Page 50 of His Spirited Lady
Not for the first time, Amelia cursed the social requirement that her father’s heir be invited to every occasion. His good looks and nonchalance made him appear the ultimate catch. “Mr. Grayson is shorter, true, but he has a much better disposition than my cousin.”
It wasn’t betraying her family if it was fact. Her father had been the only one to escape his ancestors’ taciturn moodiness that led to boredom, which led to meddling just for the fun of it. He’d credited Norfolk weather for the difference.
“And he’s heir to Viscount Ledbury,” Annabel added. “My mother is a cousin, so we’ve visited the estate. It’s lovely, and the income is generous. The family has always run it well, and Charles will be no exception. He loves it there. Whoever he chooses to marry will be well-respected in theton.”
Margaret was quiet for several moments. “My maid would never go against Mother’s decree about my dress.”
“Come early for dinner.” Amelia put her hand over Margaret’s and squeezed her delicate fingers. “We’ll help sort it. My maid, Rose, can help with your hair.”
“I can work on the dress,” Annabel said. “As a matter of fact, we can do something about this one as well if you’ll meet me upstairs.” Her lips quirked. “My room is to the right of the landing, second door on the left.”
“On the right,” Amelia said. “I believe I put you nearer the garden.”
“So you did. I’m forever getting turned around in new houses,” Annabel said. “Why don’t you go up now, Miss Gerard? I’ll be along as soon as I talk to Charles about his violin. He usually travels with it.”
Once they were alone, Amelia turned to Annabel. “Thank you for your help with that. The more I spoke, the worse it sounded.”
The other woman brushed off her concern. “I wouldn’t have stepped in, but I’ve caught Charles staring at Margaret when he thinks no one is looking. I believe he’d approach her if it weren’t for those feathers—they make him sneeze. Plus, Belinda and Fiona poke fun at her, which I can’t abide.”
Amelia had considered Margaret Gerard many things, but laughable had never been one. Not until this weekend. “A word of warning, she can be a bit of a social climber.”
“Charles can sand off her edges. He has that way with people. Though she might help him as well. He never knows who anyone is.” Annabel placed her utensils on her plate without making a sound. “And most women are social climbers. We’ve no other way of controlling our future.”
They rose from the table and left the dining room, the taller Annabel shortening her steps to match Amelia’s so they could continue their conversation.
“Miss Graves has been very helpful, and I believe I have a path to some sort of independence,” Annabel said. “But this will likely be the last party I attend.”
“I will miss you.” Amelia grasped her hand. “Please write.”
“Most certainly. You’ll need my address for the wedding list. Assuming you still want—”
The front door opened, letting the fall air chill the house and teasing Amelia’s nose with the scents of mud and moss. Richard stood there, shaking the water from his coat before he handed it to their footman. He was laughing with Simms.
“Of course I still want you at the wedding,” she murmured to Annabel, lost in her thoughts.
She wantedeverything.
*
The only thingworse than a house party was a house party on a rainy day. After breakfast, the men had played billiards and cards while the women had indulged in backgammon and chess.
After playing so many rounds ofvingt et unthat he’d stopped paying attention to his wagers, Richard had planned to leave after luncheon. But here he was, on the sofa near enough to Amelia to allow conversation, but far enough to avoid scandal. Fires blazed in every hearth, beating back the damp chill, and gaslights and candles were a poor substitute for the sun. On the other side of the windows, the world was a misty green and gray.
“You’ve been quiet this morning,” he said.
“We’ve hardly been in the same room until now.” Amelia’s smile was limited to a lift at the corners of her mouth, and there were shadows smudged below her eyes. “But I didn’t have a restful night.”
For a moment, he wondered if she’d lain in bed staring at the ceiling. Had she missed his breath and his warmth? Perhaps she’d touched herself, wishing it was his hands—
“I had to talk to Drake about extra cases of wine,” she whispered. “And the grain had to go into the kiln.”
It had just been him lost in fantasies then.
“You went to the distillery in the rain? Alone?” They were silly questions. He could almost hear her roll her eyes. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I’ve done it long before you arrived, and I’ll—”
Be doing it after you’re gone.He didn’t need to hear her say it. Didn’t want to.
