Page 18 of The Earl's Bluestocking Bride
“I was in mourning,” he said, “but I am finally ready to move on.”
Ah, yes.
His late wife.
One of three late wives.
Amelia had no desire to become the fourth. At what point would the man admit that he might be the problem?
“How old are you?” he asked.
“Twenty-one, Your Grace.” She’d had her first season slightly later than most debutantes because her mother wanted to ensure she could integrate as successfully as possible, having come from such a different background.
“Very good.” His hand wandered lower again.
Amelia trod on his foot. “Oh, I’m sorry. I was distracted.”
His hand returned to its former, slightly too low, position, and he bared his teeth in an approximation of a smile. “I expect you had less formal dance training than most chits.”
She pretended not to understand the barb. He was trying to remind her of her place, which was lesser than the aristocracy.
They didn’t speak for the remainder of the dance. As soon as possible, Amelia disentangled herself from him. She hurried to the drinks table, claimed a glass of lemonade, andforced herself not to gulp down the tart liquid in the unladylike way she wanted to.
She looked around and couldn’t see her mother. In need of a brief respite, she ducked behind an arrangement of shrubbery intended as decoration. There was a tickle in her nose, and she rubbed the side of it, thinking longingly of the chair in the corner of her bedchamber. She would so much rather be curled up there with a book.
“I say,” a cultured male voice inquired from a few feet away. “Pray tell, who are you hiding from behind the shrubbery?”
CHAPTER 5
Andrew studied the strange woman,intrigued. She stared back at him with wide eyes the color of the sky on a clear summer’s day. He’d been looking for her ever since speaking with her mother, but securing an invitation to meet Miss Hart had proven much simpler than actually locating the chit.
He’d never expected to find her behind the shrubbery.
“S-sir.” She straightened and smoothed her free hand down the front of her dress. Something fascinating flashed through her eyes. “I was not hiding. I was merely… rearranging the greenery.”
He chuckled, enchanted by the little liar. “There are servants for that.”
Surely, she was used to having servants around. A man as rich as her father must have dozens of them.
Miss Hart raised her pert, slightly pointed nose. “I enjoy horticulture.”
“You do?” he asked, amused.
“Yes.” She sounded very uncertain. “It is a hobby of mine.”
Entertained as he was by her falsehoods, he needed to know what she was doing over here.
He took two steps toward her, ensuring that no one would be able to overhear their conversation. “Did someone upset you?”
She sighed and squeezed those bright eyes shut, only for them to flutter open a moment later. “This”—she gestured at their surroundings—“is quite a change of pace for me. I simply needed a moment alone to gather my thoughts.”
Guilt flashed through him. While he’d never been one to get overwhelmed by social events, Ashford was, so he was familiar with how debilitating it could be. She’d sought out a few seconds of peace, and he’d intruded like a clumsy oaf.
“My apologies for the interruption. If you need a while longer, I can stand guard and ensure no one approaches.” It was the best peace offering he could think of, especially considering that he didn’t wish to alienate Miss Hart.
It was refreshing to speak with a woman who wasn’t either simpering at everything he said or too intimidated to respond.
She cocked her head. “I appreciate the offer, but I do believe it would be most improper. After all, we haven’t even been introduced.”
