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

Chapter 13

CHAPTER 13

London,

November 1820

Emptying the contents of her writing desk into tidy stacks inside a suitcase, Amelia reminded herself that this was a beginning, not an end. This time tomorrow, she’d be able to indulge herself in Joceline’s fictional world for as long as she wanted, and no one would stop her.

Unfortunately, until then, she had to finish packing her belongings and, well, get married.

All around her, servants were folding her clothes into cases and storing her other belongings in boxes. She wouldn’t take too much with her. Only her clothes, her stories and writing equipment, a few of her favorite pieces of jewelry, and a collection of books she couldn’t bear to part with.

Anything else she wanted, she could get later. Although honestly, she didn’t expect to want for much. She’d be perfectly happy if all she did was eat, sleep, read, and write—perhaps with the occasional walk outside for fresh air and sunshine .

Beside her, Mary fastened a valise and pushed it at a footman, who carried it from the room.

Mary put her hands on her hips and looked around. “It’s so different without your personal touches.”

“I know.” Her bedchamber was now as welcoming as a guest room. It no longer felt or looked like a home. She glanced at the clock. “Time to dress my hair?”

Mary nodded. “Best not be late. I can only imagine what your mother would say.”

Amelia pressed her lips together so she wouldn’t laugh. Her mother had been in heaven, planning their wedding. She’d insisted on having the best flowers, the most elaborate dress, and the largest guest list. Almost everyone she’d invited had accepted the invitation, although Amelia suspected that was as much out of curiosity as anything else.

Mary positioned a chair in front of the long mirror they’d borrowed from her mother’s chamber. “Do you still want it the way we practiced?”

“Yes, thank you.”

Mrs. Hart had suggested a number of ridiculous configurations, but Amelia had managed to persuade her that taking a classic, elegant approach would be best. She’d argued that keeping her hair simple would ensure it didn’t detract appreciation from her dress.

In reality, she doubted she’d have the patience to sit through the hours of ministrations necessary to achieve her mother’s vision.

She gazed at her reflection as Mary brushed her hair, tied it at the nape of her neck, and twisted it into a chignon. She pinned the hair into place using Mrs. Hart’s jeweled hairpins—Amelia’s concession to a subtle display of wealth.

She smiled at Mary in the reflection. After today, Mary would no longer be her maid. All the years she’d spent learning Amelia’s preferences and encouraging her love of stories would be lost. She’d have to find a new maid and hope that they would be able to get along reasonably well.

With a sigh, she asked, “Are you sure you can’t come with me?”

“I’m sure.” Mary sent her a quick, sympathetic smile. “My place is here, with your parents and my husband.”

Mary was married to Mr. Hart’s valet.

“I understand. I’ll miss you.”

The maid squeezed her shoulder gently. “You’ll be sorely missed too. We’ll have to get our excitement somewhere else if there’s no more Miss Joceline to keep us entertained.”

Amelia laughed. “If I have my way, Miss Joceline will be coming to the world in print soon. If that happens, I’ll make sure you receive a copy.”

Mary didn’t read, but Mrs. White did, and Amelia was certain the motherly housekeeper wouldn’t mind reading aloud for the others.

There was a knock on the door, and someone entered. Amelia didn’t turn her head, wary of ruining her hair, but based on the light and purposeful footsteps, she guessed it was her mother.

“Oh, good. You’re almost ready for the dress.” A floorboard creaked as Mrs. Hart crossed the room to the wardrobe.

Mary inserted the last pin into Amelia’s hair and examined her with a critical eye. “Is she acceptable, ma’am?”

Her mother approached, her reflection appearing at Amelia’s side. “She’ll do.”

Amelia stood and turned away from the mirror. Mrs. Hart had opened the wardrobe door to reveal her wedding gown, an extravagant lace creation with more frills and layers than any of her ball dresses.

Her mother had wanted her to wear pink, but Amelia hadn’t been able to find a shade she liked, so they’d settled on a more subdued champagne fabric that wasn’t entirely unflattering for her complexion. Despite the compromise, Amelia still abhorred the dress.

Mrs. Hart, on the other hand, sighed joyfully as Mary lifted it from the wardrobe and laid it on the bed. “Your wedding will be the talk of the ton. The wedding of the season. No one will outdo us.”

Amelia just nodded. She wasn’t particularly concerned with the wedding. It was the marriage she was looking forward to—or at least, the part of the marriage that would allow her to occupy herself as she pleased with no one to tell her that what she wanted was wrong.

As Mary loosened the strings on the back of the dress, Mrs. Hart withdrew a box from the folds of her skirt.

She offered it to Amelia.“Here. A wedding gift from your father and me.”

Amelia’s throat tightened and she took it carefully. “Thank you.”

She’d never expected a gift. She wasn’t sure what might be inside, but it was relatively heavy. Too large to contain a necklace, but too small for a book. Not that her mother would think to give her a book anyway. The last thing she’d do was encourage Amelia’s bluestocking tendencies.

She lifted the dark wooden lid and gasped. Inside, nestled on a velvet pad, was a small tiara. It was formed of delicate silver, diamonds, and pearls. Surprisingly elegant and tasteful.

She looked up. “It’s beautiful.”

Mrs. Hart smiled. “I’m glad you like it. I would have chosen something”—she waved her hand—“more substantial, but your father insisted on this one, and he’s rather stubborn when he chooses to be.”

When Mary positioned the dress for Amelia to step into, she did so. The maid pulled it up and began to fasten the laces. Her mother picked up the tiara and positioned it on Amelia’s head, shifting it slightly until it was stable.

“There.” She stepped back and looked Amelia up and down. “You are a bride befitting an earl.”

Amelia barely resisted the urge to roll her eyes. She supposed Mrs. Hart had used up her quota of sweetness for one day and had returned to the status quo, where everything was about appearances.

“How long until we need to leave?” she asked.

Mrs. Hart checked the clock. “Fifteen minutes.”

Mary tied the laces and dropped her hands from Amelia’s back. “All done.”

Mrs. Hart nodded. “Thank you, Mary. You may leave us.”

Mary curtsied and caught Amelia’s eyes as she rose. She didn’t say anything—likely Mrs. Hart would have considered it inappropriate if she did—but Amelia could see the silent farewell in her expression.

“Thank you for everything,” Amelia murmured. “Stay well.”

Once Mary had left the room, Mrs. Hart sat on the edge of the bed.

“You are fortunate to be in this position,” she told Amelia, folding her hands on her lap. She wet her lips, looking uncharacteristically nervous. “Once you are married, you must lie with the earl as often as possible in order to beget an heir. You will not be truly secure until you have done so because if anything were to happen to your husband, his replacement could cast you out.”

Amelia frowned. She hadn’t considered that. But the earl was young and strong, so she saw no reason to be concerned. Also, in the event he were to pass away unexpectedly, surely her parents would take her in. After all, she was doing this partly to help them.

“What exactly does lying with him entail?” she asked.

She’d read books that had made reference to the act, but nothing that was particularly useful.

Mrs. Hart grimaced. “He will explain all of that to you. Just know that once he does, you should indulge at every opportunity until you have a son.”

“I understand.” Although she wasn’t entirely sure what to expect. Her mother didn’t realize exactly how cold-blooded this arrangement was, so she had no reason to doubt what would happen.

Amelia, however, had no idea how soon the earl would want to be intimate. She had promised to provide him with an heir, but would he want to pursue that immediately, or would he prefer to wait?

Personally, she wasn’t sure which option appealed most. Getting the act out of the way quickly would stop her from worrying over it, but what if she disliked doing…whatever it was? Once they crossed that line, there would be no returning from it.

“Good.” Mrs. Hart stood. “Let us be off, then. It’s time to get you married.”

As they left the room, Amelia glanced over her shoulder, taking one last look at the place she’d spent much of her life for the past two years. It no longer felt like home, which was fortunate in the circumstances.

Her father was waiting patiently near the door as they descended the main staircase. “The carriage is ready.” His gaze lingered on Mrs. Hart and then journeyed to Amelia. “You are exquisite, Mia. Do you like the tiara?”

“It’s lovely.”

Mr. Hart kissed her cheek. “Perfect for you, then.”

Her heart squeezed. When he was like this, it was difficult to remember why she had to marry Lord Longley. But no matter how loving he was toward her, she couldn’t forget that her mother’s wishes would always trump hers where he was concerned. Because he was the one with the money, he got to make the decisions.

She looked away. “Which carriage are we taking? ”

Mrs. Hart laughed. “The best one. I’ve had it decorated so it’s suitable for a wedding.”

“Nothing like what you and I rode to our wedding,” Mr. Hart murmured.

Amelia forced herself to keep a smile plastered to her face. Sometimes it was easy for it to slip her mind that her mother hadn’t had the elaborate wedding she wanted. She and Mr. Hart had been married in a small ceremony. She hadn’t even been able to buy a new dress for the occasion.

While Amelia might prefer that to this performance, she supposed at least Mrs. Hart had finally had the chance to plan an extravagant wedding, even if it wasn’t her own.

She was barely aware of her surroundings as they left the house and got into the carriage. The drive somehow seemed to take forever and no time at all. Before she knew it, her father was helping her down onto the pavement outside St. George’s Church.

The wind whipped her skirt around her legs. She stood firm against the bluster and looked down at the ring on her finger. It still didn’t feel right for her to wear a ring that had belonged to the earl’s grandmother. All of this was so false. He was marrying her because she was rich, not because he wanted to.

Maybe, if the circumstances were different, she wouldn’t feel like such an imposter.

She straightened her back.

Never mind. Whatever the reason, she was marrying the earl.

She was practical. She could get through this.

She marched up the stairs toward the entrance.

When the organ began to play, Andrew adjusted his posture and turned toward the door. He blinked against the glare of the clouds outside and focused on the silhouette that had appeared in the doorway. He stared at her as she drew nearer until, finally, he could make out her features.

His breath caught, and he rubbed at an ache in his chest.

She was stunning.

Despite the dress that wasn’t quite the right style or color for her, Amelia looked radiant. Her eyes sparkled brighter than ever, and her thick hair gleamed as jewels glittered within its dark mass.

The ache in his chest deepened, but he made himself drop his hand so no one would notice his discomfort. The damned bacon he’d eaten this morning must have given him indigestion.

Behind Amelia, her parents strode down the aisle, their chins high, expressions proud. It was unconventional for both parents to accompany the bride in such a manner, but Mrs. Hart had insisted, and since Andrew had no strong feelings on the matter, he’d been happy to allow her to have her way.

Amelia stopped in front of him, and her father took her hand and presented it to Andrew. He cupped it in his, reveling in the softness of her skin and at how the featherlight touch sent bolts of awareness zapping through him.

She met his eyes, and rather than the wide-eyed innocence one might expect of an aristocratic bride, all he saw in her gaze was determination. He grinned. His wife-to-be was strong. He gave her hand a squeeze, and the side of her mouth quirked up.

The minister spoke in a pleasant baritone, welcoming the congregation to the wedding of Andrew Drake, the Earl of Longley, and Miss Amelia Winnifred Hart.

Andrew had expected to experience either panic or relief at his wedding—he hadn’t been certain which. Yet he felt neither of those emotions as he repeated his vows in front of most of the ton.

Instead, there was a gentle warmth inside him because he somehow knew he’d only scratched the surface of who Amelia was, and he looked forward to learning more.

He did experience a pang of fear when it was her time to speak, just in case she had a last-minute change of heart, but she didn’t falter, her voice ringing clearly throughout the church.

The minister declared them husband and wife, and Andrew held her face between his palms and kissed her. He’d intended to pull away after a chaste brushing of their lips but found he couldn’t. Her lips were the perfect pillow for his, soft and clinging.

He inhaled through his nose, and her intoxicating peppermint scent made his cock wake up and take notice. It shouldn’t be arousing to be able to recognize a woman— his woman—by her scent alone, but it undeniably was.

She swayed closer, pressing herself lightly against his front. Her hands buried themselves in his jacket, and she used the grip to steady herself. They parted, and he opened his eyes a moment before she did.

Her eyelashes fluttered, sooty and dark against her alabaster skin. Then her eyes blazed into his, burning with an intensity that rocked him to his core. The passion in their depths shook him.

And she was all his.

Only a few feet away, the minister announced the new Earl and Countess of Longley. The wedding guests rose to their feet. Meanwhile, Andrew battled to control his eager cock. He could hardly walk out of here with an erection.

Amelia arched an eyebrow. “My lord?”

He exhaled roughly, reasonably sure he was safe for now. He linked his arm with hers and led her back down the aisle and out of the church.

A chill wind buffeted them the instant they stepped outside, and he couldn’t help being relieved. His body surely couldn’t run rampant when it was so deuced cold.

His carriage awaited them, his family crest embossed on the door, which a liveried footman held open. He escorted her to the carriage and helped her in, then leaped in behind her. The footman closed the door, and the carriage began to move.

He turned to her. “You look incredible, my countess.”

She raised an eyebrow dubiously. “This gown may be the height of fashion, but that doesn’t mean it suits me.”

He chuckled. “Perhaps not, but that isn’t what I mean anyway. You are very pretty today. Not the dress or that no doubt priceless tiara. You.”

Her cheeks pinked, and she angled her face away from him. Was she shy, or did she still not understand her appeal?

They rode in a peaceful quiet, both glad for the small reprieve before the wedding breakfast. Mrs. Hart had opted for a less traditional setup, which would leave guests free to circulate. It would also render him and Amelia more accessible to the nosy members of the ton.

The driver took a circuitous route to the Hart residence, and by the time they arrived, many of the wedding guests were already there. Andrew immediately caught sight of Ashford waiting out the front of the building, his stance rigid, expression detached.

The carriage stopped.

“Are you ready for this?” he asked her.

She pulled a face. “Are you sure we can’t just go straight to your residence?”

“And deny your mother her day in the sun?”

“Ugh.” She rose from the seat. “She’d never forgive me.”

He hurried out and helped her down before she rendered him useless by proving she was fully capable of disembarking the carriage without him. She was, of course, but it was nice for a man to feel needed .

“Before we enter, there’s someone I’d like you to meet,” he murmured close to her ear. He drew her toward Ashford. “Amelia, this is my oldest friend, the Duke of Ashford. He’s traveled from Norfolk for our wedding despite the fact he has a wife and infant daughter at home.”

Amelia sank into a curtsy. “Thank you for making the journey, Your Grace. It’s an honor to meet you.”

“Likewise.” Ashford’s cool eyes warmed a degree. “I understand you like to read?”

She snuck a look at Andrew, obviously uncertain how to respond. He understood her confusion. The question had come out of nowhere, and her mother had taught her that she shouldn’t mention such things.

“Her Grace, the Duchess of Ashford, is also an avid reader,” Andrew explained, hoping to make it clear that the duke didn’t disapprove of her habit.

Her tight features relaxed. “How lovely. I would like to meet her when it’s convenient.”

Ashford’s mouth curled ever so slightly, which was as much enthusiasm as one was likely to see from him. “We would be happy to have you stay with us, once you’re settled into your new life.”

“Andrew!”

They all turned toward the dowager countess, who was hurrying toward them, grinning from ear to ear with Kate following close behind.

“Congratulations.” Lady Drake wrapped her arms around him and stretched on tiptoes to whisper in his ear, “You chose well. Thank you for doing this for us.”

He kissed her cheek. “Mother, Kate, allow me to properly introduce you to the new Countess of Longley.”

Lady Drake pulled Amelia into an embrace. “Welcome to the family, Countess.”

Amelia’s eyes flew to his, startled by the physical display of affection.

“Just go with it,” he mouthed.

“Thank you, Lady Drake.”

His mother glanced around to make sure no one was listening. “Call me Brigid. Or Mother. Whatever you’re comfortable with.”

Amelia’s mouth opened and closed. “Th-thank you,” she repeated, then turned to Kate. “It’s lovely to meet you. Would you prefer me to call you ‘Katherine’ or ‘Kate’?”

Kate smiled. “Please call me Kate. We are to be sisters, after all.”

Amelia’s expression wavered. She didn’t seem to know what to make of that. She blinked rapidly, and he suspected she was trying to regain control over her emotions.

“I would like that very much,” Amelia said, her voice hoarse. “I’m eager to learn more about you.”

Kate nodded. “And I, you. Andrew speaks highly of you.”

Lady Drake gestured toward the entrance. “We can speak more later. For now, won’t you come in? Your mother is eager to commence the festivities.”

Amelia allowed herself to be led to the door. Andrew stayed close behind.

Unfortunately, the remainder of the wedding breakfast was not so pleasant. For several hours, they were subjected to the most intense scrutiny Andrew had ever experienced.

Everyone wanted to talk to them. Every single wedding guest seemed inclined to personally thank them for the invitation, even though it had been Mrs. Hart who’d chosen the guest list. More than one person offered well-intentioned marriage advice that made him inwardly cringe.

By the time they emerged, he was hardly capable of stringing together a sentence. Somehow, he managed to give his driver directions to take them home, and then he and Amelia piled into the carriage and collapsed onto the seats.

He stared blindly at the wall opposite them. “I like people, but that was…. ”

“Exhausting,” she suggested, sounding as weary as he did.

His stomach grumbled. He was bloody starving. He hadn’t had the opportunity to consume more than a slice of cake and a couple of tiny pastries. God forbid the groom be allowed to eat at his own wedding.

“At least it will be quiet at Longley House.” His mother and sister were staying with friends to give them a few nights alone.

Amelia buried her face in her hands and groaned.

“What is it?” he asked.

She peeked at him from between her fingers. “I still have to meet your household staff. What if they don’t like me because I’m not highborn?”

They damned well would like her because she was the reason they didn’t have to seek new employment, and he was certain at least their more senior members of staff realized that. Not that he could say as much to her. He suspected she wasn’t as blasé about the reason for their marriage as she’d like him to believe.

“They will respect you because you’re my wife.” It was the best reassurance he could offer. “If anyone makes you feel unwelcome, I want you to let me know.”

She dropped her hands, her lips pursed. “It’s important that I find my own way with them. I can’t have you acting as an intermediary for the rest of our lives.”

And that was exactly why his staff would respect her. She was a practical woman but kind.

He rested his hand on her thigh. “Trust me. It will be all right.”

She sighed. “I hope so.”

When they turned into the entrance to Longley House, the staff were lined up along the front of the building. Mrs. Smythe, the housekeeper, stood at the front alongside Boden, the only member of the household who might be considered slightly snobbish. At the farthest end were the stable boys, bouncing with restless energy.

Mrs. Smythe greeted them as they left the carriage, warmly welcoming Amelia to Longley House. For her part, Amelia’s nerves were hardly noticeable. She was quiet and polite as Mrs. Smythe—a short, stout woman with gray hair and friendly eyes—introduced her to each member of the household staff.

That done, Mrs. Smythe dismissed the staff and offered Amelia a tour of the house.

“I’d like that,” Amelia replied, smiling.

Mrs. Smythe’s cheeks were ruddy, and she seemed pleased. “Excellent.”

She led them inside and escorted them through the ground floor, showing Amelia the drawing rooms, the morning room, the earl’s office, the dining hall, and the ballroom. They moved upstairs and made their way through the guest wing first, finally ending at the earl’s and countess’s chambers.

“I hope Lady Drake didn’t have to move on my account,” Amelia said as they paused outside her new bedchamber.

“Oh no, my lady,” Mrs. Smythe rushed to reassure her. “Her ladyship has used the room up the end of the corridor on the right for years now.”

Amelia’s shoulders relaxed. “Good. I wouldn’t want to make her uncomfortable in her own home.”

“It’s your home, too, now,” Andrew reminded her.

Her smile turned wry. “I suppose it is.”

Andrew gestured at the door. “Go ahead, Mrs. Smythe.”

The housekeeper pushed the door open and held it for them to enter. Andrew gazed around the room, hoping it would meet Amelia’s expectations.

The bed was large, with a rich red covering. The wardrobe, which was against the wall opposite the foot of the bed, was spacious and well taken care of despite its age. Her dresses had already been unpacked into it, as had the rest of her belongings, and those that remained were stacked in bags and boxes against the nearest wall.

There was a small dressing table with a mirror to the right of the wardrobe, and on the far side of the room, beside windows hung with ruby-hued drapes, stood an ornately carved writing desk. He’d had it moved there from the library and furnished with a fresh supply of paper, ink, and a seal to indicate her position as the Countess of Longley.

Amelia wandered toward the desk, her gaze locked on it. “This is for me?”

“Yes. I hope it meets your needs.”

She ran her finger along the wood. “It is… exquisite. Thank you, my lord.”

He checked to ensure that Mrs. Smythe had left them and they were now alone. “None of that. You may call me Andrew.”

She glanced back at him, a smile flitting across her lips. “Andrew is a nice name. Strong. Kind. It suits you.”

His heart gave an extra thump. “May I call you Amelia?”

She nodded. “If you wish.”

“I do.” He moved toward her and reached for her hand. “I know this arrangement of ours is for convenience, but I hope we can be friends. I would infinitely prefer that to being strangers who live together.”

She searched his eyes. “As would I.”

His throat tightened, and he coughed to clear it. “Then friends it will be.” He hesitated. “I’m going to leave you here to get settled, but before I go, is there anything you need or would like to know?”

She nibbled on her lower lip, all the confidence draining out of her. “Uh… will I be fulfilling my wifely duty tonight?”