Page 34 of His Spirited Lady
Father had told her the story often as they’d ridden. “He loved coming here as a child, visiting Grandmother’s family during the summers.” He’d told her he’d welcomed the chance to make his own way, away from under his father’s, the old marquess’s, influence. “He loves the air here, and the sky.”
“I suppose it’s because you’re nearer to the sea.” Her cousin squinted up into the bright, cloudless day. “The tenants are doing well.”
She’d been sure to introduce Jasper to every farmer they’d met during their ride, content to let the rest of the group go ahead. It’s what Father would have done had he been able to ride today. Besides that, now Jasper could have faces to go with the numbers in ledgers that he’d no doubt review before he left. Father would want him to see the accounts, to brag on what a fine inheritance Jasper would be taking as the smallest jewel in his crown.
“What of the distillery? Is it—”
“The distillery is mine,” Amelia snapped. The dangerous truth of her words stunned her for a moment, but she forced an airy smile. “Mr. Brewer is my tenant. Father used part of Mother’s dowry to buy that parcel as my inheritance. He intended that I have a home here no matter where I went.”
“And you let it to a distiller?” Jasper’s lips quirked.
“For a fair price that goes into my own accounts and, when the business outgrows this location, the still can be torn down in favor of a cottage.”
“Expansion seems a safe bet,” Jasper said. “It’s one of the finest whiskeys I’ve tasted. If it were aged a bit, I suspect it would mellow the flavor even more.”
“It’s made from local wheat and produce, supporting some of the tenants you met today.” Amelia pointed below them. “The water comes from this river, which is filtered through limestone and sandstone as it travels from the sea. And Mr. Brewer has been aging a small batch. It should be ready to bottle soon.”
“You certainly know a lot about your tenant,” Jasper said, laughing. “I’ve met stewards not half as astute as you, cousin.”
Drat. She’d let her pride run away with her tongue. “I hope you find someone capable to manage Oakdale. It would be painful to see it decline.”
“From Quebec?” Jasper asked.
“Richard is a close relation to the Duke of Rushford.” Amelia’s brain spun as she talked. “As I’m sure Father told you. And they are partners in the lumber business, including the mill just outside the village. I’m certain we’ll visit often. Especially when he travels to Rosnay to check on the winery.” She invented that last part. She didn’t even know Richard’s plans past the pending shipment.
She needn’t have bothered with the tale. Jasper was looking past her, a sly smile on his face. Amelia glanced up the hill and found Miss Allen wearing a matching expression.
“Not to worry, cousin,” Jasper drawled. “I’m sure I can find someone to live at the manor.”
“I’m amazed you’ve kept her at bay for this long,” Amelia said. She forced herself to face him, to keep still. It was just as rude to slap his face and storm off as it was to stare.
“They may assume I’m counseling you on your choice of husband,” Jasper said in the same lazy tone. “Are you certain of this, Amelia? Moving to Canada with a lumberjack?”
Canada, with its wild sea and winters on sleds. Richard, with his dry wit and ready laugh. And his hands weren’t so callused as to believe he wielded an axe every day. “Richard could buy and sell most families here. The life he’s built has required a determination most in thetonnever aspire to unless they are chasing party invitations. And as for Canada, I am my father’s daughter. The further I can get from my family, the better.”
She held her breath. It was one thing to think so little of her relatives, quite another to say it. Not to mention implicating her father in the same loathing. However, the worry was wasted. Jasper was still staring past her. Amelia refused to turn and stare, fearing Miss Allen was dancing in the clearing, naked as a sprite at the full moon.
“So long as you’re happy.” He patted her hand the same as their grandfather did when he was on his way to the study for cigars with his grandsons. “If you’ll excuse me.”
He stood with an enviable grace and strolled off, his legs making short work of the climb and his boots leaving divots in the moss. The group he joined, the friends her parents believed she’d cultivated in London, wore his same bored expression as they waved their fans and checked their watches.
Amelia could stay still no longer. Getting to her feet, she walked away from the party and toward the river, using trees for balance as her boots slid against the mud and wet greenery. Tears filled her eyes. A hand closed over her arm, and she shook it off. “Leave me be. The grooms will lead you back.” The last word broke on a sob.
She ran nose first into a satin and wool covered brick wall. “Amelia? What’s happened?”
Richard’s warm voice, his strong arms around her, stopped her flight and dissolved her into a weeping mess. “It isn’t fair, Richard. He’s going to inherit three other houses and more money than he can spend,” she cried into his jacket. “He’s going to put some awful mistress at Oakdale, who doesn’t care about the hollyhocks my mother planted below the bedroom window so she could see them first thing in the morning. His brats are going to trample the kitchen garden and the mint we use for tea. Some oldest child will become a baron without even knowing my father and how much he loved this land. And I won’t be able to do anything about it, because I’ll be in Quebec.”
“No, you won’t.” He pulled away enough that she could see his smile once her vision had cleared. “Fake, remember?”
Dear God, he’ll think I’m a ninny, forgetting my own plan after only a day.She ignored her hot cheeks and grinned. “I suppose it’s a consequence of everyone assuming it’s genuine. I’ve been defending myself all morning.”
“I’m sure that’s not all you’ve been defending.” He brushed his lips across her forehead. “Thank you.”
Amelia would have argued if she’d been able to speak. Her entire body tingled from his touch, his breath on her hair. At the last moment, she resisted curling her fingers against his jacket to keep him close. It would never do to have him think one touch, and a brief one at that, had affected her.
“You’ll be their dotty cousin in a cottage over the hill, living with a drunk tabby cat and causing a scandal by wearing split skirts and meeting regularly with a dour man in a dark top coat,” Richard said. His hands still rested on her waist, too light to restrain her but heavy enough to tease her imagination.
“But I still won’t be able to do anything about it,” she sighed. She wasn’t sure which was worse, never seeing what became of her home, or seeing changes progress every day.
