by Megan Walker
Mr. Bratten and Sir Ronald were at a card table in the front with Beatrice and Georgiana. Where on earth was Clara? More importantly, where was Peter? My answer came a moment later when I saw them a few paces away on the window seat. Clara looked absolutely discouraged with her chin lowered, gazing out the window while Peter gave some monologue that appeared uninspiring. How dare he steal her away twice in one evening?
Offering my thanks to Lady Demsworth, I squeezed from between my neighbors and strode toward Peter. Anger from being manipulated boiled within me, and I could no longer control my tongue.
“Clara.” I tried to keep my voice even as I approached them. “I need a word with Mr. Wood. Would you mind? Perhaps you could find a chair at the card table and enjoy the game?”
She looked up at me and lifted one corner of her mouth. “Of course.”
As soon as she was out of earshot, I took her seat, trying to appear unaffected by this devious man whose agenda to distract my sister from Sir Ronald had officially crossed the line. I would not allow it. What little confidence Clara had, what bit of armor she wore that protected her from feeling inadequate and undesirable had been long in the making, and I would not allow one man to destroy her dreams nor her attempts to achieve them.
“You and I must have a conversation. Now.” My words were clipped, low, but I maintained a strained smile.
Peter sat up straighter to face me directly. “You are angry with me.”
“Murderously so,” I said.
But Peter’s eyes brightened, and he leaned closer. “What have I done now to incite such a rage in you, Amelia? I thought we were becoming friends.”
“Friends?” I caught myself fuming on the word and lowered my voice. I could not allow any of our company to overhear what I had to say. “How could you ever imagine that I would desire your friendship? You are the most unamiable, selfish, ill-behaved person I have ever met.”
Peter’s smile dropped as he raised his chin. Finally. Perhaps now he would take me seriously.
He swallowed, his gaze boring into mine. “Why?”
“Never mind. Only leave my sister alone. You have done enough to draw Sir Ronald’s attention away from her, and I can no longer sit idly by. You do everyone in this party a disservice by meddling where you ought not to.”
Peter was silent, brows raised. He did not counter me, nor did he seem angry by my response. Whether he contemplated my thoughts or was calculating his own rebuttal, I did not know, nor did I wait before counting more accusations against him in my head.
He took in a long, slow breath before responding. “Georgiana needs me to encourage her.”
“Then do you deny it? That you are pushing my sister out of Sir Ronald’s company to suit your own ambition for Georgiana’s marriage?”
Again he paused, eyes too gentle for the overwhelming fire within mine. “My intention has only been to aid Georgiana in her own endeavor. I have no ambition for the marriage. Only for her happiness.”
“At the expense of my sister’s? How cruel a person you must be to openly scheme one woman into love by denying another of its possibility. I will ask you again to stop your interference at once.”
He let out a disbelieving laugh, rubbing his jaw with a hand. “You do not know me at all, and yet you describe your opinion of me so brashly.”
“Do you deny it, Mr. Wood?”
He leaned against the window in his usual carefree manner. “I do not.”
I scoffed, shaking my head in disbelief. What surprised me was not that he schemed, but more that he seemed entirely complacent, content even, in his actions.
“Don’t look at me like that,” Peter said with an edge to his voice. “We are the same.”
Immediately I crossed my arms. “We are not—not in the least.”
“Really? What of your breathlessness on the hill earlier? And our private picnic away from them?”
I bit my tongue. He was not wrong. But that we were the same in reason? Absolutely not. A man like Peter could never understand the importance of a match like this for Clara, for me. He lived without a care, and Georgiana would too, regardless of whether or not she married Sir Ronald. Their lives would be undisrupted without this match, but for us, it would mean the difference between poverty and freedom. If anyone deserved to nudge her sister nearer to the finish line, it was I.
“You cannot possibly understand my motives. What we need from this,” I emphasized.
“Do your needs outweigh my sister’s desires?”
Huffing, I rubbed my temples. There would be no arguing with a man who had everything, who gave freely to his sister as she desired. Clara and I did not live like that. We were the minority at Lakeshire Park. But I would never admit as much to Peter. Heaven only knew what he might do with that information.
“Spoken like a gentleman who wants for nothing,” I said under my breath. No matter what I said, he would never understand. “Just leave my sister alone. Do not engage her again unless she approaches you first.”
“Or what?” Peter smiled, and I realized I had no actual threat to back up my demand. “If you want me to step back, Amelia, you will have to give me something in return.”
“What is that?” I asked disdainfully, turning my gaze out the window. He knew I likely could not give him what he wanted, yet he baited me with the possibility.
There was a pause, an unexpected hesitation. I drew three steady breaths before he spoke. “Your company. Every afternoon until we leave.”
I whipped my head around to meet him. “What? That is preposterous.”
“It is the only way I will relent. But you must also keep from scheming.”
“You cannot be serious.” I shook my head, waiting for him to laugh at his own teasing. What could he possibly want with me? What sort of trick did he have up his sleeve now?
“I am in earnest.” He looked intently at me, as though we were discussing a legitimate trade. “Are you in agreement?”
“My company in exchange for you loosening your hold on Sir Ronald?”
“Yes,” he said firmly.
I looked away, balling my fists. Who was this man? And why did he live to aggravate me? It mattered not; I had to agree if I wanted to help Clara. Her future depended on this match, and I had no doubt if she was left to her own will, she could secure it. We only needed time.
“Agreed,” I said through my clenched jaw, standing. How had this happened? What had I done to deserve such difficulty and trial? Peter could tease and bait and laugh, while I had to plan and pray and hope. Anger at the injustice of my circumstances and the frivolity of his weighed heavily in my chest like molten iron. “But mind, Mr. Wood, if you so much as step out of line, I will make you the most miserable man in all of Hampshire.”
To my further irritation, the words only bolstered Peter’s grin. “Don’t tempt me, Amelia. I am already having so much fun.”
Chapter Seven
Mary pulled at my hair, tightening and twisting each curl atop my head.
“Do be kind, Mary.” I winced, gripping the handles of my chair.
“Of course, miss. Forgive me for saying so, but you are usually not so tender-headed.”
Mary gently pinned a piece of hair, and I relaxed my shoulders. I had not slept well, tossing and turning all night over my conversation with Peter. His ultimatum had soured my mood even this morning. Why, of all the things he could have asked for, would Peter choose my company? There must be some hidden scheme I’d neglected to account for. I would find out soon enough.
The door to my bedchamber swung open, and Clara rushed in.
“Amelia, you are awake. Good.” Her eyes were frantic. “I need to borrow your necklace. The flower pendant. Georgiana is also wearing pearls.”
Clara reached around her neck to unfasten the pearl necklace she wore, before yanking open my jewelry box and shuffling
through the few items I possessed. Clara hadn’t worn much jewelry in London, but clearly she intended to while we were at Lakeshire Park.
“It’s in my drawer,” I answered as Mary twisted a larger portion of hair at the base of my neck. Her deft fingers were swift and sure. “We cannot have you complementing your rival, can we?”
“Georgiana is not my friend, that is most certain. When I came downstairs, she greeted me by saying my maid had misplaced a pin in my hair and that I should have her adjust it before breakfast.”
Mary scoffed.
“The nerve of that girl!” I said. “She and her brother are relentless.”
“Do not worry, I told her my maid does not misplace pins, and I played the pianoforte to distract myself.” Clara shook her head as she paced to my drawer. “Sir Ronald complimented my talent.”
Mary and I caught each other’s smile. “How is Sir Ronald this morning?” I asked.
“He is such a thoughtful host. He is taking us through town after breakfast,” Clara said over her shoulder as she sorted through my things. “And Mr. Wood asked after you.”
“Did he?” I let out a heavy breath. Clearly he meant to waste no time in punishing me.
“I told him you were coming down for breakfast. Are you nearly ready?”
“One more minute,” Mary said, holding a pin between her lips.
Clara fastened my necklace around her throat and examined herself in the mirror. “That is better.”
“First my gloves, and now my necklace.” I shot her an amused smile. “Is there anything else of mine you require?”
“Your wit,” Clara said seriously. “Oh, I shall never make it through this day.”
If I possessed enough wit, I would not be preparing for an afternoon with Peter. “You do not need it. You need only be yourself.”
Clara frowned at her reflection in the mirror. What was it she saw looking back? Why did she care so much about her appearance and distinction? Sir Ronald could not care as greatly as she did. Was love worth such stress?
Mary clapped her hands together, and I looked to my own reflection, meeting light brown eyes like my mother’s. Auburn hair framed my face in an elegant, smooth twist.
“Perfect.” Clara tugged me up from my chair. “Quickly now. We are late.”
Clara and I were the last to arrive for breakfast, and therefore the last to choose seats. She sat at Lady Demsworth’s left, while I found a seat by Beatrice, thankfully on the opposite end of the table from Peter.
“What is the town like, Sir Ronald?” Beatrice asked.
“It is small,” he answered, peeking at Clara. “The people are kind, and you will find they keep their shops clean and professional. We’ve a bookseller, a bakery, a milliner—”
“That sounds lovely. We passed by a specialty shop on our way to Lakeshire Park,” Georgiana said, chin raised as though she’d built the shop herself. “Hats, shoes, cravats—they sold it all. Their glove maker recently retired, though.”
“Yes, that is likely the same shop we stopped at before arriving,” Clara said. “Though Amelia did not have a very welcoming experience.”
I coughed, choking down a bite of egg, and stole a glance at Peter. He chewed through an unrepentant grin, cutting at something on his plate. At least the desire to keep our secret was mutual.
Sir Ronald glanced at me as though to apologize for my inconvenience. “How unfortunate. It is difficult to keep business afloat so far out in the country. I am sure someone will be filling the position soon. Besides shopping, I shall take you all for a stroll through the park, of course.”
“How long do we anticipate being away?” Peter asked, stealing my attention from my plate.
“Likely through the afternoon,” Sir Ronald replied casually.
Peter heaved a dramatic sigh, looking to me. “Pity, Miss Moore. You and I shall have to stay behind.”
“What’s that?” Georgiana looked up at her brother.
“Miss Moore and I have committed ourselves to charity work on the estate this afternoon. We shall have to join you next time.” Peter continued eating as though nothing amiss had been said. Our company, however, looked to me.
Wiping my lips with a napkin, I offered a small nod and a most uncomfortable smile. What exactly were Peter’s intentions? What on earth had I gotten myself into? I could not refuse him, nor could I question him in front of our entire company. “Indeed, Mr. Wood. I was sure our absence would have gone unnoticed for so short a time.”
“How thoughtful of you two.” Lady Demsworth smiled affectionately. “And now Mrs. Turnball and I have a perfect excuse to stay behind as well.”
“Well done, Wood.” Sir Ronald nodded in approval. “You always were a generous fellow.”
And a schemer and a scoundrel.
Soon after breakfast, Sir Ronald called for the carriage, and the company broke apart to ready themselves. I started up the staircase with no intention of engaging Peter before I had to, but he stole around me.
“Your riding habit, if you please, Miss Moore. I will be waiting down here to see off the carriage.”
His smile, curious and confident, dimpled his cheeks. The sight sent a jolt through my chest as I remembered the feeling of that dimple under my fingers during yesterday’s game. Blast Peter Wood and his confidence and his cheeky smile. Though I wanted to walk right through him, I had no choice but to nod in agreeance. Satisfied, he stepped aside and let me pass.
Clara tried to be disappointed at my staying behind, until I reminded her that I would be keeping Peter away from Georgiana’s influence and Sir Ronald’s attention. After changing into my sky-blue riding habit, I filled her reticule with coins of my own before sending her off.
Peter waved as the carriage retreated down the drive, and I rubbed my hands together behind my back. We were not entirely alone as Lady Demsworth and Mrs. Turnball were in the drawing room, but it felt the same, regardless.
“Shall we?” Peter held out his arm, a new easiness to his posture. His bright eyes were full of excitement.
“Where are you taking me, Mr. Wood?” I took his arm, and he tightened his hold. I had little hope his “charity work” was charitable at all.
“It is a surprise. I am certain you will hate it and regret the day you bargained with me.”
That much was true. He met my narrowed eyes with a chuckle.
Two horses were saddled just outside the stable. A groom helped me onto the mounting block, setting me easily atop the back of a horse.
“Summer is the gentlest we’ve got,” he said, rubbing her nose. “Aren’t you, girl?”
Not that I had enough experience on horseback to know the difference. I hadn’t had a real opportunity to ride since childhood. I suppressed my nervousness, rubbing Summer’s chestnut mane. She was quite the beauty.
“ . . . a mile or so south. You’ll find enough there for the entire estate,” a man said to Peter, leaving me to wonder what I’d missed. Find enough of what?
“Perfect,” Peter said to the man. “Come along, Miss Moore,” he called as he led his horse out of the stables and into the morning sunlight.
Anything for Clara. I kicked at Summer, who started lazily toward the gate. At this pace, we wouldn’t return until dinner.
With the groom not far behind, we rode side by side without speaking for a time, listening to the birdsong in the treetops. The air warmed as the sun rose above the trees. Enjoying the clopping of horse hooves on the hard dirt path, and the gentle, easy sway of Summer’s pace, I relaxed into my own thoughts.
“You are enjoying this too much.” Peter’s voice was light and amused. “You are supposed to be miserable.”
I snapped to attention, catching his contagious smile. “I am horribly miserable, don’t you worry.”
“Excellent, then some conversation should increase your misery just enough
.”
I moaned. Why must he ruin my comfortable sunshine? Couldn’t we just trudge through our afternoons silently and leave both parties satisfied?
“Do you have any other siblings? Besides Miss Clara?” he asked, as though the question was as intriguing as a hidden chest of treasure.
“I do not. And you?” I asked the question to be polite, before realizing I’d only fueled the conversation.
“It seems we have a commonality. Only Georgiana.” He smiled at me, but I looked away. “And what of your parents? How did they meet?”
“Oh no, you’re a romantic,” I said with a pained expression. He’d be disappointed with Mother and Father’s story, and even more so with Lord Gray’s. Neither was romantic in the least.
Peter straightened. “Perhaps I am. Most women find the sentiment charming.”
“Or unrealistic.” I raised a brow at him, and he tilted his head back in jest.
“Amelia Moore does not believe in love?”
“Amelia Moore believes in practicality and sensibility.”
“Why?” he asked pointedly, defensively.
I thought for a moment, taken aback by his need for an answer. “Because love cannot be trusted. It comes and goes, and those who have it and lose it suffer most acutely.”
I avoided Peter’s gaze, though I felt his stare as he spoke. “But they also live more fully than those who do not open their hearts at all.”
“I would debate you, but I have a feeling neither of us would win.”
Peter chuckled, his eyes lighting up, though he did not press me.
As angry as I was at Peter for all his meddling and coercion, I appreciated the cheerful way he held his opinions. I thought about his words as Summer kept pace with Peter’s steed. What experience did Peter have with love? Any at all? To be so confident that love was a strength was an endearing sentiment, but a foolhardy belief. I’d thought Peter more practical than that.