Page 81 of His Spirited Lady
“Raymond.” Richard replayed the house party, seeing it through clearer eyes. “He jilted you to pursue Amelia.”
“And Father ordered me to France to ride out the gossip.” Amelia slowed to ensure her chaperone stayed nearby. “He’d hoped I would redeem myself by finding a husband in Paris, but I failed.”
“And then we met.” Richard put his tongue in his cheek.
“Exactly.” Fiona sighed. “Which is why I was so hateful to your fiancée. She’d stolen the man I thought I loved and the only man in England who didn’t know I had been an idiot.”
“People in love do idiotic things,” Richard murmured. He’d known that the moment he’d returned from Althorne House that first day and stared into the empty library. Three drunken nights hadn’t convinced him otherwise.
“Amelia is a lovely, sweet girl. No one else I know would have been so concerned over me after the way I’d behaved.” She laughed. “And I believe she has the mettle to stand up to you.”
He chuckled, recalling her on that stool declaringthe world is too tall. She’d likely knock it down to size soon enough, as she’d done to Mr. Raymond. Or she’d sweep it off its feet when it wasn’t looking. “She can be terrifying for such a little thing.”
“I’m glad you two have found one another,” Fiona said. “It gives me hope.”
That was a daunting notion. Also a large responsibility. How would she feel when she read next week’s scandal sheets? “How do you know I’m not after her dowry?”
“Experience,” she sighed.
“Miss?” The chaperone called out. “We should cross and go back.”
They were in front of The White Rose, or at least in front of its iron fence heaped with rose bushes. A few determined white blooms dotted the shrubs. The imposing house sat far enough back that the shadows shrouded guests in secrecy.
“I’ll escort you back,” Richard said.
“No.” Fiona signaled him to stop without touching him. “We should go up the hill alone.” She took one last look before they parted. “Whatever is keeping you from her, resolve it and go home, Mr. Ferrand.”
Richard watched them go, following their progress up the hill until the chaperone’s brown striped skirt vanished from sight.
He’d walked Fiona Allen to a brothel, and she’d run away. Amelia would laugh over that for days.
“Ferrand?” The familiar low growl came from behind him and raised the hair on Richard’s neck. He managed to turn halfway ’round before he saw stars.
And then nothing at all.
Chapter Twenty-One
“I’m honored you’dask me to come with you today, ladies,” Miss Graves said. “I’m also quite happy Lady Amelia brought the barouche.” She tilted her face toward the sunshine and smiled.
“Was that a joke, Miss Graves?” Amelia smiled like she’d practiced in the mirror, though the unseasonably warm day helped add authenticity. She would come out the other side of this a changed person, but she would come out of it.
“I do wish you’d call me Lillian.”
“Not until you call me Amelia.” Graves had called herLadysince their first meeting, as though reinforcing it. Today she was going to learn how little it had helped.
“Which I can do from the start of your wedding breakfast until I leave for Felton House.” Graves’s smile widened as she looked to Thea. “Though I’m uncertain how I can begin with Lady Carys at this point, I am grateful for the position, Your Grace. I’ve come to love Norfolk.” Her lips quirked. “Just not the horses.”
“Given Carys’s parentage, I believe the earlier we begin the better.” Thea’s enviable laugh pealed across the carriage and out into the fields beyond. “But the position is not as her governess.”
“With Lord Simon? Are you unhappy with the village school?”
“We would like to start our own school,” Thea said. “A private preparatory school for young women.”
“A finishing school?” Graves asked, managing to look down her nose at a duchess. “My apologies, Your Grace, but Lady Amelia can tell you how I feel about thateducation.”
Amelia almost laughed. Father had mentioned it once, only in passing, and Graves had lectured him like a schoolboy on how it would be a waste of his daughter’s intelligence to teach her little more than flower arranging. She’d taken to her bed immediately after, certain she’d be sacked. Father had never mentioned it again.
Graves might rethink the sacking in a few moments.
