Page 38 of The Earl's Bluestocking Bride
Mrs. Hart pushed the door open and swept inside on a wave of jasmine-scented air. Her eyes narrowed, as if she sensed that Amelia had been doing something she disapproved of, but she couldn’t quite put her finger on what.
“You’ve been shut in here for hours.” She crossed her arms, radiating displeasure. “We are attending the opera tonight, or have you forgotten?”
Amelia glanced at the clock, surprised to see that it was now midway through the afternoon. Her stomach growled, reminding her she’d yet to eat.
“I’m not feeling well,” she lied.
Mrs. Hart looked dubious. “How do you know that if you haven’t ventured beyond the confines of this room? Perhaps a little fresh air will do you good.”
“I went outside,” Amelia admitted. “This morning, for a walk. Mary accompanied me. I took a turn upon returning.”
“Have you tried a cup of tea with honey?” Mrs. Hart was very British in that she believed a good cup of tea could cure anything.
“Yes, Mother.”
Fortunately, Mrs. Hart didn’t look around for the evidence. She probably assumed that one of the servants had cleared it away.
“Please let me stay home tonight,” she pleaded. “You and Father can go together. I know how much you enjoy your outings.” Without her to get in the way.
Her mother sighed. “Are you sure you’re not well enough to come?”
Amelia nodded.
“Fine.” She retreated to the door. “I’ll have Mary bring you dinner.”
“Thank you.”
When she left, Amelia waited until the latch clicked into place before flopping onto her bed. Thank goodness her mother hadn’t argued or insisted she accompany them. Amelia was really getting somewhere. She couldn’t afford to be interrupted now.
She closed her eyes for a few seconds, mentally composing a to-do list; then she sat at her desk and began to work.
Over the next two hours, she wrote and revised a marriage agreement. One that was different from anything she’d ever heard of before.
She ate dinner in her room and then rewrote the contract and copied it so there were two identical versions. Once they were safely locked in her drawer, she called Mary to help her prepare for bed.
“Are you feeling any better?” Mary asked as she undid the buttons on her dress.
Amelia glanced at the door. “Can you keep a secret?”
Mary made an intrigued sound in the back of her throat. “If you ask me to keep a confidence, you can consider it kept.”
Amelia grinned. “I’m not unwell. I’ve been working on something.”
“What?” Mary asked.
“I intend to propose marriage to the Earl of Longley.”
Mary gasped. “That’s scandalous!”
“Only if anyone finds out.” She explained her reasoning and even shared a little about the contract she’d created.
“Do you think he’ll say yes?” Mary asked cautiously. “If he spreads word of your plan, it could ruin you.”
Amelia stepped out of the dress and allowed Mary to slide a nightgown over her head. “If I’m correct in believing he wants my dowry, then yes. I think he will. Surely his need for money outweighs any shock he may feel as a result of theoffer. Besides”—she hesitated—“I get the impression he’s a kind man.”
A liar, perhaps, but not an ill-intentioned one.
“I’ve a friend who works at Longley House,” Mary said quietly. “She says he’s a decent sort. A bit of a rake, but not cruel.”
