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

Chapter 26

CHAPTER 26

Amelia picked up the book and flipped through its pages, realizing too late that it was a romance. Sweet dialogue blurred in front of her eyes as tears filled them.

Even here, in a place that should be a sanctuary, she couldn’t escape love.

“Excuse me, my lady,” the proprietress, Mrs. Babbington, said, touching Amelia’s shoulder. “Are you all right? You seem upset.”

“Ugh, I am fine,” Amelia said. “I think I got some dust in my eye.”

“I am so sorry to hear that.” Mrs. Babbington hesitated. “I find when I get dust in my eye, it sometimes feels better if I talk about it with someone. Do you think that might also be the case for you?”

Amelia sniffled. “There’s nothing to talk about.”

“Hmm. Maybe so. How is your book coming along?”

Amelia dabbed the corners of her eyes. “I finished another story.”

“Very good. I look forward to reading it. Have you sent it to the publisher?”

Amelia nodded .

Mrs. Babbington’s lips firmed. “Did they turn you down?”

“I haven’t heard back yet.” Although she did have to wonder whether publishers listened to rumors. Would this knock to her reputation damage her ability to publish her stories?

Surely not. Plenty of writers were controversial characters or not part of high society.

“So, perhaps it’s man trouble that brings you here?” Mrs. Babbington suggested.

Amelia’s instinctive response was to say no, but part of her thought it might be nice to have someone to listen.

“Yes,” she whispered.

Mrs. Babbington tutted. “Why don’t you come into the back room with me? We can have a glass of sherry, and you can tell me what’s on your mind.”

A laugh burst from Amelia, unbidden. “Sherry?” she asked. “At this time of day?”

Mrs. Babbington smiled warmly. “When affairs of the heart are involved, it’s never too early for sherry.”

“That’s a philosophy I can agree with.”

“Come with me, then.”

Amelia followed her down the aisle of books, breathing in the smell of old and new paper. There was just something about the scent that reminded her of possibility. There were so many stories waiting to be read, tales waiting to be told, and she wanted to explore them all.

Mrs. Babbington guided her around the counter and through a door that led into the back of the shop. There was a desk against one wall, a small, enclosed fire for heating tea, and a pair of comfortable armchairs at the far end.

“Have a seat.” Mrs. Babbington gestured toward the armchairs. “I’ll just pour us a drink.”

Amelia crossed the room and lowered herself onto one of the armchairs. The padding was soft and squishy, and although it had a faint musty odor, she could imagine being curled up there with a book for hours.

Mrs. Babbington retrieved a bottle of sherry from inside a drawer beneath the desk, along with two small glasses. She half filled each glass, pushed the cork back into the sherry bottle, and tucked it back into its place beneath the desk.

She carried the glasses to the armchairs and offered one to Amelia, who accepted the glass gratefully and inhaled the sweet aroma. Mrs. Babbington drank, and, cautiously, Amelia did the same.

“It’s all right,” she said, savoring the slight bite. “Better than the last time I tried it.”

“I like it.” Mrs. Babbington sat on the other armchair and crossed her legs. “Do you want to talk about what’s happened, or would you prefer to rail about men in general?”

Amelia couldn’t help smiling. “I’ve never had a friend to talk about men with before. I haven’t spent much time with women my own age. Honestly, the closest thing I have to a friend is probably my husband’s sister, and I can’t really discuss my problems with her.”

“No.” Mrs. Babbington chuckled. “I don’t suppose you can.”

Amelia gulped down a mouthful of sherry and grimaced. “My husband married me for money. That’s what it all boils down to.”

“So, why has this upset you today? It doesn’t seem as if it was a shock to you, and from what I saw of your interaction with the earl, you get along well enough.”

“We do,” Amelia agreed. “Honestly, that’s half the problem. It’s my fault. I’ve gone and fallen for him somewhere along the way, but he hasn’t done the same.”

Haltingly, she explained the beginning of her relationship with Andrew, their marriage, and, without going into too much detail, everything that had happened since. Mrs. Babbington listened without any judgment in her expression .

When Amelia finished, Mrs. Babbington sipped her sherry again and said, “Would you like my opinion?”

Amelia vacillated for a moment. It was nice to just be listened to, and she feared that if Mrs. Babbington gave her opinion, it may not be to Amelia’s liking. But perhaps honesty was what she needed, so she nodded.

Mrs. Babbington straightened her shoulders. “What I’ve learned from my years of marriage is that men, no matter how well-intentioned, are fools when it comes to the women they care about. I believe that the earl cares for you. I could see it when you visited my bookshop together. I also have no doubt that he means well. He just… well, he made a bit of a mess of things, didn’t he?”

A thud sounded inside the shop, stealing their attention, and then footsteps tapped on the wooden floor. They were light—possibly a woman’s—and they were approaching the counter at a rapid clip.

Mrs. Babbington tossed back the rest of her sherry and rose. “I had best go see who that is.”

Amelia started to get up, too, but the proprietress motioned for her to stay put.

“I’ll return soon,” she said. “You stay right here. If I take a while, you can find books in the cupboard beneath the desk to occupy yourself with.”

Amelia looked around as Mrs. Babbington left. She had to admit to being a little bit jealous of the other woman. While Amelia may have had an incredibly privileged upbringing in terms of money, she had never been able to indulge her love of books quite as openly as she’d have liked to.

Mrs. Babbington, on the other hand, got to be surrounded by books every day.

She wondered whether the bookshop belonged to Mr. Babbington or if it was all Mrs. Babbington’s. Plenty of women had jobs—she knew that just from looking within her own household—but no one ever talked about female shop owners or merchants. Women weren’t “supposed” to own businesses. Their husbands were.

She heard voices through the open door and strained her ears to make out whatever was being said. She couldn’t decipher individual words, but she could tell that Mrs. Babbington’s customer was indeed a woman.

More conversation was exchanged, then footsteps approached. A woman in a dark blue day dress swept into the room behind the counter, her hazel eyes already seeking out Amelia.

She jolted upright. “Brigid?”

Lady Drake’s sharp gaze took in the sherry glasses, and her lips quirked. “This looks like a good time. May I join you?”

Amelia knew she ought to stand, but her legs were shaking. She felt like a little girl who’d been caught doing something she shouldn’t.

“I’m s-sorry,” she stuttered. “I know this isn’t entirely proper. I—”

“Balderdash,” Lady Drake said bluntly. “Some days, sherry and friendly company are the most proper solutions to our problems. So, can I join you?”

“Of course you may,” Mrs. Babbington answered for her. “Shall I pour you a glass?”

“Please do.”

Lady Drake sank onto the armchair that Mrs. Babbington had vacated. The proprietress left the room and was back a moment later with a wooden chair. She positioned it in front of Amelia and Lady Drake, then hurried over to the desk to retrieve the bottle of sherry and pour another drink.

“It isn’t often that I’m graced with the presence of two aristocratic ladies in my shop,” Mrs. Babbington said, carrying the glass over and offering it to Lady Drake. “I hope you won’t mind if I mention it to my husband tonight. I won’t share your personal business, but I think he’ll be quite tickled to hear what elevated company I entertained.”

Amelia shook her head. “I have no issue with you telling him we were here. Lady Drake?”

Lady Drake was in the midst of swallowing sherry, so she nodded and gestured that her mouth was otherwise occupied. When she’d finished, she cradled the glass in her hands and gazed at Mrs. Babbington.

“Am I correct in assuming that my daughter-in-law has confided in you?” she asked.

Mrs. Babbington didn’t answer, instead looking to Amelia for guidance.

“I have. She knows most of the details,” Amelia said. “You can speak freely in front of her.”

Lady Drake set her glass down and reached across to take Amelia’s hand. “In that case, please allow me to apologize for any emotional pain you’ve experienced because of my family using you as a financial resource. You helped us, and we should have protected you better.”

Amelia looked down at their joint hands and shrugged. “I was the one who proposed a marriage of convenience. I have no right to be upset because Andrew used to have a mistress. Even if he still did, I never asked for fidelity.”

Lady Drake squeezed her hand. “You’re such a strong woman. But even strong women can get emotionally involved when they don’t expect to. Your expectations and desires don’t have to remain static. They can change. An entire lifetime can’t be anticipated or summed up in a single signed agreement.”

“Ugh.” Amelia buried her face in her hands. “I know. But I’m used to being practical. I don’t know how to deal with this.”

“With more sherry?” Mrs. Babbington suggested.

Lady Drake snorted. “An excellent idea. For what it’s worth, Amelia, I don’t believe my son has been unfaithful to you—or that he ever intends to be.”

Amelia raised her head and blinked, her bleary vision slowly clearing. “I don’t know what to do,” she whispered. “I’m falling in love with him, but I’m afraid he’ll grow bored with me.”

“Do you expect to grow bored with him?” Mrs. Babbington asked, picking up her sherry glass and studying the remnants of liquid inside.

Amelia frowned. “No.”

Mrs. Babbington met her eyes. “Then why do you expect him to tire of you?”

Caught off guard, Amelia just stared at her. The proprietress made a good point. She was trying to predict the future, but her assumptions were flawed.

“I don’t know,” she admitted. “I’ll think on it. Perhaps I ought to be more trusting of the connection between us.”

“Good.” Lady Drake rested her forearm on the arm of the chair. “In the meantime, let me tell you about our plan to minimize the damage done by Miss Giles.”

Amelia and Mrs. Babbington listened as she explained her plan to throw an extravagant ball and then retreat to the countryside, where Amelia would have all the time and space needed to work things out with Andrew.

Apart from the ball, which she’d be quite happy not to attend, Amelia liked the sound of the plan. She could gladly spend lazy days with her new family at their country estate.

“Don’t worry.” Lady Drake released Amelia’s hand and patted the back of it. “You are far from being one of the most scandalous couples of recent times. Has Andrew told you about the Duke of Ashford’s marriage?”

“A little.” She’d heard plenty at the time, since rumors had been flying.

“Oh, the Duchess of Ashford is a lovely woman,” Mrs. Babbington said, leaning forward so she could participate more fully in the conversation. “She came here to buy books a couple of times, and the duke has collected orders on her behalf each time he came to Town this season.”

“I’m eager to meet her.” Amelia finished her sherry and placed the glass on the ground. “I’ve never met a woman who enjoys reading as much as I do—although, I must admit, that’s possibly because I’m not terribly social and haven’t spoken to many of my peers in depth.”

“You’ll like the duchess,” Lady Drake assured her. “As Mrs. Babbington said, she’s a sweet girl.”

Sweet. Not a word Amelia would believe could ever be applied to her. But if the sweet Duchess of Ashford enjoyed reading, then she was sure they’d get along just fine.

The three women chatted for a while longer, but eventually, Amelia sighed and conceded that she and Lady Drake should probably return home before Andrew got too worried.

They bid farewell to Mrs. Babbington, making a promise to call again, and departed the shop. The carriage Amelia had taken was gone, but Lady Drake’s was waiting, a footman standing out the front. He opened the door as they approached.

“I sent your driver home,” she said. “I didn’t see any reason for us to have two separate carriages.”

“I see.” Amelia suspected that her mother-in-law had also been trying to ensure that she didn’t flee before they had a chance to speak.

Lady Drake gave her a knowing smile. “Climb in.”

Amelia allowed the footman to assist her as she did so. Meanwhile, Lady Drake spoke to the driver. When Lady Drake joined her, she sat opposite Amelia rather than beside her, the better to hold her gaze while they talked.

“We’re making a quick stop on the way home,” Lady Drake said. “I hope you don’t mind.”

Amelia cocked her head. “Where? ”

“Madam Baptiste’s. We’re going to commission dresses appropriate for the ball. Something tasteful but meant to stand out.”

“What colors were you thinking of?” Amelia asked. They hadn’t yet confirmed the color scheme. Their plans had gone off the rails when Lady Drake and Kate became ill.

“I like the idea of being bold.” Lady Drake flashed her a grin. “No insipid pastels. Perhaps deep greens and blues.”

Amelia nodded. “Blue suits me, and you look good in green.”

“So I do.”

Amelia considered Lady Drake. It had never occurred to her before, but she was rather young to be a widow with grown children.

“Do you ever intend to remarry?” she asked.

She was certain that if Lady Drake did, she would have plenty of suitors.

Lady Drake pursed her lips. “Perhaps one day, when my children are happily settled. Until then, I’m content as I am.”

They arrived at the modiste, and Lady Drake waited for the door to be opened before stepping down.

She turned toward Amelia. “Let’s make sure my son can’t take his eyes off you.”