by Megan Walker
My heart burst, and I sobbed freely. Peter started to move toward me, but Georgiana stopped him. And she was right. Comforting me was not his place, nor proper by any means, no matter how badly I wanted to fall into his arms.
Instead, Georgiana took me into her own arms and patted my hair with her gloved hand. “We shall forget about that horrible woman and her porky neck, and get you and your sister straight to bed.”
Georgiana’s voice was thick with humor on the last word, and I let out a small laugh through my tears, choking back another sob. This was why the heart could not be trusted. It only ever caused pain. Tuning my ears to the comforting sound of the horses’ hooves, I closed my eyes and breathed deeply as Georgiana stroked my arm.
Misery had found me yet again. To run from it was as foolish as running from age. And yet, I always tried.
When the carriage pulled up to the drive, my cheeks were dried and stiff. I could not bear to see Peter’s pained expression as he helped me down. I nearly ran up the stairs to my room.
Mary helped me out of my dress and into my nightclothes. As I sat in front of the mirror unpinning my hair, the door flew open, and Clara ran in frantically. At the sight of her, I fell apart all over again.
“Amelia! Mr. Wood insisted that I see to you immediately.” Clara knelt beside me, staring desperately into my eyes. “He said someone found you at the concert hall?”
“Tomorrow,” I begged, wiping my tears and composing myself. I could not bear to tell her the truth tonight. Tomorrow I would tell her everything. “Would you sing to me until I sleep?”
“Of course I will. Mary, will you help me with my dress? The night is nearly over anyway.” Clara smiled at me before helping me under the covers of my bed. She had so much strength, so much courage. Would she be angry with me for keeping Lord Gray’s secrets for so long? I’d only meant to protect her heart, to give her a chance at happiness without carrying the burden of our fate.
Listening to the melody of Clara’s soprano, my mind filled with thoughts of home and of happiness, and, just before I drifted off into sleep, a pair of curious green eyes.
Chapter Twenty-Three
There exists a peaceful moment when one first opens one’s eyes, when all the world is just as it should be. And then you blink, and just like that the moment vanishes like smoke in the wind.
“Good morning, miss.” Mary clasped her hands in front of her and offered a curtsey. “Mr. Wood asked that I bring this tray up to you. Most of the party has already dispersed for the day, and Lady Demsworth expects Mr. Pendleton to arrive sometime this afternoon.”
Rubbing my eyes, I grimaced. “Thank you, Mary.”
She propped the curtains open, revealing a clearer view of the small tray of tea surrounded by biscuits and fresh blackberries. Instantly, I thought of Peter, and my heart sank, remembering how terribly our evening had ended last night. I pressed a hand to my forehead. I’d never been so embarrassed.
A folded note with my name scrawled in a gentleman’s hand propped up against the teacup caught my attention. The paper was smooth as I unfolded it.
Amelia—
I hope sleep found you in overabundance last night. I hope it served to erase cruel memories of our evening prior, and I hope you have awakened refreshed and just as lovely as I always find you.
I wanted to tell you how much I enjoyed taking you to the symphony last night. Your company is, simply put, my favorite luxury. In case any discomfort still exists in your memory, I offer you tea the way I like it, biscuits, and the sweetest blackberries Cook could find to start your day.
I have taken Clara and Georgiana to town to pick out flowers for the ball. Away from Demsworth to ease your worries. I thought an afternoon away might do us all some good.
If I come back in one piece, I hope to see you later this afternoon.
Yours, etc.
Peter
“You are smiling, so I hope it is good news,” Mary said as she laid out a white dress on the edge of my bed.
“Is Clara still out?” I exchanged Peter’s note for the cup of tea, which was delightfully delicious. Sweet with a touch of bitter.
“With Mr. Wood and Georgiana, yes. They left an hour ago.” Mary fussed with the sleeves of my dress, and I took her hint to hurry with my morning preparations.
After dressing and savoring my blackberries and Peter’s tea, all while Mary managed my hair, I tugged on slippers and swiped my bonnet from its perch.
I’d reached the top of the grand staircase when voices reached me. When I rounded down to the second floor, I recognized Lady Demsworth’s voice, but it wasn’t until I was in full view of the foyer that I saw who she was speaking to.
“Miss Moore, what perfect timing! Mr. Pendleton has arrived for the day and was expressing his excitement to meet you.” Lady Demsworth’s smile could’ve reached her ears.
I’d stopped halfway down the staircase, looking between Lady Demsworth and a thin, smart-looking gentleman with a topper hanging loosely in a hand at his side. His smile was full of effort, and though his eyes were kind, they were weary and exhausted. I measured my heart, which was still and unaffected, and took the remaining steps to greet him.
“Mr. Pendleton, I am pleased you could make the journey so soon.” I curtseyed. “It is wonderful to meet you after hearing such compliments on your character from your aunt.”
Mr. Pendleton bowed. “Likewise, Miss Moore.” His voice was deep, firm. Not nearly as carefree or lively as Peter’s.
Lady Demsworth clasped her hands together. “Your things have been sent to your room, David. Might I suggest a walk to stretch your legs after your ride? I can have tea set out for when you return.”
I dared not tell her I’d just had a late cup.
“Thank you, Aunt. That will do.” Mr. Pendleton said, a more genuine smile touching his lips.
Lady Demsworth turned to leave, and I felt the full awkwardness of the situation before me. A man and woman meeting for the first time to determine if they could force a marriage and make it amiable enough for both parties. A business transaction, I told myself. This was not like my afternoons with Peter. This was different. This was practical.
“Shall we?” Mr. Pendleton held out his arm to me, and I took it gently.
He was nearly a foot taller than I, and I noted the squareness of his jaw, the point to his nose, and the hazel in his eyes. He was, as Lady Demsworth had said, quite handsome. But something was missing. A brightness, it seemed. I wondered what he saw in me.
“How was your journey?” I asked as he led me along a gravel path at the southern end of the house.
“Not terribly long,” he answered. “My country house is about a day’s drive from here.”
“You are right then, that is not terribly long.” I bit my lip. Unlike Peter, conversation was not my strong suit.
“And your stay so far? How is it measuring up?”
“Quite well. My sister is enjoying herself very much, and the Demsworths have been excellent hosts in keeping us all busy and entertained.” I smiled up at him, but he only looked forward, moving at a steady pace.
“Demsworth has always been a playful fellow. Easily agreeable.”
“And you? Are you playful, Mr. Pendleton, or more of a quiet sort?” I asked. He should know right away that I wanted to waste no time in getting to know him. If we were going to make this work, he needed to know me as much as I him.
He glanced at me with a look of surprise, before half-smiling as he’d done earlier. “Depends on the day, I suppose. You, though, I would guess are more playful.”
“Depends on the day,” I agreed.
“My aunt tells me that your family is . . . broken.” Mr. Pendleton surveyed the scene before us.
“Quite. As is yours, I’m told.”
“Yes.” His voice was full of regret. “In a different way.”
“I am sorry for your loss,” I said, pausing briefly. “I understand you have two daughters?”
His eyes lit up then, if only for a moment. “Margaret and Annalise. This is the first time I’ve left them since . . .”
“Of course,” I said quickly, to keep him from having to discuss a painful topic. “How hard that must be for all three of you.”
Mr. Pendleton nodded. “Do you only have the one sister, then?”
“Clara, yes. She and I come as a set. At least until she is married.” I earned a full smile from Mr. Pendleton then, but not a response. We walked together in silence for a long moment, and I feared I’d said too much. Surely he would speak, if nothing else but to relieve me from my obvious discomfort.
I counted my steps as we walked. I’d reached twenty-three before he spoke again.
Mr. Pendleton cleared his throat, slowing his pace. “You are prettier than I imagined. And easier to talk to. I’m having a hard time believing a woman like yourself is in need of the arrangement I am offering.”
I stopped, staring up at him. “That is kind to say, but also accusatory, sir.”
“I only mean I would not put it past my aunt to try her hand at matchmaking.” He raised a brow at me.
I released his arm, crossing my own. “I shall take that as a compliment, but I assure you my circumstances are dire. In all honesty, my stepfather will die any day. He has abandoned us both in home and in financial security, and unless Clara or I find a match by the end of the fortnight, we will both be homeless and destitute.”
Mr. Pendleton reared back his head. “Surely not.”
“Are you trying to convince me to look elsewhere? I think both of us could do far worse than each other.”
Mr. Pendleton looked thoughtful. “You are a force to be reckoned with, Miss Moore.”
“You may call me Amelia. We haven’t much time to get to know one another.”
Mr. Pendleton studied my face, and I lifted my chin to give him a full view of me. Speaking my secrets aloud to a man felt entirely liberating. Here I stood, completely vulnerable before him, and yet I did not care in the least what he thought of me.
“David,” he replied. “I am happy to meet you, Amelia.”
David and I finished our tea, enjoying the light breeze that blew across the veranda. We talked easily, and I felt comfortable enough in his presence. He was quiet, soft-spoken, but held his opinions firmly. I liked that he cared enough to speak his mind, but only when he deemed it necessary. He liked to talk about current affairs, and I listened with interest, though I had little to say in return. He did not tease me, though, and he rarely laughed or joked.
Dust grew above the trees, signaling the arrival of horses. A carriage perhaps. Peter. I straightened in my chair, suddenly nervous and feeling painfully exposed. What would Peter think, seeing me with David? Did Peter know to expect him? Of course not. Peter had no idea of this secret.
“Perhaps we should go for a ride?” I turned to David. I needed an escape, and fast.
“It looks as though your party has returned.” David motioned for a servant to take away our trays. “I have not seen my cousin in some time. We are not especially close, I’m afraid.”
I licked my lips. Why had I not been more forthcoming with Clara? I’d not thought any of this through. Any ounce of control I thought I had was seeping like honey through my fingers. I followed David to the drive, where Mr. Gregory opened the door to the carriage.
Peter stepped out with a frown, helping Clara out first, then Georgiana. Another carriage followed, carrying the rest of the company. Had they left together after all?
“David!” Sir Ronald called. They clasped hands as the party enveloped them.
I felt Peter’s eyes before I found them. “How was your morning?” he asked, drawing me away from the company.
Already, I missed the easy tones in Peter’s voice, the gentle smile that never seemed to leave his lips when we were together, and the light in his eyes. I remembered his letter from this morning and smoothed the curls framing my face.
“I am well rested, to be sure,” I said, captivated by the sudden seriousness in his gaze. “Thank you for the tea, and the blackberries.”
“And the note?” Peter stepped forward. He held a pink flower in his hand.
My gaze dropped to his cravat. The note. Was I wrong to allow my heart to leap at the thought? Even now, with David only a few paces away? Try as I might to push Peter away, he only ever seemed to move closer.
I cleared my throat. “The note was . . .”
I could not look at him. We were too exposed, too vulnerable standing there in our secret conversation, surrounded by people. I felt as backed into a wall as I’d ever been. “The note was very thoughtful, Mr. Wood, thank you.”
“Amelia!” Clara walked toward us, away from David. She was not smiling. “What is the meaning of this?”
I couldn’t remember the last time I’d seen Clara so angry. “Please, lower your voice, Clara, my dear.”
She stopped in front of me, and Peter took a few steps back, frowning. “This gentleman told Sir Ronald he is here for you.”
My gaze flicked to Peter. If he’d heard anything, he made no indication of it. “I will explain, but later.”
“Whatever does he mean? Do you know this man?”
“I only just know of him. Please. I promise to tell you everything tonight,” I whispered fiercely, begging.
“Miss Moore,” David said, approaching our small group.
I felt dizzy, my eyes darting from Peter to Clara to David. What should I do? What should I say? I knew what I wanted, but what I wanted was not practical. What I wanted would only cause more pain and rejection.
Clara turned, including David in our company.
“Mr. Pendleton,” I said, willing my voice to steady. “Allow me to introduce my sister, Clara. Clara, this Mr. Pendleton.”
“I am pleased to meet you, Miss Clara,” David said with a bow.
Clara curtseyed, drawing David into polite conversation about his visit, and I glanced at Peter. He beckoned me with a nod of his head, but I could not move. I’d barely known Peter a fortnight. If what Georgiana said was true, he would question everything when he learned of my poverty. How could I trust my feelings for him? Or his feelings for me? How could I risk my future, Clara’s future, on something so fickle as love? Especially when Clara detested Georgiana and, by extension, Peter.
If I stayed by David, I could for certain share amiable companionship, knowing security and comfort for the rest of my days, and Clara’s as well. He knew the truth of my situation, and he accepted me. He did not seek love, so he would never expect more from me, and I would not risk losing his affection, for I would never have it.
“Shall we go for that ride?” David’s voice pulled my attention back to him.
Peter stared at me with a furrowed brow.
“Of course.” I took his arm. This was the path of least pain, the path of most surety. Clara glanced between us, shaking her head. But she did not know how necessary this match was. I walked beside David into the house to put on my riding habit.
Grace seemed exceptionally slothful today, likely due to the rising heat of the late afternoon. I was accustomed to Summer’s slow pace, so I did not mind. Though I missed Summer, Winter needed her more than I at present. David drew even with us, though his lips pursed. I wondered if he wished we were riding faster.
“Do you have many horses?” I asked.
David shifted in his seat. “We typically sell our common foals. I breed mostly racehorses in my stables.”
Ah, that accounted for his pursed lips. I’d been right. He was likely not accustomed to riding this slow.
Grace, responding to the depth of his masculine voice, veered right and chomped at David’s leg. He hurried his horse just in time to avoi
d her.
“Forgive me,” I said, pulling hard on Grace’s reins. “She has a mind of her own.”
“Indeed,” he said with a frown. “I do not think she likes me.”
“Grace does better at a run, but for some reason she is more ornery than usual today.”
“Not to worry. I can maintain my distance for now. I am set to leave after dinner, but there is more we must discuss.”
I glanced to Mr. Beckett, riding a few paces behind us. “Of course.”
“Forgive my awkwardness,” David said. “I have not entertained the idea of a wife for long, and with how sudden my aunt recommended you, I’m afraid I had little time to think on what to say.
“I am not sure what my aunt told you of my situation, but I want to be clear, before we speak any further.” David’s deep voice was solemn. “I lost the love of my life, the mother of my children. I will never find another woman I cherish more. My heart is forever full of her.” He looked out into the distance with purpose. “But I do need a companion. Someone to oversee the affairs within the house, and to care for my girls and their upbringing. We have lived simply since my wife died, but my girls need a lady of the house to guide them in example. And I need help.”
Grace whinnied beneath me, shaking her head and readjusting the bit in her mouth.
David continued, “You and I need only be friends. I am not looking for”—he hesitated—“romance. But I can promise security. For you and your sister.”
I swallowed when he finished, nodding my head. “I understand. And I think that is all very reasonable.”
David looked to me, a curiousness in his hazel eyes that reminded me of Peter.
How I would miss Peter’s playfulness.
“And you? Surely you think of more than just my money.”
I forced a laugh. “No, actually I am quite set on your money.” I remembered how I’d refused Peter’s offerings at every turn, how I’d wanted nothing from him, yet here I was asking for so much from a stranger. “But more so for my sister than for myself. You see, Clara is here for Sir Ronald. If he does not return her affection, we must keep from his family until she is recovered. And I want her to have another Season, if necessary, and every opportunity for a happy match.
