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

Chapter 12

CHAPTER 12

“You seem rather anxious,” Lady Drake observed as their carriage stopped outside the Harts’ residence.

Andrew adjusted his cravat, which felt far too tight around his throat. “It’s not every day that I introduce my mother to the woman I intend to marry.”

She tilted her head. “You’re sure about this?”

“Yes.” He cleared his throat. “You’ll understand when you meet her. Wait here. I’ll collect Miss and Mrs. Hart.”

He exited the carriage and hurried up the stairs with a sense of haste most would probably consider unbefitting of an earl. Tonight, he wasn’t just an earl. He was a man.

The doors were already open, and as he stepped into their frame, his gaze landed on the two Hart women standing in the center of the foyer. They both looked up. Mrs. Hart beamed at him, but it was Amelia’s gentler smile that turned him inside out.

He bowed. “Good evening, ladies. Your conveyance is here.”

Mrs. Hart thanked him effusively, and he took a quick moment to study their attire. She wore a gown of deep blue and a matching headpiece, while her daughter was clad in a frilly white contraption similar to the one she’d had on the evening they met.

She caught him looking at it and scowled. Apparently, she knew the dress wasn’t flattering. That said, he’d challenge anyone to tell him she looked poorly when her expressions were so lively and humor was constantly flickering across her face.

Ugly gown or not, he couldn’t take his eyes off her.

“Are you ready to depart?” he asked.

“Yes, my lord.” Mrs. Hart breezed past him, not pausing to allow him to take her arm.

He turned to Amelia instead. “May I?”

She allowed him to escort her outside at a more measured pace. “I received the papers you sent over.”

His gaze remained forward. “Was everything to your liking?”

“It was. Thank you for indulging me with the agreement. I know it is… unconventional.”

“Perhaps.” He leaned closer and lowered his voice. “But everything about our arrangement is unconventional, so that’s fitting.”

She huffed a quiet laugh. “I believe you’ll find I’m a somewhat unconventional person. I hope that won’t be a problem.”

“Not at all.” In fact, he looked forward to learning more about the way she viewed the world.

They reached the carriage just as his footman was assisting Mrs. Hart inside. The footman stepped aside to allow Andrew to do the same for Miss Hart. The mothers were seated next to each other, so he found himself alongside Amelia as they trundled toward Studholme House.

“Please allow me to make the introductions,” he said smoothly, smiling at each woman in turn. “Mother, these beautiful ladies are the esteemed Mrs. Hart and her enchanting daughter, Miss Amelia Hart. Mrs. Hart and Miss Hart, I present to you my mother, the Dowager Countess of Longley.”

Amelia bowed her head respectfully. “It’s an honor to meet you, my lady.”

His mother’s eyes sparkled. “The honor is all mine, Miss Hart. My son is quite taken with you. I look forward to getting to know you better.”

“That’s very kind of you.”

Amelia didn’t say more. A faint pink flush appeared on her cheeks. He couldn’t help but wonder why. Was it because his mother had implied he was smitten?

“Have you been in London for long?” the dowager asked Mrs. Hart, and within a matter of minutes, the two were engrossed in a conversation.

Andrew met Amelia’s gaze and tried his hardest to send reassuring thoughts from his mind to hers. Although honestly, he might need them as much as she did. He had the feeling that Miss Hart and his mother would be a formidable combination.

The carriage slowed as they neared Studholme House and joined a queue of their peers waiting to attend the ball. Fortunately, it didn’t take long for them to progress to the front of the queue and disembark.

Their mothers took the lead, sweeping through the double doors and the foyer to the edge of the ballroom.

Andrew noticed Baron Studholme’s expression waver as he saw them together. No doubt he was confused because the Harts hadn’t been invited. Nonetheless, Andrew had been assured that he and his mother were both welcome, each with a personal guest, so there was nothing he could say about their presence.

Perhaps he should feel guilty for springing them on Studholme without warning, but the man was a dreadful snob, and he deserved to be shaken up a little.

The baron recovered quickly, greeting Lady Drake and Mrs. Hart with courteous bows—although one was certainly shallower than the other—before turning to Longley.

“So good to see you, old chap.” He shook Longley’s hand vigorously. “And in such lovely company.”

“Glad you could have us,” Andrew replied cheerfully. He bowed to Lady Studholme. “You have outdone yourself, my lady. It’s even more elegant than last year.”

She ducked her head. “Thank you, Lord Longley. I hope you enjoy your evening.”

This time, his smile was genuine. Lady Studholme was much more pleasant than her husband. “I’m certain we will.”

A string quartet was playing in the corner of the ballroom. Dancers occupied the ballroom floor. Andrew guided Miss Hart to the edge of the dancing and waited for the song to end.

“I assume I get your first dance, since I was your escort,” he murmured.

“I suppose so,” she replied. “That seems only right, since we are to marry.”

He chuckled. “Don’t speak too loudly or your mother will have planned the wedding before we even leave the ball.”

She peered up at him. “Would that be so bad?”

He was startled by the comment, but there really was no reason to be. Thanks to her, they both knew what this was. “I guess not. It is our end goal, after all.”

The dancers reset their positions for the next song, and he took Amelia’s hand and led her to join them. When the music began again, they moved together as if they’d danced dozens of times before. Every time he reached for her, she was exactly where he expected. He couldn’t help smiling. Was this what marriage to her would be like? Always being pleasantly surprised?

If so, he was a lucky man.

“Why are you grinning like that?” she asked as she swayed closer to him.

“I’m glad we’ve come to an arrangement,” he told her.

Her eyes widened, but she quickly schooled her expression. “As am I.”

When the dance finished, he wasn’t ready to leave her company yet.

“May I escort you for a glass of lemonade?”

She searched his eyes, but he didn’t know what she was looking for. “I’d like that.”

They made their way to the lemonade table. He grabbed two glasses—one for each of them. They stood side by side on the edge of the dancing, both content not to speak. Andrew had always liked talkative girls, but he had to admit that there was an appeal to Amelia’s quiet, steady presence.

He spotted his mother and Mrs. Hart in an alcove at the end of the room. The dowager met his eyes and winked.

“Miss Hart.”

Andrew jolted. The masculine voice had caught him off guard. He hadn’t noticed anyone approaching.

The Duke of Wight looked down his imperious nose at Amelia. “Are you engaged for the next dance?”

She glanced at Andrew, nibbling on her lower lip, visibly uncertain of how to respond. He shrugged discreetly. They hadn’t announced their betrothal yet, so it would be improper for him to intervene.

“I am not.” Dread laced her tone.

“Then you must dance with me.” He extended a long-fingered hand toward her. “Come.”

She accepted his hand and allowed him to lead her away, casting a narrow-eyed look back over her shoulder. He liked it more than he should that she clearly didn’t want to dance with the duke. It gave him a strange sense of satisfaction.

Instead of watching while they danced, he carried his lemonade around the room to where his mother now stood alone.

“Where’s Mrs. Hart?” he asked.

“Speaking with Lady Bowling.” She didn’t take her eyes off the dance floor. “She asked about you.”

“Who? Lady Bowling?”

“Mm.”

He grimaced. “I suppose that’s inevitable. I’ll have to avoid her until the announcement of our betrothal. Lady Esther is nice enough, but my search for a wife is over.”

She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye, a smirk playing at the edge of her lips. “Miss Hart is very quiet.”

He scoffed. “Until you get her talking about something she’s passionate about.” He hesitated, then added, “I get the impression her mother told her not to speak about her interests because she doesn’t consider them socially acceptable.”

Lady Drake made a sharp sound of surprise. “How so?”

“Miss Hart likes to read. She is fascinated by different civilizations and other parts of the world. You should have seen how alive she became when I took her to visit the museum.”

“You like her.”

He didn’t know why she was surprised by this. “Of course I do. I’d hardly have agreed to marry her otherwise.”

He searched her out on the dance floor, only to frown when he noticed she was no longer dancing with the Duke of Wight. Instead, she was on the Marquess of Overton’s arm.

Did the marquess really need to hold her so closely?

He was not her intended.

As the pair turned, Overton’s hand grazed Amelia’s hip. Andrew’s feet carried him toward them without his consent. He forced them to stop after two paces. There was no reason for him to intervene. Perhaps Overton was being more familiar than Andrew would like with his future countess, but until their engagement was made public, he couldn’t tell the other man to back off.

“That’s not what I mean,” his mother said, stepping up beside him. “You’re bewitched by her. ”

“No, I’m not.” That was ludicrous. He was simply possessive because Miss Hart was the key to securing his family’s future.

Certainly, that was all it was.

Even he couldn’t convince himself of that. He was attracted to Miss Hart, plain and simple.

As soon as Overton bowed to her, Andrew was at their side, inserting himself between them.

“The next dance is mine,” he said gruffly.

She took his hand without protest, although there was no missing the puzzlement that passed across her face.

“Do you like the theater?” he asked impulsively.

She blinked rapidly, a furrow forming between her eyebrows. “Very much.”

“Will you accompany me tomorrow night?” He wondered when his mouth had started making plans without his brain’s permission.

“I would love to.”

“Excellent.” Now he would simply have to arrange to attend the theater with very little notice and ensure his mother came along so no one could accuse him of having nefarious intentions.

Damn.

Amelia couldn’t stop smiling as Lord Longley helped her down from the carriage and walked side by side with her into the theater. A secret part of her felt special that he’d invited her to watch a play. This wasn’t something they needed to do as part of their courtship. It wasn’t expected.

And yet, he’d asked anyway. She could only presume he’d done so because he knew she would enjoy it. She was especially excited because this was not only a play, but one set in Italy. For a brief time, she could immerse herself in the story and pretend to be there herself.

Lord Longley escorted her to a box above and slightly to the right of the stage. From there, they would have a perfect view.

“Shall we sit in the front?” he asked.

“Yes, please.”

They claimed chairs in the center of the box. Her father sat to her left, and her mother joined the dowager countess to the right of the earl.She was closely attuned to the earl’s presence beside her, his body heat radiating across the small space between them.

“I’ve been looking forward to this all day,” she told him softly. “Thank you for the invitation.”

He smiled. “I hope it lives up to your expectations.”

The show began, and gradually, Amelia became absorbed and was able to put the earl’s proximity to the back of her mind—except for as a conversational partner. More than once, she found herself whispering something to him before darting a look at her mother, certain she was about to be scolded. Fortunately, Mrs. Hart paid her little attention, and the earl seemed entertained by her running commentary.

He didn’t chastise her for distracting him or suggest that women were less knowledgeable about literature than men and so she ought to keep her views to herself. He treated her comments with respect and answered her questions thoughtfully.

By the time the show ended, she was giddy from the experience but also, deep inside, a little sad. She enjoyed spending time with the earl, but she couldn’t forget that he didn’t actually want to marry her. He’d courted her for her fortune. No matter how warmly she might feel toward him, she doubted he felt the same.

This was a practical match, not a love match, but he kept doing and saying things that made it difficult for her to remember that.

They waited for the downstairs to empty before leaving their box so as not to be inundated by the crowd below. Once outside, Lord Longley summoned his carriage, and they all clambered in. As they started to move, the dowager countess made a comment about the superb acting, and Mr. Hart responded. Her mother was uncharacteristically silent.

To Amelia’s surprise, they passed by Longley House first, and a footman escorted the dowager inside. Mrs. Hart shot her a meaningful look. Amelia tried to ignore it.

When they arrived at the Hart residence, Lord Longley waited until they had all disembarked from the carriage before addressing Mr. Hart.

“May I speak with you in private, sir?” he asked.

Mr. Hart nodded, unsurprised. “Come into my office.”

Mrs. Hart raised her eyebrows at Amelia, who just shook her head. She could assume what the earl had in mind, but they hadn’t previously discussed it.

As soon as they entered the house, Mr. Hart and Lord Longley disappeared into the office. Mrs. Hart gestured for Amelia to join her in the drawing room. Amelia sat on a chaise in the dimly lit space, watching in the flickering light of a solitary lamp as her mother opened a cabinet and withdrew a bottle of sherry and two small glasses.

Amelia’s jaw dropped. She’d had no idea that was there.

Mrs. Hart caught Amelia’s eye. “I think you and I deserve one of these.”

She poured a couple of inches of sherry into each glass, returned the bottle to the cabinet, and passed one glass to Amelia.

She sat beside her and raised her glass. “To your future—and ours.”

Cautiously, Amelia tasted the drink. Her nose crinkled. “I’m not sure I like that. ”

Her mother laughed. “It will grow on you.”

They drank without speaking further. She could sense her mother’s pride in what she considered to be a joint victory, but that sliver of sorrow remained lodged in her heart.

Yes, this was what she and the earl had planned, but a tiny part of her that she didn’t dare acknowledge longed for more.

She’d just have to resign herself to the fact she wouldn’t get it. She’d have her stories. Her career. That was all she’d ever wanted before now.

The door swung inward, revealing a man framed in the doorway. She couldn’t see much of him in the darkness, but the figure was too tall and lean to be her father.

“Mrs. Hart,” Longley said, his voice stirring the heavy air between them. “May I speak to your daughter in private?”

Mrs. Hart rose. “Of course, my lord.”

She stole out of the room with the faintest rustle of silk.

The earl strode inside and came to a stop above Amelia. He hovered there for a moment, then lowered himself onto the seat beside her. This close, the candlelight revealed the hint of green in his eyes and the crooked incisor that made his smile so endearing.

“Miss Hart,” he began solemnly. “Amelia.”

He held his hands out, palms up. Hesitantly, she placed hers on them, palm to palm. She shivered. It was perhaps the most intimate exchange she’d ever shared with a man.

He cleared his throat. “I know we have an agreement, but I want to do this properly. Will you grant me the privilege of claiming your hand in marriage?”

She stared at him, stunned silent. She’d known the engagement would be imminent when he had failed to disembark at Longley House. But for some reason, it had never crossed her mind that he might actually ask her for her hand. She’d assumed he’d speak with her father and the matter would be settled. Perhaps her father hadn’t responded favorably.

“What did my father say?” she asked. “Does he disapprove?”

He hadn’t given any indication that he might consider the earl unsuitable, but he could be circumspect when the situation called for it.

The earl gave a strained laugh. “Is this your way of attempting to make me sweat while I await your answer?”

“No.” She drew back sharply. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to worry you. Of course we will marry. That was never in doubt. I was just curious what my father said when you spoke to him.”

He raised her hands and kissed the back of each one, holding her gaze as he did so. She barely resisted the urge to shiver.

“That was a man-to-man conversation. However, I can tell you that he cares about you a great deal.”

Her heart thudded. Even though she knew as much, it was nice to hear it out loud—especially given that she’d always been second place in her father’s affections.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

“No. Thank you for offering me a life raft when I was adrift.” He released her hands, reached into his trouser pocket, and withdrew a small box. “This is for you.”

Amelia took the box with shaking hands. It was delicately carved, an intricate design imprinted on the wood. She opened the lid and sucked in a breath. Lying on a bed of silk was an antique engagement ring, a ruby framed by diamonds and set into a delicate gold band.

“It’s beautiful,” she breathed.

“It belonged to my grandmother on my father’s side. She gave it to me when I was young and told me to save it for my wife.”

Her chest constricted and tears prickled at the backs of her eyes. This stunning ring wasn’t meant for her. It was supposed to go to the wife he chose.

The one he wanted.

She couldn’t help but feel like his grandmother would be disappointed to see her wearing it.

“Try it on. I want to see how it looks on you. It may not fit, but we can have it resized immediately.”

Struggling to hide how badly she was trembling, she slotted the ring onto her finger. It fit almost perfectly.

“It’s slightly loose,” Longley mused. “Slide it back off. I’ll take it to the jeweler tomorrow.”

Reluctantly, she did as he asked. For some reason, she couldn’t shake the feeling that the ring wasn’t intended for her, and if she let it out of her sight, she might not get it back.

Nevertheless, she forced herself to hand it over. Whether or not he returned it to her, it didn’t change the fact that he wouldn’t have chosen her as his wife in any other circumstance. Could she bring herself to accept that?