by Megan Walker
“What can I do? I could force her down the hill. Roll her ankle?” I tried to lace humor in the idea, though I was frighteningly willing to follow through with it.
“Georgiana? She is tolerable. As I’ve told you, Amelia, I only want Ronald to be happy. I just want an equal chance at being his happiness.” She spoke with determination, as though she had to convince herself she was capable. “He is a good man, and he’d make a good match for me. For us. We could stop worrying about Lord Gray and live our lives.” Clara sighed, brooding again. “But I can hardly get a word in edgewise with Georgiana’s brother here.”
“Mr. Wood?” My voice squeaked on his name.
“Yes,” she exclaimed, annoyed. “With every bit of conversation, even the weather, he finds a way to turn it in Georgiana’s favor. It is maddening. For half a minute, I’d like to talk to Sir Ronald about his life here, what it’s like to be master of all this. But when I try, guess what the conversation turns into?”
“Georgiana.” I groaned, feeling her frustration. “Perhaps I can pull her into conversation, distract her.”
“No.” Clara shook her head. “It is not so much Georgiana as it is Mr. Wood. Amelia, I need you to distract him.”
“What?” Surely I’d misheard her. My confidence in swaying that man to my will was infinitesimal, if it existed at all. Not to mention that I loathed him and nearly every word that came from his mouth.
“Just for the afternoon. Please, Amelia. I will go mad if I have to hear him spout on about his sister for one more minute.”
One afternoon. I rubbed my temples. Suddenly, the miles I’d walked earlier were not so exhausting. The ache in my feet, welcomed. But having to spend time alone with Peter Wood? That was misery indeed. I peered over my shoulder and saw him standing between Sir Ronald and Georgiana like mortar between bricks. Clara was right. Something had to be done.
Lifting my shoulders and straightening my back, I anchored my resolve.
“Well, Clara, you are fortunate now more than ever to have a clever sister. I may not be the most beautiful woman here, but I can find a way to keep Mr. Wood at bay.” I set my chin. “Do take advantage of whatever time I can give you. It will not be earned painlessly.”
Clara’s eyes brightened in excitement, and she pulled me into a happy embrace as she squealed into my ear. “For all that is bad in my life, you, dear sister, keep the good at an equal balance.”
I heartily agreed. We rejoined the company just as the servants finished laying out the picnic.
Cold meats, cheese, fruit, and breads were offered along with lemonade. It was quite a handsome feast.
Sir Ronald beckoned Clara over to his blanket to share the small spread he’d prepared, and as she settled in beside him, Georgiana positioned herself on his right.
Realizing my duty, I searched for wavy brown hair and listened for a deep, velvety voice, finally finding Peter dallying near a servant at the carriage. For now, at least, he was occupied on his own.
I grabbed a small plate, filling it with bites of everything that looked appealing. I was ravenous from walking miles, not to mention having missed breakfast, and just thinking about enduring Peter’s attention made my stomach grow three sizes. Undoubtedly, a lady with my current burdens needed ample nourishment. I claimed a spot on an empty, smaller blanket near Clara’s, training one eye on Peter. Some way or another, I’d have to convince him to join me before anyone else did.
After a few bites of ham, I savored the cheese and fresh bread, a bite-sized pastry, and a biscuit. A gentle breeze brushed across my face, and for a moment, I was entirely content with my circumstances.
A very precious, short-lived moment.
Glancing up to where Peter had been, I realized the servant stood alone. Worse, Peter was mere steps from walking past me—and heading straight toward Sir Ronald and Clara. I had to act, and fast.
“Mr. Wood!” I said too enthusiastically through a mouthful of biscuit. I swallowed behind my hand, forcing myself to meet his eyes despite the painful embarrassment I felt having his attention in its entirety. Curse my appetite and the desperation in my voice.
“Miss Moore,” he said brightly, as though surprised to see me. I glanced to Clara, who laughed openly beside Sir Ronald, and then back to Peter, who stood above me with raised brows. My stomach clenched, and I regretted the amount of food I’d just consumed. For such small portions, I’d filled myself to the brim.
If only I’d been thinking more than eating. How could I capture Peter’s interest long enough to give Clara adequate time with Sir Ronald? Anything dull would not do. I needed to truly surprise him. But what about me would surprise Peter Wood? Too often I kept to myself, a creature comfortable with solitude, prone to laughing about thoughts in her head. What tactics did I have to keep a man’s attention? What did men even want to hear? A compliment, perhaps?
I straightened my back, brushing my hands with a napkin. “You look well today.”
The compliment felt as insincere as a horse telling a fly it was missed. Judging by the mirth in Peter’s eyes, my tone was not lost on him. But at least he found it funny. He cleared his throat, wiping away the smile he clearly did not want to share so freely. “I feel it. And how are you faring this beautiful sunny afternoon?”
“Wonderfully. Join me, won’t you? We could chat about the weather or . . . whatever it is you enjoy talking about. You can hold a lady’s interest, can you not?” I raised a brow to challenge him. Though I knew little of his personality and character, I had an inkling that Peter enjoyed a challenge.
Again, his lips twitched, and I felt entirely unsatisfied by his reaction. Did he mean to laugh at me? Or was there some other reason for his desire to force down his smile?
“As you wish, my lady. Allow me to get a plate, and I’ll return right away. May I fill your cup, or offer you more pastry?”
“No, thank you. I am quite content.”
Those bright eyes peered curiously into mine as he offered a deep bow and continued past me toward the spread. His walk—or saunter, really—was as carefree as though the wind itself carried him. His hair wisped with each step, and he threw a half grin to every person who greeted him. I bit my lip, letting out a heavy breath. Could I keep up with this game we were playing? Peter’s confidence far outweighed my own.
He seemed keen to continue our acquaintance, but for what purpose? The worst of it all was the feeling of deceitfulness that surged within me. I had not actually lied to Peter, or to anyone else, and yet I felt as though I had. Creating an illusion of a friendship based on such pretenses did not satisfy my moral compass, and yet I had no choice. Clara depended on me. Her very livelihood, her happiness, depended on these next thirteen days.
Before I resolved my emotional dilemma, Peter was back. He rested easily beside me, stretching out his legs in a lazy fashion and situating his plate beside mine. What would I say now that I had his attention? How could I entertain him?
“Gloves today, hmm?” He graciously broke the silence, motioning to the borrowed pair in my lap as he took a bite of cheese. He must’ve wondered where I’d found them. Or perhaps he assumed I’d lied about my desperation. I might have to toy with him to get the time I needed for Clara, but I did not wish to lie to him.
“Lent by a friend who happens to be much kinder than a man I met in a little shop down the way.” I sipped my lemonade, looking innocently along the back of Sir Ronald’s estate. It seemed to never end, even as it melted into a perfectly blue sky dotted with fluffy white clouds.
“As it so happens, I know that man.” Peter took a swig of his own drink, peering out into my same scene. “And I can tell you honestly that he is truly sorry for taking them from you.”
I highly doubted that. “Is he? Well, I hope he learned a great lesson about his actions. You never know who you are hurting by denying kindness.”
Peter hung his head, a
gentle smile creasing his cheeks handsomely, and stared down at his plate like a troubled child. “I know.” He jerked his head up and met my gaze teasingly. “That is to say . . . he knows. And he will spend a great while thinking more on his actions. I promise he is not usually so narrow-minded.”
“Good.” I set down my cup and stole another glance at Clara. Her companions were in happy conversation, and it was clear to me that their trio worked best alone. But what game was Sir Ronald playing? And would it work out well for Clara? The question unnerved me. For her happiness, I would do anything.
“Now.” Peter turned to face me, the seriousness that had touched his features smoothed over with his original placidity. Apparently, the business between us was resolved. “Tell me something, Miss Moore. No one else has heard of you, nor of your sister. It is as if you’ve been in hiding and just brought to light. Why do you think that is?”
“In hiding” was a kind way to imagine our lives in Brighton. Without callers or friends, we likely seemed like recluses, though the truth was as simple as having no choice. Peter waited patiently for my response, as though my answer would unlock other important questions in his head. Unfortunately for him, I had more sense than to indulge him in our private affairs. Peter Wood, with all his charm, was nothing but an enemy to me.
“We live in Brighton with our stepfather, Lord Gray. We are no great mystery, I assure you. Clara and I have moved around quite a bit this last decade, so perhaps we’ve simply confused the ton.”
Peter furrowed his brow. Even frustrated, he was irritatingly attractive. “That is a deeply unsatisfying answer, Miss Moore.”
“You expect me to tell a stranger my secrets? Unlock the cavities of my heart, bare for the taking?” I mimicked his furrowed brow sarcastically.
“Yes. That would be fantastic, actually.” Peter grinned, leaning in closer. “I am eager to hear them.”
Too eager, in my opinion. What game was Peter playing? He was far too keen to get to know me. “Where do you hail from, Mr. Wood?”
Peter cast me a disappointed look before crossing his arms and staring at his plate. “Most recently London. Before that, I studied in Paris. My father thought it best for me to continue my education abroad for a time.” He paused for a moment before continuing. “Or perhaps he sent me because he could not adequately oversee my studies on his own. Heaven knows my mother had enough work for him to do. But it matters not. Everything my father worked for is now mine, and I have every intention of creating what I want from his labors.”
“Which would be?” I could not pull my attention from the curve of Peter’s smile, the gentle way he shrugged when he finished speaking.
“Home.” The word was soft and full of longing. Whatever Peter described, he ached for it and cherished what was not yet his.
My heart suddenly beat, as though it awoke from a deep sleep, and an overwhelming longing overcame me. Home. I could almost hear Father’s low voice, see his bushy eyebrows, his nose wrinkling as he laughed, and feel his embrace swallow me whole.
“That sounds lovely,” I said with feeling, meeting Peter’s eyes with my own.
“Yes, well. Four-and-twenty years as their son. I think I’ve earned it.” Peter’s face fell as he looked away. An untold story lingered between us for a moment, filled with unanswered questions that itched to be asked. Who was this Peter Wood with a perfectly cut coat and tempting smile?
Before I could ask, the moment passed, and servants began clearing away empty platters, plates, and cups. Guests moved away from their blankets, and I saw Clara was still with Sir Ronald, Georgiana on his opposite side.
“Shall we?” Peter stood, offering me his hand.
Could I trust this man? He whose primary motive surely opposed mine? If my intuition was correct, he wanted Sir Ronald for Georgiana. And if his loyalty to her was half as strong as mine to Clara, he would stop at nothing to secure the match. Yet some mystery lurked just under his friendly facade. Some piece of him that was different, real.
No. This was Peter Wood. Though I took his hand, I could not trust him. He’d proven his character once already, and I did not need a second chance to form an opinion. Gloves would be the last thing he took from my sister.
Chapter Five
I dropped Peter’s hand once I was on my feet and followed him to the gathering a few paces away from the picnic.
“How is everyone faring?” Sir Ronald asked with enthusiasm. “The end of the tour is just up this hill. The view from there encompasses the northern end of my estate, with all the lands run by my tenants. I will warn you—it is a bit of a steep climb.”
“I am up for the challenge,” Georgiana said airily, and the rest of the company agreed.
“Shall we?” Peter extended his arm to me, smiling mischievously.
Sitting next to each other in close proximity was one thing, but to take his arm felt as though it crossed some invisible line I’d drawn between us. Peter was not a friend, and would likely never become a friend, especially after Clara won Sir Ronald’s heart and broke Georgiana’s. But Clara’s timid smile reminded me of my purpose. Like it or not, I was pinned to Peter for the afternoon.
“Thank you,” I said, holding onto his arm as loosely as I could. It felt odd to be so near him as he led me behind the others. A warmth radiated from him that compelled me to enjoy it to the smallest degree. I shook the thought away. This was the same man who scurried from underneath a table and refused to relinquish a pair of gloves he did not even truly need.
I stole a sideways glance at Peter, whose peaceful gaze seemed quite content with his circumstances. Not a single worry wrinkled his brow. Clearly, Peter and I led vastly different lives. He had the world in his hands for the shaping, and in a few weeks or even days, given Lord Gray’s failing health, I would have not a penny to my name. How could I find common ground with Peter? I had no special accomplishments to speak of, nor beauty to flaunt. But I needed to appear interesting enough to keep his attention away from Sir Ronald. At the pace we were moving, we’d soon catch up with Clara and Sir Ronald, and my arm linked through Peter’s would be entirely in vain. I had to distract him and slow him down with some sort of intrigue. And quickly.
“Heavens.” Lifting a hand to my forehead, I tightened my hold on his arm, drawing a shallow breath to accentuate the facade. “What a climb.”
“Indeed.” Peter raised a brow, biting his lip. We stopped, and I took several deep breaths, each one longer than the one before. Up ahead, the group faded as they climbed over the hilltop. Even if I could give Clara only a few minutes with Sir Ronald, any embarrassment I afforded myself would be worth it.
Peter hesitated, and then reached around for my other arm. “Are you all right?”
“No. I am quite out of breath. I cannot take another step.” I moved in front of him, blocking his way upward. A few more labored breaths and a slower than usual walk up the hill would satisfy my goal.
Peter stared at me oddly, as though piecing together a puzzle. “You do look ill, Miss Moore.” His voice was smooth, cool, and a tease twitched the corners of his lips. “Allow me to carry you the rest of the way. I assure you I am more than capable.”
My eyes widened. Surely he was not serious. But then he started to bend down, his free hand brushing my skirts, and I jolted forward, away from him. “No, thank you.”
“Oh.” He feigned innocence, straightening himself. “Well, it appears as though you are moving just fine now. Shall we continue?”
“I am not moving fine. I am decidedly out of breath.” I glared angrily at him.
“Allow me to aid you. As an honorable gentleman, I cannot allow you to suffer.” He moved closer, arms outstretched, the most infuriating grin upon his face.
“I thought you said you were not honorable in the least?” My voice was rushed, anxious, as I stepped backward, holding up my skirts. I had the most ridiculous notion that
Peter would lift me in the air despite my weak attempts to dissuade him, and I would be mortified like I’d never been before.
“Nothing gets past you, does it, Miss Moore?” He took a larger, closer step, and I could no longer remain impassive. “In that case, since I should very much like to assist you up this hill, and if I am not honorable, then I shall not think to ask for your approval.”
His hand grazed my wrist, and I bolted upward at a most unladylike pace. Peter was on my heels, and I shrieked as he reached for me. Faster and faster, higher and higher, I ran, eyes focused on the grass beneath my feet. Would he truly humiliate me? My side ached with sharp, shooting pains, and I sucked in a breath.
The incline had steepened before rounding out, and when I turned, Peter was only steps behind me, having just reached the top as well. He placed his hands on his hips as his chest heaved with exertion.
“Well done. That was much faster than I thought. And much easier than carrying you myself.” He glanced heavenward. “This, by the way, is what breathlessness feels like. You should study the feeling before you take up acting again. A valiant effort, but nothing about your figure would convince me that you could not climb such a minor hill as this one after resting at a picnic.”
My breathing was slowing, but my heart raged with anger. “I was not acting.” I winced at the lie.
“Of course you were. But why were you so intent on keeping me from the party? That much is unclear. You are a clever woman, Amelia. But even I can see that you are still angry with me over those gloves.”
I gritted my teeth. Having Peter openly reveal my motive was nearly as bad as being outwitted. He was right. Despite my scheming, I’d climbed the hill faster than I would’ve had we continued walking at our previous pace. Peter had won again. And heavens, it irked me.
I did not spare him a second glance as I left him to his certainty and confidence. I would not give him the satisfaction of having affected me. My anger with him went beyond those ridiculous gloves. In truth, I cared less for what he had taken, and more for what he could take from us if given the chance.
