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

Chapter 16

CHAPTER 16

“May I join you?”

Amelia glanced toward the library entrance, where Kate hovered, gripping the handle of a small basket. “Please do.”

Kate padded through the doorway and sat on a chair beside one of the small windows. “Will it bother you if I do needlework while you read?”

“Of course not.” Amelia marked her page with a blue ribbon and closed the book. “What are you making?”

Tucking a loose lock of reddish-blond hair behind her ear, Kate offered a tentative smile. “Last time we were in Suffolk, I painted a watercolor of the front garden at dusk. Now, I’m re-creating the image as a needlepoint design, which will last longer, if I can get it right.”

“I’m certain you’ll do it justice,” she said, debating whether or not showing more interest would make Kate uncomfortable. “May I see the painting?”

Kate reached into the basket, withdrew a leatherbound volume and opened it, carefully withdrawing a slip of nearly translucent paper from within. She carried it across to where Amelia sat and offered it to her.

Amelia’s breath caught. “It’s stunning. ”

Kate had perfectly captured the play of golden light and shadows over the flowers while maintaining a sense of the ethereal, as if the scene had been too beautiful for this world.

“You are very talented.” She could scarcely tear her eyes from the painting, but managed to do so just in time to see a blush form across Kate’s cheeks.

Kate ducked her head. “I’m passably good.”

“No.” Amelia’s tone was firm. “This is gorgeous. You have real skill, and an eye for how to make colors work together.”

Personally, she’d never been particularly good at anything artistic, but she recognized genuine talent when she saw it.

Kate slid the painting back between the pages of the book and gently closed it. “Thank you.” She fidgeted, as though uncomfortable with the praise. “I’ve always liked working with colors, whether it’s painting, needlepoint, or pairing different fabric types for new outfits.”

“You do have an exceptionally smart wardrobe.” Amelia had thought the credit for that could be laid at Lady Drake’s feet—or perhaps their modiste’s—but now she began to wonder.

“Thank you.” Kate brightened and raised her head, excitement gleaming in the pale gray of her eyes. “I enjoy following fashion. Mother often allows me to choose which fabrics to pair, and how to accessorize my dresses, but sometimes she refuses to allow me to select a certain combination because it would be too daring or bold for someone who is not even out in society yet.”

Amelia grimaced. She understood Lady Drake’s reluctance to allow anything that may attract unwanted attention to her youngest child. Still, women had so few choices that she sympathized with Kate’s desire to choose what to put on her own body.

“One day, you will be able to choose whichever fabrics you like,” she said. “For now, you must listen to your mother. I’m sure she has reasons for her decisions. ”

Kate cocked her head. “But once I’m married, won’t my husband make those choices?”

Amelia felt a pang. For so many women, that was true. “Then you’ll have to make sure to marry someone who values your happiness.”

“Like Andrew values yours?” she asked, her wide eyes innocent.

Another pang. While it was true that Andrew did his best by her, their marriage wasn’t exactly what she would wish for Kate.

“A letter has arrived for you, my lady.”

She spun toward Boden, her hand flying to her chest. She hadn’t heard him arrive. She drew in a deep breath to calm herself, and some of the tension eased from her shoulders. He may have startled her, but he’d also saved her from answering a question she didn’t feel entirely qualified to address.

She rose, crossed the room, and took the letter from him.“Thank you, Boden.”

“My pleasure, my lady.” He bowed and backed out.

She carried the letter to the chaise and studied the seal on the back. She didn’t recognize it.

“Who is it from?” Kate asked, setting aside the leatherbound volume containing her painting and sitting on the other end of the chaise.

“I’m not certain.” She didn’t usually receive mail, since she rarely sent correspondence, so her insides were alive with curiosity as she broke the seal and opened the letter.

She unfolded the paper and read.

To the Countess of Longley,

Many thanks for submitting your manuscript, Stranded: Part 1 of the Adventures of Miss Joceline Davies, for consideration.

After much deliberation, we have decided to accept your submission—provided we come to an agreement on some minor editorial changes.

If you wish to proceed, please write back to advise us of your availability to meet and make arrangements for the publication of Stranded.

We are also interested in procuring further parts of Miss Davies’s adventures, if you have them available. We can speak on the matter when we meet in person.

Sincerely,

Mr. Thomas Newton, Editor in Chief

Oh heavens.

Her breath hitched, and she hurried to reread the letter.

“What is it?” Kate asked urgently.

Amelia squealed, gripping the edges of the paper so tightly, they crumpled.“They said yes.”

She could hardly believe it. She’d dreamed—fantasized, really—but deep down, she’d feared she’d spend her life scribbling for the entertainment of no one other than herself. Not that doing so would be terrible, but this was infinitely better.

“Who did?” Kate sounded confused.

Amelia beamed. “Joceline’s stories are going to be in print.”

Other women would be able to read them. She could inspire them to wonder about the wide, wide world.Her jaw ached, and she realized she was grinning so widely, it hurt. Clutching the letter, she jumped up and danced on the spot.

“Really?” Kate rose, a smile stretching her mouth.

“Really.”

She was going to be a published author.

Her.

Boring old Amelia, with rich parents but nothing else to recommend her. It was incredible.

“That’s wonderful!” Kate reached for her, as if to hug her, but hesitated.

With no such qualms, Amelia drew her into an embrace, bouncing on the balls of her feet, her heart so light, she felt as though she could float away.

“One of my stories is going to be a book,” she cried, releasing Kate.

Kate giggled, her face alight with glee. “Congratulations. I don’t read a lot, but I want you to tell me all about it.”

“Soon. First, I must tell the earl.” Amelia skipped away from Kate and into the corridor. She bounded down the stairs and around the corner to Andrew’s office.There were no footfalls behind her, so she assumed Kate had gone to break the news to Lady Drake.

She paused at the door, suddenly realizing he might not want her interrupting him in the midst of his work. They’d been getting along well over the previous month, but she couldn’t take anything for granted—especially not something that would have sent her mother into a fit of vapors.

Just because Andrew had been supportive thus far did not necessarily mean his attitude would continue.

“Come in,” he called before she’d even decided whether to knock. “I can hear you out there. You weren’t very quiet as you came down the hall.”

Rolling her eyes at her own silliness, Amelia pushed the door open and stepped inside. However he reacted, Andrew needed to know. There was no point putting it off.

“I have news,” she declared, her jaw still aching from the constant smile. It hadn’t wavered even in the face of her nerves.

He cocked his head. “Good news, I take it?”

“The best.” She couldn’t resist wiggling on the spot. “My novel is to be published.”

He smiled and got to his feet. “Congratulations. I agree, that is the best news we could have received.”

He took a few steps forward and folded her into an embrace. She froze, painstakingly aware of every single place where they touched.

This was the first time she’d been this close to a male body—other than her father’s. Awkwardly, she circled her arms around him and hugged him back.

His lips brushed her temple. “I’m so proud of you. You’ve worked hard for this.”

“Thank you,” she whispered, tears of joy stinging her eyes.

It meant everything that his support didn’t waver when her dreams became reality. Lord, she’d been so lucky to end up married to him. She’d never have received such acceptance at her parents’ home.

She melted against him, reveling in the firmness of his chest and the way his subtle masculine scent—a combination of bergamot and cinnamon—wrapped around her.

A laugh rumbled from him. “What are you thanking me for? You’re the one who put in all the time and effort.”

She pressed her lips together, fending off a wave of tenderness toward him. She couldn’t afford to feel too much for him. That would only end in heartache.

“You haven’t asked me to stop,” she murmured, drawing back reluctantly. If she indulged in him too much, she’d never be able to control herself around him. “You haven’t belittled me or made me feel like something about me is wrong. You just accept me as I am.”

His family did too. Or at least, they didn’t treat her as though something was wrong with her because of her dreams and ambitions, or how she liked to spend her time.

He pulled her into another quick, firm embrace. “I happen to like who you are. I don’t need any kind of thanks for that.”

Butterflies fluttered in her stomach, and she warmed inside. Why did he have to make it so difficult to remember that they were, at best, friends who’d married for the sake of convenience?

“They want more too.” She couldn’t dwell on her simmering attraction to her husband. “They’ve asked if I have more stories about Joceline.”

“And do you?”

“Nothing quite as long as the one I sent them, but I have a few, and I’m working on another.” How exciting would it be if she had not only one book published but a multipart collection of Joceline’s adventures?

“Excellent.” He looked down at his hands, his expression turning uncharacteristically shy. “I’d like to read them sometime, if that’s all right with you?”

She sucked in a breath. “Really?”

She’d never imagined he’d be that interested in her work.

“Of course.” He frowned as if the question was ludicrous. “You were willing to make a massive life change to dedicate yourself to pursuing your craft. Why wouldn’t I want to know more about something that means so much to you?”

Her heart couldn’t take this. Honestly. Why did he have to be so thoughtful?

“Very well,” she said quietly. “I have a copy in my bedchamber that you can read. I’ll get it for you.”

“You do that.” He grinned. “And then you and I are going to Babbington’s. This calls for a celebration.”

That evening, Andrew was sprawled on a chair in the library, reading Amelia’s manuscript—and being entirely impressed by her talent and thoroughness—when Boden announced that Mr. Fisher was waiting to speak with him in the drawing room.

His gut flipped over. He had no idea whether Mr. Fisher’s visit was a good sign or a bad one. Perhaps Mr. Smith had been apprehended. Or perhaps there were yet more catastrophes waiting to be uncovered.

“I’ll be there momentarily.” He marked his page, placed the manuscript carefully on a small table, and stretched. His muscles protested the movement after being locked in place for so long.

With his heart in his throat, he made his way down the corridor to the drawing room. One of the maids had lit the candles in their sconces, but the flickering light did little to alleviate the dimness. The walls were such a dark shade of blue that they seemed to absorb the light.

Mr. Fisher stood in the center of the room, his posture perfectly straight, a stack of papers in his hands and his eyes weary. He bowed. “My lord, I’m afraid I bear unwanted news.”

His heart sank. “Mr. Smith has not been captured?”

“No, and it seems he participated in even more ill dealings than we were aware of. Over the past week, I’ve received several bills and notes for collection of funds owed that he signed for on your behalf.”

Andrew buried his face in his hands. Dear God, when would it be over?

“How much?” he asked dully.

“Not a lot, all things considered.” Mr. Fisher shifted uncomfortably from one foot to the other. “In the order of several hundred pounds.”

“Damn.” He didn’t know how to feel about that. While the situation certainly could have been worse, this was still more debt he hadn’t anticipated. He’d hoped that Amelia’s dowry would fix everything, but Mr. Smith’s actions continued to hang above his head like the sword of Damocles.

Not that he didn’t deserve it. This hell was of his own making. He should have paid more attention to how his estate was being managed. If he’d only taken a more active role in handling the Longley financials, this might all have been avoided.

“Here.” Mr. Fisher passed him the stack of papers he held. “ I am sorry, my lord. I can assure you that steps are being taken to ensure this never happens again.”

Andrew clenched his jaw and tried to get his breathing under control. There was no point losing his temper at Mr. Fisher. They were equally to blame. Mr. Fisher should have noticed that his partner was involved in fraudulent activities, and Andrew should have noticed that he no longer owned two damn properties and most of his fortune.

“I’m sure you’ll understand that I will be hiring someone else to manage my finances in future,” Andrew said.

Mr. Fisher nodded, clearly unsurprised. “Just let me know the details, and I will ensure that all the necessary documentation is taken care of.”

“Thank you.”

Mr. Fisher bowed again. “I’ll take my leave.”

As he showed himself out, Andrew collapsed onto a chaise and looked at the paper on the top of the stack. He shifted it to the bottom and read the next one and then the next.

Exhaustion settling into his bones as he finished, he hauled himself to his feet and set about arranging payment to all the relevant parties.

Once that was done, he knew he could no longer delay. It was time he honored his agreement with Amelia, and that meant facing up to her father and asking for his help.

He summoned a carriage, donned his coat, and rode in silence, tugging the neck of his coat higher in an attempt to keep his ears warm during the short journey. Perhaps he ought to have waited until hot bricks could be added to the carriage to heat the air, but he’d really rather have this job over and done with.

The carriage stopped outside the Harts’ residence, and he got out without waiting for his footman to open the door. The sooner this was over with, the better. He had nothing against Amelia’s father, but there was very little he’d less like to do than admit his failure to a man as successful as Mr. Hart.

Ridiculous, really. Mr. Hart must already have known of his financial situation prior to marrying Amelia. He could think of no one else she could have learned the truth from. But knowing he knew it and speaking to him about it were two very different things.

Buck up, he told himself. Time to do the right thing.

He knocked on the door. After a brief delay, the butler opened it and showed him through to the blue drawing room. Only minutes later, the butler returned.

“Mr. Hart will see you in his office. This way, please.”

Andrew followed him, then waited while the butler opened the door and announced his presence to his father-in-law. Summoning his courage, Andrew entered.

“My lord.” Mr. Hart nodded respectfully from behind his desk. He gestured to the chair opposite him. “Feel free to sit.”

“Thank you.” Stiffly, Andrew sank onto the chair.

“Brandy?” Mr. Hart asked.

“No, thank you.” He needed a clear head for this conversation.

Mr. Hart’s expression was approving. “Good man. Mr. Grant, please bring us a pot of peppermint tea.”

“As you wish, sir.”

The butler left, and then they were alone.

Mr. Hart studied Andrew across the desk. His gray eyes seemed to notice everything, and his mustache twitched as Andrew adjusted himself in an attempt to feel less like an exhibit in a museum.

“What brings you here?”

Andrew braced himself. “I assume you know a little about what happened with my former man of business.”

Mr. Hart nodded again.

“The fact is, I can’t allow something similar to happen again. I need to know who I can trust with my money and how to invest it to rebuild my fortune. Will you help me?”

Mr. Hart kicked his legs out and leaned back in his chair. “Have you thought about what you might like to invest in?”

“I have.” Right now, he was extremely grateful for that fact.

He broke down his thoughts about safer investments and then delved into the more experimental agricultural technology he was interested in.

The housekeeper brought in tea, and they drank while they talked.

Mr. Hart commended him on his willingness to commit to a more stable option first, but pleasantly surprised Andrew by suggesting he invest in the mechanical plow too.

“Don’t invest heavily,” he cautioned. “We don’t know whether it will pay back. I agree with you that if it does, it has the potential to create a windfall unlike anything you’ll get with mining. But only risk what you can afford to lose.”

“I will,” Andrew assured him.

“As for an agent to manage your finances, you can use my own.” He smiled kindly. “I’d trust him with everything I have.”

“That’s quite an endorsement.”

He inclined his head in acknowledgement. “But well-deserved.”

Andrew stood. “Thank you for your time. I want to provide the best future I can to Amelia, and I appreciate your assistance to do that.”

“It’s not a difficulty.” Mr. Hart stood too. “I’m always here if you need a second opinion on a matter of business.”

Andrew truly did appreciate that, but as Mr. Hart walked him out, he couldn’t help but wonder: how could he expect his mother, Kate, and Amelia to rely on him financially when he didn’t even trust himself?