Page 26 of His Spirited Lady
“The brown,” Amelia stated.
“Your mother would choose—”
“I’m weary of blue.” Truthfully, she was weary of everyone seeing the dress and complimenting her eyes. If she wore yellow, they commented on her hair. Pink drew comparisons to the blush on her cheeks. People always assumed she was blushing due to flattery. They never considered she was furious they never looked past her clothes to notice her head was full of something other than lace. “Besides that, all the ladies will be in traveling clothes.”
Graves carried the brown dress to the mirror. The bodice contrasted with an orange skirt. “It suits the season.” She nodded. “And it gives a depth to your hair.”
Amelia rolled her eyes.
“Don’t bristle so,” Graves said as undid the laces at Amelia’s back. “Of course you are intelligent, and your husband will value that in you.” She met Amelia’s gaze in the mirror. “But they will only see the obvious at first.”
And if she didn’t want a husband? “What if he doesn’t get past the obvious?” What if she was across the country in a strange home with a man who expected nothing from her but balls and babies?
Graves skimmed the pink silk into a pile on the floor, and Amelia stepped out of it. Despite the fire in the grate, she shivered.
“You will have to trust your father not to choose a man that dim.”
Amelia stepped into the brown dress Graves was holding open for her. “I should get to choose myself.”
“We aren’t the Mosuo.” Graves sighed. “Unfortunately.”
“Would they adopt me if I became a Buddhist?”
“I don’t know.” Wry humor twisted Graves’s lips. “But your Mandarin is atrocious, and you don’t want to move out of the county, so it’s likely you would be unhappy in China.”
Amelia’s laughter died as the bell rang downstairs, announcing an arrival.
She didn’t want to move from this room. She didn’t want to know who was on the threshold. She didn’t want to dance and hear of someone else’s home. She wanted to ensure the success of her business and the lives of her family’s tenants. She wanted this house filled with laughter and love, not sitting as an empty holding.
But she took the wrap Graves handed her, using it to fight the chill as she descended the stairs to meet the first of her guests. One she recognized as Belinda Martin, a blonde young lady with impeccable taste and a lively wit. She was a fine dancer—and a horrible gossip. Amelia wished she’d paid more attention to her mother’s guest list.
She stretched out both hands and forced herself to smile. This was important to her parents. “Belinda. I’m so glad you could come.”
“Amelia!” Belinda squealed as though they’d been separated at birth and squeezed her fingers in greeting. But her eyes swept over Amelia’s dress, and her smile was too sharp.
Amelia’s appraisal was just as quick and just as sharp. She’d been right. Both women were dressed for travel, though with more feathers than she would have chosen.
“I do hope you don’t mind, but my cousin arrived after I’d sent my reply. She’s just returned from the Continent, and I just couldn’t leave her alone in London.”
Belinda had once cornered every eligible young lady in the retiring room and tried to convince them to assist her in a scheme to snare a visiting Italian dignitary. She wouldn’t think twice about bringing a surprise guest.
“Of course not, you couldn’t.” At least Mother’s numbers would now be even. Amelia turned to the newcomer. She was tall with patrician features and dark hair. “You are more than welcome, Miss…”
“Fiona Allen.” Her smile was as insincere as her cousin’s. “Thank you, Miss Chitester.”
The bell rang again. The party had officially begun.
“Amelia, please. My maid, Rose, is on the landing. She’ll show you to your room. You don’t mind sharing, I hope.” Drat. That made it sound like the house was too small. “At least until we’ve had time to make up another.”
“Our families would insist on us sharing for the weekend,” Belinda said. “You needn’t make up another at all.”
With that, they walked back to the stairs, arm-in-arm. Amelia stared behind them, irritated by the implication that the cousins were sharing a room to protect their virtue. Of course she’d heard tales of parties that had become bacchanalian, but those were usually hosted by bachelors like her cousin. And, honestly, who would send their daughter to a party where they didn’t trust the hosts?
“Mr. Raymond,” the footman announced.
She drew in a deep breath and schooled her features before she turned. Ethan was already to her, so close he blocked out most of the room.
“Miss Chitester, thank you for the invitation to visit again so soon.” He raised her hand to his lips. “You could be Demeter herself in that dress.”
