Page 51 of The Earl's Bluestocking Bride
She sat beside her and raised her glass. “To your future—and ours.”
Cautiously, Amelia tasted the drink. Her nose crinkled. “I’m not sure I like that.”
Her mother laughed. “It will grow on you.”
They drank without speaking further. She could sense her mother’s pride in what she considered to be a joint victory, but that sliver of sorrow remained lodged in her heart.
Yes, this was what she and the earl had planned, but a tiny part of her that she didn’t dare acknowledge longed for more.
She’d just have to resign herself to the fact she wouldn’t get it. She’d have her stories. Her career. That was all she’d ever wanted before now.
The door swung inward, revealing a man framed in the doorway. She couldn’t see much of him in the darkness, but the figure was too tall and lean to be her father.
“Mrs. Hart,” Longley said, his voice stirring the heavy air between them. “May I speak to your daughter in private?”
Mrs. Hart rose. “Of course, my lord.”
She stole out of the room with the faintest rustle of silk.
The earl strode inside and came to a stop above Amelia. He hovered there for a moment, then lowered himself onto the seat beside her. This close, the candlelight revealed the hint of green in his eyes and the crooked incisor that made his smile so endearing.
“Miss Hart,” he began solemnly. “Amelia.”
He held his hands out, palms up. Hesitantly, she placed hers on them, palm to palm. She shivered. It was perhaps the most intimate exchange she’d ever shared with a man.
He cleared his throat. “I know we have an agreement, but I want to do this properly. Will you grant me the privilege of claiming your hand in marriage?”
She stared at him, stunned silent. She’d known the engagement would be imminent when he had failed to disembark at Longley House. But for some reason, it had never crossed her mind that he might actually ask her for her hand. She’d assumed he’d speak with her father and thematter would be settled. Perhaps her father hadn’t responded favorably.
“What did my father say?” she asked. “Does he disapprove?”
He hadn’t given any indication that he might consider the earl unsuitable, but he could be circumspect when the situation called for it.
The earl gave a strained laugh. “Is this your way of attempting to make me sweat while I await your answer?”
“No.” She drew back sharply. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to worry you. Of course we will marry. That was never in doubt. I was just curious what my father said when you spoke to him.”
He raised her hands and kissed the back of each one, holding her gaze as he did so. She barely resisted the urge to shiver.
“That was a man-to-man conversation. However, I can tell you that he cares about you a great deal.”
Her heart thudded. Even though she knew as much, it was nice to hear it out loud—especially given that she’d always been second place in her father’s affections.
“Thank you,” she whispered.
“No. Thank you for offering me a life raft when I was adrift.” He released her hands, reached into his trouser pocket, and withdrew a small box. “This is for you.”
Amelia took the box with shaking hands. It was delicately carved, an intricate design imprinted on the wood. She opened the lid and sucked in a breath. Lying on a bed of silk was an antique engagement ring, a ruby framed by diamonds and set into a delicate gold band.
“It’s beautiful,” she breathed.
“It belonged to my grandmother on my father’s side. She gave it to me when I was young and told me to save it for my wife.”
Her chest constricted and tears prickled at the backs ofher eyes. This stunning ring wasn’t meant for her. It was supposed to go to the wife he chose.
The one he wanted.
She couldn’t help but feel like his grandmother would be disappointed to see her wearing it.
