Page 53 of The Earl's Bluestocking Bride
There was a knock on the door, and someone entered. Amelia didn’t turn her head, wary of ruining her hair, but based on the light and purposeful footsteps, she guessed it was her mother.
“Oh, good. You’re almost ready for the dress.” A floorboard creaked as Mrs. Hart crossed the room to the wardrobe.
Mary inserted the last pin into Amelia’s hair and examined her with a critical eye. “Is she acceptable, ma’am?”
Her mother approached, her reflection appearing at Amelia’s side. “She’ll do.”
Amelia stood and turned away from the mirror. Mrs. Hart had opened the wardrobe door to reveal her wedding gown, an extravagant lace creation with more frills and layers than any of her ball dresses.
Her mother had wanted her to wear pink, but Amelia hadn’t been able to find a shade she liked, so they’d settled on a more subdued champagne fabric that wasn’t entirelyunflattering for her complexion. Despite the compromise, Amelia still abhorred the dress.
Mrs. Hart, on the other hand, sighed joyfully as Mary lifted it from the wardrobe and laid it on the bed. “Your wedding will be the talk of the ton. The wedding of the season. No one will outdo us.”
Amelia just nodded. She wasn’t particularly concerned with the wedding. It was the marriage she was looking forward to—or at least, the part of the marriage that would allow her to occupy herself as she pleased with no one to tell her that what she wanted was wrong.
As Mary loosened the strings on the back of the dress, Mrs. Hart withdrew a box from the folds of her skirt.
She offered it to Amelia.“Here. A wedding gift from your father and me.”
Amelia’s throat tightened and she took it carefully. “Thank you.”
She’d never expected a gift. She wasn’t sure what might be inside, but it was relatively heavy. Too large to contain a necklace, but too small for a book. Not that her mother would think to give her a book anyway. The last thing she’d do was encourage Amelia’s bluestocking tendencies.
She lifted the dark wooden lid and gasped. Inside, nestled on a velvet pad, was a small tiara. It was formed of delicate silver, diamonds, and pearls. Surprisingly elegant and tasteful.
She looked up. “It’s beautiful.”
Mrs. Hart smiled. “I’m glad you like it. I would have chosen something”—she waved her hand—“more substantial, but your father insisted on this one, and he’s rather stubborn when he chooses to be.”
When Mary positioned the dress for Amelia to step into, she did so. The maid pulled it up and began to fasten the laces. Her mother picked up the tiara and positioned it on Amelia’s head, shifting it slightly until it was stable.
“There.” She stepped back and looked Amelia up and down. “You are a bride befitting an earl.”
Amelia barely resisted the urge to roll her eyes. She supposed Mrs. Hart had used up her quota of sweetness for one day and had returned to the status quo, where everything was about appearances.
“How long until we need to leave?” she asked.
Mrs. Hart checked the clock. “Fifteen minutes.”
Mary tied the laces and dropped her hands from Amelia’s back. “All done.”
Mrs. Hart nodded. “Thank you, Mary. You may leave us.”
Mary curtsied and caught Amelia’s eyes as she rose. She didn’t say anything—likely Mrs. Hart would have considered it inappropriate if she did—but Amelia could see the silent farewell in her expression.
“Thank you for everything,” Amelia murmured. “Stay well.”
Once Mary had left the room, Mrs. Hart sat on the edge of the bed.
“You are fortunate to be in this position,” she told Amelia, folding her hands on her lap. She wet her lips, looking uncharacteristically nervous. “Once you are married, you must lie with the earl as often as possible in order to beget an heir. You will not be truly secure until you have done so because if anything were to happen to your husband, his replacement could cast you out.”
Amelia frowned. She hadn’t considered that. But the earl was young and strong, so she saw no reason to be concerned. Also, in the event he were to pass away unexpectedly, surely her parents would take her in. After all, she was doing this partly to help them.
“What exactly does lying with him entail?” she asked.
She’d read books that had made reference to the act, but nothing that was particularly useful.
Mrs. Hart grimaced. “He will explain all of that to you.Just know that once he does, you should indulge at every opportunity until you have a son.”
