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

Chapter 20

CHAPTER 20

“Are you sure you’re up to this?” Andrew asked his mother for the second time that night. “It was only days ago you were laid up in bed with a fever.”

Lady Drake rolled her eyes. “I’m fine. Besides, if we’re to host our own ball, we need all the inspiration we can get.”

“I can take notes,” Amelia told her. “I’ll pay attention to the music, the food, the decorations. There’s no need for you to go.”

Lady Drake huffed. “Amelia, darling, you may be excellent at details when it comes to your stories, but social events are not your forte. I’ll be all right. I haven’t had any symptoms yesterday or today. There’s no reason to worry.”

“Are you sure?” Amelia persisted.

“Quite.” She eyeballed them both. “And the next person who asks me whether I’m sure can expect to walk to the Winston ball.”

Andrew hid a laugh. Amelia may be stubborn, but his mother could be, too, in her own way. The two women sized each other up for a long moment, and then Amelia nodded.

“Take a shawl,” Amelia said. “We want to make sure you keep warm. ”

With a sigh, Lady Drake summoned her maid and sent her upstairs to fetch a shawl that would match her dress.

Once the maid returned, Andrew took his mother’s arm and guided her through the front doors and down to the carriage. Usually, he’d escort Amelia, but he worried that Lady Drake wasn’t quite as recovered as she’d have them believe.

The ride to the ball took a while, since Winston Manor was on the other side of Mayfair from Longley House. They joined the line of carriages waiting outside and disembarked when they reached the front entrance. Andrew got out first and helped both women down, then linked one of his arms with each of them to walk up the stairs.

Winston Manor was a grand old building—slightly outdated but in a way that made it seem regal rather than worn out. They passed through a marble-floored foyer and reached another set of stairs that would descend into the ballroom. Their hosts stood in a row in front of the stairs to greet guests.

“Welcome, Lord and Lady Longley,” Lord Winston said. “And Lady Drake, it’s always a pleasure.”

Andrew bobbed his head in greeting to Lord and Lady Winston. “Seems like you’ve got a crush on your hands.”

Lady Winston grinned. “It’s too soon to know for sure, but I do hope you’re right.”

More guests arrived behind them.

“Please enjoy yourselves,” Lord Winston said, dismissing them so he could greet the newcomers.

Andrew stayed arm in arm with both his mother and his wife as they strolled down the stairs to the ballroom floor. On his left, Amelia was slightly stiff, as she often was at social events. On his right, his mother was also alert, but she was scanning their surroundings with interest, her sharp gaze cataloging everything she saw .

As they reached the bottom, a song ended. Perfectly timed.

He released them both, turned to Amelia, and bowed over her hand. “May I have this dance, wife of mine?”

Amelia blushed, then glanced at Lady Drake as if seeking confirmation.

“Go ahead,” his mother said. “I can occupy myself.”

“All right, then.”

They joined the dancers, and his heart lifted as he realized the dance was a waltz. He would get to keep her close, just as he preferred.

They moved into position, hands together, arms around each other. He leaned closer and breathed in her familiar scent.

“My lord,” she murmured, “you’re far too near to be decent.”

He winked. “Haven’t you heard? I’m not a particularly decent sort.”

She snorted. “You have a slight reputation, but nothing particularly scandalous. If you did, do you think I’d have married you?”

“Shh. Let me pretend that my wife believes me to be a rogue,” he teased.

The music began to play, and he swept her around the dance floor, expertly navigating around the other dancers. He kept his hand at a perfectly appropriate height, although he may have been holding her slightly closer than necessary. Surely no one could begrudge him that. She was his wife, and he wanted her near.

As he turned her, a flash of red silk on the opposite side of the ballroom caught his eye. He sought it out, curious who had been bold enough to wear such a daring color, but when he found her, his stomach hardened.

Florence.

“What’s wrong?” Amelia asked.

He looked down at her, caught off guard. “What?”

“You look like you saw a ghost.” She frowned. “Is it your mother? Did something happen?”

She craned her neck, searching for Lady Drake.

“N-no, nothing like that,” Andrew assured her. “I just felt dizzy for a moment. It passed, and I’m fine now.”

That was a lie. He didn’t think he’d be all right until he’d ensured that Amelia’s and Florence’s paths would not cross again.He’d assumed they’d be safe at society events, but he’d forgotten that Florence did have legitimate connections to the ton on her mother’s side, even if her father had never claimed her.

He considered how to get Amelia out of here quickly. They’d only just arrived. If he tried to leave, she’d question him. He could ask Florence to leave, but he doubted she’d do so. At least, not without making a fuss.

The fact that she was here after he’d told her that everything was over between them filled him with dread. She thrived on drama, and with her reputation being what it was, any trouble she caused would reflect more on him than her because he had more to lose.

The dance ended, and relieved, he led Amelia back to Lady Drake.

“Wait here,” he said. “I’m going to fetch us some drinks.”

“Do you need help?” Amelia asked.

“No. But thank you for the offer.”

He wove between people to the drinks table and collected a glass of champagne in each hand. He’d prefer brandy, but that wasn’t an option tonight.

“Lord Longley.”

Damn.

His chest tight, he turned toward the speaker. “Miss Giles.”

Florence pouted her rouged lips. “Dance with me?”

“No.” He wasn’t playing her games tonight.

She cocked her head. “Not for nostalgia’s sake?”

“I said no.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Yes, you did. The problem is, I’m the one who decides when things are over, not you. So now I’m giving you a choice. Dance with me, or I’ll create such a scene that your little mouse will never dare show her face in the ton again.”

He stared at her, astounded. “Why are you doing this?”

It couldn’t be because of any tender feeling she had toward him. She’d been a good companion, but they had always been clear that no deeper emotions were involved.

She raised her chin. “I told you. I’m supposed to be the one who ends affairs. You took that away from me.”

Andrew glanced back toward his mother and Amelia. He didn’t have a good view of them from here, so hopefully they hadn’t noticed who he was talking to.

“Fine. One dance. Then you leave me alone.”

She shrugged. “Perhaps.”

“No ‘perhaps’ about it. Those are my terms.”

A laugh burst from her. “You’re not in control here, Andrew. It’s high time you realized that.”

With gritted teeth, he set the glasses of champagne down and escorted her onto the dance floor. They lined up with the other partners, facing each other down like adversaries. The music began.

Fortunately, the dance was fast-paced, and he was able to keep his distance despite Florence’s repeated attempts to get close to him. As soon as the song ended, he cut a line directly back to Amelia and Lady Drake, but Florence grabbed his arm and stopped him before he could reach them.

“Tut-tut.” Her eyes twinkled with mischief in a way he might have found attractive once. “Here’s what’s going to happen. You’re going to take me back. You’ll continue making payments to me until I decide we’re done.”

He straightened his back. “And if I don’t? ”

“Then all of London will find out how you foolishly lost your fortune.”

His insides turned cold. Among the ton, reputation was everything. He’d managed to cling to his, but if she whispered a few well-placed words, it would all be for naught. Not to mention how upset Amelia would be if people started gossiping about their marriage.

“Why are you doing this?” he asked, at a loss. “You could easily find someone else.”

“You just don’t understand, do you?” She put a hand on her hip. “It’s the principle of the thing. Women like me don’t get a lot of choices. I chose you, and I won’t have you cast me aside for the sake of a plain little wallflower.”

He growled under his breath. “For fuck’s sake, Florence. First off, don’t speak about my wife that way. She isn’t plain, and she deserves respect. Secondly, I didn’t leave you because I was tired of you. I left you because I was broke. Surely that appeases your pride.”

She shrugged delicately. “You are no longer broke, and I’ve presented you with your options. Now, you simply have to choose.”

What on earth was taking Andrew so long to get their drinks?

Amelia looked around impatiently, searching the crowd for him, but Lady Drake’s face appeared in her line of vision.

“What do you think of the choice of shrubbery over flowers?” she asked, shifting to remain directly in front of Amelia when she tried to look around her. “Would you prefer more of a focus on flowers? Of course, it can be difficult to source a large variety at this time of year, but I’m sure we can make arrangements if you’d like. ”

“I have no preference.” Amelia looked sideways, and her heart skipped.

There he was.

Standing with the same woman who’d approached them at the teashop and whom he’d then avoided at a previous ball. The beautiful blonde clad in a scandalously red dress. She was leaning close to him, speaking rapidly.

“Who is that woman?” she asked Lady Drake.

Lady Drake glanced around without looking anywhere near her son or the woman in red. “What woman?”

“The one speaking to Andrew,” she gritted out. “In the flaming red dress. You can’t possibly miss her.”

“Oh.” Lady Drake deflated. “That is Miss Florence Giles. Daughter of the former Viscountess of Bellingham.”

Amelia tried to swallow her frustration. “I know her name, but…”

But that didn’t tell her everything she wanted to know. Why was the woman conversing with Andrew so intensely? Why did she keep turning up? And why did Andrew seem determined to avoid discussing her?

“But?” Lady Drake prompted. Something in her gaze made Amelia think she knew more than she was letting on.

Amelia sighed. “Never mind.”

Whatever she wanted to know, she was better off asking Andrew. She glanced back at the pair and considered approaching. She wanted to know the truth, but she couldn’t quite bring herself to interrupt.

She stalked to the drinks table, picked up a glass of champagne, and drained it in a few gulps, then grabbed another. This time, she sipped more leisurely.

“You ought to be careful drinking so much in public or rumors will spread,” a snide voice said from a few feet away.

Amelia slowly turned toward the voice. “As it was my first drink of the night, I hardly think there’s cause for concern, Miss Wentham.”

Miss Wentham smirked. “You’re rarely concerned when perhaps you ought to be.”

Amelia frowned. “What are you talking about?”

The other woman raised a glass of lemonade to her lips, her expression as predatory as ever. “Simply that it’s irresponsible of you to allow your husband to be seen with his mistress in front of so many people who matter.”

“W-what?” Amelia placed her drink down and patted her chest, her throat constricting involuntarily.

“Oh dear.” Miss Wentham pursed her lips. “Didn’t you know?”

“You’re lying.” Her voice wavered, and she didn’t sound as certain as she’d like to. After all, she had just been wondering about the relationship between him and the beautiful blonde. If she was his mistress, it would certainly explain the tension, and why he’d been so displeased when she approached them while he and Amelia were out together.

Perhaps she’d secretly feared making this exact discovery, even if she hadn’t been brave enough to admit it to herself.

Her heart sank. No matter what she might want to believe, her gut told her that there might be some truth to Miss Wentham’s claim.

“Why would you think that?” she asked.

Miss Wentham lifted one pink-clad shoulder and dropped it again. “Miss Giles is a cousin on my mother’s side. Not exactly the type of relative one is proud of, but she has her uses, nonetheless. She is an excellent source of information.”

Amelia shook her head. She wanted to squeeze her eyes shut and insist it wasn’t true. That Andrew wouldn’t disrespect her so blatantly by engaging with his mistress in public, especially not when they were….

Well, what were they, exactly?

Married, to be sure, and she’d thought there was more growing between them than that, but really, all they’d done was fulfill their duties to each other. He’d supported her and not stood in the way of her career, and she’d provided him with the opportunity to obtain an heir and enough wealth to get back on his feet.

If she’d read more into their situation than was warranted, that was on her.

She turned away from Miss Wentham and blinked rapidly, refusing to let that vulture see the tears that wanted to fall. She felt violated but couldn’t even explain why. No one had broken any agreements. Andrew had not betrayed her. At least, not technically.

Yet, she felt as though he had.

She drew in a breath, struggling to fill her lungs, which were growing tighter by the second. Of course Andrew would have a mistress. She couldn’t possibly compare to the beautiful, more experienced women he was used to. He was with her by necessity, not choice.

Amelia gathered herself enough to cross the room to Lady Drake.

“I’m afraid I am not feeling well,” she told her. It was the truth, even if not all of it. “I am going home.”

“But—”

“I’m sorry.” Amelia didn’t wait to hear her protests. She hurried up the stairs, across the foyer, and sent for the Longley carriage. As soon as it arrived, she clambered in and called for the driver to go.

They rumbled down the street, and her mind flitted back to the intensity between Miss Giles and Andrew during their exchange inside the Winstons’ ballroom. She didn’t want to believe them to be lovers, but honestly… she could.

Their conversation had obviously been heated, and Miss Giles was far more the type of woman she’d expect to attract him than she herself was.

She massaged her temples.Perhaps the situation wasn’t what it seemed. Miss Wentham could have said what she did simply to be spiteful. That wouldn’t be out of character. Or perhaps they truly were old friends and the friendship had ended on a sour note. Although that didn’t quite ring true to Amelia.

She’d have to ask Andrew. But not tonight.

Honestly, all she wanted tonight was to tell the driver to set a course for the countryside and keep going until she’d outrun the bloody aristocracy and all their rules and double standards.

But she couldn’t. He was Andrew’s driver, not hers. Perhaps if she were Miss Joceline Davies, she’d know how to persuade him to save her from this wretched night, but if Amelia was honest with herself, she would always fall short of Joceline’s courage. She’d never minded being practical, but now, she wished she wasn’t. It would be awfully satisfying just to run off.

Although, if she did that, she wouldn’t uncover the truth, and she’d always wonder. She briefly considered fleeing to her parents’ home to put off the inevitable for a few nights, but she couldn’t stomach the notion of allowing her mother any sort of control over her life again.

You’re being ridiculous, Amelia told herself. You never asked for fidelity, so you can’t expect it. Just because you’re falling for him doesn’t mean he feels the same for you.

She should have known better than to think she could keep things businesslike with Andrew. Even when she’d first met him and had been suspicious of his motives, he had been difficult to resist.

She was asking too much of herself.

The carriage stopped outside Longley House, and she rushed to knock on the door before the footman could do it and waited for Boden to open up.

Boden’s forehead was furrowed with confusion, but he stepped back to allow Amelia to enter.

“Where are Lord Longley and Lady Drake?” he asked.

“They remained at the ball. I don’t feel well and wish to retire early.” The lie rolled off her tongue easily.

“I’m sorry to hear that. Do you need help getting to the bedchamber?”

“No, but I would appreciate it if you could send Margaret to assist me.”

“Of course.” Boden locked the door behind them.

Amelia made her way up the stairs, her heart heavy. She let herself into her bedchamber, went straight to the door connecting her room to Andrew’s, and locked it from her side.

Margaret arrived to help a couple of minutes later, and they barely spoke as they readied Amelia for bed. When her head hit the pillow, she hoped she’d fall asleep immediately, but she wasn’t that lucky.

Instead, she lay awake for long enough to hear Andrew moving around in his bedchamber. She listened as he approached the connecting door and tried the handle.

She held her breath as he knocked, and pretended to be asleep.

He didn’t try again.