Page 32 of His Spirited Lady
“There is something about a full house,” the man said. “But there’s a rumor among the staff that you and Lady Amelia are betrothed. I rarely listen to footman’s tales, but—”
“We are.” It wasn’t a lie. But when the term of their agreement expired, Simms would be another disappointed villager.
“Then I congratulate you both on behalf of the entire household.” If possible, the man’s smile widened. “She is special to all of us, Mr. Ferrand. We’ve been hoping she would find someone who would value her as much as we do.”
He wouldnotfeel guilty about this. “Thank you, Simms.”
Richard handed his hat and coat to a waiting footman, whose name he didn’t know and who looked so much like the other one that they could be bookends. Perhaps there was only one of them. How was he supposed to keep everything straight?
He wasn’t. This was not his home, and it wasn’t going to be. “Has Miss Chitester come down, Simms?”
“Yes, sir.” The older man stepped down the hall with a crispness that would have impressed many a Canadian banker. “Most of the guests are down as well.” He stopped just short of the dining room. “Though they’re not fond of Lady Amelia’s early hours,” he whispered, still smiling.
Early was a relative term. Had he been home, he’d have been in the woods for several hours already. That was likely too early even for Lady Amelia.
Though she did have a penchant for surprising him.
As she’d done last night. From a tantrum over her lack of freedom to talking of mallets, pounding, and kissing while sitting close enough he could see down her bodice. The temptation would have been too great had talking with her been less fun. By the end of the evening, he’d fallen under her spell.
Who was he kidding? He’d fallen under it long before last night. Hell, when he’d given that speech to her mother he’d half-believed it.
Which was nonsense. He admired Amelia’s pluck, and he genuinely liked her parents. To see Raymond playing lord of the manor while Augustus lay in the library struggling for breath had spurred Richard’s decision as much as Fiona Allen’s appearance.
“Sir?” Simms was still there, holding the dining room door. Scents of coffee, bacon, and fresh scones drifted into the hallway, making Richard’s mouth water even if his stomach didn’t rumble.
Amelia sat facing the door, though Margaret Gerard had all her attention.
Richard took the chair to Amelia’s left and lifted her knuckles to his lips. “Bonjour, chéri.”
It was something his father had done every morning at breakfast, as though he and his wife hadn’t awakened together. Oliver had greeted Julia much the same way. He’d done it with Thea this morning, but in Spanish.
The custom took on a new meaning with Amelia’s warm, bare fingers against his. Last night, they’d been covered in lace, and kissing them had made him think of shifts and petticoats. Bare they made him think of things that were inappropriate, especially surrounded by people at breakfast.
Amelia’s grip tightened as her wide eyes met his; the coat of her riding habit shifted with her deep breath. “Bonjour.”
Her blouse was fastened with the tiny pearl buttons that entranced male eyes even as they frustrated fingers.
“I’m glad you’re here,” she said. “Do you want breakfast?”
If he moved from this chair, the scandal from last night would be long forgotten. “I ate with Simon this morning.” He nodded as a footman offered him coffee. “It’s something I’ve missed.”
“I’m sure he’s saved all sorts of stories for you,” Amelia said. “I did that when Father traveled to London without me.”
Richard tried to imagine her at Simon’s age, in this house with no one but servants. The life he and Oliver had worked so hard to ensure Simon escaped. “How long—”
“Miss Gerard was just asking me how I’m looking forward to living in Quebec.” Her gaze swept the room, reminding him of the other people and their penchant for gossip. “I have to admit, I know little about it. I’m completely basing my happiness on you.”
Which was exactly why he’d never marry. This game was fine, but happiness was fragile. Too many people lost it. Richard sipped his coffee, considering the best things to reveal about the place he missed the most.
“The city comes up out of the sea and works its way inland, climbing the valleys and butting up against cliffs until it reaches the forest. In the winter, the hills are perfect for sledding in the snow. It seems like all of Quebec is out in the cold.”
“Do you do that?” Amelia asked.
“I haven’t in years.” Truthfully, not since Oliver and Simon had left. He wasn’t even sure Simon remembered it as sledding. He’d been bundled in so many blankets that he’d broken into a sweat. “My sister Julia and I loved to sled when we were children. We’d play for hours and then run into the house, sliding along the floors until we reached the fire and the cocoa awaiting us. We left giant puddles in the kitchen, and our mittens shrank overnight as they dried.”
Miss Gerard pulled a face. “Cold and wet doesn’t sound pleasant. Father took us to Scotland once for Christmas. It was the most boring—”
“Quebec doesn’t sound boring at all, Margaret,” Amelia said. “It will be a grand adventure in a wilderness.”
