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

Chapter 14

CHAPTER 14

Amelia twisted her hands in her skirt, anxious to hear Andrew’s response.

He blinked at her rapidly, obviously taken by surprise. “There’s no rush to consummate the marriage. We can take some time to get comfortable with each other.”

The tightness in her chest loosened, but a nasty voice in the back of her mind whispered that he wasn’t really offering a reprieve for the sake of her comfort, but because he wasn’t attracted to her.

She did her best to ignore that thought, but then another struck her. Her mother would not be pleased if she delayed the consummation of their marriage.

She gritted her teeth. Her mother didn’t get to have an opinion. Amelia was married now, and according to the terms of their marriage agreement, the only opinion that mattered was her own—and wasn’t that a novelty?

She smiled. “Thank you for your thoughtfulness.”

“You’re welcome.” His eyebrows pinched together, and he opened his mouth as if to ask her something, but then closed it again, clearly thinking better of it.

“Has a maid been assigned to me?” she asked.

“Not yet.” He studied her closely. “You can either share a maid with my sister, hire one of your own choosing, or select one from among the housemaids. Which would you prefer?”

She considered briefly. It would be nice to have her own maid, but she didn’t intend to participate in societal events often, so any maid she employed would likely be bored most of the time if they had no other duties.

“Will it upset your sister if we share?” She didn’t want to create any friction between them when they’d only just met for the first time hours earlier.

“Not at all.” He tilted his head. “Kate doesn’t have much cause to go out, so caring for both of you won’t be too much of a burden for her maid, Margaret.”

“Then I will share.” At least for now. She could reassess once she had a better idea of how the household functioned.

He backed toward the door. “I’ll send Margaret in.”

“Thank you, Andrew.”

He flashed his teeth. “You are very welcome, Amelia.”

With that, he left the room, a jaunty swing in his step. She laughed to herself. Of course he was in a good mood. His family’s fortune was significantly improved, compared to what it had been yesterday.

Perching on the edge of the bed, she was surprised to find the mattress much softer than her one at home.

No, not home. Her parents’ house. This was home now.

She wished she could lie back and close her eyes but feared that if she tried, the dress would tear at the seams. It didn’t seem the type of ensemble that would handle much strain.

Light footsteps tapped down the corridor outside, and then a woman perhaps a few years older than Amelia entered the room and curtsied deeply. She was petite, with dark hair and a freckled face. Amelia recalled being introduced to her outside, although she might not have remembered her name if Andrew hadn’t mentioned it .

“My lady.” She rose but kept her eyes on the floor. “His lordship said you’re in need of my services.”

Amelia clambered to her feet. “Thank you for coming, Margaret. I’d so appreciate it if you’d help me get out of this gown. I feel like I can’t breathe properly with it on.”

She turned her back to Margaret, and the maid started loosening the ties. The pressure on Amelia’s rib cage eased bit by bit until the gown slipped from her shoulders. She stepped out of it, and Margaret swept it out of the way.

“Would you like your hair undone too?” Margaret asked.

“That would be lovely.” Amelia padded to the chair in front of the dressing table and sat. While Margaret searched for a hairbrush, Amelia leaned closer to the mirror and carefully extricated the tiara from her hair. She set it on the table, far enough away that neither of them would accidentally knock it.

“It’s a beautiful tiara,” Margaret said wistfully. “I’ve never seen one like it.”

No, Amelia imagined she hadn’t. Aristocratic women only tended to wear their best jewelry for royal appearances or weddings.

“It was a wedding gift from my parents,” she said.

Margaret set a hairbrush on the table and stood behind Amelia. She bent her dark head and began to remove the jeweled hairpins one by one. Locks of hair fell around Amelia’s shoulders. Her scalp tingled, and she resisted the urge to scratch it.

When they were all out, Margaret brushed her hair until it shone.

“Would you like to leave it loose?” she asked.

Amelia cocked her head, examining her reflection. “Yes, I think so.”

Here, there was no Mrs. Hart to chide her for failing to appear at dinner in appropriate attire. She could choose to wear her hair down or simply tie it back if she wanted to.

Margaret moved away, and Amelia pushed the chair back. “Before you leave, can you help me into a day dress?”

“Of course.”

The maid assisted her into a pale blue day dress and then departed with another curtsy and a polite farewell.

As soon as Amelia was certain she was alone, she searched the room until she found her copy of the signed marriage agreement. She carried it to the writing desk, which bore a small lock with a key attached, and locked it inside.

From what she had seen of Andrew, she believed that he would honor their agreement and she wouldn’t ever have to attempt to legally enforce it—if the courts would even uphold such a thing—but it was best to have it stored somewhere safe just in case.

Next, she went looking for her tidiest copy of Miss Joceline Davies’s first adventure. She stacked it neatly on one side of the writing desk, sat, and penned a letter to one of the publishing companies she had previously researched.

Her new stationary was slightly different than what she was used to, and she had to rewrite the letter twice before it was neat enough to satisfy her.

That done, she tied the letter to the front of the stack of papers and wrapped them, sealing the bundle with the Longley crest and jotting the publisher’s address on the front.

Then, with as straight a face as possible, she carried the package downstairs and asked Mrs. Smythe to ensure it was sent posthaste. The housekeeper didn’t even question her. She just smiled, nodded, and said it would be done first thing tomorrow.

On the way back up the stairs, Amelia stifled a giggle. She felt giddy inside. Light, joyful, and years younger.

She’d submitted a work of fiction to a publisher.

There was no way she’d have been able to do that as Miss Amelia Hart, but no one would stop the Countess of Longley.

Even if the publisher wasn’t interested, she could try again. And again. If she so desired, she could choose to dedicate every day to exploring strange new worlds with Joceline.

Nobody would shout at her if she got distracted at her desk or if her hands were stained with ink. No one would make her feel inferior because of how she liked to spend her time.

She breezed into her new bedchamber, collapsed onto the bed, and grinned up at the ceiling. Her first taste of freedom was every bit as wonderful as she’d dreamed.

Closing her eyes, she finally allowed her mind to quieten. The day had been hectic from beginning to end. She’d been primped to within an inch of her life, had to speak in front of a huge audience, and then engaged in pointless small talk with dozens of people—many of whom knew next to nothing about her.

But this made everything worth it.

She had privacy, blessed silence, and at least a modicum of control over her own destiny.

With more than a little glee, she decided that it was well within her rights to pass the rest of the afternoon lying on the bed and reading a semi-autobiographical adventure novel written by a missionary who’d sailed to the Indian subcontinent and lived there for several years.

When she was called for dinner, she did not summon Margaret to dress her hair, nor did she change into a more formal gown. She took herself straight to the dining hall, only to discover that it was empty.

“There you are.”

She spun around. Andrew stood behind her, clad in a long-sleeved shirt and trousers, without the many accouterments he’d worn for their wedding.

“I prefer to eat in the morning room.” He grinned sheepishly. “I know it’s unconventional, but we have a small dining table in the corner, and it’s much more pleasant than using the formal dining hall.”

A slow smile spread across Amelia’s face. “That sounds perfect.”

“I hoped you would think so.” He offered her his arm. “My lady.”

She almost glanced over her shoulder and then laughed. “That will take some getting used to.”

He led her into the corridor and one door down to the morning room they’d briefly paused in earlier. Amelia hadn’t noticed many of the details at the time, too overwhelmed by everything that had happened during the day, but now she paused to take them in.

The wallpaper was forest green with a gold pattern. The drapes were also green, and as Andrew had said, a square table large enough to seat four people was located in the corner of the room.

A plate of bread rolls in the center of the table gave off a yeasty aroma that made her mouth water. A covered plate was positioned on each side of the table.

Andrew pulled out the chair farthest from the wall for her, and she sat. He took the seat opposite. A maid entered the room and removed the covering from each plate. Andrew thanked her, and she left as silently as she’d arrived.

“There’s more if you’re hungry,” he said, picking up his cutlery.“It’s simple fare this evening, since we had such a rich meal earlier.”

Amelia did the same. She’d been served a bowl of beef stew and a side plate of potatoes, beans, and peas. “I didn’t eat much earlier, and this looks delicious.”

“Mrs. Baker is a wonder in the kitchen.”

She waited for him to take a bread roll before following suit. He didn’t seem like an overly traditional man, but it was best not to assume such things. She broke the bread roll open, dunked it in the stew, and tore off a bite. The bread was soft and warm, the stew flavorsome.

“Oh, that’s good,” she murmured.

He smirked. “I told you so.”

They both ate ravenously, without pausing for conversation other than mutual appreciation of their meal. When their plates were clean, the maid cleared them away and returned with two servings of rhubarb fool.

Amelia patted her tummy. She was reasonably full but could definitely make room for dessert. “You are spoiling me.”

He flashed that crooked incisor. “Isn’t that what husbands are supposed to do?”

“I have no complaints.” She scooped out a blob of cream and rhubarb and tasted it, closing her eyes to savor the slight tartness combined with sweetness.

He made a sound in the back of his throat. “You like dessert, then?”

“Doesn’t everyone?” She paused to take a drink. “I’m not addicted to sweets, if that’s what you mean, but I enjoy good food in whatever form it comes.”

He tipped his head toward her. “Just as you enjoy writing.”

She looked at him questioningly, and he nodded toward her hand. “There’s a smudge of ink. I assume you were writing something before dinner. Will you tell me more about that?”

Amelia hesitated. Technically, her letter to the publisher wouldn’t leave the house until tomorrow. If she told him the full truth and he disapproved, he could stop it.

She bit her lip. Honestly, she didn’t think he would interfere. The earl—Andrew—struck her as a man of honor. Besides, it might be best for him to know now rather than discover further down the track.

“I’ve written a novel,” she told him, her pulse thundering like mad at the base of her throat. “About a young woman who gets stranded abroad in the jungle after the ship she’s traveling on goes down in a storm.”

He stopped eating, his lips parted in surprise, his twinkling hazel eyes focused on her. “Go on.”

So she told him everything.

After a while, he began to smile, and by the time she finished, he was beaming.

“That’s incredible.” He shook his head. “I can’t believe I married such a talented woman.”

Amelia’s heart lifted. “You don’t disapprove?”

He frowned. “Disapprove? You’ve written a novel. Do you know how many gentlemen of my acquaintance have talked of doing such a thing? Yet none of them have accomplished it, and you have.”

She ducked her head shyly. “It’s not as if it’s been published yet though. They may not be interested.”

“They will be.” He laid his hand on hers atop the table. “I have faith in you.”

Her stomach flipped over, and the strength of her emotions made it difficult to speak. She hadn’t dared to dream he would react so positively. Was this how it felt to be supported wholeheartedly?

It seemed she had gotten luckier in the marriage game than she ever could have imagined.

The following morning, Andrew shared a pleasant breakfast with his new wife in the morning room. She served him tea, adding sugar just as he liked, and in return, he filled a plate for her with egg, toast, and sausage.

He was more at ease than he had been in weeks as he snuck glances at her across the table. Everything was coming together. Her dowry had been transferred to his account, and he could already tell that they would be well suited together. She was intelligent and ambitious—two things he admired even if he didn’t share the same traits.

She was also rather pretty.

He’d always thought her nice to look at even though she didn’t meet the ton’s typical standards of beauty, but as she cut her toast with a secret smile on her lips and a flush on her cheeks, he’d challenge any man not to find her attractive.

“What do you intend to do today?” he asked.

Her knife chinked against the plate. “The past few days have been overwhelming, so today I intend to do nothing but read.”

He chuckled. He ought to have expected as much. “You should explore the library.”

Her eyes lit up. “I will. Are there any sections you would particularly recommend?”

He squinted, envisioning the library. “The fiction books are mostly along the side wall. The others are arranged by subject. They aren’t labeled, but it won’t take you long to work out what’s what.”

“Excellent. Not that I would mind the opportunity to explore anyway.”

He almost laughed. Of course she wouldn’t. He’d married a woman who was perfectly capable of entertaining herself. She had her own interests. Her own hobbies.

While that may make some gentlemen feel superfluous, he found it freeing because it meant her happiness wasn’t dependent on him. There was no pressure on him to keep her occupied.

They chatted as they finished breakfast, and then Andrew took a carriage to Ashford House. The duke received him in his office, where they were both more comfortable than in the drawing room.

“How is married life treating you?” Ashford asked as his housekeeper poured them each a cup of tea.

“So far, so good.” Andrew took the teacup and blew across the surface. “My wife is quite an unusual woman, but I like that about her.”

Ashford set his teacup on the desk to cool. “I get the impression that she and Emma would get along well. I was sincere about my invitation. When you leave London, you should consider visiting Ashford Hall. I’m sure Emma would appreciate having another woman to spend some time with.”

“We’ll do that.” He didn’t know whether Amelia had any friends within the ton. He’d never seen her speaking with any other young ladies in particular, nor had she mentioned anyone during their acquaintance. “Thank you for coming. I know it must have been difficult for you to leave home again so soon.”

Ashford glanced away, no doubt uncomfortable talking about anything that might be termed emotional. “I wouldn’t have missed it. I can’t deny that I’m eager to return, though.”

“I’m glad you’ve found someone who makes you happy,” Andrew said. His friend had spent too many years lonely. He deserved better. “Before you leave, may I ask your opinion on a few matters of business?”

Ashford leaned back in his chair and crossed his ankles. “Of course.”

Andrew sipped his tea and winced. Still hot. He placed it on the desk and rested his forearms on his thighs. “I will be speaking with Amelia’s father about hiring someone to manage our money, but I’d like to take some ideas to him when I do. I don’t want to just take Amelia’s dowry and live off it. I want to grow it.”

Ashford inclined his head. “You want investment advice?”

Andrew waved his hand back and forth. “Possibly. I have some ideas I’d like to run past you. To be honest, I feel guilty at the idea of spending money that is effectively my wife’s, and I want to do everything I can to make sure I don’t lose it. I refuse to be a bad husband to her.”

“That makes sense.” Ashford eyed him in a way that made Andrew nervous. “I can understand your concern, given what happened with Mr. Smith. What are you thinking of?”

Andrew set forth his plans, beginning with the safest option: mining. Mr. Hart had made much of his own fortune from mining; ergo, it stood to reason that he would approve an investment in that area.

But Andrew was less sure whether he’d consider his second investment idea to be sensible. An inventor was working on a mechanical plow that would not require a horse to pull it. If his work was successful, it could revolutionize cropping in England. But it was a big “if.”

In the end, Ashford didn’t have any useful perspective to offer on the matter beyond the possible benefits and concerns that Andrew had already thought of himself. He supposed he would simply have to ask for Mr. Hart’s thoughts on the matter.

He drained his tea in a few gulps and refilled his now empty teacup with lukewarm tea. “I also want to do something to show Amelia how much I appreciate her. Something that’s just for her.”

“Ah, yes.” Ashford steepled his hands. “After we received the letter advising us of your engagement, Emma and I discussed what you could do to show her that you care about her as more than a source of wealth. The countess likes to read, correct?”

Andrew nodded.

“There’s a bookshop that I once took Emma to. It’s owned by a female proprietress, and Emma enjoyed her time there immensely. Perhaps Amelia would like it too.”

“That’s perfect.” Andrew straightened. “Give me the address. It’s about time I spoil my wife.”