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

Chapter 21

CHAPTER 21

Andrew stood outside Amelia’s bedchamber door, poised to knock. Last night, he’d been willing to believe she’d slept through his knocking—especially if, as his mother had said, she was feeling unwell. However, this was the second time he’d knocked this morning, and still, all was silent within.

The fact that she was ignoring him made him fear there was more to the story than her simply coming down with a headache or some other malady. If that had been all there was to it, surely she’d have sought him out to tell him she’d like to leave the ball, yet she’d slunk off like a thief in the night.

He was afraid she’d seen him with Florence. He already knew she had questions about his former mistress, and Amelia wasn’t one to forget a face or a name. If she’d seen them together, he had no doubt she’d remembered their previous interactions and possibly even asked his mother about their relationship.

He’d never mentioned Florence to Lady Drake, but he had no doubt she knew about her. His mother knew far more of what went on in his life than he’d have liked. The question was whether she’d have admitted as much to Amelia.

He should have asked last night. He hadn’t asked because he’d wanted to avoid drawing attention to Florence’s presence if his mother hadn’t already noticed her, and because he’d hoped his worries were an overreaction. Now, he was beginning to wonder if that might not be the case.

He knocked again. When there was no response, he tried the handle. This couldn’t continue. They had to discuss the matter.

But when the door swung open, the bedchamber was empty. The bed was neatly made, the desk was clear, and only the lingering scent of mint showed she’d been there recently.

Damn.

He pivoted and hurried down to the morning room, hoping he’d find her there. It was empty.

He huffed, frustrated. His mother and Kate were both still abed, so he sought out Mrs. Smythe, finding her in the kitchen, her portly form bent over the countertop.

“Have you seen the countess this morning?” he asked.

She jolted upright, and her hands flew to her chest. “My lord, you startled me.”

He winced. “My apologies, Mrs. Smythe. I thought you’d heard me approach.”

“Never mind. I must not have been paying proper attention.” She adjusted her stance and dipped her head. “You’re looking for the countess?”

“Yes, that’s right.”

“She left the house a little while ago. Perhaps twenty minutes or so.”

Double damn. He’d missed his opportunity to speak with her before she started her day.

“I don’t suppose she left word as to where she was going?” Unlikely, but it was worth a chance .

But Mrs. Smythe shook her head. “No, my lord. She took Margaret with her, though.”

At least that was something. Not that he was concerned for her safety, but she might be upset, and if that was the case, it was reassuring to know she wasn’t alone.

“Thank you. I’ll be visiting the Regent this morning. Can you let me know if she returns before I do?”

“Of course.” Her forehead furrowed. “Is everything all right?”

“Just fine.” His tone was so falsely jovial, he doubted she believed him, but she just nodded as he left.

He sent for a carriage, then grabbed his coat and hat and headed out to meet it.

“To the Regent,” he told his driver, climbing on board the carriage without waiting for the footman to assist him, although he heard a thud as he leapt aboard.

He gazed out the window. The sky was depressingly gray this morning, much like his mood. He curled his fingers into his palms to warm them and settled into his seat until the carriage stopped and the footman knocked to signal that they’d arrived.

For a few seconds, he sat still, steeling himself. He knew he needed to ask around about Florence and find out exactly what she was up to, but raising the matter would be blasted uncomfortable.

“My lord?”

With a sigh, he called for the footman to open up. He got out of the carriage and greeted the doorman, who bowed low and opened the main entrance for him.

The Regent was quiet at this time of day. Many late-night revelers would still be at home, nursing tender heads. The gentlemen who’d ventured out this morning were those more like Ashford. Or at least, he hoped that would prove the case. He rarely came here before noon himself.

“Are there any card games afoot?” he asked one of the servants.

“Down the corridor, third door on the left,” the man replied.

“Thank you.”

He removed his coat and hat and handed them over, then made his way down the corridor to the open doorway the servant had mentioned. A group of men sat around a table, playing a game of what looked to be whist. Andrew grimaced when he spotted Mr. Falvey among their number. He’d assumed it would be too early for the other man.

“Longley,” Falvey called. “Join us.”

Andrew pulled over a chair. “Deal me in the next time it’s convenient.”

“Of course, of course.”

He looked around the other faces at the table. Mr. Chautner, a degenerate gambler who very well might have been here all night, judging by his bloodshot eyes and drooping head. Mr. Daniels, a smart fellow who’d likely only stopped in for a short bout of socialization before spending the rest of the day in his library. Baron Winthrop, a dapper gentleman with a sharp tongue. And lastly, Mr. Thompson, the third son of a viscount.

“Who’s winning this morning?” he asked, wondering how best to raise the subject of Florence.

Mr. Falvey laughed. “Based on the events of last night, I’d hazard a guess that you’ve gotten luckier than any of us. How come you’re here instead of with the lovely Miss Giles?”

Andrew stiffened. “What do you mean?”

Mr. Falvey took his turn before answering. “Your wife left the Winston ball early yesterday, and you were seen in quite an intense exchange with Miss Giles. I can only assume you’ve taken back up with her, and I can’t blame you. She’s a beauty, all right. I tried to tempt her with a little fun, but she told me firmly she wasn’t done with you yet. Lucky sod. ”

Andrew groaned. It was even worse than he’d thought. Obviously, the gossips had been busy. There was every chance that Amelia would discover the truth, if she hadn’t already.

“You’re stepping out on your new wife already, Longley?” Where Mr. Falvey’s voice had been full of admiration, Mr. Daniels’s was disapproving. “The ink isn’t even dry on your marriage certificate.”

“I’m not.” Andrew glanced at Chautner’s half-drunk brandy, wondering whether he’d notice if it vanished. He could use a bloody drink. “Miss Giles should not have approached me in public like that. I don’t have any sort of attachment to her, nor do I intend to form one. I’m quite enjoying married life.”

Falvey snorted. “You’d better be careful or you’ll become as tiringly proper as Ashford.”

Mr. Thompson dealt Andrew a hand.

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” Andrew said, ignoring the fact that it certainly hadn’t been intended as such. “Ashford is my closest friend, and I admire the man greatly.”

Falvey shook his head. “Another good man falls afoul of marital bliss. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

“I don’t think anyone here can claim you haven’t warned them,” Winthrop muttered. “One would think you’re utterly besieged by marriage-minded mamas and giggling misses, the way you go on.”

The two men traded barbs for a few minutes until they settled into the game.

Andrew only stayed long enough not to make it obvious that he’d been on an information-gathering mission before he said his goodbyes and departed. He’d just crawled out of a bad financial situation and had no desire to tempt fate by betting on card games.

When he arrived home, Mrs. Smythe quietly let him know that Amelia had returned only a few minutes earlier and could be found in the library. He headed straight there, wanting to reduce her opportunity to escape unnoticed.

Gray light streamed through the windows, and the air smelled faintly musty. He made a mental note to ask Mrs. Smythe to air it out at the next suitable opportunity.

Amelia was stretched comfortably along a sofa in front of the window, reading a book he hadn’t seen before. Perhaps she’d been to the bookshop. When she saw him, she swung her legs off the cushion and placed her book face down on the table.

“Don’t trouble yourself to stand,” he said, all too aware of how stiff he sounded. “I’ll join you.”

She bit her lower lip. “I’m happy to go elsewhere. I don’t want to intrude on your privacy.”

“If you were to go elsewhere, then I’d have to follow,” he told her. “I’m here to speak with you.”

“Oh.” She seemed uncertain how to react. “I’m sorry for disappearing last night. A headache came on quite suddenly, and I couldn’t bear the noise.”

He stalked toward her, noting the slight flare of her nostrils and the widening of her eyes. “Is that what happened?”

“Yes.” She raised her chin. “I’m feeling much improved now, though.”

He sat on the end of the sofa and crossed his legs. “You see, I was afraid that perhaps someone had said something to make you uncomfortable.”

Something flickered across her expression, but it was gone so fast, he couldn’t put his finger on exactly what it was.

“What would anyone have said to make me uncomfortable?” she asked with an edge of defiance.

His heart sank. Someone had said something. Either that, or she’d noticed his preoccupation with Florence. He couldn’t forget how observant she was.

Internally, he debated what to say. He’d prefer not to come straight out with it, but ignoring the matter wouldn’t help either. If he didn’t tell her where things stood, then she was free to wonder, and he already knew she had quite the imagination.

He reached for her hand, grateful when she let him take it. “Perhaps someone might have mentioned my… friendship… with Miss Giles?”

The corners of her mouth tightened. “Your ‘friendship’ with Miss Giles is none of my concern.”

His gut clenched. Did she really believe that?

“You aren’t breaking our agreement,” she continued, gazing somewhere past his shoulder. “You’re allowed to conduct your private affairs however you see fit.”

He felt a pang. Perhaps he wasn’t breaking their agreement, but she was breaking his heart. “Would you really not care if I had a mistress?”

She pulled her hand away and clasped it on her lap with her other one. “It’s not my place to have an opinion.” Her voice was thick with emotion, making a liar of her. “However, I would appreciate it if you’d refrain from flaunting her—or any future mistress—in front of the ton. I don’t deserve to be humiliated in such a way.”

He struggled to draw a breath, instinctively reaching for her again, but she pulled back, creating more distance between them.

“I’m sorry.” He wished he could take her into his arms. She was right. She deserved better than the scene that he and Florence had created last night. “I’m so sorry. I swear to you, she and I are no longer together. I haven’t been with her since I met you, but she was upset when I ended things, so she’s lashing out however she can.”

Her breath hitched, and she raised her eyes to his. “You aren’t…? ”

“No.” He shook his head emphatically. “I don’t want her. I only want you.”

For a moment, the tension left her, but then her lips thinned. “For how long?”

He frowned. “I beg your pardon?”

Her teeth scraped over her lower lip, and she tucked her hair behind her ear. “For now, I’m a novelty, but eventually, you’ll tire of me.”

“I sincerely doubt that will happen.” Not with how obsessed he’d become with his wife. The thought of touching another woman made him ill. Why would he want or need anyone else when there was so much left for him to discover about Amelia? So many facets of her yet to explore.

“It will.” Her tone brooked no argument. “At some point.”

He leaned forward. “I don’t think you’re being fair. You can’t possibly know how I’ll feel or what I’ll want before I even know that myself.”

“Perhaps not.” She stood and walked to the window, standing framed by the light with her back to him. “But I’d like to be alone now, please.”

The clock ticked. Amelia clung to her skirts, her heart hammering wildly despite her calm exterior. She was terrified that Andrew would refuse, and then she’d have to continue to hold herself together when everything inside her was crumbling.

Thankfully, he murmured, “Very well,” and excused himself.

The instant the door clicked shut, she blinked, and a tear trickled from the corner of her eye and skated down her cheek. Another followed, and she released a shuddering breath. She forced herself to remain silent. If she made a sound, there was every chance he’d return.

She tiptoed to the sofa and flopped onto it, resting her head on its arm and closing her eyes as her tears continued to fall.

“Do not dwell on it,” she hissed at herself.

She shouldn’t be so upset. She’d never expected love from her husband, and even when she’d suggested their arrangement, she’d known there was a strong possibility he’d be unfaithful. Andrew was right about one thing. It wasn’t fair for her to feel this way. Especially when she’d never been under any illusion about what this marriage was.

And all right, perhaps Andrew had told the truth about his arrangement with Miss Giles, and it truly was over, but for some reason, that didn’t calm her.

Miss Giles was beautiful. She was brave and bold and many, many things that Amelia wasn’t.

If she was the type of woman to appeal to Andrew, then Amelia would have to admit that all the passion and desire she’d experienced toward him could never be fully reciprocated. Not when she was so different from the type of woman he chose to dally with when he wasn’t backed into a corner by his financial obligations.

Perhaps he was genuinely fond of Amelia, but she would always be the wife he’d had to marry, not one he’d chosen because he wanted her.

That hurt.

“Amelia?”

She jerked upright, swiping at her tear-stained cheeks. Kate stood in the doorway, her brow wrinkled with concern. Amelia had been so consumed by self-pity that she hadn’t heard the door open.

“What’s wrong?” Kate asked, padding inside and closing the door behind herself. “Why are you upset?”

Amelia deflated. She’d never get away with pretending to be fine after what Kate had witnessed. “It’s nothing.”

Kate arched an eyebrow. Her hair—a few shades lighter than Andrew’s—bounced around her shoulders as she crossed the room and perched on the other arm of the sofa.

“If it were nothing, you wouldn’t be in tears.”

Amelia exhaled sharply. “You are persistent, aren’t you?”

Kate crossed her ankles and propped her chin on her hand. “Only when it matters.”

“Fine.” Clearly she wouldn’t be getting rid of Kate without telling her something. “But I fear that you’ll either think me foolish or be angry with your brother.”

“Ah.” Understanding dawned in her gray eyes. “My brother has behaved foolishly.”

“Not exactly. He—”

“Say no more.” Kate held her hand up to cut Amelia off. “Shall we go shopping and charge the bill back to him?”

Amelia’s stomach squeezed. No matter how well-intentioned the offer may be, all it did was remind her of why Andrew had married her. So his sister and mother would be able to shop if they wished to. So Kate could have a season. Not because he was suddenly and unexpectedly smitten by an ink-stained bluestocking.

“I don’t think that would make me feel any better,” Amelia admitted.

“Hmm.” Kate tapped her chin thoughtfully. “What would?”

Amelia cocked her head, considering. Anything related to Andrew was off-limits, as was anything that required money. But there was one thing she knew she could safely focus on.

“Would you like to hear about the book I’m currently working on?” she asked.

Kate brightened. “The second one about Miss Joceline?”

“Yes.” She nibbled her lip, uncertain what Kate’s response would be. She certainly didn’t adore books as Amelia did, but she hadn’t shown a disdain for reading either, and she’d happily listened to Amelia go on about her first book.

“I’d love to,” Kate said, shuffling down onto the sofa cushion and making herself comfortable. “Tell me all about it.”

So Amelia did, starting with the end of the first book and carrying on to Joceline’s more recent adventures.

“I can’t help but feel that this fickle suitor of Joceline’s may be somewhat inspired by my brother,” Kate observed, far more astutely than Amelia had expected.

She flushed, embarrassed to have been caught out. Hopefully no one else would notice. “Not exactly, but….”

Kate patted her hand. “Andrew may be a dolt at times, but he’s a good man. If you’re honest with him about whatever he’s done to upset you, I’m sure he will do his best to put it right.”

Amelia forced herself to smile. “Perhaps.”

Or perhaps if he found out that her feelings for him had grown beyond what they ought to be, he’d break her heart in a thousand tiny ways. It would never be intentional. He wasn’t a cruel person. But wounds stung regardless of whether they were inflicted purposefully, and there was only so much a heart could take.

Hers had, unfortunately, attached itself to Andrew. She could only hope he never realized it.