Page 49 of His Spirited Lady
Amelia slid her fingers along the shovel handle, feeling instead the way Richard’s silky hair twined through them. “Then I’ll cry off and send him packing.”
“Over what? Because anything bad enough to break an engagement will leave Oliver and Thea with a scandal. I’d like to think Richard wouldn’t do that, I don’t believe you’d do it, and youknowI won’t allow it.”
Amelia was glad she hadn’t discussed this plan with him earlier. “Then maybe he can just ruin—”
“Stop.” Drake’s command rang across the rafters, and his steps made the floorboards bounce under her feet. He stopped far enough away to be proper but close enough she could see his glare. “If you are going to barter your virtue for whiskey, I’ll take an axe to every barrel right now.”
“How dare you threaten me with that.” Amelia closed the distance between them. “And how dare you talk to me like I’m a child. I have worked my arse off for my freedom, and you will not take it from me. There are plenty of women in thetonwho have traded their virtue for less.”
“Which is just as wrong,” Drake said. “But if Richard has agreed to that particular term, I’ll drag him back from Quebec by his bollocks. Though I’d probably have to fight your father and Oliver for a turn.”
Unless Father was no longer here and Mother was grieving. Which was much too unreliable. Because if Richard kept kissing her and Father lingered, it would be difficult to keep avoiding—
Tears sprang to her eyes. She was a selfish and self-centered daughter. And apparently, too stupid to figure a way out of this mess.
Chapter Thirteen
“What are yousaying?” Margaret Gerard asked, her eyes narrow. “That I’m foolish?”
Oh dear.“No,” Amelia said as she dropped her cup into the saucer, the clatter adding to her jangled thoughts. This is what came of trying to help, which she’d decided to do early this morning when she’d collapsed on her mattress in an exhausted stupor. “That’s not what I meant at all.”
“Meringue is only flattering with desserts, Amelia.”
“I didn’t say you looked like a meringue; I said all the frothy lace at the neck of your dress made me think of a meringue.”
It was a fine line, and Margaret’s unabated glare told Amelia she was too close to it. Regardless, there was no graceful way to stop. “I didn’t intend to hurt your feelings or be unkind. I was just meant that…sometimes a pie is prettier when it is simple.”
This conversation had sounded so much better in her head as Rose had styled her hair. But, then again, Amelia had only gotten a few hours fitful sleep filled with nightmares of Drake keelhauling Richard as they returned from Quebec on a rough sea.
Annabel came into the room. “Good morning.” Her spirits were much higher than yesterday, and Amelia made a note to hug Graves’s neck the next time she saw her.
“Good morning, Miss Pearce,” Margaret said, her nose in the air and her mouth in an ugly line. “You’re just in time to hear Amelia’s logical comparison of pie and dresses.”
Annabel slid a sideways glance toward Amelia and smirked. Amelia hid her dread behind a sip of chocolate. Young ladies wearing that expression were unpredictable. Had she misjudged Annabel’s intentions?
Likely so, because nothing was going to plan during this dreadful weekend. Even the weather today was frightful. Rather than burning off ill feelings by smashing balls with mallets, they were going to be stuck inside listening to the rain pelt the windows.
“Are you discussing all the lace at your neck, because it does remind me of a confection,” Annabel said. “Which is a shame because it distracts from your other qualities.”
“Mother says the lace enhances my…” Margaret looked toward the door before waving her fingers toward her breasts.
Or where her breasts would be if she had any.
“The frills only serve to draw attention to them, not make them larger. There are other ways to flatter your figure.” Annabel cast a discerning eye over Margaret’s dress, an appealing butter yellow silk that contrasted nicely with her dark hair, but was festooned with enough lace to make a coverlet. “A simpler bodice would also call attention to your neck.”
And away from her nose.
“You have lovely posture, Margaret,” Amelia said. It would never do to let Annabel dig her out of a hole alone. “I noticed it while you were singing last evening. You have a fine voice, and it’s clear you enjoy music. Charles Grayson seemed particularly impressed.”
“Mother says that the feathers in my hair make me appear taller.”
They reminded Amelia of the parrot her grandmother had owned years ago, especially when Margaret preened as she was doing now. They also made Charles Grayson sneeze.
Annabel shot her another conspiratorial look while she sipped her chocolate. “I’ve known Charles for years, and he’s always been fond of music. He’s quite talented himself. He plays the violin.”
“Does he truly?” Amelia said. “I wish he could play for us.”
“He’s not as well situated as the marquess,” Margaret murmured as she pushed her fork across her plate. “Mr. Warren cuts a fine figure, too.”
