Page 41 of His Spirited Lady
Richard dragged his hands from her and backed away, kissing her knuckles as he lifted each hand from his coat.
Amelia wanted nothing more than to put out the lantern and return to the dark, to the circle of his arms. “No wonder Fiona—”
He stopped her words with a quick, hard kiss. “No.Thatbelongs to us alone.” He kept one hand, twined their fingers together. “I need to get you home.”
Chapter Eleven
He expected tobe alone as he slipped through the kitchen door. Some of it was the hour, most of it that he was accustomed to an empty house. But when Richard entered Felton House through the kitchen door, a baby’s whimpers greeted him. A low fire in the hearth gilded the red hair of an otherwise shadowy figure.
Thea turned, half-shielding Carys, the fire poker in her other hand. “Good lord.” She nudged the logs, sending sparks flying before returning the poker to its perch. “Are you late or early?”
Richard spread his hands wide. “I thought the hens might appreciate a tailcoat.”
She snorted a laugh. “Whatever makes them lay better.”
Carys’s whimpers grew to cries, which wavered in time to her bounces against her mother’s hip. Richard recalled a similar evening, years ago, but with an exhausted father and a terrified uncle.
“She’s teething?”
“God yes, and she has her father’s temper.”
The kettle grumbled on the stove, a precursor to its screech as sure as Carys’s cries were to wails. Richard reached for the baby.
“Give her over. I make lousy tea.”
Thea surrendered her daughter on the way to the stove. “Thank you. Oliver has ears like a bat, and I’ve just gotten him back to bed.” She removed the kettle from the heat and filled two cups. “He’s had a long day.”
Richard dipped his index finger into his scalding tea and then stroked it over Carys’s irritated gums. She gave up fighting after a moment, gnawing his finger until a hard, sharp tooth pricked his skin. Richard switched fingers, heating it before soothing the child.
“You’re good with her,” Thea said. Her curls were escaping from her loose braid and crawling up her robe—an odd, faded patchwork thing. She blinked slowly, her eyelids going only halfway up.
Richard switched fingers again. “It looks as though you both have had a rough time of it. What happened in Brandon?”
Her gaze widened as she straightened. “We go every Saturday.” She sipped her tea. “Our son, Jamie, is buried there.”
Richard stared at Carys’s chubby face, calculating in his head. It was possible that there could have been another child, before her or after. Before might have explained Oliver’s hasty remarriage. Though why would their infant son be buried a village away?
Thea placed her cup on the table without making a sound. “He was…from before. He and I lived in Brandon while Oliver was in Canada.”
That made no sense. The man Richard had known, the man who’d married his sister and carted their son into forests and business meetings, wouldn’t have left family behind.Would he?“Do you mean to tell me he—”
Thea stopped him with a shake of her head. “He had no idea until he returned.” Her smile was sad. “He didn’t tell you.”
“Rich, I’ve remarried. Against all odds, I’ve found Thea again and, unbelievably, she still has use for me. I cannot wait for you to meet her. She has found her way through so much and has emerged as a great lady, equal to only one other. I hope you can share my joy. I believe Julia does.”
“He doesn’t like to talk of death.” Richard shifted so that he could cradle Carys, who had fallen asleep. “Does Simon go as well?”
She nodded. “We make a day of it, the four of us alone on a picnic. We play and pick flowers and tell stories, but Oliver…” Her eyes shone in the firelight, bright as glass. “It’s difficult for him to reconcile a life only possible because of loss.” She covered Richard’s hand while still staring into the fire. “We both are keenly aware of it.”
The woman had a heart and courage he hadn’t seen in many. His sister sprang to mind. Julia had always had an iron will she’d cloaked in silks and curls.
Amelia shared those traits as well, though he preferred her in her linen and wool work clothes, her hair caught back simply. She was fighting a life that would be changed by loss. Her father. Her home. Her freedom. Richard wanted to tell her that the battle she’d chosen was going to be difficult, but she’d likely scold him for stating the obvious.
Besides that, she’d already achieved modest success—at least enough to risk a larger investment. In a few years, he had no doubt she’d make a name for herself and he’d be…
Back in Canada.
Thea refilled his tea. “Perhaps you can drink this one instead of feeding it to Carys. Do you want me to take her?”
