Chapter 10

CHAPTER TEN

" S hall we ride into Barford today?" Oakley suggested at breakfast. "Now that you are official, so to speak, there is no need to keep you hidden away."

Adelaide winced. "I have not ridden a horse for above a decade, and I was not what you would call proficient then."

"Should you like to learn again?"

"I suppose it would be prudent if I am to pass myself off as a woman of high society."

"There will be no ‘passing off'—you are a Richmond, regardless of how skilled a horsewoman you are." He gave her an encouraging look and waited for her to acknowledge it before continuing. "But if you should like to learn, I can certainly arrange it. I could even teach you myself."

"That might be fun," Adelaide agreed with a heartfelt smile, delighted that Oakley should wish to give her so much of his time. After a short break in the conversation, she ventured, "Lord Kemerton left early this morning. Was that planned?"

"I do not know that he specified his plans. It is not unusual for him to go without saying goodbye, though, for he is always up hours before the rest of us. He is a long-standing friend of the family, you understand. He comes and goes from Chiltern Court as readily as I do from Avonwyke." He waved his fork in the air and gave the superfluous explanation that Avonwyke was Lord Kemerton's estate. A moment later, he cast her a querying look. "I did not think you would be sorry to see him go. You did not seem overly fond of his company."

"No, but then, he did not seem overly fond of mine."

"Give the man a chance—he has only seen you at one dinner."

Adelaide did not remind Oakley of their encounters at High Brook, for he had evidently disassociated his new sister from the housemaid she had been then. Neither did she think it wise to admit to eavesdropping on several of his conversations with Lord Kemerton while there.

"Actually, I saw him again before he left this morning. The subject of how it was that I went into service arose, and I might have been unguarded in my responses. When I got back to the house, he had gone. I hope he did not leave on my account. I would not like to think I had offended a family friend."

Oakley shook his head. "He is not the resentful sort. Perhaps he has gone to call on Lady Sophia. 'Tis about time he came to the point with her."

"Oh yes, of course." Adelaide had forgotten about her.

"Well then! Is it riding lessons for us today? "

"Not today, I am afraid. I do not own a riding habit. But I should be happy to walk into town with you."

Oakley curled his top lip in revulsion. "I shall take us in the curricle."

"You do not like walking?"

"Not if it can be avoided. Tedious waste of energy. If I cannot arrive at a place by horse or carriage, I should rather not go."

Adelaide laughed, for he evidently thought this was diverting. Nevertheless, she could not help but think that the Fates had known what they were about when they consigned her to a life in service and handed Oakley into the care of the nobility. If the thought of walking exhausted him, goodness only knew what state a day of laundry would leave him in.

The ride in the curricle was thrilling. The seat was absurdly high off the ground and bounced about precariously the whole time they were in motion. Adelaide clung to the side with one hand and her bonnet with the other, shrieking as much with glee as fright each time they bounced over a rut. Oakley seemed surprised the first time she whooped her pleasure but laughed gaily with her the second and third times. Then he slowed the horses.

"Is something the matter?" she enquired.

"Not at all! It pleases me greatly to see you having so much fun. Only we are nearly there, and I know you would rather not embarrass yourself."

"Embarrass myself?" she replied weakly.

He glanced at her and seemed concerned by whatever he saw. "I meant no offence. Laughing with you like this is a joy, but you know how people can be. I do not pretend to understand all the rules about ladies' comportment, but Mother is forever remarking that this girl has laughed too loudly, or that one has shown too many teeth. I cannot see that it matters in what manner one enjoys oneself, but it seems to."

"No, I did not know either. Thank you. I shall bear it in mind."

He beamed at her, seemingly pleased with this exchange, though Adelaide could be nothing but mortified. She and Patty had often joked about the lengths to which Lady Grisham and her guests had gone to make themselves appear fashionable. It had not occurred to her that she would now be required to learn the same tricks—or how deficient she presently was in such arts.

The next turn in the road brought them over the crest of the hill, revealing Barford in the valley beyond. Oakley manoeuvred the curricle through the narrow arch and into the tightly packed mews of an inn on the main thoroughfare. He seemed disappointed when he came round to her side to find she had already clambered out on her own.

"I was going to hand you down."

"Oh, I'm sorry, I did not know I was supposed to wait. I will, next time," she replied, chastened again.

Oakley only laughed. "No need to apologise. I only meant that I am enjoying playing the gallant older br— cousin . Come!" He gave a coin to a boy nearby, along with the instruction to keep the horses harnessed for they would not be more than half an hour, and strode towards the door of the taproom .

Adelaide had begun to follow him when she caught a glint in the boy's eye. She stopped and regarded him with suspicion. "Do you work here?"

The boy shrugged. "I do if he's paying me to."

"But you do not, usually?"

He grinned. "Nah. I'm the baker's boy."

She could not help but grin with him but had not replied before Oakley called her name. She turned to shout that she was coming, and by the time she looked back, the boy was gone. She would have mentioned it to her brother, but no sooner had they fought their way through the crowded taproom and out into the town than they were hailed by a young man and woman coming towards them along the street.

"Well met, Oakley," said the gentleman. "I did not know you were back in our little corner of the world. Good to see you. And might we have the honour of being introduced to your companion?"

"Indeed, you may," Oakley replied proudly. "Mr and Mrs Greene, this is my cousin, Miss Adelaide Richmond."

"Delighted to make your acquaintance, Miss Richmond," said Mrs Greene. "I confess I did not know Lord Oakley had any cousins."

"And certainly, none so charming," her husband added. "Where have you been hiding Miss Richmond all these years, Oakley?"

"Oxfordshire—not so very hidden," he replied with a chuckle.

"How long are you staying at Chiltern Court, madam? Might we see you at any gatherings? "

"You surely will," Oakley interjected. "For my cousin has come to live with us."

Mr and Mrs Greene expressed their delight, but with her brother answering every question for her, Adelaide did not feel obliged to attend to the conversation closely. She glanced surreptitiously past Mrs Greene in an attempt to see what shops the town boasted and saw the baker's boy step out from the door of the inn. Their eyes met, and he smirked saucily and flicked his coin so that it spun through the air and landed back in his palm.

Diverted by his boldness, Adelaide smiled back and called, "Off to spend it before you are discovered?"

"Too right! See yer!" He took off at a run.

Adelaide's amusement dissipated upon turning back to her party and finding all three of them staring at her—Mr and Mrs Greene both somewhat horrified, and Oakley rather more chagrined. She knew instantly what she had done. Mrs Booker had used to act as though she did not know her own lady's maid if she saw her in the street, never mind exchange banter with the baker's boy.

"I beg your pardon," Adelaide began, but she could think of nothing that would explain her outburst and fell quickly into a silence that Mrs Greene was all too eager to fill.

"It was lovely to see you, my lord. Do give your mother my regards. Good day." She curtseyed, her husband inclined his head, and they both hastened away.

Adelaide's shoulders sagged. "I was not thinking. I am sorry."

"Now, now, less of that," Oakley said kindly. He took up her hand and replaced it on his arm, tugging her gently into motion. "What did you do but speak to a boy in the street, hm? The Greenes ought not to be so fastidious."

"You are kind to say so, but we both know I made a spectacle of myself."

"I know nothing of the sort. Chin up, now. Look here, I am sure I recall you saying you liked ribbons and such. Let us see what they have in here."

Had Oakley brought her to any other shop, Adelaide might have asked not to go in and to be taken home instead, but he had brought her to the haberdashery, and she did not wish to squander her first visit to one in many years.

She was not vain—indeed, Patty had often remarked that it would do her no harm to take a little more pride in her appearance—but Adelaide adored elegant fabrics. The patterns, the drape, the colours all appealed to her in a way that only someone who had worn dull, patched-up, and scratchy work-clothes all their life could appreciate. She drifted about the shop in a state of ecstasy, touching ribbons and stroking lace, her humiliation quite forgotten.

"Look at this one!" she implored her brother. When he did not reply, she turned to look at him. He was standing at the window with his back to the shop. She huffed a little laugh. "Charming!"

"Madam?" the shop assistant enquired.

"Oh, I was just laughing at my cousin, but I expect you are used to men standing about looking dull when they come in here."

The woman glanced nervously at Oakley, then said timorously, "Um…his lordship honours us with his patronage, madam."

"Are you sure? I should say he is more likely to scare the customers away, standing in the window looking impatient like that."

Oakley turned around at last, a broad smile on his face and a different ribbon dangling from each hand. "What a cheek! I was choosing you a gift." His gaze passed to the assistant, and his smile dissipated. In a conciliatory voice, he said, "A yard of each please, madam. And rest assured, I am neither dull nor impatient."

The woman bobbed a curtsey and set about cutting and wrapping the ribbons. Adelaide stared at the floor, wishing it would open up and swallow her. Even when Oakley gently touched her arm and guided her out of the door, she did not look up, she did not speak.

"Do not be distressed. You must know that the haberdasher's opinion is of even less importance than the Greenes'," he said once they were outside.

"That is not the point. I keep embarrassing you. I keep embarrassing everyone. I ought to have known she would not want to make a joke at your expense—I have lived in that world, I know it is not acceptable for a shopkeeper to laugh at a viscount!"

"Do not be so hard on yourself. There is no harm done."

Adelaide was saved from replying by a shout from behind.

"Ho! Is that you, Oakley?"

They both turned to see a gentleman approaching on his horse. He dismounted, and Oakley introduced him as Lord Tipton's nearest neighbour, Mr Thomand. "And this is Miss Adelaide Richmond, my cousin."

Mr Thomand expressed his delight to make Adelaide's acquaintance, then with a sceptical look, asked Oakley, "Not Damian's?"

"Robert's. We have only lately found out he had a daughter."

"What a wonderful discovery! Your father and I used to play together as children, Miss Richmond," Mr Thomand told her. "He was a fine man."

She smiled and nodded in acknowledgement. She longed to ask him to elaborate but did not trust herself to frame the question with any grace.

After a prolonged pause, Oakley cleared his throat and said, "My cousin is only recently arrived. She is still settling in."

"Of course," Mr Thomand replied. "I shall leave you both to explore the town. A very warm welcome to you though, Miss Richmond. I hope we shall meet again soon." He waited for a moment more, looking awkwardly between her and her brother, but eventually tipped his hat and led his horse away.

"Why did you not speak to him?" Oakley asked quietly. To Adelaide's dismay, a note of frustration rang in his voice. As kind as he had been—and seemed always to be—it made the fact that she had displeased him all the worse.

"Forgive me. I have made such a muddle of everything so far today, I thought it would be safest not to. I did not mean to give any offence. "

Her brother sighed—very quietly, but she heard it, and with some panic, she asked, " Was he offended? I'm sorry!" She felt suddenly tearful, though she might have withheld them had Oakley not taken up her hand and squeezed it.

"Nobody could be offended by you, Adelaide. You are entirely too sweet."

She let out a small sob. "How can you say that? I have offended everybody we have spoken to."

"Easily. If you were not sweet, you would not be troubled about having offended any of them." He tapped her on the chin with his thumb. "You will get used to it soon enough."

"Will I?"

"Of course! You forged a whole new life for yourself once before. I see no reason why you cannot do it again."

"But that is just it! I did that because I felt so out of place, but it did not help. I have always felt out of place, wherever I have gone. I thought it would feel different now that I am with my proper family, but it doesn't. I am just as much a fish out of water as I ever have been."

"Give yourself a chance! This is your first time out of the house since you found out who you are. And in any case, you have not done as badly as you seem to think. A few misplaced comments here and there are scarcely worth mentioning."

Adelaide almost wished he would try less hard to convince her, for his exuberance was having the opposite effect of making him seem wilfully blind to her defects. Yet, her own doubts notwithstanding, she treasured his faith in her and, not wishing him to lose it, decided against contradicting him. She tried for levity instead.

"Definitely do not mention them to Lord Tipton. He might decide I am too much trouble after all and send me back to High Brook."

Oakley gave her a mock glower. "That is not how families work. I shall say this as often as it takes to make you believe it—you are a Richmond. We cannot simply decide we do not want you."

"The late Lord Tipton decided he did not want our father." She regretted saying as much when his countenance constricted in dismay.

"Yes, I suppose he did," he said earnestly. "But I hope you will take me at my word when I say that I would never forsake you."

Nobody had ever championed Adelaide as earnestly as Oakley. That was largely what made it so difficult to believe it could possibly last. It was also what made it so easy to promise, "Nor I you."