“She does not allow mourning to interfere with her pleasure in riding,” Adam said.
“She would probably say she honors our father this way. They liked to ride together.”
“Since she is the eldest, why am I not being offered her hand?”
Marwood glanced askance at the dowager, then smirked. “Because the goal is to keep you from killing me, isn’t it?” he said in a low voice, with unexpected bluntness. “Not give you another reason to want to.”
Adam chose not to reassure Marwood about the killing part. Let this pup of an earl worry. “You are intriguing me now, not discouraging me.”
Marwood bent his head closer and spoke confidentially. “I am doing you a great favor now in speaking honestly. My father spoiled and indulged her and allowed her to build notions unfitting for women. He never demanded she marry, and now she thinks it beneath her. He left her a good bit of property in her own name, a handsome tract with rich farms.” His voice turned bitter on the last sentence. “She is my sister, but I would be no friend to you if I sang her praises when in reality she is something of a shrew.”
Clara was the old earl’s favorite child, apparently. Adam wondered if the recently deceased father still had the ability to turn over in his grave. With a nudge or two, perhaps. “How old is she?”
“Far past marrying age. Twenty-four.”
Old enough to remember. She might even know a great deal, if her father kept her close. “Call her down here. I would like to meet her.”
“Truly, you do not want to—”
“Call her. And tell your other sister to put the book down. Her arms must feel like lead by now.”
Marwood scurried to his grandmother to share the request. The dowager sailed over to Adam while trying to appear calm. “I fear you misunderstand. For this match to come to a satisfactory conclusion, the bride must be Emilia. Clara’s character is above reproach, but she is not suitable for any man who desires domestic harmony.”
“I only asked to meet Lady Clara. Nor have I agreed to any marriage yet.”
“Before he died, my son specifically spoke with me about this alliance. I am only executing his own intentions. He said it should be Emilia—”
“He wants to meet her, Grandmother.” Exasperated, Marwood raised his arm and gestured to his sister Clara to come in.
The horse ceased pacing. The woman had seen and understood the instruction. She sat on that hill, her horse in profile, her head turned to them, gazing down. Then she pulled the reins hard. Her horse rose on its back legs so high that Adam feared she would slide out of her sidesaddle. Instead she held her seat neatly while she pivoted her horse around. She turned her back on them and galloped away.
The lady had just slapped him in the face from a distance of six hundred yards.
The dowager’s expression showed smug triumph beneath its veil of dismay. “How unfortunate she did not see my grandson’s signal.”
“She saw it well enough.”
“She is a bit willful, I will admit. I did warn you,” Marwood said.
“You did not mention that she is rude and disobedient and quick to insult others if she chooses.”
“I am sure she did not intend to insult you.” He gave his grandmother a desperate glare.
“Sure, are you? Then please tell the grooms to bring my horse to the garden portal over there immediately. I will go and introduce myself to Lady Clara so I do not brood over her unintended cut and allow it to interfere with our families’ new friendship.” Adam bowed to the dowager. “Please give my regards to Lady Emilia. I am sure she and I will meet soon.”
Chapter Two
Clara galloped a good two miles away from the house. What had Theo been thinking, hailing her and gesturing for her to come in? She was hardly dressed to meet his guest. From Grandmamma’s stiff pose, she suspected only Theo thought it a good idea.
She pulled in her horse and walked it over to a copse of trees. Putting Theo out of her mind, she dropped off the saddle onto a tree stump, hopped down, and pulled a sheaf of paper out of her saddlebag. She found a good spot beneath a tree, sat, and turned her attention to the pages. Her friend Althea had sent this yesterday, and she needed to read through it and send back her thoughts on it.
She immersed herself in the prose, making a few marks with a pencil she had tucked in her bodice. Absorbed by her reading, she did not look up for at least a half hour. When she did she saw that she was no longer alone.
A man watched her from a hundred feet away. His white horse contrasted with his dark coat and dark hair. The latter ended past his collar and bore none of the signs of being styled by a hairdresser aware of the current London fashions.
She recognized him from the terrace. A notion nudged at her that she had perhaps seen him before that.
Theo’s visitor had followed her. She thought that very bold. The way he just sat there and observed her only confirmed that he had no manners.
