Of course, it just meant she would be married to the real Richard Fairgrave, Earl of Radnor instead, but even after the last two short days it was becoming obvious that he was nothing like his brother. He hadn’t once tried to controller, not even raising an argument against having to sleep in the guest bedroom though she’d expected he would. He also hadn’t criticized her even once yet, but instead had given her a handful of compliments, which was a handful more than she’d received from Dicky during their marriage. Many of those compliments had been during their night of passion, which might not be that reliable. But one had been at the ball the night they’d met, and he’d greeted her that morning with another, saying she looked lovely with her hair in the much softer style Grace had arranged it in. More importantly though, he seemed to respect her opinion, trusting Langley on her say-so twice now, and that was very important to her. She had always considered herself a relatively intelligent and sensible young woman, but George had made her feel stupid and clumsy. Richard didn’t make her feel that way.

“I am surprised you do embroidery,” Richard said suddenly. “From all Langley has told me it sounded as if you were more into horseback riding and other physical pursuits while growing up.”

“Yes.” She smiled faintly at the thought of her childhood, and explained, “Robert was often at our home while we were growing up, and we were always running, jumping, riding and whatnot. I fear my sisters and I were never really interested in the more ladylike pursuits such as”—she glanced down at the cloth in her hand and grimaced—“needlework.”

“And yet you do it now,” he pointed out.

“Dicky—I mean George—”

“You can call him Dicky if you like,” he interrupted gently. “I don’t mind so long as you never call me Dicky again. That was George’s nickname for me and I always hated it.”

Christiana nodded, but simply said, “He insisted I learn embroidery and other more ladylike pursuits. He said I was far too unruly and needed to learn discipline and needlework would teach it to me.”

“Controlling idiot,” Richard snorted with disgust, and suddenly leaned across the small space and snatched the cloth from her.

“Richard!” she cried with surprise, and then half rose from her seat to try grab it back. “Give me that back.”

He merely held the cloth behind his head and asked, “Do you enjoy it or do you only do it because he said you should and it has become a habit?”

“I—well. . .” She frowned and muttered, “It would not hurt me to learn to be a proper lady. Mother died shortly after Lisa was born and I fear Father let us run a bit wild. We didn’t learn what most girls do.”

“That does not answer my question. Do you enjoy it?” he repeated, grabbing her arm to steady her as they hit a rut in the road.