Page 3 of His Spirited Lady
Richard bit theside of the cheek to quell his smile as the odd party joined him on the road.
The red-faced chaperone looked ready to cry, which was understandable given both her velvet riding habit and her thin frame. What of her wasn’t melting was most likely being ground to dust by the saddle. Raymond, on the other hand, was red-faced for another reason, given the set to his jaw as he drew alongside. His determination was matched by the otherwise dainty Amelia, who flanked Raymond. They all trooped down the road in silence.
“It’s kind of all of you to show me the way,” Richard joked. The mood stubbornly refused to be lightened, so he turned his attention to the countryside and inhaled deeply. If he couldn’t have good company, at least he could have clean air and a view. Though the rolling fields reminded him of his too-recent rough crossing and revived a bit of queasiness.
“How are you related to His Grace the duke?” Raymond asked. “As his son’s uncle, are you a younger brother?”
Raymond must either be visiting or daft. Perhaps both. Oliver had led him to believe everyone in the county knew his story. “He is my brother-in-law.”
“The duchess’s brother then.” Raymond surmised with a nod.
The assumption that Oliver’s life had been limited to these shores, that all relations were tied to his new wife, rankled. “No. His first wife was my sister.”
“First wife?” Raymond asked, curiosity threading through the words. Like a town gossip in church pew fishing for a hint of scandal.
“She died.”
Two short syllables that could never be softened, their impact always fresh. Julia had died and left him and Oliver alone to raise Simon. And then Oliver had taken Simon to England for a visit that was doomed never to end. And then Oliver had married someone else.
“Have you just arrived from Canada, Mr. Ferrand?” Amelia asked. “Mr. Raymond, the duke and Mr. Ferrand run a successful timber enterprise in Quebec province.”
“Timber?” Raymond asked as he swept his gaze up and down Richard’s suit, clearly shocked by meeting a businessman rather than a roughened lumberjack. “So you are in trade as well?”
Richard ignored the man’s frank curiosity, choosing instead to lean forward to address Amelia. Her eyes were shaded by her hat, but he guessed they matched the dark blue of her riding habit. Most society mothers chose colors to highlight eyes. His tailor had encouraged him to do the same. His sister, Julia, had insisted on a red jacket, claiming brown was too drab, and black, which matched her hair, was only suitable for funerals.
How prophetic.
“From France,” he answered. “Family business called me over.”
“I’m certain—”
“Paris?” Raymond asked. His tone was conversational as he cut through Amelia’s question. And as he asked, he looked toward her. He must have smiled because she gave him one in return. It wasn’t friendly, though. Julia had given both Richard and Oliver similar ones over the years.
“North of Paris, on the coast,” Richard said. It was still odd to explain why he’d been in France and the outcome of his visit, and strangers—even polite ones—didn’t need the details.
“Bad luck that you couldn’t make it into the city,” Raymond said, not sounding sympathetic at all. “I was there in August, and it was the best distraction. The tailors do help set the style. London always seems a season behind.”
Richard cast an eye over the other man’s form-fitting coat. If the gelding took off at a gallop, Raymond would come apart at the seams. His leather gloves would likely be shredded if he so much as touched a tree.
“Which Mr. Raymond will only say because he can’t be overheard or judged harshly in the country,” Amelia said. “Where fashion is always behind and the only seasons that matter are planting, harvesting, and hunting.”
Her brief laugh and wide smile made Richard wonder if he’d imagined the cut in her words. However, they also hinted at Raymond’s status.
“You’re down from London then?” Richard asked him.
The other man nodded. “I’ve come to visit because the ballrooms aren’t the same without Miss Chitester.” His glance slid to her. “I’m due to return this afternoon, though I have a matter I hope to settle before I go.”
A gasp from behind them had Richard turning to make sure the chaperone hadn’t fainted. She was still upright, and smiling so widely her thin face threatened to split in half.
“Make this next right, at that knotted tree,” Amelia said.
Her command was much too measured for a young woman who had all but been proposed to. In Richard’s experience, society women tended to burst into blushing giggles at the thought of a man getting them punch at a dance, much less following them into the countryside and declaring their intentions in front of strangers.
Of course, he also knew women who played hard-to-get.
The lane they turned into was narrower, making it impossible to continue three abreast.
“We’ll leave you here,” Raymond said.
