by Megan Walker
“It is after four in the morning. I fear none of us shall sleep before we must leave. I’ll have to rush to pack your things if we are to depart at first light,” Mary said, wringing her hands together.
“I think I am the only one who will need packing up. And I will not be rushed.”
Mary looked to the door, realization dawning. “Then I am glad to hear it.”
The sun would rise soon enough. After all my jesting, it appeared I would be awake for dawn after all. “I’m going out for a walk. I shall return in an hour or so. Do not worry after me. I am sure Clara will need you soon to help her dress more appropriately for the day.”
“Yes, miss. Of course.”
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Out in the brisk morning air, dew glistened as far as the eye could see, and the chirping crickets and baby birds awakening to their morning meals stole me away from reality. To hide from the ache in my heart, I focused on the sounds of nature and the sweet-smelling grass as I walked. I allowed my feet to propel me forward off into the distant field, farther and farther, until I was as lost and alone as I felt.
Love was indeed pain. And to love so deeply meant to be susceptible to an equally deep agony. It took my breath away. Just as it had when I’d lost Father. When I’d lost Mama. And now, Peter. To have one more day with Father, I would not hesitate to give away every possession, every ounce of pride. My love for Peter ran even deeper, if it were possible.
So why did I hesitate to risk everything for him? Why did I not believe him when he said he loved me? I did not know Peter’s intention, whether he wished to marry me or not, but I knew my own feelings. I wanted Peter for a lifetime. I ached for him in every moment.
Sunlight peeked over the horizon. The moon still hung in the east, surrounded by only its brightest stars. It was the most beautiful sight. Two worlds colliding at once.
I stood in the middle of misty green pasture, watching the sunrise and torn between a practical arrangement and risking my heart. If I chose my heart, Clara would be furious with me. Hurt, even. But was my happiness not as warranted as hers?
Yellow turned to pink and orange in the blue of the sky, lighting the greens and browns of the earth below. The new day’s first light. I thought of the letter I’d written to David. Mary would surely be sending it at any moment. I was out of time. If I wanted Peter, this was my final chance.
Could I be brave?
My heart beat loudly in my chest and my ears, and I rubbed my eyes to clear them of traitorous tears. I took a deep breath to calm myself.
Was Peter, his love, worth fighting for?
I did not wait for my mind to catch up with my heart. In an instant, I turned and raced back toward the house. To Mary. I needed to stop her from sending that letter, but could I catch her in time? Could I reach Peter, and offer my heart, before it was too late?
A stitch pierced my side, heart beating like a drum. I was so focused on my feet, I did not realize I was not alone until I finally looked up.
A horse drew near with galloping speed. Shadows veiled the man’s face. Whatever news he bore, it was urgent judging by the swiftness of his speed.
Was I imagining things? Could it be—?
Stopping a few paces away, Peter dismounted and dropped his reins. His jacket was undone, and he looked like he hadn’t slept in days.
“What are you doing all the way out here?” he asked in a worried, hesitant voice.
How had he found me here? How did he always find me? I froze, catching my breath and collecting my thoughts. “Did I not say I would watch the sunrise this morning?”
He took a few steps nearer, then stopped as though he’d reached the end of a chain. “My man is loading our carriage.”
Already? Time had truly run out. It was now or never.
Peter frowned. “I needed to see you. To apologize for everything. For the pain I have caused you, and all that Georgiana has done.”
“You have nothing to apologize for, Peter,” I said with a sigh. None of this was his fault.
He dropped his head, lifting his hand to the back of his neck.
“Stop doing that.” I reached around him, tugging his hand away. “You will rub your neck into oblivion.”
A corner of Peter’s mouth lifted slightly, but sadness remained in his eyes. Clearly, he was trying to say goodbye.
What should I say? What if he rejected me? I turned away, facing the start of a new day. I’d hardly noticed the sweet-smelling flowers nestled in the grass surrounding us, their beauty only magnified by the sky transforming overhead. I could not bear it.
Peter’s warmth brushed my back, his hands finding mine. His words were barely above a whisper. “What you said in the garden about our time together . . . did you mean it? I do not want to wonder for the rest of my life if you care for me as I care for you.”
Breath stilled in my lungs. My heart stopped before regaining a steady beat. What had Peter just said? I felt him inch closer to me, his chest against my back, like he wanted to be nearer to me but was afraid I might break. My heart, though, had never felt so alive, so free in all my life. I could not stay silent any longer. I did not want to.
“I love you, Peter.” I leaned back into him, feeling his nose against my cheek as he nuzzled into my hair. But just as I turned to face him, he stepped back, the chill morning air filling the empty space between us as he walked back to his steed.
I frowned, speechless, and my heart beat feverishly in my chest. I wanted Peter’s warmth back. I wanted him holding me again. But I was too late. Peter was leaving, and I would never see him again.
But instead, he unbuttoned a satchel dangling from the side of the horse’s saddle and dug inside. He turned around, clutching something in his hand. Eyes set on mine, he lifted a paper, offering it to me.
I noticed the scrawl right away. It was my own handwriting.
“Where did you get this?” My hands shook with surprise at holding David’s letter again.
“I went looking for you, and your maid gave it to me. Or I took it, rather, when she told me of your plan.” Peter’s voice was deep and husky. He took a hesitant step toward me. “I am trying to be honorable, Amelia. I want to do what is best for you. To give you what you want and what you deserve.” He swallowed hard, scraping a hand through his hair.
I was about to protest, to admit that even I did not know what was best for me anymore, when he said, “But I don’t want to be honorable. I don’t want to do what is best for you. I want what is worth fighting for, what makes me the luckiest man alive. And that is loving you.” Peter let out a breath as though he’d released a great weight he’d carried, his arms hanging loosely at his sides.
We looked at each other for a beat, breathing in tandem.
My lips parted. Rushing heat overwhelmed me as his words registered in my mind and then my heart, paralyzing me. Peter was fighting for me. Why wasn’t I fighting for him? For us? I took a deep breath, feeling it in my stomach and in my toes. My fingers itched to touch his chest, his shoulders, his neck. But I had one thing left to do.
“Do you know what I want?” Hands shaking, I ripped the letter in half. “I want apple orchards, and the best apple pie.” I tore the pieces into fourths, and the corners of Peter’s lips twitched. “I want to go to Paris, to learn French, to see the Seine.” With each statement, I tore the letter again and again, until the pieces were small enough to float on the wind. “I want a life full of laughter and scheming and dancing underneath the stars.”
Peter’s eyes held mine as the air carried away my words, and he took a step forward. The rising sun hit him perfectly, illuminating his face as confidence grew in his eyes. We were inches apart, and the desire between us was tangible.
Lifting my hands to his coat, I brushed over the buttons that lined his chest, then grasped his lapels, leaning as closely as I could without touching my lips
to his.
“I want you,” I whispered, and his stoic form broke free.
Before I could think, before reason found its place, Peter wrapped his arms around my waist, clutching a handful of my skirts, and pulled me close to him. His lips found mine as easily as though he’d kissed me like this a million times, so fervently and so deeply and so very uncontrolled.
My hands reached his shoulders, curving around his neck and into his hair. He slid his hands up my back, laughing into the kiss as though he too couldn’t believe he was kissing me in the middle of a field under a masterpiece of a sunrise. He kissed my jaw and the crease of my mouth, lifting me and turning me toward the sun, before pulling me close and starting all over again on my lips.
When my knees were weak and I was thoroughly kissed, I pulled back, breathing heavily against him. How had I spent my entire life not knowing how this felt? How had I lived before now?
“Amelia,” he said softly, burying his nose into a soft spot on my cheek. He kissed my cheek, my forehead, my lips. “Marry me.”
I leaned my forehead against his. “Georgiana will hate me. Clara will be mortified by the connection.”
“Yes,” Peter breathed, nodding in full agreement. “We will not outrun our share of trouble.”
Leaning back, I looked into his clear green eyes.
Despite the growing urge I felt to laugh with joy, I was struck by the sun touching the earth behind us. Behind Peter. The gloriousness of a light unparalleled in beauty.
I let my smile lift my lips fully and unabashedly as I said, “I don’t mind the trouble. As long as I’m with you.”
Chapter Thirty
By the time we entered the clearing, full sunshine lined every blade of grass.
My ears were full of sweet declarations and even sweeter promises, my happiness overflowing like high tide in the afternoon. Peter stole ahead of me for the hundredth time, catching me in his arms and covering me in kisses.
Love was bliss. And I never wanted it to end.
Hand in hand, we approached his carriage.
“I wish I could stay,” Peter said somberly, pressing his lips to my forehead.
I wrapped my arms around his neck. If begging made any rational sense, I would plead for him to stay. But Georgiana needed him right now. Her broken heart needed mending.
The rest of Peter’s days would be mine soon enough.
I pressed my nose against his. “Will you send for me? As soon as you can?”
“The moment you allow it. I imagine you will want to be with your sister until she is wed.”
I smiled into his kiss. “I shall have to convince them to wed quickly.”
A forced cough sounded from behind me. Peter pulled back, grasping my hand as I turned.
Clara raised a gloved hand to her gaping mouth, while Sir Ronald chuckled at her side.
“Amelia?” Her shocked voice was a squeak.
I froze in equal shock. What could I say to her? What she knew of Peter rang false on every account, and much of that had been my own doing. How could I convince her to open her heart?
“I assume congratulations are in order, Wood.” Sir Ronald stepped forward, forcing down his humor. “Otherwise, I shall have to banish you from my house a second time.”
Peter and I exchanged an amused glance.
Clara was not as amused. Her frown wrinkled her face. “What is the meaning of this?”
I reached out to her, about to release Peter’s hand, when my feet grew heavy. As much as I ached to comfort Clara, to make her understand, letting go of Peter was just as painful. Clara’s future was secure, her heart held by a man who would, if necessary, conquer the world for her. Did I not also deserve that same happiness?
Stepping back, I drew even with Peter. “Forgive me, Clara. I know I have kept many things from you this past fortnight, and I give you my word, I never shall again. But if there is one thing I should have told you, one thing I hid even from myself, it is how much I love this man.” I let out a sigh, full of all the affection and admiration I’d carefully bound since we’d met. “I cannot live without you, dear sister, but I also cannot live without him. I hope in time you might come to know Peter as I do and love him for the good man that he is, regardless of what his sister has done.”
Peter squeezed my hand, and Clara looked between us, confused and sad.
After a few moments, she turned to Peter, chin raised. “You cannot have her.”
Immediately, I opened my mouth to protest, but she continued, “I will not prepare for my wedding without her. Nor will she prepare for hers without me.”
Stunned silence filled the air. Then Peter let out a loud laugh.
Clara added, “We shall return her to you the day before you wed, and not a day sooner.”
Peter pulled me to his side, gratitude evident in his easy smile. “Thank you, Miss Clara.”
“Then it is settled,” Sir Ronald said amiably as though nothing amiss had occurred only hours previous. “Shall we leave them to offer their goodbyes, my darling? Cook has set out breakfast.”
“Indeed,” Clara said, a smile on her lips.
Sir Ronald kissed her hand before lacing it through his arm and leading her back into the house.
“I think she and I are becoming friends already,” Peter said.
I nearly pinched him. Despite it all, his confidence was unyielding.
“You shall have to write me letters.” I tried to sound brave, but my heart threatened to crack. Love was indeed cruel, taking away my Peter so soon. Cruel, but worthwhile.
“Every day. Indeed, I shall hire a man for that very task. We’ve only four hours between us. He can wait for your response and return to me in the same evening.”
“Are you in earnest?” I feared I sounded like a lovestruck schoolgirl, but I didn’t mind.
“Tomorrow morning, your first will be on its way.” Peter leaned in for a kiss.
“Stop that, immediately.” Georgiana banged through the front door, her hair a wild mess, holding a handbag and a small blanket in her arms. Red splotches painted her face, but she did not look up as she crossed the gravel. “Into the carriage, Peter.”
“In a moment, Georgiana. You might offer us congratulations, you know.”
I shook my head pointedly at him, not wishing for any further tension. Georgiana would come around. But now was not the time.
Georgiana’s face contorted. “Perfect timing for you, is it not, Miss Moore? My brother’s house is very large. I daresay you will be more than comfortable.”
Peter tensed.
“Thank you, Georgiana.” I smiled sweetly before he could reprimand her. She entered the carriage as though unaware of my response. I spoke louder, “I look forward to years of time together.”
Forever, actually.
“No one else would tolerate her.” Peter shook his head. “It is one of the many reasons I love you.”
My heart soared. “I should like a list of the rest of your reasons in my first letter.”
“Then you shall have it. You shall have your heart’s desire for the rest of your days, my darling.”
“Speaking of which, you still owe me that favor, as I recall,” I teased, and he kissed me, enveloping me in his arms.
“Lord, help me. Do not include Georgiana this time. Not for another six months at least.”
Laughing, I said, “First, we shall see how good of a husband you are. Perhaps she and I are better schemers as sisters.”
Peter’s gaze grew serious, sincere. “How did this happen? How, in the most random of places, on the most random of errands, did life bring me to you?”
I walked Peter to the carriage, straightening his cravat and feeling the width of his shoulders one last time. We savored another kiss, knowing we must make it last.
He moaned, and held me tighter in his a
rms. “Are you certain you cannot come? I can situate you at a nearby inn, or a house of one of my neighbors. We’ll send for Clara as soon as she’s had her fill of Demsworth.”
Confined in his embrace, I’d never felt so free. “Soon,” I said. “And then you shall never be rid of me.”
With his thumb, he stroked my cheek, my brow, my lips, his glinting green eyes washing over me as though memorizing every inch. “Take care, my love. My Amelia.”
“I love you, Peter.” Slowly I released him, huffing a pitiful breath as he closed the door behind him.
I stepped back, watching as the carriage drove away, holding my middle.
I felt safe. Unimaginably happy.
Free.
Chapter Thirty-One
Dearest Amelia,
Was it all a dream? I fear it was, and that this letter will have you quite confused when you receive it.
I slept nearly the entire drive back. Georgiana had a much harder time relaxing. I cannot decide what to say to her, or how to ease her pain. I am not sure I can.
I am miserable without you. Has the party there dispersed? I must ask you to keep away from Lieutenant Rawles. He’s had eyes for you since our very first day, and I do not wish to duel a soldier.
My estate is just as I left it, but for piles of work upon my desk. At least I have plenty to keep me occupied. I hope you like it here. There is much improvement to be made, but I shall leave that to your taste.
You are in my thoughts in every moment. Your smile, your laugh, the way you purse your lips when you are unamused with my teasing. You are the bravest, smartest, and most thoughtful person I have ever met. You care little for the opinions of others, and yet you deserve their very best. To detail your talent, your kindness, your loyalty—to say nothing of your beauty—would take pages. How have I convinced such a woman to love me? I shall spend a lifetime wondering.
Yours, etc.
Peter
My darling Peter,