by Megan Walker
“That night, all those days ago, when we talked of your parents. I told Georgiana how romantic their kiss was. How indeed such a scandal was worth its happiness in the end.” Tears threatened to spill from her eyes. “I knew Georgiana was desperate. I could see it in her eyes tonight.”
“No.” I grasped her arm soothingly. “Whatever happened tonight, you are not to blame.”
Beatrice nodded, wiping her eyes, and I hurried upstairs. If anyone should have seen Georgiana’s desperation, it was I.
A servant led me to the library, where Mrs. Levin sat on a settee beside Clara, whose face was buried in a cloth.
“I am here,” I said when I saw her, but when she looked up at me, I was not prepared for the pain in her eyes, the devastation writ across every line in her face. “Oh, Clara. What has happened?”
Mrs. Levin stood, kindness softening her features. “You must be Miss Moore. I am glad you found us. I believe Miss Clara has suffered a reaction from being privy to a scandal in the middle of my ballroom. Please allow me to apologize again, most fully. If I had expected such a circumstance, I would have never invited Mr. and Miss Wood into my home.”
“Please, you must explain. I was not present.” It could not be as bad as it seemed. Surely someone was mistaken.
Mrs. Levin smiled sadly. “Forgive me. The simplest explanation is that Miss Wood—”
“She kissed him.” Clara’s voice was rough and broken. “In front of everyone.”
“In the middle of the final set.” Mrs. Levin shook her head. “I can only hope he planned to marry her; they certainly will be forced to now.”
Clara stifled a sob, burying her face into the wrinkled, tear-soaked cloth she held.
“Is there anything I might do to help?” Mrs. Levin asked, offering me her seat. “I wish I could offer refuge here, but unfortunately our rooms are entirely full for the event.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Levin. For everything. If you could send Lady Demsworth at her earliest convenience, that will do.”
Mrs. Levin nodded. “You may stay here as long as you need. If I can do anything to help, please send for me.”
I nodded my appreciation before she crossed to the door, closing it behind her. As soon as the room was silent again, I sat beside Clara, and she fell into my arms.
“I feel like such a fool,” she cried. “He must have declared himself for her to be so openly affectionate.”
Rubbing her shoulders, I held her to me, trying to keep my own tears from falling. “You are most certainly not a fool, Clara. You are brave and kind and incredibly smart.”
“Love is folly. You said it a million times, but I never listened to you. I hate him, Amelia. And I hate her most of all.”
“Don’t be like that, dearest. Do not let bitterness replace what once was.”
“There is nothing left inside me but bitterness. I shall never love anyone as I loved him. And he led me to believe I was not alone in affection.”
“We have not yet heard the entire story. We must be patient and hear what Sir Ronald has to say.”
“I want to leave,” Clara said, dabbing her face with her cloth. “But wherever shall we go, Amelia? We have nothing . . . nowhere . . .”
My heart fell, my thoughts instantly turning to Peter.
He loved me.
He loved me.
But he had not asked for my hand. And even if he had, how could I accept him now?
I could never have Peter. Not like this. Not after Georgiana simultaneously sealed Sir Ronald’s fate and broke Clara’s heart. The pain a match with Peter would cause Clara would be too great.
There was only one thing I was certain of, only one thing left for me to do.
“I will write to Mr. Pendleton. He is expecting us.” I kissed Clara’s head.
“You shall have to marry him.” Clara’s voice was flat and certain. “Forgive me, sister, for everything I said against you. Where would we be without your practicality?”
I winced at the word, one I’d so often used against Peter. For once in my life, I could not agree. Practicality had wounded me greatly. And I would never recover. “I am only grateful his need matches ours.”
A knock sounded on the door, and Lady Demsworth quickly stepped in. “Ladies. I hardly know what to say, or where to begin. I must offer my sincerest apologies for Miss Wood’s behavior tonight. We have all been quite caught off guard.”
“Did she act on her own?” I asked as Clara wiped her eyes, sniffing.
“Oh, yes.” Lady Demsworth knelt beside us, more casually than I’d ever expected she could. “Miss Wood’s actions were a shock to us all. But I shall not trouble you with what you already know.”
“We were unaware of the circumstances, actually.” I cleared my throat. “Your clarification would be most welcome.”
“Oh, dear.” Lady Demsworth pressed her hand to her chest. “It pains me to think of the hurt this has caused you both. What can I do? Mrs. Levin has no rooms here, and I hate to think you are uncomfortable now in our home, but I insist you return so I may take care of you until you leave us. You must trust that I will not allow any discomfort to come upon you. I will keep every guest from your room so you may have the privacy I am sure you desire. I know Ronald will wish to speak with you both.”
“Where is he?” I asked.
“Mr. Wood insisted they leave at once. The three of them took a carriage back with Lieutenant Rawles and Mr. Bratten. If you are willing, we shall share a carriage with the Turnballs. As soon as you are ready.”
“I am so embarrassed,” Clara said, wiping her nose.
“No more than I, my dear,” Lady Demsworth said. “You have nothing to be embarrassed of. I know how you cared for him. You have every right to your tears.”
“Shall we go, Clara?” I asked, squeezing her shoulders. “Get you to bed? This will all feel less sharp in the morning.”
“All right,” she said weakly. “Thank you, Lady Dems-worth.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
When we entered the carriage, Beatrice and her mother were already waiting inside, both looking at us as though they’d seen a ghost. Lady Demsworth rapped on the carriage roof, and we rolled away from the ball.
Though Clara’s tears were blanketed in darkness, I could hear her sniffles. I pulled her close, and she leaned her head on my shoulder. This was all my fault. I should have prevented this. Had I not left the ballroom with Peter, I could have seen Georgiana’s intentions and stopped her before she followed through with the kiss.
But what were Sir Ronald’s true intentions? Did he love Clara? Or was he content to be stuck in a forced marriage with Georgiana? As much as I wanted to know, I equally wished we’d never know the truth. How love stung.
And how it changed a person. To be loved by Peter was proving to be the most painful love of all. I shook my head free of the picture of him and rubbed my hands until the feeling of his fingers intertwined with mine faded. I pressed a hand to my middle, trying to hold it all in, but in vain. My tears fell as freely as Clara’s. How could something so perfect, so enlivening, cause such pain and heartache? I would not recover from this love. Peter had a piece of me now.
I stroked Clara’s hair, listening to the quiet whisperings of our company.
“. . . had no cause for rushing. Who could have guessed?” Lady Demsworth said under her breath.
“You are incredibly calm. I could not keep so even a temper were I in your position,” Mrs. Turnball said.
“My hands are still shaking, Julia. I do not know what Mr. Wood expects. Nor what Georgiana intends. And Ronald? If he rejects her, he is ruined.”
“Indeed.” Mrs. Turnball paused. “What choice do you have but to remain strong and hold yourself together?”
“I shall try, for his sake.”
Their conversation faded, and I heard Beatrice shif
t in her seat. I wanted to ask her what she saw, how exactly the aftermath of the kiss had played out. But I could not be sure Clara slept, and I did not wish to wake her in case she did.
Before long, the carriage pulled up along the drive to Lakeshire Park, the windows alight with candles. When we reached the grand staircase, voices carried from the drawing room a few doors down. I hesitated behind Clara.
“I will not leave this room. We shall stay here all night.” Peter’s voice was deep and serious. More firm than I’d ever heard him speak.
“Then let us stay,” Georgiana replied.
What was going on in there? I had half a mind to march in and call out Georgiana for the mess she’d created. But Clara looked back at me with such desperation, and I quickly followed before she too could hear their voices.
“Misses.” Mary opened the door to our bedchamber, eyes low as she curtseyed. She must have learned what had happened when the others arrived.
She closed the door behind us, quietly assisting Clara in taking off her gown, and then helping me out of mine. Our nightclothes were laid out on top of our beds, a cup of hot tea on our nightstands.
“Thank you, Mary. We will not have any visitors this evening,” I said, pulling Clara’s covers tightly around her.
“Yes, miss. Shall I pack up your things this evening, or wait until morning?”
Our things. Of course. The moment was here, too early, too soon. “The morning will do.”
I crossed to the desk, candle in hand, and pulled out a single sheet of paper, some ink, and a quill. This letter would seal my fate—and break my heart for good. But I had no choice. David was our only hope. “A connection with the Woods would be worse than servitude,” Clara had said. How could I ask her to sacrifice so much for me? Such a bond would break her, if Sir Ronald had not yet broken her entirely already.
After three failed attempts to find the right words, I opted for a simple approach:
Dear Mr. Pendleton,
I am writing to accept your proposal of marriage. My sister and I will arrive by late afternoon. I hope you will forgive such short notice.
Trusting you are well,
Amelia Moore
Letter sealed, I addressed the outside with David’s proper name. I stared at the paper. I did not know David Pendleton, not really. And he was not Peter. Still, I closed the inkwell.
I have no choice. One person could not walk two paths. And I could not—I would not—leave Clara behind.
“Mary, I want this letter sent out at first light.” I said the words, but they were not at all convincing.
“Are you sure, Miss Moore?” She took the letter, staring at the address. “Once this is sent, it cannot be undone.”
I paused, my shoulders falling. “I am aware.”
Mary nodded. “Of course, miss. I will send it.”
After Mary said good night, I rolled onto my bed, facing Clara. She lay with her back to me, her shoulders rising and falling in sleep.
Try as I might to silence it, my mind reviewed every second, every touch, every look, every word I’d shared with Peter. How I longed to hear him speak those words again. To bind the cords that pulled us together, to knot our lives as one. But to do so now, with Clara and Sir Ronald severed, would be torture for my sister. I could not ask her to live with Georgiana’s brother. Nor to be subject to Georgiana’s life with Sir Ronald, played out right in front of her face.
I shifted in my bed, holding my pillow. Georgiana had ruined everything with one kiss. What excuse had she given? Was she perfectly happy now, having tied herself irrevocably to Sir Ronald? And was Beatrice right? Did Georgiana mean to recreate my parents’ scandal as a means to win Sir Ronald? If so, I could only blame myself. I’d painted my parents as a love story, and Clara and I as happy, lucky even, to have resulted from scandal. The truth was far from it. I had neglected to admit the pain, the heartache, the sacrifices that came with their choice.
I sat up in my bed, fiddling with my unkempt braid. What was being said downstairs in the drawing room? Georgiana was now ruined through no fault but her own. If she had indeed acted on her own, Sir Ronald might suffer if he chose to reject her now, but he could recover. He had a choice, unlike my mother and father. Did he know as much?
Clara loved him still, I was sure, and if he loved her as well . . . they could recover from this. I needed to speak to Sir Ronald.
I slipped out of bed, throwing on a simple day dress and an unbuttoned pelisse before donning slippers and retrieving my candle.
“Is everything all right?” Clara stirred beside me. That she asked at all told me her sleep was not as easy as I had hoped it would be for her.
“I am just blowing out my candle. All is well, Clara.”
Perhaps the lie would ring true tomorrow. I covered my candle with a hand, waiting for a beat before leaving the room.
Down the stairs I raced, a new energy feeding my muscles. Georgiana would answer for what she had done, I would make sure of it. And Sir Ronald would have to make his intentions clear, once and for all.
The double doors to the drawing room remained closed, but dim lighting shone from the crack. I did not hesitate.
I pushed opened both doors as I entered, taking in the scene before me.
“Miss Moore.” Sir Ronald stood from his chair, surprise registering on his face. His hair looked like he’d nearly torn it all out, eyes bloodshot and afraid.
I ignored his greeting, seeing Georgiana standing in a back corner of the room, facing Peter. Her frown deepened, eyes wide.
“What have you done?” I asked loudly, pacing toward her.
Georgiana stepped closer to Peter, grabbing his arm. “This is a private matter, Miss Moore.”
“You know full well it is not.” My voice was harsh, full of spite.
“Miss Moore, might I have a word?” Sir Ronald asked, now standing at my elbow.
I flicked my gaze to Peter, the only one who had yet to speak. His eyes were heavy as he rubbed his jaw, unwilling to meet my gaze. Did he regret his words earlier in the garden? Perhaps Georgiana had changed his mind.
I looked back to Sir Ronald. “I have only come to spare my sister from having to see you in the morning. I’ve written to Mr. Pendleton, and we shall leave at first light.” I turned, intent on leaving the room. I made it back to the door before Sir Ronald stopped me.
“Miss Moore, please.” He begged. “Please, wait. You must allow me to explain.”
“I will not hear your apology.”
“And yet I offer it. I plead with you to forgive me. This night—what Georgiana has forced upon me, was not my intention.” Sir Ronald looked behind him, where Georgiana and Peter stood in intense conversation.
My lungs finally took a deep breath. “Then why would Georgiana feel a kiss would be permissible tonight?”
“I have yet to receive an answer. She suggests I—” He shook his head. His eyes were as broken and weary as his voice. “She suggests I moved first. But I did not. You must believe me.”
Judging from the reactions of the others, I had no reason not to believe him. But why did he work so hard to convince me of his truth? What was he not saying?
“Do you love my sister, Sir Ronald?”
“Miss Moore,” he breathed as though mere air was not enough to satiate him. “I love Clara with everything I am.”
I willed myself to remain calm, to not break down and weep for what should have been my sister’s fate. My Clara, who would not take a pence more than she was owed, had been robbed of her heart’s greatest desire.
“Then what is to stop you from her now?” I asked.
Sir Ronald dropped his head. “I can hardly hope she would accept me as a ruined man. To abandon Georgiana is dishonorable, and I could not ask Clara to stand beside me and endure the gossip and ridicule that is sure to follow me.”
/> Was that all? “She has endured far worse, I assure you.”
Sir Ronald looked up at me, a new hope in his eyes.
“But can you abandon Georgiana?” I asked. “I know you care for her, too.”
He shook his head. “I have never loved Georgiana as I love Clara.”
I raised my chin. “She comes with nothing. We have neither inheritance nor dowry.”
“I know. And I don’t care. I will turn things around soon, and money will never worry my family again.” His eyes were sincere, willing me to believe his words. And I did.
“Then what will you do? For either way you are ruined, but only one path will unbreak my sister’s heart.”
Sir Ronald took my hands in his. “Do I have your blessing? Might I offer for her?”
“Only if you do so this night.” I squeezed his hands, my lips finally finding a smile that he claimed for his own.
He turned from me to Peter. I followed him a few paces before stopping, waiting.
“Wood,” he said commandingly. “I am unable to sit idly by while you attempt to persuade Georgiana. I must offer my regrets in the form of a thousand pounds and declare that I am unwilling to accept the arrangement I am sure you expect of me. I hope we can remain friends. If you’ll excuse me.”
“Ronald,” Georgiana gasped as Sir Ronald offered a deep bow.
“Keep your money. I wish you well, Demsworth,” Peter said solemnly.
Sir Ronald turned from the room in a run, out the doors and out of sight.
Peter held Georgiana in his arms as she sobbed freely, and I turned to go.
I paused outside the door, listening to the sounds of Peter comforting his sister. In a way, we’d all lost. Only the innocent were redeemed.
Slowly, I climbed the stairs. I’d hoped to give Sir Ronald and Clara time, but with every step, greater unrest tensed my nerves. I needed to escape this place, if only for a moment. When I reached the top of the stairs, Mary paced outside the study a few doors down from our room.
“Miss Moore, I could not stop him.”
“It is all right, Mary. His intentions are just.” I heard Clara’s soft laugh from behind the door, and I could not keep from smiling.