Page 7 of His Spirited Lady
“This place suits you.” Richard sipped his drink and raised his eyebrows at the warm flavor spreading over his tongue. “And this is damned fine whiskey.”
“It’s a local distiller, Eamon Brewer. He’s just over the ridge between us and the Chitesters.”
“I met their daughter this afternoon. She’s a handful.” Poor choice of words, because now all he could think of was her on that horse as she rode away. Her riding habit had been perfectly tailored to showcase every curve. “Her beau will find her a challenge.”
“Beau?” Oliver raised an eyebrow. “Are you certain?”
“Some dandy from London made it pretty clear he was here to propose.” So the intriguing Miss Chitester was off the market. For anyone who would beinthe market.
Which wasn’t him.
“Hmm. We’ll see…” Oliver plucked another biscuit from the tray and grinned. “I halfway thought you’d arrive with a wife.”
Julia had teased him about that often, telling him she didn’t want him to be lonely. That she wanted him to be as happy as she and Oliver were with one another. His sister had wanted many things. “I haven’t the time for a wife, especially now.”
Oliver hovered on the edge of speaking, but closed his mouth into a frown, reconsidering. The skill must have come with his new title, because he’d never been careful with his words. “How was Rosnay?” he finally asked.
It had been surreal to get to a small village in France and hear everyone talk of another Richard Ferrand, this one his uncle, his black sheep father’s older brother, to readthe death of Richard Ferrandin the local papers, and to learn his own, now dead,OncleRichard had followed his success in Quebec.
“I own a bloody winery, Ol.”
A slow smile spread over his brother-in-law’s face. “How convenient.”
“A fondness for wine isn’t the same as a head for the business,” Richard said. It was a lesson his uncle had apparently ignored. “It’s like the difference between visiting a brothel and seeing to the laundry.”
Oliver choked on his biscuit, but eventually, his cough dissolved into laughter. “Probably not the best sales pitch.”
“Likely not.” Richard grinned. “But that’s about all I know of it. I’d be happier milling the barrel staves.”
Oliver grunted in agreement as he refilled their glasses. “I know someone who may be able to help.”
*
Amelia waved goodbyeto Ethan, smiling until her lips stiffened and her cheeks ached. At last, his coach made the bend in the lane and disappeared from view. If she hurried, she’d have just enough time to change and—
“He’s a pleasant man,” Mother said. As they turned back toward the house, she looped her arm through Amelia’s and slowed their steps. “Wouldn’t you agree?”
Amelia nodded. She couldn’t argue with Ethan’s agreeableness. He was like every well-bred man in theton. He could ride well and play cards skillfully. He didn’t talk too much, yet he wasn’t surly. He drank and spent in moderation, and he knew all the best tailors, gentlemen’s clubs, and party hostesses. He also knew exactly what to expect from his lady wife.
Emphasis onlady.
“I’m so glad for the weather today. It makes up for the rain, and it gave you a chance for a ride,” Mother continued. “Though I do wish you’d have taken the landau instead of the horses. Poor Graves won’t be able to sit for a week.”
“I know, and I’ll make my apologies to her.” Graves deserved a war medal for today. “But you can’t see the prettiest parts of the estate from a carriage, and walking wasn’t practical.”
“You were out for quite a while. You must have shown him the whole county.” Mother gave her a sideways glance. “Or was there another reason for the delay?”
Her coy tone, combined with the sly look, renewed Amelia’s guilt. Her mother had liked Ethan from the beginning of the Season, and it was clear she was hoping for a proposal. Perhaps he had already spoken to her and Father about it.
“We had a lovely time out, and we came across the Duke of Rushford’s brother-in-law, Mr. Ferrand, who’d become confused in reaching Felton House. We guided him the rest of the way. It seemed the proper thing to do.”
“Ah. Well, yes. I suppose it was.” Mother’s disappointment was evident, but she wouldn’t begrudge the kindness to a family she considered friends. “And afterward? Did Mr. Raymond say anything?”
He hadn’t needed to. His behavior on the ride had made his position plain. Ethan saw it as his responsibility to protect her from unfamiliar men and shelter her from unexpected events. To speak for her. Answer for her. Decide for her.
Mother would never understand how that chafed. As the second Lady Chitester, she’d married a man already secure in his place and his future. She’d played her part in furthering his influence by being a charming hostess and a wonderful mother to a child she’d inherited and loved as her own. She never expressed opinions in public, and she never asked questions where anyone could overhear.
Marian Chitesterandscandaldidn’t belong in the same sentence, much less under the same roof.
