Page 19 of His Spirited Lady
“I think I have an option.”
So quickly? Could anything this easily obtained be honest?
“I represent Eamon Brewer,” Drake said. “The distillery has a facility and a small staff for bottling and labeling. Are you available to meet tomorrow afternoon?”
Richard nodded, unable to withhold his smile. “Thank you, Fletcher.”
“Don’t thank me yet. Eamon is…rather single-minded.” The other man extended his hand. “Regardless, you’d best call me Drake. We’ll be seeing a lot of each other, Richard.”
*
Amelia sat inher mother’s office, in front of her spindle-legged desk in a fine-boned chair, doing her best not to fidget as the moments of her day ticked away. The list of party guests lay before her. “So many?”
“It’s only eleven,” Mother said. “We can count on a few crying off, given the Season. But if they all accept, we have room for them.” She smiled over her chocolate. “Sometimes I forget how much like Augustus you are.”
Amelia recognized every name on the list. They’d attended the same parties, the same afternoons in the park. They’d expect the same bright entertainments here, softened by the country, of course. There would have to be fishing, shooting, and at least one dance. There would be tea every afternoon, and they’d dress for dinner every evening.
This was important to her parents.
“It will be twelve with Mr. Ferrand.”
“And thirteen with you. Our numbers will be uneven. Perhaps we could find another young lady to invite. Do you have a suggestion?”
Amelia would rather strike off a name than add one. “It might make for more entertainment if the young men couldn’t assume they always had a dance partner.”
“Or it may make the other men resent him.” Mother tapped the feather of her quill against her chin. “I do hope he’ll feel comfortable in this set since he’s not…from London.”
Amelia knew better than to believe Mother to be a snob. More likely, she expected their guests would share Ethan’s earlier reaction to someone in trade—and French.
After spending more time with him, Amelia was certain he could hold his own with theton, if he cared enough to worry. Besides that, he had come to Norfolk to visit family, which they weren’t, and to do business—not to play cards, dance, and hunt for sport. He might have no intention of spending hours in idle chatter over tea or on a dance floor. Which would be a shame. Having walked with him yesterday, she wondered what it would be like to have his warm arms around her as they waltzed.
On the other hand, it had been far too easy to speak her mind with him. That was warning enough to stay clear.
“Thirteen it is then.” Mother took the list. “I’ll write up the invitations this afternoon. Have you decided on entertainment? We’ll need to tell the ladies what to bring for day wear.”
Amelia glanced at the clock standing over her mother’s shoulder. It was half past ten. Drake had asked her to come for a meeting at eleven. She’d been awake most of the night planning how to incorporate apples into the barley mash.
“Croquet and shuttlecock, I think. And lawn bowls.” The minutes ticked by, thrumming through her chest and down until her toes twitched. “The men will enjoy Father’s new billiard table, and shooting. Maybe archery for the ladies.” It was a combination of every discussion in every London drawing room.
“Riding, of course.” Mother jotted down the list. “And the gardens will be lovely for walks. We’ll have to dig out the board games for when the days are too chilly for outdoors.”
Games wouldn’t be a problem. Father had collected sets from every country they’d visited. They could play checkers on a different set each month for a year, though some of them were so beautiful Amelia feared touching them.
“What about the menu?”
Amelia stood. She really did need to go. “You don’t need me to choose food.” She kissed her mother’s cheek to soften her abruptness. “Father asked me to see to the Baxters’ roof. I want to make certain the reeds have arrived.”
“Do be careful. We’ll talk after dinner this evening, and you can make sure I’ve included all your favorites.” Mother put a hand on hers. It was warm and yielding. “I do want to make sure you enjoy the weekend, dear. This shouldn’t be a chore.”
Fighting the guilty pull of that hand, and the gravitational force of her chair, Amelia backed away from the desk. “We will. I promise.” Her smile was genuine. She knew girls who had no input on their choice of husband, much less the menu for a house party that laid out eligible men like a smorgasbord.
“What of Graves? You shouldn’t be out alone.” Mother reached for the bell. “We can ask a footman—”
“We’re not in London,” Amelia said. “And I’m not riding with a man, or in the village where someone could whisk me into an alley.”And Graves would be little help in any situation.“Please let me be alone. If the house party is a success, I won’t have much more time here. I want to store as many memories as possible.”
It was a dastardly ploy, playing on her mother’s kind heart to get her way. But it worked. Mother left the bell on the desk, and Amelia all but ran from the room.
Once in the hallway, Amelia lengthened her stride to a scandalous pace, down the back stairs and through the courtyard to the stable. Molly was waiting patiently, already saddled. A small pack held Amelia’s work clothes and boots, and the groom stood ready.
