Page 8 of His Spirited Lady
“We were in such a hurry to get back so he could keep his schedule to return to London,” Amelia said. “His sister’s ball promises to be a lavish event.”
“We still have the invitation.” Mother’s eyebrows went up as her smile widened. “And your father could do without us for a few days. We could make arrangements.”
Panic clutched at Amelia’s lungs just as her foot touched the entryway’s marble floor. They needed a new topic of conversation. “How is he after Doctor Anderson’s visit?”
“He’s resting now, and I’m sure he’ll want to talk with you after he wakes. But I’m confident he’ll be fine alone if we go to London.”
Of course Father would be fine. He’d reveled in having the house to himself when they’d gone shopping in Paris.
She, however, wouldnotbe fine in London. Ethan’s pursuit of her into the country would be fodder for gossip. His sister would see to that. If Amelia returned to London for the party, they’d be as good as engaged before the supper dance. She wouldn’t even have the option of choosing her own partner.
“It would be far too much effort for one party.” Amelia freed herself from her mother’s well-intentioned tether. “And the last few days have left me exhausted. I think I’ll rest upstairs until dinner.”
Her mother’s smile wobbled. “If you’re certain.”
Amelia kissed her cheek as a consolation prize. “I am, Mother. Thank you.”
The care it took not to run up the stairs and down the hall made Amelia’s bones ache.
Graves was waiting in the hallway, her lips set in a smile, though her eyes were clouded. “Is he gone then?” Amelia’s nod drew an answering sigh. “Amelia, you will not be able to avoid this for much longer.”
“I wasn’t avoiding anything.” Despite the words, Amelia couldn’t look her chaperone in the eye.
“You have been a terrible liar since the nursery,” Graves said as she walked to Amelia’s door, her slight limp a rueful reminder of their over-long ride. “It is one of the reasons I love you. You used horses to escape a proposal from a young man that is perfectly suitable for you, not to mention your behavior with Mr. Ferrand. I taught you better than that.”
She had. Between Amelia’s first mother and her second, Lillian Graves had swept into the house with an armful of books and a globe. She’d made family trips a chance for cultural immersion, teaching everything from history and geography to dances, language, and customary foods. Cook had grumbled to no end, the music master had developed an unrequited attachment, and the dressmaker…well, she’d run several of them off for not knowing the difference between French and Italian patterns. One had left in an uproar after being asked to make a sarong for a trip to India.
But Graves had always insisted Amelia be a proper lady.
“I know that you didn’t like the way he spoke over you.” Graves took Amelia’s hand in hers and squeezed. “But sometimes, that protection is a good thing, especially with strangers.”
“Mr. Ferrand was forthright about his family connection, whom we all know and respect. He would never—”
“You don’t know that, Amelia. People—men—can be deceitful.” She held up a hand to stop Amelia’s argument. “If nothing else, they can be easily led. A lady’s behavior cues them to the treatment they will expect. If you are forward, they will be so in return.” Graves cocked an eyebrow. “Likewise, if you are flirtatious or standoffish. Do not lead Mr. Raymond—or any man—down a path you do not wish to travel.”
She had done everything possible to push Ethan from her path, but he seemed determined to follow. She hadn’t even invited him to visit. “Of course not.”
Graves’s soft smile returned. “I know you wouldn’t do anything untoward intentionally, but I would hate for your…enthusiasm to trap you into a situation not of your own making.” She turned toward her room. “I believe I’ll rest before supper.”
“Let me ask Rose to draw you a hot bath,” Amelia offered. “A good soak will help with the aches from the ride.”
Graves usually refused such a request, claiming servants shouldn’t be servingher. This time, her shoulders heaved in a sigh. “That sounds wonderful, Amelia. Thank you.”
Chapter Three
Amelia opened herdoor and gently clicked it closed behind her. Then she flew into action. Dropping to her knees next to her bed, she reached for the box stored underneath. She tossed the lid aside and pulled the clothing free. The afternoon was escaping her.
The riding habit was easy to escape on her own, but it took precious seconds to fold the clothing with care and respect.
“Amelia, just because you are finished with something, you cannot toss it aside and expect others to clean up behind you. Our staff has other responsibilities. And if you cannot treat your belongings with respect, I have other things on which to spend my money.”
Her father had given her that lecture at seven years old, in his library while she was sitting on his knee. It had been her favorite thing, reviewing their day—him at work and her in school—in the cool shadowy room that smelled of books and leather. His tobacco-scented wool coat always caught her curls and dragged them into disarray, which had frustrated her nurse to no end.
The old woman would suffer a fit if she saw Amelia now. Dragging a shirt over her head brought fine strands into her eyes, and the loose linen was certainly not the height of fashion. Not to mention the drab gray skirt, which wassplit. Amelia grinned as she wrestled the black braces up her arms and let them snap against her shoulders.
Ethan Raymond would have run screaming back to London the moment he saw these clothes. Especially her boots, which were made for work rather than dancing, but were easily her most comfortable shoes in recent memory.
Maybe she should have greeted him like this.
