Regency Christmas Proposals. Кэрол Мортимер
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As a wealthy and titled bachelor, Gray knew that showing his face in Society meant that every marriage-minded mama in the country would trample over anyone who stood in her way in order that she might reach his side and extol the virtues of her daughter as his prospective future wife!
But, instead of appearing excited at the prospect, Amelia looked as if Gray were suggesting he accompany her to the gallows!
He stood up impatiently. ‘I am sure this is what my brother Perry and your mother intended for you—’
‘That is unfair!’ Those incredible blue eyes were once again awash with tears.
Gray shook his head. ‘I do not think so. My brother Perry left provision in his will for your marriage dowry—’
‘My marriage dowry!’ Amelia repeated incredulously.
‘Of course.’ Gray gave a haughty inclination of his head. ‘When your mother married my brother you became the stepdaughter of a lord, so—’
‘Do not touch me!’ She moved sharply away as Gray would have reached out and lightly grasped her arm, and raised her chin proudly as she looked down the length of her nose at him. ‘You have made your feelings very clear on the subject, and, as you are my guardian, if it is your wish that I go to London in the spring so that I might search for a husband, then of course I must go.’
‘You were the one who suggested that you might find yourself a husband!’ Gray glared his frustration with this conversation.
‘You were the one who mentioned a marriage dowry!’
‘I was merely—’
‘Putting forward a way in which you might be completely rid of all responsibility for me?’ Amelia finished scathingly.
Gray gave an exasperated snort. ‘I made no mention of being rid of you—’
‘You have made it perfectly clear that is your intention.’ She swept her gown to one side.
‘Damn it, Amelia—’
‘If you will excuse me, My Lord?’ She eyed him coldly. ‘I believe I would prefer to spend the time before dinner upstairs in my bedchamber.’
As far away from him as she could possibly be whilst still remaining in the same house, Gray acknowledged impatiently. ‘I have not finished talking to you yet, Amelia—’
‘But I have finished talking with you!’ she assured him, giving him one last scathing glance before walking from the room with her head held disdainfully high.
Leaving Gray no choice but to stare after her in complete frustration. Alice Wycliffe had assured him earlier that any young lady of nineteen years would be thrilled at the prospect of going to London and being introduced into Society. That she would be ecstatic at the suggestion of a new wardrobe. Of attending balls and parties and meeting all the handsome rakes with whom she might dance and behave the flirt.
Obviously when Alice had made this observation she’d had no personal knowledge of the stubborn and self-willed Amelia Ashford!
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