Page 12 of His Spirited Lady
The gown indeed matched her eyes, and the gold lace complemented her hair. Not for the first time, Richard wondered if dressmakers and their clients understood how a high waist and a perfectly placed bow made it impossible for men to ignore a low neckline. All but the most small-breasted young women benefited from the design.
“Miss Chitester.” Richard dipped his head. Other than the color, the dress was simple. This wasn’t a ball gown meant to be seen and admired. She, like her parents, was dressed for an evening at home.
Amelia wasn’t small-breasted, something her riding habit had concealed. She was also shorter than he’d expected, given her parents’ heights. Her head stopped a few inches below his shoulder, which gave him a chance to admire her braids as he escorted her into dinner. She smelled of apples and cinnamon.
Dinner was laid out on the sideboard, allowing them to help themselves. Footmen helped them into their chairs and then retreated.
“Father can’t bear the fuss,” Amelia whispered as she placed her napkin in her lap. “He says it gives him indigestion when people watch him eat.”
No wonder Augustus and Oliver were good friends. “I’m sure the servants don’t mind escaping. I wouldn’t want to watch someone eat mutton and then go below for cold ham.” At least, that’s what he’d overheard aboard ship.
“Ourstaffhas the same meal we do,” Amelia said. “Unless there’s a party, which, thankfully, we rarely do at home.”
“You don’t enjoy parties?” Didn’t all young women long for the Season in London and the social whirl? The ladies in Quebec were forever trying to recreate it.
“Why would anyone enjoy a mass of people traipsing about their home spilling punch on the carpet while judging their decorating choices?” She paused with her spoon in her soup. “My apologies. Of course I didn’t mean this evening; this is—”
“No offense taken.” Richard used his napkin to hide his smile. He enjoyed the decorations at Oakdale Manor, especially the lively one beside him. “I loathe punch. Unless it’s liberally mixed with whiskey, of course.”
“Whiskey makes everything better.” Amelia paused again. “At least that’s what Father says.”
The pause made Richard wonder if her knowledge wasn’t more firsthand, but one didn’t ask a young lady if she drank when no one was looking. In his experience, the only women who drank whiskey didn’t care if they were seen doing so.
“No Mr. Raymond today?” he asked, willing to change the subject to something she might find more agreeable.
“He left yesterday, back to London.” Her sigh sounded more satisfied than regretful.
“You didn’t enjoy his visit?”
“Have you ever had a puppy follow you home?” She looked up at him, and a pretty blush stained her cheeks. “That’s unfair. He is pleasant company, but we didn’t expect him to visit and we had…things to do.”
Richard was set to ask what she did when she wasn’t entertaining unwanted guests, but laughter caught his attention. Oliver was regaling Augustus with a tale of a childhood adventure, one he’d apparently undertaken with Thea given her objections to the retelling.
“I remember them like that,” Amelia murmured. “When they were younger.”
“They are difficult to ignore.” Not that their behavior was inappropriate, or even rude. It was just so clear that they were happy together. That they hadalwaysbeen happy together. Oliver even seemed younger.
“Gossip dogged them everywhere, especially after Oliver sailed for Canada.”
And found a wife there.
“It’s difficult, isn’t it?” Amelia’s hand closed over his, her gentle touch contrasting with his tight grip on his soup spoon. “Moving forwardsounds better than it feels.” She smiled when Richard met her gaze. “I remember when Father brought Mother home. I enjoyed hearing him laugh again, but part of me was angry that he was going to replace my first mother, as though she’d never been there or hadn’t been important.”
Richard looked from the young woman next to him to her mother—stepmother—at the end of the table. “What changed?”
“It got easier with time.”
Richard grasped her fingers as they slid from his. Squeezed. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” She freed her fingers as her mother went to the sideboard for the main course. “Now, would you tell me about Canada? We always intend to travel there, but the Season prevents us from going until fall, which Father has heard is a poor time to visit.”
Chapter Four
“It’s good tobe home,” Father said to no one in particular.
Amelia marked her page and looked across the library. “It is, and it was good to see the duke and duchess.”
Their custom of dining early when in the country was one of the traditions she had always enjoyed. Inviting friends with whom she had much in common, even in secret, was a welcome addition. Combine those with reading in the library, enjoying sherry and sweets while the fire crackled, and Amelia was in heaven.
