Lakeshire Park

by Megan Walker

  “I think you know why Clara and I are here. We were so grateful for the invitation, especially Clara, and we’ve quite enjoyed our time with your company. But there are things that Clara does not know about our future, things that I have only just been told, and I fear we will find ourselves in greater need financially sooner than expected. And so I must ask—do you have any connections that could offer a living or—”

  “My dear girl,” Lady Demsworth stopped me, grasping my arm with a motherly touch I hadn’t felt in years, “will Lord Gray leave you nothing?”

  It was the question I feared the most. The answer could cost us everything should Sir Ronald truly prize a wealthy dowry. But I’d already given the truth away. Lady Demsworth merely sought confirmation.

  “He will not.” I wanted to look at my hands, but forced myself to meet her gaze. “My father’s estate was entailed to a distant cousin five years ago who refuses a connection with us. My mother added nothing to the marriage, as she was estranged from her family after the scandal. We are quite literally left with nothing. I would appreciate your discretion. I think you can relate to having undesirable circumstances thrust upon you.”

  She lowered her chin with evident compassion. “More than you know. I am terribly sorry to hear this, Miss Moore.”

  “Please, call me Amelia. I cannot tell you the whole of my secrets and have such formality between us.”

  “Amelia, then,” she agreed. “As it happens, I have just the situation for you, and I have longed for the opportunity to speak with you about it.” A new excitement entered her voice. “Allow me to elaborate. The person I spoke of two nights ago—the one needing marriage advice. I was referring to my nephew.”

  I took in a deep breath, blinking, my tongue suddenly numb. I had not expected her to answer so swiftly.

  She continued. “He has recently lost his wife, and though he has no desire to remarry for love, he wishes for a wife to help guide his household and see to his young daughters. He is thirty-four, quite wealthy, and very handsome, if I may say so.”

  My breath caught, my heart racing in my chest. I had not expected marriage. Not like this. Yet, here it was, my opportunity. Practical and sensible. A life of security for myself and, if necessary, Clara as well. Better yet, if she accepted Sir Ronald, we would be able to see each other as often as we wished, with nothing to keep us apart.

  “If I may be completely honest,” Lady Demsworth said, “I’ve had you in mind for him since our conversation, but I felt it more prudent to speak to you at the end of the fortnight. His mother was my eldest sister, and I promised her I would help him in any way I could. He and Ronald were not the easiest of friends, but I am sure that could change if reason necessitated it.

  “As I said before, he has asked me to undertake the task of finding him a suitable wife. One who sees marriage in a practical light. Who does not expect love as a result. And I am happy to look no further if you accept.”

  Was this really happening? Must I choose right now? So many questions flooded my senses, I could not keep them all in. “Where does he live? And what does he do? How old are his daughters, exactly, and when does he expect to marry?” I crossed my arms and then uncrossed them again. Did I even have a right to ask such questions? Didn’t one simply accept a marriage of convenience based on . . . convenience?

  “Might I send word for him today? I could invite him for a day to answer your questions in person. He is a good man, Amelia, and will be a good friend. And perhaps in time you could find a happy companionship together.”

  I could not argue. She was right. Besides, what choice did I have? Here was an open invitation for companionship, nothing more. A man whose heart had already been taken, who required only friendship in exchange for security. Surely that was what I wanted, wasn’t it?

  For a reason I could not explain, my memory flashed to Peter crawling out from beneath a rickety table in the dress shop, the carefree manner in which he asked if he could assist me.

  Did he feel for me as I did for him? Would it even matter? I knew my sister; if Clara did not hold Sir Ronald’s heart, she would rather me tie her to a cousin Sir Ronald seldom saw than to Georgiana’s only sibling. Our life was like a riddle, one that needed solving, and time was running out.

  “Of course. Thank you, Lady Demsworth,” I said meekly. “Can we not expose the situation just yet? I’d like to meet him and, perhaps, accept him in person.”

  “Of course, my dear, of course.” She clasped her hands together. “How you will admire him; he is such a delight. We were brokenhearted by the loss of his wife, but how wonderful it would be to give him a companion who will treat him as well as Elizabeth did.”

  I could only nod, lost in thought.

  “I shall write to him now. He will wish to meet you and propose to you in person, and I am certain he will come right away.”

  She left me alone, listening to the sound of my own breathing. This was really happening. I would marry a man for convenience, for security and comfort. Clara and I would be safe. She could have all the time in the world to find a match if Sir Ronald refused her advances. We would be secure once and for all. Was that not all that mattered? I’d assumed the responsibility of practicality over love after Mother died, but now, face to face with the reality of a loveless marriage, the lights in the room seemed to dim.

  What was love to me anyway? Pain, disappointment, loss. To have love was to be vulnerable and open to injury. This match would secure my resolve against it. This one choice would take away any hope of love I’d buried all those years ago with Father, and then Mother.

  But how could I be sure that love was not worth the risk? I’d never been in love, never kissed a man, never felt that tingling in my chest that Father claimed to feel for Mother when they’d first met.

  Or had I? Peter’s touch, his smile, laughing with him as we chased Winter in the middle of nowhere. I’d never felt such happiness, such belonging. It had almost felt like . . . home.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Mr. Pendleton was his name. David Pendleton. I rolled the name around on my tongue and tried to focus on Lady Demsworth’s words. She had me cornered in the hallway, barely out of the breakfast room, excitement in her voice as she told me the whole of his life. But I could hardly get past the sound of his name on my lips.

  “He is as tall as my Ronald,” she said. “And he loves horse racing, so you’ll have to indulge him in those endeavors now and then.” It was as if she’d forgotten the despair of my circumstances and the engagement was as good as done in her mind.

  “I expect we shall receive his response directly; he is fortunately staying in his country house for the summer. I imagine we will have him for dinner within the next few days.” Her eyes were bright as she anticipated my response.

  “How wonderful.” My voice cracked at the end. I thought of Peter and felt as hollowed out as an old tree. Thankfully, Lady Demsworth rushed away to tell Cook we would be receiving another guest.

  I’d taken a tray in my room the evening before, claiming a headache, and fallen fast asleep. I had few thoughts for Lord Gray other than pity and anger at his neglect. There was no use fighting against a circumstance that stood as tall and immovable as a mountain. Just as I’d done when Mama died, I’d have to take a breath and keep moving. At least I had Mr. Pendleton to save me this time. His family had to be more welcoming than Lord Gray.

  Apparently, the night had continued rather late for Clara and the others, as I heard not a sound even long after breakfast. Sunshine beamed brightly through a front window, and despite rain-sodden grounds, nature called to me. Clarity seemed to come in its presence, and I was in dire need of clearing my thoughts, of realigning my priorities and finally facing my own future.

  Not to mention avoiding Peter. Our conversation in the stalls yesterday had left me feeling vulnerable. I’d grabbed his hand on an impulse, knowing full well that
our afternoons together were no more than casual meetings to protect our sisters. And yet, I’d felt something. Something surprising. Something real. Had he felt it too?

  No. Peter was invested in his duty to his sister. He kept me entertained to keep me away from Clara just as I’d done to him during our first few days here. How mortifying to have been so bold and forward. I rubbed my temples. If only I could cancel our bargain and flee from these feelings that only seemed to confuse me more, especially with an engagement on my horizon. But, now more than ever, Clara needed me to keep Peter at a distance. This time was crucial for her and Sir Ronald to make their match. Like it or not, I would have to be available later this afternoon.

  “Do be careful not to muddy this,” Mary pleaded as she laid out my light-blue riding habit. “There are only so many remedies for mud stains, and I would hate for you to ruin such a lovely color.”

  I offered my thanks for her concern, promising to ride only through the driest edges of the estate. Mary pinned my hair tightly in curls beneath my most fashionable hat, and I tugged on an old pair of leather riding gloves.

  When I arrived at the stable house, Mr. Beckett was leading a beautiful filly back into a nearby stall.

  “Excuse me, sir,” I called as I approached. “I hoped for a ride this morning.”

  He looked up. “Of course, Miss Moore. I saddled Grace for Lady Demsworth, but she made other arrangements this morning. Would you care to ride her?”

  “Actually, I am quite attached to Summer. Is she well?”

  “A quick ride will suit her today. Just let me finish with Grace, and I shall have Summer ready for you directly.”

  “I shall ride Grace.” Peter’s voice sent a tickling shock through me, and I hastily turned to meet him. He wore a brown coat and a soft smile, moving toward the filly. “That is, if Miss Moore does not mind a companion.”

  Before I could speak, Mr. Beckett stepped forward. “Oh, no, not Grace, Mr. Wood. She is not keen on male riders—”

  “Is that so?” Peter rubbed Grace’s nose. Obviously, he liked the idea of a challenge. “Surely I can change her mind on the matter.”

  “I would not recommend it, sir.” Mr. Beckett’s face grew serious. “She’s known to buck and cause injury.”

  Peter stole the reins from Mr. Beckett’s hands, a look of confidence in his eyes. “Perhaps Grace has yet to meet her match.”

  Mr. Beckett saddled Summer while Peter switched the sidesaddle on Grace.

  “Does this account for our afternoon, then?” I raised a brow at him.

  “I intend to keep you out all afternoon, so yes,” he said as he tightened the leather straps.

  I sighed. This was exactly why people were beginning to talk. How would it look if Peter and I were found on a long ride together? Would they assume we pined after each other? That we held a shared affection? The idea was absurd. And yet . . . Peter’s voice, his very presence reeled me in like a fish caught on a hook. I wanted to be near him. What did that mean?

  More, what did it matter? I stopped, waiting by Mr. Beckett and the mounting block. I could not entertain this feeling growing within me, whatever it was. I was as good as engaged to Mr. Pendleton. I needed to be. Besides, Peter had said himself the only reason he desired my company was to ensure I kept from encouraging my sister. Regardless of his persistence, that was all he cared about.

  Settling atop Summer, I brushed through her golden mane with my fingers. I grasped the leather reins and patted her neck before urging her into a slow walk beside Peter and Grace.

  A few moments passed, and the stables shrank behind us.

  “Were you sneaking away again?” Peter asked.

  I shrugged. “Sometimes I prefer the solitude.” Especially when I needed time to think.

  “I can relate to that. I quite enjoy getting lost in the middle of nowhere.”

  Summer whinnied her agreement, and Peter and I laughed.

  I took a deep breath of grass and earth and wind.

  “What a lovely view,” Peter observed, expressing my very thought. His appreciation for nature, the way his eyes soaked up the scene before us, enticed me to relax and enjoy it as well. The afternoon was too good to waste on thoughts of my future. I would push all thoughts of Mr. Pendleton and Lord Gray out of my mind. Here, now, I would live in the present.

  Unbelievably, Grace rode calm and neutral under Peter’s hand; even Mr. Beckett registered shock at the miracle as he followed behind us as chaperone.

  Peter and I rode along the west pasture where green grass and weeds with tiny yellow and purple flowers painted the scene. The earth sank beneath the horse’s hooves, the ground still damp and muddy from the storm. I caught my breath at the beauty of the sky above the open fields. The clear blue vastness opened my chest, liberating my heart from the constricting weight of my circumstances. Oh, to be as free as the wind, as limitless as the sky, as luxurious as the sun! I felt so complete in the open pasture beyond Sir Ronald’s estate, and I never wanted it to end.

  Peter swerved right, nearly knocking into Summer and me.

  “Whoa, girl,” he said to Grace, pulling back on the reins. “Don’t turn on me now.”

  A tinge of anxiety pinched my brow. We’d only been riding for a quarter hour. How long would Grace last? “Perhaps she is bored. Shall we try it at a run?” I asked.

  “Yes, thank you.” Peter gave Grace her head, glancing nervously at Summer, who, to my great surprise, bolted right after her.

  The wind rushed past me with Summer in full gallop, and I imagined at any moment the breeze would lift me up and carry me away. The further we escaped, the greener the landscape became. Suddenly, I understood Peter’s earlier sentiment of being lost in the middle of nowhere.

  Slowing, I dropped Summer’s reins and reached toward the clouds. Out here, nothing mattered. Out here, I was free. Peter slowed beside me, and I hugged Summer’s neck, my cheeks warm with a new energy pulsing through my veins.

  Peter stared at me, a strange hitch in his own breath, as if air had been caught in his lungs.

  “What is it?” I sat up, searching his brightened eyes.

  “You.” He locked his eyes on mine. “You are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen, Amelia Moore.” Sincerity laced his words, and a tingling spread within my chest.

  I nervously patted Summer’s mane. Peter could not mean to compliment me so greatly. My emotions of late must be exaggerating his words. “What are you after with such flattery, Peter Wood?”

  His smile broke free. “What might it earn me?”

  “Nothing but trouble, I am sure.”

  “Perfect. As long as it involves you.”

  I flashed him a feigned scowl, nerves fluttering wildly in my stomach. We needed a new subject, and quick.

  “Is this not a perfect day?” Peter asked, as if he knew my thoughts.

  “In every way.” I turned my face to the sky. “I love the way the grass smells, and the sound of the wind blowing through the trees. And the birds flying freely, soaring even. Brighton is an entirely different environment.”

  “But do you not love the ocean? It is vast and mysterious, much more so than the farmlands here.”

  “The ocean is the only part of Brighton I do like. But it is just another place I cannot explore. I don’t want to merely imagine what it might feel like to have a wave wash over me. I want to jump in. Here, at least, I can roam wherever I please, and experience all the beauty right at my fingertips.”

  “I see.” A smile touched his eyes. “I am pleased to hear it.”

  At that moment, Grace leaped into a run, bucking wildly and running far off our grassy path and into the sludge of mud in the middle of the pasture.

  Time stopped as I watched Peter pulling feverishly at the reins, tightening his grip and trying to recover his hold.

  “Grace!” I yelled, following
as close as I dared with Summer. “It’s all right, girl! Grace!”

  Peter steadied her for a split second, just long enough to jump down into the mud, boots slopping noisily. He slapped Grace on the rump, and she took off at a run. “She will have to find her own way home.” After feeling through his pockets for something, he frowned. “Blast. I’ve lost my fob watch.”

  I stopped beside him and started to dismount. “What does it look like?”

  “Stay up, Amelia. This mud is deep,” Peter said with a tightened jaw. Every step he took required great effort, his boots rising from the thick mud with a sucking sound.

  “I am not afraid of a little mud,” I said, balancing on Summer and searching the brown slog for any semblance of a watch. The sun hit a glimmer a few paces away. “But I can see that you are not as comfortable with it as I.”

  “I love it.” Peter frowned with heavy sarcasm. “I would sleep in a bed of mud every night, given the chance.”

  “Would you?” I snorted, and he glanced up at me in mirth. I lifted my skirts and hopped down, and my boots instantly sank to my calves in mud. I did not want to disappoint Peter if I was wrong in what I’d seen, and I was just as capable as he to wade through mud.

  He started toward me, obviously coming to rescue me from the same sticky situation he’d found himself in. I put every ounce of energy I had into my legs, pulling up my feet from their grasping holes.

  “Do not attend me, Peter. I am fine.”

  He threw his hands in the air and muttered something about “audacious” and “stubborn” under his breath.

  I made my way closer to the glimmering piece until I was close enough to see that it was in fact the watch.

  Several feet away, Peter bent over the ground and poked at what appeared to be a rock. He tossed it over his shoulder, barely getting his hands dirty, and missing Summer by an inch.

  He thought me audacious, did he? I pulled off my gloves and tucked them neatly into the pocket of my riding habit. I plucked the watch from the mud, the dirt coating my hands as I examined it. My lips pursed, and I thought of the promise I’d made to Mary about staying out of the mud. I’d have to clean my hands somehow before they muddied my dress.