Page 13 of The Earl's Bluestocking Bride
Heart heavy, he perched on the edge of the gray-blue bed cover and angled himself toward her. He couldn’t hide this from her. That would be a disservice to her. Their financial situation would affect her as much as anyone else.
“We are not broke, no. We will not starve. However, we have lost nearly our entire fortune.” Guilt swept through him. He should have protected her better.
He had let her down.
She took this in, biting her lower lip, her pointed chin—so like their mother’s—quivering as she gathered herself. “What does this mean for us? Will I still be able to come out next season?”
“We will ensure it happens,” he assured her, reaching for her hand. It sat limply in his. She did nothing to return the gesture.
“If I do not come out, how will I find a husband?” She met his gaze, her eyes—the gray of their departed father’s rather than the hazel of his and his mother’s—gleaming with tears. “Will I have to marry someone we already know? Or will I become a spinster and fade away in a cottage in the middle of nowhere?”
He winced internally, thinking of the country cottage he had, in fact, purchased for her in case she needed it, but which was no longer available to her.
“Don’t cry,” he murmured, at a loss as to what to do with her. He liked to make women laugh and smile, but he didn’t know what to do with them when they were upset. “Whatever happens, I’ll make certain that you are not miserable. If you want a season next year, then you will have it.”
He didn’t know how yet. She would require an array of dresses, jewelry, and a dowry. But he couldn’t bear to see her unhappy, so he would find a way to ensure that she got her season.
He pulled her into an embrace. “Don’t worry yourself, Katie. Mother and I will take care of it. Do you trust us?”
She nodded and swiped at her shining gray eyes, ready to spill over with tears at any moment. “Yes.”
“Then believe me when I say that everything will be all right. Now, shall we get you to bed?”
He stood and helped her off his bed. She’d left a lantern on his cabinet, and she carried it as they walked the short distance along the corridor from his room to hers. He waited until she was tucked beneath her pastel pink bedclothes before closing the door quietly behind himself.
He rested his forehead against the door and closed his eyes, his bravado gone now that she wasn’t around to see. He’d made a lot of promises to her. How could he possibly keep them?
With a groan, he straightened and strode on leaden legs back to his bedchamber. He helped himself to the bottle of whiskey hidden in the lower drawer of his nightstand, unscrewed the lid, and swigged it, enjoying the burn down his throat.
Soon, there would be no more bootlegged whiskey either. He returned the bottle to its hiding place and flopped onto the bed.
There was nothing else for it. He would simply have to find a wife with a hefty dowry.
Tomorrow, the hunt was on.
CHAPTER 4
Mary held up a sage-green dress,and Mrs. Hart clucked her tongue disapprovingly.
“Not that one,” she said. “Put it back. Bring out the white one with the pale pink embellishments.”
“White doesn’t suit my complexion,” Amelia complained. If she was to be forced to endure her mother parading her around like a prize filly for auction, she’d at least like to look as good as possible while it happened. “What about the blue?”
But Mrs. Hart shook her head. “No, the white showcases your purity. It’s a more appropriate choice.”
Good Lord. Knowing that the white was supposed to symbolize her untouched status somehow made her even more uncomfortable than she’d be simply wearing an unflattering color.
Mary flashed her a sympathetic look and hung the sage-green dress back in the wardrobe, then sorted through the options until she found the white dress Mrs. Hart had referenced. As she withdrew it, Amelia grimaced. Must dresses really be so… ruffled? She much preferred the simpler styles.
Mrs. Hart waved her forward. “Go on. Let’s see it on you.”
Amelia swallowed a sigh and stepped into the dress,waiting while Mary pulled it up and cinched it at the back. The fit was slightly tight, but she suspected that was by design. Her mother wished she’d eat less, and what better way to achieve that than by purchasing dresses she couldn’t breathe in properly unless she slimmed.
“Do a turn,” Mrs. Hart ordered. “Hmm. Yes. That’s perfect for the first ball of the season.”
While Mary laced the back, Mrs. Hart studied the array of jewelry she’d laid out on the bed.
“The good thing about white is that you can wear any color of jewelry with it,” she mused. “We can’t settle for just anything, however. We must choose something that properly displays our wealth.”
