Page 54 of The Earl's Bluestocking Bride
“I understand.” Although she wasn’t entirely sure what to expect. Her mother didn’t realize exactly how cold-blooded this arrangement was, so she had no reason to doubt what would happen.
Amelia, however, had no idea how soon the earl would want to be intimate. She had promised to provide him with an heir, but would he want to pursue that immediately, or would he prefer to wait?
Personally, she wasn’t sure which option appealed most. Getting the act out of the way quickly would stop her from worrying over it, but what if she disliked doing…whatever it was? Once they crossed that line, there would be no returning from it.
“Good.” Mrs. Hart stood. “Let us be off, then. It’s time to get you married.”
As they left the room, Amelia glanced over her shoulder, taking one last look at the place she’d spent much of her life for the past two years. It no longer felt like home, which was fortunate in the circumstances.
Her father was waiting patiently near the door as they descended the main staircase. “The carriage is ready.” His gaze lingered on Mrs. Hart and then journeyed to Amelia. “You are exquisite, Mia. Do you like the tiara?”
“It’s lovely.”
Mr. Hart kissed her cheek. “Perfect for you, then.”
Her heart squeezed. When he was like this, it was difficult to remember why she had to marry Lord Longley. But no matter how loving he was toward her, she couldn’t forget that her mother’s wishes would always trump hers where he was concerned. Because he was the one with the money, he got to make the decisions.
She looked away. “Which carriage are we taking?”
Mrs. Hart laughed. “The best one. I’ve had it decorated so it’s suitable for a wedding.”
“Nothing like what you and I rode to our wedding,” Mr. Hart murmured.
Amelia forced herself to keep a smile plastered to her face. Sometimes it was easy for it to slip her mind that her mother hadn’t had the elaborate wedding she wanted. She and Mr. Hart had been married in a small ceremony. She hadn’t even been able to buy a new dress for the occasion.
While Amelia might prefer that to this performance, she supposed at least Mrs. Hart had finally had the chance to plan an extravagant wedding, even if it wasn’t her own.
She was barely aware of her surroundings as they left the house and got into the carriage. The drive somehow seemed to take forever and no time at all. Before she knew it, her father was helping her down onto the pavement outside St. George’s Church.
The wind whipped her skirt around her legs. She stood firm against the bluster and looked down at the ring on her finger. It still didn’t feel right for her to wear a ring that had belonged to the earl’s grandmother. All of this was so false. He was marrying her because she was rich, not because he wanted to.
Maybe, if the circumstances were different, she wouldn’t feel like such an imposter.
She straightened her back.
Never mind. Whatever the reason, she was marrying the earl.
She was practical. She could get through this.
She marched up the stairs toward the entrance.
When the organbegan to play, Andrew adjusted his posture and turned toward the door. He blinked against theglare of the clouds outside and focused on the silhouette that had appeared in the doorway. He stared at her as she drew nearer until, finally, he could make out her features.
His breath caught, and he rubbed at an ache in his chest.
She was stunning.
Despite the dress that wasn’t quite the right style or color for her, Amelia looked radiant. Her eyes sparkled brighter than ever, and her thick hair gleamed as jewels glittered within its dark mass.
The ache in his chest deepened, but he made himself drop his hand so no one would notice his discomfort. The damned bacon he’d eaten this morning must have given him indigestion.
Behind Amelia, her parents strode down the aisle, their chins high, expressions proud. It was unconventional for both parents to accompany the bride in such a manner, but Mrs. Hart had insisted, and since Andrew had no strong feelings on the matter, he’d been happy to allow her to have her way.
Amelia stopped in front of him, and her father took her hand and presented it to Andrew. He cupped it in his, reveling in the softness of her skin and at how the featherlight touch sent bolts of awareness zapping through him.
She met his eyes, and rather than the wide-eyed innocence one might expect of an aristocratic bride, all he saw in her gaze was determination. He grinned. His wife-to-be was strong. He gave her hand a squeeze, and the side of her mouth quirked up.
The minister spoke in a pleasant baritone, welcoming the congregation to the wedding of Andrew Drake, the Earl of Longley, and Miss Amelia Winnifred Hart.
