Different Strokes
“Remind me again why we’re attending your cousin’s wedding anniversary?
” Amelia asked as their carriage rolled toward the Hollingshead estate.
She smoothed her emerald silk gown, a creation far more elaborate than her usual practical attire.
“Surely our own recent nuptials excuse us from social obligations for at least a month.”
Hereford, resplendent in black evening wear that emphasized the breadth of his shoulders, looked up from adjusting his cufflinks.
“Because Cousin Sophia is the dowager marchioness’ favorite niece, and defying both of them would be tantamount to declaring war on the entire eastern branch of the family.
” His lips quirked upward. “Besides, I thought you might enjoy the spectacle of aristocrats engaging in their natural habitat—excessive consumption paired with vicious gossip.”
Amelia hid a smile. “You make your own class sound like exotic wildlife.”
“More dangerous, I assure you. Tigers are predictable by comparison.” He studied her for a moment, his expression softening. “You look lovely. The color suits you.”
The unexpected compliment caught her off guard. “Thank you,” she managed, fighting the heat rising in her cheeks. “Though I still think we should have prepared more thoroughly for the evening.”
“It’s a dinner, not a diplomatic mission.”
“It might as well be. Your mother has no doubt informed everyone about the penniless bluestocking who dared to set her cap at a marquess.”
Hereford’s expression turned wry. “Perhaps. Which is why we should convince them of our affection for each other.”
“Affection?”
Hereford gazed into her eyes with a soulful entreaty that had her almost believe in his sincerity.
“The guests shall see the depth of my feelings for you by the way I regard you. They’ll be convinced that the notorious Marquess of Hereford was smitten by the brilliant Miss Thornton and simply couldn’t wait another moment to make her his marchioness,” he said with exaggerated flourish.
“Society abhors a marriage of convenience almost as much as it loves a love match.”
Amelia raised an eyebrow. “And you think they’ll believe the infamous rake reformed overnight? Your mother certainly doesn’t.”
“People believe what they wish to believe.” He leaned forward, his eyes dancing with mischief. “I suggest we tell them I was captivated by your scathing editorial comparing aristocratic men’s moral fortitude to weathervanes.”
“You read that?” she asked, surprised.
“I read all your work,” he replied with unexpected seriousness before his customary smirk returned. “Your metaphors about the House of Lords were particularly creative.”
Before Amelia could respond, the carriage slowed as they approached Hollingshead House, a grand Georgian mansion blazing with lights. Footmen in elaborate livery stood ready to assist arriving guests, and strains of chamber music drifted through the open windows.
Hereford’s hand covered hers briefly. “Ready, Wife?”
The casual endearment sent an unexpected warmth through her. “As I’ll ever be.”
As they entered the grand ballroom, Amelia was acutely aware of the attention they attracted.
Conversations paused, fans fluttered more rapidly, and heads bent together in whispered observations.
Hereford, perfectly at ease in this environment, placed his hand at the small of her back, guiding her forward with a protective assurance that she found both irritating and oddly comforting.
“Charles, darling!” The dowager marchioness materialized before them, resplendent in purple silk and ancestral diamonds. “And Amelia,” she added, as if the name tasted peculiar. “How… well you look.”
“Mother,” Hereford bent to kiss her cheek. “You’ve outdone yourself with the diamonds tonight. Planning to blind the competition?”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” she said, though she preened visibly under her son’s attention.
“Lady Rutherford’s new necklace is positively vulgar.
One must maintain standards.” Her gaze swept over Amelia with clinical assessment.
“That shade of green is surprisingly flattering with your coloring, my dear. Though perhaps a higher neckline would be more appropriate for a woman of your… figure.”
“Thank you for your concern, my lady,” Amelia replied smoothly. “But Charles seems to appreciate the current design.”
Hereford’s arm slipped around her waist, drawing her closer against his side. “Immensely,” he agreed, his voice dropping to a register that made Amelia’s skin tingle.
The dowager’s eyes narrowed fractionally. “Yes, well. Everyone is most eager to meet the woman who captured my son’s heart so… precipitously. Lady Bancroft was particularly devastated by the news, you know. She had such hopes for her daughter this Season.”
“How fortunate I didn’t keep her waiting,” Hereford replied blandly. “Shall we pay our respects to Cousin Sophia?”
As they moved away, Amelia felt tension coiling between her shoulder blades. “This will be a very long evening,” she muttered.
“Indeed. Though you handled my mother admirably.”
“Years of dealing with hostile interview subjects,” she replied with forced lightness. “Though none quite so formidable.”
Hereford chuckled. “Wait until you meet Aunt Gertrude. Mother is the beacon of diplomacy by comparison.”
The next hour passed in a blur of introductions and carefully navigated conversations. Amelia found herself repeating the story Hereford had constructed—that he was captivated by her criticism of aristocratic men’s moral fortitude and had to make her acquaintance.
“And when precisely did you realize you were in love?” demanded Lady Bancroft, whose disappointed daughter sulked nearby. “It must have been quite the epiphany to prompt such a hasty ceremony.”
Amelia opened her mouth to recite their agreed-upon answer about a moment of clarity during a charity event, but Hereford spoke first.
“It was when she compared me to a peacock with more feathers than sense in the Metropolitan Review,” he said, his expression softening with what appeared to be genuine fondness.
“Most women simper and flatter. Amelia told me exactly what she thought of my ‘frivolous existence’ and ‘wasteful privileges.’ I found it refreshingly honest.”
Lady Bancroft looked scandalized. “And that attracted you?”
“Immensely,” Hereford replied, his gaze fixed on Amelia with warmth. “Intelligence is the most compelling quality a woman can possess.”
Amelia felt heat rising in her cheeks. This wasn’t part of their agreed narrative.
“How unconventional,” Lady Bancroft sniffed. “Though I suppose some men enjoy being challenged. My late husband preferred a more traditional arrangement.”
“Different strokes,” Hereford murmured, his hand finding Amelia’s waist again as he guided her away. Once they were out of earshot, he leaned close to whisper, “Sorry about the deviation from our script. I couldn’t resist.”
“You’re enjoying this far too much,” she accused, though without real heat.
“Immensely,” he repeated with a wink. “Though I meant what I said about your intelligence.”
Before she could formulate a response, a voice called out to Hereford. “Charles! Come settle a debate about that horse you purchased at Tattersalls.”
“Duty calls,” he said with a dramatic sigh. “Will you be all right for a moment?”
“I’m not a child at her first dance,” Amelia replied. “Go discuss your horses. I’ll survive.”
She watched him move across the room, noting how different groups seemed to brighten as he joined them. For all his rakish reputation, Charles possessed an undeniable charm that drew people to him. She found herself wondering how much of it was genuine and how much was calculated performance.
“Well, well. The mysterious new Lady Hereford.”
Amelia turned to find an elderly woman regarding her through a gold-rimmed quizzing glass. The infamous Aunt Gertrude, she presumed, recognizing the family resemblance to her niece, the dowager.
“Lady Beecham,” Amelia curtseyed. “A pleasure to make your acquaintance.”
“Hmph.” The old woman circled her like a military inspector. “You’re not what I expected. Charles usually favors more ornamental women.”
“Perhaps he decided substance was a welcome change.”
Aunt Gertrude cackled. “Oh, you’ve got spine!
Good. You may call me Aunt Gertrude since you don’t look like you’d collapse under the weight of the Hereford name.
” She lowered her voice conspiratorially.
“The last three generations of Hereford marriages were disasters. Beautiful, empty-headed girls who couldn’t manage more than producing the requisite heir before retreating to their country estates with various nervous ailments. ”
“I assure you, my lady, I don’t suffer from nerves.”
“Evidently not. Though I hear you suffer from other physical challenges.” Her gaze dropped pointedly to Amelia’s left leg.
Amelia felt her spine stiffen. “I manage quite well, thank you.”
“Yes, I can see that.” The old woman’s eyes were sharp with intelligence. “Though I wonder if you’ll manage the more intimate aspects of marriage equally well? The Hereford men have always been rather… vigorous in their appetites.”
Heat flooded Amelia’s face. “I don’t believe that’s an appropriate—”
“Aunt Gertrude,” the dowager marchioness interrupted, materializing beside them. “I see you’ve met my new daughter-in-law.”
“Indeed.” The old woman’s expression remained calculating. “I was just inquiring about her fitness for her new role. Particularly given her age and impediment.”
To Amelia’s astonishment, the dowager’s expression hardened. “Amelia’s leg is hardly relevant to her capabilities as a marchioness. Her background is concerning enough without drawing attention to physical matters.”
“Yet one must consider the succession,” Aunt Gertrude persisted. “Can she bear healthy children with such a condition?”