Page 66 of His Spirited Lady
“She is, at least until she’s exhausted her supplies.” Richard spun his tale as he spoke. “We’re not in a hurry to leave, especially with Augustus’s health.”
Simon came into the room as Richard was finishing his semi-lie. “You’re leaving?” The little boy’s bottom lip trembled.
“Not right away,hijo,” Oliver said. “But he and Amelia are getting married and—”
“And then you’re getting a new house, like we did.” Simon’s mood shifted like fog fleeing the sunshine as he dropped the blanket in a pile over his sister’s head. “And carriages, and a cook, and a garden.” His devilish grin looked just like Julia’s. “And ababy.”
Richard joined the laughter, but there was a spot deep under his ribs that warmed at the thought, much like having Carys and her blanket in his lap. It was easy to put himself in Oliver’s place—surrounded by family and love.
No. He had to be honest with himself. Nota family. His and Amelia’s family. Them, their children, Marian as a doting grandmother. Amelia’s drunk cat. Oliver and Simon nearby. It was even easy to see Thea there. He could help Amelia at the distillery before going to the mill every day.
But that wasn’t his deal with Amelia. It didn’t matter how much he liked her parents, or how much he admired her. The vicar could read the banns from now ’til doomsday; it wouldn’t matter. She wasn’t marrying him.
He was going home, to a business that practically ran itself, an empty house, and a row of graves. There was a neat rectangular spot at the end, waiting for him.
“Let’s start with an employee before we graduate to babies.” He stood. “Where can I find Mr. Latimer?”
Chapter Seventeen
“Good morning, Amelia.”Mother entered the dining room and went directly to the sideboard. “Are you ready for today?”
Amelia froze with her teacup halfway to her lips. “I’ve been looking forward to it for a while.”
Her oldest barrels were ripe today. In a few hours, she’d know if she’d been wasting her time putting gallons of whiskey aside to age only to see them ruined.
Today, she was a businesswoman or a fool.
How did Mother know? How had she been discovered? Had someone said something? Had Richard told Father yesterday while they’d been hunting?
“Always a good sign.” Mother kept her back to the table as she filled a plate. “Wedding dress fittings shouldn’t be dreaded.”
“Quite so.” Amelia exhaled in relief. “I thought I might take Molly out for exercise this—”
Her mother’s pale face and shadow-smudged eyes stopped the plot mid-formation. Amelia scrambled to her feet and rushed to help her sit. “What’s happened?” she asked as she clasped Mother’s hand. “Is he worse?”
“No, dear.” Mother clasped her hand. “He had a bad night is all.” She sank bank in her chair, as though making a breakfast plate had exhausted her. “It’s the result of his schedule over the past few days, no doubt. I’ve convinced him to stay in bed this morning.”
“Which is where you should be.” Amelia rose from the table and pulled the bell cord.
“I have too much to do.” Mother fought to keep her plate from Amelia’s grasp, but it was far too easy to take from her. “I need to review menus with Cook, and we need to begin preparing the house for wedding guests, and—”
This is all of a waste of time. There isn’t going to be a wedding. Not now. Not ever.Amelia bit her lip to keep the words from spilling out.
“All of which I can manage,” she said instead as she handed the plate to a footman and looked to Simms. “Please help the baroness upstairs and tell Hayes she’s to rest until time to prepare for the modiste.” Mother’s maid would guard her health like a hawk. “Send a maid upstairs with a breakfast tray.”
The old butler dipped his head. “I’ll send Mrs. Carter in.”
Amelia went back to her place at the table, placing her utensils over the plate as she’d been taught. After tucking her chair under the table, she smoothed her skirt and squared her shoulders. The old housekeeper had always been the personification of every evil queen she’d stormed the staircase to battle as a child.
After a moment, she sought a distraction that wasn’t nibbling on the half-eaten scone on her plate. The garden caught her attention. Pale sunlight swept over the asters and Queen Anne’s lace that her true mother had planted to help fill the garden as the lilacs and roses faded, awaiting their spring rebirth.
If only people were flowers.
“Lady Amelia?”
She spun from the window with a squeak. If it were up to her, they’d have put a bell on Mrs. Carter long ago.
“Simms said the baroness has gone up ill, but you haven’t sent for the doctor. I believe—”
