Page 59 of The Earl's Bluestocking Bride
Margaret set a hairbrush on the table and stood behind Amelia. She bent her dark head and began to remove the jeweled hairpins one by one. Locks of hair fell around Amelia’s shoulders. Her scalp tingled, and she resisted the urge to scratch it.
When they were all out, Margaret brushed her hair until it shone.
“Would you like to leave it loose?” she asked.
Amelia cocked her head, examining her reflection. “Yes, I think so.”
Here, there was no Mrs. Hart to chide her for failing to appear at dinner in appropriate attire. She could choose to wear her hair down or simply tie it back if she wanted to.
Margaret moved away, and Amelia pushed the chair back. “Before you leave, can you help me into a day dress?”
“Of course.”
The maid assisted her into a pale blue day dress and then departed with another curtsy and a polite farewell.
As soon as Amelia was certain she was alone, she searched the room until she found her copy of the signed marriage agreement. She carried it to the writing desk, which bore a small lock with a key attached, and locked it inside.
From what she had seen of Andrew, she believed that he would honor their agreement and she wouldn’t ever have to attempt to legally enforce it—if the courts would even uphold such a thing—but it was best to have it stored somewhere safe just in case.
Next, she went looking for her tidiest copy of Miss Joceline Davies’s first adventure. She stacked it neatly on one side of the writing desk, sat, and penned a letter to one of the publishing companies she had previously researched.
Her new stationary was slightly different than what she was used to, and she had to rewrite the letter twice before it was neat enough to satisfy her.
That done, she tied the letter to the front of the stack of papers and wrapped them, sealing the bundle with the Longley crest and jotting the publisher’s address on the front.
Then, with as straight a face as possible, she carried the package downstairs and asked Mrs. Smythe to ensure it was sent posthaste. The housekeeper didn’t even question her. She just smiled, nodded, and said it would be done first thing tomorrow.
On the way back up the stairs, Amelia stifled a giggle. She felt giddy inside. Light, joyful, and years younger.
She’d submitted a work of fiction to a publisher.
There was no way she’d have been able to do that as MissAmelia Hart, but no one would stop the Countess of Longley.
Even if the publisher wasn’t interested, she could try again. And again. If she so desired, she could choose to dedicate every day to exploring strange new worlds with Joceline.
Nobody would shout at her if she got distracted at her desk or if her hands were stained with ink. No one would make her feel inferior because of how she liked to spend her time.
She breezed into her new bedchamber, collapsed onto the bed, and grinned up at the ceiling. Her first taste of freedom was every bit as wonderful as she’d dreamed.
Closing her eyes, she finally allowed her mind to quieten. The day had been hectic from beginning to end. She’d been primped to within an inch of her life, had to speak in front of a huge audience, and then engaged in pointless small talk with dozens of people—many of whom knew next to nothing about her.
But this made everything worth it.
She had privacy, blessed silence, and at least a modicum of control over her own destiny.
With more than a little glee, she decided that it was well within her rights to pass the rest of the afternoon lying on the bed and reading a semi-autobiographical adventure novel written by a missionary who’d sailed to the Indian subcontinent and lived there for several years.
When she was called for dinner, she did not summon Margaret to dress her hair, nor did she change into a more formal gown. She took herself straight to the dining hall, only to discover that it was empty.
“There you are.”
She spun around. Andrew stood behind her, clad in a long-sleeved shirt and trousers, without the many accouterments he’d worn for their wedding.
“I prefer to eat in the morning room.” He grinned sheepishly. “I know it’s unconventional, but we have a small dining table in the corner, and it’s much more pleasant than using the formal dining hall.”
A slow smile spread across Amelia’s face. “That sounds perfect.”
“I hoped you would think so.” He offered her his arm. “My lady.”
