by Megan Walker
“If you feel so lucky, then why do you hesitate to accept him?” Peter tugged at my hands, pulling me closer to him, and the fire of his touch consumed me.
The butler cleared his throat, and I blushed.
“We should go in,” I said, breaking away from Peter’s hold.
As I composed myself at the table, I couldn’t keep my eyes from wandering over to Peter. He hadn’t looked at me differently when I’d confirmed my poverty. He knew I had no dowry, and still his eyes had grown warm when they found mine.
But Georgiana had said Peter was looking to marry a wealthy woman. Why would she say such an untrue thing? Did she really hate Clara and me so much she would lie to pull our families apart? Did she feel no guilt in attempting to twist Clara’s confidence against making a match with Sir Ronald?
Regardless, I thought of only one thing throughout dinner, and again as we played charades in the drawing room: Nothing about me was too much for Peter. The more I admitted, the closer he moved. That, at least, was the truth.
But was he truly so unaffected by my poverty? Was love enough? I had one more day to find out, and I could not waste a single moment.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Dressed in white with an emerald spencer buttoned tightly around my bodice, I set out early the next day to find Peter. Most of the company had already eaten breakfast and sat on the lawn watching Sir Ronald and Mr. Bratten play battledore. They played with such force, I worried the shuttlecocks might run straight through them.
“He is in the stables,” Beatrice called, pointing east. I did not need to question her further, nor acknowledge that my efforts were that embarrassingly obvious.
Sure enough, I found Peter standing at Summer’s side, brushing her mane with a thick brush. As I pushed the door to the stall open, it squeaked.
“Where were you at breakfast?” he asked, not looking up.
I racked my brain for an excuse. “Making sure my hair was just so.”
“Liar.” He tsked. “Tomorrow you must wake up with the sun for once.”
“Tomorrow I intend to still be up when the sun rises,” I joked.
“You plan to dance all night, do you?” He gave me a crooked smile.
“Only twice, actually.”
“Is Mr. Pendleton coming, then?”
I inhaled deeply, groaning on the exhale. “I meant with you, Peter.”
He faked a grimace. “But I have not asked you.”
I took three long steps toward him, pushing him back with both hands and slapping his shoulders. “You irritating man!”
His eyes were wide with humor as I pelted him, which only served to anger me further. “I’m sorry?”
My shoulders slumped, and I felt as defeated as I had when Mama had thrown my music in the fire. “I want to spend my last evening here dancing with my dearest friend. Is that so much to ask? Why does anything have to change between us now?”
Peter stilled, his smile dropping instantly. “Forgive me, Amelia. I only thought—”
“Stop thinking.” I crossed my arms, frowning at him. “I like you much better when you don’t.”
Peter nodded once, looking both terrified and pleased. “Would you like to brush Summer?”
“I would,” I said forcefully, loudly, and much too swiftly. I took the brush from his outstretched hand and moved around him.
Peter coughed. Or was it a laugh?
I could hear him rustling behind me, like he scuffed his boot back and forth in place upon the dirty floor.
“Dearest friend?” he asked suddenly.
My neck flushed, but I only had one day left. And I wanted it to be perfect, one way or the other. “Yes.”
Peter grabbed my free hand, spinning me around to face him. His eyes were beaming. “Amelia?”
I swallowed, finding it hard to meet his gaze.
“Would you give me the pleasure of your first dance tonight?”
I raised my chin, suppressing my smile. “Yes, thank you. And I shall take your last as well.”
Peter squeezed my hand before releasing me. “It is yours.”
We spent the entire afternoon together, returning to our usual easy conversation. I loved the way Peter simply understood me. Even when I lacked for words, he knew what I meant. And when I moved awkwardly or fell out of step, Peter always adjusted to make up the difference between us.
Evening fell before I had time to catch my breath, and Mary laid out my ball gown. It was cherry red with a simple V-shaped neckline, hugging my figure and flowing out behind me. Mary pinned a spray of white flowers at the back of my hair and painted my lips with a dab of Rose Lip Salve. I pulled on the ivory evening gloves Peter had given me and followed Clara down the stairs.
My pulse quickened when we reached the top of the final floor. We were the first of the ladies to descend, and thus the first to be admired by the men. Sir Ronald escorted Clara to the back of the room, whispering something in her ear that made her blush.
Peter waited at the base of the stairs, hands tucked behind his back, moving forward as I approached. “Miss Moore,” he said, “there are not words to describe your beauty tonight.”
I would have thought him teasing, if not for the red upon his cheeks and the parting of his lips as he received me. Was it true? Did my appearance affect Peter as his did me? For the handsome wisp of his hair, the fine cut of his suit along his broad shoulders, and a heightened smell of pine and soap were entirely affecting me tonight. Only, tonight I would not avoid his charm.
Tonight, I would let myself fully admire Peter Wood.
Peter led me to the carriage parked on the drive, and I caught him stealing glances as we walked. He chuckled when I pinched his arm.
“I am sorry,” he said on a laugh. “I am desperately trying to stay honorable.”
“Perhaps I should find a different dance partner?” I teased.
“You are not leaving my side tonight, Miss Moore. Not for a moment.”
Beatrice and Mr. Bratten joined us soon after we settled in, and our carriage departed.
Listening to Mr. Bratten prattle on about some business of his, I felt Peter’s stare once more. His eyes, when I met them, were firm and serious, and I lifted my chin under his scrutiny. He did not look away for a long moment, but held my gaze with admiration and—could it be?—affection. I bit my lip and moved my gaze to the window beside me. The stars were just beginning to shine.
When we arrived at the Levins’ house, Peter helped me down from the carriage, pulling me close. I hadn’t expected such a crowd in such a small town. The house was large and filled with fancy dresses and flowers, and the hustle and bustle reminded me of London. I clung to Peter for balance.
Our first country dance was every bit like our secret waltz. Neither of us could contain our smiles, and we danced with as much enthusiasm as we could muster. My cheeks ached from laughter, and when Peter pulled me close, my nerves tingled and flurried. Everything felt right again. My heart alternately settled then leaped to be with Peter.
I caught his eye through every subsequent dance, so that it felt as though we never truly left one another’s company, despite changing partners. Clara and the rest of our company danced and conversed amidst the crush, and not a frown existed among us.
“You look no less exercised than when we first arrived,” Peter said, nearly out of breath when he found me in my chair between dances. “To think you tried to trick me into believing you could not climb a hill on our second day.”
I laughed. “Is it time for our next dance already?”
“It is nearly one in the morning, so yes, it should be about time. But I am exhausted. I need a moment’s rest, or I shall fail you entirely. These women do not dance with such grace as you.”
My heart flipped in my chest. “Is that so?”
“Come,” he said, tugging on my ha
nd. “I need out of this place for a moment.”
Peter led me through the crowd and out onto the veranda where a small group of people mingled. His breath steadied, and he leaned against the railing, fluffing out his hair.
“You look very handsome, Peter.” I bit my lip, admiring him fully. Never would I meet another man as handsome as he.
He straightened, smiling. “You are different tonight.”
“Am I?” The evening breeze cooled my cheeks.
“You are happy and amiable and . . . free, I suppose.”
“Are you fishing for more compliments?” I leaned beside him against the rail, and he brushed his arm against mine.
“From you? Always.” He winked.
I smiled back at him and stretched my shoulders.
Peter sighed. “Why did you not tell me of your circumstances, Amelia?” I sensed a hesitation, but also a need in his voice.
I looked down at my ivory gloves. “I suppose I was afraid of losing your good opinion. And Georgiana said . . .”
Peter tensed. “What did Georgiana say?”
I met his gaze. If I wanted to learn the truth, I needed to say the words tonight. Tomorrow would be too late. “She said that a dowry was important to you. For your income. And that you needed a wealthy match, otherwise you would be forced to work in London like your father did. I would never want that for you.”
Peter rubbed his face in his hands. “Why would she say that to you? Georgiana knows nothing of my finances. Gads, Amelia. I am so sorry.”
“So, it . . . isn’t true?” Could Peter marry for love alone without too great a sacrifice? I didn’t dare let myself hope.
He looked at me in earnest. “I told you. Money is not something I have in short supply.” He shook his head in frustration. “I want a family and a home. I couldn’t care less how much it costs me. Can you trust that? Can you forget what Georgiana has said?”
I nodded, staring intently into Peter’s pleading eyes, but then a set of music tore me away from the dream. “Oh, Peter, our dance!”
“Drat,” Peter said with a wicked grin, his countenance reverting back to his easygoing nature. “We shall be forced to stay out here.”
I pointed at his chest. “You missed it on purpose.”
He shrugged. “I am tired, and you are so much better a dancer than I.”
“You horrible man,” I teased. “You owe me a dance.”
Peter stood up from the railing, lifted my hands above us, and spun me. I did not stop for several rounds until I was so dizzy I tripped on my shoes.
He caught me in his arms, laughing, and leaned back against the railing again. My breath was heavy, my mind whirling and my heart pounding in my ears.
“Careful or we might truly be banished,” I said, remembering our jest from the night we danced under the stars. But Peter did not release me. He looked at me with a serious expression, like he studied me as though to sketch my likeness.
“You know that story you wanted to write for me? This is how I would end it.” Peter bit his lower lip, his eyes clear, sincere, hopeful. “I want a picture of you spinning and smiling at me like this forever.”
My legs suddenly lost their strength. I studied his chest rising and falling in a pattern that matched my own, so much so that I hardly noticed a throng of people suddenly crowding the veranda.
Peter nodded toward a break in the railing behind us. He took my hand in his, pulling me behind him. Four steps led us down onto the soft grass, and Peter glanced over his shoulder, as though to watch for following eyes. He cast me a smile, as happy as it was mischievous, and I returned it easily.
“Where are we going?” I whispered.
“There is a garden just around the house. The Levins light it with lanterns at night. I thought you would like to see it.”
As we rounded the corner, the light from the party dimmed. Was this a good idea? Running off alone with Peter with so many eyes watching?
“What if we are seen?” I tugged back his hand.
Peter slowed, glancing over his shoulder as he contemplated the thought. I watched as realization grew in his eyes. Of what could happen if we were caught alone together at a ball.
“Your mother,” he said slowly, solemnly.
My mother hardly knew my father when they kissed on the balcony. Peter would not be so careless with me. If there was anyone in the world who made me feel safe, it was him.
“We can turn back.” He shook his head as though he thought himself daft for recommending the garden.
“No,” I heard my voice say before I could stop it. “Let’s not.”
Peter studied my eyes with intensity, as though searching for something unsaid. A slow smile spread across his lips, and he laced our fingers together.
My heart fluttered wildly in my chest, and I felt like a child—free, fearless, and completely happy. As though nothing in the world could harm me. As though life had shown me no sorrow.
Peter hurried his steps, and moonlight swept over his features. He became my shadowy companion, only our hands connecting us, until the first lantern appeared at the entrance to the garden. The scene before me was breathtaking in its beauty, captivating in its perfection.
The lantern lit the rolled gravel footpath beneath it, casting light upon the soft peach-colored roses blooming nearby. Peter said nothing, only watched me as I smelled the first rose I came upon, and I could not help but laugh in delight as we walked into this secret, hidden place. Another lantern hung a few paces ahead, even with the height of the flower bushes, which had grown taller upon walls of cedar wood.
“Look up,” Peter said after we’d been walking hand in hand for a time, and I obliged.
A million stars shone above us, and I drew in a breath of surprise at the majesty of their endlessness. We were encompassed entirely by beauty without description, and I spun on my toes to take it all in. When I looked to Peter, he was leaning against the nearby wall of flowers under a lantern, chuckling to himself.
“Are you laughing at me?” I asked, defensively.
“At you? Not in the least.”
“Then why are you looking at me like that?” I crossed my arms, but he only smiled bigger.
“Come.” He stood from the wall and reached for my hand. “The best is yet to come.”
I narrowed my eyes at him playfully as he grasped my hand again. The garden was endless, or perhaps our pace was so slow it felt like we journeyed for miles. Peter pointed out his favorite flowers, and even showed me a constellation named Cassiopeia.
Distant music met our ears, and I knew we had reached the edge of the garden again. Peter slowed his steps and turned to me. Under the light of a lantern, his features glowed, his eyes near desperate and full of some emotion I could not name.
“Amelia,” he said suddenly, swallowing.
He clearly meant to tell me something, something serious that intimidated him, and a strange nervousness overcame me. Why was Peter looking at me as though none of the beauty around us mattered? Like I was the only thing his eyes could see? Watching him hesitate, I felt as if I could see some storm raging within him, just under the surface. I had an inkling of what he wanted to say, but I could not be sure. All I knew was that I wanted to hear the words behind the look he gave.
My voice came out soft, barely above the whisper of music floating in the breeze. “I have had the best fortnight of my life with you, Peter.”
Peter lifted my hand between us, and, turning it over gently, he lifted it to his lips and pressed a kiss in the center of my palm.
“I love you,” he said, as tenderly as I’d ever heard his voice.
My heart flew into my throat. “Peter—” My voice cracked.
“Please let me speak. I must or I shall regret it all my life.” He took both my hands and pulled me close, kissing them again, his own hands shaking.
/>
I could not breathe. Love, or the illusion of it, had ruined my parents. It had forced them into a choice they might not have otherwise made if they had had time to sort out their feelings sensibly.
But would I not make this choice with Peter? Again and again and again? I loved him with every bit of me. Could I choose my own future regardless of the risk?
Standing in front of the only man I’d ever loved, I wanted to. Oh, how I wanted to.
Distant noises broke through the far-off music. Peter looked over his shoulder, listening intently to the sound. A shout, it seemed. Panic.
“What is it?” I asked in a whisper, training my ears to the noise.
“Wood!” Mr. Bratten’s voice called. “Peter, where are you?”
Peter looked to me, unsaid words still on his lips, until footsteps approached, crunching on gravel.
“Wood?”
“Just here.” Peter held my hand as long as possible, before our hold gave way.
“It’s Georgiana,” Mr. Bratten called, breathless. “You must come immediately.”
“What has happened?” Peter asked, worried.
“She and Demsworth. A kiss. In front of everyone.”
Stepping backward, I gasped. A kiss?
Clara.
Without a second thought, I raced from the garden, barely aware that Peter called my name as I passed him.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
I clutched my skirts, heading straight for the veranda, skipping steps as I ascended to the ballroom.
Beatrice was the first person I saw. She leaned against a doorframe, her lips parted, her face pale as she stared ahead.
“Where is she?” I gasped as I approached her, breathless from exertion.
“Upstairs,” Beatrice answered in a daze. “She nearly fainted. Mrs. Levin is attending her.”
“Thank you,” I said, stepping forward.
“Amelia,” Beatrice called out, and I stopped. “Forgive me. This is all my fault.”
I reached for her. “Whatever do you mean, Beatrice?”