Page 79 of The Earl's Bluestocking Bride
“Yes, please.”
He escorted her to the drinks table, and she’d just picked up a glass when her mother appeared out of nowhere.
“Amelia!” She beamed. “I was wondering if I could steal your husband away for a dance?”
Andrew met Amelia’s gaze and arched an eyebrow. She nodded, and he took her mother’s arm.
“I’d be honored, Mrs. Hart. Shall we?”
Amelia sipped champagne as she watched them go. She wanted to be annoyed by her mother’s obvious inclination to use her connection to Andrew to further her social climbing, but she could hardly bear her too much ill will when the situation had worked out well for her thus far. Perhaps if she’d been married off to the Duke of Wight, she’d feel differently, but she’d been lucky enough to escape that fate.
“You did well for yourself.”
Amelia’s hand flew to her chest, and she spun toward the voice. “It’s you.”
The woman smiled impishly. She was the redhead Amelia had encountered in the powder room at a ball several weeks ago—and to whom she’d felt a strange connection.
“Miss Helena Steele. We haven’t been officially introduced. But then, people rarely bother to meet the wallflowers.”
“I find it difficult to believe you’re a wallflower,” Amelia said, being perfectly honest. Miss Steele may not be conventionally pretty, but there was something about her that demanded attention, and she certainly did not seem shy.
Miss Steele shrugged. “I’ll admit, I’m a wallflower by choice. Most of the people you meet at these events are dreadful bores, and I can’t fathom pretending to be interested in them.”
“You seem rather jaded.”
Miss Steele snorted. “This is my seventh season. I believe I’m entitled to be. I’m just waiting for my father to realize that it’s easier for him to settle some money on me and let me go my own way rather than trying to marry me off.”
Interesting. Their situations were not so different.
“I might have tried the same, but my mother was determined I would wed an aristocrat, so it seemed practical to just choose the best of the options available.”
“An earl.” Miss Steele raised her glass. “I’m impressed, and let me tell you, that’s not an easy feat.”
No, she didn’t imagine it was.
The other woman glanced behind her. “Your husband returns. No doubt I’ll see you again.”
She slinked away seconds before Mrs. Hart and Andrew rejoined Amelia. Her mother was in raptures over their dance, giggling and fanning herself like a woman half her age. It was almost… heartening. In an unusual way.
“Countess.” Mrs. Hart practically purred as she said the word. “I’ve just been telling the earl that you simply must host a ball to officially announce your marriage to the ton.”
Just like that, Amelia’s good cheer faded.
“Wasn’t that the purpose of the wedding?” she asked.
Mrs. Hart laughed and waved at someone passing by. “If you want to be a renowned hostess in London, then now is the time to make that clear.”
Amelia groaned. “I have no aspirations of being a popular hostess.”
Her mother blinked at her as if that simply didn’t make sense. “But don’t you want to throw the most lavish, exclusive society parties?”
How on earth could she possibly believe that? She’d known Amelia for her whole life, and she was quite certain she’d never once given anyone cause to believe she might enjoy attending parties, let alone planning them.
Socializing was not her forte.
Books were.
She was more comfortable scribbling in a library with ink-stained hands than wearing a diamond necklace at a ball.
