Page 14 of His Spirited Lady
“Tempting him with a prize he can’t win,” Father said. His wry grin implied much more. She had never been able to fool him.
“He’s not for me,” she replied, hoping it would end the matter. When she married, she should be able to choose her own husband. She should have the freedom to decide if she married at all.
“There’s nothing wrong with him, Amelia.”
There wasn’t anything right with him either. When she thought of his visit, all she remembered was hours of dread, thankfully broken by the arrival of Richard Ferrand.
After a week of Ethan’s banal attention, Richard had been refreshing. He’d spoken little, but the empty spaces in his conversation had said a great deal. He’d spoken to her like she had a brain in her head. By the end of their ride, he’d made her a conspirator in his humor. That had continued this evening over dinner.
He reminded her of Drake and Oliver, which was probably why she’d felt so comfortable with him.
“You will have to marry, Amelia.”
Her father’s flat statement snapped her out of her thoughts. “What?”
“Before I die, you need to be settled in a home of your own.”
The plain practicality of his statement stole her breath. Father had often remarked in passing about his death, but it had been a future event, like when they planned for a journey abroad. Their winter in Italy had begun asone day we’ll go. After they’d set a date to travel, it had changed towhen we go. As the date neared, it had becomebefore we leave.
Tears welled. “Father.”
“None of that. There’s not a certain date, but plans need to be made, and we need to be realistic. Oakdale will fall to Warren, with the exception of the property you inherited from Elizabeth.”
Jasper Warren, a distant cousin, would inherit her home simply because he was male. And he was the only male in her generation. All her other cousins were female. And married. They were managing homes that belonged to their husbands, bearing children to those husbands, handing them off to nurses so they could continue to entertain in support of their husbands’ careers.
Amelia thanked God she had the distillery. “I have my own money, Father.”
“Your inheritance and the rent from Brewer aren’t adequate. Marian will be generous with her income. Probably too generous. I don’t want either of you to struggle.”
So she’d have to leave her home, and her business, for a life moving between someone else’s estate, someone else’s family, and London parties. Her business would be her husband’s reputation.
“We have a bargaining position now.” Ever the businessman, her father. “We should use it. A house party is a good idea.”
It was the worst idea Amelia had ever heard, worse even than when the former duchess had tried to force her and Oliver into a match.
“You spend too much time alone, Amelia. A party will be good for you.” He rose from the chair. Not too long ago, her father had been a giant bear of a man. Now, his clothes hung awkwardly in places, like when a modiste placed fabric over a frame in preparation for cutting a dress.
“I’m going up to bed. Work with your mother on the guest list. She already has a list of eligible young men, but invite the young women you like—don’t overlook the Gerard girl.”
Amelia blinked rapidly to keep the tears at bay until she was alone. “Yes, Father.”
*
Richard blessed theshade provided by the buildings surrounding Thetford’s square. It had been months since he’d been awake and moving this early.
“If Simon repeats that poem about bollocks covered in weeds at school today, I’ll put you on the front pew at church on Sunday. You’ll bear the brunt of the vicar’s next sermon alone,” Oliver said. Despite his grousing, he had a grin on his face.
Thetford’s market bustled around them, full of the farm smells brought by fresh produce and the sweet scent of fresh bread. Richard suspected that if he plucked an egg from a basket, it would still be warm.
“It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve withstood a vicar,” he replied.
“You didn’t have Thea beside you trying not to laugh,” Oliver said as they walked over cobblestones worn flat after decades of travel and use.
He stopped at a stall tended by a neatly dressed woman not much older than them, her hair covered by a plain, clean linen scarf. “Good morning, Mrs. Bell.”
Her curtsey was as quick as her smile. “Good morning, Your Grace.” She reached out to ruffle Brownie’s shaggy head. “Good morning, wee lad. You’re getting to be as big as a pony.”
“Don’t put that association in Simon’s head, or he’ll be asking to ride the beast to school,” Oliver said. “May I introduce my brother-in-law, Richard Ferrand.”
