Chapter 5 Samantha #3
It’s so ridiculous that I find myself laughing. “Now I’m able to orchestrate geese bursts? You’re quite lucky to be on a date with God Herself.”
He’s laughing even harder now, and when he finally slows down, he wheezes. “Pretty sacrilegious.”
I shrug. “I’m not sure it really is, when it’s just a joke.”
“That’s why I said sacrilegious and not blasphemous.”
I sigh. “I can’t adequately banter with someone who has a degree from Oxford’s divinity school.”
“Cambridge,” he says. “And I didn’t actually graduate, so no degree. I’m six credits short.”
Oh my word—he really. . . “We aren’t really in the same league, Richard,” I say.
“We both like horses, and you have a second, or is it a third estate, in Ireland near the one I own a partial interest in, but honestly, this isn’t a good fit.
” I wave the air between us. “As bad as things were with you and Natalie, it’ll be worse than that with us. That’s why I put things off.”
There. That should do it. Right?
Only, Richard just seems to ignore me. “How about we race down toward the nunnery?”
“We—what?”
But Richard has already urged Cachacco forward, and my competitive instincts take over. “Alright, Big Red,” I whisper, squeezing him hard. “Let’s see what you’ve got.”
The ground underneath his hooves is soft but not slippery, and loamy chunks spray in every direction as my borrowed red chestnut takes off. I beat him by a hair.
Still.
A win’s a win.
“Best of two?” he asks, his sides heaving as much as Cachacco’s. He tosses his head. “Give them two minutes to rest, and let’s head for Lismore.”
I roll my eyes. “Richard. Be serious.”
“I am.” His eyes are sparkling. “We may be doomed, but even you have to admit, this is fun. How many men in this county—no, this country—could give you a solid race on horseback?”
I snort. “Let’s see. Rían, Aodhán, the guy I met when I was—”
“Oh, stop.” Richard scowls. “You have to at least admit that the Sligo baby I brought for you is a fun ride. He’s my second favorite after Cachacco, and I let you ride her last time.”
I laugh. “You have me there. What’s his name?”
“What A Honey,” Richard says. “But to be clear, I didn’t pick the name.”
“Related to Lislee Honey?”
“Half sibling,” he says.
I pat What A Honey’s neck. “That just makes me like you more.” I can’t help asking. “How’d he wind up red, then? Aren’t they both bays?”
“His mom’s a chestnut,” Richard says. “I didn’t figure you’d be biased against the red ones.” He’s teasing me.
“I’m not a redhead,” I say.
“Heaven help us if you were.” His lip’s twitching. “Fiery enough already.” Then he tosses his head, and he counts down. “Three. Two.” And he takes off.
“You’re such a cheater,” I shout after him. “But it won’t be enough. Honey and I are going to destroy you.”
I wind up being wrong. Cachacco might not have had the shorter distance, but she has more stay than What A Honey. In the last few furlongs, we fall back, and Cachacco’s still moving fluidly. She’s really spectacular.
As we reach the gate, I whistle. “You know, I really hate losing, but I can’t be sore about losing to her.” I rub What A Honey’s sweaty neck. “You are a champ, sir. I appreciate you. But she’s a real beast, huh?”
Richard’s smile is broad. “Good timing.” He’s not smiling at me, though. He’s smiling at someone who’s walking through the gate.
Aodhán.
“What are you doing here?”
“I’m taking your horse,” Aodhán says, like he’s a groom or something. He’s scowling, but he doesn’t actually look upset. His eyes are too bright. “I am here but to assist you, milady.”
“Shaddup,” I say. “You’re such a punk.”
Richard glances between Aodhán and me, like he’s not sure he understands us, but he can tell we get along. “I’ll see you in thirty minutes,” he says. “Is that enough time?”
I splutter. “Thirty minutes? Enough time for what?” I stiffen. “What’s happening here?”
“Nothing nefarious,” a woman with ink-black hair says. “I’ll be taking Cachacco.” She’s beaming. “You may follow Lord Burlington upstairs.”
“Lord Burlington?” I mouth. It sounds so weird. “Why would I follow him?” I’m staring at Aodhán, but it’s Richard who answers.
“I talked to Rían. He said he’d take care of feeding your horses himself tonight.” He glances at his phone. “Your horses are back home, Clara is fine, and he said to tell you to have fun.”
“Fun doing what?” I’m officially annoyed. I resist stomping, but it’s a near thing. “What is going on?”
“Come with me,” another woman, this time clearly a maid of some kind wearing a stiff grey uniform, says. “Lord Burlington has prepared a surprise for you.”
I dig my heels in, literally, dropping my hands on my hips. “What is the surprise?” I glower up at Richard. “Because if you think I’m stuck here, you’re wrong. I could have an uber here so fast your head would spin, Mister.”
The maid’s jaw drops, her eyes wide.
Aodhán snorts. “I told you.” He clears his throat. “My lord.”
“Dinner,” Richard says. “I’m auditioning three new chefs, and I thought you might be able to help me decide which one to choose.”
Aodhán’s eyebrows wiggle. “He didn’t even ask me for my opinion.”
Richard ignores him. “But if you’d prefer to go home, reneging on our deal to have a proper date, I’ll have my man drive you home right away. No uber necessary.”
“You have a ‘man’?” I laugh out loud. “Good heavens.”
Richard frowns, his shoulders slumping.
“It’s like a bad Hallmark movie.” I clear my throat. “Sorry. Was that rude?” I shrug. “American.”
“It’s not a get out of jail free card,” Aodhán hisses. “You can still try to be polite.”
I sigh. “And I suppose you have a dress waiting for me, and women to do my hair and nails upstairs?”
“There’s a dress, but I think we’d need more than thirty minutes to try and fix that,” the maid mutters.
“Wow.” I laugh. “So there is a little fire in there.”
“Redheads,” Aodhán says. “Too much fire, if you ask me.”
“Which exactly no one is,” I say. “Well, as long as no one’s planning to paint my nails or change my hair.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Richard says. “And if the dresses don’t work, just wear what you’re wearing. I may have done too much searching online when I was planning this date.” He looks a little embarrassed, actually, and I kind of love it.
He’s about as different from Brent as I could imagine.
Racing horses and picking between multiple dresses for a chef-made dinner? Instead of being such a butthead, I should be jogging up the stairs with a giggle cascading after me. “Fine.” I cough. “Well, let’s go see what you got.”
Once I climb nineteen thousand steps to the very lofty second floor and follow the red-haired maid to the far left wing, I find a whole rack of dresses in size six, eight, and ten.
UK sizes aren’t exactly great for my self-esteem—I’m pretty sure I’ll need at least a ten.
I guess Richard’s not the kind of guy who can look at a woman and guess her size, but neither did he assume bizarrely large or small sizes, which I appreciate.
He has been married before, so I bet that helps.
The maid’s grinning. “He told me you were very tall, but very thin, and he had no idea what size you might be.” She shrugs. “Sorry.”
“Honestly, I never know until I try something on myself.” As I peruse the sparkling, shimmery, chiffon, and slinky fabrics, I can’t help my smile.
It’s corny, but I’ve never touched a Prada, a Versace, or a Valentino dress in my life.
I stop on a burgundy Victoria Beckham dress.
It’s asymmetrical, which I like, and it’s a deep, rich color that won’t wash out my skin and hair, and it’s a size ten.
There’s a raw edge on the places the fabric meets, and there’s pretty, joined bunching over my midsection and at the top of the bodice.
Both of those seem promising.
I step into the shower for two minutes, then I towel off and put on some of the light, rose lotion that was on the counter. When I slide into the Beckham dress, I don’t feel stinky and gross from riding.
I feel. . .like a princess.
The dress only makes me feel fancier. And once I try it on, I never want to give it back.
I wonder whether it’s a loan or a gift. .
. I’ll have to brace myself to ask. I’m on my way to taste-test the food from three fancy private chefs, and I can’t help thinking that the plain black, ankle-strap pumps with tiny flowers on the toe that I chose—Valentino—aren’t very close to glass slippers.
Even so, I’ve never felt more like Cinderella in my entire life.
Why did Natalie say Richard was bad at this?
He’s wearing a tux when I walk into the dining room, and he looks great. I’m relieved I didn’t opt to keep wearing my stinky riding gear. His mouth curves into a half-smile when he sees me, and then he shakes his head tightly. “Wow.”
I roll my eyes. “You’re the one who bought it.”
He chuckles. “That dress should only exist for you. I’m quite sure it wouldn’t look half as good on anyone else.”
“What a corny line.”
He shrugs. “It’s not a line, Samantha. It’s true. You always look great, but tonight, you’re spectacular.”
My heart stutters, and I can’t help it. I’m. . .moved. I wish I didn’t have a broken uterus. I wish this happily ever after could be mine. I wish it wasn’t a stupid, temporary fairy tale I was trying on while I’m lying to this very nice man.
“Here.” He waves his people off and stands, pulling my chair out for me. “Sit, please.”
The next three courses—salads, soups, and three different roasted bird dishes—are some of the best food I’ve ever tried. Richard makes me vote on each. They put each chef on a different style of china so it’s easy to keep them straight.
“It’s hard,” I say. Almost as hard as staring at his beautiful face, knowing I need to tell him that he and I are doomed. “They’re all really talented.”
“Which salad did you like best, though?”