Page 63 of Real Earls Break the Rules

He thought of her advice regarding opening a school for the children at the mill. Who would have thought? The more he considered it, the better it sounded. It would ease his conscience and benefit the children.

He’d been hesitant to tell her the full truth regarding his plans to sell the original Cuyp landscape. But she’d surprised him. She hadn’t rescinded on their agreement. She hadn’t railed at him or screamed. She’d thanked him for telling her the truth.

The unfamiliar ache in his gut returned. He didn’t believe in love. His parents hadn’t shared it, and he wouldn’t recognize it. But he knew one thing: he couldn’t let Amelia go.

He knew why she objected to marriage. She’d built her life around her art and wanted to pursue it with all her passion and rigor. She may not want to marry, but he’d just have to change her mind. She’d have to change it, dammit. And if Eliza had her way, Amelia would be married off to someone. The thought of her with another man made the breath burn in his throat.

An image of Lord Weston leaning close to whisper in Amelia’s ear in the Rosehill gardens sprang to mind. The man was clearly enamored with her.

Bloody hell.

Amelia was his, body and soul. He may be medievally possessive, but he knew whom he wanted and he was determined not to let her slip away.

Chapter Twenty

Amelia found sleep elusive. Nothing worked to ease her torment. Counting sheep. Counting the stars. Counting to a thousand. Brandon’s proposal rang through her mind again and again. He wanted to do right by her. He wanted to appease his conscience and speak with Huntingdon.

Her brother-in-law would be furious with Brandon if he learned she’d been secretly painting in his study, to say nothing of their passionate clandestine affair. Her sister would be shocked to learn the truth, and she’d insist Brandon do the right thing.

Then what?

Amelia loved Brandon with all her heart, and it was too easy to envision chestnut-haired children with green eyes tugging at her skirts.

But marriage to her wouldn’t solve Brandon’s dilemmas. His financial problems would remain, and she’d be powerless to help him. Marrying her might appease his honor, but would his feelings change over time? If the problems at the textile mill never resolved, or if other businesses failed, or if he couldn’t satisfy his father’s gambling debts, would he grow to resent her?

And could she give up her own dreams without feeling regret? Only as an unmarried woman would she truly have the freedom to carry out her heart’s desire.

Amelia finally managed to fall asleep when the first rays of sunlight streaked through her window. When she finally woke, she was startled at how late she’d slept. She hurried to dress and rushed down the stairs. A servant informed her that the women were outside by the gardens enjoying afternoon tea.

As soon as Amelia joined the women on the patio, she sensed trouble, although she couldn’t discern the cause. The view was lovely and overlooked immaculately tended lawns as far as the eye could see. Large terra-cotta pots of flowers lined the perimeter of the brick patio, and the air was fragrant with a heady perfume. All the ladies were in a pleasant mood. Amelia sat at a table with the younger ladies, Helen, Caroline, Sara, and Minerva, and joined their discussion about which gowns they each planned to wear to the upcoming ball. Minerva’s giggles grated on Amelia’s nerves, but she ignored it as she sipped oolong tea and nibbled on scones. The dowager shared a smaller table with the duchess, but the dowager soon excused herself to meet with the cook to plan the evening meal.

Amelia was enjoying her second cup of tea when the hair on her nape stood on end, and she felt like she was being watched. She turned to find the duchess staring at her from her table. A shiver traveled down Amelia’s spine.

The duchess looked away and called out to her daughter. “Minerva, please go and inquire if your father would like to join me for an afternoon stroll.”

Confusion crossed Minerva’s features. “Father?”

“Yes, His Grace,” the duchess said pointedly, “your father.”

“But wouldn’t his valet know if—”

“You’d best hurry before he leaves to go hunting with the other gentlemen,” the duchess interrupted.

Minerva stiffened, then set her teacup down and hurried out of the room to do her mother’s bidding.

The dowager’s gaze returned to Amelia, and her smile didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Miss Somerton, please join me.”

A cold knot formed in Amelia’s stomach. “Of course.” She had little choice but to rise and sit beside the duchess.

The duchess scanned the immaculate lawn beyond with the statues of Greek gods and goddesses, the twin gazebos, and a bubbling fountain of nymphs. “Rosehill is quite lovely, isn’t it?”

“Yes, Your Grace.”

Sunlight glinted off the duchess’s ruby and diamond rings as she raised her hand to sip her tea. “I suppose you must find it exceedingly beautiful considering where you used to reside.”

Amelia blinked. “Pardon?”

“Oh my. I didn’t mean to overstep, my dear. But isn’t it true you used to reside above a shop?”