Page 31 of The Earl's Bluestocking Bride
“Anyone who doesn’t take the time to see that you are more than all of that is missing out.”
Her mouth fell open. “I….” She trailed off, confusion stamped across her features.
“The carriage is this way.” He nudged her forward. She could dissect his words all she wanted in the privacy of her own mind. He didn’t need an immediate response.
Once they were back inside the carriage and trundling along the street toward her parents’ townhome, he closed his eyes, inwardly seething. It was unlike him to be angry, but Miss Wentham had touched a nerve by treating Miss Hart the way she had.
Andrew despised bullies. He always had. That was one ofthe reasons he was so close to Ashford. Children could be cruel, and even at a tender age, Andrew had realized that Ashford needed protection from them. His name and wealth would only go so far when he was quiet and prone to bouts of anxiety.
Andrew had helped him forge a place among their peers, and in return, he’d earned the truest, most loyal friend he’d ever had.
They arrived at the Hart residence, and he helped both Miss Hart and Mary out of the carriage. The double doors opened, and Mrs. Hart glided down the stairs, practically giddy with excitement.
“When might I see you next?” he asked Miss Hart before her mother had the chance to whisk her away.
Miss Hart cocked her head. “You wish to see me again?”
“Of course.” Had he not made his interest abundantly clear? Perhaps, next time, he ought to bring flowers.
“We will be at the Latham ball,” Mrs. Hart said. “Isn’t that right, dear?”
“Yes,” Miss Hart agreed.
“Excellent.” He stepped backward. “I look forward to seeing you then.”
He returned to the carriage, the prickle of the hairs on the back of his neck reminding him that Miss Hart was watching. He gave his driver the signal to move and sat back to mull over their encounter with Miss Wentham.
It bothered him. But why the hell was he so worked up on behalf of a chit he hardly knew?
CHAPTER 8
Excitement flutteredin Amelia’s stomach as they moved on from the greeting party at the Latham ball and entered the ballroom proper. She’d tried her best to deny it all day, but the truth was, she was eager to see the Earl of Longley again.
It was ridiculous, and she was annoyed with herself for being gullible enough to fall for his charms when there must be a sensible reason why he was showing interest in her—beyond simply finding her amusing—but she couldn’t seem to convince her heart of that. It found his attention intoxicating and whispered that maybe he was sincere.
As if a handsome earl would ever genuinely be attracted to a lowborn bluestocking without some other motivation.
He must have an angle. She just hadn’t deduced what it was yet.
Mrs. Hart guided her around a Roman-style pillar toward the dance floor. The room was beautiful, with cream walls, ornate gold edging, and pockets of greenery. A quartet played uplifting music, and a floral aroma emanated from the plants. It might have been overpowering if not for the hint of perspiration and alcohol overlaying it.
Amelia glanced over her shoulder. Her father had already disappeared into a corner, no doubt to chat with a friend while her mother did all she could to ensure that Amelia became the next Countess of Longley.
At least the earl’s apparent interest had reduced Mrs. Hart’s desperation to foist her upon every eligible bachelor of the ton.
Her mother turned to her and spoke quietly. “Whatever you are doing to attract Lord Longley, keep doing it. I’m sure I don’t need to impress upon you the importance of not losing his favor.”
“I understand.” Not that Amelia had any idea what she was doing to capture his attention in the first place. “Should I dance with the Duke of Wight and the Earl of Winn too?”
She didn’t want to, but she’d also like to avoid a lecture after the ball.
Her mother hummed thoughtfully. “If they approach you, then you must, but don’t seek them out. We don’t wish to discourage them, but we also don’t want to put off Longley. I’m uncertain whether he’s the sort of man who thrives on competition or avoids it.”
“All right.” Amelia decided right then that she would do all she could to be invisible to Wight and Winn. She didn’t want to be pushed into a marriage with either of them, and if her mother wouldn’t be upset by it, then the best way forward was to hope they forgot about her.
She kept her head down except for the occasional survey of the room. No one approached them, and she could easily become part of the wallpaper. This was how her last season had passed and how this one likely would have begun if not for her mother deciding that Amelia could obviously not be trusted to find her own suitors.
She couldn’t let herself forget that this was where society thought she belonged.
