Page 36 of The Earl's Bluestocking Bride
Perhaps she could. He might even listen.
Her touch wavered.
CHAPTER 9
Amelia’s eyes were gritty,and her head throbbed so much, she almost didn’t hear her parents’ voices as she passed her father’s office on her way to the dining hall the next morning after tossing and turning all night, second-guessing her decision not to approach him.
She stopped and edged closer to the door, massaging her temples in an attempt to clear her thoughts. Her mother was speaking, but for once, she was keeping her tone low, the words almost impossible to distinguish.
“… relieved she isn’t persisting with that nonsense.” She sighed, and Amelia could imagine her pinching the bridge of her nose. “It’s not right for a girl to be so interested in books. It’s much better that she’s focusing on finding a husband instead.”
Amelia froze. Her heartbeat quickened. For an instant, she feared it was so loud, her parents would hear, but that was ridiculous.
She waited, half expecting her father to speak up for her. After all, he’d encouraged her creativity when she was younger. He’d read stories with her and given her advice onhow to improve them. Perhaps he hadn’t done so in a while, but surely that didn’t mean he disapproved.
He didn’t defend her.
Instead, he said, “I hope you’re satisfied with the Earl of Longley as a suitor.”
“I’m ecstatic.” There was a muffled sound. Perhaps some movement. “After last season, I never dreamed that Amelia could hook such an eligible gentleman so quickly. The only thing that would make it better is if he were a duke or a marquess, but Lord Longley has a better reputation than the Duke of Wight and is far handsomer, which makes it even more of a coup.”
“You will be happy to have him as a son-in-law?” he asked.
“Delighted. No one will be able to turn a cold shoulder to us once Amelia is a countess. We will be invited to the most exclusive events. They’ll have to accept us.”
Amelia couldn’t bear to listen anymore. She stalked back to her bedchamber, breakfast forgotten.
She’d known her mother saw marriage into the aristocracy as the ultimate prize, but not once during that conversation had she mentioned Amelia’s happiness as any kind of factor.
It hurt.
She wanted to believe that her parents cared about her future happiness at least a little, but neither of them had given any indication that they were thinking of her wishes, except for that throwaway comment about the earl’s handsomeness, which reflected on the family as a whole, so could it really even be counted?
They’d spoken as if the marriage was fait accompli. As far as Amelia knew, the earl had not asked for her hand. Nor had she agreed. Did they even consider her agreement necessary? Or did they believe she would go along with whatever they decided was best?
She always had before—at least outwardly. Resistance had seemed futile. More hassle than it was worth, when her mother would always get her way anyway.
This was the rest of her life, though. Hardly trivial. If anything was worth making a fuss about, it was who she married. Did they care what her opinion of the earl was? Or did they assume that because he was titled and handsome, she would have no objections?
She huffed, frustrated, as she marched into her room and yanked a pelisse out of the wardrobe. What she needed was a walk to clear her head. Right now, she was too emotional to think clearly, and if she stuck around, she would no doubt say something she regretted.
When she left the bedchamber, she summoned Mary, instructed her to get a coat, and they set off together on foot.
They didn’t talk as they strode along the streets of Mayfair. Mary struggled to keep up, and Amelia’s mind was occupied with how to make the best of her situation. A carriage passed by, and she inhaled, the familiar horsey scent bringing her a modicum of comfort.
She wondered whether Lord Longley had horses. She enjoyed riding, although she didn’t do it often. He would have some to pull his carriages, but did he have a personal horse? Did his mother and sister? Or was he one of the men who didn’t think women ought to ride?
He hadn’t given her that impression, but he also hadn’t given her the impression of being poor, so what did she know?
Not that his financial state was a problem. She just disliked being deceived, and it had been nice to fantasize, even for a few brief moments, that he might genuinely be interested in her rather than her family fortune. Now that she knew the truth, she couldn’t pretend any longer.
She and Mary circled around and returned to the house. Mary, grateful for the respite, quickly disappeared into thedepths of the home while Amelia trudged up the stairs and back to her bedchamber.
Inside, the air was warm from the remnants of a fire, and she sat at her writing desk and began to scribble furiously. She knew exactly what direction she was taking Miss Joceline Davies in.
Joceline, subject to the same emotions as any woman, would fall prey to a fickle suitor. When he let her down—as he inevitably would—she’d pick up her life and move to the Americas. She would take charge of her future. No allowing others to dictate it for her. No struggles with uncertainty.
Joceline was strong. She would take control.
