Page 128 of The Earl's Bluestocking Bride
“Indeed.”
He retrieved the dress she’d mentioned and helped her into it. The buttons were, admittedly, more difficult to do up than to undo, but he managed.
That done, he got her to sit while he brushed her hair. She twisted it into a simple coil, and he looped a strip of red satinaround the bundle and tied it in a bow. It was slightly lopsided but not too bad, all things considered.
They splashed cold water on their faces, dried them, and then he dressed himself quickly before they headed down for breakfast.
They shared a pleasant, hearty meal with Ashford and Emma, their daughter Lilian, Lady Drake, Kate, Emma’s parents, and her younger sister, Sophie. Emma’s twin, Violet, and her husband weren’t in attendance, although considering the previous betrothal between Ashford and Violet, that was hardly surprising.
After breakfast, they retreated to the morning room, where a Christmas tree stood in the corner. The air was thick with the scent of pine, and the furniture had been rearranged around the tree, so they could gather there comfortably.
As Andrew sat and gestured for Amelia to join him, he listened in on her conversation with Emma. Amelia had allowed Emma to borrow a handwritten copy of her first Miss Joceline Davies novel, which was due to be printed next year, and the duchess had spent the evening prior reading.
Emma was enthusing over how much she’d enjoyed it, and Amelia’s cheeks were flushed with joy.
“I’ll be certain to send you a signed copy for your library once it’s in print,” Amelia said.
“I would like that very much.” Emma smiled brightly, and Amelia smiled back.
Andrew exchanged a glance with Vaughan, pleased their wives were getting along well. Neither of them had any close friends, and it was obvious that they’d already bonded over their love of books. He suspected they would exchange letters regularly after the holiday ended.
“I don’t get a season for another two years,” Sophie complained, dragging his attention away from his wife.
“You’re too young to have your first season next year,” Lady Carlisle, Emma’s mother, reminded her.
“It’s all right.” Kate sat beside Sophie and patted her knee. “I’ll learn everything I can next season so I can tell you all about who to befriend and who to avoid when you join me.”
Lady Drake frowned. “I thought you intended to marry in your first season, dear? Do you now plan to have more than one season?”
Kate shrugged. “It might be nice to share a season with a friend, and even if I do marry, I can still support her, can’t I?”
“I suppose so.” Their mother didn’t seem to know what to make of that.
Frankly, Andrew didn’t, either, except to hope that his investments continued to pay off so they could afford another season.
Emma clapped, cutting the conversation off. “Thank you all for coming,” she said, her soft voice rising so they could all hear her. “We’re so grateful to be surrounded by family for such a happy day. We’re blessed to be here and to share it with you.”
Ashford came to stand behind her, his hand resting on her waist.
“Now, the time for gift giving has finally arrived. Shall we begin with the youngest and work our way up?”
“Yes,” Sophie urged, no doubt knowing that meant she would receive her gifts as soon as Lilian was done.
Andrew interlaced his fingers with Amelia’s. She rested her head on his shoulder, and his heart swelled with joy. The sense of contentment and ease with those around him only grew as the youngest girls exclaimed excitedly over their gifts.
When it was Amelia’s turn, he presented her with an elegant black box and watched as she took it from him curiously and tested the edges until she figured out how to openit. The lid flipped open, and she gasped, looking at him with sparkling eyes.
“It’s beautiful.” She kissed him, heedless of those around them. “The prettiest quill I’ve ever seen.”
He felt a silly grin take over his face. “I hope you use it to write many more adventures for Miss Joceline.”
Her expression was beatific. “I will.”
When it was his turn, Amelia went first, offering him a cotton pouch. He felt it, frowning. Whatever was inside was soft. He had no idea what it could be. An item of clothing, perhaps? But it was awfully small.
“Open it,” she urged.
He loosened the drawstring and looked inside the pouch, his confusion deepening. He reached inside, grabbed hold of something woolen and knitted, and pulled it out.
