Page 52 of The Earl's Bluestocking Bride
“Try it on. I want to see how it looks on you. It may not fit, but we can have it resized immediately.”
Struggling to hide how badly she was trembling, she slotted the ring onto her finger. It fit almost perfectly.
“It’s slightly loose,” Longley mused. “Slide it back off. I’ll take it to the jeweler tomorrow.”
Reluctantly, she did as he asked. For some reason, she couldn’t shake the feeling that the ring wasn’t intended for her, and if she let it out of her sight, she might not get it back.
Nevertheless, she forced herself to hand it over. Whether or not he returned it to her, it didn’t change the fact that he wouldn’t have chosen her as his wife in any other circumstance. Could she bring herself to accept that?
CHAPTER 13
London,
November 1820
Emptyingthe contents of her writing desk into tidy stacks inside a suitcase, Amelia reminded herself that this was a beginning, not an end. This time tomorrow, she’d be able to indulge herself in Joceline’s fictional world for as long as she wanted, and no one would stop her.
Unfortunately, until then, she had to finish packing her belongings and, well, get married.
All around her, servants were folding her clothes into cases and storing her other belongings in boxes. She wouldn’t take too much with her. Only her clothes, her stories and writing equipment, a few of her favorite pieces of jewelry, and a collection of books she couldn’t bear to part with.
Anything else she wanted, she could get later. Although honestly, she didn’t expect to want for much. She’d be perfectly happy if all she did was eat, sleep, read, and write—perhaps with the occasional walk outside for fresh air and sunshine.
Beside her, Mary fastened a valise and pushed it at a footman, who carried it from the room.
Mary put her hands on her hips and looked around. “It’s so different without your personal touches.”
“I know.” Her bedchamber was now as welcoming as a guest room. It no longer felt or looked like a home. She glanced at the clock. “Time to dress my hair?”
Mary nodded. “Best not be late. I can only imagine what your mother would say.”
Amelia pressed her lips together so she wouldn’t laugh. Her mother had been in heaven, planning their wedding. She’d insisted on having the best flowers, the most elaborate dress, and the largest guest list. Almost everyone she’d invited had accepted the invitation, although Amelia suspected that was as much out of curiosity as anything else.
Mary positioned a chair in front of the long mirror they’d borrowed from her mother’s chamber. “Do you still want it the way we practiced?”
“Yes, thank you.”
Mrs. Hart had suggested a number of ridiculous configurations, but Amelia had managed to persuade her that taking a classic, elegant approach would be best. She’d argued that keeping her hair simple would ensure it didn’t detract appreciation from her dress.
In reality, she doubted she’d have the patience to sit through the hours of ministrations necessary to achieve her mother’s vision.
She gazed at her reflection as Mary brushed her hair, tied it at the nape of her neck, and twisted it into a chignon. She pinned the hair into place using Mrs. Hart’s jeweled hairpins—Amelia’s concession to a subtle display of wealth.
She smiled at Mary in the reflection. After today, Mary would no longer be her maid. All the years she’d spent learning Amelia’s preferences and encouraging her love ofstories would be lost. She’d have to find a new maid and hope that they would be able to get along reasonably well.
With a sigh, she asked, “Are you sure you can’t come with me?”
“I’m sure.” Mary sent her a quick, sympathetic smile. “My place is here, with your parents and my husband.”
Mary was married to Mr. Hart’s valet.
“I understand. I’ll miss you.”
The maid squeezed her shoulder gently. “You’ll be sorely missed too. We’ll have to get our excitement somewhere else if there’s no more Miss Joceline to keep us entertained.”
Amelia laughed. “If I have my way, Miss Joceline will be coming to the world in print soon. If that happens, I’ll make sure you receive a copy.”
Mary didn’t read, but Mrs. White did, and Amelia was certain the motherly housekeeper wouldn’t mind reading aloud for the others.
