway comment about the earl’s handsomeness, which reflected on the family as a whole, so could it really even be counted?

They’d spoken as if the marriage was fait accompli. As far as Amelia knew, the earl had not asked for her hand. Nor had she agreed. Did they even consider her agreement necessary? Or did they believe she would go along with whatever they decided was best?

She always had before—at least outwardly. Resistance had seemed futile. More hassle than it was worth, when her mother would always get her way anyway.

This was the rest of her life, though. Hardly trivial. If anything was worth making a fuss about, it was who she married. Did they care what her opinion of the earl was? Or did they assume that because he was titled and handsome, she would have no objections?

She huffed, frustrated, as she marched into her room and yanked a pelisse out of the wardrobe. What she needed was a walk to clear her head. Right now, she was too emotional to think clearly, and if she stuck around, she would no doubt say something she regretted.

When she left the bedchamber, she summoned Mary, instructed her to get a coat, and they set off together on foot.

They didn’t talk as they strode along the streets of Mayfair. Mary struggled to keep up, and Amelia’s mind was occupied with how to make the best of her situation. A carriage passed by, and she inhaled, the familiar horsey scent bringing her a modicum of comfort.

She wondered whether Lord Longley had horses. She enjoyed riding, although she didn’t do it often. He would have some to pull his carriages, but did he have a personal horse? Did his mother and sister? Or was he one of the men who didn’t think women ought to ride?

He hadn’t given her that impression, but he also hadn’t given her the impression of being poor, so what did she know?

Not that his financial state was a problem. She just disliked being deceived, and it had been nice to fantasize, even for a few brief moments, that he might genuinely be interested in her rather than her family fortune. Now that she knew the truth, she couldn’t pretend any longer.

She and Mary circled around and returned to the house. Mary, grateful for the respite, quickly disappeared into the depths of the home while Amelia trudged up the stairs and back to her bedchamber.

Inside, the air was warm from the remnants of a fire, and she sat at her writing desk and began to scribble furiously. She knew exactly what direction she was taking Miss Joceline Davies in.

Joceline, subject to the same emotions as any woman, would fall prey to a fickle suitor. When he let her down—as he inevitably would—she’d pick up her life and move to the Americas. She would take charge of her future. No allowing others to dictate it for her. No struggles with uncertainty.

Joceline was strong. She would take control.

Amelia’s hand faltered, and she smudged ink on the paper. Cursing, she dabbed at the paper and then the side of her palm, where the ink was already drying.

Never mind that. If the fictional Joceline could take control of her own future, why could Amelia not do the same?

Perhaps she wasn’t as courageous or as adventurous as Joceline, but she was determined. She had dreams and ambitions. Just as Joceline didn’t have to accept the options that were presented to her, nor did she.

She pushed the paper aside and began to jot notes on a clean sheet.

What were her options?

She tapped her chin as she thought. Obviously, she could pretend not to know about Longley’s ulterior motive and continue with their farce of a courtship. After all, if she hadn’t known, she likely would have married him. He was, objectively, the best of the suitors available to her.

Failing that, she could marry one of the other men her mother considered suitable. The Duke of Wight probably didn’t have too many years left in him, and she knew enough about him to be on her guard in case he attempted to do away with her.

The trouble was that she shuddered at the idea of allowing him to touch her, and honestly, she’d prefer not to spend years of her life paranoid that her husband might try to get rid of her.

The Earl of Winn was not an option she could countenance. She would be miserable with him—potentially for decades to come. But perhaps there were other men she could win over. Surely there was more than one impoverished aristocrat desperate to replenish his coffers. Would any of the others appeal more than Longley?

She didn’t know.

Her third option was to refuse to marry and hope her father was willing to provide a living for her. She could move to a cottage in the country and write her stories in peace. There would be long walks, starry skies, and fresh air.

But all of that relied on Mr. Hart being willing to override her mother’s wishes. If she were honest with herself, she didn’t believe he would. Not even for her.

She could run away to the Americas like Joceline. She could easily sell some of her jewelry, buy a ticket on the next ship to depart, and begin anew in a foreign land.

Unfortunately, while Amelia loved to write adventure stories—and to read them—she wasn’t certain that she’d enjoy living in one. She liked comfort. A warm bed, regular meals, and a reliable supply of books. Not to mention privacy. Aboard a ship, she may not get that, let alone in a strange place she’d only ever read about.

All right, so not that option. Nor was she willing to rely on her father’s good graces.

As long as she was unmarried, she would be under her mother’s thumb because her father would never stand up to her on Amelia’s behalf.

Ergo, she required a husband.

But then she would be under her husband’s thumb. Unless, of course, she had leverage to ensure he couldn’t control her.

A slow smile spread across her face. She did have leverage. A temptingly large dowry.

Perhaps the most pragmatic course of action was to beat the men at their own game. They wished to wed her, either for her money or her childbirthing ability, and she needed to wed in order to chart her own course.

Two of her three prospective suitors could likely not be wooed by money, but the third could.

Her smile grew.

She would propose a marriage of convenience to the Earl of Longley. If he agreed to her terms, he’d gain access to her dowry. She wanted freedom, and as her husband, he would be able to grant it to her.

Right now, she was in the best possible position to negotiate. After all, she could still refuse to marry him, and then he’d have to start over with another heiress. Certainly, another heiress would accept him, but for whatever reason, he’d decided on her, and if he were willing to make a few concessions, she would make it easy for him to get her.

Would it hurt to marry a man she’d come to admire, knowing he had no feelings for her?

Possibly.

But she could live with injured pride—especially when the earl was an otherwise agreeable man. He didn’t seem to be cruel—or at least, if he was, he hid it well. He had good hygiene and nice hair and eyes. She doubted she could do better.

“Amelia!”

She flinched, caught off guard by the shout outside her bedchamber door. Hurriedly, she hid her scribbled notes and the beginning of a scene she had written for Joceline’s next story. She considered pulling on a pair of gloves to hide the ink smudge on her hand but didn’t want to ruin them, so instead she held her hands by her sides, angled away from the door, as she stood.

“What is it?” she called.

Mrs. Hart pushed the door open and swept inside on a wave of jasmine-scented air. Her eyes narrowed, as if she sensed that Amelia had been doing something she disapproved of, but she couldn’t quite put her finger on what.

“You’ve been shut in here for hours.” She crossed her arms, radiating displeasure. “We are attending the opera tonight, or have you forgotten?”

Amelia glanced at the clock, surprised to see that it was now midway through the afternoon. Her stomach growled, reminding her she’d yet to eat.

“I’m not feeling well,” she lied.

Mrs. Hart looked dubious. “How do you know that if you haven’t ventured beyond the confines of this room? Perhaps a little fresh air will do you good.”

“I went outside,” Amelia admitted. “This morning, for a walk. Mary accompanied me. I took a turn upon returning.”

“Have you tried a cup of tea with honey?” Mrs. Hart was very British in that she believed a good cup of tea could cure anything.

“Yes, Mother.”

Fortunately, Mrs. Hart didn’t look around for the evidence. She probably assumed that one of the servants had cleared it away.

“Please let me stay home tonight,” she pleaded. “You and Father can go together. I know how much you enjoy your outings.” Without her to get in the way.

Her mother sighed. “Are you sure you’re not well enough to come?”

Amelia nodded.

“Fine.” She retreated to the door. “I’ll have Mary bring you dinner.”

“Thank you. ”

When she left, Amelia waited until the latch clicked into place before flopping onto her bed. Thank goodness her mother hadn’t argued or insisted she accompany them. Amelia was really getting somewhere. She couldn’t afford to be interrupted now.

She closed her eyes for a few seconds, mentally composing a to-do list; then she sat at her desk and began to work.

Over the next two hours, she wrote and revised a marriage agreement. One that was different from anything she’d ever heard of before.

She ate dinner in her room and then rewrote the contract and copied it so there were two identical versions. Once they were safely locked in her drawer, she called Mary to help her prepare for bed.

“Are you feeling any better?” Mary asked as she undid the buttons on her dress.

Amelia glanced at the door. “Can you keep a secret?”

Mary made an intrigued sound in the back of her throat. “If you ask me to keep a confidence, you can consider it kept.”

Amelia grinned. “I’m not unwell. I’ve been working on something.”

“What?” Mary asked.

“I intend to propose marriage to the Earl of Longley.”

Mary gasped. “That’s scandalous!”

“Only if anyone finds out.” She explained her reasoning and even shared a little about the contract she’d created.

“Do you think he’ll say yes?” Mary asked cautiously. “If he spreads word of your plan, it could ruin you.”

Amelia stepped out of the dress and allowed Mary to slide a nightgown over her head. “If I’m correct in believing he wants my dowry, then yes. I think he will. Surely his need for money outweighs any shock he may feel as a result of the offer. Besides”—she hesitated—“I get the impression he’s a kind man.”

A liar, perhaps, but not an ill-intentioned one.

“I’ve a friend who works at Longley House,” Mary said quietly. “She says he’s a decent sort. A bit of a rake, but not cruel.”

Amelia’s chest tightened. Logically, she knew that the earl likely had no shortage of female company and that he would continue to enjoy others after they were wed. For some reason, the knowledge made her uncomfortable, but she would simply have to get used to it.

She bit her lip. “I’ve written the earl a note, asking for him to grant me a private interview after we visit the museum tomorrow. Can you please arrange to have it delivered?”

“Of course, miss. I’ll make sure he receives it.”