Page 81 of The Earl's Bluestocking Bride
“How is my Mia?”Mr. Hart asked as Andrew settled onto the chair in his office.
They’d met to discuss business, but it was a pleasant surprise that Mr. Hart chose to begin by discussing his daughter. Andrew had gotten the feeling he wasn’t particularly involved in her life.
“Mia,” he mused. “That’s a sweet name for her. She seems content. If she’s unhappy, she hasn’t said anything to me about it.”
Mr. Hart nodded. “Nor I or her mother.”
He stood and poured tea for himself and Andrew from a teapot positioned on the end of his desk. “Sugar or milk?”
“Sugar, please.”
He added a spoonful of sugar to one cup and stirred it in. “Mia prefers hers sweetened too. My wife doesn’t, so I got out of the habit.”
Andrew accepted the cup and saucer and placed it in front of himself to cool. “Yes, Mrs. Hart made her preference clear. Black tea is the most British tea, if I recall correctly.”
Mr. Hart laughed. “That sounds like something she’d say.” He hesitated, and for a moment, Andrew thought it was timeto move on to business, but Mr. Hart surprised him once again. “I’m glad Amelia is content. I worried she would be unhappy in marriage.”
Andrew raised an eyebrow. “Yet you allowed her to marry anyway?”
“You don’t allow Amelia to do anything. If she wants something badly enough, she makes it happen. She chose you, and you seem a decent sort despite your financial troubles, so I didn’t see any harm in the match.”
The man had a point there. He may not have known Amelia for long, but he could already tell that she was resourceful and determined.
“I’ve been very impressed by Amelia over the past weeks. Particularly by her writing. Did you know what a talented storyteller she is?”
Mr. Hart sipped his tea. “She’s always had a way with words. At least, on paper. Unfortunately, she couldn’t see how difficult it would be to make a career from her writing without a husband’s support.”
Biting the inside of his cheek, Andrew swallowed his immediate response. He didn’t want to anger the man who was helping him. Yet he felt the need to stand up for Amelia.
“Forgive me if I’m mistaken, but wouldn’t she have been able to have a flourishing career without getting married if you’d made it clear you were willing to provide for her?”
To his relief, Mr. Hart wasn’t upset by the remark. He placed his teacup down and leaned back in his chair. “That may be true to a certain extent. My wife was determined that Amelia would marry an aristocrat. My daughter herself had no such aspirations. I’m not blind to that fact. But every man has his weakness, and my wife is mine. There’s little I wouldn’t do to please her.”
Andrew understood that. He was beginning to suspect that his wife may also be his weakness. But it still seemed tohim that if a couple created a child, they owed that child a certain level of care.
“Would you have allowed a union between Amelia and a man who was ill-suited to her?”
Mr. Hart’s lips twitched. “If Amelia had been truly miserable and came to me for help, I’d have put a stop to it. Luckily for us both, that didn’t happen. The so-called marriage mart was simply another obstacle that Amelia needed to conquer.”
Pressing his lips together, Andrew stayed quiet. While he may not necessarily agree with the way Mr. Hart had handled the situation, he couldn’t deny that he was grateful for the outcome, and he liked to believe Amelia was too.
He wondered whether to break the news that one of Amelia’s stories had been accepted for publication. She’d already met with the editor and agreed upon a few changes. He decided against it. If she wanted to share with her parents, she could do that when she felt ready.
“Shall we move on to other subjects?” Mr. Hart suggested, sliding a sheaf of papers across the desk toward Andrew. “These are the investment opportunities you asked me to review.”
Andrew leaned forward, mentally preparing himself for a long and exhausting conversation.
When he made his way out of the Hart residence an hour later, his money woes were lighter on his shoulders. He took his carriage back to Longley House, pausing along the way to buy a flower from a girl on a street corner. He gave her a silver coin that had her eyes turning to saucers and doffed his hat at her before returning to the carriage.
At Longley House, he breezed inside and went in search of his family. The sound of women’s voices led him to the drawing room, where Amelia, Lady Drake, and Kate were squashed onto one chaise, their heads close together as they talked.
He knocked on the doorframe. Three faces turned towardhim. His mother spotted the flower, and her expression softened. Kate spared him only a glance before refocusing on a set of ribbons laid across her knee.
“Amelia?”
His wife’s head cocked curiously, and she rose and came toward him.
He presented her with the flower and bowed. “A rose for my English rose.”
