Lakeshire Park

by Megan Walker

  “If they do wed, they may need support, and I want to be in a position to offer it. I do not need love as she does. But I cannot bear her unhappiness.”

  David nodded, completely unaffected by my forwardness. “That is fair. And an easy price to pay for my family’s needs.”

  My family. He said the phrase as though they would always be separate from me. Separate from us. Clara and I against the world, as usual.

  “I would need it written into our contract,” I said with as much pride as I could muster. “An unbreakable arrangement, unable to be abandoned.”

  “My word is as good a deed.”

  “I’m afraid I will not relent on the matter.” I pulled back on Grace’s leads, halting her.

  “Why?” The creases of David’s eyes wrinkled, scrutinizing my stance.

  “Because I am tired of living without certainty. I will not endure it again.”

  He hesitated, then agreed with a firm nod of his head. “I am sure it can be done.”

  We returned to the house without another word, both lost within our thoughts. Was this how my mother felt before marrying my father? Had she been this scared? If only Lord Gray had saved her then. Perhaps, as he’d said, we’d all have been better for it.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  “Not now,” Clara said when I entered our bedchamber. “I do not want your secrets to ruin my dinner. But afterward, when he is gone, you owe me an explanation.”

  I nodded. She looked exactly like my mother had when she was cross. Clara did not speak a word to me as Mary finished fastening her dress, and I could not blame her. We did not keep secrets from one another, and I would be just as angry, just as hurt, if our roles were reversed.

  Clara’s shiny blue dress shuffled as she descended the stairs. I wore yellow, with my hair pinned high atop my head. We were the last to arrive in the drawing room, and Clara left my side without a backward glance.

  David met me at the door, but my eyes found Peter standing with his hands on his hips, his eyes shooting daggers, just behind him.

  “Good evening, Miss Moore.” David bowed, then took my arm, barely giving my appearance note.

  “Mr. Pendleton.”

  He led me into the dining room, seating me beside Sir Ronald, across from Georgiana. Peter sat next to his sister, sawing the food on his plate with precise force.

  Instead of the usual casual evening, an air of formality overtook the drawing room after dinner. The gentlemen took longer with their port and did not settle in as quickly with cards or other games. It felt like an evening during the Season, where the ladies held their tongues and batted their lashes while the gentleman discussed important topics.

  When the hour struck nine, David stood. “Thank you for this afternoon, Demsworth, Aunt Violet. I should be on my way. I have business to attend to in the morning.”

  “Of course,” Lady Demsworth said, casting me a worried glance. “We’ve quite enjoyed your visit.”

  David turned to me. “Miss Moore, might I have a private audience with you on my way out?”

  I felt the weight of every eye staring at me as I nodded slowly, taking David’s arm. Peter stood, but Georgiana grabbed his arm, pulling him back down beside her.

  “Good night to you all,” David said, his voice distantly ringing in my ears.

  In the entryway, Mr. Gregory handed him his coat and top hat, opening the door for us. Our feet crunched upon gravel as we walked toward David’s coach, arm in arm in the cool evening air.

  “I do not want your answer right away,” David said when we reached the door, his face darkened by night. “But I would be most pleased to ask for your hand. I am happy to fulfill all your requests, and I think in time we shall become good friends.”

  Not knowing how to respond, I cleared my throat awkwardly, swallowing the bitter taste in my mouth.

  David continued, “Take a few days, be sure this is what you want, and what you need, then send me word. You and your sister are welcome to join me at any time. My younger brother and his wife have offered their home nearby should you need a place to stay.” David took my hand, hesitating for a moment before kissing my knuckles. His gentle touch felt odd after hearing him so fervently declare that ours would be a friendly companionship, nothing more. Could such a thing be? Would it always feel so awkward, so forced between us?

  “Thank you, David,” I said evenly. My hand had never been kissed before, even gloved as it was now, but still I felt nothing. Nothing at all.

  I snuck past the drawing room, back up the stairs to my bedchamber. It took me half an hour to wiggle free from my dress alone, but I did not want to speak to a soul, not even Mary. I feared I would either cry or scream for the raging of emotions I felt within me. Some from frustration at having such a terrible fate in life, and others at being unable to choose what I wanted. Did I even have a choice to begin with? No one else had asked for my hand.

  I’d just climbed onto the wide window seat when Clara opened the door.

  “There you are,” she said, breathless. “Why did you not come back? Everyone was waiting for you. Have you accepted him, then?”

  Was it the shadows from outside that darkened Clara’s amber eyes? Or just my imagination?

  “He offered, but I have yet to answer,” I said, turning to gaze at the moon high in the night sky.

  “You’re sacrificing for me, and I will not have it.”

  “I do not have a choice, Clara. I am doing this for us.”

  “For us?” She stood above me. “No, thank you. I will not be responsible for your poor decision. Our happiness does not rely on money alone. I refuse to believe that.”

  “And what if Sir Ronald chooses Georgiana? What then, Clara?”

  She said nothing, but looked away. How could I have foreseen everything falling apart like this? I had to tell her everything. To make her understand why this match with David was necessary, whether I wanted it or not. Clara did not deserve for her world to be torn apart. But we were out of time.

  I pressed my palms to my eyes, forcing back the emotion that rose in my throat. My voice came out soft, pained. “Lord Gray is dying. He told me so himself before we left. And the letter I just received from Mr. Jones confirms that Lord Gray will leave us any day. Evelyn was at the concert hall with Trenton, which means our cousin has been summoned. I thought to return, to beg for mercy, for any sort of livelihood, but Mr. Jones informed me that Lord Gray has forbidden it. He wishes to never see us again.”

  “What?” Clara’s jaw opened in shock.

  I reached out to her. “This arrangement with Mr. Pendleton is the only way I know we will be safe.”

  “We will work. Together.” Clara was erratic, disbelieving as she tried to make sense of everything I’d kept secret.

  I shook my head. “You do not understand, and I am glad you do not. Clara, one of us must be able to support the other or we will be separated. And I cannot lose you. I won’t.”

  “Sir Ronald will offer for me,” Clara said willfully, holding herself in her arms.

  “Even if he does, do you honestly think he can support the both of us?” The question stung, but it needed to be asked.

  “It would take some sacrifice, but yes.”

  “I do not wish to be sacrificed for either. David will provide a home for me, and it is a path I choose for myself as much as for you. If things do not work out here, he lives more than a day’s travel from them. He is not close friends with Sir Ronald. You need never see them if you wish.”

  Clara shook her head, disappointed. “Is there no one else you admire? No one you could make an arrangement with, someone who is not a complete stranger?”

  I said his name before thinking, “Mr. Wood.”

  Clara sighed. “This is not a time to joke, Amelia. I am in earnest. A connection with the Woods would be worse than servitude.” Her words we
re tiny needles pricking at my heart.

  “Mr. Pendleton asked me to consider carefully his offer and send word when I have come to a decision. I mean to do that tomorrow. And you shall be the first to know.”

  Clara let out a small huff, clearly dissatisfied. “Fine.”

  “Can you ever forgive me?” I asked. “I only wanted to give you a fortnight here without worry. I’d hoped we’d have more time to plan than this.”

  “I forgive you,” she whispered, emotion thickening her voice. “And I am sorry, Amelia. You should not have carried this burden alone. And you should not have to marry a stranger.”

  Clara pulled me into an embrace, and I felt her shoulders shake with emotion.

  This will all be a memory one day, I thought. We will yet grow stronger for it.

  “There must be happiness ahead,” I replied, more to myself than to Clara. I thought of Peter and the conversation we’d had in the creek about our families and our hopes. What I wouldn’t give to go back to that day.

  To stay in that moment.

  To be free.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  I skipped breakfast and stayed in my room all afternoon, having no desire to face Peter. I knew any conversation with him would result in misery. If he was unaffected by the news of my impending engagement, my heart would ache to have lost his favor. If he was upset by it, I’d endure hope that we would continue on as before.

  Amid the struggle, I could not silence the voice in my head that told me I’d made a grand mistake, that I needed to give Peter a chance to react to my circumstances, knowing them fully. Perhaps nothing would change. But what if, together, we could find a solution to all our problems?

  I sighed, pulling out a book of poems from my table drawer. Admitting my circumstances was a risk not only for me, but for Clara as well.

  Try as I might to hide away, a knock on my door interrupted my late afternoon reading.

  “You’ll have to forgive my intrusion,” Georgiana said, stepping over my threshold uninvited. “But you’ve stirred up quite the gossip downstairs. Only no one will come up to claim your company. No one who is able, that is. I’ve had to stifle Peter more than once to keep him from ruining himself.” Georgiana sniffed as she took a chair by my unlit hearth. “You look awful.”

  Touching my hair, loosely pinned and frizzled from a day of neglect, I guffawed at Georgiana’s blatant honesty. “Thank you, Georgiana. For your surprising visit, and your humble compliment.”

  She returned my smile, but without warmth. “Let’s get right to it, shall we? Have you accepted Mr. Pendleton?”

  So Clara hadn’t told all. “That is my business, and mine alone.”

  “Not when it affects my brother, it is not.”

  “How could my engagement to Mr. Pendleton affect your brother?”

  “Don’t be daft, Amelia. He follows you around like you are royalty, and though it has taken me some time to notice, it is clear he admires you greatly.”

  I dropped my gaze to the floor. “Admires me, perhaps. But he does not know my circumstances. He would not love me, if he knew.”

  “I am in no mood to be mysterious,” Georgiana snapped. “You are a fool if you reject Mr. Pendleton.”

  “You speak with such certainty. Forgive me if I do not trust the tongue of a serpent.” My words were brash, but I’d had quite enough of Georgiana’s interference today.

  A slow smile curved her lips. “You should. I am only trying to help you see what is best for you. And for your sister.”

  My hands were in fists, my teeth clenched. “Rest assured, I am doing what is best.”

  “Have you accepted Mr. Pendleton? That is all I want to know.”

  I walked to the door, opening it fully for her to leave. “I have not. Yet. I am still considering his offer. Go and tell your gossiping throngs the news with my best regards.”

  Georgiana stood and sauntered to the door. Had she slowed her pace any more, the door would have surely hit her on her way out. As it was, I stomped directly to my bed, throwing my face into my pillow to stifle the scream that arose in my throat.

  I felt like a coward as I entered the drawing room before dinner.

  Before I had the chance to find Peter, Lady Demsworth pulled me into an embrace.

  “My darling, I heard the news. How exciting! David seemed absolutely delighted by you. If only he could have stayed for the ball tomorrow. I just know you two shall be the happiest of companions.”

  “I have not yet accepted him,” I said loudly, in case anyone overheard our conversation.

  “Yes, but you are just being modest, and that is quite amiable, dear.”

  Beatrice caught my eye from across the room and nodded toward Peter, who sat at his usual chair at the hearth with his nose in a book. She smiled as though to encourage me.

  I had nothing to lose. If Peter no longer wished to be my friend, I would still be in the same predicament. But was he changed now that David stood between us? It was utter foolishness to pine after Peter Wood’s friendship with an engagement on my horizon, but I missed my friend. And I was not ready to let him go just yet.

  When I reached him, I sat on a stool across from him. “What are you reading?”

  “A book,” he replied, flipping a page listlessly.

  “How intriguing.” I leaned forward, willing him to see me. “You seem motivated to continue reading.”

  The crease in his cheek deepened. “I need a distraction. To get lost in a book.”

  My heart sank. His voice was not angry, nor was it unaffected. In fact, it sounded rather melancholy. I could not bear it. I leaned in closer, lowering my voice. “Shall I write you a story? So we can be sure you are getting lost in all the right places?”

  He looked up at me. His brilliant green eyes searching mine. Sighing, he tilted his head at me. “Once upon a time there was a man—”

  “A curiously wealthy man—” I smiled, not missing a beat.

  “Who traveled the world in search of home.”

  My heart ached, flipping over in my chest, and speech suddenly failed me.

  Peter continued, “He was always looking for something, someone, who would fill the empty spaces within him. Only, every time he thought he held her close enough, she slipped through his fingers, like water or air, unable to be held. And he was left alone, sitting in a chair reading a book about trees and agriculture.”

  “How boring,” I breathed. I’d only sought to jest, but Peter’s story was too real. To know he felt this deeply was agonizing. My heart pounded in my throat. It felt as if Peter and I were alone, our heads leaning together, and the crackling of the fire behind me.

  “Let us go in,” Lady Demsworth declared from the front of the room, interrupting the mood between us.

  Peter stood, but did not offer his arm to me. Instead, he looked around the room.

  Could we not still be friends? At least for what time remained?

  “Won’t you take me in?” I hoped he did not hear the pleading in my voice.

  “Amelia, you are nearly engaged.” His seriousness was back, an honorable side to him he’d sworn he did not possess.

  One day. That was all we had left. I could not let my last memories with Peter be of this forlorn man. Could we not part as friends? I had to try.

  “Women get proposed to all the time.” I shrugged, attempting an easy smile.

  “This is different,” Peter said on an exhale, not meeting my gaze.

  Looking about the room, I saw we were the last to pair off. There was no longer a choice in the matter. Peter stretched his shoulders and looked to his boots. Hesitating, waiting. Finally, when the others had reached the door, he gently threaded my arm through his.

  I could not keep a grin from my face. “And now you must engage me in conversation,” I teased, lifting my chin.

  �
��Any conversation I please?” Peter peeked sideways at me.

  “Anything,” I replied. Anything at all.

  “Do you know Mr. Pendleton well?” Peter asked, walking slowly to the front of the room.

  Anything but that.

  “I only met him yesterday.”

  A light grew in Peter’s eyes. “So you do not love him?”

  I huffed. “I do not fall in love, Peter. I’ve told you this.”

  “You have,” he agreed. “But I do not believe you.”

  “Believe me now. If I accept Mr. Pendleton, it will be entirely for his money, and he knows as much.” I blushed as the truth burst from me like jam in an overfilled pie.

  He hesitated as we stepped out into the foyer. “It is true, then. Your stepfather is dying?”

  I froze. He knew. But who had told him? Who had discovered our secret? “Any day now. Any moment, really.”

  Peter tugged me backward, motioning to the butler to wait a moment for us before closing the door. He dropped my arm and faced me. “He leaves you nothing? No money or living? Is that why you would agree to marry Mr. Pendleton?”

  Though I owed him no explanation, my heart begged me to explain. “Lord Gray leaves us nothing. A few days ago, I received a letter from our butler and another from Lord Gray. My stepfather’s illness is severe, and he has given our things to his barrister for delivery . . . wherever we go next. We are never to return to Brighton.” My voice broke on the words, but I held back my tears. “Do not pity me, Peter. This is exactly what I’ve always expected. But I am horribly embarrassed to have it all unfold now. To be abandoned here.”

  Peter raked a hand through his hair, his eyes severe and heavy. “I will go to Gray House immediately and speak to your stepfather. This is not right, Amelia.”

  “No,” I pleaded, clutching at his arm. “Please, do nothing of the sort. It is done. I am fortunate to have found security elsewhere. Many women are not so lucky.”