by Megan Walker
Two weeks to secure my sister’s happiness.
My pulse quickened as Clara and I were introduced to the company. First was Mrs. Turnball, a refined woman of few words, though her gaze spoke volumes of her character. Her eyes were soft but focused, her head held high and resolute as she greeted us.
Meanwhile, her daughter, Miss Beatrice Turnball, fawned over Clara’s golden hair, claiming her own brown and my auburn to be far inferior. “You must call me Beatrice,” she said. “We shall be fast friends.”
Next were two gentlemen sitting on the settee across from the window engaged in boisterous conversation. Both men stood at our approach, bowing deeply.
“Mr. Bratten of London,” Lady Demsworth introduced. The tall, skinny man with a youthful countenance smiled proudly. “And Lieutenant Rawles, who dutifully serves our country.”
“At present, my services are not required,” the lieutenant corrected. “I am on half-pay until the king has better need of me.” His rough, unkempt exterior, including an unshaven jaw and scarred right eyebrow, was intimidating, despite his smile.
I could’ve sworn the two men cast each other a knowing glance as we walked away.
“Where is Sir Ronald?” Clara shyly asked Lady Demsworth as we rounded the room.
“Getting another arrival settled. The Woods arrived just before you, and Ronald is very good friends with Mr. Wood. The two haven’t seen each other in nearly a year.”
“Miss Wood is here?” Clara’s voice fell flat, but she recovered with a generous smile.
Blast our bad luck.
“Yes.” Lady Demsworth nodded. “Ronald said you’d be eager to meet her. In fact, your rooms are beside each other upstairs.”
Just then, the doors burst open, and Sir Ronald’s laughter filled the quiet room. Everyone stood to greet their host. Clara rose on her tiptoes, aiding his view of her.
“Miss Clara! You’ve arrived.” Sir Ronald made his way to her, guiding a bustling, curly-headed blonde by his side. “I trust your journey was uneventful.”
“Indeed.” Clara grinned. “We were so pleased for the invitation.”
“It is I who am pleased . . . to see you again so soon.” Sir Ronald’s smile grew serious and sweet, and my heart swooned for Clara.
The blonde girl, who Sir Ronald introduced as Miss Georgiana Wood, wedged herself perfectly between him and Clara. Her smile was fixed as she said, “Surely you are tired from such a long journey.”
“Not at all,” I said, raising my chin. Her presence alone put me on guard. Georgiana was a certain kink in our plans.
Sir Ronald pulled both ladies into conversation, and a comfortable murmur filled the room as the company fell into pairs and trios. I stepped back, suddenly out of place, like a stranger among a group of old friends. Now was the perfect time to dress for dinner. I could be back down before Clara noticed I’d gone.
Rubbing my face with my hands, I turned to exit through the double doors. With a whoosh of my skirts, I ran straight into something tall and hard. Stunned, I grasped wildly for balance, my discomfort magnified as I was caught in an embrace.
“Amelia?” A low voice said, sounding much too pleased—and much too familiar.
My senses realigned, and I drew my head back, meeting the green eyes of the man from the shop. I stepped out of his hold, my mind spinning.
No. It could not be. Had he followed me?
“How did you find me here?” He leaned against the doorway with a wicked grin, echoing my own question.
“Excuse me?” Did he honestly think I would look for him? “I am a guest here.”
He stood up straighter, eyes flooded with interest. “You know Demsworth? How?”
“Never mind. What are you doing here? And when are you leaving?” I could not hide the sudden worry that filled my voice. This fortnight was about Clara. I could not have any distractions.
“As it happens, I know Demsworth rather well.” He shook his head in disbelief, laughing. “Amelia, I cannot believe you are here.”
I crossed my arms, glancing over my shoulder, fearful someone might overhear our conversation. “You should address me as Miss Moore, sir. I have not given you permission to use my Christian name so openly.”
“I beg to differ.” He lowered his chin, eyes glinting. “And so would the shopkeeper four miles down the road.”
Embarrassment wafted through me, igniting my pride. Perhaps I had not behaved as ladylike as I should have, but he’d not acted his part either. I huffed at the thought. “What kind of honorable gentleman steals a pair of gloves from a lady? And then throws his money at her to solve the problem?”
He glanced to my bare hands, and I quickly tucked them behind me.
“In the first place, I never professed myself honorable,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “But I have regretted leaving that shop from the moment I stepped out its door.”
His eyes met mine curiously, like he wanted me to react to his regret. But the only emotion I felt was anger. His regret did not change his choices. And choices defined a person.
“Forgive me if I do not offer adequate sympathy.” At this point, it would be safer for me to retreat into the room to get away from him. A conversation with Lieutenant Rawles was more enticing than being forced to address the guilty conscience of this man.
“Wait,” he called as I stepped into the light of the drawing room.
“Peter!” Georgiana waved, and I turned, locking eyes with the strange man who’d followed me.
Sir Ronald also turned. “Wood, just in time. The Misses Moore have arrived.”
The man kept his eyes on me as Sir Ronald, Clara, and Georgiana moved toward us.
“Ladies, this is Peter Wood, a great friend of mine, and as I am sure you know, Georgiana’s brother,” Sir Ronald explained.
Mr. Wood—Peter, though I would never dare such informality aloud—offered a low bow. “How very fortunate I am to be in your company.”
If this was luck, then Lord Gray had cursed me.
“It has been too long.” Sir Ronald looked pleased. “Inheritance is such a tricky trade, is it not? I mourn the loss of your father as I have mourned my own, but I am glad to have you near. Have you finished things in London at last?”
“Finally, yes. A year’s worth of settling affairs. And thank you, Demsworth. Georgiana is thrilled to be closer as well.”
And then it hit me, like the weight of a thousand bricks pressing into my chest. Miss Georgiana Wood. The woman Clara claimed to be in competition with for Sir Ronald’s heart was this man’s sister. Frustration boiled hot within me as I clenched my skirts with my bare hands. To have lost Clara’s gloves to Georgiana Wood, whose nose could touch the ceiling for how high she held it, was unacceptable. Judging by her expensive blue silk dress and shiny pearl necklace that rivaled Lady Demsworth’s, Georgiana did not often fail to acquire her heart’s wishes.
“Dinner will be ready in a half hour,” Lady Demsworth declared from the doorway.
“Perhaps we should dress,” Clara said into my ear.
I caught Georgiana motioning to her brother, and Peter turned to Sir Ronald. “I fear we have missed quite a lot of each other’s lives. You have much to tell me.”
“Shall we sit? Your travels surely rival mine.” Sir Ronald grasped Peter’s shoulder.
“Georgiana, join us, won’t you?” Peter edged the three of them toward a settee near the window, pointedly away from the rest of the company.
Clara looked back at them, frowning, and I realized my mistake. We should have dressed for dinner first instead of making introductions. Clearly, Peter had not hesitated to navigate his sister into the center of Sir Ronald’s attention. Meekness or timorousness would not be afforded here if I was to keep up with the competition.
“Yes,” I whispered back to Clara. “Let us dress quickly. The sooner we
dress, the faster we will be back down.”
Our room, large and square, held two beds with brown wooden headboards occupying the rightmost wall and a fire crackling in the hearth on the opposite side. The fireplace was framed in white marble with light blue velvet chairs placed in front of it. A bouquet of lilacs in front of the open window filled the room with a sweet scent.
Mary had placed our gowns and long evening gloves over our beds, and she quickly pulled Clara over to the dressing table.
Despite the urgency I felt to return to the drawing room, I couldn’t help but lean my elbows on the windowsill and take in a deep breath as the chill of the early evening breeze brushed across my face. Daylight waned, casting shadows in the crevices of the rolling hills outside. It was a beautiful scene.
My bones ached from being caged in the carriage all day, but worse, my mind spun with the faces of all the people I’d just met. Each seemed kind enough, save the Woods. Georgiana would be trouble. And her brother was intimidating to say the least.
“Amelia,” Clara chided. “If you start dressing now, Mary can attend to you when I am finished.”
“Of course,” I said, tearing myself away from the window. There was no time to waste.
Dinner was a boisterous event and more casual in seating arrangements and conversation than Lady Demsworth could possibly have anticipated. Between the men, no one else could get a word in, and their stories from past hunting adventures turned poor Lady Demsworth green as she picked at the lamb on her plate.
I took a small bite of roasted potatoes and risked a glance at Peter. He was grinning at something Lieutenant Rawles was saying, his arms crossed as he leaned back in his chair. Before reason called me to my senses, I caught his eyes with my own for a brief second. Nerves seizing, I stared down at my plate. What was it about his gaze that intimidated me so? I moved the remaining vegetables around with my fork while Georgiana encouraged the men with perfectly framed questions, batting her eyelashes as she sipped from her cup.
After dinner, Mr. Bratten entered the drawing room ahead of the other men, choosing a card table with Mrs. Turnball and Beatrice and motioning for Lieutenant Rawles, who was piling a stack of books next to a chair, to join them. Sir Ronald began a game of whist with Clara, Georgiana, and Peter, which left me alone with Lady Demsworth.
“I am feeling rather tired. I think I will do some stitching by the fire,” Lady Demsworth said. “Would you care to join me? You should know that I appreciate honesty over obligation.”
“In that case, I would love to join you and enjoy the fire without the stitching.” I stifled a yawn, and she nodded.
“You look exhausted, Miss Moore. Should I call for a cup of chocolate with our tea?”
“That would be lovely.”
Lady Demsworth led me to the coziest chair I’d ever sat in, the velvety fabric as soft as the plump pillow at my back. A cup of chocolate arrived shortly after with the tea tray, and I leaned into my chair, listening to the muffled voices in the room.
Clara was laughing, a gloved hand covering her lips, clearly taken with something Sir Ronald had said. The striking transformation of my sister over the course of a single day was astounding. Yesterday her sadness had been overwhelming, but today her countenance was filled to the brim with elation. To keep her like this, happy and free, I would do anything.
Lady Demsworth was drifting off, stitching only once every few minutes. Her casual nature permeated the Demworths’ home. I felt so at ease already, and we’d only just arrived. Half of me still expected Lord Gray to march in and demand his cigar, his relentless cough shaking the walls. I was glad Clara did not fully understand the gravity of this visit, of how quickly we needed security. But a small part of me wished there was someone who felt the weight of my burden too.
Peter’s loud laugh echoed off the ceiling, and I straightened. That man. How could I keep him—and more importantly his sister—from getting between Clara and Sir Ronald? Certainly not by sitting in a corner sipping hot chocolate.
Careful not to disturb Lady Demsworth, I rose and made my way across the room. Sir Ronald and Peter stood at my approach.
“Miss Moore. If only whist could be played with five instead of four.” Sir Ronald smiled regrettably. “But, please, join us if you’d like to watch Georgiana and I rob your sister and Wood of their dignity.”
Clara scowled playfully at him, eliciting a grin from Sir Ronald that creased his cheeks. Peter cleared his throat, and I met his gaze. His eyes held curiosity, and I shot back as much indifference as I could muster. I would no longer be timid. If a battle raged between his sister and mine, Clara would win.
“Now I am invested wholeheartedly,” I said. “I cannot see Clara losing at whist, unless Mr. Wood is a terribly unskilled player.”
“That I am not.” He winked at me, and my nerves tightened. “But if we have an audience we should raise the stakes. What do you say, Demsworth? What should the winning pair get?”
“Tea on the veranda,” Georgiana said, leaning closer to Sir Ronald. “Under the stars.”
Clara exhaled, eyes dropping to her cards. I could not blame her. Who would want to spend an evening with Peter Wood on the veranda?
“Agreed.” Peter smiled as if he’d already won. Clara’s slumping shoulders conceded. “Miss Moore, allow me to offer you my chair.”
I wanted to say no. I would have stood all night before taking anything from him. But Sir Ronald looked expectantly at me, and I nodded my acceptance. For Clara’s sake.
I thanked my stars for Peter’s formality in front of the company. Perhaps he meant to keep our secret after all. He slid his chair nearer to Clara so I could sit by her, and then retrieved another from a nearby table.
The game continued another half hour until, as predicted, Clara and Peter lost three points to one. I clenched my jaw, knowing Clara had played her best. Peter had obviously thrown the game so his sister would win.
“I thought you said you were skilled, Mr. Wood?” I cast him a disparaging frown.
“Every man has his day. Apparently, this was not mine.” His easy grin added fuel to my fire.
“No, it was not,” I grumbled. And neither would tomorrow be, nor the rest of the days we might spend in each other’s company. My patience for Peter Wood and his scheming had just run dry.
Chapter Four
A gentle breeze rustled my skirts as I walked upon the soft grass, farther and farther from Sir Ronald’s house. He’d taken our company on a tour of the grounds, and I was determined to find them. If only I hadn’t slept away the morning like an old spinster. With aching feet and not a man in sight I could almost claim the part. Plopping down on a lonely stump at the edge of the tree line, I wiped a trace of sweat from my brow.
I was lost. I must’ve already walked an hour or so but was no closer to Clara than I’d been at the house. What if she was struggling? What if she needed me to laugh at her jokes or boast of her successes? Neither of us had experience with winning a gentleman’s heart. The only example we had was my mother’s, and Father had not been her choice at all.
On the bright side, at least I had gloves. I pulled Lady Demsworth’s old pair tighter upon my hands as though they had imbued me with power and courage. Mary’s stitching was masterful. An eighth of an inch proved precisely the difference in our measurement. And according to Lady Demsworth’s maid, there were a dozen more pairs waiting to be mended, so these gloves would not be missed.
Hooves pounded in the distance, startling flocks of birds in the trees.
When a small carriage rounded the bend, I waved my arms like a stranded islander lost at sea, and the coachman pulled up beside me.
“Ma’am, what are you doing all the way out here?” a servant asked.
“I fear I’ve walked too far. I am trying to find Sir Ronald and his party.”
“I see. We’re meeting them up north with the
picnic he requested. There is room in the carriage for anyone too tired to return by foot. Would you like a seat? The ride is bumpier in the pasture, but you’ll get there all the same.” The coachman dismounted, guiding me to the carriage door and helping me inside.
The drive was indeed bumpy, but my sore muscles welcomed the respite anyway. When the carriage stopped, I peered outside and there, just up the hill, stood Clara. Her hair was loosely curled and pinned under her bonnet, crowning her face like an angel. She wore a wispy pink dress that flowed with the breeze, the color matching the hue in her cheeks. She stood out just enough in the party without being overly conspicuous in appearance.
I stepped out of the carriage and approached the group.
“Miss Moore, you’ve arrived just in time.” Sir Ronald waved me over. Clara, Georgiana, and Peter stood in a half circle at the base of a hill. Peter looked annoyingly handsome in his navy overcoat, his hair windswept as though he’d just rescued a dozen damsels in distress. I felt his stare as I approached the group, though I pretended not to. He’d had his fun last night, but today was a new day.
“I’ve brought your picnic with me,” I teased, latching arms with Clara and looking to Sir Ronald. “I’m terribly sorry to have slept so late. How was your morning?”
“Much fun,” Clara said with a softer than usual smile. Something was wrong.
“Yes, the grounds here are breathtaking.” Georgiana placed a hand on Sir Ronald’s arm. A perfectly beige gloved hand.
As servants set up the picnic, I took the opportunity to pull Clara away a few feet, just out of earshot.
“How was the morning? Really?” I asked.
“Fine.” Clara looked away into the distance. “Sir Ronald’s lands are truly lovely.”
“Only, what? Tell me at once, Clara. Did something happen?”
“Not something. Someone.” She glanced over her shoulder to where Georgiana was laughing at something her brother said. I could almost guarantee it was not as funny as that.