by Megan Walker
Leaning back in my chair, I sipped a glass of lemonade brought to me by a servant girl. The sun beat like fire upon us, despite our constant fanning.
“Where were you this morning?” I leaned toward Clara, decidedly avoiding watching Peter as he reeled in another fish.
“Out.” She smirked.
“With Sir Ronald?”
“Of course. Until Georgiana found us in the gardens with that brother of hers,” Clara responded from behind her fan. “We spent the morning together, the four of us. I’d almost forgotten how distasteful it is to have Mr. Wood’s opinions thrust upon me.”
Had Peter already reverted to his scheming? “That is most unfortunate. Though I think by now Sir Ronald knows his own mind.”
“I should hope. But Georgiana can be very convincing. I worry she has more than one ace left to play.”
“Did I hear my name?” Georgiana asked, a false sweetness to her voice as she stared pointedly at Clara.
“From me? What would I have to say about you, Miss Wood?” Clara matched Georgiana’s tone so well I hardly recognized her voice. It was unlike Clara to be confrontational and rude.
I felt uncomfortable and uneasy to be seated in the middle of their exchange. Tension filled the air, negative and uninviting.
“I only heard Sir Ronald’s name and mine together.” Georgiana’s smile was bitter, tempting.
“You must hear only what you wish to hear,” I said before Clara could respond. “Clara and I speak of everyone here today. Your name is nothing special in our conversation, I assure you.”
Georgiana looked taken aback, and I felt a twinge of guilt. What would she say to Peter? And how would he react upon hearing how I’d spoken to his sister?
“Thank you,” Clara whispered to me. “I cannot stand her, not even for a moment anymore. She is like an unwelcome fly that cannot be squished.”
I let my shoulders fall, torn between the loyalty I felt for my sister in that moment and a sudden rush of emotion for Georgiana. Protectiveness? Compassion? Whatever it was, it opposed my natural instinct.
Georgiana traded seats with Beatrice a few minutes later, laughing with Lady Demsworth to Clara’s further annoyance. The afternoon grew hotter, both in temperature and temperament. My fan was nearly a blur.
“Time!” called an attendant, holding a large watch high above his head.
Each man handed his pole to the servant assisting him and brought forth his creel to be sorted through. One by one, the fish were placed on a table scale and measured in length.
Finally, the attendant brought a paper to Sir Ronald, who stood in a half circle with the other men around us. He unfolded it; the wait was unbearable.
“Weighing in at thirteen-and-a-half pounds, the prize goes to . . . Wood.” Sir Ronald wiped sweat from his brow from the unrelenting heat. “A night at the symphony. Name your companion.”
Applause filled the air, and Peter nodded with a half-smile. He rubbed the back of his neck, looking almost hesitant at the decision before him.
Who would he choose? How I wished things could be different between us. That he could choose me, and we could go as friends. I found myself studying the faces of the women around me, holding my breath. Distance was better. I had a plan, and I had to see it through.
“Miss Moore,” Peter said, squinting up through the bright sunlight at Sir Ronald. “If she agrees, of course.”
Me? My face grew warm despite my vigorous fanning, and Sir Ronald looked to me for my answer. I could not decline the invitation surrounded by the entire party, and Peter knew as much. He knew I meant to focus on Clara’s future. I had all but refused him last night, and yet still he chose me. Should I be angry at his blatant disregard for my wishes? Or moved that he cared enough to overlook them? My mind argued the former, but my heart . . . my heart felt only relief.
“I should be delighted.” I tried to sound nonchalant, and Peter looked curiously at me, as though to measure my sincerity.
“Wonderful,” he said. “We shall leave directly after dinner. Georgiana will join us as chaperone.”
At that, the party dispersed, some looking more dejected than others. No one could’ve been more displeased than Georgiana, who nearly stomped forward to confront Peter. Glancing over my shoulder, I could’ve sworn she was giving him quite a row. But he only smiled, kind and easy, as though he had not a care in the world.
Chapter Twenty-Two
After dinner, Mary readjusted my hair and freshened my dress with a misting of rose water. For the first time since we’d arrived at Lakeshire Park, I’d had little to eat for dinner and even less to drink. Mary forced me to eat a cold sandwich to keep from getting a headache. But all I could think about was Peter. If I was careful tonight, perhaps I could convince him that despite what I’d said, despite what I had to do, we could still maintain our friendship.
Peter and Georgiana waited for me in the foyer, and as I stepped forward to meet them, Peter took my hand.
“You look lovely,” he said softly.
“Thank you.” I allowed myself one glance at his fine fitted coat and wavy hair.
“You were absolutely right about purple. You wear it like a queen.” Peter took my arm in his, and Georgiana cleared her throat as we passed her. I winced in embarrassment to have her so close to us, but Peter did not seem to mind.
“I was joking about that, Peter,” I said in a low voice.
“I am not.” He helped me into the carriage, papered in shades of blues and golds. I cast him a pointed glance, and he merely smiled. The man was determined.
I sat on one side with Georgiana and him opposite me.
“How far is the drive?” I asked, shifting in my seat. Hopefully not far; I was already tired of Georgiana’s pursed lips.
“Less than a half hour. Further north of town toward Winchester,” Peter said, leaning back in his seat. “Relax, Georgiana. You love the symphony.”
“I do,” she muttered. “But I had different companions in mind.”
“You do not have to speak so mysteriously in front of Miss Moore. It is no secret that you and Miss Clara are vying for the same man.” Peter lowered his chin at her, and Georgiana cast him a horrified glance. What in the world was Peter thinking? Georgiana looked ready to leap from the carriage.
“It is true.” I cleared my throat. What was I thinking? The words spilled from my lips on an exhale, with not a single thought to control them. “Allow me to apologize for what I said earlier. Clara was indeed talking about you.”
“I knew it!” Georgiana pointed at Peter. “She hates me, and she means to ruin my life.”
In a flash, I realized Peter’s motive for the evening. He wanted to bridge the gap between his sister and me. Did he think that would make a difference? Would it?
“She does not hate you,” I said, capturing her attention. “Nor do I. But circumstances require us to be enemies for the time being.”
“You see?” Peter said as though to prove a point. “It is exactly as I’ve told you. Miss Clara could likely be your friend if Sir Ronald was not in the way.”
“But he is.” She crossed her arms. “And you’ve given Clara an entire evening alone with him, while I am stuck here with you.”
Peter’s gaze flashed to me in a moment of worry, before he turned to her. “Only for the first part of the evening. Miss Clara will likely go to bed with her sister when we return.”
Georgiana looked to me, and a familiar emotional pull resurfaced. A weighted force that begged for attention, cried for action, no matter how impractical and nonsensical. For truly, I had never wanted Georgiana to like me more than I did at that moment.
“Peter is right,” I said. “I shall make sure of it tonight.”
Georgiana’s grin bolstered, and she turned to Peter. “But I shall still find a way to make you pay for this. The night is young yet.”<
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Her words reminded me of Peter’s owed favor from our quarrel in the mud, and I glanced between the two of them.
“Indeed, the fun has only just begun,” I said. “Mr. Wood has to make good on his promise to me.”
Peter raised a brow, but the corners of Georgiana’s mouth twitched.
“What promise is that?” she asked.
“He owes me one very generalized ransom, a duty or whatever I wish of him, for which I have yet to make him answer. I thought perhaps you could assist me in choosing his fate this evening.”
“Ooh, the intrigue. To have such advantage over him. That does sound like fun. What shall we have him do?” Georgiana reached out to Peter and straightened his cravat.
Peter’s lips were pursed as he flicked a look of betrayal at me.
“Perhaps he could cater to our every need, like a butler?” Georgiana laughed.
Her sudden change in mood encouraged me. “Or we could make him stand with applause after every piece?”
“Humiliating.” She beamed. “And brilliant.”
“Need I remind you that this ‘favor’ you are sharing with my sister was meant as a gift, Miss Moore.” Peter lowered his chin at me.
“Never fear. I am sure you will owe me another soon enough.”
Georgiana and I schemed for the duration of the ride while Peter wavered between laughter and sulking. The drive took about twenty minutes, but it felt like five in conversation.
The carriage stopped outside a large, tan brick building with two pillars on either side of the entryway, and Peter hopped out immediately. He helped me down, but held fast to my hand, assisting Georgiana with his left hand.
When she was out of earshot, he pulled me close and wrapped my arm through his.
“I am trying to be angry with you,” he said, his voice light. “But my sister is actually smiling, which is worth more than my pride.”
“I promise to keep you from ruin, Peter.” Nudging him in the side, his full grin surfaced, and it was as though our conversation the night before had never occurred.
“Hardly. Though I had hoped you’d use the favor for something more . . . mutually beneficial.”
I nearly tripped over my shoes. “Peter Wood.”
A servant opened the door to the theatre for us. Georgiana had already found friends, conversing near a wide, red carpeted staircase that led to seating higher up. Georgiana stepped beside us as we started up the stairs, her eyes alive with excitement. I’d never attended a symphony orchestra, but Georgiana’s enthusiasm was contagious.
Peter led us upward to the balcony seats along the left side. Hordes of people were already taking their seats around us. The area was decorated with red cushioned chairs overlooking the broad black stage. Walking toward the edge of the balcony, I was struck by the size of the audience below us, and even above us higher along a back balcony. The ceiling was crowned in ornate carvings of flowers and vines, and the walls were papered in hues of red and brown.
I took an empty seat beside Peter, settling in just as the curtains drew back and the symphony orchestra appeared. Each member was dressed in black, their sleek instruments gleaming in the stage lights. We were close enough that I could see the musicians tightening their strings and shuffling pages at the last-minute as the conductor stood to greet the audience.
“Amelia,” Georgiana whispered from Peter’s other side, “perhaps we should force Peter to play his viola when we return. He is quite accomplished.”
“I would rather fall over this balcony.” Peter crossed his arms regally, and Georgiana scrunched her nose in a suppressed fit of laughter.
An older woman turned around and shushed him, furthering Georgiana’s fit, until at last the conductor spoke. A hush came over the room.
“Look at the carvings,” Georgiana said quietly to Peter. “I’ve never seen them from this view.”
Peter’s hand brushed my skirts as he balanced himself, looking up at the ornately carved ceiling. “Fascinating. Grecian, I believe.”
I loved his appreciation for architecture and culture. As I watched him studying the room, his chin lowered slowly, and he found me, a seriousness expression on his face.
“What do you think of it all?” he asked.
“I love it. All of it. The lighting, the wallpaper, the carpets . . . even the musty smell.”
Peter breathed a laugh. He set his hand on his leg, near to mine in my lap. “All part of the experience, is it not?”
I looked away, forcing myself to remember my place and my goals. We could be friends, but that was all. Any affection Peter thought he held for me was fleeting. I willed the music to begin.
“Georgiana knows about the gloves,” Peter said softly beside me. “I told her this morning.”
My gaze sharpened. “Why? What did she say?”
“I am tired of secrets. I hate them, actually. Georgiana thought the story funny but has not said a word about it since. I should have told her that first day at Demsworth’s. I should have told everyone.”
“No,” I said, shaking my head. “It is better this way.”
“Why?” Peter looked at me fiercely. “What is the benefit of keeping a secret from someone you care about?”
I had a feeling his question was more pointed than innocent. “For fear of losing that person’s good opinion. Or being seen differently in their eyes.”
“That is exactly the thing I appreciate most about love, Miss Moore. Its opinion is not easily swayed by status or money or flaws. Unless it is betrayed, it is most forgiving. And it holds steadfast in any weather.”
I closed my eyes, letting out a breath. I felt like a feather tossed in the wind—dizzy and floating and high. Did Peter mean his words? That money, or a lack thereof, could not sway love? My secret was not as small as a pair of gloves. My secret would be shocking to discover. No matter how Peter tried to convince me, I knew the truth. At best, love was a double-edged sword.
Music filled the air like a tidal wave rushing upon us. A perfect harmony of notes, loud but soothing, reverberated off the walls. The musicians played one song after another, some fast and merry, others somber and slow.
Peter tilted his head, closing his eyes in appreciation.
Regardless of what the future held, I was glad to share this moment with him. This memory. Where music changed us.
I leaned closer to his ear. “Can you feel it?”
Immediately his eyes snapped to mine. “What do you mean?”
“The music. It’s as though the notes are tickling my skin.”
Peter shifted toward me, his leg brushing mine. “I can feel it,” he whispered in my ear, sending a shiver through me. “And I never want it to end.”
A standing ovation for the superb performances of the night lifted us from our seats when the final song ended.
Peter spoke to me over the applause. “There is someone here I want you to meet. An old friend of mine from Eton.”
I opened my mouth to protest, but the excitement on his face stopped me. Georgiana stifled a yawn, looking as tired as I felt.
But as we made our way through the crowd, it was my name that was called. And from a voice I’d tried to forget.
“Amelia? Amelia Moore!”
“Who is that?” Georgiana stopped with a hand on her hip.
“It is you,” Evelyn said haughtily, breaking through the crowd. Her resemblance to Lord Gray was astounding, and I felt like I was in London again, pushed aside like a wilting flower. “Why are you not at home with Robert?” Her squeaky voice was full of disdain, and I blushed to be spoken to as though my name was dirt in her mouth.
I tore my arm from Peter’s before her narrowed eyes could take note of the connection. “Clara and I were invited as guests to Lakeshire Park for a fortnight. We will be returning to Brighton shortly.” Though she had to know the lie.
Why else would she be here, so far away from her home in Bath, yet so close to Brighton?
I scanned the room for my cousin. If Trenton was here, it meant he’d wasted no time making his way to claim Gray House.
“To think of all my brother has done for you. Even after your mother died. And here you are.” Evelyn frowned in distaste, shaking her head. “No matter. Trenton has been summoned. Your time amongst the ton is over.”
Peter stepped forward, his chest rising. “You will mind your tongue, ma’am.”
“And who are you?” A slow, hateful smile curved Evelyn’s lips.
“Clearly, we need not be introduced.” Peter laced my arm through his, and I found Georgiana, who looked at me with both interest and pity.
“Watch yourself,” Evelyn crooned as Peter steered us away. “Her family is as low as they come.”
Peter clenched a fist, and I had to half run to keep up with his pace. Tears pooled in the corners of my eyes. Guilt, anger, sorrow, pity, pain, embarrassment. All at once and all-encompassing. If Peter had not seen me clearly enough before, certainly now he could piece the puzzle together.
I forced myself to keep my composure as we waited for the carriage, and when it arrived, I nearly threw myself inside, huddling in the corner of the bench with my face in my hands. I told myself not to cry.
I heard Georgiana adjusting her skirts across from me.
Peter heaved a heavy sigh as the door closed behind him, and I longed to run away. To hide beneath the deepest rock. What must he think of me?
I sunk lower, sniffing back the emotion that wanted to burst from me. Then the carriage jolted forward, and I could not contain it any longer.
“Who was that woman?” Georgiana’s voice was soft, betraying interest.
“Georgiana,” Peter’s voice was clipped in warning.
She reached out a hand to me and rubbed my arm. “She was very rude, whoever she was. You did not deserve that, Amelia.”
