Page 43 of The Earl's Bluestocking Bride
Good gracious. Miss Hart really had thought this through.
Amelia.
That was the name she’d used on the contract. He rather thought it suited her. Nothing as plain as Jane, nor as fanciful as Lydia. It was strong, but a little unusual.
He climbed into the carriage. During the drive to Longley House, he tried to focus on the papers that Amelia had given him. The text was very official. Had she written it herself, orhad someone else prepared it? He suspected the former. She was, after all, a very intelligent woman.
As far as he could tell, she had few major stipulations. First, he must provide her with a weekly stipend. He’d always intended to do that for his wife anyway.
Second, he was never to use violence against her. The fact that she felt the need to make that a condition of their marriage rocked him. Did she believe him capable of violence?
He wasn’t naive. He knew that certain members of the ton were reputed to raise their hand against their wife, but that wasn’t him. He didn’t even like to squash bugs unless he had to.
Thirdly, he was not to attempt to control her behavior. This made him curious. At first, he thought it might be a general clause because some husbands treated their wives like servants, but in conjunction with the fourth clause, he suspected there might be more to it than that.
What did she mean by “the husband agrees to allow any and all personal literary endeavors undertaken by the wife”?
Did she intend to start a book club? Write poetry? Or did she just wish to spend all day reading and not participate in any social outings he might arrange for them?
He would require clarification.
Unfortunately, the fifth and final clause required no clarification.
“The husband will employ a new man of business who meets the approval of the wife’s father, Mr. Walter Hart.”
That single phrase bruised his ego until it was black and blue. Clearly, Miss Hart had no confidence in his financial acumen. But then, why should she?
He rubbed his temples as the carriage slowed. What on earth had he gotten himself into?
CHAPTER 11
A sharp knockon her bedchamber door startled Amelia, and she clapped her hand to her chest. “What is it?”
“Miss Hart.” Mr. Grant sounded miffed that she had not rushed over. “The Earl of Longley is asking to see you.”
“Oh.” She jolted upright, almost knocking over her inkwell. “Tell him I will be there soon. Can you please send Mrs. White up?”
“Yes, miss.”
She heard his footsteps retreat, and she quickly tidied away her papers. She’d been working on more of the story where Miss Joceline fled to the Americas, driven to desperation by the fickle attention of a suitor who wasn’t worthy of her.
She looked at her hands and grimaced. There were two particularly obvious ink smudges. She didn’t have the supplies to clean her hands properly, so instead she donned one of her least favorite pairs of gloves—so as not to ruin one of the pairs she actually liked—and inhaled deeply, attempting to pull herself together.
It had been two days since the earl had departed from her family’s house with the marriage agreement in hand, and shehadn’t heard from him since. She’d tried not to tie herself in knots worrying over what his response might be or, God forbid, whether he’d tell her parents about her proposition, but it was difficult not to when faced with such a large unknown.
She steepled her fingers and closed her eyes, doing her best to gather herself.
“Miss Hart?”
Her eyelashes fluttered open, and she blinked as her vision cleared. “Mrs. White. Thank you for coming. Would you be able to arrange for tea and cakes to be sent to the yellow drawing room, please?”
Mrs. White nodded, her cheeks ruddy. “I’ll get on that right away, and I’ll ask Mary to join you.”
She bustled away without waiting for Amelia to dismiss her.
What would the earl say? Would he agree to her proposal?
With a sigh, she strode out of the room. The only way she’d find the answers to those questions was by asking him herself.
